Summary: Scooby Gang fic. I like to do them at least once a year. :) Set
about eight years in the future, the Hellmouth (which they thought they had
closed) rears its ugly head again.
Spoilers: Through season four of Buffy and season one of Angel.
Disclaimer: Joss made the characters. I just write them into fanfics.
Rating: R
Author's Note: (You won't understand this until the end of the prologue...)
No. I won't tell you. <g> And yes, I already know.
A huge thanks to both Tracy and Laura, for everything they do on a regular
basis. :)

It was the second time that the town of Sunnydale had ever received snow.
Perhaps it was sent as a sign of sorrow for the one that was lost. Or maybe
it was just a rare and sad occurrence, covering the land in soft blankets of
white. It didn't really matter, they supposed.

It was fitting that it should snow on a day like this.

They were all there. The group of friends so tightly intertwined throughout
their lives; their hearts and souls and tears and smiles connected for the
centuries past and the centuries to come. Their spirits would be linked for
the years to come, their friendships only read about and revered among the
few selected. They would forever be known as the Chosen.

Giles, the Watcher. The one who had been chosen for the one girl in all the
world with the powers to help mankind. The father to them all, the one they
could expect guidance and support from whenever necessary, the one who would
stand by them no matter what, his love, however hidden or veiled, for each of
the children leading him through life, showing him what the right words to
say were, or when to remain silent. And he did love them.

Buffy, the Slayer. The one girl who had been chosen to stop the forces of
evil, the guardian they all relied upon to keep their lives safe, the one
that they loved dearly for trusting them all with her secret, for letting
them help when they had no business with the nightly dangers that she did.
The beautiful blond girl who had more strength that ten full grown men, but
who had a heart that could be broken, time and again. A girl who had seen
too much tragedy, but didn't let herself become hardened by it, didn't let
herself pull away from them.

Willow, the witch. The dear Abby among them, the one who they all knew would
listen, and comfort, and let her shoulder become tear-soaked if it would help
one of her friends. The one who fell in love with magick, and used it to
help the Slayer, to fight the darkness. The one who was modestly brilliant
and quietly beautiful in her own right, who would put her heart on the line
to open herself up to a new friend.

Xander, the friend. He was perhaps the most loyal of all, not willing to lose
a friend over any fight, any demon, any danger. The one who could make them
laugh, when all they wished to do was cry, the one with a hidden strength
that was almost never noticed or accounted for. He was the solider, and they
were part of his troop, the most valued part to him, the people he fought
for, the only ones that mattered. The one who would stand up for each of
them, no matter what the issue, even if they were wrong.

Cordelia, the princess. The one who professed to hate the life that her
friends had gotten her into, who pretended to be disgusted by the thousand
nightly horrors she witnessed, but who was really touched, deep down, that
she had such friends; friends who would make her a part of something so
important, so vital. The one who secretly enjoyed the nights of fighting,
who silently loved her friends in a way that could never be expressed.

Oz, the werewolf. The one who was dry and quiet, but could be counted on
when it was needed. The one who had unlimited faith in the girl he loved, in
the friends who had become such a big part of his life, in the night that had
cursed him. The one who stayed in control unless one of his friends was in
danger, and then found a strength that he rarely used, and hardly knew
existed, to help them.

Angel, the vampire. The one who loved the Slayer with all of his soul, the
soul that had been taken from him twice. The one who was willing to fight
for any wrong to be righted, willing to die to prevent any injustice from
happening. The one who treasured his friends for simply accepting him, for
trusting him, for letting him trust them back. The one whose heart was
scarred with love and hate and hundreds of years of transgressions. The one
who worked for the redemption that he had already received among the group.

They supposed that they had always silently known that this moment was
coming, deep in their hearts. It was something that was inevitable,
something that everything prior in their lives had been leading up to. The
grief in the cold air was almost tangible, the tears almost freezing on their
faces, their breath only ragged puffs of white.

Though they had known it would happen someday, they hadn't been ready. They
wouldn't reconcile themselves to the fact that one of them was gone. They
couldn't accept that they would never see the warm eyes again, never again
hear the voice that none of them would ever be able to forget.

Six of them stood in a circle. They held hands tightly, as though afraid to
let go, and they all stared ahead at the bouquet of roses that rested upon
the wood.

The petals were falling off; being blown away by the sharp wind.

And the one that wasn't a part of the circle was just as quiet as they,
laying the the coffin that was being lowered into the cold earth.


CONTINUES