Chapter Text
Grey.
His brother hated grey. Always did, and Lachlan knows he'd be less than impressed with how grey the clouds were overhead, and how grey the concrete buildings looked, and how grey the people seemed as they stared at his casket with matching expressions of indifference. Shock, maybe. Or was it denial? Had they not accepted that their fearless Commander Shepard was dead?
Lachlan will admit it doesn't seem real - the red, crescent-moon gouges in the skin of his arm can attest to that. It feels like a snapshot moment in time, dragged out over the past month of investigations and court proceedings, trials, and internal intelligence all trying to piece together just how they managed to lose their only bulwark against a distant threat none of them quite believed in.
And now that he's gone: they're afraid.
The winter chill is hanging in the air over every word spoken by a monotone preacher, regurgitating words he's said a thousand times before with just as little meaning. Lachlan's barely listening, hands wrapped firmly around cold metal dug into his palm.
There was no body. That little thought keeps digging itself into the back of Lachlan's mind. No body. No proof. Nothing solid, except the flaming wreckage of the Normandy and the dogtags he's clutching in his numb hands, engraved with his brother's name. Everybody believes it. Everybody knows it, in their heart of hearts: Commander Shepard is dead and gone. It's ridiculous to even think that he could be alive, completely ridiculous, but the thought won't leave Lachlan alone.
Grimacing, he curls his fist around the tag he holds in his hand, the metal leaving a gouge in his skin. It's half of a set - Lachlan can feel the weight of the other half hanging around his neck next to his own - and he's not intending on keeping this one. It belongs to someone else. Sucking in a breath, he just about hears the call to stand from the preacher, and his shaking legs somehow oblige. There's that lump in his throat that's been there all day, but Loch only stares blankly at the casket as it's lowered into its grave. He's done his crying, his grieving - that's not for anybody else to see - and now he only feels numb. Hollow. He can almost hear himself beginning to splinter under the weight of responsibility that his brother once held. It lies with his family - his brother and his sister, next to him, visibly shaking with grief - God, they shouldn't have to be dealing with this - and with the Alliance.
It lies with a legacy, twice buried.
"Lucky, it's time to go."
At first, he doesn't register the voice. He knows where to turn to find it, though, and he sees his sister staring right back at him, wide-eyed and waiting for him to get them out. Arianwen. Slightly too-dull eyes, furrowed brow, painfully young to be wearing so much grief. Their mother's looks, but their father's temper - and Cade's too. Lachlan chews the inside of his cheek for a second, taking too long to put those simple words together. Nothing's really sinking in.
"Loch?" Another voice, much stronger. It almost catches Loch off-guard, but he knows it's only his little brother.
Hah. Lachlan almost looks up at him now. Not so little anymore. He knows it's Eirion, but it's almost like seeing Caderyn staring back at him.
He shakes it off. Has to.
"Yeah." Loch says, voice hoarse, "I just have to find someone, real quick. You guys go on. I'll catch up."
"No, it's okay - we'll wait." Arianwen sighs, reaching out to rub Loch's arm. "I think we'd rather go together, today of all days."
Loch feels something twinge dangerously at that. He bites down to stop from saying anything more, and just nods, forcing a smile for the both of them before he disappears into the crowd, set on finding the owner of the tags still clutched in his fist. He knows who he's looking for, and he's already seen him in the dispersing crowd. It's just a case of catching him before he disappears and that's easier said than done.
Even with the congregation waning, there's still far too many people around for Lachlan's own comfort, and he struggles to shut them out as he trains his marksman's sight onto a target, finally. A tall, lithe figure, dressed in his blues just like the rest of them, back turned to Lachlan as he sets his own eyes on a way out.
"Hey!" Loch calls, trying to avoid using the man's name. He knows it. Most of them here do. But there's people here who don't, and it might have been that way for a reason - a reason Cade didn't share, but Loch isn't about to break whatever trust they had just because he isn't here. The thought stings, but he's too preoccupied on getting the man's attention to let it grow too deep.
"Wait-- I need to talk to you, please!" Lachlan's close enough to almost reach out, but the man just stops and turns on his heel, fixing Lachlan dead on the spot with a cold blue gaze. On any other day, Loch might have felt that go right through him, but not today. Today, he just wants it to be over.
"What?" The man's voice is unmistakably hoarse, tightly wound with grief and settling like thin ice between them. He doesn't want to be here. Neither does Lachlan, so he offers the man a sympathetic look before he gestures for him to follow - they could do with somewhere quieter. He's reassured to hear the man's footsteps following after he turns away and leads them over to an empty pavilion, overlooking the ceremonial gardens. It's a world away from any kind of place Cade would have found himself in, but... for now, it's peaceful. And away from prying eyes. With that thought in mind, Lachlan sucks in a breath and faces the blue-eyed man once again, holding out the dogtags in the palm of his hand this time. At the glint of familiar metal, the man's gaze immediately softens. Heartbreakingly so.
He doesn't say anything for a moment, and Loch's almost ready to drop the gesture altogether and leave before the chain is lifted out of his hand. He watches and waits, knowing that words wouldn't mean a thing.
"Why are you giving this to me, Lachlan?" The man breathes, his breath clouding in the cold air as he curls his fingers through the chain, eyes never leaving the name on the tag. A thumb grazes the embossed letters before Lachlan can conjure up a reply.
"You meant something to him."
That much is true, Lachlan knows. What he doesn't know, however, are the specifics. Cade never used a word to describe them, and Lachlan was never one to pry. They just... were. And given how quietly broken the man looks right now, Loch doesn't think his suspicions are far from the truth.
After a while, the man just huffs out a breathless laugh - almost humourless, tinged with too much grief to be a warm sound. Curling a fist firmly around the tag, he looks back up at Lachlan with the faintest glimmer of a smile.
"Thank you." he says simply, and he's almost about to leave, turning to descend the steps of the pavilion when a cold thought seeps through Lachlan's mind.
"Wait, Scott-" Lachlan hovers uneasily in the space that Scott's just left, torn between letting this man walk way with a piece of his brother's heart, or--
The thought goes dead long before Lachlan can finish it. He just sighs, shakes his head at his own stupidity and manages a sad, quiet smile instead. "Just... take care."
Scott just seems to stop in his thoughts for a moment, hands in his pockets as he turns back to Loch again. This time, he gives Loch a half-hearted shrug and a smile to match his own. One that speaks of old, unhappy, and far-off things.
"You too, Lachlan. Cade wouldn't have it any other way."
And then he's gone.