Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon and associates
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Both shows, all seasons
Summary: No taster given. AU/Future Fic. Unbetaed
Feedback: Is welcomed and normally replied to
Distribution: Please advise me if you archive it
Dedication: PyschoJuliet; Chapel Court; The DumDums; Zanussi Professional

He shuffled slowly forward, the stick in his hand bearing a lot of his weight. Everything was so much trouble these days and he felt every one of his eighty-five years.

Lowering himself cautiously into the overstuffed armchair, his joints protested loudly. Rheumatism; arthritis; a dodgy heart and a hip in need of replacing. When had it come to this?

And then he saw her; her blonde hair, hazel eyes, her toned figure, her smile. She was beautiful and his heart swelled with pride.

Memories washed over him. Walking together in the cemetery; meeting at the library; the dress she wore the night she fought the Master; her Prom; Graduation day; how she had stayed strong when her mother was so sick, supporting Dawn and running the home whilst carrying on slaying. He remembered when she had discovered about the 'forgotten day', a whirlwind of rage and passion had sort him out that night. But there were unpleasant memories too. Angelus; Darla; Drusilla; Eyghon; Acathla; Glory; the Gentlemen; Adam; Ethan Rayne; the Mayor.

It had all come to an end three days earlier, but not how anyone had expected. She had died peacefully in her sleep, surrounded by those she loved and who loved her in return. Her body just didn't have the will to fight any more.

Her funeral had been an intimate affair, just friends and family with a small gathering at the Bronze afterwards. He hoped she would have approved, he never really got the chance to ask her. Every time he had tried to broach the subject she had silenced him and told him 'live for now'. She was wise beyond her years.

He felt tired now; it had been a long day. The church pews had played havoc with his bones and the cemetery had been cold. Just a little sleep before teatime he told himself.

"I said one of us should have driven him back. He's too old to be traveling by himself." Willow fretted.

"Stop fussing. He's quite capable of getting in a cab alone." Xander felt exasperated but tried to be understanding.

"I've been ringing for over two hours and he hasn't answered the phone. I'll never forgive myself if something's happened to him."

"You worry too much. I'm sure he's fine. He's probably having a nap. The funeral was a long day for him…see, what did I say. He's fast asleep in his chair."

Willow walked over, a gentle smile tugging at her mouth as she saw the picture he had nestled to his chest.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in bed?"

No response. Her smile turned into a frown as she reached out a hand to tentatively touch his. The flesh was cold. She felt for a pulse, there wasn't one.

"Grandpa?" She shook him gently. "Grandpa? It's Willow."

Xander gently pulled her into his chest and held her while she sobbed. Finally she began to calm.

"It's not fair Xander. We only buried Nana Buffy today. Why do we have to lose Grandpa Angel too?"

Not knowing the words to comfort his sister, Xander just continued holding her.

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