Wilder Than You Think
by The Mad Poetess
Part One Part Two Part Three

Part One

Prologue: The familiar GB (Getting Bent) Network studio set.

SG, in Oz' costume for the first scene, reads from a teleprompter.

SG: Welcome to the GB's New Tuesday. Tonight on Buffy the Vampire 
Slayer, Xander saves Willow's ass and stops me from *being* an ass, 
Spike thinks longingly about Xander's ass, and I get a piece of 
offscreen werewolf ass, for which Willow *doesn't* kick my ass.

SMG storms in from camera right, holding script in hand.

SMG: Okay, this wasn't funny the first time, dammit. That's *not* in 
my script. You guys. [Shouts offstage.] Hey! Bleach-Head and Snoopy-
Dance! Get out here!

JM and NB slouch into camera-range from the other side of the set.

JM: What? What did we do *this* time? Allegedly?

SMG [Points to teleprompter, then her script, then the one NB is 
holding in his hand.]: *Somebody* messed with the scripts again, and 
I have a *stinking* feeling it was you two. Let me see your script, 
Snoopy boy.

NB hands her his script with a shrug. She flips through it, and 
points to something in the first third of the manuscript.

SMG: See! What did I tell you. Here I am fighting, and then it's just 
Spike thinking about your ass! Just *try* to tell me you had nothing 
to do with this.

NB: Hey, I'm innocent. Just picked up the script this morning, didn't 
touch a thing.

SMG turns on JM.

SMG: Then it has to be *you*, Bleach-for-Brains. 

JM flips through the script, then shakes it in her face.

JM: I have *one* friggin line in the entire episode, and I get to 
spend most of it naked and strapped down to a gurney, being shocked 
and probed and other oh-so-enjoyable activities, and you think I 
wrote this into the script?!!!! And you call *us* pervs!

SMG: Fine. *Some*body's responsible for this, and I'm gonna find out 
who.

She heaves a deep sigh and stalks offscreen.

SG [grinning] : So. you think she noticed how many times I put the 
word 'ass' into the promo?

*********

For the seventh time in as many days, Xander Harris stood on the 
sidewalk in front of YingLing Cleaners, holding a beat-up leather 
coat over his arm. Looking at the prices stenciled in puffy paint on 
the window. Sniffing the leather duster. Smelling menthol and 
peroxide and dead cow, in equal parts. And, of course, dried Xander-
juices, which were the reason for his daily pilgrimage to the 
cleaners. 

For the seventh time in as many days, Xander turned around, unfolded 
the duster, and slipped it on, shaking his head as he walked away 
from the dry cleaning shop. Maybe tomorrow. 

*****

Little blonde girl. Big ugly vampire. Yeah, been there, done that. 
Spike watched from the shadows, trying to summon up enough of an 
interest in the proceedings to say something clever and biting, pun 
intended. Unfortunately, the only thing he could come up with 
was... "Oh, look. It's the Slayer." Lacked a bit of the classic Spike 
brilliance, that.

It might've helped if his brain were working in the accustomed 
manner. {Slayers are annoying. This one took your damned Ring of 
Amara and gave it to the Great Irish Poof, and you'll see it 
nevermore. Therefore.... } And the correct answer was supposed to be: 
kill the bloody Slayer. Goodbye Buffy Summers, hello... well, whoever 
the next one was, but Spike could just about guarantee she wouldn't 
be as much of a hot poker in his side as this little bit of stuff.

The current line of thought seemed to go like this, however: {Slayers 
are annoying. This one... is friends with Xander Harris and his 
amazingly round little backside---Slayer, kill the--- 
so...gah...squeezeable---took the bloody Gem of---tight little hole---
Spike want?---strong arms---right, Slayer, kill the Slay.---dark 
eyes, shaggy hair, rueful grin, tongue in my mouth, licking my 
fangs....} 


"Hell, Harris, what the fuck are you *doing* to me?" he muttered into 
the night, which was about the time the bolts of electricity came 
surging through him. If Spike thought he was distracted before... 
well, "Ack!" was looking like a pretty complex thought-process at the 
moment. The last image in his head before he blacked out completely 
was the Slayer's little Snoopy-dog sidekick, smiling up at him from 
the ground, trousers and shorts round his ankles--Spike want? {Er, 
possibly, but hold that thought, kid. And by the by, where the hell's 
my dus....}

Darkness.

*****

The Bronze. Home of high school wannabe's, college neener-neener look 
at me's, and townies in leather coats who wonder if their higher-
learning friends will *ever* catch on to the fact that they couldn't 
afford this duster if the Sunnydale National Bank announced that it 
was giving a two-for-one-deal on trading in old dollar bills. 

{Epidemic cluelessness has some advantages, after all...} Xander 
thought as he poured himself another Coke from the pitcher on the 
table and listened to Buffy, Willow and Oz chat about how great the 
place was since they could see it from the collegiate perspective. 
Yeah, whatever. Nice to just be hanging with them, townie or no 
townie, listening to the band, thinking about...

Being wild and rough, smelling things on the wind. Older memories, of 
the blood-hungry animal in him, the laughing scavenger, but this had 
been clearer, cleaner. Human and animal in one, mind and body working 
together. Bad things trying to eat him, and what did you do with bad 
things? You killed them. Easy. So damn clear, want-need-take.... 
Well, actually, it had been more like want-need-ask nicely-take at 
one point, but there was still that simplicity to it. Driving force. 
This was the way things were supposed to be, this was... the right 
place. {And we're not gonna think about what happened *after* cave-
boy took a header back into Xander's subconscious, and it was *still* 
the right place, are we. No, and thanks for asking, please come 
again.}

And what the heck? Giles. Giles was here. Guess somebody else was 
feeling a little left out of the old college circle. Stammering about 
how he was "down with the new music" and trying to be cool. {Chill, G-
Man. You may be in a strange place, but you're among friends. 
Clueless friends, but what-the-hey.} Xander made room for Giles to 
scoot in next to him, and the Watcher gave him weak smile. Eyed the 
duster. Well, at least somebody still had some interest in where 
Xander had been while Buffy was off re-enacting "Ten Million Years 
B.C." Too bad Giles was so damn smart, and didn't have a lot to 
distract himself with these days. Xander might end up having to 
answer some pointed questions, sooner or later. Preferably later. 
Much later. When he didn't have way too many questions buzzing around 
in his own head.

This music wasn't helping a lot. It was almost as primal as the 
feelings that had been surging through his blood a week ago. The 
dirty-blonde lead singer was practically giving the microphone head, 
and the way the bass was pulsing out of those amps, it was like she 
was grinding herself against every man in the room without setting 
foot off the stage. Big hungry animal eyes. Want-need-take and no 
questions about it in the morning. Really weird feeling: the *music* 
was getting Xander a little twitchy, and a little uncomfortably warm, 
but the *girl*. She was good-looking, definitely on the slutty side 
of hot, but... nah. Nada. The *music* though...made Xander's eyes 
dance around the room, looking for... something. Maybe somebody, who 
wasn't there, whoever it was.

Oz noticed it too, though *his* eyes seemed to be fixed on the girl. 
In fact, Oz didn't seem to be noticing anything else. Made sense; if 
Xander, with his memory of having been something wild and strange for 
a few short hours, was picking up on it, what must Oz, the werewolf 
on the --shit-- night before the night before the full moon-- be 
hearing? Smelling? Enough to perk up his own animal urges, 
apparently, because Xander could catch a hint of Oz-ness in the air 
that reminded him strongly of the reason he was supposed to have had 
that duster dry-cleaned. Which was *highly* disturbing, since he'd 
never figured his non-cave-guy sense of smell was that good, and he'd 
certainly never imagined he'd be using it as a Horny-Oz-Detector, 
Patent Pending.


Xander wasn't the only one paying attention to the werewolf. Willow 
was visibly noticing Oz noticing the lead singer. Veruca, that was 
her name. After nineteen years of knowing Willow Rosenberg, Xander 
could recognize that lost little girl look on her face in an instant; 
he'd seen it directed at *him* for most of their high-school days, 
pre-Oz, and he'd been as helpless to do anything about it then as he 
was now.


*****

Bright lights. Flash. Pain... something like fire and lightning 
shocking through Spike's body. Darkness. Pain again. Silver sweet 
pain in his head, and trying to fight. Roaring at them, whoever 
*them* was, bodiless hands holding him down. Snapping at them with 
fangs that never got anywhere near. The red blood hunger tearing 
through him. Pain, fear! Fear? Never afraid of *anything*! Fear. 
Darkness. Lights. Blood hunger sated, but heavy. Tainted. 
Thoughts...sluggish, primitive, but there. {Dark. Alone. Want what's 
mine. Mate. Afraid. Want him. Him? Him.}

Growling and spitting, even against the lead weights in his limbs, 
and --shock--fire--- PAIN! And darkness again.

*****

Getting out of the Bronze had been a *good* thing. Getting that music 
out of his head. Even if, a night and morning later, it seemed to 
still be pounding its slow rhythm inside his veins, red and black and 
whispery... Xander shook his head, trying to knock the feeling away 
somewhere. Maybe... Maybe he should go get the coat dry-cleaned after 
all.

He turned as he passed the campus on his daily trip to YingLing's, 
and thought about stopping in to see Willow. Maybe he could reassure 
her about Oz and his horndog attraction to Veruca. There was just 
something ancient and animal and deep about that music, and a 
werewolf on the night before the first of his three days-of-the-
month... was bound to be a little whammied by it. Didn't mean the 
guitarist was any less in love with the girl who'd won his heart two 
years ago, and been with him through everything, including his 
transformation into wolfiness, and Xander and Willow's own moronic 
Senior Year whatever-it-had-been. They'd made it through that, they 
could make it through a little innocent girl-watching on Oz' part.

There, on the sidewalk, walking away from the main quad, was the 
little innocent girl in question, wearing some tight black sweatery 
thing that should have been doing something for Xander, but wasn't. 
She didn't look all that innocent, with a bitchy little smirk on her 
face, like she'd done something to put somebody in their place. As 
she passed Xander, he caught a whiff of her scent. Strong. Familiar. 
Not attractive, not to him, but... he knew it, somewhere, or a 
different version of it. Absently, he fell into step a few yards 
behind her. Following her, and half-aware of it. {What's she do when 
she's not making the Ozinator drool in his drink? Rehearse in a cave 
somewhere?}

A few blocks later, she started off the main streets towards the 
Simmons Nature Conservancy. Which had trails, and woods, and, as 
Xander recalled from an Eighth Grade field trip, caves. One of which 
had been the scene of a memorable Xander-de-pantsing by Larry the 
soon-to-be-football-player and some of his more Neanderthal buds. 
{Ah, the sweet memories of lost youth. Larry, if you'd just come out 
of the closet sooner, I would've had a *much* easier life.} Caves-- 
she really did rehearse in a cave? He dropped a bit further back and 
followed her into the trees, dark except where streaks of gold 
sunlight penetrated the gloom from above.

He was walking easily, quietly, not crunching pine needles under his 
feet or anything, but he still lost sight of her for a moment as she 
walked behind a tree, and when he caught up, she was waiting for him. 
Her hand shot out to grab him by the throat, and, without a conscious 
thought, his body reacted by grabbing that deceptively feminine arm, 
yanking it away, and shoving her up against the tree. Hey, the last 
time he'd done this... Nope. Zilch. Not even a little ping in the 
Dockers. Nothing at all except a twitchy feeling in his bones and 
blood and skull, like this was some kind of creature who shouldn't be 
screwing around in *his* territory, so he'd followed her into her 
own. Pissing wars, if she'd been a guy.

She gave him a little growl, then changed her tune. "Hey, you want 
something? Don't have to take it the hard way. We could have some 
fun. You got the moves, like the walk, like the coat. This doesn't 
have to be about me kickin' your ass. "

Xander stared at her. She thought he was trying to rape her? She was 
offering herself up? No, she was playing with him, ready to scratch 
his eyes out as soon as he let go of her-- he could sense it. Crazy 
bitch. He didn't want anything from her except to figure out what she 
was and why she was messing with his people. 

"Hey, no ass-kicking required. My ass appreciates the offer, but no 
thanks. Just a fan. Saw you in the Bronze last night, thought I might 
get to know you a little better. You guys sure have the sound." 
Polite. Easy. Xanderspeak. Which was ludicrous with his hands 
pressing her up against this juniper tree, with the scent of the 
forest in his nostrils, and the blood pounding in his ears, and this 
little girl-thing licking her lips at him like she thought he had any 
interest in her body.

"I know you. You're Oz' friend. You were at the table with him last 
night. You and the blonde girl, and the old guy, and Oz' little 
groupie... Maple-something, right?"

Oh. There. Surge of pure, hot anger. *His* people. She was playing 
with Xander's family. His pack, if he'd still had the hyena in his 
mind, but he didn't. That animal was gone, just a faded memory. 
Xander was a man. A man who knew exactly how wild a man could be, 
and this bitch was fucking around with his *family.*

"Willow. Her name's Willow, and I'm *her* friend too. Just remember 
that. I don't *like* seeing her hurt," he snarled, the threat 
undisguised. "And you *don't* know me." Veruca's eyes widened for a 
moment, like she hadn't expected this from him. From Xander in the 
tropical-print shirt and Dockers, hiding under the dead-cow coat like 
it made him any less of a geek. He let her go, dropping his hands in 
disgust. He didn't need to prove he was a man by pushing a girl 
around, no matter how...*wrong* she smelled, no matter what an 
obvious bitch she was.

"Just stay away from Oz," he told her. "They've got a good thing, and 
they don't need you in the middle of it." He turned his back and 
walked a few feet up the trail towards the entrance to the forest. 
Black leather swinging nicely behind him, and yeah, the geek-boy 
still living inside him loved it. {Look at me--I'm mini-Spike...Or 
should that be extra-large Spike, since I'm taller than him?}

She called out to him, then, like she'd got her piss and vinegar 
back, here in her own space. "He's a big boy. He can make his own 
choices. And..." like she was desperate to have something to throw 
at him, as Xander turned back to look at her, "you should really have 
that coat dry-cleaned. Smells like you've been jerkin' off on it. "

He blinked, and nodded with an ironic smile, before turning back to 
his path out into the sunlight.

*****

Whiteness and blackness, and redness when the blood came, and that's 
it. Moments of clarity that filtered into his head, when Spike could 
think a quick...{Dru...should've killed me when I asked you to...} 
or {Happy now, Ponce? *Somebody's* got me under control...}. Mostly 
though, when he could think at all, behind his shut eyelids, he was 
seeing the dopey little Slayerette. Honey-brown eyes, wavy hair so 
dark a brown that it was almost black. Hidden power, shy smile, and 
that... good, right smell. What there was of Spike that could think 
rationally, between the light and the dark and the pain, gave a 
frustrated mental snarl every so often. Great shag, yeah, but 
(eoarrrrrrggghhhhhhhh! Fuck, that hurt!) why still on the 
(Shiiiiiiit! Get that OUT of me!) brain now?} He faded in and out of 
consciousness, between darkness and light, between death and unlife.

***************************************************************
Part Two



Another day, another early-morning walk to the cleaners. This time 
Xander was wearing his tightest pair of jeans, and a black t-shirt 
that was maybe half a size too small for him, or he would've 
considered it too small last week, anyway. The coat kind of deserved 
not to be worn with a Hawaiian shirt and baggy pants. Spike would be 
insulted. Maybe... maybe he could get them to spot-clean the duster? 
Get out the soaked-in Xander-smell, without taking away the cigarette 
and peroxide and indefinable something that marked it as Spike's? A 
week and a few days later, and the vampire still hadn't come back for 
his coat. Which was good, in the sense that Xander hadn't had it 
cleaned, as he was supposed to. Bad, in the sense that Xander 
*really* wanted to see Spike again. Good, in the sense that he wasn't 
entirely sure *why* he wanted it. 

{Got a little primeval, fucked a guy. Who happens to be a vicious 
killer, sure. Survived. Not my fault. Nobody blames Buffy for wonkin' 
Parker Abrahms over the head with a big stick while *she* was under 
the influence.} Which was a perfect excuse as far as it went, but 
didn't take into account the little second act to his and Spike's 
performance, where Xander's brain had been back in action, and he'd 
pretended to still be Cave-Xan, in order to get Spike to fuck *him*. 
Didn't take into account the fact that Spike figured out who was 
asking, somehow, and had gone through with it anyway. Sure as *hell* 
didn't cover the fact that it was the best sex Xander had ever had, 
in his admittedly limited experience. Didn't explain why, on the 
three occasions he'd seen Anya since then, he'd politely put her off, 
leaving her more and more bewildered and upset each time.

As usual, he turned from the window, spun on the pavement, and headed 
back past the UC Sunnydale campus. He never did talk to Willow 
yesterday. The encounter with Veruca had left him edgy and full of 
questions. About what he smelled, about the fact that he was seeing 
and hearing and smelling things that he'd never noticed before. 
Touching, too. He kept finding himself absently stroking the soft 
battered leather of Spike's coat... as if it were the soft icy-blond 
hair of the other man. 

He strolled across the plaza behind the Engineering building, and 
spotted Oz sitting on the back steps, staring distractedly off into 
thin air. Wearing clothes that even *Xander* would think twice about 
putting together on the same body, on the same day.

"Hey," he said, walking up and taking a seat on the cool stone steps. 
Oz nodded.

"Hey." Still looking off somewhere. 

"Nice threads, there. You been raiding my closet?" Xander nudged the 
smaller man with his elbow, and Oz at last snapped back into 
something like focus. Smiled, still not quite all there.

"Had a bit of a problem with the cage last night. Ended up playing 
mix-and-match in the student laundromat this morning."

Oh. Werewolf on the loose. Bad things. "You think you, well, the 
wolf, did anything you'd regret in the morning?"

Xander hoped not. No more guilt about bad things done under the moon. 
Buffy lived with that every day of her life; they didn't need another 
mopey lost soul trying to take responsibility for things that hadn't 
been under his control. {And we'll just pretend that *doesn't* imply 
that Angel somehow deserves to be forgiven, won't we.}

"Don't know. Don't think so, not in terms of ripping anybody a new 
anything. I hope not. If you hear anything..."

"Yeah. Definitely. Hey, Oz..." If anybody would know what he was 
feeling, it would be Oz, right? Laid-back guy with the whole 
guitarist vibe going for him, had to have some... experience with 
this kinda thing. Wouldn't laugh at Xander, anyway, or condemn him, 
and if he didn't get this thing out of his head and into words, it 
was going to eat a hole in his skull.

"Yeah?" Easy hazel eyes finally fully focusing on him, which was both 
good and bad, of course.

"You ever done anything really, really stupid...and still kind of not 
regretted it the next day?"

The pale red-head snorted softly, then smiled with the most irony 
Xander had ever seen displayed on a human face. "Did you want a list, 
or would 'Yeah,' do?"

"Wouldn't want to ruin your Guinness Book record for least words 
spoken in an entire lifetime," Xander cracked nervously. Working his 
way up to it. Oz just looked at him. Waiting. Right. Because he 
might as well have said, 'Hey, can I tell you something really 
embarrassing about myself?' {Here goes everything..}

"I...uh...think I may be gay." {Shit! What the hell did I just say?} 
But Xander really wasn't all that panicked. It had even tasted right 
as it came off his tongue, and the echo of the words in his ears 
didn't sound wrong either. Natural, like it was just part of him, 
like the new sensitivity to smell, touch, taste, sound, the 
unthinking use of his own speed and strength to stop Veruca's hand at 
his throat. Something that had been there all along; he'd simply 
never been able to look at it before.

Oz blinked slowly, and nodded. Didn't say anything.

"Is that a 'Hey, that's cool, didn't know but thanks for sharing' 
nod, or a 'Duh, you moron,' nod, or a 'Help, Xander's flipped his lid 
and I've gotta get out of here before he goes into vamp-face and rips 
my throat out' nod ?"

Another blink, and then a laugh. "Well, not the last one. It's 
daylight, for one thing."

So it was. Oops. "Good point. What about the other two?"

"Which would insult your manhood less?" his friend replied with a 
half-grin.

Xander couldn't help grinning back. Something about Oz could do that 
to you. "What... you knew? And you didn't tell me because?"

Oz shook his head. "Would you have listened?"

No, probably not, on reflection. {Harrises are pretty thick-skulled.} 
It took wild cave-sex with William the Bloody to pound the little 
fact that he liked boys more than girls into Xander Harris' brain. He 
nodded himself, conceding the point.

"So...the *stupid* thing... you're okay, right? You didn't...not use 
protection or something?" Oh. That. 

Oz had broken into polysyllables, for the sheer purpose of saying 
something that *did* send the blood rushing to Xander's face. 
Protection? He'd been cave-guy. Protection hadn't exactly been first 
and foremost on his mind. Suddenly the panic did set in... What if... 
No. He'd had sex with a *vampire*. That was the dangerous part. He 
was reasonably sure that Spike's dead body couldn't carry any of the 
big scary things into Xander's living one. {Eew. *Undead* body. 
Sounds so much better. Or. immortal. Yeah. Much less necrophilia 
implied. Immortal.} There was a brief secondary surge of panic as he 
considered what could've happened if it had been anybody *but* 
Spike... He could be dying inside, right now. But he wasn't. It 
hadn't. If he had to make the admission to himself, with the smell of 
menthol cigarettes and old leather swirling around his head...it 
probably wouldn't have happened if it had been anybody but Spike.

Oz was probably having internal hysterics, since Xander hadn't 
answered yet, and God knew what expressions had been passing over his 
face while he debated safe-sex-with-the-undead in his mind. Of 
course, internal hysterics on Oz looked like "Hmm. should I watch 
Friends, or flip on over to ABC?" on anybody else.

"No. I think I'm covered on that score. It was just the *who* that 
was probably..." {*Probably*??????} "...stupid."

Xander wasn't quite ready to share *that* much yet, so when Oz didn't 
press, he didn't volunteer. They sat in silence for a few minutes, 
each lost in his own thoughts, the rising sun warming the steps, the 
students beginning to appear in little groups, grumbling their way 
towards the first class of the day. At last Oz cocked his head at 
Xander and smiled.

"At least you found your cool thing," he said, tapping the sleeve of 
the duster.

"Cool thing? Really? You think?" Geek-Xander made an appearance. He 
hadn't really thought of it before, but yeah. The duster, the new 
appreciation of his senses, his own body... It was pretty cool. The 
new Xander laughed at himself. Yeah, it was cool, now that he didn't 
really *need* to be cool. Still, nice.

"Definitely. Whole new look. Very... wild. Primal, even."

Primal. Right. Little blonde wench sticking her skanky ass into *his* 
territory.

"Hey Oz...this Veruca chick. She's bad news. Really bad." He fixed 
his friend with a stare that he hoped said 'Don't fuck with me 
here...' 

Oz rubbed his hand roughly through his spiky hair, without 
answering. Finally... "Yeah. I noticed."

"Talk to Willow."

Oz shook his head. "No. My problem."

Xander stood up and looked out at the awakening campus. "Talk to 
Willow, Oz. Or I will. She loves you, man. You love her. Don't fuck 
it up." He walked down the steps slowly. Time to go home. Back to the 
basement. Maybe... time to think about getting his nineteen year old 
ass out of there and into an apartment.

Quiet. A quieter quietness than Oz' usual quietness, if that made any 
sense at all. Finally, just when Xander was afraid he'd gone off back 
wherever he'd been when Xander had sat down, he spoke.

"Yeah. I guess maybe I should. Hey, Xander?" 

"Yeah?"

"There's another wolf around. Could be dangerous. I'll tell Buffy, 
but everybody who's anybody should probably know too. Don't want to 
see...whoever it is... get hurt, but don't want to see innocent 
people get killed either, you know?"

Another werewolf. Yeah, that could be serious bad Hellmouth 
karma. "Gotcha. I'll call Giles, you tell Buffy. And *Willow*."

"Right. And Willow." Oz agreed softly, staring at his hands. Then he 
looked back up. "Hey, Xander?" Again. 

"Yeah?'

"It's cool. Really. You. But..."

There was a but? On the Xander gayness issue? From *Oz*, of all 
people?

"But what?" Xander answered warily.

"But you might want to get the jacket dry-cleaned," Oz said with a 
wink and a wrinkle of his nose.

*****

Spike was asleep. He'd finally fallen into that simple place, after 
what seemed like centuries of half-aware pain and delirious thoughts. 
This was easier. Dark, cool. Dreaming of simpler days. Blood in his 
mouth, a laugh in his throat. Drusilla on her knees, sucking him off, 
Angelus behind him, ploughing into him with that ruddy great monster 
of his, and it was all good. Easy. They belonged to him, he belonged 
to them. He had a place. In the middle.

If he could've seen his own body, he would've been disgusted. Laid 
out naked on a hospital gurney, strapped down, white-coats poking 
into his brain with nice sharp shiny things. Carefully ignoring the 
raging erection he was sporting. Mechanical hardness. That was all it 
was. Just a thing, reacting to the stimulus of something poking it in 
the brain. Not a man, if he ever was one. He couldn't be dreaming.

He couldn't be dreaming of watching his family break apart, of losing 
his place in the middle. He couldn't be dreaming of a dark little 
wicked princess in his arms, all he had left, or of her laughing at 
him when she said they could still be friends. Monsters don't dream. 
He couldn't be dreaming of a warm human body somewhere out there, 
full of blood and life and smelling so *damn* good, fighting like an 
animal, touching Spike like a man, and like Spike himself was still a 
man, not a monster. Monsters don't dream, and they certainly don't 
dream of Alexander Harris.

*****

Xander was sitting on the couch in his basement, reading the 
newspaper. Looking at apartment-for-rent ads, specifically. Enough 
was enough. A light knock at the interior door, and Willow was 
walking down the stairs, an odd look on her face.

"Hey, Will. Mom let you in? " 

Amazing, since his mother's last words to him about an hour ago had 
been, "And if I see any of your little friends around here, I'll just 
tell them you're packing, and they can catch you at your new place, 
right?"

Willow nodded. "She seemed cranky. "

"Yeah. We're having a little landlord-tenant dispute, so I'm 
withholding rent. Precursor to actually getting my stuff together, 
moving out, and getting a life, I might add." He held up the 
newspaper, showing her the apartments circled in red.

"How come?" Willow asked, sitting down on one arm of the couch.

Xander snorted. "Aside from the whole 'Norman Bates living in the 
basement at forty' image I carry constantly in my head at this point? 
She won't let me put a lock on my door. I suspect she's afraid I'll 
start having the sex. "

"Little late for that, isn't it?" Willow asked, grinning and blushing 
at the same time.

{More amazing. Willow making a sex joke. Giles shaves his head, Buffy 
takes Trig, and we'll have definite proof of the apocalypse.}

"Probably, yeah. Though that doesn't seem to be a real issue at the 
moment."

She looked concerned. "Things with Anya not so good?'

He shook his head. "There is no thing with Anya. Which she doesn't 
seem to want to hear, but... She's so damn gung-ho on being a real 
girl, she wants to build a little house with a white picket fence and 
move the kids in before she even finds somebody she loves to pay the 
mortgage. But enough about my lack of a life. What can I do for the 
lovely lady?"

Willow smiled, then frowned, then smiled again. "Oz... we talked. And 
he said that was partly because of you. So thank you. I guess. I 
mean, officially, stay the heck out of my love-life, but 
unofficially, thank you, and I love you, Snoopy-Butt."

Xander managed to retain some dignity, even in the face of his 
kindergarten nickname. "And also with you, Peanut Butter Breath. 
So... you talked..."

She nodded. "He's afraid... of being the wolf, I guess. Of the blonde 
Slut-Bomb, too. But he doesn't love her, and he doesn't want to want 
her. It's just pheromones or something. Especially with him being 
wolfy right now. So I'm blowing the Wicca group for tonight, and 
doing the traditional Oz-sitting thing, just like old times."

Good. They needed to be together. Needed to talk. Nobody was breaking 
up his family.

"Xander?"

"Mmmm?" Oh. Had Oz mentioned the *entire* context of their 
conversation? He hadn't actually asked the werewolf not to, but it 
would be nice to know if he was supposed to blush now or not.

"He loves me. He really does."

Xander studied her. Quirky-sweet face, shy smile, warm greenish eyes 
beneath that fringe of too-red hair. His sister, in everything but 
blood, who had taken care of him when the idiots upstairs had been 
too drunk to notice him, or, occasionally, patched him up when they 
had noticed him too much. Who had gotten him through Trig and French 
and Jesse's death and his ill-fated crush on Buffy, his insane lust-
in-the-dust-and-regret-it-later with Cordelia... And Willow had never 
hated him because he couldn't feel the same way about her as she 
thought she felt about him. Been hurt, yeah, but always came back 
with a smile. God, she was beautiful.

He goggled his eyes at her. "You doubted? You really are a big Goober 
Head!"

He pulled her off the sofa arm onto his lap, and began to tickle her 
mercilessly. Thanking whatever gods happened to be listening that A) 
He still had his *real* family and B) He had a while to figure out 
how to tell most of them about his little journey into self-
discovery... {And a big thank-you goes out to Daniel Osbourne...}


*****

There's a difference between dreaming and being out cold. When you're 
out cold, they stick things in your head. Spike was out cold, and 
likely to remain that way for a while.

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

Part Three

The sun was sinking, and Xander was helping Oz put the finishing 
touches on his new, improved WCU (Werewolf Containment Unit). New 
chain and lock on the gate in the underground room, stronger hinges. 
Willow sat on top of a huge Igloo cooler, munching on a cheeseburger, 
and watching them. The old familiar tranquilizer gun lay by her side. 
The newer one that Giles had gotten from God knew where was on patrol 
with Buffy, tonight.

"That should do it. And Buffy's out looking for this second werewolf, 
so I don't think you need to worry on that score. She'll bring it 
in, and she knows it's a person in there, so no stakings or Lone 
Rangerings to occur." He shut the barred door firmly with Oz inside, 
and locked it, handing Willow the key.

"Thanks. I owe you one. Or three." Oz smiled and sat down on the 
pile of blankets in the corner, leaning back against the wall.

"I'll leave you two alone, then," Xander said, nodding at Oz, who 
didn't owe him a damn thing. "I'm sure you've got some fascinating..."

Willow held up a large textbook.

"...Analytic Geometry to discuss. Okay, whatever..." Xander shook his 
head. If *he* were going to be stuck on one side of a cage with his 
lover on the other, he'd be reading... Wait, what lover? And what 
*would* he be reading-- the liner notes to "The Best of Sid 
Vicious" ? Gulp. Thoughts not to be thunk.

He left the little bunker with a wave, and snuck out through the 
manzanita growing thick around the entrance, pulling leaves from his 
hair as he went. So much easier when they could do this in the 
library book cage, with Oz-sitting rotation duty and easily available 
pizza delivery...

Jogging toward home as the sun faded from view, he caught a familiar 
scent. That kind of wild, kind of wrong, kind of... Veruca. Back on 
*his* turf, and the scent stronger than it had been when he was 
inches away from her, his arms pressing her up against the tree. In a 
split second, it hit him. {*Moron*! Moron!}

Better get that coat dry-cleaned. Bitching at him because she 
couldn't think of anything else to say. Then the echo in Oz' mellow 
drawl. The scent, familiar and wrong. Familiar, because it smelled 
like werewolf. Wrong, because it was female. Wrong, because it wasn't 
family. It wasn't *his*. Veruca. Who thought Oz was a big boy and 
could make his own choices. He was. He had. He'd chosen Willow.

And Willow was alone in the bunker with him, on the outside of a set 
of steel bars, and Veruca was on her way there, or was already there, 
and all Willow and Oz had was the tranquilizer gun and maybe a few 
minutes, if they were lucky. No, they had more than that. The two of 
them had Xander, who was racing back through the brush towards the 
bunker, Spike's black coat flying behind him, moving with a speed he 
would never have thought his body capable of.

Face pressed up against the stone wall next to the entrance, Xander 
listened., and felt around inside Spike's coat for something, 
anything, he could use as a weapon. There were more pockets in there 
than in a pita factory, he discovered. Inside left breast pocket: 
Very cool Zippo, and a pack of unfiltered Camels, menthol. Nice to 
know, just in case he wanted to light some incense and create a 
Spikey kind of mood, but fucking unhelpful at the moment, unless he 
wanted to attack her with second-hand smoke. Left inside hip pocket: 
ball of twine??!! Okay, useful if he ever got lost in a labyrinth, 
but unless the werewolf woman needed to floss. Right inside hip 
pocket: hip flask with something sloshing inside it that he'd have to 
investigate later, and he couldn't believe he hadn't checked the 
pockets before now. Spike would rip him a new one if he *did* have 
the coat dry-cleaned and ruined what might very well be everything 
the vampire owned. Of course, Spike might rip him a new one on 
principle, anyway. 

Strange how his thoughts seemed to be going a mile a minute, but he 
could hear the silence and the breathing inside the underground room 
as if he were right in there with them., and apparently only seconds 
had passed, unless Oz and Willow and the stranger were breathing in 
slow motion. Another little pocket sewn into the lining of the right 
side, near the waist, or what would be the waist on Spike, so a 
little higher on Xander. In that pocket, a crumpled little white bag 
of what looked like Gummi Bears, except they were shaped like little 
people. {Gummi Bears, Gummi Worms. Didn't know they made little 
Gummi Humans for vampires to munch on, but it makes sense. Come *on* 
Spike, my family's in danger. Don't you have anything *useful* in 
here?}

Yeah. Right inside breast pocket. A knife? What the hell does a 
vampire need with a knife? But it wasn't a knife. As he unfolded it, 
accidentally cutting his finger at the slightest touch, Xander 
realized it was a very long, very sharp, straight razor. With a blade 
that looked like silver. Couldn't be and hold an edge, could it? 
Maybe it was plated? It wasn't a big damn stick, but it had 
potential. {Thank you for shaving anachronistically, Spike. And soooo 
hoping that's what you actually use this for.}

Then there were words. the low voice of the werewolf bitch. And you 
could take that last word any way you wanted, Xander didn't care.

"So this is your habittrail? Very cosy. Very... domesticated. She get 
you a little collar and a big bone, too? Or do you only get big bones 
for your own kind?"

Oz' reply was... a little jumpy. Which, for Oz, meant he was scared 
shitless. "Veruca, get out of here. There's someone out hunting you, 
and maybe you should let her find you. She should be in Reder Park 
about now. She won't hurt you, and we can figure out some way to keep 
you safe."

"Safe?" the dark voice laughed. "Who the hell wants to be safe, 
Rover? Can't you feel it? The tingle? The cool of the moon, the heat 
in the blood? Right before sunset, I get a little buzzed, you know?"

"He asked you to leave." Willow's voice trembled, but there was 
Xander's brave girl. Oz' brave girl. "I'm asking you to leave."

"You care about what your little honey wants, fetch-boy? Does she 
even know what I am? What we did? Because I'm thinking... you in 
there... me out here.. I bet there's a key on her somewhere, and 
things would sure be easier if she weren't in the picture at all... "

The moon was rising. Xander slipped in through the doorway, and 
Veruca whirled around to face him.

"What, like I couldn't *smell* you? You're *bleeding*, for God's 
sake. What kind of moron *are* you?" she growled.

"The kind who wants your skanky ass away from my friends, *now*," 
Xander replied, going for the tranq gun as Veruca's eyes began to 
turn black, and Oz howled helplessly from inside the cage, throwing 
himself against the bars.

"Don't let her hurt Willow!" was the last thing the male werewolf 
managed to choke out before he too became a snarling, spitting, fur-
covered beast-- like the one that was launching itself at Xander. No, 
not at Xander-- at Willow. Oz was right.

Xander pulled the trigger on the tranq gun.and it jammed in his hand. 
Shit. Piece of useless. Knocking Willow out of the way, he shoved the 
butt of the gun into the Veruca-wolf's face, but the creature ripped 
it from his hand like it was a plastic bottle of suntan lotion and 
Xander was Malibu Ken. Sharp teeth snapped at him, and he kicked out 
without thinking, landing an Adidas-shod foot in the werewolf's face. 
{Okay, body--work now.} The wolf fell back for a moment, and then 
sprang forward onto him. They tussled, Xander mostly trying to avoid 
getting his throat completely ripped out, and incidentally hoping he 
didn't get bitten at all, since if he survived, one werewolf in the 
group was probably enough. The leather coat seemed to be protecting 
him from the worst of the werewolf's claw-swipes, but it was only a 
matter of seconds before she would manage to tear her way through it 
or bite his head off.

Willow had scrambled back into the corner, and as Xander and the wolf 
played a deadly game of Twister, she began chanting something. 

"Silver spun by three times three, one of moon and two of sun. 
Creature of the darkened tides, let your strength be now undone. 
Silver spun by three times three." Nothing seemed to be happening, 
except that the wolf noticed Willow again, and scrambled off Xander 
with a fierce howl, diving at the corner where Willow was curled into 
a ball, still chanting.

"Silver spun by three times three, one of moon and two of sun. 
Creature of the darkened tides, let your strength be now un-DONE!" On 
the third repetition, at the end of the last syllable, there was a 
moment. Just one bright, silvery moment, when the monster that had 
been Veruca was airborne, hurtling at Willow with the speed of an 
Olympic sprinter on uppers. and then there was nothing. No movement, 
just the wolf frozen in the air, and Xander flipping open the silver-
bladed razor, and diving in slow-motion himself, slicing it across 
the darkness, across the *thing* that was trying to hurt Willow, 
across the werewolf's throat. As time became itself again, blood 
spattered the coat, the floor, and Xander, who ended up in a crumpled 
heap beneath the motionless furred body.

*****

"What do you think you're doing?" Xander asked from the doorway of 
Oz' room in the house that the guitarist shared with the rest of the 
Dingoes.

"Packing," Oz replied shortly. Pun intended, on Xander's part. The 
small, thin guy was shoving clothes and a few books into a carry-all, 
looking at nothing but what he was doing, certainly not at Xander.

"Why?"

"Because I've got to get out of here. Willow doesn't need anybody as 
dangerous as me in her life. If I'd been on the other side of that 
cage, it could've been me whose throat you had to cut." Which may 
just have been more words than Xander had ever heard out of Oz' lips 
at one time.

"And I would've," Xander answered simply. "Because that's what you'd 
want me to do. But it wasn't you, because you were willing to go into 
that cage in the first place. Veruca wasn't. She knew what she was, 
and she knew she'd hurt people, and she *wanted* to, Oz. "

Oz turned to face him. "And you stopped her. "

Xander nodded. "Well, me and Glinda the Ass-Kicking Witch. And you."

"Me?" The human werewolf, one night left of his three-day danger 
zone, looked at him in confusion.

"You. You probably don't remember the spell Willow cooked up out of 
her own pointy little head, seeing as you were out of yours at the 
time. Silver spun by three times three. You. Me. Willow. You and 
Willow. Me and Willow. You and me. Three times three. One of moon and 
two of sun. Us, together. Family. You don't get to walk out on this 
because you think she's better off without you. That kinda shit went 
out with Deadboy."

Oz sat down on the bed, carry-all on his knees. "I slept with Veruca. 
That first night."

Xander wandered into the room, not looking too closely at Oz, 
examining the posters on the walls, the weird little art objects on 
the shelves, and what he was pretty sure was an elaborately disguised 
bong on the milk-crate coffee table next to the stereo. Finally, when 
he thought it was fair to look Oz in the face, he did.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that was what 'Does she even know what we 
did?' meant. But that was the wolf, not you."

"The wolf *is* me, Xander. Veruca was right about that. I don't know 
how much of me was there, or how much of it is in me right now." Oz 
tossed the bag of clothes to one side and stood up. Walked to the 
door. Walked back. Like a caged werewolf.

"So you stay here and find out. And we help you. Giles. Buffy. Me. 
And Willow. Just like before. You don't stop being family just 
because you go off to college. Willow won't stop loving you just 
because you broke out of your cage. And you haven't stopped loving 
her."

Oz was still pacing, the laid-back guy looking more and more lost 
every minute, replaced by. somebody who was afraid.

Xander walked over to Oz, and just. hugged him. Wrapped his arms 
around the thin shoulders and stood there. That was all he could do, 
all he had to offer, besides whatever he could coax out of his 
mouth. "Don't wimp out on us now, Oz. I had the balls to come out to 
you, you can have the balls to stay here and work this out with 
Willow. With yourself."

They stood there like that for a minute or so, until at last Oz 
pulled away, just a little, and grinned faintly. "Yeah, I guess that 
*was* pretty ballsy, coming from you."

"Thank you, I think. Or I'm insulted. Or thank you," Xander replied 
with a laugh just as tentative.

"Am I interrupting something?" Willow asked from the doorway. Xander 
jumped quickly back, then laughed at himself.

"Yeah, I guess it's about time you knew, Wills. Oz and I are 
engaged." He waggled his ringless left hand at her, and she giggled, 
until she noticed Oz' bag lying on the bed, clothes spilling out onto 
the comforter.

"Oz?" she asked, the confusion and fear evident in her eyes, on her 
furrowed brow, as she walked up to her boyfriend. "You're leaving?"

Oz shook his head. Took her in his arms, as Xander leaned on the 
doorframe and watched. "Thought so, but somebody convinced me that 
would be a stupid idea."

Willow looked over Oz' shoulder at Xander, who shrugged, with a 
silent 'Who, me?' on his face.

"Really? Who?" she asked, rubbing her face against his hair.

"You. My whole life, I've never loved anyone else."

*****

Xander stood on the pavement in front of the dry cleaner's. Again. 
He'd done the best he could with leather cleaning solution from the 
expensive leather goods store in the mall, but the coat still carried 
the scent of his own pleasure, in addition to the strange smoky-
bleachy-minty something that was Spike. Now there was an additional 
smell, of death and fear and family. Some of which should probably 
come out, if Spike was ever going to take the duster back.

Again, he glanced at the prices. It wasn't that he couldn't afford 
it, though money was going to be tight for the next few weeks if he 
wanted to get out of the basement and into a *real* apartment. It was 
just. He slung the coat over his shoulder and began walking towards 
Giles' place. {They probably charge extra for getting werewolf blood 
out, anyway.} he thought as he strode down the street. Wondering, for 
the most part, just where the hell Spike was, that the vampire hadn't 
come to claim his precious leather, or the guy who was still wearing 
it.



*****

End.