A/N: My take on what 'Bury Your Dead' didn't show.
He was a charming son of a bitch.
The lull of his fluent French words, taunting and condescending, caused her to hesitate.
Speaking of Jeanne. Relating what she herself had gone through to what his child would face. Grief, anger, perhaps revenge.
Her hand shook, her stance beginning to slump, weapon lowering slowly. How could she put the girl through what had haunted her for over a decade?
And then the bastard smirked triumphantly, giving her justification. She raised her weapon again and stepped closer, putting the barrel to his skull; crying for herself or Jeanne, she didn't know.
She swallowed and closed her eyes, finger tightening and loosening on the trigger several times.
"Mon cheri, go home. This quarrel is a waste of time."
Her eyes snapped to his, violence and malice clouding once luminous emeralds. Promising what he knew was a means to an end.
"I hope you burn in hell," she growled, squeezing heavily on the trigger. Watched him stagger backwards. Aided his falling over the railing.
Dropped the gun in after him. And turned on her heel. Walking away, the heartless bitch everyone thought her to be.
Not showing that she was dying inside.