Title: The French Connection
Author: Lily
Rating: PG to PG-13
Spoilers: Bargaining, but really only part one
Disclaimer: pshaw. not mine.
Summary: Yes, the resurrection worked. But no, it didn't wake Buffy up where she last was (that part seems to have gotten messed up, no?)...
Author's Note: *la la la* denotes Buffy thoughts

It was early tuesday morning and Oz was woken up by gentle pressure on his left foot and the very distinct smell of Buffy.

"Move your feet," he heard her mumble through his haze of sleep. He bent his knees, allowing her a space on the end of the sofa, and closed his eyes again. The cushions moved with her weight as she sank down and rested her head on the curve of his knees. Her breathing was steady and he began to drift off again, lulled by the rhythmic up and down of her ribcage on his feet.

"Oz?" He heard her question but didn't open his eyes.

"Hmmm?"

"This feels so wrong..." she whispered.

He lifted his head to look at her with concern. "Do you want me to move my feet more?"

"No, you're a great pillow. Lie back down; it's more comfortable." He settled down and waited for her to continue. "I mean the...secrecy. Don't you feel kind of guilty? Knowing that I'm here, but just avoiding home and everybody there? It's like harboring a fugitive or something. Not to mention Angel. I feel horrible not telling him..."

"First of all, you're not a fugitive."

"Oz," she sounded exasperated, "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He sighed before going on. "And I promise we'll deal with it, do whatever makes you feel better. Okay?"

"Yeah," she whispered. He could feel her breathing shallow out slowly and was asleep himself not long after.

Three hours later, more pressure on his feet woke Oz up. But this time it wasn't gentle nudging. It was full-grown, albeit petite, slayer lying on his lower limbs and snoring lightly. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was still relatively early. Carefully, he extracted his legs from under her and went to make himself a cup of tea. When it was done, he sat down in the chair opposite the sofa and began to read the copy of Le Monde from the day before that had been on the coffee table. It wasn't long before he felt Buffy's eyes on him.

Looking up, he saw that she hadn't moved from her place on the couch. If her eyes had not been wide open, he doubted that he would have known that she was no longer asleep. Still not moving her body, she blinked very slowly.

"We'll have to wait a few hours, won't we? Before they wake up in California."

He nodded. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please," she whispered. Oz made her the coffee. He didn't have to ask how she wanted it--milk and sugar. When he brought it back she was sitting up. She took the mug from him and asked, "Who should I call first?"

"Not my call," Oz responded as he sat back down, this time next to her on the couch, "but if it were, I'd call Angel...if I were you."

"But doesn't that seem weird to you? He's so much a part of the past."

"I know, but I'd call Willow. No question about it, even if she's the past."

Buffy sighed. "And it will be easier to talk to Angel too. Considering the circumstances..."

"Then it's settled."

It was almost five minutes before Oz spoke again.

"You know, Buff, I really don't think he'll mind if you wake him up."
**end eight**