Oz was going to be a success, everyone knew it. The short man had taken the East coast by storm with his band "Eccentric Tree", and those in the know realised it wouldn't be long before the whole world had heard his music. He had already been signed for an album; had had two top ten hits; and had been nominated for several awards. With the success, inevitably, came the groupies. Dozens of them flocked to the venues where Oz and "Eccentric Tree" played. To everyone's surprise, Oz took no interest in them, despite the fact that he didn't have a girlfriend. Some people whispered that he was probably gay, but oddly enough the rumour never took hold. Even to those closest to him: the other band members, their manager, the two techs who helped them set up each concert and recording, Oz remained something of a mystery. He never talked of his childhood or his family; he didn't communicate (as far as they were aware) with anyone he had known before forming the band. And he had the weirdest habit of disappearing for three evenings a month, no matter what opportunity presented itself. Although he was friendly enough to them, and fully participated in the band's business, he was always strangely distant whenever the conversation shifted to more personal matters. No matter what clever gambits they tried, he never opened up.

***************

Willow still lived in Sunnydale, even after graduating from college. Somehow, despite what she had told Buffy when she revealed her chosen college, Willow had always imagined that she would leave Sunnydale, go somewhere else. England, maybe. Or France. To see the monkeys...no, Willow, bad thought. Oz had left Sunnydale halfway through their junior year at Sunnydale. She never knew why, and she'd never heard from him again. She'd followed his career, though, surreptitiously, so Xander wouldn't find out that she still cared. Sometimes it hurt so much that she wished he hadn't become a big success. He was always in some music magazine or tabloid newspaper, or on the music channels. While this gave her the opportunity to see his face, to find out what he was doing, it also reminded Willow that he was now far beyond her reach; could never be more than a high school memory that would fade in time. Or so she told herself. In reality, Willow knew that she could never forget Oz, that her feelings for him would never lessen. She never told that to Xander, though. He had told her that Oz had left, had supported her when she felt that she'd rather die. At the time, Buffy had been busy, slaying near the Salisbury Plain in England, and Xander had been practically the only person Willow had seen for weeks. It had been Xander who advised her to put Oz behind her, to carry on with her life, to find someone else. As if there could ever be anyone else. They had been young, but Willow had been savvy enough to recognise true love when it came around. She'd thought that Oz felt the same, but obviously not. However, she felt she owed it to Xander to get on with her life, to act like she was over Oz's desertion. So she had gone on as normal, and brushed off Buffy's concern when she returned to Sunnydale.

PART TWO

Xander was out of town, and Willow was feeling in a reminiscent mood. Buffy was out on patrol; Giles was off at some Watchers' Council meeting in London; Cordelia was filming in LA (she'd actually made it in Hollywood, albeit a few years after she'd planned); Anna (the slayer who had replaced Faith) was in New York, picking up some manuscripts for Giles. And Xander was in Seattle, on business. There was no one to talk to. So Willow was making do with herself.

"Hmmm, twinkies! Damn, I was sure I had more than this - no, don't tell me, Xander had some when we watched that film. Ooh, popcorn. And coke. What more could a woman ask for?!" Dumping her acquisitions on her living room table, Willow headed for the spare room, where the boxes containing all the stuff from high school and college were stored. "Okay, definitely time for a yearbook-fest. Silly pictures - oh, like that one where Buffy poured chocolate milk all over Xander's head one lunch time when he made a remark about the length of her skirt." Willow giggled as she remembered the lighter times of their sophomore year at high school. She had subconsciously made the decision not to look at anything later than that - there lay the danger of Oz memories. As Willow opened her boxes, she grew more and more annoyed as her yearbooks failed to materialise. "Dammit, I know they were in here - somewhere. I can't think where else I would have..." She grinned as she thought of where else she would have put them. Of course: Xander's apartment. She had decided that she had too much stuff, and had thoughtfully donated it to Xander. Brushing the dust off her clothes, Willow picked up her keys from the kitchen, and drove over to where Xander lived, not fifteen minutes away.

Willow let herself in to Xander's place, switching the light on. As usual, it had the appearance of a small city crushed by an atomic bomb - Xander was not neat-and-tidy man. Turning a blind eye to the mess, she went into his study. There, haphazardly piled in the corner, were Willow's discarded boxes. Giving a crow of triumph, Willow leapt over a pile of Xander's papers, artistically strewn across the floor. Unfortunately, Willow's leaping talents, never high at their best, had deteriorated since the days of compulsory PE, and instead of clearing the papers in a graceful bound she landed on top of them, bestrewing them in a possibly even more artistic manner. Giving a little "tsk" of annoyance, Willow set about putting them straight - a difficult task since they hadn't been straight in the first place. Placing the neatened pile on Xander's desk, Willow just happened to glance in to the opened top drawer. There, in plain sight was a letter, that she would swear was in Oz's writing. * Why on earth would Oz have been writing to Xander? They didn't exactly get on very well. * Willow made to shut the drawer, her inherent honesty making her unwilling to invade Xander's privacy. Then she remembered that it was Oz. To hell with Xander's privacy. If Xander wanted privacy he shouldn't give people his house key and then go off and leave drawers open.

Oz groaned at the tension which had collected at his shoulders, as it did with every performance. It was over now, and he could relax. As he slid into the whirlpool bath, Oz's thoughts turned, as they inevitably did, to Willow. His Willow. She was probably married by now, he thought, unable to stop torturing himself. To Xander. At the thought of the other man, all Oz's tension returned, He hated Xander. All those years the bastard had ignored Willow, then as Oz had loved her, he had suddenly realised his feelings. He hadn't had the decency of being with Willow from the start - at least then Oz wouldn't have had the false hope that Willow really loved him, and not her old friend. But eventually Willow had chosen Xander, and there had been nothing Oz could do about it. When he had found the two of them kissing during their senior year at high school, it had almost broken his heart, and when Willow had made up, he had felt as if his world was perfect. Willow, his Willow, had chosen him over Xander. But then he had seen them again, several years later, in college, with their arms around each other, their heads close together. Even then Oz hadn't believed that Willow could really leave him. But then Xander had given him her message. She never wanted to see him again, and if he had any feeling for her, he would leave Sunnydale. Still, Oz had held out hope that it was all a mistake, that there had been a misunderstanding. But Willow never replied to any of his letters, and eventually he had to accept what Xander had told him.

***************

They were all written along the same lines - begging forgiveness, declaring love. At least half a dozen. Willow's hand slipped to her purse, where she kept that little piece of paper that had broken her heart all those years ago.

The writing was the same, even the paper was the same. And yet, the different letters made no sense. A growing realisation was creeping up on Willow, insidiously winding round her thought processes. Xander. He'd given her the note, told her what he'd seen. She'd believed him - the truth of the note was self evident, and Xander had no reason to lie. But Xander had also dealt with all her mail while she'd been distraught with the grief of Oz's abandonment. Maybe he was just trying to protect her. * But he opened the letters. He knew there was nothing that would hurt me in them. * But why would he keep them from her? And more importantly, what was Oz trying to say? Had he loved her, or had he really wanted to dump her? A glimmer of hope entered Willow's soul for the first time in too many years. The note she had received from Xander had no name on it, while all the others started with Willow, or Dear Willow. Was it possible that there had been a mistake? No, not a mistake. Willow's gaze hardened. It looked like Xander had been meddling. But he'd destroyed her life, taken away the one person she could ever truly love. How could he do that? How could he sit and comfort her after causing her misery in the first place? Then as quickly as the flare of hope had appeared, it died away again. It didn't matter now. Oz might have loved her then, but that was a long time ago. People change. And Oz was famous now. He might have been groupie-free when they were going out and Oz was still the Dingoes Ate My Baby man, but there must be hundreds of women hanging around him; one of them, or some one would have could his eye by now. He wouldn't be pining for her, as she still did for him. Could he? Try as she would, Willow couldn't erase that tiny remaining spark of hope. It had been true love, she was sure of it. Damn Xander, and damn Oz for not forcing her to see him, and damn her for believing Xander so implicitly and not trusting her boyfriend, even though she knew Xander loved her...Woah! Where did that little thought come from, Willow wondered. Sure Xander loved her, but as his friend, his Willow-shaped friend who just happened to be a girl. Yeah, there had been that whole fluke thing in their senior year at high school, but it had only been a little aberration, a sort of acting out of a "what it" scenario. Xander knew that. Didn't he? But deep down, Willow realised that Xander did love her. Had done ever since she had been in that coma at the end of their junior year. * Damn. I was so blind that I let my best friend...ex best friend destroy my life, and I never noticed. *

***************

Xander, sitting in a Seattle hotel room, suddenly had a feeling of impending doom. Had he grown up anywhere but the Hellmouth, he would have passed it off as indigestion, or paranoia. But he hadn't, so he didn't. He reached for the phone and automatically dialled Willow's number. It rang, but no one replied. Xander was getting nasty feelings running all down his spine. Something was wrong. As Buffy had once said, "My spider sense is tingling". Well, Xander had his very own Willow sense, and it was telling him that something was very definitely not good. He immediately set out for home, preparing himself for the possibility of finding Willow hacked to pieces on her doorstep.

PART THREE

Willow was sitting on his doorstep, watching as Xander wearily made his way up the path. He had been at Willow's, and had found no trace of her. Then he'd wandered around Sunnydale for the best part of two hours, and still seen neither hide nor hair of her. Lifting his head from his intense perusal of the tarmac beneath his shoes, he caught a glimpse of her red hair. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, he let out a laugh, and pulled her into a hug. It took him a moment or two to realise that she wasn't responding. She was, in fact, standing as stiff as a board within the circle of his arms. Xander, who had been mentally mocking his "Willow sense" suddenly apologised to it. Yep, something was up. All was not well. Willow pulled away, and Xander looked on warily as she pulled something from behind her back. It occurred to him for a second that she might have been turned, then he blanched, and all such thoughts left his head as he realised what she was holding.

"How long have you had these?" Willow's voice was icy cold. If Xander had been less stricken he would have noticed her resolve face. Willow wanted answers.

"Had what?" he parried, desperately. Willow looked away, almost unable to look at the man who had been her best friend since before they started school. "Don't...do that, Xander. Please. How long have you had these?"

Xander looked away as well. He had known how much Willow had loved Oz, but he, Xander, loved her more. She just had to realise it. "Since he posted them to you. Six, seven years, I guess. Look, Willow," he continued, almost angry at her for not seeing what was so obvious to him, "I was protecting you. Oz wasn't the right man for you. He could never have made you happy, not like..." he trailed off, unable to continue under Willow's glacial stare.

"Not like what, Xander?" she demanded. "Not like you could? You broke my heart, Xander. Anyone could make me happier than you." She turned and headed back up the path, back home, then stopped, and looked round. "Where did you get the other letter from? The one you gave me when Oz left?" Xander considered lying, then realised that it wouldn't work, not with Willow like this. "He was having a problem with a groupie. She wouldn't leave him alone. He wrote her that letter to bring her to her senses. I saw her in the Bronze a couple of days later, and she showed it to me. She gave it to me when I told her I could use it to make him..." He saw Willow's resolve face, and continued. "To make him suffer."

"And when you said you saw him kissing someone else at the Bronze?"

"That was her. And it was more a case of her kissing him." Xander looked on in anguish as he watched Willow get into her car. He realised that he would probably never see her again. And if he did, by some small chance, it was doubtful that she'd acknowledge him. You really screwed up there, pal, he told himself as he entered his apartment, feeling terribly old.

PART FOUR

Oz was brooding. It was seven years to the day that he had left Sunnydale, left Willow. Most people celebrated the anniversaries of births, weddings, their first kiss. The only anniversary Oz remembered was the day his heart had fallen to pieces for good. And he was giving a concert. It was time for the Willow song, the song that proclaimed his heart to anyone who could hear.

Willow stood at the back of the stadium, watching as Oz poured his heart out to anyone who could hear. And knew that he loved her, had always loved her, as she had loved him. And she smiled as she saw Oz recognise her even through the crowd of fans.

And she smiled as he kissed her.

And she smiled as he loved her.

THE END

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