Send Me a ‘go on without me’ and I’ll write a short drabble as my muse at your muse’s funeral.

          Hackett and Anderson stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces set in the same stony expression. Both men were struggling to accept that the fact that she was gone. She had been so young, so full of hope. Had they been wrong to think that she would out last them? His hands curled into fists as the man raised their guns and fired a volley to the air. 

           He never liked military funerals, and this one was even worse than usual. The coffin was empty and bitterness and despair flooded his chest. He had failed her. The one person he actually tried to protect.His eyes closed as another volley was fired into the sky, and not for the first time he wished it was just himself and Anderson present. 

           Slowly his eyes opened, and he stared down at the polished wood of the commander’s empty coffin. “I’m sorry, Jenna." He murmured only loud enough for David to hear him. The two continued to stand by the coffin as people began to disperse, their eyes fixed on the dark wood. They had both failed her, and if either one forgave themselves… It’d probably be a damned miracle.