Garlude's memorial was what you would expect of a memorial. It was a tall, engraved stone, laden with carefully crafted garlands of gladiolus and sheltered by an old oak tree, rolling mountains away from Cappy Town.

It had been put together not long after N.M.E's defeat. A personal project, Meta Knight had called it, as he left town one brisk winter morning. Although it hurt, and it would always hurt, Meta Knight was endlessly glad he had been able to do this for her. Finally. God, finally. Something he could do for her, and not the other way around.

As expected, Sirica was there today. Her presence humbled him, and made him doubt the significance of his own.

"You left it behind," was the first thing she'd said, recognizing his footsteps but not sparing him a glance back. The words themselves felt accusatory, but her tone was mild.

"Hm? ...Oh. Ah, yes."

Galaxia.

"Why?"

Meta Knight continued his measured gait toward his comrade's daughter and her mother's memorial, before taking his place beside her in front of it. His bones creaked as he lowered himself to sit upon the grass, allowing his cape to billow behind him.

"You wouldn't bring the gun to the funeral, would you?"

Sirica seemed to contemplate this. "Depends who's," she replied, shrugging. Meta Knight couldn't help but chuckle. Sirica was a perfect picture of strength and resilience, much like her mother, but he still noticed the way her fingers idly plucked at the grass beneath them.

No more words were exchanged as the two sat together in silence, inwardly saying their piece. Many long minutes passed as the day grew warmer.

"...Did you like her?"

Meta Knight was abruptly pulled out of his prayers, which seemed to be getting less coherent every year. Maybe he was getting old. Maybe he had used up all his good ones on the previous hundreds of years worth of anniversaries. God knows chanting "I miss you," sure wouldn't bring her back, but he'd be damned if he could resist doing it each and every time.

He blinked at her in feigned ignorance. "Of course I liked her. She was one of the strongest—"

"You know what I mean," Sirica interjected, rolling her eyes.

Meta Knight clenched his teeth. He really hadn't ever planned on talking about this with Sirica. Or anyone, for that matter. Why couldn't the youth these days just let him repress his feelings in peace?

"Yes," he finally sighed, tired eyes shifting back to the memorial. "Yes, I did. If it is any consolation, we never... I never..."

Sirica shook her head. "I know. You aren't like that."

Meta Knight nodded. "You would surely slay me if I were."

"You bet your blueberry butt."

Blueberry butt. Only Sirica.

"So, then..." She drawled, raising her gaze to the sky contemplatively. "Huh. I guess you and mom having a thing kind of makes you my dad, y'know?"

One word hit Meta Knight with such shock he couldn't be sure he'd actually heard it.

Argue. Argue, Meta Knight. Come on, what are you doing? You can't just be her father. You don't deserve to be her father. No—don't you choke on thin air, now. Don't cry. Don't let any of those dying Scarfy noises escape your painfully tight throat.

Just say something. Anything.

"If you would have me as one," he replied, voice quavering.

Except that. God, fuck you, Meta Knight.

"Thanks, nerd," Sirica grinned.

And Meta Knight frowned. "That's not something you should call your father."

The white-haired teenager promptly began to laugh, pulling herself up off the grass. She dusted herself off as her chuckles died down, before extending a hand to the baffled old knight beside her.

"Just testing you, pops."