For a while, I just watch them set up. It's strange, isn't it, how people can just go on like nothing's happened while the worlds of some people are just… falling apart. While, for me, it ends. There are three men and a woman, hired to unfold tables and set out food, flowers, a table for the guest book. They're talking about a hockey game, but I'm watching more than listening. Their laughter and voices ring up and around the church, ricocheting off the ceiling.

They finish up and disappear out the back door, heading back to the kitchens. They must be expecting emotional eaters; I can hear the oven being set through the door. My parents arrive shortly after, wrapped in coats to keep out the cold autumn air. Mom's crying, just as I thought she would be – Dad's adjusting his tie, uncomfortable and misty-eyed.

I glance over at my grandparents, standing just a few feet to my right. Grandpa's leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets, watching his daughter cry. My grandma is talking animatedly about something, but her voice is coming through as more of a faint whisper. They both look so young.

The rest of my family files in over the course of the next hour. My Uncle Joey and his wife Roddie; Christopher Donnelson, my cousin, and his girlfriend Dani Sue. Dad's parents are helped into the church by Aunt Audrey and Auntie May, both of whom are half-crying themselves. Dad goes to speak to his parents, leaving Mom to lean against her best friend Diana.

Mixed into the crowd is my second family. To my surprise, Ed is first to arrive. He's got Sophie and Clark with him, a stoic look on his face, more of a mask than I've ever seen him wear in all seven year of knowing him. The three of them make their way through the throng, trying to find my parents. When they do, I don't listen to what they're saying. I look away, out of respect, and watch everyone else. I don't turn back until I see, out of the corner of my eye, my mother hugging Ed.

Jules is next to come. She's with Greg, clinging onto him like a child to her father. He's a lifeline to her, more so now than ever before. It's a little disconcerting to see her so weak and frail; even worse, though, is that she's trying to hide it. Sarge is trying to keep his expression neutral, trying to be strong for his team mate.

Sam skirts the back of the church, trying to avoid talking to anyone. He's trying to be respectful, but I know what he's doing: he's trying to catch a glimpse of Jules. I don't put too much blame on him; though we had each other's backs, we didn't ever really do anything together. There was never a time when we just talked, one-on-one. I understand why he's so into her. I don't blame him for loving her – she's a pretty extraordinary girl.

Wordy has Shelley hanging on his arm, but the girls are, presumably, at home. He's got his eyes trained on the ground, jaw set to prevent the emotional tremors present everywhere around him. Though his wife is beautiful, she's tried to tone it down. Of course, she has failed, and is one of the most stunning women in the room.

A few of the other SRU officers file in. I'd talked to a lot of them just in passing, but there are a few – Antonio and Davis from Team Two, Donna from Three, Matt from Four – I know pretty well. They take the seats behind Greg and Jules.

Spike is the last of Team One to arrive. I watch him curiously, trying to gauge how much he's holding back. He's slapped a smile on his face, solemn, proper for this type of gathering. He approaches my parents, but doesn't say a thing before my mom falls into his arms. He pats Dad on the shoulder and rubs my mom's back, soothing. He's hiding everything, putting on that brave face.

He takes a seat next to them in the front row.

Finally, the commotion settles down, and I'm left facing a sea of black suits and melancholy expressions.

I turn only slightly to watch the pastor enter through a door behind the stand with the urn. He walks slowly and with halting steps, as if he's leading an invisible procession across the platform. Somehow, it seems to send a ripple throughout the crowd – suddenly, everyone is crying.

The pastor starts to speak, but I'm not interested in the words. I keep my gaze on the audience as his voice floats out and around the room. He's talking about how I was such a great young man; brave, loyal, charismatic. I was brought down in the line of duty, a "terrible accident that broke the hearts of everyone he had ever graced with his smile." It was all very fake and stiff, obviously pre-written with my name inserted in. I don't mind, though. It's sort of peaceful to be just a person for once. Not an SRU officer, not a son or a best friend or a role model. I had nothing to prove for the first time in my life.

Halfway through, even Ed is brought to tears. He squeezes the bridge of his nose with his fingers, his head bowed, trying to gather himself. Sophie touches his arm lightly. Greg is crying without inhibition, tears streaming down his face. Jules is leaning into him, her face buried in the sleeve of his suit, shoulders heaving. Wordy is taking deep breaths, but he's managing, for the most part, to keep himself quiet. Sam, in the last row of pews, wipes away a stray tear.

Spike is the only one in the entire room who is completely still and silent. He's just watching the pastor with a measured gaze, taking in each word. He's holding Mom's hand tight; she cries quietly, her eyes turned down to the floor.

The service ends. People line up in front of the urn to pay their respects. Mom's parents are still standing off to the side, but they're no longer talking; they're watching their family with the same interest as I am.

I listen to everybody say their grievances. They're all very kind and gentle, and it's almost a shame to leave them all behind. Jules comes up on her own and whispers her apologies, saying she could've done more to help save me. I want to tell her that it's okay, everything's all right. She kisses her fingers and presses them against the brass of the urn before moving away.

Ed salutes me as an officer. He obviously doesn't believe in the afterlife or my being able to hear him; he doesn't say much. His wife picks up for him, though, and tells me how she wishes she could have gotten to know me better. "I've heard so much," she says. "You were so brave out there, Lewis. We lost a hero."

Greg approaches the stand, but backs off almost immediately. He excuses himself and steps outside the sanctuary. He's a mess. I would've gone to stand out beside him had I not wanted to respect his privacy.

Wordy is next. He mumbles a few words about how he'll miss me, how nights at the bar won't ever be the same. He runs a hand across his face and takes a shaky breath. Shelley tucks her arm into his and tells him to come along.

I listen to a few more broken compliments before noticing that Spike isn't even in the line. I glance around the room, trying to spot him. I do, finally: he's headed out to the balcony. I follow. Outside, he leans his arms against the railing and looks down at the garden. I join him, but keep my eyes trained on the gathering inside. I let him cry for a while, wondering if he can feel my presence.

"Dammit, Lew," he says finally. He looks toward the sky, all of the Roman Catholic teachings his parents had pushed on him rushing back. It's reassuring, at the very least, to know he thinks I'm in heaven. "What'd you have to go and do that for?"

He sniffs, running his sleeve across his face. He looks so miserable.

"If I had just been a little more adamant about getting that water." He shakes his head, forcing out a humorless laugh. "I could've saved you."

"Don't go there," I warn him quietly, but he can't hear me. "Don't blame yourself, Spike. It's not your fault."

"We just got back from Jamaica." He sniffs and pushes his palms against his eyes. "I can't call Bridge, Lew. I can't call her. I can't think about that vacation anymore. If we had stayed a few extra days like I wanted to you would still be here." He laughs quietly and wipes away another stream of tears. "But you were always such a goody two-shoes, weren't you? 'Have to get back to work, man, we're adults now.' Didn't want to stay and drink on the beach and play in the water and look at all those girls." Spike grins despite himself and locks his hands tight around the railing. "Just one more day would've made a world of difference."

"It was my time." I had always been a man of faith. Spike had almost given up, years and years of if you live in my house, you will worship my God shaking him up. He bows his head down, letting more tears fall onto the pavement. I move my hand to pat his back, trying to calm him a little, but it's as if he's the ghost; my hand goes through him.

"Why'd you take him from me?" he shouts suddenly. He's not looking up, but I know who he's talking to. "It's not fair. He had a life ahead of him!" He presses a shaking hand to his forehead and tilts his face up, eyes probing the sky for some sign that God, who had always been promised to be there, could hear what he was saying. "Out of all the people in the world, out of all the guys we fight daily – couldn't you have taken one of them? Lew was one of the good ones. He was a man of faith, too – I thought you didn't do that, didn't take the ones who followed you?"

"He knows what he's doing." I drop my chin to my chest, staring down at the stone floor of the balcony. Spike continues on, blaming a power he no longer trusts for destroying his friendship, his job, his life.

"The hell am I supposed to do without you, buddy?" His voice breaks, and the silence stretches on. The tears on Spike's face fade, slipping away until his cheeks are dry. I say nothing for a few moments, just listening to him breath. He's staring out at the gardens below, a perplexed look on his face. It's more of a question he can't answer than an inquiry.

"Just keep living."

He doesn't hear me, of course. I stand up straight again and reach my hand out, trying to transfer some sort of calming acceptance from my fingertips to his shoulder. His expression remains the same, though, and I leave him standing at the railing, lost and betrayed.

Inside, people are still mulling about. Most are unsure whether or not they should be going or still standing, head bowed, at my urn. Greg is at the altar, his forehead tucked into his thumbs as he prays. Jules and Sam slip out the double doors. I give a second to hope that he'll take care of her. Wordy and Ed are by the balcony entrance, but their gaze is turned toward the emptying pews. They're standing side by side, silent, the invisible wall of friendship between them, holding each of them upright. Donna Sabine crosses her arms across her chest, shivering against the breeze, and slips out, heading to her car.

Grandma and Grandpa are watching me; I know this without turning around. Grandpa clears his throat and I nod. My eyes sweep the room once more, taking in all the faces of those I love, and spare a glance out the window, where Spike is no longer standing. Then I back up, stepping onto the rug next to my grandmother, and take her hand. It's been a while; last time I had seen her was right before she passed, seventeen years ago. She smiles warmly and squeezes my fingers.

"I'm ready."

This sat in my documents for a while with the name "funeral." Disgustingly, my first thought was to the tune of Marshall Erikson's Cat Funeral: "Lew's funeral... Lew's fuuunerrraaalll..."

On another unfortunate note, I probably won't be writing a lot of fanfiction during the month of November, as I am participating in NaNoWriMo! I'll be back, though. I promise.