*banner by akaela_lee*

Challenge Code: 1BF14
Title: Time Waits For No One
Author: Oracleholly
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own Oz, he’s the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Summary: Time is a fickle thing. Post-“New Moon Rising,” Oz reflects on the events of “Wild At Heart” and its aftermath.
Dedication: Thank you to blacknblue2 for betaing and slinkypsychokit and slaymesoftly for their read throughs. This was inspired by the wonderful artwork by akaela_lee and was written for the Watchersdiaries' Reverse Art-a-thon.
A/N: I’ve placed the credits at the end of the piece.
ETA: With a thank-you to speakr2customrs, I've changed the opening line slightly.

Mick Jagger sang, “Time waits for no one, and it won’t wait for me.” Well, he wasn’t wrong. And when you’re a werewolf, time is not so much your friend either. Before Jordy bit me, I’d never worried much about the passing of time. It was there, ever present, but nothing for me to get worked up over. No, time passed by without affecting me much, or so I thought.

That first full moon after the bite, everything changed. Time became my enemy. Every full moon, I lost all that was ‘Oz’ and became the wolf. The werewolf shoved my humanity aside, burying it deep within, only to let it back after the moon set.

Still, it could have been worse. At least I had Willow then. Willow and her friends brought me into their Scooby group. And while I might seem unaffected by what others think of me – and mostly that’s true – I was wading into uncharted territory back then. What was I? Was I still human, or just mostly human with a splash of werewolf? Or was I a wolf that disguised himself as a human most of the time? Yet, throughout it all, never once did the group make me feel rejected for being what I was. And Willow, sweet Willow… well, she brought me peace.

Things were good. It didn’t last. Veruca happened.

Like a cyclone, Veruca swept into my life, disrupting my comfortable existence. I can’t deny that from the first moment I laid my eyes on her I was entranced. Seeing her onstage singing, her voice tantalizing in its delivery. Her call like a siren’s, beckoning foolish men to enter her harbor. There I stood, completely mesmerized by this forbidden fruit, while the woman I loved with every part of my soul endured my unresponsiveness as she tried to have a conversation with me. I couldn’t help myself. Veruca’s scent, spirit, whatever, pulled me in.

The next day, I found Veruca sitting alone in the cafeteria. I should have stayed away; I should have kept walking. Stupid me started a conversation about amps. Poor Willow. She tried to contribute to the discussion, thinking we were referring to Elvis Presley songs. Instead of staying with my girlfriend, I left. Veruca had made me feel things I didn’t want to feel, and having Willow suddenly appear thrust me back into reality.

I didn’t know why I was so drawn to Veruca, but I sure found out the next morning.

The first night of the Full Moon, my wolf broke out of the cage. Since the library had been blown to bits at Graduation, I’d found a nice little crypt with a handy cage inside to use during my ‘wolf’ periods. Not sure why a cage had been built inside a crypt, but then again, in Sunnydale, that’s par for the course. I’ve been told what apparently happened sometime during that night.

It appeared that Veruca’s wolf started to attack Professor Maggie Walsh - that bitch! Had I known then what I know now, perhaps my wolf wouldn’t have prevented the attack. Then again, maybe not. I don’t know. All I do know is that my werewolf decided to interfere, tackling the other wolf. The next morning I awoke outside, in the woods, naked with scratches, and lying next to Veruca.

While I had no memory of our ‘encounter,’ she informed me that she did. She taunted me further declaring that over time, my human side would gain the ability to remember details of my time as a wolf. It was news to me.

My wolf slept with Veruca! No, that’s not entirely true. I slept with Veruca. Sure, I had transformed when it happened, and I could make the excuse that it wasn’t me, but I can’t. Not really. Not when I had been having those feelings before my wolf rutted with hers. I guess it gives the terms ‘carnal knowledge’ a whole new twist.

The one thing I will always remember the most about Veruca was her eyes, and how, even in her human form, they resembled those of a wolf. She embraced all her wolfness. She even dared to tell me that I wasn’t human; that in fact, I was a wolf, only disguised as a human most of the time.

The wrongness of the whole situation made me ill. I’d cheated on Will. I’d become ‘that guy’ – a guy who cheats. And even though my mind felt shame at my errant behavior, the wolf’s lust still lingered. It wanted her. Like calls to like.

The worse part of all – I didn’t tell Willow.

The second stupid thing I did happened later that same day. I called Veruca telling her to meet me. The white hat in me couldn’t let her go around killing, the very thought sickened me. And instead of telling the others about what she was and getting help, I kept it to myself. Veruca arrived at the crypt right before moonrise, slinking in like a predator cornering its prey. Why had I thought caging her with me was a solution? I don’t know.

If I had thought it through, if I had talked to Giles even, perhaps none of it would have happened. But now, I know; the wolf inside wanted it to happen again. Her wolf called to mine. She knew it; she craved it. My senses and desires had almost completely merged with the wolf so close to moonrise, and I demanded that she get inside the cage with me. My conscience knew what would most likely happen, but my brain had pretty much shut off at that point. Everything became instinct.

The first time I slept with Veruca, I could blame on the wolf. I didn’t remember anything of it. This second time, however, I couldn’t make excuses. I had set up the scenario, allowed it to happen. Even though part of me wished I could blame it on my wish to prevent her from killing anyone or even from getting captured by the Initiative, that doesn’t explain what I did or how I went about it. Like I said before, I had become ‘that guy.’ And I didn’t like me much either.

Waking up the next morning and seeing the hurt on Willow’s face, her pale skin radiant in the early light, will forever haunt me. Until that time, I thought I had known pain, but I hadn’t a clue. My heart felt as if it had been ripped completely from my chest. But then some inner voice felt a sick satisfaction in her misery. After all, she had been the one who’d strayed in high school. Sure, she hadn’t slept with Xander then, but that didn’t mean that had hurt any less at the time. That damn voice whispered cruel thoughts, which my anger thankfully stamped down. I redirected my anger toward the person whom I blamed, Veruca. But she was unapologetic, and truthfully, despite what I wanted to believe at the time, the blame rested solely on my shoulders.

Then the bitch had to threaten the life of my Willow. My reaction had been primal, intense, savage and way scary. Looking back, I envy vampires just a little; heck, I still do. At least when they mark their mate or place a claim on someone, their bite doesn’t ‘change’ the person. That person doesn’t become a vampire just from that sort of bite. One bite to mark Willow as mine would have caused her to become a werewolf like me. Although the wolf wanted to, many times, the man in me would never – will never – force the were lifestyle on someone I love, unless she asked. Even then I probably would have talked her out of it. She was Willow. Perfection in every way. I would never subject her to what I had to go through. I would never make her part-demon.

Still, I wish there had been a way to ‘mark’ Willow, essentially protecting her from other weres. My scent alone covering her should have been enough to stop another were-male from approaching, but I’d never dreamed of having to defend who I considered my mate from a female were.

In the most cold-blooded manner imaginable, Veruca cornered Willow in a lab right before the sun was to set, knowing full well that the wolf would come out and attack. She thought she would play the alpha female, laying a claim on me. Thank God, I got there in time. My wolf protected Willow, attacking the threat Veruca posed. But then, it…I turned on Willow. The wolf… I … needed to make her mine. Least I hope that’s what the wolf was thinking. Like I said it was primal. Fortunately Buffy got there in time and shot me with a tranq, knocking out the wolf.

In a bizarre way, Veruca did me a favor. I used to never remember what happened when I became a wolf or believe that my human morals would guide my wolf. Usually, all conscious thought – well, human thought – left the building so to speak. But, that moment in that lab, the wall separating my wolf and my humanity crumbled. Both were in harmony – protect Willow at all costs.

The morning after brought a churning sea of emotions – guilt, fear, confusion, worry, happiness, sadness, anger, anxiety – did I mention guilt? Overwhelming guilt plagued my consciousness. I had killed. Yes, in defense of Willow, but still I killed. Not a vamp or a demon, but a girl – a were, yes – but still she was a girl. She was human, just with a dash of demon. My usual equanimity disappeared, my balance gone.

So, I left. I needed to regain my balance, if that was even possible. I needed to come to terms with the wolf in a way I had long denied. And I wanted to find some control, so I would never hurt anybody ever again, or at least to be able to forgive myself for taking a life.

Leaving Willow was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I hoped she would wait, I guess part of me expected her to. She was Willow; I was Oz. It was the way the world was supposed to be. Time does funny things it seems.

******
I actually didn’t leave Sunnydale right away, unlike, I’m sure the Scoobies believed. Instead, I stopped by my cousin’s house to talk to my aunt. Having a kid as a werewolf could present a whole host of problems, so I’d hoped perhaps she had heard of something or somebody that knew of a solution to controlling the wolf. Unfortunately, Aunt Maureen’s was a bust. My aunt always caged the tot during the full moons, and prayed that one day there’d be a cure. However, she did give me the name of some underground relocation program for werewolves and other demons in Los Angelus.

Following that lead, I traveled to Los Angeles in hopes that someone had heard of something; if not a cure, perhaps some medication that would curb the wolf’s habits. After spending a few days in LA, I realized I had hit a dead end. On the tip from some green demon at a weird karaoke bar, I then drove towards Mexico, where the van decided to die in some border town on the US side of the border. Had to trade my bass for repairs. I could always buy another bass, the van I needed more.

Mexico presented a nice respite for a time, a few weeks. The people were friendly, the weather pleasant, and as much as I would have loved to stay there, it was a delay all the same. A nice witch, Rosalita, did clue me into a powerful warlock, who lived in Europe but moved around a lot. She kindly told me that this warlock was very powerful and knew secrets unrevealed to others.

As I waited for my van to get fixed, I began to plot out my search of Europe. I wanted my van there – a little piece of home on this journey.

Found a freighter and a half-demon captain that would transport my van and me to a port in Portugal. While normally I would have been opposed to getting help from any demons, I mean, all Giles taught us was that demons were bad, I took a chance. I’m glad I did. The captain couldn’t have been more understanding. He was a Brachen demon, whose smell was very reminiscent of someone who I couldn’t place at first.

Then I remembered. I mentioned that I had met a Brachen demon named Doyle in Los Angeles. The captain had suddenly turned grim, and I had wondered if I had made a mistake in mentioning Doyle. I mean I sort of figured he’d been in the closet about his demon status, perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything. Cordelia hadn’t known of Doyle’s true nature.

It turned out that the Captain was distantly related to Doyle in some convoluted manner. He informed me that Doyle had just recently perished a hero by preventing the Scourge from wiping out humanity. I didn’t know what the ‘Scourge’ was, except that Angelus, Darla, Spike and Drusilla had been the ‘Scourge of Europe,’ but from the captain’s expression, I felt he didn’t mean them. He told me at first the family had shunned any mention of Doyle, because he had turned his back on his kind. Now, he was celebrated throughout the peaceful demon communities, along with Angel – well, they still didn’t like Angel, but they appreciated the fact that Angel had given Doyle a job.

The fact that I had known Doyle – albeit just briefly – earned me enough good will to gain passage on his ship, with the understanding that I had to work in the kitchen. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. The captain even set up a place for me when I would undergo the change. Those couple of weeks at sea were an eye opener. Different sorts of demons intermingling with half-breeds and pure humans – all getting along, in sort of a utopia like state. Of course, I had lucked out; these were peaceful types, who blended with the normal world – had businesses, traded, all sorts of things.

Once I had arrived in Portugal, I made my rounds discreetly searching for mention of Mergon, the warlock Rosalita had told me about. The reports varied. Alleged sightings had been reported in Poland, Belgium, Germany and Romania. I would have to travel. Good thing I had my van. No need for spending money renting a car.

Throughout Europe I searched, stopping during a full moon in Germany. Taking advantage of the Black Forest, I had happened upon a tribe of weres. Different species, but very friendly. I ran with them during the Moon.

Reluctantly, I have to give some credit to Veruca. My experience with her opened up a whole new world of possibilities to me. She had said that I would be able eventually to remember events that happened while in wolf form. I hadn’t believed her at the time, but I guess putting that suggestion in my mind caused my subconscious to start building those pathways connecting the wolf and the man. I started remembering bits and pieces of my time as a wolf during that moon, and I enjoyed the runs through woods with the other weres.

In turn, I learned that the wolf had already been incorporating my moral code, from almost the beginning. Memories came to me of when I had faced Angelus drinking from a woman and how it had refused to let Walsh get bitten or eaten by Veruca. I had thought the wolf was a mindless animal – all about the hunt and the kill. Not so. It shared my passion, my compassion, and my sense of justice.

I began embracing my werewolf in whole new ways.

Eventually I found out that Mergon was in fact in Romania from another were I had come across in Hungary. That were thought I was crazy for seeking out any cure; but he was an old man, who isolated himself from the rest of the world, so I took his criticism in stride and continued my journey. I tracked Mergon down in Sighisoara, where a 12th century Saxon citadel still stands. The town funnily enough was the birthplace of Vlad Dracula. Got to appreciate a guy with a sense of the dramatic.

Now when I think of a ‘warlock,’ the image conjured into my brain is someone dark, mysterious, power-hungry, with a long beard – a whole sinister vibe. That all shattered when I met Mergon. First off, Mergon is only a few inches taller than me. He’s bald with tuffs of hair above his ears. If I were to pick an actor to play him, it would have to be that guy from Princess Bride, who played Vizzini. Yeah, Mergon even had lots of the same personality traits as Vizzini – short, rude and obnoxious. However, once I got to know him, I discovered that all was a front for a relatively quiet and shy guy.

Mergon taught me the history of the different species of werewolves and some legends that he’d acquired from some of the world’s oldest, living weres. While he had personally found no cure for my affliction, he had heard whispered rumors of ancient weres who were able to ‘wolf-out’ when they wanted to. According to those sketchy accounts, those wolves that achieved an ‘enlightenment’ could unleash the wolf on a whim, regain their human form just as easily and even had the ability to prevent the wolf from coming out during a full moon.

While I stayed with Mergon, he took me under his wing. He counseled me about fully accepting my wolf, as part of my life - just like any person, that suddenly finds him or herself with a chronic illness must do. In his many travels as a young man, he’d studied briefly with some monks in Tibet. They had mastered the art of meditation and other forms of behavior control, which he thought might benefit me. Before I left his company, he taught me how to do a few charms and gave me a talisman to protect me from evil. He was a cool guy. Sometimes I miss those quiet moments in front of his fireplace when what little conversation we had dwindled to nothing and silence filled the room. Just hanging with him was cool. But my time had come to depart and continue onward.

Making my way to Tibet presented some perils, and that’s all I’m going to say about that. Needless-to-say, I arrived in Tibet, tired and grumpy, with my van once again in need of repairs.

The monks I sought weren’t Buddhists or those who followed the teachings of the Dalai Lama. For sake of their safety, they did wear similar robes as their Buddhists cousins. Their religion was older than the Buddha and boasted origins stemming from the end of the Age of the Old Ones. It was believed, but not proven that they provided refuge to Utnapishtim of the Gilgamesh epic, but that legend had been mostly buried in obscurity and not part of the one most people hear.

Before I had left Mergon’s company, he traveled on the astral plane to converse with one of the monks, in order to aid my arrival in Tibet. In addition, he taught me some helpful words and phrases that I would need. A few words here, a few covert meetings there, and one of the monk’s representatives came to retrieve me.

The representative informed me that only those worthy would be allowed entrance to their temple. My cause was helped by the word of Mergon, but recommendation alone would not secure my entry. In order to prove my worthiness and my desire, I had to climb the mountain leading to the temple, without the assistance of modern climbing technology. The rep gave me a rough map of my route, drawn on a linen cloth colored with age. Upon my acceptance of the map, the rep promptly vanished. I was on my own.

The climb was hard going, since I faced a perpetual cascade of snow falling with almost zero visibility. My nose and my instinct kept me from more than a few perilous situations – sudden drop-offs, great chasms, loose rocks, and much more. I’ve heard of other climbers talking about ‘becoming one with the mountain,’ and I’d never put much stock in such sayings. But being on that mountain, the gray sky kissing the pure snow, I began to know what they meant. Eventually, I could hone in what rock, what footing, what grip would be the best. It was very Zen; I was the mountain.

After successfully climbing to the site of the temple, I was greeted by two monks, who provided me with warm soup and hot tea. I’d proved my worthiness, and my tutelage began in earnest. Mediation, breathing, and self-acceptance made up just a part of my emotional and physical training. While the monks instructed me in those subjects, they also added to my fledgling magical skills. Although Mergon had graced me with his knowledge of some charms, the monks bestowed upon me secret, powerful chants that would assist me during moon times and other times as well.

While learning to harness my wolf, my dreams were filled with Willow. She was my key to my inner peace. Just the image of her half-crooked smile or picturing her trying to dance would boost my spirits. Willow thoughts helped me achieve harmony with my wolf. Once achieved, the monks sent me on my way, and I knew I had but one destination: Sunnydale.

*******
Seeing Willow again and smelling her strawberry scent felt like coming home. I was truly home. A new face was in the background at Giles, a blonde girl, but I paid her no attention. All my focus was on the love of my life. She was there, and I was home.

Being able to just talk to Will again filled me with so much joy. I could tell she was still hurt and confused by my arrival back into town. I’d asked Xander if there was a new guy in her life, and he assured me that there wasn’t. Still, Willow seemed distant, which puzzled me. Of course, at the time, I attributed the distance to her not having quite forgiven me over Veruca, which was understandable. My mind refused to contemplate any other possibilities.

We’d spent the night just talking, eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms. It was comfortable. It was safe. She was Willow, and I was home.

The next day, however, my world bottomed out. Walking in the halls of Sunnydale U, I smelled a hint of strawberries, Willow. But it wasn’t Willow; it was the blonde girl that I’d seen and dismissed at Giles. Willow’s scent was all over her!

Willow and this girl! They were involved. The girl’s stuttering didn’t help matters. My anger began to take over. I was losing control, and it was during a Full Moon.

With one last shred of humanity, I warned her. RUN!

The wolf took over completely. It’s rage immense. The object of its anger fled like all prey, scampering into some hidden passage. The taste of fear lingered in the air. I remembered the wolf take off after its prey; only, suddenly, it was caught. Soldiers. I’d forgotten.

I was conscious only part of the time during the initial ‘testing’, and for that, I’m grateful. The bruises and cuts covering my body told a tale too horrible for my mind to grasp. When I regained wakefulness, I found myself cold, naked, afraid, and alone in a white room with some clear wall teasing me of the only exit. I’d remembered what Spike had said about the Initiative when he escaped, how electric current ran through the wall. Testing it out, I felt the buzz on my fingertips and immediately went to huddle into a corner, trying to place myself as far away from that wall as possible.

Couldn’t they see I was human? Couldn’t they provide me with clothes? I’d remembered that Spike said he’d kept his most of the time. If they had allowed the master vampire to have clothes why couldn’t I have mine?

Time held no meaning for me inside that prison. How long had I been there? A part of me perceived it’d only been a few hours, but another part listening to my injuries felt that the time had been days. I tried to reign in my self-control. I needed balance in this insanity. But I could only manage just a tiny hold. One little trigger would be all the wolf needed to get out and rampage.

When the clear wall began to slide open and Riley Finn stepped through, I braced myself for more torture. But then he used a kind voice, and I realized the soldier was going against orders. He’d brought me some sweats to cover my nakedness, allowing me to regain a shred of dignity. As Riley tried to help me escape the Initiative, several soldiers and one mightily irate colonel unfortunately stopped us. Once again I found myself back in my prison, only this time with the clothes Riley gave me.

Not long after, Buffy with Xander, Willow, Spike and Riley in tow, came to rescue me. Buffy had somehow managed to take the Colonel hostage and release Riley from the brig. I had a moment to register surprise at seeing Spike not only in military green but also willingly in the Initiative. Then, Willow tried to come near me, but as soon as she did, I felt my control start to slip. My previous anger started coming back in full force, my hands shifting to that of the wolf. Once I ordered her to stay back, the change ceased, a precarious balance once more achieved.

Later that night, I sat alone in my van with Willow once more on my way out of Sunnydale. My heart kept shredding each time I glimpsed at her, her scent now bittersweet. She wanted to explain what had happened, why this Tara had captured her heart, but I knew it was safer for her (and for me) not to hear it. Then Will said what I thought was the saddest thing – that some part of her would always be waiting for me, that she wouldn’t be surprised one day in the far off future running into me in some distant place. As much as I wanted to cling to that platitude, deep down I knew it was empty. Willow was lost to me. She would never be once again mine. Another’s…she would be another’s. She may have imagined that she meant every word of it, but I understood that she was lying to herself. She’d moved on, and now, I was left to do the same.

Mick Jagger once claimed, “Time is on my side, yes it is,” and in the same song, “You’ll coming running back to me.” Well, as much as I’d love to have faith in those words and Willow’s platitudes, I have to be honest with myself; it doesn’t work that way. Mick was fooling himself in that song. Apparently he realized it too, since ten years later, he wisely declared, “Time waits for no one, and it won’t wait for me.” That’s the lesson I learned; it didn’t wait for me. In finding myself - my balance, I lost the love of my life. No, time certainly didn’t wait for me.

Knowing that time is not my friend, I will no longer wait for it to heal my wounds. My heart will heal, but for now it’s a vast, empty wilderness. So I’m searching. I search for what will fill my heart again. I search for another key to my inner peace. With the knowledge bequeathed to me by Mergon and the monks, I journey this new path valuing every second, every moment given to me by the Powers and hoping one day, even time will grant me and my wolf someone with whom to chase the moon.

--The End –


A/N1: The two Rolling Stones songs referred to in the story are “Time Waits For No One” and “Time Is On My Side.” “Time is On My Side” was released in 1964 on their album 12 X 5. “Time Waits For No One” was released in 1974 on the Stones’ album It’s Only Rock ‘N’ Roll in 1974.

A/N2: I’ve referred to the epic story of Gilgamesh, which a summary can be found at http://www.wsu.edu/~dee/MESO/GILG.HTM. Please note, that I’ve taken a great liberty and really stretched the reference in an effort to really age the nameless religion of the monks who took Oz under their wing.

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