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Malcolm cannot remember a time he felt this angry. He remembered Adam's death as carrying something similar to this level of desperosity. And Colin's.
He finally voices the only thing he really feels he can.
"You did... everything you could." He says, staring out towards the fresh eighth of the cemetery where Ruth's headstone sinks into the pattern of headstone lines, watching. Listening.
"No," Harry shakes his head sharply. "That's the point. I didn't."
"Well I don't believe you let it happen. I don't believe that for one second."
"I should have been quicker. I should have seen it coming."
"Harry, don't." Malcolm holds his stare away from Harry's, voice deep and much stronger than it's been for years.
"Don't what?"
"Don't become fixated on what could or should have been; it does no favours for anyone," then he shifts slightly to look at this broken man and insists. Though Harry's face is half blank – half numb – he knows he's listening, "We've both seen it countless times - chances missed - but in the moment, it's never that simple is it. How can you possibly blame yourself."
The delay in Harry's response is long enough for Malcolm to cut it by continuing.
"The fact is, you can't. And you shouldn't. After everything you've given to the Service over all these years I don't see how you can argue otherwise."
He's right of course.
"Forgive me Harry; I don't mean to sound callous."
"I know," he looks up and directly at his friend. "Thank you Malcolm. I don't know why I didn't come and see you earlier."
He chuckles softly, "Yes you do."
They slip into silence once again – Malcolm mentally cursing the freezing air, Harry longing for it to sting him soon enough as proof that he will start to feel something other than grief relatively soon. It doesn't sting though and after a while Malcolm moves to stand.
"Best be getting back," he says as he rises and Harry follows suit. "Can't keep mum waiting for too long; I told her I'd just popped out for the paper."
Harry nods and offers his hand for a second shake.
"It was really was a co-incidence finding you," Malcolm notes as their hands meet, "It was good to see you though. I only wish it could happen more often. Dare I ask if you're staying with the service?"
The expression that finds Harry's face is an answer in itself.
"I don't know," he admits. "I feel an obligation to – God knows why." He looks out to Ruth's grave, "We were so close to leaving it all behind."
Of all the things he's said in their fleeting encounter, that line hurts the most.
"You're a strong man Harry," he says, buttoning his coat, "Much stronger than you've ever given yourself credit for, I think. You have my innermost sympathies. And if there's anything I could do – in the future – to help... you know I can, and will."
As he gives a sharp nod of gratitude, Harry see's something in Malcolm that is only recent. Something that makes his eyes clearer. It lasts a couple of seconds before he smiles and leaves, taking the smile Harry so desperately wants to feel, with him.
It is only as he sits a home nine hours later in front of the muted television does that Harry realise it wasn't a look of sorrow or anger. It was acceptance.
But not acceptance for Ruth's death – not yet. It was actually for Colin. So many years ago had Malcolm lost his best friend and only now did he look different, in that grave yard, in that moment.
It was proof then, if anything. It was proof that the grief would last for years. It was to sit in his stomach and burn, but eventually, the gaping space left by Ruth would wane somehow.
The pain would fade eventually. But her memory would live on for as long as he wanted it to - fiercely, and brilliant.
End.