Inspired by the look on Ros' face at the start of 8.4.
Her hands were shaking although it certainly wasn't the first time she'd fired a shot. It was however, the first time that a friend had been on the receiving end.
The whole room or just two lives? The decision was based upon whether her finger strayed to the trigger and she only had a few seconds to make up her mind. Obviously, professionalism practically forced her to release the bullet but those pesky personal feelings made her hesitate. It was perhaps the first time Ros had ever seen Jo look so certain about anything that made her fire. As cruel as it was, Jo knew she had to die and Ros knew she had to be the one to do it.
If it was right, then why couldn't Ros stop herself from shaking as Jo gasped her last snatches of breath on the floor? It seemed horrible that the body of a manipulative killer was partnered with one of a strong young woman who was finally having her talents realised.
Ruth had cried, although that could have been predicted. Harry had shut himself in his office. Lucas' Boston beauty sent flowers, although flowers die and Ros had always hated that particular gesture.
She was numb.
She didn't want to talk to any of them. Then again, even if she had the courage Ros doubted her ability to think of the right words.
5am, without fail. Her face. The nod. Ros' finger lingering on the trigger before pulling it, the shot juddering the room and the gasps of the people around ringing in her ears.
Ros' eyes snapped open but not before she'd relived her friend taking her last breath, sprawled out on the floor, her blood spilt to save lives. Barely thirty and dead.
Jo had been the one to die when Ros knew her life had far less worth, and it was completely unfair.