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The Wolf Within

Disclaimers – Yes there are, go read part 1.

Feedback – Yes, definitely. Feedback makes me write faster (hint, hint). I can be reached at erin@heckman.net .

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Chapter 8

Oz stood on Giles' front step, his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved in the pockets of his dusty leather jacket. “Hi Buffy,” he said, in his soft, expressionless way. “Is Willow here?”

Buffy glared at the young man. “Why don't you just go, Oz,” she said in a low voice. “Haven't you hurt Willow enough for one lifetime?”

Willow came up behind Buffy, and touched her gently on the arm. “It's ok, Buffy. C'mon in, Oz.” Her face was carefully kept neutral, as was her tone.

Oz walked inside, carefully stepping around Buffy, who was still glaring. “I need to talk to you, Will.” He afforded Buffy just the barest of glances before he said, “Alone.”

Buffy bristled. “There's no way in Hell, Oz...” she began, before Willow intervened.

“It'll be fine,” she said, turning to face the Slayer. “Go ahead and go into the back room. I'll call if I need anything.”

“But, Will,” Buffy protested. “I don't…”

“Buffy, please,” Willow interrupted. “I need to do this. Everything will be ok.” She brushed a stray strand of hair back from Buffy's forehead, her touch amazingly gentle. “Please do this for me.”

The Slayer couldn't refuse. “Ok. If you need anything, yell.” With one last glare in Oz's direction, she retreated to the back room.

Willow turned to face Oz. “Why did you come back?” she said, her tone flat. Her eyes were cold, and Oz knew that she wasn't willing to give even an inch.

“I came back for you,” he said, looking up at her. His eyes were more expressive than Willow could ever remember seeing, full of pain and sorrow. Willow realized with a start that they were also bloodshot, and underlined with dark circles. A worried look, manifesting as the barest of lines between her eyebrows, began to appear on her face.

“If I were that important to you, you'd have never left in the first place,” Willow replied, more harshly than she'd intended.

Oz dropped his eyes, guiltily. “I...I had to get away.”

“Away from me.”

“Away from everything!” He ran a hand through his hair, irritably. “After what happened with Veruca, I didn't know who I was anymore. I didn't know _what_ I was. All I knew was that I couldn't do that forever. Chained up three nights a month, month after month for the rest of my life. I escaped more times than I care to remember, and I had only been a werewolf for a couple of years! Can you even imagine what I was thinking the rest of my life would be like?”

“I have some idea...” Willow said, softly.

“So I had to get away. See if I could find some cure, or some way to help myself. I knew I couldn't stay around here, and keep hurting the people I loved.” Oz looked up at the ceiling, his carefully

expressionless facade breaking under the stress.

Willow looked at him with concern. “So where did you go?”

“Lots of places,” Oz replied, wiping a hand across his sweating brow. “First to L.A. Thought I could lose myself there, but it was too hard. Too many eyes in the city. I ended up driving out to the desert, all the way to New Mexico. I guess I was on my way east, maybe Texas, or New Orleans. I never got that far, though.” His eyes got very distant. “I picked up a hitchhiker in the desert, someone who recognized me as a werewolf. He told me...he told me that they could help me. That I'd never have to be chained up again.” Oz swallowed around a lump in his throat.

“And he taught you?” Willow said, quietly.

Oz nodded. “He brought me back to his group, taught me what being a werewolf was all about.” Oz met Willow's eyes with an intent gaze. “When I felt I knew enough, I knew I had to come back for you.” He moved swiftly, and caught Willow's arm in a firm but gentle grip. “I have to go back soon. Come with me, Willow. Back to the Caern, back to the people who have taught me so much.” He pleaded with her now; his voice was earnest and his body started to shake.

Willow shook her head; she was disquieted by the intense look he was giving her. “Oz, I can't. I belong here, there's so much for me to learn here, and so much good I can do. I'm sorry.” She dropped her gaze, rather than see the pain in his eyes.

“You can't...” He bit the words off abruptly. "It's Buffy, isn't it?"

Willow looked up at him in surprise. His face had hardened to anger, and he spat out the Slayer's name like it was a curse. "She's the reason why you _won't_ come with me."

“No, Oz," Willow said, shaking her head. “That's not the reason. I have things I need to learn here…”

“Forget about Buffy. You have to come with me, Willow. I can't be apart from you any more,” Oz said. His hand had been steadily tightening around her wrist until it felt like a vise; it felt like it was burning her, his hand was so hot and feverish.

“Oz, stop,” Willow said, trying to pull her arm away from his grasp. This whole thing was too much to handle all at once; first Oz returning, and then this manic need he had to be with her again, she didn't understand it. “Oz, stop, you're hurting me!”

Buffy was at her side in a flash, causing Willow to wonder briefly if she had been listening the whole time. She grabbed Oz's arm, and said fiercely, “Let go or lose it, it's your choice.”

The young man was taken aback for a moment, as if he had forgotten she was there. He stared at her, bloodshot eyes meeting a cold gaze which told him she meant business -- and then some. He dropped his gaze and let go of Willow's arm.

“I think you'd better leave. Now,” Buffy said, already steering him toward the door.

Instead of answering, Oz just looked Willow in the eyes. “I'll come back for you, Will. We're meant to be together. You know that.”

Buffy didn't wait for her answer. She pushed him outside, not at all gently, and shut the door. Looking back at Willow, she noticed the redhead rubbing the arm that Oz had held. “You ok, Will?”

Willow sighed raggedly. A brief glance at the clock told her that the entire exchange had taken just under ten minutes. Ten minutes, she thought, it felt like ten hours. She smiled at Buffy, and said, “Yeah, I guess I'm ok. I think he just bruised me.” She looked down at the red marks on her arm from his grip.

Buffy looked at the marks and frowned. Stepping forward, she lifted Willow's arm so she could see the bruise in a better light. “Will, these aren't bruises. These are burns.”

* * *

Oz walked away from the welcoming light streaming out of the windows where Willow was staying. There'd be another time. The Slayer couldn't be around all the time. And then he'd make her see. He'd make her see how much he loved her, how much they were meant to be together. She already knew; she just didn't want to admit it. He'd make her see.

* * *

Buffy spread some burn salve on Willow's arm. Things between them had been subdued, to say the least, after the incident with Oz. I guess she doesn't feel like talking much, Buffy thought. Though, I can't say as I blame her.

Willow, meanwhile, had been having a hard time focusing her thoughts. Things had finally started looking up for her; sure, she had some strange stuff to deal with lately, but it was all going really well. She made two great friends, both of whom were teaching her new stuff about who she was and what she could do. And Buffy, who never liked to leave her side, was teaching her how to defend herself. And...she was teaching her something else, too, Willow realized. About what best friends mean to one another. About how deep their feelings for each other really seem to go. It was nice, and something that Willow certainly wouldn't mind looking into further.

And then...Oz. Like a bolt out of the blue, he showed up just as quickly as he had left before -- with no warning, no regard for her feelings. She had loved him once, as deeply as she thought it was possible to love someone. But when he showed up, she didn't feel that same, familiar heartache. She hoped they could be friends, but...

“All done,” Buffy said, re-capping the salve jar. “By tomorrow, that should look a lot better.”

“I still don't know why it happened in the first place,” Willow said, worriedly. “I mean, his hand felt hot, like he was running a fever, but...” She shrugged.

Buffy looked at her friend sympathetically. “Well, maybe it's some kind of werewolf thing. We can ask Nichole about it tomorrow morning, when she and Chris stop by.”

Willow jumped at the change of subject, grateful for the opportunity to lighten the mood. “What's the deal with those two, anyway?”

Buffy grinned. “Well, it sure looks like they love each other. I've been subtly trying to get them to realize it, but it looks like they're more interested in fighting.”

Willow gave Buffy a worried look. “But...they're both Garou. I don't think they're supposed to fall in love with each other.”

“Why not?” Buffy asked, puzzled. “Is it the whole two different tribes, Romeo-and-Juliet thing? That's been done to death. No pun intended.”

“No,” Willow said, “I think there's some rule about Garou not...you know...’mating’ with other Garou.”

“Hmm.” Buffy looked thoughtful. “Well, I've never been keen on the rules anyway. We'll see what happens. Now, young lady,” Buffy said, steering Willow toward the back room, “You should get to bed. Long day tomorrow.”

Willow smiled at Buffy, a smile which didn't touch the sadness in her eyes. “Um, Buffy? Could I ask you a favor?”

“Sure, Will, anything.”

“Could you stay with me tonight? That whole thing...it kinda shook me up. I'd rather not be alone.” Willow blushed, although whether it was from embarrassment at her weakness, or excitement, she wasn't sure.

Buffy threw an arm around Willow's shoulders. “Sure, Will. I think I can do that.”

* * *

Nichole knocked on Giles' door promptly at eight o'clock the next morning. Giles answered, holding a steaming cup of tea. “Oh, hello Nichole, hello Christopher. Won't you come in?” He stepped back, and allowed the two Garou to enter.

“Hello, Giles. Is the patient up yet?” Nichole asked, cheerfully.

“Well, no, she isn't. I was about to check on her in a few minutes, make sure everything is all right. I'm not sure where Buffy is, perhaps she had an early errand to run.”

“Ok, well, I'd better wake her up,” Nichole said, heading off for the back room.

Chris sniffed. “Is that coffee?”

Giles frowned, and looked at his cup. “No, it's tea.”

“Could it be coffee?”

Giles sighed, and went to the kitchen to brew a pot.

* * *

Buffy woke up to the sound of voices in the living room. She looked around groggily, taking stock of her surroundings. Ok, window, bed, door, Willow lying with her head resting on my shoulder...

What?

She looked down at the peacefully sleeping form, and remembered the events of the previous night. All-in-all, it hadn't turned out too bad, she thought, smiling. She heard the door open slowly, and saw Nichole poke her head in. One look at the sleeping couple, and Nichole was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

Buffy frowned, and motioned Nichole out of the room with mock ferocity. “We'll be right out,” she whispered, and was relieved when Nichole nodded and shut the door.

Buffy looked down at Willow. She hated to disturb her, but some things couldn't wait. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she said, giving the redhead a gentle shake.

Willow groaned sleepily, and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “Wha’ ‘me’s ‘t?” She asked...sort of.

“Eight o'clock.” Buffy smiled. “Time to get up, Nichole and Chris are here.”

Willow let out a tremendous yawn, and snuggled down onto Buffy's shoulder. “Don’t wanna.”

Ah, you're killing me here, Red, Buffy thought. Out loud, she said, “As much as I hate to say it, and believe me I do, it is time to get up. C'mon, we can do this more tonight.”

“Promise?” Willow looked up at Buffy, an eagerness in her eyes that went straight to Buffy's heart and lodged there, firmly.

“Promise,” Buffy answered, somewhat breathlessly.

“Ok, then,” Willow said, jumping up out of bed. “I get first dibs on the bathroom!”

Buffy stared after Willow for a moment, and then groaned and covered her eyes with both hands. Shaking her head slightly, she whispered, “Oh yeah, you're definitely killing me, here.”

* * *

Several minutes later, both young women emerged from the back and greeted Giles, Chris, and Nichole. Nichole was smirking, Buffy noticed, but it was a pleased, happy smirk. The Slayer shook her head. Weird.

“Well, I'm glad to see you two look so...well rested,” Nichole said, barely suppressing a smile.

"Yes, there is something we are and it's well rested,” Buffy responded, pouring some orange juice for Willow and herself. If Nichole could play this game, so can I, she thought.

Nichole decided to let it go for the moment. Turning to Willow, she said, “How are you feeling today?”

“Good.” Willow pressed against the wounds which were now just fading scars. “Seems like everything healed up just fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Nichole said, walking over. She pressed against Willow's side to make sure the wounds had healed internally, as well as externally. Nodding in satisfaction, she said, “I see no reason not to give you a clean bill of heal…" She cut herself off, staring down at Willow's burned arm. “What's that?”

Willow followed her gaze, and lifted her arm a little. “Oh, that. I just got a little burn last night...”

Nichole grabbed her arm, and looked at it more closely. “How did this happen?” Her voice was tightly controlled, but rage burned in her eyes.

“It's a long story,” Willow said, bewildered at the peaceful Garou's reaction. “Why?”

“You'd better tell me,” Nichole said. “This burn is Wyrm-tainted.”

Chapter 9

Willow looked as if she had been struck. “Wha...No, that's not possible.” She looked at Buffy for support, and Buffy just looked back at her, sadly.

“How did this happen, Willow?” Nichole asked, her voice deathly quiet.

“It...it was Oz, my ex-boyfriend.” She felt numb, and stared at the burn as if she could make it disappear through willpower alone.

“What happened?” Nichole asked, looking to Buffy for help.

“Oz showed up last night,” Buffy began, in a hushed voice. “He had been gone for a long time, he was off trying to deal with his werewolf side, and yesterday he showed up on the doorstep. He and Willow talked for a while, and then I heard Willow calling out that he was hurting her. I ran out here, and he had grabbed her forearm and was holding onto it. So I got him to let go, and threw him out.”

“If he's Wyrm-tainted...” Chris trailed off, ominously.

“No!” Willow yelled, snatching her arm from Nichole's grasp. “He's not a bad person! He was just confused, he just needed help... He said he met someone, a hitchhiker in the New Mexico desert. That person took him back to some place called Caern, where he taught him how to control the change.” ‘Just like you taught me,’ Willow thought silently.

“A_ Caern,” Nichole corrected, gently. “A place of spiritual power.” She and Chris exchanged glances. “Only two tribes have Caerns in that area: Wendigo, who do not allow any non-Native Americans to join their tribe, and...”

“And Black Spiral Dancers,” Chris finished.

“We've got to help him,” Willow said, eyes filling with tears. “We can't just let him go on with them, we've got to find some way to help him.”

Nichole looked at Willow, compassion and sadness evident in her eyes. “Willow,” she said quietly, “there's only one way to help him, and that's to free him from his torment. Release him from this life, so he can go on to the next.”

“You mean kill him,” Willow said, flatly. She wiped her eyes, and stared at Nichole angrily. “I can't do that, and I won't let you do it, either.”

Buffy stepped forward. “Will, we can't let him go if he's going to go on to hurt other people...”

“He won't,” Willow said, drawing back. “He's not a bad person, he was just confused. There's got to be a cure.” She looked at Chris, and pointed a finger at him accusingly. “You said that Garou can renounce their tribe. Choose another one. Well, we'll just give him the chance to do that.”

Chris shook his head. “Willow, it isn't that easy in this case. When a werewolf becomes a Black Spiral, voluntarily or not, they're forced to go through a ritual which breaks their mind. It makes them insane, and makes them _want_ to serve the Wyrm. Even if we could get through to him, he wouldn't want to change tribes, and his Wyrm-taint is so great that no tribe would have him anyway.”

“So are you going to kill me?” Willow asked, brokenly. She held up her burned arm. “I have Wyrm-taint on me, too.”

“No,” Chris replied slowly, “We can cure that.”

“So why can't you cure Oz?” Willow was starting to shake now, but whether it was from remorse, fear, or anger no one could tell.

“Because there's no way to remove the Wyrm-taint from a Black Spiral Dancer,” Chris replied, losing his patience. “Even if we wanted to, we just can't cure them!”

“We can't,” Nichole interrupted, softly. “But there might be beings that can.”

Chris looked at Nichole, sharply. “That's insane, you're talking about...” He threw his hands up in the air in disgust.

“I'm talking about the Gurahl,” Nichole finished.

Willow looked from Nichole, to Chris, and back again. “You know someone who can help us?”

Nichole shrugged. “I don't know, but if anyone can, they can.”

“This is ludicrous!” Chris exclaimed. “Even if we can _find_ a Gurahl, and even if we can get them to talk to us, there's no guarantee that they'll actually help us.”

Buffy looked at the Garou, puzzled by the conversation. “What's a Gurahl?”

Nichole sighed. “Everyone should take a seat. This is a long story.”

* * *

“A long time ago, long before the Wyrm was corrupted, all beings lived in peace with one another. There were many different kinds of were-folk back then. The Garou, or werewolves, were not the only members of the Changing Breeds; many other races straddled the line between animal and human.

“There were the Nuwisha, or Werecoyotes. Tricksters all, they forced us to question our ways through the use of pranks and practical jokes.”

“There were the Corax, or Wereravens. They were the spies and messengers of the Changing Breeds.”

“There were the Bastet, or Werecats. As cats do, they watch and protect, and have an insatiable curiosity for knowledge and secrets.”

“There were the Ratkin, or Wererats. They were the shepherds of mankind, both protecting the cities from the Wyrm, and holding check on the human population to make sure it didn't get out of control.”

“There were the Moloke, or Werealligators. They protected the swamps and deepest jungles from harm.”

“There were the Rokea, or Weresharks. As the Moloke did in the swamps, the Rokea protected the deep oceans from harm.”

“There were the Anasasi, or Werespiders. Servants of the Weaver, they were the builders of the Changing Breeds.”

“And there were the Gurahl, or Werebears. Perhaps the Changing Breed that was closest to Gaia, the Gurahl were peaceful folk who grew adept at healing the land, the other Breeds, and each other. Their skill grew so great that it was said that they knew the secrets of life and death, and could raise creatures from the dead using their Spirit Gifts. There were many other Changing Breeds as well, and all lived together in peace.”

"Then the Wyrm became Corrupted, and began sending His minions out to destroy life, to bring it under His dominion. The Changing Breeds worked together for awhile, and enjoyed great success in their fight against the Wyrm. The Garou were Gaia's warriors, the Corax were Her spies, the Bastet were Her guardians, and the Gurahl were Her healers. And then came the War of Rage.”

“Few know how it started. Legend has it that the Garou, particularly the Silver Fang Tribe which ruled over the others, demanded that the other were-breeds bow to them, and obey their orders in the war against the Wyrm. After all, the Garou were Gaia's chosen warriors, it seemed only right that the other breeds obey.”

“But they didn't see it that way, of course. The other breeds refused, and the Garou, believing that if the other breeds turned against them they must be allies with the Wyrm, began to war against the other were-folk.”

“It was our darkest time. We lost many of the advantages and gifts that we had received from our peaceful co-existence with the other breeds, and many innocent were-folk on all sides were needlessly slaughtered. All because the Garou could not contain their Rage, nor their vanity.”

* * *

Nichole fell silent; the others sat stock-still. Finally, Buffy broke the silence. “I guess the Garou haven't always been the happy-go-lucky pups you are now, huh?”

Chris snorted. “Still aren't. There are still a lot of us that can think of nothing else than building up their own renown, or capturing power however they can, even if it means flirting dangerously close to the Wyrm. The Garou have made a lot of stupid moves over the years, and the War of Rage was just one of them.”

“So these Gurahl, these werebears, can help us?” Willow said, quietly.

Nichole shrugged. “It's possible. After the War of Rage, the Gurahl withdrew from the world, hiding themselves away in remote locations where they wouldn't be bothered by man or Garou. They are peaceful, though, and I doubt they would hurt you if you went looking for one. I can't tell if they'd help you or not, but they probably wouldn't hurt you.”

“Forget it.” Chris shook his head, vehemently. “There's no way. Willow is far too young and untested a pup to go searching for a Gurahl. And what if the Black Spiral comes back? Are we supposed to tell him, “Oh, just take a seat there, Willow will be back shortly to make everything better. He'll try to kill us. The only thing we can do is put him down…”

“Listen, you bastard,” Willow said, teeth clenched. “You're talking about my friend, the person who at one time I was in love with. If there's anything at all I can do to help him, I'm going to do it. And if you try to stop me, it will be _your_ tribe that I'm going to renounce.” Ignoring Chris's shocked look, she sat back, arms folded across her chest.

Nichole stepped between the two before Chris's Rage could kick in. “Ok, listen. Chris, you know as well as I do that every pup has to undergo a quest before they receive the Rite of Passage and become a full member of the tribe. I can't think of a better or more useful quest right now, to be perfectly honest.”

Chris opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. He couldn't argue with the truthfulness of her words.

Nichole relaxed a bit. “I can speak with the Wyld-spirits in the area, see if I can get a general location on the closest Gurahl. After that, it will be up to Willow.” She turned to face the young redhead. “Generally, the quest is given to an entire pack of Garou, but you are just one lone person. I don't think it's unreasonable for you to take at least one other person with you, for assistance.” She shot Chris a look, but the Glass Walker just nodded.

Willow glanced at her best friend. “Buffy?”

Buffy nodded immediately. “I'd go anywhere with you, Will.” She glanced over at Giles. “Think you could handle patrol for a couple weeks?”

“I think so, yes,” Giles answered. “I'll get Xander and Spike to help me.”

“Well, then, it's settled,” Nichole said with some satisfaction.

“Not so fast,” Chris said, sourly. “What happens if laughing boy shows up?”

“We're going to have to capture him until we return," Buffy said, matter-of-factly. “How do you deal with prisoners among your kind? I'm assuming you don't kill them _all_.”

Chris gave Buffy a sarcastic look. “We use a fetish, which is a magical talisman that has had a spirit bound within it. It's a pair of manacles which traps the wearer in Homid form, making him both weaker and easier to manage. I could, presumably, have a pair here by tomorrow morning if I tell them to FedEx it Priority.”

“Modern technology, gotta love it,” Buffy remarked. “Ok, then, sounds like we've all got a plan.”

* * *

Buffy sighed, closing the door behind Nichole after she left. “Well, that was a lot of fun,” she remarked.

Willow smiled crookedly, rubbing a pink spot on her arm. That was the only evidence left that there had once been a bad burn there; Nichole had healed the Wyrm-taint, and new skin began to grow in its place.

“Will, I gotta ask you,” Buffy said, slowly walking toward her friend. “This whole thing with Oz...Is it really worth it?”

“Don't, Buffy.” Willow shook her head. “You of all people should understand. Oz is our friend...”

“Yeah, but he's evil now. He doesn't even remember our friendship, or he doesn't care. He doesn't want to be helped, and we may not even be able to help him.”

“Maybe we can't,” Willow said, earnestly. “But we can't sit here and do nothing. He needs our help whether he asks for it or not...Whether he knows it or not.”

“But, Will, we may have no choice…”

“If we don't have a choice, then we'll kill him!” Willow said, looking Buffy in the eye, her expression angry. “Or have you forgotten Angel? We didn't stop looking for a way to give him back his soul, even though we thought maybe it wasn't possible. Even though he killed the people we loved, and sent some of us to the hospital.”

Buffy winced, Willow's harsh words opening up old wounds. She dropped her head, and said quietly, "I know, Will. I'm the one who tried to kill him, who sent him to Hell even after he got his soul back, remember?” She turned abruptly and walked to the window, looking out on the sunlit lawn beyond, her expression unreadable.

Oh, God, Willow thought, that was uncalled for. She walked up behind the Slayer, and gently rested her hands on Buffy's shoulders. Her friend immediately stiffened under her touch. “I'm sorry, Buffy. I...I didn't mean for it to sound like that. “I'm scared.” Her head drooped, and she rested her forehead against Buffy's shoulder. “A part of me wishes that Oz hadn't come back, that I could go on thinking he was ok, that he was just out there, somewhere, doing his own thing. But he did come back, and I have to help him. I don't love him anymore, but he is a part of my life, and rightly or wrongly I feel some responsibility.”

Buffy turned and wrapped her arms around Willow, drawing her into a close hug. The redhead, not expecting this act of forgiveness, of love, began crying with relief. Shoulders shaking, she allowed Buffy to tighten her grip around her.

“Shhh, it's ok, Will,” Buffy said, quietly. “I understand. And don't worry, I'll help you no matter what happens.”

Willow smiled, and wrapped her arms around the Slayer. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Buffy kissed the top of Willow's head, and said, “Guess we got some planning to do, huh? I'm not sure what to pack, I've never been the outdoorsy type.” She moved one hand up under Willow's chin and lifted her head up so she could see her face. Gently brushing away her tears, Buffy swallowed around the lump in her throat that had formed from seeing her friend's beautiful, tear-stained face.

Willow looked up and met Buffy's eyes with her own. Those eyes... they mesmerized her, made it impossible for her to feel sad, or alone. They were eyes that said, you have nothing to fear, I'll always be here for you. “You always support me, Buffy,” she whispered. “Even though I don't always deserve it. You've always been there for me.” She reached up a tentative hand, to cup Buffy's cheek. Buffy's eyelids closed slowly, and the Slayer leaned into the caress. “I love you, Buffy.”

Buffy opened her eyes, and looked down at her best friend, the person she loved more than any other. “I love you too, Willow.” Whether she leaned down or Willow reached up, no one could tell, but at that moment their lips met.

The kiss was gentle and tentative, as if neither one were sure that this is what the other wanted. Willow brought her hands up, cupping the back of Buffy's head, deepening the kiss. Buffy, in turn, brought her arms around Willow's waist, holding her closely to her. Long moments went by, moments where nothing else in the world existed for the pair except each other.

Finally, they broke the kiss. Foreheads touching, each young woman noticed the labored breathing of the other. As one, they smiled. Speech became unnecessary, and superfluous.

Willow took Buffy's hands in her own, led her into the back bedroom, and closed the door.

Chapter 10

Chris entered the Dream of Gaia magick shop, his black ‘Will Write Code for Sex’ t-shirt, black jeans, and trenchcoat setting him apart from the rest of the store's clientele. He made brief eye contact with Nichole, who was at the counter helping a customer. Some New Age nut-job, he thought. Just like Nichole. Unconsciously, a smile crept over his face.

“Is this Lavender Oil synthetic, or essence? I need real essence oil, no synthetic,” the customer was saying. Nichole just kept nodding, and making affirmations.

He wandered over to the book section and was simply amazed at how many books had the words “Celtic”, “Atlantis”, or “Pyramid” in the title. If I could write a book on the Celtic Pyramids of Atlantis, I'd make a fortune, Chris thought.

Finally the last customer left, somewhat satisfied. Nichole walked over to Chris and exhaled wearily, brushing her bangs back from her forehead. “Whew!” She exclaimed, “If I don't see another person who needs aromatherapy questions answered, it will be too soon.”

Chris quirked an eyebrow at the woman. “Yeah, I guess I don't realize how lucky I am, being in the software business. Most of _our_customers are sane.”

“Don't make fun,” Nichole replied, poking Chris in the arm. “Besides, you're one to talk about their beliefs. You've seen spirits all over the place, and if someone called you a nut you'd be very offended.”

“That's true,” Chris admitted. “But the difference is, I know I'm right. I don't know that they're right.” Nichole sighed in exasperation. “Speaking of spirits,” Chris continued, “have you had any luck?”

Nichole nodded, somberly. “The best I could do was a general direction and distance. I don't know how much good it's going to do the girls, though.”

Chris shrugged. “Impossible to say until they find out for themselves. Anyway, I held up my end. The manacles will be here by tomorrow morning, latest.”

“I still can't believe we're doing this,” Nichole said, shaking her head. “I mean, the Children of Gaia tribe is about as loving and as understanding as they come, but it never even occurred to us to try to reclaim a Black Spiral. It's just never been done.”

“All the Garou tribes consider it a more efficient use of resources to kill a Black Spiral, rather than take the time and effort into trying to ‘rehabilitate’ them,” Chris replied, matter-of-factly. “We are fighting a war, after all.”

Nichole frowned. “Maybe that's the problem, maybe we've been going about it the wrong way.”

“Well, if they can do it, they'll be legends. Their names will go down in the Silver Record. But to be honest...” He trailed off.

“You don't think they can.”

Chris shook his head. “No, I don't.”

**************************************

Willow looked at the woman dozing next to her, hair spread out on the pillow like fine golden threads. She smiled; in sleep, Buffy was just as beautiful as when she was awake. Here, lying in one another's arms, they were completely at peace. All the worry lines faded, and her eyes, which reflected the remembered pain which came from years fighting on the Hellmouth, were untroubled.

When Buffy was awake though, she lost the peacefulness, but gained a vitality, a strength of purpose about her which could not be ignored. It was that strength of purpose and courage in the face of vampire and teenage foes alike which drew Willow to the Slayer in the first place.

**************************************

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Buffy had asked, as they lay down together. Willow knew that the question grew out of a deep concern for the hacker's well-being; Buffy would lay down her own life before she'd do anything to hurt her friend.

She didn't reply, she just captured the Slayer's lips with her own. They were so gentle, so tentative at first; light touches left trails of fire across their skin, skin which was sensitive and ached to be touched. There was no rush, though; it had taken them four years to get to this point, and there was an unspoken decision to take their time and enjoy every detail, every moment they had together.

Knowing what awaited them lent a sense of immediacy to their act. This is what Buffy must feel like every day, Willow thought, knowing that within hours, maybe, they could be fighting for their lives. Willow had always been careful to try to stay out of harm's way before; she was the witch, the hacker, the person who helped behind-the-scenes. The fighting she left to her best friend. Not anymore.

*************************************

“Mmmm...” Buffy murmured, shifting closer to Willow and draping an arm across the redhead's stomach. The redhead, in turn, began tenderly stroking the Slayer's hair. Buffy opened an eye experimentally. “So, it wasn't a dream. I really am in bed with the most beautiful woman on earth.”

“I don't know about you,” Willow replied, kissing the Slayer gently, “but I know I am.” She looked over at the alarm clock. “I suppose we need to get up and get some practicing in today.”

“I thought we already did,” Buffy said, with a mischievous grin.

“Not that kind of practicing,” Willow responded with a smile. “I think we need to get up, it's already mid-afternoon.”

“Mid-afternoon? How long have I been asleep?” Buffy asked, puzzled.

“Ten minutes.” Willow grinned. “We were just...ah...we were occupied for a long time.”

Buffy sat up and looked at the clock. Her eyebrows shot up. “Apparently a three-hour long time.”

“You don't hear me complaining.”

***************************************

Buffy stepped out of the shower and began toweling off. It was a good workout, she thought. Willow was a fast learner, smart and didn't flinch away from taking or giving a hit. The Slayer heard the phone ring faintly from the living room.

“I'll get it!” Willow yelled. She was already showered and dressed, so she ran to the phone to answer it. “Hello?”

“Hi Willow!” Willow immediately recognized Chris's cheerful voice from the other end. “Got a sec?”

“Sure,” Willow replied, nodding to Buffy who had just entered the room, clad only in a couple of Giles’ fluffy white towels. It's Chris, she mouthed to the Slayer, who nodded in reply.

“Nichole has a pretty good lead on where you guys can find a Gurahl, so she's going to map it out tonight and talk to you guys about it tomorrow. I made some phone calls, so those manacles for your ex should be arriving by FedEx, mid-morning tomorrow. Got it so far?”

Willow nodded. “Gurahl, manacles, gotcha.”

"Great. Now, the only problem is that Oz will probably try to come after you tonight. Unless you make yourself scarce, you risk a deadly confrontation, and I'm sure you don't want it to come down to kill or be killed, right?” The tone in his voice sounded more like ‘Please tell me I'm wrong,’ but Willow ignored it.

“No, I don't want that.”

“Ok then. You, Buffy, and Giles have to get out of that house. You're going to be staying at 431 Hemingstone Road. It's a motel. I've made arrangements for you under the names Ann Heston and Robert Young, got it? Now, you can't take a car straight there; don't forget, you'll be tracked by someone who has all the senses of a bloodhound, so you've got to confuse your trail. What you're going to do is take the 311 bus to Market Street. At Market Street, transfer to the 116.

Take the 116 to Myers Road, at Myers Road get off the bus and walk three blocks north to the bus stop there, where you will pick up the 78. The 78 will let you off right out on Hemingstone Road. Got it?”

Willow furiously wrote all this down on a pad of paper. “Got it.”

“Ok, read it back to me.”

“All right, we're going to be staying at a hotel on Hemingway Street, and we're going to take the 911 bus to Market Street.”

She paused, and heard nothing but silence on the other end.

Finally, Chris said, “I'll be right over.”

****************************************

Willow, Giles, and Buffy stepped off the number 78 bus. Giles took his first deep breath since they began their little trek almost an hour ago. “Ah, public transportation. I had forgotten the joy,” he remarked mildly.

Buffy looked up at the sign. “Motel 6?” She remarked incredulously. “Chris is some big, rich, powerful Glass Walker, backed by some big, rich L.A. syndicate, and we're staying at a Motel 6? Oh, he is so in trouble.”

“He mentioned something about being low profile,” Willow said with a shrug. “Anyway, Giles is registering under the name Robert Young, and for tonight I get to be Ann Heche.” Willow frowned, and double-checked the paper Chris gave her.

“You can say that again,” Buffy mumbled, stifling a grin.

“Oh, Ann ‘Heston’. What was that, Buffy?” Willow asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Nothing!” Buffy flashed a winning smile at the redhead. “C'mon Ann, c'mon Robert. Let's go.”

* * *

Willow turned up the TV. She was trying to concentrate on the show, but Buffy, who was chafing from being cooped up, was being distracting.

“I can't believe I can't even go out on patrol,” she was saying, pacing back and forth rapidly.

“He doesn't want any of us to run into Oz,” Willow replied, for what seemed like the tenth time.

“It would just be a little patrol. I miss the night air,” Buffy said. She stopped walking, and leaned up against the room's only table. Idly, she tore a piece of paper off the notepad, and began folding it.

Willow looked at her sympathetically. “I know you don't like to hide like this, but it's only for one night. Once we get those manacles we'll go looking for Oz, and see if we can capture him.” She frowned as a paper airplane bounced off her forehead. “Surely there's something else you could be doing.”

“You're right,” Buffy replied. She walked over to stand in front of Willow, who was sitting on the room's one queen size bed. Crouching down, she practically straddled Willow's knees as she took the TV remote from nerveless fingers. She clicked off the TV.

“Wha...did you have in mind?” Willow said, her breathing becoming increasingly rapid.

Buffy leaned forward, her mouth close to Willow's ear. “I thought I'd make love to the woman I love, my best friend,” she whispered.

A jolt of electricity went through Willow's body, causing her to gasp.

“Unless you had a better idea?”

Willow shook her head slightly. "I was going to suggest a couple of diet sodas and a rerun of ER, but I like your idea better.” Buffy flicked out a tongue, barely brushing Willow's earlobe. “I _so_ like your idea better,” Willow added.

* * *

A dark figure approached the house with trepidation. He couldn't smell anyone, but their scent lingered in the air as if an afterthought. He looked in the front window cautiously, and saw no one inside; the house was dark. His eyes narrowed.

Rough, calloused hands grasped the door handle and shoved; the door splintered and flew open. The figure entered the house, and looked around, often emitting a loud, sniffing noise.

They were gone. They left again. _She_ left. She was hiding from him.

Oz left the house, and caught the scent she left on the breeze. East, the scent told him. He went East.

* * *

Buffy and Willow lay in each other's arms, drowsing sleepily. ‘Happily too, I might add,’ Buffy thought. This whole thing with Oz, the werewolves, all of it would be so worth it even if the only thing to come out of it was their love for each other.

“I love you, Willow,” Buffy said, somewhat impulsively. The words always gave her a warm feeling, but not quite as warm as when Willow said them back to her.

“Mmm, I love you too, Buffy,” Willow replied, snuggling down closer to the Slayer. Moments later, her breathing became low and regular.

Buffy smiled, and allowed herself to follow Willow into sleep.

* * *

Oz stood, confused. The scent had told him East, and had led him to a bus stop. He couldn't tell, though, which bus had been taken, or where they had ended up. He growled through sheer frustration.

“Hey, buddy,” Oz turned toward the source of the voice, a man dressed in a shabby peacoat. The man had his hand out, palm up. “You got any spare change for the bus?”

Oz grinned at the man, teeth bared. If the man didn't know better, he'd swear that the kid's teeth were pointed. Oz's black eyes were back-lit by a bright green flame.

The man immediately backed off. “Uh, I think I'll walk. Better yet, I think I'll ask Mr. Nice Policeman over there for some change.” The man backed away, almost running toward the police car driving slowly down the street.

Oz's eyes narrowed as the police car approached, and he stepped back, losing himself in the shadows.

Chapter 11

The black Range Rover sped down the road, its occupants enjoying the comfort only afforded by a high-price SUV. Or, at least, they would be if they could be said to be enjoying themselves at all.

"For the last time, no, there is no way you're playing that Arlo Guthrie crap on my stereo," Chris growled, taking a right turn a bit too quickly.

Nichole grabbed onto the door handle to try to keep herself upright. "And you would rather listen to that...that..."

"Techno, yes, I would. My car, my stereo, my music," he replied, irritably. He glanced over at Nichole, his smile sardonic. "Get yourself a VW van with an 8-track and a tie-dye paint job, and you can play whatever music you want."

"You never had a problem with my music when we were in college," Nichole grumbled.

"Only because I always got stoned before I had to listen to it," Chris replied, pleasantly.

Nichole opened her mouth, prepared to deliver a blistering retort, when Chris pointed straight ahead. "Looks like the lovebirds are here already."

Buffy and Willow stood outside the Dream of Gaia, waiting patiently. Chris had called them that morning, and told them that he had received the manacles from Los Angeles. They arranged to meet at the Dream of Gaia so that they could discuss tactics.

Chris parked the car and he and Nichole jumped out, Nichole with a FedEx box under her arm.

"Morning!" The Child of Gaia said, cheerfully. "I see the two of you are looking well." She winked briefly at Willow before unlocking the door.

Willow blushed slightly, and replied, "Um, yeah."

"No thanks to Mr. Cheapskate's travel arrangements," Buffy replied sardonically, with a glance in Chris's direction.

Chris shrugged. "Take it up with Accounting," he replied with a small smile. "I'm a werewolf, not a sugar daddy. By the way, where's Giles?"

Buffy shook her head. "I don't even want to know why you made that connection," she said. "He went back to his house to check on things." The four friends entered the store, locking the door securely behind them.

* * *

Giles stepped over the ruins of his front door, grimacing at the mess left by some nightly visitor. There was little actual damage done to any of his belongings, but whoever searched the house last night wasn't tidy. The ex-watcher slowly righted a small table, stacking the cordless phone and the base unit on top.

"Where is she?"

The strained, gravelly voice startled Giles, and he turned slowly toward the source. Oz stood in the hallway leading to Willow's room, his already short frame hunched over, as if in pain. His eyes burned with unhealthy obsession.

"Where is she?"

His voice was louder now, and Giles noticed Oz's body beginning to shake. "N-now Oz," he said, in what he hoped was a soothing voice, "she-she's not here." He began inching his way slowly toward the open doorway.

"WHERE IS SHE!"

Oz took a step forward now, his hands clenching and unclenching. His form began growing, slight limbs covering over with fur and knotted muscle.

Giles turned and started running.

* * *

"They look like handcuffs." Buffy looked at the manacles, turning them over in her hands. "Are you sure this will hold a werewolf?" The only things that seemingly distinguished the manacles from a regular pair of handcuffs were the etched runes that decorated the sides. That, and the fact that the manacles were made of pure silver.

Chris nodded. "They're what we call a fetish, an item that is fused together with a spirit to imbue it with power. Stick those puppies on a werewolf, even in Crinos form, and he'll instantly turn to Homid. They grow or shrink to match the form the werewolf wears, and they're stronger than they look."

"I hope so," Buffy replied. She looked over the manacles one last time, and then stuck them in her jacket pocket. "It's my guess that Oz will go right for Willow when he sees her, making her the bait in this trap. Sorry, Will," Buffy said, with an apologetic look at the redhead.

Willow shrugged with a resigned sigh. "It's got to be done, I mean, I'm the one who wants to help him," she replied quietly. Buffy placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Willow reached up and entwined Buffy's fingers with her own. She drew strength from the contact, strength she knew she would need before the day was out.

"Ok, when Oz goes after Willow, I use the distraction to get in there and slap the cuffs on him. Seems straightforward enough," Buffy finished.

"What do we do with him when we've got him?" Nichole said, uncertainly. "I mean, he's dangerous, even assuming we can keep him under control, it won't be easy."

Buffy tightened her grip on Willow's hand unconsciously. "We'll just have to find that Gurahl werebear and get back as quick as possible."

"So, it sounds like the only thing left to do is track down Oz," Chris said, looking around the room for agreement.

* * *

Giles had almost reached the open doorway when he felt a large, clawed hand with a grip of steel grab the back of his neck, wrenching him backward. How can something that big move that fast, he thought wildly before crashing into the recently-uprighted table. Giles looked up into the mad eyes of the Black Spiral Dancer.

"You tell me," the werewolf said slowly, wrapping his hand around Giles' throat, "where she is."

Giles felt himself hoisted aloft, dangling from the werewolf's massive paw. His hands clutched futilely at the Dancer's arm, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his throat. At this rate, he thought, he wouldn't be able to tell Oz even if he wanted to. The ex-watcher felt himself growing increasingly light-headed.

Some part of Oz's brain that was still rational must've realized that Giles could never talk if he were being choked. He dropped Giles to the floor, where the older man took in great gulps of air. "I-I don't know where she is," he gasped, "but I can get her to come here."

"Do it." Oz snarled.

* * *

"These Black Spiral Dancers seem to be a little more comfortable coming out at night, than during the day, right?" Buffy asked, looking to the more experienced Garou for confirmation. Nichole nodded back at her. "Ok, then, so maybe Willow and I should go on patrol tonight, as usual. If Oz shows up, we try to subdue him the best we can."

Chris's cell phone rang, and she briefly glanced over at him as he walked over to the corner of the room to answer it.

"Do you think we'll be able to do this without hurting him?" Willow asked. Her voice begged for reassurance from the more experienced Slayer.

"Giles, what's going on?" The urgency in Chris's voice caused the room to fall into deathly silence.

"Tell Willow that she needs to come to my house. It's very important that she gets here as soon as possible. Pull her out of Dance class if you need to." The call cut off before Chris could ask Giles what he meant.

"What's wrong?" Buffy asked.

Chris frowned. "That was Giles. He needs Willow to go over to his house right away."

Willow glanced at Buffy, puzzled. "Think he found out something?"

Buffy shrugged. "Possible, though I didn't think he had any research planned."

Chris cocked his head to one side, favoring Willow with a quizzical look. "I didn't know you had a Dance class."

* * *

Willow stepped across the remains of Giles' front door, her eyes adjusting quickly to the lack of sunlight indoors. What she saw made her freeze.

Giles was sitting in a straight-backed chair, his arms rigidly at his sides. Behind him stood Oz, in full Crinos werewolf form, one hand wrapped securely around Giles' neck, the other hand resting on the top of the ex-watcher's head.

Willow swallowed nervously. "Oz, please don't do this..." She forced herself to take a small step forward.

"Are you alone?" Oz said, his growls and snarls understandable by Willow alone. "If you brought anyone with you, I might just have to snap his neck like a twig." He tightened the grip he held on Giles' head, and laughed shrilly.

Willow shook her head. "I came alone. I was looking for you."

"LIAR!" Oz roared, letting go of Giles and taking a step toward the redhead. "I came for you last night, and you were gone! You weren't here!"

Willow's eyes shifted nervously, his sudden movement startling her. "I-I was afraid, Oz. But I realized this morning that I needed to talk to you, to see you. That's why I'm here, that's why I came alone. I want to help you."

Oz took another, shuffling step toward her. He held out his hands to the young woman. "I don't need help, I only need you. Now that we're together, we can go back to the caern. There are a lot of people there who want to meet you." He grinned, his eyes lighting up with madness. "You'll enjoy serving the Wyrm."

Willow involuntarily took a half step backward. "Oz, you don't have to work for the Wyrm. I can help you--"

"No!" He growled, lurching forward and grabbing Willow's arms. "The Wyrm wants you--" He stopped, sniffing the air suddenly. He whipped his head around, looking toward where Giles sat. But Giles was no longer there; Buffy was.

"Sorry Oz-man," Buffy said. She stood next to the empty chair, and began walking slowly, circling the werewolf. "We couldn't let you do it."

"YOU LIED TO ME!" Oz roared, turning back to fix Willow with a hate-filled stare.

Willow immediately shifted into Crinos, breaking Oz's grip on her arms. "You're not the only werewolf here, Oz. And I'll never serve the Wyrm."

Oz backed up a step, trying to keep both Buffy and Willow in his view. Something about Buffy's scent puzzled him, though, something which smelled awfully like...

He froze suddenly and looked at Willow, his eyes practically glowing with green balefire. "You..." He spat out the word as if it were a curse. "You and she are...are mates."

Willow glanced over at a puzzled Buffy, who had been unable to understand the Garou language. "Oz..."

Oz fixed his gaze on the Slayer. "You took her from me," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "You stole her from me!" He roared, bursting into a frenzy of action. He leapt at the surprised Slayer who fell back and brought her feet up, tossing Oz off of her with a heave of her legs. She fumbled in her jacket pocket, and readied the manacles in her hand.

Oz twisted in midair, landing in a crouch. He immediately sprang again and this time landed a solid punch to Buffy's stomach, sending her flying back into the upended furniture. The manacles flew out of her hand, sliding across the hardwood floor.

He was on her in a second. "You...will...die...slowly..." he said, punctuating each word with heavy punches that Buffy was barely able to absorb. Dizzily, she dropped her arms, no longer able to lift them to protect herself.

Oz pulled back his fist, ready to drive it into Buffy's skull. Suddenly, he felt his wrist grabbed from behind. He pulled against the grip, only to find that it was like iron, slowly pulling his arm back. He roared, and looked up at his attacker.

Willow stood above him, grabbing his other wrist with her other hand, and began pulling that one back as well. She planted a knee with bone-jarring force into the small of his back, and began pulling his arms back until he screamed with the pain of tendons and joints pulled to their limit. His pain-filled eyes met Willow's rage-filled ones.

"You ever, ever touch her again, and I will rip your arms out and beat you to death," she said, her voice at once cold and furious. She felt a small, human hand on her shoulder, and she stiffened.

"Do you still want to capture him?" Chris asked, quietly. He held the manacles that Buffy had dropped, though he seemed reluctant to stop Willow from killing the young Black Spiral.

Willow took a deep breath, feeling the Rage drain out of her. Seeing Oz threaten Buffy like that had triggered something deep inside her, the Rage that Chris and Nichole had told her about. She wasn't fighting for the safety of mankind, or Gaia; she was fighting for Buffy, the woman she loved, and it touched something so primal that she didn't even know it existed.

She nodded sharply, and after a small hesitation, Chris snapped the manacle on Oz's wrist.

Immediately, his form shifted back to that of the young man Oz was, and maybe could be again. Chris took Oz's arms from Willow's grasp, and handcuffed them behind his back. His head drooped, overcome by the calming, weakening magick of the fetish. Chris dragged him over to the side of the room, rather ungently.

Willow dropped next to Buffy, shifting back to human form as she did so. "Buffy?" She asked, her voice shaking.

Buffy opened her eyes and smiled slightly. "Yep, that's me," she said, holding on to Willow's hand.

"I'm so sorry," Willow said, her eyes shedding bright tears. "I would have never...If I'd known you would get hurt...It's not worth it..."

Buffy smiled, and squeezed Willow's hand. "It's ok, Will. He just knocked the wind out of me." She felt her ribs, pressing them with tentative fingers. "Couple of cracked ribs maybe, some bruises. Nothing that won't heal in a few days."

Willow let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding. "Oh, God, Buffy, what if..." She began, tears running unchecked down her face.

"Shh,&q