The cold steel in his hand vibrated.
It was always steady before, his will behind its trigger unwavering.
But then, the targets were usually different.
.
Everything had changed when that man walked into his life six years ago. Jack turned the gun outward again, had something to fight for and protect. It wasn't all about death anymore.
Now Daniel was gone, and death clouded Jack's vision once more.
His balance, his foil and his friend, gone. Daniel's last days had been so painful, convinced he could do no more here, that he wasn't needed.
You were so wrong, Daniel.
.
Jack sat on the bed in his quarters.
This wasn't the first time since Daniel died that he'd felt this pressure by his head, familiar weight in his hands.
Jack just couldn't do it.
He couldn't go on like this anymore.
He took a deep, shuddering breath and held it, and closed his eyes.
Jack knew this was the last time.
.
The cold muzzle slid away from his temple.
.
.
He uncocked the gun and left it on the bed.
He splashed some water on his face and walked out into the corridor toward the Mess Hall.
With Daniel, everything had changed.
