Oz stepped out the front door, holding it open for Willow, who shielded her eyes from the uncharacteristically bright sun. It was a beautiful day. Willow didn’t think she’d ever seen the sky so clear or blue since she arrived in England. She smiled inwardly and wondered if Oz was magic. Magic. A wave of guilt washed over her. How could she be enjoying Oz so much when Tara…Suddenly the day seemed cold and harsh. She buttoned up her coat and hugged herself.

Oz started walking and Willow fell in step beside him.

“So what are you doing here?” Willow asked.

“Oh, I come here a lot. Every couple of months or so,” Oz replied.

“What for?” Willow asked, curious.

“Different reasons. Sometimes because I’ve got free time. Sometimes because I need something. Usually because I’ve been asked to,” he answered, vague as always.

“You never told me you came to England,” Willow said, somewhat uncertainly. The honest truth was that she didn’t remember exactly what he had told her. She looked up at him realizing just how little she knew this man. This man who used to be her everything.

“That’s because I hadn’t yet,” Oz said. He stopped walking and looked up at her. “I’ve been through a lot since then. But then I guess you have, too.”

They walked along in silence for a moment. Willow didn’t answer. She wasn’t quite ready to talk about Tara, or Warren, or anything she’d been through, all the damage she had caused. Not with Oz, not with anyone.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to,” Oz said, as if reading her mind. She gave him a thankful half-smile. “It’s nice enough just seeing you again,” he said softly. “I wasn’t sure I ever would.”

Willow looked into his eyes. Those green eyes had always been expressive, especially if you knew how to read them, and though Willow was a bit out of practice, she had at one time been a pro. But they couldn’t tell her everything. They could only tell her that he missed her and loved her still. Deep down, in a place very few people could ever reach, Willow saw that, regardless of how she felt, he still loved her.

Willow looked away, a little disconcerted by what she saw. “Do you have a, a girlfriend?” she asked, trying to sound chipper. As soon as the words left her mouth she knew she didn’t want to know the answer.

Oz gave her a shy smile, shaking his head. “I’m really too much of a vagabond for that. I mean, I’ve tried and it just doesn’t work. I never really spend more than three months in any one place, and that isn’t really conducive to a romantic relationship. I’m not in a relationshippy place right now, I guess. What about you? You have a guy, or I guess, a girl?” he said with an inquisitive look that turned to worry when he saw the distraught look on Willow’s face.

“Giles didn’t tell you?” Willow asked in an unsteady voice.

“Giles didn’t tell me much,” Oz replied. “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned, tentatively touching her shoulder.

“I think I need to sit down,” Willow said, fighting tears.

“We’re almost at my cabin,” Oz said, gesturing ahead of them. “Come on,” he said gently as he put his arm around her and guided her ahead.

Willow was only vaguely aware she was moving. All she could do was whisper a single word.

“Tara.”

Oz walked Willow into the cabin and set her down on the old but comfortable sofa, tossing his jacket aside as he did. He wondered what he was missing. He’d obviously touched a nerve, and she looked so dazed he was beginning to wonder if this had been a good idea. He should go get Giles. He grimaced and mentally kicked himself for whatever he did to trigger this. Willow was hurting, and he was somehow the cause of it.

Oz started towards the kitchen, where he kept his phone.

“Don’t leave me!”

At the sound of Willow’s anguished voice, Oz rushed to her side. “I’m not going. It’s okay. I’m here,” he said as he sat beside her. She leaned against him and started to cry. He put his arms around her, doing his best to comfort her, feeling helpless. Her hands crept around his neck and she held him loosely. A tingle ran down his spine. Her hands were so cold.

He felt her body shudder with each sob, felt the tears begin to soak through to his shoulder. She seemed so delicate and frail. He held her, rocking slightly, instinctively, silently. His nostrils flared as resentment crept in. He was angry at the world, at fate, at whatever had brought her to this point. She didn’t deserve this. Whatever it was, whatever she did, she didn’t deserve it.

Her trembling slowly subsided. Sobs turned to whimpers. The tears stopped, and she gradually calmed down. And still they held each other, taking solace in the embrace, and for a brief moment everything was okay. They were locked in a time when nothing hurt this much.

Willow sniffled, tightened her hold and then quickly withdrew her arms. She sat up as Oz took hold of her shaky hands. He looked into her eyes, his brow furrowed.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

She nodded.

He reached forward and produced a box of tissues, which she took gratefully.

“You’re shivering,” he said, as he grabbed the throw draped over the couch and wrapped it around her. “You want some tea? Or cocoa?” he asked.

“Cocoa,” she answered in a small croaking voice.

He nodded and started towards the kitchen.

“Oz,” she called out. He turned around, body tensed, ready to run back to her side.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He relaxed and the corner of his mouth turned up. He lowered his head slightly and turned back towards the kitchen.

Willow wiped her eyes and her nose and looked around. The room was smallish, with bare but warm colored walls. She was sitting on a large, cushiony gray sofa. Directly in front of her was a small, tattered coffee table littered with books. On the other side of the table were two armchairs that didn’t match each other, or the sofa. One chair was buried under piles of paper and clothes, including the long sleeved yellow shirt that had been her favorite. Behind the chairs was a stone fireplace. A stack of wood sat to the left, suggesting the fireplace was more than just decoration. The mantel held an array of random objects, probably souvenirs Oz had picked up in his travels. An acoustic guitar bearing a few stickers in various languages sat in the corner. Sun shone in through the window to her left. Rich maroon drapes hung from either side of the paned window. Looking out, she could see the stable that stood behind the manor. Giles had tried to take her riding once, but she hadn’t taken to it well.

The sound of dishes clinking brought her attention back towards the kitchen. Her eyes lingered the entrance for a moment, waiting for Oz to appear. When he didn’t, her gaze wandered to the right, where a short hallway lead to what she guessed was the bedroom and bathroom.

Oz came out of the kitchen holding a steaming mug. Willow realized she was still wearing her coat. She started to unbutton it, but her hands were still a little unsteady, and the task proved more difficult than usual.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Oz offered, setting the mug down on the table and moving near her. She smiled weakly as he undid the last two buttons and pulled the jacket off of her shoulders. He handed her the cocoa and added her jacket to the pile on one of the chairs. She watched as he knelt and started a fire, and then sat on the edge of the other chair, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

“This is a nice place. Is it yours?” Willow asked before taking a sip from her mug. The warm chocolate flowed over her tongue, warming her whole body.

“Mostly. It used to be the groundskeeper’s cabin, but they haven’t had a permanent groundskeeper in years. I spend a fair amount of time here and apparently when I stay at the house I distract all the students, so Ms. Harkness told me I could have the cabin. I decorated myself. Which probably explains a lot,” Oz said, glancing about the sparse room.

“I like it. It’s cozy. How long are you here for?”

“I’ve been here a week.” He hesitated. “And I have to leave soon. Like in a day or two.”

“Oh,” Willow said, obviously disappointed.

“I made a promise,” Oz said apologetically. “But at least this time I can give you addresses and phone numbers if you ever want to reach me,” he said. His face was expressionless but his eyes were full of hope. The hope he’d harbored ever since he left Sunnydale. The hope that made him superstitiously look for redheads around every corner in Istanbul. The hope that made him call Giles every few months to ask how Willow was doing. The hope that made it impossible to get serious with anyone that wasn’t her.

“I’d like that,” Willow said with a smile. “Why do you have to go?”

“Well, Master Sheng started this whole werewolf integration program. I’m not too clear on the details. Apparently the Council of Watchers started asking various experts in supernatural occurrences to help train people. They’ve got some people up in London sniffing out potential everythings now. Not just for Slayers anymore, I guess. This school, here, for instance. The council finds the girls they think are tagged for magic and they come here. I told Master Sheng I’d help him with his werewolves.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Oz grinned. “So how long are you here for?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “As long as it takes, I guess.”

He nodded, but didn’t press the issue. Willow appreciated that. She knew he never would, not unless she opened the door for it first. And she was surprised to find how much she wanted to.

He was silent, allowing her to decide the path of conversation. Willow took another sip of cocoa, closing her eyes for a minute. The crackle of the fire was the only sound she heard. She took a deep breath and looked over her mug at him. She realized he was still a part of her, and she wanted him to know everything.

She took a long look at the patient man across from her, committing to memory the way he looked at her right then, in case he never looked at her that way again.

“So, um, what did Giles tell you? About me?”

Willow waited, holding her breath, wondering what horrific details Giles had given, afraid of what Oz knew. But even more scared of the things he didn’t, things she would have to tell him.

“Not a whole lot,” Oz replied, gazing intently at the nervous girl across from him. “He just said you were having some trouble with your magic—‘issues of restraint’ I think was the phrase he used. He wouldn’t tell me much more than that.”

“Oh,” Willow said. She swallowed hard. “Oz, I’m…” she stopped, unsure of how to proceed. She bit her lip and fiddled with a loose strand of hair, wondering why words suddenly seemed so elusive. “I want to tell you what happened,” she said, finally.

He nodded and waited for her to continue.

She exhaled loudly and began. “Magic was always something I was good at, something that was my way of, of contributing. And it was fun,” she said sadly. “When I met Tara….” Willow trailed off, battling her emotions.

Willow never saw Oz grimace at the mention of Tara, or his quick recovery. She was staring beyond him, her mind filled with images of Tara’s sweet smile. She finally gave in to her emotions, and let herself cry. A tear trickled over her lower eyelid, running down the length of her nose before hanging precariously off the tip and falling to her lap.

“Tara,” she continued in a shaky voice, “said I was strong.” Tears drew two crooked, glistening lines on her cheeks. “Like an Amazon,” she whispered. “She said she recognized my power, my magic.”

“Will, you don’t have to—”

“No, Oz. I want to. I need to. And if I stop now, I never will. Please,” she implored.

He nodded.

“She helped me hone my powers. She made me feel so special. It was like—I can’t even describe it. We were stronger when we were together. And then, then came Glory,” Willow paused, her lower lip trembled as she recalled Tara rocking back and forth, unable to understand what was going on around her, so lost.

“Glory was some kind of evil hell god that sucked people’s brains out. Left them insane. She did this, to Tara. And that’s when I got in deep. I started using black magic, dark magic. It was more powerful than anything I’ve ever—it made me more powerful. And that feeling was…” she trailed off. She’d been hiding behind so much for so long, not willing to face the truth. Not willing to admit….

“That feeling was addictive,” she finished.

Finally facing the bare and dirty truth of it, Willow spewed out the details of the past three years, all the ugly truths, every moment she was ashamed of. Nothing was withheld. She talked continuously for nearly three hours, her voice, already shaky, began to get hoarse. The collar of her shirt and a small patch of her lap became damp from the tears that never stopped coursing down her face.

Oz watched and listened, taking in everything she said, so still he could have been a statue.

“And now I’m here, and no one seems to understand that I can’t ever let myself do magic again,” Willow finished with a dazed look on her face. Though saying everything out loud had left her feeling relieved, Oz’s continued silence invited anxiety to creep in. Her throat felt so dry. “Oz?” she asked timidly before breaking into a coughing fit. Oz jumped up, quickly moved to the kitchen and reappeared a few seconds later with a glass of water. He handed it to her silently and then sat back down, watching as she took big gulps, trying to moisten what felt like a cracked, sun-baked desert.

“I understand,” Oz said quietly, startling Willow.

“You understand what?” she asked, confused.

“Everything. What you’re going through. How you feel,” he replied.

“How can y—” she started. One look from him brought back her dream the night before, and memories of guarding her feral boyfriend, tranquilizer at hand. “Oh, right.”

“I never tried to end the world, but I did try to kill the most important thing in my world. Several times,” he said quietly. He didn’t have to say what that thing was, they both knew.

“Will, when I left Sunnydale, the first time, I was looking for control. Something to keep that part of me from coming out and hurting people. And when I came back I thought I had it, but I didn’t.”

“But, you did! You kept the wolf from…I mean…I saw you. You could make it go away,” Willow protested.

“I could suppress it, yeah. But all it took was losing control of myself for the wolf to come out. And that was worse than when it just came out with the moon. There was no telling when I’d lose it or who I’d hurt. That’s not control,” he said with a shake of the head.

“But you seem okay now,” Willow said.

“It took three years worth of opening my eyes to get here,” Oz replied. “When I first came looking for a cure, that’s what I wanted. A cure. Something to get rid of the wolf forever. I traveled the world to find out there isn’t one. Everywhere I went people had different methods of suppressing the wolf for short periods of time. I picked up spells, charms, potions, anything. I put them all together and it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t until I met Master Sheng and learned meditation that it started working.” He paused, smiling slightly. “Turns out controlling your emotions is easy when you’re surrounded by a few monks and a lot of snow.”

He gazed at Willow, the smile fading. “Turns out I couldn’t do it around you. I should have known. You’ve always had that effect on me.”

Willow felt fresh tears springing to her eyes. She remembered how hard it had been for him to even look at her. “Oz, I—”

“It’s okay. In fact, it was probably for the best that I found out that way,” he said. “At least I didn’t hurt you.”

“So what did you do? After that? I mean, did you find a way?” she asked, curious.

“Yeah,” he said with a slight nod of the head. “I think I did.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me about it?” she asked.

He smiled. “Yeah, I think I will. But before I do,” he said as he stood and walked to the window, looking out on the pink and gray sky, “I think dinner is in order.”