Finding Home

He'd come for the funeral, not expecting to stay. He'd run away once, left another time, and had moved around a lot, but he had his wolf under control. It had taken years of meditation and a mixture of medicinal herbs that a shaman had shown him how to prepare, but he no longer lived in fear of the moon. Yet, he still wandered, unable to put down roots.

Periodically on his travels, whenever he'd find himself in one place long enough, he'd reach out and check in with the Watcher as per the agreement they'd shared when he left Sunnydale the second time. So when Oz had phoned Giles from Amsterdam, he certainly hadn't expected to hear the news that Willow had been killed. It had struck him numb and when he'd finally regained his ability to speak, the only thing he said in reply was, "I'll be there," before hanging up. He stood in shock as his mouth had formed a tight line and his brows had knitted together as he started to process the information that Willow… sweet Willow, was gone.

Oz had walked into the foyer in the main building of the Coven, setting down his bags and hanging up his jacket. He'd never met her before, the young woman who greeted him, the monks having not thought him important enough to imbue him with his own memories of her childhood, with him having left Sunnydale before her creation, but he certainly knew of her. Giles had filled him in and had often spoken of her.

"Dawn?" he'd asked.

The young woman's blue eyes had been overly bright with unshed tears, but the rims had been red, evidence of her grief and earlier distress.

"Oh my god, Oz!" she'd cried, taking him into her arms.

He'd been unable to recall the last time someone had held him with such warmth and concern. Clearly her memories of him had been positive.

When she finally had released him from her hug, she'd grabbed his hand and led him into the reception room. Willow's coffin had stood in the middle of the far wall. He'd spied it immediately through the gathered mourners as he walked through the doors and his heart, heavy with grief, nearly sank to the floor. So it was final. It had all seemed so surreal, too horrific to be true, like he had dreamt everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours since he'd talked to Giles.

"No open casket." Oz had noted, his voice void of emotion.

"No. Her parents insisted. It was Willow's wish to be buried in the Wiccan tradition, but that had hurt her parents, so in accordance with Jewish tradition, we made sure the casket was closed, which was kinda fine with us, because… you know… that's not Willow anymore."

Oz had nodded in acknowledgement.

"You okay?" she'd asked, squeezing his hand. She hadn't let go.

"Oz!" Xander had exclaimed as he'd turned from his friends. Buffy and Giles had followed him as he'd made his way over to the his globetrotting friend.

It had been Buffy who'd hugged Oz first, then Xander had joined in. Dawn, having felt the need for affection, had thrown her arms around the three of them, happy to have them all together again. Giles had only placed a heavy hand on the Oz's shoulder, and when Oz had looked up at the Watcher, he'd seen not only the regret and sorrow in his eyes, but a warm affection for a long absent friend.

When the Scooby reunion had ended, Oz had made his way over to Sheila and Ira Rosenberg to pay his respects. They'd taken him into their embrace and cried.

Before the actual funeral had begun, Dawn had once again taken Oz's hand. They'd sat together as the head of the coven memorialized his first love. Dawn had occasionally rested her head on his shoulder. He'd been certain he wouldn't cry. They'd once called Giles the emotional marathon man, but he'd known that still waters ran deep within the Watcher and that the older man would break down first. What he hadn't expected was the great outpouring of his own grief as Xander delivered the eulogy.

And through it all, Dawn had kept a solid grip on his hand.

He'd come for the funeral, not expecting to stay.

It had been a whole year since they'd laid Willow to rest under the shade of an old weeping willow tree near the stream that ran through the coven's land. Oz and Dawn stood before her grave marker hand in hand. The woman with the overly bright blue eyes - eyes that reflected the deepest of blue skies he had only seen on his travels through Tibet - the one he had never known before the day of the funeral, had made him feel safe enough to share a part of his soul upon the death of his first love.

Kneeling down, he picked up a round rock and placed it upon the gravestone. "Miss you," he said quietly. "And thank you for everything."

Dawn placed her hand on the marker before wiping away her tears. Oz wrapped his arm around her and she stooped a little to lean her head against his shoulder.

Minutes passed before he asked, "You ready?"

Dawn sniffled and wiped her tears. "Bye, Willow."

He took her hand and quietly led her down the path from the gravesite.

He'd never expected to stay, but in Dawn he'd found a reason to stop wandering. His soft blue eyes searched those of his new love. He'd never understood the cycle of life and death. All the deaths in Sunnydale had been so meaningless, coming at the hands of demons, but Willow's death had given him a sort of clarity. He knew that Willow had believed in reincarnation, something that they had shared and that made her loss a little more bearable for him.

But oh how he missed her! Not a day went by that he didn't wish to hear her babble, to speak with her one last time. But Willow had given him back his life and a sense of purpose. His lips curled slightly at the thought and he stopped to place a chaste kiss on Dawn's lips as his hand fell protectively over the slight swell of her belly.

"If it's a girl, we're in agreement, right?" Dawn asked, her eyes seeking his.

"Willow," he confirmed as they continued their walk back to the main house.

"What about a boy?"

Oz's eyes sparkled with a wild sort of mischief. "Wolfgang."

"Oh my god, Oz, you are so gonna regret that!" Dawn squealed before punching him in the shoulder.

"Ow!" he laughed, rubbing away the pain. "I think those monks gave you some Slayer strength."

"Serves you right! Wolfgang. Sheesh!"

Oz pulled Dawn to him and held her close. She provided him with a sense of peace he hadn't known in a long time… before the wolf. With her he was home and happier than he'd ever been. Letting her go, he took her hand again. "Come on, let's go tell the gang."