Summary: The second part in my W/O trilogy-- A sequel to Chrysalis.
Spoilers: Minor through the third season.
Disclaimer: Joss made the characters. I like to pretend he did it to keep me
amused.
Rating: PG13
Feedback: It's what makes the world go 'round.

All butterflies have this soft powder on their wings, Oz thought as he
watched her. This thin salt that made it possible for them to fly. Once
someone touched it, they couldn't hit the air like they used to-- They were
stuck to walking around with heavy wings on their backs, wings that did
nothing but decorate.

Oz didn't want to do that to Willow.

Which is why he was willing to let her get away after he found out he was a
werewolf. He was already in love with her, he knew that much by then. And
when a person is in love, they're willing to give up something dear to them
for the safety and happiness of the person they're in love with.

He was so in love with her.

He figured it was impossible for anyone with eyes not to be, and he was
completely convinced that in a few years, when all of the men in the
population began thinking with their minds, he could very well lose her. He
was pretty sure that Xander would be one of the first. He kept waiting for
that day, his shoulders tensed in nervous anticipation, but it didn't ever
come.

And every day, when she would call him to say goodnight, he would breathe a
sigh of relief that she was still in his life. Another day conquered another
fear of losing her. He looked forward to those phone calls.

"I miss you," he would whisper in the phone.

She would giggle her light, feathery giggle. "You saw me about ten minutes
ago!"

"You're an easy person to miss," he countered.

He could almost hear her delighted smile on the other end of the line, and he
felt so good about himself at that point-- That he was the one that could
make her smile like that, feel like that about herself. That it was *his*
honor to bring a smile to her face every day, *his* honor to kiss the little
pink heart of her mouth every day.

It felt wonderful.

She would go on, almost shyly. "I am?"

"You are," he would confirm, loving her for being so Willow in the way that
no one else could be.

Of course, he relaxed too soon, or too fully to have not seen her little
liaison with Xander coming. And when he finally *did* see it, it was too
late to prevent his heart from getting broken, too late to find out what he
could have done to make her more happy, so that she wouldn't have needed
Xander.

He knew it wasn't his fault, deep down. And as much as he wanted to blame
them, he couldn't do that either. It was his pacifist nature, he figured.
They had been best friends for a long, long time. Found out they were sexual
beings at the same time, and never acted on it with each other. There was
bound to be a lifelong curiosity, and even feelings that went deeper than
that. Though he wouldn't contemplate that part.

So, he forgave her. And it was both the easiest and hardest thing Oz had
ever done in his lifetime.
* * * * * *

He had been completely honest when he said that living without her was harder
than living without part of himself. Because Willow, to Oz, *was* what he
was; she was every good part of him, everything that he liked about being who
he was stemmed from knowing her and being with her. That's how important.
That's how much it hurt.

But it got better. The pain was less and less until, with time, it was gone
altogether. Oz could even talk to Xander without feeling any resentment. It
felt good, for a long time, to simply be with her.

And then she gave him something of hers, the most special thing she owned.

He had slept with a girl before he had been with Willow, yes, but it was so
different afterward, so different in being in love with her and touching her
at the same time. He felt as though, as his hands were wandering over her
breasts and skin, and as he touched her gasping mouth with his own, that he
was memorizing her every feature, the every gesture of her heart.... That she
was more precious to him than anyone or anything in his life. He felt like
he was melting into her, becoming a part of her, knowing that their love was
a tangible and wonderful thing.

It was almost a spiritual experience, making love with Willow.

And Oz finally understood that, too. That term, making love, which is so
often used, and so little meant. He understood that when he was with her
like that, being close to her like that, sharing the secrets of their souls
with her like that, that they were actually *making* love. Maybe even
inventing it.

She inspired him toward so many new song possibilities.

And she loved it when he wrote songs about her.

He wrote one called The Butterfly, and he remembered how she cried when he
sang it to her, their first year in college.

"She flies before me like a butterfly,
flitting from heart to heart.
And she knows what she does to me,
her love's my work of art.

I don't see past the end of spring,
I don't even think past dark of sky.
I see her resting on my heart,
And hope she never wants to fly..."

Oz knew it sucked, but the song was worth singing once to see those tears.
He didn't know what gift God had given him, that made him able to bring her
eyes to that place between mist and glass, but he could only thank him for it.
* * * * * *

He was pretty damn sure he would never be able to live without her. All of
those close calls, visits to the hospital, and classmates dying over the
years hag gotten him thinking about his life with her. He knew the ratio of
divorces in the country. He knew all the statistics. And he was ready to
overcome them.

It was a simple plan, assuming she said yes and they lived happily ever
after. He talked to Buffy about it, about the best plans and ways to ask,
and he talked to Giles about it, about the risks involved. Giles had told
him with a smile that the only risk was that wolves mated for live, and if Oz
could live with that, then Giles would only be able to give them his full
congratulations.

And, finally, Oz had talked to Xander.

He had made an appointment with Xander for lunch, to "discuss something
important," though he wouldn't say what. Oz had a feeling that Xander knew
because, as they sat down, Xander had a sickly smile on his face. Years of
practice at being a good liar had never worked out for him.

After they ordered, Xander looked at him squarely; folded his hands on top of
the table as if to pray. "So what's going on?"

Oz flashed him a smile, almost sympathetically. "I'm going to ask Willow to
marry me."

Xander sat back against his chair and breathed out heavily, his eyes
darkening. "You are," he stated, not surprised.

"I am. And... I don't know, I thought I should smooth it by you first, man.
I mean, you are her best friend after all. And it's only right that since
her dad passed away last year, I..."

"Ask for my permission?" Xander supplied with an easier smile.

Oz grinned, relieved. "Something like that. I want to make her happy,
Xander. I know that you've had feelings for her for a long time, and I just
want to know if that'll ever get in the way of me asking her. I won't stand
in her way, if she's forced to choose between us, but I don't want to make
her do that. And I don't think I could let myself be one of those guys who
lets the woman he's in love with break his heart more than once for the exact
same reason." He took a breath. "So tell me, should I be worried that
you're going to unveil your obvious emotions for her?"

Xander smiled down into his drink, lifting it up and swirling it around for a
moment before taking a sip. "They're obvious?"

"To almost anyone with eyes, Xander. Except Willow."

Xander looked up, meeting Oz's gaze. "Because she's in love with you," he
said softly. He paused for a moment, thoughtfully, ridding his mind of the
things that shouldn't be there. Finally, he spoke again. "No. You have
nothing to worry about."

Oz nodded. "I hate to put you in this position, but I didn't know what else
to do."

Xander gave a sad laugh. "I understand, I really do. If it had been me, I
probably wouldn't have been so nice to you. Even though you're one of my
best friends."

Oz shrugged. "*You're* one of hers. And mine. I'm sorry, Xander."

Xander lifted the drink to his lips again, taking a longer pull. "Don't
worry about it, Oz. I think it's one of the smartest things you've ever done
concerning me and Willow." His fingers played with his napkin. "And, for
the record, I know how it feels to get your heart broken over her. So I
guess I'm saying that it's not an issue between us. She's my best friend.
She's going to be your wife."

Oz smiled. "Also, wanted to ask you something. Feel totally free to say no,
because I would understand. I could ask Devon or something, and Willow
wouldn't suspect a thing. But would you like to be my best man? Giles will
probably give her away." He chuckled. "That is, if she says yes?"

Xander glanced at him, surprised. "Yeah," he answered unhesitatingly. "I
would. Thanks for asking."

Oz nodded. "Anytime."
* * * * * *

And it went smoothly. Buffy had seemingly a thousand ideas on the subject,
and Oz picked the first, trying to go with the simplest of those she gave
him. Candlelight, the tux, and of course, the ring. The ring. Oz was in
sheer ecstasy when he finally got the ring.

It had taken some persuading for his mother to finally let go of that ring.
She had apparently needed to be assured that it wasn't a spontaneous thing,
that the relationship would last forever. Oz had done everything he could,
and she had finally given it to him. It had been passed down for six
generations-- Every woman in his family line had worn it for their
engagements, and had taken it off directly after to save for their children.
It was nearly a full carat of emeralds, set deep in the gold and silver
setting, with small diamond flecks surrounding it. Oz worried for a while
that it would be too large on her hand, or that she wouldn't like it, but his
worries were laid to rest when she said yes.

And the sparkle of the jewels had almost matched the sparkle from her tears,
emerald and emerald, eyes and ring, perfectly fitting to each other. Oz had
been unable to contain himself, had lifted her and spun her around,
whispering into her ear how happy he was; how much he loved her.

He saw her fly as he said those words, saw the magic soar into her eyes, the
happiness float above both of them.

And he knew that, though she had been a butterfly to him before, she had
never really gone anywhere with her beauty. But now she was flying, and she
wasn't likely to stop. The best thing about it was...

She was taking him with her.

The End

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