Bewitched, Chapter 25

[thismaz]

Title: Bewitched, Chapter 25
Pairing: S/X. I promise it will get back there... eventually.
Rating: This chapter PG-13
Summary: Valentine's Day arrived and Dru dipped her finger in the brew, giving it a stir. That was two years ago; the fall-out is still falling.
Word Count: 1,960
Betaed by sparrow2000 and DJ, for which, many thanks. Thanks also to Sparrow for conflabbing on plot twists and forms.
Comments: Are greatly appreciated, loved and cherished.
Disclaimer: here.
Prologue here, with a link to the other chapters, or you can find the whole thing, in reverse order, in tags, or in the correct order, in memories. There's a menu of links on the right hand side of my main journal page.


Many thanks to mwrgana for the beautiful banner.




Chapter 25

Xander didn't hear how serious the mess between Willow and Oz had got until Oz turned up on his doorstep to say goodbye on his way out of town.

Just home from a day of hard casual labour on a construction site, Xander desperately wanted a shower, but all such mundane concerns fled from his mind and he gaped at Oz. "You're what?" he asked.

"Leaving."

Pulling the door wider, he jerked his head for Oz to enter. "But, but, I don't understand," he stuttered.

Oz took five steps into the room before turning around to face Xander. "I just came to say goodbye," he said. "I wanted you to know because Willow... She'll need you."

He was already eyeing the door behind Xander's shoulder, as if trying to work out the easiest way to get past and back out of the apartment. Still frozen to the spot, Xander stared and after a moment he bowed his head, lifting his hand to rub at his eyes. His whole body seemed to slump. "It's not an easy decision, Xander," he said, looking up at last.

"Yeah, okay, I get that. But what happened?"

"The wolf happened." Oz paused for a moment, considering Xander, and then he nodded, having apparently come to a decision. "When did I last see you?" he asked.

"Last week. Wednesday, at the Bronze."

"Yeah. There's been a full-moon since then."

Alarmed, Xander took a step towards Oz before he realised he'd done so. "Willow?" he asked.

Oz stared at him, then his eyes widened. "Oh, no man! No! Willow's fine." Another pause. "Physically."

Shucking off his flannel shirt and throwing it over a chair, Xander ushered Oz towards the kitchen and made him sit, before going to the fridge to see what he had to drink. Peering inside he realised he was out of anything suitable for a grown-up type discussion, so he poured them each a large glass of soda.

Oz had sunk into his chair and was sitting with his hands in his lap, staring at nothing. Xander placed one glass on the table in front of him and sat down opposite. He gestured towards the glass. "Sorry. It's all I've got," he said, cupping his own glass in both hands.

Oz shrugged. "Probably just as well. I'm driving."

"Right. And why is that, exactly?"

Oz spoke softly and Xander had to lean forward to hear him properly. "You remember that band? The one that was playing on Wednesday night?"

Putting down his glass, Xander asked, "Does this have anything to do with why Willow came to grill me on," he raised his fingers in air quotes, "What Men Want?"

Oz looked up from his contemplation of the bubbles in his own glass and a slight smile tugged at his lips. Xander had never seen a smile so solemn and full of regret, before. "She did, huh?"

"Yep. And I told her to talk to you."

"Thanks."

He didn't seem inclined to say anything further, so Xander pushed. "The lead singer," he asked, "were you noticing her?"

Sighing, Oz pushed his glass aside. "Veruca," he said. "She's a werewolf." He paused again before correcting himself. "Was a werewolf. I killed her."

"Oh my god! Oz! Are you okay?"

Oz shook his head. "No. Really not. But she was going to kill Willow and..."

"I understand." They sat in silence for a while, Xander occasionally sipping his soda while Oz turned his glass round and round, making patterns of condensation on the table top.

Eventually Xander asked, "So you're leaving?"

"Yeah. I've got to. I'm not safe. Veruca was right about that." He looked up at Xander and his eyes were pained. Not angry, as he'd been when Wesley argued against doing the trade with the Mayor for Willow's life, but truly anguished. "She said I was hiding. That I am the wolf. That if I denied it, I'd just make it worse. Harder to control. Until I can't do it anymore. I'm... I..."

"You're scared?"

"Yeah, man. I'm fucking terrified." He put the palms of his hands against the edge of the table and straightened his arms, as if he were about to get up. "I have to get away from people until I can figure it out."

Xander nodded. "You okay for money?"

"Yeah, thanks. I've got it covered."

There didn't seem to be anything more to say.

After Oz had gone, Xander sat at the table for a long time, thinking about love and friends and monsters and the trials of loving monsters. Then he went and took a shower, before heading out to visit Buffy and Willow, just because he hadn't seen them for a few days.

*****

Spike watched the technicians from under slitted eyelids as they entered his cell. One of them picked up the empty blood bag from the floor by his side and shoved it in his pocket. They each grabbed one of his arms and dragged him out into the corridor, but he waited until they'd lifted him onto the gurney before he made his move. When one of them reached down to pick up a trailing leather strap, intended to secure his arms and chest, while the other walked to the foot of the gurney, he lashed out with his fist, catching the first one under the chin and sending him staggering backwards for a dozen steps before he collapsed onto his back on the floor. Kicking his legs, Spike both caught the other on the shoulder and gave himself the momentum to roll off the gurney, onto his feet.

The second one hadn't gone down. He'd crashed into the wall and was now shaking his head to clear it from the impact, even as he dug in his pocket. A moment later he had a syringe in his hand and was advancing towards Spike with suicidal intent. His own suicide. The one Spike had knocked down had rolled onto his hands and knees and was starting to clamber to his feet. Neither of them had yet called for help and Spike had no intention of letting them do so. He had to shut them down before they realised that the universal assumption of his strength and skill was totally at fault.

The one on his feet was obviously expecting Spike to back away and cower. Instead he closed. Ducking under the hand with the syringe in it, Spike got his right hand around the guy's throat and grabbed the wrist of his syringe wielding hand with his left, pushing the arm wide. Then he spun them around. Over his prisoner's shoulder he saw that the other guy was on his feet again and was staggering towards them. Spike applied pressure to his prisoner's throat and wrist until he gave a strangled scream and dropped his weapon, then Spike released his wrist and brought both his hands up to the man's head. With a vicious twist, he broke the man's neck.

Throwing the body aside, Spike spun on the balls of his feet, bending down as he did so to snatch up the syringe from the floor. Continuing the spin he brought up his arm, just in time for the second technician to run straight onto the point. He went down like a felled elephant.

It was the act of moments to rifle through their pockets until he found the key cards they'd used to open the door to his cell. Stuffing one in his own pocket and keeping the other in his hand, he used it to unlock the double doors at the end of the corridor of cells. Beyond was another corridor but Spike didn't hesitate; he ran for it. He'd spent the last eight hours remembering every detail of his journey from the lab where they'd burnt him, to the cells, and if he knew anything, it was that the labs would be at the centre of the complex. He headed in the opposite direction.

Two more security doors opened to the technician's card before his luck deserted him. He'd just entered a lobby area when a bell and a light on the wall to his left signalled the arrival of a lift. The doors opened and two men in full combat gear stepped out. Since he was mid-escape and they felt secure in their own environment, he had a momentary advantage and he made the most of it. Launching himself at them, he knocked one back into the lift with a satisfying crash, while he bounced off the wall next to the lift doors and using that as a springboard, spun himself around, lifting his leg in a roundhouse kick that caught the second in the gut. The soldier doubled over under the impact, but didn't fall. Not until Spike brought his fists, clenched together, down on the back of his neck, with the full force of his body behind the blow. That one was now out for the count, but the first one was staggering to his feet.

The lift was a trap, but where there were lifts, there were always stairs, so Spike spared a second to scan the lobby. The most likely door was the one to the right of the lift, so he edged slightly in that direction. When the second soldier came at him, with his tazer extended before him, Spike danced back, drawing him on. The soldier fell for it, breaking into a charge so that when Spike dropped flat onto his back, the soldier stumbled and overran him. Spike kicked upwards, catching the soldier on the unprotected underside of his balls and he gave an agonised scream, collapsing in a useless heap at Spike's side.

Spike rolled onto his feet and dragged the soldier out of the lobby and into the bottom of a stairwell. The walls were unpainted breeze block, the floor was concrete, as were the stairs which were covered in a fine layer of cement dust; this was obviously an emergency exit, not one that was much used. Looking up, the stairs seemed to extend for a long way. Given that, he didn't have time to feed and takeaway would slow him down, so regretfully, he broke the soldier's neck and shoved the body into the space under the bottom steps, out of immediate sight. Since they'd were not dressed for internal patrol, he figured that they must have come from outside and it appeared that they'd needed a lift to get down to the main level. Spike began to climb.

He'd climbed six flights of stairs before he found another door. Cracking it open, he peered through the gap. Another hallway. At that moment a security klaxon began to sound. Someone had probably found the soldier in the lift lobby, or spotted the technicians on the cameras that Spike had never located but was convinced were in the cells. There was no sound of voices coming up from below, so hopefully they'd believe that the other soldier had been taken hostage.

Looking up he could see that the stairs stopped after one more flight. They would be waiting for him up there. He was surprised that they weren't already on their way down. Slipping into the hallway, he ran, trusting that he was going in the right direction. Ahead of him was a large steel door, closing off the corridor. There were no side doors. This felt promising.

Behind him he heard the echoing sound of heavy feet on the stairs. He reached the door and slammed the key card through the slot. With a click the lock disengaged and he tore open the door, spilling out into the dappled sunlight of a wooded area. Keeping as much to the shade as he could, he ducked and wove between the trees.


Chapter 26

Comments

[thismaz.livejournal.com]

I liked Oz too. I really did. He was such a reassuring character.
I am not answering chip questions, hon *g*
Thank you so much. That is such a compliment. I have a huge grin on my face.

[texanfan.livejournal.com]

Not a question. A ... speculation ... if you will. :)

[thismaz.livejournal.com]

*g* There is certainly nothing wrong with that.