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punch_kicker15Title: Between Past and Present Tense
Author: punch_kicker15
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Relationships: Willow/Oz
Summary: Set in Season 6 after Gone. Sparks fly when Oz returns to Sunnydale and offers to help Willow with her magic addiction. Can Oz and Willow rekindle their old feelings, or will their past wounds get in the way?
Word count: 7835
Notes: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
nekid_spike minibang. Title is from the Weakerthans song "Aside". Plot bunny courtesy of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tiny_white_hats a terrific Willow/Oz author who is greatly missed. Super-duper art by emmatheslayer and rbfvid.
"Let's all welcome Willow to our meeting today," Sara chirped. She peered over her wide-rimmed glasses at Willow.
When Oz had said, "coven", Willow had imagined a vast network of hundreds of witches, in a sacred and remote valley full of trees.
Instead she was sitting on the floor of a living room in a suburban house that smelled more like cinnamon rolls than incense. And there were only half a dozen witches here. Also, the witches were middle-aged women dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, giving them more of a “PTA mom” vibe than “wise keepers of magic secrets” vibe.
"Is this--everyone?" she asked, wondering if that was a dumb question. Lately everything had felt like she'd been regressing back to her timid, pre-Buffy self. Like everything she did was wrong and stupid and bad.
Sara smiled. "Except for our online members, yes."
Online coven membership--what a great idea. Why hadn't she or Tara thought of that before?
Sara said, "The first thing we'll need to do is to test your powers."
Oh, no. That would just lead to badness. "But I--"
"We can't help you without observing your magic in use." Sara's tone was firm, and then softened as she added, "We'll be able to stop you if your magic gets out of control.”
Oz leaned over and whispered, “They were able to hold me back one night when I was still learning how wolf out safely. They’ve got this.”
She wasn’t sure if Oz really understood how powerful she’d become, and whether these witches could really handle whatever she might throw at them. But what if these witches could find an easier way to manage her addiction? Maybe there were herbs or potions or even a spell that they could perform that could help. She ignored the tight ball of worry at the pit of her stomach.
“We'll need your emotional energies to be in alignment first, so we'll all meditate for a few minutes."
It seemed ridiculous. She was way too nervous for a little meditation to make a dent in her emotional state. But as she closed her eyes and breathed in, she began to feel the other witches breathe with her. As the other witches calmed with each inhalation and exhalation, Willow felt solid and safe in a way that she hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe since before Glory.
A few more minutes passed, and then Sara said, "I think we're ready for the test."
She held a small sandbox in front of Willow. "I want you to create patterns in the sand with magic."
Willow gripped the box tightly and focused on the grains of sand, trailing an uneven zigzag pattern through them. She waited for the gratification that usually came with completing spells, but it didn't happen.
She looked up to see the verdict, and saw only a row of poker faces.
Sara said, "That was a good start. Get some rest tonight, and we'll see you how you feel in the morning."
Willow asked, "What if something happens in the middle of the night?"
"We're all just a phone call away." Sara squeezed Willow’s shoulder gently, and smiled again.
Willow hoped they understood what they were offering. Her magic withdrawal symptoms had always been worst at night.
Oz tapped her shoulder. “Today’s a day when I wolf out. Usually do it here. I can take you back to my place first, if you want.”
Was it worse to stay here, with constant reminders of magic she couldn’t do, or alone in Oz’s apartment, with no one watching her?
“Um, I’m ok hanging here.”
***
Oz closed all of the curtains in the basement, undressed, and sat down on the floor. He closed his eyes and blocked out distractions, trying to identify all of the emotions drifting through him.
He breathed in, and caught Willow's unmistakable scent, bright and floral notes. She was scared, and part of him was scared for her, too. But Sara and her crew knew their stuff. He told himself that they'd figure things out.
Underneath that fear laid another: that his hard-won control would slip because she was here. He let himself sit with that fear, and then imagined it floating away on a cloud.
The scents began to fade out, leaving Oz alone with his thoughts. And then the annoyingly persistent thought popped up again: Even with control, I'm still a monster.
He let that one float away, too, and then his mind felt quiet enough to begin the transformation.
It started with muscles expanding outward so fast it he was sure his skin would pop open. Then the sharp pain of claws materializing and extending from his fingers and toes. The fur came next, he thought, but he was distracted by the change in vision: as he lost the ability to see reds and greens, Sara's bright plaid curtains dulled into a series of brown and grey rectangles.
The neighbor's chihuahua started to yap. Part of Oz wanted to punish that dog as an unruly member of his pack, or tear him apart as an enemy. Instead he let out a high-pitched yelp, one that the humans upstairs couldn't hear. The chihuahua quieted down.
Scents that were barely noticeable earlier--lighter fluid from the grill in the backyard, the cinnamon and cloves from Sara's pastries, the cat sitting on the roof of the house--suddenly overwhelmed him.
His awareness of Willow intensified. There was still part of him that screamed Mine! He told himself, not anymore, and not for a long time.
He loped through the basement, the wolf-muscles stretching and flexing. It felt good, and as Sara had taught him, part of control was acknowledging and allowing the joys of the wolf, as long as no one got hurt.
After about an hour of running through the basement, Oz decided the wolf had gotten enough exercise. He sat down on his haunches, breathed in, and focused on returning to the human world.
***
Oz's apartment was pretty much exactly what Willow expected: sparsely decorated, with a few music posters and shelves full of records.
She put the pizza box on the kitchen table; Oz grabbed some paper plates.
Willow asked, “Are you with a new band? The last time I saw Devon, he said he was breaking up Dingoes and moving to Seattle.”
He sprinkled hot pepper flakes on his pizza. "No band right now. Pretty much needed to stay in one place for a while to work on wolf issues. I'm doing programming for Harmonix right now."
"Oh." It was hard to imagine. Unlike her, he wasn’t the dull kind of person that programmed computers just for fun.
Oz added, "There's a Japanese video game where you try to play the guitar. Harmonix wants to adapt the game for Americans. So at least there's a connection to music."
"Aren't you bored?" Willow asked.
"Sometimes." He gave her a wry smile. "But I had enough excitement at Sunnydale High to last a lifetime."
They dumped the plates in the trash and settled in front of the TV. A Simpsons rerun was on. As they giggled at Homer's adventures in college, it felt a little bit like she was back in high school. But the good, happy parts of high school.
When the show was over, he asked, "Are you sure you're ok sleeping on the futon in here? You can have the bed if you'd be more comfortable."
"Really, I'll be fine," Willow answered. "And I'm sure wolfing-out is pretty tiring. You need your rest."
He looked ready to argue, but just nodded, accepting defeat in the "who can be the most accommodating" game. That was good, because Willow didn't feel like explaining the real reason--that she was expecting magic withdrawal symptoms, and would rather be out here in the living room, with the TV and other distractions. It would be better than being stuck in the bedroom because she was worried about waking him.
***
None of Oz's meditation techniques were working tonight. He tried adjusting his white noise machine, but his sense of hearing was too acute. All he could hear were the odd little fragments of sound at irregular intervals; the intermittent noise was jarring rather than soothing.
He kicked off the blankets and got out of bed. He opened the door to bedroom and padded out to the living room.
Willow was curled up on the futon, a small flashlight in hand, reading a book. She looked up at him with concern. "Did I wake you?"
"No," He crossed over to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. "Just kind of restless tonight."
"Yeah, me too," Willow confessed.
"Is it the magic? Do you need to call Sara?"
Willow shook her head. "The weird thing is that it’s not the magic. It’s just me. I keep expecting the withdrawal symptoms to show up, and they aren't. It's not like I want them to happen, but I don't understand."
Oz sat down on the futon beside her. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Unless you can explain what’s going on with my magic, no.”
There was an awkward silence; he had an idea of what was going on, but it was an answer she needed to find for herself.
Willow broke the silence. “Do you think it might help you sleep if I read to you? Sometimes, when you were wolf-y, I’d read to you, and I think it helped sometimes.”
He said, “You don’t need to--”
“It’s ok to let people help you sometimes.”
He felt an immediate defensive reaction; he’d gone to the coven for guidance. But he’d sought assistance for a problem that was literally life-and-death, and only after it had reached a crisis point. Maybe Willow had a point about accepting smaller offers of help.
He asked, “What are you reading? I’m not in the mood for Harry Potter, or anything else with werewolves in it.”
She smiled. “Yeah, I’m avoiding stories about magic, too.” She held up the book. “Mr. Pim Passes By, by A. A. Milne.”
“The Winnie-the-Pooh guy?” He couldn’t imagine Willow retreating to children’s books, even for comfort.
“That’s him. But he was a really good novelist and playwright, too. Anyway, this one’s great. No kids or magic or talking animals anywhere in sight. Just a lot of silly grown-up humans.”
She opened her book, and started to read.
Oz listened to her read about orange curtains and silly but devoted young lovers. The rhythms of her reading voice seemed familiar somehow, even though he couldn’t possibly remember her reading to him when he was the wolf. He closed his eyes, and let her voice drown out all of the annoying background noises.
When he awoke, there was a crick in his neck and a nagging sense of disorientation. He must have fallen asleep on the futon--next to Willow, who was leaning against his shoulder, the book still open in her lap.
He tried to disentangle himself without disturbing her. But she was leaning on him for support, and as he pulled away, her eyes blinked open.
She scooted away from him to the far side of the futon. “I’m sorry.” She was blushing, and with her sleep-mussed hair, she looked vulnerable and just plain adorable.
He’d tried dating other people. He’d tried being alone. Neither approach had worked. He was a total sap who was never going to move on from her.
***
No one seemed particularly surprised that Willow hadn’t shown any withdrawal symptoms. They just kept asking Willow to draw larger patterns in the sand, then even larger patterns in the grass in her backyard.
None of this made her feel the way she had at the Bronze with Amy. And the weekend was nearly over, and they hadn’t triggered any symptoms.
“This kinda feels like when your car engine is making a noise, and you take it to the mechanic, and then it just stops,” Willow said.
Sara just gave her one of those enigmatic looks. “We’ll keep working on it. Call us if you have problems back in Sunnydale.”
CHAPTER THREE
Author: punch_kicker15
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Relationships: Willow/Oz
Summary: Set in Season 6 after Gone. Sparks fly when Oz returns to Sunnydale and offers to help Willow with her magic addiction. Can Oz and Willow rekindle their old feelings, or will their past wounds get in the way?
Word count: 7835
Notes: Written for the
nekid_spike minibang. Title is from the Weakerthans song "Aside". Plot bunny courtesy oftiny_white_hats a terrific Willow/Oz author who is greatly missed. Super-duper art by emmatheslayer and rbfvid."Let's all welcome Willow to our meeting today," Sara chirped. She peered over her wide-rimmed glasses at Willow.
When Oz had said, "coven", Willow had imagined a vast network of hundreds of witches, in a sacred and remote valley full of trees.
Instead she was sitting on the floor of a living room in a suburban house that smelled more like cinnamon rolls than incense. And there were only half a dozen witches here. Also, the witches were middle-aged women dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, giving them more of a “PTA mom” vibe than “wise keepers of magic secrets” vibe.
"Is this--everyone?" she asked, wondering if that was a dumb question. Lately everything had felt like she'd been regressing back to her timid, pre-Buffy self. Like everything she did was wrong and stupid and bad.
Sara smiled. "Except for our online members, yes."
Online coven membership--what a great idea. Why hadn't she or Tara thought of that before?
Sara said, "The first thing we'll need to do is to test your powers."
Oh, no. That would just lead to badness. "But I--"
"We can't help you without observing your magic in use." Sara's tone was firm, and then softened as she added, "We'll be able to stop you if your magic gets out of control.”
Oz leaned over and whispered, “They were able to hold me back one night when I was still learning how wolf out safely. They’ve got this.”
She wasn’t sure if Oz really understood how powerful she’d become, and whether these witches could really handle whatever she might throw at them. But what if these witches could find an easier way to manage her addiction? Maybe there were herbs or potions or even a spell that they could perform that could help. She ignored the tight ball of worry at the pit of her stomach.
“We'll need your emotional energies to be in alignment first, so we'll all meditate for a few minutes."
It seemed ridiculous. She was way too nervous for a little meditation to make a dent in her emotional state. But as she closed her eyes and breathed in, she began to feel the other witches breathe with her. As the other witches calmed with each inhalation and exhalation, Willow felt solid and safe in a way that she hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe since before Glory.
A few more minutes passed, and then Sara said, "I think we're ready for the test."
She held a small sandbox in front of Willow. "I want you to create patterns in the sand with magic."
Willow gripped the box tightly and focused on the grains of sand, trailing an uneven zigzag pattern through them. She waited for the gratification that usually came with completing spells, but it didn't happen.
She looked up to see the verdict, and saw only a row of poker faces.
Sara said, "That was a good start. Get some rest tonight, and we'll see you how you feel in the morning."
Willow asked, "What if something happens in the middle of the night?"
"We're all just a phone call away." Sara squeezed Willow’s shoulder gently, and smiled again.
Willow hoped they understood what they were offering. Her magic withdrawal symptoms had always been worst at night.
Oz tapped her shoulder. “Today’s a day when I wolf out. Usually do it here. I can take you back to my place first, if you want.”
Was it worse to stay here, with constant reminders of magic she couldn’t do, or alone in Oz’s apartment, with no one watching her?
“Um, I’m ok hanging here.”
***
Oz closed all of the curtains in the basement, undressed, and sat down on the floor. He closed his eyes and blocked out distractions, trying to identify all of the emotions drifting through him.
He breathed in, and caught Willow's unmistakable scent, bright and floral notes. She was scared, and part of him was scared for her, too. But Sara and her crew knew their stuff. He told himself that they'd figure things out.
Underneath that fear laid another: that his hard-won control would slip because she was here. He let himself sit with that fear, and then imagined it floating away on a cloud.
The scents began to fade out, leaving Oz alone with his thoughts. And then the annoyingly persistent thought popped up again: Even with control, I'm still a monster.
He let that one float away, too, and then his mind felt quiet enough to begin the transformation.
It started with muscles expanding outward so fast it he was sure his skin would pop open. Then the sharp pain of claws materializing and extending from his fingers and toes. The fur came next, he thought, but he was distracted by the change in vision: as he lost the ability to see reds and greens, Sara's bright plaid curtains dulled into a series of brown and grey rectangles.
The neighbor's chihuahua started to yap. Part of Oz wanted to punish that dog as an unruly member of his pack, or tear him apart as an enemy. Instead he let out a high-pitched yelp, one that the humans upstairs couldn't hear. The chihuahua quieted down.
Scents that were barely noticeable earlier--lighter fluid from the grill in the backyard, the cinnamon and cloves from Sara's pastries, the cat sitting on the roof of the house--suddenly overwhelmed him.
His awareness of Willow intensified. There was still part of him that screamed Mine! He told himself, not anymore, and not for a long time.
He loped through the basement, the wolf-muscles stretching and flexing. It felt good, and as Sara had taught him, part of control was acknowledging and allowing the joys of the wolf, as long as no one got hurt.
After about an hour of running through the basement, Oz decided the wolf had gotten enough exercise. He sat down on his haunches, breathed in, and focused on returning to the human world.
***
Oz's apartment was pretty much exactly what Willow expected: sparsely decorated, with a few music posters and shelves full of records.
She put the pizza box on the kitchen table; Oz grabbed some paper plates.
Willow asked, “Are you with a new band? The last time I saw Devon, he said he was breaking up Dingoes and moving to Seattle.”
He sprinkled hot pepper flakes on his pizza. "No band right now. Pretty much needed to stay in one place for a while to work on wolf issues. I'm doing programming for Harmonix right now."
"Oh." It was hard to imagine. Unlike her, he wasn’t the dull kind of person that programmed computers just for fun.
Oz added, "There's a Japanese video game where you try to play the guitar. Harmonix wants to adapt the game for Americans. So at least there's a connection to music."
"Aren't you bored?" Willow asked.
"Sometimes." He gave her a wry smile. "But I had enough excitement at Sunnydale High to last a lifetime."
They dumped the plates in the trash and settled in front of the TV. A Simpsons rerun was on. As they giggled at Homer's adventures in college, it felt a little bit like she was back in high school. But the good, happy parts of high school.
When the show was over, he asked, "Are you sure you're ok sleeping on the futon in here? You can have the bed if you'd be more comfortable."
"Really, I'll be fine," Willow answered. "And I'm sure wolfing-out is pretty tiring. You need your rest."
He looked ready to argue, but just nodded, accepting defeat in the "who can be the most accommodating" game. That was good, because Willow didn't feel like explaining the real reason--that she was expecting magic withdrawal symptoms, and would rather be out here in the living room, with the TV and other distractions. It would be better than being stuck in the bedroom because she was worried about waking him.
***
None of Oz's meditation techniques were working tonight. He tried adjusting his white noise machine, but his sense of hearing was too acute. All he could hear were the odd little fragments of sound at irregular intervals; the intermittent noise was jarring rather than soothing.
He kicked off the blankets and got out of bed. He opened the door to bedroom and padded out to the living room.
Willow was curled up on the futon, a small flashlight in hand, reading a book. She looked up at him with concern. "Did I wake you?"
"No," He crossed over to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. "Just kind of restless tonight."
"Yeah, me too," Willow confessed.
"Is it the magic? Do you need to call Sara?"
Willow shook her head. "The weird thing is that it’s not the magic. It’s just me. I keep expecting the withdrawal symptoms to show up, and they aren't. It's not like I want them to happen, but I don't understand."
Oz sat down on the futon beside her. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Unless you can explain what’s going on with my magic, no.”
There was an awkward silence; he had an idea of what was going on, but it was an answer she needed to find for herself.
Willow broke the silence. “Do you think it might help you sleep if I read to you? Sometimes, when you were wolf-y, I’d read to you, and I think it helped sometimes.”
He said, “You don’t need to--”
“It’s ok to let people help you sometimes.”
He felt an immediate defensive reaction; he’d gone to the coven for guidance. But he’d sought assistance for a problem that was literally life-and-death, and only after it had reached a crisis point. Maybe Willow had a point about accepting smaller offers of help.
He asked, “What are you reading? I’m not in the mood for Harry Potter, or anything else with werewolves in it.”
She smiled. “Yeah, I’m avoiding stories about magic, too.” She held up the book. “Mr. Pim Passes By, by A. A. Milne.”
“The Winnie-the-Pooh guy?” He couldn’t imagine Willow retreating to children’s books, even for comfort.
“That’s him. But he was a really good novelist and playwright, too. Anyway, this one’s great. No kids or magic or talking animals anywhere in sight. Just a lot of silly grown-up humans.”
She opened her book, and started to read.
Oz listened to her read about orange curtains and silly but devoted young lovers. The rhythms of her reading voice seemed familiar somehow, even though he couldn’t possibly remember her reading to him when he was the wolf. He closed his eyes, and let her voice drown out all of the annoying background noises.
When he awoke, there was a crick in his neck and a nagging sense of disorientation. He must have fallen asleep on the futon--next to Willow, who was leaning against his shoulder, the book still open in her lap.
He tried to disentangle himself without disturbing her. But she was leaning on him for support, and as he pulled away, her eyes blinked open.
She scooted away from him to the far side of the futon. “I’m sorry.” She was blushing, and with her sleep-mussed hair, she looked vulnerable and just plain adorable.
He’d tried dating other people. He’d tried being alone. Neither approach had worked. He was a total sap who was never going to move on from her.
***
No one seemed particularly surprised that Willow hadn’t shown any withdrawal symptoms. They just kept asking Willow to draw larger patterns in the sand, then even larger patterns in the grass in her backyard.
None of this made her feel the way she had at the Bronze with Amy. And the weekend was nearly over, and they hadn’t triggered any symptoms.
“This kinda feels like when your car engine is making a noise, and you take it to the mechanic, and then it just stops,” Willow said.
Sara just gave her one of those enigmatic looks. “We’ll keep working on it. Call us if you have problems back in Sunnydale.”
CHAPTER THREE
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-04-30 07:02 pm (UTC)Gabrielle
no subject
Date: 2016-05-01 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-01 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-04 03:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-02 02:45 pm (UTC)I love how much Oz still loves her.
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Date: 2016-05-04 03:29 am (UTC)