Written for the challenge ToscaThorCat gave me, the song being "Say Something (I'm Giving Up On You) by A Great Big World. Cookies to anyone who guesses the pairing!

Hell on Earth. What a phrase.

Rain plummets down from above, spattering the already filthy uniform he wears, sloughing off the mud, if only for a second. It's freezing cold, and the constant onslaught of water does nothing to help the situation. He shivers, brushing off the cold as he fumbles with numb fingers to reload his gun. The bullets slip from his grasp, clattering to the muddy ground.

All around, people are shouting. Guns are firing. There's screaming. People are dying. The battle rages on. It swirls around him like a hurricane – a vast blur of metal and cloth and blood. The smell of gunpowder hangs in the air.

He scrambles to retrieve the ammunition, rubbing it feverishly on his pants to clean off the debris that clings to it. He loads the gun, takes a deep breath, and sits up to look over the barricade and fire his weapon.

She's tired of crying. The pain still scours her core, but the tears just won't come. They've had their fill of falling, but it's just as well – she doesn't miss them anyway. The worn out metal of her bed creaks with each dry sob that threatens to take her breath away completely.

She can't recall what it feels like to be happy. Content. She would even settle for mediocre. But no, she stays suspended in a cocoon of despair, of longing, clinging to the ill-seeded hope that, yes, he will come back. Alive and well, bringing with him a lifetime of promises.

A photograph of him is clenched between her hands, which in turn are held tightly to her chest, her heart thundering against them. She closes her eyes, praying.

He looks him right in the eye, and in that moment, he knows that this is the end. Sure enough, his enemy – or is it just someone with a different perspective – takes aim, and the fire sears through him.

Falling backwards into the mud, his helmet clanging against the ground, he takes a shallow breath, stunned. He knows it's over. But, no, it can't be. His thoughts wander into the past.

A picnic, the grass only matched in color by her eyes, the air crisp as it plays through her hair. His hand on her cheek. A kiss, lasting but moments, sending electricity though his body.

A different shock courses through him now, one that slowly saps the warmth from his limbs, quietly takes his breath away. His heart beats feebly for the last time, a crushed photograph of her resting above it in his shirt pocket.

A knock on the door. The telephone is for her.

She springs to life, the photograph falling to the floor and under the bed in her haste. She races down the stairs and takes the phone in her hands, pulling the cord long so she can stand farther down the hall, somewhat privately.

She breaths a 'hello' into the receiver, her head heavy with anticipation. A moment of silence, then a voice. The receiver falls to the floor, and she leans heavily against the wall, sliding down to rest crumpled on the hardwood.

Say something, I'm giving up on you.