Title: An American Werewolf in Westbury, Part 1/3
Author: Neena (varscona_pal@yahoo.ca)
Pairing: Giles/Oz
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, ME and Fox, etc. I have no claim on them; I only wish I did.
Feedback: Totally!
Distribution: just ask.
Spoilers: Set between seasons six and seven, with Giles in England with Willow.
Summary: There’s a bad, naughty moon rising…

Her scent came to him on the warm summer breeze, calling to him. She was nearby, he knew, but she wasn’t alone. Another familiar scent mingled with hers—a scent that called to him in an entirely different way. He longed to see them, to talk to them, but he’d learned it was safer all around if he kept his distance.

He paced up and down along the fence, the tall, cool grass tickling his belly, until he got a fix on her scent. He followed it, tracing her familiar fragrance to a brook that ran along the border of the large estate.

He finally saw her, sitting on a blanket under a large oak tree, her legs drawn up underneath her. She looked peaceful, and he was happy for that. He hadn’t seen her at peace in a long time—not since she’d brought Buffy back. Giles came into view, striding towards her from the edge of the stream. He leaned casually against the tree, his brown duster flapping in the breeze. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he saw the effect it had on Willow, and he felt a pang of jealousy at the closeness they shared.

A low, menacing growl curled his lips, and he fought for control over the wolf. Jealousy was the wolf. It was jealousy that had kept him segregated for so long. It was jealousy that almost killed the only girl he’d ever loved. He had to control it now, or he would risk losing them both forever.

He stalked away, a bitter, metallic tang at the back of his throat. Even after years of practice it was still a battle to control the animal within. Especially here, where the very air was laden with mystical energy.

Willow returned to the coven’s common room after taking a long walk around the woods on the estate’s property. She kept getting the feeling that she was being watched, but she didn’t trust her powers enough to tell anyone. She went over to Giles who sat in one of the high-backed reading chairs, doing exactly that—reading. She took a peek over his shoulder to see what had him so engrossed.

“Tabloids?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” he said without shame. “They’re surprisingly useful in keeping tabs on the netherworld. See here?” he said, pointing to the front page headline, “Vampire Baby Nurses Mother to Death”. If you can weed out the tall tales, there’s actually quite a lot of accurate information on demonic activity. Don’t laugh.”

She couldn’t help it—Giles praising the underbelly of literary publications was too funny for words. She giggled uncontrollably, clutching her sides to quell the happy pain.

Giles smiled broadly in return. It was such a relief to see her happy, even for brief periods. Thankfully, they were becoming more frequent, and the moments of suicidal guilt, much less so. The luscious green mid-summer splendour of Westbury had worked its spell on her, figuratively, of course. The coven had taken her under its wing and was slowly restoring her self-confidence. But she had a ways to go, yet.

Willow wiped at her eyes and sat opposite Giles. Her smile faltered as an image of him slamming him into the ceiling of the Magic Box popped into her head. The remembered look of pain and sadness on his face seemed just as vivid to her as the happy smile he now displayed. She wanted to make it up to him. Somehow.

Despite the fact that she’d hurt him so bad, he never gave up on her. He stayed with her—the only man in a large coven of witches—and promised he’d help her for as long as she needed. He hid it well, but she knew he was lonely. The witches were a secretive lot, and although they respected him, they kept their distance. And Willow knew she made poor company these days.

She managed a smile that was convincing enough to evade Giles’ concern, and secretly wished he would get out more and maybe even meet someone. That would make her truly happy.

Giles made a show of flipping through his trashy tabloid, licking his thumb to turn the pages with a dramatic flourish. She laughed again and picked up the novel she’d started reading earlier that day. Nothing like a good romance novel to take your mind off the unpleasantness of real life.

Giles quietly read his paper, and had to concede that it really was the most horrendous drivel. Tiny articles sandwiched between huge adverts for ridiculous weight-loss methods and hair growth treatments. He was about to put it away in favour of a real book, when a tiny headline caught his eye. “Hell Hound Haunts Hills of Westbury”. He read the short article with growing alarm: “The citizens of Westbury, home of the mystical White Horse, have recently become the victims of an ancient terror—the hell hound. Several locals have spotted the enormous beast stalking about late at night, seeking out its next victim. Not ones to be scared off easily, the resident farmers have banded together to form a hunting party to bring down the evil creature before it can kill more than just a few chickens…” He read on to discover that they believed the creature was a werewolf and that plans had been made to hunt the beast during the next full moon.

It could just be coincidence, he thought, although his gut told him otherwise. Werewolf sightings in the vicinity of Willow could only mean Oz. And now his young friend had made himself the target of an angry lynch mob.

Giles turned his eyes to Willow, curled up in a chair, reading. He nonchalantly got up and wandered over to the writing table and pretended to riffle through some notes while he checked out the desk calendar. Giles cursed beneath his breath. The full moon was tomorrow night.

He looked back at Willow, who looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back as best he could.

“Willow?” he asked.

“Uh-huh?”

“I-uh—I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I might pop down to the pub for a bit. I won’t be long.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” said Willow, surprised and a little freaked that he chose now to go out—so soon after she’d been thinking he should do just that. The frightening thought that she might have inadvertently influenced him flashed through her mind.

“Good,” he said, checking his pockets for his car keys. “Like I said, I won’t be long.”

“You don’t have to rush back on my account. I’ll be fine—I’ve got a date tonight, anyways.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. Me and Jane Austin are gonna have a romantic night by the fireplace. Who knows, we may even indulge in some ice cream later.”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“Go out and kick back a little,” she said, physically shooing him out the door.

Giles lucked out. The first pub he went into—the Spotted Jackal—had a notice on the bulletin board announcing a “full moon gathering”. He inquired about it at the bar and the bartender gave him a thorough once over before nodding.

“If you’d like in on the action, be here tomorrow night at sunset. And come prepared,” he said and gave a none-too-subtle wink. Giles thanked the man and ordered a pint of Guinness.

Willow was still reading in the common room when he returned and she called to him. “Did you have a good time?”

Giles popped his head into the room and nervously toyed with his car keys. (Damn, how he missed his glasses! What good were contacts when you needed something to fidget with?)

“Yes…yes, it was nice to get out,” he said, and was suddenly struck with an idea. “In fact, I, uh, met someone tonight. We’re planning on getting together again tomorrow night. That is, if you think you’ll be okay here without me?”

“Are you kidding? That’s amazing!” Willow practically bounced with excitement at the news. Her wish for him had come true, and right now she was too ecstatic to care about ethics and consequences. “I want details. Who is she? What does she look like? What are you gonna do for your first date? And I’m asking too many questions, aren’t I?” she asked in response to Giles’ overwhelmed expression.

They stayed up for a while chatting. Willow kept offering advice on what he should wear and what topics of conversation to avoid. Giles assured her that he was over his tweed phase and that the Hellmouth was not a subject likely to come up on a first date.

Late the next afternoon, Giles snuck out of the house and packed his tranquilliser gun into the boot of his car. He also brought some hiking clothes to change into, because Willow would think it odd if he went on a date dressed like a hunter.

He was about to leave when Willow ran up to him.

“I want you to have this,” she said, handing him a small clear crystal.

“Willow, you know I can’t accept that,” he said, knowing she’d get in trouble with the coven if they caught her handing out charms.

“It’s just for good luck, Giles. And I’ll be hurt if you don’t take it.”

He took one look at her pouty face and her huge hazel eyes and couldn’t refuse. He didn’t want her to think he didn’t trust her, after all.

Willow waved at the car as it drove away and grinned. Giles was going to have plenty of luck…

She went back into the sprawling manor house humming tunelessly and feeling like she’d finally taken a step in redeeming herself.

Giles and the other “hunters” had been wandering aimlessly for nearly three hours and had found absolutely nothing. Not that Giles was surprised. He’d never seen such a pathetic collection of human beings in his entire life. Half of them were low-brow, piss-drunk miscreants, who were only tagging along on the off-chance that they might get the chance to fire off a round or two. The other half were self-righteous fanatics who believed they were on a crusade to save their community from the forces of evil. They didn’t understand, or just didn’t care, that the beast they were hunting was a human just like them most of the time.

Giles still wasn’t sure what he was going to do if they came across Oz. He’d hoped he’d be able to talk some sense into these people, but he’d clearly misjudged. He could only pray that Oz would just stay out of their way. God knows they were making enough noise to wake the dead.

As it happened, Oz did hear them coming, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. The caves he’d been living in were too far away to reach in time, and there was nowhere to hide. He tried to revert to his human form—something he’d mastered long ago—but it wasn’t working. The whole area was abuzz with supernatural forces, and it was having an effect on his control over the wolf. The transformation was halted midway, with Oz’s mind and soul trapped in the werewolf’s body.

Torn between freezing still and fleeing, Oz decided a little too late to make a run for it and took off towards the caves at top speed.

Giles heard the gunshot before he even knew Oz had been spotted. His heart plummeted when he saw the large, dark animal dragging one of its front legs. At least the shot hadn’t been fatal. The rest of the “hunters” started chasing the werewolf, one or two of them taking wild shots that came nowhere near their target.

Oz ignored the searing pain in his leg and concentrated on the dark opening of the cave ahead of him. Just a little further and he’d be safe. The next shots spurred him on, driving him to quicken his pace. At last he made it into the cave, and he kept going until he got to the little chamber he called home. From his dark hiding place, he could hear the raised voices of the men arguing outside. He began to shake, partly from the adrenalin and partly from the pain. His leg was dripping with blood, and he knew that if those men waited out there long enough they wouldn’t have to shoot him again to kill him. He would die from blood loss.

Outside, Giles was doing everything he could to convince the others that going into the cave would be suicide and that standing around waiting for the werewolf to come out would be futile.

A few of them shone their torches into the inky blackness of the cave. The dank air seemed to swallow the tiny beams of light. Somewhere in that impenetrable darkness was an injured and agitated werewolf. It didn’t take long for the drunken thrill-seekers to lose their interest. The fanatics took a bit more convincing. Giles pointed out that the amount of blood on the ground could only mean that the beast was dead or dying, and that there was no sense risking their lives to prove otherwise. Inwardly he prayed he’d been exaggerating about Oz’s injury.

When at last the group disbanded, Giles followed them until he was sure they wouldn’t notice his absence, then he turned back. He stood at the entrance of the cave and shone his light into the darkness. There was no sign of movement. He checked to make sure the tranquillizer gun was loaded and slowly advanced into the cave, feeling the blackness envelop him like a shroud.

“Oz?” he called every few steps. Finally he heard a sad whimpering that could only be coming from the injured werewolf. Giles ducked into a small chamber opening off the main tunnel and shone his light around the small space. There was a bedroll covered in blankets, and food and water in one corner. Giles knew when he found a well-worn copy of Nietzsche and a Walkman that this was Oz’s hideout. He continued to scan the room and nearly passed over the dark lump on the ground until he noticed the lump was breathing.

“Oz—is that you?” he asked, cautiously approaching the werewolf. Even when injured (or perhaps especially when injured), a werewolf was a dangerous animal. It didn’t matter to the werewolf if it was attacking a friend or an enemy—if it felt threatened it would kill to protect itself. Giles couldn’t see well enough to judge what kind of reaction he was getting from Oz, but he hadn’t been ripped to shreds yet, so he supposed that was a good sign.

Giles found a lantern near the entrance and lit it. The warm glow filled the little chamber and he got his first good look at the werewolf in front of him. The fur on Oz’s right shoulder was matted with blood. The pain and fear was evident in Oz’s lupine eyes. Giles took off his jacket and slowly inched closer.

Oz couldn’t believe Giles was doing this. He had no way of knowing that Oz was trapped inside the monster’s body. If he hadn’t been, Giles would be dead by now. He’d expected to be shot with a tranquillizer, but Giles had put the gun down. He saw the fear in Giles’ eyes and knew he was very much aware of the risk he was taking—he was oddly touched by the trust his friend was showing him. When Giles lifted up his head and tucked his jacket underneath it to use as a pillow, Oz tried to think of a way to let him know he was safe. The only thing that sprang to mind was to lick him. So before Giles could pull his hand away, Oz gently licked at the older man’s hand.

Giles jerked his hand away, thinking the werewolf was going to bite. Oz just looked up at him with sad puppy-dog eyes—there was no evil in them. Fearing he was being extremely foolish, Giles brought his hand back up to the wolf’s face. Oz licked him again and nuzzled his nose against his open palm. Giles smiled nervously, but kept his hand there.

“You’re going to be fine, Oz. But I’ve got to clean and dress that gunshot wound before you lose too much blood. I’ll be as gentle as I can, but it’s still going to hurt. Do you understand?” he asked hopefully. Oz licked him again in reply.

Giles searched the cave for anything he could use to dress Oz’s wound, but all the blankets and clothes he found were too dirty to serve the purpose. He did find a large jug of water, though, and he brought it over to Oz, who was shivering pathetically on the ground.

Giles took off his shirt, wishing he’d thought to wear more layers. He then tore it into long strips to use as bandages.

“Brace yourself,” said Giles. Taking his own advice, Giles braced himself and poured the water over Oz’s bleeding shoulder.

The werewolf yelped and growled at the pain, scaring Giles. Oz fought to control his reactions, but he couldn’t help the odd whimper or snarl as Giles worked on him.

When he was finished, Giles sat back and admired his handiwork. He’d managed to staunch the bleeding, but he’d have to wait till morning to know how well his patient was doing. Until then, he figured he might as well make them both comfortable. Not wanting to move Oz, Giles brought over the blankets from the bedroll and covered him where he lay. He then turned off the lantern and stretched out on the thin mattress, trying to ignore the chilly air on his bare chest and arms.

He was just dozing off when he awoke to a whining noise close to his ear and felt hot breath on his face. Oz had managed to drag himself across the chamber and began licking Giles’ face. Then the werewolf curled up next to him on the tiny bed, pressing up close to him to stay warm.

Giles was momentarily at a loss. How did one go about comforting a werewolf? He had no idea; but when he was a boy, he had a big black lab that used to sleep next to him like this, and she always liked…

Oz’s eyes fluttered shut, and he was pretty sure that if he’d had a tail it would be wagging. Did Giles realize what he was doing? Oz really didn’t care at this point. The large, strong hand stroked firmly along the length of his body, smoothing his fur and soothing him. Occasionally the hand would stroke his head and scratch behind his ears in a way that was strangely satisfying. Oz let out a sigh and slipped off to sleep under the comforting caresses of his former high-school librarian.

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