the shire is burning [eddie munson x OC]

chapter forty eight

a/n: surprise! early update. there'll be another new chapter tomorrow. pov's are marked in bold. yada yada yada. alright, i'll let you all get to it. i probably won't have any author's notes for the next few chapters. <3

EDDIE'S POV

Eddie waits for the storm, but it never comes.

On Thursday, he takes the time to greet Willow especially delicately, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of tears or pain. He knows very clearly what day it is - the anniversary of Parker's death. He had already made plans for them to spend the entire night together in an effort to not only distract her if she needed it, but be there if she needed to have a breakdown.

She's fine. It baffles him, but she's perfectly fine. They have the movie night they'd previously planned for the night before, before Eddie got in over his head, and everything went just fine.

On Friday, he believes that maybe the breakdown was delayed. Surely, she was going to come out to his car and insist they ditch the day. The storm would have finally arrived and he's prepared for it. But she comes bounding out to his car, going as far as to bring him a handful of sour Warhead candies to 'start off Halloween the right way' since he'd mentioned they were his favorite, and he's left baffled as he watches her nod her head along to Black Sabbath the entire drive. Her eyes aren't rimmed red, her hands aren't shaking. He doesn't question when he pecks her for show later that day at lunch and she tastes like the same sour treats she'd gifted him.

She's fine. Even when the night comes and she invites him over to pass out candy with her. Even as they accidentally ignore a few passes of poor children, opting to leisurely make out instead.

She's fine, and he hadn't planned for that. He's at a loss.

He's not much of a grief expert. The only death he'd ever experienced that had left him particularly scarred had been his mother, and he'd been too young to properly go through the grieving motions without a helping hand from Wayne. His uncle had kept the happy memories alive and the more painful memories buried away. He still missed her of course, especially in the summer, but it didn't feel comparable to what Willow had experienced. Most years, his mother's death anniversary passed him by without him realizing.

But Willow had told him the way she dreaded Halloween, how the anniversary haunts her. So he had planned for her armor to crumble, for her to lay down her weapons and seek out solace in him. She doesn't.

The only talk involving anxiety of the holiday had been revolving around Harrington's stupid plan of a 'not-party', as Willow phrased it.

"Come on," she pleaded from the couch on Thursday night. He was in the kitchen microwaving them some popcorn, "Steve really wants us to go."

"Need I remind you what happened at the last party with Steve?" He tried to remain gentle in his tone. He was still treading carefully, still awaiting the storm.

"This will be different, it's a not- party," she argued, standing and walking to where he stood in front of his microwave. He nearly jumped out of his skin when she wrapped her arms around him from behind, leaning up and pressing her chin into his shoulder. He knew it was a comical sight given their height difference, and the image of the outside view fueled his butterflies. They were bruising, as they always were when she partook in such casual affection with him. "You'll be there. Besides, I've learned my lesson. Drunk Willow is a woman of the past."

He couldn't help but turn around to face her, twisting in her arms and looking down at her puppy dog eyes. He couldn't say no to her. But God, he wished he could have in moments like this. It was a terrible idea.