A Sudden Gift of Fate

E-mail: deucepm@yahoo.com

Summary: Are they truly meant to be? Willow and Xander are about to find out.

Spoilers: None.

Rating: PG-13.

Distribution: Ask me first. It’ll be at my site, Further Adventures (http://www.geocities.com/deucepm/fanfic.htm).

Feedback: Tell me what you think.

Disclaimers: All this stuff is copyright Joss Whedon, except the stuff that isn't.

Comments: Part 11 of Wisdom of the Fool, Folly of the Wise. Don’t worry; I’ve got an elephant gun if it gets out of control. This one isn’t nearly as psychotic as the last part.

******

Chapter 1 - Make It Go Away

“Make it go away, cause I am weakened

This is more than one should have to take.

If you do this for me, then I will promise,

I’ll make it go away for you someday.”

--Holly Cole

******

Willow stared at nothing in particular. She lay on the floor of what had lately become known as The Spare Bedroom, largely because calling it Tara’s room tended to make her sob uncontrollably.

The sun fell through the uncurtained window onto her feet. Every once in a while, something poked through the haze of pain around her head to tell her that her toes were getting sunburnt. That was all; the house was completely empty at the moment. Buffy was at work, and Xander...

Oh, and there we go again. Tears surged behind her eyes, demanding release. Xander whom she loved, Xander who loved her. Except that every time she thought about him, it made her think about Tara. And every time she thought about Tara...

“Xander?”

She thought it had hurt when Oz had left; the suddenness of it, the betrayal, the months of freefall. That was _nothing_ compared to this. Tara had disappeared in a flash after committing a far worse betrayal than Oz’s. And the freefall was worse, because...

“Hey, Xander? Anyone home?”

The fact that someone was speaking finally registered. Willow sat up and got to her feet, her back complaining as she did.

“Hello?”

“Willow?”

She wiped her eyes and stepped out into the hallway. At the foot of the stairs, Xander’s Uncle Rory was waiting. He wore a white suit jacket over a hawaiian shirt with a matching Panama hat.

“Hey, kid. You seen whatsisface anywhere?”

“N-no,” Willow replied. “I don’t...he’s not at work.”

“Yeah. Okay. If you...” He paused, studying her face. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Fine. When I see him...”

“Could you tell him we’re leaving at six tomorrow morning?”

“Leaving?” Willow blinked. “Where are you going?”

“Didn’t he tell you? We’re gonna do Vegas for the big holiday weekend!” Rory grinned, doffing the hat.

“Really,” Willow said unenthusiastically. “Sounds like fun.”

“You’re thrilled. I can tell.” Rory hesitated before continuing. “You’re welcome to come if you want.”

“I...no, that’s okay.”

“You sure? Xander told me about what happened. The bits that made sense sounded pretty bad.”

“No, I’m fine. Really. But hey, maybe I’ll see you tonight, huh?”

“Absolutely. See you tonight.”

Willow nodded and turned away, leaving Rory to walk off, a bit uncomfortable. Upstairs, Willow lay back down on the floor, in the spot where Tara’s bed had once stood.

******

“Ahhhh,” Buffy said, putting the top on the coffee cup. “Congratulations, Mr. Harris, you are the lucky recipient of my final cup of coffee.”

“Great,” Xander replied, reaching out for the cup, which Buffy held just out of reach. He stood facing Buffy, who was behind the counter at the Coffee Bean.

“Savor it,” Buffy continued, “for it is filled with the taste of my financial independence.”

“That’s wonderful. Really.”

“Every bean was ground with love.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“The whipped cream carries the aura of my joy.”

“Right.”

“The caramel topping—“

“Give me the goddamn coffee before I destroy you, Buffy.”

“Jeez,” Buffy muttered, handing him the cup. “Late night at the flesh peddler’s?”

“Two bachelorette parties and a group from the dental hygienist convention,” Xander said. He took a long sip from the cup. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“Well, after today, they’re gonna be looking for a new barrista,” Buffy said. She pulled off her apron and tossed it under the counter.

“A British lawyer?”

“A coffee guy. Or...and I hesitate to bring this up...”

“Then don’t.”

“Xander, I’m sure you could get in.” The two of them walked out into the morning sunshine. “All you’d need to do is retake the SATs. You’d definitely qualify for a student loan.”

“How do you figure? I make a pretty penny shakin’ my groove thing on a professional basis.”

“Yeah, but it’d make a great sob story for the financial aid guy! Young man, broken home, has to work as a stripper to make ends meet.”

“You make my life sound so TV-movie.”

“It’s a gift.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for the gift, but I don’t think so. Besides, if I started going to UCSD, Willow and I would trip over each other more than we already do.”

“And that would be bad in what way?”

As they rounded the corner, Willow, coming from the other direction, bumped right into Xander. The coffee fell from his hand, spattering on the ground.

“Oh, God!” Willow cried. “I’m—uh—I was just—“

“Yeah,” Xander said. “Me too.”

“Right. So I—“

“Yeah.”

Buffy looked from Willow to Xander. The two of them looked extremely nervous.

“Rory was looking for you,” Willow said. “You’re leaving at six tomorrow.”

“Okay. Cool.”

“Right. Uh...I gotta go.”

“Okay. See you later.”

“Yeah.” Willow walked a few steps away, then turned around and walked back. “Hi, Buffy.”

“Uh...hi?” Buffy asked.

“Right. Okay. I gotta—“ She turned again, walking away. Buffy blinked and turned to Xander, who was staring after Willow.

“What the HELL was that?” she asked.

“That was number 53 in a series of awkward moments,” Xander muttered. “Collect them all.”

******

A punk band called the Badass Perpetrators was on the Bronze's stage, doing horrible things to a Beatles tune. Rory and Giles shared a look of mutual sympathy; they were seated around a table with the rest of the gang, taking part in an extremely muted sendoff party. Willow looked miserable. Xander looked anxious. Buffy, sitting between them, looked uncomfortable.

"So," Giles said, trying to get the conversation started. "Rory. What, er, what are you going to do in Vegas?"

"Oh, back to the professional gambling gig," Rory replied. "Poker, a little blackjack. I'm not bad when I'm not on the sauce."

"Ah." There was a long moment of quiet. "And you're going along, Xander?"

"Yeah."

"That's right," Rory said after a moment. "You should have seen him work the tables last time. Remember we came back from that club and you'd gotten rid of almost all your singles?"

"Uh..." Xander noticed Buffy and Willow's eyes on him. "No, no, I don't remember that."

"Aw, you remember, you'd given 'em all to that redhead stripper."

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Xander turned to Willow, who was, to his relief, smirking. "I have no idea what he's talking about!"

"How much did he give up?" Buffy asked, laughing.

"Something like a hundred bucks."

"I'm honored," Willow said.

"Look, really, I don't know what he's--"

"Anyway," Rory interrupted. "He takes his last ten bucks and goes to the blackjack table. Now, he's half in the bag, understand. I don't know how he did it, but he doubled the money he gave to that stripper in no time."

"When did I--" Xander blinked. "Did I keep screaming 'I'm in the zone!' every five minutes?"

"That was it."

"Ohhhh, yeah," Xander said, nodding. "I do remember this."

"Easily the most amazing streak I've ever witnessed," Rory said, smiling proudly at Xander. "Then he hits the gift shop and spends damn near all his cash again."

"Was that where you got my shirt?" Willow asked.

"I guess so."

"Awww," she said, smiling. "I didn't know it was a lucky shirt. I'll have to wear it...more..." She trailed off. She listened; the band had left the stage and a song was playing on the sound system.

*Make it go away or make it better

Isn't that what love's supposed to do?

Make it go away or make it better

'Cause I would do either one for you*

"I...uh...excuse me." She was out of her seat and headed for the bathroom before anyone could see her cry.

"What happened?" Giles asked.

"Uh...this song," Buffy said. "I remember, she and Tara used to dance to it."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud..." Xander stood up. "I'd better go--"

"You'd really better not," Buffy said, getting up.

"I think you're kinda part of the problem at the moment, Xander."

"Part of--part of the problem?! Are you _kidding_? What the hell--"

"Just let me handle this right now, okay?"

Xander fumed for a moment, then sat back down. "Fine."

******

"Will?" Buffy walked into the bathroom and started checking the stalls. "Willow?"

"Down at the end," Willow said, her voice wet with tears.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked. She walked to the last stall, which was closed.

"I hate this," Willow said. "This is such...this is such crap!"

"Hey, watch your language."

"I'm serious!" Willow blew her nose. "I mean, I wasn't nearly this pathetic when Oz left."

Buffy thought it was debatable, but kept her mouth shut.

"She lied to me," Willow continued. "Our whole relationship was a lie. I mean, I put myself out on the limb for her! I risked societal rejection!"

"That's true," Buffy said.

"I mean, look how you reacted," Willow said, sniffling.

"Hey!"

"My mom barely spoke to me for a week after she found out. And for what?"

They were quiet for a moment.

"You know what?" Buffy said. "What's your schedule like this weekend?"

"Uh...I'm not working..."

"Then let's take a road trip."

"You mean...like a girls-only road trip?"

"Sure! Just the two of us. We'll go to Knott's Berry Farm or Magic Mountain or something." Willow was quiet, considering it. "That sounds good," she said finally.

"Great! Then tomorrow we'll hit the road."

"Great!"

Buffy waited for a moment.

"Uh...are you coming out now?"

"Well, I'm kinda in the middle of something."

Buffy blinked. "While you were _talking_ to me?!"

"You rushed in before I could--"

"Oh, _ew_!" Buffy cried. "Just come out when you're done, all right?"

******

Spike took a long last drag from his cigarette and flicked the dog-end into the street. He waited until he was passing the bouncer to exhale, snickering as the man wheezed. "Bloody California," he muttered. He was sick to death and unlife of the place. Especially Sunnydale. Too much sun, too many people he couldn't drink, and too damn much of the Slayer. No doubt he'd find her inside, too. _Asking for help from the Slayer. This'd be a low point if I didn't have to do it all the bloody time._

Yes, there she was, nattering away to her posse of comic relief. _Look at her, with her blonde hair and perfect body and amazing legs. God, I hate her. She's probably awful in bed.

She looked up and saw him, giving him the stink- eye. He sneered back and walked up to their table, suddenly in the mood to dish out some attitude.

"Well, good evening, kids. Oh, and you, Rupert."

“Go away," Buffy, Giles and Xander said almost in unison.

"Oh, that's very nice," Spike said with a smirk. "And here I was just about to congratulate you for taking out that hydra last week. Bloody cheek, I swear." He noticed the other man at the table, who was looking at him confusedly. Spike blinked. "Oi, squire, anyone ever tell you you're the spittin' image of Bruce Campb--"

"Did you want something, Spike?" Buffy said between clenched teeth. "Or is this just free-floating snottiness?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask a favor."

"No."

"You haven't even heard it yet!"

"Doesn't matter. The answer is no."

"I need a ride out of town."

"N--" She stopped. "Why?"

"Be honest with you, I need a change of scenery." Spike shrugged. "This podunk can't interest me much longer. 'sides, I'd like to get somewhere where this damn chip isn't common knowledge."

"Aww, poor baby," Xander said. "Why the hell would we help you?"

"Goodness of your hearts?"

"Try again."

"Cash?"

"Xander..." Giles leaned towards him. "I don't suppose you'd have room for him in your car, would you?"

"What?! Are you nuts?"

"It would get him out of Sunnydale," Buffy added.

Xander considered that. "Rory, you mind if he comes along?"

"That depends," Rory said. "Who is he?"

"Oops--manners." Spike extended his hand. "Spike. William the Bloody to my victims."

"Pleased to--" Rory froze, mid-shake, feeling the cool of Spike’s hand. "You're a vampire?"

"Don't worry," Buffy said. "He's got a chip in his head. No bitey for Spikey."

"That's right, tell the world," Spike snarled.

"Here's the deal, Spike," Xander said. "We're goin' to Vegas tomorrow morning. A hundred bucks up front, plus gas and meals. And you ride in the trunk."

"Well, you make a deal like that, how can I bloody refuse--"

"Yes or no?"

"Fine," Spike sneered. "When do we leave?"

******

"Whoa," Rory said, peering at his watch. "It's getting late. I'd better get back while your mom's still up."

"What?" Xander said, a bit alarmed. "Why?"

"To...say goodbye?" Rory asked, confused.

"Oh. Right. Say goodbye. Yeah, I guess we should. Nash Bridges is almost over, and she's out like a light after that."

"Right," Rory said, standing. "But first, I gotta do something unmentionable. Be right back." Spike watched him go from the bar, muttering something about an uncanny resemblance.

"We should get going too," Buffy said, "if we're gonna get an early start."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"Me and the Willster are taking a little road trip," Buffy said. "Giles, are you sure you're gonna be okay alone?"

"Yes, Buffy," Giles said with strained patience. "I am quite capable of looking after this town for a couple of days by myself."

Buffy stared at him. “You do realize that you’ve just jinxed yourself.”

“Yes,” Giles said ruefully. “Yes, I figured that as soon as I opened my mouth.”

"So where ya goin'?"

"Just seeing the sights," Willow said, her eyes refusing to meet his. "Stuff like that."

"Uh huh." Xander stood. "Well, have a good time. Or whatever. Tell Rory I'll see him tomorrow morning, willya?" He walked away from the table before anyone could respond.

******

"Xander!"

He was halfway back to Scoobys End when he heard Willow calling him. He turned to her, a little annoyed, watching her approach.

"Oh, are you talking to me now? Sure you can handle it?"

She stopped, a few feet away.

"I mean, I wouldn't want you to burst into tears at the sound of my voice or anything," he continued.

"Well, being really snotty is a step in the right direction," Willow replied, her features hardening. She came closer, and Xander could see that her eyes were wet, which made him feel extremely tiny.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I just...I don't know how to handle this."

"Neither do I," she replied. "I mean, I've never...this has never...just never."

"Right."

"It's too soon for anything."

"Yeah."

"But...it's like sometimes I just want to..."

"Want to what?"

She turned away, embarassed.

"Want to what?" Xander asked again.

"It doesn't matter." Willow turned back to him. "Maybe this weekend is just what we need, you know? Something to clear our heads."

"Sure."

They looked into each others' eyes for a moment, each wondering what was going on in the other's head.

"You sounded kinda freaked about Rory," Willow finally said.

"I did?"

"Did you ask him about the thing?"

"The he-might-be-my-father thing?"

"That thing, yes."

Xander shook his head. "I'll do it this weekend sometime. I've just had too much on my mind lately."

"Lot of that going around."

There was another uncomfortable silence.

"You wanna walk with me?" Willow asked. "I'm going back to the house."

"Uh...yeah, but there's this thing I was gonna pick up from my folks' place, and..."

"Right, right. Well...g'night."

"Yeah. Safe trip."

They walked off into the night, along different paths, their problems staring them in the face like an obvious metaphor.

******

“This won’t do, you know.”

The girl grunted noncommittally.

“This needs to be fixed.”

Another, even more noncommittal, grunt.

“And you have to fix it.”

“I know.”

They were silent.

“Now would be good,” the other voice said.

“All right, all right...” The girl peered at the world. “Ah. Here we go. Perfect.”

******

Sometimes, he remembered things.

He remembered life and the way he used to live it. He remembered songs, and conversations, and long drives. But he had to be careful. If he remembered too long, The Pain would return.

And then he couldn’t remember anything.

He watched the ringmaster through wary eyes. The ringmaster was tall and undertaker-thin, and his pencil-thin moustache and Van Dyke beard did nothing to erase the general aura of evil that poured off the man. He spoke into the phone, barely intelligible through a thick French accent.

“Oui. Oui, ee is, ‘ow you say, tres valuable. Oui. Non, I must ask for twenty.” There was a long pause; then the ringmaster’s face broke into a smile.

“Sapristi! Le news est tres bon, oui. I will be there tomorrow night, after the noon matinee.”

He hung up and turned to the creature in the cage.

“Well, m’sieur loup-homme, your time wiz us has been brief, oui? Now, eet ees at le fini...”

The creature whined and backed away from the front of the cage. He’d recognized the word “matinee.”

That word meant The Pain.

******

Part 2 - The Music of Chance

And I am looking for the slots

I am filing down my heart

Desert, be kind to this traveler

--Luscious Jackson, "Sexy Hypnotist"

"State of Grace."

"Every Which Way But Loose."

"Evil Under The Sun."

"Uh..." Xander racked his brain for a movie that began with N. "Nightmare on Elm Street."

"Time Code."

"Enough with the Es, Rory."

"Hey, I thought you came to play," Rory said. He was piloting Xander's blue convertible down the California highway at roughly a million miles an hour. The game worked like this; one person gives a movie title, and the next comes up with another title that begins with the last letter of the previous title. They'd been at it for about half an hour, and as the desert whipped by, Xander was quickly becoming bored with it.

"Fine. Everyone Says I Love You."

"Lousy Woody Allen movie musicals? That's what you're giving me?"

Xander said nothing. He watched the desert glumly.

"Right," Rory said. "Universal Soldier."

"Rawhead Rex."

"Rawhead _what_?"

"It's a horror movie."

"Hey, Spike," Rory called out. "Rawhead Rex?"

"What about it?" Spike yelled. He was stuffed into the trunk and could be barely heard through the back seat.

"Does it exist?"

"Yeah. Bloody awful."

"Okay, I'll give you that one," Rory said.

"Great."

"Come on, cheer up. You're supposed to be relaxing."

Xander didn't reply.

"Who pissed in your Cheerios?"

"No one, all right? I'm just..." He sighed. "Girl trouble."

"Willow. Right."

"It's just...we're in this place where there's no obstacles, you know? No girlfriends, no boyfriends, just the two of us, and it's like we don't know how to handle it."

"Was getting liquored up and rutting like warthogs not an option?"

"Rory!"

"Aw, relax. Look, if you two have gotten through all the crap you've gotten through so far, you'll make it the rest of the way."

"I know, I know. I'm just impatient. I wanna make with the happy."

A loud, rude sound, like someone pretending to be sick, emanated from the trunk.

"Shut your piehole, Spike!" Xander yelled. He turned his attention back to the desert. He wondered where Willow was right now.

******

"Oh! Oh! We have to pull over!"

"Again?" Buffy complained. "How small _is_ your bladder, anyway?"

"Not because of that," Willow replied. "Look!"

Buffy looked. She was behind the wheel of Willow's car, driving in what she hoped was the general direction of Knott's Berry Farm. At the moment, Willow was pointing at a billboard. PETTING ZOO AND WATER SLIDE! it promised. FREE BALLOONS FOR THE KIDDIES! LAST PETTING ZOO FOR 50 MILES!

"Oh, hell no," Buffy said.

"Come onnnn!" Willow whined. "There'll be little baby goats! We can feed little baby goats! They'll have that animal food that comes in candy dispensers that only costs a quarter!"

"Will, we've already _been_ to a petting zoo this morning."

"But they didn't have goats!"

"We also saw that giant ball of twine. And the plastic dinosaurs. And three waffle houses. Come on, we've got to make some time here."

"I thought we were supposed to be having fun," Willow said sulkily.

"We are. It's just that my idea of fun involves roller coasters and cotton candy. And not goats."

Willow leaned back in her seat, pouting. She sighed heavily. When this brought no response, she tried it again. When they passed the turn-off for PETTING ZOO AND WATER SLIDE!, she went for broke, adding a little groaning action into the sigh.

"Oh, all RIGHT!" Buffy exploded. "God! Now I know how Giles feels!"

"So can we turn around?"

"No! I'll tell you what. We'll make one more side trip...if you really feel the need to visit one of these skeezy-ass places..."

"Thank you thank you!" Willow said. "Um..." She looked at the billboards as they rushed by. "Whoa. Check that one out."

Buffy looked at it. Her eyebrows raised.

"Cirque du Macabre?"

Willow looked at her and grinned.

"We _gotta_ see that."

"You know, I think we do." Buffy flipped the turn signal and headed in the direction of the sign's skeletal finger.

******

The big blue convertible pulled into the parking garage and parked, because that's what cars are supposed to do in parking garages. Xander, dusty and a little sunburnt, hopped out of the passenger seat and popped open the trunk.

Spike was asleep. There was an empty blood bag in one of his hands; the other held a deathgrip on a bottle of whiskey. Rory looked at it, suddenly a bit hoarse.

"He's got good taste in hooch."

"Yeah, yeah." Xander nudged the sleeping vampire. "Up an' at 'em, Atom Ant."

Spike snored loudly and tried to turn over. Xander yanked at his coat.

"Hey, Slim Shady, I'm talkin' to you! Beat it! We're here!"

Spike smacked his lips and opened his eyes.

"Whuh?"

"Get--out--of--the--car," Xander explained.

"Oh. Right." With great effort, Spike clambered out of the trunk, almost falling on his face several times. He straightened up.

"This is Vegas? Thought it'd be brighter."

"We're underground, you knucklehead." Xander slammed the trunk closed. "Now beat it. We've got debauchery to commit."

"Hmph. Well, if you two can get up to any _real_ trouble, I'll be bloody surprised. You two tracies have a nice time, now." Spike brushed himself and walked towards the elevators.

"Uh...if I recall correctly, the Aquapolis has all-glass elevators. Should we tell him?"

Xander grinned nastily.

"He'll figure it out."

******

If Edward Gorey had given up on the whole art thing and joined a traveling carnival, the Cirque de Macabre would have been the result. It sat in the middle of a patch of dirt and crabgrass, roughly half a mile off the state highway. An aggressively spooky-looking house loomed over everything. A sign in front declared it to be THE HOUSE OF DETH, with a tiny "A" painted above the "E" and the "T". There was a fenced-off petting zoo area; however, in place of animals, there were animal skeletons, swaying slightly in the breeze.

"Well, _that's_ good old fashioned nightmare fuel," Buffy remarked as they headed for the main tent. The tent was completely black, with a Jolly Roger flying at the top. Willow and Buffy got in line behind a family of tourists. A zombie was taking tickets.

"Unnnnnngh," it moaned. "Tiiiiickets."

"How much for two adults and two children?" the father asked.

The zombie stared at the family for a moment. Then, it slowly fished a ragged piece of paper from the pocket of its filthy funeral suit.

"Nine ninety-fiiiiiive," it groaned. The father handed him a ten spot; the zombie laboriously tore the tickets and handed them out. Willow and Buffy looked at the zombie as they approached.

"Great makeup, huh?" Willow said. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

"Yeah. Looks just like the real thing."

"Tiiiiickets."

"I got it," Willow said, pulling out her wallet. "Uh...I don't suppose you have student discount, do you..."

"Neeeeeed....IIIII Deeee...."

Willow and Buffy looked at each other for a long moment.

"Never mind." Willow handed the zombie five singles. The zombie tore off two tickets and handed them to the girls.

"Enjoy showwwwww."

"Riiiight." Buffy peered at her ticket as they walked inside the tent. "Does yours have slime on it?"

******

"Relaxed yet?"

Xander and Rory were sitting in the front row of the Aquapolis' main theater. It was largely empty at the moment, since you only went to the theater in Vegas if you were sick of gambling, drinking or eating. In Xander and Rory's case, though, they were there because they were both nearly heatstruck and wanted to be in a cool dark place before they did any serious gambling, and the suite in Rory's name didn't do the trick.

So they had come here, just in time to catch the afternoon matinee of Nudes on Broadway. At the moment, a young lady whose lungs were more impressive than her voice was belting out something from Phantom of the Opera.

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?" Rory looked askance at Xander. "Xander, we're watching a woman wearing nothing but a pair of sequined panties perform a classic of the British musical."

"Well, that's debatable."

"Yes, but the 'only wearing panties' part isn't."

"I'm fine, I'm fine."

"Are you gonna be like this all weekend?"

"I'll be fine," he said. On stage, the singer was departing, and two women in body paint came on stage to do something from Cats.

******

"I don't believe we're doing this," Buffy muttered as they sat on the slightly warped bleachers. The tent was stuffy and filled with darkness. They sat near the family of tourists, if only because they were the only other people in the place.

"Oh, don't complain," Willow said. "It's got its own charm. It's like a haunted house on Halloween."

"Will, do you remember the last haunted house we visited?"

"You mean the one where you and Riley went at it like crazed warthogs?"

"The. Other. One," Buffy said between her teeth.

"Ohhhh! Oh, yeah." Willow frowned. "Well, I'm sure they don't have any... you know...green stingy things..." She sighed. "Poor Oz. He was really freaked out that night."

"Mmm." They both fell silent for a moment. Buffy had spared little thought for the werewolf since he'd left town last April. She wondered if, between Tara and Xander, Willow had given him any thought either. She could see Willow's frown through the murk and moved to lighten the mood. "Well, if he really wants to be freaked out, he should check this place out. I mean, zombie guy _really_ looked real."

"Buffy, what are the chances that there's anything actually supernatural going on in this place?"

"Knowing our luck? One in one."

******

"Okay. Twenty bucks says these two old ladies get into a fistfight."

"You're on." Xander idly pumped another quarter into the slot machine as Rory played video poker. They both watched two elderly women who were jockeying for position at a bank of slot machines opposite.

"So what are we up to tonight, then?"

"I dunno. Carlin's playing over at Caesar's, and Steve and Eydie at the Tropicana."

"Steve and Eydie?"

"Before your time. Way before your time. How do you feel about Tony Bennett?"

"Uh...I don't know. How _do_ I feel about Tony Bennett?"

"We'll see him tonight. You'll like him. He's got style."

"Okay..." The two old ladies seemed to be about to confront one another. "Hey, I think it's showtime..."

"Excellent," Rory said brightly. "Come on, you savage old bat! Go for her bridgework!"

A moment later, the smaller of the old ladies backed down, turning up her nose and walking away, affronted.

“Yes!" Xander reached out his hand. "Gandhi lives!"

"Hmmph." Rory slapped the twenty into his hand. "Let's see...what else is there to bet on around here? I need some more action."

"Well, I need a refill." Xander picked up his cup and hopped off his stool. "Coming?"

"Sure. Maybe if I keep a soda in my hand, those damn waitresses will stop trying to bring me booze." Rory exhaled deeply. "Vegas, man. It's alcoholic hell."

"Relax. You're doin' great."

"What are you drinking, by the way?"

"Uh...just a Coke."

"No rum?"

"I don't think so." Xander sniffed his glass. "Though I couldn't swear to it."

"You shouldn't drink anyway," Rory said. "There's too much of that in our family."

"Heh. You sound like a dad."

They went very quiet as they approached the bar. As Xander ordered, he could feel Rory staring.

"Rory," he said without turning around, "I wanna ask you something."

"Uh-huh."

"It's kind of important."

"Uh-huh."

"Ever since that night my mom was attacked, I've...I've had this idea."

"Uh-huh."

"And I just need to know."

"Uh-huh."

He took a deep breath.

"Rory, are you my father?"

"Uh-huh."

Xander whirled around, shocked.

"What?! You are?! How--" He stopped. Rory was staring, all right, but he was staring past him. Xander followed his gaze. Rory was gaping at two women at the opposite end of the bar. One was dressed in a short red thing that rippled every time she moved; she looked a bit like whatsername, that lady from Gone With The Wind. The other was dressed in a drab denim shirt and ratty-looking jeans, but her body was all the more remarkable for them. She flipped her honey-blonde hair and smiled at them.

"Whoa," Xander whoaed.

"I think I just met my next two ex- wives," Rory said, grinning.

"Well, at least we know these two have legs..."

"They're coming over." Rory took a swig of his newly-arrived drink and swished it around. "Be my wing man?"

"You know it."

The two women slinked over to them and took up stools next to Rory.

"Hi there, handsome," said the one in the dress. "I'm Tracy."

"I'm Laura. Buy me a drink. I just got out of jail."

******

"...and now, madames et m'sieurs, le Cirque du Macabre is proud to present on zee high wire, zee Amazing Ponk Brothers!"

Willow and Buffy watched with fascination as two men in what they hoped was purple makeup swung through the air high above the circus ring. One Ponk brother let go and was caught by the other.

"They're demons," Buffy murmured.

"That's what you said about the magic act."

"He cut off his assistant's head!"

"Yeah, but he put it back on."

"And that doesn't say _demon_ to you?"

"Look, are having fun today or not?" Willow asked. "Just relax. Circuses are all about tricks and stuff like that. It's just smoke and--"

She stopped when one of the Ponk brothers let go of his trapeze and missed his brother's hands. The aerialist fell twenty feet to the ground, bouncing once when he landed.

This was the last straw for the tourist family, who screamed in unison and ran for the outside. Before either of them could do anything, the Ponk brother pulled himself woozily to his feet and started screaming at his brother in an unknown language. The second Ponk brother let go of the trapeze and landed on his feet; he immediately attacked his brother. The two of them brawled with bared claws and incomprehensible snarls; they eventually rolled out of the center ring.

"Okay," Willow said. "They're demons."

"Thank you."

"But it's not like they're _doing_ anything. I mean, at least they're doing something positive with their demonhood...right?"

"Well..." Buffy shrugged. "I don't know. I feel like I should be slaying something."

As they spoke, the ringmaster hurriedly scurried out into the center ring.

"Ah heh heh heh," he laughed. "Zee Ponk brothers, zey do have their little spats. Well, um...ah! Oui! For your thrills and delight, we 'ave zee daring, dangerous Draculina, zee world famous creature tamer!"

"_Draculina_?" Buffy said. She felt around in her purse for a stake.

"Oh, no," Willow said. "It's part of the act. Look, she's got a tan."

She did have a tan at that. Draculina was a statuesque woman with long, jet- black hair. She wore an outfit that Xena would have rejected as lacking dignity. In her hand, she held a long bullwhip.

"Today, for one day only, Draculina will pit her skills against a creature so savage, so ruthless that it took six men to bring it low!"

Two zombies rolled a large box into the center ring. It was covered with a cloth; underneath, something bucked back and forth.

"C'est vrai, madames et m'sieurs, today Draculina does battle with... ze werewolf!"

The cover was whipped off, revealing a hairy, apelike figure. It snarled and foamed, a thick black collar around its neck.

It looked familiar.

The creature in the cage would have been frightening if it were not so pathetic. It launched itself over and over at the door of the cage, but one look at its human- like features proved that it was out of sheer terror, not rage. It tried to reach through the bars of the cage; Buffy saw the ringmaster fiddle with something, and the werewolf went down, quivering with pain.

The girls were speechless for a moment.

"Is..." Willow stood up. "That isn't..."

The werewolf got back to its four feet, The Pain having retreated for the moment. It snuffled, trying to get its bearings, and sniffed the air. Its hackles raised. It smelled something...some_one_ familiar... Its vision was blurred from weeks of torment and drugs, but it saw the spot of orange moving in the stands, and it howled in recognition. The low, keening wail sent a chill through all who heard it.

"It is," Willow said. "It's Oz!"

******

Xander's head was on the bar like a child taking a nap in school. Next to him, Rory was being fawned over by Tracy and Laura. It was incredible. The man was a career bullshit artist who gave off insincerity fumes the way others do pheromones. He was wearing the same ice-cream suit he'd been wearing yesterday. He was wearing a _Hawaiian shirt_, for cryin' out loud. And still, he had women dripping off him.

Admittedly, the women in question were career criminals. From what he'd been able to glean, Laura had been picked up on a bunco rap in Reno last month, and had only this morning managed to weasel her way out of the charge in court. Something about compromised evidence, and anyway, it's not like the people didn't get the wheelchairs back eventually. They were very clearly, at least to Xander, who was not in their headlights (you should pardon the expression), con artists. Rory, however, did not seem at all bothered by this.

"...so then I said, 'look, if you want that busload of nuns and orphans to die, you stay right here. Me... I'm going in.'" Rory took a swig of his drink, giving the ladies a chance to swoon in adoration.

"Wow," Tracy said. "I never knew the life of a taxidermist was so exciting."

"Well, I don't do that anymore. I like to think of myself as a jack-of- all-trades." If Xander did any more eye-rolling this afternoon, he was liable to sprain something. Laura turned to him and gave him a wry smile.

"What about you, cutie? What's your story?"

"I'm the jack-of-all-trades' nephew," he said.

"I see." She moved a little closer to him. "So are you a jack-of-all- trades too?"

"Nope. I'm a stripper."

She blinked; then her grin grew wider still. "Really. I do a bit of that myself. You in the union?"

"Nah. I'm just doing it for the summer. I hope."

"I know what you mean." She sipped her drink. "Don't worry; something better'll come along. It did for me."

"What was that?"

"Fake tech stocks."

"Ah. Well, whatever works for ya."

"Listen...maybe if you're around later, you and I could..."

Xander looked at her and sighed. "No offense, but my life's a little complicated right now."

Laura shrugged, her hair falling over her shoulders in a way that made him want to reconsider. "Suit yourself." She leaned close to him. "It'd be nice."

"Oh, I don't doubt it." His knuckles were a bit white now as he gripped his glass.

"It's just...there's this thing..."

"What sort of thing?"

******

LeChevre didn't need this. He really didn't. Four years he'd spent as the owner and ringmaster of this hole in the desert. Four years of heat and poverty and having his every need tended to by zombies. He just had to make it through one more matinee. Just one more.

It was that hunter's fault. When LeChevre had answered his ad for a buyer, he thought he was buying a chimp or something. Not a werewolf, for God's sake.

The thing was snarling and howling inside the cage, and he felt the button again. The remote control activated the electric collar that the werewolf was wearing, and would send many, many volts of agony through its body. He was just about to announce the beginning of the act when he saw the only two remaining members of the audience come running out of the stands.

He didn't need this. He really didn't.

What were they, animal control? PETA? It didn't matter. He shrilly whistled for the zombies and started pushing the cage backwards. "Get ze truck ready!" he screamed.

The werewolf leapt against the bars, trying to get at the ringmaster.

"Get out here, you undead imbeciles!" he shrieked. The redhead was on the other side of the cage now... Willow looked at the werewolf, looking for some confirmation.

"Oz?" she called out as he leapt at the bars. "Oz! Look at me!"

The werewolf stopped in its assault and turned, snarling. For a moment, she held its gaze. She looked into its eyes...somewhere, buried far beneath, she could see him.

"Hold on," she said. "We'll get you out."

The werewolf chuffed--it was almost a scoff--and turned back to the ringmaster. It howled with rage and reached out one shaggy paw. It could see the thing that brought The Pain stuffed into the ringmaster's belt; the skinny Frenchman was so intent on moving the cage backstage that he didn't think to press the button.

Nearby, Buffy and Draculina circled one another. The creature- tamer snapped the whip to and fro. Buffy had produced a stake from the depths of her purse and was brandishing it threateningly.

"What exactly do you think you're going to do with that?" Draculina asked mockingly.

"I was thinking maybe I'd stab you in the heart with it," Buffy replied.

"What?!"

"What, too much?"

Draculina's face hardened. She lashed out with the whip; it wrapped around the stake and tore it from Buffy's grasp.

"OW! You gave me a splinter!"

"I'll give you more than a splinter!" Draculina yelled. "Stake in the heart, what are you, nuts? We're just putting on a show here!"

"That's a friend of mine you've got locked in that cage--"

Movement attracted Buffy's attention. The zombies had finally arrived and were pushing the cage to the back of the tent.

"Let him go!" Willow yelled. She grabbed one of the zombies by the arm and tugged. With a moist pop, it came off, sending her to the ground. She was about to throw the arm away and do quite a bit of screaming when the zombie bent down to her, moaning threateningly. Instinct took over and she did the only thing that made sense.

She gripped the arm like a club and smacked him with it.

The zombie staggered back and Willow got to her feet. The cage was almost outside now; she saw the ringmaster rush in front of it, guiding it forward.

"Your friend? What d'you mean, your friend?"

"I mean, his name is Daniel Osborne, he's a human being most of the time, and he doesn't like cages."

Buffy moved forward. Draculina snapped at her with the whip; this time, Buffy caught it and yanked the woman forward.

"LeChevre told me he was some kind of monkey!" Draculina said.

"Oh, well, with a cover story like that, it's no wonder you were taken in. Are you going to help me get him out or not?"

"I--"

"_Buffy_!" Willow was tugging at the cage, which the zombies now had off the ground. Outside, they heard a motor running. One of the zombies pushed her aside; Willow ducked around and ran outside, blinking in the harsh sunlight.

There was a truck outside, and now the cage was loaded into it. She ran to the driver's door, grabbed the handle—

"Release that, s'il vous plait."

--and found the muzzle of a gun in her face. She backed away, her knees trembling.

"Merci." The ringmaster gunned the engine, the gun not moving until he pulled away in a spray of dust. From the back of the truck, she could hear a howl of anguish. Buffy and Draculina ran up to her, but they could only watch as the truck pulled onto the highway.

"He took my truck," Draculina said, a bit stunned. Willow whirled on her, fear giving way to anger.

"_Where's he going_?!"

******Chapter 3 - Trouble Waiting To Happen

"My day was over 'bout quarter to ten

I climbed right back into bed again

I'd write this down if I could hold a pen

I might get better but I don't know when

And so I'm gonna wait right here 'til then...

Trouble waiting to happen." -Warren Zevon

"So your girlfriend isn't your girlfriend anymore, and you want your best friend to be your girlfriend, but she just broke up with _her_ girlfriend, and now neither of you has a girlfriend," Laura said. She had just heard the entire tale of Willow and Xander's relationship. She looked confused. Xander could hardly blame her.

"Pretty much."

"You ever think of dating someone with...y'know... less baggage?"

"Can't help it. I love her baggage."

Laura smiled. "Is your uncle half as sweet as you?"

"You'd have to ask him." Xander nodded towards Rory and Tracy. They were murmuring to one another now. Tracy popped her head up and motioned for Laura to come over. The two of them talked and giggled for a moment, then whispered something in Rory's ear. Whatever they said made his complexion go redder than usual.

"Just give me a minute," Rory finally said. He clapped his hand on Xander's shoulder. "C'mon. Let's take a walk."

"Oh, you remembered I exist? I'm touched, Ror, I really am."

"Hey, I'm sorry. I thought one of them was talking to you."

"Ah, she was...so what's the deal?"

"Me and the girls are headed up to their suite. For a nightcap." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"But you don't drink."

"Xander, by nightcap, I mean 'sex with both of them.'"

"Uh....huh. Rory, you do realize they're criminals, right?"

"Oh, yeah." By this time, they had reached the men's room. They stepped inside and Rory began emptying his pockets. "That's why you're gonna hold my wallet. And my money clip...and my car keys...and the room keys... wait, I just need something from that wallet..."

"I'll bet you do," Xander said, smirking. "Live the dream, my man."

"How do I look?"

"Like Matt Dillon in There's Something About Mary."

"Uh huh. Don't wait up."

Rory turned and walked out, leaving Xander to shake his head. _Yep. That might be my dad. Explains a lot._

******

Buffy had seen angry before, from Faith, from Giles, from her enemies, from her friends. But she'd never really seen it before from Willow.

She was certainly seeing it _now_, though. At the moment, she was gripping the witch about the midsection, restraining her from physically ripping the information she wanted out of Draculina's head.

"I don't _know_ where he's going!" the tamer was yelling. "He said something about making some kind of deal, but he didn't give us any information!"

"You're _lying_!" Willow screamed. "Tell me! _Where's he taking Oz_?!"

"Willow!" Buffy yelled. "Calm down!"

"I've got a whole _box_ of pencils in this purse, d'you hear me?!"

"_What_?" Draculina asked, totally confused.

"_Hey_!" Buffy suddenly lifted Willow up, flipped her over, and deposited her on her feet. She grabbed Willow by the shoulders and held her, looking into her eyes. "Get a _grip_, Will!"

"No! I've had it with this kidnapping crap! Spike kidnaps me and Xander, the Initiative kidnaps Oz, Hades kidnaps Tara... that's _it_! No more kidnapping!"

"I know. I know." She rubbed Willow's shoulder briefly. "We'll find him."

"Damn right we will." Willow was still bristling with fury, but she relaxed enough that Buffy let her go. The Slayer turned to Draculina, who had taken the opportunity to pick up her whip. She held it at her side, like a gunslinger.

"Where's his office?" Buffy asked.

"Outside."

Draculina led the two young women to one of the nearby trailers. Inside, it looked as though it had been heavily ransacked.

"I'd guess French Guy wasn't planning on coming back."

"Fine with me. LeChevre never knew anything about marketing."

"Is that his computer?" Without waiting for an answer, Willow took a seat at LeChevre's tiny desk and booted up a battered PC.

"Yeah. He's got it wired to one of the telephone poles."

"Organized, is he?"

"He's on this thing half the night, from what the zombies tell me."

"From what the--" Buffy shook her head. "You _talk_ to them?"

"There's no one else around here to talk to. The Ponks don't speak English and the magician keeps to himself."

Willow began typing. It took her six tries before she came up with a password. "Huh. 'Jumbo.' Do you guys have an elephant?"

"Uh...no."

"Ew. Let's see...come on, come on...here we go. His History cache shows he's been looking at map sites. Looks like he got driving directions to..." She blinked. "Las Vegas."

"Is there an address?"

"Yeah. And in Express, he's got an appointment for tonight...some guy named--"

******

"Romulus Ledbetter, at your service."

The man was impressive. Six foot six, three hundred pounds, all of it wrapped in Armani. He spoke with a slight Southern accent, and the light of the hotel suite gleamed off his bald head. His teeth seemed impressively white against the dark brown of his skin.

"I've seen you on telly!" Spike said, shaking Ledbetter's hand. "You're that fight promoter, right?"

"Indeed I am, sir, indeed I am. Can I get you something to drink?"

"What've you got?"

Ledbetter grinned and snapped his fingers. Across the room, one of his flunkies opened the minibar. Inside were several large glass bottles, all of them full of blood.

"Here ya go, Mr. Ledbetter," the flunky said, giving Ledbetter two bottles.

"Please, Ralphie, call me Rom."

"My, my," Spike said. "What's that, orangutan?"

"Far from it." Ledbetter handed the bottles to Spike and Justin. "It's human. From a sweet virgin of 18 years of age." Ledbetter smiled pleasantly. "You'd be surprised what some people are willing to do for a record contract."

Spike popped open the bottle and took a sip.

"Ohhhh," he moaned. "Oh, that hit the spot."

"Practically taste the innocence, can't ya?" Justin said.

"Justin here was one of the first to join my new concern," Ledbetter said. "He talked you up quite a bit. I'm anxious to learn if the stories are true."

"Oh, they are," Spike said, grinning. "But suppose you tell me just what this concern is, eh?"

"By all means." Ledbetter motioned to the couch behind the two vampires; he himself took a seat in a large leather armchair. When he was quite sure all attention was focused on him, he began. "I've been a boxing man all my life. Have been since my days in the ring in the Alabama circuit. But the truth of the matter is, it's played out. It's done. There hasn't been a fight in the past five years where the outcome wasn't decided months in advance. Sure, pay-per-view does big business, but the fact of it is, it's on the way out.

"So I was looking for the coming thing. And I found it." Ledbetter took a long sip from his wineglass. "Last year, I was in Los Angeles, attending what I was told would be an underground fight. I always like to check these events out; it's a good way to find fighters. But this one was a little different. At the time, I wasn't aware of the...well, what's the word I want? Supernatural population?"

"'sfine with me," Spike says. "Not like we have advocacy groups or anything."

"At any rate, seems these two brothers... damn if I can remember their names, the McMurphys or something like that...they'd hit upon the idea of capturing demons and forcing them to fight. They were pulling in money hand over fist until they brought in this guy, some kind of...you ever heard of a vampire with a soul?"

Spike nearly choked on his blood. "I'm familiar with him, yeah. Lemme guess; he pooped the party."

"The McWhatsisnames are dead, yes. The demons were scattered to the wind. But I'll tell you, that night, I saw it. I saw the coming thing. Those boys, they had the right idea, just the wrong execution. Enslaving the demons might have seemed cheaper in the short term, but in the long run..."

"Ahhhh." Spike grinned. "Plus, demons don't need much cash, yeah?"

"You're getting it," Ledbetter said, smiling. "Also, demons...and vampires...hardly ever get pulled over by the police with a kilo of cocaine in the trunk. They tend not to beat the stuffing out of complete strangers in nightclub. They don't knock up the women they bring home..."

"Well, your incubi will."

"...and even if they did, who's to believe it?"

"And demons don't mind fightin' to the death," Spike said, his smile rather humorless now.

"We gotta keep the sport pure." Ledbetter finished his drink. "Which brings me to you. We've got a few players already, but what we need...what the sport needs...is a star. Someone with charisma. No offense, Justin."

"Oh, none taken," Justin said drily.

"In short...I need someone like you, Spike."

Spike tipped back his bottle, guzzling the last of the blood.

"See if I've got this straight. You want to pay me lots of money to kill demons."

"That's right."

"Well, hell, Led, you had me at hello." Spike set the bottle down. "Any more of that blood while I look over my new contract?"

******

From time to time, Buffy thought she could hear a slight sizzling sound as she floored it towards Las Vegas. At first, she thought it was coming from the engine. Then, she thought it was coming from Willow.

Willow was furiously sharpening pencils. She did, indeed, have a box of them hidden away in her purse, and she was honing each to a sharp point.

"Willow," Buffy said as they approached the Nevada border.

"_What?_"

"Calm down."

"Oh, I really don't see that happening."

"Will--"

"He pointed a _gun_ at me."

Buffy looked at her; Willow's knuckles were white around the pencil as she ground it into the sharpener.

The fact that the sharpener was shaped like a pig took away from the effect, but not much.

"You want to shoot an eldritch bolt at me, fine. Curses, fangs, I can handle it. But you do _not_ point a gun at me." She put the pencil in the box with its brethren. "I don't like it."

"Right."

"He had Oz in a cage. A _cage_! And that, that collar was hooked up to something. Who knows how long he's been like that? God, he could have been caught when he was leaving town again..."

"It's possible," Buffy admitted.

"Right. So when we get our hands on Ringmaster Guy, he's _mine_." Willow shoved another pencil into the sharpener. "I'll teach the little creep to point guns at people..."

"Okay," Buffy said, not wanting to press the issue. "But he's technically a human being, so, you know, sticking him with floating pencils would fall under the category of bad."

"_He_ doesn't know that."

"Don't get all grim and obsessed on me, Will."

"Just drive, Buffy."

They drove on, the silence only broken by the occasional snap of wood and lead.

******

LeChevre's truck pulled up outside the Restful Vista Trailer Park. A luxury car waited. Two men with the requisite bulges beneath their jackets stood on either side of the passenger side door.

"Ah, mes amis," LeChevre said as he hopped out of the truck. "Where can I find M'sieur Ledbetter?"

The smoked glass window rolled down with an electric whine. Ledbetter's face appeared, a large cigar between his lips.

"Mr. LeChevre," he said. "Do you have a passenger?"

"It's in ze back."

One of the torpedoes opened the door for Ledbetter; he followed LeChevre to the back of the truck. Inside, the werewolf lay on his side, breathing shallowly.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Ah...I am afraid m'sieur loup-homme was a bit unwilling to cooperate. I found it necessary to shock him once or twice."

Ledbetter glared at the ringmaster.

"Possibly thrice."

"If he's injured..." Ledbetter didn't bother to finish the threat. He snapped his fingers. One of the torpedoes appeared at the back of the truck. He held a small cooler from which he produced a plastic bag full of red meat. Behind him, the second man held a tranquilizer rifle.

"You want me to do that, Rom?" the torpedo asked.

"No, Vin," Ledbetter replied. "It's important that I establish trust first." He dipped into the bag and pulled out a generous portion of the sliced-up steak. He reached through the bars and deposited it inside.

Oz stirred. He wobbily got to his feet and growled.

"Back away, Mr. LeChevre," Ledbetter said, not taking his eyes from the werewolf. LeChevre was only to happy to comply, backing up about twenty feet. Ledbetter reached into the bag again and dropped some more meat into the cage.

Oz snarled and snapped at Ledbetter's hand, but Ledbetter took his time pulling away. Oz sniffed at the meat. Then, hunger overwhelming distrust, he devoured it in three bites.

"There you go," Ledbetter said, reaching in again. "We're buddies now, aren't we?"

"Jeez," Vin said. "I can't believe you're doing that..."

"Frankly, neither can I. Oh, if this boy was in the wild, he'd have my arm gnawed off by now..." Ledbetter scooped the last of the meat into the cage. "But as it is, he's had his ass kicked for the past few months, getting shocked and drugged up. Domesticated, you might say."

Oz, having finished the rest of the meat, slumped onto the floor of the cage.

"How soon until the trank takes effect?" Ledbetter asked.

"Should be any--"

The werewolf's eyes closed. He began to snore heavily.

"There you go," Vin said. "And now..."

They watched as slowly, the transformation occurred. First the claws retracted...the jaw reverted to its regular shape... the hair sank back beneath the skin. At last, it was Daniel Osborne who lay in the cage.

"Get the blanket," Ledbetter said. "And Mr. LeChevre's money. And Harry...keep that rifle handy, just in case."

As his associates went about their tasks, Ledbetter approached LeChevre, who had no intention of coming near his truck again until it was werewolf-free.

"Well, Mr. LeChevre, he looks relatively unscarred. Thin, certainly, but we'll soon put some muscle back on him."

"You're welcome to him," LeChevre said. "What do you want such a cursed creature for anyway?"

"What else?" Ledbetter's smile was huge. "Show business."

******

"--ck! BACK! Hello? Oh! Xander! Hello. Could you hold on one moment? Thank you."

*GROWL*

"You put that down, you miserable son of a--"

*SMASH*

"Right, you'll pay for that! Take this!"

*FZAAAM*

*THUD*

"See how you like that. Pillock.

"Xander? Sorry. The, um, the kettle was on. Is everything all right?

"Oh, good. Hopefully that's the last we'll see of him.

"Ah, excellent. I enjoy Tony Bennett myself.

"How does that mean you're getting old? Oh, be quiet.

"Well, it was very nice of you to check in, but I have things very much' under control.

*SNARL*

"Oh, bugger.

"What? Nothing. I just need to take care of...a thing. My dinner is burning...right. Have a good time. Bye now."

*CLICK*

"All right, all right, let's be reasonable. Just because somebody summoned you from the Dungeon Dimensions is no reason for you to smash up my furni--don't you _dare_ touch that vase--"

*SMASH*

******

The arena was located in one of the Aquapolis' sub-basements. A sunken concrete pit sat in the middle of it, surrounded by plush bleachers and a judge's table. There were also several of Ledbetter's associates surrounding the wire-fenced edge of the pit.

Spike walked into the pit and looked up at the seats; it was a sparse crowd. Apparently the word hadn't got round that the Big Bad was in town.

Justin helped Spike out of his coat. He was acting as the cornerman tonight.

"You nervous?" he asked.

"Me? Nervous? I do this sort of thing for breakfast, remember?"

Spike peeled off his wifebeater T-shirt and threw it into the crowd, where it completely failed to be scooped up by adoring fans. "'s a bit of a rush, though, innit? I mean, I was just hired this afternoon."

"Hey, that's the way Led works. Fast."

"So who's my opponent?"

"Nozev of the Many Tentacles," Justin said. "He's one of those whattayacallits. He's all purple and slimy, got a bunch of tentacles coming off his back. Hence the name."

"His first time too?"

"Nope. He's the champ."

"The--" Spike turned to Justin incredulously. "I get a championship bout my first time out?!"

"Like I said, he works fast."

"Llllllllllllladiessssss annnn' gennnnnnnnlemennnnn!"

Spike looked up. A guy in a tuxedo stood at the edge of the pit. He bellowed into a wireless microphone.

"Leadbelly Productions, in association with Aquapolis Enterprises, is pleased to bring you this night of Ultimate Underworld Fighting! Remember, the only rule is..."

Some of the crowd joined in on this line.

"..._there are no rules_!"

Spike shadow-boxed for a moment, psyching himself for the fight. He caught the eye of a pretty young trophy wife and tossed her a wink.

"Innnnn this corner, making his Ultimate Underworld Fighting debut, a vampire with not one but _two_ Slayer kills on his record...the terror of Sunnydale...the Big Bad Himself...from Manchester, England, weighing in at 175 pounds, wearing the black jeans and boots, put your hands together for...SPIIIIIIKE!"

Spike raised his fists and bellowed as the crowd cheered or booed, depending on their fancy.

"And entering the ring...from beyond the twelfth circle of Hell itself...a demon with twenty kills in this arena alone...shudder in terror as you gaze upon the terrible visage of...NOZEV OF THE MANY TENNNNNTACLES!"

The crowd roared as the stone doors opened. In stepped a man, or at least something shaped like a man. As advertised, its skin was bruise purple, and it glistened. Its tentacles flexed expectantly as Nozev glared at his opponent. He had a face that Spike would enjoy breaking in half.

The two demons stepped to the center of the ring. At the edge of the pit, the announcer leaned closer.

"You know the rules?" he asked.

"No rules," Spike said.

"Kill," Nozev added helpfully.

"Attaboy. Wait until you hear the bell to--"

The announcer was flung backward as one of Nozev's tentacles lashed out, slapping him across the face. The other tentacles reached for Spike, one of them wrapping around his neck.

"Oh, nice one," Spike snarled as he kicked at the thing. "I'm a vampire, mate, we're not big on the air thIIIIIIIING!"

Spike found himself being hurled back and forth. First, he was thrown into one wall of the pit, then the other. Next, Nozev lifted Spike up and hurled him into the ground so hard he bounced.

Spike didn't even have the energy to swear as another tentacle wrapped around his ankles. Nozev spun the vampire around, spinning him faster and faster, then letting go. Spike smashed into the wall, face first.

It took a moment for him to get to his feet. When he did, Nozev was waiting for him. He used his fists to pummel Spike about the midsection as his tentacles squirmed around Spike's wrists and ankles.

With a cry of rage, Spike jabbed forward with his head, connecting with the noselike appendage in the middle of Nozev's face. Nozev squealed in pain, and the tentacles loosened enough for Spike to get one leg free.

Never one to waste an opportunity, Spike brought his leg up sharply, connecting with what he hoped were the thing's bollocks. Spike was nothing if not a lover of the classics.

Nozev moaned and lashed out with the tentacles again, this time around Spike's face. One nearly slapped him cross-eyed, but he brought his hand up and caught the next. He squeezed; if it bothered Nozev, he didn't show it.

He punched and punched at the squid demon, all the while tugging at his tentacle. Finally, he sent his opponent spinning with a blow, which gave Spike an idea. He grabbed a goodly length of the tentacle and yanked.

He was quickly covered in a horrible mixture of ink and blood. He opened his mouth to catch some of it, tasted it, and spat it out. He squatted over the fallen squid demon and wrapped the tentacle around its neck.

"Let's see how _you_ handle the air thing," he snarled as he cinched the tentacle tight.

It was over in a few minutes of thrashing. When everyone was quite sure, the announcer hopped into the pit and held up Nozev's arm. It fell lifelessly.

"Ladiiiies annnn gennnlemennnn!!" he cried into his microphone. "The winnah...an' NEW champeen...SPIIIIKE!"

Spike screamed a victory cry as the crowd bellowed its approval. He picked up the squid demon's body and hurled it across the pit, where it made a nasty stain on one of the concrete walls. He limped over to his corner, where Justin was waiting with a bottle of blood.

"So how was that for ya?" Justin asked.

"I sodding _love_ this city," Spike said gleefully.

******

The sun had gone down three hours ago. The gas meter on Willow's car had been teasing the E for five minutes before they pulled into a gas station. Buffy got out and stretched; Willow, whose anger was now at a low simmer, started pumping gas.

"I need to euphemism," Buffy said. "You?"

"Not that badly," Willow said, looking at the general griminess of the place. "You go ahead."

"'kay. Be right back."

Willow finished filling the tank and pulled a twenty out of her pocket. She stalked over to the booth in the middle of the aisles of gas pumps and stuffed it under the Plexiglass.

A gun.

He pointed a _gun_ at her. Oh, his ass was kicked when she got her hands on him. Buffy or no Buffy, he was going to need a tetanus shot by the time Willow was through.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes and accepted her change. This was wrong, she knew. It wasn't like her. But boiling rage beat the hell out of whining misery any day of the week. No wonder Xander got pissed off so easily. It _felt_ better.

Xander...she briefly wondered what he was doing. Hopefully, it was something more fun than this. She walked back to the car, opened the door...and saw the truck pull in opposite her.

LeChevre, looking the worse for all this wear and tear, limped out of the cab, every bit of him aching. Still, his heart was light. He had made a tidy profit on the werewolf sale. Most of the cash, he'd deposited in a Vegas bank. When he got to the Grand Caymans, he'd have it transferred. The other five grand he was keeping as mad money.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and imagined the Cote d'Azur at this time of year.

Then he opened his eyes.

Two sharpened pencils hovered in front of them, their leaden points mere inches away. Beyond them, he could see--

"Oh, mon dieu," he moaned, as Willow stepped closer to him, backing him up against the truck.

"Well, well, well," she said, her voice unnaturally calm. "Look who it is."

"I...uh..."

"You pointed a _gun_ at me," Willow snarled.

"It wasn't loaded!"

"And I'm comforted by that."

LeChevre saw two more pencils on the edges of his vision; these seemed to be pointed at his temples. He screwed his eyes closed tightly.

"Please do not kill me."

"Maybe I will and maybe I won't," Willow bluffed. "Where's Oz?"

"Qu'est-ce que c'est...who is Oz?"

The pencils at his temples touched the skin.

"Oz," Willow said in the very quiet voice of one who is repeating _Must restrain the killing fist_ to herself over and over, "is the name of the _man_ you had in that cage."

"Ah, ze werewolf!"

The pencils broke the skin.

"Ze man! Ze man!"

"Will?" Buffy came running up when she saw the thin rivulet of blood oozing from the ringmaster's temple. She spoke cautiously. "Will, remember that conversation we had about not killing people?"

"I asked you a question, LeChevre," Willow said.

"I made ze deal already!" LeChevre cried. "Ledbetter has him!"

"Willow," Buffy said warningly.

"And Ledbetter is where?"

"I don't know!"

"You want a case of lead poisoning?" Willow yelled. "_Where_?!"

"_Willow Sarah Rosenberg_!" Buffy yelled. Using all three names worked when her mother used it on her; maybe it'd work here.

"He's going to tell me," Willow said evenly.

"Zee Aquapolis!" LeChevre howled. "I think he works out of zee Aquapolis!"

Willow and Buffy looked at each other, surprised. A moment later, the pencils fell to the ground.

"Right," Willow said, a bit shakily. "Well. That wasn't so...yeah. How much did you get for him?"

"Five s'ousand dollars," LeChevre said. He could think very quickly when he had to.

"Where is it?"

"In the cab."

"Watch him," Willow ordered. As she walked around to the passenger side of the truck, Buffy looked at the trembling ringmaster. She reached into her purse and pulled out a tissue. She offered it to him.

"She's going through a tough time," she said apologetically.

LeChevre said nothing. He accepted the tissue and pressed it to his wound.

"I actually thought you put on a pretty good show," Buffy continued. "That magician guy was--"

"I'm sorry," LeChevre said. "When the hunter sold him to me, I thought I was buying an orangutan! And zen he was always howling and trying to get out...I didn't know what else to do!"

"And you think that's an excuse?" Willow said. She was holding LeChevre's briefcase.

"What was I supposed to do? Release him into ze wild?"

"Well...I..." She looked from Buffy to LeChevre and back. "Hey, he pointed a gun at me!"

"I think you owe him an apology," Buffy said quietly.

"_What_?!"

"Zose pencils really hurt."

"But...he..." Willow sagged. "I'm sorry I tortured you with pencils."

"Ah. Well. I accept your--" v"But we're still taking some of your money."

"We are?" Buffy asked.

"We need traveling money," Willow said. "And...and...he pointed a _gun_ at me!" She opened the briefcase. "I'm taking...how much is this, $1000?"

"Take it! Take it! Just leave me alone!"

"And your gun."

"My..." LeChevre looked at the floor of the cab. The gun was just under the driver's seat. "It's really not loaded."

"I don't care. It's a gun and I don't like them, and anyone who can command zombies should have better ways of protecting himself."

"Fine! Take it!" LeChevre bristled as Buffy reached into the cab and took the gun. She gently placed it in a nearby trash can. After a moment, she scooped up some of the fast-food wrappers near the top and covered the gun with them.

"We should go," Buffy murmured.

"Right." Willow handed the briefcase back. "Well, um...I'm really sorry about the pencil thing."

"I am sorry about ze gun," LeChevre said after a moment. He watched as they backed towards their car and took off. He waited until they were out of sight to sag against the cab, spent.

One thousand dollars, one pistol and the price of a tetanus shot. It could have been worse, he supposed. He reckoned it would be six hours before he got on a plane and left this psychotic country for good.

"Still," he murmured as he got back into the truck, "I wonder if I could learn that pencil trick..."

******

It could have been a pretty deadly evening, really. He was, after all, in an unfamiliar city, all alone and feeling bereft. Of course, that was before he realized that Rory had given him the credit cards.

It was closing in on two a.m. when Xander stumbled back to his room. He was slightly buzzed; he was running into an awful lot of nearsighted waitresses in this town, and they'd brought him a few drinks during the Tony Bennett concert. That had been...well, all right, not really his kind of music. Mostly, it just made him wish that Willow was with him.

That could easily have sent him into another depress-o-rama, so he acted quickly to remedy it by playing games. Mostly video games. He didn't want to lose too much of Rory's money, after all. He'd gotten in a good run of blackjack, though, and had come out about a hundred bucks ahead. Not real impressive for this town, maybe, but it was a victory nonetheless.

Now, he saw Tracy standing outside the door to their suite, checking her watch. She looked up and smiled when she saw him approaching.

"Hi!" she said. "Do you have the keys? Rory needs something from his suitcase."

"Uh huh," Xander said. "What's he need? I'll bring it out."

"Well," she said, batting her eyes seductively, "it's of a slightly personal nature..."

"Mmmm...I'd, uh, feel more comfortable if I could just bring it out." He smiled. "Nothin' personal."

Tracy gave him an appraising look. She was still wearing the slinky red dress, and her raven hair looked more than a little mussed, but that just added to the hotness.

"It's a small bottle," she said. "Of...er... little blue pills."

"Little blue pills. Got it." Then he blinked. "Uh...little blue pills?"

Tracy grinned wickedly.

"Right," Xander said, nodding. "Little blue pills. Be right back." He unlocked the door and stepped inside, shaking his head. Damn. Too much information. Still, the man was in his forties... years of alcohol abuse probably took some of the lead out of his pencil...and they'd been up there for a few hours now...

He unzipped Rory's suitcase and rummaged around. He touched something plastic that rattled; he pulled it out.

"Naproxen Sodium?" he muttered. Shaking his head, he opened the door and handed it to Tracy, who took it gratefully.

"Thanks ever so," she said. "You know, we've got room for one more..."

"That's okay," Xander replied. "I'm beat. Uh...if I could just ask..." He pointed at the bottle of painkiller.

"Headboard," Tracy explained.

"...wow. Too much information. G'night."

"Night," Tracy replied, smiling. He watched her walk to the elevator, enjoying the view.

******

Oz was so surprised not to be awakened by a bolt of electricity to the neck that he almost shot out of bed. He looked around, getting his surroundings.

It was swanky, wherever it was. The bed was large and elaborate. He prodded it with a finger and was tempted to get back in and go back to sleep.

Instead, he looked around for something to wear. There was a huge dresser opposite the bed; he opened the drawers and found them full of clothes.

Clothes that fit perfectly.

He pulled on a pair of shorts and stumbled towards the window. Somewhere in the back of his head, he had the horrible feeling that he'd look out and see a quaint English village full of sinister eccentrics...

It was not, of course. It was Las Vegas. That presented its own problems, of course, but he could deal with them.

"Ah, Mr. Osborne."

Oz prided himself on his cool-- or rather, he didn't, because pride in and of itself wasn't very cool-- but he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard that voice behind him. He whirled around and saw Romulus Ledbetter standing there. The promoter held a huge tray, covered with foodstuffs.

"You must be hungry," he said simply.

Oz nodded.

"Take a seat," Ledbetter said. He placed the tray on a table and motioned for Oz to take a seat.

The big man watched in silence as Oz warily sat down at the table and prodded the food. He sniffed; the food didn't smell like it had been tampered with. It only took a few moments for hunger to wrestle distrust to the ground, and in a few minutes, the tray was clean.

"I gather Circus Boy didn't feed you very well," Ledbetter remarked as Oz finished the last of the bacon.

"Kibble," Oz said. He drained a glass of orange juice in a single swallow and winced.

"I'm Romulus Ledbetter, by the way."

"I know."

"Ah. Seen me on TV?"

"No, I just..." Oz frowned. "I know your scent."

"I fed you last night."

"Thank you."

"That's all right. Circus Boy was only too happy to get rid of you."

"You bought me?"

Ledbetter's face darkened.

"I did not _buy_ you, no. I am not in the habit of _buying_ human beings." He relaxed. "Let's say I bought out your contract."

"Out of the kindness of your heart."

"You always this snotty, Mr. Osborne, or is this the drugs talking?"

"I'm always this snotty."

The two men stared at one another for a moment. Ledbetter allowed himself to smile again.

"Well, let's be frank with each other, then. I paid off Circus Boy because I'm starting a new concern. When I heard that somebody had an honest-to-God werewolf in captivity, I said to myself, 'Rom, that boy'd be perfect for you.'"

"To do what?"

"You ever do any prizefighting, Mr. Osborne?"

"I..." Oz paused. "I try to stay as non-violent as possible."

"And that's commendable. But it's hard, isn't it? See, I've been boning up on werewolf lore. You've been trying to find a cure, haven't you?"

Oz said nothing.

"I mean, sure as hell wasn't a full moon last night."

Oz said more nothing.

"Like I said, I've been boning up. Meditation, right? You try and achieve inner peace. Herbs, drugs, maybe a little wolfsbane on the side--"

"What's your point?"

"My point." Ledbetter looked into Oz's eyes. "My point is, the harder you fight to stifle that wolf inside you, the harder it fights back. Isn't that right?"

After a moment, Oz nodded.

"What if I were to offer you...an outlet. A way to let the wolf loose in a controlled environment. A way to feel the thrill of the hunt, but to know you haven't spilled any innocent blood."

"There's no way."

"There is."

"It wouldn't work," Oz said. "I've tried it. Bars, chains. They break eventually."

"How about ten strong men with tranquilizer rifles?"

Oz blinked. "What are we talking about here?"

"Ultimate Underworld Fighting."

Oz blinked again.

"You gotta be kidding."

"We pay well," Ledbetter continued. "Plus bennies. A suite here at the hotel, drinks, and the knowledge that the monster inside you is sated."

"Yeah? Life insurance come with that package?"

"Yes indeed."

"No thanks." Oz stood up. "Look, I just spent however long it was trapped in the wolf. I'm not goin' back. Now where are my pants?"

Ledbetter stood up.

"You're in no condition to go anywhere yet."

"Watch me."

Oz turned to bolt for the door. He got halfway there before his knees buckled and his legs gave up. He fell to the floor in a heap.

"You're suffering from malnutrition," Ledbetter said. "Dehydration. We had a doctor in here earlier. In the bathroom, you'll find a whole shelf of vitamins." He bent down and gently picked the werewolf up, depositing him on the bed. "Get some sleep. We'll talk more later."

"Thought...you didn't own me."

"I don't," Ledbetter said with a smile. "I'm just protecting my investment."

******

Ledbetter closed the door and motioned to Vin and Roger.

"Bring him in another plate of food. But watch him. He needs time to get used to the idea."

"Gotcha, Rom."

"What about the new boy...whatsisname, with the hair?"

"Spike? He's in for the day. We got him set up in his new suite."

******

They'd sent up a girl after the fight. Ledbetter's way of congratulating him, he supposed. He'd tossed her some bills and told her to sod off. Somehow, he just wasn't in the mood.

Which was a bad sign.

He got out of the bed he'd laid down in only an hour or two ago. It's not like he was tired. He was only in here because his only set of clothes was soaked with blood and ink, and he couldn't go gamble in a towel. Not for long, anyway.

He clicked on the telly and wondered what his problem was. This was the perfect setup. Blood _and_ money _and_ violence. And women, apparently.

Not like that bloody Slayer, of course. Well, one that looked like her wouldn't be bad. A girl with long blonde hair... tight abs...and that set of--

The door to the room opened. He could see a woman in a suit outlined in the doorway.

"Uh...Mr. Spike? Sorry if I woke you, but Mr. Ledbetter wanted to make sure you got these." She was holding a dry-cleaning bag.

Spike took a look at the outline. It was wearing a tailored suit. It had blonde hair. And it was...mmmm.

"C'mon in," Spike said. His voice wore a greasy grin.

******

The shrieking banshee of death screamed in Xander's ear. He bolted upright, or at least he would have if the sheets weren't tangled around him. He jerked inside the bed, his reflexes slapping him into consciousness. Finally, he sat up. The shrieking banshee of death was, in fact, the phone. He snatched up the receiver.

"Somebody better be dead," he growled.

"Xander? It's me!"

"Rory?" Xander looked at the clock. "Do you know what time--"

"No, I don't. You know why? Because I just dialed the phone with my tongue."

Xander blinked.

"Do I even want to know?" he asked.

"Just come down to room 420. There's a little packet of tools in my suitcase; bring 'em."

"Okay."

"And some pants."

Xander rubbed his eyes.

"Oh, Rory."

"Just hurry, willya?"

Xander hung up and started to pull on some clothes. He reached into his duffel bag and came up with a T-shirt. It looked dirty. He spread it wide and realized that this was _that_ T-shirt...the one Willow had been wearing when she'd been kidnapped by Pan and taken to Hades' domain. He smelled it; he thought he could detect a faint scent of her on it.

"Not that I'm psycho or anything like that," he muttered as he put on the shirt.

******

"So."

"So."

Willow and Buffy stood in the lengthy line at the Aquapolis' front desk.

"Do you really think we should get a room here?" Willow asked.

"Why not?" Buffy replied. "We need to find Ledbetter. If this is his hangout, this is the place to be. Besides, we can find Xander and get his help."

"Uh huh." Willow frowned.

"Pretty coincidental, huh? Him being at the same hotel as Xander, that is."

"No."

Buffy looked at her.

"You don't find it coincidental."

"No."

"You don't find it even slightly coincidental that we pulled off the highway and found your ex being held in a cage, and the trail leads to the hotel your semi-requited love is staying at?"

"Nice dangling participle there."

"Don't change the subject!"

"Fine. It's very coincidental. So what? It's not like it means anything," Willow said, folding her arms.

Buffy took a moment to go over that.

"Will...on the weekend we were trying to get away from all this you and Xander stuff, events have unfolded in such a way that you're going to be spending time with him. I mean, that's pretty fate-y."

"It's not fate-y! It means nothing! Nothing I tell you!"

Buffy shook her head with mock sadness.

"Send me a postcard from denial, willya?"

"Fine. As soon as you send me one from Obnoxious, Minnesota."

"You know, you've been in a bad mood this entire trip!"

"Told you you should have let me see the goats."

******

"I'm glad you find this amusing," Rory said when it was clear Xander wasn't going to stop laughing anytime soon. "Just bring those lockpicks over here!"

The room looked like a tornado had hit it, and it looked like the center of the action had been the bed. The bed to which Rory was currently handcuffed. He lay spread- eagled, both hands attached to the headboard. He was also completely naked other than a conveniently placed cowboy hat. To make things complete, someone had painted his toenails bright pink.

"Well, well, well," Xander said as he walked over to the bed. "What happened here?"

"What happened here was they drugged me, man," Rory said. "After they...y'know, after."

"Really." Xander produced the small plastic packet of tools. "What am I doing with this?"

"Take that long skinny one and put it in the keyhole." Xander did this. "Now fiddle around until you hear a click."

"So...how was it?"

Rory grinned.

"Damn near worth this."

"For you, maybe. It's gonna take me a while to scrub this image outta my head." The handcuff clicked; Xander pulled it open. "There ya go. Want me to do the other?"

"I got it," Rory said, taking the tool.

"They took your clothes," Xander said, shaking his head. "Well, at least some good came of this."

"Hey, that shirt was a classic. But the joke's on them. They didn't get my cash, my credit cards, my..." Rory blinked. "Wait a minute. I was wearing a watch on this hand!"

Xander didn't stop laughing until after Rory was dressed.

******

"Mr. Osborne?"

Vin stepped into the suite. He held a tray laden with bacon, steak and eggs and hash browns. This made him very nervous, not because he was worried about Oz's cholesterol intake, but because it kept his hands full and away from the automatic tucked into his jacket.

Vin was, despite his standing as a professional ass-kicker, a church- going, God-fearing man. All this demon stuff made him uncomfortable. Rom had explained to him--more than once--that these things were a different species, nothing more. Which was easy to say. But dealing with a horned man with bright red skin who called himself the Jersey Devil was something else entirely.

Still, werewolves...that was easy enough to deal with. They were just unlucky slobs who found themselves in the wrong mouth at the wrong time. Vin opened the door to the bedroom and looked inside.

Oz lay on his back, his mouth wide open, his eyes closed. He looked bad, pale and drawn and thin enough to clean drains with.

"Mr. Osborne?" Vin asked again. He walked closer to the bed. "Got that extra breakfast for ya..."

Oz didn't move. Vin bent down to get a better look. If this guy dropped dead, Rom was gonna be out a cool twen--

Before he could finish the thought, Oz's leg lashed out. It kicked the tray of food directly into Vin's face. Vin screamed and fell backward. Before he could get the eggs out of his eyes, Oz was on him; he grabbed the tray and brought it down on top of Vin's head. It was a heavy tray. Vin was out.

"Sorry," Oz said, getting shakily to his feet. "Sorry." He turned to go... then turned back, grabbed a couple of strips of bacon, stuffed them into his mouth and ran.

******

"Hee hee hee..."

"Shut up."

"Hey, Rory, could I ask a question?"

"No. Shut up."

"No, seriously. I have a serious question."

"*sigh* Fine. Go ahead."

"What time is it?"

"Oh, shut your piehole!"

Xander snickered as the two men walked toward the elevator. Rory looked uncomfortable. The fact that he had no shoes might have been a factor. The fact that he had no underwear might have been an even larger one.

"I don't believe it," Rory muttered as he pressed the UP button. "My watch. I won that watch from Baby Jake Sienkeiwicz in Atlantic City."

"Uh huh."

"It could tell time in four different time zones."

"Right." Xander's smirk was in danger of cracking his face in half.

"And my shoes! You know how hard it is to find alligator skin shoes nowadays?"

"It's a tragedy." Xander faced front as the elevator dinged. "I must say, Rory, that was a sight I thought I would never see--"

The doors opened. Xander gaped. Oz was standing there. He was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and he had half a piece of bacon sticking out of his mouth.

"...for instance," Xander finished.

"Xander?" Oz asked.

"Oz?" Xander asked.

"Uh...who?" Rory asked.

Oz looked blearily at Rory...then he stumbled forward. Xander caught him and got him back on his feet. He circled around so that he was facing Oz.

"Are you all right, man? What happened?"

"I...these guys...holding me upstairs... I gotta get out."

"Okay," Xander said. "Okay. We'll get you outta here." He tried to lead Oz back into the elevator...but now Oz was resisting.

"Smell somethin'."

"It's probably Rory. Rory, this is Oz. Oz, this is my uncle Ror--"

"Willow."

Xander froze.

"Smell her."

Oz looked up at Xander, confused.

"On _you_."

"Uh..." Xander let go of Oz and started to back away. "Well, yeah. This is--see, she was wearing this shirt..."

"She was wearing your shirt?"

"Rory, get in the elevator and close the door," Xander said, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"What?"

"No..." Oz moaned as he sank to his knees. "No, I'm okay...I can...control... need my..." He snarled.

"Do it, Rory! Now!"

"What about you?" Rory said as he edged past Oz into the elevator.

"I can't get by him. Maybe...maybe I can talk him down or--"

Oz suddenly raised his head and screamed. As he did, Xander saw that his eyes were black. His jaw was beginning to extend.

"Sorry," he managed to say. Then, a wolf's snarl emerged from his throat.

"Go, Rory!" Xander yelled. As Rory slapped the CLOSE DOOR button over and over, Xander turned and ran.

He was halfway to the stairwell when he heard the howling begin.

To be continued...