Summary: Loosely based on a line from the episode that was breaking the hearts of millions last Tuesday night. :( So I decided I needed a little cheering up. Set about sixty years in the future. <g>
Spoilers: Through New Moon Rising
Disclaimer: Joss made the characters. I like to make them happy sometimes, though.
Rating: PG
Author's Note: This is a little bit for me, some for Tracy and Laura, and a lot for Karen. <G> Thanks to Laura for the info she so sweetly provided, and to Tracy for a bang-up beta.

* * * * * * *

I don't remember much of the conversation anymore. I'm old now, and it's sometimes hard for me to remember such things. But I know that I told him that he was always going to be with me. I know that I told him that if I ran into him again someday, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised. And I know that he's close.

That's why I'm here.

It's my eightieth birthday. Xander and I have been living together for the past ten years; ever since Cordelia and my beloved Giles died, we've needed the companionship that only he and I could provide for each other. After all of these years, we've finally gotten it right, Xander and I. I always wondered if that was possible, for things to be simple between us, simple and comfortable and perfect, and finally things are. We're friends. The best of friends.

All of those years of angst as we grew up and tried to survive in a secret world where survival is hard to come by, all of those years wondering what would have been and what could still be and what might have happened, all of those years have led to this. I love Xander, I do.

But not the way I loved....

I've led a good life. I've loved and lost and lived to love again-- more than once, and once was enough. I've learned and I've grown up, and I've been married and had two wonderful children, who gave me five sweet grandchildren. I've seen my friends die. I've seen my husband die. I know that I will die someday too.

But none of that matters now, because I know he's near me. The one love that I knew I would never grow up from.

I'm a little scared to see him now, a little scared that I'm going to ruin this perfect image of him in my mind. My hands are trembling-- they seem to do that a lot these days-- but this time it's not because of my age. I'm trembling with the anticipation. I'm trembling with fear and joy and love and an explosion of colors that I know will leap into my heart when he walks in front of my eyes. My bones ache and my back is tired from walking, but I feel younger than I have since my wedding day.

In some ways, this is to be another wedding of sorts, I suppose. A union. A reunion. A confirmation of something that was always there.

I hobble over to the steps in front of the Hagia Sophia, and sit down, though I probably shouldn't. The former church still stands in all of its glory, a beautiful and romantic sight to behold. I'm hoping that our meeting will be that to the two of us.

I think over the times when I was young as I wait. I think about my relationships with Xander and Buffy, my best friends in the world. I think about my relationship with Angel, who I could oddly identify with at times. I think about my relationship with my poor Tara, who died because I got her involved with things she should have never have had to be involved with. I think about Cordelia, who I continued to see as a threat and a rival until she married Xander, though I don't know why I saw her that way. I think about Giles. My wonderful Giles, who swept me off my feet and made me see myself as beautiful again, when I had stopped believing it so.

I've loved all of them. My life has been touched in ways that I could never describe or relive, my soul has been added upon, my wishes have been fulfilled, my heart has been... Complete.

I've never lacked for the most tender kind of love.

And though I've missed him, he simply hasn't been a part of my life. It's something that I've come to accept; though he was a part of me, one of the most beautiful pieces of my memory, we were not destined to be with each other again until now. I've realized that pining for him does nothing for me, or for him, and so I haven't. But I knew he would be here, so I came. Though I'm old and tired and worn from the years, I came. To see what would happen, I came.

To see him, I came.

Xander tried to persuade me not to come. I smile as I think of him now, my confidant and best friend, the longtime love of my life, though only through friendship, my childhood sweetheart. He's eighty-one now, and still acts like he's a fifteen year old boy; one of those dapper gentlemen who can charm straight hair into curls, one of those men that women-- young and old-- love to be around for the stories that he can tell. Stories that are true, for the most part, though neither he nor I will ever admit to it.

He tried to tell me that I was older now, that it wasn't safe to fly, that he might not even be here. I could sense the concern in his voice, even as he told jokes about the past and what might be waiting for me, but I simply smiled and hugged him and finished my packing. Because, you see, I had been waiting for this day since I was nineteen and I let him go. I had been waiting for this day for most of my life.

And, as much as I've loved my life, this day will make it truly spectacular, if I'm right.

Which I know I am.

And then suddenly, the crowds seem to part like the tide, and I see him. He's wearing a white shirt with a light wind breaker over it, and jeans. He carries a cane. His hair is silvery, but shot through with auburn. His eyes twinkle as he comes to meet me, and I stand to greet him.

He smiles fondly, like there's too much emotion in him to speak.

I smile back.

I know how he feels.

Finally, after a long, still silence, he pulls me into his arms and I'm covered with his familiar scent again; a scent I thought would be forever gone from my memory. It transports me back to so many times in my youth, and I sigh as a few tears leak out onto my cheek. His hand winds through my hair, and everything that was lost has been found again.

I'm his Willow.

He's my Oz.

Finally, we pull away from each other. His eyes are doing more than twinkling now, or even just dancing. They're doing the cha-cha. He was always so expressive with his eyes. He licks his lips, and I wait for him to speak.

After a moment, he does.

"Hey."

* * * * * * * *

Oz reaches over to stir my tea, just like he used to do, and I allow myself a little grin. "Thank you," I murmur, touching his hand before he has the chance to pull away. I feel like I'm seventeen again. Only I'm in a hotel room in Istanbul with an ex-lover.

He clears his throat a little and pauses, staring at my fingertips on the back of his hand, and then looks back up, winking. "Istanbul, huh?"

I nod, a little sheepishly. "I knew you would be here. I knew that I needed to come," I explain, and then stop there as though those few words have explained it all. But, maybe they have.

"I knew you would be here too, so I had to meet you," he says, dipping his head as I sip my tea. "I've forgotten a lot, like time sometimes makes you do, but I've never forgotten your words that night, Willow. I've never forgotten any of the times that we shared."

"I haven't either, Oz." I pause and then laugh weakly, something new occurring to me. "You must have been expecting someone much younger. It must be a shock to see me like this." I gesture to the wrinkles in my skin and the white of my hair, the spots on the backs of my hands.

He stares at me for a moment, and his eyes are soft. "Did you," he starts, as though he knows the answer, "Expect to see me as I was when I was twenty?"

"No." I don't even have to hesitate as I answer him. And I can't explain it, but somehow I knew how he would look at this age. I never feared that I would be disappointed by seeing him. I only feared of his disappointment over seeing me.

He nods knowingly. "Then why would you assume that I did? I knew what you would look like. I knew every soft line of your face, and I knew that your eyes would be as bright and as green as they always had been. I knew that your hair would be white." He tries to hide a smile, but I see it before he manages. "I wasn't expecting red hair, or blue. Just your hair, as silky as it ever had been, flowing past your shoulders, as white as snow. You're as beautiful as you've always been."

I blush a little, and then roll my eyes. "Always the flatterer."

"Was I?"

"No," I laugh. "But you know that I've always had a hard time with compliments, especially ones that sound sincere." A thought flashes through my mind, and my smile turns a little mischievous.

Oz raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"Would you like to see something interesting?"

He purses his mouth for a moment, considering, and then grins, leaning back in his chair. "Always."

I nod, and dance my fingers in front of his face, quickly, and I can feel the magick radiating off of then. And then I link hands with him, twining our fingers together, and then whisper, "Close your eyes."

Immediately, he obeys, and I close mine as well. I had been practicing this for years, hoping and praying that when the time came, I would finally get it right. Wishing that I would live until the time *did* come, and that Oz would be pleased.

I feel something warm and sweet and soft wash over me, making me shudder with pleasure, melting me. After a moment, with my eyes still closed, I direct, "On the count of three, open your eyes."

Slowly, I count off the numbers, until the pleasure inside of me is almost too much to stand. I get to three, and open my eyes, and gasp quietly as I see that it's worked. Oz's eyes widen, and his mouth curves up gently in a surprised smile, and he reaches out to touch my face, my neck, my arms.

My eighteen-year old face and neck and arms. I reach out to touch him, too.

"How...?"

"I wanted you to see me like this again," I shrug.

"There was absolutely nothing wrong with your appearance before," he murmurs, a little sadly.

"I know." My fingers stroke his soft, supple cheek. "I know. And nothing wrong with yours. This won't last but a single minute. One minute where we are the age of perfection again, where everything is as it should be with our bodies, our skin. I wanted to share it with you."

"It's overwhelming."

I feel the tears in my eyes as I lift my head. "It is," I agree. And before I can say anything else, Oz's lips are on mine, searching and eager and hot and warm. My stomach seems to be filled with jelly, my heart on fire again as his tongue slowly traces my lower lip before plunging into the depths of my mouth. I open my eyes to look at him as we kiss, to re-memorize everything I thought I had forgotten, but really never could. His dark red hair. I catch a flash of my own auburn hair as he twines in around his fingers. His smooth, pale skin, free of blemishes and signs of age. The kiss is deep and searing, and I feel as though I'm taking refuge in his arms. I feel as though I'm safe from the storms that whisked through my life.

And then I close my eyes again, for I know the minute is almost up. I feel a slight draining sensation, and feel Oz pull away from me. We gaze at each other happily, not mourning what was so quickly lost, but rejoicing in what we had achieved.

"So," he clears his throat again, that twinkle in his eye, completely unashamed of his actions. Well, I'm not ashamed of my actions either, Oz. So there. I stifle a girlish giggle over my silliness as he asks his question. "What is your last name? I'm... assuming it's not Rosenberg anymore."

I nod slowly, meeting his eyes. "No, it's not. Willow Nicole Giles. Pleased to meet you."

And, he makes an expression. I laugh as I see that the expression is his eyebrows nearly shooting off of his forehead. "Giles?" he blurts.

"Yes, Giles. I married him when I was twenty-seven," I explain softly. "We... lived a good life together, Oz. I loved him very much. I had only fallen in love that deeply once before, and I love him that deeply still."

"Of course you do," he says slowly, not comprehending exactly what I'm saying.

"Giles passed away. Over ten years ago. A few days after his ninety-second birthday," I murmur, and the words hurt me a little like I know they always will. "But he's survived by me... By our two children and five grandchildren, and by Xander and Angel. By his diaries, which make him the most successful Watcher in history, with the most successful Slayer. By memories. By you, Oz."

His eyes are a little wet, and I reach out to wipe away the tear that trails down his cheek. "Yes, he's survived by me," he whispers, reverently. He takes my hand and presses a kiss into the palm of it. "By all of us. Buffy?"

I shake my head gently. "She lived until she was almost fifty. She had a full life."

Oz suddenly laughs quietly. "I always assumed that you would either end up with Tara or Xander."

"Wrong on both counts," I smile. "Tara died when we were twenty-two, while helping us in battle. One of her spells didn't work, and it happened to be a protection spell. The demons sensed the magick disappear, and they went after her. There was nothing to be done. But she had a good life as well. And Xander... Well, Xander married Cordelia."

"He did?" His voice is amused, but not surprised.

"Yes. When he was forty," I laugh. "He married Anya, and then she... left him for another man--"

"I always knew that Irony had its eye on our little group," Oz inserts, and I dip my head in agreement.

"Yes. Cordelia married Wesley, and had a son with him. He, too, was killed. While protecting them. She loved him a lot. So she waited another six years before coming back to Sunnydale, and then she and Xander fell in love all over again, and got married. They raised Samuel together. Cordelia died about a year after Giles did," I finish.

"Wow," he says quietly. "I've missed a lot."

"Yes, you did," I confirm, touching his hand again. "I tried to find you, Oz. For so many of the occasions I wanted you to share with us. The weddings, the births... The funerals. This was the only place I knew you would be. And you'll have to admit, I had to wait a pretty long time." I let my mouth curve up.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." I shake my head. "Don't ever be sorry. For anything that's happened. ...Oz, did you find someone? Is there someone who now shares *your* last name, or did?"

His hand trails across my cheek, gently. "I can't, Willow. I couldn't." The sigh is deep and heavy, but not sad. Simple and resigned. "Wolves mate for life."

"What do you...?" I suck in my breath as it hits me, and the full weight of that small comment flourishes in my mind. It never gets easier to feel pain like this. "Oz, couldn't you... Haven't you even... Wasn't it possible to even be with someone, share your life?"

"It was," he consents. "But, after I found the person I loved, I didn't desire anyone else. I didn't want anything from anyone but her." He glances at me and his eyes darken as he notices the pain on my face. His voice is gentle. "I had a good life, too, Willow. I had a life where I had real friends, where I really lived, where I found real love. Not many people can say that about themselves. Please, don't worry about my heart. It's always been full of you, even though we haven't seen each other. I never needed anything else."

"Oh, Oz..." I breathe my words and they still tremble, and Oz looks at me regretfully. I can see that he wishes he hadn't told me now, that he knows that it's making my heart ache, and that he can't stand it. So I sigh and close my eyes for a moment, willing my tears not to fall, and then open them back up to see him ready to comfort me. I smile, weakly at first, but then my smile gets more firm, more honest. "Thank you, Oz. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for letting me love you. Thank you for being here."

"Where else would I be?" he wonders out loud. His voice lowers until I can hear the tears in it, too. "Thank you for coming."

"What else would I have done?" I fire back at him, and we share a small, sad laugh together.

He glances at the clock. "Wow. We've been here for hours."

"I know," I say, looking out the window and seeing twilight appear. "We talked all day."

"We could go get something to eat," he suggests, but I hear something in his voice that makes me want to laugh and cry all at once, so I shake my head.

"Or we could just... sleep," I say softly, echoing what he once said so long ago.

His eyes glitter brightly, and he nods, taking my hand. He helps me stand and leads me over to the bed, where we lay down, his stomach pressing against my back, his legs folded as mine are. Spooning. His right arm slips under my side, and his left arm over, and they lock, his palms firmly against my stomach. I shiver with happiness, and close my eyes, breathing him in.

"Willow?"

"Yes?"

"How is it that nothing's changed?" he asks.

"Because people who are in love never really change," I tell him softly, loving the feel of his breath against my neck. "Because those of us who are lucky enough to find it, even just once, live their whole lives as the person they were when they fell. They grow up, and sometimes even grow apart, but somewhere in their heart, they're always there. They're always waiting."

"Were you still waiting for me, somewhere in your heart?" I can hear his smile. "Because I was waiting for you, here. I always knew you'd find me."

"I didn't find you until now, but I always knew you could be found," I smile back, tears dripping down the side of my face and hitting the pillow, dampening it slightly. "Yes, Oz. I was waiting. I'll wait forever. I love you, Oz."

His voice sounds like sleep, something we're both falling into, something that sounds almost as heavenly as his words. "I love you too, Willow."

* * * * * * *

I've been awake for two hours. I feel a little guilty for the sleep spell I wove over him when I awoke, but I wanted this time. I wanted the chance to gaze upon one of the faces that I would always love most in the world. His eyelashes grazing his cheek, his contented smile. I adore everything about this man, this man who I haven't seen in over sixty years. I love everything that he is, and I love everything that he makes me.

And I know I can't keep the spell much longer, so I whisper the incantation to wake him up under my breath, and watch as Oz's eyes flutter open. He gives a large yawn, looking as though it was the best sleep he had in years. I certainly know it was one of the best of mine.

He looks at me in confusion, and sits up. He stares at me, evaluating the situation, and then exhales. His eyes are sad but understanding. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," I say, and realize that my voice is hushed.

Oz continues, "Somewhere in my heart, I'll always be waiting." I close my eyes as the words come back, and wait for the rest. "And if, when I'm... eighty-three years old, and I turn the corner in Sunnydale and see you, I won't be the least surprised."

I let go of my tears, tears now of joy and sorrow, all at once, and I move closer to him. I embrace him tightly, trying to keep my sobs in check, and feel his arms move around me, comforting and consoling me. "Oz..."

"When do you...?"

I pull back and meet his eyes. My mouth shakes as my hands do. "Pretty much now," I say, and watch him nod his head as though he knew. Which, of course, he did.

I stand now, and gather my coat and my bag, leaning down to kiss him softly on the mouth before I go. I don't say another word. Not another word needs to be said. Not another word *should* be said. We've said it all for now. We've said what we wanted to, we saw what we needed to see, we've confirmed that we'll always be hidden somewhere, in each other's heart, and...

And we'll do it all again, in two years.

Only maybe this time, neither one of us will leave.

The End

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