Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to Disney/Haim Saban
Set after History
The cemetery is an old one. There are carved gravestones with weathered names. Yet, it is kept neatly enough; with shortly mowed green grass that waves in the wind. Into this cemetery enter five people and one dog-like creature. The five humans each hold a bunch of colours. Each bouquet has a different and distinct colour scheme.
They walk slowly and solemnly. They were dressed in similar grey uniforms, each with a different accent colour. One wears black gloves though it is a bright summer's day. The dog-like creature is dressed in a dark blue and silver coat that sweeps down to his back paws. He walks with his paw like hands behind his back.
They make their way between the gravestones, taking care not to step on any. Finally, they stop in front of one. The girl carrying pretty yellow flowers in her arms squats beside it. "So. This is where she is."
"It's hard," says another girl – this one a blue eyed blonde. "It's hard to imagine them as old people and dying. I know they all lived to old age but it's hard to imagine them as old people."
"I get what you mean," says a tall boy, with dark blonde hair and sharp eyes softened as they looked down at the writing on the gravestone.
"They were vital," says the girl squatting down. "And so alive and full of youth. It's hard to imagine them as anything but that."
The dog-like creature nods his agreement. "You are young as well. It is hard for the young to imagine other young as old."
"But they are, aren't they?" This question comes from a boy with dreadlocks hanging about his face. "They were way older than us."
The dog-like creature, again, nods. "But they were your age once," he points out.
"Give her the flowers," says the dark haired boy, the one who wears gloves. "Give her the flowers now, Z."
Elizabeth 'Z' Delgado does as he bids and puts her bouquet of sunny flowers on the green grass before the marker. "Hope you like them," she says to the gravestone. "And thank you for everything you've done for us."
"Yeah," adds the blonde girl. "Thank you for all the legacies you left behind."
Z stands up, dusts off her pants. "Come on then. Who's next?"
They walk off – all but for the blonde girl, who quietly reads the carving on headstone. "Kira Ford. Loving mother and wife. Rocking singer. We will miss you always." And lower, writing so tiny it could barely be seen; "May the Power protect you."
She sets her fingers on of off-white marker. "It suits you." She looks beyond the grave, to where Z and the others are. "I bet you were like her once, huh? They say that a certain type of girls are yellow rangers and a certain type of girls are pink rangers. I don't know if that's true but it seems to me it might be because you got along with her so well." She looks down. "'Bye Kira. I hope you're rocking, wherever you are."
With that, she hurries off, to join her friends and commander, where they have stopped into front of another headstone. This time, it is the boy with white tulips who is kneeling beside the pure white marker. "Trent Fernandez-Mercer." He reads. "Great friend and son who'll always be missed. Your legacy will live on in your comics."And again, just as on Kira's headstone, with writing so small, it can hardly be seen unless it is searched for; "May the Power protect you."
Bridge Carson sets his bouquet on the grave. "It's too bad we didn't get to meet you," he said. "The way Conner and Ethan and Kira spoke about you, we know you were awesome. It's too bad we didn't get to find out how awesome for ourselves."
"You read his comics," Z points out. "You know that when something like that comes out of a person, it leaves a part of them behind. You kind of know him, when you think about it."
Bridge nods. "I know that. But I only started reading his collection when Conner told me about it." He puts his fingers on the gravestone, just below a curling sentence. "Your legacy will live on," he reads again. "I bet people thought it was a funny thing to write on a comic artist's gravestone. But it was the right thing to write. For him, it was the perfect things to write." He sighs, stands up, looks down at the gravestone.
"It's too bad he didn't have any kids," comments the blond haired boy. "Let the legacy live on in them."
Z looks at him, pretending shock. "My God Sky, that was an almost human thing to say!"
The others laugh and even the dog-like creature smiles. Schuyler 'Sky' Tate just rolls his eyes.
"Come on," the last boy in their group – the one in dead locks – is already moving on. They follow him, winding between rows of graves until they reach the one they are looking for. It is Sky's turn to kneel beside the grave. He sets the flowers down before the marker. "You're not much like me," he says. "They says that the blue ranger is usually the clever geeky one. I'm not that. But you are – and you loved it."
"He did," Bridge confirms with a wide grin as he remembers his and Ethan's conversations.
"Well, I wish you could have remembered that all your geekdom's still living on."
The boy with dreadlocks chuckles, puts his hand on Sky's shoulder. "Geekdom. I get the feeling he'd have liked that."
Sky grinned up at him. "I thought so too."
Z reads the inscription upon the gravestone. "Ethan James. Geek King. We will love you always and miss you more."
Sky runs a finger over writing near the bottom of the solid stone, over words so small he can hardly read them. "May the Power protect you."
"It's tradition," Commander Doggie Cruger says. "To write that saying upon the gravestone of every ranger. It will be written on yours." He adds. "History says that it was said by Zordon to the first Power Rangers."
They look up at him, and nod. "My turn," says the last of the three boys. In his arms, he holds flowers in every shade of red.
They leave Ethan to his peace and walk on, to a mark a few rows back. There it is Jack Landors who kneels and places his bouquet of specially selected flowers on the green grass before the white gravestone. "So, here lies the great Conner McKnight," he murmurs, brushing fingers over the carvings set into the stone.
"Isn't what they used to say about him?" Syd asks. "In high school?"
"Usually with a laugh," Sky replies. "But he did turn out to be pretty great, didn't he?"
"I was reading the history archives," Jack says. "It says that after his football career, he opened a chain of football schools, to help academically challenged kids. They helped the kids in school and – that failing – helped them get athletic sponsorship to go to college."
"Wow Jack," Z blinks. "I can't believe you remembered all that."
He grins wryly. "Neither can I." He turns his eyes to the inscription on the gravestone. "Conner McKnight. Champion in soccer and in life. Missing you now and always. Thank you for our futures."
"It's fitting," Bridge decides.
"It is," Commander Cruger agrees. His sharp eyes focus on the words curled around a carved soccer ball; "May the Power protect you." He smiles a secret smile as Syd, her impatience showing, says, "come on, my turn," walks away.
They follow her, winding their way past row after row of gravestones until they reach one near to the end of the cemetery. There, near the wide shape of a sweeping tree, was the last grave they had come to visit.
The inscription on it was simple, as it had been for all the others; "Thomas James Oliver. Archaeologist. High school science teacher. Father. Husband. And so much more. Thank you for all you've done for us. We will miss you like no other."
"Thomas James Oliver," Sky says in a musing voice. "I've heard he was never called that – always Tommy."
"I don't think he'd have like to be called Thomas," Syd says, kneeling. In her hands are black roses – a genetically engineered species that had just been newly created. She set it before the grave. "They've given him red roses, white daisies, green tinged tulips," she murmurs. "I'm the first one to give him black."
"I wished we could have met him," Z declares. "He must have been great. The only ranger to be red, white, green and black."
"A legend in his own right," Jack agrees. "He must have had loads of stories to tell."
"May the Power protect you," Syd says, half reading, half in prayer. "As it protects us all."
"Bridge?" Sky isn't looking at them or the gravestone, but at his roommate, who is standing, gazing at another gravestone. "Who's that?"
He walks over to him, and sees it is not a gravestone, as he had thought, but a slab of marble. There were five portraits that had been colour lasered on. One is a black man, with dread locks much like Jack's, and an easy wide grin. Another is a man with dirty blond hair and blue eyes framed by round glasses. The one beside him is a pretty brunette, with delicate features and clear eyes. One of the portraits is a pretty girl of Asian descent with high cheekbones and slanted eyes, her black hair with a straight fringe. The last, the one in the middle, is a man with short dark hair and a strong square jaw, his handsome face lighted by a friendly smile.
Sky squats, keeping his eyes on them. "Who are they?" He asks as the others join them.
"Thank you for the legacy you began," Syd reads the inscription in curling script under the portraits. Her bright blue eyes widen. "Oh my god, are they…?"
"The first Power Rangers," Commander Cruger confirms. He names them one by one, left to right; "Zack Taylor, Trini Kwan, Jason Lee Scott, Kimberly Ann Hart and William 'Billy' Cranston."
"The first every Power Rangers," Z says in a voice full of wonder. She reaches out a hand and trails her fingers down the high curve of Trini's cheek. "They look…"
"Like Rangers," Jack finishes, eyes on Jason Lee Scott, the red ranger.
"Wow." Sky says and for once there is no trace of his usual starchiness. "They're the reason we're standing here. They're the reason we're rangers."
"They started it all," Syd says, nodding.
Bridge takes off the gloves that protect him from the emotions of the world and waves his hand before the monument. His breath catches in his throat. "Bridge?" Z touches his shoulder. "What's wrong?"
"There's still some traces of auras here," he says. "I felt something and I needed to confirm it. I don't know whose auras these are but they're really strong." He reaches out a hand, as if to touch them. "And really good."
Commander Cruger looks up; as if his sensitive ears catch something the humans' ears could not. And it has. "There is a monster attack," he says without preamble.
The rangers look at each, and nod. They take their morphers from their belts, flip them open. "S.P.D. Emergency!"
As six rangers run from the cemetery, the wind blew, gently rippling the grass and waving the petals on the different coloured bouquets on each grave.
A/N: I've always like the idea of a memorial for the first Power Rangers and I indulged in that in this story. I hope you like it. :)