Two months later...
Harry approached the grave apprehensively. Not just because he was nervous, but because he was focussing on his steps; careful not to stand on any land where bodies were buried. They were dead, yes, but memories of them would live on. Even when it seemed that no one cared, there were always traces of these people left behind. No one could ever be erased completely from the world.
He crouched by the glistening marble, running his weathered fingers over the engraving:
Ruth Evershed
29th April 1970 – 17th December 2011
May you forever rest in peace
Such an unoriginal line, he knew, but they'd been at a loss as to what to add. What words could describe her? She'd been forty one when she'd died. Forty one. Still with so much life in her, so much potential for happiness. But, as she herself had reassured him, maybe it wasn't meant to be like that.
The excruciating grief had faded now. He longed to see her again every single day; to hold her in his arms and promise her that everything would be okay. But he no longer sobbed himself to sleep at midnight, having downed half a bottle of whisky. She wouldn't have wanted that, would she? He could see her now, a dogged frown spread across her lips as she lectured him on his health. A small smile crept across his own expression at the thought.
This was his first visit to her resting place; the first time he'd found himself able to consider approaching her grave. In the early spring sun, a cluster of bright daffodils grew up nearby, adding colour to the doom of the environment. Graveyards weren't as bad as they were made out to be. They could be beautiful, really, and they held so much of his past, concealed away amidst those trees – good and bad. His and Jane's wedding, so many years ago, when he'd been young, and fresh, and free. The christenings of his children – such proud days. Deaths of loved ones; family, friends, colleagues. And that conversation with Ruth, standing by the fence, with the wind gusting softly against his cheeks as he leant towards her and whispered in her ear...
He wondered now if he should speak to her. Presents littered the grass beneath the stone; fading flowers, well-worn classics, a stuffed bear. Ruth, in her unassuming manner, had been adored. He didn't really know what he could add to the tributes, either. But did he really need to? Hadn't she understood already? Neither of them had been any good at that side of things – the expression of emotion. That didn't mean it hadn't been there.
He felt tears moisten his eyes, and his throat tighten as he gulped back a sob. He raised his head to gaze up at the clouds. She was somewhere up there. He'd never believed in a God, but he knew now she was looking down, probably smiling wistfully into her mug of tea as the words of Oscar Wilde or Shakespeare ran through her head. Typical Ruth.
His knees twinged, and he stood up. Time waited for no man; he had paperwork to attend to, team members to lecture, civilians to save... Life wasn't easy, and it never would be; MI5 wasn't all it was made out to be. But he wouldn't have had his life without it, and he wouldn't have met Ruth if he'd lazed around in an office all day, either. The opportunity of that was worth any other sacrifices.
He wouldn't say goodbye. He'd be back. And maybe, one day, they'd meet again, in a better world. So instead, as he reached out and stroked her grave once more, he whispered only three words – never had a sentence fitted more, despite how inadequate it sounded.
"Pactum serva, Ruth."
And then, whistling Lillibullero serenely to himself, he wiped his eyes, straightened his tie, turned and strolled away into the distance.
XxXxX
A kind of happy-ish ending? Sorry it wasn't updated before, but I hope you've enjoyed it. Please review and tell me what you thought – I'd also welcome suggestions for another story. Thanks :) xxx