Well in Case
Part ten of the Foolish Games series.
For Mommy. It's okay. You're so much braver than I've ever been.
Willow was standing in a corner when Oz walked into her living room. Pulling up in the driveway he had found the door unlocked and no one answered his calls. Fearing the worst, but knowing better than to rush headlong into a potentially dangerous situation, he stalked the halls, carefully checking around corners, wondering what kind of demon could have caused his girlfriend to call him, terrified and unable to explain why.
But there she was, standing on the far side of the couch, cringing like a child. "Will?"
Willow turned fretfully to her boyfriend. Tears were slowly making trails down her pale cheeks. "Oz. It's in there," she whimpered.
"What's in where?"
"A mouse. It's in the kitchen."
Whatever inclination he might have had to laugh at Willow's overly dramatic reaction to an animal anywhere from three to five inches long, sans tail, died in the face of her very real terror. Oz knew she had a healthy girlish fear of mice but this was something more.
"Okay," he said slowly, calmly. "Have you been trying to get rid of it?"
She nodded.
"For very long?"
"Since I got home," she whispered.
"Okay. How long have you been home?"
"An hour."
"So you've been dealing with this all evening?"
She nodded.
"Did you have a long day at school?"
She nodded again. "I'm being silly."
Oz frowned. "Not at all. You've had an exhausting day and you've done battle with man's greatest enemy. You have every right to be upset."
"No, I'm just being stupid."
Oz shrugged out of his jacket, letting it drop to the floor, and went to her. At the moment she looked too fragile to touch but his nearness seemed to make her feel better. Good, he was afraid that she would scream if he approached her. Not the best of signs. "It's all right, Wills. I'll take care of it, okay?"
"Stop talking to me like I'm two," she said petulantly.
"Not trying to minimize you, just going for the calm. So, how were you handling this before?"
"I . . .I was trying to sweep him into a box. . .but he kept moving."
"All right. Okay. I'll take care--"
"He's lying on the floor. I think he's kind of dying."
Great, Eau de Dead Mouse. Oz didn't think it was a smell the Rosenbergs would appreciate when they came back from wherever they were. "Well, I can handle him if he's just kind of dying. Do you want to sit down or go up to your room? You can go crash with Xander and Anya and I'll call you, or go to my place."
She shook her head fervently.
Okay, she was afraid of the mouse but didn't want to leave. He'd contemplate personal contradictions later, right now he had a mouse to get rid of and a girlfriend to placate.
Oz moved away from her, circling the couch and approaching the kitchen from the widest possible angle, ever aware of Willow's eyes on him. "Just stay there," he said, picking up the broom, "and I'll handle this." He didn't look back to see if she agreed or not. Shaking his head, he thought it had to be easier than cleaning up Devon's barf.
The mouse was indeed dying. Or having a mousy heart-attack. Lying on it's side it crawled feebly on its forelegs. In the kitchen, now, Oz was assaulted with its scent. How he could have missed it before he didn't know. Not that it mattered. He had the feeling Willow would want to go out to eat or for a fresh hit of caffeine tonight.
Despite his brave words, however, the idea of pushing the mouse into the box suddenly made Oz sick. He imagined, momentarily as he approached the thing, that he would feel the body through the heavy broom handle. He didn't want to do it. He wanted to turn back, take Willow by the hand and leave.
Lick lips.
It wasn't nearly as horrible as he thought. It was a simple matter of pushing the poor thing into the box, picking it up and depositing it in the trash bag.
"Is it gone?" Willow called.
"Yeah. All gone." Oz very quickly tied up the bag and put it out. "Got any air freshener? It smells mousy in here." Moments later he heard the harsh aerosol hiss coming down the hallway. The sharp tang of oranges, lemons and grapefruit followed soon after.
Holding the spray can tightly, Willow looked up at her boyfriend with red rimmed eyes. "Thank you."
He shrugged. "It was nothing."
"No, it was very brave."
"Just a little mouse."
"I don't care, it was still very brave."
Oz smiled. "If you say so," and hugged his girlfriend. "Want to go out?" He felt her nod into his shoulder. "Okay, let's go."
End
