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A good deal of time had passed since Woody and Buzz reunited.
The other toys had their reactions – the glances, the lingering moments when the two would disappear for hours. Jessie threw herself into managing Lilypad with fierce, joyful focus, organizing play sessions and mediating the endless small dramas of preschool toys. Dolly helped, her maternal calm a perfect counterbalance to Jessie's wildfire energy. Forky ran himself ragged delivering earnest, nonsensical little speeches about "the importance of being present" and "trash-to-treasure pipeline optimization." They were all busy. Almost conspicuously busy.
No one commented on how Woody and Buzz would drift toward the old nightstand by the window. No one remarked on the way they'd vanish among the clutter of pens and paperclips on the desk, Buzz quietly clicking a retractable pen between his fingers while Woody talked – a nervous habit he picked up recently. Or how they'd tuck themselves into the folds of the curtain on the windowsill, voices low, shoulders touching.
It was obvious – they were making up for lost time. And in that quiet, selfish way of those who have been separated too long, they took it – every spare moment, every stolen second. And they were content.
The outing to the park was supposed to be about Bonnie.
She was trying so hard to fit in with the other kids, who talked in rapid, incomprehensible bursts about new social media trends and video games she'd never played. The toys swarmed her, pushing warm, familiar games into her hands, trying to redirect her attention to the joy they knew how to give. For every toy, this was a mission of the highest order – nerve-wracking, destiny-altering. But not for Buzz. His primary mission, right now, was Woody. No matter how that sounded.
No, everytoy naturally did miss their old cowboy too. Jessie especially. But Buzz – that meticulous, ever-controlling Buzz – had apparently commandeered every available slot in Woody's schedule during his brief stint as an "assistant." His role, in theory, was to support Jessie, to bolster her with his trademark loyalty and courage. Somehow, though, it had turned into...
"Come on!" Buzz tugged at Woody's sleeve, his voice a rapid-fire stream of excitement that would have shocked anyone who only knew him as the stoic Space Ranger. "Right here – Hidden City Café! Look at the display case. So many toys, just sitting on the shelves. Decorations. I wonder if you've ever seen any of them? In your travels?"
They had just slipped out of Bonnie's backpack under the pretext of "scouting the perimeter" for the "Gamer Kids Operation" – a mission Buzz had dismissed to Woody earlier as "tedious, predictable, and entirely manageable by standard protocols." Woody hadn't argued. He'd just laughed, shaking his head, watching Buzz with something soft and wondering in his drawn eyes. How his Space Ranger had changed. The one constant: his fixation on a certain tall rag doll. Ah.
They reached the café. Buzz had scaled the drainpipe with practiced ease, and Woody followed, slower, his cloth limbs less nimble than they used to be. Buzz's hand was there immediately, hauling him up onto the wide wooden sign that hung level with the café's side window. They settled into the perfect vantage point – concealed from below, eye-level with the display shelves inside, the whole cozy interior spread out before them.
"Didn't hurt yourself?" Buzz brushed an imaginary speck of dust from Woody's shoulder as he sat down beside him. He treated Woody with such delicate attention, as if the cowboy were made of porcelain, as if he might shatter. Even Bo Peep didn't have her own space guardian to hover over her with this kind of fussy devotion.
"I'm fine, Buzz. You're not yourself recently, you know that?" Woody waved him off, but shifted closer anyway, closing the small distance between them, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the sign. "Good spot. Never been here before. Do you just... Catalog places with toys in the windows now?"
"You don't like when I take care of you? Sheriff, don't play coy." But Buzz had been cataloging. Ever since the day Woody chose his own road, traveling state to state with Bo, sharing streets and stores with other lost toys. Buzz hadn't just been looking for him – he'd been trying to understand. To imagine.
How would Woody act in this store, where Bonnie's mom bought her autumn sweater? What would Woody notice at this gas station, where Bonnie's dad stopped for hot dogs? What would Woody see, from this playground bench, while the family waited for friends?
Everywhere. Always. Buzz had been thinking of Woody. Every small thing became a reason to remember, to hold close, to save – for the possibility, the desperate hope, of someday being able to tell him.
And now that the possibility was real, Buzz was half out of his mind with the need to pour it all out.
"Look!" He looped an arm around Woody's shoulders – casual, natural, like it belonged there – and pointed at the window. "That frog and that field doll. They're always chatting about something. Masters of stealth, those two."
Woody chuckled, a soft, breathy sound. His stuffed body shook with it, and Buzz could feel through his forearm how light he was now, without his voice box. The absence of it was a small, constant ache in Buzz's chest. Did Woody feel incomplete? Could Buzz fill that emptiness?
"I know communities like that," Woody said, his voice quiet, thoughtful. "We saw them in children's hospitals, information centers. Sometimes they're not friendly. Suspicious. Testing you, so to speak. You can tell they've been through a lot." A light, wry smile. "But we're no slouches either."
He had so much to tell. Buzz could see the weight of it behind his eyes – the years with Bo, with Giggle and Ducky and Bunny, all the lost toys and found places. In the quiet moments, when Woody's stories turned intimate and mesmerizing, Buzz felt a flicker of something sharp and unfamiliar. Jealousy. If he had been there, Woody wouldn't have had to be brave alone. Buzz would have been beside him.
"Do you think these ones are friendly?" Buzz asked.
"Hmm." Woody tilted his head, unconsciously leaning closer to Buzz, considering. "They seem relaxed. Their own ecosystem. Each one for themselves, but no bad vibes. Just my guess, though." He glanced at Buzz with a small, easy smile.
Guess whatever you want, Buzz thought. Just keep talking. To me. Just stay.
"Funny how people come to a café and do completely different things," Woody suddenly pivoted. "Look at that table – classic setup. Two coffees, two desserts, messy napkins." He pointed left. "But over there... Coffee, yes, but also a salad with chicken I think, and an orange! Look, the guy's peeling an orange."
Buzz watched, fascinated – not by the scene, but by the way Woody observed the world. "Do you think he's peeling it for his girlfriend?"
"Maybe." Woody tilted his head. "It's unusual to do – easier just to cut. But peeled... It must taste better. Now that's dedication."
"I'd peel oranges for you."
The words came out before Buzz could stop them. He turned his face toward Woody, Woody turned too. Somehow they'd circled back to this – Buzz's devotion. But this was unfamiliar territory.
"We don't eat oranges."
"If we did, I'd peel them. And bananas. And mangoes. I'd peel eggs for you."
Woody shook his head, pulling back just enough to see Buzz's face. "You don't spare yourself at all. What would I do, then?"
"You'd... Be grateful. And you'd drag me everywhere you needed a peeler. An food organizer."
Woody let out a huff of amusement. "Translate that into toy terms."
"Well.. " Buzz paused. "Wherever you need someone to haul spare parts and supplies. I don't know... For us, food could be anything."
"True." Woody's voice dropped, warm and teasing. "For me, food is your chatter. And I'm full, by the way. Completely." He smiled, but there was a tiredness beneath it, a soft unknown exhaustion that made Buzz's chest tighten.
"I was so hungry," Buzz admitted, looking away. "Starved. The kind of hunger where you can't eat too much at once, or you get sick. But I'm eating, eating it all... Eating too much. And I still can't get full."
"Philosophical." Woody observed quietly. "Buzz, I'm not going anywhere. We can talk. We can see each other. You should have said something sooner." His voice dropped lower. Woody still sat a little apart, but his hand came to rest on Buzz's shoulder, gentle and solid.
"It's strange. I'm already strange. What can you do about the situation?" Buzz risked a glance at Woody's face. "Don't change anything for me. Not when you're happy. Jessie tells me all the time how much you love your adventures."
"I want things to go well for you too. It's no trouble for me to come see you every couple of weeks."
"It feels like I'm the only one who needs this. You shouldn't do it just for me."
"I don't really need anyone else."
Woody turned back to the window, his eyes scanning the café interior. It was a confession, plain as day. But then why had he left?
"But then why had you left?" The question hung in the air – not promising anything easy or simple. A conversation they'd started a dozen times, always ending inconclusively. But Buzz asked anyway.
"Wouldn't you have?" Woody turned back at him. "I was broken. I wanted something that would take my mind off being needed while broken. And Bo was that. With her, I wasn't needed by a child – I was needed by toys. That was enough."
"So... You're useful to me too."
The silence that followed was loud. Buzz stumbled over his words, suddenly flustered. "I mean– sorry. I meant– I'm a toy, and you're– and with you I– well, we–"
Woody shook his head, a tired laugh escaping him. He leaned into Buzz's shoulder, closing the distance between them completely. "I understand. Yes. I think... Yeah. With you, I feel like enough."
They stayed like that for a while. Watching the café window, the people. Watching the peeled orange, the happy girl sharing it slice by slice, the boy watching her with a love so plain it was almost embarrassing. Buzz had learned that silences between them had their own language. Sometimes mouths spoke, sometimes bodies. Either way, they understood.
"I would have left." Buzz went on softly, breaking the quiet. "If I felt as broken as you did. I can't even imagine what that pain feels like, the one you carry." He paused. "Sometimes it's empty. But that's only because of you. Because you're not there. But then I'd be selfish. And I can't leave."
"You just know where you feel good. I feel good where I'm needed. You feel good where I am. And you – need me," Woody's hand rested on Buzz's jetpack warmly. "Works for both of us, huh?"
The sun had passed its peak. Soon it would begin its slide toward evening, the shadows lengthening. A breeze stirred, just enough to rock the wooden sign gently on its chains. Both of them tensed instinctively, pressing closer to the wood.
Woody lifted his head and looked Buzz straight in the eyes. His face had gone serious, painted eyebrows drawn together.
"If you ever decide... Anything. Talk to everyone about it. And to me. Okay?"
"Woody... You know me."
"I do. And that's exactly why we've done more impulsive things this week than we have in years. All your idea." Woody's tone was chiding, but not unkind. "I'm all for it. But you know the others will worry."
Buzz stared at him. He didn't feel guilty, precisely. He felt... Lost. Not lost like Woody was – with his poncho, his wire lasso, scavenged carabiners. Lost in a different way. The kind of lost where you don't know where to turn, what shoulder to press your face into to whine.
But right now in front of him was the most precious toy in his life.
So Buzz leaned forward and pressed his face into Woody's shoulder, turning slightly, letting himself be held.
"I just want to peel oranges for you."
Woody exhaled. He might have made a sound, if he was weaker, if he wasn't so practiced at holding himself together. He felt the weight of Buzz against him – a weight as heavy as his own, a mirror of his own tangled feelings. They were sharing something now, a whole vortex of grief and longing and relief. That was the strange miracle of their bond.
His cloth arms wrapped around Buzz's broad plastic body, pulling him into a safe and cozy embrace. It was a good day. A strange, fruitful, necessary outing. He could see new thoughts forming in Buzz's head, too many of them, all tangled.
"It's okay. You'll think about it. We will think about it." Woody murmured. Where else could he go? By coming back – even for a while, even for a negligible amount of time – he had tied himself to his eternal partner forever.
Maybe someday, he'd have a peeled orange from Buzz.
—
They really should get back to Bonnie and the others now. Nearly an hour had passed. How overlooked...
"Orange." Buzz kept repeating to himself, the word bouncing around his plastic skull like an act of a desperate devotion.