I watch him, as he settles himself down next to her headstone and begins to open the package. But after that I turn away. This is between them. Between her and him, and despite my instructions to make sure he actually proceeds with opening it, i'm under no illusion that she would have wanted me to bare witness to what's inside. Nor would she want me to watch as the first part of her plan is revealled to him. So I walk away, and return to my car. It's a nice day, and so I opt to balance myself on the hood, taking in the beauty of a place that holds so much tragedy.

It's funny. When she told me this is the place he would come when I handed it over to him, i'd had my doubts. He didn't seem like that kind of man to me. The kind who would believe in her grave being the place he would feel closest to her. But she'd been so certain. So sure of herself that I hadn't bothered to question her. After all, she was the one that knew him better than I. And this was her plan. She was allowed to have her theories about how he would act. And if anyone could come up with the correct answers, well it would be her. Not me. But as the days turned to weeks, and it became clear that he had no plans to set foot near the cemetery; as it became evident that it held too much sorrow for him to handle, I became more certain that I was right, and her wrong. And not for the first time since I climbed on board her train, and agreed to be a part of something so much bigger than me, I began to question my decision to help. Began to question whether or not I was doing the right thing. Whether she was doing the right thing. Because if she was already wrong, this early on, then maybe she was wrong about this being the only way. Maybe she was wrong about the outcome of all this secrecy. But when he walked into the office looking exactly as she described he would, I put my faith in her. In how well she knows him. How much she would do anything to help him, and I gave him the package. And I was right to do what she asked of me. Not to back out before this had even had a change to begin. Because she was right. After sitting in her office doing nothing but running his fingers over the paper and getting lost in memories of her, he grabbed his things and left. And after following him round streets the led no-where, he made the decision she knew he would, and he brought us here.

I'm so lost in thought, so caught up in her plan for him, for them, and the role that she wants me to play in it all that it takes me a minute to register the noise that it spreading across the cemetery. It's coming from the far corner. The corner that holds her, and at this moment, Cal too. I rack my brain, going over everything I saw when I watched him make his way to her. There was no-one else around. I throw a look over my shoulder scanning the car park. Empty, apart from my car and his. So unless someone has managed to sneak in here completely unnoticed, then the noise is coming from her grave. Coming from Cal. I panic. My initial thought that whatever she's had me give to him has opened up a whole new road of torture that he hadn't been prepared for. That her plan is ripping apart what little of him there is left. That the noise I can hear is him attempting to rid his body of the pain she is still causing him. I want to move closer. Want to do something to offer him some form of support. But I know that he won't want it. Would shy away from my touch. My efforts wasted on him. My presence burning him because I am not her. And whatever his reaction, this is still between them. Still a private exchange between two people who had shared so much, and yet still had so much more to give one another. And I shouldn't interupt that. Even if every human instinct I have is telling me I should. I stand rooted to the spot, struggling with my next move. I battle with what I think she would want me to do. What he would want me to do. What being a decent person suggests I should do. I'm about to move forward, to get eyes on him. Make a better call from assessing the scene. But before I have chance to move, it grows louder. The noise of the wind easing to leave nothing but him filling the air. And as it does, I realise that I am not hearing a man falling apart, not listening to the gut wrenching sounds of anguish and sorrow. I am listening to laughter. Uncontrollable laughter. And it catches me off guard. Because whenever i've pictured the moment where I gave him the little pieces of her left behind, I had never imagined it causing him to laugh. But it has. It's caused him to laugh in a way i've never hear before. A way, that after the way he's been since her passing, I never could have envisioned hearing from him. Especially here of all places. But there's no mistaking what i'm hearing.

I sneak my way forward and away from my car. Curiosity driving me forward, despite knowing I shouldn't be a part of this moment. Shouldn't force myself in any further than she wanted me. But I can't help it. I have to let my eyes see what my ears are hearing. I round the corner, and stop to the side of a huge tree. He's directly in my eye line, and my breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight of him before me. He's clutching a piece of paper in one hand like his life depends on it. The other hand is resting in her headstone, making them one. Connecting them, as they always should have been. His head is thrown back and his shoulders are bouncing up and down as the sounds of amusement leave his body. Gone is the image of despair that he has embodied since her departure. There is a lightness about him. A carefree feel to his movements that I didn't know he was capable of showing. A contentment that i'm sure only she could ever bring out in him. Whatever the peace of paper he is holding has on it, it's given him something that despite all our trying, none of us have been able to give him. Restbite. From the agony of missing her. And as I turn back toward my car, ensuring I do not ruin this moment for him, I no longer have any doubts surrounding her plan. I am no longer worried about what comes next. It will work. Of course it will work.

A wave of guilt washes over me for ever doubting her. For doubting that she was acting in his best interests. She abandoned eveything for him. Walked away from the only person who she would have wanted to comfort her in her final moments. She sacraficed everything she needed in order to help him. She left this world alone. Died without the man she so clearly loved by her side, to give him everything he doesn't even know he needs. And I had the audacity to question her. So as I settle back on the hood of my car, I whisper an apology to the sky. Hoping that my regret for doubting her, my shame for almost disrespecting her wishes reaches her, wherever it is she has come to rest.

He sits with her for hours. Long after his laughter dies out, cloaking the cemetery in silence once more. Many come and go, visiting those who are gone but not forgotten, before he emerges from the corner that she now calls home. It's been so long since we arrived that the sun is dissapearing behind the horizon as he finally makes his way towards me, signalling the end of another day without her. There was a moment, as I sat here waiting for him, if I wondered whether he might never leave. Considering that in having finally found the courage to come to her, he may not have the heart to leave her alone in the dark again. But eventually he does. Eventually he finds whatever it is he needs to walk away from her.

I don't know how he's going to react to me being here. I'm prepared for him to fully ignore me. For him to get in his car without even acknowledging my existence. He does that alot. Not that I blame him. It's not me her wants afterall. But he comes to a stop infront of me, and I think perhaps i'm in for one of his verbal bashing. So I do my best to prepare myself for his anger at me following him to come flying out of him mouth at me. But instead, he smiles at me. It's not a real smile. Not one that reaches his eyes, as i've learnt is an indicator of true happiness. No matter what she gave him today, she was never going to be able to undo all of his suffering. But it's more than he's been able to give in a long time. And i'm grateful for whatever is is she's done; whatever it is she's given him that, even if just for moment, has given him a reason to try.

He shuffles back and forth on his feet, as she told me he tends to do when he's nervous. He fiddles with the lid of the package, the piece of paper he was clutching when i'd seen him earlier, safely returned to the home she had given it. Hidden from the world, and from those she hadn't intended to see it. Clever man, I can't help thinking. Cherish these final pieces of her. Share them only with who you must, if anyone at all.

"It's not the only one is it?", he questions quietly. And i'm sure, if I could hear things in his voice like she had been able too, i'd find his words to be laced with all sorts of emotions. Find his voice pitching with the anguish and misery that accompanies his heavy heart. But I think I would hear something else. Hear the small beginnings of hope, trying to fight their way to the surface of him.

"No", I reply simply. Because there is no other answer to his question. It's not the only one.

"When do I..? How do I..?"

Maybe he's shocked by the realisation that she hasn't abandoned him as i'm sure he thought. Maybe he's tormented by the idea of what's to come. Maybe it's both. I don't know. But whatever it is causes him to stop and starts, as he struggles to find the right words.

"Trust her Cal"

He finds my eyes, searches my face. Studies my features for as long as he can bare to not have her at the forefront of his mind before he nods, seemingly accepting my answer to his half formed questions. He turns away from me then. Turns himself back in the direction he came from. Back towards her. I don't think i'm supposed to hear what he says next. He's not talking to me anymore. He's returned his attention to her, and only her. But that doesn't stop me catching the words as they slip from his mouth into the air. As they slip from his heart, and dissapear into the night searching for her.

"Always, love", he whispers. "Always".

Thanks for reading. Don't worry, you'll find out what was one the piece of paper soon. It just didn't fit to have it coming from Wallowskis point of view, so you'll have to wait a little bit longer! Thanks for those who have left reviews; your words help me power through when writers block hits. Which it does, often!