tampered | log, ongoing

log, ongoing

When; monday morning
Rating; pg-13 possibly
Characters; willow rosenberg [

awillowywitch] + daniel osbourne [

ananticlimax] (plus anyone else possibly relevant later)
Summary; Oz just happened to arrive in the City on a really unfortunate day. He shipped himself off to Angel and Wesley and etc's place to be restrained. The morning after, Oz and Willow need to have a Serious Talk about her relationship status with Tara.
Log;

Oz wakes up cold, on the ground, naked as per usual. He's gotten used to the feeling. A key he wouldn't have been able to use as the wolf unlocks his shackles, and he stands and rubs at his limbs, stretching and wincing at the pop of one of his shoulders back into place before getting dressed again.

Willow is supposed to meet him. He lingers, uncertain, confused by all of the mixed messages from various people throughout the day, including Willow herself. It's confusing for Oz, not least because only twenty-four hours ago for him, he and Willow had brought their relationship to a higher level. A more intimate one. He slides his shirt over his head with a quiet sigh, more of a puff of air than anything. Tara's name won't leave his mind-- a woman he's never met. It's just one more thing to overwhelm him within the last twenty-four hours, whether it shows on his face or not.

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And Willow is here. Nervous, out of sorts, and most definitely not really up to this. But here. She's spent the night worrying - about Tara, about Oz, about things in general. But she paces nervously now, working up the courage to go and face him. It's been, well, a few years since she's last seen him. And she's already dealt with him being back once, and now - they're both here, in the City. And Tara is, too. And it's all jumbled up and not making sense and she just doesn't know what to do.

What Willow does know, however, is that she shouldn't delay this talk. If she does, it'll just make everything worse. So she keeps moving forward, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Basic motor functions are a must, after all. The door's unlocked, so she walks in - she guesses that everybody realised she'd need to talk to him.

She falters slightly as Oz comes into view, but gulps, taking a few more steps forward and into his line of vision. "...Oz?" she questions, although she'd recognise him anywhere - especially as he's the Oz from highschool, the Oz she remembers fondly. She's older now, and different, but he's still the same. "Hi."

He's running two hands through his messy hair when he hears her open the door to come in-- he knows it's her. He could smell her coming some five minutes ago, and the nervousness is coming off of her in waves. He wouldn't even have needed supernatural sixth senses to be able to tell her mood, nearly read what's on her mind.

"Hey," he says, voice full of artificial brightness, less like sunshine and more like a fishtank lightbulb. He finishes pulling on his last shoe before looking directly at Willow, happy, no matter the circumstances, to see her and be near her. There's still a question in his green eyes, and he clears his throat softly before walking a few steps closer. He starts to lean forward, as if to pull her in for a kiss, but hesitates a second. It transforms into an honest but uncertain hug.

"You look really good. Look at your pretty hair."

Willow kind of feels like crying, not that it would solve anything. But she thinks it's easier than what's going to come next. She doesn't hug him back exactly, but she clutches onto his shirt - this is more to ground herself, and she supposes it wouldn't feel, to him, like the regular romantic gestures they'd exchanged back then. The feelings at the pit of her stomach were bubbling sluggishly, like she'd swallowed cement mix.

"Thankyou..." she says uncertainly, before leaning back a little and looking him in the eye, hands still fisted in his shirt. "It's... been kind of awhile since I've last seen you." That's the truth, after all. Maybe a little bit of an understatement, but it's still the truth.

"Why'd I leave? I wouldn't have done it without a good reason." It's true, he has no question about it. More than anything, he loves Willow. She was and always will be the first thing in his life he could really anchor himself to emotionally.

Lips pursing for a moment, he leans in closer, head next to hers, but he doesn't kiss her, or nuzzle against the side of her ear, none of the little physical reminders that he loves her; he does, he wants to give them, but the tension in the gang he knows has been high, and he's more sensitive to it than most people. Instead, he makes a quit shushing noise before pulling his body away from hers just slightly.

"You smell different," his voice is neutral, the line delivered straight. She does. She's older than him now, something that Buffy wasted no time in bringing up to him when she picked him up. She smells different. She smells like someone else, and for a fraction of a second, something in Oz's mood visibly darkens. He shakes his head, dispelling it.

"There was a good reason. I-it's a long story, Oz," her voice crackles a little, if only because even talking about it brings the pain to the surface again. She remembers the pain of almost every second of the day he left, and all the days after, until... until Tara.

Willow wants to be able to reassure him, to break it to him gently - to hold onto him forever and remember the good parts of what they had before it all comes crashing down. But she loves Tara, loves Tara because she healed her and gave her everything, and the strong current of that love is pulling her away from him. She steps back, arms dropping to her sides.

"...I - do?" of course, she remembers belatedly. His senses would've picked up on that almost immediately. No amount of showers would take Tara's scent away from her now. She furrows her brow. "It's... it's part of the long story."

"I have time."

He says it quietly but firmly as she steps away from him. He means it. He always has time for Willow, regardless of the length or intricacy of the story of what happened to her, will happen to him in the apparent future. Still, to Oz, it's murky, foggy, like a reflection in the scratched surface of a metal tabletop, or a utility sink. No matter how many times she tells it, no matter the emotion in her voice as she speaks the words, he can't let himself think of it personally. It's the same as the other Willow. The vampire Willow. They're all Willows, they're all his, and somewhere out there is another Oz, a hundred thousand other Oz.

But he's not those guys.

The tremble in his upper lip, the flare of his nostrils are gone in a moment, and he smiles gently, a smile typical of his character, reaching out to pick up a lock of her ginger hair in two short fingers. He closes his eyes to the smell of Tara in the room, forcing himself not to overanalyze.

"I want to ask you if we're okay. But there isn't a we anymore, is there?"

"There's... no. Not a we anymore," she agrees, because it's the truth and he deserves to know. He has to know, because this isn't a game of charades, and no one's pretending. Truth hurts, but not as much as lies. "There hasn't been, for me, for almost two years. You - you left, and I..."

She takes a deep breath. Chronological order was probably better for this. Rather than rambling and making things worse and getting things blown out of proportion. She clasps his hand gently - for support, although she doesn't know who needs it more.

"We went to college. UC Sunnydale. Not very long after - after what you remember. Things were okay, normal... until Veruca came into the picture," she can't hide the malice from her voice, if only because it's a natural reaction and she was the catalyst for all the pain. But she guesses maybe it was better that way, or maybe it was inevitable, and it would have all happened anyway.

Fingers intertwine with his own; thinner ones, longer ones, still familiar although, somehow, slightly more mature. The tightness of his grip on her hand when she takes his is enough to signal just how unwell Oz is dealing with the information that they aren't together. He accepts it, in the way that things change, always will change- people, relationships, seasons, moons, himself. Oz accepts it at face value, in a fatalistic way, but that doesn't mean that his chest isn't tight and his adam's apple isn't bobbing and catching in his throat as he stands and listens to her, stoic.

This isn't the Willow he's in a relationship with, a loving one, although he can tell that she loves him. Eventually what happens will happen. But the fact remains that they aren't together, they won't be together, and a Willow he's together with is not suddenly going to appear.

It hurts.

"Don't tell me who Veruca is. I don't want to know." Oz forces the raspy harshness out of his own voice. It isn't fair to Willow. "I want to know about Tara. I need to know you're happy."

And Willow wishes she could do something for him - anything - but it's gone past the point where she can help. She knows that, but she still regrets it. She responds by gripping his hand tightly, letting him hang on; because she needs it a little, too. She's already had closure and moved on, but cracking open wounds again and adding salt never goes down well. She can see the pain in his eyes, because she still knows him, and she knows he's not handling it.

But what can she do apart from try to make it easier, less painful? She feels horribly guilty for telling him about his future before it happens, but - but if he goes back, he'll probably forget, he'll be happy there for a little while longer. That's... something. Not great, but something. Her heart is painfully tight, too; constricted so much she feel like she can't breathe.

"Tara..." she bites her lip. "I-I'm happy. Tara, she - when you were gone, she was there. She helped. She... I've been through a lot with her. I was going through bad things, too. In the future, or... kind of more my present - bad magic things, and bad choices. She's helping."

She doesn't think she needs to mention how much she loves Tara, because it's obvious, and she doesn't want to be cruel. She wants to be as gentle with it as possible, because it must be at least ten times harder for him than it is for her, and she needs to make it easier somehow. Her eyes fill up with tears.

He listens intently, readjusting his fingers in her palm every few seconds, because his own has gone cold and clammy from nervousness and confusion and emotion. After a long silence, during which he refuses to meet Willow's eyes, staring anywhere but at her face, he speaks up, voice unusually thick. A sharp, acrid thread of jealousy runs through it, but it's also relieved and curiously appreciative.

"So Tara was there to clean up my mess, I'm guessing."

It's all he can put into words considering the situation. Uncoupling their hands, he draws away from Willow, finally raising his eyes again to look at her mouth and the wetness in her own eyes. Slowly, he grinds out:

"We can be friends here. I think we can be friends here. You and Xander are friends, it just might...maybe it'll be a while before things are comfortable."

"N-not exactly... or, I wouldn't put it like that..." she moves a hand to brush her hair out of her eyes, and discreetly wipes away the forming tears while she does so, instead attempting to face Oz with a smile. It's a little bit of a wonky smile, but it's still there, and she hopes it's better than nothing. Going from being in a serious relationship to not being in one at all, let alone the person you'd been with already being with someone else? It's... not exactly the stuff dreams are made of, to be sure.

"I-I really wanna be friends, Oz. I care about you, a lot. And... I don't wanna hurt you. I'm sorry. I feel like... I couldn't say that enough. But - but I can be space-giving. As much as you need. Lots of space. But... I'm also always here, if you wanna talk. Or - or anything."

Rambling... is also better than saying nothing in a response to a statement like that, she thinks. If all else fails, Willow rambles. It's a constant.

"I would. I got the feeling from Buffy it was my thing the last few years. Pissing on carpets." Oz doesn't move closer to Willow, not for a stretch. He lingers somewhere out of arm's length, shaking his head in an almost self-depreciating way. All his mind can think of how it all went wrong. All his senses can think of is Willow. Willow in bed with him, Willow next to him, Willow's voice and smell and soft hands, but the foreign facts intrude as blatantly as the smell of another woman, a stranger, wrapped around Willow as tightly as a security blanket.

He used to be her security blanket.

Heaving an annoyed sound, almost a growl, at his own inability to cope as well as he wishes he could, he does the only other thing he knows to do and panics, wrapping both arms around her neck and hooking his chin over her shoulder.

"I care about you too, Will. You're my That Girl. You always will be."

"It wasn't ever something you could deal with easily, Oz. And I don't blame you for it - not anymore. It would be stupid of me, holding grudges," she leans into his embrace for a moment, bringing her own arms up to his shoulders.

She can sense him breaking - maybe not as well as he can sense things about her, but he was her first proper love and still is and always would be. Nothing will ever take that right away from him - not Xander, not Tara, nobody. And maybe she's moved on, and it's different, and they're not together anymore, but he always has a place very near the centre of her heart.

"And you're my That Guy, too. Some part of me... always loves you, no matter what happens," it doesn't change anything, but alleviating some of his guilt and pain is something she can maybe still do.

"Don't feel guilty. Can you just...do that for me? Feel like you're stealing time to spend with me, but don't be guilty just because I'm terminally clueless or something."

He does steal one kiss, a final one, a desperate almost brotherly one against the side of her jaw, because at this point he doesn't know when he'll get another. It could be a week, it could be years. Maybe never.

Oz takes her reassurance at face value, for exactly what it is. Reassurance; not encouragement, not false hope, just reassurance that even if the romantic love is gone on her end, the platonic love still exists, just as strongly. Reassurance is all that Oz needs to pull the shutters back down and raise his head high-- as high as you can raise your head when you're freshly heart-broken.

"Do you want to go get smoothies? Because I spent all night throwing myself at walls and I'm pretty starving."

"...okay. I can do that. I'll be not-guilty," she allows the kiss, giving him another smile, because she knows if she doesn't smile she'll probably cry again. And smiling is always the better option when she's not even the one who has the right to cry - she has somebody to go home to, somebody that will comfort her.

She knows it's going to take time, and effort, and she hopes for his sake that he's not stuck here for years. Or that if he is, he can at least find somebody else. She'll pray for that - to whatever gods she's praying to nowadays. She doesn't really keep track anymore, not after everything she's been through. But she nods in answer to his question.

"Smoothies are good. They have some odd flavours here. It must be 'cause of all the inter-dimensional travellers." Are you gonna be okay? she wants to ask, but she knows it's a pointless question, mostly superficial and for her sake rather than his.

Hooking an arm around her shoulder for a second before pulling away again and walking to the door, he opens it, looking over his shoulder with a thankful light in his expression. He doesn't need to say he's okay; she should know he;s okay, because Oz doesn't do anything else. Only okay and profoundly not okay.

"I'm all for weird-flavor smoothies. Maybe we can mix some together and name it after Xander."

Willow follows him out, and as she steps into the morning sun, feels some of the weight from the intensity of that conversation lifting. Things... they'll be okay. Maybe not yet, but eventually. She can live with that. Without feeling too guilty, that is - although there will still be some guilt on the inside, and she can't help that.

"I'm not gonna be the one drinking that after we do," she makes a face. "Because that way lies the realm of food poisoning."

Although his shoulders are more tense than usual, Oz falls into pace beside Willow, a foot between the two of them. It isn't comfortable, but it is familiar. The sun is warm on his face as well, and he can feel the mood and the jealous dissipating under it, evaporating like water as the smells that surround Willow are less concentrated.

"I'll be fine. Cast iron stomach."

It brings back a lot of memories - being with Oz like this. They're not bad memories, and not painful, but... she's just not used to them. Oz made highschool bearable after everything Xander - and, okay, the Hellmouth - had put her through - and, consequently, what she'd put Oz through because of him. But it's different now.

"Oh, I forgot. Basically a natural immunity to most inedible food groups," she responds lightly. She pauses for awhile thoughtfully. "But while you're here, you should try and talk to some of the celebs. There's people of Lord of the Rings and Star Frek fame. Plus... lots more. The downside is you can embarrass yourself in front of them with curses."

Oz stops walking abruptly, pausing in the road on the way away from the large estate-like property that apparently Angel had inherited. Giving Willow a dubious look, hands shoved into his pockets, the corner of his lip turns up, wryly and expectantly.

"If hobbits are real, does that mean that somewhere I'm fictional?"

Willow tilts her head to one side. "Well, you'll have to ask the residents about that one," she says slowly. "Or Buffy. She has DVDs."

She shakes her head, grinning, before continuing down the road.

Oz starts following Willow again for a short period, curiosity satisfied, before belatedly:

"What's a DVD, Willow?"

...wait. Willow frowns at him, uncomprehending. Then realises. "Oh! Right. Past. Future. My miss."

She thinks on it. "It's the next step up from a video?"

"I can work with that."

He speeds ahead of her slightly, so that he can look back over his shoulder, his expression its usual combination of sobriety and anything but.

"Are you sure you're okay with this? I don't want to insult you by pretending we're not having issues. But I think this is okay."

"I'm okay with this," she responds almost immediately. "I think... I think this helps work out the issues. And I like it better than being avoidy."

After him being such a big part of her life, she thinks - there was always a part of her missing him. And while he's here in the City, them avoiding each other would only make things worse. Willow can cope with this, the not-avoiding and the baby steps.

"It does help work out issues. Because being avoidy has a tendency to produce the effect of avoiding working out issues."

He shrugs his shoulders, bowing his head a little again. He's certain a part of him will always be uncomfortable with Tara-- he knows exactly what part it is, too. The one that comes out three times a month --but Willow, at least, he can salvage some kind of relationship with wholly. Even if it's not the one he arrived prepared to be in.

"So...do you like it here okay?"

"And the avoidance of working out issues just leads to badness on both sides, hence this is leading to not-badness, which is good."

And that's her opinion, and pretty much how it's going to stay. She frowns a little at the next question. "Yeah, I've met a lot of really nice people here. And I'm glad to know them. Curses are sucky, and there are some... issues with my magic that aren't so good to deal with here. But for the most part, good."

"Curses? Definitely sucky. I have previous first-hand experience."

Assuredly it's more of a nonchalant joke to Oz than it is Willow at this point; Oz doesn't know what's in store for himself. Still, her frown makes his eyebrows knit together at the center, just slightly.

"For the most part good is good for the most part."

"It's... a little different when you can switch genders or be in a horror movie, or... well, vampire Willow made a return once. As me, sort of. It was bad. Faith smacked me with a board and I bit her."

That was the very condensed version without the bitchiness or the drama, anyway. And really just a point of contention as to why curses were very really not of the good.

"It is. Being able to deal is a plus. It's hard to say whether here or back home is more relaxing, though. I think they're tied."

For a few moments, Oz's face gets a far-away look to it; it's obvious that he's deeply considering these comments about horror movies and gender switching and skanky vampire Willow. He nods his head before replying.

"People turn into rats at home. And there are tentacles. They're probably tied."

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