Five Things That Could Have Happened (And One That Did)
Wesley blinks several times before his eyes stop tearing up and adjust to the darkness and the thick smoke in the bar he just entered. It's one of those bars you only visit when you have nothing to lose. Money. Pride. Reputation.
Teeth.
Wesley thinks it fits his new image and tries to stop the cough that's welling up from his throat because Rogue Demon Hunters shouldn't react sensitively to second hand smoke. He looks around, trying to sort out where he can and where he shouldn't sit down, when he spots red, spiky hair that seems... awfully familiar.
As he walks closer Wesley tries to remember the boy's name. Not the one the other kids gave him but his real one. He's sure he's heard it somewhere before.
When he gets close enough he coughs softly and asks "Daniel?"
The figure turns around and looks at him. If Oz is surprised he doesn't show it and that seems familiar, too. Oz nods to him and Wesley waits the anger or irritation to show on his face. It never does. Then again, Oz never did seem the type to harbour a grudge.
"Wesley."
They've both ordered a beer and Wesley fumbles for something to say. He has no idea what the proper etiquette for situations like this is.
He doesn't really know Oz, and he never managed to figure him out, but for some reason he thinks there's nothing that is off limits. Thinks there's nothing he couldn't ask him. He's just not sure if he wants to know the answers Oz would give.
Before he's made up his mind Oz looks up from his glass and asks, "What are you running from?"
"...and so we decided, that it would be for our mutual benefit for me to resign from my position as a Watcher and become my own man."
Wesley picks up his glass and wants to take another sip from his beer, noting frustrated that it's already empty... again.
"My skills were wasted in my former position, anyway. This way I can do much more good in the world and... and... and can't a guy get something to drink in this hovel?"
Oz calmly listens to everything Wesley has to tell him, nods at the appropriate places and 'hmmm's on the others, and when Wesley's beer is empty he nods to the barkeeper to get another one, fascinated all the while by how he sound almost convinced by everything he's saying, even though he's well on his way to getting truly drunk.
Wesley grins at the waitress when she puts the newly filled beer in front of him then frowns at Oz and the glass that's been empty for the last half an hour.
"Aren't you going to drink anything?"
Oz shakes his head and his lips curl up in a small smile.
"Not tonight."
After the fifth or something beer Wesley remembers that he doesn't know the reason Oz is here, so he asks.
Oz shrugs and says, "Trying to get control of the wolf."
Wesley sobers up a bit at that because that little detail had completely slipped his mind. And he calls himself a demon hunter? Great.
"Is it working?"
Oz makes an indefinite gesture with his head and waves a few bills at the barkeeper before putting them under his empty glass.
"When I want it to."
He gets up and Wesley is startled for a moment but then Oz nods towards the exit and the small smile is back.
"Wanna go?"
And if there's a bit of growl in his voice when he says it, Wesley's too tipsy to notice.
The night air is cool and the sky is full of clouds. It's probably gonna rain later that night.
Oz turns right and walks a few steps, not looking back to see if Wesley follows - doesn't need to - and only stops when Wesley asks, "Where are we going?"
Oz turns, shifting as he does, revealing pointy teeth as he grins and says, "Nowhere."
The last thing Wesley sees is the bright crescent shining through the clouds.
A noise from the bar makes Wesley look away and as he looks back the redhead is gone. Strange.
He sits down at the bar, orders a beer and drinks it, making sure to keep a watchful eye on all the people in the room while keeping his shoulders squared, maintaining an air of dangerous authority. It's all about seeing and being seen.
When he leaves it has just started to rain. Wesley never notices the blood on the pavement as it's slowly washed away.