[ Leipzig AU ] forgive my grief for one removed

The cathedral is beautiful. It's filling to the brim with people dressed in black, with flowers, with music. Sharon waits back near the altar, dry-eyed and pale, not a hair out of place as she accepts condolences and murmurs her thank yous.

So many people loved Aunt Peggy. She meant so much, to so many.

Sharon thinks it'll help, eventually, to remember that. Right now it just makes her terribly, terribly sad. So she smiles gently and speaks warmly and keeps her hands clasped before herself, every inch the polite and centered niece, and everyone who leaves her leaves feeling a little comforted in their own grief.

He's here somewhere, she knows: Bucky, up aloft in the bell walkway or the choir loft or crouched like a gargoyle in an alcove somewhere. She can't see him, but she knows he's there, can still feel the way he'd held her when she let him into the hotel room after she arrived.

The organist is playing something lovely and somber, and people are filing into their seats. She takes a last glance at the spot where the coffin will rest, surrounded by flowers, and moves off to the side to wait.