darker_london | Everyone loves a funeral (Aly, Completely Open to Anyone)

Even as it was happening, Peter's funeral seemed so beyond surreal. The chapel at the hospital was full fit to burst with people who had come to mourn the loss of Peter Kemp. Stuart was officiating and despite his years in the clergy, he found that it was impossible to come up with the right words to say. So instead he borrowed Peter's words, opting to read passages from Peter's journals about the importance of love and family, artfully leaving out all mentions of angels or demons or anything else supernatural. People were allowed to say a few words, and those that were able to got up and shared memories or feelings or thoughts. Deirdre went on for nearly 20 minutes because that's what Deirdre did. No one minded. They were focused on Peter, resting in front of them like he was asleep. He was dressed in the suit he'd been married in to cover up his scars, and his hands were folded lightly across his chest. His first journal rested beneath them. It seemed only fitting that he be interred with it.

After the service, everyone relocated to the mausoleum that Aly had purchased. It was a large stone building with ornate iron work and a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. And it was theirs now, it belonged to the family. Aly had placed some vases in the corners that had belonged to Louise. Flowers were placed in them, and Peter rested in the middle so people could see him one last time before he was lifted up and slid into his place in the top row. It was very informal, because that's how Peter would have liked it. Aly was hanging back, not yet ready to say goodbye. She let other people see him first. She knew how very important her husband was to...well...everyone. Instead of crowding, she leaned against the outside of the mausoleum, holding baby Thomas who was strangely still, and she cried softly as she stared up at the cloudy sky.

Current Mood: crushed

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Abby had spent the entire funeral looking after Razvan Dumitra, as he had insisted that he needed to be allowed to see Peter off. Instead of it being some sort of power play, Razvan was genuinely upset about Peter's death. Sure he'd had some fun repeatedly stabbing an unkillable man, because hey...that was always fun. But Peter was also the only one who seemed to care enough to help. Cared enough to try and change things. He cared so much about demons even after demons like Razvan used him as a shish kebab. It was horrible to lose someone like that. Someone who cared, and tried to help no matter what. When he had requested to come, Abby had refused. Razvan was a patient in the hospital and he might make a break for it. But he promised to be on his best behaviour. Besides, Rolf was at the funeral. And Rolf was scary! So he behaved, despite making the occasional horrid remark. Abby was most displeased to be babysitting someone who had once kept David and Peter captive for nearly two weeks, but at least it gave her something to focus on.

They approached the coffin together and Razvan leaned down beside Peter. "Hey. I don't think it's fair that you wouldn't let me kill you, only to go now." Razvan said, frowning.

"That's enough." Abby warned.

"Don't get your knickers in a bunch, Doctor." Razvan hissed at her. He turned back to Peter. "We're buggered now, aren't we?" Then he reached out to touch Peter's hand softly, then he stood back. Abby, who had spent a lot of time with Peter's body, didn't feel like she needed more time. She'd said what she wanted to say. So she led Razvan away with her.

Deirdre had been watching Evey throughout the service, when she wasn't yapping her mouth off about the day Peter Kemp had saved her life. You know...and the day after that and the day after that. Evey was sitting in between Lee and a boy she recognised. It was only now that she realised it was Travis. The first real 'boyfriend' Evey had had. The first boy she'd stopped sleeping around for. The first boy she'd loved and lost. He was dead, but here. And Deirdre understood why she would need that. That little reassurance. Part of her wondered why no one had gone to get Thomas for a split second before realising that was stupid. Thomas wouldn't need to be at Peter's funeral since he was with Peter now. Peter wasn't here with them anymore. Dammit.

Deirdre didn't want to see Peter's body again yet, so she headed towards Kat who looked just about buried under a pile of six-month-old babies. Deirdre took Bianca from Kat's arms wordlessly and Kat gave Deirdre a grateful look while she shifted Zoe in to a better position. "Thanks. They're getting so big now, I forget I shouldn't carry them both at once sometimes."

Deirdre nodded. "Yeah..." She kissed Bianca's head and Bianca cooed at her happily before reaching out to grab hold of Deirdre's bright hair. "I wish I could be as content as they are."

"I guess. But we're the lucky ones, you know? We got to know him." Kat jerked her head sideways. "My dad's over there bawling about how he's the world's most horrible man. He lost a daughter and a nephew all in one year and he was at work both times. He thinks he didn't know Peter was sick because he was too busy and I can't explain the real reason." Kat blew out her breath upwards in an attempt to get her bright pink fringe out of her eyes. "Fucking sucks you know. I...I think I killed him with smut..."

Deirdre gave Kat and odd look. "You what?"

"I was...okay I was telling him about..you know...anal" she whispered for the sake of her oblivious baby girls. "And he like...bled from his eyeballs and died. Fucked up."

"Well...I think it was more his tumour. At least you gave him a last thrill." Deirdre shrugged as Kat covered her face and tried not to laugh because she knew it would give way in to sobs.

David was not doing well. Outwardly, he was composed, and composed quite well. On the inside, he was suffering terrible turmoil. They were about to inter his best friend for the second time. After losing William, David never thought he would suffer this again. He hadn't had any close friends really, apart from his sister. Not even a real relationship, since Siobhan left him. It had taken six years for him to open up again, and now that he had, his best friend was struck down again, in exactly the same way as William had been. His best friend, Aly's husband, killed by a brain tumour, leaving her with an unborn child who would never know its father. David hated it. There were no words for that kind of experience. It generated all sorts of irrational thoughts. Was David doomed to suffer this all his life? To have one close friend outside of family, blood or adopted, in whom he could confide everything, always trust, and then have that person taken away from him? He and Peter had both seen each other at their lowest ebb. He never thought he would have to see Peter in death, though.

He hardly noticed that Ryn was standing beside him until the man spoke. "What do the troops do without their general, huh?"

David looked over to the bounty hunter and frowned. "He was a lot more than that to us, Ryn."

"I know. But he was that too. He was a good man." He withdrew a silver flask from his pocket, and knocked back a swig from it. "Hmm?" He held it out to David.

David was tempted, but he shook his head. "No thanks. Peter wouldn't want that here."

"Suit yourself." Ryn screwed the cap back on, and replaced the flask in his jacket pocket. "Peter was a rich man," Ryn mused. "Hey, you were his best bud. You gonna be seeing any of that money?"

David's jaw dropped, and he very nearly punched Ryn in the head then and there. The only things holding him back were the fact that this was a funeral, and that Ryn could probably kill him easily with his bare hands if he so desired. "You mercenary bastard," he hissed instead. "This is the man's funeral!"

"Hey, I was just askin'," Ryn said, lifting his hands in surrender. "No need to get agro." He folded his arms, and the two men stood there ignoring each other for a few moments, both of them watching Peter's motionless body, and the parade of mourners saying their goodbyes. "Right. I'm gonna find Chiara," Ryn said, and slipped away. David didn't respond. He just kept watching.

Lavannah had been watching Ryn and David silently, because Louise told her to pay attention. When Ryn slunk away, Lavannah slipped up to the man who was like a father to her and she slid her arms around him. She didn't say anything though. There was nothing to say.

Gavin let Lavannah leave his side without asking where she was going, because it probably wasn't any of his business. Instead, he went to go find Tasha. He knew she was probably with Hope and the rest of Peter's family, but it had become Gavin's family too, and he wanted to be with his sister before he said his goodbyes to Peter.

Tasha was leaning against the wall outside the mausoleum, a cigarette slowly burning itself away in her fingers. For every drag she took, the cigarette burnt away twice as much by itself. She didn't really notice, though. She only remembered every now and then that she was even holding the cigarette, and that was when she breathed deeply of its toxicity. Of all the times to smoke, this seemed like an appropriate one.

She heard Gavin's approach before she saw him, and flicked the smouldering ash into the air to be carried away by the breeze.

"That's bad for you, you know? God, what a lame thing to say..." Gavin shook his head and he reached out for her so he could hold her tight.

"Yeah, it is," Tasha sighed, and dropped the cigarette to the ground. She trampled it beneath her shoe, then extricated herself from Gavin's grip so she could pick it up again, and place it in the nearby bin. She wouldn't litter near Peter's final resting place, even if only with a cigarette butt. When she returned, she wrapped herself around Gavin again. "This whole thing is bad for us. What are we going to do without him?"

"I don't know." Gavin admitted, his voice sounding empty. "But I do know we'll figure it out. Because that's what we do." He kissed her forehead and continued to hold her close.

"You and your making sense," Tasha muttered, but her voice was filled with affection for the young man who had so quickly become like a brother to her. When they had first met, his body was thin and frail, but now he was hard and strong. She could lean against him easily, despite the fact that he wasn't all that tall, and on a primal level, his masculine strength was comforting. "I feel like I'm just waiting for whatever comes next. But I don't know whether it's going to be good or bad."

Gavin nodded and he looked out at the graveyard beyond them. "We can make it good. Like Peter said, there's always bad things, but we can focus on the good."

"I hope you're right," Tasha murmured, and clung to Gavin ever tighter. The light reflected off the moisture on the tombstones, and there was a certain beauty in that. She frowned as she saw Chiara putting away her camera, but she supposed it was fair enough. Might as well capture something worth remembering here. "Do you still need to say goodbye?" she asked.

Gavin chewed on the inside of his cheek while he thought about how to answer that. "I...don't think I know how." He finally admitted, staring at the ground and shuffling his feet a little in the grass. "I wanted to give him something but..I don't have anything."

"You gave to him in life," Tasha said. "You showed him what his purpose could mean to one person. How his kindness could... could take a person who was broken and..." Her speech was interspersed with sobbing, but she battled through, because she felt that this was important to say. "He could take that person and make a you."

Gavin gave her a fond, sad look and he rubbed her back in an attempt to both make her feel better and thank her for her words. "And I will be forever grateful to him for that. And the family he gave me."

"When you're ready," Tasha began softly, "will you walk through the cemetary with me? It looks so pretty and peaceful out there. I just want something... nice. But I can go with someone else if you don't want to..."

"No. I'll go with you. I want to go with you." He held out his hand so she could take it if she wanted.

Tasha did take Gavin's hand, gratefully, and together they walked into the beauty of the cemetary, a place filled with grief, but also monuments to loving memory.

Fiona had been standing with Hope who was sobbing more loudly than anyone and creating quite a scene. As much as she loved her sister, she was relieved when Emma came along and took Hope in to a motherly embrace so she could get away from the clinging for a few moments to compose herself. She spotted Pierre almost immediately and made a beeline towards him. He was standing with Renee and a few people she didn't recognise, but she didn't care either. She just wanted to be with friends. Friends who weren't going to soak her shoulder. Well...not as much.

Renee was crying too, but much more quietly, and without Hope's hysterics. Pierre saw Fiona approaching out of the corner of his eye, and kissed Renee's head before slowly letting her go. Renee quickly reached out for Pierre's hand, giving it a last, desperate squeeze before hastily finding Kait's embrace. Pierre turned to Fiona then, and took her into his arms. "Hey," he greeted her softly, words failing to take him any further into dialogue.

Kait felt her arms as numb and almost disconnected from the rest of her body as Renee found solace in them. Almost up till this point, she'd been quietly telling herself that it wasn't real, that he would still somehow come back to life, that he was immortal, despite all the evidence piling up on the contrary.

But she couldn't do that anymore. They were standing here at his funeral, Peter's funeral, and any thoughts other than respect for the man now dead, and mourning, seemed out of the question. Her arms tightened around Renee, wanting and needing to offer support. It felt like penance for her former disbelief.

Chiara was standing nearby, outside the mausoleum rather than inside with the mourners. She'd been in there long enough to understand the atmosphere, without needing to endure it further. Peter had been her friend, but not a particularly close one. She'd have wept for the loss of Thomas, perhaps, but he was already dead, and they got to spend plenty of time with him. Presumably, Peter would be back too when he was needed. The threat of the Templar practically demanded it.

Still, Peter's funeral deserved documentation, and she raised her camera to take a shot of the mausoleum. It was beautifully composed, with the young man and woman standing outside, embracing. The woman was Peter's adopted daughter, Tasha. That one shot, the building that housed the dead and the mourning man and woman, summed up the event perfectly. Chiara stowed her camera back in her bag, and gave Ryn a weak smile as he approached her.

Tamm stood at the back of the mausoleum, arms folded across his chest, smouldering like Tasha's cigarette. He'd managed to find his old Download ticket, and placed that in the coffin with Peter. At the time he'd said to him that it was, "to get you into the great prog gig in the sky". He didn't really know if there was an equivalent to music in the beyond, but he knew Bianca sang. There had to be something. He wished she were here now. He just knew she'd have something heartfelt, yet pragmatic to say to him about all this. "Why are you always dead when I need you?" he muttered to both her and Peter. He sighed, immediately feeling guilty when they weren't here to defend themselves, and added, "Sorry."

Fiona made sure Renee was alright before she leaned against Pierre and allowed him to comfort her. "I couldn't go up there..." She said softly, meaning she couldn't go kneel beside Peter and see him like that. "Not yet. I didn't know and it's so sudden and...augh." She pulled away slightly and she looked up at him. "After everything...if you could use a distraction..I know I could..."

Pierre held his hands at Fiona's waist in half an embrace, close and comforting, but at enough of a distance to look at each other as they spoke. "I can do that," he said with a nod. It hadn't been his first instinct, but it didn't seem like a bad idea, either. It was something to make them feel alive. "Things are always better with you around," he said, and left a lingering kiss upon Fiona's forehead.

This was Zoe's first funeral and she didn't think she was doing so well. She kept sort of almost crying and then not being able to, and she kept sort of almost wanting to run away and hide and not being able to. She felt like everyone else around her knew what they were doing and she didn't have a clue, didn't know how to behave, or what to say, or anything. At the moment she was hovering near the door of the mausoleum, trying to decide if she wanted to see Uncle Peter's body. (From the moment he died, Zoe had stopped referring to her foster family as her sort-of family and started calling them just plain family, because, well, they were.) But she didn't know if she wanted to see another dead body because the one in the bath at the house on Willow Road still haunted her nightmares.

Someone touched her shoulder and she jumped as if she'd forgotten anyone else was even here. "Sorry, darling," said Nancy, softly, her eyes red, but for the moment dry. "How are you holding up?"

Zoe shrugged with just one shoulder, saying nothing, and Nancy put her arm around her shoulders. Nancy had been drifting from person to person, hugging anyone she could, trying to bathe them all in angelic comfort. She didn't know if it had any effect at all, but sometimes people had sort of smiled, in that sad, appriciative way, so Nancy kept on hugging. Zoe turned now and buried her head in Nancy's chest and clung, barely breathing, and Nancy stroked her hair. They remained still for long moments of silence, before Nancy said, gently, always gently, "Do you want to go and say goodbye?"

Zoe shook her head quite frantically, but pulled back, and looked toward Peter's coffin. "I don't know," she whispered, biting her lip. She did but she was scared.

"I'll go with you," Nancy said, and Zoe slipped her hand into Nancy's and squeezed it, hard. She didn't let go for a very long time.

"Okay," said Zoe, quietly, wishing that she was brave enough to do it on her own, but furiously glad of Nancy's hand in hers. Together they moved toward the coffin, and Zoe, moving something like a robot, forced herself to look down at Peter. He didn't look anything like the body in the bath. He looked like Peter, but there was some difference there Zoe couldn't name. She swallowed. "His hair's still all..." she waved her hand a little, then felt terriblt for trying to make a joke. She didn't know why she'd said that.

"Heh," said Nancy, and squeezed her hand a little, and smiled thinly, herself looking down at Peter's face, holding her own silent conversation. Zoe was glad Nancy didn't mention her horrible bad taste in jokes and decided she wasn't going to say anything else for fear of saying something worse, so she mouthed a guilty sorry at Peter's still face, and drew her hand up, and waved a little. The gesture meant goodbye, even if she didn't say it, and she felt tears rising so quickly to her eyes she didn't have time to bring her arm over her eyes before they were spilling down her cheeks. She made a little sobbing noice, by mistake, and Nancy turned and hugged her again, and Zoe saw she was crying as well. It was as if Nancy's tears gave her permission to be allowed to cry, so she hugged her, and let the tears fall.

Elizabeth decided that this was the hardest day of her life. She had been through losing a husband to cancer, and by the time his funeral came around, it was a relief. Not that he was gone, but that he was no longer suffering. And on that painful day, she had had her little brother beside her, quietly supporting her as was his way.

Today, she was mourning the loss of that brother. And he too had suffered a long illness, but this was the end no one saw coming. It terrified her that she was the last remaining member of her immediate family. Peter, Margaret, her mother and father...they were all gone now, even if Lavannah did have Louise as a constant companion. It wasn't the same. Peter wouldn't be there to see his children born. Peter wouldn't be there to see her marry Emma. Peter wouldn't be there. Ever again. He'd always been there, even for the years he'd lived in Austria. She'd known she could ring him and say two words and he would immediately know what she felt. And he would say soothing words-the words he had that made him such a wonderful priest-and make his little jokes and she would feel better.

There was no one to make her feel better now. But at least she'd stopped drinking. She entered the mausoleum to see Nancy and Zoe embracing and she moved over beside them and put her hands on her foster daughter's back before gazing down at her little brother. He looked so much like the man she had known for 37 years and her throat was sore from trying not to cry.

It had taken a lot of pulling of strings, and a very late night, but Spectre held the very first completed print of The Pilgrim's Prog. Not just a master disc in an unlabeled case, but a picture disk complete with album artwork, liner notes, and the final mix. Production of the CDs was only just getting underway, so it was a very special item that he held in his hand, only to relinquish to Peter's coffin. For Spectre, it seemed important to fill this day with music. He sang Dream Theater's Take Away my Pain earlier, the song John Petrucci had written after the death of his father. He repeated the penultimate words to Peter now, as he laid the album down with him that contained so much of their shared philosophy. "His final scene, the actor bows, and all those years are gone somehow. The crowd applauds, the curtain falls." He touched Peter's hand, and closed his eyes. "Goodbye, my friend." Tears squeezed their way past his eyelids, and he turned away, feeling the other angelic presence near him as he did so. He looked over to Nancy and Zoe, and wiped at his tears before giving them something of a shy smile.

Alessa hadn't really had time to make something from scratch, so she had turned to painting instead. The work she had produced wasn't much larger than an ordinary photograph, but she'd finished it in time, and it would fit easily in the coffin for Peter to take with him. It was a painting of Peter, Aly and their children. She would have included more people, but there was only so much time and space, so they were the ones. She laid the work with the other gifts people left, and said nothing. What words were there? She simply stood for a while, her last moments with the man whose fatal illness she'd never even been aware of, and drifted slowly back to Kat. It hurt that her girlfriend hadn't told her what was happening, even though she understood. No one seemed to want to talk about it. No one understood better than Alessa that sometimes there weren't words. But surely someone could have found a way to tell her?

Kat looked up as Alessa approached them and she gave Alessa a shy smile. Deirdre seemed to realise that now was probably a good time to relinquish Bianca so she turned to Alessa and handed the baby to her quietly. Then Kat approached Alessa and kissed her forehead. "Today sucks. I love you."

"I love you too," she said, taking Bianca into her arms. She adjusted her grip on the baby so she could wrap one arm around Kat, too. She leaned her head against Kat's and sighed. "It seems like everyone else knew," she said quietly. "Was I a bad friend?"

"What?! No! No, Alessa..." Shit. Kat sighed and she kissed Alessa's head again. "We just...thought he'd get better. I didn't want to talk about it...I...god I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," Alessa said, leaning into Kat's kiss. "I just... I'd hate for Peter to think I didn't care. I made him a painting, but... he's not going to see it, so..." She trailed off, and let out a ragged sigh.

"He knows you care, Baby." Kat said soothingly. "And...Alessa, he can see it. He'll know. I believe that. He's watching right now. He's with Bianca and they can take care of each other." Kat bit her lip and willed herself not to cry.

Alessa wasn't so sure. She'd never believed in God or Heaven. They were alien concepts to her. She believed in the soul, but not necessarily that it went somewhere else when you died. Rather, she thought of it as something that persisted in the things one created in life, like her art or Peter's hospital. She appreciated that Kat wanted to comfort her though, and was glad that her beliefs brought her some sort of solace. Gently, she stroked Kat's cheek, and leaned down to kiss her. When their lips met, Alessa's tears began to flow, and she broke off to bury her face in Kat's bright pink hair.

"I know, Baby." Kat buried her face in Alessa's hair too, but she didn't cry anymore. She was there when it had happened. She'd seen Peter die. She had cried enough.

Deirdre finally approached Peter's side and she knelt down to be closer to him. A sob surprised her and she covered her mouth quickly to muffle it, though it was plainly there. She used her other hand to rearrange some of his impossibly messy hair, though...as always...it did no good. God, she was going to miss his hair. "I love you." Even if you are a bastard for leaving me. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a photograph of the two of them and she slipped it in to his pocket. "I'll miss climbing in your window." She said sadly, and she stood up again. Now that she'd said goodbye, without actually saying the words 'goodbye' she moved quickly away from the mausoleum. She meant to stop and stay with the rest of the people there, but her feet kept moving, carrying her away from the graveyard and Peter and towards home.

Eleanor was leaning against her older brother, though her eyes were trained on her sister, Abigail. Abigail had said she was watching over a patient so he could come to the funeral, but Ellie didn't trust the patient to behave. Not that she could do anything if he didn't, but she liked to think she could. Softly, with her eyes still fixated on her sister's form, she said to Joe, "did you even know he was sick, Joe? Peter I mean. I didn't know."

Joe sniffed and he looked down at his sister. "I did." He heaved a sigh and wished their brother, Thomas was with them now, even though he knew it was selfish. "But...they thought he would recover so...they kept it quiet. Aly's pregnant and they didn't want to upset people."

"Oh no, this is way better." Ellie hissed. She was bitter because she'd lost Thomas already, completely suddenly. Peter was like the last remaining part of Thomas because the two of them had been so close. Sure, Stuart was around. Dating Abby to be exact. But it wasn't the same. She felt like she was here, mourning the last remaining piece of Thomas Littleton. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Ellie. I understand. What are you looking at?"

"Abs. She's with one of the kooks. I'm trying to make sure he doesn't try to make off with her head. You know. To add to a head collection."

Joe made a face. "Sometimes I worry about your head."

And Ellie elbowed him in the ribs.

Rosa was Not.Happy. Peter (and Josie) had saved her life and now he was dead? Not on! This wasn't even like the time they'd dug him out of the ground because at least then he'd still been alive. Run through with seven stakes, but still alive. How was it now, that he was not?

She knelt at the edge of his casket and she placed a small wooden rooster beside him. "Rosa gives Peter cock too." She said softly, patting the tiny rooster's head from it's new spot in the crook of Peter's arm. "Be good to Rosa's cock." Then she frowned. She wanted to hug him. And she proceeded to attempt to crawl into the casket with him.

At first, Tamm couldn't quite believe what Rosa was doing. He knew she was creepy, but coffin-crawling was a new level, even for her. Nobody else seemed to know quite how to react either, so he hurried forward to intervene before she made an unexplainable spectacle of herself. "Now's not really the time for..." What was she doing...? "That," Tamm said, taking Rosa gently by her tiny waist. "Why don't you just come down from there now..."

"We understand," Alexei said, having hurried to Tamm's side to assist if he could. "We all miss Peter very much. But we can't go with him. It's not our time yet."

Rosa looked at Alexei and she frowned. "Peter likes hugs!" She said fiercely and she pushed away from Tamm, but not hard because she liked Tamm a lot. "He'll be alone soon and he won't have any hugs! I want to give him one!"

Katia was hanging back too, the smoke from her cigarette curling slowly upwards. This was depressing. Peter had come to her in 2002 to save her from her demonic side. He'd come all the way to Munich to be with her. And he thought he'd failed, even though he hadn't. She wasn't a demon anymore, but a vampire. A vampire who worked in the hospital of the man who saved her. And now she was here to bid him farewell. It seemed impossible to do so. She knew she needed to though, so she moved forward and touched his hands softly while the others held crazy girl back. "We'll keep your vision going, Peter." And she kissed her fingers and laid them across his forehead. "Auf Weidersehen." Because at least in her heart, she knew she would see him again, someday.

From a certain point of view, that was logic that Tamm couldn't really argue with. And realistically, he wasn't going to win this. If Rosa wanted to give Peter a hug, she'd give him a hug, with or without breaking his and Alexei's arms in the process. "Okay then," he conceded. "You can give him a hug, just... don't be too long about it, okay? Gotta be fair and give others a turn." He looked up at Alexei, and by a silent mutual consent, the two fairly large men blocked Rosa and Peter from view as best they could while Rosa hugged the dead man.

Rosa leaned her head against Peter's and she sighed into his ear. "You be good now." She said to him because that's what people said when they left, instead of 'goodbye'. Then she patted his hair and crawled back out of the casket. "Thank you." She said cordially to both Alexei and Tamm. See, she could be completely normal when she wanted to be...

Lydia was sitting on the grass, picking blades of it and letting it get carried a short way away on the slight breeze that travelled through the cemetery. She couldn't quite accept nor believe that her daddy was dead. She couldn't bury both her biological parents in the space of three months, could she? It didn't seem fair. None of it did. So many people were crying, but she was not. She couldn't. Because it wasn't real.

It wasn't real.

"You're welcome," Tamm said, with only a little confusion still left in his voice. He let out a long breath and looked up at Alexei, clad in very expensive-looking black. It must have been one of the suits Jude bought him. "You doin' alright, dude?"

Alexei sighed. "Alright, I suppose. It's a dark time."

"Bloody well got that right," Tamm agreed, and the two of them left Peter to the rest of the mourners.

Aly waited until everyone had had their time with Peter. Then, slowly she approached her husband's casket. She didn't have anything to say. Nothing seemed right. They had said so much in the time they spent together anyway, and though it was short, Aly had the solace in knowing it had been good. She'd been loved. She was loved. Twice. Some people didn't get that once.

She slid her wedding ring off her finger and she slipped it in to Peter's front pocket. Not because she was getting rid of her commitment to him, she just thought that maybe he'd like to have that with him. Then she kissed his forehead and she let out a shaky breath. In her arms, Baby Thomas leaned down and he tried to grab hold of Peter's hands, but Aly held him back. Thomas didn't understand why his daddy wouldn't play back and that made Aly feel like she might shatter in to a thousand pieces right then and there. "I'll take care of the children, Love." She whispered, because she knew that would be Peter's greatest worry. Then she stood and watched as several men came and closed the casket. They lifted it up and placed it inside the cold stone wall and closed the door behind it. Peter was resting now. And Aly had to go learn how to live all over again.

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An Original RPG

Everyone loves a funeral (Aly, Completely Open to Anyone)

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