Simani hugged him the moment she saw him. Then she proceeded to hug Ashwin, who seemed bemused by this turn of events. Nevertheless, he wrapped his arms – rather awkwardly – around her shoulders and gave her a friendly pat, which made Simani giggle. Bizarrely, Ruban imagined Shwaan’s wings enfold his partner as she embraced him, warm and protective.
By the time they disengaged, Vikram held a chuckling Hiya in his arms, tickling the girl into a fit as their ten-year-old son, Srikan, trailed his parents. Hiya and Sri knew each other, of course. Had known each other for almost as long as either of them could remember.
But Sri had been busy with school this past year and the two hadn’t seen each other for some months. Ruban supposed half a year seemed like a long time when you were barely out of the single digits in age, and the two children hid behind the pant-legs of their respective adults, until Vikram produced a couple of fluorescent lollipops from the mysterious depths of his back-pocket. This set off a raucous array of thrilled noises that momentarily overpowered the solemn tranquillity of the funeral ceremony, until both children were bundled off to an adjacent garden by the exasperated Vikram, ordered to amuse themselves away from the vicinity of any cameras or important-looking humans.
Simani, Ruban thought, looked beautiful in a plain white tunic tucked into an ankle-length skirt. Vikram wore a simple button-down paired with trousers in a similar palette. He put a gentle arm around his wife’s shoulder, and Ruban noticed for the first time that his partner’s eyes were red-rimmed. She had been crying.
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“I’m so sorry, Ruban,” she said, her voice unsteady, reaching to take one of his hands into her own. He knew then, that her tears were not for his uncle, much as she had liked and admired him as a mentor and superior. Her tears were for him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when all of this happened; when it all went to hell.” A corner of her mouth lifted in a wry little smile. “Not much use as a partner these days, am I?”
Ruban glared at her. “You’re the best partner I could ever want, and far better than I deserve,” he said fiercely. Honestly.
Ruban wasn’t an easy man to work with at the best of times. And these last few months had been anything but the best. Anyone other than Simani would have reported him for flouting investigative protocol a long time ago. Just because he didn’t say it often enough didn’t mean he didn’t know how lucky he was to have her.
Simani smiled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she leaned into Vikram for a long moment. “Well, I better get going, then. Have a speech to prepare for and all that.” Extricating herself with some reluctance from her husband’s embrace, she turned back towards the centre of the venue, which to Ruban looked more like some bizarre, all-white wedding than a funeral. “You done with yours?”
“Kind of,” said Ruban noncommittally, as Simani and Vikram set off for the central dais hand-in-hand.