Sorry again for the wait. Hopefully you aren't all too mad with me - thanks for being patient anyway! I was blown away by the responses to my last chapter, thanks so much! You guys are the best! Every one made me grin like an idiot! Hope this next chapter lives up to expectations! ;)

Chapter Seventeen

"You shouldn't let go of the things…that make you who you are."

With the strangely affecting words still echoing in his mind, the hesitant boy ran his hand slowly along the thin ridges that marked the long neck. The tips of his fingers barely skimmed the surface, as if he feared it would scorn his tentative touch with rejection. He was getting better, he observed with a tiny spark of dry humour. The first time he had ventured into the school's music room, a few days after his oddly intense conversation with their newest group member, he had just sat and stared into the cupboard of instruments for an indeterminate amount of time, before abruptly standing and walking out.

He had tried to dismiss the growing desire after that. Attempted to cling vainly to the safe numbing distance that he had grown to depend on so much; to focus solely on the constant fight to survive every day, on the struggle they were immersed in, and to remind himself that this was all that really mattered.

But something had stirred in the depths of that long buried part of him; been somehow awoken and now refused to be forced back to sleep. Oz pinched his eyes shut with a frown. He didn't know how or why the old compulsion had found its way to the surface of his thoughts, but it seemed to have firmly taken root and was now giving him no rest. He had never felt the urge to reopen this old wound so strongly. He'd never been unable to shrug it off before. He had been so sure that part of his life was dead. Over. He had thought he had let it all go.

A light of laughter brightened his eyes as he looked down at the silent instrument one more time. Here he was, Oz – once lead guitarist of Dingoes Ate My Baby – alone in a dark classroom and too nervous to pick up a second hand school guitar. It was more than faintly ridiculous.

Sighing to himself, he closed a determined hand around the neck and lifted the battered acoustic out of the cupboard. There was no-one around after all; if this turned out to be one of his worst ideas, at least there would be no witnesses to his regretful embarrassment. He could toss it back behind the cupboard door and walk away with the bleak confidence that he was right to abandon futile dreams. He could take the taunting doubt that had suddenly gripped his mind, and lay it to rest for good. No-one would ever know about his moment of weakness, and he would have his answer.

With a deep breath, he settled on one of the empty desks and pulled the instrument into his lap. It felt a little heavier than he remembered, yet the elegant bulk was a comforting weight against his body, grounding him somehow. He wasn't quite sure what he had expected to feel in this small but delicately dangerous action. Fresh assaults of old pain, guilt and grief, jaded anger and apathetic acceptance. A new wave of cold hurt as he realised it was just another lost connection, one he already knew that he could never recapture. It was too late for him. It was too hard.

He certainly didn't expect it to feel like coming home.

Oz adjusted the instrument across his legs, silently marvelling as the well worn curves slipped into such a familiar hold. He ran his thumb lightly over the sharp strings and grimaced as the uneven notes rippled through the hollow wood and out into the air. He moved automatically to the keys, twisting the metal screws with assured tweaks, his sharp ears catching the subtle shifts in tuning. Satisfied, he strummed once more, feeling the tightened strings hum beneath his fingers.

It had been so long since he had played. All that time spent trying to forget. So much had happened since the last time he had picked up a guitar. The town had changed beyond recognition. He had changed.

His hands moved of their own accord, even as his thoughts scattered. Absently they trailed up the neck and fell into long ingrained positions upon the silver frets. It still felt as natural as breathing. A slight, cautious smile pulled at his mouth as the boy let his fingers brush against the strings, drawing soft lingering notes from the old instrument, vibrating through his rough skin to float into the darkness of the deserted music room.

For a long moment Oz was pulled into the recesses of his memories, with such force that his taught fingers seized against the cutting strings. Every time he had sat cross legged on the campus grass, under the beating sun, strumming mindless tunes to himself; writing wordless songs in the comfortable solitude of the back of his van; making odd adjustments as they waited for Devon to show up at rehearsal; one last practice in the musicians' area of the Bronze; playing on stage, under hot spotlights, to crowds of students. It was funny how the body remembered things the mind thought lost. The amount of recall placed in a single touch; the feelings tied up with physical sensations, in notes and songs played out over and over again.

The music spoke to something deep inside him. Something real and core; stronger than the darkness he had grown used to living in. Something that would never leave him, despite all his best efforts to deny. An unchangeable part of who he was. Something he needed more than he'd ever realised.

She was right.

His brows knitted together unconsciously. Deft fingers continued to shift and strum, creating chords of an old Dingoes song that had been a particular favourite of his. The peacefully familiar music drifted in the back of his thoughts as the guitarist let his mind wander away in its new-found direction.

o0o

Tennis shoes squeaked on polished floors as Willow jogged through the corridors back from the science lab. The small beakers chinked in her hands as she moved towards the library, her mind running over the night-vision spell she had found. It was advanced out of her level, she knew that, but there was no harm in trying right?

Jerking to a stop, the witch tilted her head and frowned, straining her ears. The sound she had imagined so often since she had been here; had missed so much; that she played over and over in her memory as she drifted off to sleep; that had once threaded through her whole world, the loving and intimate soundtrack to her life. Was she imagining things again or… Turning round Willow took a few cautious steps back along the hall. The quiet music grew clearer as she approached the music room. Carefully, she poked her head round the open door and peered into the dim light.

Her gaze was immediately drawn to a single silhouette at the back of the classroom. Her eyes widened as they took in his unmistakable poise as he sat on the desk, his feet propped up on the table in front and a guitar placed across his lap. Her heart skipped a beat as a slow grin spread across her face. She sighed quietly as the soft notes of plucked strings and sliding fingers continued to drift across the dark room in warm waves. She was so lost in the sight and sounds that were so dear to her heart, she almost didn't recognise the song. The smile widened even more. It was an old Dingoes song: Fate. She had always liked that one; it had a wonderful guitar solo and was more acoustic in tone than many of their others. She watched as Oz bent his head over the instrument, those beautifully agile hands moving gracefully with precision and care. The song wept from the guitar in sweet, haunting notes that seemed to call and pull inside her. Oz's music was something so special.

Pressing her forehead against the outer door frame, Willow closed her eyes happily. Indefinable. But she would try anyway. Anyone else could play the exact notes with the exact timing but it wouldn't be half as powerful, not nearly as beautiful to her ears. There was so much of him in his music, it was something so in sync with his soul. They say everyone has a medium, and if hers was magic – his was definitely music. When he wanted to, he could express everything in wordless songs, more than he would ever speak to most people. And she could hear things when he played, that no-one else would. When he made every note his alone. She would listen, for minutes or hours, and she'd just know.

A small giggle escaped her. The song stopped. Willow quickly opened her eyes and saw his head look up in her direction. Oops. Caught. She hesitated for a second, before lifting her chin an inch and slowly walking round the door to step just inside the classroom. The light was still off and his face was shadowed across the desks. She fiddled with the beakers in her hands and the glass scraped. She smiled guiltily in the dark. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I heard, and I just…" She shifted her feet and rubbed her shoes together awkwardly. Oz was quiet and Willow glanced away nervously. "I liked the song. It's nice. You're really good."

"Thanks."

She almost laughed with relief when he finally spoke. His silences never used to unnerve her, but her emotions were so on edge when she was around him here. There was quiet for a moment, and Willow was torn between switching the light on and making a run for it. She felt like she had intruded on a very private scene. Oz never used to mind her interruptions; very much not mind in fact. But she couldn't help fearing that this Oz did resent her presence now. She was confused. Confused and emotional. Oh dear...

"It's called 'Fate'."

Willow's head jerked up and she squinted through the shadows. He didn't sound cross, but it was hard to tell with him sometimes. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she thought she saw a small smile pass over his face.

"The song," he added.

"Oh, cool." She wasn't sure whether to share that she already knew that. Maybe not just now.

"Used to play it with my old band, long time ago."

The smile slipped. Willow edged further forward into the room, the jars pressed tight against her chest. "What-what happened?" For a second she wanted to hit herself as she saw his shoulders slump so slightly. He was going to close up on her, she had pushed too far--

"They were killed."

Willow felt her heart drop at his quiet words. She hadn't suspected a happy outcome but it was still painful to hear it. The boy's grip tightened on the guitar and he looked away with a sour expression.

"Well, some weren't so lucky."

She frowned. There were only a few desks between them and she could hear the bitterness in his usually neutral voice. "You-You mean…"

"Turned."

She swallowed and was quiet. His breathing was slightly unsteady but his face was a mask as he gazed down at the floor. Having to kill his former best mates… He suppressed an unpleasant shudder. Just another memory he would rather forget.

"Oh, Oz…"

He looked up at her as she whispered his name. Her face was full of the anguish he felt inside. He watched as she bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes with a frown. The light from the hall outside filtered into the room in a steady golden glow, softly illuminating the deep red waves that touched her shoulders and fell against her neck. Long black lashes fluttered against her cheek as she opened those clear bright eyes again and caught his.

"I-I'm sorry."

The moment shifted and changed, and Oz found himself almost dazed as he came back to her spoken words. Strangely unsure of himself, he dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"I know how it... I mean, to have to, to see, I, um..."

He watched curiously as the girl fumbled uncomfortably with the sentence she had begun. She shifted and nudged into the desk behind her. Her balance was unsteadied and the momentum unfortunately carried her backwards to knock into the desk more forcefully. With a yelp of surprise, she tried to right herself but as her arms juggled the beakers, one slipped free.

Willow mentally cursed her own clumsiness as the tinkling of broken glass sounded from the ground at her feet. Dropping to her knees she quickly began picking up the shards. Oz swiftly propped the guitar against the desk and joined her on the floor.

"That was stupid! Should we get a brush? I'm always breaking something. Hope the science lab has got spares. Maybe I should turn the light on? It's okay really, I'll clear it up, it was my fault--"

"Willow." She glanced up from her apologetic rambling to see Oz eyeing her with amusement. "It's only a beaker. Think Mr William's class will survive"

"Oh yeah, okay."

Quickly bowing her head again, Willow's fingers trembled slightly as she gathered the broken pieces into the most intact portion of the jar. She flinched as she felt the sting of an errant sliver slice the tip of her finger and quickly moved it to her mouth as it began to bleed.

"Ow," she mumbled without looking up. She didn't dare catch his eye. He was so close. His head was inches from hers and she could see his hands moving across her vision; black coated nails, paint worn and chipped, closed around brittle pieces as they collected the shattered glass around them. She felt her cheeks burning, and fervently hoped it wasn't visible in the low light.

Oz glanced up when he heard her mutter, only to pause as Willow raised her slender left ring finger to her soft parted lips. His gaze lingered, caught in the innocent gesture for a suspended second. His heart thumped loudly in his chest and Oz quickly snapped back to himself. Thankfully, her concentration was still focused down and he hastily resumed tidying.

In under a minute, they had picked up the last of the fragments and got to their feet once more. Willow smiled before hurrying to deposit the broken jar in the class bin. Walking back, she stopped to retrieve the surviving beakers from the desk top where she had left them.

"Thanks."

Oz shrugged off the gratitude and Willow hovered awkwardly for a second. "Well, I should go," she said and turned to weave back through the rows of desks. At the doorway she hesitated and turned back. He was leaning against the desk she had just stood at, the faded design of a Ramones band emblem just visible on his shirt, his face calm and unreadable as usual.

"Oz?"

He raised an eyebrow. Willow was caught in his gaze for a split-second before the words came back to her. She smiled brightly. "I-I'm really glad you're playing again."

There was no way he could know the weight of feeling behind her simple words; the meaning of the joy that had captured her heart in a wild embrace, or the lonely ache of sadness that burned in the back of her throat.

His lips twitched up for a moment, before his face fell back into that stoic expression she knew so well.

"See you back in the library?"

He nodded once and Willow gave a small wave before disappearing back into the hall.

He listened to her steps patter down the corridor for a minute before silence crept back into the room. After another moment, he slowly lifted himself off the desk and crossed back to his original seat. Bending to pick up the guitar from where it stood, he rested it across his legs once more. With one last glance towards the open door, he let his restless hands reclaim their positions. His mouth lifted in a private smile as the rise and fall of quiet music slowly filled the classroom again.

o0o

AN So there you go - a pretty Oz-heavy chapter, with some very significant action ;) Hope it didn't disappoint! Your feedback means everything. This was a fun chapter to write and has one of my favourite lines in it! Oz may not be big with the chatter, but when he does - it's worth listening! Kudos to people who spot it ;)

Reviews are good karma! xx