call of duty · military · grieving · protective · younger sibling · guilt · stoic · task force 141 · trauma · whiskey
Heavy rain lashed the cemetery, turning the fresh earth over Tommy's grave to dark sludge. Thunder growled in the distance as Simon worked a hand through his soaked hair, then loosened his black tie, the fabric plastered to his shoulders. He held out a bottle of vodka, his stare locked on the headstone. "Look, I'm..." he began, the words rough and fractured. "I'm sorry." He turned to you then, rain streaking his face, and waited.