It wasn't a large crowd gathering in the cemetery for Jowd's funeral, but it felt too large for Alma to want to face now. For the moment they were only blank faces in her mind, in the way of finding the only one she wanted to see right now.

She hadn't heard from Cabanela in the past several days and he continued to ignore his phone, but today – he had to be here today.

They had keys to each other's places and as each day passed it became a struggle not to barge in even as she felt her energy for a potential fight dwindling. She told herself that maybe the space was good. She told herself he'd come around. She told herself it wouldn't last. He would be here today.

He was never easy to miss, yet now was only conspicuous in his absence. Her hands tightened around the handle of Kamila's carrier. Surely, surely he wouldn't avoid this. He couldn't. He said he'd see her. But that didn't mean here, said a treacherous little thought. Maybe it didn't mean anything.

She stepped back, scanning the crowd and backed into someone who steadied her. She whirled around, clutching Kamila close and met the kindly face of the Justice Minister.

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed.

"No, no I should have been paying more attention."

Another voice rang out, rich and slightly louder than necessary.

"There you are my dear!"

Emma rapidly approached and gently set down a carrier of her own. "Go back to sleep, my sweet Amelie."

Alma set Kamila down just in time for Emma to catch her in a large embrace. "Oh darling, I'm so sorry!" She pulled back, but held Alma's shoulders and looked her over. "Oh my poor dear, you look dreadful. If you need anything at all don't hesitate for a moment to come to us." She nodded down at Kamila and Amelie. "That includes looking after our little angels anytime."

"Thank you… thank you," Alma said but found herself looking past Emma, still searching.

Emma eyed her shrewdly. "You seem distracted."

"I just… have you seen Cabanela?"

"I'm afraid not. Have you, dear?"

The Justice Minister shook his head. "I'm sorry, no." He gave Alma a reassuring smile. "I'm sure he'll be here soon. Those two were inseparable."

"That's what worries me," Alma murmured. She pulled away from Emma and picked up Kamila. "Thank you, I mean it, but if you'll excuse me…"

"Of course. Go and seek him out!" Emma said with a wave of her hands. "If he doesn't come you let me know. We'll sort him out."

"That won't be necessary," Alma said with a frail smile before hurrying away.

She found herself at the outskirts and there was still no sign of him. Kamila woke up with a small yawn, blinked and started to cry. Alma put down the carrier immediately and picked her up, cradling her in her arms. To her relief it was enough and she settled quietly. It was more difficult to fight back the urge to sit down right there on the grass and start crying herself. She hugged Kamila close instead.

The crowd was gathering around the chairs. Alma slowly picked up the carrier one handed still cradling Kamila and headed back. She searched the crowd desperately and felt a surge of anger and despair. He wasn't here. He didn't come.

Emma waved her over and she went to the couple in a daze, taking a seat beside her. Emma patted the back of her hand.

He didn't come.

She tried to listen, but she felt caught in a muffled sort of fog that made everything blur around her. It was unreal, sitting here, cradling Kamila – the only piece of her world that felt real – without Him sitting by her. No sparkling blue eyes over that big beard of his, no strong arm around her. His warm tones, his comforting and calm presence, his booming laugh… No terrible jokes spoken only for her ears; she knew, she knew he would have something to say here and then she found herself smiling despite herself at the thought.

She realized someone was saying her name.

"Alma," Emma said.

"Wh-what?"

"We're waiting for you."

Waiting…? She blinked and pulled herself back together. That's right; she was going to say a few words. Gods what was she planning? What was she thinking? Kamila wriggled in her arms.

"O-oh I um… I," she stammered and held Kamila out to Emma. "Can you take her?"

"Of course!"

There was a brief flurry of activity and soothing as Kamila started to get fussy in Emma's arms then Alma found herself in front. Her gaze passed over the crowd before settling on Kamila. Their daughter. A piece of him was still here.

She'd rehearsed the words she wanted to say so many times over the past few days. It had become an odd sort of distraction – and a comfort in the memories they contained. They spilled out automatically now until she finished with a quiet thank you. She stepped down and only then noticed she was shaking.

She took Kamila back and found herself sinking into the fog again. A dug grave. A coffin. Too many people passing on their condolences. The crowd departing. Another hug from Emma.

And he never came.

"Emma?" Alma asked. "I'm sorry, but can you take Kamila for a little while and drop me off at home? There's something I have to do. I won't be long."

"You don't even need to ask!" Emma exclaimed. She patted Alma's shoulder and passed her a knowing look. "I'm quite certain he won't know what hit him."

"Thank you," Alma said tightly.

She nearly threw herself out of the car when they parked in front of her house. She fumbled with the door and rushed in. A rummage through her drawer, not caring about the mess she left behind, and then she was dashing out again, key in hand.

How dare he?

Alma hammered on Cabanela's door until her fist hurt. With a mixture of fear and anger she pulled out the key and jammed it into the lock, struggling through shaking hands to get the door open.

"Cabanela!" she called as she entered. There was no reply.

She checked his living room first. He wasn't there, but she froze at the sight she did see. A picture she knew was of the three of them lay face down on his shelf. She cautiously stepped forward to get a better view of the more worrying image: broken glass on the floor in a pool of liquid that smelled of alcohol on approach. Bad enough that he must have dropped it, but to leave it like this?

She moved into the kitchen swallowing her worry at what she might find. He'd been drinking, but how much? His coffee pot was open and the bag of fine coffee he kept was beside it, but looked as though he'd abandoned it part way. A bottle of whiskey stood on the counter. She breathed out. There was enough there that he couldn't have had too terribly much and some of that was on the floor. If that is the first bottle. She clamped down on the thought.

"Cabanela?" Was he even here?

Alma slipped into the hall and hesitantly peeked into his bedroom. Her heart sunk. He wasn't there either. Her only uneasy comfort was that he had been, though not at all himself. His wardrobe was open and one of his suits lay in a heap in front.

She hugged herself. Had he intended to come after all? But where was he? Why didn't he? Everything she saw replayed itself forming into images each growing worse than the last. What if he did drink himself into a stupor? What if he did leave and something happened on the way? What if he left, intending to distance himself entirely? What if he was ill or hurt or worse?

She shook herself and went back out into the hall. It was then she noticed his bathroom light was on and the door was open a crack.

"Cabanela, it's Alma. Are you there?" Her hand hovered over the door and when no reply came she set her shoulders against the fear of what she might find and slowly pushed it open.

Cabanela was slumped against his tub by the toilet. Alma gasped. He looked terrible – his face was haggard as though he hadn't eaten or slept properly in days, his hair a mess, clothing disheveled, and his hands lay limp against the tiles. Worst was the look in his eyes – hollow and lost. It was a look Alma had never seen before and desperately never wanted to see again.

She knelt in front of him. His glance flickered to her before returning to focus on nothing. She wondered if it was only reflex until he spoke in a voice that was too flat and far too restrained on him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Today was the day."

"Yes."

"I was worried." Scared, angry, upset… "You never showed up."

"Just as well," he replied tonelessly.

She slapped him.

He stiffened and for a brief moment she felt a spark of bitter satisfaction at that small amount of life, but it was only a moment before he averted his eyes and went limp once more.

She gripped his shoulders. "Enough. You should have been there. You can't keep doing this. You can't keep avoiding me. You didn't pull the trigger."

"I left it," he said in the same monotone she so furiously wanted to rip away.

"Jowd wouldn't want this! And I know he'd," a hysterical laugh escaped her. "I know he'd say as much, wrapped up in something entirely inappropriate I'm sure."

Cabanela's teeth clenched and his eyes squeezed shut.

Alma took a shuddering breath. "We love you. That hasn't changed."

His breath hissed out and his chest heaved. He shifted and suddenly pulled her in, arms wrapping tightly around her, desperately, as though suddenly afraid she would disappear.

"I…" he struggled to speak through uncontrolled breaths. "I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice cracking. "I'm so… he's… gone, he's… Because I… how can you…?" He shuddered and the sob was unmistakeable.

Alma buried her face in his shirt. His arms trembled against her. She could hear his heart pounding a rapid beat in his chest, feel his gasps against her hair.

"I don't blame you," she said, trying to pour as much reassurance as she could into her voice even as her eyes welled up. "I'm here," she added against her tears. "Together, we'll face this together," she whispered. "We're here. We're here, we're here, we're here," she repeated like a mantra.

They held onto each other until their tears slowed and only then broke apart enough to look at one another. Alma scrubbed at her eyes before holding his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. She wiped away a stray tear with her thumb.

"I'm not leaving you alone."

He stared at her then gave a jerky nod and covered one of her hands with his own. "I'm here," he said quietly.

She let her hands drop, but he still held onto hers. "Will you…" she said haltingly. "Neither of us should be… with just Kamila and I, it's…" she couldn't finish. Hard felt like an understatement in the face of the constant expectation of seeing Jowd at every turn, of the long lonely nights, waking up or only getting up when she couldn't sleep to a house that felt far too empty. She dreaded to think what she would do if she didn't have Kamila.

She took a deep breath willing herself not to start crying all over again. "Will you stay with us for a while? Please…"

Cabanela searched her face as though expecting… what? Sudden accusations? That she would suddenly change her mind? That there would be some kind of catch? Then his hand tightened around hers.

"I… Yes…" he said. It was only a shadow of his normal self in his tone when he continued, but Alma felt a surge of relief at the small token of familiarity. "I can't let you have our newest little lady all to yourself."

She almost laughed despite the tightness still in her chest. A fine thing for him to say as the one who had been the most awkward around the small baby. Jowd had taken to the whole thing like a duck to water and she'd been almost jealous of how easily he could soothe her or make her giggle in his arms. While Cabanela, who would of course never deign to show it, seemed petrified by the mere thought of holding her under any condition.

She felt a mix of warmth and sadness at the thought and sighed. "Thank you," she said. "I… left her with Emma. I should pick her up soon…"

Cabanela rose and pulled her up with him.

"I'll just get my things," he said, "and finish cleanin' up," he muttered with an almost rueful glance at the toilet.

So he had been sick, she thought sympathetically. It would explain the mess – something he'd never leave under ordinary circumstances.

"Do what you need to," she said. "I'll clean up." She'd far rather have something to do than wait, something to focus on for however brief a time it would be.

There was a pause as she dared him to argue.

"All yours," he said instead.

He went to his room and she entered the living room. She focused entirely on picking up the glass and mopping up the whiskey. Her thoughts only returned when she stood, finished and stared at the fallen picture. She wondered whether to turn it upright or not. She finally decided against it; it was his choice to make.

She went into the kitchen next and returned the bottle of whiskey to a cupboard and closed the coffee pot. Cabanela entered just as she finished, looking tidier in a change of clothing and hair combed back into place. While he didn't look what she'd call healthy – she had a feeling she didn't have a leg to stand on there – at least it was a start.

They left together and parted at the house, Cabanela entering and Alma hurrying away for Kamila.

When she returned, she spotted Cabanela's coat hanging from its customary hook with a small smile. The house still felt wrong, but there was one more piece of rightness.

She found him in the living room, sitting on the sofa with two steaming cups of tea on the table. There was a stiffness to his posture, but he smiled when he saw her. She placed Kamila on a blanket on the floor, pecked her on the cheek and took a seat close to Cabanela.

Alma sipped her tea gratefully. She was sure she'd eaten and drunk something today, but realised she couldn't remember what or when it was. Her gaze wandered across the room not really focusing on any one thing.

"Do you remember teaching Jowd to dance?" she suddenly asked. "Before our wedding?"

There was a pause, he reached for his tea, took a drink then raised his cup to her. "I don't think my feet could eeever forget."

"But he did well at the wedding."

"When you could get him on the floor."

Alma laughed and Cabanela gestured at their overstuffed armchair.

"You were readin' in that chair once while he and I were talkin' over a case," he said. "While we talked he started sketching you."

Alma blinked. "He did? He never showed me."

"Mhmm," Cabanela nearly purred. "And just like everything else he did of you I couldn't heeelp but notice how you always seemed more radiant than anyone else he drew or painted."

"I'm sure you're making that up," Alma said.

"I pointed it out to him and you knooow what he said, baby?"

"What?"

"He shrugged and said 'I only draw what I see.' I never could figure out if that's all he meant or if he really did have a romantic bone in that big body of his."

Alma smiled into her cup. "If he did I'm sure he knew exactly what he was saying and delighted in leaving you uncertain."

"Maaaybe. Although, as I recaaall neither of you did anything resembling normal flirting," Cabanela drawled.

Alma laughed. "I suppose you're right there." She sobered and leaned against Cabanela. "Gods, I miss him," she said quietly.

He wrapped an arm around her. "Me too, baby, me too…"

She sighed and sought out another course of conversation. Too many tears already and for now she only wanted to hold onto those light few minutes of reminiscing.

There were still practical matters to attend to. "When do you return to work…?" she asked.

Cabanela barked out a sharp laugh. "Do you really think they kept me after that?"

She felt foolish. Of course, she should have known. "I'm sorry, I…"

Cabanela waved an airy hand. "Don't worry about it baby. I'll figure somethin' out."

"We will," Alma said. "I'll help with anything you need."

An odd expression flashed across his face so quickly she wasn't sure she didn't imagine it. Startled? Guilt? Surely he knew her feelings on the matter now. Before she could say or do anything he nodded toward Kamila.

"The little one's fallin' asleep."

"Oh. I'll take her to her crib." Alma rose quickly and scooped Kamila up. She brushed a hand over her hair. "Long day, hm, sweetie? Come on."

Alma rested her hands on the crib rail and looked down at her daughter. "It will be okay," she murmured not certain whether she spoke to herself, to Kamila or to the world in general. "It will be okay," she repeated. It had to be. For Kamila, for themselves. For Jowd.

Cabanela stayed longer than either intended, but Alma was grateful for both his company and help – abundant help. She wondered if he was trying to make up for his avoidance, ease his guilt, or if it was only something to focus his energies on. Whatever his reasons she felt like a whirlwind had moved in with her – cooking, cleaning, going out to pick things up, leaving her to wake up when she dozed off to a blanket over her or a pillow under her head with her book tucked aside out of harm's way, and sometimes to a plate of food suddenly in front of her, delicately balanced in Cabanela's hands and how he always managed to time out that particular feat was beyond her.

She knew and accepted that her sleep schedule was non-existent between Kamila's needs and her own inability to sleep half the time, but she started to wonder if Cabanela ever slept. No matter the hour he always seemed ready to step in to let her sleep if there was anything he could do. She finally reached a point of slamming Kamila's door in his face with a shouted order to go to bed.

Cabanela theoretically left eventually, however he was over so often Alma thought he may as well have stayed, but she made no comment on it.

It was after one such night that he had stayed that she found him at the kitchen table, running a finger around the rim of his mug appearing thoughtful. She never imagined she would feel as grateful as she did now at the sight of the spark in his eyes even as she wondered what hare-brained scheme was running through his head.

She poured herself some coffee. He took a drink of his as she sat and set it back down theatrically.

"Cabanela," he announced, "Private Investigator. How does that sound?"

"It does have a certain ring to it." She blinked. "Are you seriously considering starting an agency?"

"Why not put these skiiills to use?" He flashed a grin but took on a slightly more serious tone. "There are thooose who, for reasons of their own, prefer not to go to the police."

"Hmm… there would be a lot to take into consideration. And it will take time and money to get going. You may be a great detective, but this would still be a business with all the needs of one." She started ticking off her fingers. "An office for starters, though something small would do, but also equipment, the paperwork, getting your name out there, building trust…" she trailed off when she realized he was watching her intently.

"I booow to your expertise baby," he said and did so with his head.

"I…" She walked right into that one, eyes wide open. "I mean I could help… but I have Kamila to care for and my own work."

"Of course. But when I get rollin' I could use a partner."

And it would be 'when', she thought to herself. There was no stopping him when he set his mind to something. "All right," she said. "I'm willing to talk more about this and help out where I can for now. After that… we'll see."

Cabanela raised his mug in a toast. He was smiling, but she noticed a seriousness in his eyes she wasn't used to seeing.

"To a new future."

She raised hers in turn. "To our future."