Disclaimer: All characters are Joss Whedons

Disclaimer: All characters are Joss Whedons.

A/N: I know this has been done A LOT before but I couldn't resist doing it myself.

Home

She was a long way from home now. Not that she really has a home anymore. Since Sunnydale collapsed, the gang was holed up in Scotland, doing slayer recon. She'd been travelling with Kennedy for months when suddenly she'd gone. Kennedy had gotten sick of her looking round corners, staring into the night. Searching. So she left.

Now she was alone. Spending a day or so in each place, living out of a backpack, her laptop her sole connection with the rest of the world.

It was kind of a fruitless existence, she knew, but since she'd spent her life in Sunnydale building toward a future that no longer existed, what was even the point of doing something academically rewarding?

Buffy and Xander were holding down the fort in Scotland, with all their hundreds of slayer pals to help. Technically she was on the lookout for new slayers to join the army, but her friends both knew that was the last thing on her mind. She was on the road for a reason. But that reason was remaining fairly elusive.

So she'd eat in cafés, sleep in motels, walk forhours every day. Every full moon, she'd stay outside all night, lying outside on the ground, staring at the stars, thinking of him.

"I feel like some part of me will always be waiting for you. Like if I'm old and blue-haired, and I turn the corner in Istanbul and there you are, I won't be surprised. Because…you're with me, you know?"

She'd loved Tara, with all her heart and soul, and she'd enjoyed her brief romance with Kennedy. But she knew where she belonged, and she knew, even as she travelled to every place he'd gone, that she was too late.

Tibet, Mexico, Romania. Istanbul. Every time she saw a blue van, her heart leapt and her pulse raced. But it was never him. She sat at a picnic table in south France, intending to send an email to Slayer HQ, tell them how close she was to them and that she was thinking of visiting, when she saw a shock of orange hair in the distance.

This could be it. This could be him.

Knowing she had very little time, she abandoned her belongings at the table and ran like she'd been practicing her whole life for that moment.

She reached her objective. A short, red haired man with a guitar case slung over his back. She reached out to touch him, and he turned, sensing her presence.

He smiled warmly, with no hint of surprise, and the face he never thought he'd see outside his dreams again smiled back.

'Oz?' she whispered, blinking back tears.

'Willow,' he answered, his usually stoic face filling with emotion.

'It's really you?' she asked. Holding her arms out.

'It's really me.' Oz embraced her in a way that made her feel utterly, utterly, complete.

'Welcome home, baby'