Rating : 15ish
Setting : End of season 6, during the start of "Grave".
Summary : Dark Willow does things a little differently.
Author's Notes : Written for the “Death By…” ficathon, as requested by bellatemple who wanted to see Oz die by rock.
Willow recoiled in pain, the stolen power from Giles filling her, soothing her, trying to reconnect her with the humanity and hope she’d rejected when she’d deliberately chosen to skin Warren alive.
The thought of him touched something inside her.
The bastard who’d killed Tara and led to her going down this path of darkness.
Clutching at the so familiar pain, she held it close to her soul and clung to it, desperately ignoring all the feelings and connections to the world flooding over her. This was her pain, her loss and her hate.
Somehow, she survived the flood of pain and hope and life that Giles had deliberately infected her with. Straightening up from her position on the remains of the Magic Box’s floor, she turned and looked at them.
Her so called friends. Weak, pitiful excuses for acquaintances that had held her back long enough. Well, she’d showed them all, hadn’t she? Beaten, battered and bruised, nearly begging for their lives. Ha!
She had a much better target now. The first man to really hurt her. The man who’d set her on her way to intently studying the magic. The man who’d driven her to Tara in the first place.
She wouldn’t be feeling like this if it wasn’t for him.
“Bored now,” she chirped brightly, and teleported away.
Oz was calmly sat on a stone outcropping in the Himalayas when Willow appeared before him. He was carefully tuning the strings on an old battered guitar that he’d somehow found. About the only sign that he’d noticed Willow’s entrance was the slight raising of both eyebrows.
Willow looked at him there, sat comfortably on the rock, peaceful snow covered mountains all around him – and still ignoring her! “Oz,” she managed to grind out from between her gritted teeth.
“Willow,” acknowledged Oz, casually finishing off the last string. “New hair colour?” he asked, nodding towards her.
“That’s it!” exploded Willow, her hair visually darkening even more and the dark veins of power running through her once again. A simple gesture of her hand and Oz was flung off his stone seat and into a snow bank behind him.
“Always with the cool attitude, Oz!” she screamed at him, flinging his body with great force into another bank. “So cool, you had to end up here in one of the coldest places on Earth!”
Another gesture of her hand and Oz found himself floating in mid-air, still clutching the guitar in one hand. “Willow?” he said, perturbed. “What… what is this? This isn’t you.”
Willow snarled up at him. “Oh, this is me, Oz. This is what you made of me. I’m the bitch looking for a little of her owed payback.”
She snapped her fingers and once more they were gone.
Only to re-appear in the searing heat of a desert.
Oz dropped to his knees as the grip on him momentarily weakened. “Willow?” he queried, looking around him, and feeling the heat boiling him through his thick cold weather gear.
“Up here,” came the reply from above him. Floating in mid-air, power sparking from her hands was Willow. Still dark haired, still with that furious look on her face. “Do you know where we are, Oz?” she demanded.
Oz just looked at her and raised one eyebrow. “Probably not Kansas.”
“Shut up! No jokes!” she screamed down at him, face twisting in anger. “There will be no more jokes ever again! She’s dead, and it’s all your fault I feel like this!”
Oz’s brow furrowed “Who? Tara?”
Willow’s eyes went jet black. “Don’t you dare speak her name! You’re not worthy!” she shouted down at him, punctuating her outburst with lightning striking the ground in front of Oz.
“Oh no, you ran off and left us all! Deserted us! Me! Gave up on it all!” she ranted. “Well, this is Australia, Oz. Also known as Oz to its inhabitants. I used to daydream back in dear old Sunnydale High about maybe one day coming here with you.”
Struggling to his feet once more and trying to avoid the bolts still coming, Oz gazed up at the floating witch. “What’s happening to you, Willow?”
She laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh at all. Something in its twisted tones sent a chill down Oz’s spine. “Time for me to move on, Oz. Make peace with my past. Get round to all those things I should have done a long time ago.”
A glint in her eye and the lightning bolts stopped coming. “D’Hoffryn offered me a job once. I think I might take him up on that after I finish this.”
A chill ran through him Finish what? What had happened to the others? To Buffy? Xander?
Willow paused and considered him carefully, thinking out loud. “You always were obsessed with rock, Oz. There was always a part of you I couldn’t reach.”
She gestured again with her right hand, and the world shook around Oz. Desperately trying to keep his footing, he shouted up at her “What’s happening? What are you doing to yourself?”
And then it all went dark overhead. Looking up, Oz saw a massive rock held in place above him.
“Ayers Rock, meet Oz. Oz, Ayers Rock,” said Willow, and released her grip on the mass of stone floating in the air beside her.
As Ayers Rock thundered down towards him, a small sad smile crossed Oz’s face. “Huh. Big rock…”
The ground shook and trembled for miles around. With the remains of the interconnectiveness that Giles had forced upon her, Willow felt the moment all life left the spot before her.
“Two down,” she smiled coldly, “Just Xander to go now.”
And with a snap of her fingers, she was gone.