As she sat surrounded by her colleagues and listened in respectful silence, Ros thought to herself that Harry was a fine speaker. The right choice for this occasion, or indeed for any occasion requiring integrity and a certain gravity.

A few days ago they had been seven. Now they were only five. Not enough eyes to discreetly observe others on the streets of London, not enough fingers to tap away at computers late into the night searching for the answers they so desperately needed, and not enough minds to piece together all of the parts of the jigsaw puzzle until everything fell into place.

Jo hadn't wanted to put that same dress on that morning. She had brought it two years ago for her friend Alice's wedding. Her main memory of the wedding was of drinking far too much and dancing till 2am with her other friends from school. Her only problem that evening had been deciding which of the many offers to buy her another drink she should accept. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Today when she had put on the dress she didn't feel anything other than an overwhelming sense of tiredness. Even now, five days after that day's shocking events, she still had difficulty processing that Connie, her friend and mentor, had betrayed them. Her first reaction when she had found out that Connie was responsible was to ask why. Connie had said she had no choice. That was clearly a lie. Ben's death hadn't been necessary. It had been Connie's choice to buy herself a few more hours on the Grid at the expense of yet another life.

Sitting on the other side of Ros, Lucas could only think that today symbolised nothing other than the waste of a young life.

He was grateful that he hadn't spent enough time with Ben for his death to really hit home, though there were other members of the team for whom the loss would cut deeply. Like Jo.

He'd asked Malcolm a while back what the relationship was between them and had received a somewhat ambiguous answer. "They're," he said, then paused, 'well I don't know what they are any more – they used to be together – now I'm not really sure." Lucas could guess the reason why they weren't together anymore well enough, without having to ask. But he'd seen the way Ben looked out for Jo, the little looks, the reassuring way he would touch her arm or shoulder. He supposed that before, Adam had done the same. Now there was no one to look after Jo.

At 26, he supposed she should be old enough to take care of herself. And yet, she was still by far the baby of the team – twelve years younger than he was or Ros. Seven years younger than his baby sister, who in his mind was still a kid, to be sheltered and protected as a big brother ought to.

He could see why Adam or Ben would feel the need to look out for her. For someone in her profession, she had a strange mix of idealism and disillusionment, and she had still managed to retain a softness and naivety that jarred with the world weary cynicism she displayed on occasion. At different times he had heard things come out of her mouth that exhibited either the innocence of a child or the wisdom of an old soul.

As a result of this he had been left wondering who exactly Joanna Portman was and what on earth she was thinking.

By the end of the day he was no closer to understanding her. Harry and Malcolm had left immediately after the service to get back to the office, leaving Ros, Jo and Lucas to stay for morning tea with the family.

After Ros went outside to get some fresh air, Lucas and Jo were left sitting together in the living room.

Lucas asked her about first about her weekend, then about who was here from Ben's family and finally about the weather forecast for the next few days.

"And how are you feeling?" he asked her finally, after he had asked her everything else he could think to say.

"Fine," she replied shortly, her expression guarded. She hadn't forgotten his reaction the last time her self control had slipped and her emotions had come to the surface. She wouldn't make that mistake again with Lucas.

And it wasn't just Lucas she had to be careful around. She was tired of other people's concern, their subtle and sometimes not so subtle attempts to try to ascertain how she was, whether she was beginning a downward slide into mental instability. Even if he didn't show it, there was every reason for Lucas to be as messed up as she was. Dysfunctional was the technical term, she thought. She wished that once in a while he would show it, and then people would turn their attention away from her for a moment and focus on him. And she wouldn't feel so alone.

"And how are you?" Jo asked, catching his eye.

Lucas was surprised by her question, but he didn't let it register on his face. People normally avoided asking how he was. By contrast he'd noticed they often asked Jo how she was, though her replies didn't give much away. He supposed it was a convention – people knew well enough that men didn't want to enter into territory where talk of emotions was required - with women it was different, even in this job.

But Lucas had noticed that Jo had a degree of perceptiveness about her that could be almost unnerving. If she decided to turn her attention on you, it was unlikely that she would miss what was beneath the surface.

"Eight years is a long time away from the world," Jo continued quietly.

Lucas smiled ironically, "Well, I guess I knew there was a risk of capture when I was in Russia, and I suppose we're all aware we might have to make sacrifices when we sign up," he commented, his face giving nothing away.

Though now he thought about it, Jo probably had no idea what being an MI5 officer involved when she had sighed up at that age.

She said nothing, but after a moment's silence asked him whether he could recommend the cake he had on his saucer. From there the conversation descended into the kind of meaningless chit chat you might except at a funeral between people who were not well acquainted with each other.

Sitting on an angle as they talked, Lucas could see the outline of her curves through the flimsy material of her dress. Her perfume had the intoxicating sweetness of a rose garden in summer and every time she lifted her spoon to stir her tea, there was a tiny metallic jingle as her bracelets jangled together. He found it increasingly hard to concentrate on her words, and managed to get away with saying less and less until her repeated mention of his name seemed to require some response from him.

"Lucas? I said do you think we should go now? It's nearly 12. Harry will want us back."

Lucas nodded, and reluctantly got up from the armchair, "You wait there, I'll find Ros."

**