This oneshot is inspired by the song "Vincent" By Don Mclean.

Thanks to all of you for all of the support for this story! This is really wonderful. =)

Shifts started at noon, and lolly-gagging (as the manual put it) was not entirely prohibited. This is what Greg learned when he started working at the car wash. He had needed the extra money while his career as a musician was still panning out. Not that he necessarily needed to support Rose; to have a stable job was the mark of man who could marry. Having a stable job was the mark of a man who could care for himself and others.

But Rose Quartz never cared about any of those things. She was patient and kind; she hoped and always believed in Greg, and knew that he had a beautiful talent for music.

"Greg? What are you doing?" Rose asked, watching her husband walk into the temple.

"Not much, they're making me put in more hours than normal," Greg mumbled, seeming exhausted. He glanced over at his guitar, which sat on a stand in the corner of the room. Beside it was a small desk that was covered in sheet music, and a stereo only a few feet away.

He looked away, shaking his head. Rose Quartz watched her husband, and smiled gently.

"I'm sure it's not too bad..." she began, her voice trailing off. She glanced back over at the copious amount of unfinished music in the corner. "And you'll get a chance to finish it..."

Greg looked down, shaking his head and looking defeated. Rose straightened up her posture, looking toward the opposite wall as she pondered a way to raise Greg's spirits. And then it came to her.

Rose smiled in delight, her eyes wide open.

"Come on," she said to Greg eagerly, running toward the corner to lift his guitar out of the darkened corner. "I have an idea."

Rose Quartz only walked a few feet ahead of Greg, looking back every now and then to make sure that he was still following.

"Rose! Wait up!" Greg huffed. He was slowly wading through tall grass to catch up with her. They were climbing up a tall hill that ended in a cliff that overlooked the ocean, close to the gems' temple.

"This is it, Greg! Just a little bit farther!" Rose called, reaching the top of the hill. She bounced up and down eagerly as she waited for her husband.

Greg finally managed to reach the top of the hill before leaning over and placing his hands on his knees, his chest heaving with effort.

"Look out there," Rose Quartz whispered, placing one hand on Greg's shoulder and pointing out too the beach with the other. Greg looked out to where she was pointing and smiled.

"...So why did you bring me up here?" Greg asked, smiling.

"So you could write your music! I've always loved this place, ever since I first came here..." Rose laughed. "Look over there. See that willow? It may be young, but it's just big enough to give you shade while you write!"

"Oh..." Greg said, his breath taken away. "Rose, this place is beautiful..."

Rose Quartz smiled. "That's why I shared it with you."

Up on the hill, there was a small, gray, humble headstone beneath a weeping willow. Between the gracefully swaying of the branches, and the sound of crashing waves and gulls over the side of the cliff, Greg had decided that this was the most serene place. There was no body the day she left them; the headstone was as true a memorial in the human world as one could hope.

Greg didn't have anywhere to go when Rose left him, so he stayed in Beach City. Not that he would ever leave his son, or the gems for that matter.

It was late one evening, as the sun was setting, that he walked up the hill, carrying a small acoustic guitar on his back. The wind sent gentle waves over the sea of grass; lost in a sea of thoughts, Greg waded through the tall grass to the top of the hill, where the wind seemed to calm down. There he sat down, and glanced out at the sunset. There were long moments of silence, and then Greg began to speak.

"...Hey," he finally said out loud, forcing himself to smile. "I thought I'd come up to talk again."

The gravestone was silent, as was the wind. A beautiful cascade of color had come over the clouds, overshadowing the ocean.

"I just thought...maybe you would like to hear some music? I knew it always cheered you up when a mission didn't quite go the way you wanted it to. And then you would cheer me up whenever I had a bad day...I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

Greg shifted where he sat so that the body of the acoustic guitar slid toward his hip. He reached for it and held it with its neck in his hand.

"I remember that one you loved...It wasn't as fast as my other songs...in fact, I didn't write it. I only played it because I remembered my parents showing it to me when I was a bit younger. You never liked it as much as my other songs, but...I always enjoyed how much you relaxed when you heard it."

Slowly, Greg began to adjust his fingering, and the simple notes he played turned into chords, and then into melodies. He played something melancholy, and thought about how in the past, Rose would sit up at the top of the hill with him while he played and sang.

Barely holding back tears, Greg stopped playing, and slowly lowered his guitar.

"I lost my job today, Rose..." Greg stated, refusing to allow his voice to break. "They didn't need me. But what am I going to tell our son?"

Greg felt the urge to the throw the guitar in his frustration, but refused to allow himself to do so. Tears streamed out of his eyes.

"But that wouldn't matter, Rose...I miss you. I wish you were here. I wish that you could be here to see our son. I wish that you could be here...to protect us."

Greg turned away from the cliff side, leaning forward on his hands and knees. Hunched forward, and his head hung low, he allowed the guitar strap to slip over his shoulder and past his neck. The guitar hit the ground with protest from the individual strings, but the sound fell on deaf ears. Pushing the guitar away, Greg continued to keep his head hung low.

Small tears lightly dripped onto the soft ground beneath Greg's face.

"But no one can hurt you now."

Greg felt as though his chest had split open after he said this, and tears flowed freely out of his eyes.

After several, long moments, he finally looked up and reached for his guitar.

"Rose," Greg said, and smiled, his eyes still glassy. "I'm sorry. I broke performance, didn't I? Here, I'll finish the song, just for you. How did it start again?" Greg asked, and then he began to sing.

"Starry, Starry Night..."

In the human world, it was customary to mark the grave of a loved one with a headstone, as Greg had explained to the gems. And below their name was marked an expression that described the person who was so loved.

On Rose Quartz's headstone, just below her name, was a lyric to the song that Greg was singing. And at last, when he reached that part of the song, he read Rose's headstone as he sang.

"'But I could have told you, Rose...This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.'"

AU: This oneshot was inspired by the song "Vincent" by Don Mclean. I do not own Don Mclean, or "Vincent," but I do appreciate how music has the potential to inspire.