There wasn't enough flowers in the galaxy to compensate the grave beneath her knees. So, she didn't bring flowers. She brought a chain with N7 tags dangling from its middle and a broken heart.
David Anderson had been nothing short of a father to Jasmine Shepard. He saved her from the slums of Earth and stood beside her when Hackett handed her the badge that named her 'Commander'. He handed the Normandy over to her without a moment's hesitation. He held blind faith in her every step of the way - never, "Shepard, don't you think that's a little crazy?" or "Shepard, that's impossible." And when she had a mental breakdown after coming back from death - death - he was there, keeping her grounded. Never, "There's no way you're back from the dead." Never, "Someone call C-Sec. There's a crazy zombie in my office."
No doubt. He never had a single doubt in her. He believed her right from the beginning and took his last breath at her side. Now he was dead, and she had nothing but... but...
These tags. Her knuckles went white.
"Jaz," said a quiet, miserable voice. She felt his presence more than she heard it as he clumsily knelt beside her. From the corner of her eye, she saw a bearded man removing his hat solemnly. "His death meant something. That was all that ever mattered to him."
I know. The words sat in her throat, but didn't rise. Wordlessly, she moved her head to Joker's shoulder, and for a while, they sat and listened to the ghosts. Jasmine didn't know if Anderson had been religious, but she hoped... Where ever he was, they would meet again.
"What's your favorite color today, Jasmine?" Joker asked, his voice barely above a meek whisper.
Involuntarily, a smile twitched at her lips. Years ago, back on the SR1, he'd asked that same question after they'd gotten grounded and played by Udina. She'd been storming through the cockpit, throwing ideas at the wall trying to figure out how the hell they were going to get out of this one. Joker had interrupted her tantrum with the simplest of questions - "What's your favorite color?" It'd thrown her so off guard she'd had to stop and consider it, then spit out an answer. "Blue," she'd decided that day. "Turian blood is blue. Saren's blood is blue." She didn't know how it happened, but she'd suddenly been a hell of a lot calmer.
So their game had been born. After getting stuck with a terrorist organization because the Alliance was too stodgy, her favorite color had been white, because it was the furthest from Alliance blue and Cerberus yellow. After she'd been incarcerated on Earth, her favorite color had been black, black as the night sky, because there'd been nothing she wanted more than to break out of her prison and soar that sky. After the asari homeworld fell to the sovereignty of the Reapers, her favorite color had been purple, because purple was wisdom, and she had to learn from that loss and do better.
But what was her favorite color now? She thumbed a strand of grass, deep green and damp from morning dew. Green was Earth. Green was home. Green was this precious grave's blanket.
"Green," she decided.
The Reapers had decimated Earth to the point where most of it was empty fields of brown and beige. But this, this simple grave covered in Earth's mantle: It was hope. It was the future.
Joker leaned his head on hers. "Mine too."