A/N: This is my first attempt at a BTVS fan fiction, so I hope it's up to par. It is a "missing scene" from 4x19, in which Xander and Oz discuss Willow's current affairs and whether Oz still has a shot in hell of getting her back. I figured the heart-breaking episode should have entailed a little bit of hope before the point where all our dreams mercilessly shattered - we all know the outcome of the episode, after all. Besides, I like the Xander/Oz friendship and wanted to give it a shot.

TAKE ME BACK TO THE START

Come back and haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start
Running in circles, chasing our tails
Coming back as we are

Nobody said it was easy
Oh it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
I'm going back to the start

(Coldplay)

It was ironic, really, that the quaint little town located on the Hellmouth was the one place that felt most like home. Some part of him had always known that it did not matter how many places he traversed or how many worldly experiences he accumulated along the way – there would always be that tiny voice itching at the back of his mind, begging him to come back where he belonged.

It was only an hour or so after his unceremonious crashing of the Scooby meeting at Giles's that he found himself on the second familiar doorstep of the day. It felt every bit as surreal as his earlier arrival at the Watcher's house, and he had needed a moment to pinch himself to ensure that it was reality.

He had been away for so long that these memory-laden places brought a renewed sense of guilt into his already aching heart, weighing heavily on his conscience. Coming back to Sunnydale was a bittersweet occasion, likened to the morbid satisfaction one gets from chewing on a burgeoning canker sore. Emotions that he had strived to suppress for the past several months were unleashing themselves one by one, drowning him in his own nostalgia.

Mrs. Harris had shooed him in the direction of the basement without so much as a proper hello; she had never been particularly social when it came to her son's friends, and clearly today was not the day that she would choose to turn over a new leaf. He was rather grateful to skip the niceties, if he was being honest: he was a man on mission, and the sooner he conquered the issue head on, the better.

As he pulled open the incessantly creaking cellar door, he felt his breath hitch in his lungs. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing here or if the visit would provide him with the closure he was hoping for. He had spent the better part of his travels living in something of a fantasy world within his own mind – a world in which he and Willow could be reunited without incident, and his life could move on the way it was supposed to. Being back and seeing the overwhelmed hesitance in her eyes served as a cruel reminder that the outcome may not play out in his favor, and he had begun to wonder whether he had made the correct decision in coming back.

Nevertheless, he wasn't going to accomplish anything from the doorway. He needed some answers, and his old friend would certainly be gracious enough to oblige him.

He hoped.

He exhaled slowly and began to tentatively descend the staircase.

"Xan?" he called, ducking his already-short frame to peer around the railing. "You busy?"

"Ladies, get dressed!" Xander cried jokingly. "We have company!"

Oz rolled his eyes and felt a playful smirk tug at his lips. As silly as it was, he had missed Xander's sometimes-misplaced antics.

The dark-haired man was seated on his couch, sipping on a can of grape soda and pausing what had assuredly been a riveting game of Mortal Kombat. He hastily began moving pillows and shifting cushions back into their proper locations to allow him sitting room.

"It's a nice set-up you got here," Oz mused, glancing around at the makeshift living space. "Different from the last time I saw it."

"It's no Playboy Mansion, but it has its perks," Xander said, dramatically sweeping one arm out across the newly-empty space beside him. "Welcome to Bachelor Pad a la Nighthawk. Soda for my werewolf comrade?"

"No, thanks." Oz lowered himself into a sitting position, wringing his hands together uncomfortably. Now that he was here, he had positively no clue of how to begin what could potentially be the most life-shattering conversation he would ever have. Not to mention it felt like a horrific role reversal to grill Xander on matters of the heart, especially when the younger had amassed such a discouraging batting average. He felt suddenly quite small and inadequate in his confusion, which made bringing up the topic that much more difficult.

Xander seemed to pick up on his meaningful silence, for he took the reigns without hesitation. "So. What can I do ya for?"

Oz offered a noncommittal shrug, unsure of how to broach the subject.

Xander wasted no time waiting for the werewolf to find his voice, instead opting to start them off. "How does it feel being back?"

The older snorted quietly with bitter amusement. "Like waking up from a dream and having no idea where you are."

The raven-haired man nodded with uncertain pensiveness. "I'd be lying if I tried to say that wasn't the story of my life. You know me – just choosing what to eat for breakfast sparks an identity crisis."

They shared a sullen chuckle at this remark.

"She, uh…she seemed surprised to see you today," Xander ventured, chipping away expertly at the defensive wall that characterized Oz's façade. "I would have thought you'd give her some warning."

Oz winced in slight. Xander's astuteness was both unexpected and painful to consider, like he had taken a pickaxe to his heart.

"Didn't have much time to write," he said flatly. It was the truth, after all – in all of its humiliating glory.

Xander propped his feet up on the coffee table, crossing his ankles and lounging back. "That's fair. I imagine that your existential wanderings all by your lonesome were quite time-consuming."

It was a half-hearted joke that felt more like a thinly veiled insult. Xander was poking at Oz's exposed underbelly, so to speak, making his stance on the matter quite clear. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Xander kept a more scrutinous eye on Willow than most, and he obviously harbored some resentment on her behalf. He, too, had been wondering why Oz had felt the need to completely disappear into oblivion after taking his leave. As if saying good-bye to him wasn't hard enough for Willow, he had to twist the knife by cutting off contact entirely.

He did not fault Xander for his thinking. He would have felt the same, had the tables been turned.

"Besides," Xander added cheekily, as if to offer silent apology for the jab, "werewolves don't have thumbs."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only audible interruption echoing from Jeopardy playing on the television upstairs. Oz had always liked that show. He and Willow used to spend hours engaging in good-natured competition while watching it, curled up in his bed off-campus.

It was painful to think that she would transfer any of these heartfelt traditions to another man. The notion alone made it feel as though someone had reached into his chest cavity and squeezed his heart with force so malevolent that it began to bleed.

"Is…is she seeing anyone?" he asked tentatively.

There was another pregnant pause, as though Xander were weighing the pros and cons of being honest. After a beat he grinned with trademark jocularity, putting a hand on Oz's knee with an air of mocking comfort.

"She does spend quite a bit of time with Giles," he began with sarcastic somberness, unable to suppress satisfaction with his own humor. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

Oz chuckled a bit in reply. Leave it to Xander to turn a very anxiety-inducing question into a studio audience laugh track. Nonetheless, he felt a considerable weight being lifted from his shoulders. Surely if she had a new boyfriend, Xander would be among the first to know. The fact that she was still available meant that his hope had not been in vain, and that coming back to Sunnydale had not been a waste of time. It meant that he still had a fighting chance to grovel for her trust and earn back her love. That pawning his spare Les Paul to a rustic little music store on the outskirts of the Grand Canyon for gas money had been worth it.

Simply seeing her made all of it worth it, of course. But he could not deny that the fact that there had been a depression settling in the pit of his stomach for months, and it was lessening a great deal as his odds increased.

"Good," he said quietly, his monosyllabic propensity speaking volumes without the need for elaboration.

Xander's mouth tightened into a thin line, as if to physically withhold his usual biting wit. Oz was familiar with this particular expression – it implied an oncoming rarity of candor for the perpetual jokester. The younger boy had always had a certain proclivity for deflecting serious situations and confrontation with humor, and it was seldom that he truly bared any part of his soul. All of them had had their own quirks in this regard – Buffy by distancing herself, Willow by rambling, and Oz himself by strumming on his guitar until all hours of the night, ceasing only when the splatters of pink and purple began to splash across the sky to announce the sun's awakening. But just like anyone else, Xander encountered the occasional need to pull the veil back for a brief moment in order to convey some deep-rooted thought that itched unrelentingly at the back of his mind.

"This probably goes without saying," Xander began with some hesitation, mindlessly flicking at the tab of his pop can with his thumb, "but you need to be sure what you're doing this time. You can't abandon her. Not again. She barely survived it the first time – and I don't know that she can do it a second."

Oz turned to face him in an effort to display complete transparency of his intention. He had never been particularly loquacious, and this was no exception. He knew what he was feeling, and he was well aware of the painful stinging that accompanied his desperation. It was like he had re-opened a fresh wound the moment he had pulled into Sunnydale, memories and ambivalent nostalgia bombarding him like a barrage of vampires on a night raid. And only one thing – person –had the power to heal the gaping battle scars.

But when he made the attempt to put any of this into actual words, he found that his voice got caught somewhere in his larynx.

So, as usual, he erred on the side of simplicity. "I know."

Xander's russet eyes locked with his own cobalt ones in a silent staring match.

"I can't see her go through that again," he murmured earnestly. "She's like a sister to me."

Oz grimaced in slight, remembering the infamous fluke that still left a blemish on memories of his second attempt at senior year. His brow furrowed into playful concentration. "I don't know that your concept of family is entirely healthy."

Xander chuckled darkly, one side of his mouth curling into a humorless smirk. The expression in his eyes indicated that he had been anticipating Oz's friendly reminder of his and Willow's indiscretions. "Will and I have been through a lot. She's my best friend."

The statement in and of itself was rather innocuous. But it carried with it the insinuation of numerous layers, each one with the potential of being peeled back and revealing the same punch line. Xander and Willow had grown up together and endured the throes of childhood and adolescence side by side. They had always shared some indescribable connection that admittedly elicited a bit of envy on Oz's part from time to time, especially when their relationship was in fresh bloom. Xander had been able to finish Willow's sentences before Oz had even begun to translate her adorable babbling. He could read and recite even the most implicit emotion glistening in her eyes when Oz was not yet aware that something overwhelming was on her mind. He had always known precisely what she needed to hear and was always the first to say it, whereas Oz had always had a terrible habit of losing pearls of wisdom somewhere in the recesses of his mind.

It had taken time to understand her complexities and nuances. And sometime around graduation, he felt as though he had finally begun to reach a point where he could humbly boast such a success. They had arrived at and transcended the point at which she and Xander intersected, an accomplishment that soothed his fears that she had chosen the wrong man. He both understood and encouraged her friendship with the younger boy; Oz was not the jealous type in the strictest sense, and Willow's happiness had always been, and would always be, his absolute first priority. And he was eternally grateful for anyone that was able to provide it to her when he could not.

"I know," he repeated simply.

Xander offered a weak smile that did not quite reach his eyes. It seemed out of character for the younger to be so solemn, but Oz supposed he had felt a bit betrayed all this time, too. The two of them had developed a close, albeit bizarre, friendship over the years, and his abrupt disappearance had paved the way for second-guesses and insecurities. In addition, he had surely expended most of his energy comforting Willow, pushing his own grievances to a dark room in the back of his mind.

"She missed you," he said softly.

Oz nodded thoughtfully. "I missed her."

The blaring speakers of the upstairs television alerted Oz that it was time for the Daily Double. He caught a canine-caliber waft of Mrs. Harris's perfume as she began preparing dinner in the kitchen.

It sufficed to remind him of the hour growing late. He glanced at the clock on the VCR, and realized it was nearly time to meet Willow.

"I have to go," he announced, rising quietly to his feet. Xander followed suit, hands stuffed awkwardly into his pockets as though trying to find some cutting edge joke to lighten the mood.

Oz turned to study him, alarmed to find an uncharacteristic sobriety in the younger's eyes. He looked somehow more wizened, as though the past few months had brought several years of wisdom in a single, collaborative package. He could not begin to guess what his old friend had endured since he had left, and it felt presumptuous to even try.

It was no secret that he had missed Willow with every fiber of his being. But seeing the faces of the others today had served to remind him just how dearly he had longed for their company, as well.

"Do we hug?" he asked, a ghost of a smile teasing at his lips.

"Nah," Xander said dismissively. "I think we're too manly for that."

It was a bizarre echo of déjà vu from memories past. It felt like an entirely different lifetime, separated by fissures so wide they had nearly swallowed the reminiscences whole.

Oz was making his way back up the creaking staircase when Xander called to him. He crouched to peer over the railing once more, awaiting the younger's words.

Xander opened and closed his mouth for a moment, much like a fish out of water. Somewhere in the depths of his diaphragm, Oz felt the urge to laugh out loud. Seeing Xander rendered anything close to speechless was a Guinness Book phenomenon.

After a beat Xander's shoulders slouched in slight, as if some of the tension had diffused into the air around them. His eyes were sincere, his face encouraging. "Good luck," he murmured at last with a supportive nod.

It was simple enough. But it spoke silent volumes to Oz's nervous heart.

He offered what he hoped was an understanding smile. It felt forced under all of the pressure building up inside of him, and probably looked more like a grimace.

"You too."

He knew the context in which they meant their respective affirmations were different. But it did not matter – the overarching meaning was the same: they both wanted the best for the other, and hoped that the opportunity to find such peace and happiness was on the near horizon.

Xander was a good person at heart, beneath the hard exterior of inappropriate humor. And he deserved all the joy that life could bring.

As Oz climbed into the driver seat of his van, he felt a warm calming sensation of serenity sweep through his veins, like a raging river subdued into a babbling brook.

He was ready to win Willow back.

END