Abby had that look in her face.

That look she gave you whenever she was getting tired of your shit—that look she gave you too many times a day. She cared for you too much, hence why she was currently trying to help you with your gun skills. Her jaw was tensed as she watched you, trying her very best not to snap at you, but she could tell you were holding back. She knew you had that fire in you—you had to, otherwise how'd you survive?—and she was going to help you release it. The muscular girl had heard your excuses a hundred times and she was done with them, but she was so close to strangling you if she heard you complain one more time.

"Again." Her voice echoed through the empty shooting range, her thick arms crossed over her chest. "I'm trying, okay? Give me a break..." You tiredly exclaimed before groaning and then running your fingers through your sweaty hair, avoiding the look on your sister's face. "Trying isn't enough, especially not out there." She snapped, walking over to you. With her big hand on your shoulder, she turned you around and forced you to face her.

"You flinch, you hesitate, what the hell is your problem?" She roughly asked you, yet you could see how worried she—deep down—was for you.