Wind Chill

by: Amy

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Willow looked down at the grave. Large, sparkling tears filling her eyes as they always did when she went to this place. She placed some carnations against the marker, rubbing her hand over the scripted name.

"Oswald Porter" she read aloud, softly. The gentle noises of day invaded her thoughts and she found herself wondering how the birds could sing when she had such things to say, if it was even right that she still appreciate the sound. Her face became wet and it was then that she realized she was crying again. She always did. Only this time, for a slightly different reason.

Her voice was raspy when she started speaking, and she cleared it, tried again. "I feel guilty, Oz. You know that part of the morning when the sun isn't risen yet, but the sky is all these beautiful pinks and reds and oranges? And it's confusion and chaos but so lovely that no one cares? Sometimes that's how I feel about... Everything, I suppose."

She took a deep breath. "I remember when you died, remember it like it happened yesterday. I always will. Partly because I lost you, but also because I lost a lot of me when that silver bullet slid through your heart. And it's been three years, Oz. I had hoped the pain would be gone by now, but it's not. Now I know that it never really will be, not fully. There will always be a part inside of me that wishes for you, hopes for you. Wishes that I can see you change your hair color again, wishes that I can hear you striving for that E-flat diminished ninth chord that you always insisted existed. Wishing for anything about you, Oz."

Willow fell silent, pawing the cold earth with her numbing fingers. Her nails were blue with cold on the December morning, and even as the birds chirped, her hair was whipped over her face, stinging her. She winced, cringed against the chill of the air. Her tears burned against her cold-reddened cheeks. She whispered to him, only the wind able to hear her words.

"I still love you, even now. I was watching the sunset yesterday and it reminded me of you, burning brightly, lighting up the sky with incredible hues of unimagined colors before it was gone. Even after the sun has completely set, there are still some purples and light blues, there is still a little bit of light to see by. And then you always get to see the first star. I mourned for you so long, Oz, that I almost missed my stars."

She thoughtfully chewed on her cold lip. "You think I won't remember how much you taught me. How much you gave me of yourself, but that's not true. That couldn't be further from the truth."

"You were everything to me for so long, Oz."

The tears started again, lasted for a long time.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she felt a sense of release, a sense of peace. Again she ran her hand lightly over the name.

"I was thinking about the night that you died. How that werewolf hunter came back into town, snuck around as to not run into Buffy. She really hurt him for your death, but it didn't help me. The bruises I saw on his face when he slank away, afraid, didn't help. Talking about it with Buffy and Xander and Giles barely helped either, though I won't say that I didn't get any measure of comfort from that."

And it didn't help her when she had tried to cut her wrists, but she didn't say that. For a while, she thought that might have been the answer, that the pain was too great to live through, but she was convinced otherwise. And though the pain was a harsh reality of the years of her life since he died, she withstood it, grew stronger from being able to survive it. The scars had healed.

It stood to reason that her soul should too.

"Oz," she said gently, sure that he could hear her voice, "I woke up this morning and my first thought wasn't of you. I feel guilty about that, but I can't apologize. There's going to be a time when thinking about you doesn't hurt me, when all it will do is bring a smile to my face, maybe make me a little wistful. But I want to be happy, Oz. Do you understand that? Can you..." She faltered for a second before going on. "Can you send me some sign that you'll forgive me?"

She waited, kneeling at the foot of his grave. Her eyes were heavy and she felt thoroughly cold, bone cold. Something inside ate away at her as she waited to hear his voice, his voice that always held the right words.

Instead she heard another voice.

"I thought I would find you here."

She looked up. Xander stood beside her, an understanding smile on his face. Her heartbeat picked up a little.

"How?"

"I just knew," he said softly.

At his answer, she understood, quickly and clearly, diagram drawn and delivered with love. Her hand sank into the cold grass and she smiled downward, then upward. In the sky, in the ground, wherever he was, Willow was sure he saw her smile. A whispered "Thank you" floated into the sound of the wind and the birds.

She lifted her hand and Xander helped her up. She stumbled against him and he held her in place against his chest for a moment, a blush warming his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Didn't mean to catch you... like that."

He started to pull away, but she held him in place, close and tight. She was ready to move on with her life. And she hadn't spoken it out loud, but both she and Oz knew who she was ready to move on with.

Her thoughts unspoken, she had somehow let Oz know who she *had* been thinking about when she woke up. And he forgave her. He encouraged her.

Willow found her voice and settled herself in Xander's arms. "Don't be. I'm not."

Lifting her head, she kissed him softly in thanks. A thanks for catching her when she fell, always catching her when she fell. A thanks for helping her move on, a thanks for being with her through everything. She knew he would always be with her through everything.

The kiss was light but lingering and Xander looked down at her in surprise when she pulled away. Surprised, but pleased, she noted with hope. There was time to find out the rest.

Taking one last look at the grave beside them, she let Xander wrap his arm around her shoulders before they headed off.

The cold had begun to leave her. In fact, in the safety of Xander's arms, she felt pretty warm.

The End

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