If he were asked why he was hanging back while the other toys gave Woody a final group hug goodbye, Buzz might say it was because he was waiting for a one-on-one moment instead, which to be fair he was. Maybe presumptuous to assume, but he assumed it anyway. The truth was, however, he only hung back because he couldn't move. The weight of his own words anchored him in place—the very words, ironically enough, that gave Woody the peace of mind to go free.
Bonnie will be okay.
Listen to your inner voice.
Buzz didn't regret those words. How could he, when they'd brought his friend such comfort? He just maybe hadn't realized the full extent of what they meant until it was happening, of what they'd set in motion: Woody leaving them. His dearest friend, the first toy he'd ever met, whom he'd been through everything with all through the years. The conclusion to a friendship that hadn't started the best but one he couldn't imagine living without. All the ups and downs, the good times and the bad, the absurd situations most toys could only dream of that they became embroiled in on a regular basis. How often they defied death, 'til they ended up staring straight into it, no options left, hand and hand, together at the end…
Buzz just didn't think it would end like this. He supposed he'd never really thought much about how it would end, but it wouldn't be like this. It would be the universe again, in its propensity to put them through the gauntlet, and they'd fight it like they always had. It wouldn't be so easy. Even Woody leaving them at Sunnyside had induced more friction and Buzz at least knew where his approximate location would be then. But this was a travelling fair with no fixed home. How would he ever possibly find him again?
Say something, a voice inside him urged. No, he mustn't be so selfish. Clearly this was what Woody wanted. His friend had been so sad lately; Buzz would do anything to fix that, even if it meant letting him go. Having him out in the wide open world worried him slightly, but he knew Bo would be there to guide him into this new life.
Besides, he had already given Woody the go-ahead. How could he possibly take that back now? The look in his eye, a spark he'd sorely missed seeing…
Don't say a word.
The group hug came to a close. His friend must have some animating force in those eyes because when he looked over Buzz found himself moving towards him, arms extending. They met in the middle, two connecting puzzle pieces, not a word between them. Though they made plenty of contact through shoulder pats and Woody's penchant for leaning against him, they rarely hugged. Elongated arms wrapped around him and he wondered what it would be like to have limbs made of cotton—wondered if this was how humans felt in their old favourite sweaters: cozy, familiar, secure. He was sorry for the plastic points he gave in return. He savoured the moment.
Face hidden from Woody's view, Buzz allowed his smile to waver. He savoured the moment because he had to. Chin on his shoulder, he closed his eyes, stamped down the emotions that threatened to burn out his batteries. Woody holding him tighter didn't help his efforts. The time ticked by. Neither said a word.
Buzz knew they would have to let go soon. Even with the extended time allowed for a proper farewell, a hug couldn't last forever, and mere seconds could plunge a warm embrace into awkwardness—hardly the moment he wanted to part on. But he just wanted one more second, just one more. Then another. And another. Woody began to pull away.
This is it.
Buzz tightened his hold. Woody stopped. His hands, recently lifted, hovered above his back. "Buzz?" he questioned, a note of concern in his voice.
Something in that warm voice—the one he knew so well—undid all his efforts, overclocked his batteries, and cracked his plastic shell open wide. Buzz pressed his face into his shoulder. "Don't go."
His voice was muffled, so he doubted Woody even heard what he said. A pause before hands set on his back again, Woody leaning closer to his ear. "What?" he whispered with that soft, soft concern.
Buzz shook his head against his cotton. No, he didn't dare speak again; he was already cursing himself for losing his composure. This wasn't about him. This was about Woody, what Woody wanted and how sad he'd been lately and how Buzz would do anything, anything to fix that even if it meant letting him go, even if it felt just like jumping in Sid's house only to fall and smash into the hard ground below—even knowing that if he ended up in such a situation again, there would be no cowboy to drag him from the depths of despair.
But he wondered if he really meant anything when he couldn't even end a hug.
A hand brushed his shoulder. "Hey," Woody whispered, "walk with me a sec."
The magic words, evidently. Now that he knew letting go didn't mean an immediate goodbye, Buzz felt his locked arms fall away. Woody guided him a little farther away from the others, keeping a hand on his shoulder. The others—oh, what a scene he must be making, what they must think of him, how grateful he was for their increasing distance.
Blast it all, Ranger, you've made a difficult situation even more stressful for everyone.
At last Woody stopped. It didn't escape his notice how he angled them, making sure Buzz had his back to the toys so he wouldn't see them watching. Even now he was playing leader, looking out for everyone. Guilt festered and squirmed in his circuits.
"Hey, Buzz. You mind looking at me?"
He hadn't realized he'd been staring down at Woody's boots. Buzz lifted his gaze.
A note of humour entered his voice. "That's better, but I'd prefer if you looked me in the eyes instead of my chin, space cadet."
Swallowing, Buzz obliged. Warm brown eyes stared back at him without a hint of annoyance, simply gentle concern, which almost felt worse. Woody smiled lopsidedly. "There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
The light teasing, usually enough to make him fire back, only worsened the terrible ache in his chest. Soon that familiar banter would be gone from his life forever. The smile he forced hurt his face. Woody's own fell. "Come on, Buzz. Talk to me."
And what did he say? What could he possibly say? Anything truthful felt horribly self-centred. His experiences through life had taught him that speaking from the heart was usually the way to go, but how could he now, knowing he might sway Woody's heart into going against something he truly wanted? The idea of his friend staying for him but secretly regretting his decision left him cold.
No. He could lie for his sake, even if a lie was the last thing he ever gave him.
"I've said what I've had to," Buzz said evenly. "Bonnie will be okay."
"Will you be okay?"
The blunt question pierced his defences. Would he be okay? Eventually, he was certain. Or mostly certain. Maybe not that certain at all. It would hurt, but he would manage. He'd always managed. There were other toys that would no doubt suffer from Woody's absence who would be looking to him for strength, a beacon in choppy waters. So he would manage. He always managed.
Buzz took a steadying breath—disconcerting to have to at all. "We'll be fine. We'll get by. Of course we'll miss you, but we've been through so much together, and–"
Suddenly, Woody grabbed his shoulders. "Buzz, I'm not asking about everyone else," he said, looking at him so intensely he found himself frozen, "I'm asking about you. Tell me what that inner voice says. If I go, will you be okay?"
Truly, Buzz could count on one hand the number of times he'd been speechless in his life. He stared, wide-eyed. Funnily enough, he felt rather lost. Finally, when the silence had gone on far too long, Buzz dropped his gaze. "… I don't know," he mumbled.
He hated to say it. He hated to say anything that might make him the reason Woody decided to forgo what would make him happy. But his friend wanted nothing but his honesty and it was the truth: he didn't know.
In the following silence, Woody's hands remained on his shoulders. Buzz kept his eyes fixed low, flattening his expression like a soldier awaiting reprimand. He only hoped that whatever Woody said, it wouldn't be too harsh. Those were not parting words he wanted to commit to memory. Even so, he'd listen.
"I'm kinda surprised, you know?"
Buzz looked up sharply. The expression on Woody's face was a perplexing mix of disbelief, relief, and self-deprecation he struggled to decipher, especially with a smile in place. "What?" was the most intelligent thing he could muster.
"Here I am thinking that no one would really feel my absence, that no one needed me," Woody said, shaking his head at himself, "when I don't think I've seen in all the years I've known you such a miserable look on your face."
And what a whammy that was. Buzz felt the shock through his body like a volt of incredulity. "Woody, what?" he gaped. "How could you—how could you possibly think that—"
How badly have I screwed up as a friend to get us here?
"Of course we'll feel your absence." He grabbed Woody's arm, a second away from shaking some sense into him. "Of course we still need you."
Woody shook his head. "Buzz, I haven't really had to lead you guys in some time. Besides, I'm sure Dolly would do just fine—"
"I'm not talking about your leadership."
Surprise flickered across his face, his big brown eyes going wide, and Buzz didn't think it was because he so rarely interrupted him. He continued on before Woody could. "We don't just want you with us because you play the leader, Woody. We don't keep you around for the things you do for us. You don't have to justify your existence by being useful. We want you with us because you're our friend. I—we need you, the way one friend needs another. Please, don't ever doubt that."
"Buzz, I…" His friend never should have sounded so stunned over what he just said; his eyes, never so wide with disbelief. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," Buzz replied. "You just need to remember it when you're out there."
His brow pinched together. "'When I'm out there'? But I thought you wanted me to stay…?"
Stars above, did he ever. But he'd already possibly influenced his decision enough. "Woody, I would never force you to stay," he stated evenly. "I just don't want you to leave based on a false idea of what we think of you."
"... even though you're not sure you'll be okay if I do leave," Woody muttered with a slight note of awe. "And you were prepared to let me go not knowing that."
Buzz smiled sadly. "We just want you to be happy, Woody."
Woody stared at him for several long seconds before dropping his gaze to the ground. Thoughts raged and dashed across his eyes like the rapids of a tumultuous river. Then, making dams of his eyelids, he closed them. "What am I doing?" he mumbled.
"Woody?"
When Woody opened his eyes again, the waters had calmed, and he was giving Buzz the biggest smile he'd seen in days. "You know, it's gonna be awkward telling Bo after that dramatic hug we just had," he chuckled.
"I don't understand," Buzz said. "Tell Bo what?"
"That I won't be going with her after all."
Elation and fear, mirror opposites, surged through his body with such force he physically startled. "What?" Buzz balked. "Woody, no, you—you wanted to go, you've said goodbye to everyone, you—"
"Yeah, that'll probably be awkward to walk back too," he sighed, but he was still smiling. He tilted his head. "Jessie can at least hang on to my badge if she wants, I guess... Don't think I'll hear the end of it if I try to take it back right away." More of an aside than a full thought.
Violently stomping down the joy threatening to undo him, Buzz jumped full force into the fear—the fear that he had done this, that Woody was giving up what his heart truly wanted out of guilt and obligation to him. He seized his upper arms, gazing at him imploringly. "But Woody, what about Bo? What about something new and exciting? What about the lost toy life, what about—"
Vinyl hands came to rest, ever so gently, on his forearms. "Buzz," Woody intoned with his disarmingly soft eyes and disarmingly soft voice, "I've thought about all of that. What I didn't think about nearly enough that I should have was, what about us? Our gang of toys? Our little family?"
Joy raised its head again, but he couldn't allow it, couldn't allow it until he knew for sure, he couldn't bear the disappointment if— "But Woody," he tried, one last time, desperate not to hold him back, even as all he wanted was to hold him close and never let go, "what if you regret not going?"
He grinned. "Buzz, I'd rather spend every day regretting not going, than spend a single one out there regretting leaving at all."
Plastic arms opened wide to seize his friend back into his chest. He finally let the happiness so long suppressed rush through his circuits, a relief so encompassing Buzz couldn't speak, though nothing would do justice to his feelings anyway. Cotton arms returned the hug, wonderfully fresh déjà vu, an old favourite sweater. "You certainly have a knack for talking me out of stupid ideas," Woody murmured. "Thanks, partner."
Barking out a laugh, Buzz wondered, not for the first time, how curious it was that laughter and sobbing sounded so alike. "Well, you certainly give me plenty of opportunities."
"Hey, watch it, space ranger."