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Another day of school. Willow used to look forward to them, learning new things and being with her friends and … Oz … but now it was just another tomorrow, creeping in its petty pace. She didn't know what she would have done without Xander and Buffy. They never really changed; they were familiar in a world suddenly gone all sideways.

Buffy was still obsessing about Angel, some kind of new disturbance that had him back in her space again. That was never going to go anywhere good, but Willow understood why her friend couldn't entirely pull herself away. After all, she was still hanging around with Xander and mooning about Oz, neither of which was probably healthy for her peace of mind.

With an effort, she brought her mind back to what Buffy was saying, catching the tail end.

"I just want a nice, quiet Christmas vacation."

"So you doin' anything special?" Xander asked.

"Tree. Nog. Roast beast. Me and Mom and hopefully an excess of gifts." She turned to Willow. "What are you doing for Christmas?"

Irritated, Willow said, "Being Jewish. Remember, people? Not everybody worships Santa."

"I just meant for vacation."

"Oh." The truth was she was trying to avoid thinking about it. She and Oz had planned things—hot cocoa and marshmallows and movies and walks and gift shopping together for their families and maybe exchanging presents and … "Nothing fun. Oz and I had planned—" She didn't want to go into it. "But I guess that's off."

Cordelia was in the lounge, talking with another girl. They both got up when Buffy, Willow, and Xander approached and took seats on the empty couch.

Xander, doing an admirable job of pretending Cordy wasn't there, said, "Well, I'll be enjoying my annual Christmas Eve campout. See, I take my sleeping bag outside and I go to sleep on the grass."

"Sounds fun." Willow remembered when he had started that tradition in fourth grade. For years, she would sneak out on Christmas Eve and camp out with him and they would tell each other ghost stories. Really tame ones, if she remembered right. A couple of years Jesse had camped out with them. Sometimes she wondered what Jesse would be like if he were alive today. How would he have changed with the discovery that they lived on a Hellmouth?

"Yeah," Xander went on. "I like to look at the stars, you know, feel the whole nature vibe."

Cordelia came over to stand in front of him. "I thought you slept outside to avoid your family's drunken Christmas fights."

They stared at each other. Eventually Xander nodded. "Yes. And that was a confidence I was hoping you would share with everyone."

Willow's heart hurt for him, and for once she was grateful for Oz's brevity of speech. Nothing she had told him would ever be aired in public that way, no matter how angry he was at her.

Cordelia said brightly, "Well, I'll be in Aspen. Skiing. With actual snow."

"I hear that helps," Buffy said, clearly biting back a more sarcastic response.

"It must be a drag to be stuck here in Sweatydale. I'll be thinking of you." Cordelia looked them all over, gave a small, satisfied smile, and said, "Okay. I'm done." And she left.

The three of them watched her go silently. Willow wanted to be angry at Cordelia, to hate her as they had always hated each other … but she couldn't quite manage it, not now. Not knowing what Cordelia had been through because of her.

Buffy said, "She certainly has reverted to form."

"It's not her fault," Willow said. "After what happened, we've got to cut her some slack."

Xander nodded. "That's the Christmas spirit."

"Hello, still Jewish. Hanukkah spirit, I believe that was? Anyway, forgiveness is pretty much a big theme with me this year, because of the …"

The silence suddenly felt weird and heavy. Willow looked up to see Oz standing in front of her, and found that she couldn't quite remember how to breathe. Her heart seemed to know what it was doing, and was making an impressive display of pounding in her chest.

Oz looked at them all, the silence stretching out. Xander shifted to the opposite corner of the couch, unable to meet Oz's eyes. And then those eyes were on Willow, not angry or cold or distant, and her heart leaped into her throat, still pounding like it was a drum in a marching band.

"Hey," he said. An "I'm willing to talk" kind of hey.

She gave him a small smile. "Hey."

He nodded toward the nearest classroom, walking away without looking to see if she was following. Not that he needed to, because of course she was. She looked back quickly over her shoulder to see Buffy smiling and making encouraging shooing motions at her, and Xander still huddling sulkily in the corner of the couch. He'd get over it, she told herself, and hurried after Oz.

They both leaned against the teacher's desk, not looking at each other.

Willow didn't want to start. He had told her he needed space; she had given him space. It seemed like it was his turn to talk, much as he wasn't so big on the talking.

"Okay," he said eventually. "The thing is … seeing you with Xander … it was … Well, I never felt that way before—when there wasn't a full moon."

She hadn't thought of it that way. Why hadn't she thought of it that way? Because he was so controlled. But the wolf lived inside him somewhere; it wasn't surprising he should have felt it in that moment. Willow shivered.

He went on, "But … I know you guys have a history …"

Willow couldn't stay quiet any longer. "But it's a history that's in the past!" She realized what she had said, and added, "Well, I guess most history is in the past." And Xander wasn't her past, anyway. He was very much her present and her future. Only the kissing part and the weird longing part were past, and that was what she needed Oz to know. "But it's over," she said firmly.

"Well, I don't know. I don't know that it ever will be, between you two," Oz said. Clearly he had given this a lot of thought. Of course he had given this a lot of thought. And he knew her well enough to know exactly where Xander fit into her life and how important he was.

But maybe Oz didn't know for sure where he fit into her life and how important he was. "Oz, please believe me."

He looked straight at her for the first time since they'd come into the room. "This is what I do know." He paused, and Willow's heart did a series of skips and jumps waiting to hear what he would say. At last he went on, "I miss you. Like, every second."

Her heart leaped, racing as if it wanted to jump free of her chest and into his arms.

Oz kept talking, softly, the words heavy with his feelings. "It's like I lost an arm, or, worse, a torso. So … I think I'd be willing to … give it a shot …" He didn't look at her.

Willow could hardly breathe. She wanted to pinch herself. She wanted to beg him to be certain, and to thank him for understanding and giving her another chance, and … so many things that she didn't know what to say or do first. She stood up, trying to think of what to say, and at last managed a hesitant, hopeful, "Really?"

Oz gave her a sidelong glance, and then he stood up, too, a hint of a smile on his face. "Yeah."

Willow smiled back, almost overcome with how much she wanted to touch him and make sure this was all real and she wasn't just dreaming it. But she didn't want to make the first move and have him be spooked and change his mind. "Do …" she began hesitantly. "Do you want us to … to hug now?"

His smile widened just a little, and he had that "you're a very strange human being" look that said he really saw her, the way so few people did. She loved that look; she'd thought she might never see it again. "Yeah, I'd be up for that," Oz whispered.

They approached one another hesitantly, and put their arms around each other hesitantly. And then … then it was all right. Willow pressed her face against his shoulder, feeling the familiar, affectionate tug of his hand in her hair. She couldn't think—everything in her was filled with a warmth and a sense of gratitude. She never wanted to let him go again.