BTVS: Something Like Hope
Title: Something Like Hope
Fandom: BtVS
Character(s): Oz, Willow, OC
Length: 1,534 words
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Summary:
Notes: Please keep in mind that I wrote this some time in 2003. *hangs head in shame* It was inspired by a line from a sixties soul song. The line is at the end. This is also in answer to the challenge set by Little Faith of OzMIA: Take present or future Oz. Give him the opportunity to go back to any one moment of his past and advise himself or someone else to take a different course of action.
Something Like Hope
“How do I stop this?” he asked.
The seated woman who, when standing, was tall and stately, had a voice like midnight silk dipped in burgundy, raised her eyes to the man standing before her. “This question, it is how you wished to be repaid?” When he nodded she answered with, “You cannot.”
“Why?”
“You promised Forever.”
He looked at her with animal eyes, reflecting the light of three dozen candles. “Lovers make promises every day. Promises never kept . . .with no intention of being kept. I don’t understand.”
“You promised a witch forever. You gave her your heart and told her you would love no other. You set no boundaries. You gave your secret name to a witch . . .and told her to keep it.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Ignorance is not an excuse,” she hissed.
He fell silent again, chastised maybe, thinking probably. Plotting more likely. The wtich wondered what kind of person he had been. “You have spells?” he asked.
She laughed and the embers of longing flared high and bright, licking every limb. “Yes. I have spells.”
“I want what you promised.”
“I promised payment for services rendered.”
He looked at her with his animal eyes, reflecting the light of an inner blaze.
“A service that was well done. What shall I thus render unto you?”
§§§
It will last no longer than a few hours, three and a half at the outside. Use them wisely for you can not ever revisit them, she had told him.
“I love you.”
And he thinks he has. He thinks he’s chosen well at the very least. Going back to this perfect moment was . . .painful, but necessary he thought. And oddly satisfying. He would miss the liquid way this body moved even more keenly when he went back, but this moment . . . This moment would be ever more crystallized in his mind, something to cherish and not hate with lovesick longing. Maybe he’d stop breaking out in hives. Maybe it would stop being like an allergic reaction, this memory. Maybe. Maybe it would be like that.
But it wasn’t Now. It was Then. And Then was more beautiful and needy and fevered and frustrating than he remembered.
“Oh Oz, I love you too.”
It was strange how this was all new and rote at the same time. The press of lips, his trip-hammer heartbeat and her shivering hands in his hair: as comforting as old faithful memory, and surprising as an unexpected dip at a fair ride.
And her body beneath his? He knew it so well. Visited it so often in his dreams. It was the gold from the lead of other women’s bodies. But he had never seen it before. These hands didn’t know those bare curves and the pattern of veins beneath this porcelain skin.
He’d actually managed to forget how passion had made her bold. How she had surprised him and how much they’d laughed. They giggled like children. He bumped his head. She stubbed her toe and didn’t know it.
It was just after these breathless giggles as he hovered over her -- although in his secret, detached mind he suspected that a role reversal was on the horizon -- that he found the courage to speak. To fix Then so he could live with himself Now. Because he’d actually found himself falling into the mythos of her body, the slavish desire to please, to love, to make this perfect for her. As if this he were really this boy again.
“Willow?”
“Yes, Oz?”
That note of worry in her voice and he’s almost undone. Almost wasted his one chance. But . . . “I love you.”
“Oh Oz . . .”
“I’ll love you . . .until the twelfth of Never.”
She laughed. Much as he, now, remembered she had, tumbling them around in the small, musky space. Coming out on top. “How about you just love me now?”
He could do that.
And when they both fell over that cliff edge, her petit-morte first and his soon thereafter, he screamed what the witch of midnight silk and burgundy had called his secret name, not into her skin, but into the faux tiger’s fur and leopard’s spots and objects that had never had any life or will of their own.
“Oz?”
“Yeah, Will?”
“That was . . .”
“I know.”
“....Oz?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I love you--”
“I know.”
“--forever.”
“Until the 12th of Never.”
She giggled sleepily into his flushed neck unable to see his animal eyes. Reflecting the light of three dozen candles.
§§§
Willow looked around at the bleak nothing. It was obvious that powerful magicks had brought her here, stealing her from the road between LA, Sunnydale and forever, but not whose. “Come on, whoever you are! Let’s get this over with!” she called to the swirling white/gray nothing, turning in a tight circle. “Today people! I have better things--”
“Willow.”
“Oz?! Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”
Oz paced and prowled, reminding Willow of the animal just beneath his skin. “I couldn’t wait.”
“Couldn’t wait for what? Did you do this? Did you bring me here?”
“Yes. Yes.”
Willow didn’t remember Oz as being this edgy. This fidgety. Or this . . .old. “Why?”
He stopped dead in front of her. “Do you remember what I said to you?”
“What? When?”
“That night. Our first night. In the van.”
Willow’s lips parted. Her cheeks were stained red. “Oh. That night. I . . .I . . . It’s been a long time, Oz,” she said slowly, suddenly that shy girl again. His girl. “I don’t know.”
“Do you know what today is?”
She laughed. Suddenly. “This place has a calendar?!” Why was her heart beating so furiously in her chest? She was a powerful witch. And Oz wasn’t even her lover anymore. He wasn’t anything to her.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Yes it has a calendar. And a date.”
She stared at Oz as if he had grown another head. Or had lost his mind. “Take me back Oz. Before I’m forced to do something . . .we’ll both regret.” She felt the inner stillness forming within her.
“You don’t remember, do you, what I said to you that night . . .in the van? I remember everything. But for me it was just last night and for you I suppose it’s been--”
“Four years. Almost five.”
Oz nodded sagely and she remembered when that nod had been all the vindication she needed. “It’s the 12th of Never, Willow.”
“Until the twelfth of Never. That’s what you said,” Her voice was strangled.
“It’s been a long time for me, Willow, without you. Twenty years. Twenty-two? Sometimes I know the weeks and days and hours since I drove away. And sometimes it’s just a vague sense of an old absence, like a missing limb. But I never stopped loving you. Loving you the way I did that night: beautifully, passionately, in a fever with longing. Frustrated. Needing you and wanting to please you. A slave to your love.”
Willow could feel the tears. It seemed wrong to wipe them away.
“But I could never love anyone else. They were always transmogrified, alchemized, into you. In twenty years I’ve become someone . . .else.”
And for the first time Willow noticed that his left earlobe was split, that there was a scar over his right eyebrow and another splitting the left. She could only imagine what she’d find beneath his loose clothes, now that she looked harder, the only thing she recognized about him.
“So I did a favor for a witch who didn’t want to get her hands bloody and pay three-fold. And she told me to set boundaries. To be a little more laconic. Then she gave me a spell to fix it.”
“To fix it?”
Oz stared at her with animal eyes, cool and flat, although she could sense reigned motion in the set of his shoulders, the position of his feet.
“You went back?”
“Yes. And then forward.”
Willow shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why?”
Oz smiled. Or rather bared his teeth. “So I could stop this. So I could do this.”
Before she knew what was happening, her throat was on fire. And her chest was caving in.
And the last thing she saw: Oz devouring her heart.
§§§
“Are you satisfied with the results?”
He licked his hands although nothing was on them. He rubbed them together as if smoothing lotion into his skin.
She smiled her dark smile, watching the candles glitter in his eyes. “ ‘Yes,’ then. Was it worth it, seeing a future you cannot hope to visit for many, many years to come?”
Concentrating still on his hands he told her, “It’s something like hope.”
“And I thought you were going to say something about the look in her eyes when you killed her being enough to keep you.”
He looked up at her with his animal eyes, reflecting the light of three dozen candles. “That’s the hope.
“I owe you another service.”
She laughed and it was raw silk wrapped ‘round his spine. “Yes. Yes you do.”
[in]Fin[ite]
“Said that I’d love you till the 12th of Never....”
Little Faith’s Challenge: Take present or future Oz. Give him the opportunity to go back to any one moment of his past and advise himself or someone else to take a different course of action.
Fandom: BtVS
Character(s): Oz, Willow, OC
Length: 1,534 words
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Summary:
Notes: Please keep in mind that I wrote this some time in 2003. *hangs head in shame* It was inspired by a line from a sixties soul song. The line is at the end. This is also in answer to the challenge set by Little Faith of OzMIA: Take present or future Oz. Give him the opportunity to go back to any one moment of his past and advise himself or someone else to take a different course of action.
Something Like Hope
“How do I stop this?” he asked.
The seated woman who, when standing, was tall and stately, had a voice like midnight silk dipped in burgundy, raised her eyes to the man standing before her. “This question, it is how you wished to be repaid?” When he nodded she answered with, “You cannot.”
“Why?”
“You promised Forever.”
He looked at her with animal eyes, reflecting the light of three dozen candles. “Lovers make promises every day. Promises never kept . . .with no intention of being kept. I don’t understand.”
“You promised a witch forever. You gave her your heart and told her you would love no other. You set no boundaries. You gave your secret name to a witch . . .and told her to keep it.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Ignorance is not an excuse,” she hissed.
He fell silent again, chastised maybe, thinking probably. Plotting more likely. The wtich wondered what kind of person he had been. “You have spells?” he asked.
She laughed and the embers of longing flared high and bright, licking every limb. “Yes. I have spells.”
“I want what you promised.”
“I promised payment for services rendered.”
He looked at her with his animal eyes, reflecting the light of an inner blaze.
“A service that was well done. What shall I thus render unto you?”
§§§
It will last no longer than a few hours, three and a half at the outside. Use them wisely for you can not ever revisit them, she had told him.
“I love you.”
And he thinks he has. He thinks he’s chosen well at the very least. Going back to this perfect moment was . . .painful, but necessary he thought. And oddly satisfying. He would miss the liquid way this body moved even more keenly when he went back, but this moment . . . This moment would be ever more crystallized in his mind, something to cherish and not hate with lovesick longing. Maybe he’d stop breaking out in hives. Maybe it would stop being like an allergic reaction, this memory. Maybe. Maybe it would be like that.
But it wasn’t Now. It was Then. And Then was more beautiful and needy and fevered and frustrating than he remembered.
“Oh Oz, I love you too.”
It was strange how this was all new and rote at the same time. The press of lips, his trip-hammer heartbeat and her shivering hands in his hair: as comforting as old faithful memory, and surprising as an unexpected dip at a fair ride.
And her body beneath his? He knew it so well. Visited it so often in his dreams. It was the gold from the lead of other women’s bodies. But he had never seen it before. These hands didn’t know those bare curves and the pattern of veins beneath this porcelain skin.
He’d actually managed to forget how passion had made her bold. How she had surprised him and how much they’d laughed. They giggled like children. He bumped his head. She stubbed her toe and didn’t know it.
It was just after these breathless giggles as he hovered over her -- although in his secret, detached mind he suspected that a role reversal was on the horizon -- that he found the courage to speak. To fix Then so he could live with himself Now. Because he’d actually found himself falling into the mythos of her body, the slavish desire to please, to love, to make this perfect for her. As if this he were really this boy again.
“Willow?”
“Yes, Oz?”
That note of worry in her voice and he’s almost undone. Almost wasted his one chance. But . . . “I love you.”
“Oh Oz . . .”
“I’ll love you . . .until the twelfth of Never.”
She laughed. Much as he, now, remembered she had, tumbling them around in the small, musky space. Coming out on top. “How about you just love me now?”
He could do that.
And when they both fell over that cliff edge, her petit-morte first and his soon thereafter, he screamed what the witch of midnight silk and burgundy had called his secret name, not into her skin, but into the faux tiger’s fur and leopard’s spots and objects that had never had any life or will of their own.
“Oz?”
“Yeah, Will?”
“That was . . .”
“I know.”
“....Oz?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I love you--”
“I know.”
“--forever.”
“Until the 12th of Never.”
She giggled sleepily into his flushed neck unable to see his animal eyes. Reflecting the light of three dozen candles.
§§§
Willow looked around at the bleak nothing. It was obvious that powerful magicks had brought her here, stealing her from the road between LA, Sunnydale and forever, but not whose. “Come on, whoever you are! Let’s get this over with!” she called to the swirling white/gray nothing, turning in a tight circle. “Today people! I have better things--”
“Willow.”
“Oz?! Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”
Oz paced and prowled, reminding Willow of the animal just beneath his skin. “I couldn’t wait.”
“Couldn’t wait for what? Did you do this? Did you bring me here?”
“Yes. Yes.”
Willow didn’t remember Oz as being this edgy. This fidgety. Or this . . .old. “Why?”
He stopped dead in front of her. “Do you remember what I said to you?”
“What? When?”
“That night. Our first night. In the van.”
Willow’s lips parted. Her cheeks were stained red. “Oh. That night. I . . .I . . . It’s been a long time, Oz,” she said slowly, suddenly that shy girl again. His girl. “I don’t know.”
“Do you know what today is?”
She laughed. Suddenly. “This place has a calendar?!” Why was her heart beating so furiously in her chest? She was a powerful witch. And Oz wasn’t even her lover anymore. He wasn’t anything to her.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Yes it has a calendar. And a date.”
She stared at Oz as if he had grown another head. Or had lost his mind. “Take me back Oz. Before I’m forced to do something . . .we’ll both regret.” She felt the inner stillness forming within her.
“You don’t remember, do you, what I said to you that night . . .in the van? I remember everything. But for me it was just last night and for you I suppose it’s been--”
“Four years. Almost five.”
Oz nodded sagely and she remembered when that nod had been all the vindication she needed. “It’s the 12th of Never, Willow.”
“Until the twelfth of Never. That’s what you said,” Her voice was strangled.
“It’s been a long time for me, Willow, without you. Twenty years. Twenty-two? Sometimes I know the weeks and days and hours since I drove away. And sometimes it’s just a vague sense of an old absence, like a missing limb. But I never stopped loving you. Loving you the way I did that night: beautifully, passionately, in a fever with longing. Frustrated. Needing you and wanting to please you. A slave to your love.”
Willow could feel the tears. It seemed wrong to wipe them away.
“But I could never love anyone else. They were always transmogrified, alchemized, into you. In twenty years I’ve become someone . . .else.”
And for the first time Willow noticed that his left earlobe was split, that there was a scar over his right eyebrow and another splitting the left. She could only imagine what she’d find beneath his loose clothes, now that she looked harder, the only thing she recognized about him.
“So I did a favor for a witch who didn’t want to get her hands bloody and pay three-fold. And she told me to set boundaries. To be a little more laconic. Then she gave me a spell to fix it.”
“To fix it?”
Oz stared at her with animal eyes, cool and flat, although she could sense reigned motion in the set of his shoulders, the position of his feet.
“You went back?”
“Yes. And then forward.”
Willow shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why?”
Oz smiled. Or rather bared his teeth. “So I could stop this. So I could do this.”
Before she knew what was happening, her throat was on fire. And her chest was caving in.
And the last thing she saw: Oz devouring her heart.
§§§
“Are you satisfied with the results?”
He licked his hands although nothing was on them. He rubbed them together as if smoothing lotion into his skin.
She smiled her dark smile, watching the candles glitter in his eyes. “ ‘Yes,’ then. Was it worth it, seeing a future you cannot hope to visit for many, many years to come?”
Concentrating still on his hands he told her, “It’s something like hope.”
“And I thought you were going to say something about the look in her eyes when you killed her being enough to keep you.”
He looked up at her with his animal eyes, reflecting the light of three dozen candles. “That’s the hope.
“I owe you another service.”
She laughed and it was raw silk wrapped ‘round his spine. “Yes. Yes you do.”
[in]Fin[ite]
“Said that I’d love you till the 12th of Never....”
Little Faith’s Challenge: Take present or future Oz. Give him the opportunity to go back to any one moment of his past and advise himself or someone else to take a different course of action.