"Hey . . ." The greeting died on Oz's lips. Silently he pulled his other arm out of his jacket, letting it dangle on his fingertips as he lounged on the door frame, watching her.Doing an excellent impression of a Brat Pack member, Willow danced to the radio in Oz's room. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he realized she was singing along, horribly off- tune. "All I want is to feel this way. To be this close. To feel the same. All I want is to feel this way. To have you here. To feel the same," amazingly she hit the high note. "All I want."
Oz clapped.
Whirling around, Willow caught sight of her boyfriend standing in the doorway. She turned bright red. "How, how," she put one hand on her heart and another up like a stop sign then dropped it. Oz noticed the sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. "How long have you been standing there?" She took a deep gulp of air.
"Long enough."
"I can't believe you just stood there watching me."
Oz shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. It was nice seeing you so free with yourself."
"Really?" Willow brightened. "I looked free?"
"Absolutely, completely and totally at ease with the woman known as Willow Rosenburg."
Smiling she pulled him into the room. "Come on, you. Time to free the man known as Daniel Osborne."
"Mmm, I don't know about that, Wills. He might have two feet."
"Oh what's so hard about 80's dancing? Nothing I tell you! Now come on Mister, we're gonna have fun and you're gonna like it."
"Yes, ma'am."
Willow giggled. Oz smiled in kind.
Willow screamed under Oz's deft fingers.
"Do you give up?"
"No!" Another peal of screams and laughter erupted from the redhead on the bed.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," she said, hissing with relish.
Oz continued his delightful assault, deftly avoiding his girlfriend's flailing arms and legs. A yip of surprise escaped him.
Pure mischief greeted Oz as he met Willow's eyes. "Gotcha!"
"Oh yeah?"
Nodding, she murmured, "Oh yeah."
"Oh yeah?"
"Oh . . .aaah!" Peels of laughter rang throughout the apartment as Oz resumed his attack.
The two rolled around the bed, all flashing teeth, smiles, giggles and dancing hands. "Say uncle and I'll stop."
"Auntie!"
Smiling broadly Oz stared deeply into Willow's eyes, stopping all action for the moment. "Willow?"
"Yes, Oz?"
"You know I love you, right?"
"Yes."
"Just wanted to remind you."
Willow laughed until she cried, striking Oz in several places with her feet in the process. If it hurt or bothered him it didn't show.
Rolling, rolling, laughing, gasping, "Oz," "Give up?," smiles, flashing eyes . . .falling.
"Ow!"
Oz stopped immediately. "You ok, Wills."
Tentatively, she touched the back of her head. "Oow," she moaned, tears coming to her eyes. "That hurt."
"I'm sorry, Willow." Taking her offended fingertips in hand, he kissed them then smoothed her disheveled hair. He leaned against the end of the bed, pulling Willow to his chest. "Okay? Want me to get you something?"
"No, I'm 'kay." Reaching behind her, she, very gently, ran her fingers along the line of Oz's jaw. She giggled when they caught the edge of his lip. "You don't mind just sitting here?"
"With you? Nah. With Devon? Probably. The words sit and still have never been heard together with his name."
Willow giggled.
They watched the light play on the furniture in the room, something like the way Willow's fingers played, still, on Oz's cheekbones. His were content to stay laced at her waist. He always was.
Oz looked up from his guitar. Knowing that if he didn't write down the chords as they came to him he'd have a great ending and completely forget the beginning. Stroking the neck, Oz enjoyed the guitar's smooth lines, it's soft curves and the pale wood that was it's body. It had a dark sound, a rich sound.
Women's laughter came through the open window with the breeze. Rich like chords of his guitar. Like his love for Willow.
Oz felt heat flood his face. Since when did he have such goofy, lovesick thoughts? Looking through the window at his lover and her best friend, the answer was easy. Durnit, he'd have to make sure they never left his mouth. Reputation and all.
Oz smiled.
Buffy laughed at something Willow said. Sitting on a blanket, having their makeshift afternoon picnic, they were a very pretty picture. Oz had a camera . . . somewhere. Oh well, he'd just have to memorize this moment forever. Willow looked up and caught him staring. She gave him a bright smile and waved. Following her gaze, Buffy waved to. Oz waved back.
Went back to his guitar. Suddenly he had the urge to pull a Jordan Catelano -- except the van was currently green and blue hardly something to mistake a song called "Red" for. Even better.
For a while he lived inside the music, turning the chords of "Red" into something else, into something he could own and hold and breathe. But he couldn't. He could hold this pale wooded guitar but he couldn't hold it's rich-dark melody, couldn't make it hold the notes he had so lovingly crafted. They faded on the breeze even as Willow and Buffy's musical voices drifted in.
They were louder now. Oz looked up. The girls were walking toward the apartment, arm in arm, Buffy carrying the basket, Willow with the red-checked blanket. He went to the kitchen to meet them.
"Hey, Oz," Buffy greeted him with a smile. "How's the music writing going?"
Oz walked past her and held Willow, gently, by her upper arms. For a moment he stared into her confused eyes then descended onto her parted lips.
"Well color me speechless," Buffy said wide-eyed. "Wish I could come home to a surprise like that."
But neither Willow or Oz was paying her any mind. Willow had released herself from Oz's delicate grasp and had wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself as close as physically possible.
Buffy figured it was time to go when her eyes started to smoke. "Yipe. Um, how 'bout I just leave the food here and get out of your way. I'll, uh, show myself out." If either of them heard her it didn't show.
Oz believed in reciprocation.
Sitting with Buffy in the hazy afternoon sun, Willow knew Oz was watching her from his window. It was nice having a boyfriend who liked to watch you when you weren't looking.
"Hey, planet Earth calling Willow."
"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry Buffy. What were you saying."
The blond rolled her eyes but she was smiling. "Compared to the goo goo eyes you and Oz are making at each other, nothing."
"Don't look!"
Buffy quickly averted her gaze. "Wait! He's you're boyfriend! It's not like he's just some guy you have a crush on."
Willow flushed. "I know but, you know, it's different with Oz."
Laughing Buffy proclaimed them the cutest thing this side of the Hellmouth.
Willow laughed too. Glancing up from her friend she caught Oz's eye. Smiling brightly she waved at him. From the corner of her eye she saw Buffy wave too. "You're just patronizing us," she said when everyone had their fill of waving.
The smile on Buffy's face was genuine. "I am not. I think it's sweet. Really sweet." She frowned. "And really depressing. I need a boyfriend," Buffy said glumly, slumping in on herself.
Willow turned to her. "No you do not! You're perfectly fine all by yourself. Um, that didn't quite come out right. What I meant is you're too strong to need a guy hanging all over you. That wasn't much better, was it," Willow admitted scrunching up her face.
The Slayer shook her head. Nope, not much better at all. "But I know what you meant, Wills, and it's sweet. But cuddling with Mr. Pointy is just getting a little to involved with my work."
"And just a bit kinky."
"Willow!"
She flushed. "Well, it is," she countered meekly.
Buffy laughed. "Only joking. It is kinda kinky. Then again so's the concept of being in love with a vampire. Does this mean I'm doomed to somewhat kinky, vaguely S&M relationships for the rest of my short life?"
"Dramatic much?"
"Hey, I'm not the one who's dating a werewolf."
"Well at least I'm not the one who dated a vampire."
"Been there, covered that, got the bite marks."
"Uh, at least I'm not the one who was dating a genetically enhanced soldier boy. You know, I never pegged you for the army type."
Shading her eyes from the setting sun Buffy agreed. "Me neither. Remind we had this conversation if I ever do that again."
Willow put up a very firm thumbs up. "Gotcha."
"Oo, it's getting dark." The girls stood up and starting gathering the pieces of the picnic together. "Isn't funny how dark things get right after the sun sets. It's like the dark is waiting around the corner for the sun to go down then, wham!, it's there."
Turning to Buffy, Willow said, "You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you."
"Apparently too much. Ready to go in."
"Yup. You?"
"Ditto. Let's head for home, Hoss."
Willow put a hand to Buffy's head. "You sure you didn't get sunstroke? I'm pretty sure the mayo in the potato salad was fresh. It's not hot is it?"
"Oh, knock it off," she linked arms with Willow. "I promise to keep the bad one liners for Sunnydale's night life."
"Thank you."
Oz was standing in the kitchen when they came in. Buffy loosed her arm from Willow's and set the basket on the kitchen island. "Hey, Oz," she greeted him with a smile. "How's the music writing going?" He walked past her without a word. "Ok, when'd I become Marcy?" Turning she watched Willow return his intense scrutiny with confusion. She felt as if someone had switched the video from normal speed to slow-mo as Oz's lips came down to meet Willow's. "Well color me speechless," Buffy said wide-eyed. "Wish I could come home to a surprise like that." But neither of them could hear her anymore.
As she watched, Willow wrapped her arms tightly around Oz pulling him into her as his embrace tightened around her back. If they got any closer Oz was going to swallow her whole. Or was it the other way around? It'd be like that episode of the X-Files where the two lovers got stuck together by that alien be-- "Yipe. Um, how 'bout I just leave the food here and get out of your way." Was it just her or were her eyes starting to smoke? "I'll, uh, show myself out."
Somehow, Buffy was sure neither of cared about the back door slamming.
Lying on the roof with Willow dozing lightly on his chest, Oz could believe that it was morning once more. In this light he could believe that somehow the sun had gone backward, that the whole day could be done again, that they could start again.
In this wonderful half-light, just before the sun breaks on the sky or darkness covers it in a cool blanket of blue, he could almost believe that the spectacular sight he had just seen was not sunset but it's less colorfully breathtaking twin sister, sunrise. This was exactly how Willow had looked this morning, asleep in his arm, the light creating strange but beautiful shadows on her face. Everything took on a faintly blue tint as if they were manipulated pictures in someone's photo software. Oz like it.
Closing his eyes, he could believe that, once more, he could wake his love with a kiss. Would catch her dancing and singing to an outdated song. Would be made to dance to that outdated song. That they would chase each other around the apartment, laughing and squealing as they waged war with careful, careful fingers only to land on their bed and begin again. That he could sit with his love watching the shadows play with the walls and the breeze play with the curtains. Would sit with her until she left him to play his music while she picnicked with her best friend. He could believe that, once more, he could draw her into his arms, stricken suddenly with an intense need just to feel her, and kiss her like a drowning man. That he would feel her grab hold and drown with him. With his eyes closed Oz could believe they had twelve more hours of daylight.
Darkness had strayed over the sky while Oz mused. It was just as well. Willow looked as beautiful in moonlight as sunlight. His mysterious one. She could be so many things and yet she chose to be with him. When it didn't render him speechless it warmed his heart terribly.
Oz planted a soft kiss on Willow's forehead. "Wake up, Miss."
"Hmm, what? Steak meat, Xander, not stake-wood. Can't eat wood."
"And when did Xander start bringing home the side of beef?"
Willow came out of her dreamy daze. "Apparently ever since my subconscious became a contestant in the Iron Chef competition. Next I give someone else the recipe list."
"And where was I?"
Willow giggled. "You were the host, Mr. Man. I think that's his name."
"I could see that, but then what would William Shatner do?" Willow could only laugh. "Hey, the stars came out when you weren't looking."
She turned from Oz's bright eyes to the bright stars. "Oh, aren't they beautiful."
"Breathtaking," Oz agreed, staring at the stars reflected in her eyes.
"To her surprise she felt strong hands kneading her scalp ~right there~. No one had washed her hair with such care in years. She loved having her hair washed. It was the best part of getting her hair professionally done. But this was . . .this was different." Excerpt from "Acts of Devotion: Beginning of the End: Meeting Again"
Willow squirmed on the floor.
"I'm gonna mess up this part."
"I know," she said, making a face her lover couldn't see. "But if I could just have a mirror?"
Oz leaned down, shifting all his weight to his right thigh and elbow. "Don't trust me?"
"Of course!" Willow flushed. "Of course I trust you. It's just that . . .no one's ever done my hair before?"
"Not even your Mom?" he asked, sitting over her once more.
She made another face he couldn't see. "Mom considers going to the hairdresser a waste of time and a new headband as the fashion find of the month."
"Friends?"
"Jesse and Xander play with my hair? I don't think putting gum in it counts. Or ants in Xander's case."
"And these were your two best friends," Oz deadpanned. Because Devon was so much better at twice whatever age you Xander and Jesse had been.
Willow turned, looking up at him. "We were five!"
A gentle nudge had her facing the right way. "Um, Buffy? Cordy? Some random girl you played with outside one day and never saw again?"
"Nope, no way, and never happened."
"Hmm, that's a shame. Random friendships are always interesting." They were silent for a moment. "You should let Buffy do something with your hair. I think she'd appreciate it."
Willow furrowed a brow. "Appreciate having her brush all gunked up with my hair?"
"I was thinking more on the lines of normalcy."
"Oh. I'll think about it."
"Here."
Willow was momentarily surprised silent. "Huh? What?"
Oz handed her the hand mirror again. "All done. You can look now. Go check it out in the bathroom. If you don't like it, it comes out easy enough." Course it had been a pain to put in, but he didn't mention that.
Rising swiftly Willow scampered off into the bathroom. "Oh, wow! Wow! Oz, where'd you learn how to braid?"
He watched her admire his handiwork from the open door. "Got a friend, Black girl, who used to live here. She sings. She used to wear her hair like that. Before she cut it off. Anyway, we're on the road one night, just off a gig and really hyper but really bored too so she asks me to help her take out her braids. We're still bored so I asked her if she could put braids in my hair. It was longer then. And yellower. She taught me how to braid while she did it. Didn't really last. We couldn't scrounge up enough rubber bands. That was a very weird night, the next gig. She cut all her hair off that night. And Devon was sober. On purpose."
Finger to his chin, Oz was momentarily lost in thought before catching himself in the double reflection of Willow's handheld mirror and the bathroom mirror. "Anyway, thought you might want to, you know, try something different."
Gingerly Willow touched the maze of red cornrows on her head. She could see her scalp. Willow giggled. "It's definitely different."
"Don't like?"
"Wait till I show Buffy! Huh? Oh, no! It's different in a cool, I-gotta-get-used-to-it kinda way. Thanks, Oz," she threw a hug around him.
"Now I know I have a camera around her somewhere," he murmured into her neck.
Willow giggled.
Willow laughed. He couldn't believe she was laughing. Wait, wait, that one might have been a guffaw.
"Can't be that bad," he remarked in a deadpan belying his . . .his . . .annoyance? Confusion? Utter humiliation? Yeah, maybe that one.
"Fea- Feathers and . . .and the p-p-p," Willow broke into another peal of uncontrollable giggles. "PINK!" She tried pointing at him, really she did, but somehow it was so much easier to roll around on the bed and point at the ceiling instead. "And teeeeeeeaaal."
That one was a definite snigger. "What's wrong with teal?"
At her boyfriend's very serious tone Willow sat up and tried to compose herself. "N-no-nothing. Nothing at aaaaaall!" Another wave of laughter hit.
Least this time she'd managed to stay in the vertical, Oz thought to himself.
"TEAL!"
Oz turned on his heal and walked out of the room.
"Oz, wait, where are you going? You can't take that off! Buffy has to see it first! And Anya! Oh Anya will love it. Oz, Oz! Hey, get back here," Willow chased after her lover.
"One ninety-nine, two friggin' hundred! Whoever decided that I should count to 200 should be taken outside and shot," Xander called to no one in particular.
"Only because you tried pulling 'One, two, skip a few, one hundred,' on us before!" someone called vaguely from the left.
Xander followed the voice. "Just keep on talkin' Dawn. Lead Uncle Xander right to you."
"Uncle Messy Hair!"
"We'll see what you have to say when Uncle Xander catches you."
"Xander, talking in the third person is a sign of insanity."
"Oh so *you* want to be caught first, eh Buffy? Always protecting little Dawnie."
"Hey, you want? You can have her. Least she'll stop stealing my clothes."
Dawn let out an exasperated shriek. "I do no steal your clothes!"
"Do to."
"Do not."
"Do to."
"Do not!"
"Do to!"
"Do not not not!"
"Do to to t--"
"Hah!" Xander surprised the bickering sisters. "Gotcha both! Now who's the man?"
Dawn and Buffy stuck out their respective tongues. "Hey," Dawn said, "I guess this means Buffy's it."
Eyes open wide in shock she denied it fervently. "He caught you first."
"No way!"
"Yes way!"
"No way!"
"Yes . . ."
Seeing that their conversation skills were going the way of the dodo, and fast, Xander went in search of his girlfriend, Willow and Oz.
"Oh, Xander," Anya raising her and from behind a stack of misdirected inventory for the gallery, "I'm right here."
With a heavy sigh he went to her. "Anya, honey, the point of hide-and-go-seek is to *not* get caught. See, you hid and now I have to go seek."
"That's not how we play it home," she reminded him with a puzzled statement.
Looking quickly over his shoulder to make sure young ears hadn't overheard, Xander quickly whispered that he realized there was a difference. "But that's why it has a different name at home too."
"Oh! So hide-and-go-b--"
"Yes, Anya," he cut her off as quickly as possible, "they're similar but not at all the same."
She nodded. "Okay, so I'll just scootch down back here again and you can come find me," she smiled having finally mastered, at least in theory, the game.
"Well, Buffy and Dawn have already been caught. Why don't you go try and help them figure out who's gonna be It next game, okay?"
"Sure."
Xander sighed. He loved her but she was gonna be the death of him, he was sure.
Okay, time to get down to business: the tracking down of Willow and Oz. Now he figured they'd be hiding together 'cause if he hadn't been It he would have hidden with Anya -- in a much better spot, to be sure. Willow giggled like a five year old if it took too long for her to be caught but if Oz were with her he'd probably keep her quiet. Besides, there weren't that many places in this house for two people to hide comfortably.
In the meantime he'd searched every room in the Summers' place, gone past the Dawn, Buffy and Anya -- all three were argueing now -- twice and stopped for a refreshing glass of sugary soda. Still no Willow or Oz. Time to pull out the big guns.
"OLLIE OLLIE OXEN FREE."
"WHAT?!" came three female voices from the living room.
Xander bellowed again. Even if they were in the basement they should have heard him.
"Jeez, Xander," he turned to find Dawn at his back, "what was that?"
"Oh, you know, when the games over and you can't find someone you yell 'Ollie ollie oxen free.'"
Her expression told him that he was now officially certifiable, at least in the Kingdom of Junior High. "Riiight. Look, they've gotta be around, right? So all we gotta do is loo--"
*Bump*.
"Did you hear that?"
Xander's eyebrows came together. "Did it sound like a thump coming from the general direction of the hall closet?" Dawn nodded. "Let's go!"
They eyed the door cautiously. Another sound soon followed. How they could have missed it before, neither knew.
By now Buffy and Anya had joined them. "Um, honey," Anya tugged on the edge of his short-sleaved shirt, "why are we staring at- -"
*Bump!*
"Buffy, why didn't you tell us you have a monster living under your stairs."
"Because I don't! I say on the count of three Xander opens the door."
He turned to her. "Why me!"
"Because you're the only guy here!"
"You're the freakin' Slayer!"
"Oh so that means--"
"Oh *I'll* open it," Anya proclaimed, mutturing, "bunch of babies," as she did.
The four peared in cautiously. Willow and Oz, mid-deep throat kiss hardly seemed to mind. Buffy covered Dawn's eyes. "I want to watch!"
"Oops!" Willow turned an as-yet-unnamed shade of red. "Game over?"
Xander was all smiles. "Go Oz."
"Thanks man. But, uh, could we have some privacy."
With a raise of her eyebrows Anya closed the door. "Anyway, like I was saying, I think Buffy's It."
"What?!"
Comment On the Weather
He hated this ~cough~ this sick thing. Not even really sick. If he had a job more steady than the Dingoes, Oz wouldn't even be sick- leave sick. No, his nose was runny -- when it wasn't completely stuffed, his body ached in places it only ached when it was his turn to play roadie, and his bark of a cough certainly had bite.
Oz winced at the very bad play on puns.
"How do you feel, Oz?" Willow asked.
Okay. "Awful." He had meant to lie. Really he had. ~cough~!
Willow's eyes opened wide, full of concern. "You should have called me earlier!"
Somehow he felt that shrug all through his lower back as well as his shoulders and chest. Crap. "It's okay. Really." Except his eyes hurt in their sockets. Oz sat up in his twisted-sheet covered bed. Did he mention dizzy? But just slightly because he was able to catch himself on his elbows.
"Oz!" Willow was at his side quickly, helping him lower himself onto the bed. "What's with all the blankets. I didn't know you had this many."
"Cold," Oz answered succinctly, eyes closed against the light his girlfriend had unconsciously flicked on as she rushed to his side.
Brow furrowed in confusion and concern she pointed out that he wasn't wearing a shirt. That he only had on his boxers from what she could see.
"Woke up all sweaty. T-shirt's ~cough~ on the floor somewhere."
"Oz, are you okay? Stupid question, Will. I mean, is there something I can do for you? Get?"
"Kill the light?"
Willow noticed, for the first time, that all the shades were down and the curtains, more or less, firmly drawn. Trying not to jostle him too badly, as if he had a head injury instead of a head cold, she got up and turned off the overhead light. "Anything else?"
"I don't ~coughcough~ know."
"My, what a big cough you have."
Oz smiled.
"I'm gonna go out and get you some cough medicine. Are those the only symptoms, coughing?" He told her the rest. "Okay, I'll get some Nyquil."
"No," he shook his head firmly. "Makes ~cough~ me sick." Actually the alcohol made him a little tipsy and then when it wore off he felt worse. Oz found it hard to believe something that was supposed to make you feel better should also make you unaccountable for the next eight hours of your life. Give or take a few hours.
"Um, okay. I'll see what they have and be back as soon as possible. You'll be okay without me, right?"
"I promise to try to stay alive."
"Oz, don't joke like that!" Willow admonished, halfway to the door already.
"Who said I was joking," he told the closed door as he roused himself from the damp bed. ~COUGH~!
He was sitting at the kitchen table when she returned, staring resolutely at a glass of orange juice. "Robbetessin," Willow declared, pulling a white box out of a paper bag. "You're not allergic are you?"
"Not as far as I know."
"Great," Willow beamed. "Well, not that you need it but that you're not alle--"
"Will," Oz touched her hand, "it's okay. I understand." One hand on his forehead, the other on hers he said, "I understand. I need someone who . . .to . . ." He didn't know how to say it without hurting her sometimes fragile sensibilities. "I trust you. It's okay, okay?" ~coughcoughcough~
Willow nodded. "Okay. Okay," she repeated more firmly. Quickly she opened the box and read the label. Pouring out the prescribed amount she held it out to Oz. "Drink."
"Yes, ma'am." He knocked it back like a shot of whiskey. Then scowled like it was a shot of moonshine. "If that doesn't burn the cough away nothing will."
Willow's smile was sympathetic. "Orange juice chaser?"
Brow furrowed in concern over the taste of orange juice and Robbetessin, Oz drank most of the glass in front of him anyway. At least it was cold. Nothing worse than hot orange juice.
"C'mon you, you're going to bed."
"But I'm fine out ~cough~ here."
Willow snorted. "Oh yeah, you were Mister Active when I showed up just now. Uh huh, that's you, Mister Daniel I'm-So-Sick- I'm-Jumpin'-Through-Hoops "Oz" Osborne, oh yeah. Let's go, buddy."
And he let her lead him back to bed.
~cough~
Well in Case
Willow was standing in a corner when Oz walked into her living room. Pulling up in the driveway he had found the door unlocked and no one answered his calls. Fearing the worst, but knowing better than to rush headlong into a potentially dangerous situation, he stalked the halls, carefully checking around corners, wondering what kind of demon could have caused his girlfriend to call him, terrified and unable to explain why.
But there she was, standing on the far side of the couch, cringing like a child. "Will?"
Willow turned fretfully to her boyfriend. Tears were slowly making trails down her pale cheeks. "Oz. It's in there," she whimpered.
"What's in where?"
"A mouse. It's in the kitchen."
Whatever inclination he might have had to laugh at Willow's overly dramatic reaction to an animal anywhere from three to five inches long, sans tail, died in the face of her very real terror. Oz knew she had a healthy girlish fear of mice but this was something more.
"Okay," he said slowly, calmly. "Have you been trying to get rid of it?"
She nodded.
"For very long?"
"Since I got home," she whispered.
"Okay. How long have you been home?"
"An hour."
"So you've been dealing with this all evening?"
She nodded.
"Did you have a long day at school?"
She nodded again. "I'm being silly."
Oz frowned. "Not at all. You've had an exhausting day and you've done battle with man's greatest enemy. You have every right to be upset."
"No, I'm just being stupid."
Oz shrugged out of his jacket, letting it drop to the floor, and went to her. At the moment she looked too fragile to touch but his nearness seemed to make her feel better. Good, he was afraid that she would scream if he approached her. Not the best of signs. "It's all right, Wills. I'll take care of it, okay?"
"Stop talking to me like I'm two," she said petulantly.
"Not trying to minimize you, just going for the calm. So, how were you handling this before?"
"I . . .I was trying to sweep him into a box. . .but he kept moving."
"All right. Okay. I'll take care--"
"He's lying on the floor. I think he's kind of dying."
Great, Eau de Dead Mouse. Oz didn't think it was a smell the Rosenbergs would appreciate when they came back from wherever they were. "Well, I can handle him if he's just kind of dying. Do you want to sit down or go up to your room? You can go crash with Xander and Anya and I'll call you, or go to my place."
She shook her head fervently.
Okay, she was afraid of the mouse but didn't want to leave. He'd contemplate personal contradictions later, right now he had a mouse to get rid of and a girlfriend to placate.
Oz moved away from her, circling the couch and approaching the kitchen from the widest possible angle, ever aware of Willow's eyes on him. "Just stay there," he said, picking up the broom, "and I'll handle this." He didn't look back to see if she agreed or not. Shaking his head, he thought it had to be easier than cleaning up Devon's barf.
The mouse was indeed dying. Or having a mousy heart-attack. Lying on it's side it crawled feebly on its forelegs. In the kitchen, now, Oz was assaulted with its scent. How he could have missed it before he didn't know. Not that it mattered. He had the feeling Willow would want to go out to eat or for a fresh hit of caffeine tonight.
Despite his brave words, however, the idea of pushing the mouse into the box suddenly made Oz sick. He imagined, momentarily as he approached the thing, that he would feel the body through the heavy broom handle. He didn't want to do it. He wanted to turn back, take Willow by the hand and leave.
Lick lips.
It wasn't nearly as horrible as he thought. It was a simple matter of pushing the poor thing into the box, picking it up and depositing it in the trash bag.
"Is it gone?" Willow called.
"Yeah. All gone." Oz very quickly tied up the bag and put it out. "Got any air freshener? It smells mousy in here." Moments later he heard the harsh aerosol hiss coming down the hallway. The sharp tang of oranges, lemons and grapefruit followed soon after.
Holding the spray can tightly, Willow looked up at her boyfriend with red rimmed eyes. "Thank you."
He shrugged. "It was nothing."
"No, it was very brave."
"Just a little mouse."
"I don't care, it was still very brave."
Oz smiled. "If you say so," and hugged his girlfriend. "Want to go out?" He felt her nod into his shoulder. "Okay, let's go."
Part 11
Failed to See
Green. That's all Willow saw when she awoke.
"Oz?"
"Mmhmm," sounded next to her ear.
She brought her hands to her eyes. "There seems to be a green scarf over my eyes."
"I noticed that."
"You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that would you?"
"I don't know, Will. What gives you that idea? I'm more of a purple man myself."
Willow giggled. "Well, if you didn't do it then I guess you won't mind taking it off."
"You know me, don't like to get involved with someone else's handiwork." His breath tickled her ear. "Something I should know, Willow?"
"Oz!" She swatted his arm. She hoped it was arm.
"It's a shame too."
"Oh?" His voice retreated from her and the bed shifted. Willow blindly followed the sound of her boyfriend's feet on the hardwood. "Why's that?"
"I did something wild and crazy," Oz said nonchalantly.
Willow's smile stretched from ear to ear. "Ooh, whatdya do?"
His feet were returning. The bed shifted down on her right. "I made breakfast."
Squealing in delight, Willow bounced on the bed then stopped. "Oz, you've never made breakfast before. I didn't know you could cook."
"Yeah, well, for the moment he was glad his girlfriend was blindfolded as he frowned at the platter in his hand, sometimes risks aren't so bad."
"Do I get to take the blindfold off now?"
"And spoil the surprise . . .? Open up."
Dutifully, Willow opened her mouth. "Mmm, strawberry?"
"Made it myself."
She dribbled strawberry juice, laughing. "I didn't know you knew how to make strawberries."
Nodding to himself, he agreed that: "I have many secret talents."
"What else do you know how to make?"
"Watermelon squares, honey-dew melon, white grapes, out-of- season rasp- and blueberries, pineapple, mango and craisins."
Willow frowned. "Craisins? I'm pretty sure that's a brand new fruit."
"Sweetened, dried cranberries equals craisins."
"Oh, I see. Well, not really but you know-" She was cut off by small roundish things suddenly appearing in her mouth. "Mmm, her eyebrows rose above the blindfold, "craisins?"
Oz nodded, then remembered she couldn't see him. "Craisins, definitely, craisins."
Childishly, Willow opened her mouth for more. She felt the wet smooth edge of honey-dew on her lips. Curling her tongue around it, she drew it in and opened her mouth for another.
Gasped when she felt Oz's tongue quickly lick away the clear, sweet juice.Continues
e-mail the author~make your own fun