They Only Come Out at Night by LindaMarie The band was terrible. It had to be, or it would have never stooped to playing in Livingston, Montana. Oz watched them struggle through their chords and lyrics from the back, trying to weave through too many bodies, watch the stage, and look for a seat all at once. This would normally have been easy, but the place was too smoky. It seemed like practically everyone in this town had a cigarette in their hand. Or they were lighting one up. Pushing past one particularly burly man, Oz finally spotted an empty chair. Unfortunately, it was at an occupied table. Very well occupied, from what he could see. That was one of the problems with being a werewolf. You had all these great senses, but your vision was pretty much the same. The whole colorblind thing was a myth. The guy at the other seat was wearing way too much leather for Livingston, and he had that look to him like he should be wearing sunglasses, even though he wouldn't need them inside the Presumption Bar & Grill. Definitely not a local. Oz made sure he caught the other man's eye while he was still pretty far away. He had a feeling it wasn't good to get this guy's bad side. The man looked at him with these weird piercing eyes (but not weird like Big Bad weird, 'cause Oz had stayed awake for his own personal Demons 101, and passed with flying colors), then nodded like he knew what Oz was gonna ask all along. Again, weird. Oz sat down gratefully, turning his full attention to the stage and doing his best not to stare too much at his tablemate. Not that that was a very difficult task, all things considered. Oz had pretty much kept to himself since he'd left Sunnydale six months ago. How was he supposed to know whether the Initiative was still tracking him? He hadn't seen any commando guys around, but he couldn't be sure. And what if something happened like what had with Willow's girlfriend? Girlfriend. It didn't hurt to say the word any more. After all, Will had been the first woman he'd ever been with, and probably the last. Why should he be so surprised that she wasn't big on the opposite sex either? But that whole discovery of those two, what had happened when he found out, still frightened him. It had been broad daylight, in a public place, and the wolf had just broken free. And he'd thought he was finally in control, too. So since then he'd just been cruising around, not knowing what to do next. He'd already exhausted all the available resources for a lycanthropic cure, and the best he could find were all these damn charms and amulets. He had to admit that they did do what they were meant to, since he wasn't having to lock himself up during the full moon any more, but the wolf still wasn't gone. And that's what he'd wanted. That's what he still wanted, if you really got down to it. About two months ago, he'd turned up here, and just never bothered to leave. No one said anything about how it was illegal to be living in the van like that, but then again, there were a lot of tourists here, so maybe they never even noticed. The town was decent enough, though there wasn't exactly a social scene. Even Sunnydale had been more lively than this place. Livingston had a population of about fifteen hundred, and every single one of them was nearly as white as Oz was. Their main source of entertainment was the local bowling alley. The only movie theater had two screens, both of them showing the same film. Livingston's one claim to fame was that it practcally bordered on Yellowstone. It was Yellowstone that had brought Oz here, and what really made him stay. It was Yellowstone, and the wolves. Another benefit of studying with all those magick experts and gurus was that he could shapechange completely. He could be full wolf on command, and he didn't have to settle for in-between. It was a little bit better, a little less wounding than before. And that would have to be enough, since he knew he would never get any closer to normal than this. So he wasn't even sure why he was hanging out in this greasy bar tonight, listening to bad covers of Fleetwood Mac. Usually by this time, he'd already gotten to the park and 'shifted. He should be out in the park now, running with his new pack and tearing down his next meal. After all, it wasn't like he had to worry about humans out there. And it was really odd, because he had his own pack now, a strange group of mostly brownish-black wolves that somehow didn't mind that he disappeared randomly for unpredictable amounts of time. Yesterday while walking down Main Street, he'd overheard a park ranger commenting on "that red one that keeps showing up." Oz worried about what would happen if they ever tried to tag him. The band finally finished their act, and the bar was unusually silent in the aftermath. Oz hadn't realized until now that the other man was staring at him. I wonder how long he's been watching me? he thought as he met those weird black-on-black eyes. You can't even see the fucking pupils... "That certainly was awful, now wasn't it?" Oz hadn't expected him to speak. "Oh, yeah, the band. They were...really bad." Oz paused as the stranger chuckled darkly. He held out his hand. "I'm Oz, by the way." "Damon." They shook hands, Oz noticing vaguely that the other man had a firm grip. He breathed in deeply as he pulled his hand back, trying to be subtle about scenting him, since it wasn't exactly a thing that a normal (there was that word again) human would do. Damon had a smell to him like night-time, like moonlight and dark water and...music. Oz searched his mind for a second, thinking of all the places he'd traveled through in the last two years, trying to place that particular fragrance. Then it occured to him. He smells like Italy... "What did you just say?" "Huh?" Oz raised one eyebrow in confusion. "You said I smelled like..." Damon leaned closer, hands flat out on the narrow table. "You're not entirely human, are you?" Oz blinked, trying not to think of the possibility that this guy was a wolf-hunter, or part of the Watchers' Council, or the Initiative or some other nasty "We-Wish-Oz-Were-Dead" organization. "Last time I checked...no." He would have tried to sound nonchalant, but being Oz, he didn't see the need. Damon peered at him through narrowed eyes. "You're a 'wolf, aren't you? You smell like the forest." "'Wolf. Yep." Oz was trying to figure out how to ask Damon about how he could smell him from so far away, since he knew after that whole Veruca thing what a 'wolf smelled like, and this guy wasn't one. But his unvoiced question got answered. "Vampire." Damon watched Oz's reaction carefully, seemed to realize there wouldn't be one to speak of, then continued, "Does that...bother you?" "No, not really. Except that you're not." The other guy seemed incredulous, but Oz had spent enough of his life sitting smack-dab over a Hellmouth to know who was gonna vamp out at the end of the night and who wasn't. Damon grinned evilly. "Yes, I am." "No you're not." "Yes I--Why do you say I'm not?" "Demons stink like metal. And besides, they can't read minds." "But. I didn't say I was a demon and--" Oz cut in, calmly. "Demon, vampire...same diff." All of the sudden Damon seemed like he knew what was going on. He started laughing. "Oh, I see what you're thinking now. No no, I'm not one of those wrinkled possessed idiots." He tried to calm himself down. "I'm just a vampire," he added in somewhat hushed tones, since they had been talking a bit too loudly. Damon waved one hand vaguely. "Blooddrinker. We're not human, not quite. More powerful senses, faster, stronger...you get the idea." He seemed like he was going to add more, but decided not to elaborate any more than was necessary. "Killed any werewolves?" Oz asked good-naturedly. For some reason, he was liking this guy. Something about his style. "No, I never saw a need to." "Cool." Oz looked around, seeing more than a few people had vacated their tables. "Hey, I think they're closing." The bartender was giving him a dirty look because he hadn't ordered a single thing since he got here. Given that he was looking at Damon the same way, Oz could infer that he hadn't either. For obvious reasons. Oz stood and pushed in his chair, eyes meeting Damon's. "You...wanna get outta here? Go for a drive or somethin'?" The seated man gave Oz a calculating look. "Alright," he responded slowly. And as Damon stood and walked out of the bar beside him, Oz suddenly noticed that they were the exact same height. End.