MOONLIGHT CLOSURE

Title: MOONLIGHT CLOSURE

Series: S4 Behind The Scenes

Author: spikeme4now4200

Email: spikeme4now4200@yahoo.com.au

URL: http://au.geocities.com/spikeme4now4200/index.html

Spoilers: You'll be spoiled if you haven't seen Season 4. The episode “New Moon Rising” forms the background of this fic. Everything up to and including this episode is fair game for spoilerage.

Pairing: Willow/Tara

Category: Missing Scenes / Romance

Rating: NC-17 (US)

Rating Disclaimer: It’s not smut, but it does contain explicit details of sexual activity between two girls; hence the strong rating.

Disclaimer: This Story is mine. However, I don't own the Buffyverse or any of the characters created by Joss Whedon et al . . . You all know who they are. I don't wish to harm them; I simply want to play with them a little :-)

FEEDBACK: Yes Please!!!! I would really appreciate feedback on this story. It’s the culmination of my series, and I’ve worked really, really hard on it—so please, please, please, let me know what you think. Constructive criticisms are very welcomed—outright flames will be ignored. So please, please, please take a brief moment of your time to give me some feedback – It’s the only reward I get for all my hard work. >>lol<< What’s more, I'll reply to anyone who emails me. ^_^

Distribution: Everywhere and Anywhere, just let me know where.

Summary: A behind the scenes take on what happened between Willow and Tara during the Season 4 episode New Moon Rising.

***

That afternoon, both girls awoke to the sound of Tara’s phone ringing.

“Mmmm,” Willow mumbled, wrapping her arms tighter around her girlfriend. This morning had totally worn her out, and she didn’t really feel like getting up right now – especially to answer the phone. Besides, it was Tara’s phone anyway, if anyone should get up to answer it – then it should be her . . .

However, when Tara moved to do just that, Willow slid her leg over Tara’s, and gripped her hard – preventing her from moving.

“Willow . . .” Tara giggled, reaching a hand to her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Phone . . .”

“Snuggles,” Willow replied. She pressed her lips to Tara’s forehead, refusing to let her go. “Let the machine get it,” she pleaded, cuddling up closer.

At that moment, the phone stopped ringing, and the girls heard Tara’s voice coming from the speaker.

“It’s probably just Buffy,” Willow continued - moving her lips against the heated skin of Tara’s forehead, “calling about a Scooby meeting or something.”

BEEP

“Hey Tara,” they heard Buffy say.

Willow chuckled and pulled away, so as to look into her girlfriend’s eyes. “What did I tell ya?”

“Yeah,” Tara giggled, giving Willow’s cheek a soft kiss.

“Just calling to see if Willow was with you,” Buffy continued. “Scooby meeting at Giles’ – in about an hour. Oh, you can come too if you want. See ya soon.”

Tara looked at her girlfriend adoringly, as The Slayer hung up. “Now who’s the psychic?” she asked mockingly.

Willow grinned at the blonde. “I guess I picked it up from you,” she replied.

Tara chuckled, and pressed her lips against Willow’s. She kissed her softly for a moment, before gradually extending her tongue. She ran it tentatively against Willow’s lips; seeking permission to deepen the kiss, and was pleased to be granted immediate access. She instantly sought Willow’s tongue; initiating a passionate melee, that resulted in the passing of about five minutes.

“Mmmm,” Willow sighed, as Tara pulled away. “More,” she said – leaning in for another kiss.

“What about the meeting?” Tara asked, turning her cheek. She’d love nothing better than to spend the entire day smooching with her girlfriend – but what if something was wrong in Scooby-Land?

Willow grudgingly kissed her girlfriend’s cheek; she knew Tara was right. “I guess,” she pouted, “but smoochies are better.” Willow emphasised her point by capturing Tara’s bottom lip. She sucked on it gently for a few seconds; seductively running her tongue along it, before letting it go.

Tara was slightly flustered now, having lost herself in Willow’s kiss. “Mmmm,” she said dreamily – her eyes half closed with sensation. Maybe Willow was right . . . a few more smoochies wouldn’t hurt . . . With that thought, Tara succumbed to her pleasure principle, and heatedly fused her lips to Willow’s.

The girls pulled away from one another after a minute though—their sense of duty washing over them. What’s more, if they’d continued with the kissage, it wouldn’t be long before Tara’s fingers would’ve inevitably ended up between Willow’s legs, and she’d once again be making love to her girlfriend. She was doing a lot of that lately; loving her girlfriend. Ever since she’d first made love to Willow—about a week ago now—she’d been unable to keep her hands off her.

Like this morning—they’d both had no classes to contend with, so had chosen to sleep in. However, seeing as Willow had taken to sleeping naked (which was mainly because she was too worn out from Tara’s lovemaking, to bother about getting re-dressed), Tara had been unable to resist the lure of her girlfriend’s nude form—and had started to place soft kisses all over her body. The next thing she knew; Willow was wide-awake, and within minutes, she was bringing her girlfriend to the heights of passion—over, and over, and over—until eventually, the reprieve of sleep beckoned them.

“I’m gonna have a shower,” Willow ventured, as she extricated herself from Tara’s embrace, and got out of bed.

Tara merely nodded—becoming distracted by Willow’s nakedness. It took all of Tara’s willpower to remain in bed, as her girlfriend gathered up everything she’d need to take to the bathroom with her. If Tara didn’t know better, she’d suspect Willow was doing this on purpose; walking around naked; waiting until she’d located everything, before finally putting on a robe. On second thoughts—she did know better, and Willow was definitely doing this on purpose. Her girlfriend was such a tease . . .

Tara couldn’t help chuckling at her last thought.

“What?” Willow asked, oh so innocently—noting the smirk on Tara’s face. Tying the belt of her robe, she moved back towards the bed and sat down next to her girlfriend.

“You’re a tease,” Tara grinned, placing a soft kiss against Willow’s cheek.

“That’s why ya love me—right?” Willow quipped, giving her girlfriend’s cheek a return kiss.

“Mmmm,” Tara replied, wrapping her arms around Willow’s neck, and kissing her lips—she’d show her who the tease was . . .

Tara swiftly dragged her girlfriend down towards the bed, as she thrust her tongue into her mouth. Within seconds, Tara had deftly untied her girlfriend’s robe, and was using her left hand to gently knead one of her breasts. Her right hand meanwhile, had somehow made its way in between Willow’s legs, and was now skilfully massaging her clit.

Willow moaned at Tara’s touch, and began to move her hips rhythmically in response. Tara’s fingers felt like pure bliss against her engorged nub, and as she continued to play tag with her tongue, Willow couldn’t help but run her hands roughly against Tara’s back. Unfortunately, the girl still had her tank top on, but that wasn’t really a problem for Willow. Promptly, she worked her hands underneath the material of her girlfriend's top, and was now caressing the bare skin of Tara’s back.

Tara ceased her movements then, as she pulled away from her girlfriend. Willow’s hands were forced back down to her sides, and she looked up restlessly at Tara. What was going on? Why had Tara stopped?

“So, you like to be teased?” Tara grinned, looking down at her girlfriend.

“You wouldn’t?”

Tara’s grin widened in response. “I wouldn’t?”

Willow couldn’t believe it—Tara wouldn’t just leave her like that; work her up, and then . . .?

“Would you?”

Tara giggled, at Willow’s uncertainty—of course she wouldn’t; but it was amusing to watch her squirm for a moment. With determination, she repositioned herself in a kneeling position, before bringing her hands down to Willow’s thighs, and gently spreading her legs wide.

“You know I wouldn’t,” she said softly, dropping her head down to Willow’s mons. She then used her tongue to quickly lap up all of Willow’s juices, before wrapping her mouth around her clit. She hastily sucked the sensitive nub into her mouth, as she thrust two of her fingers deep into Willow’s body.

Tara began to slowly thrust her fingers inside her girlfriend, as she continued to gently suck on her clit. Every now and then she would put her tongue into play as well, and would cease her sucking—in order to circle her tongue firmly against the throbbing nub instead. After a few minutes; her thrusts began to get faster and faster; deeper and harder, as she continuously pressed her fingertips against Willow’s sweet spot.

Willow was now moving frenziedly under her ministrations, and Tara loved every minute of it. Her girlfriend’s responses, made all this worthwhile—knowing that she brought her happiness . . . Tara cherished making love to Willow; treasured watching the girl lose all her control, as she succumbed to wave, after wave of pure ecstasy.

As she continued sucking on Willow’s clit, and thrusting into her body, Tara began to gradually sense her girlfriend’s impending release. She consequently increased the intensity of her movements; thrusting deeper, and deeper; faster, and faster—sucking harder and harder . . . until Willow finally screamed out her name, and began to surf the waves of rapture.

Tara removed her fingers then, and replaced them with her tongue. She curled her tongue upwards; pressing it against the inner wall of Willow’s core; as she rode out her girlfriend's orgasm—letting her juices flow directly into her mouth. She loved the way Willow tasted, and always looked forward to being rewarded in this manner. When Willow had finally stopped gushing with pleasure, Tara continued to lap up her essence; until she’d absorbed every last drop she could find.

By then, Willow had regained a bit of her composure, and Tara slowly made her way up her girlfriend's body. She placed both her hands on either side of Willow’s face, as she leaned down and gently kissed her lips. She pulled away a second later, softly whispering, “I love you,” as she moved to her side.

Willow turned to her side as well, so that she was now facing her girlfriend. She looked warmly into her eyes, and wished like crazy she could return her words of love; could return her lovemaking. This last week had been one of the best weeks Willow could ever remember living through—but with each passing day, she’d become more, and more frustrated by her inability to admit the truth; to tell Tara she loved her. What’s more, every time Tara made love to her—which was now too many times to count—Willow continued to feel guilty for not giving anything back. Her girlfriend deserved to be loved, Willow thought to herself, she deserved someone more worthy than she was . . .

Squelching her thoughts, Willow leaned over and pressed her lips to Tara’s—kissing her briefly. “It’s definitely shower time,” she said ruefully, forcing herself to get out of bed.

“Right,” Tara agreed, smiling affectionately.

“And it’s your fault we’re gonna be late,” Willow continued playfully, as she wrapped her robe around her body.

“My fault?” Tara asked innocently, knowing full well what Willow meant.

“Yeah,” Willow confirmed, picking up all the stuff she’d gathered. “Your fault . . . with the teasing . . . and the tongue . . .”

Tara blushed, but forced herself to reply. “You . . . you like my tongue . . .?”

Willow’s heart skipped a beat at Tara’s words. She loved it when her girlfriend tried to talk sexy-style; it rarely happened due to their mutual shyness—but when it did, the results were explosive . . .

“I like,” Willow replied, as she unwittingly dropped her things. A second later, she was once again sitting on the bed, thrusting her tongue roughly into Tara’s mouth. She kissed her passionately, working her hands underneath Tara’s shirt, as her tongue battled heatedly with her girlfriend’s.

Tara forced herself to pull away after a minute; at this rate, they’d never get to the Scooby meeting. “Willow,” she said breathlessly, lifting her hands to Willow’s cheeks, as she broke their kiss, “Scooby meeting . . .”

“Right,” Willow replied dazedly, her breathing laboured. She didn’t want to stop kissing her blonde beauty, but when duty called . . . With that, she dragged herself off the bed, regathered all her stuff, and quickly rushed out the door. She hadn’t dared to say a word to Tara; or even look at her, during the whole process—knowing that if she did; chances are, she’d yet again become distracted . . .

Tara watched in silence as her girlfriend left the room, taking a few meditative breaths. Each time she made love to Willow, or engaged in any form of sexual activity with her girlfriend; she was always left feeling a little frustrated—sexually speaking. Seeing her girlfriend naked; touching her naked body; tasting her; watching her come—over, and over, and over . . . well, it was enough to send anyone into a state of intense longing. She’d never been a big fan of self-gratification, but without it; she had no idea how she’d’ve survived this past week; in constant need of release . . .

Glancing at the clock, she realised she’d have no time for relief this morning; it had already been almost an hour since Buffy had called, and they were definitely going to be late. With that thought, she hastily dragged herself off the bed, and began to scrounge around for something to wear. A few minutes later, she was standing in front of the mirror, brushing the tangles out of her hair, and letting her thoughts drift.

She thought about how special this whole week with Willow had been; how their one-month anniversary was now less than a week away, and how she wanted to do something to commemorate the occasion; to show her commitment to Willow. She’d thought about this a lot lately, and the idea of a pet kept coming back to her. When couples got pets together, it formed a kind of pact between them; symbolised that they were willing to commit; willing to accept the responsibility of a long-term relationship; showed that they had enough confidence in their bond, to believe it would last—at least as long as their pet’s lifespan.

She had to get the right pet though—she couldn’t just surprise Willow, and have her be allergic to it or something; she’d have to talk it through with her. Although . . . she didn’t wanna be too forward; too pushy. You can’t just ask your girlfriend of less than a month, if she wanted to get a pet with you—especially when you weren’t even certain that your girlfriend was in love with you. Sure, she knew Willow cared for her, but was she ready for a commitment? Now that she’d found Willow, Tara knew she’d never want anyone else—that she’d love her forever . . . But how did Willow feel?

Tara sighed as she continued brushing her hair. There was still so much her girlfriend was holding back from her; she could sense it. There were times, when she would look into Willow’s eyes; and she could almost feel the intensity of her girlfriend’s emotions; almost believe that Willow could love her; that she might’ve actually fallen in love with her . . .

But then Willow would look away; put a wall around her feelings, and Tara would chastise herself—for ever daring to dream her love was being returned. She was just grasping at straws; letting her own wishes cloud her thoughts; allowing her to read something in her girlfriend’s energy, that just wasn’t there . . .

With that thought, she put down the hairbrush, and grabbed her toiletry bag—feeling the need to freshen up a bit. A few minutes later, she was back from the bathroom—teeth brushed, and face washed. She returned to her position in front of the mirror, and reached for her foundation. She quickly finished rubbing the powder into her skin, and was now carefully applying some eye shadow, when Willow walked through the door.

“Hey Willow,” she greeted her girlfriend.

“Hey,” the redhead replied, dropping her towel into the hamper, and dumping the rest of her stuff on the floor. “You’re putting on makeup without me…?” she pouted, moving to stand next to her girlfriend.

Tara put the applicator down, before wrapping her arms around Willow’s neck. “Only the basic stuff, sweetie,” she explained, pressing a soft kiss to her girlfriend’s lips. “You can still do the lipstick . . .” she trailed off as Willow’s lips made their way to her neck, and began pressing soft, butterfly kisses against her skin. “Mmmm,” she moaned, closing her eyes when Willow’s lips suddenly reached the base of her neck, and decided to try a bit of sucking instead.

Willow pulled away after a few seconds; she didn’t want to leave a telltale mark on her girlfriend’s neck, especially right before a Scooby meeting. She met Tara’s gaze and smiled, pleased to note the sudden ruddiness of her skin. “Lipstick…?” she ventured.

“Right,” Tara replied, feeling a little light-headed. She turned and reached for her lipstick, before handing it over to her girlfriend.

Willow took it eagerly, and applied it to her own lips. She then grasped her girlfriend’s cheeks with her hands, and brought their lips together—effectively transferring the makeup.

When she pulled away, Tara gave her an adoring smile. “Thanks.”

“No prob,” Willow replied, grinning.

With that, Tara picked up the applicator again, and finished applying her eye shadow. She then swiftly did Willow’s eyes, before they both headed out the door.

As they walked through the student lounge, Tara once again began thinking about their upcoming anniversary. She wondered what Willow had planned for that day—if she’d planned anything at all . . . Maybe she should plan something? No, on second thoughts—she’d leave the planning up to Willow; she was never very good at organising things like that. Besides, she didn’t want to make too big a deal out of it; not if Willow didn’t either—she was still too unsure of what she meant to her girlfriend; of what their relationship meant to her . . .

This brought her thoughts back to the whole commitment-issue. The date of their anniversary was quickly approaching, and she still hadn’t even brought up the subject of her mutual-pet idea. But how was she to broach the topic with her girlfriend? She couldn’t just go up to Willow and say: ‘Hey Wills, we’ve been together for a whole month now, and I really wanna commit to you—so what do you say to getting a pet together?’ Okay, so she wouldn’t exactly say it that way—she’d probably end up stuttering like crazy, and her words would come out all disjointed, and incoherent, and Willow would have no idea what she was talking about.

What’s more, she didn’t want Willow to think she was pushing for a commitment from her; that’s not what this was about. She wanted to show Willow that she was the one committed; that she was in this for the long run, and that even if Willow eventually left her; she’d still be a part of her life; still be willing to share things with her i.e. the ownership of a pet. She needed to know if Willow was willing to accept it; to accept the fact that she never wanted to be without her; that she would always be around—in whatever fashion she wanted . . .

They were outside now; making their way across campus, and Willow had purposefully been keeping quiet. She could sense that there was something on Tara’s mind, so had decided to leave the girl to her thoughts. Besides, her girlfriend would tell her if something was wrong . . .

As they continued walking in silence, Tara began to realise what Willow was doing; that the girl had probably noticed her intense introspection. She smiled at that; loving the idea of how in-tune they were to one another. Taking a deep breath, she decided it was time to finally bring up her idea—she couldn’t avoid it any longer. She would have to be careful though; feel things out first—merely hint at what was on her mind, and see how Willow reacted.

“Do you like cats?” she ventured.

“I’m more of a dog person myself,” Willow replied honestly, “but I’m not like ‘death to all cats.’ Why?”

“ ’Cause I was thinking of getting one,” she replied softly, forcing herself to remain calm. She didn’t want Willow to see how nervous she was; it might clue her in on . . .

“Can you have one in the dorms?” Willow asked, interrupting her girlfriend’s thoughts.

“No, but . . .” Tara trailed off, realising Willow had a point, “this would be a sneaky cat,” she giggled.

“That would be cool,” Willow chuckled in response. But why did Tara want to get a cat all of a sudden? Was it a witch thing? “You mean; it’d be sort of like a familiar?”

“Actually, I…I was thinking it’d be sort of like . . . a pet,” Tara explained. “You know, we could . . . we could name her Trixie, or . . . Miss Kitty Fantastico—or something . . .”

Willow smiled, instantly warming to the idea. “And we could make Kitty go bonkers, with string, and catnip, ‘n stuff . . .?” she let out excitedly.

“Absolutely,” Tara replied, grinning at her girlfriend.

“Fun!” Willow exclaimed, her smile widening. “I’m in.”

“So, you’re not allergic or anything?” Tara inquired.

“Nope.”

“Good, ‘cause . . .” Tara trailed off, reminding herself to be careful; she didn’t want to reveal too much. “I want my room to be . . . Willow-friendly . . .” she finished off delicately.

“Me too,” Willow replied softly, lacing her left hand with Tara’s right.

As she squeezed her girlfriend’s hand affectionately, Tara decided to change the subject. “So . . . I’m excited about the Scooby meeting . . . I think. What’s it about?”

She didn’t want to make too big a deal over the whole cat-thing, but was nevertheless overjoyed by Willow’s reaction. Her girlfriend had just given her the green light to get a pet; a pet they could possibly share ownership of. This was definitely a good sign in Tara’s book; but she’d leave it until their anniversary, to bring up the whole mutual ownership concept; she didn’t want to scare the girl off . . .

“I’m not sure,” Willow replied, taking a second to think about her response. “Probably just your garden-variety disaster,” she quipped.

Tara smiled, and gave Willow’s hand another squeeze. Willow squeezed back, as they continued walking in silence. She was feeling a little giddy now; and only part of it had to do with the tingly-ness of holding her girlfriend’s hand. As Tara’s notion of getting a cat began to sink in, Willow couldn’t help but contemplate the implications of it.

The fact that Tara had—in a way—asked her permission before getting it; showed how considerate the girl was, but also showed her how much of a couple they’d become. It was almost as if Tara wanted the decision to be mutual; as if this kitty would not only be hers, but theirs . . . What’s more, getting a pet with someone meant you planned to spend a lot of time together . . . that you were in a long-term relationship . . .

Is that what Tara was saying—that she was committed to her? Was that why she’d been so introspective just now—why she’d seemed kinda nervous? Willow already knew how much Tara cared about her; how much the girl loved her, she didn’t need any more proof . . . yet she couldn’t help feeling thrilled by her girlfriend’s willingness to show her commitment in this manner.

The more she thought about it, the more she loved the idea of getting a cat with Tara. Not only did it show her how committed Tara was to their relationship, but it would be a way of showing her own commitment as well. She loved Tara deeply, and her inability to tell her so, was becoming more and more frustrating with each day. She now had a way of at least letting Tara know how much she cared; of letting her know how important she was, and that this wasn’t just a transitional relationship for her.

With that thought, Willow turned towards her girlfriend, and had to force herself not to kiss her; they were in public after all. “We’re almost there,” she ventured instead, stating the obvious.

“Yep,” Tara smiled, “ but I think we’re kinda late.”

Willow giggled. “And whose fault is that?”

Tara chuckled in response, bringing Willow’s hand to her lips—kissing her softly. “You could’ve stopped me anytime, sweetie,” she reminded her girlfriend, before kissing her hand again.

Willow shivered at the sensation of Tara’s lips on her skin, and also at the memory of Tara’s tongue; working it’s magick inside her body . . . “Mmmm,” was all she said, as Tara pulled her lips away.

Tara’s smile widened at Willow’s reaction, and she was just about to tease her about it, when she realised they were now outside Giles’ door. She gave her girlfriend a discerning look instead, before letting go of her hand.

Willow grinned back, seeing the glint in Tara’s eye. She couldn’t help wondering what Tara had been about to say, as she opened the door. “Hey guys,” she greeted the gang.

“You’re almost an hour late,” Anya exclaimed indignantly, as Willow and her girlfriend stepped inside. She was sitting in Xander’s lap, and found it unfair how she’d had to be here—bored to tears—while The Witch had kept them all waiting. “The meeting’s almost over, and we’ve had to sit here . . .”

“Ahn,” Xander interrupted, “they probably had a good reason,” he turned his attention to the two witches in the doorway, “right?”

“Right,” Willow was quick to reply. She gave Tara a knowing look, and the two girls blushed slightly. “Uh . . .”

“Magicks,” Tara interjected, giving Willow a shy smile—it was kinda the truth . . .

Willow grinned at Tara’s ingenuity, as they sat down on a couple of nearby stools. “We . . . we got distracted,” she explained, moving her attention towards Buffy, “with the . . . the magicks. Did we miss anything important?”

“Nope,” Buffy was quick to reply; sitting on Giles’ desk, dangling her legs playfully, “nada; zip; zippo. Patrol’s been totally uneventful—my kill count’s way down.”

Willow turned towards her girlfriend. “She means there’s been less bad-guy activity.”

Tara nodded at Willow’s explanation. She didn’t really need one, but she loved how Willow always tried to make her feel comfortable.

“And we know what that often indicates,” Giles interjected from the kitchen, holding a bag of pretzels.

“Buffy doesn’t make her quota,” Xander joked, shaking his finger mockingly at Buffy, “bad Slayer.”

“Well, I wish it were that innocuous,” Giles continued, “but with Adam around, I . . . I feel he’s involved somehow.” Thought said, he turned around and poured some pretzels into a bowl.

“When things get slow,” Willow explained to Tara, “it’s usually because there’s some extra evil brewing”

“Except the weird thing is,” Riley cut in from the living room, “we’ve been busy at the Initiative. Our squads are pulling a lot more captures. We’ve got demons coming out of our ears.”

“That’s a metaphor,” Willow turned back to her girlfriend.

“I got it,” the blonde grinned, “thanks.”

“I’m over-helping, aren’t I?”

Tara giggled in response, letting her girlfriend know it was okay.

Giles chose that moment to head out of the kitchen. “So the activity’s shifted, but not stopped,” he observed, offering the bowl of pretzels to Willow, and then to Tara.

Both witches shook their heads politely, neither feeling the need for munchies.

“That’s fascinating,” Giles continued, as he sat down at his desk; putting the bowl down next to him.

“To an extremely bored person, maybe,” Anya remarked snidely. “Well, that was a thrilling hour,” she continued sarcastically, as she and Xander stood up. She hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place, and would’ve much rather spent the time playing some new sex-game with Xander—she liked those . . .

Giles wasn’t too pleased by the ex-vengence demon’s remarks, in fact—he was downright insulted by them. He stood up with purpose, determined to give her a piece of his mind.

Willow stood up as well, and turned towards her girlfriend—who was still sitting down. She smiled warmly at Tara, and was suddenly eager to get back to her dorm—she had no classes today, and she was sure they could find something interesting to do . . .

Noticing the spark in her girlfriend’s eye, Tara instantly sensed what Willow was thinking. She too would like nothing better, than to spend the rest of the afternoon making love to her girlfriend.

“You know,” Giles began forcefully, turning his attention solely towards the ex-vengence demon, “I don’t really appreciate your snide remarks Anya. Now, I have a great deal of experience in these matters . . .”

Hearing the creak of the door opening, Willow turned her attention away from her girlfriend, and looked to see who had entered the room. At the sight of her ex-boyfriend standing in the doorway; hands in his pockets; eyes locked on hers, she suddenly felt as if someone had literally stuck a fist into her chest, and ripped her heart in two.

Oz was the last person she’d expected to see, and she could feel the tears reaching her eyes, as all the pain of his departure returned to her. Why was he here? How long had he been back? And what was he doing standing in Giles’ doorway? Oh God, she felt as if her whole world had just been shattered; this wasn’t happening; it was all a dream . . . right . . .?

Tara looked up at her girlfriend in confusion, sensing the sudden change in her energy. What was going on here? Why was Willow so flustered? And who was the short, red-haired stranger in the doorway? She alternated her glance from her girlfriend, back to the stranger, and then back to Willow—who seemed to be getting more, and more unbalanced by the second. Why was that? What was causing such an intense reaction? She suddenly felt like leaping out of the chair, and putting her arms around Willow—wanting desperately to calm her down; she hated seeing her so upset.

“ . . . And if I say there is a matter of some import brewing, I . . . I . . . ” Giles trailed off, as he realised that both Xander and Anya’s attention, seemed to be focused on a point behind him. Curiosity getting the better of him, he slowly turned around, and was surprised to see the young werewolf had returned to Sunnydale.

“Hey,” Oz greeted the gang, his eyes focused on Willow. He’d come here straight from Willow’s dorm; figuring she was probably at a Scooby meeting, since she wasn’t in her room. He would’ve preferred to be having this encounter in private, but he’d been too impatient to wait around for her to return. Besides, the gang would eventually find out he was back, and he might as well face them all at once—get it over with; especially since he hoped to return to the fold.

He was extremely nervous now, seeing as he had no idea how Willow was going to react to his sudden arrival. Looking into her eyes, he could see how shocked she was; could see the confusion and pain that was clearly evident in her gaze. Maybe he should’ve called first—given her time to adjust to the idea of his return? It’s just that he was so eager to see her again; he’d missed her so much, and he hadn’t even organised a place to crash yet. She’d been the only thing on his mind for so long; had been the reason he’d gone; the reason he’d wanted a cure so badly; the reason he’d come back . . . everything he’d done—he’d done for her.

He felt terrible about what he’d put her through; about what he’d done to her; about his own weaknesses . . . and yet she’d been willing to forgive him—had wanted him to stay. He couldn’t’ve stayed though; not when there was even a remote chance that he could hurt her again; the chance that The Wolf inside him could destroy her. He just hoped it wasn’t too late for them; that she hadn’t found someone else; that she still cared for him, and that she was willing to give him another chance. He was a different person now; and if she let him—he’d prove it to her; show her that he was now worthy of her love; that he would never hurt her again, and that he would love only her for the rest of his life.

“Oz,” Willow choked out eventually, still not totally trusting her own eyes. It had been so long since she’d seen him; like another lifetime really, and she had no idea how to react to his unexpected arrival.

Hearing Willow say her ex-boyfriend’s name, Tara’s whole body began to shudder. She moved her eyes back towards the stranger. “Oz,” she whispered his name in understanding, as she looked back at Willow, and then down to the floor. No wonder Willow was so upset . . .

She had to force herself not to cry—not to draw attention to herself. She’d known this day was coming; known that Willow had a past; known that someday he would return, and that she would then have to let her go . . . She just hadn’t realised it would happen so soon. It felt like she’d only just found Willow, and to lose her now; just when they were getting so close; when they were even alluding to long-term commitment . . . Oh God—what was she to do? Why did this have to happen now? What did it mean for them? Was Willow gonna go back to him? Would she leave her? How was she going to survive without Willow in her life?

As Tara whispered her ex-boyfriend’s name, Willow turned towards her girlfriend; unexpectedly reminded of her presence. She suddenly realised how this must be affecting her, but she had no idea what to do. How could she reassure Tara, when she herself wasn’t sure what this meant—how she felt about Oz’s arrival? Things were definitely screwed up; not only was her ex-boyfriend back in town, but he’d come back; just when she thought she was over him; when she was now in a loving relationship with someone else . . . someone who was sitting right next to her, and was now utterly distraught over the current events . . .

“When . . . when did you get back?” she choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears, as she turned her attention back to Oz.

“Pretty much now,” he replied, locking his gaze with Willow’s.

Looking into her ex-boyfriend’s eyes, Willow could feel all her old feelings coming back to her. Here was Oz; the guy she loved—no wait; the guy she used to be in love with . . . the first guy she’d ever slept with; the only guy she’d ever slept with . . . he’d meant so much to her, for so long . . . and he was back . . . standing right in front of her . . .

She had no idea how she felt about this—how she felt about him. She’d loved him for so long, and now . . . now she didn’t know anymore; didn’t know how she felt. She was in total shock-mode, and her mind was racing; working a mile-a-minute; doing its best to comprehend the situation, and she simply couldn’t think straight anymore. Any second now, she’d burst into tears, and let the universe swallow her whole—it’d be easier than dealing with the sudden pain in her chest; the confusion in her brain, and the sick feeling in her stomach.

The two ex-lovers looked at each other intently, neither knowing quite what to say to one another. No one did actually; the room was eerily silent, and no one seemed willing to break it. As he looked around the room, Xander could sense the uneasiness; the tension, and decided to do something about it; that was his job after all; comic-relief-guy . . .

“Oz, man,” he began; walking over towards the young man he kinda considered to be his friend. “Hate to sound grandma, but . . . you don’t call . . . you don’t write . . .” he trailed off as he extended his hand.

“Yeah, sorry,” Oz replied, reaching out his own hand. He half-smiled at the taller guy; realising what his intention had been. Trust Xander to ease the tension a bit . . .

“So, are you here, here; or are you just passing through?” Buffy inquired, as Xander pulled away from the young werewolf. She suddenly felt very protective of her best friend; remembering how distraught Willow had been when he’d left. What was he doing back? How was Willow going to handle it? Would he leave her in shambles like last time? He better not hurt her again . . .

Oz thought about The Slayer’s question, not sure quite how to answer it. He’d love to stay; but it all depended on Willow’s reaction. He was back for her; back to resume their relationship . . . if she let him; if she wanted to, and if she still cared for him . . .

“Well, um—let’s not, uh . . . bombard the poor chap with uh . . . questions right off,” Giles cut in, as he headed towards the kitchen. “Can I get you something,” he continued, taking off his glasses, “um . . . tea perhaps . . .?”

“I’ll pass,” Oz declined, “thanks.” He hadn’t come here for pleasantries; he had a purpose; a Willow-Purpose. Turning his attention away from the Englishman, he returned his gaze back to his ex-girlfriend.

“Look,” he continued, taking a few steps towards her. He needed to talk to Willow in private; to state his case; to let her know how he’d changed, and to take the first step in patching up their relationship. “I’m going to Devon’s; to see if he’s got a place I can crash, but . . . I was hoping that we could talk . . . later . . . tonight?”

Tara risked a quick glance at her girlfriend, before dropping her eyes back down to the floor. She wanted to see what Willow’s reaction was—how she felt about meeting up with her ex. Oz’s suggestion had cut through her like a knife; The Werewolf wanted his girlfriend back; wanted to take Willow away from her . . . Why else would he be here?

That’s why she wanted to gauge Willow’s reaction; to see if she wanted the same thing; to see what effect his request was having on her, and to suss out the nature of her energy. If Oz was what Willow wanted, then she wouldn’t stand in the way. She’d step aside; let her go to him—as long as it made her happy. She didn’t have to like it though; didn’t have to be happy about it—she just wanted to know.

Unfortunately, she’d gained nothing insightful by looking at Willow; all she’d sensed was confusion. This only upset her more; tore at her heartstrings. A part of her wanted to pull Willow into her arms; hold her close; comfort her—while another part of her wanted to run screaming from this room; to crawl into a hole; cry her eyes out . . . The very real threat of losing Willow was just too much for her to bear.

“I guess so . . .” Willow replied hesitantly; not knowing what else to say; what else to do . . . Oz was here; he was real, and he wanted to talk . . . She’d dreamed of this moment for so long; since the day he’d walked out on her . . . and now it was really happening . . .

“I’ll come by your place?”

“Okay . . .” she whispered, doing her best to rein her tears in.

Oz smiled softly in response, as his eyes searched Willow’s—wondering if she remembered what tonight was. He didn’t know what to make of her expression, but he could tell she was still a little dazed, and not fully aware of the implications of his nighttime visit. Well . . . he’d surprise her tonight—if she didn’t already figure it out by herself.

“It’s great to see you guys again,” he said then, throwing a quick glance around the room, “really.” He tossed a final glance in Willow’s direction, before turning around, and heading out the door—pleased with how things had played out.

Everyone watched in silence as Oz left the room—the tension permeating the air like an ominous gas cloud. Willow was still in shock—doing her best to keep her tears at bay; Tara remained glued to her chair—also forcing away tears; while the rest of the gang were somewhat paralysed—none of them knowing what to make of things; what to say, or even how to react.

After a few seconds, Anya broke the silence—deciding as usual to speak her mind. “Everyone’s uncomfortable now,” she remarked.

At the ex-vengence demon’s words, Buffy snapped out of her revere, and walked over to her best friend. “Are you okay?” she asked gently, placing her hand tenderly against Willow’s arm.

“What . . .?” Willow turned around, not really hearing her friend’s question. She’d been too caught up in her thoughts; too busy with trying to understand what was happening—what it all meant. She still couldn’t believe Oz was really back. Everything had all happened so suddenly; she felt like she was in a daze; like none of this was real . . .

Looking at her girlfriend, Tara began to realise she was of no help here. She was too distressed, and would most likely burst into tears soon . . . which wouldn’t do anyone any good. Willow’s friends still didn’t know about the extent of their relationship, and she didn’t want to clue them in now—especially when there probably wasn’t even going to be a relationship for much longer. Besides, Willow didn’t need any more grief right now—the girl needed some support; needed some guidance, and she was obviously in no position to provide it . . .

“I just, um . . .” Tara stood up, wracking her brain for a good excuse to leave.

Willow turned around at Tara’s voice, instantly reminded of her presence. Oh God, how must Tara be feeling?

“I…I realised, um,” Tara continued. “I’m…I’m l…late for…for study group . . .”

“Tara . . . wait,” Willow whispered, taking a step towards her girlfriend, and reaching for her hands.

She knew Tara didn’t have a study group now; knew why she was desperate to leave, and she suddenly felt terrible. She needed to reassure her; let her know she wasn’t going to leave her . . . and yet she couldn’t. How could she soothe her girlfriend, when she herself didn’t know what she wanted? Everything was so confusing, and the one person whom she’d come to depend on for support and guidance—her loving girlfriend—was now unable to help her.

“No…no, it’s…it’s okay,” Tara pulled away, scared to let Willow touch her. She knew the second the girl’s hands met hers, she’d burst into tears—she was having a hard enough time as it were—keeping her composure. She had to get out of here, and fast—before she did something she’d regret. “Y…you…you should be with your friends,” she looked away, and then back at her girlfriend, needing to look into her eyes, and yet unable to at the same time, “and . . . and I…I should go . . .”

With that, she practically ran towards the door, ignoring her girlfriend’s plea. She couldn’t deal with this right now; couldn’t handle it. She needed some time to come to terms with what was happening—to calm down, before she talked to her girlfriend. She knew what she had to do; knew she was gonna have to let Willow go, but if she talked to her right now—she’d probably do something wholly selfish like beg her to stay . . . plead with her not to leave, and that just wouldn’t do . . .

“But . . .” Willow trailed off as Tara left the room, completely ignoring her.

Tara had never done that before, and Willow hated the feeling it gave her—a sudden sickness in the pit of her stomach. She was totally distraught over Oz’s return, and now her girlfriend wasn’t even speaking to her; her lifeline—the one person in all the world who understood her; who was always there for her; was now unable to even look at her; unable to touch her; who was now running away from her, because she was hurt . . . scared . . . confused . . .

She desperately wanted to go after Tara; comfort her, let herself be comforted . . . but she couldn’t. What was she going to do? She didn’t want to lose Tara, but now that Oz was back . . .? What did it all mean? What was she going to do? Why did she suddenly feel like throwing up? And why did Tara have to leave? Poor Tara . . . what must she be thinking . . .? The girl meant so much to her; she’d been her touchstone for so long now; had pulled her through her darkest moments; made life worth living again . . . and she just couldn’t imagine a future without her. So where did Oz fit in?

Willow burst into tears then, and Buffy reached for her best friend, bringing her head down to her shoulder, and wrapping her arms around her neck. She held Willow close, not saying anything—just being there for her. She hated Oz at that moment; hated him for what he’d put Willow through, and if he did anything to hurt her again, she’d use his Wolfie-ness to justify killing him—she was The Slayer after all. Okay, on second thoughts—she didn’t really hate him; probably wouldn’t kill him . . . but he better not do anything to hurt her best friend again . . .

“You wanna talk?” Buffy asked, as Willow eventually pulled away.

Willow shook her head, her tears making it difficult to form words. “I . . . I . . . I just wanna . . . I wanna . . . be alone . . . think things through . . . okay . . .?”

“Okay,” Buffy replied, watching in concern as Willow walked out the door. She hoped her friend would be all right.

***

As soon as she closed Giles’ door behind her, Tara let loose all the tears she’d been holding back. They were now streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks, as she broke off into a run. She needed to get back to her room—and fast. The pain inside her was just too great, and she needed to set it free—needed to do something to release it. She hated crying in public; but she just couldn’t stop the tears—so she ran, and ran, and ran; letting the pain wash over her; letting the anguish consume her, as she rushed towards the privacy of her room.

The second she reached her dorm; Tara leapt onto her bed; curled up in a fetal position, and began crying in earnest. Her Willow—her wonderful Willow; was going to leave her. She was never again going to kiss her sweet lips; never going to hold her close; curl up to her at night; watch her get dressed in the morning; put on makeup together; do spells together; joke around with her; have dinner with her; have lunch with her; make love to her; tell her that she loved her . . .

Oh God, her life was suddenly not worth living. Willow meant everything to her; she held her soul; possessed her heart, and without her—nothing else mattered. Sure, she knew this day was coming; knew Willow didn’t love her; knew she had to let her go . . . But why did it have to hurt so much? Why did she have to leave so soon? How was she going to go through life without Willow?

Tara suddenly chastised herself; how self-centred could she be? Here she was, worried about her own selfish needs, when her Willow was in pain. Oz had hurt her terribly; he’d been her first love, and now that he was back, Willow was scared, confused, and had no idea what to do. Her girlfriend needed comfort, and even if Willow no longer wanted to be her girlfriend; that didn’t mean she should ignore her; let her suffer alone. How could she have been so selfish as to run out on her? Willow had never lied about her feelings for Oz; she’d never pretended to be in love with her, so she should not be surprised that this was happening.

Tara got out of bed and began pacing the room, contemplating her actions. Glancing out the window, she was surprised to see it was already dark out. How long had she been crying? Should she call Willow—see how she was—apologise to her? She shouldn’t have run off like that; she’d probably upset Willow even more . . .

Reaching for the phone, she decided to call her—let her know she still loved her . . . that whatever she wanted to do was fine . . . that she understood . . . However, as she looked at the receiver in her hand, Tara quickly changed her mind, and put down the phone. What would she say to Willow? Would she be interrupting something? Oz had said he was gonna drop by that night—what if he was already there? She didn’t want to intrude.

Besides, what if Willow didn’t want to speak to her? What if Willow wanted to be alone? What if Willow had already decided to go back to Oz? She didn’t want to hear that over the phone. If Willow was going to break up with her, she wanted to see her in person. She wanted to let Willow know she still wanted to be a part of her life—she’d die without her. She’d rather have Willow as a friend, than as nothing at all.

As she began pacing the room again, the tears returned to her eyes. Everything in her room reminded her of Willow. The girl’s things were everywhere; from her spell books; her clothes; her jewellery; a few of her stuffed toys, and even her energy. There was a residual Willow-essence left in her room—from their constant spell casting; their lovemaking . . . Each time Willow had let loose; accepted her love; released her energy . . . it’s essence had seeped into the room, and it was now as much a part of the air, as Tara’s own energy.

Crawling back onto the bed, Tara realised, she’d never make it through the night—not without Willow. How could she sleep without her baby? How could she sleep knowing she was with him; with Oz; with the man she loved; the man she used to make love to; the man who used to make love to her . . .? Did she miss it—making love to him—to a man? Was she satisfied with the way she—Tara—made love to her? How did it compare—having a woman make love to you, as opposed to a man?

As the tears returned, Tara once again curled up in a fetal position—letting the sobs wrack her body. Was Willow really going to leave her? What was she doing now? Was Oz with her? Were they talking . . .? What if they were . . .? NO! Willow wouldn’t . . . she wouldn’t be . . . NO! The very thought of Willow and Oz together intimately . . . in a sexual way . . . well, it made her feel physically sick. She suddenly felt so nauseous in fact; that she was now leaping from the bed, and rushing into the bathroom.

She returned to her room about half an hour later, still feeling a little queasy. She’d been unable to stop throwing up; as her mind continued to dwell on the image of Willow and Oz; patching up their relationship . . . together . . . in bed . . . kissing . . . making love . . . declaring their love for one another . . . Which is why she was now, once again running back towards the bathroom.

She got no sleep that night; having spent half of it running to and from the bathroom; and the other half crying her eyes out, doing her best to ignore the image of Willow and Oz together, and trying her hardest to come to terms with her loss. She knew it was inevitable; Willow was going to leave her. The love of her life was back in town—sure, he’d hurt her; but Willow had forgiven him; Willow loved him, and if he made her happy . . . then who was she to stand in her way?

Willow’s happiness meant more to her than her own did, but that didn’t make losing her any easier. She wouldn’t get to make love to her anymore; wouldn’t get to tell her she loved her; wouldn’t be allowed the privilege of waking up next to her in the morning; wouldn’t get to touch her; to kiss her, and to love her like she wanted to love her. She would have to satisfy herself with friendship; with platonic love; with being someone she could talk to; someone she could do spells with, and never someone who meant the world to her—never her soulmate; her lover . . .

***

As Willow walked back towards campus, she did her best to keep the tears at bay; she didn’t want to let her pain consume her; to let the confusion bother her . . . but she couldn’t help it. She had no idea how she felt; what she wanted to do, or what it meant to her that Oz was back. She needed someone to talk to; someone to hold her; someone to tell her it was going to be all right, that she’d work it out—she needed Tara. Her girlfriend was the only person who always made her feel better; who always knew what to say, and who always understood her. Which is why she was now walking down the hall towards Tara’s room.

She stopped before she reached her door however; realising it wasn’t right—she had no right to impose on Tara this way. Her girlfriend had made it clear; she needed some time alone; she couldn’t be around her right now; she was hurt, and scared, and unable to deal with her presence—just yet. She’d seen it all in Tara’s eye; sensed it in her energy, as she’d bolted from the room. She’d never seen Tara so hell-bent on getting away from her; never seen such hurt in the girl’s eye; such fear, and she hated herself for being the cause of it.

At that moment, she hadn’t cared that all the Scooby members were present; hadn’t cared that they could find out about her and Tara; hadn’t cared that she was bursting with anguish. At that moment, all she’d cared about was the fear in Tara’s eyes. She’d wanted so desperately to comfort her; to reassure her; to let her know she wasn’t going to leave her; to tell her that she loved her, but as usual she was held back, and then Tara had left—ignored her pleas, and just bolted from the room. She’d been hurt by the rejection; hurt that Tara wouldn’t accept her touch; wouldn’t hear her out . . . and yet she totally understood it.

So why was she now, less than a few feet away from Tara’s door? Why was she seeking Tara’s comfort—seeking Tara’s help? Hadn’t Tara made it clear that she wanted to be alone—that she was scared? What good would her presence do? It’s not like she was able to tell her that she loved her—that she wasn’t going to go back to Oz. She should leave the poor girl alone; deal with the anguish by herself. Tara didn’t need to be burdened with her indecision—with her neediness; Tara needed reassurance, and if she wasn’t going to give it to her . . . then her presence would only make things worse.

With that thought, she turned away from Tara’s dorm, and headed back towards her own. She didn’t feel like she was going home though—Tara’s room was her home. She always felt safe in Tara’s room; as if nothing could hurt her there, and everything would always be all right. Tara’s room was her sanctuary, just as Tara herself was her touchstone. She suddenly couldn’t help noticing how absurd the situation was—the one time she needed Tara the most; she couldn’t go to her. How was she going to get through this without Tara’s help?

Opening the door to her own room, Willow somehow didn’t feel right about being there. This room felt empty—unlived in . . . desolate. Both she and Buffy had once called this room home, and yet now—it had probably been unslept in for over a month—unless you count Amy. This room was no longer a home to anyone—and even Amy The Rat considered the cage more of a home than the room itself. This thought suddenly made Willow’s mood even worse. She moved towards her bed and sat down, trying to remember the last time she’d slept in it.

She sighed—the last time she’d slept in this bed; Tara had gotten hurt. She’d left her girl alone for one night, and mayhem had ensued. Ever since that night, she hadn’t left her girlfriend’s side; hadn’t spent a single night apart from her—and that was now almost a month ago. What was she going to do tonight? Would she be able to sleep alone? Would Tara allow her back into her bed? Did she have any right to ask? How could she sleep without Tara by her side?

Stretching out on the bed, Willow suddenly remembered Oz. Her ex was coming by tonight. What did he want to talk about? How long would he stay? Was he back because of her? Did he want to get back together? Why hadn’t he called? What had he been up to all this time? Was this really happening? What was she going to do? How did she feel about him? Did she still love him? Did she want him back? Had Tara been right last week—was she holding back from her emotionally, because she was still in love with Oz?

She got up off the bed, and began pacing—surprised to note that it was already getting dark. How long had she been lying down—running her questions over, and over in her head? What was she going to do? Maybe she should call Tara—see how she was doing? A bit of time had passed now; maybe the girl was willing to speak to her again?

Picking up the phone, she looked at the receiver—unaware that Tara was now doing the exact same thing in her own dorm. Just like Tara, she contemplated calling her girlfriend. She still wasn’t quite sure what to say to her though, and as she thought about it, the knocking at the door startled her, and she put down the phone. Oz was here . . . She nervously ran her hands over her clothes, and through her hair, before moving towards the door. Here goes . . .

“Hey,” Oz greeted, as she opened the door. He was causally leaning against the doorframe, smiling softly.

“Hey,” Willow replied, her voice coming out as a whisper.

Looking at Oz, Willow felt her breath catch; as her heart began to race. This unsettled her in more ways than one. Firstly, she was now in a new place emotionally; she was over him . . . right? What’s more; she had a girlfriend; someone who loved her deeply; someone she loved back—even if she hadn’t told her yet. So why was her heart racing? Why was she thinking about how much she’d missed him? She had no right to be thinking that—to be feeling this way. She was suddenly more confused than ever . . .

“So,” she began, doing her best to smother her errant thoughts. “You…you wanna come inside?”

Oz smiled at his ex-girlfriend, realising she still hadn’t figured it out. He suddenly couldn’t wait to show her—to let her know what had happened. “Actually, I want you to come outside,” he began, his smile widening, “I wanna show you something.”

Willow’s breath caught in her throat again, and she suddenly felt even more uncomfortable. Oz’s smile had always had a huge effect on her, and seeing it again—after all this time; she had no idea how to react to it. She didn’t want to betray what she had with Tara—but how do you simply stop loving someone? How do you forget what you used to have—forget how they used to make you feel?

“Okay,” she replied softly, forcing herself to relax, “just, um . . . let me get my coat first . . .” As she turned towards the closet, she couldn’t help but wonder what Oz wanted to show her; what he was up to.

Oz watched in silence as his ex-girlfriend grabbed a coat, and draped it over her shoulders. She was so beautiful—he’d missed her so much; missed looking at her; missed her fiery-red hair; her emerald-green eyes; her smile, missed holding her; kissing her; making love to her, missed everything about her.

He’d stopped by Xander’s on his way over here, wanting to know if his girl was still free. Upon hearing there was no new guy in her life, he couldn’t have been happier. It showed him she hadn’t moved on, that there was still a part of her that loved him; that she’d been waiting for him, and that he still had a chance to win her back.

Turning around, Willow couldn’t help but notice the look in Oz’s eye—she knew that look well. It unsettled her even further—was Oz back for her? She didn’t know how she felt about that. She had a girlfriend now—she couldn’t go running back to her ex-boyfriend, just because he was back in town. Oz had hurt her so much; he’d betrayed her trust; left her in shambles, and there was still the whole werewolf issue—the reason he’d left in the first place.

Tara on the other hand, had never hurt her; never betrayed her, and had become one of the most cherished people in her life. However, seeing Oz just now, she didn’t know what to think anymore. She was confused; she still felt her breath catch at his smile—and yet she now loved Tara. What did it all mean?

“You ready?” Oz asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Willow nodded, as they began to walk down the hall. They were soon outside, walking across the campus grounds, and Oz kept steeling glances at his ex-girlfriend. He could see she was lost in thought, but he wished she would look up; notice the moon—realise what it meant. He was very eager to surprise her; to let her know how he’d changed—he simply couldn’t wait to see the expression on her face when she realised what he’d done.

As they continued walking in silence, Willow couldn’t stop the constant questions running through her brain. What were they doing out here? Why was he back? Was this really happening? And how was he going to react when she told him about Tara? She knew she couldn’t keep her girlfriend a secret from him—that he would have to know.

“Oz,” Willow let out eventually, needing to express some of her thoughts.

He stopped walking as Willow said his name, turning around to face his ex-girlfriend. He wondered for a brief second if she’d noticed the moon—but her sombre expression told him otherwise.

“This is all so weird,” she continued. “I…I…I feel like . . . this isn’t really happening . . . like it’s a dream or something . . .”

“It’s real,” Oz replied, a smile reaching his face, “look up.”

Willow was confused—Why should she look up? Had she heard correctly? What was going on?

“What?” she asked softly.

“Look at the sky,” Oz explained.

As she looked up in confusion, her eyes locked onto the full moon. Wait! Had she seen correctly? Was that a full moon? But wasn’t Oz . . .? Oh my God—what did it mean? How had it happened . . .?

Oz grinned, noticing her bewilderment. “I guess you stopped keeping track of ‘em after I left,” he noted.

“Full moon . . .?” she burst out, alternating her gaze from the sky, back down to Oz, then back at the sky again. It wasn’t possible? Oz was Oz . . . he wasn’t . . . How had it happened? She looked back down at her ex, just to make sure he was really Oz, before looking back up at the moon.

“Full moon,” Oz confirmed, his smile widening.

“Full moon,” Willow repeated, as she continued to shift her eyes back and forth, between Oz and the sky, “but…but how?”

She was elated; ecstatic . . . “I mean, you did it,” she grinned. “How…how did you do it? Where did you go?”

“It’s a long story,” Oz replied, pleased by her reaction.

Taking a final look up at the sky, Willow returned her gaze back to Oz. “Oh my God, Oz!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him. This was incredible—he was cured. She couldn’t believe it—this was great . . .

Oz closed his eyes as he pulled Willow close to him—enjoying the sensation of his ex-girlfriend’s embrace. It had been so long since he’d held her this close; smelled her scent; felt her warm body against his. It felt so good to be holding her again—he’d missed her hugs; missed her, and he loved her so much. Maybe this meant she missed him too? Would she give him a second chance?

As she tightened her hold on her ex-lover, Willow closed her eyes, unwittingly pressing her body tight against his. She was so thrilled by what she’d found out, that she’d momentarily forgotten her position; forgotten about their break-up; forgotten that she no longer had a right to hold him like this; that he no longer had a right to hold her, and that she now belonged to someone else. The only thing she was thinking of; was how happy she felt that he was cured; how this was everything he’d always wanted, and how he could finally live a normal life.

After a few seconds though, she began to realise what she was doing; how she was reacting, and that it wasn’t right to hold him like this. She was with Tara now—she shouldn’t be hugging Oz . . .

As Willow pulled away from him; Oz noticed the confusion on her face; saw how nervous she suddenly was, and he felt his heart race as he met her gaze. He could tell she’d been affected by their embrace; that it had stirred up old feelings, and he hoped it was a sign . . . that he was in with a shot . . . that they could work things out . . .

“This is . . .” Willow whispered, wondering why her heart was racing, “I mean, it’s . . . wonderful for you . . .” she trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

The fact that Oz was cured changed things; made things more complicated. Their break-up had hinged not only on his treacherous cheating, but on his Wolfie-ness as well. Now that he was cured; they had a chance for a normal life; a normal relationship. What’s more, if he’d come back for her, found a cure for her, how could she disappoint him . . .? How could she tell him that she didn’t want him anymore—that she was in love with someone else, and that he’d done all this for nothing?

She didn’t want to hurt him, but she didn’t want to hurt Tara either. She suddenly had no idea what she wanted to do. Why did things have to be so complicated? It would’ve been so much easier if he hadn’t found a cure; she wouldn’t have felt so guilty about having to reject him; about letting him know she was . . . what . . . gay? Was she really? She obviously still cared about him . . . What did that say about her sexuality—about her relationship with Tara? What did it all mean?

“I talked to Xander,” Oz began, interrupting her thoughts, “and he said you didn’t have a new guy . . .”

“No . . . no new guy . . .” Willow trailed off, a feeling of dread entering her body. She could tell where this was going; could sense what he wanted . . . So why wasn’t she telling him about Tara; stopping him off at the pass; letting him know the truth before he . . .? Her thoughts trailed off as he grabbed her hand, and she experienced the old-familiar tingly-ness of his touch. She was suddenly struck dumb by her confusion; by her reaction, and was unable to say or do anything.

“I know what I put you through . . .” Oz continued, pleased she hadn’t pulled away, “and I’m not gonna push. But I am . . . a different person than when I left . . . and I can be what you need now . . .”

Willow felt tears come to her eyes; her suspicions had been confirmed. Oz found a cure for her; he still loved her; wanted a second chance . . . How could she say no to him? How could she hurt him? What was she going to do? How did she feel . . .?

“That’s what I want,” Oz continued. “That’s why I’m here.”

“I . . . I . . .” Willow choked on her tears, not knowing how to respond.

She pulled her hand away from his, realising his touch wasn’t helping matters. She needed to think things through; needed to decide what she wanted to do, and she wasn’t ready yet to give him an answer.

“It’s okay,” Oz interjected, seeing her confusion, “I . . . no rush . . . whatever you want . . .”

Willow smiled, pleased by the reprieve. “Thanks, I . . . I . . . I’m not ready to, I . . . I mean I . . . I don’t know what I . . . I feel, and I . . . I . . . ”

“Why don’t we talk,” he suggested, wanting to put her at ease. He could see the uncertainty in her gaze, and it gave him hope . . . but he didn’t want to push.

Willow’s smile widened. “Okay . . .” Talking was good—she could handle talking . . .

With that, the two ex-lovers made their way to Oz’s van, where he grabbed some stuff he’d accumulated on his travels. They then headed over to Willow’s dorm, where they spent the rest of the night talking; catching up, and becoming more, and more comfortable around one another.

When morning had arrived, they were still talking, and they were both feeling as if they’d never been apart—like they were simply enjoying one of their old, all-night chat-sessions. Willow was now stretched out at the head of the bed, holding an Indian sari Oz had given her, while Oz lounged back lazily at the other end.

“I love this,” she said softly—referring to the sari.

Oz smiled. “A woman in Tibet traded it to me for the Radiohead record . . . got a lot of mileage out of the barter system.”

“So Tibet was your favourite?”

“Well,” he replied, “it's where I stayed the longest. This warlock in Romania sent me to the monks there to learn some meditation techniques—very intense . . . all about keeping your inner cool.”

Willow chuckled. “Good, 'cause you were such a spaz before,” she teased. “So that's it . . . you keep your cool . . . and no more wolfie?”

“No, there's more,” he explained. “I take some herbs and stuff; some chanting; a couple of charms.” He lifted his hand up in demonstration, bringing her attention to the string of beads wrapped around it.

“It's incredible . . .you've been all around the world . . . you've had this complete mind-body transformation . . .”

Willow paused then, giving her ex a small smile. “I've just been here—same old Sunnydale,” she quipped.

“Doesn't mean you haven't gone through a lot.”

“It's true,” she paused again, as she remembered. “Some of it,” she continued, “you know . . . was me telling myself I hated you . . . and cursing your name—not literally . . .”

“Well, thanks for that,” he chuckled.

“And . . . I don’t know . . . I…I think I'm getting better at my spells and stuff . . . ”

Willow trailed off, as her eyes locked onto her ex-boyfriend’s. She suddenly felt a little nervous; conflicted by her emotions; by the sudden racing of her heart; by what it all meant . . .

“It’s so light out,” she commented, looking out the window, trying to remain calm.

“Yeah,” Oz agreed, “we talked all night.”

“Well, I believe a manly sized breakfast is in order, don't you?”

“Or we could just,” Oz ventured, placing his hand on Willow’s, “sleep a little while . . .?”

Looking into her ex’s eyes, Willow felt even more nervous than she had a second ago—she had no idea what to say to him; how to react to his touch. She could feel the old spark coming back to her, but it was different somehow—a little disturbing . . . Like a distant memory one had long-since forgotten, and had now returned to haunt her . . . to remind her of what she used to have—just when she’d finally learned to live without it; finally moved away from it; finally put it out of her system . . .

Looking into his ex-girlfriend’s eyes, Oz sensed the girl’s sudden nervousness, and decided to back off. He didn’t want to push, and if she weren’t ready yet . . . he’d wait till she was . . . as long as it took . . .

“Whatever you want,” he reassured, removing his hand.

“I'll have the . . . less confusing waffles right now,” she choked out, doing her best to remain composed.

Oz smiled in response. “Breakfast it is.”

With that, Willow got up off the bed. She then grabbed her old toothbrush, and Buffy’s toothpaste. “Lemme just, ah . . . freshen up,” she told Oz over her shoulder, before giving him a soft smile, and heading out the door.

Oz smiled back at his ex-girlfriend, as he watched her leave. He was pleased by how things had gone; pleased by their conversation; by their ever-increasing comfort with one another, and he couldn’t help thinking that things were definitely looking good for them . . .

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door, and he slowly stood up to answer it.

***

That night had been one of the longest nights in Tara’s life; she’d felt as if it would never end. She’d been unable to sleep—unable to do anything but think about Willow and Oz, and what was going to happen to them now. As soon as she’d seen the first speckles of light shining through her window, Tara had decided to go to her girlfriend; she couldn’t be alone with her thoughts anymore—she needed to know what had happened; what Willow had decided. With that, she’d had a quick shower, and was soon rapidly making her way towards Willow’s dorm.

When she finally reached her girlfriend’s room, she took a few deep breaths, before tentatively knocking on her door. Realising that Willow might still be asleep, she decided to knock again. She was just about to knock for a third time, when the door opened, and she came face to face with her girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.

“Oh,” Tara exhaled, “sorry . . .”

She suddenly felt as if the wind had been knocked clear off her body; Oz was still here; he’d spent the night . . . and upon glancing inside, she couldn’t help but note that Willow was nowhere to be seen. What was going on here? Had Willow and Oz . . .? NO! They hadn’t . . . had they . . .? They wouldn’t have . . .? Willow wouldn’t do that to her . . . right?

“I…I…I’ll come back,” she continued, feeling as if all her fears had now come to pass. She couldn’t be here anymore. She needed to throw up again—needed to be alone; needed to get away from Oz, and needed to crawl into bed and never see the light of day again.

Oz looked at the strangely familiar blonde in the doorway, wondering who she was. “Are you looking for Willow . . .?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “She’s just in the bathroom, down the hall,” he explained, pointing towards the shower block.

“No…no…no…it’s…it’s okay,” Tara replied, backing away from the door. She couldn’t see Willow just yet; couldn’t be around her. Seeing Oz had totally shocked her, and she didn’t want to intrude; wasn’t prepared to hear Willow say those words to her; wasn’t prepared for the truth, and wasn’t prepared to be cast-off.

Looking at the blonde, Oz couldn’t help but think where he’d seen her before. She looked oddly familiar. Who was she? “I saw you at Giles' yesterday,” he burst out, suddenly remembering.

“Yeah,” Tara replied nervously, doing her best to steady her breathing. “Sometimes . . . Willow takes me with her to the . . . S…Scoobies . . .” she explained, wanting desperately to be elsewhere.

“You sure you don't wanna come in?” Oz asked, confused by her reaction. Why was this girl so nervous? Who was she? Was she a witch friend of Willow’s? Is that why she’d been at the Scooby meeting?

Tara shook her head at Oz’s invitation. She smiled nervously at him; before rushing down the hall; in the opposite direction of the bathroom. She didn’t want to run into Willow just yet; she needed some time to compose herself; to come to terms with what was happening; to accept the fact that Willow had made her choice—that she wanted Oz, and that she was going to leave her . . .

Tara felt tears coming to her eyes at that thought, but was unable to stop them. With sudden vigour, she increased her speed, as she began to run down the stairs; through the student lounge; across the campus, and towards her room. When she finally reached the hallway of her dorm, she made a quick beeline towards the bathroom—once again needing to throw up. The thought of Willow and Oz together; of what must’ve happened between them, made her feel ten times sicker than it had last night.

Last night, her thoughts had only been speculations. This morning however, they were very much a real possibility. Why else had Oz still been in Willow’s room? They couldn’t have spent the whole night talking . . . could they? Was that what they’d done? Was she just jumping to conclusions? Willow was an honourable person; she wouldn’t cheat on her . . . would she?

On second thoughts, Oz was the love of her life . . . she missed him terribly . . . still wasn’t over him, and if he wanted her back . . . then why would Willow refuse him? She obviously hadn’t told him about her new relationship, seeing as Oz hadn’t known who she was. What did that mean? Why hadn’t Willow told him about her?

Tara was now gently splashing water onto her face, doing her best to calm herself down. She didn’t know what to think anymore; didn’t know what to do. All she did know; was that she loved Willow; would always love her, and that she couldn’t live without her. She knew the girl cared for her; that she enjoyed her company; that she felt connected to her, but she also knew the girl didn’t love her. She’d seen the way Willow had struggled this week; seen how she’d wanted to return the love she’d shown her, and seen how much it pained her that she couldn’t.

All this brought Tara to her final conclusion; she’d been delusional. Even though she knew Willow didn’t love her; that she was still in love with her ex-boyfriend—something inside her had wished otherwise. There’d been a secret hope from deep within her soul; that she’d been mistaken; that Willow was just scared to let go of her past, and that she would someday realise she loved her. She knew how silly that was now; knew how stupid she was to think that.

In fact, she’d let it totally cloud her judgement; her perception . . . all those times she’d thought she’d seen a flicker of love in Willow’s eye; seen the way her energy glowed after she’d made love to her, and mistakenly interpreted the brightness as concealed love. How could she have been so stupid—so deluded? What’s more, she didn’t deserve Willow’s love. She was a nobody—a half demon . . . someone who had no right to be loved by such a goddess as Willow. It was her own fault for daring to dream . . . daring to hope . . . and daring to fall in love . . .

With that thought, she slowly made her way back to her room, before curling up in her armchair, and letting the tears fall. She cried, and cried, and cried . . . unable to stop the tears, as she slowly came to terms with the fact she’d lost Willow. The girl wasn’t hers anymore; she belonged to Oz. In fact, she’d always belonged to him—Willow’s heart had never once belonged to her, and it never would . . . she’d been a fool to ever think otherwise . . .

***

As he shut the door behind Willow’s blonde friend, Oz couldn’t help feeling confused about her hasty exit. Why hadn’t she stayed? Why had she seemed so nervous? Who was she to Willow? And why was there something strangely familiar about her—about her scent? It’s like her scent was mingled with someone else’s; but it was very faint; almost undetectable, and he couldn’t quite place it . . .

Willow took that moment to walk through the door, interrupting Oz’s thoughts. As she placed her stuff next to the sink, she turned around and noticed the confusion on her ex-boyfriend’s face.

“What?” she asked him, wondering what was wrong.

“Your friend came by,” he explained, ”the blonde girl . . . but she wouldn't stay . . .?”

As he turned around to grab his coat, Willow suddenly felt the tears come to her eyes. Tara had stopped by . . . she’d seen Oz . . . Oh my God—she probably thought that . . .? How had that made her feel? Was she all right? Was she hurt? Willow couldn’t stand the thought of her Tara in pain . . . feeling what . . . betrayed . . .? She should’ve realised the girl would come by this morning—she was probably scared, confused, and desperate to know what was going on; what she’d decided . . .

“So what do you think,” Oz continued, draping the coat around himself, “where do you wanna go?”

Willow looked up at Oz’s question, suddenly remembering his presence. Go? What was he talking about? Oh . . . breakfast . . . she suddenly didn’t feel like breakfast anymore. She needed some time alone; to think about how she felt; what it all meant, and what she was going to say to Tara. The girl deserved to know the truth . . . only what was the truth? How did she feel? What had last night meant to her? What did Oz mean to her? She knew she loved Tara, but with Oz back . . . and cured no less . . . How could she let him go? She didn’t want to hurt him . . . didn’t want to disappoint him; especially since she still cared for him . . . but he was her past . . . she was over him . . .?

Only, his cure changed things, made it possible for them to have a normal relationship; it’s everything she’d always wanted . . . right? But what about Tara? No one made her feel quite like Tara did. Her girlfriend touched something inside her that not even Oz had ever reached; she felt connected to her like no one else—she was her guiding light. Everything was more powerful with Tara—more intense; even the lovemaking. Oh God . . . what was she going to do? And why hadn’t she told Oz about her? What was she waiting for? He needed to know . . .

“Willow?” Oz asked, interrupting her thoughts. He’d been standing there watching her for about a minute, wondering about her confusion.

“Oh,” Willow looked up, giving her ex a forced smile, “I . . . I . . . I guess I drifted off . . . “

“What’s wrong?”

Willow took a deep breath, doing her best to steady her emotions. “I . . . I . . . I don’t really, um . . . maybe we should, um . . . skip the waffles, I . . . I feel kinda tired, I . . . I mean, I . . . I . . . ”

“I get it,” Oz replied, interrupting her. He could see her confusion; realised where it was coming from . . . that she needed to figure out what she felt for him. If that was the case, then he was more than happy to leave her with her thoughts; confident that she still had feelings for him; that she needed to sort through them, and the more she thought about it, the sooner he’d be allowed back into her heart . . .

“I’ll go,” he ventured, opening the door, “ give you some time to think . . .”

Willow smiled gratefully at her ex. “Thanks,” she whispered, holding back the tears until he’d closed the door.

As soon as he left, she felt as if a dam had burst inside her, as her tears began to flow. Grabbing her favourite stuffed puppy dog, she stretched herself out on the bed, and let her tears loose; allowed her thoughts to wander . . .

She was so confused; so terrified, and all she could think about was how Tara must be feeling; what she must be thinking . . . how she deserved to know what was going on; deserved to know how she felt about her; how she felt about Oz. Only how could she tell her when she didn’t know herself?

For a long time since he’d left, she’d dreamed of this moment; fantasised about the day he would walk back into her life—cured and wanting her back. Only now that she’d finally gotten it . . . she had no idea if she wanted it . . .Which made her feel totally guilty. He’d left to find a cure, and he’d come back for her. In fact, he’d never actually broken it off with her . . . there’d never been any actual closure to the relationship; she’d just assumed they were over . . .

Is that why she felt guilty about her relationship with Tara—why she hadn’t told anyone about it—why she found it hard to tell Oz? Is that why she couldn’t tell Tara that she loved her? Had she been tied to Oz the whole time through lack of closure . . . felt like they hadn’t really broken up . . . that she wasn’t free to see someone else; wasn’t free to fall in love . . .? Was that it . . .?

And how did she feel now—about his return? What did she want? She should be ecstatic about his cure; overjoyed he was back—pleased to have finally gotten what she wanted. So why wasn’t she? Was it really what she wanted? Was Oz the one she couldn’t stand to live without? Was Oz the one who touched her soul . . . made her feel like a complete person . . . or did that honour belong to Tara?

She loved Tara so much; couldn’t imagine her life without her, and she didn’t want to let her go. But what was she going to do about Oz? Was she really ready to let him go . . . ready to accept she was gay . . . ready to embrace her future with Tara? Why couldn’t things be clearer? Why wasn’t Tara here with her; holding her; comforting her . . . telling her it was okay? She’d come to depend so much on her girlfriend; come to take it for granted that she’d always be around, that she’d always be there to comfort her . . . and now that she was upset . . . she so desperately wanted to go to her . . .

She needed her Tara; needed to feel her touch; needed to be held close and told it was all right; needed to feel her energy surrounding her, and needed to feel her love . . . But she had no right. Tara was the one hurt here—the one who was being put through hell . . . and she was the one hurting her . . . the one causing all her pain; through her indecision; through her confusion . . .

Oh, what was she to do? She felt like her brain was about to explode. She had so many thoughts—so many questions . . . and yet she had no answers for them. Who could she turn to? She needed help . . . needed someone to talk to . . . but who . . .?

At that moment, Willow looked up as she heard the door opening. It was Buffy . . . her best friend . . . maybe she could help . . . maybe it was about time she told her the truth; revealed her secret . . .? Although; she couldn’t help feeling terrified by the idea.

She hadn’t told anyone about Tara yet; in fact, the only person who actually knew the truth about them was a bleached-blonde vampire, whose opinion she couldn’t care less about. Telling her friends; well, it scared her to death—scared her because she cared about these people; cared about what they thought of her; about what they thought of Tara, and she desperately wanted their approval . . . their acceptance . . .

What would she do if Buffy couldn’t give it . . . if she freaked? Could she handle it now . . . when she was already under so much pressure; in so much pain . . . Only, what choice did she have? Who else could she talk to . . .?

“Hey,” Buffy greeted her best friend, pulling the girl out of her thoughts.

“Hey,” Willow returned, noticing her friend’s agitation. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Buffy replied, rubbing her neck. “I just . . . I don’t