Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project
Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project

For The Widows In Paradise
By Calendae
For maybedarkpink


He's in Tibet when he realizes how much he associates Willow with the things Willow has and conversely, how much of himself he left behind. Trivial when you spend your days stumbling through the streets of Lhasa to the one thing that will give you control, make you whole again. There's been nothing but dead ends so far.

But late at night, he can feel the strings of his guitar under his fingers and the fuzz of Willow's red sweater on his cheek. And he knows then that the Oz that belonged to these images and feelings is no more.


We Are What You Say.

After Tibet, after Sunnydale, Oz knows that Willow has found her true self and the fact infuriates him more than he can articulate in words. That she could find herself in a dorm room in Sunnydale when he crosses half the world and still isn't sure. He still loves her, always will, but he can't be around her anymore.

So he drives away and leaves the van outside of San Diego, taking only a backpack and a passport as he hitches a ride to Mexico. When the border patrol asks him if he has anything to declare, he shakes his head.


All Good Naysayers, Speak Up or Forever Lose Your Peace

Somewhere in Peru, he finds his own kind. They don't hide in the shadows or sequester themselves away in chains. The other villagers don't shy away from the commune at the south end of the village and seem to know what Oz is, pointing him in the direction of the small farm as he walks through the village.

Magda is the first he meets and she takes him inside and shows him to a cot in the corner. He speaks enough of the language to ask her name and where he is, but she stays quiet beyond the muttering of her name and leaves him alone in the hut.


All the Trees of the Field will Clap Their Hands.

It was fourteen days till the moon when he arrived in the village. He's gotten used to the silence between the ten-odd members of this strange house. The villagers regard him with something like reverence when he walked to the small market for fruit and he stepped carefully along the well-worn path back to his hut.

At the fire that evening, Magda passed Oz a small bowl of brown liquid, gesturing to his lips. He brought the bowl to his mouth and drank deeply, his lips tingling and then numb.

That night, the stars vibrated over his head while the pounding of his feet made the blur of the woods an afterthought.

He wakes up on his cot, scratches on his torso, still shaking. He could stay here forever.


In the Devil's Territory

It's a feeling that won't last. Not after the first night of the moon, when he meditated and watched the others as they drank and started to hallucinate. The villagers surrounded the huts and the writhing half-transformed werewolves before closing in and separated Magda from the rest.

Oz couldn't see into the circle but could hear the high-pitched whines and grunts as Magda was passed along the circle.

The next morning, Oz packs up his bag.


Say Yes! to Michigan

Oz heads north back to America and away from California. He finds himself in Detroit and works at a record shop to pay for the tiny bedroom he rents over a liquor store. It's a quiet life and he's something like happy. He has friends and music and a guitar. It's easy.

He feels in stasis, moving neither forward nor backward. Taking comfort in the things he has again instead of what he is and he knows this will not last.


We Won't Need Legs to Stand.

It's a Tuesday in the middle of winter when Xander Harris walks into his life. Xander is lean and tan, and yet still pale with an eye patch over his left eye. They are both speechless when he reaches the counter. Oz speaks first and invites Xander to his room.

Xander sits on Oz's bed and tells him of Sunnydale and Willow and Buffy and Tara and the loss of their childhood home. Oz doesn't ask about his eye, but Xander tells him anyway. It's as if some sort of floodgate has opened and Xander can't stop the words.

He talks about Africa and slayers and the things he's seen, his hand constantly toying with the elastic of his eye patch.

When he speaks of Anya, his voice goes quiet and Oz takes that moment to grab Xander's hand. Xander is shaking almost imperceptibly and Oz holds tighter, Xander hand warm underneath his.


Size Too Small

While Xander keeps talking, Oz slips an arm around his shoulder and starts whispering in his ear, hand tracing the patch on the side of Xander's face. Xander keeps talking till his voice is hoarse, traces of Anya in the clearing of his throat. When Xander stops, he looks to Oz, his eye dark. Oz breathes and touches the other side of Xander's face. Xander shudders and leans in towards Oz, his hand snaking around the back of Oz's neck tightly. His kiss is rough and needy and Oz feels his mouth afterward expecting to find blood. There is none.

Xander is kissing him and pulling his shirt up, frantic motions accompanied with gruff sounds and when they are finished, Oz is naked and panting and Xander is asleep.


A Good Man is Hard to Find

Xander is gone in the morning.

Oz leaves the next day with nothing but the clothes on his back.