W/O
By Melissa Flores

Just when Willow's world is crashing down on her, an email from Oz changes her perspective.

Dedicated to : Laure, who told me that I needed to write a W/O fic, with just them. So I did.

Disclaimer - Joss is a Crackhead. All Hail the Crackhead.

Spoilers for : Grad II.

Feedback: Accepted and lusted after ... hmmm. that may seem like the wrong phrase.

Distribution: Just tell me where it's going.

She slammed the door shut, wincing when she felt the impact of it against the doorframe. Immediately, she opened it again, shouting a meek, "Sorry!" before her parents could react.

Closing the door trepidly, Willow Rosenberg leaned against it with a sigh.

Issues.  Lately it seemed all she ever had was issues. Sure, the ascension was over and done with, they had kicked some demon butt, and for now, a nice little lull had fallen over what Cordelia had cheerfully dubbed "Sunnyhell." Xander had taken off on his roadtrip, Cordelia had been shipped to Los Angeles via her parents, who decided to try their luck over in the land of the stars. Buffy had gone with her, visiting her father in an attempt to get over Angel's departure. Oz was touring for a couple of weeks.

And that left Willow Rosenberg by herself, with her issues.  It wasn't like she ever told any one about her issues, she figured that her friends had way too much on their minds without her whining over her problems, because they were little compared to theirs.  Buffy's loss of her demon lover, Cordelia's loss of her parent's funds, all monumental to them, made Willow's problems seem so small, so inconsequential.

So why did she feel like she was about to explode? Being the supporter, the rock, the one who had to always be there, the one who always had to say the right thing, do the right thing, it was too hard. Willow had messed up so many times.

She couldn't look at Cordelia without remembering the cheerleader's pain wracked features, the rebar  in her gut. She couldn't look at Xander without the painful reminder that he was alone, he was used and battered.

And she was so lucky. She had Oz. Beautiful, calm, serene, passionate Oz.  How did she luck out?  Who up there had helped her?

She needed Oz.  She needed him now.  She couldn't lock the door, her parents had never trusted her to keep one on, and Willow sighed.  They had missed graduation, and they were repressing as usual, her dad, by stressing out, her mother, by never changingl, and they were arguing. Again. And when that happened, guess who suddenly wasn't the perfect daughter anymore?

Willow.

Willow, the perfect psychic poster child for her mother, who would rather analyze and discuss her behavior than actually be a mother.  Willow practically had raised herself, when it came the real issues, the ones her parents wouldn't discuss with her, and she knew how lucky she was that her experiences had been overall pleasant and nice, at least from her friends.

With her family, it was pressure. First it was pressure to get a perfect on the SAT's, then, pressure to get away from what her mother called her "bad influences", those being Oz and Buffy, then it was pressure to get into the right schools, and all of them with the promises that if she made good, then she would be free to make her own choices.

It was all a load of bull. Willow had made her own choices, first with Oz, and now with her choice of school, and it wasn't good enough for her parents. It was never good enough for her parents. They wanted Harvard, or Yale, or MIT.  Willow wanted UC Sunnydale, and they were going to battle her on it every step of the way.

Pushing her hair back, she went to her desk, where the stacks of admissions letters still lay, forgotten in the rush for the ascension. Flipping through them, she suddenly felt a burst of anger, flinging them away, tears clouding her eyes as she sat on the edge of the bed.

What was wrong with her? She was lucky, she knew that, she had overall normal parents, the worst thing her mother had done was try and kill her, and that was when she was under the influence of that demon guy And her dad, well, he was Ira Rosenberg, that was it.  They weren't Xander's drunken parents, or Cordelia's uptight pricks, or even Oz's hazy ones.  They were good parents.

And yet, why did she suddenly feel the urge to run away and never look back?

Oh, god, she felt so alone, so incredibly alone.  She couldn't handle this, she couldn't be Ms. Stoic Girl, she couldn't be the Mary Sue of the group. She wasn't.

She was a failure. She disappointed everyone and everything, and she knew that there would come a time when everyone depended on her, and she would mess everything up.

Oh, God, why couldn't she be Xander, or Cordy, or, Buffy, or even Oz? It was okay if Xander messed up, people expected him to. And when Cordy flipped out and became mean girl, it was okay, because she had had her heart broken, and when Buffy was Ms. Irresponsiblity, it was cool, because she was the Slayer. Even Oz, had an excuse, he was Oz.

Willow  was Miss Perfect, the one who couldn't have any flaws, she had the be the strong one, she had to be the one who had no problems, to make up for everyone else being so screwed up. Well she couldn't.  She couldn't, because she was just as screwed up as the rest of them.

And she never felt more alone.

The beeping of her laptop called her attention, and wiping her tears away with the back of her hand, Willow shrugged off the bed, groaning. Ever since Giles had gotten that nifty email thing down, he had assumed apparently that Willow was on call all the time.  More than likely he had more research for her to do, and she couldn't say no, 'cause she was Willow, and he counted on her.

She opened it, her eyes searching, until they found the Instant Message Box, and her heart leaped.

"I miss you."  The sender was OZMAN.

Oz.  And her face flooded with relief, her heart stopped beating for a full two seconds, and when it began again, it began twice thumping twice as hard. Her life was suddenly manageable.

Because she had heard from Oz.

Her fingers flew over the keys.  "OZ!!  I thought you had a gig!"

The response came back a tad slower. "::::grin:::: I did, like three hours ago, I'm on east coast time, babe."

She grinned, her eyes tearing. "I'm so glad to hear from you, how's New York?"

"Well, I'm in a crappy hotel, Devon's snoring, and I've made friends with this ratty rodent named Mike. Apparently we're bunking in his turf."

She sniffed, giggling uncontrollably, feeling giddy.  "Is he cute?"

"Compared to who, Buffy rat or Amy rat?"

Willow's eyes flew to Amy's cage and suddenly her heart broke, her issues crashed down on her again. Nothing was okay anymore. Amy was still a rat.

"hon?" The typing continued. "Are you there?"

"Amy's still a rat." She pecked out numbly.

"I was aware of that."

"She's still a rat, Oz." Willow continued, pounding at the keys. "I'm supposed to be dependable girl, and Amy is still a RAT."

"Oh." came the response.

And she burst into tears, covering her eyes with her hands. When she finally calmed down, there was another message from Oz.

"I think she lives a relatively happy existance, don't you? I mean, she eats, drinks, be merry on the wheel. Mind numbingly free, if I should say so. :><i.   <------ That's Amy."

And his terrible picture made her laugh, the pressure disappearing once again.

"Oz, that's terrible."

"Hey, I had to come up with that on the spot." He typed back.  "I got the whiskers, that's all."

"It's still bad. But in a cute way."

"::::grin::::"

There was a pause, and then he typed softly. "What was that, Will? Are you okay?"

She sighed, staring at the screen, before honestly returning. "no, Oz, I'm not."

"What's wrong." he demanded.

"I'm tired, Oz, I'm tired of being Ms. Perfect, of having to please everyone, of never being able to be that mousy Willow that no one depended on. Oz... I just... I feel like I'm gonna break."

There was a pause, then, "I thought Amy was the mouse."

And she laughed, stifling the giggle with a hand over her mouth, before, she typed back. "I'm tired of everyone thinking I'm perfect goody goody Willow, Oz. I'm not perfect. I always screw up.  Why does everyone always want to depend on me?"

"Cause you're Willow." He returned.

She sniffled, staring at the screen. "You probably think you've been hitched to a psycho, hey Oz?" She typed, half chuckling, waiting in apprehension.

The light remained blinking for a minute, and then slowly, the words appeared, "Willow... You are never more perfect to me."

Her eyes widened, and she jumped when the phone rang, shattering the stillness that had preceded it.

She scrambled for the phone.

"Hello?" She said breathlessly.

"Hi." A throaty voice replied.

"Oz?" She whispered, half afraid that this was a cruel joke, that her lover's voice had just become a part of mystery, the irony, of the Hellmouth. "Is that you?"

"Well, I hope so." He joked, and then his tone grew serious. "I needed to hear your voice." He said softly. "I thought maybe you might have needed to hear mine."

"Oh, Oz." She whispered. "How are you so perfect?"

"You make me perfect, Willow." He whispered back.  "What's wrong? Is that world that revolves around you crashing down on your shoulders?"

And she nodded, her eyes watering again,  "Oz... it's just... I feel so tired, so tired and alone and -"

"Are you alone Willow?" He asked softly.

She was quiet, her finger playing with the code.  "No." She said honestly. "No, Oz, I'm not. I have you."

"You do, Willow."Her heart welled up, and she whispered softly.

"Thank you, Oz, Thank you so much."

"For what?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

"Because. You're the only one who loves me, accepts me, and never wants anything back. I need you so much, Oz, because I can depend on you." She shivered. "So many people depend on me."

"Oh, Willow. I depend on you too." He breathed, a chuckle in his voice.  "When I feel like I'm going to lose it, when I feel like I'm ready to crumple, I just close my eyes and I think of you... and then... it's like... I'm me again. You keep me sane, Willow."

And a tear trickled down her cheek, and for a moment, she could say nothing.

"Oz."She whispered, her throat raspy.

"Shh, Willow." He whispered, his voice low, his throat husky. "It's late, why don't you try to go to sleep?"

"Sleep?"

"Just sleep, hon. Forget about everything, about everyone who depends on you and just sleep. I promise I'll be right here."

She nodded, closing her eyes, cradling the receiver in her ear so she could hear his even breathing.

Her world became hazy, and just before she slipped away, she heard softly, "Willow?"

"Hmm?" she mumbled.

"You were never more perfect to me." He rumbled softly, "And do you know why?"

She only smiled, her eyes still closed.

"Because you actually admitted that you needed me. As much as I need you.  I don't think you've ever done that before, Wills. And I love you for it."

Her eyes fluttered, "Oz?"

"Yeah, hon?"

"I love you."

He chuckled, soft and low. "I know, Willow. Go to sleep."

And so she did, her eyes closing and staying closed, her mind clear, and her issues at bay. Never had she felt more content, more peaceful,  and so wonderfully at peace.

She felt perfect, finally felt it, because Oz said so, and at that moment, in her mind numbing world, he was the only thing that mattered.

He was never more perfect.