I'll start with an apology – I haven't updated in so long! I've been really busy, but school's finished for summer now, so I should have plenty of time to write :) Anyway, I hope you'll still enjoy this chapter – reviews really would be appreciated too, even if it's just a few words! I don't own Spooks, and "Do not stand at my grave and weep" is by Mary E. Frye – just liked that poem, and I can't imagine Beth wanting anyone to grieve for her. Anyway, I'll shut up now; enjoy xxx

"Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain."

Dimitri paused, raising his head from the pulpit and gazing around the church. There were perhaps fifty people attending the service; her mother was clearly identifiable in the front row, with eyes as equally sapphire as Beth's had been.

He picked out a few faces from MI5, and another couple from meetings he'd had with private contractors before now. He didn't suppose anyone from any branch of the security services was ever going to be 'popular'. But it broke his heart to see so few people here to mourn the passing of such a wonderful young girl.

"When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush, of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night."

He focused on Ruth, settled in the back row pew alongside Harry and Tariq. His two male colleagues were focusing on the ground, perhaps shedding ashamed tears for Beth, but Ruth was watching him intently, as if really listening to the poem. It was pretty, in a way, as well as heart-breaking.

He took a deep breath and finished, emphasizing each word wholeheartedly, "Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die."

He sat through the rest of the service with difficulty, desperately focusing on gulping back the tears welling up in his throat. Beside him, Ruth broke down midway through the final hymn of Jerusalem.

Beth hadn't left any requests for the funeral, they'd found – she probably hadn't been planning on death so soon. It had been left to the family to choose; Dimitri felt they'd chosen the wrong ones, but who was he to say? He'd barely known her, really.

Ruth was now sobbing, unable to calm herself down. Dimitri, glancing sideways, saw Harry's hand slip down to hers, and they stood entwined. Tariq just continued to gaze down at the floor, whilst Erin, thankfully, had opted not to come.

He was vaguely aware of the service finishing, and Harry, ever the professional, led them away with a mere half-smile directed towards the vicar. Outside, the wind gusted through the trees, whipping up Ruth's scarf, and blowing stray strands of Harry's hair across his face. Dimitri wondered if it was Beth trying to tell him something. There was so much left unsaid.

"Oh, Ruth," Harry seemed uncomfortable as she continued to sob. Yes, she'd shed a tear before – at the countless funerals of colleagues, or when everything got a little too much on The Grid. But not like this. This was like when she'd seen George die – inconsolable.

"I…she…"

"Ruth, it's not your fault. You held her; you made sure she wasn't alone when she died. That's all she would've asked for. She wasn't happy, Ruth. Not after Lucas."

Ruth shook her head. She didn't have the strength to argue – she'd said all she wanted to say back in the mortuary. It wasn't Harry's fault, really. She just needed someone to blame, and somewhere to bury all the emotion. She wanted to curl up on the floor and die, right there and then. Just drift away into oblivion.

"Ruth, please," there was a frightened edge to his voice now, as he wrapped his arms around her, "The grief will pass. It always does, in the end. We won't feel like this forever."

"No. But…but maybe we want to. Maybe we need to. I know what it's like, Harry; I know what will happen when we do 'work things out'. Without this, we'll forget her, and then there'll just be nothingness – a void of loss, where you wonder what's missing from…from your…heart," Ruth slipped from Harry's arms and fell to her knees amidst the gravestones, burying her head in her gloved hands, "What if I died, Harry? What would happen then? I'd just fade away."

"No…"

"And, in time, you'd get a new intelligence analyst; some eager young thing from GCHQ, willing to risk themselves unsuspectingly for the sake of their country. I'm not irreplaceable, am I, Harry? Even you, with all your glory, and all your honour, are not irreplaceable. When you go, they'll just throw in another agent to take your place. Who cares about the dead, hey?"

"Ruth, this is…"

"We're all nobodies, aren't we? All just pawns in the game?" she sobbed, "I can't take this any more, Harry. And I won't. I want to feel human again – I want to grieve properly, for all of them. While I'm here, with you…I just can't do it any more."

"Ruth!" Harry practically yelled after her. The vicar, standing in the entrance to the church as the attendees filed out, fired him a glare, but he barely noticed. He only had eyes for his fiancée as she ran from the graveyard, a trembling hand still clasped over her mouth.

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