For the purpose of this story I've decided to move Oz's timeline forward, so he's been a werewolf for a while and knows what's up. Hope that doesn't throw too many people off.
The dark vampiress led Buffy calmly away from the stairs towards the corner of the room where a small wood stove burned, heating the little alcove and casting warm, flickering shadows over the furniture circled there. To her distress, Spike followed close behind, too close for her liking. There was wariness in the set of his shoulders, a predator's attention in the grim curve of his mouth, and Buffy knew that even the slightest misstep on her part would most likely cause him to strike, no matter how much his girlfriend objected.
Drusilla had stepped between the small loveseat and a table that had been set with torn lace and cracked china, sinking gracefully down onto a cushion and patting its twin at her side, smiling dreamily up at Buffy. Flicking a nervous glance in Spike's direction, she sat cautiously, taking her cue from the crazy vampire and placing her stuffed pig on his own pillow on the other side of the table next to an eerie Victorian doll with a stained and tattered dress. She kept her eyes on her hands, watched them ghost over Mr. Gordo's soft pink fur in a familiar, self-soothing motion, but all her attention was on the male vampire behind her.
She could feel him there like she never had before. Her Slayer senses had shown her only a glimmer of what this was. She could feel him, really feel him, his whole presence, the outline of him and the way he moved, could see him in her mind as clearly as if she were looking at him with her eyes. The hair on her neck and arms was standing on end, all her senses humming a warning as power rolled off of him like the scent of chilled green apples, sharp and crisp and cold. She could taste his legacy in the dry air he stirred as he circled around and dropped slowly into the chair across the table from her and Drusilla; his status as a master, all the stronger for his youth and his lineage, the blood of two powerful Slayers on his hands. These things hung on him as surely as his leather duster did, draped over his shoulders like a mantle of pride and accomplishment.
His eyes flashed gold and Buffy quickly dropped her gaze to the floor.
She'd been staring.
She hadn't even realized it, but her eyes had been roving over his body smoothly and boldly, and it had started a low, dangerous rumble from his chest. Slung low in the ratty arm chair, his posture was all of lazy and relaxed, but she could feel the strength in his muscles from across the low table, all coiled bands of steel and power, ready to spring at a second's notice. Less than that. She might not be human anymore, but she could still be dead in the space of a breath, really dead, and she got the sudden and distinct feeling that Spike might still be her ending after all.
"Tea?"
Buffy jumped and turned away from the vampire glaring at her with narrowed eyes, only to find Drusilla far too close and holding out a cracked teapot in her pale hands. Her wide dark gaze struck Buffy as seeing far more than they had a right to, and a shiver rippled over her shoulders.
"Um, yes. Please," she answered, happy that she had managed to keep her voice steady. She was unwilling to upset either of her two… companions, and thought that humoring the light-headed Drusilla as much as she could was probably the best way to do that.
She watched silently as Drusilla poured imaginary tea into the four chipped cups on the table, humming lightly under her breath, a tune she didn't quite recognize. Placing the teapot on the floor at her side she smiled warmly at Buffy and lifted her cup, her lips pursing as she cooled what wasn't there with dead breath. Unsure of what else she could do, she lifted her own cup and sipped, suddenly flooded with a dozen unbidden memories of other childhood tea parties long past. Her eyes fell closed and she could taste the milk and cookies her mother would set out, hear the faint strains of a classical record that had always accompanied such gatherings, and a wave of warmth enveloped her, the tension dropping from her shoulders.
She shook herself, setting her cup back into its saucer with a rattle of china. This wasn't the time or the place to be getting comfortable, to be dropping her guard. She was sitting between two dangerous vampires, one of whom had recently tried pretty hard to kill her. Speaking of, why wasn't he doing that now? Killing Slayers was his thing, wasn't it? Looking up at Spike sharply, she found him staring back at her, his head just barely tilted to one side as he studied her closely through amber eyes. When her gaze locked with his, his lip curled, flashing sharp teeth as a snarl rolled up through his entire frame, and some deeply buried instinct told her to drop her eyes. There was a hierarchy at play here, and while she might be the Slayer, Spike was the one on top.
A tsking sound drew her attention, and she looked up again to find Dru waving a finger at Spike in a chastising motion.
"Play nicely, my sweet Spike," she purred. "Mustn't scare the sunshine."
Buffy raised an eyebrow, confused by her words and even more confused by the indignant sort of huffing sigh that came from Spike as he shut down the steady rumble coming from his chest. She half-opened her mouth to ask what Drusilla was talking about when the dark brunette shifted on her cushion, turning to face her with a gentle smile.
"Pretty girl," she hummed. "All gold and glowing. Such a pretty sunshine."
Something deadly flickered in her eyes and as quick as a snake strike, her hand flashed out and clamped over Buffy's wrist. The Slayer froze, everything screaming at her to go as still as she possibly could instead of fighting, and her whole body trembled as Drusilla leaned in close, pressing her cool lips to Buffy's ear.
"You'll be the one to save us," she whispered. "A light in the dark, guiding all the ships to harbor." Sitting back on her heels, she released Buffy's wrist and a sad, haunted look came over her face. "Please?" she asked in a small child's voice. "We'll need you before the end."
Her big dark eyes moved over to Spike, who was listening carefully, and Buffy saw something there that she didn't know she could, a deep-seated fear and sadness that spoke of heartfelt care. Those eyes then turned on her once more and the look was gone, replaced by a strength and determination that belied the vampire's ethereal and waif-like presence.
"Promise," she demanded quietly, and the tears in her voice made Buffy's un-beating heart jolt.
A breath of silence passed until she couldn't bear the sorrow any longer.
"I promise."
Those two words broke the spell, and Drusilla bounced happily on her cushion, clapping her hands and giggling with glee.
"Oh, we shall be good friends sunshine," she laughed, and Buffy chuckled a bit herself. It was hard not to be infected by the light, childlike happiness that this half-mad vampire could exude, all innocent and carefree. Abruptly, she leaned in close to Buffy's side once more, but this time it was different, a movement made with an easy friendliness that held no danger or hostility.
"Such lovely hair," she smiled, reaching out a pale hand to tuck a curl behind Buffy's ear. She could feel Spike watching on curiously, cautiously, with a strange fascination that made her want to blush. "So many pretty gold coins," Drusilla hummed. Taking her hand back, she placed it in her lap and looked up at Buffy from beneath her eyelashes. "May I?" she asked politely.
Buffy wasn't quite sure what she meant but nodded anyway, sliding forward a bit when Drusilla moved to sit on the loveseat directly behind her with a rustle of skirts. Very carefully the vampiress freed Buffy's hair from its binding, fluffing it out over her shoulders and combing it gently with her fingers. On a whim she reached for her bag, pulling out her hairbrush and handing it back over her shoulder where it was taken casually, as though this were something that happened every day.
And somehow, it did feel ok. It felt ok to have Drusilla sitting behind her, combing her hair and humming happily, murmuring pretty little things about sunlight and tea parties. She risked a glance across the table and found that Spike had lowered himself in his wing-backed chair, still watching her with narrowed eyes though they had gone back to a deep, rich blue. Despite his suspicious gaze, his fingers tight on the arms of his chair, it felt ok to have him there too. There was an odd sort of comfort in that darkly Victorian corner, a calm sort of safety that made Buffy feel just a bit drowsy as the firelight flickered through the grate in the stove. It was strange and foreign – she shouldn't feel this way – but it was like being in another time, another world separate from everything else, and in an odd way, it was familiar too.
'Is this what I've been missing?' she wondered as she looked between her two companions, one pleasantly absorbed in her task, the other morose but quiet, for the moment still.
The terrible feeling of loneliness that had been plaguing her since she'd come back into herself as this new thing, this new… she hesitated to say person. Whichever, whatever, that feeling had abated. It was still there, hovering over her shoulder, waiting for her to turn around, but it was no longer gnawing at her with needle teeth, burning at her. This didn't feel quite right, not quite complete, but somehow it was a bit like coming home.
Oz was nervous, something he rarely was. The quiet zen that he worked so hard to maintain ever since his life had taken a dramatic turn was wavering, shaking him down to his foundation, and it was highly distressing for the boy. His wolf could feel something coming, could scent a change in the wind that spoke of dark magiks and even darker things to come. And he didn't like it.
Standing in front of the librarian's door, he twisted his van keys in his hand, the teeth sharp against his fingers, almost unable to raise his hand to the door. He didn't know Buffy well at all, mostly just knew of her, and he certainly didn't know if he could or should spring the news on her mom, but he did know that she spent in inordinate amount of time in the library with Mr. Giles. He also had strong suspicions that she was more than just a girl.
She smelled like a Slayer.
And now she smelled like a vampire.
Oz swallowed hard and raised his fist, knocking firmly on the door. His ears twitched as he felt stillness fall inside the small apartment, felt someone move close to the doorway, and as the locks clicked loudly his anxiety surged, causing his hackles to rise. He had no idea what he was about to say.
The door opened slowly, cautiously, one inch at a time until the librarian peered out into the dark, his face weary and drawn. His eyes narrowed as he focused in on the boy on his step, a frown creasing his mouth.
"Mr. Osmont," he stated in surprise, "I… I'm very sorry, but I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment…"
"Mr. Giles, I'm sorry for just showing up like this," Oz interrupted. He needed to get his message out, and then he wanted to disappear, maybe go for a run through the woods on the edge of town, work away the tension humming in his arms and legs. "But I…" Oz ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Sir, please, can I come in? I know something you need to hear."