My phone rang. I ignored it; I knew who was calling.

After twenty minutes of non-stop ringing, I turned my phone off and went back to the precinct. I needed to take out my anger.

Henry found me as I fired my tenth mag into the paper target. My shots had been all over the place when I started, some even missing completely. Now they hit the head or chest circles without fail. I saw my boyfriend out of the corner of my eye and promptly shot out the crotch area. Glancing back, I was rewarded by his flinch.

I turned to look at him, still holding my gun. "Do you need something?"

He put up his hands. "I just wanted to apologize. Nothing more."

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the targets. "I'm not interested in your apology."

"Jo, please–"

"Not now, Henry." I reloaded my weapon with more force than usual. "Get out."

He didn't leave. After I'd gone through two more mags, I offered him the gun. "Your turn."

Slowly, Henry took it. "I will need help, Detective."

"I'll show you."

Quietly, using as few words as possible, I guided Henry through the process of loading and firing. He knew the basics, as anyone would, but tended to aim slightly lower than necessary. I stepped in behind him and slid my arms over his, moving them to the proper angle before backing away.

"Now pull the trigger."

He obeyed, jumping a little at the recoil. His shot went awry, hitting one of the neighboring targets.

"Again."

His next attempt was better. As though he'd planned it, each shot was closer and closer to the center, until his twelfth hit the target dead on. Henry looked at me, asking with his eyes, Am I done?

"Good job," I told him, tugging the weapon out of his hands. "You're a quick study."

"Thank you." He watched as I took apart my gun and cleaned it. When it was holstered at my hip once more, he asked timidly, "Jo?"

"If you're thinking about apologizing again, don't. Not unless you mean it."

"I always mean it, darling."

His use of my pet name sent me into a fury again. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control myself. "Henry, do you know why I had you fire my weapon?"

"No, I don't."

"Because I want you to know what it feels like to take the shot. Even here, with no danger involved, it's not easy." I opened my eyes and pulled my gun from its holster. "I take firing this weapon very seriously. It is always my last resort. If I can talk a suspect down, I will do it, no matter how long it takes. I do not assume that the situation is unfixable. I do not jump to conclusions. And I do not unnecessarily endanger myself or others when there is another option!"

His eyes flashed angrily. "You don't know there was another option!"

"Yes, I do." I re-holstered my weapon as I spoke. "I survived for ten years without you jumping in front of bullets, and if you don't change your behavior, I will start surviving without you again." He started to speak, but I wasn't done. "I know you want to protect me. I understand that. And if it's a life-or-death situation, then I will not stop you. Today, however, was not a life-or-death situation. I did not need protecting, and if you had not stepped in, I would not have needed to take a shot."

For a long moment, Henry was silent. Finally I demanded, "Don't you have anything to say?"

"I am sorry, Jo. Truly, I am."

I glared at him. "You said that last time. You're going to have to do better than that."

"I... It's different for me, being with you," he explained softly. "In the past, I have been the strong one, the protector. Now the roles are switched. You, my darling Jo, you are far stronger than I am. I am... trying to adjust. Even after two hundred years, change is hard."

I wanted to hug him, he looked so sad, but I had to stand my ground. I had to get my point across, even if it hurt. "That's an excuse, not an apology."

"What can I do, to show you that my apology is genuine?"

"Two things. Number one, follow my lead in the field."

He nodded. "And number two?"

"Continue to treat me as you always have, off the clock."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "What do you mean?"

"I like being called 'darling,'" I informed him. "I like it when you open doors and pull out chairs for me. Dear Lord, Henry, I love it when you kiss me. But when we're on the clock, I'm a detective, and you must allow me to do my job."

Henry approached me carefully, as though afraid I might bite, and took my hands. "I will do my best, Jo," he vowed, looking me in the eyes. "I can't guarantee that I will always succeed, but I promise to try."

"That's all I can ask for."

"May I ask a question?"

"Sure."

He smiled slyly. "Are we on the clock now?"

I grinned at him. "No, actually, we're not."

"Then I will gladly open doors for you all the way to your place, if you are so inclined."

"Only if you're cooking."

"For you, darling? Anything."

Also not the story I was working on, but it was inspired by something I wrote in the story. I picture this being about six months into Henry and Jo's relationship.