***

"Do it!"

Danny looked at Merry with mistrust, and sullenly hit a few keys.

His stepmother returned an expression of exasperation. "Look, I've told
you, when you can learn to play the piano, we'll see about letting you have
a guitar."

Not what Danny wanted to hear. He applied the logic of a nine-year-old.
"But. . . the other kids'll laugh at me. The piano is so. . . dumb."

Merry rolled her eyes. "They won't and it isn't. I'm not asking you to
play it at school assembly; and I want you to learn music, but I want you to
learn how to play *proper* music - trust me, you'll thank me in the long
run."

"I'll remember that when my head is in the toilet and I'm being called a
fag."

"It's the piano, Danny. It really isn't that uncool. Stop being
melodramatic."

He pouted and played some more chords.

"See? That wasn't so hard." He just glared at her, and carried on.

Meredith sighed. She was hoping that music might bring Daniel out of his
shell a bit. Ever since they'd moved to Sunnydale he'd been withdrawn and
shy, and though he was at least used to the place he didn't seem to have
that many friends - though he had some - but she was just trying to get him
to be more sociable. It never helped that he still hadn't quite accepted
her as a replacement mother.

Just then, he hit the wrong keys and an off-key note rent the air. Danny
slammed his hands on the keys in frustration, muttering, "I am so going to
have wet hair at school."

"Danny. . . whatever you do, someone somewhere will disapprove. You gotta
learn just to not worry about what people think of you. Do the things that
are right for you."

He looked at her. "Does that mean I can ignore these piano lessons and get a
guitar?"

Sly little . . . "Parents don't count."

"*Mom!*"

He went back to his chords and Meredith smiled. It was the first time he'd
called her that.

***

I pick at the strings on my bass, which without the enhancement of an amp
sound odd. Not that that doesn't fit in with the atmosphere. Faith is a
bit spaced out, staring at the morning television, some trashy talk show
with secretaries getting makeovers whilst their bosses watched or something.
I wonder if there was just static whether Faith would notice; she is either
just looking in the direction of the screen, or really engrossed in the
show.

Since Giles had left she's just sat there. It occurs to me that it might be
how the new Faith deals with traumatic events; instead of going out and
staking the frustration out of her system she just goes . . . quiet. I'd
think it was meditation, but I know better. There is less 'om' about her
manner than would be expected.

If my theory is right, then this was of the good. Faith is dealing stress
in a calm manner. But I can't help thinking that this could be less anger
management and more volcano style build-up of violent tendencies. Maybe
though it's just the recurring thought of Buffy being dead (and therefore an
entirely understandable reaction), or possibly just the effect of daytime
television.

Whichever it is, I decide I need a smoke.

"Weed?" I ask - I figure she might want some.

Faith gives me a grateful look. "Yeah."

I nod, and go about rolling a J. We don't say much until it's lit and Faith
has smoked half of it. She turns to me and passes it on, exhaling smoke
through her nose. "I've been waiting for ya to tell me it'll all be ok."

An eyebrow twitches. "Nah, I'm a werewolf. Cordelia has the prophetic
visions."

She gives me a droll smile. "Sorry, what with your obsession with boys and
make-up I got confused for a minute there."

"It was just one boy. And I don't know if it was obsession, exactly. A
mild fixation at best."

The lips curve slightly. "Glad we got that one straight. So ta speak."

"Well, I wouldn't want rumours to spread."

There is a conversational lull, and I use the opportunity to take some draws
on the joint.

Then she speaks again, and she sounds almost nervous. "Do you think I can
hack it? The Slayer deal? This whole 'saviour of the Earth' gig is a
little, uh overwhelming."

I shrug. "You're the Chosen One. I think it's your destiny."

"Either that or I'll be dead soon."

"Well, that can be said for us all."

She runs a hand through tangled hair. It reminds me that we both need a
shower. "It's just . . . I know G-man doesn't think I will, and the
sidekicks hate me . . ."

"Well, they kinda have this image of you as the bad guy. You need to do
some good PR."

She throws up her hands in disgust. "Aw, *c'mon* Oz! I don't know what to
do: I've said sorry. What do they want? Blood?"

"Actually . . ."

"They're your friends. Willow used to be your girlfriend. Can't you get
them to get over themselves?"

"I think with you they aren't likely to listen. Not right now. Not so soon
. . . you'll need to let them adjust."

She turns away, back to the tv, waving a hand in indifference. "I don't
know why I care. Buffy needed them, but I don't."

I sigh. "I'll try to talk to them, but . . . "

"Whatever. Don't bust your ass on my account."

I decide that this could be a good time to let her be. I finish the joint,
stubbing it out on the metal ashtray on our creaky bedside cabinet, then
grab my jacket.

"I wanted to see Devon now I'm back in town. Will you be ok if I go?"

Without conviction, "Five by five. See you around."

"Yeah," I say, and head for the door.

***

He answers the door just in his jeans; naked chest with the red scratch of
nails evidence of what I've probably interrupted.

"Oz! Fuck, man! When the Hell did you get back?"

"Last night."

Dev grabs me in a hug, then just as quick pushes me away. "I should kick
your ass, you know that? You said you'd at least send a postcard." His
expression is still happy, but there is a little annoyance in his voice.

"It's nothing personal. Parents haven't heard from me either."

He shakes his head. "Dufus," he says, and thumps me on the arm. We stand
smiling at each other for a second, then I hear a voice in the background.
Female.

"Honey, who is it? Hurry up, will you!"

He winks at me. "Look, I'll get you for lunch at the Espresso Pump.
12.30?"

"Cool."

Another wink and he's back inside, undoing the jeans even before he shuts
the door. I realise I'm vaguely jealous. Of the girl.

It's only just gone eleven, so I jump back in the van, and find myself
driving home. I stop outside my house, but stay in the van. It looks the
same as it always did, although they've changed the curtains in the front
room. It'll be empty; they'll both be out at work. Which is just as well;
I don't think I'm quite ready for that reunion yet.

***

Devon crams some fries into his mouth, then asks through half-chewed potato,
"Are you staying long this time? Or is it another quick stop?"

I shrug, slurping from a cup of coke. "Maybe."

He grins. "Hey! You ain't bein' vague with me. Well?"

"I don't know Dev. Things are weird."

He gives me a pissed off look. "Ain't they always with you nowadays?" He
grins again. "So, where are you staying?"

"The motel on Harbor Road."

"What you doin' there? You can crash at mine if ya need to."

I shake my head. "I'm sorta. . . looking after someone."

His eyes glint. "A special someone?"

"Special, yeah. But not like that."

"So?"

"What?"

"Who are they?"

"She's called Faith. I think you met her."

"Yeah, dark haired chick. Something to do with Willow and her gang?"

"Yeah. So how are the Dingoes?"

He takes the hint and lets the subject drop. "We're good, man. Got a few
gigs, the new bass player is pretty ok, and y'know, we're making it happen.
Like, we had an A and R guy round at a gig we had in Ventura. We're getting
known, buddy."

"That's great Dev, I'm glad."

He smiles at me. "It is. But it'd be even better with you."

I avoid his eyes. "I can't." I really want to, but I can't. I can't give
him that commitment. And he knows it.

Devon looks out of the Pump's windows. "I figured."

We spend the rest of the time talking about the old days, before I was a
wolf, when it was just me and him - and a few groupies. Then about gigs we
did in Sunnydale and Oxnard and LA, the songs we wrote and the names for the
Dingoes we rejected. They cause me to worry about our mental health at the
time.

Then we talk about the songs we never finished and the trip to Europe we
never took and the stuff we planned to do when we got famous. And I
realise, clear as day, that we've got the part where our friendship is just
that, memories and promises unfulfilled.

If I knew I was staying, if I knew I had the time I could repair it. But
right now . . . I don't know where I'm going to be tomorrow, let alone after
that. Devon knows. And we both know I probably won't be there with him.

So my afternoon was sorta depressing after that. But it was that sorta day.

Which made my meeting Spike and Harmony on the way home really kinda
perfect.

***

Continued in Part 4