Fic: Interlude, Wesley/Oz, R (FRM)
Title: Interlude
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Wesley/Oz
Rating: R (FRM)
Summary: An empty gas tank, a chance meeting, and something hinky at a backwater truck stop.
Spoilers: Set sometime between BtVS "Wild at Heart" and AtS "She."
Feedback and Concrit adored: lostgirlslair @ yahoo.com
Disclaimer: All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.
Written for fiareynne for the Wesley Round of maleslashminis. She wanted, well, just what the summary says, actually. I hope you like it, hon. Huge thanks to katekat1010 for the discussion and taffimai for the support and to mireille719 for the support and wonderful beta magic!!
Wesley knew he shouldn't have skipped that last exit, but it was a beautiful night and he hadn't expected there to be so few along this stretch of highway. As it was he barely made it into the truck stop, coasting on fumes. His bike sputtered, the engine dying, but it had gotten him there. He couldn't help a smile as he ran his hand along the seat and over the tank. He wasn't caressing it. Really, he wasn't.
Wes took the cap off the tank, humming idly to himself as he filled it up. He was thinking of calling it Lucy. His smile widened, and he headed into the store to pay for the gas and perhaps pick up something for dinner. He'd have to stop soon; perhaps there was a motel nearby. If there was such a place, it should be fairly close to the truck stop. Sadly, he didn't see anything resembling a motel, but he chalked it up to a lack of customers.
This place wasn't at all busy, probably because no one else had been fool enough to drive past the last exit, which had boasted two whole restaurants as well as three motels and two gas stations. There were only two cars in the parking lot here, one a battered pickup truck pulled up close to the side of the main building, and the other a van, parked over by the garage. It was the van that held his attention. It was somehow familiar, though Wesley wasn't sure exactly why that should be so.
After a moment spent pondering it, Wesley went to turn back to his task, but a flash of bright blue hair brought his attention to a small figure, disappearing behind the back of the main building. And again came that feeling of familiarity. Wesley felt his forehead wrinkle. He watched the building, but didn't see the figure return. Shaking off his vague uneasiness, Wesley went inside to pay.
The man behind the counter looked more bored than any human being should be. He was half asleep, his feet propped on the counter and a magazine lying across his lap. He looked up slowly as Wesley brought his chips, water, and pre-packaged sandwich to the counter.
"Good day," Wesley said cheerfully, only to get a grunt in response as the man lumbered up to the cash register. He was otherwise silent, even going so far as to point at the total on the small readout screen, rather than simply telling it to Wesley. And he stared, only taking his eyes from Wesley when he was ringing something up.
It was a relief to pay and get away from the man's gaze. Wesley's mood was a bit deflated, but he was determined to hold on to his cheerful disposition, come what may. Clutching tightly to that attitude, Wesley walked back to his motorcycle, digging in the bag for his bottle of water. Why was it that, invariably, whatever you were looking for was right at the bottom of the--
Shouting caught his attention. Wesley whirled around, his hand going for one of the two crossbows he kept on the bike at all times. The shouting had stopped, and he saw nothing unusual. A tense, silent moment passed without another sound, and then Wesley's eyes were drawn to the van. Pulling his crossbow free, Wesley looked at the edge of the building, where he'd seen that person go not long ago. He walked that way slowly, his stomach tightening. This wouldn't be the first time Wesley had encountered a demon at a truck stop. People who were traveling were easy prey, and it took them longer--usually--to be missed.
Another shout and Wesley was moving faster, though still cautious. He flattened himself against the wall of the store and ducked his head around quickly, just to make sure it was a demon or some such this time, and not another couple loudly enjoying some private time.
It was dark back there, but there were three people, and though Wesley wasn't sure any of them was a demon, the two larger ones were beating the hell out of the smaller: one of them holding him while the other pummeled. Wesley whipped himself around the corner, his crossbow raised.
"I hardly think that's sporting of you two. Care to even the odds a bit?" Wesley was quite proud of that one. The last time he'd had to do something like this, he'd been so scared he'd squeaked when he spoke. Of course, that demon had been considerably slimier, and there had been tentacles.
The larger figure, the one doing the pummeling, turned around. Wesley felt his heart rate pick up as the man's face broke into the red light of an exit sign. The shadows pooled along the ridges of the man's vampiric visage and Wesley squeezed the crossbow trigger before his mind had really even caught up. The bolt took the vampire in the chest, and the resulting cloud of dust shimmered in the red light as it settled.
Wesley turned his arm toward the other figure, so much larger than the victim that he could definitely hit it, though he wouldn't be able to kill it with a single shot. Wes quirked his eyebrow, trying to think of something to say, but the vampire tossed his captive forward. Wesley had to drop his crossbow in order to catch the smaller man, and by the time he was no longer busy trying not to fall over, the vampire was gone.
Wesley looked down and found himself supporting someone he did actually know, even if not well. "Oz? Isn't it?" Wesley helped the young man to the wall of the store, where Oz leaned and the slid down to the ground as if his legs wouldn't support him.
"Yeah, Wesley, it's me." Wesley retrieved his crossbow before going to kneel before Oz, squinting to try and assess the young man's injuries. Wesley's first thought was that there was too much blood on his face. In fact, he pulled a handkerchief out of the inside of his leather jacket and dabbed at the largest of the cuts there, hoping to get a better look at it.
Oz winced away from his ministrations, and Wesley drew back. "Sorry. We should go somewhere better lit. You might need to go to a hospital."
"I'm fine," Oz countered. He attempted to prove that fact by standing, only to sink back down to the ground. "Okay, maybe a little less fine, but I'll be okay."
With the threat of that vampire still over them, and it being so dark, Wesley still thought it better if they didn't linger. "Still, light is our friend. I'd hate to be surprised if that vampire returns."
Oz looked up at that and nodded, allowing Wesley to help him stand, but supporting some of his own weight as they walked toward the van, which was parked under a street light. Ah, yes, now Wesley remembered it. He got Oz to it, opened the back doors and helped Oz sit on the edge. Handing over his handkerchief, Wesley tried desperately to come up with something to say. Oz surely still thought of him as the man who had wanted to give Willow to Mayor Wilkins. He couldn't just leave Oz here, though, wounded and with a vampire still on the loose.
"Uh, so, what are you doing all the way out here?" Wesley tried to look casual, leaning against one of the van's opened doors. When Oz looked over at him, though, Wesley got the impression he was failing.
"Besides getting hit?" Oz's face was smeared with blood. He was slumped with an arm wrapped protectively over his stomach, holding Wesley's handkerchief to the cut on his forehead. Somehow he still managed to look totally composed. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Especially since Oz's gaze was steady on him, as if what he'd just asked had been neither rhetorical nor sarcastic.
"Well . . . yes." Wesley only got a shrug in answer, which made him all the more curious. Had he known Oz better, he might have pushed for an answer. At least Oz stopped looking at him; Wesley had been on the verge of fidgeting.
"Why were those vampires attacking you?" It was the only other question there was to ask. They couldn't call the police when vampires had been the assailants, and Oz had already denied his need for a hospital. In truth, it was only the way Oz slumped and held his ribs that worried Wesley. The cuts weren't bad, though they'd bled quite a bit, and Oz had supported more of his own weight on the walk over than Wesley would have thought he could.
"Probably because I caught them trying to summon a demon." The words were delivered in just the same tone as any of the others. Wesley found himself nodding before he'd even processed them. Then he stared at Oz for a moment, blinking.
"Who were they? What were they summoning? We have to stop them." Straightening away from the van door, Wesley turned back toward where he'd last seen the remaining vampire, as if he could actually track the thing out there in all that darkness.
"Not a problem." Wesley turned back and Oz opened the first he'd been pressing against his ribs. Wesley leaned forward, over Oz's hand and then gasped. Resting in his palm was a small amulet, shaped something like a scarab of some kind. Wesley reached out a finger to touch it and was surprised to find it cold to the touch. It was white, though what shade changed from each angle Wesley examined it from.
"Not to interrupt, but . . ." Oz said, making Wesley realized he'd been looking at the amulet for several long moments.
"Oh, uh, sorry." Wesley straightened, giving Oz an apologetic smile. "How are you?"
"Cracked rib, concussion, cuts, bruises. Otherwise I'm good."
"Where are you staying? You shouldn't be driving with a concussion. I'll take you."
Oz nodded his head backward and then winced at the action, raising a hand to his head. "Pretty much here."
Wesley wasn't sure what to say to that. He looked at the van and then back to Oz. Then he straightened himself further, trying to look authoritative. "Well, you can't stay here tonight. That vampire is bound to want that amulet back, and he'll come after you to get it."
"Motel's just the same," Oz answered, scooting back to lean against the inside wall of the van, facing Wesley. Wesley didn't miss his wincing at the pain the action obviously caused. "No invitation needed. Besides, I've been living here. Shouldn't a vampire need an invitation into the van?"
"You . . . may just have a point, but it would be harder to find us if we went somewhere else." Wesley eyes strayed to his bike. "We could put my motorcycle in the back of your van and I could drive us."
Something vaguely like a smile drifted over Oz's lips, but was quickly gone. "Could, but the van's dead."
"Dead?"
"Yeah. Was waiting for the guy to get in, in the morning. Figured I could trade with him to get it fixed or something."
"Ah. I see." Wesley eyes moved back to his motorcycle. Were Oz willing to leave the van behind, Wesley could still get them away from here, but he had no helmet for Oz and, worse, it would probably be horribly jarring to Oz's rib. "Well, then it looks as if we'll be staying here, then." He couldn't say he was happy about it, but there didn't seem to be another choice.
"Thanks," Oz said, drawing Wesley's attention.
"For what?" Wesley shook his head, giving Oz a bewildered look. Oz flicked his eyes to the place where the vampires had attacked him and back to Wesley.
"You kinda saved my life." For once, Oz's tone was different, lighter, amused, maybe. It was hard for Wesley to tell. The words, however, combined with Oz's steady gaze, made Wesley blush a bit, ducking his head to hide the reaction.
"Uh, well, it's what I do."
"Yeah, about that," Oz seemed to relax, though Wesley thought it could be the pain forcing Oz to rest more of his weight against the wall of the van. "I thought the Watcher's Council . . ." Wesley must have stiffened then, given some sign that he was uncomfortable with the topic, because Oz changed tracks in mid flow. "Giles didn't say much about it, after you left."
"Well," Wesley edged toward the inside of van, wanting to sit but unsure if it was entirely polite, given that Oz was living out of the vehicle. Oz moved his feet, however, and managed in that simple gesture to convey that Wesley should sit. "Well, there wasn't really anything left for me, with the Council. Buffy was no longer working for them, and Faith . . . I decided the best way for me to continue the fight would be to become a rogue demon hunter."
"Rogue demon hunter? Pretty cool title."
Wesley snorted at that and then actually laughed at the amusement on Oz's face. It was somehow inclusive, but not open, and Wesley liked the feeling that they were sharing a joke. It had been so long since . . . Pulling his mind from those thoughts, Wesley scooted back into the van, letting his legs dangle over the edge, his crossbow in easy reach.
Silence settled over them, but Wesley was out of things to say. He wasn't sure asking about Willow, and any of the others Oz might be willing to tell him about, was a good idea, not given that Oz was here, by himself, and Willow was, presumably, still in Sunnydale. There were other reasons he didn't ask, worries about what he might hear, might learn, but Wesley pushed them aside and sought something else to talk about.
A sudden thought gave him just what he needed. "What are you going to do tomorrow?" Oz raised his eyebrows and Wesley realized his question was rather vague. "I mean, as the moon will be full . . ."
Oz nodded, his eyes flicking out into the dark. "I know a place. Can't go tonight, it's too dark, but I can lock myself in. Figured I'd hitch."
Wesley eyes moved once again to his motorcycle. "I could take you, but I'm not sure how comfortable you'd be on my bike, with your rib, not to mention a concussion."
Oz followed Wesley's gaze. "Nice." Wesley felt absurdly proud of the bike at that moment. "I could maybe hang on, but I'm kinda against testing that at highway speeds."
Wesley nodded, having already come to the same conclusion. "Are you sure you'll be able to get a ride?" Wesley didn't like the idea of leaving Oz with a broken or cracked rib and a concussion, even once the morning had come and the vampire was unable to attack. For the next three nights, Oz would be more than capable of defending himself, but if he were to get loose . . .
Wesley bit his lip, his eyes moving from his motorcycle to the highway and back again. He had no schedule to stick to now, no one telling him when to be where and Oz was, well, if not a friend, then at least a comrade. Wesley didn't like to think that it might be guilt that was fueling his decision, guilt over Willow and . . . He'd firmly resolved not to think about his time in Sunnydale, but to move on and do better, do more.
"This place you can go, where is it?" Wesley knew he was probably pushing things, that the last thing Oz would want was his company, but if Wesley left him like this, he wasn't sure he could live with it. Never knowing if Oz had gotten loose and hurt someone, or if the vampire had somehow overcome him.
Oz raised his eyebrows, but answered the question. "Four or five miles down the road. Old school. I can rig up something with the keys. Wolf's not too big with logical reasoning."
"You speak as if it's an entirely separate entity," Wesley said softly. He hadn't even really meant to say it, afraid he'd offend Oz if he did, but it had slipped out.
"It is. Well, it is and it isn't," Oz said with a sigh. He looked down at his hands, and Wesley could only imagine what it was that Oz was seeing. "It's separate, but it's inside me. All the time, not just the full moon. I can . . . I can feel it, if I think about it. It gets restless, this close." There was something in his voice that sent a shiver along Wesley's spine, something old and primal and, Wesley thought, not entirely Oz.
It was several moments before Wesley got up the courage to say anything more and then he turned to meet Oz's eyes. "I could use a place to stay, for a few days. Would you mind terribly if I--"
"Stayed around and made sure I didn't get out? You're free to crash." Oz seemed nonplussed and Wesley felt he had to speak, to deny that that had been what he was thinking, even though it had been part of it.
"It's not that I don't trust you to work out something," he began, but Oz merely shrugged.
"Better to be safe," was all he said. Again, silence fell and it was beginning to unnerve Wesley, creating an itch to speak, to say anything. The whole situation was made harder by the fact that Wesley hadn't really spoken with anyone for long over the last while. He'd been traveling, spending no more than a few nights in any one place. In fact, sparse as it was, this was probably the longest conversation Wesley had had in a month.
One would have thought he'd have grown used to the quiet, but he found that now that there was someone he could talk to, he rather wanted to do just that.
"Uh, I . . . don't want to bring up an unwelcome subject," Wesley began, letting his gaze slip to the outside, "but, how is . . . everyone?"
"In Sunnydale? Or, like, the general world state?"
Wesley blinked at that. Oz didn't seem to be joking, though it was rather hard to tell when he was, except that, occasionally, he would smile. "Uh, in Sunnydale, of course."
"Hey, I get lost sometimes," Oz said and it sounded like something more than a general comment, like some kind of confession. "Last I saw, people were fine. Are we talking about anyone specific?"
Wesley opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking down at his hands. "No," he finally managed. "Just, how is Buffy and . . . everyone?"
"Buffy's all right. Going to UC Sunnydale, not a cave girl, good."
Wesley raised his eyebrows at that, but didn't interrupt.
"Xander's good. Dating Anya--"
"Anyanka?"
"Yeah. Giles . . ." Oz paused for barely a breath and Wesley had to wonder if it was Oz or himself giving this particular bit significance. "Giles is all right. Seemed kinda distant, but with Buffy and--in college, he wasn't around much." Oz was holding his gaze now, and Wesley couldn't pretend he'd failed to see the knowledge in Oz's eyes.
"Uh, yes," Wesley sighed, once more looking out into the darkness. "Thank you."
"Ditto," Oz said softly, and Wesley didn't have to look at his face to know what he meant, not this time. There was one person Oz hadn't mentioned at all, and Wesley hadn't asked. It was clear that whatever had led to Oz leaving Sunnydale, Willow was involved and Oz didn't want to talk about it.
Wesley lost himself in thought for several moments, staring out into the dark. Finally, he forced his mind to other topics, practical concerns coming to his rescue as they had so many times recently. "Tomorrow, do you think you can get to this old school by yourself? I mean, you can't go on my bike and we'll need provisions. I can collect them and meet you there."
"Smart," Oz agreed, leaning his head back against the van wall. He seemed tired, his eyes half closed.
"Would you like some coffee?"
Oz lifted his head and then winced, though Wesley couldn't tell whether it was his head or his rib that had protested. "Have some," Oz answered, nodding to the front seat. "There's a thermos up there."
Wesley nodded and went to go find it. The thermos was stuck down between the two front passenger seats, and Wesley had to climb in behind the wheel to get the leverage to pull it out.
"You find it?"
"Yes." Wesley crawled out of the seat and went back to sit with Oz, handing over the thermos. "If you need to sleep," he began, only to have Oz cut him off.
"Nah. I'm good."
And with that, Wesley had run out of things to ask, and it didn't look as if Oz was going to continue the conversation. In fact, Oz seemed completely comfortable with the silence, and Wesley wasn't entirely sure how to take that. He didn't remember Oz being a chatterbox, but surely he'd talked more than this? Wesley had never really had much reason to spend time in Oz's company, though, so he couldn't be entirely certain.
Wesley leaned against the van wall, staring out into the night and trying not to feel pressured by the quiet. It was hard to relax, though, with the night getting colder around them and so little to focus on. Wesley, needing to fill the silence, turned toward Oz, only to find that Oz had fallen asleep. His head was tilted back against the van wall, and he was half in shadow and half in light. Wesley found his eyes trailing over the column of Oz's throat, a graceful line made starkly noticeable by the shadow.
Blinking, Wesley shook his head at himself, shifting his weight against the van. Oz started up at the sound and then winced, raising one hand to his head and pressing the other to his chest. "Ow."
"Sorry," Wesley said, his eyes flicking down to the hand that Oz had rested against his ribs. "Does it hurt badly?"
"The rib? No. It'll be fine after tomorrow night."
Wesley nodded to that before his mind had fully absorbed it; then he felt his forehead wrinkle. "It will?"
"Yeah, something about the change. I think it's because the bones re-form anyway. Doesn't do any good for scratches, though, which is kinda weird."
"What about your head?" Wesley asked, suddenly interested, though he'd likely have grasped at any topic that stopped him from thinking his previous thoughts.
"Don't know. Never had a concussion before."
Wesley found himself lacking further fodder for conversation. Oz leaned his head back once again, and Wesley forced his eyes to travel outside the van. They landed on his bike, still sitting out there in front of the gas pumps. "Damn."
Oz looked up at him and Wesley waved a hand to indicate it wasn't anything dire. "I'm going to have to move my bike. You'll be all right here?"
"Unless the vamp comes back with six or seven friends and my theory on the invitation issue is wrong." Wesley's worried look apparently stopped the flow of words. "Fine. You won't even be out of sight. I'm more worried about you. Got a cross?"
"Two," Wesley replied, "And six bottles of holy water. It pays to be prepared. Well, no, not actual money, but it's kept me from being vampire food, so that's a return of a sort."
Oz nodded and Wesley found himself smiling as he went to retrieve his bike, parking it next to Oz's van. He'd re-discovered his bag from the store when he'd gone to get the bike, and the sight of the sandwich reminded him that he hadn't eaten since lunch. Picking it up, he headed back to Oz.
"Care to split a sandwich?" he asked, seating himself once more and leaning against the wall. "Tuna, which you can't expect terribly much of from a truck stop, but it's something."
"Hmm?" Oz lifted his head, eyes half-lidded and looking as if he might have been dozing when Wesley spoke. "Oh, there are some up front. I'm not hungry."
Wesley still felt a little odd eating in front of Oz, though it helped that Oz seemed to be falling asleep again. Unsure whether or not that should worry him, Wesley finished his rather sub-par dinner and settled in for a long night's watch. His shifting must have made more noise than he'd thought. Oz's head snapped up and winced slightly.
"You can sleep, if you need to," Wesley told him. "I'll wake you up in an hour."
"No," Oz said with a small smile. "Least I can do is keep you company."
Wesley didn't mention that he'd likely be more comfortable if Oz did sleep. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about saying something, about filling the silence that continually felt awkward to him. He didn't mention it because he was fairly certain that Oz was going to fall asleep one way or the other. The light inside the van wasn't very good, but if Wesley squinted he could make out faint signs that said it might have been a while since Oz's last night's rest.
"How long have you been awake?" Wesley asked out of curiosity, his gaze traveling the faint purple bruises beneath Oz's eyes.
Oz shrugged, his head seeming to rest against the van wall of its own accord. "A day, maybe. I'm trying to stay awake. Maybe keep the wolf quieter." Wesley felt his eyebrow rise, and that seemed to be enough for Oz to consider the question asked. "It's been active lately."
The words were threaded through with a tone that Wesley couldn't entirely read. There was sadness there, but more than that, and suddenly even the talking was awkward as well, because Wesley had no idea what to say.
"Get some sleep," he finally managed. "You're going to fall over if you don't." He could see that Oz was ready to protest, and so Wesley forged ahead. "Besides, if the wolf has been active lately, aren't you just weakening yourself, making it harder for you to deal with?" At Oz's raised eyebrow, Wesley felt compelled to continue. "I mean, you said it was like a separate entity, in some ways. Is that one of them?"
Oz seemed to consider that. The silence stretched on, and Wesley turned his eyes to the darkness, to other thoughts, in an attempt to avoid interrupting Oz's. What if that vampire did bring friends? He had no call to assume that it didn't know others. The very possession of the amulet, the intent to call demons, both hinted at something like a cult, rather than two vampires working alone. Suddenly imagining a horde of vampires coming down on the van, Wesley reached out, letting his fingers brush his crossbow. He had another on the bike, and he was considering going to get it, just in case.
"You could be right," Oz said. Wesley turned to look at him, blinking in confusion. Had he said that out loud or had Oz somehow guessed what he was thinking? "About me only tiring myself out. The wolf doesn't have a body to be tired."
"Get some sleep," Wesley said, hoping he sounded reassuring. "It can't do anything until tomorrow and by then we'll have you safely . . . er, locked up." He winced as he said it, and Oz gave him another of those fleeting smiles.
"Right. Thanks."
Wesley didn't bother to ask for what. Oz was already leaning his head back, his eyes already drifting shut. Even without the heightened senses of a wolf or a vampire, Wesley could actually see Oz falling into sleep. His body seemed to relax and, bit by bit, his breathing slowed, right in front of Wesley's eyes.
Resolving to be especially quiet, Wesley settled himself in. He'd stayed up all night quite a few times since arriving in America. Since leaving Sunnydale, he'd had to do it a time or two when following a vampire or a demon. He'd never had a companion on such nights, and somehow, knowing someone else was there--even if that someone was asleep--was a comfort. He'd been so scared, so many times, but he knew he needed to do this, needed this and that had kept him going. He hadn't let himself stop long enough to think how lonely it was. Oh, he'd made . . . acquaintances, but such things never lasted long. Wesley traveled quite a lot, and he hadn't stayed anywhere for any length of time, not yet.
Wesley sighed softly, forcing himself to stop thinking about that. It seemed there were few topics, tonight, he could think on safely. Of course, without anything else to occupy his mind, it jumped on the first thing presented to it and Wesley drifted off to sleep wondering if Oz's time away from Sunnydale was as lonely as his had so far been.
"--urge to get themselves carved up or somethin'." The unfamiliar voice startled Wesley into action. His hand shot out for his crossbow, and he came up on his knees, his eyes opening even as he leveled the weapon, aiming in the general direction of the voice.
It was only when he was kneeling with his crossbow aimed and ready that several things became clear. The first was that Oz was in a similar position at his side, but brandishing a stake. The second was that it was morning and so the two men standing at the van's entrance and watching with wide eyes were, most certainly, not vampires.
"Jumpy," one of the men commented, his eyes fixed on Wesley's crossbow. "Probably not too worried someone'll come after 'em." Wesley remembered the man, vaguely, from the store the night before. This was the man who'd stared at him, only now he seemed rather more moved to speak.
Wesley set his crossbow aside, his body slumping now that the initial adrenaline rush was over. "Pardon me," he said, sharing a speaking glance with Oz. "You startled us."
"Sorry, but what exactly where you expectin'?" asked the other man, one Wesley had not seen before. "I mean, a crossbow and a . . . what is that, boy? A tent peg?"
"Something like that," Oz replied, quickly shoving the stake into a niche in the floor, where it must have been hidden as Wesley had not seen it the night before. Wesley was only glad his sleepy mind hadn't gone for the crosses and holy water he had stashed around his body. That would have been even harder to explain, he was sure.
"We're, uh, just not used to traveling this way. The van's broken down," Wesley offered as an explanation. The men seemed to take that at face value. The one Wesley hadn't seen before nodded sagely.
"You two were waitin' for me, then, I'd wager. You want it fixed?"
Wesley glanced to Oz, who seemed to be waking up more quickly than he himself was. A good sign, since Wesley had fallen asleep and completely forgotten to wake Oz every hour. Sighing to himself, Wesley went to his bike while Oz discussed the van. Wes kept everything he needed with him, of course, but he wasn't used to not having it unpacked in a motel bathroom. There had only been one or two nights that he'd spent out of doors and those had taught him that he never wanted to do that again, if it were possible to avoid it.
Making his way to the truck stop restrooms, Wesley was surprised to find the place was rather busy, first thing in the morning. By the time he returned, Oz had made a deal of some sort with the mechanic and Wesley hurried over to help the man push the van into the garage.
The mechanic then went into his office and Wesley turned to Oz. "I'm so sorry. I must have fallen asleep and--"
"No problem," Oz said, with one of his fleeting smiles. He was leaning against the outside of the van, having been the one to steer while Wesley and the mechanic pushed. He still looked tired, and the way he had wrapped one arm around his ribs didn't seem like a good sign to Wesley.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Just a little in pain from that wake-up call." Oz shrugged, but straightened without apparent trouble.
"Are you certain you can get a ride to this place we're going?" Wesley didn't want to try driving with Oz on the bike, but if it was necessary he would.
"Yeah. Tim's gonna give me a ride."
"Tim?"
"The mechanic."
"Oh, good. If you can give me directions, I'll pick up a few things and meet you there."
Oz nodded, reaching into the front of the van to get a pad of paper. He drew the roads quickly and efficiently, handing the directions over to Wesley. "You know," he said, though he didn't look up, "you don't have to stay. I can rig something up." He didn't sound as sure as of that as Wesley might once have thought. The tones of Oz's voice were subtle, but Wesley thought he was finally getting the hang of them.
"No. As you said, it's better to be safe and there's still at least one . . . 'person' out there who wants something you have. I know you can likely fix a way to keep yourself, uh, locked in, but if he should find you . . . It worries me that he didn’t come last night. If the amulet does what you said it would do, it seems that that 'person' should want it back very badly."
"The wolf's pretty good at taking care of itself," Oz replied with a wry and slightly bitter smile.
"Yes, but if the vampire gets in, you'll no longer be locked in," Wesley replied, fairly certain that whatever bitterness Oz was feeling, it wasn't directed toward him.
"Fair point." Oz nodded. He looked up then, meeting Wesley's gaze. "I'll meet you at the school, before sundown. Never really thought I'd say that again."
Wesley couldn't help but smile. "Yes, well, I never thought I'd hear it again." With that, Wesley turned and went to his bike. As he was arranging his things for the ride, Wesley heard Tim call out to him. He looked up, saw the mechanic ogling his motorcycle and smiled.
"Nice machine," the man called and Wesley nodded, pulling on his helmet.
"Her name's Lucy." He'd thought it was a halfway decent exit, except he thought he saw Tim rolling his eyes as he drove away. Perhaps naming the bike was going too far . . . or maybe 'Lucy' just wasn't a good name for a rogue demon hunter's conveyance.
-----
Oz paced. There wasn't much else to do. The wolf was too restless to allow him to read, and he could feel the sun's descent like a weight against his skin, pressing from the inside. The inside of him itched and Oz couldn't satisfy it. There was no way to scratch, no way to still himself, at least not one that he knew, not yet.
I'll find something,, he promised himself, even as he had to force himself not to think of red hair flashing in silvering moon light, of the smell of apples and magic and soft, soft skin. He growled, actually growled, and there was more of the wolf to that sound than Oz was comfortable with. He needed a distraction, needed something to drown out the remembered scents.
Books. Books and new leather, wind and the outside, the tart hint of citrus and a tang of cologne applied hours ago. Wesley had arrived. Oz stalked toward the hallway, but forced himself to stop halfway there. He inhaled deeply, letting himself ignore the scents of mold and dust and concentrate only on Wesley's scents. It didn't push the other smells, Willow's smells, away, but it gave Oz something else to concentrate on, and he was grateful.
"Oz?" Wesley's voice didn't reveal any of the nervousness that Oz could smell on him. That brought a smile to Oz's lips, though he quickly wiped it away, unsure how Wesley would take it.
"Down here," he called, trying hard to compose himself. It was only around three, and if he was already this worked up, he could only imagine what the next two and half hours would be like. The wolf was not happy. Oz hadn't realized how much having Willow around had helped. Her presence hadn't calmed the wolf, but it had always made Oz feel . . . better. More. Now he was alone, because he couldn't trust himself, and the wolf was entirely unhappy with the situation. Strange as it was, Oz thought the wolf in him had thought of the others, Willow and Buffy and Xander and Giles, as its pack. Of course, since it wouldn't have spared them had it been free, Oz wasn't sure that was the right analogy for a werewolf.
Wesley showed up in the doorway, and Oz couldn't stop himself from inhaling deep. Wesley didn't seem to notice the oddity, and if he did he said nothing. Oz turned and paced back along the room, his hands fisting and un-fisting. Wesley's scent helped, but not enough. It wasn't different enough from what it had been in Sunnydale, and it pulled at the memories Oz most needed to keep pushed to the back of his mind.
"Are you all right?" Oz turned to find Wesley studying him; he tried to calm down, but it was so difficult. He sat on his sleeping bag, looking around the room he'd chosen. It was large and intact when most of the classrooms on the first floor were damaged in some way. Most importantly, there was a utility closet that locked, and the keys had been lying in the corner, old and forgotten and rusty. Oz had tried the lock several times and, after judicious use of WD-40, had gotten the lock to move smoothly. It would do. He could set the lock, shut the door, and he'd be confined--very confined. Wesley's being here only meant that he didn't have to figure out a way to get the door unlocked in the morning. He'd been considering a screwdriver, for the hinges, before Wesley's appearance.
"Fine," Oz said, hearing the shortness in his own voice. "Restless," he added off Wesley's disbelieving look.
The scent of anxiety drifted to Oz, but it wasn't particularly strong, just the usual sort people got when reminded what he was. Willow had never smelled that way when the subject of his wolf had come up. She never forgot what he was, or what she thought he was, because she hadn't really known, hadn't really understood. How could she when he hadn't? Oz was rather glad to see that Wesley, too, understood that Oz would be dangerous after he'd changed. And when he saw Wesley unloading what looked like a new tranquilizer gun, he was relieved.
Oz once again picked up his book. It was musical theory and history, usually pretty fascinating. Today, it was too many words, too much for his brain to put into any sort of order. Sighing, he put it down, lifting his head to look at Wesley when he caught the scent of . . . "Barbeque?"
Wesley smiled. "I thought we could both use something to eat. Are ribs all right?"
Oz actually laughed at that. The cooler Wesley had brought in was giving off the most wonderful aroma now that it was opened, and Oz's mouth was watering. "I'll make do."
They ate in silence, though about halfway through the meal, Oz noticed Wesley giving the utility closet a suspicious look. Oz had an answer ready for him, but Wesley asked a completely different question.
"Is that thing large enough for you?" Wesley looked over to Oz, his eyes running up and down as if taking inventory. Oz smelled a hint of something quite nice in the air, but he ignored it, re-directing his energies into getting the barbeque sauce off his fingers.
"I can move a bit in it, and the lock's secure." Wesley gave him a sad look, and Oz was touched by the concern. He didn't deserve it. Or rather, the wolf didn't.
"While that is, certainly, the most important thing, I was actually wondering if the wolf might, er, seek revenge? You said that the healing doesn't do anything for scratches or bruises. Broken bones might heal, but what about other things?"
Oz raised his eyebrows, surprised. "The wolf isn't . . . it doesn't think. Not like that. It doesn't know the 'me and it' part. It only sees it, only knows it's caged when it's not . . . when I'm not . . ." Oz shook his head, unable to explain the differences. The wolf was a beast. It wasn't entirely a wolf, even. It didn't behave the way a wolf would. Oz had made a point of studying wolf behavior since he'd found out and, whatever the 'wolf' was, it wasn't the same as a natural animal. "It won't hurt itself. Except trying to get out. It would do that anywhere."
Wesley nodded, looking back to his food, clearly thoughtful. Oz couldn't help but wonder if Giles and Wesley had ever talked about all of this. Giles had been taking notes, asking him questions, doing what came naturally to him and cataloguing, cross-referencing, learning. It came almost as naturally to Wesley, and Oz could see himself answering a lot of questions over the next few days if Wes and Giles hadn't ever had that discussion.
"Hasn't it been lonely?" Wesley looked up, a confused expression on his face, even though it was his question. "Since you left Sunnydale."
Oz didn't know what to say to that. The answer went beyond a simple yes or no, and he didn't want to talk about what had led him to leave Sunnydale. He knew he should, should warn Wesley that he wasn't as controlled as he should be, but that would, rightly, lead to Wesley leaving, and Oz craved the company of someone he was sure would shoot him if it was necessary.
"Never mind," Wesley said when Oz didn't answer. "I really shouldn't have asked."
Oz shook his head, wiping his hands on those wet wipe things they always included with ribs. "No, it's a valid question, and yeah, it's been kinda solitary. It's the best way, really."
Wesley raised an eyebrow at that and Oz shrugged. Anything more would require him going into his reasons for being here in the first place, and he was having a hard enough time sitting and talking at all. He wanted to be up, pacing, prowling, learning this new building's layout and its scents.
"You seem jittery," Wesley commented and it was only when he spoke that Oz realized he'd stood, that he was walking the perimeter of the room in which they were staying, apparently would be staying for the next three days.
"Sorry." Oz forced himself to sit down again, though he didn't think he could stay there for long. It was early still, and he was already feeling the wolf. The itching under his skin had eased when his mind was on eating, but it was returning now, building slowly inside. If he thought too hard about it, his internal organs would start to itch with the energy for the coming change.
"No need to be," Wesley replied, seemingly nonplussed, though Oz could smell the agitation wafting from him. It smelled good, something like nutmeg and cinnamon, ginger and musk. It was drawing Oz's attention more surely than anything else had.
"There are a few more hours of daylight," Oz finally said, looking away from Wesley when he realized he'd been staring and it was only making Wes more agitated. "I'm going to walk for a little while. I'll be back before sunset."
Before Wesley could speak, could tell him what he already knew--that that wasn't the best idea--Oz turned and left, leaving behind a Wesley that was beginning to smell a little too much like pumpkin pie for Oz's mental health. Especially since Oz had never thought of pumpkin pie in quite that way before.
The grounds of the old school were overgrown, shady in spots. What grass there was had turned brown for lack of sunlight, and dead leaves lay in drifts tucked up against half fallen walls. The smell of their decay was calming, to both Oz and the wolf. The wolf much preferred to be outside, where it could hunt when the change came. Oz didn't intend to let it, but it didn't know that, and the smell of the wind and the feel of the weak winter sun did wonders for his mood.
Wesley's motorcycle was parked close to the building, shielded from sight. Oz passed it by, the smells of gasoline and machine oil irritating. Instead he lost himself in the other parts of the building, the parts that weren't quite tumbled yet, but where the outside had been let in through one wall and the floor was scattered with leaves, and there were holes in the ceiling. Oz felt best in those sorts of rooms, as if the walls gave the human him something and the encroaching vines, the heavily overcast sky and natural light, gave his wolf enough to calm it.
He must have gotten lost inside his head, inside that calm, because he was suddenly startled by the sound of leaves crunching under feet. He whirled around, the sense of impending sunset slamming back into him. For a moment, Oz's body was confused and he reeled, unsure whether to stand on two legs or on four.
Then Wesley's scent hit him, and he saw the man standing just outside the doorway, crossbow held loosely in one hand. "I didn't mean to startle you. I came up to get my crossbow from the bike and thought I'd come check on you."
Oz thought for a moment, turned his mind to that internal sense that was more the wolf's than his. "There's still an hour until sunset."
"I know," Wesley said with a faint smile. "That doesn’t mean you're not in need of a friend."
Oz snorted at that, but smiled so that Wesley would know he wasn't snorting at the offer. "I'll be fine, in a few days."
"Is it the wolf that does this? Are you always this unsettled near the full moon?" Wesley leaned against the doorway, his eyes earnest and curious. There was a smell for that, too, Oz realized. He'd never really thought about it before, and it was subtle, but Wesley smelled somehow tangy now, and Oz had scented that before, on Willow and on Giles, both of whom were as prone to curiosity as Wes was.
"It's been worse since . . ." Oz shrugged, and Wesley seemed to get his reluctance and only nodded in reply.
A new scent hit him, strong enough to override all the others. The wolf stopped its restless pushing and Oz's senses stretched out in way he'd never experienced before. There was the smell of death, and he knew at once it wasn't leaf litter.
"Vampires," he said, already looking about for a weapon as two vamps came rushing in from the hole in the far wall. Oz didn't have time to wonder how they'd gotten there, didn't even have time to find a weapon, before the first vamp was on him. It took him to the ground, snapping at his throat.
Oz screamed as this rib was jostled, only managing to get his arm up in time. His forearm caught the vampire in the throat, holding its teeth at bay, but the thing was strong and it was determined and Oz knew he couldn't hold it off for long, not by himself. His free hand moved through the leaves, finding a fallen branch. There was no way he could use it from this angle. The vampire's chest was pressed tight against his own, and Oz didn't have the strength or the leverage to roll them over. The smell of death, of an unwashed body pushed from the earth in the last few days, choked him. It clung in his nose and throat until he could taste it, until he was gagging on it.
A crossbow bolt thudded into the creature's side, the impact throwing it off Oz. Oz had enough time to look over, to see the second vampire jumping at Wesley and to see Wesley go down. Gripping the branch so tightly that his hand ached with it, Oz moved, rolling over onto the vampire that had attacked him. The creature had regained itself, had pulled the crossbow bolt from its side. Oz held the branch in both hands, putting all his weight behind it and suddenly was sitting on the floor on a layer of foul-smelling dust.
He stood, meaning to go help Wesley, only to find that Wesley had things well under control. Wes staked the second vamp with the broken shaft of one his crossbow bolts, and all was quiet again. Wesley stood, brushing dust from his jacket, and he and Oz met in the middle of the room.
"Are you all right?" they asked simultaneously, the question followed on both sides by a nervous chuckle. Oz could smell the adrenaline on Wesley, the sweat and the exhilaration. It was intoxicating. Wesley seemed to sense something of Oz's thoughts. The two of them stood frozen and silent, staring at one another.
Oz knew he moved first, though he didn't remember actually telling his body to do so. The smell of vampire was still clinging to the back of his throat, and he moved forward to inhale Wesley's scent deeper, breathing it in and dislodging the other. Wesley met him once again, and suddenly they were kissing, though Oz wasn't sure how that had happened.
Not that he could stop. Wesley tasted just the way he smelled, and Oz wanted more, needed more. Wesley's hands were on him, one on the back of his neck and the other on his shoulder. Oz pushed up into the touch, already panting and breathing in Wesley with every shortened breath. Wesley seemed just as desperate, his hands moving up and into Oz's hair, tugging lightly.
There were no words between them, but Wesley moaned against his lips and Oz's restlessness resolved itself into one driving urge. His hands moved down Wesley's chest, inside the leather jacket to brush over the body-warmed cotton of Wesley's t-shirt. They broke apart from the kiss, and Oz buried his face against Wesley's shoulder. Wesley was panting as well, his body moving with each breath.
Wesley nipped at his ear, and Oz groaned, turning to catch Wesley's lips again. Wesley's hands slipped up under his shirt, callused fingers sliding along the skin of his back. Oz's cock hardened at the feel of skin on skin and the sheer warmth of Wesley. He bucked his hips, finding an answering hardness in Wesley's jeans. Twin groans filled the half-ruin room with sound, and Oz was suddenly frantic, grinding, but that was okay because Wesley was the same. They moved against one another, the give and take of friction pulling small growls from Oz's throat.
Oz slid his hand down, pulling the zip on Wesley's pants and reveling in the way Wesley moaned against his lips. Pulling Wesley's cock free, Oz squeezed it just to get another of those groans and then stroked in earnest. Wesley tore his mouth free, his lips rubbing against the line of Oz's jaw before he moved on, biting lightly at Oz's shoulder. Wesley hand cupped Oz's cock through his jeans, rubbing the palm of his hand along it.
Oz was too lost in it, in the smells and sounds and feel of it all to notice Wesley pulling at his zip, but he certainly noticed when Wesley's hand closed around his cock. They moved in a counter rhythm and some part of Oz counted off the beats, as if they were dancing. They were kissing again, desperate. Oz wanted to keep that taste in his mouth, to keep Wesley's smell on him.
Wesley's grip tightened. He was getting close, Oz could smell it, smell the arousal thick in the air around them. He could taste it on Wesley's lips and hear it in those small, needy sounds. Oz sped up his own rhythm, tightening his own grip around Wesley's cock and biting lightly along Wesley's lower lip.
Wesley whimpered, and the sound made Oz's balls tighten. Soon. Soon. Neither of them was thinking, just moving, lost in the moment. Oz came, hard, tilting his head back and gasping as the orgasm rode him. Wesley followed close behind, and if he whispered someone else's name, Oz wasn't about to begrudge him that.
They stood there for a long moment, leaning against one another and both trying to regain some control. Then Wesley straightened and Oz did as well, taking the offered handkerchief and cleaning himself up before tucking himself away. There was an awkward tension between them, now that thought was returning.
"Er, Oz?" Even through the smell of sex and the fading adrenaline, Oz could smell Wesley's anxiety. He was ready to reassure Wesley that this was just . . . a thing, but Wesley once again surprised him. "Sunset's soon. We need to get you . . ." Wesley trailed off, but Oz smiled and nodded, feeling more relaxed than he had in days, more capable of dealing with the wolf.
"You know this . . ." Oz wasn't sure how to say it, though it turned out to be unnecessary.
"I know," Wesley met his eyes and nodded, smiling.
"Let's go." Oz led the way down to the utility closet, undressed, and let Wesley lock him in. It was dark inside, but Oz had never minded the dark. At least, not the dark outside himself. Sitting down to wait for the change, feeling the sun setting, Oz inhaled the scent clinging to his skin, the scent of another human, and felt nothing but calm.
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Wesley/Oz
Rating: R (FRM)
Summary: An empty gas tank, a chance meeting, and something hinky at a backwater truck stop.
Spoilers: Set sometime between BtVS "Wild at Heart" and AtS "She."
Feedback and Concrit adored: lostgirlslair @ yahoo.com
Disclaimer: All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.
Written for fiareynne for the Wesley Round of maleslashminis. She wanted, well, just what the summary says, actually. I hope you like it, hon. Huge thanks to katekat1010 for the discussion and taffimai for the support and to mireille719 for the support and wonderful beta magic!!
Wesley knew he shouldn't have skipped that last exit, but it was a beautiful night and he hadn't expected there to be so few along this stretch of highway. As it was he barely made it into the truck stop, coasting on fumes. His bike sputtered, the engine dying, but it had gotten him there. He couldn't help a smile as he ran his hand along the seat and over the tank. He wasn't caressing it. Really, he wasn't.
Wes took the cap off the tank, humming idly to himself as he filled it up. He was thinking of calling it Lucy. His smile widened, and he headed into the store to pay for the gas and perhaps pick up something for dinner. He'd have to stop soon; perhaps there was a motel nearby. If there was such a place, it should be fairly close to the truck stop. Sadly, he didn't see anything resembling a motel, but he chalked it up to a lack of customers.
This place wasn't at all busy, probably because no one else had been fool enough to drive past the last exit, which had boasted two whole restaurants as well as three motels and two gas stations. There were only two cars in the parking lot here, one a battered pickup truck pulled up close to the side of the main building, and the other a van, parked over by the garage. It was the van that held his attention. It was somehow familiar, though Wesley wasn't sure exactly why that should be so.
After a moment spent pondering it, Wesley went to turn back to his task, but a flash of bright blue hair brought his attention to a small figure, disappearing behind the back of the main building. And again came that feeling of familiarity. Wesley felt his forehead wrinkle. He watched the building, but didn't see the figure return. Shaking off his vague uneasiness, Wesley went inside to pay.
The man behind the counter looked more bored than any human being should be. He was half asleep, his feet propped on the counter and a magazine lying across his lap. He looked up slowly as Wesley brought his chips, water, and pre-packaged sandwich to the counter.
"Good day," Wesley said cheerfully, only to get a grunt in response as the man lumbered up to the cash register. He was otherwise silent, even going so far as to point at the total on the small readout screen, rather than simply telling it to Wesley. And he stared, only taking his eyes from Wesley when he was ringing something up.
It was a relief to pay and get away from the man's gaze. Wesley's mood was a bit deflated, but he was determined to hold on to his cheerful disposition, come what may. Clutching tightly to that attitude, Wesley walked back to his motorcycle, digging in the bag for his bottle of water. Why was it that, invariably, whatever you were looking for was right at the bottom of the--
Shouting caught his attention. Wesley whirled around, his hand going for one of the two crossbows he kept on the bike at all times. The shouting had stopped, and he saw nothing unusual. A tense, silent moment passed without another sound, and then Wesley's eyes were drawn to the van. Pulling his crossbow free, Wesley looked at the edge of the building, where he'd seen that person go not long ago. He walked that way slowly, his stomach tightening. This wouldn't be the first time Wesley had encountered a demon at a truck stop. People who were traveling were easy prey, and it took them longer--usually--to be missed.
Another shout and Wesley was moving faster, though still cautious. He flattened himself against the wall of the store and ducked his head around quickly, just to make sure it was a demon or some such this time, and not another couple loudly enjoying some private time.
It was dark back there, but there were three people, and though Wesley wasn't sure any of them was a demon, the two larger ones were beating the hell out of the smaller: one of them holding him while the other pummeled. Wesley whipped himself around the corner, his crossbow raised.
"I hardly think that's sporting of you two. Care to even the odds a bit?" Wesley was quite proud of that one. The last time he'd had to do something like this, he'd been so scared he'd squeaked when he spoke. Of course, that demon had been considerably slimier, and there had been tentacles.
The larger figure, the one doing the pummeling, turned around. Wesley felt his heart rate pick up as the man's face broke into the red light of an exit sign. The shadows pooled along the ridges of the man's vampiric visage and Wesley squeezed the crossbow trigger before his mind had really even caught up. The bolt took the vampire in the chest, and the resulting cloud of dust shimmered in the red light as it settled.
Wesley turned his arm toward the other figure, so much larger than the victim that he could definitely hit it, though he wouldn't be able to kill it with a single shot. Wes quirked his eyebrow, trying to think of something to say, but the vampire tossed his captive forward. Wesley had to drop his crossbow in order to catch the smaller man, and by the time he was no longer busy trying not to fall over, the vampire was gone.
Wesley looked down and found himself supporting someone he did actually know, even if not well. "Oz? Isn't it?" Wesley helped the young man to the wall of the store, where Oz leaned and the slid down to the ground as if his legs wouldn't support him.
"Yeah, Wesley, it's me." Wesley retrieved his crossbow before going to kneel before Oz, squinting to try and assess the young man's injuries. Wesley's first thought was that there was too much blood on his face. In fact, he pulled a handkerchief out of the inside of his leather jacket and dabbed at the largest of the cuts there, hoping to get a better look at it.
Oz winced away from his ministrations, and Wesley drew back. "Sorry. We should go somewhere better lit. You might need to go to a hospital."
"I'm fine," Oz countered. He attempted to prove that fact by standing, only to sink back down to the ground. "Okay, maybe a little less fine, but I'll be okay."
With the threat of that vampire still over them, and it being so dark, Wesley still thought it better if they didn't linger. "Still, light is our friend. I'd hate to be surprised if that vampire returns."
Oz looked up at that and nodded, allowing Wesley to help him stand, but supporting some of his own weight as they walked toward the van, which was parked under a street light. Ah, yes, now Wesley remembered it. He got Oz to it, opened the back doors and helped Oz sit on the edge. Handing over his handkerchief, Wesley tried desperately to come up with something to say. Oz surely still thought of him as the man who had wanted to give Willow to Mayor Wilkins. He couldn't just leave Oz here, though, wounded and with a vampire still on the loose.
"Uh, so, what are you doing all the way out here?" Wesley tried to look casual, leaning against one of the van's opened doors. When Oz looked over at him, though, Wesley got the impression he was failing.
"Besides getting hit?" Oz's face was smeared with blood. He was slumped with an arm wrapped protectively over his stomach, holding Wesley's handkerchief to the cut on his forehead. Somehow he still managed to look totally composed. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Especially since Oz's gaze was steady on him, as if what he'd just asked had been neither rhetorical nor sarcastic.
"Well . . . yes." Wesley only got a shrug in answer, which made him all the more curious. Had he known Oz better, he might have pushed for an answer. At least Oz stopped looking at him; Wesley had been on the verge of fidgeting.
"Why were those vampires attacking you?" It was the only other question there was to ask. They couldn't call the police when vampires had been the assailants, and Oz had already denied his need for a hospital. In truth, it was only the way Oz slumped and held his ribs that worried Wesley. The cuts weren't bad, though they'd bled quite a bit, and Oz had supported more of his own weight on the walk over than Wesley would have thought he could.
"Probably because I caught them trying to summon a demon." The words were delivered in just the same tone as any of the others. Wesley found himself nodding before he'd even processed them. Then he stared at Oz for a moment, blinking.
"Who were they? What were they summoning? We have to stop them." Straightening away from the van door, Wesley turned back toward where he'd last seen the remaining vampire, as if he could actually track the thing out there in all that darkness.
"Not a problem." Wesley turned back and Oz opened the first he'd been pressing against his ribs. Wesley leaned forward, over Oz's hand and then gasped. Resting in his palm was a small amulet, shaped something like a scarab of some kind. Wesley reached out a finger to touch it and was surprised to find it cold to the touch. It was white, though what shade changed from each angle Wesley examined it from.
"Not to interrupt, but . . ." Oz said, making Wesley realized he'd been looking at the amulet for several long moments.
"Oh, uh, sorry." Wesley straightened, giving Oz an apologetic smile. "How are you?"
"Cracked rib, concussion, cuts, bruises. Otherwise I'm good."
"Where are you staying? You shouldn't be driving with a concussion. I'll take you."
Oz nodded his head backward and then winced at the action, raising a hand to his head. "Pretty much here."
Wesley wasn't sure what to say to that. He looked at the van and then back to Oz. Then he straightened himself further, trying to look authoritative. "Well, you can't stay here tonight. That vampire is bound to want that amulet back, and he'll come after you to get it."
"Motel's just the same," Oz answered, scooting back to lean against the inside wall of the van, facing Wesley. Wesley didn't miss his wincing at the pain the action obviously caused. "No invitation needed. Besides, I've been living here. Shouldn't a vampire need an invitation into the van?"
"You . . . may just have a point, but it would be harder to find us if we went somewhere else." Wesley eyes strayed to his bike. "We could put my motorcycle in the back of your van and I could drive us."
Something vaguely like a smile drifted over Oz's lips, but was quickly gone. "Could, but the van's dead."
"Dead?"
"Yeah. Was waiting for the guy to get in, in the morning. Figured I could trade with him to get it fixed or something."
"Ah. I see." Wesley eyes moved back to his motorcycle. Were Oz willing to leave the van behind, Wesley could still get them away from here, but he had no helmet for Oz and, worse, it would probably be horribly jarring to Oz's rib. "Well, then it looks as if we'll be staying here, then." He couldn't say he was happy about it, but there didn't seem to be another choice.
"Thanks," Oz said, drawing Wesley's attention.
"For what?" Wesley shook his head, giving Oz a bewildered look. Oz flicked his eyes to the place where the vampires had attacked him and back to Wesley.
"You kinda saved my life." For once, Oz's tone was different, lighter, amused, maybe. It was hard for Wesley to tell. The words, however, combined with Oz's steady gaze, made Wesley blush a bit, ducking his head to hide the reaction.
"Uh, well, it's what I do."
"Yeah, about that," Oz seemed to relax, though Wesley thought it could be the pain forcing Oz to rest more of his weight against the wall of the van. "I thought the Watcher's Council . . ." Wesley must have stiffened then, given some sign that he was uncomfortable with the topic, because Oz changed tracks in mid flow. "Giles didn't say much about it, after you left."
"Well," Wesley edged toward the inside of van, wanting to sit but unsure if it was entirely polite, given that Oz was living out of the vehicle. Oz moved his feet, however, and managed in that simple gesture to convey that Wesley should sit. "Well, there wasn't really anything left for me, with the Council. Buffy was no longer working for them, and Faith . . . I decided the best way for me to continue the fight would be to become a rogue demon hunter."
"Rogue demon hunter? Pretty cool title."
Wesley snorted at that and then actually laughed at the amusement on Oz's face. It was somehow inclusive, but not open, and Wesley liked the feeling that they were sharing a joke. It had been so long since . . . Pulling his mind from those thoughts, Wesley scooted back into the van, letting his legs dangle over the edge, his crossbow in easy reach.
Silence settled over them, but Wesley was out of things to say. He wasn't sure asking about Willow, and any of the others Oz might be willing to tell him about, was a good idea, not given that Oz was here, by himself, and Willow was, presumably, still in Sunnydale. There were other reasons he didn't ask, worries about what he might hear, might learn, but Wesley pushed them aside and sought something else to talk about.
A sudden thought gave him just what he needed. "What are you going to do tomorrow?" Oz raised his eyebrows and Wesley realized his question was rather vague. "I mean, as the moon will be full . . ."
Oz nodded, his eyes flicking out into the dark. "I know a place. Can't go tonight, it's too dark, but I can lock myself in. Figured I'd hitch."
Wesley eyes moved once again to his motorcycle. "I could take you, but I'm not sure how comfortable you'd be on my bike, with your rib, not to mention a concussion."
Oz followed Wesley's gaze. "Nice." Wesley felt absurdly proud of the bike at that moment. "I could maybe hang on, but I'm kinda against testing that at highway speeds."
Wesley nodded, having already come to the same conclusion. "Are you sure you'll be able to get a ride?" Wesley didn't like the idea of leaving Oz with a broken or cracked rib and a concussion, even once the morning had come and the vampire was unable to attack. For the next three nights, Oz would be more than capable of defending himself, but if he were to get loose . . .
Wesley bit his lip, his eyes moving from his motorcycle to the highway and back again. He had no schedule to stick to now, no one telling him when to be where and Oz was, well, if not a friend, then at least a comrade. Wesley didn't like to think that it might be guilt that was fueling his decision, guilt over Willow and . . . He'd firmly resolved not to think about his time in Sunnydale, but to move on and do better, do more.
"This place you can go, where is it?" Wesley knew he was probably pushing things, that the last thing Oz would want was his company, but if Wesley left him like this, he wasn't sure he could live with it. Never knowing if Oz had gotten loose and hurt someone, or if the vampire had somehow overcome him.
Oz raised his eyebrows, but answered the question. "Four or five miles down the road. Old school. I can rig up something with the keys. Wolf's not too big with logical reasoning."
"You speak as if it's an entirely separate entity," Wesley said softly. He hadn't even really meant to say it, afraid he'd offend Oz if he did, but it had slipped out.
"It is. Well, it is and it isn't," Oz said with a sigh. He looked down at his hands, and Wesley could only imagine what it was that Oz was seeing. "It's separate, but it's inside me. All the time, not just the full moon. I can . . . I can feel it, if I think about it. It gets restless, this close." There was something in his voice that sent a shiver along Wesley's spine, something old and primal and, Wesley thought, not entirely Oz.
It was several moments before Wesley got up the courage to say anything more and then he turned to meet Oz's eyes. "I could use a place to stay, for a few days. Would you mind terribly if I--"
"Stayed around and made sure I didn't get out? You're free to crash." Oz seemed nonplussed and Wesley felt he had to speak, to deny that that had been what he was thinking, even though it had been part of it.
"It's not that I don't trust you to work out something," he began, but Oz merely shrugged.
"Better to be safe," was all he said. Again, silence fell and it was beginning to unnerve Wesley, creating an itch to speak, to say anything. The whole situation was made harder by the fact that Wesley hadn't really spoken with anyone for long over the last while. He'd been traveling, spending no more than a few nights in any one place. In fact, sparse as it was, this was probably the longest conversation Wesley had had in a month.
One would have thought he'd have grown used to the quiet, but he found that now that there was someone he could talk to, he rather wanted to do just that.
"Uh, I . . . don't want to bring up an unwelcome subject," Wesley began, letting his gaze slip to the outside, "but, how is . . . everyone?"
"In Sunnydale? Or, like, the general world state?"
Wesley blinked at that. Oz didn't seem to be joking, though it was rather hard to tell when he was, except that, occasionally, he would smile. "Uh, in Sunnydale, of course."
"Hey, I get lost sometimes," Oz said and it sounded like something more than a general comment, like some kind of confession. "Last I saw, people were fine. Are we talking about anyone specific?"
Wesley opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking down at his hands. "No," he finally managed. "Just, how is Buffy and . . . everyone?"
"Buffy's all right. Going to UC Sunnydale, not a cave girl, good."
Wesley raised his eyebrows at that, but didn't interrupt.
"Xander's good. Dating Anya--"
"Anyanka?"
"Yeah. Giles . . ." Oz paused for barely a breath and Wesley had to wonder if it was Oz or himself giving this particular bit significance. "Giles is all right. Seemed kinda distant, but with Buffy and--in college, he wasn't around much." Oz was holding his gaze now, and Wesley couldn't pretend he'd failed to see the knowledge in Oz's eyes.
"Uh, yes," Wesley sighed, once more looking out into the darkness. "Thank you."
"Ditto," Oz said softly, and Wesley didn't have to look at his face to know what he meant, not this time. There was one person Oz hadn't mentioned at all, and Wesley hadn't asked. It was clear that whatever had led to Oz leaving Sunnydale, Willow was involved and Oz didn't want to talk about it.
Wesley lost himself in thought for several moments, staring out into the dark. Finally, he forced his mind to other topics, practical concerns coming to his rescue as they had so many times recently. "Tomorrow, do you think you can get to this old school by yourself? I mean, you can't go on my bike and we'll need provisions. I can collect them and meet you there."
"Smart," Oz agreed, leaning his head back against the van wall. He seemed tired, his eyes half closed.
"Would you like some coffee?"
Oz lifted his head and then winced, though Wesley couldn't tell whether it was his head or his rib that had protested. "Have some," Oz answered, nodding to the front seat. "There's a thermos up there."
Wesley nodded and went to go find it. The thermos was stuck down between the two front passenger seats, and Wesley had to climb in behind the wheel to get the leverage to pull it out.
"You find it?"
"Yes." Wesley crawled out of the seat and went back to sit with Oz, handing over the thermos. "If you need to sleep," he began, only to have Oz cut him off.
"Nah. I'm good."
And with that, Wesley had run out of things to ask, and it didn't look as if Oz was going to continue the conversation. In fact, Oz seemed completely comfortable with the silence, and Wesley wasn't entirely sure how to take that. He didn't remember Oz being a chatterbox, but surely he'd talked more than this? Wesley had never really had much reason to spend time in Oz's company, though, so he couldn't be entirely certain.
Wesley leaned against the van wall, staring out into the night and trying not to feel pressured by the quiet. It was hard to relax, though, with the night getting colder around them and so little to focus on. Wesley, needing to fill the silence, turned toward Oz, only to find that Oz had fallen asleep. His head was tilted back against the van wall, and he was half in shadow and half in light. Wesley found his eyes trailing over the column of Oz's throat, a graceful line made starkly noticeable by the shadow.
Blinking, Wesley shook his head at himself, shifting his weight against the van. Oz started up at the sound and then winced, raising one hand to his head and pressing the other to his chest. "Ow."
"Sorry," Wesley said, his eyes flicking down to the hand that Oz had rested against his ribs. "Does it hurt badly?"
"The rib? No. It'll be fine after tomorrow night."
Wesley nodded to that before his mind had fully absorbed it; then he felt his forehead wrinkle. "It will?"
"Yeah, something about the change. I think it's because the bones re-form anyway. Doesn't do any good for scratches, though, which is kinda weird."
"What about your head?" Wesley asked, suddenly interested, though he'd likely have grasped at any topic that stopped him from thinking his previous thoughts.
"Don't know. Never had a concussion before."
Wesley found himself lacking further fodder for conversation. Oz leaned his head back once again, and Wesley forced his eyes to travel outside the van. They landed on his bike, still sitting out there in front of the gas pumps. "Damn."
Oz looked up at him and Wesley waved a hand to indicate it wasn't anything dire. "I'm going to have to move my bike. You'll be all right here?"
"Unless the vamp comes back with six or seven friends and my theory on the invitation issue is wrong." Wesley's worried look apparently stopped the flow of words. "Fine. You won't even be out of sight. I'm more worried about you. Got a cross?"
"Two," Wesley replied, "And six bottles of holy water. It pays to be prepared. Well, no, not actual money, but it's kept me from being vampire food, so that's a return of a sort."
Oz nodded and Wesley found himself smiling as he went to retrieve his bike, parking it next to Oz's van. He'd re-discovered his bag from the store when he'd gone to get the bike, and the sight of the sandwich reminded him that he hadn't eaten since lunch. Picking it up, he headed back to Oz.
"Care to split a sandwich?" he asked, seating himself once more and leaning against the wall. "Tuna, which you can't expect terribly much of from a truck stop, but it's something."
"Hmm?" Oz lifted his head, eyes half-lidded and looking as if he might have been dozing when Wesley spoke. "Oh, there are some up front. I'm not hungry."
Wesley still felt a little odd eating in front of Oz, though it helped that Oz seemed to be falling asleep again. Unsure whether or not that should worry him, Wesley finished his rather sub-par dinner and settled in for a long night's watch. His shifting must have made more noise than he'd thought. Oz's head snapped up and winced slightly.
"You can sleep, if you need to," Wesley told him. "I'll wake you up in an hour."
"No," Oz said with a small smile. "Least I can do is keep you company."
Wesley didn't mention that he'd likely be more comfortable if Oz did sleep. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about saying something, about filling the silence that continually felt awkward to him. He didn't mention it because he was fairly certain that Oz was going to fall asleep one way or the other. The light inside the van wasn't very good, but if Wesley squinted he could make out faint signs that said it might have been a while since Oz's last night's rest.
"How long have you been awake?" Wesley asked out of curiosity, his gaze traveling the faint purple bruises beneath Oz's eyes.
Oz shrugged, his head seeming to rest against the van wall of its own accord. "A day, maybe. I'm trying to stay awake. Maybe keep the wolf quieter." Wesley felt his eyebrow rise, and that seemed to be enough for Oz to consider the question asked. "It's been active lately."
The words were threaded through with a tone that Wesley couldn't entirely read. There was sadness there, but more than that, and suddenly even the talking was awkward as well, because Wesley had no idea what to say.
"Get some sleep," he finally managed. "You're going to fall over if you don't." He could see that Oz was ready to protest, and so Wesley forged ahead. "Besides, if the wolf has been active lately, aren't you just weakening yourself, making it harder for you to deal with?" At Oz's raised eyebrow, Wesley felt compelled to continue. "I mean, you said it was like a separate entity, in some ways. Is that one of them?"
Oz seemed to consider that. The silence stretched on, and Wesley turned his eyes to the darkness, to other thoughts, in an attempt to avoid interrupting Oz's. What if that vampire did bring friends? He had no call to assume that it didn't know others. The very possession of the amulet, the intent to call demons, both hinted at something like a cult, rather than two vampires working alone. Suddenly imagining a horde of vampires coming down on the van, Wesley reached out, letting his fingers brush his crossbow. He had another on the bike, and he was considering going to get it, just in case.
"You could be right," Oz said. Wesley turned to look at him, blinking in confusion. Had he said that out loud or had Oz somehow guessed what he was thinking? "About me only tiring myself out. The wolf doesn't have a body to be tired."
"Get some sleep," Wesley said, hoping he sounded reassuring. "It can't do anything until tomorrow and by then we'll have you safely . . . er, locked up." He winced as he said it, and Oz gave him another of those fleeting smiles.
"Right. Thanks."
Wesley didn't bother to ask for what. Oz was already leaning his head back, his eyes already drifting shut. Even without the heightened senses of a wolf or a vampire, Wesley could actually see Oz falling into sleep. His body seemed to relax and, bit by bit, his breathing slowed, right in front of Wesley's eyes.
Resolving to be especially quiet, Wesley settled himself in. He'd stayed up all night quite a few times since arriving in America. Since leaving Sunnydale, he'd had to do it a time or two when following a vampire or a demon. He'd never had a companion on such nights, and somehow, knowing someone else was there--even if that someone was asleep--was a comfort. He'd been so scared, so many times, but he knew he needed to do this, needed this and that had kept him going. He hadn't let himself stop long enough to think how lonely it was. Oh, he'd made . . . acquaintances, but such things never lasted long. Wesley traveled quite a lot, and he hadn't stayed anywhere for any length of time, not yet.
Wesley sighed softly, forcing himself to stop thinking about that. It seemed there were few topics, tonight, he could think on safely. Of course, without anything else to occupy his mind, it jumped on the first thing presented to it and Wesley drifted off to sleep wondering if Oz's time away from Sunnydale was as lonely as his had so far been.
"--urge to get themselves carved up or somethin'." The unfamiliar voice startled Wesley into action. His hand shot out for his crossbow, and he came up on his knees, his eyes opening even as he leveled the weapon, aiming in the general direction of the voice.
It was only when he was kneeling with his crossbow aimed and ready that several things became clear. The first was that Oz was in a similar position at his side, but brandishing a stake. The second was that it was morning and so the two men standing at the van's entrance and watching with wide eyes were, most certainly, not vampires.
"Jumpy," one of the men commented, his eyes fixed on Wesley's crossbow. "Probably not too worried someone'll come after 'em." Wesley remembered the man, vaguely, from the store the night before. This was the man who'd stared at him, only now he seemed rather more moved to speak.
Wesley set his crossbow aside, his body slumping now that the initial adrenaline rush was over. "Pardon me," he said, sharing a speaking glance with Oz. "You startled us."
"Sorry, but what exactly where you expectin'?" asked the other man, one Wesley had not seen before. "I mean, a crossbow and a . . . what is that, boy? A tent peg?"
"Something like that," Oz replied, quickly shoving the stake into a niche in the floor, where it must have been hidden as Wesley had not seen it the night before. Wesley was only glad his sleepy mind hadn't gone for the crosses and holy water he had stashed around his body. That would have been even harder to explain, he was sure.
"We're, uh, just not used to traveling this way. The van's broken down," Wesley offered as an explanation. The men seemed to take that at face value. The one Wesley hadn't seen before nodded sagely.
"You two were waitin' for me, then, I'd wager. You want it fixed?"
Wesley glanced to Oz, who seemed to be waking up more quickly than he himself was. A good sign, since Wesley had fallen asleep and completely forgotten to wake Oz every hour. Sighing to himself, Wesley went to his bike while Oz discussed the van. Wes kept everything he needed with him, of course, but he wasn't used to not having it unpacked in a motel bathroom. There had only been one or two nights that he'd spent out of doors and those had taught him that he never wanted to do that again, if it were possible to avoid it.
Making his way to the truck stop restrooms, Wesley was surprised to find the place was rather busy, first thing in the morning. By the time he returned, Oz had made a deal of some sort with the mechanic and Wesley hurried over to help the man push the van into the garage.
The mechanic then went into his office and Wesley turned to Oz. "I'm so sorry. I must have fallen asleep and--"
"No problem," Oz said, with one of his fleeting smiles. He was leaning against the outside of the van, having been the one to steer while Wesley and the mechanic pushed. He still looked tired, and the way he had wrapped one arm around his ribs didn't seem like a good sign to Wesley.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Just a little in pain from that wake-up call." Oz shrugged, but straightened without apparent trouble.
"Are you certain you can get a ride to this place we're going?" Wesley didn't want to try driving with Oz on the bike, but if it was necessary he would.
"Yeah. Tim's gonna give me a ride."
"Tim?"
"The mechanic."
"Oh, good. If you can give me directions, I'll pick up a few things and meet you there."
Oz nodded, reaching into the front of the van to get a pad of paper. He drew the roads quickly and efficiently, handing the directions over to Wesley. "You know," he said, though he didn't look up, "you don't have to stay. I can rig something up." He didn't sound as sure as of that as Wesley might once have thought. The tones of Oz's voice were subtle, but Wesley thought he was finally getting the hang of them.
"No. As you said, it's better to be safe and there's still at least one . . . 'person' out there who wants something you have. I know you can likely fix a way to keep yourself, uh, locked in, but if he should find you . . . It worries me that he didn’t come last night. If the amulet does what you said it would do, it seems that that 'person' should want it back very badly."
"The wolf's pretty good at taking care of itself," Oz replied with a wry and slightly bitter smile.
"Yes, but if the vampire gets in, you'll no longer be locked in," Wesley replied, fairly certain that whatever bitterness Oz was feeling, it wasn't directed toward him.
"Fair point." Oz nodded. He looked up then, meeting Wesley's gaze. "I'll meet you at the school, before sundown. Never really thought I'd say that again."
Wesley couldn't help but smile. "Yes, well, I never thought I'd hear it again." With that, Wesley turned and went to his bike. As he was arranging his things for the ride, Wesley heard Tim call out to him. He looked up, saw the mechanic ogling his motorcycle and smiled.
"Nice machine," the man called and Wesley nodded, pulling on his helmet.
"Her name's Lucy." He'd thought it was a halfway decent exit, except he thought he saw Tim rolling his eyes as he drove away. Perhaps naming the bike was going too far . . . or maybe 'Lucy' just wasn't a good name for a rogue demon hunter's conveyance.
-----
Oz paced. There wasn't much else to do. The wolf was too restless to allow him to read, and he could feel the sun's descent like a weight against his skin, pressing from the inside. The inside of him itched and Oz couldn't satisfy it. There was no way to scratch, no way to still himself, at least not one that he knew, not yet.
I'll find something,, he promised himself, even as he had to force himself not to think of red hair flashing in silvering moon light, of the smell of apples and magic and soft, soft skin. He growled, actually growled, and there was more of the wolf to that sound than Oz was comfortable with. He needed a distraction, needed something to drown out the remembered scents.
Books. Books and new leather, wind and the outside, the tart hint of citrus and a tang of cologne applied hours ago. Wesley had arrived. Oz stalked toward the hallway, but forced himself to stop halfway there. He inhaled deeply, letting himself ignore the scents of mold and dust and concentrate only on Wesley's scents. It didn't push the other smells, Willow's smells, away, but it gave Oz something else to concentrate on, and he was grateful.
"Oz?" Wesley's voice didn't reveal any of the nervousness that Oz could smell on him. That brought a smile to Oz's lips, though he quickly wiped it away, unsure how Wesley would take it.
"Down here," he called, trying hard to compose himself. It was only around three, and if he was already this worked up, he could only imagine what the next two and half hours would be like. The wolf was not happy. Oz hadn't realized how much having Willow around had helped. Her presence hadn't calmed the wolf, but it had always made Oz feel . . . better. More. Now he was alone, because he couldn't trust himself, and the wolf was entirely unhappy with the situation. Strange as it was, Oz thought the wolf in him had thought of the others, Willow and Buffy and Xander and Giles, as its pack. Of course, since it wouldn't have spared them had it been free, Oz wasn't sure that was the right analogy for a werewolf.
Wesley showed up in the doorway, and Oz couldn't stop himself from inhaling deep. Wesley didn't seem to notice the oddity, and if he did he said nothing. Oz turned and paced back along the room, his hands fisting and un-fisting. Wesley's scent helped, but not enough. It wasn't different enough from what it had been in Sunnydale, and it pulled at the memories Oz most needed to keep pushed to the back of his mind.
"Are you all right?" Oz turned to find Wesley studying him; he tried to calm down, but it was so difficult. He sat on his sleeping bag, looking around the room he'd chosen. It was large and intact when most of the classrooms on the first floor were damaged in some way. Most importantly, there was a utility closet that locked, and the keys had been lying in the corner, old and forgotten and rusty. Oz had tried the lock several times and, after judicious use of WD-40, had gotten the lock to move smoothly. It would do. He could set the lock, shut the door, and he'd be confined--very confined. Wesley's being here only meant that he didn't have to figure out a way to get the door unlocked in the morning. He'd been considering a screwdriver, for the hinges, before Wesley's appearance.
"Fine," Oz said, hearing the shortness in his own voice. "Restless," he added off Wesley's disbelieving look.
The scent of anxiety drifted to Oz, but it wasn't particularly strong, just the usual sort people got when reminded what he was. Willow had never smelled that way when the subject of his wolf had come up. She never forgot what he was, or what she thought he was, because she hadn't really known, hadn't really understood. How could she when he hadn't? Oz was rather glad to see that Wesley, too, understood that Oz would be dangerous after he'd changed. And when he saw Wesley unloading what looked like a new tranquilizer gun, he was relieved.
Oz once again picked up his book. It was musical theory and history, usually pretty fascinating. Today, it was too many words, too much for his brain to put into any sort of order. Sighing, he put it down, lifting his head to look at Wesley when he caught the scent of . . . "Barbeque?"
Wesley smiled. "I thought we could both use something to eat. Are ribs all right?"
Oz actually laughed at that. The cooler Wesley had brought in was giving off the most wonderful aroma now that it was opened, and Oz's mouth was watering. "I'll make do."
They ate in silence, though about halfway through the meal, Oz noticed Wesley giving the utility closet a suspicious look. Oz had an answer ready for him, but Wesley asked a completely different question.
"Is that thing large enough for you?" Wesley looked over to Oz, his eyes running up and down as if taking inventory. Oz smelled a hint of something quite nice in the air, but he ignored it, re-directing his energies into getting the barbeque sauce off his fingers.
"I can move a bit in it, and the lock's secure." Wesley gave him a sad look, and Oz was touched by the concern. He didn't deserve it. Or rather, the wolf didn't.
"While that is, certainly, the most important thing, I was actually wondering if the wolf might, er, seek revenge? You said that the healing doesn't do anything for scratches or bruises. Broken bones might heal, but what about other things?"
Oz raised his eyebrows, surprised. "The wolf isn't . . . it doesn't think. Not like that. It doesn't know the 'me and it' part. It only sees it, only knows it's caged when it's not . . . when I'm not . . ." Oz shook his head, unable to explain the differences. The wolf was a beast. It wasn't entirely a wolf, even. It didn't behave the way a wolf would. Oz had made a point of studying wolf behavior since he'd found out and, whatever the 'wolf' was, it wasn't the same as a natural animal. "It won't hurt itself. Except trying to get out. It would do that anywhere."
Wesley nodded, looking back to his food, clearly thoughtful. Oz couldn't help but wonder if Giles and Wesley had ever talked about all of this. Giles had been taking notes, asking him questions, doing what came naturally to him and cataloguing, cross-referencing, learning. It came almost as naturally to Wesley, and Oz could see himself answering a lot of questions over the next few days if Wes and Giles hadn't ever had that discussion.
"Hasn't it been lonely?" Wesley looked up, a confused expression on his face, even though it was his question. "Since you left Sunnydale."
Oz didn't know what to say to that. The answer went beyond a simple yes or no, and he didn't want to talk about what had led him to leave Sunnydale. He knew he should, should warn Wesley that he wasn't as controlled as he should be, but that would, rightly, lead to Wesley leaving, and Oz craved the company of someone he was sure would shoot him if it was necessary.
"Never mind," Wesley said when Oz didn't answer. "I really shouldn't have asked."
Oz shook his head, wiping his hands on those wet wipe things they always included with ribs. "No, it's a valid question, and yeah, it's been kinda solitary. It's the best way, really."
Wesley raised an eyebrow at that and Oz shrugged. Anything more would require him going into his reasons for being here in the first place, and he was having a hard enough time sitting and talking at all. He wanted to be up, pacing, prowling, learning this new building's layout and its scents.
"You seem jittery," Wesley commented and it was only when he spoke that Oz realized he'd stood, that he was walking the perimeter of the room in which they were staying, apparently would be staying for the next three days.
"Sorry." Oz forced himself to sit down again, though he didn't think he could stay there for long. It was early still, and he was already feeling the wolf. The itching under his skin had eased when his mind was on eating, but it was returning now, building slowly inside. If he thought too hard about it, his internal organs would start to itch with the energy for the coming change.
"No need to be," Wesley replied, seemingly nonplussed, though Oz could smell the agitation wafting from him. It smelled good, something like nutmeg and cinnamon, ginger and musk. It was drawing Oz's attention more surely than anything else had.
"There are a few more hours of daylight," Oz finally said, looking away from Wesley when he realized he'd been staring and it was only making Wes more agitated. "I'm going to walk for a little while. I'll be back before sunset."
Before Wesley could speak, could tell him what he already knew--that that wasn't the best idea--Oz turned and left, leaving behind a Wesley that was beginning to smell a little too much like pumpkin pie for Oz's mental health. Especially since Oz had never thought of pumpkin pie in quite that way before.
The grounds of the old school were overgrown, shady in spots. What grass there was had turned brown for lack of sunlight, and dead leaves lay in drifts tucked up against half fallen walls. The smell of their decay was calming, to both Oz and the wolf. The wolf much preferred to be outside, where it could hunt when the change came. Oz didn't intend to let it, but it didn't know that, and the smell of the wind and the feel of the weak winter sun did wonders for his mood.
Wesley's motorcycle was parked close to the building, shielded from sight. Oz passed it by, the smells of gasoline and machine oil irritating. Instead he lost himself in the other parts of the building, the parts that weren't quite tumbled yet, but where the outside had been let in through one wall and the floor was scattered with leaves, and there were holes in the ceiling. Oz felt best in those sorts of rooms, as if the walls gave the human him something and the encroaching vines, the heavily overcast sky and natural light, gave his wolf enough to calm it.
He must have gotten lost inside his head, inside that calm, because he was suddenly startled by the sound of leaves crunching under feet. He whirled around, the sense of impending sunset slamming back into him. For a moment, Oz's body was confused and he reeled, unsure whether to stand on two legs or on four.
Then Wesley's scent hit him, and he saw the man standing just outside the doorway, crossbow held loosely in one hand. "I didn't mean to startle you. I came up to get my crossbow from the bike and thought I'd come check on you."
Oz thought for a moment, turned his mind to that internal sense that was more the wolf's than his. "There's still an hour until sunset."
"I know," Wesley said with a faint smile. "That doesn’t mean you're not in need of a friend."
Oz snorted at that, but smiled so that Wesley would know he wasn't snorting at the offer. "I'll be fine, in a few days."
"Is it the wolf that does this? Are you always this unsettled near the full moon?" Wesley leaned against the doorway, his eyes earnest and curious. There was a smell for that, too, Oz realized. He'd never really thought about it before, and it was subtle, but Wesley smelled somehow tangy now, and Oz had scented that before, on Willow and on Giles, both of whom were as prone to curiosity as Wes was.
"It's been worse since . . ." Oz shrugged, and Wesley seemed to get his reluctance and only nodded in reply.
A new scent hit him, strong enough to override all the others. The wolf stopped its restless pushing and Oz's senses stretched out in way he'd never experienced before. There was the smell of death, and he knew at once it wasn't leaf litter.
"Vampires," he said, already looking about for a weapon as two vamps came rushing in from the hole in the far wall. Oz didn't have time to wonder how they'd gotten there, didn't even have time to find a weapon, before the first vamp was on him. It took him to the ground, snapping at his throat.
Oz screamed as this rib was jostled, only managing to get his arm up in time. His forearm caught the vampire in the throat, holding its teeth at bay, but the thing was strong and it was determined and Oz knew he couldn't hold it off for long, not by himself. His free hand moved through the leaves, finding a fallen branch. There was no way he could use it from this angle. The vampire's chest was pressed tight against his own, and Oz didn't have the strength or the leverage to roll them over. The smell of death, of an unwashed body pushed from the earth in the last few days, choked him. It clung in his nose and throat until he could taste it, until he was gagging on it.
A crossbow bolt thudded into the creature's side, the impact throwing it off Oz. Oz had enough time to look over, to see the second vampire jumping at Wesley and to see Wesley go down. Gripping the branch so tightly that his hand ached with it, Oz moved, rolling over onto the vampire that had attacked him. The creature had regained itself, had pulled the crossbow bolt from its side. Oz held the branch in both hands, putting all his weight behind it and suddenly was sitting on the floor on a layer of foul-smelling dust.
He stood, meaning to go help Wesley, only to find that Wesley had things well under control. Wes staked the second vamp with the broken shaft of one his crossbow bolts, and all was quiet again. Wesley stood, brushing dust from his jacket, and he and Oz met in the middle of the room.
"Are you all right?" they asked simultaneously, the question followed on both sides by a nervous chuckle. Oz could smell the adrenaline on Wesley, the sweat and the exhilaration. It was intoxicating. Wesley seemed to sense something of Oz's thoughts. The two of them stood frozen and silent, staring at one another.
Oz knew he moved first, though he didn't remember actually telling his body to do so. The smell of vampire was still clinging to the back of his throat, and he moved forward to inhale Wesley's scent deeper, breathing it in and dislodging the other. Wesley met him once again, and suddenly they were kissing, though Oz wasn't sure how that had happened.
Not that he could stop. Wesley tasted just the way he smelled, and Oz wanted more, needed more. Wesley's hands were on him, one on the back of his neck and the other on his shoulder. Oz pushed up into the touch, already panting and breathing in Wesley with every shortened breath. Wesley seemed just as desperate, his hands moving up and into Oz's hair, tugging lightly.
There were no words between them, but Wesley moaned against his lips and Oz's restlessness resolved itself into one driving urge. His hands moved down Wesley's chest, inside the leather jacket to brush over the body-warmed cotton of Wesley's t-shirt. They broke apart from the kiss, and Oz buried his face against Wesley's shoulder. Wesley was panting as well, his body moving with each breath.
Wesley nipped at his ear, and Oz groaned, turning to catch Wesley's lips again. Wesley's hands slipped up under his shirt, callused fingers sliding along the skin of his back. Oz's cock hardened at the feel of skin on skin and the sheer warmth of Wesley. He bucked his hips, finding an answering hardness in Wesley's jeans. Twin groans filled the half-ruin room with sound, and Oz was suddenly frantic, grinding, but that was okay because Wesley was the same. They moved against one another, the give and take of friction pulling small growls from Oz's throat.
Oz slid his hand down, pulling the zip on Wesley's pants and reveling in the way Wesley moaned against his lips. Pulling Wesley's cock free, Oz squeezed it just to get another of those groans and then stroked in earnest. Wesley tore his mouth free, his lips rubbing against the line of Oz's jaw before he moved on, biting lightly at Oz's shoulder. Wesley hand cupped Oz's cock through his jeans, rubbing the palm of his hand along it.
Oz was too lost in it, in the smells and sounds and feel of it all to notice Wesley pulling at his zip, but he certainly noticed when Wesley's hand closed around his cock. They moved in a counter rhythm and some part of Oz counted off the beats, as if they were dancing. They were kissing again, desperate. Oz wanted to keep that taste in his mouth, to keep Wesley's smell on him.
Wesley's grip tightened. He was getting close, Oz could smell it, smell the arousal thick in the air around them. He could taste it on Wesley's lips and hear it in those small, needy sounds. Oz sped up his own rhythm, tightening his own grip around Wesley's cock and biting lightly along Wesley's lower lip.
Wesley whimpered, and the sound made Oz's balls tighten. Soon. Soon. Neither of them was thinking, just moving, lost in the moment. Oz came, hard, tilting his head back and gasping as the orgasm rode him. Wesley followed close behind, and if he whispered someone else's name, Oz wasn't about to begrudge him that.
They stood there for a long moment, leaning against one another and both trying to regain some control. Then Wesley straightened and Oz did as well, taking the offered handkerchief and cleaning himself up before tucking himself away. There was an awkward tension between them, now that thought was returning.
"Er, Oz?" Even through the smell of sex and the fading adrenaline, Oz could smell Wesley's anxiety. He was ready to reassure Wesley that this was just . . . a thing, but Wesley once again surprised him. "Sunset's soon. We need to get you . . ." Wesley trailed off, but Oz smiled and nodded, feeling more relaxed than he had in days, more capable of dealing with the wolf.
"You know this . . ." Oz wasn't sure how to say it, though it turned out to be unnecessary.
"I know," Wesley met his eyes and nodded, smiling.
"Let's go." Oz led the way down to the utility closet, undressed, and let Wesley lock him in. It was dark inside, but Oz had never minded the dark. At least, not the dark outside himself. Sitting down to wait for the change, feeling the sun setting, Oz inhaled the scent clinging to his skin, the scent of another human, and felt nothing but calm.