(Rome, Italy)

Oz showered and stripped the dye out of his hair. Staring at himself in the mirror, he smiled watching as his hair returned to its natural red. His smile vanished. There was a momentary pang of regret for leaving his boss in a lurch at the bistro: his sudden exit would never be explained.

Oz had worked at the bistro for the past month establishing his cover and becoming a natural part of the environment. Dealing with Ilona and Wolfram & Hart, he knew caution was key. The café was a favorite of the Italian branch’s CEO, and those who worked there – whether they knew it or not – were always scrutinized as possible assassins or spies. Joe had made sure Oz had cleared the security checks. His disappearance, though, would cause problems for the good-hearted man who had trusted him with employment. Oz sighed, knowing that it couldn’t be helped. His job there was complete.

Oz packed up his computer equipment, cushioning the monitors and other breakables. After emptying the remainder of a Crest-White Strips blue container, he carefully transplanted two glass protected slides. He flushed the contents of a Tylenol bottle and filled it with black powder. Next, he opened a compact mirror. Removing one, he slid a set of wrapped films in place and then replaced the mirror. Pocketing those three things, Oz scanned the room for anything else he might have forgotten. He grabbed the trash containing the white strips, the soap from the bath, hair from the drains, used lint brush strips, and glass shards from the water glass he’d obtained earlier.

He hated to leave this room; it had been home for the past few months. It couldn’t be helped.

Wiping the room and the key for prints, Oz exited the room, using his sleeve to shut the door behind him. Putting on a baseball cap, he clicked the straps of his camping backpack around his waist. After adjusting the enormous bag on his back, he strode out the back entrance of the Hotel Caprice Rome. Easily blending in with the other tourists walking on the Via Veneto, Oz headed for the fourth hotel on his list, barely pausing to dispose the nondescript trash bag at a random café along the way.

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

In yet another different outfit, different ball cap, no backpack, Oz finally approached the Colosseum. He could not help but feel a little anxious. His last memories of Sunnydale weren’t happy ones; Tara, the Initiative, and Willow. At the time, he hadn’t fully registered who all had been in rescue party, but later he did – and one member of it had left him wondering for years.

After watching the news coverage about the strange complete sinking of what was once Sunnydale, Oz had contacted Willow via an old e-mail address, to assure himself she had made it out okay. After a few failed attempts, Willow had finally returned his message, giving him a phone number. Hearing Willow’s voice brought an enormous sense of relief to both himself and his wolf. She, no matter what happened between them, would always be a part of his pack – his family.

After Willow filled in some of the details, she had asked him to help build the new Watchers’ Council. Even though the thought of being close to Willow again tempted him, he declined her offer. He had found peace in Tibet and never planned on leaving. That was the case until Joe Dawson dragged himself up the mountain three months ago.

Meeting Joe changed Oz’s view of what Watchers could be. While Giles refused to express his true self except for those rare moments when he’d allowed himself to relax, Joe never pretended to be anything but what he was: a disabled U.S. vet, who liked to wail on his guitar, sing the blues, and take care of his friends. Plus, Joe said the magic words ’the Immortal’.

The Immortal was a bad guy despite the public persona he touted. This Oz knew first hand, though he’d never gotten to meet the devil in person.

While Willow tended to gloss over a lot of the goings-on in her e-mails, Joe gave him the unvarnished version. Oz had been shocked upon learning about Tara’s death, Willow’s descent into grief-stricken madness and murder, Spike and Buffy’s relationship, and Spike’s trip to Africa. Yet all of it, he now realized, was the natural progression of the paths each of the Scoobies had taken. He cringed when Joe had flashed/shown him a photo of the new Xander.

Oz missed the feeling of having a pack – that’s what the Scoobies had been before he really understood its meaning, its power. He realized, though, he embodied many “lone wolf” tendencies. He appreciated alone time. Silence was golden, so sayeth some. Yet, Frost nailed it when he penned, ‘Nothing gold can stay’. Silence can be nice, for a time. Now, Oz needed anything but.

His wolf yearned for a pack. The wolf had adopted Joe almost immediately, seeing him as sort of a cool, but slightly crazy uncle. Willow, of course, was family, just not the way he had originally envisioned. His skin prickled with anticipation, knowing soon he would see those he wanted to be “pack.” Especially, a certain one he would have never considered before.

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

Amanda threw her arm around Oz. “I thought you said they knew you.”

“They do,” Oz replied. Nodding his head slightly, he added, “Hey, guys.”

Even though Oz kept his eyes on Xander, his wolf maintained particular attention to the vampire. He sensed the enormity of change within, not just the one to his scent. Locking eyes with the vampire, his wolf yipped with delight. That was unexpected. Of course, Oz caught himself before revealing such sentiments. At least he’d thought so. Said vampire’s eyes now lit with amusement, a slight tilt of his head indicated an unspoken understanding.

Even though he felt Amanda’s fingers running flirtatiously along the nape of his neck, Oz kept his eyes trained on Spike, assessing the vampire steadily. He barely had a chance to register movement out of the corner of his eye before he was blind-sided by an overly-exuberant Xander.

“Oh man! When Meth – er – Adam told us Joe had sent someone I would know, I would have never…damn, Oz!” Xander gleefully babbled.

“Yeah,” Oz replied, typically succinct and stoic.

“Well, now, who’s this, Danny-boy?” Amanda cooed in his ear.

Oz took a measure of delight in noticing time had certainly not changed everything, as evidenced by Xander’s reddened cheeks. Still, he’d spoken too soon, because the once familiar fellow teen suddenly transformed into an urbane, polite adult.

“Xander Harris,” he said, holding out his hand. Amanda stretched out her right hand, which Xander lightly grasped, brought up to his lips, and flirtatiously kissed. “You must be Amanda. The camera certainly didn’t lie about how lovely you are.”

“Oh my, now that’s the way to give a girl a proper greeting. M…,” realizing they were using his cover name, Amanda corrected herself, “Adam, you certainly should be taking lessons from this man.” Amanda gave Methos a knowing glance, before sashaying closer to Xander.

“Bloody hell, the Apocalypse has moved to Rome. It’s a sign. The Whelp picking up a beautiful woman! Oh, now, wait just a tick. Adam?” Spike raised an eyebrow. “You sure Amanda here isn’t a demon?”

“Now, why on earth would you ask him that?” Cassandra demanded. Oz snickered, Xander paled, quickly dropping Amanda’s hand, while she puffed a snort of displeasure, and Spike just grinned.

“I think William is referring to Xander’s infamous track record, Cassandra,” Methos supplied. “Xander, just how many demons have you attracted?”

“Oi, I know this.” Spike held up his pinky. “Inca Mummy Girl, that’s one.” Holding up his fourth finger, he added, “Preying Mantis teacher, that’s two.” Middle finger added to the rest, Spike teased, “That bint that bled you to open the Hellmouth.”

“I think the jury’s still out about Faith,” Oz stated, dryly. Spike concurred, adding a fourth finger to his tally.

Xander smiled softly and whispered, “Anya.”

Spike walked up to Xander, putting a hand on his shoulder in commiseration. “Demon girl through and through, none finer,” Spike said, reverently. Xander nodded in appreciation.

Amanda, coming to some sort of realization exclaimed, “You’re that Alexander Harris? Well, that changes everything.”

Xander bristled at Amanda’s curt reaction. He considered her cooly, jaw tightening.

Amanda’s eyes narrowed, reassessing the individual before her. “Anyanka was a friend,” she said simply.

Cassandra, Methos, and Oz shared a look. Oz once more locked eyes with Spike, trying to convey the need to get going. They had all been in the Coliseum too long. Oz tried to ignore the Wolf clamoring to sniff Spike. He felt itchy in his own skin. Yellow eyes met his, and Oz felt himself lowering his eyelids in a submissive manner. Now, wait just a second. What the hell? His forced his eyes back to a full stare.

Spike’s yellow eyes faded to a soft, understanding blue. Spike pursed his lips and mouthed, “Later.” Aloud, Spike grabbed Xander by the scruff of the neck, making Oz’s wolf extremely jealous – again, what the hell? - and stated, “I think we all need to get back to Blue and the kiddies. Gotta get my girls.”

“Agreed, Spike. Amanda, Oz, please join us.” Methos started walking with Cassandra closely beside him.

Amanda took hold of Xander’s arm, circling it with her own. “So, you’re the guy who walked out on my dear friend at her wedding.” Xander shot Spike a worried look before answering Amanda quietly.

“So, Oz. Long time,” Spike said.

“Yeah. You’re no longer wearing green.”

Spike looked confused for a moment before laughing out loud.

Hearing Spike laugh caused Xander turn around. Xander thought it was good to hear Spike laughing so deeply once again. Smiling, Xander redirected his attention back to Amanda.

“I’d almost forgotten.” Spike’s tone sobered, “Initiative. Bunch of wankers, bleeding lot of them.”

Oz bristled at the memory, and he and Spike shared a look of understanding. Together, they followed the group back to their hotel.