Title: The French Connection
Author: Lily
Rating: PG to PG-13
Spoilers: Bargaining, but really only part one
Disclaimer: pshaw. not mine.
Summary: Yes, the resurrection worked. But no, it didn't wake Buffy up where she last was (that part seems to have gotten messed up, no?)...
Author's Note: *la la la* denotes Buffy thoughts. The RER is like the Metro. Thanks MUCHLY to Karen for the betaing and the pie threats.

As airports go, Charles De Gaulle is pretty nice. Not "let's move in" nice, but a nice airport. That fact did not make Buffy anymore at ease. She and Oz had been sitting on the same bench right outside the security gate for almost three hours. After speaking with Dawn, Buffy had abruptly announced that it was time for her to go home. Oz didn't question--he offered her a backpack to put her clothes and toothbrush in (she had accepted the backpack but declined to pack the outfit in which she had arrived) and got on the RER to the airport with her.

They had booked her on the next flight to Los Angeles.

She had nothing to check and no desire to get to the gate more than an hour ahead of time, so they were waiting.

"I'm doing the right thing, aren't I, Oz?"

"About what?"

"I don't know. They whole thing. Going home now, deciding not to tell them about when I came back or...where I was, everything."

"Does it feel right?"

Buffy smirked at Oz. "Do you ever answer a question?"

"I've been known to."

Buffy lifted an eyebrow without answering. He only smiled back before turning to watch the people standing in line to check their baggage.

Thump. Thump-th-thump. Thump. Thump-th-thump.

Oz looked down at Buffy's feet; bright European sneakers banged restlessly against the bench. The slayer noticed that his attention had shifted and stopped her feet.

"God, Oz. How did you live with me?"

"I managed," he said with another smile, "but good thing you're leaving, or else I might have gone absolutely insane." A pause. "Sarcasm."

"I got that."

"Good. People don't always get it."

There was silence again, and it wasn't long before Buffy's heels were bouncing off the seat again. This time, instead of feeling his eyes on her, she felt his warm hand grasp hers from where it lay on the bench.

"Don't worry, Buffy. It'll all be okay," he whispered. And then he was standing. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Buffy looked up at him, completely confused.

"You've got to get to the gate."

"Now?"

"Soon."

"Oh." She looked down at the floor, willing herself not to cry so that she could look back up at her friend. "Oz...thanks doesn't even cut it..."

"Don't worry about it," he cut her off. "No thank yous here."

"Do you every worry about anything, Oz?"

"I worried about you," he said with a smile, "but not anymore. You're strong."

"Does anybody worry about you?" she asked softly.

"Maybe sometimes. But it's not necessary. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. You're a big boy, Oz."

He chuckled and jerked his head towards the security checks. "Get a move on."

"Okay...I'll call you when I get to Sunnydale." It was getting harder not to let the tears escape.

"Good."

"And I'll check in with you. Let you know how it's working out. And to see how you are...because I know I'll worry, even if it's unnecessary."

"I'm flattered, Buffy. I don't know how much longer I'll be around here, but I'll leave a number where you can reach me when I go. Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything, or just to talk."

"I have a feeling I'm going to hold you to that." Buffy smiled and wiped at her right eye.

Oz opened his arms slightly and she stepped forward. They stood there, hugging, for a few moments. Then, as suddenly as they had moved together, they were both standing straight again.

"I guess this is good bye." Buffy's voice was hoarse.

"We'll always have Paris." Oz smiled, and Buffy responded with a choked laugh. "Au revoir, Buff."

She nodded and turned around, getting into the security line. She passed through quickly and looked back to wave. Oz lifted his arm briefly and watched her walk away before sitting back down on the bench.

He watched the people. Some walked very quickly; the ones with planes to catch. They walked with their heads down...probably more aerodynamic. Others walked in groups, speaking loudly in the French that you don't learn in school. The groups tended to take more time in getting places, and Oz had more time to study every face, from the ones in front that he could only think of as the alphas, to the quiet ones in back. The couples walked the slowest. Others just stood or sat, all alone, waiting for someone to show up.

Oz wasn't waiting for anybody. He sniffed the air for just a second, but there was no familiar scent followed by a shock of dirty, blond hair.

It wasn't long before he stood. He had made a decision. It was time to move on. He'd call his friend about getting someone else to take care of the apartment, leave a message for when Buffy called. He didn't know where he was headed, but he knew he wouldn't be in Paris when the slayer reached California. There wouldn't be a number to be reached at, but that was okay. She didn't need him anymore.

His work here was done.

J'AI FINI.