Work Text:
Oz let himself drift into the quiet monotony as mile after miles flew past him. Behind him, Sunnydale grew ever smaller, and ironically his control grew greater. It was his original flight all over again. His chest was too tight, and he found himself blinking against foreign tears.
Months ago he’d betrayed Willow and left to find control. He’d found the control in a small temple in Tibet. But he returned to find her gone, slipped out of his grasp. Her picture still looked up at him from his dashboard and Oz could feel the shards of heartbreak attacking him again.
He pulled the van over to the side of the road, and turned off the motor. Outside the moon held a silent vigil, and the road surrounding him was empty in the evening air. He rested his head in his hands, mind searching over the last few months.
As he sat in the truck he began to analyze all of it. His mind took the intricate matters easily dissembling them and laying them bare for him. Should he have called? Kept up the pretense when even he’d been unsure of his eventual return? He’d waited as long as he could to send for his things, unwilling even half a world away to strip his presence from his hometown completely.
Oz’s eyes came to rest on Willow’s picture. It was starting to curl at the edges, but Willow herself still smiled innocently at him. Were there more shadows hiding in those green eyes now? When he’d left, had she lost the piece of her that he carried with him?
He wanted to be angry at this turn of events. He’d left to find control, so that he’d never have to worry about hurting Willow again. He’d returned as soon as possible, too early the monks had told him. But he’d returned, intent on coming back to her. And yet…the image of her tear streaked face resurfaced. It haunted him, the misery in her eyes as Oz broke her heart. It was seared in his brain, a memory that was painful in its clarity.
The past two days had been as close to a homecoming as he could have hoped for. He and Willow had done nothing but talk. She’d caught him up on Sunnydale and the demon populace, as well as filling him in on the various group escapades he’d missed during his absence. In return he’d regaled her with stories of Romania, Tibet, and another half dozen places that had become temporary respites and way stations.
He’d known something was awry. Not the specifics of course. But he’d known everything was not as it seemed. Willow had never been the best at avoiding subjects or lying, and he’d known her far better than most. But he’d pushed it out of his mind, concentrating instead on simply being back in her presence. So he’d ignored the signs, how her tone would jump an octave if they got too close to a particular subject, or the way her pulse would jump from time to time.
It had been obvious there was a problem, no matter how hard he tried to delude himself into thinking elsewise. It would have been clear to anyone with stronger than human senses, or used to picking out these small ticks in the people around them.
Oz sighed and raked a hand through his short hair. Once again his eyes came to rest on Willow’s picture. He had to return to Tibet, there was no question. The way he’d lost control…he clenched the steering wheel in a white knuckled grasp. Yes, Tibet. He’d return to the monastery and continue to work on his control. One day…one day he would have the control necessary.
And Willow? His mind queried inquisitively. What about her? This time it was not the image of his original departure that flickered across his mind’s eye. Instead it was the last time he’d seen her. Not as wounding perhaps, but just as painful in a different way.
He wouldn’t return, not to Sunnydale at least. The decision was quick, but Oz could tell by the way it felt, that it was the correct thing to do. Before his botched return, he’d considered the quandary of returning ceaselessly.
It would be better this way. His parents were moving out to the East Coast. Nothing left for him in Sunnydale but memories. That’s not the real reason. His mind supplied unhelpfully, illuminating what Oz had been trying to skirt around.
The real reason he would not return. He did nothing by being in Sunnydale but hurt both himself and Willow. Something deep in his chest throbbed painfully at the thought of never returning to that small town to see Willow. No emails, no calls, no surprise visits. If he did this, it had to be a clean break. For both their sakes.
He sat there for a minute, the grief he felt at this decision wounding him in ways no doctor would ever notice. When he looked up and reopened his eyes, Willow smiled beautifically from his dash. His eyes lingered on her for a brief moment before moving further upwards, until the muted darkness of the road captured him.
The miles stretched onward past his vision’s limits. On either side the light poles glowed softly, doing little to illuminate the darkness that surrounded them. He still had a long way to go to get to Tibet, and the sooner he got to moving the better.
As he began to drive, it took all of his willpower not to look back.