He plopped down next to her on her bed. How could he even try to start to relate to the loss she had had, yes they had been close before he left. But nowhere near like she'd been with him. And then, the way she cried when he called and told her he couldn't make it to the funeral.
That night had been a long one. He had sat on his cot for most of the night fingering the blade on his multitool. She told him that her brother was dead, and if he was her brother too he should die if he wasn't going to be there. And he thought about that---long and hard he thought about that.
Then just as the dawn was starting to break he put it down. He knew that she was going to need him. No matter how long it took him to get back to her, she was going to need him--that if he took his own life now, then that would most certainly drive her over the edge.