Prompt: “activate”

        “Well, this is definitely more modular,” she says, “But I haven’t changed the stock on mine since I got it.” Satya sets her custom-constructed AR-15 on the work counter, illuminated by a bright LED lamp. “It’s just a matter of preference.”

        “I see,” Dmitry comes to his wife’s side, wraps an arm around her shoulder- tries VERY hard not to stare directly at her cleavage- “And these can shoot the same rounds as an AK, is my understanding?”

        “Yes,” Satyana unclips the magazine of the AR and takes a bullet out. “I had to customize it to do so. Usually they don’t use 39 millimeters.”

        “Mm,” Dmitry nods. “So this is what you would call… how is it, in English? Semi-activated?” (Well, SOMETHING is definitely activated.)

“Semi-automatic.”

“Whereas my AK is purely automatic?”

        “That’s correct. This switch here-” she points to a small lever on the side of her AR. “See how it says ‘safe’ and ‘fire’?” She toggles it back and forth. “‘Safe’ is off, obviously. But ‘fire’ allows the bullets to chamber. So you pull the trigger, and one bullet will fire, until you pull the trigger again.”

        “But mine, I pull the trigger, and it fires until the magazine is empty.” Many such similarities to another activity.

        “Yes,” she nods. “It might be strange to get used to. -And this lever, this is for if the bullet won’t chamber. But you don’t have that problem… yours will pretty much always fire.”

        And suddenly that phrase sounds very euphemistic to him. “Right…”

        “I’ve seen once, a colleague of mine buried his AK-47 for three years, in the dirt, just left it there. He dug it up one summer and it fired right away.”

        “Really,”

        “Yes, really…” Satyana reclips the magazine, makes sure the gun is safe, and very gently brushes Dmitry’s hand off her shoulder. She just holds the gun up in front of her, looks down the sight, tilts it around carefully. “So I have to have my hand like this, to reach that lever, in case the bullets don’t chamber.”

        Dmitry’s eyes are absolutely not on her hands.

        “Are you paying attention?” She looks over her shoulder, smiles deeply. “My hands are up here, love.”

        “I know,” he sighs, takes a seat on the chair at the desk. “I’m paying attention now.” And he rests his chin on his hand, completely and utterly smitten.

        “Are you?”

        “I promise.”

        “...It doesn’t seem like it.” She chides, lovingly. “Is there something on your mind?”

        Yes, lots. “...Not particularly,” he shrugs.

        “Well, a month from now, that’s not going to be the case.” Dmitry makes a froggish sort of face. She brings the gun down, turns to her side. “I get customers asking when I’m due.” An obvious bump sits above the elastic band of her skirt.

        “Hm,” every single cell of blood has completely diverted itself.

        Satya sets her beloved assault rifle back onto the work table, steps between the gap in Dmitry’s legs, makes herself flush with him. “I’m very glad we did this.”

        “Yes,” he loops his arms around her neck.

        “Hm,” she half-laughs, puts her lips to his ear- “I’m very glad you’ve made me a mother.” -kisses his neck, gives a little love bite.

        “Ay, we’re in public,” he smiles, brushes her hair back with his hand.

        “The shop’s closed, my love,”

        “I’m sure people out walking at night want to see us having sex on the counter.” But who’s out walking in December, in Murmansk?

        “I never said we had to have sex on the counter…”

        What, in the ammunition storeroom? The office? “Then…?”

        “Then,” she smiles into his neck, and looses herself; ties up her hair; carefully kneels on the floor. “I’m not a fool. I can see it through your jeans.”

        “Uh,” suddenly he’s paralyzed. “...Right here?”

        “Of course. Why not? …Since we were talking about it.”

        “No, we weren’t…?”

        “Talking about chambering things. What- worried about the size of your magazine? Afraid your caliber’s too big?” She places a hand on the inside of her husband’s thigh.

        “N-no,”

        “I already took about ten of them in April,” up higher-
        “Satya,”

        “And I’d like to take about twenty more, if you’d let me. Since you clearly aren’t lacking in magazine capacity.”

        “Satya, please.” Dmitry’s about sweating at this point. “My love.”

        “Yes…?” she unclips the button on his pants with a click. “Oh… your safety’s off. That’s very irresponsible of you.”

        “It’s been off for about forty-five minutes,” he smiles- this whole gun euphemism is so delightful.

        “I know; I saw you staring, earlier.” Thankfully it’s quite warm in the shop, or else exposing anything would otherwise be very uncomfortable. “You shouldn’t stare at a lady’s accessory rail. It’s very rude…” And she takes his sex in her mouth.

        “Which… would be?”

        “My ass,” she says, “That you can’t keep your hands off of.”

        “Sorry,” he smiles. “It’s just very…” what’s a way to describe the accessory rail of a gun? “...Easy to mount things on,”

        “Oh, very clearly,” she pauses. “But I guess I shouldn’t be staring at your muzzle, either.”

        “Why’s that…?”

        “Well, like I said… your safety’s off…” She smiles. “I could get pumped with your load any time, if I’m not careful,”

        “What if I don’t want to be careful?”

        “Oh, scary…” she teases. “...Well, we aren’t on a range. Where are you going to fire it…?”

        “Anywhere you want,”

        “Hmmm,” she hums as she continues “chambering the bullet.” “My reciever’s missing something…”

        “Which is what?”

        “Mm, a magazine, maybe?” and she stops for a moment- Dmitry takes her hand, pulls her into his lap- it’s very convenient that she’s wearing a skirt- and “clips” his “magazine” into her “magazine well.” “Ay, not so hard-”

        “Sorry,” and now he really is sweating. “I had to make sure it was seated properly.”

        “All the way in?” It’s more confirmational, not annoyed.

        “Yes,” he grabs a hold of her hips, rather, her “pistol grip.” “You said you wanted the whole magazine.”

        “I did say that,” she sighs, digs her face into his neck. “All of it. Every single bullet you can chamber.”

        “It’s not a lot,” Ten in April wasn’t an exaggeration.

        “You’re semi-activated- semi-automatic, then,”

        “Sure-” almost all of his focus on the euphemism is lost. “Satya, I-”

        Thankfully, there’s nobody on the streets of Murmansk, or in the shop- Dmitry clasps a hand over his mouth, Satya’s just as loud; clearly the both of them forwent a silencer. A moment or so and all is quiet.

        “...Hmm,” Dmitry hums, satisfied, arms around his wife’s back- rubs softly, gives a few pats. “Love you.”

        “I love you, too,” she sighs. “Oh, now I’m all sleepy…”

        “I don’t think it would be very comfortable to sleep like this.”

        “What… with a magazine in the well?”

        “No, in this chair.”

        “...Right,” and she looses herself, steadies herself on the workbench, stretches. “Can you drive?”

        “Always,” and he takes the car keys from the clip on her bag. The key to the shop jingles. “...Did you lock up?”

        Satya has a terrified moment of realisation. “...No,”

        “No?!” he’s not even mad, just flabbergasted- and they’re both laughing. “Ay, what on Earth, darling,” and he collects himself, puts his “magazine” back where it goes, locks up the door. “And the open sign was still on!”

        “No, I turned it off earlier,”

        “You didn’t, I saw it still plugged in,” holds up the male end of the cord as proof. “Solnyshka, my dear…” he tuts.

        “Sorry,” she giggles. “Wow, that could have been really bad.”

        “It could have,” he shakes his head, starts flipping lights off. “What will I do with you?”

        “Make me coffee when we get home,”

        “That’s a good idea. …And one for me, too.” He remote-starts the car out of the back door of the shop. “...That was cute. The gun analogy.”

        “Thanks. It just seemed appropriate. …But do you want to use the AR? You never gave me an answer.”

        “Oh, I’ll try it on the next mission. As long as you’re okay with it getting dirty.” He picks it up from the counter by the strap, slings it over his shoulder.

        “No problem. I can always clean it.”

        “...And us, too,”

        “Ah, yeah…” she smiles. “How will we have the time to do this when we have kids?”

        Dmitry opens his mouth, pauses. “Ah- multiple?”

        “Only if you want.” she shrugs. “I feel like you’ll make a good father.”

        “I hope so,” realising he did the wrong order of operations, he sets the gun back down, puts his jacket on, and picks it back up. “And you’ll be wonderful.”

        “I don’t have any doubt.”

        “That’s good, to be confident,”

        “I keep telling you that, and you don’t listen to me,” she pats his arm. “I forget- how old is… what’s her name, Samantha? Does she have kids?”

        “She’s eighteen. I would hope she doesn’t.” he takes his wife’s jacket off of the hook on the wall in the office, hands it to her. “And the Operator certainly doesn’t have children.”

        “How do you know? You know, that there’s not little stone cherubs running around in the back of the shop?”

        “...I guess I don’t know.” he tries to hide a smile as he thinks of the possibility. “That’s funny. I’ll have to tell them you said that.”

        “Oh, don’t tell them I said that! They’ll get the wrong impression of me.”

        “They know you’re a beautiful, intelligent woman, if it helps.”

        “Ohhh,” she coos. “What else do they know?”

        “That you have glasses… you own an armory… you’re picky about your coffee like I am… and that you’re incredibly sexy.”

        “Well! I think that’s all very accurate- so thank you. …Do they know I’m pregnant?”

        “Sam and Op were the first people I told. They’re very excited for you.”

        “Of course they were,” she smiles. “I think the car’s warm now. I’m craving a chocolate latte.”

        “What is it with you and chocolate?”

        “Hormones,”

        “I see,” he nods, flips the final light off for the office. Just the emergency exit light glows above them as they leave, out into the night of Murmansk, a brisk one degree. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know how I am with this damned door.”

        “I want to wait,” her words become fog in the air. “What if I want to hold your hand?”

        “It’s going to be a second,” he says, but Satya just takes the ring of keys from him, locks up herself- you have to fumble with the door a little- and takes his hand as they crunch over snow to the car. A flurry’s starting… nothing their Patriot can’t handle.

        The drive home is accented by the windshield wipers, the heat on blast, and Satya humming along to Forum’s hits from the 80’s.

        Coffee is enjoyed. Showers are had. Sleep comes easily.

        …

        Twelve years later- it’s a similar routine- but instead of a warm body in bed, it’s a custom-made AR-15.