The Soulmate Series

Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road (Chapter Thirty of Soulmates)

Willow can hardly believe it, but she actually has plenty of tears left to cry, and a part of her heart was still unbroken...until now, that is. Now that last pristine corner is shattering into a million pieces.

Someone she knows, someone they all know, someone who was special to Buffy has been killed - and in a town where death is the silent guest at nearly every family table, it makes a bigger difference than it should whether a victim is someone you know well, or someone whose name you barely recall, or someone you’ve never heard of before. Sunnydale is like that. Marcie Ross isn’t the only person here who’s disappeared, just the only one with the gumption to rail against her fate and fight back.

But Scott Hope? Scott wasn’t invisible. Scott was a friend of the Slayer. Scott was someone, someone real...and now he’s dead, killed by a werewolf: a werewolf named Daniel Osbourne, who is also someone. He’s the boy Willow still loves. And he is also a killer.

Buffy’s arms are around her and Willow is wailing her anguish, feeling as if her sobs are being pulled from her by some uncaring, brutal hand. They hurt, and Willow hurts, her whole body feeling nearly as bruised and brutalized as it did when...when - the day that Willow really doesn’t need to think about right now, not when she has something new and horrible to grieve over, not when she’s lost the last of her innocence.

Sure, she had known that werewolves kill: everyone knows that, after all. But there were werewolves and then there was Oz. Sweet, gentle, silent Oz. The Oz who had kissed her with such reverence, who had made her feel beautiful for the first (and only) time in her life. The Oz who had made the whole world seem full of music and sunlight. The Oz who had taken care of her after...the bad day. Oz had been a different kind of werewolf - the cuddly, fuzzy kind who just needed to stay in his cage for a couple of nights a month and all would be well.

But now he isn’t. He’s a vicious, dangerous animal just like the ones she’s read about in Giles’ books...just like Angel.

No. No, not just like Angel. Because Oz didn’t know what he was doing. Even Buffy says so, and Buffy knows, because Buffy was there. And what’s more, Buffy told her that the energy from the opening Hellmouth was making Oz crazy - so crazy that even two shots with the tranquilizer gun didn’t fully knock him out. That has to mean something, to mean that Oz isn’t a bad werewolf after all. It was just a one-time thing, and the Sisterhood of Jhe is more culpable than he is. But that doesn’t change what has happened. And it won’t bring Scott Hope back to life.

She mentally shakes herself out of her reverie. She’s not alone...and she’s not alone in her grief. She turns her attention to her companion on the sofa.

“How are you holding up, Buffy?” Scott and Buffy were close, Buffy had even started dating him again, and she’s obviously suffering. Willow may be the only one crying right now, but she knows that Buffy is doing her best to be brave and strong and that she’s just as sad as if she were sobbing along with Willow.

“I’m okay, Will. I just...”

“It’s okay to say stuff, you know? You can tell me if you’re mad at Oz or...anything, alright? Because I understand. I mean, even I’m a little mad...and scared. So I just want you to see that I’m your friend and you can talk to me. It really is okay to tell me the truth.”

Now Willow isn’t the only one with tears in her eyes, because their roles have been transposed and Willow is the one holding a weepy girl who seems nothing like a Slayer and everything like a friend in pain.

Buffy sniffles as she sits up and tries to pull herself together. “I love you, Will, I hope you know that. I can’t believe, after everything you’ve gone through, that you can just... Can I tell you something?”

“Sure, Buffy. Anything. You know that.”

What Buffy says, though, has nothing to do with Scott or Oz. “Sometimes I pretend that you really do have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. And sometimes I believe it so much...you know I even went online and looked up treatments and things and tried to get all up to date with everything about it and I was even gonna talk to you about what I read. How bad of a friend am I? I can’t even deal with reality. I mean, I should have been looking up...but I can’t even say the word most of the time and I can’t bear to think of it happening to you. And here you are, and you’re brave and strong and you face things and...I think maybe you should have been the Slayer, you know. Not me. Because you’re better than me, you’re better than anyone I know and...”

Willow’s arms are around Buffy again and she holds her so tightly that she thinks maybe she does suddenly have Slayer strength. She knows very well what Buffy is feeling. If only she could find the words to tell her that she would give anything to be able to pretend that she’s just sick, that she’s so very jealous of the fact that sometimes Buffy can even believe it, truly and entirely. But she can’t find them yet, so she just holds Buffy while they cry in each other’s arms. That, at least, is something. Though words of a sort, after a time, do emerge.

“Buffy, remember when you ran away?”

Wide eyes look into hers; Buffy’s not sure what Willow is getting at. “Yeah, why?”

“Did you ever really get away? I mean, was there ever a time where all the way down, deep inside, you felt like you were just a girl, and not The Slayer anymore?”

“Sometimes.” There’s a pause as Buffy thinks about what she said. “No, not really. There were some days where I could make believe I did, but no. I guess I was always Buffy, even after I learned to answer to Anne.” Willow’s feelings must be apparent on her face because Buffy soon looks at her quizzically. “What’s wrong, Will?”

“I guess I was hoping you’d say yes and mean it. Because it would be really great if I could go somewhere and not be Willow anymore...not just change my name, but run far enough that even I wouldn’t know Willow anymore.” This is as close as she can come to telling Buffy what she feels: that she isn’t brave or strong or anything like that. She faces the truth because she has to, that’s all, and if she had a choice, she would take it, would fly away and never look back. But she has nowhere to go.

There’s something sharp and aware in Buffy’s eyes right now and it’s almost frightening. She’s gotten used to thinking of her friend as the loveably thoughtless one, the one who doesn’t pay attention but you let her get away with it. “I know you think that you’d like to run away, Will, and I know you believe it. But it’s not true. I know you and even if you had a hundred chances to hide you’d stay and fight, no matter what. I’ve known that from the beginning. Because I have to be the Slayer...but you have never had to be part of the fight, and you still are, except you’re also fighting different things, and...you’re still the bravest person I know.”

What can Willow say to that? It’s not true, but it’s obvious Buffy believes it and that’s almost as good as if it were real. Willow can almost see that girl - noble, brave, and true - reflected in her friend’s eyes. She’d so like to be her someday. She hugs Buffy again, thanking her silently for her friendship. It’s something bigger and grander than she’s been wont to give it credit for in the past and she’d feel guilty if she wasn’t too busy being grateful.

“What’s going to happen to Oz?” Time to acknowledge the elephant in the parlour.

“I don’t know, Willow. I mean, Angel says...”

“Angel?” She’d never thought about him being a part of this and she dreads what he might have done to poison Buffy’s mind.

“He was there with me when...when it happened.”

“I’m glad he was there for you, Buffy.” The words taste like acid on her tongue.

“Yeah.” Her eyes go soft and vacant for a moment, but then she’s back. “He said right away that it wasn’t Oz’s fault and that if he got a second chance, so should Oz, but...” Her hand is on Willow’s shoulder now, obviously about to deliver some harsh words, words she knows Willow won’t want to hear. Willow can hardly register the weight of it; she’s too undone by the fact that Angel defended Oz. “He’s a killer, Willow. He’s more dangerous than we thought and...we don’t know what he’ll do now.”

“What does that mean, Buffy?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did. I just think that, no matter what Angel says, we’re not going to be able to deal with Oz the same way. There’s no telling what making a kill like that has done to him, or what it will mean during the next full moon.”

That’s the second time Buffy’s talked about Angel, mentioned him standing up for Oz and Willow is feeling faint and slightly dizzy. Sure, she’s wanted to believe that Angel’s gotten past his hideous obsession with her, and this certainly gives her hopes a foundation slightly firmer than sand upon which to rest their weight, but a part of her still feels this might well be too good to be true. That night on her balcony when she said far too much is still fresh in her mind. But there’s one good thing: at least Angel has kept Buffy from reacting as harshly as she might have and...that becomes a bitter pill - the need to feel grateful to Angel again.

Buffy has obviously noticed her distress. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just...this is all kind of a shock, I guess. I mean, it is for you, too, I know and I’m not trying to say that I’m more upset than you are or anything, it’s just...”

Buffy stops her before she gets tangled impossibly in her own confused attempts to explain herself without telling the truth or lying outright. “It’s okay, Will. I understand. I really do. And I’m going to be alright. I am. We both are. I’m gonna make sure of that.” She grips Willow’s shoulder and looks at her in that “we’re gonna stop the apocalypse and I won’t even ruin my new shoes” way that used to convince Willow that anything could be accomplished, because they were the good guys. She doesn’t believe that anymore and she knows that, while Buffy’s naive but powerful faith in the power of right will undoubtedly carry her through, Willow will stay trapped in a grey and terrible place. No matter how tightly Buffy grips her hand, she will never be able to lead Willow through the darkness to the light at the end.

No need to tell Buffy that, though. To be a Slayer, she must believe. She has a sacred duty to save the world and Willow won’t take her from it by destroying what makes her so good at her calling: the certainty that she not only can, but will prevail against any and all enemies of righteousness. Because it’s the best thing about Buffy, the thing that makes her so wonderful, the thing Willow envies her for and loves her for and the thing she knows keeps the world safe, even if all she can do in that world is suffer.

“I love you, Buffy.” Her voice is as full of tears as her eyes.

“I love you, too, Willow.” They embrace again. Today seems to have made up lost ground from all the weeks when Willow couldn’t even bear her best friend’s touch.

There’s a knock at the door and it startles them both. Willow gets up and answers it.

“Hey.”

Oz is here, looking small and sad; it’s so very painful to see. He steps inside and seems a bit at a loss once he sees who else is there.

“Buffy, I...I’m...I’m thinking sorry probably isn’t good enough, but...”

Buffy shrinks from him even though he’s made no move to touch her and Willow can scarcely breathe. “I better go, Will, I...” She mumbles something about seeing her soon and then heads out the door, trying too hard not to run. Willow understands, but her heart aches for Oz as he stands there, soaking in Buffy’s pain and revulsion and feeling deserving of it all and more.

“I heard about what happened.” A statement of the glaringly obvious, but Willow can’t really think of what else to say.

“Yeah, I kind of figured.” Terse as ever, but words can’t be any easier to come by for him than for her.

“Oz, I...” She reaches out and takes his hand. “I want you to know that it’s okay. I mean, not that you killed Scott, because that really wasn’t a good thing, but you and me. I mean, I’m still your friend and I don’t blame you or anything. I know it wasn’t you, not really, and...”

“I’m leaving.” The statement is short and direct and hits Willow like a shotgun blast.

“What? But you can’t just...why?”

“I have to go. I have to learn to control the wolf. Last night...that can’t happen again.”

“But, Oz.” Willow’s crying now, again. “You don’t have to leave. We can just figure out a better way to cage you and I can be research gal and find out whatever you need to know and...”

Oz kisses her forehead softly, in that reverent way she missed so badly. “I can’t stay here and risk...what if I hurt you? After everything that’s happened, I couldn’t bear...I love you.”

A moment later, too soon for Willow to even register what’s happening, he’s walked away, out the door and into the mockery of the bright, California sun.

“Oz!” She runs out the door and grabs his arm, hoping like anything that she can change his mind. “Don’t leave! Please!” She is sobbing and begging and loud and incoherent and who knows if the neighbors can hear and if they’ll tell her parents should they ever come home. Willow doesn’t care.

He turns to her and she can see the determination in his eyes. He’s already gone. “I’ll be back, Willow. I promise. Once I can control the wolf, I’ll come back and maybe then...” There’s hope in his eyes and while Oz deserves the truth, deserves to be told it can never be, she’s selfish and horrid and she lets him read what he wants to into her silence and her tears. She knows what he sees even though it isn’t there. Not because she doesn’t love him, but because she does.

One more brush of lips against her hair and he seems far away in an instant. She hears, but doesn’t watch, the van start up and drive slowly off. Oz is leaving, has left, is gone. And so is her cruel, selfish little pipe dream of reclaiming her life, the dream she clung to by letting him cling to it. Now she has nothing but that truth Buffy admires her so much for facing. If she only knew.

After a few moments, Willow turns and walks back into her house. For once, she’s glad it’s empty as she makes her way upstairs. There are photos of Oz for her to look at and a CD of his music waiting for her to listen to in her room; she will play it loud and let it drown out the thoughts of anyone but him. She owes Oz that much and she will do her best to give him a night of her pain that is all about him and no one else. For tonight, she’ll once again be his girl. It will be hollow and cold and not nearly enough, but it’s all she has.


Tbc...