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doyleLate Oz/Xander ficathon entry. Weird stuff and use of my favourite plot device ahoy.
Title: Kingdom Come
Author: Doyle
Pairing: Oz/Xander (plus others)
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moosal who wanted post-Chosen, religion, no fixing of Xander's eye. Goes very AU after Dirty Girls.
It was Times Square, not Istanbul, and Willow's hair was still red - only four years since he'd hugged her goodbye, not enough time for her to break out the blue rinse - but otherwise, it was pretty much like he'd sometimes pictured it. The crowd opened up just as she turned around, and they caught sight of each other at the same moment. Her eyes went wide; he could almost hear her breath catch.
Five seconds later, he had an armful of Willow and was nodding hi to Xander over her shoulder.
"I can't believe you're here." She un-crushed him, standing back so he and Xander could share a one-armed hug. "We were gonna leave today, we only stayed because Vi was sick and I'm gonna have to go check on her but oh my God, Oz!"
He nodded, thinking about the missed connection that had kept him in New York an extra day. "Guess Jasmine works in mysterious ways."
"Speak of the goddess," Xander said, looking up at one of the screens, where the countdown to the hourly broadcast was down to six seconds. The flow of people around them had stopped, and as Jasmine's tranquil, loving face faded in, many of them dropped to their knees.
At the end of the three-minute message, Oz couldn't have repeated back anything she'd said. She was like that; the feelings, when he listened to her, were so intense that he couldn't concentrate on the actual words. He'd heard her give a speech in Farsi, the one time he'd seen her in the flesh, and he hadn't understood a word. Hadn't made a difference. Maybe, he thought, there was something in what she was saying that transcended language, like music, or math.
When the screen turned back to its standard display, Willow's hand was in his left, Xander's curled easily around his right. People around them were getting back on their feet, crying, hugging their neighbours. The joy was a palpable thing, settling on them like snow.
**
Willow didn't stay long. She needed to make sure Vi was okay, she said, and somebody called Kennedy was waiting for her, but she gave Oz another hug and a quick brush of a kiss and a promise that she'd see him later.
"Later," he murmured back. "I'm sorry about Tara."
"I'm sorry you never got to know her," she said, her smile a little sad.
The goodbye kiss she gave Xander was deeper, one hand ruffling through his hair and skimming the black patch over his eye before she smiled and let him go. Oz regarded them thoughtfully. Perspective was a weird thing. Willow and Xander at eighteen, kissing each other in the old factory, that had been the worst thing he could think of. Months after, on full moons when it was Xander watching the bookcage by himself…
Now, with the three of them grown-up and surrounded by Jasmine's love, he just thought they looked right together. When Willow was gone and Xander smiled at him and took his hand again, that was right, too.
**
In the park, they spent a half hour watching the open-air stage. A bunch of children, probably local schoolkids, were acting their hearts out beneath the colourful banner that proclaimed it the Greatest Story Ever Told.
"The kid playing Angel," Xander said, "y'think his head's naturally that big?"
"Could be a prosthesis."
"That's some quality dedication to accuracy."
The sceneshifters rushed on from the wings, taking away the hotel backdrop. The curtain that fell at the back of the stage showed a painted TV audience, their faces featureless, unmoving.
"My people," a little girl said, stepping to the front of the stage with her arms outstretched. She was wearing a long white dress, and her hair was braided with jasmine blossoms. "You make me so proud. Your love, your compassion for one another. You ex-em-pli-fy," she pronounced it carefully, "all the best that humanity can offer. And now… And now…"
Oz felt himself mouth the words along with the rest of the audience. And now you'll see…
"And now you'll see," she rushed ahead, "true forgiveness in action. A friend of the Vampire Slayer -"
Xander was turning away. Oz went with him, no questions asked; he remembered seeing that show live, watching TV at 3am in a hotel in London. Next day the papers were covered in pictures of Xander shaking hands with the man who'd maimed him, Jasmine between them like a bridge.
They followed the path in silence. Oz thought about the newspaper clipping in his bag, Jasmine's hand on Xander's shoulder, and about six degrees of separation, and that he was touching someone who'd touched the Woman.
"Vi's mom and dad live in Manhattan," Xander was saying. "It's their anniversary, and she wanted to come home, and she and Will and Kennedy have their wacky ménage thing, so everybody had to come along."
So Willow had three people to love her, maybe more. That was good. She deserved that, and Jasmine was always telling them that they shouldn't be afraid to love more than one person, that they should have enough love for the world.
Oz tilted his head to look at Xander. Visibly not the kid he'd been any more, like he'd changed far more than just the eye - but everybody changed. He'd seen it enough times. People who'd been loud before Jasmine were quieter, now, as if something in them was calmer.
He sometimes wondered whether other werewolves found it easier to resist the change since She came, or if it was just him.
"Hotdogs," Xander announced, and maybe he hadn't changed too much. "We should get hotdogs. I think my first time in New York needs to be celebrated with a weiner-shaped potential death by poisoning."
Oz said, "Wait -" and he pulled him down into a kiss that almost experimental. Xander was warm and he tasted like an echo of Willow. He hadn't shaved in at least a day. There was barely a hesitation between the kissing and the being-kissed-back.
Oz broke away, absently rubbing the skin beneath his mouth.
"Hotdogs," he said. "It's a plan."
Xander grinned, pulled him back to his mouth.
**
He had a suite - expensive hotel rooms tended to lie empty because people with money vacationed wherever Jasmine was on any given week, and the desk clerk had smiled and said, "It's not like we're using the room, why shouldn't you take it?" Oz had made it from England to France to Sweden to America on this kind of generosity with nothing to call his own but his rucksack and the Turin Brakes shirt on his back. The bag had been stolen in London the night before he saw Jasmine on the BBC news; two days later it was waiting for him at the reception desk, note of apology clipped to the top, the clothes inside laundered.
He sat on the bed while Xander checked out the view, the minibar, the Jacuzzi.
"We're staying with Vi's parents," he said, stooping to unlace his boots. "Those slackers don't even give us complimentary mints on the pillows."
"Sounds rough."
"Anya and Giles flew back today." He dropped onto the bed beside Oz, quickly pulling his t-shirt over his head. "You should come to Sunnydale with us. Now a hundred percent First Evil free."
"Okay," he said, and angled in to nip at Xander's lower lip. They fell back together, and Oz thought that the bed was easily big enough for four or five people, and that that could be a good thing.
**
The Greatest Story was in its evening performance when Willow joined them, a girl on either side of her.
"Hi!" Breathless, she hugged them in turn, turning to pull the red-haired girl forward: "Oz, this is Vi."
She shyly waggled her fingers.
"Hey," he said. "Hope you're feeling better."
"And, Kennedy," Willow said, sliding her arm around the other girl's waist. Kennedy nodded a brusque hello.
"Just in time for the second act," Xander said. "We may have seats for a trio of beautiful ladies."
"Will we be okay till they show up?" Vi asked, already finding a spot beneath the tree. It took a few minutes for the five of them to settle. When they were done, Oz was leaning back against Xander, Willow's head resting easily on his thigh in a casual tangle of bodies.
Vi nudged him, smiling. "You look happy."
"Thanks." He smiled back.
Around them, there was a smattering of applause as the young actors took the stage again. He watched the stage, but he was concentrating on Xander's heartbeat, on the new/familiar softness of Willow's hair under his hand, on the scents of the two girls who loved people he loved too.
Anyway, he'd seen this story so many times in reruns. The traitor insisting that Jasmine was a monster. The assassination attempt, captured on film, and the helicopter footage of the chase across LA before Angel and Willow took her down.
"I wish it hadn't happened like that," Willow said.
Xander said, "I know. But it had to."
Oz breathed deep, half-closing his eyes against the setting sun. On stage, the girl playing Willow yelled 'now!' and Angel brought his hands up to Buffy's neck.
Kennedy said, "So, where are we having dinner?"
Title: Kingdom Come
Author: Doyle
Pairing: Oz/Xander (plus others)
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For
moosal who wanted post-Chosen, religion, no fixing of Xander's eye. Goes very AU after Dirty Girls.It was Times Square, not Istanbul, and Willow's hair was still red - only four years since he'd hugged her goodbye, not enough time for her to break out the blue rinse - but otherwise, it was pretty much like he'd sometimes pictured it. The crowd opened up just as she turned around, and they caught sight of each other at the same moment. Her eyes went wide; he could almost hear her breath catch.
Five seconds later, he had an armful of Willow and was nodding hi to Xander over her shoulder.
"I can't believe you're here." She un-crushed him, standing back so he and Xander could share a one-armed hug. "We were gonna leave today, we only stayed because Vi was sick and I'm gonna have to go check on her but oh my God, Oz!"
He nodded, thinking about the missed connection that had kept him in New York an extra day. "Guess Jasmine works in mysterious ways."
"Speak of the goddess," Xander said, looking up at one of the screens, where the countdown to the hourly broadcast was down to six seconds. The flow of people around them had stopped, and as Jasmine's tranquil, loving face faded in, many of them dropped to their knees.
At the end of the three-minute message, Oz couldn't have repeated back anything she'd said. She was like that; the feelings, when he listened to her, were so intense that he couldn't concentrate on the actual words. He'd heard her give a speech in Farsi, the one time he'd seen her in the flesh, and he hadn't understood a word. Hadn't made a difference. Maybe, he thought, there was something in what she was saying that transcended language, like music, or math.
When the screen turned back to its standard display, Willow's hand was in his left, Xander's curled easily around his right. People around them were getting back on their feet, crying, hugging their neighbours. The joy was a palpable thing, settling on them like snow.
**
Willow didn't stay long. She needed to make sure Vi was okay, she said, and somebody called Kennedy was waiting for her, but she gave Oz another hug and a quick brush of a kiss and a promise that she'd see him later.
"Later," he murmured back. "I'm sorry about Tara."
"I'm sorry you never got to know her," she said, her smile a little sad.
The goodbye kiss she gave Xander was deeper, one hand ruffling through his hair and skimming the black patch over his eye before she smiled and let him go. Oz regarded them thoughtfully. Perspective was a weird thing. Willow and Xander at eighteen, kissing each other in the old factory, that had been the worst thing he could think of. Months after, on full moons when it was Xander watching the bookcage by himself…
Now, with the three of them grown-up and surrounded by Jasmine's love, he just thought they looked right together. When Willow was gone and Xander smiled at him and took his hand again, that was right, too.
**
In the park, they spent a half hour watching the open-air stage. A bunch of children, probably local schoolkids, were acting their hearts out beneath the colourful banner that proclaimed it the Greatest Story Ever Told.
"The kid playing Angel," Xander said, "y'think his head's naturally that big?"
"Could be a prosthesis."
"That's some quality dedication to accuracy."
The sceneshifters rushed on from the wings, taking away the hotel backdrop. The curtain that fell at the back of the stage showed a painted TV audience, their faces featureless, unmoving.
"My people," a little girl said, stepping to the front of the stage with her arms outstretched. She was wearing a long white dress, and her hair was braided with jasmine blossoms. "You make me so proud. Your love, your compassion for one another. You ex-em-pli-fy," she pronounced it carefully, "all the best that humanity can offer. And now… And now…"
Oz felt himself mouth the words along with the rest of the audience. And now you'll see…
"And now you'll see," she rushed ahead, "true forgiveness in action. A friend of the Vampire Slayer -"
Xander was turning away. Oz went with him, no questions asked; he remembered seeing that show live, watching TV at 3am in a hotel in London. Next day the papers were covered in pictures of Xander shaking hands with the man who'd maimed him, Jasmine between them like a bridge.
They followed the path in silence. Oz thought about the newspaper clipping in his bag, Jasmine's hand on Xander's shoulder, and about six degrees of separation, and that he was touching someone who'd touched the Woman.
"Vi's mom and dad live in Manhattan," Xander was saying. "It's their anniversary, and she wanted to come home, and she and Will and Kennedy have their wacky ménage thing, so everybody had to come along."
So Willow had three people to love her, maybe more. That was good. She deserved that, and Jasmine was always telling them that they shouldn't be afraid to love more than one person, that they should have enough love for the world.
Oz tilted his head to look at Xander. Visibly not the kid he'd been any more, like he'd changed far more than just the eye - but everybody changed. He'd seen it enough times. People who'd been loud before Jasmine were quieter, now, as if something in them was calmer.
He sometimes wondered whether other werewolves found it easier to resist the change since She came, or if it was just him.
"Hotdogs," Xander announced, and maybe he hadn't changed too much. "We should get hotdogs. I think my first time in New York needs to be celebrated with a weiner-shaped potential death by poisoning."
Oz said, "Wait -" and he pulled him down into a kiss that almost experimental. Xander was warm and he tasted like an echo of Willow. He hadn't shaved in at least a day. There was barely a hesitation between the kissing and the being-kissed-back.
Oz broke away, absently rubbing the skin beneath his mouth.
"Hotdogs," he said. "It's a plan."
Xander grinned, pulled him back to his mouth.
**
He had a suite - expensive hotel rooms tended to lie empty because people with money vacationed wherever Jasmine was on any given week, and the desk clerk had smiled and said, "It's not like we're using the room, why shouldn't you take it?" Oz had made it from England to France to Sweden to America on this kind of generosity with nothing to call his own but his rucksack and the Turin Brakes shirt on his back. The bag had been stolen in London the night before he saw Jasmine on the BBC news; two days later it was waiting for him at the reception desk, note of apology clipped to the top, the clothes inside laundered.
He sat on the bed while Xander checked out the view, the minibar, the Jacuzzi.
"We're staying with Vi's parents," he said, stooping to unlace his boots. "Those slackers don't even give us complimentary mints on the pillows."
"Sounds rough."
"Anya and Giles flew back today." He dropped onto the bed beside Oz, quickly pulling his t-shirt over his head. "You should come to Sunnydale with us. Now a hundred percent First Evil free."
"Okay," he said, and angled in to nip at Xander's lower lip. They fell back together, and Oz thought that the bed was easily big enough for four or five people, and that that could be a good thing.
**
The Greatest Story was in its evening performance when Willow joined them, a girl on either side of her.
"Hi!" Breathless, she hugged them in turn, turning to pull the red-haired girl forward: "Oz, this is Vi."
She shyly waggled her fingers.
"Hey," he said. "Hope you're feeling better."
"And, Kennedy," Willow said, sliding her arm around the other girl's waist. Kennedy nodded a brusque hello.
"Just in time for the second act," Xander said. "We may have seats for a trio of beautiful ladies."
"Will we be okay till they show up?" Vi asked, already finding a spot beneath the tree. It took a few minutes for the five of them to settle. When they were done, Oz was leaning back against Xander, Willow's head resting easily on his thigh in a casual tangle of bodies.
Vi nudged him, smiling. "You look happy."
"Thanks." He smiled back.
Around them, there was a smattering of applause as the young actors took the stage again. He watched the stage, but he was concentrating on Xander's heartbeat, on the new/familiar softness of Willow's hair under his hand, on the scents of the two girls who loved people he loved too.
Anyway, he'd seen this story so many times in reruns. The traitor insisting that Jasmine was a monster. The assassination attempt, captured on film, and the helicopter footage of the chase across LA before Angel and Willow took her down.
"I wish it hadn't happened like that," Willow said.
Xander said, "I know. But it had to."
Oz breathed deep, half-closing his eyes against the setting sun. On stage, the girl playing Willow yelled 'now!' and Angel brought his hands up to Buffy's neck.
Kennedy said, "So, where are we having dinner?"
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no subject
on 2004-07-03 02:53 pm (UTC)In other words: damn good fic, luv :-)
no subject
on 2004-07-03 03:14 pm (UTC)The joy was a palpable thing, settling on them like snow.
This is a lovely, lovely line. And if I'm projecting in thinking that Jasmine's effects are just like dandruff, external and heavy, then slap me.
Nice job.
no subject
on 2004-07-03 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-03 03:16 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-03 03:57 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-03 04:14 pm (UTC):slinks back to fiddle with own words some more::
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on 2004-07-03 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-03 04:49 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-03 04:51 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-03 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-03 05:08 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-03 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-03 08:43 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-03 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-04 03:11 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-04 04:31 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-04 06:58 am (UTC)This was fabulous.
no subject
on 2004-07-04 04:26 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-04 01:53 pm (UTC)::adores you::
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on 2004-07-05 01:06 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-06 08:41 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-07-06 05:57 pm (UTC)There was barely a hesitation between the kissing and the being-kissed-back. The kiss scene was so perfect, so sweet. I love Xander's suggestion that they get hotdogs and then Oz kissing him and him kissing back and... just beautiful.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
no subject
on 2004-07-07 06:24 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-11-26 09:34 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2005-11-23 03:26 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-08-26 02:08 pm (UTC)(Here via
no subject
on 2006-11-01 01:24 pm (UTC)