Oz placed two steaks into the pan, listening to them sizzle as they touched the hot metal, smelling the flesh as it cooked. Though he struggled with keeping the wolf satisfied in a lot of ways, food was never one of them. A rare, juicy steak made both of them happy.

“Do you need any help?” Willow called out from the living room.

Oz stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Nope.” Smiling, he turned and opened the refrigerator door.

His smile melted away as he recalled the day he first learned Willow was here. Giles had flinched when asked what, exactly, Willow had done, then shifted ever so slightly, tensing his body and clenching his fists. Said that was none of Oz’s concern in a voice that suggested pain and fear. An attempt to push further garnered nothing but a sharp and cold response; the conversation was over, don’t let the door hit you on your way out. But Oz hadn’t left, and Giles eventually relaxed and life had gone on. They didn’t talk about it after that, but there was an underlying implication that whatever happened was bad. And now Oz knew just how bad it had been.

Oz pulled out two potatoes. He puzzled over them for a moment, before sticking them into the microwave. While he wasn’t sure a microwave could have the same effect as an oven, he didn’t have time to properly bake a potato.

He glanced over the directions as he mulled over what he’d heard. Tara kept coming back into his mind. Willow really loved her and he couldn’t deny that it was hard to hear Willow talk about his replacement with so much love in her voice; he had winced when she first said that name. Thankfully Willow hadn’t noticed, and he promised himself that she never would. She obviously had enough on her mind without adding his petty jealousy to that.

He put the potatoes in the microwave and turned over the steaks. It smelled like his was almost ready, but Willow’s still had a ways to go. If he remembered correctly, she liked hers almost well done, “so I don’t feel like the cow is still mooing at me.” Had that changed also? The thought was quickly shaken out of his head. She’d been through a lot and had become much more powerful and confident, the way he’d always known she could be. The things she’d seen and done would change her forever, he knew that well enough. But she was still Willow. He could still see her beneath the pain and the fear.

The first steak came out of the pan sizzling, making his stomach growl. At least he hoped it was his stomach. He stuck his head out again, “What would you like to drink?”

“Water, please,” Willow answered with a small smile, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Done.”

She looked so much more relaxed than when they’d first gotten here. Like a weight had lifted off of her shoulders. He had understood almost immediately that her talking was as much for her sake as it was for his. Master Sheng told him that he who could not share his past could not overcome it, and eventually Oz divulged his entire story to the old wise man. The lessons seemed so much easier after that, like everything that had been holding him back had disappeared, evaporated with each word that left his mouth. Oz was willing to bet Willow hadn’t talked to anyone about any of this before, not even Giles. And a part of him was elated that she had chosen to open up to him.

Gathering what few condiments he had, he set them on a tray along with two glasses of water, silverware and napkins. A sudden whimsical desire for candles hit him and he had to laugh at himself—commiserating over death and loss wasn’t exactly typical candlelight dinner conversation.

Then again, there hadn’t been anything typical about his life since Willow entered it.

Oz took the tray out to the living room and saw that Willow had busied herself by tidying up the table. She smiled at him when as he approached the small table. “Almost done?” she asked.

“Almost.”

“Good. I’m starving. I tend to forget about eating these days,” she said, with that guilty look on her face, the one she used to use whenever she’d forgotten about her homework in all the apocalypse.

“Understandable,” Oz replied, setting the tray down. The guilt melted away from her face, replaced by a small grateful smile. Resisting the urge to stroke her hair, he walked back into the kitchen.

Oz had spent many night wondering if he’d ever get over Willow. When he first came to work with Ms. Harkness and the rest of the coven, he spent many days poring through their massive library, reading up on wolves and lycanthropy, to better understand the other side of himself. Apparently wolves mate for life. The first time Oz and the wolf had approached anything resembling unity had been when he killed Veruca. In that moment, when he chose Willow, so did the wolf. The wolf had raged as much as he had when it caught Willow’s scent on Tara, and that territorial behavior rage was what made it so hard to control himself around Willow. Of course, Oz would never tell her that. Not until they found the right time to be together again, if they ever found it. Now was definitely not that time.

He pulled Willow’s steak off the stove, savoring the smell of cooked meat. Tonight was a full moon night, and the wolf was getting restless. Hopefully the steak would help calm it down long enough to finish his evening with Willow. Later tonight, he promised, the wolf could run.

The microwave beeped at him. Perfect timing. The two steaming potatoes were quickly taken out of their plastic wrapping and set on the plates, which Oz grabbed as he walked back out.

“Dinner is served.”

Willow took her last bite, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly into a small, secret smile. Hard to see if you weren’t paying attention, but Oz had always noticed it. She also had a tendency to make an audible little gulp when she swallowed, though he doubted anyone else was aware of that. Not even her. His senses seemed to come alive when he ate. Meals also brought out the fairly disturbing desire to protect all food around him. It was one of those wolf behaviors he still hadn’t gotten used to, and wasn’t sure he ever would. One he was particularly careful to keep in check. There were enough things tempting his more violent half without adding stolen French fries to the list.

Their meal had been fairly silent, though not uncomfortably so. Willow wasn’t kidding about being hungry. She had attacked her food with fervor, stopping, he was sure, only long enough to breathe. It was okay. He liked watching her eat. Liked watching her, period. Liked how he could still predict some of her movements. There was the slight raise of the chin that meant she was about to swallow. She would go for her napkin or her water next, and maybe give him a small smile, just as he heard that little gulp. It was somehow soothing for him, another reminder that this was still the Willow he knew and loved.

“Wow, I didn’t realize just how hungry I was,” she said, looking slightly embarrassed, tugging on the ends of her hair.

“It’s okay.”

“But the food was good. When did you learn how to cook?” she asked.

“Well, I worked my away around the globe, usually cooking and cleaning. Wait ‘til you see my toilet scrubbing skills.”

That got a smile out of her. She was beautiful when she smiled. Well, she was always beautiful, but there was something amazing about her when she smiled.

“So, tell me about the rest of your adventures. Starting from Sunnydale, and don’t leave anything out,” she eagerly suggested.

“It’s kind of a long story,” he said. She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Just your standard disclaimer,” he added. She hardened into her legendary resolve face, never saying a word.

He nodded. “After I left Sunnydale, I made my way back east. Spent some time in Boston, trying to earn enough to get back to Tibet. Figured I could go back to Master Sheng and at least live in relative peace with the rest of the monks. Or maybe Romania.”

“Oh yeah,” Willow interjected, with a smile. “Romania was your favorite place, right?”

She remembered. “Still is.”

“So which one did you choose?” she asked, leaning forward, hands clasped between her knees.

“None of the above, as it turns out. I got a job on a steamer headed for Dublin. Ship work tends to be harder than land work; I got worn out more easily. Stopped taking the potions and doing the rituals as often as I should have. When we docked at Dublin, I got mugged. The next thing I remember was waking up with the taste of blood in my mouth.”

Physical weariness had really only been part of it. Losing control of himself in Sunnydale had blown his whole mental state. Three months of meditation were gone in a single moment, and the nightmares didn’t help. Oz used to spring awake on the verge of screaming, tortured by his memories of that cold, white room, with the faceless men and women that poked and prodded at him with needles and electrodes. The fear, the anger, the pain would return, threatening to take control of him, to make him lose control of himself. It became harder and harder to keep the wolf at bay, to the point where he had confined himself to his tiny room on the S.S. Menalo when he wasn’t needed. Safer for everyone if he kept human contact to a bare minimum.

It was dark when they reached port, and he hadn’t even seen the man coming. Just felt the barrel of the gun jabbed into his side, smelled the stench of dirt and alcohol that exuded from the man’s clothing. The world blacked out after that, and when he came to he was lying in a woods, naked, sore, and full.

“I had no idea where I was or what I killed. Didn’t even know what day it was. I have never been so scared of myself,” he said with a shake of his head.

“What’d you do?” she asked, concerned. A pained look on her face told Oz that she was thinking about her role in what happened, and not coming to happy conclusions.

“Will, I lost control over myself. It would have happened sooner or later, even if I hadn’t come back to Sunnydale.”

“I didn’t.…” she started. Her expression softened. “How did you know I was thinking that?”

“Psychic,” he responded, expressionless.

She smiled. “Well?” She gave him an expectant look. “You have more story to tell, mister.”

“Patience is a virtue, you know.”

The response came in a balled up napkin aimed at his head, which he took as a sign to continue. “I did what anyone would do. Found the nearest town and got arrested.”

“Arrested?”

“Public indecency? Not popular over here either.”

“Oh, right, cause of the wolf thing. You lose a lot of clothes that way, huh?” she said, trying to smother a smile.

“Less now than before. Luckily I’m a thrift shopper.” He looked down at his tattered corduroys and “Bob’s Super 20” t-shirt. “Nothing says comfort like other people’s clothes.”

“So did you do jail time? Are you a hardened criminal?” Willow teased.

Oz shook his head. “I managed to talk myself out of it. Told them I’d been mugged and left for dead. I think the scratches and bruises helped. They got me clothes; let me get in touch with the embassy. They were actually really nice about it. I found out I’d been out for two days. And the town was in a frenzy over wild dog attacks. Wild dog meaning me.”

He paused, saw the headlines run through his head again—‘Wild dogs take 2 lives, several sheep’; ‘Farmer finds shredded remains of wife, town tragedy’—and swallowed hard. “I didn’t know where to turn. I was dangerous, and every option seemed too risky. Finally I called Giles, and he told me to come here,” he finished.

Willow’s brow furrowed as what looked like confusion and maybe hurt flitted across her face. “You called Giles? He never—”

“I told him not to. Not, unless you asked about me.”

“Oh,” she said, looking down, away from him. She’d never asked. While he never really expected her too, the unspoken admission was still kind of painful.

“Giles called ahead, so when I got here they already had a place ready for me,” he continued, before anything got overly awkward. He didn’t do awkward well. “I spent the next three or four months in a magically reinforced tool shed. Which was actually one of the nicer places I’ve lived since I left Sunnydale.”

“A tool shed?” Willow said incredulously.

“Well, it was big enough to give me, and more importantly, the much bigger, much hairier me, room to move around without the risks of breaking things. Good decision on their part. I can honestly say that I very rarely stop to think about the furniture when in wolf form.”

“I’m sure their furniture wasn’t their main concern,” Willow protested.

“Don’t underestimate the bonds between man and sofa. That will get you into trouble some day,” Oz chided.

“Did they teach you a new way to keep the wolf away? Some new potion or maybe a, a binding spell of some sort?” Willow asked, anxiously, almost hopefully.

“No. In fact, the exact opposite.”

Willow’s face fell and Oz understood. She was hoping for a binding spell, a way to keep the magic away. Hoping the coven would help her find it.

“I thought, for a long time, that if I could just make it so the wolf wouldn’t come back out, everything would be better. But I tried that, and things weren’t better. It took so much to keep the wolf away that if I lost my hold on things, for any reason—emotions I couldn’t handle, if I got too tired, or sick—I could lose it. I could keep the wolf from coming out, but it was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the chance to break free. At least when the wolf only came out with the moon, I knew when to expect it. But I can’t just get rid of that side of me. It’s in me. It is me. I know that now,” Oz said, passionately, more so than he had intended. Anyone else would have been shocked by his fervor, but not Willow. She’d seen that side of him before.

“But if you could? Find a way to suppress it forever? Would you?” she asked. She was looking down, watching her finger trace invisible lines along the couch.

He didn’t even have to think about it. “No.”

Willow looked up, surprised. “No?”

Oz laughed and shook his head. “If you would have asked me this while I was in that tool shed, my answer would have been very different. But now, I wouldn’t give it up for the world.”

“What changed?”

“What didn’t? When I was with Master Sheng, he tried to get me to reach out, become one with the wolf. But I wouldn’t. I didn’t want anything to do with the wolf. I wanted it gone. I didn’t have time for that. Master Sheng said he couldn’t teach someone who didn’t want to be taught, so he stopped trying and just concentrated on helping me keep the wolf down. When I came to the coven, they tried to do something similar. And this time I learned.”

“What made this time different?”

“This time I had nothing left to lose,” Oz said softly. “No where else to be. No one waiting for me.”

“Oz—” Willow had her sad puppy dog eyes, which looked like they were about to cry. Again.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t want—I shouldn’t have said it,” Oz sighed.

“But you did.” She gazed intently at him. “Oz, do you…are we.…” she couldn’t seem to find the words, but he knew what she was trying to ask.

“Will, there’s no hard feelings. Not from me, not now, not ever. As far as I’m concerned we’re good. Even ground.”

“Are you sure?” she asked skeptically. “Because if there’s anything—I want to know.”

“I’m sure.”

She looked him in the eyes. It felt like she was trying to read his soul, something he hadn’t felt for a very long time. When she found whatever she was looking for, she sat back. “Good, I’m glad. I want us to be good.”

Oz smiled. It felt good to hear that from her. If that was the most he ever got from her, it would be enough.

“So what kind of things did they teach you?” Willow asked.

“Well that was the cool part. When I was all fine and human, Ms. Harkness would make me try to reach inside and find the wolf, find its power, use its senses. Things that had always kind of been there, like my sense of smell, started getting sharper. I can see better, hear better, even when I’m not wolfed out. I started becoming conscious of what I did as a wolf. But I still didn’t have any real control over when I changed or what I did. I just remembered it.”

Those days and nights had been longer and harder than any in Oz’s life. Constantly weary, tired of the mental gymnastics he went through to try and get in touch with his inner beast, he found it escaped much more often. No longer tied to the moon, the wolf had taken every opportunity to come out and play. And every time he woke up, he found a new set of clothes and a witch ready to work with him some more.

But in those long months, he had discovered the truth of what Veruca had told him. The wolf was always there. And so was he. Regardless of what face they showed, they were inseparable. It had been a hard truth to take, but accepting it had opened his eyes to a whole new world.

“I won’t lie. It was extremely hard and frustrating at first. But it was also the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He glanced at Willow, who was tucking a stray hair behind her ear, listening intently. “Well, one of the best things anyways.”

Willow blushed and smiled shyly.

“After about four months or so, I got word from Master Sheng. He heard that I was ready to be taught. So I went back to Tibet. I was hesitant at first, especially since I had no control over my changing.”

“Was it a problem?”

“Not really. I found out the hard way that Master Sheng is much more in control of his wolf than I was.”

“The hard way?”

“I didn’t even know he was a wolf until I turned and found him snarling over me. You ever see wolves fight for dominance? I still get the urge to roll onto my back when I see him.”

Willow giggled. “You never struck me as the alpha male type.”

“Probably because I’m not,” Oz replied with a smile. “Master Sheng showed me how to tap the human inside the wolf. I started gaining small bits of control over the wolf. It was hard, harder than keeping the wolf contained. But slowly, I learned how to take control. I spent the next two years going back and forth between Tibet and England. About six months ago, I was given the name of a shaman in Burundi. And now….” He paused, considering his options.

“I think this is something you should see.”

Willow stepped out the door, enjoying the feel of the cool air on her skin. Overhead, the clouds moved aside, revealing a full, bright moon. An animal howled, probably one of the many dogs that were kept on the estate. Nothing dangerous, but it made her shiver all the same.

“It’s just a dog,” she said to herself.

“What?” came the voice behind her.

“Nothing,” she said as she turned around. Oz stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. She felt the blush rise up her face. When the giggle she attempted to stifle insisted on escaping, her hand pressed against her mouth to smother the sound and hide her grin. “Oz, what are you doing?”

“I could talk all night and still not explain what I’m saying. I have to show you,” he said as he took her hand.

As those words bounced around her head, Willow’s mouth went dry. It was happening. Just like she dreamed it.

In front of her Oz smiled, sighed deeply and then began to transform.

Her scream caught in her throat and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Her feet heavy, she felt anchored to the ground, unable to escape her fate. He was going to attack her, shred her to pieces, and she couldn’t even fight it. In fact, she deserved it.

Quivering, she closed her eyes and waited for the feel of sharp claws digging into her skin, the sound of a hungry growl followed by gnashing teeth. Any minute now he would…lick her fingers?

She opened her eyes and saw him sitting calmly in front of her. It was the same wolf she had run from so many times, only something was different; something had changed. Without realizing it, she moved closer, peering at the animal. Hesitantly, she reached out, touched its muzzle, then quickly drew her hand away. The wolf just sat, unmoving. She looked into its eyes and all her fear melted away. She could see him.

“Oz,” she half-whispered.

His eyes followed her hand as she reached to pet his head, feeling the soft fur between his eyes, running down the hard, taut, muscles of his neck. Dropping down to her knees, she cupped his head gently with both hands, and looked him over in amazement.

“Oz! It’s you! It’s really you!” she said, bewildered.

The wolf nodded, and she could almost swear she saw a smile. Not the cruel sneer she’d run from before, a real, happy smile. He began to shrink, hair receding into smooth skin. A lot of skin, as it seemed the towel had fallen off somewhere in the process, but Willow barely noticed. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his face. The snout grew back into his nose and his hairline crept back up towards the top of his forehead. Slowly she watched the wolf’s smile turn into Oz’s, but the eyes—the eyes never changed.

“See?” Oz asked.

“See? Oz, that’s…a-amazing. I’ve never…Oh my god. Oz! How did you…when?” Willow babbled.

“Three long, difficult, frustrating years. But I feel better than I have in a long time. Peaceful, even. I wouldn’t give it up,” he said, sincerely.

The dog howled again, and Oz perked up.

“Will, it’s a full moon. I need to run tonight,” Oz said apologetically.

“Oh, right. Go, run,” she said, with a smile.

“Are you sure? It can wait a little longer,” he offered.

“Absolutely. I’m fine.”

Oz smiled. “You will be.”

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” With that, Oz changed again, threw back his head and howled. The dogs howled in return, and the sound of barking could be heard approaching in the distance.

Willow stood back and watched as the two big German Shepherds that normally prowled the estate, barking and snapping at anything that moved, eagerly approached Oz. She couldn’t help but laugh when she realized that, for once, Oz was the biggest of the bunch. The pack, if three animals could be called a pack, began running into the open field, her large shaggy ex-boyfriend in the lead. He paused for a moment, and turned back, looking at her. “Are you sure?” he seemed to ask.

Nodding, she smiled and waved. The wolf turned and howled, then ran, the dogs trailing behind him.