Being a D.S.O. agent meant putting your life on the line forever. The field was your coffin if your mistakes cost you as such.

You two held both equal positions and the same office in the D.S.O. He was your teammate, but most importantly, your friend.

You could tell at times that his eyes would water after losing a person on a mission, but only after coming back from them. You noticed how he would clench his fist against the report he wrote up for the superiors. He was a tough man whom you respected with your life, even if he wanted to break down and fall to his knees as death surrounded him.

After today's mission, he couldn't take it anymore.

You had almost died in his arms, and he couldn't bear the possibility of losing you too. You were with him now, but what if he had done nothing back there and stood in shock?

So, as he sat down at his desk and wrote yet another paper for the files, he seemed reluctant to even pick up a pen. He was tired of this fight.