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The Sunnydale High lunchroom had never been Oz's favorite place, but it had gotten worse since he became a werewolf. His sense of smell was permanently heightened, it seemed, and the odors of lunch didn't help his queasiness today. He had known that getting back together with Willow would mean hanging with Xander, watching Willow hang with Xander, but he hadn't really been ready for it.

As luck would have it, he and Xander ended up in line next to one another. There was a moment of silence, in which Xander stood more still than Oz had ever seen him—more still than Oz had known he could stand. Eventually he said, "Hey."

Oz replied in kind. "Hey."

Then Xander started twitching, as Oz had known he would. It was gratifying to see Xander so completely unable to keep his composure—after all, he was the injuring party. But it didn't take long for the inane chatter to start. "So, a burrito," Xander said as Oz took one.

He looked at it on his plate. Yes, definitely a burrito. "This is a burrito," he acknowledged.

"Damn straight," Xander replied, his voice squeaking just a bit. He picked up his tray and left the line. Oz followed him and they found a table by the window.

Oz studied his tray in silence, wondering if Xander would be able to keep from talking, and if he did talk, if he would be able to keep from putting his foot in his mouth.

Before either of them could say anything, he heard Willow's voice, a bit higher than usual. She was nervous, too, it seemed. "Hi, Oz."

"Hey."

"Xander," she said, not quite looking at him as she acknowledged his existence.

Amy was with her, which Oz hoped would ease some of the tension. He liked Amy, he supposed, but he wasn't sure he trusted her. There was a darkness there, an anger, that made him feel like he wanted to keep his distance. Still, she was Willow's friend, and anyone who liked Willow had something going for her in Oz's book.

"Hey, Amy," he said as she and Willow sat down.

"Hey, guys."

"Hey, Amy," Xander piped up, sounding a little forced. Oz remembered the botched love spell from last year—would this guy never be done getting himself, and everyone around him, tangled up in messes over his love life? "Like your new hair," Xander said.

Oz glanced at her; she had cut it short, hanging around her chin. He wasn't sure he liked it, but then, no one had asked him.

Willow gave him a side glance, and he smiled at her. "I haven't seen you all day. Where've you been?"

"Not with me," Xander said loudly before she could answer. "No, sir, ask anyone. … No," he said again, looking around as if he was finally realizing that he was making it worse.

Oz looked at him across the table. What did Willow see in this guy? Was it just the weight of years and memory and childhood friendship? All Oz saw was a klutz, stumbling his way through life, grabbing hold of anyone near him and dragging them down with him.

Willow didn't respond to Xander's lameness, instead looking at Oz with an apologetic smile as the awkward silence stretched and grew heavier.

For Willow's sake, Oz went hunting for something to say that wouldn't add to the tension. "So. Buffy's birthday's next week."

Xander clapped his hands, pointing at Oz across the table. "Ooh. Yeah. Good. I've been pondering gift options."

"Shh!" Willow said urgently, lifting her head to look across the cafeteria.

"Oh, come on, we just got a topic here," Xander protested.

Willow cut him off. "Hi, Buffy!"

"Buffy! What's up?" Xander got up from his chair, nearly stumbling over it, making it completely obvious that they had been talking about her.

The Slayer's mind was on business, it seemed, because she took Xander's chair without a witty response. She looked stunned and worried, and Oz felt a chill. It was rare that something knocked Buffy's spirits so low she carried it with her into the school day.

"You guys didn't hear?" she asked.

"Hear what?" Xander pulled up an extra chair from the next table.

"Murder. Somebody killed two little kids."

Willow's eyes got big and distressed. "Oh, no."

"They were like seven or eight years old," Buffy went on. "My mom found the bodies during patrol last night."

"Oh, my God," Amy said.

"Kids?" Sunnydale got worse and worse all the time. If Oz were a man given to panic, he'd suspect none of them were getting out of high school alive.

"Why was your mom there?" Xander asked.

"More bad. She picked last night, of all nights, for a surprise bonding visit."

"God, your mom would actually take the time to do that with you?" Willow asked, a touch of envy in her voice. Oz hadn't met her mom, but he'd heard the stories. How anyone could raise a girl like Willow and not want to spend time with her, he couldn't understand. Buffy turned to look at Willow in surprise, and Willow smiled apologetically. "That really wasn't the point of the story, was it?"

"No, the point is she's completely wigging," Buffy said with a sigh, just as her mother came up beside her.

Mrs. Summers had the same shell-shocked look in her eyes Buffy had. "Who's wigging?" she asked.

Buffy stood up abruptly. "Um … everyone," she answered. "You know, 'cause of what happened."

"Oh, it's so awful. I—I had bad dreams about it all night."

Willow smiled up at her. "Hi, Mrs. Summers."

Buffy's mom seemed to see them all for the first time. "Oh, hi, everybody." Everyone said hi back, but she wasn't listening. "Buffy, have you talked to Mr. Giles yet about who could have done this?"

"Yeah, he, uh … he thinks it might be something … ritual. A cult." Buffy hated talking about this stuff with her mom; it was the protector in her, wanting to keep her mother safe, wanting to keep this one last part of her life separate from what she did. Oz thought about his own mom, about certain nightmares he'd had about losing himself to the wolf and hurting her, and he felt for Buffy. "But he's still looking," Buffy went on, "and in the meantime we're gonna … add to my patrol, and, you know, keep an eye out." Her voice trailed off.

"A cult?" her mother said. "Like … witches."

Willow started coughing and Amy shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Sorry. Phlegm. Too much … dairy."

Looking at Willow in concern, Mrs. Summers said, "Oh, I know you kids think that stuff's cool. Buffy told me you dabble."

"Right. Absolutely. That's me. I'm a … dabbler."

Mrs. Summers went on as though Willow hadn't spoken. "But anybody who could do this isn't cool. Anybody who could do this has to be a monster, a—"

Buffy reached out a hand and touched her mom's arm. "You know what? Uh … would you guys excuse us for a little bit?" She drew her mother away from the table.

"Um, nice—nice to see you," Mrs. Summers said as she followed Buffy, but it was clear her mind was still elsewhere. Oz could understand it—to be a mother, to see little children who must have reminded her of Buffy dead in a horrific fashion … it couldn't be easy. To know you couldn't do anything about it, and that you had to let your own child face whatever had done the crime had to be that much worse.

As they left, Xander said, "What a burn. I mean, Buff's mom was just starting to accept the whole Slayer thing, and now she's gonna be double-freaked."

"Makes me grateful that my mom's not interested in my extracurricular activites," Willow agreed. She looked at Amy across the table, but Amy kept her thoughts to herself. Her mom was long gone, disappeared into some hell dimension, so Oz understood. He wondered if Amy missed her, and what Amy might have learned from her. Willow frowned. "Or my curricular activities," she finished, not looking so grateful. Oz reached for her hand, squeezing it, and the table descended into silence again.

It was a relief when the bell rang signaling the end of the lunch period.