The war had been hard enough, but losing Shepard— that was just the bitter icing on the cruel cake. Kaidan knew that the odds of all of them coming out alive were slim to none, but still, he had hoped. After Sovereign, the Collectors... hell, after everything, Shepard was the only one of them that seemed safe. The only one who was untouchable. (Cerberus thing aside, of course.) Him being alive and Shepard gone— that was the one outcome he hadn't predicted. Or maybe he had, but the idea was so bitter and virulent that he'd tossed it aside.

A few terms had been thrown around: war hero, saviour of the galaxy, all variations of the same damn phrase. (His personal favourite was The Chosen One of the Enkindlers.) Sure, everyone mourned the loss of Shepard, but their elation at finally ending an all-consuming war seemed to overtake that. They had a vigil and burial of course, and there were speeches given and medals presented and politicians and endless debates over everything and anything— and it all made him so mad.

All of it was dedicated to Shepard, but none of it really meant for her.

And all of that was why Kaidan found himself back on the Normandy, helping with simple supply runs. There were other places he could be, but for now, this was where he was most comfortable, and when he when he held his breath long enough to feel the fuzziness creep into the back of his mind, he could almost pretend it was back before the end. Before everything.

It was why he could hear the old familiar greeting, and why he could turn around with the same half-worn smile (now a little more haggard around the edges) and respond with his typical.

"Hey, Shepard."

( ooc: I'm crashing for the night, so apologies for any grammatical errors! )