This fic is for Rob, if I was Willow, he would be my Xander.



Calls


"Does it get any easier?"

"What?"

"Not being around the person you thought loved you?"

"It's easier than not being around the person you love."

"Oh."

"Did you love her?"

"I did."

"Oh."

"Do you still love him?"

"Who? ... Oh, I don't know. Some part of me will always love him but things change. People grow old."

"People grow up, not everyone has to grow old, you know."

"Tell that to the grey hairs that will start infecting my head in a few years ... If I even make it that long."

"I meant on the inside."

"I guess. But it takes something I don't have - time."

"Don't say that."

"It's true, you know."

"Do you?"

"What?"

"Think it's true."

"Of course I do. It's written everywhere, I was born to die."

"I defy everything that was written about what I am, what makes you any different?"

"I'm supposed to die, you're not."

"You could just quit."

"Huh?"

"Stop slaying. You're not even the Slayer right now."

"You're right, I'm The Slayer. With a capital 'T' and 'S'."

"Just trying to put it in perspective."

"I know."

"You shouldn't have to die."

"But I do."

"All great heroes die."

"That's what they say."

"They shouldn't."

"But they do. And they know everything ... Who is they anyway?"

"Them."

"Ah, how come I couldn't figure that out?"

"Because you're busy thinking about saving the world?"

"Yeah, that sounds like a good excuse."

"Makes sense really - save the world or they who?"

"I'm glad one of has a brain because these conversations would be a lot less interesting if you didn't ... Or maybe it'd be more fun if you acted like you were stupid?"

"You're not stupid."

"Right, that's why UC Sunnydale wouldn't take me back, because I'm smart."

"That's their fault."

"Tell them that."

"I will."

"You haven't wrote in a while." Sadness.

"I've been busy lately."

"Oh."

"No, it's not that it! We haven't hit a post office in months." Guilt.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"But I do." Honest.

"I do, too."

"That always helps."

"What?"

"To know someone likes being written to by yourself." Adorable.

"Yeah, it does."

"But making a collect-call to them is better."

"Why's that?"

"You get to hear their voice." Sweet.




Someone's voice over the line broke the conversation and Buffy wondered who it was.

"I've got to go to a gig, Buffy. I'll send you some money for the calls," Oz told her.

"You don't have to, I can handle it," she assured him, twirling the phone cord in her hand.

"Yeah, but I've got to send this song to you in my next letter and two birds with one envelope," he said, making her smile. Oz logic was the best in the world.

"Okay ... I miss you, you know," she said.

"I miss you more," was his reply and she didn't argue because neither of them would win.

"I'll talk to you later this week."

"Okay."

"I love you," Oz whispered.

"I know," she said, not knowing how to follow that up, she simply said, "Bye."

"Later," Oz said and he hung up, a new song idea already in his head for this conversation.

"I love you," Buffy whispered to no one. Silence.