His Only Tears

Disclaimer: Joss made the characters. I like to think he did it so I could mess with them.
Summary: Oz thinks about the only times in his life that he's been moved to tears.
Rating: PG

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His Only Tears was nominated for a Golden Frog Award in the category of Best 1-Part Fic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His Only Tears

by: Amy

* * * * * * *

He doesn't remember crying as a child. At most, he has vague recollections of being sad, lonely. But never of tears. They were simply not a part of him. He remembers having to leave a little red-haired girl in the park, alone in her hollow tree, and remembers how much he wanted to stay. He thought about that often, but he never cried.

Other times, other moments in his life gave him the faint prickling of tears behind his eyelids, but he casually blinked them away; They weren't important. He figured that rarely does one see something tragic or joyous enough to cry over. Or maybe some people were more emotional than others.

He almost cried after their first kiss.

The little red-haired girl, all grown up-- though he didn't know it was she-- had kissed him, and he had felt such an overwhelming satisfaction at the thought that she was his, that she wanted to be with him. He thought Willow to be an appropriate name, for she was slender and graceful, with a sweet little giggle that made his heart lift. It was harder to keep a control of his emotions around her; The wolf inside was a term that applied to him in more ways than one. He wanted her, craved being around her and smelling her scent and breathing in the light that lingered in her eyes. She was a force to him, such a powerful force of life and innocence and perfection.

He loved her.

She was so easy to love. The first time she told him she loved him back, he felt like a thousand pound weight that he had never noticed before had been lifted off of his chest. He could breathe.

The feel of her slight frame melting into his arms was something he looked forward to. Claiming her as his, knowing she wouldn't leave him, didn't take away that feeling of utter gratitude that he experienced when her lips were on his, showering soft, warm kisses across his mouth.

Oz sometimes wondered if it was an emotional defect that kept him from crying. When Willow cried, he found her soft hearted and kind, beautiful shining tears slipping down her cheeks. Everything she did was beautiful. Why didn't he share that with her?

Then, one night, he found out why people wept so profusely sometimes. He had gotten a call, in the middle of dinner. His parents had been gone, as they usually were, and he had lifted the receiver immediately, hoping that it was her. He loved her phone voice. He loved her regular voice.

It would have been hard not to.

Instead, it was Xander. "O-Oz. Something happened. Willow's in the hospital."

Oz had felt the growling before the tears. "Is she alive?"

Xander had sighed deeply, the sigh of someone who loved her almost as much as Oz did. In a different way, maybe even more. "Yes. But they don't know if she's going to make it. She's in a coma."

Xander went on, but Oz hadn't listened, choosing to slam the phone down and grab his keys. But instead of running out as he should have, as he cursed himself for not doing, he stumbled against the wall and slid to his knees. The feeling was strong inside him, then, gripping at his heart with a chilly, bony hand of fear.

What would happen if he lost her? The one perfect person, the girl who never judged anyone, who loved her friends with a loyalty never seen with anyone else, who had the smile that could melt glaciers and such implicit trust. Someone who loved him. Someone who he loved. More than life, more than death, more than everything in between.

His breathes had come in gasps as the hot tears tracked down his face. He felt like throwing up at even the thought that she wouldn't be okay. He felt like dying with her. And if she did, he decided silently, he would too. It was the only way.

Shaking off the strange headache that accompanied his first tears, he lifted himself off the ground and raced out the door to see her.

She was fine, she had to be fine, he had whispered as he had driven to the hospital. The tears blurred his vision, and he finally knew what a terrible thing they were. What pain had to accompany them, what sort of grief.

She had been fine, she had woken up and whispered his name, and Oz had blessed every single star that night. Blessed them for letting her come back, blessed them for letting him know how truly special she was, and how it would be impossible to take her for granted.

She ruled his heart.

It was better after that. Being with her, knowing that she was there, touching her. Being able to do that was such an amazing gift, he knew. He treasured her, reverently, like she was a precious jewel. Which, to him, Willow was.

Life had passed relatively peacefully for Oz, discounting the kind of life that he lead. Willow was there, which was all that mattered. Loving her became such a big part of his life. Hers was the first voice she thought of when he woke up, her eyes were the last he pictured before he went to sleep. He was living in an idyllic relationship, with the person who he wanted to be with forever.

Forever. He saw the word crumble before his eyes.

He cried then, too. Quietly, privately, not betraying his emotions to anyone else, he wept in the silence of his room. Willow and Xander, his mind screamed, What he always knew to be true. Had she ever loved him? Had anything been real?

It must have been. Not all of it could have been a lie. Not so successfully convincing him of it. Willow couldn't have done it.

Which is why he forgave her.

He had hated those tears.

And then, the night they made love for the first time, he almost cried again. So pure, so special, so right. It was as if they had invented love, the most perfect kind of closeness. Complete and total intimacy. Past sins were forgotten, and so were any that they might commit in the future. How could one hold pain with that kind of happiness hanging over their heads? In their reach...

But he hadn't cried. Instead, he had held her closer and tighter than he had felt he was allowed before, and smelled her hair and listened to her breathing. She was content. He was content. Life was good.

And it stayed good, for both of them. Together.

Which is why he feels the tears now.

Oz looks up at her and breathes in deeply, clearing his head. "What?" he asks hoarsely.

"Blue. It's blue." Willow's voice is muted and Oz is trying to decipher her words. Blue? What does blue mean?

"Blue is....?" He doesn't finish, but he looks up expectantly, and the tears spill onto his cheeks. Willow gives a sudden, brilliant smile and her tears escape too. She throws herself into his arms and they encircle her automatically-- he revels in the feel of her.

"Positive! I'm pregnant!"

The words finally drill through the fog in his head and he lifts her up, spinning her around. His happy shout is muffled by her hair and she snuggles her face into his shoulder. Finally he sets her back down on the ground and holds her even closer. "I love you, Willow," he murmurs, his tears uncontrollably falling down his face.

She pulls back and looks at him, her own tears shining on her cheeks. "I don't think I've ever seen you cry before."

"I have," he admits quietly, "But not often. And I've never been as happy as I am right now."

She slowly leans up to kiss him, her lips melting against his in a kiss of passion, of warmth, of a perfect marriage and perfect memories and of a wonderful future together. Then she breaks away and her hand drifts up to dry his eyes with her fingertips. Oz smiles and grabs her hand, kissing it.

"I love you too, Oz. And just wait for eight months or so. I bet I can make you happier than you are now." Willow's smile is sweet and impish at the same time, and he nods solemnly.

"You never stop doing just that."

The End

Send Feedback