Author's Note: To begin with, this is my first attempt at
Buffy fic, being mostly a Lois and Clark type fanfic writer. Also, it defies
canon in a few other ways...
1. The show continues, so the canon my very well prove this story wrong... this
is tough for me, as I have always believed in staying true to the characters
that a series creates. I may change it later, as it become necessary.
2. The story is mostly unfinished. It's really a pointless vignette that takes
place immediately following Wild at Heart. This episode effected me as few
others ever had, and I couldn't wait until the next episode to let the series
authors do their thing. I just had to put in my own explanations and
reasoning... just to make it make sense to me. It is pure introspection... and
it bobbles point of view... bear with me.
3. If you haven't seen Wild at Heart, consider this to be your spoiler warning.
This story definitely will remove any surprise from that episode, and likewise,
if you haven't seen the episode, the story has little meaning.
Be gentle. While I love comments and constructive criticism, I
make no claim to know the Buffy universe inside and out. Still, I do love the
characters, and I hope that this comes through in the story. Enjoy :)
No Place to Run
By Crystal Wimmer©
Oz took a deep breath as he pulled his black van into the parking place of a
small diner. There were few cars in the parking lot, so he was hoping for some
solitude.
As he opened his door to leave the van, he caught a streak of red from inside
the diner. It was a small flash of color, the waitress most likely, through the
dirty glass of the windows. The flame color of her hair set off a fresh wave of
memories, of pain, and he closed the door to lay his head down on the steering
wheel.
He had to do it, he reasoned. He had no choice. He couldn't go back. Still, the
sight of the short red hair, flowing as she'd moved had brought it all back in a
frightening rush. With his forehead resting on the solid surface of the steering
wheel, he finally let the tears come. He knew they would not bring him peace,
but he couldn't fight them any longer.
*****
Oz had awakened to her soft murmurs of distress, the product of her dreams. Her
skin had been soft against his, her body warm. He wished now that he had known
it would be the last time he would hold her in his arms without the tension and
lies between them.
She'd been so beautiful, he remembered. So lovely and soft and sweet. Her
innocence had little to do with her upbringing, and more to an innate goodness
that was uniquely Willow. Her voice was soft, childlike... beautiful. She'd
teased him, made him feel special and unique, and cherished. She had made him
feel so clean.
He'd wanted to love her then, to hold her and forget about the world around him,
but she'd had to leave. She took her studies so seriously, and he was glad. Her
mind was as attractive as the rest of her, as multi-faceted. There were times he
wished he understood all that happened in there, for it seemed to be more than
he could ever comprehend. He had told her as much, to the small sound of her
giggle, the relaxing of her body against his, and if possible he had loved her
even more.
The morning had gone too quickly, in retrospect. It had been a typical morning,
nothing unusual at all, but if he had known that it would be his last with her
he would have savored it, stretched it... he would have appreciated it for what
it was.
He had felt the tension in her, however, and he had been nearly eager to leave
her right then. He'd thought it was because he would be gone for three nights.
He'd been wrong.
The time apart from her was always difficult. They'd spent hours discussing how
it affected them, both individually and as a couple, but the talking didn't
change the facts. There were three nights out of the month that they had to be
apart, had to be separate, and had to wake alone. It was for her safety, he
reminded himself... her protection. He
wasn't himself when the wolf took over, and he couldn't risk her being hurt.
He'd dreaded the coming night, and even more so after she had acted so strangely
at lunch. He had a feeling that she was jealous of Veruca, although he couldn't
imagine why. Certainly there had been something between them, an interest in
music, and perhaps more, but he had never questioned his fidelity. He'd known
where his heart was,
and where it would stay.
He had tried to make her feel comfortable, to draw her into the discussion that
she really didn't understand. Willow loved to share his life, though she didn't
always understand the finer points of his music. She enjoyed him, however, and
that was enough. They enjoyed one another. They had enjoyed one another.
The world had turned upside down after that.
It had all seemed so normal, so simple. Well, it was simple for him. He'd locked
himself in his cage and taken off his clothes, awaiting the change that invaded
him for three nights every month. He had changed into the wolf. That was all he
knew.
The next morning he had awakened in the woods. He'd been disappointed that he
had escaped, dreading the work that would be required to repair the cage. He
also felt that common fear that he had hurt someone. It was always present, the
fear, but he had learned to manage it.
Just as he was beginning to get his bearings, to organize in his mind the things
that needed to be done, he felt her. It wasn't the warmth he was used to, the
warmth that he loved to wake up next to, but something different. Simultaneously
he became aware that there were several
stinging wounds on his chest and back. He began to smell the distinct aroma of
blood, and he new that something was dreadfully wrong.
As he'd turned, he'd seen her. Her grin was as clear to him as her voice, and as
affecting. His first thought, his first real, coherent thought, was that Willow
would be hurt.
He was naked, lying on his side, with her arms wrapped around him. The stinging
of the open wounds and scratches faded as he realized the gravity of the
situation. He was nude... so was she... and he had inflicted as many injuries as
she had. There was only one logical conclusion to draw... the wolf had mated. He
had been unfaithful to
Willow.
Suddenly, he'd found it nearly impossible to breathe. He remembered so vividly
the pain he had felt, the emptiness, when Willow had kissed Xander. It had been
only a kiss, juvenile kisses stemming from an even more juvenile crush. Still,
despite the innocence of the action, the pain it had caused him.. .the
betrayal... had been so real. It had taken him weeks to forgive, to trust... and
she really hadn't done anything wrong. I had been only a kiss.
This, he was afraid, was considerably more. Veruca's words had confirmed as
much, even has she'd touched his naked body with obvious possession. He'd drawn
away from her, nearly sickened by her touch, and yet intrigued.
The interest was not sexual, not at all. It was purely animalistic. He had been
isolated, alone, since this had started. The waking in the woods, the blood and
injuries that he couldn't remember, and the flashes of rage and terror were
pieces of himself that he had never been able to
fully understand. Here was someone like himself, and yet not. She was
comfortable with her own body, her own nature, and the animal within her. He was
no longer completely isolated, and there was a part of him that wanted that
friendship so much.
Unfortunately, Varuca did not seem willing to settle for friendship. Her
interest was clearly more carnal in nature, and less virtuous. His fear, though,
was that she not only accepted her animal nature, but relished it. She seemed to
enjoy the fact that she was different, the strength that the blood of the wolf
gave her. She liked the power... and she
was more than willing to use it.
She was right, Oz was afraid of the power, and the loss of control that it
represented. He was terrified of hurting someone, or worse, when he was out of
control. He was afraid of the lapses in memory and the danger that they
indicated. He was terrified of himself, and more.
It was that fear that had driven him to try to control Varuca. He had only
wanted to protect others, including her, from the beast in her. He hadn't
planned to mate, and he had certainly never planned to hurt Willow. He had done
both. There was a part of him that was grateful that she was dead. He hated it,
but it was the truth.
He would never forget the tears on Willow's face when she had found them. She
had been so serene, so logical, and so beautiful. He had wanted to explain, and
clearly he had needed to, but there had been no words. She had asked if it was
pay back, if they were past her kissing Xander, but he hadn't even considered
pay back. It wasn't the way he
thought. He loved her, and he would never hurt her. Yet, he had.
Her face before she had left the crypt had been etched in his heart by fire. He
had never seen such pain, such anger, and such betrayal. Knowing that he had
caused it was almost more than he could bear. He'd planned to beg her
forgiveness, to beg her to take him back. And yet, once more she proved that her
forgiveness was greater than he
could have imagined.
He had thought he could explain. He had thought things could be good again, if
not like they were before. He had believed that there was hope. Once again, he
had been wrong.
It was not safe for Willow to love him. Finally, he'd had to leave. He couldn't
bear to be with her, not with the temptation to love her tearing his heart apart
with each breath he took. He couldn't bear the thought of hurting her
physically, even after he had destroyed her innocence and trust in one
unconscious moment.
He had killed. Granted, he had done so to protect her at the time, but the fact
remained that he had killed someone that he knew, and might have liked if not
trusted. The fact that Veruca would have killed Willow, and planned to do so,
was not the issue. He had murdered a human. He had turned on Willow. If Buffy
had not been there...
He refused to let his mind go down that track. Buffy *had* been there, and she
had protected Willow from death, if not from the shock of watching him murder
another.
A tiny smile slipped onto Oz's face, amidst the tears. She loved him. She would
have taken him back. She wanted to work things out. Still, the corpse that he
had left, bloodied and torn, was proof that it could never happen. He couldn't
take the risk. Just the brief flash, red hair
matted, that beautiful freckled face coated in blood, still in death... The
nightmare image of what could have been would not let him remain with his
beloved.
"Don't you love me?"
She had asked the question through tears, more tears than he could wipe away.
Did he love her? More than his life, and certainly more than his happiness. She
was his world, and he knew it.
Months ago, Angel had left Buffy. Despite their love, their belonging to one
another, she had survived. She had hurt, and she had moved on slowly, but it had
happened. And, despite what Oz had expected, Angel had lived through it as well.
In fact, he had survived remarkably well. He had left to protect her, to protect
others, fearing that the temptation of loving someone would be more than he
could resist, and the return of Angelus something he was not willing to risk.
*****
Continued in part 2...