The approaching night smelled wild.

Oz breathed deep and let his nose select flavours from the air around him. Familiar and close was the scent of exhaust and asphalt, tar and cities, and the sweat of people who have been driving all day in the heat. Beneath it was the older stench of beer and smoke, the nightclubs where the Dingoes had played, and the leftover Mexican food from lunch. The old van grumbled as Oz pushed for a little more speed. The freeway was nearly deserted, strange for this time of day, but surely not many people wanted to arrive in Sunnydale after dark. The sun was fizzling out in the ocean on his right, painting the sky bronze and gold, making the water seem deeper and farther away.

Oz flicked a glance at Willow, who was staring absently out the passenger window at the steep hillside covered in bracken. The dying sun glinted copper in her hair. She smelled good--a little like her favourite shampoo, a little like motel bar-soap, a little like magic--herbs and lightning--and a little like him. His scent, mixing with hers. It was a good thing, a right thing. She turned to him and grinned, her green eyes filled with happiness. He hadn't turned his head, even, only let his eyes linger for a second, but she knew. Another right thing.

This trip had been a good one, for the Dingoes, and for them. The dives the band had played in were dingy, dull, smoky, and dim, but better than some he'd seen. And Willow had been there, braving the drunks and choking atmosphere to be roadie and cheering section. Her parents had barely asked her where she was going, or for how long, and he knew there would be even fewer questions when she returned. The Dingoes had found another gig and stayed in L.A. an extra day, but he didn't suppose Willow's parents would even notice...if they noticed her return at all. His nose twitched, remembering the scent of Willow's parents: dry martinis and bleach, expensive cigars and new plastic. The real them was hidden under all their perfumes, and it made him feel like he didn't know them at all. He didn't; and it saddened him, because he knew Willow didn't either. They were less substantial than ghosts.

"Oz? You okay?" Willow was looking at him, her eyebrows knit with concern. Silence between them on these long trips wasn't uncommon, but she always seemed to know what he was feeling, when he was thinking strange thoughts.

"Hmm." He nodded. Strange thoughts. All these scents. The bushes on Willow's side were passing more quickly now, and he stared at the spedometer for a moment before realising he should ease off the gas. The ocean was a golden puddle now, dissolving the sun.

Willow hesitated, looked down at her hands on her lap, and stopped. She wanted to say something, but she was afraid she would start babbling, he knew. He didn't mind her talk; there was always something interesting buried in the avalanche of words she let out, and he lived to hear it. It always embarrassed her, though. If he weren't driving, he might silence her with a kiss, but often listening was better...for a while. He sent her a reassuring look, and her happy grin returned. So easy between them, quiet. Things were easier between them, now, better than any time since before she and Xander had--done what they had. No use thinking about it.

But he had thought about it, and he shifted in his seat, suddenly restless. Willow looked up again, and this time her wide smile faltered.

"This was a lot of fun, wasn't it? This is pretty much the trippiest thing I've ever done. I'm a world-traveler wannabe, and this is the farthest I've been from Sunnydale...strange, huh? I mean, uh, I wanted to thank you, for, you know, taking me..."

"Yeah. It was good." Oz tried to smile at her. But the goodness had gone from the evening. Instead of fading, the day's heat seemed to grow suddenly, pulsing off the blacktop in waves. The flat bronze light of the sunset was too bright, and Oz felt a sudden longing for the night's concealment. He rolled down his window to let the hot wind wash over him, bringing him a million scents that he had no name for. They didn't need names. A wolf didn't name; he only knew. A brief thundershower earlier had dampened the earth, and now the air carried all the smell-details of wood and dirt and leaves and salt spray directly to him. Pretty intense.

Hot, though. Maybe he could take his share of the Dingoes' money and look at getting air conditioning in the van. The other guys might not go for it. They were driving in Devon's car, and probably figured the equipment didn't need to keep cool.

"Uh, Oz?"

"Yeah?"

"You're going kinda fast...are you sure you're okay?"

The spedometer indicator had somehow worked its way up again. Oz took his foot off the pedal and let them coast for a while, until they were under the speed limit. Not like him to push the van. They'd be home soon enough, he supposed. He didn't really want the trip to end, because at home he was trapped. Not a fun feeling. He looked past Willow, out her window, to where the sharp slope had leveled out some. The bushes looked cool and inviting. The leaves would brush damply across his coat, the loam would shift under his paws, and he could hunt--

He shook his head. "Willow?"

"What?" Willow leaned across the seat towards him, laying her hand on his arm. "Oz, you're all sweaty all of a sudden. Maybe you should pull over? You might need a drink, it's been so hot, and you don't want sunstroke."

Oz looked at her hand, and felt himself quiver under her touch. Not safe, that touch. It smacked of danger, of the cage. Nervousness tanged her scent, made it stick to the back of his throat. Something was wrong. He needed to run, get away. He needed darkness to cover his trail. It was almost dark. Good.

"What--what day is it?"

"Thursday--"

"The date, what's today's date?" Oz shook his head. Willow recoiled at the harshness of his voice. He almost growled in frustration. Where was that understanding now?

"It's--" Green eyes widened and stared at him. Her mouth dropped open, and then: "Oh, my God, Oz, it's tonight! We forgot!"

Oz could hear worry in her voice now. Nervousness had changed to fear. Salty. Sweat. More words.

"Remember, w-we decided to take that last gig, and then we stayed over one more night--and--I can't believe we forgot, we're out of school now and it's just, there's no routine in summer, and I didn't bring my almanac on the trip, and Oz, oh, I'm so sorry. What are we going to do?"

Willow stared past him, out across the ocean. The sun was dipping below the horizon.

"Pull over, Oz. Do it now." Oz focused on her command and braked hard, putting in the clutch and jolting the van off the road, onto the shoulder and then into the gravel below the wooded slope. Willow unbuckled her seat belt and slid towards him, yanking the keys out of the ignition and slamming on the parking brake. Oz leaned back, away from her. The smell of her. It was so close now, sweet and tangy, the fear strongest but beneath it he could smell himself. He'd marked her. She was his. Delicious.

"Oz! Oz, listen. Do you have chains with you?"

Oz shook his head. He had to reach deep for words. "I'm sorry, Willow."

"Can you--like, hold it?" Willow winced. "I know, no, you're not a little kid waiting for the next rest station. This isn't going to--what am I going to do?"

"I'm--I've got to get out."

"Oz, we're in the middle of nowhere! There's, like, nothing between L.A. and Sunnydale. You'll get lost. Oz--"

He didn't listen, didn't hear her. He reached for his seat belt, fumbled with it, felt a sudden fear--he was trapped! They'd strapped him down!--and then he ripped it off. He clawed at the door handle, growled when it didn't give, and then saw that the door was still locked. He finally opened it, and tumbled out into the deepening darkness. With a roar, he turned back and smashed the door closed behind him. Willow rolled up the window, her face pale and tear-streaked. "I'm sorry, Oz. I'll get help. I'll get Buffy. We'll find you. Just, when you wake up, just stay still, okay? Oz?"

Oz shook himself, felt his pelt settling around him, the constricting clothes torn away. He lifted his head and let the night air into his nostrils. The man-things, road and van, were too close, stinky, a barrier between him and his prey. Far away, he could hear small things creeping through the bushes, mice and voles. Meat. The female he'd wanted was close, but he was blocked by the hot metal and slippery glass. He knew he could batter through it, but something stopped him. Fear? Did he fear her? But she was his. He must get to her.

Oz launched himself against the side of the van, his claws scrabbling at the door, his fangs snapping at the window. But this wasn't right, he remembered. This was Willow. He shouldn't eat her. She must leave him here. There was so much out there that was good for eating. She must leave. He must tell her so.

"Willow, drive!" he shouted. It emerged a howl, high and lonely.

The van roared to life, vibrating, and Oz scrambled backwards, away from its sudden movement. It jerked forward, slowly, and then it was gone, into the darkness. Red eyes disappeared around a corner.

And Oz cocked his head, listening to a different world, the wolf's world, high in the forest behind him. That was where he must go. He must hunt, find meat, and feed. With a final snort, he leapt through the bushes, up the slope, and into the wilderness.

Willow pulled Oz's van up in front of Buffy's house and slid out, trying not to look at the dents and scratched paint on the door as she slammed it shut. She ran to the door, breathless with tears and fright. Buffy should be home from patrol. Willow could tell her everything and they could get the tranq gun and start the search for Oz. She found the door locked and pounded on it. She'd probably wake Mrs. Summers, but there was no way she'd be able to climb up to Buffy's window.

Lights came on in the living room, and the deadbolt snicked back. There was a pause, and then the door opened. Joyce stood in the doorway, her hair messed, a robe thrown hastily around her shoulders.

"Willow!" she said. "I was hoping--I thought it might be Buffy..."

She stepped back from the threshold. Willow came inside, not waiting for the invitation that Joyce had learned not to issue. "Buffy's not here?" she asked.

"No." Joyce closed the door and locked it again. "But you've just come back, haven't you? You wouldn't know..."

Willow scrunched her face up with apprehension. If Buffy weren't back-- "Know what?" she asked.

"Buffy and Mr. Giles were hunting a demon tonight. She left this morning to question Willy, and that's the last I've seen of her. And it's nearly two..." Joyce pushed the curtains back and looked out into the yard. She shivered, crossed her arms, and sighed. "This is never going to get any easier," she said, mostly to herself, but Willow nodded. And now here she came, to dump another problem on Buffy's plate. Another worry for her mom.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Summers."

Joyce nodded, but kept staring out into the darkness. "That's all right, Willow. I'm sure she's fine." She said the words like a prayer, or a spell of protection--often repeated, but eventually meaningless. Willow bit her lip.

"Maybe she's at Giles' apartment?" she suggested. "Maybe they killed it--whatever they were after--and, I don't know, maybe she didn't want to wake you, coming home."

Joyce shook her head. "That girl could sneak in and out of this place a hundred times a night and I wouldn't notice. I always thought I was a light sleeper, but Buffy--well. It won't hurt to call." She led the way into the kitchen and watched as Willow dialled the familiar number.

The phone rang and kept ringing. Willow shook her head at Joyce's inquiring look. She was beginning to think Giles wasn't home--he always answered, no matter what, and there was a phone right next to his bed, so even if he were asleep he ought to pick up. What if the demon had--but that couldn't be, wasn't even worthy of thinking about. The buzzing sound cut off mid-ring.

"Hello?" The voice was deep and mumbly with sleep.

Willow breathed a quick sigh of relief. "Giles? Did I wake you?"

"Hmm...yes." He seemed to shake himself alert and continued, "It's not a problem. Is that you, Willow?"

"Yeah." Willow leaned against the island in the middle of the kitchen. Joyce was heating water for tea, but obviously listening as hard as she could. "Uh, are you okay? It kinda took you a while--"

"I was quite soundly asleep. I was--rather thoroughly exhausted."

"I'm sorry, Giles--" Willow apologized uncertainly. There was something in Giles' voice that suggested the exhaustion wasn't a bad thing.

"It isn't your fault, Willow. I, uh, I recently suffered from a concussion, in connection with a slight incidence of demon activity while you were away. What can I help you with?"

"Um--" Willow hesitated. She hadn't wanted to tell Giles at all about Oz--he'd probably lecture her about responsibility and the predictability of the lunar cycle--but Giles sounded somehow not like himself, kind of relaxed, and like he would be happy if she spit it out and he wouldn't have to do anything about it. Like he didn't really want to know what was wrong. Like he wanted to get her off the phone. And he hadn't even mentioned Buffy.

Through the phone, there was a muffled grunt, and then some mumbling, and she heard Giles say, "It's Willow." After a long pause and several more clunking noises--the phone getting banged around--Buffy's voice muttered, "You worry too much. Give it."

"Buffy?" Willow asked. "Is that you?"

Joyce's eyes widened and she reached for the phone. Willow shook her head and gripped the receiver tighter. What was going on? "Buffy?" she asked again.

"Hey, Will." Buffy sounded nervous, like she'd been caught at something, and a horrible suspicion flooded through Willow. She shook her head, trying to escape a bad, bad visual place. There was no way. She had a dirty mind. How many times had Buffy fallen asleep at Giles' place--after slaying, or research? Willow grimaced. She couldn't remember a single instance. But that didn't mean anything. Nothing at all. "Uh, Buffy, are you--I mean, how are things? I hear there was a demon? Did you--how did that go?"

"Oh, fine, you know me, I'm an apocalypse magnet." Buffy's answer was off-hand, a little too casual. She paused, then added, "Giles and me got with the slaying...he went a little Exorcist on me, but we worked through it--long story, really. Did you and Oz just get in? It's pretty late...how does your mom feel about you getting dropped off by your musician boyfriend?" She tried to tease, but Willow could hear the strain in her voice. There was something going on.

Joyce was gesturing urgently for the phone now, but Willow ignored her. "Actually, uh, I'm at your place right now."

"My house? Is--is my mom there?"

Willow glanced at Joyce. She was glaring. Willow gave an apologetic shrug. What must she be thinking about the side of the conversation she could hear? "Yeah. Did you want to--?"

"No!" Buffy's voice was nearly a shout. "I mean--why are you there? Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's Oz." Tears sprang to her eyes at the memory of the wolf attacking the van. "Know what day it is?" she asked bitterly.

There was a pause, and then, "Oh. Oh, Willow. What happened? Where is he?"

Willow shrugged and sniffled. "We were about halfway home. It was sunset. We'd both forgotten. He was acting kinda--different. Restless. And then we realised, and he got out, and turned, and I had to leave him...It's all my fault."

"No, Will, if you both forgot--"

"I'm supposed to be the witch. I'm supposed to be in tune with nature. The moon is supposed to be my guide." Willow glanced at Joyce. She was stirring two cups of tea, and pushed one across the countertop. Willow tried to smile at her, but it didn't do much to change the anxious look on Joyce's face.

"Well, yeah, but if you were both having a good time..." Buffy's voice trailed off. "I mean--oh, I'm kinda sucking at being supporto-girl here. I don't know. But we'll do something."

"I don't know where he is, Buffy. And I don't know how far he can go. What if he wakes up and he's lost and he wanders and--"

"Oz will know better than that. You'd better get over here, Will. Giles and me--" There was a pause, and Willow could tell that Buffy was muffling the phone with her hand. There was a brief whispered conference, and then Buffy's voice returned. "We'll be waiting for you. Don't worry. We'll figure something out. We'll find him."

Buffy hung up. Willow sat for a long moment, listening to the dial tone buzz in her ear. She let the receiver click onto its stand, and reached for her tea, and the heat of the china against her icy fingers calmed her. Joyce watched her carefully, sipping at her own cup.

"Are you all right, Willow?" she asked finally.

Willow nodded. "I'll be okay, I guess."

"Then may I ask what my daughter is doing at two o'clock in the morning other than being safe asleep in her own bed? And why she obviously refused to speak with me?"

Willow cringed away from the questions. She didn't know if she even wanted answers to them...but she was afraid she was going to get them whether she wanted them or not. What was Buffy doing? "I don't know, Mrs. Summers. They killed that demon, you know, so you don't need to worry about that part. Buffy's fine. I think Giles was hurt..."

"That was yesterday's excuse. Can't the man heal on his own?" Joyce muttered. She placed her emptied cup into the sink. "I'm sorry, Willow. I know you have other problems right now. And best friends don't talk to mothers. It's against the code, I'm pretty sure I remember that part." She smiled, but it was a rough affair. "I hope you find Oz soon."

"Thanks," Willow said. "I'll--I'll tell Buffy to phone you. I've got to go now."

"Of course." Joyce followed her to the front door and unlocked it. "Just try to remind her that she has a mother."

"Okay." Willow checked outside quickly for lurking shadows, and then ran for the van. She climbed in, started it, and looked back. Joyce was still at the front door, watching her, and Willow gave her a tiny reassuring wave. Joyce nodded and returned inside. How much had happened since she and Oz had been gone? What was Buffy doing at Giles' house--surely it was something as innocent as playing nurse? She was probably misconstruing the whole situation. But from the sound of their voices, that wasn't the case. Willow squirmed at the thought of confronting them. She squared her shoulders and put the van in gear. For Oz, she'd brave even the thought of Buffy and Giles. Together. Like that.

"I'm never going on a road trip again," she muttered, and drove towards Giles' apartment.

"Stop pacing, Giles. Don't you know enough not to make a girl dizzy on the first date?" Buffy grinned and lay back on the bed. "Not that I'm not appreciating the view, you understand."

Giles finished buttoning his pants and turned towards her, still shirtless. "Willow is going to arrive at any moment..."

"And when she does, she's going to have to deal. Giles, she's the smart one. I think she's already caught up." Buffy reached across the bed to replace the receiver on its cradle. "This," she said, and waved at the bed, and her own clothes scattered around the room, "is not the problem. It's Oz."

"I shouldn't have let them go on that trip. I knew the time was near..." Giles snatched a shirt off the lamp and pulled it over his shoulders, starting to button it up.

Buffy frowned. "Giles, this isn't anyone's fault. You're not responsible for Willow and Oz...and they forgot, and Xander's gone, and I've been a mess and not paying attention...It's happened. Now we'll fix it."

Giles grunted and reached through the half-buttoned shirt to rub at the scabbed-over sword slice across his chest. Buffy caught his hand before he could scratch.

"No touchee. You let that heal, mister, or I'll--"

Giles pressed his hands over hers and pulled her suddenly close. "You'll what?" he asked, his voice deepening, leaning over her as she kneeled on the bed in front of him. He was so warm, the heat of his body extending like an aura around him. So different...

Buffy grinned up at him. "Get dressed and wait for Willow downstairs."

He returned the smile and let her go. "Very effective."

"I try." Buffy made a brief show of gathering up her clothing, enjoying the way his breathing changed when she bent down to retrieve her top. After she'd overnight-expressed the Koeshmar demon straight back to the hell dimension it had dared to poke its head out of, she and Giles had come back here, and--well, and now she didn't know whether Willow's interruption was resentable or relief-worthy. No morning-after awkwardness, but no more smoochies either. And if there was one thing Giles could do better than research or Watching or training, it was--that. She glanced at him and blushed. He was still watching her, one eyebrow quirked, as he rewrapped his injured hand in fresh gauze. The sword cut was deep, but he'd convinced her that it wasn't quite deep enough for stitches, and that he hadn't lost any use in his fingers.

"I've gotta change." Buffy bunched her clothes up in front of her and sat on the bed across from him. "Are you done?"

Giles let out a huff of laughter. "You've rediscovered modesty? After--everything?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Maybe I just figure we could spare Willow the squickiness of finding us both up here."

"Ah, and I thought you were trying to convince me that she had us dead to rights with one word over the telephone." He rose and circled the bed, then bent to kiss her gently. "Don't worry, love. I won't push you." He went to the door and looked back. "When you're ready."

He clattered down the stairs. Buffy sighed and flopped back on the bed, turning her head into the pillow and breathing deeply of his scent. She hadn't had much sleep in the past few days, what with watching over Giles to make sure his concussion wasn't serious last night, and this night being filled with activities of a more fun variety. The sound of the phone had roused her out of the best sleep she'd had since she'd become the Slayer. No prophetic dreams. No dreams at all. Just this deep warmth that sucked her in and left her drifting, like floating in a hot tub. The ringing, and Giles' voice answering, had pulled her abruptly awake, caught her heart and stilled it. He was talking to someone else, and pretty soon he'd be sliding out of bed, and away. Out. Elsewhere, leaving her behind.

She'd shaken the feeling pretty quick, but for a moment it had held her too tight, stealing the air from her lungs. There was way too much leaving in her life. She needed him. She'd watched him as she talked on the phone, his face peaceful under the glow of the bedside lamp. His fingers brushed over her arm as she spoke with Willow, though he'd looked at her sharply when she'd said she didn't want to talk to Mom.

Buffy sat up and spread out the shirt she'd worn last night. The rain had done bad things to it, and she grimaced. Mom was not very understanding about all the leather clothes she felt she just had to have--and especially the ones she bought before she'd thought out exactly the reason why they were so necessary to her wardrobe. Mom was a lot of things, but accepting of new developments...like shopping spree credit card bills, her Slaying, the whole thing with Angel...was not one of them. How could she go home and announce Giles as her boyfriend? Even the word didn't really fit him. What else was there? True love? Soul mate? Really hot British guy who was a great lover with lots of stamina?

Mom might understand that last one.

"Oh, eew," she muttered. "Why worry about Willow when I can gross myself out?"

She tossed the ruined shirt onto the floor, pulled on the rest of her clothes quickly, and then picked one of Giles' button-down shirts from his closet. It was one she liked seeing on him--perhaps because it was so tight--which meant it only hung on her a little bit when she put it on. She rolled up the sleeves and knotted the tails in front to keep them from dangling. She finger-combed her hair, making a disgusted noise because the closest she'd been to a shower recently was the rainstorm earlier, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

She bounced down the stairs into the living room. Giles offered her a cup of tea and she accepted with a smile that deepened when their fingers touched around the china.

"Nice shirt," he said as he settled on the couch.

"I thought so. Sugar?"

"You're ruining a perfectly good cup of Earl Grey."

"Thank you, Captain Picard." Buffy fixed her tea to her taste, then sat down beside him and leaned into his chest. "I hope Willow's okay--with us, with Oz."

She listened to the rumble of his voice under her ear. "I have camping gear, and we have the tranquilizer gun. I'm certain we can track Oz. As for the other--I don't think we can expect Willow to be completely calm about it. This is all rather abrupt. I hope we weren't too hasty..."

"You don't think so, do you?"

Giles didn't answer for a long moment, and Buffy felt her hands go suddenly cold against the tea cup. At least he was still here...and not evil...maybe that's all she could expect.

At last, he sat up straighter, and set down his cup. Buffy angled herself to look at him. His face was solemn, but his fingers were gentle as they traced the line of her face. "I love you, Buffy. But I cannot forget the fact that this, between us, isn't going to be well regarded by some people."

"Mom, you mean."

Solemn gave way to sadness. Buffy wanted nothing more than to erase that look from his face, and she pressed herself upwards to kiss him. "What other people think isn't what's important," she whispered into his lips, and let the kiss grow, an uncomplicated, undemanding twining of mouths and breaths. Half-twisted on his lap, Buffy pressed one hand into his shoulder, while the other still balanced her tea precariously. When she backed off, she was glad to see Giles' familiar slight grin ease over his face. "'S'good?"

"Rather."

"All right then."

A tentative knock at the door made them both struggle to disentangle themselves. Giles opened the door and Willow rushed through. Buffy set her tea cup down and Willow ran to her, throwing herself into a hug worthy of a Slayer. Buffy hugged her back, carefully, feeling Willow tremble in her arms.

"Willow, it's okay, it's going to be okay."

Willow backed off and smiled through her tears. "I believe you. It's just, it happened right in front of me--and I didn't see it coming--and, I'm worried about him, Buffy."

"Hey, it's all right. Oz is probably the baddest thing in those woods. And he can't hurt anybody, he's too far from anywhere, right?"

Giles stepped up beside her and put a reassuring hand on Willow's shoulder. "Buffy is correct, Willow. There's no threat that Oz might kill a person, and in his werewolf form he is far too formidable for any wild animal to take on. The most important thing we can do is find him quickly, tomorrow."

Willow smiled up at him nervously. "So, no lecture then?"

"Now is not the time..."

"What he means is, he'll lecture you after he's had a chance to look up all the best words in the thesaurus. These things aren't speech-worthy at the drop of a hat, you know." Buffy tugged Willow over to the couch and sat her down, offering her the tea. "We'll go out as soon as it's sunrise. Right now, we'll get the stuff ready."

"There's got to be stuff? What kind of stuff?" Willow curled herself around the tea, staring down into its depths and not looking up.

Giles answered, "Oz is quite capable of travelling long distances while in the wolf-form. We may need to follow him for some time. I have all the appropriate gear." Buffy flicked her fingers at him, shooing him away so that she could talk to Willow. He nodded, and said, "I'll get started on that."

Buffy sat cross-legged, facing Willow, and stroked a hand down her shoulder. "Will you be okay to come with us?"

Willow looked up, a faint surprise on her face. "You need me?"

"Will, of course."

"I thought you were just going to go all Tarzan on me, like, the great tracker, leaving me by the phone..."

Buffy shook her head. "We wouldn't do that. When did we ever do that?"

Willow shrugged, tilted her head, and stared for a long moment. "Never before. But it's different now, isn't it?"

Buffy shifted, moved to hug her knees. She'd told Giles that Willow knew, that she could figure it out, but still she'd kind of hoped that they could hash this out at some time that was other. "Different?" she asked in what she hoped was a pretty dim-witted tone.

"Buffy, you remember when Xander said he could probably talk to Faith...because they had this--you know--connection?"

Buffy nodded.

"And you said, 'oh', and Giles said 'oh', and you both looked at me, except I'd kinda gotten it a minute before?" Willow's face twisted into a half-smile. "Well, I'm feeling like we're a minute before again, except for it's now, and pretty soon there's going to be a whole bunch of 'oh's, and you're expecting them to be mine, but I'm thinking they won't be, because, like, this shirt and everything."

"And no matter what they say, I think your sentences are perfectly understandable. So, uh, what do you think?"

Willow shrugged. "Okay, I'll say it, I'm weirded out. But I've always kinda thought Giles had it going on."

"No way!" Buffy leaned forward, letting go of her knees. "You do?"

Willow smiled tremulously. "Yeah. Well, he does."

"No argument here. How long?"

"Since he became librarian, duh. I walked in there one day, and there he was, holding a book, and he looked up, and smiled..."

Buffy grinned, and glanced in the direction of the basement stairs, where Giles had disappeared to attend to the packing. "I can imagine."

"But you never did. Until now?"

At Willow's tone, Buffy looked back. "No. But yesterday..." She stopped. "I probably shouldn't be going on like this. We can talk about it later. You're worried about Oz; and probably tired. Maybe you should crash before we get started?"

"Well, it's true he's okay for now. It's just, everything was going so well, and then, poof, big slobbering hairy thing trying to kill me."

Buffy winced. "Yeah," she said softly. "I know." No matter what you thought you had, life was always out to get you when you lived on a hellmouth. One day love, the next day monster. And what if life did that to her again?

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I know, with Angel...and the leaving..."

"It's okay about him. He's gone, I get it. And I've been realising how much not-comfortable stuff we had. It's just--Giles..."

Willow raised her eyebrows, surprised. "Giles would never--"

"Become evil? I guess I know that. It's other stuff. Mom."

"She's worried about you."

Buffy nodded. "Nothing new there."

"And..." Willow paused. "I think she kinda suspects..." She gave an exaggerated nod towards the basement, and stage-whispered, "You know."

"Yeah." Buffy smiled again, a faraway, dreamy look. The you-know was maybe worth even trying to explain all this to Mom. Nothing like Angel's cold carefulness. Nothing like anything, really. Her smile widened. It was just...Giles, warm and tender but with this hardness and humour underneath. Amazing.

"Uh, Buffy?" Willow prodded her knee with a finger. "Um, maybe you don't want to tell me...and I know I said I get it, and all, but, um, so, did you? Really?"

"For the first time ever," Buffy answered. "And he's only got one hand right now."

"Oh, that is so not what I was asking. Vicarious smoochies, okay, I can deal, but that is a bit TMI."

"Oops, sorry." Buffy flushed. "Uh...and so...those crazy politicians, am I right? How 'bout them Dodgers? Quite the hot spell we've been having?"

Willow rolled her eyes. "And so we come to the not-helpful portion of the evening."

Buffy blushed harder. "I--um--I just..."

"It's okay, I get it. I get too much, but 'it' is in there somewhere." Willow pushed herself to her feet. "Maybe you're right, maybe sleep will help. If I can. Sleep."

Buffy gave her another quick hug. "Giles and I can pack. I'll get you a blanket, and a pillow...you can take the couch. The bed's a mess."

Willow shook her head again. "Just say 'I'm a supportive friend' three times and tap your heels together, and you're back in non-scary visual place," she muttered, glancing sideways at Buffy.

"All right, all right, I hear you. We will talk, and we will hike, and we will find Oz, and everything will be as right as it can be in a world where I have to tell my mother that, while at least my boyfriend's not two hundred and forty-three, she still won't like where I've stopped rounding the number down."

Willow nodded decisively. "Good. Then we're all right."

Buffy smiled. "Thank you, Willow," she said. "For dealing."

"It's okay." Willow touched her arm. "Now, just point me to the blankets, and don't--uh--anything--while I'm asleep."

"I may have to take back that comment about dealing..."

"Just don't."

"Fine, fine. I'll wake you when it's time to go."

WHEN WILL THERE BE MORE?

...Probably never.

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