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Battlefield
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Hesitation meant death. That much was certain. Freeze and you would die. It was the law of war.
Of course she realized this, but hesitation always threatened to take her over. She would be tempted to freeze, fingers still clutching the trigger of her rifle. She didn't want to take a life. She didn't want to watch the victim of her gun fall in a graceful arc as life left their body and they breathed their last. But in the end, she always did.
He hated it. He couldn't stand rubbing the material between his fingers to create the spark. Hesitations had nearly claimed him many times. Hearing their screams chilled him, seeing their charred bodies after all was said and done made him retch.
She'd been assigned to serve under him. She worried her hesitation would kill him, and he feared his reluctance would end up destroying her. She would stand behind, him in front.
Every time he was attacked, she would fire, and every time something would come after her, his fingers would click. It was an unspoken promise between them. No hesitation would claim them on the battlefield, not so long as the other breathed.