Oz turned to walk away from the enraged slayer, and
her hand shot out and grabbed his arm, whirling him
around to face her again.
"This isn't finished, and you're not leaving until it
is," she demanded. "After all these weeks, after
making us think that maybe we could trust you again,
you owe me that much."
He took a breath and nodded, "Okay, maybe I do. But
you have to believe that none of this was about
hurting Willow. That night with Ivy, I just needed--"
"Here we go again," she scowled. "It's ALWAYS about
what YOU need, isn't it? What about what Willow needs,
or what Ivy needs, for that matter? Does that mean
anything at all to you?"
"You know it does!" he answered. "Those months I was
gone weren't easy for me, you know. Willow was all I
could think about--every minute of every day--"
"Does that include the hours you were in Ivy's bed?"
Buffy sneered. "You let that girl think that night was
something special. You came back here making grand
statements about how you could never be with anyone
but Will. How the hell could you look her in the
eye--or any of the rest of us--when all the while
you'd just crawled out of someone else's bed?"
Willow and the others had stepped out onto the porch
and were listening in tense silence at the slayer's
angry ranting. The redhead placed a calming hand on
her friend's shoulder.
"Buffy, it's okay. It doesn't matter to me, anymore.
You don't have to--"
"Yes, Will, I do," she insisted, glancing around at
her before turning back to Oz. "You have no
idea--absolutely none whatsoever--how impossibly
painful it's been for her to find a reason to keep on
going since you took off! You didn't stick around to
see the devastation you created! You had the comfort
of distance, of new surroundings, new people, to
distract you while you put your own life back
together. You didn't give a damn about the life you
all but destroyed back here!"
Oz was staring at her, frozen to the spot by the look
of hot pain that burned behind the slayer's eyes.
"We aren't really talking about Willow and me, are
we?" he asked softly.
Buffy's body went rigid as she drew in a sharp breath,
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I think you do," he insisted. "I could understand why
you were so cold toward me when I came back. What I
couldn't understand was why you seemed to hate me so
much. I hurt Willow, and I know she's your best
friend, but that didn't explain why you always seemed
to be in almost as much pain as she was. But I
understand now."
"You understand what, exactly?" she asked icily.
"I've just been a convenient punching bag," he
answered. "A substitute for the person you really
wanted to lash out at, but couldn't--Angel."
Buffy's complexion took on a sickly shade of pale as
she blinked back prickling tears. Willow angrily
wrested her hand from Spike's firm grasp and stepped
off of the porch and around the slayer.
"You are a son of a bitch," she hissed at the wolf as
she moved directly in front of him.
His voice took on a hard edge, "I'm also right. She
isn't half as angry for your sake as she is for her--"
Oz's cold words came to an abrupt halt as Willow
suddenly swung out and slammed her fist into his jaw.
He staggered back a pace as the redhead yelped and
cradled her right hand in her left arm. Spike moved
quickly to her side, taking her hand and inspecting
the reddening knuckles.
"That was bloody brilliant, luv," he grinned, brushing
his lips over her aching hand.
End.