At the end of a hand that was shaking like a leaf was a mass of still-warm flesh, sticky with cuts and rivulets of drying blood.

The ruins of Jack's face, sagging on his chest, his back propped unnaturally against the wall.

Fingers suddenly, frantically, searched his neck for any sign of life.

There was nothing.

The hands gently eased his head to the ground, desperate to try to bring this man back to them one more time.

Thick crimson began to run unchecked from the slack lips.

The hands braced against a fall as nausea and stark reality slammed home.

This really was the end.

The hands slowly raised, removing the combat helmet to reveal close-cropped hair.

Tenderly, they gathered up the spent shell that had been friend. Family. Loved one.

They held him close, blood mingling with the short hair till it was garnet-red.

As the two slowly rocked back and forth on the floor of the foreign prison, two fists knotted at the back of a torn jacket and shook as the words sounded over and over, the only thing that was never said between them.

It had to count.

"I love you, Jack."