"And is there a moment... when saying goodbye doesn't feel like the end"?
Amen by Amber Run
When Iverson first told him Shiro didn't want to believe him. He still doesn't want to believe him, but what else is he supposed to do when the truth is staring at him right in the face? That truth comes in the form of a marble plaque in the midst of thousands of others with a single name and face etched into the stone. Shiro, almost mindlessly, traces over the letters that spell out the one name that has grown so familiar to him throughout the years.
Adam.
He blinks slowly, his brain still not quite able to process the weight of the information thrown at it. There were times in space, during the war, in the astral plane and on the way back that he wondered, that he feared that this was what he would return to, but he didn't dwell on it for longer than a few seconds. He should have. Maybe then it would have prepared him more for this moment.
"He went out bravely," Iverson says gruffly behind him, but the words sound fuzzy and distant. Shiro is still unable to tear his eyes away from the face etched into the stone. The face that he'd woken up to for years and always thought I'm the luckiest man in the universe. And he was. He really was. "He was the last to fall. You and him were always the best pilots."
Shiro's hand slowly falls away from the name on the plaque, a breath shuddering out from his lungs. He feels cold in the Arizona heat. "How long-? How long ago was it?"
There's a hesitation behind him, a silence that speaks volumes.
"Years. Maybe four. He was in the very first attack launched against the Galra."
Shiro isn't sure if that answer is better or worse to hear instead of months or weeks. Maybe it's better since he doesn't have the thought if only, I'd been months faster but it's replaced with if only I hadn't left in the first place. He doesn't regret Voltron or the good work they've all done, but a part of him is still clinging to the what ifs. It wasn't supposed to be this way – he wasn't supposed to be staring at Adam's resting place, he was never supposed to be left behind. And maybe that's a selfish way of thinking, but Shiro can't think of a time he hasn't been selfish.
"We recovered a few of his things in the wreckage. I saved it for you."
Shiro wants to blame Iverson. He wants to ask why couldn't you have saved Adam for me? but that isn't fair, and he knows that. He brings his eyes away from Adam's face on the plaque, not sure if he's surprised or not by the lack of stinging of tears. He still feels like he's in shock, or denial or whatever it could possibly be called. He still wants to think that if he walks away, back to his team, that Adam will rush out of the building and jump into his arms, crying and cursing him for ever leaving. But that isn't going to happen. Not in this universe.
"What did you find?"
There's another pause, then Iverson is reaching into his uniform pocket and brings out a small cloth. He unwraps it slowly and presents it to Shiro. Sitting in the middle of his palm, protected by the soft cloth, is a gold engagement ring. A sob clogs itself in Shiro's throat, but when it breaks free there are no tears that follow it so it turns into something akin to a gag. He reaches with unsteady fingers to take the ring in his own hand. It's just as he remembers it; shiny and the same words are etched into the inside of it.
ہر کائنات میں - In every universe
Shiro smiles ruefully to himself. Apparently just not this one.