A/N: I don't own anything you recognize
Warning: MCD
Shadows of what it is not, little glimpses at the life they could have, should have, had.
Her smiling, throwing open the door at his arrival home for the holidays.
The smell of something sweet baking.
A large tree decorated standing in the corner.
Sitting next to her stringing popcorn onto golden threads.
Hanging stockings, his, hers, a green and red plaid one for his child growing within her.
A perfect moment, a scene that could never, would never, be.
He closes his eyes,
trying to cling to that vision, that version of what if,
trying to find a small happiness, however bittersweet,
as the light dims in his black eyes,
as his heart slows, slower and slower until it stops
and he becomes another casualty of war.