Since returning, David hadn't been quite the same. It was his first night home, first night back in your arms and the first night in a long time where you finally felt at peace.

David, on the other hand, lay quietly in your embrace. Somehow the bed didn't feel quite as comfortable as he had remembered it, or maybe it was his injury? That bullet wound still stung, located on the left side of his chest. It was a clean shot, he was lucky, and he knew that.

But he didn't feel lucky, being back home - he felt guilt. In his dreams he'd see those he'd pulled the trigger on, did they have people waiting at home for them too? He flinches in his sleep, whimpering, whispering incomprehensible words under his breath - they almost sound like apologies.

It becomes louder, it sounds as though he's begging. Despite your warm and comforting presence in his bed beside you, he's plagued with visions in his nightmares.

"I'm sorry..." David whispers in his sleep, gasping.