Disclaimer: Don't own them, Joss Whedon does!
Summary- Willow is alone and friendless, Angel is too. Can they find an answer to their problems in each other?
Note- This is after the episode where Spike comes back(I don't really know show names). In fact it is after pretty much this season so far. I left a wide margin for things to happen. And I would love to get feedback. In fact if you read this I insist you E me and tell e what you think.
Everything was over. There was no more fighting left to do. Willow sank to the ground and cried. She couldn't force herself to move from where Oz was buried. She remembered that night so long ago. He had said he would be right back and for her not to worry. Her tears drowned the memory and left her feeling empty.
"I killed him for you Oz. I killed him." She whispered
The only answer was the susurration of the cool night wind.
Home. If you could call it that. The apartment was two rooms. The main room and the bathroom. In one corner was an old mattress she had bought at a garage sale. The only blankets were some sheets that the people at public services had given her. On top of those was a picture of Oz with his guitar. In the corner across from the mattress was an electric burner and some canned fruit and soup. On a nail above it was a dented steel cooking pot. A trash bag hung from the ceiling against the far wall. It was stuffed tightly with cardboard and newspaper and her extra changes of clothing. She used this as a punching bag.
The bathroom was mildewed and dirty, but it had hot water.
Willow sat down on the mattress and picked up the picture. Gently she kissed the glass, set it aside. With pained and slow movements she unwrapped the rags from her hands that she used to protect her palms. Her hands themselves were sore and bruised.
"I need a shower." She said out loud.
Instead of getting up however she lay back and sighed. She had a lot to sort out in her mind.
The water was hot as she washed the vampire dust from her hair and relaxed. Her lithe, muscular body ached with every move, she wished she had someone to talk to. But there was no one.
Buffy had moved to New York for college and once there found out a larger Hellmouth had opened up under it. So Giles and her mother had moved to be with her. Xander and Cordilia had made up after a long drawn out fight and moved to Miami. She hadn't gotten a letter from any of them in a year. Her parents were dead and Oz was dead. The only money she had was five dollars.
The hopelessness of the situation suddenly hit her and hit her hard. Wiping soap and tears from her eyes she wrapped her shivering body in a moth eaten towel. She fleetingly wished that her building had central heating. Quickly she changed into a sweat outfit and shut out the light. Laying on the mattress she wondered if any of her old friends were thinking of her. She wondered if Oz could see her from where he was. She could still see him reaching for the car door . . .
"No. I will not remember." She shouted and rolled over to sleep through the day.
Night fell again, thick and deadly. Inky darkness covered the graveyard where to red head hunted her game. She stalked through the gloom, stake in hand looking for anything.
Nothing.
"Willow?" A voice said from behind her.
She turned to find herself face to face with Angel. He was wearing his usual white shirt and black jacket with black pants. The moonlight shone off his face giving him an eerie yet handsome look. It was easy to tell how Buffy had fallen for him.
"Angel." She replied raising one eyebrow in question.
They stood there staring at each other for a while till she broke the silence.
"What the Hell are you doing here? I thought you moved to LA."
"Well, I did. I was expecting Buffy to be out and around here. It is the holidays. Did she come home?" He said still confused.
"No. She won't be back for a while." Willow said shaking her head.
"What are you doing out here by yourself?" He asked stepping closer.
"Hunting."
"Alone? Why isn't Oz or at least Xander with you?"
"Because Xander doesn't live here anymore." She said turning away from him.
"Are you home for the holidays?" He asked.
"You could say that."
"What happened to you?"
"What do you mean?" She cried turning.
"Look at you . . . I mean this isn't the Willow who was going to go to college in Maine."
"No that Willow isn't here anymore." She murmured mostly to herself.