Oz ficlet, with apologies to Gloss
One/?, but more.I hope.
Title: An Anthropologist in Wolf's Clothing.
Author: Tesla
Rating: harmless
Spoilers: BtVS season 2
A/N: Inspired by a line in Glossolalia's fic, "Nice Shirt"
1.I told you what I needed.
Oz made himself hold his gaze steady on Willow, then blinked and moved off down the hall.
He had the feeling that he was plowing through chest-high water. He had had the sensation for days. Desire, shame, fear---that's what he smelled on her, and he didn't want it. Didn't want to be the answer
to the musical question, "Who's afraid of Willow?"
I am, he thought. I am.
The wolf was always just dozing inside him, waiting for an opening. It--he--something that ate up little red girls. What's in the basket, Little Red Riding Hood? Something territorial in him had been disrespected, and Oz wasn't completely sure it was the wolf; he thought it was the man that was angry, as well as hurt. He imagined the wolf as just yawning a long-toothed grin, and rolling over on its side, sleeping.
Good wolf, he thought, in senior English, practicing chords under the top of his desk. Stay asleep.
Cordelia sat on the other side of Oz, looking remote and queenly in her
red leather suit, hair upswept, lipstick the color of old wine.
He'd gone to see her in the hospital, and both of them remembered when they'd all been at the hospital with Willow. "I should have known," Cordelia had said, and that was all she said, but she stretched out her hand on the coverlet, and Oz had held it while they watched Animal Planet. He liked Cordy without make-up, all pink-lipped and vulnerable. She was hurt, hurt more than he was; she was growing an invisible carapace even as he sat there, and he felt sorry for Devon, if she chose to go after him again. Felt sorrier for Cordelia.
Cordelia turned her head now, and gave him a bleak look. Why aren't
you hurting? her eyes accused him.
I am, he looked back. He glanced around the filled class room.
Xander was back in the corner, hunched over in the desk.
There wasn't any way to fix it for Cordelia, Oz thought. The ice fragment had entered her heart, and she'd never be able to melt it, alone. And who was he to fix it, anyway?
Scrabble of claws on a cement floor. Of his heart.
Title: An Anthropologist in Wolf's Clothing.
Author: Tesla
Rating: harmless
Spoilers: BtVS season 2
A/N: Inspired by a line in Glossolalia's fic, "Nice Shirt"
1.I told you what I needed.
Oz made himself hold his gaze steady on Willow, then blinked and moved off down the hall.
He had the feeling that he was plowing through chest-high water. He had had the sensation for days. Desire, shame, fear---that's what he smelled on her, and he didn't want it. Didn't want to be the answer
to the musical question, "Who's afraid of Willow?"
I am, he thought. I am.
The wolf was always just dozing inside him, waiting for an opening. It--he--something that ate up little red girls. What's in the basket, Little Red Riding Hood? Something territorial in him had been disrespected, and Oz wasn't completely sure it was the wolf; he thought it was the man that was angry, as well as hurt. He imagined the wolf as just yawning a long-toothed grin, and rolling over on its side, sleeping.
Good wolf, he thought, in senior English, practicing chords under the top of his desk. Stay asleep.
Cordelia sat on the other side of Oz, looking remote and queenly in her
red leather suit, hair upswept, lipstick the color of old wine.
He'd gone to see her in the hospital, and both of them remembered when they'd all been at the hospital with Willow. "I should have known," Cordelia had said, and that was all she said, but she stretched out her hand on the coverlet, and Oz had held it while they watched Animal Planet. He liked Cordy without make-up, all pink-lipped and vulnerable. She was hurt, hurt more than he was; she was growing an invisible carapace even as he sat there, and he felt sorry for Devon, if she chose to go after him again. Felt sorrier for Cordelia.
Cordelia turned her head now, and gave him a bleak look. Why aren't
you hurting? her eyes accused him.
I am, he looked back. He glanced around the filled class room.
Xander was back in the corner, hunched over in the desk.
There wasn't any way to fix it for Cordelia, Oz thought. The ice fragment had entered her heart, and she'd never be able to melt it, alone. And who was he to fix it, anyway?
Scrabble of claws on a cement floor. Of his heart.