By

NorthernStar

The fading light cast an orange glow on the empty bus seat beside her. A tree flashed passed the window, momentarily making extinguishing the light. Then it was back.

Another tree and the orange became black.

Orange; black; orange; black…

Her world had narrowed to such minutiae since it happened. Since Buffy had…

Willow bit down on her lip and pulled her head away from the chair to force the tears back. She would not cry.

She stared out of the coach window; in the distance the sun was setting. It deepening colour creating pretty waves on the cloak of pollution that hung over the city.

Los Angeles…

The coach moved slowly through the damp streets. Sometime ago it had rained. Tears from Heaven…

Willow swallowed, trying to rid herself of the terrible tightening at the back of her throat. She would not cry.

****

Empty.

"Angel?"

Silence.

"Cordy?" She wandered the rooms, "anybody?"

Her voice sounded small and lost, like a child calling for her mother. Her heart beat thumped in her ears, gaining pace. Irrational fear pounded in her chest. Maybe they were dead too.

Maybe everyone was dead and it was just Willow.

She'd be alone forever in a world of empty coaches and empty homes.

"Angel?"

Her lip trembled slightly; her hands shook.

There was noting she could do but wait.

****

"There's no place like…"

A voice broke her daze; Angel's voice…

Willow looked up and met the vampire's eyes. She couldn't speak the words, she knew she wouldn't have to.

Confusion creased Angel's brow, "Willow?"

"What?" Cordelia murmured.

The bitter veil of understanding lit Angel's face. "It's Buffy…"

****

A brown haired girl had brought them all tea before she, the demon and the black guy left. Willow held her cup between her hands as she related the events that lead her here. They all listened silently, Angel's face wavering between anger and grief, and the dull senses of shock.

When she had finished, they all sat in stunned silence. The unthinkable had happened, reality was shattered, and there was no light.

"Oh God, I can't believe it…" Cordy whispered, clutching her arms to her oddly costumed chest.

Willow touched her arm. "I know."

"It's just not possible…Buffy? She's, like, the all-powerful slayer, how can she be beaten? Be dead?"

"She wasn't beaten!" Willow snapped, "she gave up her life to save Dawn!"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"Willow," Wes lay a hand on her shoulder. "We're all in shock."

Cordy nodded, "yeah. I'm sorry, it's just…I can't believe it." She stared into the distance. "Buffy…dead! How could she do that to me?"

Everyone turned to stare at her. Wes opened his mouth to say something but Angel abruptly got to his feet, his body tense with anger. He stormed out.

Willow licked her lips, nervous, then came to the decision. She quickly got up and hurried after Angel.

She followed him into the garden, calling his name. When he didn't stop, she caught his arm and pulled him to a halt.

The vampire turned to face her, his eyes dark with emotion.

"She didn't…she just being Cordy, you know?"

Angel looked down, "I know. I just…"

"Gotta bail?"

"Yeah." He turned and began walking away, then he stopped and looked back at Willow. "There's a few things I need to get before we go. You can wait here or…"

"No. No I could use…y'know, some bailing time too."

****

The bar was smoky and loud. Willow sat at the back in a relatively quiet corner, nursing a drink. She phoned Xander the moment she found a payphone. His voice had been tired and hollow as he assured her that Tara was OK; she was sleeping. But Willow didn't want to disturb her, however much she needed to hear her voice right now.

She looked around the bar, not that unlike the Bronze really. Seen one bar, pretty much seen 'em all. Oz once told her.

She frowned, an irritating sense digging at the back of her mind. She hadn't thought of her first lover in over a month. Maybe two.

She shook her head; she didn't know what she was thinking half the time. Grief could do that to you. Rip your heart; you're very soul to shreds. Eat away at everything inside you until the only thing that felt real was the pain.

Willow swallowed her drink and ordered another. One day at a time, Giles had told her.

One day at a time….

****

The wire bit into the soft skin beneath his thumbnail, cutting the flesh. But his fingers stayed, frozen to the guitar, mid-cord. The world, as always, forgotten in the midst of that sensation; that smell.

Someone thumped his shoulder, bringing him back.

"Hey!" Finn snapped, "don't go zoning out on me, buddy."

"I…" He looked up at his…. friend? Not friend, then, but band-mate. What their such a term as band-mate? "…I gotta bail."

"It's, like, nine-thirty."

He nodded, "need some breathin' room."

Finn watched his guitarist disappear into the crowds. "Huh?"

****

Willow had known death since she was six. It had taken her uncle one night, when the trees had lost their leaves and her mother wouldn't let her swim in the sea. Winter always brought back memories of that time, the moment when her childhood innocence had been put away, and replaced by a deeper understanding of what it meant to exist.

That had been the first block on the tower to adulthood. Others had followed, gaining pace over the years, some so painful as to shred her soul and bring new understanding of pain.

Now another block had been added to her tower, already so tall as to touch the stars if it were made of bricks or wood rather than experiences.

She knew now the tower was never finished. As long as life went on, blocks would added.

But only as long as life went on.

No more blocks for Buffy.

Willow dug her nails into the palms of her hands. She would not cry.

"Willow?"

The quiet, almost whisper seemed to run through her like a caress. She turned.

It was Oz…

****

"Hey." He said.

"O-Oz!" She managed to squeeze past the logjam in her chest. "You…It's…How…Your hair is red!"

Warmth filled the young man's eyes and a smile touched his lips. "They were outta Burnt Umber."

He saw the not so slight trembling in her hands, the shadows under her eyes and her smell…

Not fear exactly, but distressed, ready to take flight.

More than he'd expected from their meeting again.

"What is it?"

****

It was like a dream, one of the many she'd had since Oz had left her life. But he was here. He was real. He was…

…Touching her shoulder. The feel of his hand lying on the curve of her neck, four fingertips against the pale beige of her top, the thumb, warm and soft against the skin at the very corner of her throat.

She had missed his touch, his taut body pressing against hers, arms holding her. Nothing in the world, or not of this world, could harm her in his presence.

His thumb began to move, tiny, tiny strokes across her skin. The feel of it reaching inside her, pulling her emotions to the surface, past the barrier she had placed between herself and the grief and confusion.

"Oz…" She whispered, and for a split second her body went limp, ready for him to catch her. But she pulled herself up, turning away. His hand fell back to his side. She sat back on the barstool, the warm spots on her shoulder created by his touch cooling in the air.

"Willow?" His voice deepened with his concern.

****

His hand clenched at his side, forcing it to say still. He no longer had the right to just touch her without at least some warning, some understanding. She meant more to him than that.

He settled into the barstool next to her and watched her. She didn't turn to face him and he let his eyes follow the line of her profile down, curving over her nose, brushing her lips, stroking down her neck… He used to do so with his fingers and his lips, now he had to make do with sight and the memory.

"How's…How's everyone?"

The girl sipped at her drink, showing no signs of even hearing him.

"Saw Cordelia coupla months back…"

There was still no reply. Oz frowned, his worry deepening.

"She told me about Mrs Summers..." He lowered his head, knowing he should have sent flowers, or a card, but it hadn't felt right at the time. "How are Buffy and Dawn doin'?"

A cry forced its way out of Willow and shock ran through him at the sound of it. She stumbled to her feet, knocking the stool to the floor. Her glass slipped from her limp fingers and smashed on the bar. A hundred tiny shards caught the light and flashed.

Willow muttered something, breathing heavily and she began to scoop up the broken glass.

Oz grabbed her hands in alarm; "you'll cut yourself."

She pushed him off and ran for the door, bumping into people in her blind haste to get out. A murmur passed through the crowds at the spectacle.

Oz snapped to his feet and hurried after her. The murmur turning to disapproval at the sight of him. They obviously took him for the bad guy.

He pushed passed a couple and came out onto the harshly lit street. He didn't need to look left and right to see which way she went. He could smell her, familiar, sexy, comforting…

Afraid….

He ran after her, his lycanthropy giving his legs a fraction more power than another human's.

"Willow!"

He grabbed her arm to stop her, pulling them both to a halt. His heart beat wildly at her distress and he forced himself to be calm. "What…?"

"Buffy's dead!"

****

Her arms went wild as she screamed the words she could not longer hold in. Panic rose in her chest, the colours around her, rendered bright by the fluorescence overhead suddenly became saturated. Everything in sharp contrast….

Including Oz.

She collapsed into him, her weight pulling him to the damp ground. He held on to her, cradling her all the way down as sobs racked her chest. Her words came slowly to him and his understanding following at the same pace. Buffy was dead. After everything they'd been through, it was over.

****

She'd felt the something snap inside her, felt the outpouring of grief and bitter, bitter anger as an almost physical pain. Willow bit down on her lip, drawing blood, but nothing could hold it back. Her sobs racked her chest; she couldn't breathe in…

Couldn't breath in…

Hands rubbed her back, stroking, soothing….

Whispers in her ears.

Her body gently rocked, back and forth.

Fragments of the outside flickered, barely perceivable beyond the turmoil.

Willow lost herself in her own tears, unable to stop them and not caring that she couldn't.

****

Oz shushed the girl in his arms, curving his legs and arms around her, creating a physical barrier between her and the world that might want to hurt her. The cold and damp; the harsh sound of the cars passing along the road; the occasional stare from across the street.

He knew she was barely aware of him and his own thoughts tumbled over each other, clumsy with shock, blunted and dull. When that wore off…

He tightened his arms around Willow, felt her shrink infinitesimally into his embrace, snuggling there like a child. It had been so long since he'd held her but he had never forgotten how it felt. There was no one else like Willow. There would never be anyone else.

In his entire life he had loved only one person.

He knew now that he would only ever love that one person.

A strangled hiccup convulsed her as her sobs died down. He smiled into her hair, brushing his lips against the top of her head.

Willow stirred in his arms, shifting slightly, then relaxing.

****

Dur-thump…dur-thump… Willow listened, her ear pressed against his chest. It was just a fraction slower than she remembered probably something to do with all that Tibetan chanting.

She lay back in Oz's arms, noticing guiltily that his shirt was damp and sticky from her tears. Another hiccup racked her frame and she tensed up. Oz murmured softly and stroked her hair. She leaned back into his embrace.

Their eyes met.

A long silence fell between them.

Oz smiled slightly, "hi."

****

More tears welled in her eyes and trickled slowly down her cheeks. These were different though, coming not from grief, but from gratitude…warmth…remembrances…love…

Oz brushed them away with his thumb, the half smile lingering on his lips and a slight flushing heightened the skin tone behind his ears…

She felt her lips form a small smile despite the wave of tiredness that washed over her now that her tears were spent. "Hi." She murmured in return.

He tightened his arms briefly, and Willow settled her head back against his chest.

A silence fell and lasted for many moments.

"I wanna say somethin', you know?" His words, when he finally spoke, were soft. "Sorry seems kinda redundant."

"You don't have to say anything, Oz. You just have to be here."

****

She had linked her arm through his casually, as they'd began walking the streets. Her body felt warm and familiar at his side, her light touch exhilarating. The damp air was cold around them, lying like a bitter blanket over the city.

It was as if the whole world was in mourning tonight. If happiness existed at this moment, somewhere, it must surely be hollow. Oz glanced up at the half moon above them. He knew its cycles intimately and guessed the hour was very late. Probably well past midnight.

Willow followed his eyes and he felt her tense. "Are you still…?" She stopped and turned to face him. "I mean, there's still no wolfie?"

"No. As long as I stay calm."

"And you always found that so hard, right?" She joked. Then looked down, mentally cursing herself. He didn't need to be reminded of this.

Oz lay a hand on her arm, "it's alright." He assured her.

She raised her head again to meet his eyes. She smiled slightly, awkwardly. A silence fell.

"How is…Tara?" His voice was neutral, no one else might have noticed the tiny pause before Oz spoke her name, but Willow did. And understood. It was very painful for him. Even after all this time.

"She's good. She…" Her words caught in her throat, "she…um, she's good."

His hand returned to her arm and offered a small squeeze of comfort.

"You can talk to me about her." He told her, "if you want to, or need to?"

"It's not…not that." She took a breath, "I just don't know where to start."

"Beginning's usually the best place."

She was silent for a while, then she slipped her hand through his and they began to walk again. After a moment, she began to tell him.

He listened quietly as she told him of Glory and Dawn. His eyes darkened when she told him his memories of Buffy's sister were not, and never had been real. Willow forced down the urge to hold him; he had been very fond of Dawn.

"Real or not, they're there." He thought aloud, "guess that's all that matters."

Willow smiled at his words. "That's how Buffy thought of it."

They continued walking on, Willow speaking softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Oz listening, intent, offering her a type of comfort that could not be named, only felt.

At the very end, she closed her eyes and let the peace that followed seep through her; her breathing coming easily now that the weight had been lifted from her chest.

Willow watched the war going on inside Oz in his eyes. Disbelief reigned for several moments; then gradually, sorrow took its place.

"I can't really feel anythin', y'know?" He said quietly.

"I know." She pressed a little closer to him, "I dunno what to feel, it's like I've lost something, a really, really important something. And I don't even know where to begin looking."

"I'll be here, if you need to…talk, or…" cry… The last word went unspoken, but Willow understood.

"I know, I'm…I'm so glad you're here."

Another almost smile touched his lips, "wouldn't be anywhere else." Then it was gone, replaced with a darker expression. "Wish I'd known, coulda helped…"

"There wasn't anything." Her voice wavered a little, "it was Buffy's choice."

Silence fell again. "Has she…" Oz paused, "has there been a funeral?"

She shook her head, "not yet. We were…waiting for Angel." She frowned, "he's here. In LA."

"I heard." His voice was dark. He had not sort the vampire out, there had been to many memories there.

She suddenly remembered the time. She'd been gone longer than she'd intended. "I have to go." She said, "Angel will be waiting."

Oz met her eyes. "You want me to come with?"

"I…" She looked down, "you knew her too. If you wanna be there…I can't tell you not too."

"No…but…" His hands were hesitant, taking hers carefully, "but I don't wanna make it harder for you."

Tears threatened in her eyes and she swallowed hard. His words were so typical of Oz, always thinking of her first.

"I…I'd…" like you to come… She read the hope in his eyes and forced herself to swallow the rest of the sentence. "I think she'd want you to be there." She said instead.

He smiled; his understanding of what she hadn't been able to say clearly written in his eyes. For a moment, she expected him to ask, "do you?"

But that wasn't Oz. He did not push.

She smiled, overwhelmed with gratitude for that and for everything else and she stepped forward to hug him. His body tensed in hers, shaking slightly. She held him tighter, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against her chest.

He closed his eyes against the tears that only she could evoke. The feel of her in his arms again almost too painful to bear…

"Thank you," she whispered.

© T S "NORTHERN STAR" FENN