A/N: Not mine. Enjoy.
The view from his position is one of sadness, though he doubts that that particularly one is singular to him. Any fool could see that all around was sadness. He didn't normally say this, but today was an exception.
Funerals for police officers are the worst.
And he can guarantee that nine, ten o'clock tonight will see the local cop bar filling up nicely with those who knew the man and those who didn't, all drinking away the sadness. A few memories shared and a few drinks downed. It would feel good to forget. To reminisce.
But this view was one that was singular to him. After all, no one knew the dead man like he himself did.
That's the thing about people, everyone's got their own relationship with someone else. A relationship that may be similar to others, but never exactly the same.
And no one, he can say this with certainty, knew the dead man quite like he did.
He looks around and takes in the expressions of those around him. Despite clenched jaws and straight faces, tears are running down them, leaving burning paths that will lead tears in the evening. All look the same in their uniforms, and that's how they knew this man, the one thing all their relationships had in common. Yet he feels out of place in his uniform. Probably because he knew him on a level much deeper than regular cops.
As his own tears begin their way down his face, he damns his view and salutes.