He went to see her on her favorite day of the year.
She had never told him why this day was the day and he kicked himself for not asking, for being too distracted by her smile to find out why.
She wouldn't be able to distract him with that smile today.
London was stone gray and cold. The rain had set in as soon as he'd stepped off the shuttle but it didn't bother him. If anything it reminded him of home. He had been offered a ride but he had declined. This was something he needed to do alone and he knew where he was going. He knew where to find her.
After the end of the war he said he would never come back to this city but that was before the Alliance had decided to bury her here. Before they had decided to raise a monument, a memorial for her here at the site of the final push. He supposed they had thought it fitting seeing as she was born and raised aboard their frigates. She had no hometown, no local cemetery where she could join those of her family who had gone before her. Why not bury her where she had made her last stand, where she had laid down her life to save the galaxy?
Kaidan didn't think it was fitting for the woman he loved. She belonged somewhere beautiful, in a place full of the peace she had earned a hundred times over. There were too many memories here, too much pain, and as he approached her memorial he was reminded that not all of it was his.
He shouldn't have been surprised that someone else had already come to see her. He wasn't the only one who loved her after all.
The man was older, his greying hair far more pronounced than Kaidan's. He was dressed in his blues and his hand was clenched tightly around a set of dog tags. He seemed startled when Kaidan fell in beside him.
They stood there in silence. Two soldiers. Two mourners.
The man's voice was rough with emotion when he finally spoke, "I'm sorry, son. I've been meaning to contact you."
It was Kaidan's turn to start and he realized this wasn't just any veteran paying respects to a hero. The blue eyes were the same, the line of his jaw familiar. He should have noticed it right away. It was her father, Gerald Shepard.
"Mr. Shepard…sir—"
The other man held out a hand, one that had spent more time wiping away tears than shaking hands lately. "Please," he interrupted gruffly, "Call me Gerry."
Kaidan took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "Kaidan."
Gerry sighed and looked back at the stone in front of them. "I've been meaning to call you but I—well, some days are harder than others and lately they've all been…well…I'm sure you understand."
Kaidan nodded. Boy, did he ever.
"You know they didn't even ask me if they could bury her here—didn't ask Hannah or me," Gerry said suddenly. "They didn't think I might want a say in where they should lay my little girl to rest. Didn't think to ask her father."
His voice was filled with pain and another emotion that Kaidan knew well. Anger.
He continued before Kaidan had the chance to say something. "I should have been able to bring my daughter home."
"Yes, sir, you should have."
The older man sighed and reached out to touch the stone in front of them. "I didn't know her as well as I should have. We were distant; I was distant. I let my own short comings stand in the way of me being a good father." Emotion colored his voice and Kaidan watched as the he bowed his head beneath a sudden onslaught of rain and bitter regret. "I just—I thought we'd have more time."
They both did. The matching platinum bands hidden beneath Kaidan's shirt were a testament to that. He'd thought they would have more time too.
Kaidan couldn't give Shepard's father what he deserved. He wanted to give him a chance to get to know his daughter. He wanted to make it so when Gerry visited her he wasn't visiting a grave. He didn't have that kind of power no matter how much he wished he did.
The marble was cool beneath his hand as he traced her name. What could he say? He barely kept his own head above water most days. He wasn't sure there was anything he could say to comfort the man standing beside him.
He owed it to Shepard to try.
"You know today…today was her favorite day," Kaidan offered.
Gerry looked up suddenly; blue eyes red rimmed but hopeful. "Still?"
Kaidan nodded, "Yeah."
The knot of hurt swelled in his gut as he watched a man mourn the daughter he thought he'd have time to grow close to again. There were other graves around them; other stones to commemorate some of the millions that had been lost. They belonged to friends and loved ones. They were fathers and mothers, wives and husbands, sisters, brothers, sons, and daughters. One only had to look around to see that they weren't unique in their grief; that still didn't help ease the pain.
"Did she tell you why it was her favorite day?" Gerry asked finally.
Kaidan shook his head, "No. I never asked, though I wish—I wish I had."
The older man's hand clasped his shoulder. "It was the day after I came back from a long deployment; I pulled her out of school and took her to a carnival at one of the human colonies. We went on all of the rides and I won her a stuffed animal; a varren, if I remember right," he said with a sad chuckle. "She was eight. She told me it was the happiest day of her life."
He paused and Kaidan pretended he didn't see the tears on the other man's face. "I didn't think she'd remember."
It was then that Kaidan realized what he could give him; a little peace of mind. He looked over at Shepard's father. "She did, sir. She did remember."
After that they stood quietly, lost in thought and clinging to their memories. There was still everything and nothing left to say.
The pain wasn't going to disappear. The memories, even the happy ones, were always going to be bittersweet but there were at least two men who would remember her and hold her close to their hearts as she had held the memory of that day close to hers.