A few musings, meanderings, and ruminations… As I noted before, lots of people had various reactions to how I wrote Oz. I think that a number of people found his actions more comprehensible (not to say excusable) after I had written a lengthy explanation. But therein lay/lie/lain/done got laid the problem: truly effective writing doesn’t need a user’s manual. In looking back over Part 8, I think I rushed the episode and didn’t sufficiently flesh out aspects of Oz’s internal justifications. I was impatient, and thus the dramatic climax of the story wasn’t as effective as it could have been. It’s especially disappointing because my climaxes are usually quite good.
Beat. Two. Three.
Anyway, there will be one final episode or installment; that will be posted tomorrow night (Tuesday).
And for you particular Kittens who have responded since my last posting…
]]TKHeaven: What a great icon! Where’d you get it? I think you’ll find the answer to your particular question in this installment. Thanks for writing!
]]Patty: I think the fact that you had to struggle with Willow’s decision (how should they treat Oz at the factory?) speaks to the impatience I noted above. A couple of extra sentences could have made it clear that Oz’s life wasn’t being considered expendable or unimportant, but rather secondary, if it became violent, to Tara’s well-being. You were definitely not the only one who wrestled with what seemed like a rash or heartless decision on Willow’s part. I’m glad you liked the demon jokes—they were fun to write. Thanks a lot for writing and for following this story!
]]Hush: Omigod…stats for honors psych? Oh, you’re taking me back down a traumatic academic avenue, woman…Are you into factor analysis? Chi squares? Canonical correlations? (I’m still not sure what that last one is, but I do love the rhythm of the term!) You’re definitely on my wavelength where Tara’s introversion is concerned. I see her as having such depth to her. She feels so much more interesting to me than someone like Xander, whose output seems inversely proportional to the quality of his thoughts. Thanks a lot for writing and keeping up with this fic, and here’s hoping the test went well!
]]SisterBertrille: Hey girl, don’t confuse quality with quantity! Those wings can wait as long as you give the kind of thoughtful responses you do here. Your feedback contained an amazing description of the Oz in this story: his "need to editorialize his cruelty." God…I wish I’d written that! Thanks a lot for your input—it’s fascinating to mull over.
]]Nickole: Here you go! Thanks for being invested enough to check for updates!
]]Sara: Wow, I was touched by your input. I’m glad the characters feel real to you, and believable. Our girls offer such incredible canvasses on which to paint our own thoughts and ideas. Thanks a lot for keeping up with this fic and for sharing your responses. I hope you enjoy the last two episodes.
]]Xita: I totally get your discomfort with this Oz, but I’m glad the horror is creeping home. Thanks for following this story; and as ever, thanks for your incredible work on this site.
]]Anna: You know, it was tough but gratifying—in an odd sort of way—to write Oz’s dark side and see where it led me. Thanks for the feedback and the encouragement!
]]Jill: I appreciate your comments on each person’s right to picture a character and develop a plot according to her or his individual "take" on that character or action. Thanks for taking the time to keep up with this story and pass along the good thoughts.
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And now, back to our story
Premise: Way the heck back in S4, Willow makes a difficult choice
Disclaimer: Joss and ME own all of these characters, to the extent that it’s possible for anyone to "own" anything in this transient, ineffable thing we call life.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to the end of "New Moon Rising"
Distribution: But of course…Please give credit and disclaimer. Thanks.
Feedback: I’d definitely appreciate it.
Summary: Willow initially chose Oz, in no small part b/c she believed he needed her more. It became clear, however, that her love for Tara was only growing. Willow ran into Tara at the Bronze, only to find Tara there with another woman. Willow fled, Tara followed, Big Time Sensuality (to quote Bjork) ensued. Much later, Oz stopped by on an ill-advised whim. He wolfed out, but Tara employed a soothing spell that included, in essence, offering herself to the werewolf while Willow was anchored in a state of safety and calm. After a rather tenuous stand-off, Oz bounded out the door, still in wolf form. The next day, Willow and Tara called a Scooby meeting to talk about the night’s events, a conversation that included Willow coming out to everyone. The meeting ended with the plan that everyone try to locate Oz, using a reasoned mixture of caring and caution. Willow and Tara spent the next day making love and just basically wallowing in each other. Tara sent Willow off for some quality time with Buffy; when Willow’s calls went unanswered, Willow became worried. She and Buffy went to Tara’s room, only to find a mess. Tara was nowhere to be found. Turns out that Oz had gone first to Willow’s room to apologize but then, not finding her there, looked for her at Tara’s room. He was making his way through his regrets, including his intention to leave town, when the phone rang: Willow left a message saying how much she loved Tara and asking her to call. At that point, Oz kept himself from changing—but only in order to get Tara back to his hiding place. In other words, he chose to act in a violent way. Meanwhile, Willow and Buffy managed to find Tara using Willow’s mental connection to her beloved. Tara was hurt but not mortally so. Buffy kicked Oz very forcefully in his testicles. This hurt him quite a bit.
~~~~~~~~
ON SECOND THOUGHT: PART 9
She knew she should be exhausted; she knew she would be exhausted in the near future. For now, though, energy poured through her like sweet wine.
Oz sat across from her at the head of Giles’ table, hands tied. They had trussed him like a Thanksgiving turkey and loaded him into Mrs. Summers’ vehicle.
Tara they had treated far more gently. The gashes were angry-looking, but Oz hadn’t selected any major bloodlines. She wasn’t in danger from loss of blood. It was clear, though, that she would need at least a few stitches. Willow’s primary fear was internal bleeding, judging from the bruises she saw already developing on the fair skin, dark blotches of violet on a pale canvass.
Buffy dropped Willow and Tara off at the hospital, where they greeted Tara’s injuries with the typical "We won’t ask, please God don’t tell" demeanor that characterized most Sunnydale establishments including its fast-food drive-throughs.
"Are you sure you’re OK with—with him?" Willow asked, hesitating at the hospital curb.
"I’ll be fine. I’m going directly to Giles’ place and get some back-up. We’ll hang tight until you get there, OK?"
"OK. And hey, Buffy—about tonight…"
"Yeah, yeah. You owe me. We’ll make sure we enter it in the ‘Scooby Ledger o’ Life-Saving’ tomorrow, alright? Go take care of your sweetie."
Tara’s wounds were painful; would get more painful before they healed. But she required fewer stitches than Willow had anticipated. Her greatest relief had come at the pronouncement that Tara had suffered no internal injuries. The gray-haired, businesslike ER physician, however, decided to keep her overnight for observation.
"What are they going to observe?" Tara complained as they wheeled her to her room. "My sleeping habits?" She was already a bit groggy from the Vicodin.
"They’ll observe me observing you, Baby. I’m going to stay here until you fall asleep, and then I’ll stay a little bit longer just to gaze adoringly upon your sleeping form." Relief, she decided, should be bottled and sold at fine drugstores near her. Even now, well over an hour after she first knew Tara was alive and would stay that way, she could feel the sweet knowledge washing over her, again and again; a long drink of cool water to a woman who had thought she would die of thirst and been rescued at the last minute.
"Are you going to see him?" Tara asked, struggling to keep her eyes open, as Willow stepped back into the room after phoning Buffy with the news.
"Yeah, I think I have to. I have to get some answers. Does that make sense? Is that OK with you?" Willow held her hand gently, planting soft kisses on the palm.
"Just be careful, OK?"
"I will, I promise. Buffy and Giles will be there."
"OK. Just, um…just…" Her voice began to trail away.
"Just what, Sweetie?" Willow bent near to hear Tara’s whisper.
"Just keep the river…to your right. You’ll reach…Omaha…by dusk."
Willow bit back a smile and whispered in Tara’s ear, "I will, Baby. I’ll make dinner reservations at the very swankest Omaha eatery." She looked at the beautiful soul now sleeping peacefully before her, and felt her heart squeeze tightly at the sight. She’s seen enough pain in her life, dammit. She’s way overdue for the good stuff…So I’ll just make darn sure she gets it. She sat back in the chair and gratefully watched the steady rise and fall of Tara’s breathing.
Almost an hour later, she called a taxi and headed over to Giles’ apartment. He answered on the first knock, and pulled her into a warm embrace. Leaning back slightly, he looked at her with gentle scrutiny.
"Are you alright?"
"What scale are we using?"
"Let’s say one to ten, wherein ‘one’ equals ‘Fairly well, thank you’ and ‘ten’ equals ‘Oh, look—the bowels of Hell yawn agape at our feet!’"
"I’m going with five right now, because Tara’s gonna be OK."
Buffy reached her and encircled her in a fierce hug. Willow met her eyes and wondered yet once more what had ever passed for friendship in her life before she met the Slayer. Probably the goldfish, but they aren’t much for the mochas and high adventure.
Over Buffy’s shoulder, Willow could see Oz sitting at the long dinner table, hands tied to the arms of the wooden chair. His head slumped forward; she couldn’t tell whether he was awake or—something else.
"I gave him a mild tranquilizer," Giles explained with admirable anticipation of her question.
"And there’s plenty more where that came from," Buffy added, with admirable anticipation of her next question. "He should start coming back around in about twenty minutes or so."
Willow let herself sink into the soft couch; she sipped the relief one more time, thinking about Tara bleeding and terrified but now safe. Buffy sat down next to her, and slid an arm along the back of the sofa to rest on Willow’s shoulder.
"I gave Giles the Cliff Notes version," she said. Giles nodded.
"It seems quite remarkable, really. Apparently Oz has far more control over his demon aspect than most werewolves do."
"Oh, yeah, it’s quite remarkable," Willow replied sharply. "It’s also horrifying, ominous, grotesque, and a whole bunch of other words that you’d rather not have to use to describe anyone in your social circle." Giles looked duly abashed, and Willow softened somewhat.
"I’m sorry, Giles. Just been, you know…a long night. I mean, we have a lotta long nights, I know; but this one—not so much the years but the mileage, you know?"
"Yes, I suppose I do."
"It’s the control part that’s worst of all, you guys," Willow said after a moment. "I mean, a year ago, even six months ago, that would have been the best news you could have given me. But now, tonight—he could have stopped the wolf from coming out, but he didn’t. He…he let it out like some traumatized pit bull, some wild animal to do his dirty work. I mean, this is Oz we’re talking about. I never, in a million years, imagined he could do something like this." Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked angrily, not wanting them to come yet because she suspected that once those rains began to fall, there would be some serious flood damage on the way.
"Love can make people do strange and awful things," Giles noted softly.
"Don’t give me that," Willow said, glaring at him. Giles recoiled slightly, clearly taken aback by the force of her anger. "This isn’t about love. It’s about—about…It’s about some other thing that isn’t love, but I don’t know what just yet," she trailed off, in confusion. "Uh, sorry, Giles; at least, sorta."
"No, Willow; you’re actually quite right. I do believe that Oz loves you, but this…This isn’t just some particularly unfortunate symptom of love."
"It’s about control," Buffy said suddenly, and very quietly. As Willow and Giles turned to face her, she continued. "It’s about feeling like you have the right to do a particular thing because you’re hurt or angry or whatever, and nobody gets to do that to you. Nobody gets to have that control over you. So…so you control them." She held Willow’s eyes for a long time. Willow slowly nodded, and rested her hand over Buffy’s.
She saw Giles glance up, his eyes narrowing. Wheeling around on the couch, she saw Oz shifting slightly in his chair, pulling weakly at his ropes as he edged into consciousness.
"How well is he tied?"
"If he gets out of that, it’s because he morphed into a Q-tip," Buffy said decisively. "Giles double-checked the knots, just to be safe."
"Thanks," Willow murmured. "Both of you."
"Yeah, I learned all the good knots in Girl Scouts. Giles here learned ’em at the Manchester Academy of Bondage and Domination."
"Yes, I graduated at the head of my class," Giles responded blithely, attempting to remain unfazed by all the smutty innuendo.
"So you were on top?" Buffy asked innocently.
"Completely. Er, that is…" His cheeks reddened in sudden realization. "Well…Be that as it may, I think we should turn our attention to other matters."
By now Oz appeared to have awakened almost completely. He looked over at the three of them, peering at him with suspicion and wariness; and then his chin dropped to his chest. A groan echoed from somewhere deep within his chest.
Buffy looked at Willow questioningly. "What do you want to do?"
Willow felt a surge of appreciation for Buffy’s understanding; for her forgoing any alpha smack-down inclinations.
"I wanna talk to him. Alone." At the sight of four raised eyebrows, she amended slightly, "Or relatively alone. I understand the danger, guys, I do. It’s just…This feels kinda private, you know?"
"I get it," Buffy replied softly. "How about if Giles and I hang out at the top of the stairs. No eavesdropping, I promise. But that way we can be down here in less than a second; at least, I can. He’ll bring up the rear, no matter what he did at the head before." Giles’ expression defied easy description. Offended, with a side of abject horror, Willow decided.
"And keep this tranquilizer gun in your hands at all times," Giles finally managed, pushing the slender weapon firmly into her grasp. He squeezed her shoulder lightly, then turned to ascend the stairs.
"Willow, I’m right above you if you need me, OK?" Buffy looked at her with concern.
"Hey, we’ve got your knots, your tranquilizer guns…And I just ordered the Ginsu knives; they should be here any minute." Willow tried for an air of irony.
"I mean emotionally."
Willow looked at her best friend. Was it less than twenty-four hours ago that we were sitting at the Espresso Pump happily comparing our love lives? She nodded, and Buffy hugged her again, then headed up the stairs to join her Watcher.
Gripping the tranquilizer gun tightly, Willow pulled out a chair half-way down the table. Oz raised his head and looked at her; Willow could see that tears were spilling down his cheeks and onto the table. Neither person spoke for a perhaps two minutes.
Finally, Willow muttered, "I don’t know where to even begin."
"Willow." The voice was almost inaudible; almost sobbing.
She waited expectantly.
"I’m so sorry."
"Well, then; I guess that takes care of things, doesn’t it?" She hadn’t realized she had such sarcasm within her; even after he had left the first time, she hadn’t realized she could speak with such venom.
"No," he whispered. Silence fell over them once again.
After a moment, Willow asked, "Why Oz? How could you do this?" The words felt wrenched from her with the force of her desperation for an answer, even as she realized that no answer would suffice.
"I was so crazy, Willow." His voice shook. "When I saw you together Friday night, I just went absolutely crazy. But then I pulled it together. I did; I swear. I told you that I was coming to say goodbye. But then I heard your voice on the machine and I just lost it."
"Well apparently you regained it enough to take Tara hostage and—" She stopped, unable to finish the sentence, say it aloud. As it was, it would be playing in her mind for a very long time. "You didn’t wolf out in Tara’s room, Oz; you couldn’t have. You couldn’t have gotten her off of campus without being seen." She realized that her own voice was trembling—with anger, with the terror that still vibrated through her body.
"No. You’re right." He looked at her miserably. "I kept the wolf away until I got her to the factory."
"And then you let it out to play," she finished flatly, nausea rolling up in her belly and threatening to make its way to her throat.
"I know this doesn’t mean anything, Willow, but I wasn’t going to kill her."
She told him with her gaze that he was right.
"I swear to you. Even at the end—I just wanted…I just wanted her to feel half as bad as I did."
"I think you may have over-shot the mark a little bit there, because I’m pretty sure she feels probably two or three times as bad as you did."
Oz looked at her with dread. "Is she going to be alright?"
"Yes, she is. She’s going to be fine, and we’re going to live happily ever after unless some other whack-job nut-case kill-joy decides that he doesn’t want us to." She watched as Oz closed his eyes and seemed to sink inside of himself with anguish.
"Oz…I just can’t understand this. I can’t even start to wrap my mind around this, and I’m not bragging, but considering my mind, that’s saying something. I mean, you’ve always been this quiet, enigmatic type; I’ve never seen violence out of you except when we were fighting vampires and other assorted bad guys. How could you—how could you, Oz, of all people…" She trailed off helplessly.
"For what it’s worth, Willow, I was as surprised as you were." He gave a dry, mirthless laugh. "I always figured that if I learned how to keep the wolf at bay, I wouldn’t have any problem. I’d never known I could feel that much rage."
"Well, we interrupt this self-delusion to bring you a clues-flash: You can. You did." She shook her head. "Oz, why didn’t you leave after Friday night? As close as you came to—" She stopped, remembering that night’s surreal terror.
"I should have; I know. But I wanted to talk to you, Willow. I wanted to say goodbye. I wanted you to know that I could control it; that I could control myself. After everything we’ve been through, I didn’t want your last memory of me to be as the wolf."
"Well if you think that would’ve sucked, consider my latest memory of you: a half-wolf, half-human bastard terrorizing my girlfriend. You really shoulda cut your losses." She shook her head in disbelief.
And then a sudden certainty came to her. "You never really thought you’d lose, did you?"
Oz looked at her, perplexed. "What do you mean? Lose what?"
"Me. I mean, starting two years ago; I was all smitten with the boy in the band. Even when I kissed Xander, I was begging for another chance less than an hour later. And after you slept with Veruca, you knew I still wanted to be with you. You took off for Tibet and points east, having one transforming moment after another with nary a post-card or a phone call to let me know you’re alive, and then you decide to come back and give it another shot with me. And you never, ever thought I’d say no, did you?"
Oz struggled for words. "Well, I thought I had a good chance when Xander said you didn’t have a new guy." He paused, shifting uncomfortably. "But then, after I saw her—"
"Say her name, Oz. It’s the least you can do." She felt her jaw tighten.
"After I saw Tara…" He took a deep breath, and Willow found herself gripping the tranquilizer gun tightly. But there was no change.
"After I saw Tara, and found out you cared about her—I was scared then."
"Were you? I mean, I know you were upset. You made that abundantly clear. But were you really afraid of losing me? I’d been so happy to be your girlfriend; so devoted to you. Did you really think I might choose Tara over you? For God’s sake, Oz, be honest," she pleaded.
Oz met her gaze silently for several seconds. And then his expression softened, and, if possible, grew even sadder. "No. I think that deep inside, I always thought you’d be mine. What a stupid, vain assumption." He sighed heavily.
"Had I ever really given you reason to think otherwise?" She looked over to the couch, where she and Tara had sat the night before. "God, what a great triptych of irony we made…You didn’t think you’d lose; Tara didn’t think she’d win; and I was spending half my time trying to believe that there was a Willow Sweepstakes going on and that there were people who actually wanted to win."
Oz shook his head. "If you had any idea how many times I’ve wished I’d never left…"
Willow looked at him sadly. This probably needed to be said. "Oz, it wouldn’t have made any difference."
"What do you mean? We were happy, weren’t we?" He looked at her with something akin to desperation.
"Yeah, we were. But I still would have met Tara, and—and things would have changed."
"You don’t know that."
"Yes I do, Oz. I’m sorry, but I do. I was definitely happy with you, and I definitely loved you. But—but I can’t imagine ever meeting Tara and not falling in love with her." She sighed. Even after the horrific events of the day and evening, she had no real desire to inflict pain for pain’s sake. Tara was alive, would recover; retribution was unnecessary. She couldn’t imagine ever forgiving him; then again, Tara was the one he needed to ask that of. Vengeance, though…she didn’t have the energy for it. She wanted to get back to Tara. But at the same time, she wouldn’t be an accomplice to a misguided regret. Oz needed to know that regardless of his presence, she and Tara would have met and fallen in love. If anything, that would have been even more painful. Looking at him, she could see his own thoughts and feelings flickering in his eyes.
"God, what a total fuck-up," he muttered. "I still can’t believe everything I did today." His shoulders sagged heavily, and Willow could hear his breathing grow ragged.
"You have to believe it, Oz. Because you did it. You took Tara to a factory and chained her up and beat her." Willow heard her voice shake. "You say you weren’t going to kill her—maybe you were, maybe you weren’t. But even if you weren’t, you did something terrible, Oz; you hurt another person, horribly, and you did it on purpose. It wasn’t the wolf, it was you. And you’d better find a way to wrap your mind around that pretty quickly, or you’ll do it again."
"Never," he rasped, looking at her in anguish. "I could never do that again."
"See, that word is gonna get you in trouble, Oz, because you could do it again. If you don’t want to, you’ll have to make the choice not to. You told me before you left that the wolf was in you, all the time. Well you’re in you, too, all the time, and apparently there are some dark, musty corners you haven’t wanted to see in a while and they’ve gotten really, really dirty." She paused to take a breath, and looked at him intently. "I don’t know if you’ll find the answer in Tibet or a church or therapy or where, but you’d better find it, Oz. Find it, and deal with it."
They both fell silent once more. Finally, Oz looked at her. Grief seemed to echo off of him, out of every breath he took and released.
"Do you hate me? Do you feel anything for me besides hate?"
Willow met his gaze, and in it she saw a wry, caring guitarist who had given her a witch Pez; who had taken a bullet to protect her; who had risked his life innumerable times in the name of good. She saw someone who loved her, had told her and shown her how beautiful she was to him. She saw someone with a brilliant mind and a generous spirit. And she saw someone who had kidnapped her beloved, keeping her terrified and wounded because he couldn’t face losing what he had always expected to have for his very own.
"Too many socks," she finally sighed, shrugging helplessly.
Oddly, he didn’t seem to understand.
"I think about everything that I’ve felt about you, and everything you’ve done, and I just can’t fit it all under one heading like love or hate. There are just too many socks to stuff into one drawer." She looked at him with greater resolution. "But I do know that you and I will never, ever be together again. Do you know that?"
Tears glistened in his eyes once more. He could only nod his understanding.
"Oz, there’s something else I have to ask you. I think I know the answer, but I need you to tell me for sure."
"Anything," he said simply.
Willow squared her shoulders and tried to gather her courage. She hadn’t realized the full extent of her fear of the matter until this moment.
"Oz, when you had Tara; when you were…hurting her…" Willow choked on the words, but forced herself to continue. "When you were hurting her, did you…did you bite her?" There. She’d said it. Now if she could only survive the answer.
"No." The reply was immediate, and sure. "I thought about it; I won’t lie. But…But I didn’t."
Willow released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Not trusting her voice, she only nodded. Then she stood up, surprised to find her legs solid beneath her.
"I’ll be right back."
She climbed the stairs slowly, running the entire conversation over in her mind. As she reached the top, she saw Buffy and Giles sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor. Buffy looked fresh and alert; Giles looked sore and disheveled. She was suddenly aware of loving them both very much.
"You OK?" Hazel eyes looked softly into hers.
"Yeah, Buffy. Tired, but OK."
"The question now is what to do with him," Giles said thoughtfully. "I could ask the Watchers’ Council for advice, although I’m not on the best terms with them."
"And we know that their advice is always reasoned and temperate. I mean, I plan to ask them about birth control whenever you get their new number." Buffy snorted in exasperation. "We’re not asking them anything unless it’s to fling themselves into a wood chipper."
"OK, so we have a ‘no’ on the Watchers’ Council issue," Willow duly noted. "Other suggestions?"
"Well I can’t imagine taking him to the police," Giles said helplessly. "Whatever would we say?"
"It’s not too far from a domestic violence case, but I agree: the details are very inconvenient." Buffy paused, mulling over various options. "I could ask Riley for some help, although I definitely don’t want the Initiative as a whole in on this deal. Of course, Riley himself isn’t in the Initiative as a whole right now, so that last part’s kind of a given…"
"Wait a minute—why not pull a Spike on him?" Willow looked up hopefully.
"You want Oz to drink pig’s blood and watch ‘Passions’? My God, Willow, isn’t that a bit extreme?"
Giles looked at Buffy, his gaze filled with regretful disappointment. "I think Willow is suggesting that Oz be implanted with a behavior-modification chip."
Willow looked at Buffy anxiously. "Do you think we could do it? Could Riley help us out?"
Buffy nodded confidently. "Riley’s so whipped, he’d sing ‘Copa Cabana’ naked at Dodger Stadium if I asked him too." Catching the bemused looks of her friends, she amended, "Which of course I would never ask him to do. Anyway," she hurried on, "I’m sure he can get his hands on one of the chips, and I know he’s still got close ties to at least five or six guys at the Initiative; one of them’s a doctor. Maybe Riley could persuade him to help us out." Turning, she looked at Willow anxiously. "Do you really think this is the best idea?"
Willow weighed the matter slowly in her mind. Finally, she replied, "Yes, I do. I think it’ll work, and I think it’s the best option. I mean, I don’t trust Oz—at least not all of him—but I can’t see turning him over to the Initiative, knowing what they’re up to. I just don’t see a whole lot of other possibilities here, guys."
Buffy and then Giles nodded in turn. Buffy left to call Riley, returning a few minutes later to say that he had the necessary equipment in his own personal stash. ("Some people have their own personal stash of drugs; Riley has his own personal stash of government-issue military intelligence technology.") He he was fairly certain he could convince his medic friend. They would come over within the next two or three hours.
"We should best tell Oz of our decision," Giles said.
"Actually, let me," Willow broke in. "I’ll tell him, and then I’m going back to the hospital."
"Will, visiting hours are way past over," Buffy reminded her dubiously.
"I know, but I can sit outside her door. Besides," she added, looking out the eastern window at the dim slivers of first light, "visiting hours will start again fairly soon." She took Buffy’s hand. "After the procedure, and after Oz leaves, will you stop by the hospital and let me know?"
"Sure. And I’ll bring a big bag of Tara’s favorite candy. Which would be…?"
"Mounds."
"Of course," Giles murmured. "Of course she prefers Mounds."
"I’ll just be a few minutes, and then I’m heading out. Would you call a cab for me?" She hugged them both again, suddenly feeling a need to stock up on these comforts. "I’ll call upstairs as I leave so you can come on back down. And thanks for the privacy. I know this hasn’t been the most comfortable spot."
"Oh, that depends on one’s perspective, really," Giles demurred. "Relative to the seventh circle of hell…"
Back downstairs, Willow looked once more at Oz, who was now staring morosely out the window. She wondered once more at the journey her feelings had taken, and realized that despite the terror, and despite the awful aching of the past two weeks, she and Tara were facing this new day as a couple. A day could only be so bad if it started with that truth.
"Oz, I think there’s a way to keep everyone safe here, including you." She outlined the plan, explaining the chip and what activated it. "It’s simple, really: don’t attack any living thing. You can fight demons, but if you raise your hand against any human being, you will spend the next several minutes in a state of deep, deep regret."
Oz thought briefly. "That’s about the best plan I could hope for. And Willow—I am sorry. I know that doesn’t mean anything, or change anything, but I am."
Willow struggled to find words. "It means something, Oz, as long as you make peace with all of yourself." Then her voice took on harder tone. "And as long as you stay away from Tara. If you come hear her again…"
"I won’t. I swear to you, I won’t." He looked at her steadily. Finally, she nodded.
When Oz spoke again, his voice had a dull, empty sound to it. "I’m never going to see you again, am I?"
"I don’t think so, Oz." She felt the tears threatening to slip out once more. She had walked such an important path with him. She wanted good things for him. But their dance was over, long past over, and she felt her body hum suddenly with the force of her resonance with Tara.
He looked at her, his own eyes filled with tears.
"Goodbye, Willow."
"Goodbye, Oz."
And then she needed to be at the hospital, would have teleported there if she knew how. Turning away from Oz, she walked to the door.
"Leaving now," she called back over her shoulder, and heard Giles groan as he rose, creaking, to his feet once more. Stepping out on the porch, she drew in a deep breath. It would be a warm, beautiful day.
To every thing there is a season. And then her taxi appeared, and she headed off to be where she belonged.
TO BE CONCLUDED TOMORROW NIGHT
Edited by: AntigoneUnbound at: 11/19/02 12:01:41 am