Oz roamed around the small cabin, picking up various pieces of clothing and stuffing them into the duffle bag on the bed. Was he missing anything? Got the toothbrush and shaving kit from the bathroom. Got the clothes, clean and dirty. Oh, photographs on the mantel. Can’t forget those.

He moved from the small bedroom into the living room. Pausing for a final sweep, he realized the room looked wrong. Without the shirts draped over the furniture and books cluttering the table, it looked cleaner but not nearly as homey. The guitar in the corner caught his eye. It’d been a while since he played. He never took her with him to Master Sheng’s. For one thing, the old monk frowned on unnecessary noise. For another, the strings didn’t do well in the cold weather. They popped too easily, and guitar strings were unsurprisingly hard to find in those parts.

He picked up the worn instrument. An Ibanez six string, spruce top, extended fret; the tone wasn’t as rich as he liked, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He found her at a pawnshop in Brighton, got a good deal for it. She was losing a bit of her luster, but she still played well enough. The strings she came with were terrible, but strings could be replaced. He called her Nadia. She sounded like a Nadia.

A quick strum showed she was badly in need of tuning. One thing he loved about his super wolf hearing was that he got a much better sound out of his guitar. He could pick up even the smallest changes. It was kind of cool.

He let his fingers run over the fret, plucking at the strings, bouncing through scales and exercises, loving the feel of the steel pressing into his fingertips. The sound rang out, and he just let himself go. A lot of really bad note combinations were bound to come out of free range strumming, but every now and then you’d fall into a groove, find that perfect sound.

After a few moments, his fingers found something comfortable and familiar. And before he knew it, he was singing along.

“She flies from a blinding light and spirals to my heart. I try to find my mind but don’t know where to start. Won’t ever, can’t ever find my sanity. Won’t ever, can’t ever ‘til I hear her calling for me. She knows that, she knows that, she knows that side of me.”

He stopped, putting the guitar down. That was the first song he’d ever written. Well, the first good song. Devon had liked it so much he’d asked Oz to write more. And every single good song he ended up writing had one thing in common—they were all about Willow. They weren’t all happy; in fact, songwriting had been one of the outlets he’d poured his grief into after he’d seen Willow and Xander kissing, but they still revolved around her. It had something to do with passion. You had to really care about something, really put it into your work. Otherwise it would be just another dead, empty song. And no one cared about those, at least no one over the age of 15.

Nadia went back into the corner, to collect dust until the next time he visited. He picked up the stack of photos on the mantle. They were starting to get a little creased and smudged. Worn and faded, like everything he had. The top photo was of the Dingoes, Devon hamming it up as usual. Where was he now? Where were the rest of them? Devon had been the closest thing to a best friend Oz had had, and now Oz had no clue what had become of him. Flipping through the rest of the photos was like watching someone else’s life pass by him. He hadn’t seen or talked to most of these people since he left Sunnydale. The Dingoes, the Alpha Delts, John, Jessica, Rachel, Danny, Buffy and the rest the league of extraordinary demon fighters. Just faces to go with the memories he sometimes wasn’t even sure were his. And yet he couldn’t let go of the pictures, because they were the only things left to remind him that these things did happen. That he had lived another life, had cared for people.

Near the bottom the photos were in much better shape. Only because the people in these pictures never strayed far from Oz’s mind or heart. Mom, Dad, Jordy, Uncle Ken and Aunt Maureen, Gramps and Gran. And of course Willow. These were the faces burned into his memory, faces he never needed to be reminded of. Jordy’s pictures remained especially crisp. Oz received a new one every year. The rambunctious five-year-old had grown into a respectable ten. Oz made a mental note to talk to Uncle Ken about Jordy, see if he would be allowed to spend some time with Oz and Master Sheng. The thought of Jordy having to deal with the wolf and puberty was just too much.

With a sigh, Oz stuck the pictures into his jacket pocket. It was sheer luck that he hadn’t lost them all already. And in a way he thought of them as his lucky charm, his ties to the world that made all the work and all the frustration worth it. Even if they didn’t know it.

Oz looked at the clock. He had about two hours before he had to make his way to the pier. Just enough time to go say goodbye to everyone and find Willow before he left.

He opened the door to find Willow running towards him. He started towards her, concerned. When she stumbled, he ran to her, managing to catch her just before she hit the ground. He tried to pull her up. She didn’t seem to notice.

Finally, he gave up and slid to his knees and cradled her head in his lap as she cried.

Willow was vaguely aware that she wasn’t moving anymore. Her vision was blurry and the world seemed to have turned upside down. As her sobs died down, she realized she was lying down. Her knee hurt. She wheezed, fighting with her body for breath. Her cheeks felt hot, and her hair was sticking to her face, slick with tears. She didn’t care.

Something stroked her hair, delicately moving it off her face. She moved her head slightly and felt the brush of fabric beneath her. After a moment it registered as a leg.

“Willow? Are you okay?” a voice asked; a familiar voice that swam through her brain, calming her somehow. A sob caught in her throat and she exhaled with a shudder.

“No,” she whimpered.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. At least she thought it was a he. And his voice was filled with emotions—concern and love and all the things she didn’t deserve to have.

She shook her head feebly.

“Do you want to go inside?” he asked. Oz asked. It was Oz.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“We don’t have to move.” Above her there was movement. Then a heavy warmth settled over her. A blanket. No, they were outside, no blankets. Whatever it was, it made her feel better.

“I’m just so tired.” The sobbing had stopped. Tears still streamed down her face, but she could breathe again. “So tired of trying. Of failing. I’m always failing. I’m a failure.” Her voice came out hoarse, barely a croak. She couldn’t even succeed at speaking.

“You’re not a failure.”

The tears came down harder. “Every time I think I’ve run out of tears, I find more. I’m tired of crying. What if I never get better? It can’t stay like this. I can’t. I just….”

“Sometimes I would wake up and every muscle in my body would be sore. There were scratches all over me and I didn’t think I could take anymore. But someone would be standing there, ready to make me try. And I would think of you,” he said softly.

“Me?” she asked weakly.

“Sitting in a hospital bed, head all bandaged, insisting on doing a spell that drained you completely. And I would see your resolve face and it helped me find my own.”

Willow sat up, making whatever was covering her slide to the ground.

“Really?”

Oz smiled. “Really.”

She pulled her knees to her chest, locking her arms around them the way she used to do when she was little and scared. Except she’d never felt this small before. Or this scared.

“I’m not that girl anymore,” Willow said sadly, her shoulders slumping. She rested her chin on her knees.

“Yes you are.” Oz reached behind her, and grabbed his jacket. He pulled out a stack of photographs and flipped through them quickly. Taking one from the pile, he placed the rest of them back in the jacket pocket.

An image was thrust in front of her. It was a younger, happier, more vibrant her. One arm was slung around Oz, who was laughing, the other pushing away Xander who was wet and also laughing. She remembered this. They had been at the pier, and Xander had fallen in, and had spent the rest of the day trying to get everyone else soaked. She smiled, taking the picture from Oz.

“She looks so happy. I wish I still saw her when I look in the mirror,” Willow sighed.

“I saw her last night. I see her right now. Her hair’s a little different but she’s the same girl. And she still has the same resolve face. I know, I saw it,” Oz said.

“How do you do it? How do you know what to say to make things better?” Willow asked wondrously.

“Ancient ritual. There were woodchucks, lots of chanting and bit of the hokey pokey. I don’t like to talk about it.”

She wanted to laugh but all that came out of her was a small smile. Sighing, she laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m such a mess. What am I going to do when you leave?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been the only person I’ve been able to talk to about, about everything. And I didn’t even realize how much I needed someone to talk to until now.”

“You know I’m always here for you, but I would suggest a more local alternative. I can be hard to reach sometimes. Monks don’t like phones.”

“I…I haven’t really made any friends here. The girls are all afraid of me. I’d be afraid of me too,” she said, hugging her knees tighter.

“And the coven?”

“I don’t really know. Althenia seems nice. She’s the only one who ever seems to talk to me. I don’t think Ms. Harkness likes me very much.”

“What about Giles?”

“Giles isn’t…. I tried to talk to him this morning and it didn’t go over well. I know he cares but, I don’t think he wants to hear about it and I can’t really blame him,” Willow replied, dejectedly.

“Is that why you’re out here?” Oz asked, tentatively.

“What? Oh, no. No, that’s….” She paused, remembering what had happened, how it had taken only a moment for her to have lost herself completely. “I tried to use magic again. And I—I think I might have hurt someone.” Her face began to crumple, tears filling her eyes again, the photo fluttered to the ground.

Without a word, Oz wrapped his arms around her. And she let go of everything and let herself be held for the first time in a long time.

Oz didn’t know how long they sat there, a few feet outside of the cabin. He was loath to bring the moment to an end, but he could feel time passing and he had a boat to catch.

“Willow,” he whispered. He silently cursed himself. Why did it always feel like he was running from her? He almost didn’t have it in him to leave again. The last few times it had taken every ounce of resolve he’d had and later, when he’d left Sunnydale and Willow miles behind him, he felt like he’d broken into a thousand pieces. And all the good parts had stayed with her.

“Willow, I hate to, but I have to go,” he said with a grimace, dropping his arms to his side.

She looked up at him with a look of distress and he cursed himself again. “Already?” she asked.

“I’m so sorry,” he said with a pained voice. “If I had known…I have to catch a boat. It leaves soon.”

“Oh.”

The resignment in her voice pierced his heart like an icy blade. His nostrils flared as his emotions welled up inside him. Don’t cry; don’t let her see you cry. She doesn’t need your pain; she has enough of her own.

Reaching into his jacket he pulled out an envelope. “Here’s my contact information. And if none of that works, just ask Ms. Harkness. She always knows how to find me. And the key to the cabin, if you ever need a place to be alone,” he said as he handed it to her.

“I’ll call you as often as I can. If you want that,” he offered. The few seconds before she answered seemed to stretch for eons.

“I’d like that,” she said. He exhaled in relief.

“Gladness.”

He stood, then helped her up. They stood awkwardly for a moment or two. Oz was in the process of deciding he should just leave when she flung her arms around him. He smiled into her hair, his hand finding the back of her neck and everything felt right.

“Oz. Will I see you again?” Willow asked, as they released each other.

“Of course. I don’t do goodbyes. Not good for my complexion.” He reached for her hand, gave it a squeeze, then turned and began to walk to the cabin.

“Oz wait!” she called from behind. He turned to find her holding up the photo. “You forgot this.”

“Keep it. I have more.” He quickly turned and walked into the cabin. If she called to him again, he wouldn’t be able to make himself leave.

Giles stood by the stable considering a ride when he saw a figure pass by him.

“Willow?” he called out.

She stopped but didn’t answer.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he strode towards her.

She nodded, but still didn’t speak.

Giles sighed, stopping beside her. “You have every right to be upset at me. My behavior this morning left something to be desired, I’ll admit to that. But I hope you know that I want more than anything to help you get through this.”

She turned to him this time. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Willow—”

“No. Giles, I had things I needed to say. And you wouldn’t let me,” she accused.

“I know. I have to say that I was a bit surprised myself. I thought that I had gotten past that.”

“Giles, I need you on my side. I need to have someone I can turn to and talk to about these things. I can’t do it alone,” she whimpered.

“And I would love to be that person for you, but I can’t promise that I can be.”

She nodded and they started walking, silently back to the house.

“I’m not perfect you know,” he said, after a moment.

“Xander owes me five dollars. He said you’d never admit to it.”

Giles turned his head to glare, but her smile was so infectious he found himself grinning instead.

The reached the house and paused, smiles fading. Willow looked up at him anxiously.

“Let me know when you can talk, uh, about stuff?” she asked.

“I promise,” he said with a nod.

He watched as she went into the house, hoping that this was a promise he wouldn’t have to break.