Klaus tries to keep his cool, tries to breathe through the knot in his chest, the lump in his throat. But when her other arm comes around him, his defenses shatter. He presses his face into her arm as a small sob wracks his body.

“I couldn’t save him,” Klaus mutters between a hiccup of tears. “I watched those bastards shoot him but there weren’t any medics. No one was there. He just bled out. God there was blood everywhere.”

Thus, the blood on the floor, in the bathtub. His shoulders shake in another quiet sob. “Fuck. He was kind. He was gentle. It should have been me.”