Cayde was more than a friend to Emma, more than a colleague. He was almost like a brother. A silly, crazy, robotic brother, but still.
She had taken shooting lessons from him, once. Well, more than once. Several times. He was a cocky showoff when it came to any sort of skill that required firearms. Especially hand cannons. He was good enough to be able to actually put thirteen holes through an Ace of Spades. It was scarily impressive, to be frank.
Emma ran one hand over the Ace of Spades. Tears brimmed on her ice-blue eyes. She had a shooting lesson with Cayde planned for later today. She had laid a bet with him that she could hit more targets at five hundred meters with a sniper rifle than him. One-hundred-and-seventy-five glimmer had been on the line. Now the bet was void.
Skye, Emma's Ghost, floated over the Ace of Spades.
"Emma. It's not your fault."
Emma looked up at Skye. The Guardian had said all of four sentences in her lifetime, none of them being more than five words. Cayde himself had called her the Strong-and-Silent type.
"It is. If I had just been quicker-"
"No! Stop it, Emma!" Skye shouted. "It is NOT YOUR FAULT!"
"But-"
"IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT, EMMA!" Skye shouted again. "There was nothing you could do! Uldren Sov is at fault, NOT YOU!"
Emma looked at Skye. The little ball of light was everything she wanted in a person. Truthful. Strong-willed. Willing to point out when she was at fault. Totally in tune with her, physically and emotionally.
Emma looked back down at the Ace of Spades. Banshee-44 had repaired it after she reclaimed it from Uldren, and bequeathed it to her. Even though the hand cannon holster was supposed to be on her lower back, she had placed it on her hip. It was more practical, but beyond that, she felt like it payed some sort of homage to Cayde, gave him some sort of respect that he didn't have before from her.
It reminded her of him.
Emma, for all of her life as a Guardian, had never cried. Some in the Vanguard took pride in their emotional resilience. Emma was okay with it. But emotional resistance only dammed up a flowing torrent of emotions, both sad and happy, until the dam would burst.
Emma's dam burst.
Salt tears ran down Emma's cheeks. "Oh-h, C-Cayde-de, why-y..." she tried to say, in between sobs. Skye said nothing, remembering some words of advice Emma told her her mother had said, many years ago.
Have a good cry, wash out your heart. If you keep it inside, it'll tear you apart.