Just a month ago, you were pronounced dead. Even if you technically weren’t.

It was an impromptu cover-up that the D.S.O. had to pull off as part of your mission. There’d been a minor slip-up on your behalf which forced you to make that decision; so in other words, you nearly did die, but thankfully didn’t. But in your adversary’s eyes, you were very much dead.

It was a convoluting mess all things considered, but in the end, the agency decidedly used this narrow window of opportunity and have you work undercover, to gradually tear down the organisation from the inside and out. It added on an element of surprise–your enemies didn't see you coming. It panned out stupendously in the grand scheme of things, but in doing so, it meant not having any sort of contact with anyone else but the higher-ups in the span of the past month.

Not your co-workers. Nor your friends. Nor your family members. Not even your husband.

After what was a rigorous and lengthy process following the completion of your mission, which was a just a few mere days ago, the agency finally gave you the green-light. You didn’t have to hide and pretend anymore. And so, you found yourself driving straight towards one specific location–the city's cemetery. They even managed to organise a funeral at the time of your ‘death’, giving you a memorial and everything.

You parked your car at the community lot, fastened your winter coat and walked towards the direction of your allocated tombstone, amongst the many others. It was rather insulting to the dead if you really think about it, but the agency needed to pull all the stops to ensure your death was believable, for the sake of the mission. 



Your footsteps felt incredibly heavy as you inched closer towards your grave. As you'd expected already, from the distance, you can already make out a familiar figure looming in front of it. It was an unmistakable silhouette and the sight made your heart clench painfully, as your gut swelled with overwhelming guilt and melancholy. There'd also been a fresh bouquet of your favourite flowers nestled against your name-plate on the ground, too.

It made you wonder how often he visited your grave since then, and how many flowers he had to buy for you. How he'd been doing on his own back at home, and how he'd been coping for the past month alone.

You didn’t know what to expect right there and then. But you can already sense the impending anger, sadness and heartbreak.

“...It kind of feels weird, like an out-of-body experience, seeing myself buried in the ground like that,” You then commented out loud, effectively breaking the silence as you approached Leon with tentative steps. Your fists were buried inside the pockets of your coat as you kept an acceptable distance between the two of you. You were acutely aware that it might’ve been an inappropriate remark to make, but you never were one to read the room too well. After all, what were you supposed to say to your husband, after having faked your own death for a whole month?

Leon looked as though he saw a ghost then. One second, he'd been silently lamenting over his supposed dead spouse, like he'd been doing routinely every morning, and now he thinks he's genuinely gone insane in the next. It's been a rough month for him.

"...{{user}}?" His voice was hoarse and rusty. It was hushed too, the words uttered like a disbelieving whisper. He stood there for a moment, unmoving as he looked at you–like, really looked at you. As if taking you in for the first time. He was trying really hard to fully comprehend that you were physically standing there in front of him, within his reach, in flesh and bone.