The Road From Home

By James Walkswithwind and Byrne
Wes/Xander, NC-17
Set the summer after Buffy the Vampire Slayer season 3, before Angel the Series season 1.
Warnings:  Schmoop, smut, centaurs.  AU, triple cross-over between Buffy, the Horses of Different Colours series by James Walkswithwind and Wolfling, and the Tall Tails series by Byrne.
Disclaimers: Wesley and Xander and anything appearing or referred to on Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, ME, and assorted others; Henson belongs to James, and Wade belongs to Byrne.   No infringement intended, this story is for fun only, not profit.


The Road From Home

The wind was never cold in California.  Wesley half thought he should endeavour to stay in California for that very reason.  He knew that was ridiculous — he would go where he had to.

He gripped the handlebars of his motorcycle, keeping it balanced on even the curved roads without thought, riding on pure instinct.  It was night, and warm, and the scenery all should have conspired to make it a beautiful night.

But instead of enjoying the air and the view he was racing time, yet again.  Like always, he found himself being pushed and pulled by things beyond his control.  He wondered sometimes if even the illusion of control was impossible for him.

He hadn’t had control over his life when he was in England.  He’d hardly had control over anything at all in Sunnydale, certainly not his Slayer.  That had ended as painfully as it had begun, and now he was riding in the night, pretending to have control over his destiny when in fact his destination was in the hands of the demon he was chasing.  He couldn’t even decide which town to spend the night in, pushed on by the demon's timetable to catch it as quickly as possible.

Hopefully he would do so at the next one coming up — five more miles.  It was late, and he'd been up since very early that morning tracking the De'ebna demon.  He knew he could stay awake for hours, yet, but he would have liked to get some rest.  If the demon didn't stop, however, Wesley would have to keep pursuing it, or risk losing it all together.

He inhaled deeply, wishing he could have left his helmet off and breathed in the night air.  He wished a lot of things, and he knew they were all of them foolish.  He shook his head slightly, telling himself to focus.  Concentrate on the demon, and forget other things.

Wesley went over what he knew one more time as he rode.  The road didn’t challenge him and even though he could recall all the information he had on the De’ebna easily, it occupied his mind to play over the facts.  He could rearrange the bits and pieces of information, almost see them as parts of a puzzle.  Though he'd have never admitted it aloud, he just wished the De’ebna was a little more interesting.

He knew it fed off of the sort of energy a large group of people could generate.  He would be checking dance clubs, bars, rock concerts if he wound up in a bigger city.   The demon seemed partial to sexually charged energy, so Wesley also anticipated prowling a variety of seedier clubs.  Small towns, however, usually had only one or two bars, and, if the demon was lucky, a strip club. 

Luckily, strips clubs tended to have well-stocked kitchens.  Wesley was forced to have his meals wherever he could and club food and beers were good — if a lot more expensive than he'd have preferred.

He saw a sign for the upcoming town, and hoped again that the demon would have stopped, even if it meant someone would be in danger.  Wesley told himself there would be no real danger -- he would stop it.  He would kill the thing and he would take a day off, rest someplace.  In town, or along the road somewhere where he wouldn't be disturbed by demons or vampires or....anyone.

Again he found his thoughts wandering, and he had to force himself to recite what he knew about Torgen demons, a second cousin to De'ebna demons.  He didn't expect to come across any, but his best weapon was his knowledge of what he might face.

Soon enough, he found the solo exit ramp to the tiny town in the middle of nowhere, California.  This time the middle of nowhere was calling itself Oxnard.  Wesley sighed to himself and wondered if it was simply a misspelling of Oxford or a blatant corruption.  He decided he didn’t really care, if he got to stop for a little while.  He rode through the small town looking for a likely spot for the De’ebna to feed.

It would absorb some energy from a crowed of people but to really exist it would eventually have to cut a victim away from the others and feed.  Not unlike vampires, the De’ebna would bite and drink, but along with the blood it would savour the build up of tension within the victim, not letting go until the person was drained of energy. 

It didn’t really care if the physical body was drained of blood, and it didn’t matter.  Once the De’ebna stole all of one’s energy, death was not far behind regardless of blood loss.

He drove into town past the required allotment of truck stops, all-night Denny's, and cheap motels.  He gave the motel a fleeting glance — the vacancy sign was lit, which didn't surprise him at all.  He turned a corner at the first street light, aiming towards what looked like the night-life area.  He could see neon light in the near distance, and as he rode closer he could see cars in parking lots.  There was the vague sense of activity, and he knew that if the demon were in town, it would be here.

Oxnard wasn't likely to have *two* red light districts.

He pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine when he’d stopped in the back row.  He sat on the bike for a moment, listening to the engine tick over, feeling the beat of the music even outside.  It would be loud inside, and smoky.  The crush of bodies and Lord knew what on the stage.  He longed to just stay outside of it all for a few moments, but staying in the parking lot wouldn’t get the demon dealt with.

He swung his leg over the back of the bike, crushing gravel with his boots.  He made sure his helmet was secure and put his hands in assorted pockets as he walked to the door, making sure he had all the supplies he needed.  The stakes were just common sense, living in a state which held the Hellmouth, but what he really needed was in a little glass bottle in his hip pocket.

He approached the front of the club cautiously, noting the area around him.  In case the demon was inside, and made an escape, Wesley wanted to know exactly what to expect.  The street and parking lot were not well lit, but his night vision was good enough that he felt confident he'd have no trouble keeping his footing if it came to a foot-chase.

He went up to the door and found a bored woman taking $10 cover charges.  She gave him a look from head to toe with an interest he noticed but ignored.  She stamped the back of his hand with luminescent ink, and he made his way inside the club.

Before he even reached the door, the lights and sound hit his skull; as he stepped into the main room of the club, it pounded into his entire body from the soles of his feet, upward.  He stopped by the wall near the door, and noticed three things immediately.

The club goers were almost all women.  The demon he was chasing was seated near the runway, watching a table of women who were staring at the dancer on the runway.  The dancer was a well-built Hispanic man wearing a G-string.

Wesley kept his eye on the demon as he moved through the club, trying to find a spot where he could watch and not get accosted by the women.  The ladies seemed particularly unable to keep their hands to themselves and in his short walk to the back wall he was groped twice and propositioned once.  It seemed leather, even purely utilitarian bike leather, was a big draw.

The demon was oblivious to his presence, eyes fixed on the table of women.  The women had started to yell at the dancer on the stage, completely unaware of the danger they were in.  Someone at Wesley’s elbow asked if he wanted a drink. 

“No, thank you,” he said, glancing at the waitress.  When he looked back the demon was almost to the door, a pretty girl holding his arm. 

He reflexively put his hand on his pocket again, touching the vial there despite having checked it mere moments ago, as he pushed his way into the crowd.  The woman — a girl, really, judging by her face — was smiling at the De’ebna with complete lack of awareness of her danger.

There was no easy way to get her away from the demon, here, unfortunately.  The demon would simply select another target — or begin a fight in the middle of the crowded club.  Wesley's goal was to preserve life, not harm dozens of innocent bystanders.

The crowd was proving difficult to push through, however.  Wesley moved as quickly as he could, but was only halfway to the side door by the time the demon and his intended meal had slipped out.  He cursed under his breath and edged past a group of women who were gathered together, yelling at the man on stage.

“Watch it,” a woman yelled at him.  “You almost spilled ‘m drink.”

Wesley didn’t bother answering, as she had already turned from him and was slopping said drink on her shirt.  By the time he got through the exit he’d lost sight of the demon and the girl.  He hurried away from the door, waiting for the noise to dim enough that he might be able to hear any cries.

At first he heard nothing, and he had to bite back a curse.  He'd only been a few yards away, and because he hadn't arrived five minutes sooner, he might have lost his chance — and a girl was going to pay the price for his failure with her life.  Choosing a direction at random, Wesley had turned to run when he heard the girl shout.

He broke into a run towards the alley behind the club.

The girl screamed then, and he knew the demon had shown its real face.  He could see it in his mind, green skin and yellow eyes and black horns erupting from its face, and imagine how few seconds he had before he buried those horns into her flesh...

He went sliding around a corner and stumbled to a halt, nearly tripping in his shock.  The demon was lying on the ground, already scrambling to its feet.  Between it and the girl stood a boy Wesley knew.

He didn’t really have time to react to anything other than the demon.  He pulled the stopper from the vial and threw the bright yellow liquid into the De'ebna’s face.  He watched dispassionately as the creature lay down and started to suck its thumb.  Within moments it was asleep, then it disintegrated with a shower of sparkles.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, turning to face Xander.

“Let me guess,” the young man said. “You’re on a mission to haunt each of us and I got to be first?”

The question he'd been about to ask died on his lips, and Wesley put his hands back into his jacket pockets.  He turned to the girl to ask her if she were all right, when he realised — he recognised *her* as well.

Xander gaped at him, then turned to the girl, then back to Wesley.  “Something I should know?”  He moved aside, holding the two-by-four he'd hit the demon with, at the ready.  No doubt expecting Wesley to tell him the girl was a vampire or demon herself.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Wesley told him, not really caring if Xander appreciated the sentiment.  But politeness had been forced into him very young, and it gave him something to say while he tried to accept what it was he was seeing.

The girl looked at him with wide eyes and tried to back away from him, to hide behind Xander, who turned with her, trying to watch them both at the same time.

“What?  Is she a demon too?”  Xander’s defensive posturing was better than it had been when he’d first met the boy, but could certainly stand for some improvement.

Wesley ignored him and tried to maintain eye contact with the girl.  “It’s all right,” he said softly.  “The demon is dead, and I mean you no harm.”

She stopped moving away from him, but didn’t come any closer. 

“Will you tell me—”

“Xander.  Please stop talking.  And stop swinging that board, you’re going to scare her.”  To Wesley’s amazement the young man lowered the board slowly.  He looked at the girl carefully.  “Where is your family?” he asked softly.

She glanced at him, at Xander, then back at him.  She was still clearly ready to bolt at the slightest additional provocation, but for now she was still listening to him.  “North,” she said quietly, answering his question.

Wesley placed the location immediately; he'd studied the local region carefully when he'd first been assigned to come to Sunnydale.  He'd been lucky that Sunnydale had been far enough away from anyone who would have objected to his presence to accept the assignment.

Anyone except the Slayer herself, her friends, and her former Watcher, Wesley amended.

He glanced at Xander again and tried to phrase his questions precisely.  “Do they know you are here?”

She seemed to have dismissed Xander, trusting him not to reveal anything he shouldn’t.  “Not exactly here, no.”

He nodded.  “So you’ve left—”

“Excuse me,” Xander interrupted.  “I hate to be a pain, but is there anything I should know here?  Like is she someone to worry about, why was a demon going to eat her, and why are you here?”

Wesley looked at him evenly.  “No, there is nothing for you to know, she isn’t anyone for you to worry about, the demon feeds off of life energy, and I am here to kill it.  Which I did.  You may go now.”

Xander blinked at him.  “I can go now? Gee, thanks.  Not like I don't work here, and not like I wasn't the guy who saved her from being...whatevered, by the demon.”

Wesley ignored the insult in Xander's tone.  He had other things to worry about than apologizing to someone who didn't even like him.  He asked the girl, “Is there someone we should take you to?” 

She shook her head no, and Wesley couldn't hide his surprise.  “You're alone?”  Then he turned to Xander.  “You *work* here?”  He had a sudden image of Xander taking the place of the Hispanic dancer inside.

Xander glared at him.  “Washing dishes, yeah.  Are you going to explain this to me, or not?”

“There's nothing to explain,” he said again.  He needed to take the girl back to wherever she was living, so they could carry on this conversation in private.

“I think there is,” Xander insisted.  “I came out of the back door, I saw an ugly about to—to—do something gross and painful, I tried to save the girl.  Now you’re gonna swing in and just say ‘go away’ and I don’t even get a thank you?  I don’t think so.  Besides, what if its friends come around looking for it?”

Wesley sighed to himself.  As if he hadn’t had enough trouble in Sunnydale, the trouble was now out in the world, still making his life more difficult than it had to be.  “Xander.  Thank you for your help.  Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to—”

“More?” the girl said in a quiet voice.  “How can there be more?  There should only be one.”  She looked at Wesley with wide eyes.  “Terry said there was only one.”

“Terry?”  Wesley looked at her, dismissing Xander.  “Who is Terry?”  If there was another De’ebna demon around, he would have to work fast.  He'd have to obtain more of the frog's glands — hopefully along the way to tracking down the second demon, if this girl or Terry knew where it was.   Any hope of getting a night's sleep had vanished, and he wondered if he could afford the time to stop at a diner for coffee and a sandwich.

“Terry's my...my sister,” the girl stammered, glancing at Xander.  “She....”  The frightened girl trailed off, looking at Wesley in clear distress.  She *wanted* to tell him.

Xander, however, misinterpreted the reason for her fear.  “Hey, it's all right,” he said, stepping closer to her and laying a hand on her arm.  “I've been fighting demony things for years.  I know all about them.  I can even help this stubborn jerk fight off another one if we find it.  What's your name, anyhow?”

Her eyes got even wider.  “Marie, but I don’t understand.  How can there be more of—of that?” She pointed to the spot where the De'ebna had been.  “There are more?”  She turned to Wesley, looking more confused than scared.  “But if you killed it, it’s supposed to be over.  I could go home then, maybe, and we’d all be safe.”  She shot a look at Xander and said, “But if there’s more, then we’re all in danger, and I have to tell them that it’s not just one—”

She was starting to panic again and Xander was looking like he was about to fill her in on all sorts of demons he’d seen.

“Marie,” Wesley said carefully, using a tone more suited to calming frightened children and spooked animals, “we need to talk, you and I.  Right now.”

She nodded, eyes still wide but she was focusing on him, now. 

“If there are more, should I... I mean, I could call Buffy,” Xander said.

“That will hardly be necessary,” Wesley said sharply.  “Now I've said—”  he broke off.  Telling Xander to go away, again, would accomplish nothing.  “Marie, can you and I go to where you're staying so we can discuss this?”

She began to nod, but Xander stepped forward — still holding the board, Wesley noticed.  He wondered if Xander knew he was holding it in a threatening manner.  “I don't care what sort of high horse you've crawled up on, but if there are more of those things you can't fight them by yourself.  You're going to need my help — and if we need Buffy's help, then I'm calling her.”

“Put down the board,” Wesley said, ignoring the rest for the moment.  “You’re going to frighten her further, and there is no need of it.  That was the only De'ebna in the area as far as I know.”

Xander looked a little abashed as he dropped the board against the alley wall.  “All right.  So no more sparkly death guys.  But I want to know what’s going on.  If there are more demons, I'm going to help kill them.”

Wesley watched as Marie stilled, her eyes locked on his.  “Are there more demons?” she whispered.  “Really?”

“All kinds,” Xander said before Wesley could stop him.  “You wouldn’t believe some of the ones I’ve seen—”

“Xander,” Wesley said sharply.  “Stop.  She doesn’t need to know about your history with the supernatural right now.  What we need right now is a quiet place to talk.”

“We can go back to my place,” Xander offered quickly.  “It's a lovely rat-trap motel room, but it's home.”  He smiled, and for a second Wesley saw that hint of what he'd always found familiar about Xander.

“Marie, perhaps you’d be more comfortable in your own apartment.”  Wesley wouldn't be exactly able to get rid of Xander, if they went to *his* motel room.

Marie looked down, and shrugged.  “I'm staying at the motel, also.  The same one — there's only one in town.”

Wesley sighed. 

Xander, of course, grinned triumphantly.  “It's settled, then.  We'll escort you safely back to the motel, and find out what's going on and how many demons we're dealing with.”

Wesley let Xander lead them out of the alley and tried to think of another way to get Marie alone.  It didn’t really seem like there was a way, she was too shaken to be of any help at this point.  He just had to hope that she had enough sense not let Xander know who she was.

They crossed the parking lot, Xander slightly ahead, and Wesley walked next to Marie, studying her carefully.  She seemed to be in good health, and aside from being understandably upset by having a demon almost drain her she was as calm as could be expected. 

“It’s just over there,” Xander said, pointing down the road to the flashing vacancy sign.  “Lovely room nine is home sweet slum.” 

“Wonderful,” Wesley muttered.  “I’ll meet you there, then.  I’m not about to leave my bike here for the drunken lot inside to damage.”  He veered off slightly toward his bike as he spoke.

“You have a bike?” Xander said, his tone insultingly incredulous.  “Whoa.  Wild side there.”

“There are rather a lot of things about me that would surprise you,” Wesley said.  “I’m trusting you to get her there safely.  Don’t disappoint me.”

“We're walking down the street,” Xander said.  “I walk back and forth all the time — ok, yes, demons.  But it isn't like you're going to lose sight of us as you take your bike to the motel.”

Wesley just glared at him, then, simply to wind Xander up, held out his hand to Marie.  “You can ride behind me.  We'll meet Xander there.”

Marie started to nod and do just as he'd instructed.  Xander crossed his arms.  “You really are a tight-ass.”

“Thank you for your assessment,” Wesley replied evenly.  He had a brief moment of wishing he could indulge himself — he knew far more clever and better insults than he suspected this boy knew.  But a verbal fight was hardly appropriate for the circumstances even if he did feel like lowering himself to Xander's level.

Though he *would* like to—  He pulled himself short.  There was no need to indulge in fantasies.  Xander wouldn’t respect him, just as Buffy nor Giles nor his own father, and it was pointless to wish he could explain what was going on, just so he could say 'so there'.

He climbed onto his bike, secretly pleased with the roar of the engine.  It helped to drown out anything further Xander would have to say.  He pulled out of the parking lot and rode slowly toward the motel, making sure Marie was secure behind him.  He noted that Xander looked all around him, eyes darting into every shadow, searching for dangers.  Maybe there was hope for the boy after all.

He parked the bike in front of room ten, the slot for room nine being taken up with a large car which had seen much better days.  “Marie,” he said gently.  “I need you to be carefully of what you say.  You know that, correct?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, her voice soft.  “I’m scared.”

“I know.  You’re safe right now, however, and I need to know what’s going on with your—” he looked up as Xander approached,  “your family.”

She nodded and looked at him with calm eyes as Xander walked up to them, a key in his hand.

“Here we are,” Xander said, though whether it was to Marie or himself Wesley wasn’t sure.  Xander unlocked the door and stepped into the room, flipping on the light.  “Sorry for the mess, I didn’t have time to redecorate.”

Wesley barely glanced over the room — it was furnished like the motel rooms he himself had stayed in, the last few nights he'd actually stopped in a town overnight.  Cheap rooms with old, worn furnishings that smelled like they'd been used by thousands of strangers.

There was very little by way of personal items scattered about the room, but it looked like more than Wesley had in his bike's saddle bags.  Most of his belongings were in storage, waiting until he found someplace he actually wanted to be.

All in all, the room was as depressing as Wesley felt.  That made it easy to ignore.

“Now, Marie — what did Terry say about the demon?”  He didn't bother asking her specific questions.  She'd tell them everything she knew, though carefully edited.

Marie took a breath and sat on the edge of the—thankfully made—double bed.  “She said that there was one, that Darien—our father—had made it come to our home.  That the demon was more important to him than—” she looked at Wes and frowned.  “He made the demon very important to himself and was trying to get the rest of us to follow as well,” she said in a rush.

Wesley thought for a moment.  “Your father is worshipping a demon?”

She nodded gratefully.  “One of the m—my aunts went away.  He told us that she had decided to leave us, and that he’d said she could go.  But Terry, she said that Susan was really taken by the demon.  I was scared, and I was going to ask if I could leave, but—”

“Okay, question,” Xander said.  “You need permission from your father to leave home?  Your *aunt* needed permission?”

Wesley looked at him with not a little annoyance.  “Her family is a little rigid in its structure.  It’s not any of your concern.”  He turned to Marie again and asked, “Did you ever see the demon?”

Marie was shaking her head, but Xander rounded on Wesley.  “How do you know?  You didn't even know her name, and she doesn't know you, but now suddenly you know what her family is like?”

Marie looked at Wesley, suddenly scared — scared, he realised, that she had somehow said something she had been warned not to.  Wesley tried to reassure her with his expression that it wasn't her fault, but he was irritated at Xander.  He tried to focus that annoyance on Xander.  “If you recall, I wanted to speak with her privately.”

“Yeah, because you're a tight-assed ex-Watcher who won't even admit he needs help killing demons.”  Xander was glaring back at him, but Wesley heard something in his tone that made him wonder. 

Why was Xander living in a cheap motel, one town away from Sunnydale, working at a strip club, anyway?  It occurred to him that perhaps Xander was only anxious to help — because otherwise Wesley didn't need him.  After three years of helping the Slayer, maybe his sudden change of career wasn't entirely his own choice?

Now there was something Wesley could relate to.  His career plans hadn’t gone the way they had been supposed to, and chasing demons around the country wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned his life going. 

Wesley made a fast decision, praying it was the right one.

“I don’t know her family,” he said to Xander, meeting his eyes seriously.  “But I do know what she is, and I know she’s scared, needs help, and is possibly in great danger.  Her family may be in great danger.”

Xander’s eyes widened a little.  “*What* she is?  What’s that supposed to mean?  She’s not human?”  And from somewhere he’d pulled a stake.

Marie cried out and practically leapt off the bed. 

“Put that away,” Wesley said, his voice hard.  He reached a hand out to Marie.  “It’s okay, I won’t let him hurt you.”

Xander looked confused, but by some minor miracle listened to Wesley and put the stake down.  “What is she, then?”

Wesley reminded himself that Xander was used to keeping secrets.  He'd fought vampires and demons and black magics for three years and had never told anyone — as far as Giles had known, or known and recorded in his Watcher's Journals.  There was every reason to believe he would prove trustworthy.

“She—”  he stopped, though he had no idea why.  It wasn't as though he could lie about it, now.  There was nothing reasonable he could say...unless he simply made something up.  Xander couldn't possibly know if Wesley spouted nonsense, naming a species of peaceful demons which lived in the area?

It would be easy enough to construct an elaborate story, and Marie would certainly be able to follow along.  Until Xander started asking *her* questions.

He realised he'd paused too long, and Xander was now looking at him, suspiciously.

Wesley looked at Marie, who was staring at him with wide eyes.  “It’s okay,” he said, hoping it was.  “He’s worked with others that have secrets.  He’ll not say anything.”  He shot a look at Xander, letting the young man know what would happen if he *did* let her secret out. 

“Look,” Xander said.  “Just tell me what’s going on.  I can’t help if I don’t know.”

Wesley nodded to himself.  Xander just wanted to help, and unfortunately Wesley was beginning to see that Xander actually *could* be a help.  He could get into places where Wesley simply couldn’t go without winding up with more trouble than he could handle.

“All right,” Wesley said, his decision made.  “Sit down.”

“This is one of those things I need to sit for?” Xander said, apparently trying for a joke and falling shy of the mark.  He sat, however, and waited.

“Marie is not human, as you have gathered, nor is she a demon or anything evil.  She is a creature you would think to be a myth,” Wesley said carefully, watching Xander’s reactions.

Xander merely nodded.  “So far, not so much with the needing to sit,” he said lightly.

Wesley repressed another sigh.  “Perhaps you should simply show him, Marie.”

She blinked at him, though she did stand up, one hand straying to her waist.  “Are you sure?”

“He won't hurt you,” Wesley said again.  “And even if he decided to tell anyone, he would first tell the Slayer, who would then tell her Watcher and he would only verify that it is a secret best kept so.”

Xander was looking surprised at that, then he looked even more surprised as Marie nodded and began unzippering her jeans.  “You know, much as I've seen naked men since I got here, you really don't have to-”

“Calm down, Xander.  It will only take a moment.”

“I'm not about to be sacrificed am I?” Xander continued babbling.  “Because I'm really not a virgin anymore but I still— eep!”

Marie had slid her jeans down, and kicked them off, along with her shoes.

Wesley knew what was going to happen and barely glanced at her when she continued to strip.  Xander averted his eyes when he saw she was actually going for naked from the waist down, his face flushed.

“You really should watch her,” Wesley said.  “You’ll miss her change.”

Xander looked at him and glanced quickly at Marie, standing in the largest clear patch of floor there was in the cramped room.  His eyes only flicked in her direction, but it was enough.  Marie changed fast.  Wesley noted, idly, that her coat was the same shade of nearly-black as her hair.  It looked healthy enough, which was a good sign.

“She’s a horse!”  Xander said, standing up suddenly.

“She is not!”

“I am not!”

“But—legs, tail—horse!”  Xander was staring, wide eyed at Marie, who looked a little insulted. 

“Xander.  Sit.”  Wesley shook his head.  “I said she was something out of a myth to you, and I know you’ve done research.”

Xander calmed a little, but was still standing, staring at her.  Wesley put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and eased him back down. 

“Now.  Are you calm?”

“I'm calm.”  Xander was still staring at Marie.

“She is *not* a horse,” Wesley reiterated, speaking as plainly as he could. 

“I'm a centaur,” Marie said.  She still sounded a little insulted.

“Centaurs aren't real,” Xander said — still staring at the centaur in his motel room.

Wesley shook his head.  “Fine.  She's a demon disguised as a centaur and she's lured you here to eat your brain.”  It occurred to him, belatedly, that Xander would probably not realise he was being sarcastic.  In fact, as soon as he'd said it, Xander tensed — then leapt to his feet and scrambled back on the bed.

Then he stopped and glared at Wesley again.  “She's a centaur?  Centaurs are real?  Why didn't anyone tell me?  If Giles knows— are mermaids real, too?”

Wesley decided not to attempt to follow Xander's train of thought.  “Yes, centaurs are real.  Obviously.  I assume Giles knows, he should, anyway.”

Xander looked at Marie again, this time more closely.  “You’re not human.  And you’re not evil.”

“Of course I’m not evil,” she said.  She sounded even more insulted than before.  “Just because I’m not like you doesn’t mean I’m evil.”

“Well, to give him some credit,” Wesley said, looking at Xander, “all the non-human’s he’s come in contact with have tried to kill him and his friends.  Let me assure you Xander, she is not dangerous.  In fact, she’s in danger herself, and I think we’d better get back to that.”

Xander nodded, but was still looking at Marie.  “Does it hurt to change?  And can you stay like that for long?  Or is being human the hard part?  Can you take a rider?”

Marie smiled at him; Wesley rolled his eyes.  “We don’t really have—”

“No, it doesn’t hurt, and I can stay in this form for as long as I like.  It’s not really hard to be in my human body, but I like to be like this more.”  It looked like Marie was willing to answer questions, regardless of Xander’s earlier blunder.  “I can take a rider, yes, but I’m sort of small so I don’t like to have anyone really heavy on my back.”

“Can we please get back the demon?” Wesley asked, breaking into the conversation.  It was all very interesting for Xander, he was sure, but there were other issues to deal with.

“How do you know there's more than one demon?  Are Terry and your father and aunt — they're all centaurs, too?”  Xander asked, ignoring him as well as repeating Wesley's own question as though he hadn't asked it.

Marie, at least, looked at Wesley before responding.  “Darien...he's—”  She frowned.

Wesley nodded, and explained to Xander, “Darien is her herd stallion.  Centaurs belong to Zeus, the Greek god, and the fact that Darien has apparently changed his allegiance to a demon is cause for concern.  It remains to be seen if the demon Darien is worshipping is a De'ebna or not.” 

He started to ask Marie to describe the demon Darien was associating with, when Xander interrupted.  “Zeus?  Isn't he a....uh.  He's real?”  Xander's voice rather squeaked.

“Yes.”

Wesley watched as Xander absorbed this information.  It looked like the process was proving rather painful.

“So, are all the Greek gods real?  And the rest of them—the Norse gods, the Celtic ones?  Is the Christian god real and does He know the other ones?  Whoa, all those one true god people are in trouble.”  Xander was speaking more quickly as he went on, a note of hysteria entering his voice.

“I think we can leave comparative religion alone right now,” Wesley said.  “Xander, focus.  We have to deal with the here and now, and right now I have to find out about what Darien is doing.”

Xander looked at him for a long moment and took a deep breath.  “Okay.  I’m with you there.  Stopping demons is what I do.  Well, I do dishes, but I’m big with the helping stop demons, too.”

Wesley waited a second or two to make sure Xander wasn’t about to launch into more babble then turned back to Marie.  “Did anyone see this demon Darien is worshiping?”

Marie shook her head.  “Not that anyone said, and no one acted like they had seen and just weren't telling.”  She paused.  “But everyone's scared.”

She stopped again, and Wesley could tell there was something more to what she had to say.  Her hesitation didn't seem to be about Xander, though, so he simply waited instead of telling her to say the rest of it.  Marie was staring at the ground, and was pawing the floor with her front right hoof.  Xander, Wesley noticed, seemed to be staring at her hoof as though he'd never seen one before.

In fact, he rather had an expression on his face which made it look as though he were about to go over and put his hand on her hoof, just to see if it were real, or if his hands would pass through it.

“Xander,” Wesley said quietly.  “She’s real.  Pay attention.”

Xander looked up at him, eyes wide.  “It’s just—yeah.  Okay.  Right.  She’s real.  We have work to do.”  He looked back at Marie, this time concentrating on her face.  “So.  Demon.  And your father let you go?  He didn’t know you suspected something?  Usually demon worshiping guys don’t like to let others in on the secret.”  His gaze flicked to Wesley for a moment.  “Or at least the ones I’ve met, anyway.”

Wesley simply waited for Marie to tell the rest of her story. 

She shuffled again and looked at Wesley.  “He might have let me leave, I didn’t get the chance to really ask.  There was a storm, and I ran.”

“Ah.”  Wesley nodded.

“You ran away in a storm?” Xander sounded sceptical.

“Centaurs are naturally frightened by storms,” Wesley explained.  “Much as horses are.  W— they're very sensitive to the changes in atmospheric pressure and it makes them nervous and out of sorts.”  Wesley took a breath and reminded himself to think carefully before he spoke.  “Centaurs will run — bolt, really — at lightning.  It's all instinct.”

Marie was nodding, looking miserable.  “I didn't mean to — but I ended up running away from the herd.  When I...came to my senses, I was near the edge of our land.  Just a few miles away from town.  Oiai, not Oxnard.  I snuck into Oiai and stole some clothes, then came down here....”  She looked at Wesley, begging him for forgiveness with her eyes.  “I couldn't go back.  I know I should have.  But...I was so scared of what Darien was doing.”

Wesley couldn't help his frown of disapproval.  He understood what Marie was saying, and — well, *part* of him could empathize with what she'd done.  Another part of him was shocked.

“Of course you were scared,” Xander said.  “Anyone would be.  It’s not a big deal to run away from scary stuff—I do it all the time.”  He smiled winningly, and Wesley almost felt sorry for him when Marie looked at him, baffled.

“In this case, Xander,” Wesley said, “it is a big deal, as you put it.  She’s away from her herd without permission.  She’s without an owner and—”

“Owner?”  Xander turned on him, incredulous.  “Who said anything about an owner?”

Wesley sighed.  This was not going well.   He looked at Marie and said, “I’m going to have to explain some things to him.”

She nodded mutely, looking more confused than ever.  Wesley realized she most likely hadn’t spent much time in town or with humans and Xander’s reactions were unsettling her. 

Wesley turned to Xander and looked at him sternly.  “We don’t have much time for this, so pay attention.  Centaurs live in herds, with a very strict structure.  Fillies like Marie, the mares, and the rest of the family are owned by the herd stallion—and don’t look at me like that.  It’s the way it’s supposed to be.  The stallion takes care of them, protects them.” 

Wesley studied Xander for his reaction.  He still looked outraged.

But he was still sitting silently, so Wesley continued.  “It's no more...unnatural than the blood connection between a vampire and his or her Sire, or the way adolescent human males become saturated with testosterone.”

Xander flinched, then grinned nervously.

Wesley gave him a nod.  “She may look human—”  He glanced at her, still in her natural form, and corrected himself with some amusement.  “Looked human, before.  But she is not human.  You can't let yourself assume she will act and react as you would, simply because some of the time she has a human form.”

Xander was nodding, slowly.  “Like vampires.  They may look harmless, and do the suave, cool, sexy walk thing — but that doesn’t mean they aren't cold-blooded killers.”  Xander suddenly shook himself, and looked at Marie.  “Um, not saying that you're really a killer.  I'm just saying....”  He trailed off as Marie's expression registered.

“Vampires?”

“I don't think we need to worry about vampires just now,” Wesley told her, still in the same calming tone.

Marie looked at him, eyes wide.  “Vampires are real, too?”

Wesley sighed.  Obviously her herd stallion had kept a *lot* to himself.  He wondered if it was because Marie was too young, or if he simply kept his herd ignorant of certain things.

Xander had been thinking, apparently, and Wesley found himself grateful that for the first time since he’d ridden into town things were going well.  Well enough.  Nobody was screaming, at any rate.

“So, if the herd stallion is playing with demons, wouldn’t that mean he’s not taking care of his family?  That he’s putting them in danger?”

Wesley was pleased with Xander's observation.  “Precisely.  Marie, I need you tell me everything you know about the demon—what’s been hinted at, what the rumours are, what is fact.”

Marie still looked shaken but she was slowly coming back to the conversation.  “Um, yes, I can do that.”  She settled herself and looked seriously at Wesley, calming down as she had a job to do.  “One of the mares is gone.  That’s for sure, and there isn’t much chance that she wanted to leave the herd—she never even went into town.  And one of the colts said that he saw Darien in his office with something weird, sort of slick and shiny, and really scary looking. It had orange eyes.”

Wesley nodded, indicating that she should continue.

“Those are the facts.  Everything else is rumour — the mares all know something is wrong with Darien.  Some of them say he's changed, some say he's just expressing parts of himself he never showed that much, before.  Some of the mares say he started behaving differently a little less than year ago, late last summer.  Other says he was behaving strangely during mating season last year.  I— I don't really know, because he's never chosen me yet.  And—”

Wesley saw Xander raise a hand and start to interrupt, then Xander shook his head and closed his mouth.

“None of the younger ones are talking about the rumours where any of the mares can hear, and I've never heard them talking, except for Codan, who saw Darien in his office.  But — I think they *are* talking, because of the way they always start talking about certain things whenever anyone older comes by.  It sounds like a pre-arranged conversation.”

Wesley thought about what she'd said.  It really did sound like something was going on that needed to be looked into.  If Darien was indeed dabbling with a demon the consequences would be…well, catastrophic.  The herd would be in immanent danger, and any humans in the surrounding area would be too.

“What is Darien like?” he asked.  “What would he want with a demon?  Is there anything he wants that he’d trade his entire being for?”  Wesley stood up and paced a few steps, thinking out loud.  “Demons don’t do favours, so there is an exchange going on.  Darien gets something; the demon gets something.”

Xander shook his head.  “So what?  We just hop on your bike, ride on out there and snoop.  Find the demon, kill it, end of problem.”

Wesley looked at him his face impassive.  He hoped.  “No, we can’t do that yet.  In this case we need more information.”

Xander shrugged.  “So, let's go get more information.”

“I don't know what Darien wants,” Marie answered him.  “He's always been easily upset by things, but it didn't seem any different than Chris.”  She glanced at Xander, and added, “Chris was herd stallion before Darien.  Darien killed him ten years ago.”

Wesley could have predicted the bug-eyed look that appeared on Xander's face.  Xander's mouth opened, and he got as far as “Killed—” before he turned to Wesley.  “Tell me that's normal?”

“That's normal.” 

Xander continued to look dumb-founded. 

Wesley asked Marie, “What sort of things upset him?”

She shrugged.  “Colts growing head-strong, mares being sick, thunderstorms.  He didn't like dealing with Mr. Rogerson, the guy who used to come get our colts when it was time for them to be fostered out.  But about five years ago Miss Ivy started coming to get them, and he seems to like her.  But — he doesn't really like humans, much.  And...he always complained about humans crossing the edges of our land.  We can't fence it all off because of the—”

Xander raised a hand again, and Wesley looked at him, wondering if this show of politeness should be acknowledged.  But Xander took that as permission to speak, and asked, “This is still normal, right?  I shouldn't be jumping up and saying 'it's a demon'?”

“No, you should just sit still until I figure this out,” Wesley said, more harshly than he had intended.  The boy seemed to crumple a little, but what was worse was the way he seemed to expect it.  Wesley forced himself to focus on the matter at hand.  He didn’t have time to deal tenderly with Xander’s feelings.  Part of his mind pointed out that no one else seemed to either.  “He doesn’t like humans?” he asked Marie, still watching Xander.  “That isn’t terribly unusual, I suppose.  How is this Miss Ivy different?”

Xander looked at Marie and waited, sitting quietly and paying attention.  Just like Wesley had told him too. 

“She…well, she agrees that the humans will keep trespassing if they aren’t stopped.  But other than that she just comes and gets the colts who are ready to be fostered and takes them away.  They don’t really seem to spend a lot of time talking or anything.  Although…”  she looked thoughtful.  “She does spend more time at the ranch than Mr. Rogerson did.  She says she’s just getting to know the colts so she’ll know where they’ll be happiest when it’s time to foster them.  She doesn’t seem to like the fillies much, or maybe we just aren’t important to her.”

Wesley nodded.  She sounded like a very direct person — someone whom a herd stallion like Darien would prefer, over a more friendly and sympathetic human.

“The colts like her,” Marie said.  “And Darien says that's enough.  No — Monat doesn't like her.  But he doesn't like anyone except Sasha.  She's one of the oldest mares.”

Wesley stared at her, shocked.  “Monat?  How...how old is he?”

“He's three.”  Marie  looked confused.  Xander looked confused, but alert — ready to jump up again and yell 'demon'.  Only, this time he'd be right.

Shaken, Wesley tried to figure out how to explain without upsetting Marie.  He realised there was no way, and simply said it.  “Monat is a name — a word, really, in the Crobash language.  It denotes an object which is precious for its use.”

“That...that's… precious is good, though, right?”  Marie's voice was shaking.

“But it's a demon word,” Xander said, and he stood up.  The cowed boy was gone, replaced by the person who had been fighting demons for years.  “That means there isn't anything good about it.”

Wesley nodded, glad that Xander understood.  “Correct.  And in this case I fear the bad could be very bad indeed.” He looked around the room and asked, “Do you have a pad of paper?”

Xander was all business, fetching paper and a pen as quickly as he could.  He handed them to Wesley and said, “Three years.”  It was all he said, but it was enough to let Wesley know that he was thinking and seeing the same things he himself was.

Wesley nodded at him, meeting his eyes.  Xander looked serious; he also looked willing to help, ready to run into danger to aid creatures that he didn’t even know existed a couple of hours before.  Demons were bad, Xander tried to stop them.  It was as simple as that, and very close to what Wesley was doing with his life as well.

Wesley turned to Marie and asked her for all the unusual names for colts born in the last few years.

“Well, there was Monat, of course.  And Lanik is four, Tri is three as well—his real name is Trido, but we call him Tri—and Sulta is one.  Other then that, the colts have all been named for others we’ve known, or for their mother’s favourite characters in stories and stuff like that.”  Marie looked anxious as Wesley noted the names, writing them down in a list.

“Are any of the babies — the fillies — named Granta, Mesmia, or Rotia?”

Marie's eyes went wide, and she nodded slowly.  “How did you— what does it mean?”

“It means your herd stallion is naming his children for the benefit of the demon he is consorting with.”  Wesley copied the names down, then handed the paper to Xander.  Xander took it without asking, just waiting for further instructions.

“I'm not sure what is going on — how soon whatever Darien has planned, will occur,” Wesley told him.  “But three years is plenty of time to prepare.  These children are the ones in the most danger.  I'm not sure if the mares will be able to protect them.  But if you explain to them what is happening, they can do as much as they can without letting on to Darien that they're doing anything.  Explain that they're defending their children against a demon, and tell them—”

“Wesley!”  Xander had been trying to interrupt him for some time now, and Wesley had been hoping to get everything explained, first.  Hoping Xander would get overwhelmed with his task that he would forget the question.  Unfortunately, he was asking, now.  “Why are you telling me all this?  Where are you going to be?”

Wesley studied the boy once more.  He’s spent almost as much time this evening looking at Xander as he had Marie.  “You have to do this,” he said simply.  “I cannot go there.”

“Why not?”  Xander demanded.  Of course.  He wouldn’t just obey, would he?

Wesley sighed.  Marie avoided his eyes.  She knew what he was hiding.

“Wesley?  Why can’t you do this?  You know so much about them you *should* go.  They’ll pay attention to you, you can explain it to the—the mares.  You know what you're talking about; I don't.”  Xander nodded decisively. 

“I can’t,” Wesley said again. 

“Why not?” Xander asked again, his voice raising.  Marie winced.

It would have been easy to say he was going elsewhere to track down the demon.  Or even go down to Los Angeles, to obtain some mystical artefact necessary to defeat Crobash demons.    It might be possible that Xander wouldn't know that Crobash were easily killed with a sharp sword.  Wesley hadn't read in Giles' journals about any encounters the so-called Scooby Gang had had with Crobash demons.

It was certainly the smarter thing to do.  Which was why he had no idea why he was hesitating. 

It occurred to him that of anyone he'd ever met, Xander might actually *understand*. 

Scoffing at his own weakness, he told himself that the most he could expect was that Xander would accept what he said.  Anything more was irrelevant, and the fact that Xander was apparently as exiled as he was — even if he was only a few dozen miles away from home compared to Wesley's thousands.

“I can't go,” he repeated.  It was probably a huge mistake.  But there was every reason to think the herd was in danger right at that moment and only the truth would get Xander out there fast enough.

On the other hand — if the demon were there, now, it wouldn't be safe to send Xander alone.

“Tell me why,” Xander said quietly.  “Giles always says that before you go into any situation you have to know as much as you can.  So tell me.”  He was serious and still, just looking at Wesley, waiting.

“My father…” Wesley said, then hesitated again, his instincts crying out.  He pushed forward, committing himself to only the gods knew what.  “My father is a centaur.  Therefore, even as a half blood, I will be seen as an intruding stallion, and a threat.  If Darien should see me I’ll be challenged, and we’ll fight.  To the death.  And when I win, I would have ownership of the herd.”

Xander stared, speechless.

Wesley went on, matter of factly.  “That would be problematic.  I neither want nor need a herd, and it is very likely that as a half centaur the mares wouldn’t accept me even if I did.  There would be other stallions, full bloods, who would challenge me, and I would eventually be killed.”

Marie nodded, unsurprised by his revelation or his desire to avoid a challenge of any kind.  “They wouldn’t,” she said.  “Accept you, I mean.  I’m sorry,” she added apologetically.

Wesley merely nodded and waited for Xander to say something.

Xander managed to shock him.  What he asked, was,  “If Darien is consorting with this demon...are we going to be able to stop him without...killing him?  We have to kill the demon, right?  What were we gonna do with Darien?  What *are* we gonna do with Darien?”  Then Xander blinked.  “You can't change into a horse, then?”

“I am *not* a horse,” Marie snapped, stomping one hoof.

“I think that once the demon is disposed of, we can... arrange for another lone stallion to challenge Darien.  I can simply spread the word that Darien is unstable.  It won't be long before someone takes his place appropriately.”

“And if he calls up another demon in the meantime?” Xander asked.

Wesley glared.  “Then we'll spread the word *quickly*.  What is important now is that we deal with the Crobash demon which is currently threatening the herd.”

“But—,” Xander began.  Wesley glared, wishing nothing more than that he had never, ever, met Xander either months ago, or tonight.  He realised that he wanted to run.  Slam open the door and get as far away from here as possible.  Deal with the Crobash some other way.

Like calling Rupert Giles, and having him and Buffy handle it?  Wesley felt something cold inside him. 

Calling Rupert and Buffy would get the job done, if they agreed to do it, but that would take time and some convincing, not to mention Giles would ferret out his secret as well; Xander knowing was more than enough.  No, he had to handle this.  And he needed Xander’s help to do it.

This was his fight.  No matter how he felt about the remote possibility of getting ownership of the herd, this was his fight.  It was centaurs in danger, and regardless of how he felt about Xander personally, he couldn’t shake off the instinct to protect the mares and the young ones.

He settled himself and tried to ignore his inner disquiet.  “Do you understand that you need to get to the mares?” he asked Xander.  "Get these children under protection?"  He nodded at the list in Xander's hand.   

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts,” Wesley said, his voice firm and low.  Marie straightened at the sound.  “You will do it, or you won’t, and I need to know right now.  We’ve wasted enough time.  Chances are Darien has mares out looking for Marie right now and he’s feeling threatened.  He doesn’t know what she knows or what she might be doing.  Will you go to the mares?”

Xander studied him for a moment and then his face cleared.  “Tell me what to do.  How to get there, how to get to the mares.”

“Thank you.”  He tried not to show his reaction to the look of surprise on Xander's face.  Now was neither the time nor the place — if ever there was such — to go into why Xander looked surprised to be thanked.  “Marie can describe how to get there.  Or draw a map, if you prefer.  She can't go back with you, because if Darien asks her what she's done, he'll know we're onto him.”

Xander looked confused, but not nearly as much as before.  Either he was catching on, or he'd reach his tolerance for reacting to weird things.  “You can't lie to him?” he asked Marie.  She shook her head, and Xander just nodded.

“Okay.  So — I go in, tell the mares, and look for signs of the Crobash demon.  Then what?”

“Hopefully, you return and we make plans for either killing the demon, or—”

“Hopefully I return?”  Xander grinned.  “Thanks.”

“That isn't what I meant,” Wesley said crossly, even though he found himself almost wanting to smile, as well.  “Hopefully you return without incident.  While you are gone, I'll be trying to locate any suitable stallions in the area.  If we can get one here on the next day or so, we can take care of everything at once.  Any decent stallion would even be willing to help us with the demon.”

“Okay,” Xander said, reaching for the pad of paper.  He handed it to Marie and said, “Don’t need a map, unless it’s really well hidden, but directions would be good.”  He paused and turned to Wesley.  “My car—well, it’s not running.  Which would be why I’m here, though doing dishes at the Fabulous Ladies Club really is my dream job.  Don’t suppose you’re going to let me use your bike?”

Wesley winced slightly.  He saw a look of…resignation? pain? flash across Xander’s face.  “Yes, you may use the bike,” he said.  “You can ride a bike, can’t you?”

Xander grinned.  “Can’t be too hard, can it?”

Wesley winced again.  “Be careful.”

“Of course.”  Xander reached for his coat and took the directions from Marie.  He added the paper with the list of names to his pocket and looked around the room.  “Um, so you’ll be here when I get back?  So we can compare notes and stuff and I can tell you how it went?”

Wesley nodded.  “Yes, that would be a good idea, I’ll want to hear what the mares have to say.”

Xander looked relived as he made his way somewhat awkwardly past Marie.  “Good, I’m glad you’ll—I’ll see you later, then.”

“Xander?” Wesley asked.  He wasn’t entirely sure why Xander was suddenly so rushed.  Time was important yes, but this drive to go was a little off.

“What?”  Xander looked startled.

“Keys?”  Wesley held out the key to the bike.  “You have ridden?  Tell me you have.”

“I have ridden a bike before,” Xander grinned.  “Well, a small bike.  But I have.  I’ll go slow.”

“You’ll have to, once you’re off the main road,” Marie put in.

“See?  It’ll be fine.”  Then Xander was gone.  In a moment Wesley heard the bike start up.

He sighed, and sat down on the bed.   After a moment he looked up.  “You're free to return to your room, if you wish.”  He didn't mean it as an order, though he suspected the filly would take it as such anyhow.  He *did* want to be alone, but didn't want her to be alone if she felt afraid.
 
“I'm in room 16,” Marie said.  “Just across the way.”

She changed back, and began to get dressed unselfconsciously.  She seemed to be taking her time, as though wanting to give him a chance to say more.  But he didn't.  He wanted to be alone.  He wanted to lie back and go to sleep, as though his night's work were through and he had nothing more to worry him than which direction to pick in the morning.

She finally left, closing the thin, cheap motel room door behind her through which Wesley was sure he would be able to hear every noise made.  He laid back on the bed.  He could tell by scent that Xander was not using this one — though both beds were made up in that uniform housekeeper's fashion.  He stared at the ceiling for awhile, trying to think of who he might call to find out which stallions were in the area.

A couple of names came to mind, but there really was only one choice.  There was a herd stallion in the Chicago area who had a reputation of being fair and open minded; plus he was known to keep an even closer eye on lone stallions than most of the other herd stallions.

Carl Hensen, like the others, watched stallions because of the possible threat they provided him he also had an interest in finding out about *them*; what they were like, which ones would be good with a herd of their own.  He knew that life was easier for everyone if the herd stallions could all be trusted to watch out for their own.

There had been talk about something going on down south too, a herd stallion who had picked his successor and an exchange of power that had gone smoothly, without bloodshed.  Carl had approved of that as well, which made Wesley think he could relate to the man.  Well, as well as a lone stallion, even one who was only a half centaur could.

He rolled over onto his side and grabbed the phone, dialling the operator first to arrange for the call.  He put the charges on a credit card he still hated using — the one Abigail had given him when he'd visited the herd his father had come from, the summer of his 13th year.  Despite being 'only half', she'd treated him like one of her own, and Martin, the herd stallion at the time, had agreed to allow Wes some limited support.

For years, all he'd been willing to use the card for was the occasional purchase of books he couldn't afford.  This past few weeks, he'd been pressed closer and closer to living off it.

He pushed those thoughts away as his call was answered by a sleepy, woman's voice.  “Hello?”

“I'm sorry for disturbing you,” Wesley began.  “My name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and I'm calling from California.  I need to speak with Carl Hensen.”

There was a slight pause and then the voice, more awake now and serious, said, “One moment, please.”

He heard the phone being put down and there was silence for a few minutes before he heard steps approaching.  “Hensen.”  He sounded awake and serious.

Wesley knew that his identity would be known, that his name would have been passed along to the herd stallion as a matter of course.  “There is some trouble in California,” he said, keeping his tone respectful.  “I believe you may be able to help with some information.”

“What kind of trouble?”  He sounded merely interested, polite.

“I believe that a herd stallion here is doing something very dangerous and is risking the safety of his herd.  I would step in and stop it myself, but as you know—”

“Yes, I know.”  There was a pause.  “How dangerous?  And how sure are you?”

Wesley had expected that.  Arraigning for the removal of a herd stallion was not taken lightly.  The fact that Wesley was calling, though, spoke volumes about how series it was.  He wasn’t out to get a herd for himself, therefore it was in the herd’s interest that something be done about Darien.  Wesley simply had nothing to gain.

“Very.  He’s…well, I fear that he’s risking the youngsters in particular, and a mare has already gone missing.”

“Risking the youngsters?” Hensen asked, still not sounding anything more than polite.

“His own,” Wesley explained.

The pause was longer.  When Hensen came back on the line, he sounded shocked.  “His own?  Are you certain?”

“I've a filly here with me — at the motel.  She was separated during a storm and she says....I have reason to believe her herd stallion is arranging for his colts, as well as some fillies, to be killed.  Sacrificed in exchange for...something.  I'm not sure what.”

There was no response.  He knew Hensen was there — he could practically feel the stallion's disbelief.  Wesley waited, wondering if he should start explaining about the Crobash demon or not.  All herd stallions knew about vampires — and the agreement with Zeus which made it fatal for any vampire to attempt to feed off centaurs.  But he wasn't aware that many herd stallions knew about other things.

Obviously Darien did, but how he'd learned...was unimportant.  What mattered now was protecting the herd from whatever Darien was doing.

“Who?”  Hensen finally asked.

“Darien.”

There was another long pause.  Wesley wished Hensen was the sort to think out loud, but herd stallions rarely gave much away to outsiders.  Wesley was definitely an outsider.  Again and still, always.

“All right,” Hensen said, his tone decided.  “So his herd needs protecting and you can’t take them.  Why are you calling me?  Just so we’re on the same page, is all I mean.”

Wesley almost sighed with relief.  He really didn’t want to try to explain demons to Hensen if he didn’t have to.  “I’m hoping that you know of someone who *is* able to take the herd.  Speed is of the essence, and I don’t know who to call, nor do I know who would be best for the herd.”

“Good,” Hensen said in his ear, sounding pleased.  “I’ll make a call then.  I expect that someone should be there to take care of the herd by tomorrow.”

Wesley took a breath.  “Would you mind…” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully.  “Would it be possible for you to send the stallion to me?  So I may explain the particulars of the situation and what the herd thinks is going on?  There are rumours he should know about, in order to sooth the mares.”

“I can do that,” Hensen agreed, tentatively.  “Are you sure...I don't know that he'll be willing or interested in doing more than listening to what you have to say.”

“That's fine.  I'm simply want give him more information and answer whatever questions he may have.”

“Right.”  The herd stallion sounded like he approved, and Wesley had to fight a sudden sense of warmth in his chest.  It made no difference what Hensen thought of him.  He had a job to do and the approval of a complete stranger....

Was a lot more than he'd had in a very long time.

“There are a couple of stallions within a few hours drive, but I fully expect that you’ll be dealing with Wade Mouzouris.  Give me a number he can reach you at, and I'll have him get into contact with you.”

Wesley gave him the motel's number, along with Xander's name and room number.   Then there was nothing more to say, and Hensen hung up with a final word of thanks.

He looked at the ceiling again.  There were motel sounds around him, people moving and TVs being played too loudly, and yet he still felt a little more relaxed.  Talking to Hensen had gone well, better than he had anticipated, and he turned the conversation around in his mind for a little while.

He studied a spot on the ceiling and reminded himself to tell Xander and Marie that someone was coming to help them.  Then he gave himself over to rest, drifting slowly into sleep.

When he woke up there was silence.  His eyes opened and he was awake, staring at the same spot, unsure what had woken him.  A key in the door pulled him the rest of the way to consciousness, and he sat up as Xander came in.

~*~*~

Xander stopped just inside the door, caught by surprise when Wesley sat up on the bed.  For a second his brain was trying to tell him there was something weird here, but he'd known Wes was here.  Nothing weird about a guy falling asleep.

He hadn't even slept on the bed Xander had been sleeping in, so there wasn't that to get a wiggins about.  The girl was gone, probably to her own room and — it clicked.  Xander even had to force back his grin as he figured it out.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Stuffy Watcher Extraordinaire, had bed hair.

“That’s a good look on you,” Xander said, tossing the bike keys on the dresser.  “Really brings out your sleepy side.”

Wesley gave a half strength glare and ran a hand through his hair.  “I trust you had no trouble finding the herd?”

Xander sprawled in the chair and waved his hand dismissively.  “Nah.  Marie gave good directions, and it really wasn’t that far.”  He stopped, knowing that it would drive Wes up the wall.  If it were Giles he’d probably just start telling him all about it, but this was Wes, the guy to bug when he was in the mood to…well, bug.  And that little pang of ‘Be nice, Xander’ was just an echo of Willow.

“And you found the mares?”  Wesley finally asked, only a little exasperation seeping into his tone as he sat on the bed.

“Yeah, I found 'em.”  And hadn't *that* been something to write home about, if he actually wrote home and if he hadn't been sworn to secrecy.

Willow was going to kill him if she ever found out what he knew and hadn't told her — and that was more of the Willow isn't here, and Xander isn't home, and he didn't have anyone to share secrets with anyway, anymore.  He tried to stop that train of thought.

Wesley glared harder.  “And?” he demanded, his voice clipped and wide awake and sounding a hell of a lot like Giles.

And almost nothing like the guy Xander had met back in Sunnydale.  Or maybe it was just the leather pants and the bed hair.  Xander relented, telling himself it was because he was tired and ready to go to sleep himself, not because Wes was all in charge and capable guy, and certainly not because he sounded like Giles.  Like he was protective and safe and responsible.  Maybe it was the accent.  Maybe he was more tired than he thought.

“So I found the one Marie mentioned, Terry, and she made sure the others didn’t get all upset at me being there.  I told her Marie is all right, and then I did what you said.  Explained that there was something dangerous going on, and that help was on the way, and to keep those kids out of Darien's way.”

“Did she believe you?  How did she act?”  Wesley was looking at him intently, leaning forward, his eyes sharp. 

Xander knew this was serious—it always was with demons, and he suddenly realized Wesley must feel pretty cut off from the action, trying to plan around reactions and words he could only get second hand. 

“She seemed worried, but trying to be all take-charge.  Well...not completely take charge.  But she was telling all the mares to act like they hadn't heard anything and hadn't seen me and didn't know anything.”

Wesley nodded, seeming to approve.  Xander wanted to ask him how he knew so much about it.  “And?” Wesley prompted.

“And what?  I told them, they stayed calm.  What else was supposed to happen?”

“Did she say anything? Did any of them say anything odd, or do anything unusual?”

Xander laughed.  “Yeah, because I know how centaurs act normally?”

Wesley frowned at him.  Xander opened his mouth to say…something, and realized the frown wasn’t really at him.  Wesley looked frustrated and annoyed, which usually made little difference to Xander, but now he just wanted it to go away.  He couldn’t help anyone, certainly not Marie and her family, by digging at Wesley.

“Look, I can just tell you that they seemed calm and a little relieved that someone out here knows that there’s trouble.  I told them that there was help coming and the older…” he hesitated, looking for a word he could use with comfort. “The older ladies seemed pleased.  There was a little chatter about what would happen to Darien, but someone said that they would be taken care of.” 

He sat back, looking at Wes.  He really didn’t know what else to tell him.  He had no idea how *women* were supposed to act, let alone *centaur women*.  Did they have even more bizarre ideas and rules he didn’t know about?  And how about the centaur men?  Were they really that different?  Was Wes that different?  Xander forced his mind away from Wes as centaur, or half-centaur, for the moment.  Time enough for that little crisis later.

Wes seemed to be satisfied — he wasn't frowning, and even though he wasn't saying things like “good work, Xander” or “thanks ever so”.

But it wasn't like Xander was used to that, either.  Wesley got up off the bed and walked towards Xander, which surprised him.  But Wes just turned to head for the bathroom...then paced back the other way.  Xander watched him pace back and forth for awhile.

At one point, after Wes had paced and not said anything for several moments, Xander thought about opening the door and letting Wes pace outside.  At least then he wouldn't have to keep turning around and making them both dizzy.

Okay, so think and pace, while annoying, was good.  Or bad.  Or really bad.  Not that Xander was worried.  No, demon of the day was pretty standard.  Though, the usual reaction to demon of the day was worry, then slight panic, then fight.  Maybe worry was okay.  Maybe Wes was worried.  Maybe Xander should panic.  No, worry was fine.

“Uh, help is coming, right?” he asked finally.  “You called someone, and a…a stallion is going to come take the herd after we kill the demon?”

Wesley stopped pacing and stared at him a moment.  “Oh.  Yes, I called someone.  I expect that someone suitable will be here tomorrow.”

Xander nodded.  Wesley started to pace again.

“’Cause you know, help is good.  The more the merrier with the slaying and all that.”  Xander suspected he was babbling, or at least getting a good start at it, but he really couldn’t help it.  Wesley was going to drive him crazy with the non-talking.  Buffy at least would talk about what they were up against.  “So, umm.  How are we going to kill this thing, anyway?”
 
Wesley barely glanced at him.  “A sharp sword should do it.”  He kept pacing.

Xander stared at him.  “Excuse me?”  Apparently his hearing had gone out.  They were going to all this trouble, when all they needed was a sharp sword?  “Is this guy you called bringing the sword?  Because I have a short one with me, if that's all we're needing.  Heck, I can call Buffy and she can—”

“That won't be necessary,” Wesley snapped.

Xander didn't actually want to argue with him — he really didn't want to call Buffy, have her come to Oxnard, and find out where he was and what he was doing.  Although maybe he could lie and say he'd been traveling with Wes around the country slaying demons?

Except he didn't like Wesley, and his friends all knew that.

“OK, so what part did I miss?  Why aren't we sneaking in there, stabbing it with our steely knives, and sneaking away?”

Wesley gave him a look that on Giles would have been withering.  Actually, it was pretty damn close; maybe Wes had been taking notes or something.   “And you were intending to find the demon how, exactly?” Wes asked.  Before Xander could reply he went on.  “And then, once you raised the creature and killed it, how were you intending on dealing with Darien?  He’s not going to like having years of effort spoiled by us sneaking in, as you put it, and killing his object of worship.”  Wesley turned on him, facing him completely.  Yeah, withering was the best way to describe it.  “Darien wants something.  He’s gone to great lengths to get it, and he’s prepared to kill his children.  He must be stopped.  This isn’t all about the demon, Xander.”

Xander stared at the floor.  Great.  Ignore the obvious, look stupid again.  Typical.  He looked up at Wesley again and felt something flare in his gut.  He stood up before he’d really thought about it and said,  “Fine.  Save the centaurs, I’m all with that.  Even if I’ve never even seen one a few hours ago.  I’ll kill the icky thing.  I’ll do what I can.  But how exactly, Wesley, are we going to do this? Just wander up to Darien and ask him nicely to produce his evil thing?”

Wesley didn't answer right away.  He glanced away from Xander, and said quietly, “I don't know.”

It sounded like he didn't really expect to, either.

“Would...Giles know anything about it?” he asked carefully, because he didn't want to have that be the answer, but he didn't want to endanger a herd of *anything* because he was too embarrassed to tell his friends where he was. “Or—what about the Council? Don't they have ways of tracking demons?”

Wesley gave him an odd look.  “Yes.  It's called 'The Slayer'.”  But his face had changed, and there was something he wasn't saying.

Xander nodded slowly, feeling his way.  “But they have other things too, right?  Libraries and books and people.  You could maybe call and ask, right?”  As soon as the question was out he knew he’d said the wrong thing.  Wesley didn’t so much as shut down as stiffen up, and for Wes that was a lot of rigid.

“No.”  Wesley’s voice was flat, so without tone that Xander knew there was something deeply painful around the matter.

“Wes?  I’m really not trying to pry here—”

“Then stop.”  Wesley turned around again, making an aborted attempt to continue his pacing.  He was already too close to the bathroom to go more than two steps before he had to turn again.

“Okay.  But we still have to figure out how to get this demon to show up at the right time.  And if you won’t call the Council I’m out of ideas.”

Wesley looked at him.  Actually looked, and Xander could feel the difference.  It wasn’t so much the intensity of it, but more a connection.  The thought was confirmed when Wesley sat on the edge of the bed and softly said, “I’m no longer with the Council.”

“Congratulations,” slipped out before Xander realised that this was, in fact, bad news.  For Wesley, anyhow.  As much as it had been for Giles — only Xander thought Giles's reaction to being fired was more about who did he trust with Buffy, than any real love of the Council.

Wesley's reaction said as much, and Xander felt bad for him.  Not exactly sure how to say it, since he really did think the Council was a bunch of jerks — although he thought that in part because of what Wesley had been like: the epitome of Watcher Council perfection.

“I'm...sorry,” he fumbled, and knew his sympathy wasn't at all what Wesley would want to hear.

Wesley raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything for a long moment.  “It doesn’t matter.  What matters at the moment—”

“Yeah, it does.”  Xander wasn’t sure who was more surprised, Wesley or himself.  He bit at his lip and tried to figure out what he meant, exactly, before he kept talking.  “Sure, I don’t like them.  You know what I think of the Council.  But you didn’t think that, right?  You trained to be a Watcher for God knows how long.  And now you’re not one.  You did what you thought you were supposed to, right?  And now you’re—”

He stopped dead, not wanting to say what his mind was yelling at him.  Alone.  Away from home.  But he stopped before he said it.  And maybe all that was really important right now, aside from the big scary demon who was going to lunch on little baby centaurs, was that he finally had a clue about Wesley that wasn’t about the suit or the job.

“So,” he finally said, when Wesley didn’t speak up.  “Got any ideas about what would make Darien mad enough to raise this thing himself so we can stab it with the big sharp things?”

Wesley shook his head.  “I know several ways to anger him, but none that would guarantee he'd raise the demon.” 

“Maybe we could just keep pissing him off?” Xander suggested, even though it sounded like a bad idea.  Of course he was used to doing things that sounded like a bad idea, and having them work out.  Then again, that was usually because Buffy— he cut off that train of thought. 

Wesley looked at him like he couldn't quite believe that he'd been a bad enough person to warrant being cursed with a Xander. 

“Okay, so that's not a good idea,” Xander allowed.  “But we still have to come up with something to get the demon to appear right?  Maybe if we could...threaten what the demon sees as his reward?  Would that make the demon come on its own?”

Xander watched as Wesley's expression went from pained to thoughtful.  Score one for the guy who had spent a lot of time watching the research people.  Well, okay, he researched too.  But really, Giles was the big planner guy.

“Maybe...” Wesley said slowly, staring at a blank spot on the wall.  “But I don't think that we'll actually be able to threaten the foals—not that I would want to.  I think that Wade—the stallion coming to take the herd—would object rather strenuously as well.”

“Could we make Darien think we were threatening the foals?”  Xander had a sudden image of centaur foals.  He hadn't seen any, but it was pretty easy to take the mares he'd seen, and shrink them down to baby size.

They were too adorable looking, in his head, to threaten.

“What about this other guy - stallion, who's coming?  Wade?  Would he make Darien decide he was threatened enough to raise the demon?”

“Wade might pose a threat, if Darien felt he wasn't able to finish him off, himself.”

“So, let's break Darien's leg then let Wade challenge him.”  Xander grinned — and blinked, when Wes gave him an angry look.  “What?  Centaurs won't challenge someone with a broken leg?” 

“Xander, what happens to horses with broken legs?” Wesley asked carefully, as if speaking to a child.

Oh right.  “Something not nice,” he said evenly.  “But if I've got this right the new guy is gonna kill him anyway—”  Wesley was shaking his head slightly, once more looking cursed.

“It's not that.  Never mind, it isn't important,” he said tiredly.

“What?”

“Xander, what am *I*?”

“Uh, half centaur—oh shit.”  Well, that made him feel great.  Let's just drive the half centaur mad with tales of broken bones that could be fatal if you're a horse.  But he wasn't a horse.   Xander backed away from the thought slowly and looked at Wes carefully.  “Right.  So, how do we threaten Darien enough that he needs his demon?”

Wesley was still frowning, and Xander saw his expression change.  Knew that Wesley had thought of something that he didn't like.

If Wes didn't like it, chances were Xander wouldn't like it either.  But it wasn't like they were drowning in plans.  “What?”

“Well, I—”  he stopped, and Xander had a flash of brilliance.  Or something.

“You won't have to really fight him, will you?” He was already thinking of what he could take, to back Wesley up.  Sword, axe, shotgun?

“Who, Darien?  No, my interference in that would not be welcome.  But the demon, yes, of course.”

Xander revised his mental arsenal to include things he didn't have but would come in handy.  Missile, M-16, tear gas, one of those orbs of Krilinate that Giles had on his desk holding down junk mail.

“Right,” Xander said.  “Back to that.  We need the demon.  And we need to know what kind of demon it is.  And how to get it to appear at the right time.  And how, exactly, are we going to do this anyway?  Just walk up there and let our stallion loose on theirs?”

“He won't call the demon to interfere with a challenge.  A stallion like Darien will be...supremely confident of being able to handle a fight, on his own.  And even if he didn't, it's extremely rare for a stallion to do anything but meet a challenge head on, unarmed and unassisted.”

“What about after? If Darien loses—”

“If Darien loses, it would be easy.  If he wins...we're back where we started.  And...we can't be sure he won't cheat, and use the demon to make certain he wins.”

Xander nodded.  “So...what, then?”  He heard the voice in his head, which still suggested 'Call Buffy'.  It pissed him off.  It pissed him off more that he felt like it would make things so much easier, if they just did call her.

“So we trick him.” Wesley said, making it sound simple.  He was...calm.  Reasonable.  Xander pushed the Buffy voice further away; if whatever Wes had planned failed he could always let the Buffy voice come back later. 

“How?”

Wesley looked at him, searching.  Xander was used to people looking him over, trying to figure out if he was a geek, a jock, a dunce...whatever.  This felt different.  This was like someone assessing his strengths.  “How good an actor are you, Xander?”

That was a little unexpected.  “Uh...I was in a school play when I was ten.  I was a tooth.  But I understudied for the dentist.”

Wesley didn't even look disheartened.  Much.  “Can you act like you're in the market for some land?  Like you have a bit of money to burn and want to check over a possible purchase?”

Xander laughed.  “I've shopped with Buffy *and* Cordelia.  I can fake interest in buying anything.”

Wesley nodded, not smiling.  “Perhaps if we make Darien think his demon isn't holding up its end of the bargain.  He will summon it to chew it out.  We can attack then.”

“Is he gonna think that if I just show up to buy land?”

“Hmm.  Well, perhaps if you say something about being told it was available...we don't have time or resources to fake any papers, or a deed.  But....”  He trailed off, thinking hard. 

Xander wanted to tell him he looked a lot like Willow, only a guy, wearing glasses, and more facial hair.  That made him wonder what Wesley *did* look like.  When he was a centaur.  He found himself glancing at Wesley's legs, even though they were perfectly human at the moment. 

Black leather pants.  Some of the guys who danced at the club wore leather pants.

Wesley was still thinking hard, looking serious and vaguely tired.  He still had bed hair, no matter what he'd tried to do with it.  Xander pictured a centaur with bed hair and leather pants, but then remembered that the pants had to come off before Wes could change forms.

The dancers had to take off their leather pants too, and that was always a crowd pleasing moment.  Xander wished Wesley would say something, if only so he could stop thinking.

Wesley hadn't said if he could even change forms—he'd dodged that question rather nicely, actually.  Xander opened his mouth to ask just as Wesley suddenly looked like he'd made a decision.

“Right then.  Ready for your job?” Wes asked him.

Xander made a mental note to ask about the changing thing later.  “Yeah.”  He wondered if he'd need notes.  “Uh, yeah, I..I mean, yeah.  What am I doing?”  He wanted to kick himself.  Go pretend to buy land, like they'd just said ten seconds ago.  He tried to shake the image of Wesley out of his head.

Wesley narrowed his eyes, and Xander could tell he was wondering if he were dealing with a moron.  Possibly, but that didn't mean Xander couldn't do what had to be done.

“After Wade gets here and I fill him in you'll go out there and tell Darien you saw the land advertised for a tax auction,” Wesley explained.

“Like it was seized?”  There, a bright question.

“Exactly.  Tell him you want to look around the place before you bid.  Make it sound like you have big plans, maybe a development or something.”

“And I got the money for that where?  I'm not even old enough to buy beer!”  Xander could just see how well this going to go over.

Wes sighed again.  Giles used to do that a lot.  “If it comes up tell him you inherited it.  Then wander around, maybe mention that you've heard others planning to bid as well.”

Xander nodded.  “Right.  And you think this will send him into a panic and he'll call the demon to give it...hell, I guess.  Where will you and Wade be?”

“Waiting, out of range.  We can coordinate with the mares, to get us onto the land...or, perhaps get Wade onto the land, to be ready to challenge Darien as soon as the demon is destroyed.”  Wesley looked troubled, again.

“Why just Wade?”

Wesley didn't answer right away.  Xander tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong.  More wrong.  Having a demon threatening imaginary creatures was wrong enough.

“I'm not sure....”  Wesley stopped, and started again, and his voice sounded strange.  “I'm not sure Wade will...accept my assistance.  Or very presence.”

“So, you come with me and help stick sharp things into the demon's head.”

Wesley gave him a flat glare.  “There is *no* chance Darien will allow me onto his land.  For the ruse to work, you will have to go in alone.  Then...well, perhaps I can be waiting nearby.  Someplace else.”

Xander shook his head.  “You'll be there.  End of story.  I don't care if you have to be out of range until the demon shows up, you'll be there.”

Wesley looked amused.  “It's not that simple.  If Wade says—”

“And I'm saying I don't care.  He'll just have to deal with it.  I need back up—c'mon, do you really think I can kill a demon on my own?”  Xander thought about that.  He could kill the demon, he told himself.  And then he could be really dead.  “Think of what you'd have to tell Giles.  Please.  You'll be there.”  Xander had spoken.  End of story.

Wesley still looked amused.  “I'll see what I can do.  But yes, I would prefer not to send you out there to kill a demon unassisted.  Perhaps Wade will allow me to come if I put it to him like that.”

“Allow?  Why would you need *his* permission for anything?”  Xander was not impressed with this Wade person—stallion—creature and he hadn't even shown his face yet.

“He's a full stallion,” Wesley said in a matter of fact tone.  “I will be....subordinate to him.”

It sounded to Xander like Wesley had just said he would be required to walk through sewers barefoot.  Only he also had that stiff upper lip British thing going, like Giles did.  Or had, Xander realised, back when he'd first arrived and hadn't been fully broken in.

“Like...the mares?” he asked, trying to fit this new wrinkle into his brain. 

“Not exactly, but...yes, for our purposes.  Besides which, if he doesn't wish me there, my presence will only distract him from the challenge.  It's important that he win the fight.”

There was something about all this that Xander knew Wesley wasn't explaining.  He wasn't sure he wanted to ask, and was even less sure he'd understand it.  Right now, all he wanted was a demon he could hit with something sharp.

“Okay, so we have a plan.  When's this Wade guy getting here?”  Xander settled deeper in the chair and watched Wesley.  Still in leather, still had bed hair.  Kinda...cute wasn't right.  Really not right.

Wes glanced at his watch.  “Several hours, I expect.  By noon, certainly, and I think it will take an hour or so to go over everything.”  Wes looked at him closely.  “You should sleep.”

Xander nodded and snuggled into the chair some more.  He wasn't sleepy.  “So, can you change forms, too?  What's different about been full blood and only half centaur?”

Wesley looked surprised and a little uncomfortable.  “Uh, yes.  I can change forms, though I don't do it often.”  He crossed to the bed he'd been sleeping on and sat down.   

He yawned and tried again to picture Wes as a centaur but couldn't quite.  He was having trouble with the tail.  Yeah, that was it, the tail.  Too long.  “Show me?” he asked.

Wes arched an eyebrow at him.  Made him look *just* like Giles when Xander was trying to wind him up, and Giles had caught him out.  “I don't...that isn't....”  He stopped, and Xander waited while he tried to come up with a reasonable excuse for saying 'no'.

Xander suddenly wondered if the reason Wes was trying to say no, was because he'd have to strip down, like Marie had.  The image of Wesley, stripping out of those leathers, made Xander feel like stammering a lot, himself.

“That's.. I mean, you don't—” he began, then stopped.  From the embarrassed look on Wesley's face, Xander could tell he'd probably just made things worse.  At least, neither of them could pretend they weren't talking about Wesley being naked.

“I don't mind,” Xander said, then he clamped his jaw shut.  He'd meant to say he understood — that Wesley didn't have to.

Wesley looked around the room and sighed, sounding as exasperated as Giles ever had.  “I don’t think this is the proper place.”

“Why not?” Xander asked, then kicked himself.  Where was the part of him that was saying this stuff?  Sure, he wanted to see Wes in his other form, but he didn’t really want to push him, didn’t want to make Wes all defensive.  When Wesley just started at him, his eyes getting stubborn, Xander said, “Look, I want to see, but I don’t want—I mean you don’t have to.  There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Wrong thing to say.  Wesley looked more defensive than ever, bordering on pissed off.  “I know there’s nothing wrong with it.  I am what I am.”  But he was unlacing his boots now.  “You want to see?  Fine.  Maybe then we can get some sleep?”

“Wes,” Xander tried to figure out how he was going to smooth *this* over.  Wesley was pretending to ignore him, but Xander knew it wasn't like he could really avoid hearing whatever Xander said.  “I mean - I'm not trying to make you into a sideshow attraction.  I'm just interested.  I want to see you.”

There was no way he could hope that Wesley didn't hear the double entendre that Xander would never in this lifetime admit was in there.  Wesley was standing with his back to Xander, and Xander could see his ass — black leather pants pulled tight across his ass, and Xander had spent how many weeks seeing drop dead gorgeous guys shed their clothes for all to see. Add to that the fact that he'd never been more lonely in his life, stuck here so close to home and so utterly unable to go home, that it probably wasn't a surprise that he was trying so desperately to make a contact with someone who ought to hate him

Or at least just not care the slightest whether Xander was lonely or not.

“I mean — I'm sorry.”  Xander closed his mouth — too late, but at least he was shutting up now.

Wesley kicked off the other boot and turned around, pulling his shirt off over his head as he did so.  His eyes were serious as he stepped back into the open area Marie had used when she’d changed forms.  Xander swallowed.  This was what he wanted right?  What he’d practically forced Wes to do?

Wesley held his gaze as he started to undo his leather pants, and Xander met it squarely, trying desperately not to watch his fingers go to the waistband to push them down.  He could do that much at least.

Though it wasn’t easy.

Then Wes was bending, leather sliding from his legs, and Xander forced his eyes to keep to a respectfully patch of skin near his shoulder.  His right shoulder.  Just above and to the right of his nipple.  Xander concentrated on that spot very hard as Wesley stood up.

He couldn't not, and he didn't mean to, but his eyes went down and he saw things he wasn't supposed to see — and then there was a horse where he was staring and it was safe again.

A horse.

Xander blinked.

“Well?” Wesley asked, even though he couldn’t have been waiting for a comment.  Xander stood up, and Wesley still towered over him, and Xander had never see a horse in person before this week, when suddenly he's seeing centaurs all over the place. 

Wes's coat was dark, and Xander had no idea what the name of the colour was, but his coat didn't look all that different from the leather he'd been wearing.  He didn't realise he'd moved until he put his hand out to touch, and see if he were real. 

Before his hand made contact, he yanked it back.  “Sorry.  Just...sorry.”

Wes actually smile a little, though it faded fast.  “It’s all right.  Go ahead.”

Xander looked at him carefully, trying to gage the sincerity in Wesley’s voice.  He decided that if Wes really didn’t want him to touch him, he’d say so.  Again, he reached out, laying his hand on Wes’s…side?  Flank?  He had no idea, other than it was a smooth spot above his hip, several inches back from where Wes’s torso stopped and the horse part started.

He felt warm.  And smooth, and Xander had stroked him with the flat of his hand three times before he realized he was *petting* Wesley.  He moved again, blushing furiously. 

There wasn’t really a lot of room for him to manoeuvre, but he climbed over the edge of one bed and got to Wesley’s other side.  He was silky, almost, his coat laying flat to his skin.  He was…strong.  He was amazing.

“Mmmm.”

Xander froze, then jerked his hand back.  “Uh—”

“Sorry,” Wesley muttered, clearly embarrassed.  “I've.. it's been a long time.. I—  I'm sorry.  It felt nice.”

 “Oh.”  Xander felt his cheeks burning.  Too bad there wasn't a Hellmouth in Oxnard; it could open up right here.  “I'm....”  How did you apologise for making someone feel good? 

He wanted to touch Wesley again, and didn't know if he dared.  On the other hand — what did he have to lose?  Besides a leg, if Wesley kicked?  He reached out and placed his hand on Wesley,  petting him again, touching more firmly this time.

Wes made another soft noise, so he did it again, a long stroke from Wesley’s waist, down his back, then a shorter one, down his side.  He kept doing it, finding spots that made Wes sound happy, and staying there for a little bit.

It stood to reason, he figured.  He knew he liked a nice back rub once in a while, and really, who could Wes ask to give him a back rub in this form?  Probably just relax the hell out of him, and he’d sleep really well.

Xander gave him another long stroke, and Wes shuddered, the movement rolling down his spine and making his tail (tail!) flick.  Cool.  So Xander did it again, glancing up at Wes to see how he was.

He was—well, he was sort of in a trance, Xander thought. His eyes were glassy and his head was tilted forward.  He looked completely out of it.  Xander stopped petting him, hoping Wes was okay.

There was a pause, when Wes didn't move at all.  Then he suddenly shook his head — followed by shaking his entire body, the muscles along his form rippling.  Then he groaned, and Xander knew that sound.

Wesley turned his head, looking back over his shoulder at Xander, and there was no mistaking the heat in his eyes.  For a second, neither of them moved — then Wesley was suddenly human again, and he was naked and Xander couldn't not look. 

He was erect.  And Xander had hands that had minds of their own tonight, because he reached out and touched.

Wesley made a noise that might have been going to be a protest, but Xander ran his hand up Wesley's cock in that first motion of a jerk off, and the noise became a groan and Wesley's eyes seemed to roll back into his head.

Xander moved closer, letting instinct tell him what to do.  Hell, he’d been raised next to the Hellmouth, instinct kept him alive.  He’d learned to trust his instincts.  And now his instincts were telling him to keep touching, to get closer to the heat of Wesley’s body and to—to—not to run.

Wesley felt good in his hand, hot and smooth and entirely not like anything else.  It wasn’t like when he touched himself, not really.  The basics were the same, the mechanics, but this was something new.  The angle.  The weight.  The smell.

He moved a little faster, his hand a little tighter, jerking Wes off in smooth pulls.  He watched Wes’s head tilt back a little, his tongue dart out to moisten his lips.
 
When Wes met his eyes this time the look was stormy, his eyes wild.  Xander swept his thumb over the head of Wes’s cock on the next up stroke, felt the wetness.  He gasped, Wesley moaned, and he started moving his own hips, rubbing against Wes as he looked down at what he was doing.

Xander had to reach out with his other hand, reaching around behind Wesley's back to hold onto him.  He told himself it was so Wes wouldn’t fall, but he knew it was because touching him with just one hand wasn't enough. 

He didn't dare to lean forward and kiss him — on the mouth or anyplace else — so he contented himself to holding his hand flat on Wesley’s back, and feeling Wesley's cock in his hand.

He was pretty sure he was gonna come in his jeans, and he didn't mind. 

Wesley suddenly reached out, grabbing onto his arms and curling his fists into Xander's shirt sleeves.  He was panting, and making soft, desperate noises like he was in pain. 

“Oh god, yes, come on.  Come for me, Wes,” Xander whispered, not feeling nearly as much like a moron for saying it as he'd thought he might.  Because Wes was fucking his hand, now, and really close to coming all over him.

Wesley moaned, long and low, his hips snapping as he thrust, and Xander moved, just a little, so the friction of Wes’s thigh hit him just right, rubbing along his own erection.

He moved his thumb over the head of Wes’s cock again, squeezed a little on the next stroke and Wes cried out, his eyes rolling back.

“Yeah, that’s it.  Come for me.”  Xander’s voice sounded strangled to himself, and he pushed against Wes’s thigh, his balls aching. 

Wes threw back his head and groaned, his prick throbbing in Xander’s hand.  Xander felt the wet heat, glanced down to see Wes coming for him, on him, and moved again, holding Wes as close as he dared.  Another couple of thrusts as Wes stood in his arms, still frozen in place, still coming for God’s sake, and Xander shuddered as his own release shot through him.

In another second it would be awkward what the hell time, and Xander didn't want to do that yet so he closed his eyes and thought about his hand on Wesley’s back.  Holding, practically actually holding him like this was more than just a — whatever the fuck this was.  Jerk off in the middle of nowhere.

He could smell Wesley, and it was like the back room of the club, the smell that always drove him crazy and made the dancers sometimes laugh and sometimes invite him along.  But there was more than that, this time.  Right?  More than desperate strangers getting it off because they could?

Xander realised he had to let go now, and he removed his hand, wiping it clean on the leg of his jeans.  Not the first time, not the last time he'd be washing embarrassing substances off his clothes.  He watched Wesley's face for any sign of what sort of stumbling apology he needed, or if they'd be able to just pretend it never happened and go to bed.

Wesley was looking at him, not moving, not saying anything.  He didn’t look angry, or upset, or anything really.  His face was a mask, not giving anything away, and that was more disturbing than anything.

“Umm.  I—I better…over there.  I better go over there and let you, you know.  Take a shower or whatever—”  Xander felt the embarrassment well up, the need to get away before Wesley said whatever it was that would make him feel like shit, like he’d done exactly the wrong thing.

But it couldn’t have been the wrong thing, really.  Could it?  He’d seen the heat, the hunger, and he’d certainly felt the need.  But maybe this was yet another centaur thing he didn’t get.  Something he’d screwed up because he didn’t know the difference.

“Xander.”  Wesley sounded calm.  Very calm for a man who’d just come all over a man’s hand, a man whom he’d barely tolerated a few hours before.  “I didn’t mean for that—I’m sorry.” 

“Huh?”

“To...well, it's a natural reaction.  For centaurs.  Stallions, that is.  Being...touched, or brushed that way.  It's very arousing.  I'd have warned you if...”  He stopped, and now he looked away and didn't meet Xander's eyes.

Xander could almost hear the words 'but I didn't want to'.

“I should have warned you, stopped you,” Wesley continued.  “But...another unfortunate side effect of becoming aroused, for a stallion, is...well, our minds simply shut down.  We stop being able to think clearly — or at all.  We simply react.  I... if I'd been in clear command of my actions, I would never have done this.”

Xander felt his insides clench.  He couldn't move his hand, still sticky with Wesley's come.  Would never have....  He suddenly jerked back, away from Wesley who was still standing there like he didn't even notice he was still naked.  “Yeah.  OK.  I'm gonna go shower.”  Xander hurried past, trying to focus on getting to the bathroom and getting the shower on and washing off the scent and the feel of someone who hadn't even wanted him for the few seconds they'd taken.

“Xander—”

“No, it’s okay.  I get it,” he said, not even looking back over his shoulder.  He closed the bathroom door behind him and leaned back on it, his eyes stinging.  He rubbed his hand on his jeans again and swore under his breath.  What a mess.

He turned on the water and stripped quickly, leaving his clothes in a pile.  Once under the spray he tried to just get clean, not to think about what he’d done, what they had just done.  How Wes had told him it was just an urge, hey nothing personal, just needed to get off.  And by the way, I knew it could happen, but it was too late to tell you I would just use your body if you touched me that way.

Fuck.

Okay, so he’d not really had a clue what it meant.  Now he did.  Now he knew what *he* meant.  He was still Xander, still the one on the outside, sometimes useful, but mostly in the way.  He just had a new quirk to add to his resume.  He could jerk off half centaurs in their human form, ‘cause their minds shut off when they got excited.

Not that he did a lot of thinking when he was aroused either.  As whatever the fuck that was had proven.

Angrily, he searched for the bottle of shampoo, determined to make this shower last long enough that Wesley would be asleep by the time Xander came back out.

~*~*~

Wesley blinked, confused, as Xander shoved past him and headed for the bathroom.  For a moment he thought Xander had been struck by an urgent need to relive himself — but then he heard the shower switch on.

He wished he'd warned Xander — wished he hadn't changed, or had stepped aside after the first touch of Xander's hand on his body.  But he hadn't, and he'd let himself believe that it would be all right.  His last thought was that Xander would understand, that perhaps Xander was as lonely as he was — and now he'd gone off and shut himself in the shower after Wesley had tried to....

Oh.  Of course.

Wesley headed quickly to the bathroom, and knocked on the door.  There was no response, and he knew it likely that Xander simply couldn't hear him.  He took a chance, and opened the door.

The room was starting to fill with steam, mirror just beginning to fog around the edges.  Xander’s clothes were heaped in the corner, the scent of semen strong, even behind the chemical smell of shampoo.  “Xander?”

“Christ!”  The shape behind the shower curtain jerked.  “What do you want now, Wes?  Come to tell me you won’t hold it against me in the morning?  That no one needs to know?”

Wesley blinked and moved toward the shower, the sound of the rushing water too loud.  “I *won’t* hold it against you.  And no one needs to know.” 

“Gee, thanks ever so.  Get out.”  Xander sounded angry. Hurt.

“That’s not what I mean.”  He reached out to touch the shower curtain, to pull it aside so he could see Xander’s face as he explained.  “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Talk away.  Sort of busy here though, and incidentally?  Naked.  Can it wait?”  Yes, definitely hurt.

“Yes, well, I'd say we were even, then.”  Wesley wasn't really bothered by his nudity in front of Xander — he hadn't wanted to change forms, but simply being naked was irrelevant.

There was silence, as he waited while Xander decided what to say about that.  Wesley knew it was probably wrong to let Xander believe he were truly upset about it, but if it kept him talking, then he didn't mind.

When Xander still didn't say anything, Wesley tried again — asking himself why he was bothering.  It wasn't as though Xander had ever shown concern for *his* feelings.

“I would have warned you, if I’d realised I'd react so quickly.  It's been a long time since anyone has touched me, at all....”  He stopped.  He hadn't intended to say any such thing — lies would be easier, wouldn't they?

From the other side of the shower curtain came a strangled laugh.  “So, you were a little lonely, Wes?  Any touch would do?”

“That's not what I said.”  Was it?  Damn it, what did it matter?  Xander would keep picking at it, making the situation into something it wasn't.  “I only meant that I didn't realize...”

He trailed off, thinking that what he'd been about to say wasn't quite true.  He really hadn't known how quickly he'd become aroused, how the touch of Xander's hands would affect him.  But he had known that it was possible, and hadn't said anything.

Perhaps lies wouldn't be better.

It wasn't as though Xander could get any more angry with him, right? 

“I knew... I was hoping... I know I didn't think it through.  Or take your own feelings into account.  But when you touched me, the very first time, I found myself hoping you would continue.  So I said nothing.”

He felt ashamed — that he would be so desperate, that he had allowed Xander to be put into the position he had been in.

There was a long silence, broken by the sound of the water hitting tile, splashing against the curtain.  “So, you're saying you wanted to be touched?”  Xander asked finally.

Wesley looked at the ceiling, wishing the damn curtain was a wall, that he wasn't having this conversation at all.  But he couldn't quite bring himself to wish what had happened away, not entirely.  “More or less, yes.”

Another water filled pause.  “But you're also saying that it didn't really matter who it was.”  Xander was insistent.

“No.  Not like you mean, anyway.”  Wesley turned and faced the other direction, almost as if he were turning to face Xander, hidden away in his wet hiding place.  “I'm just saying that it was a natural reaction, that I didn't warn you, and for that I'm sorry.”

“Sorry you didn't warn me.  Not sorry that it was me?”

“I'm not sorry it was you.”  It was easy to say, and Wesley had no idea whether or not he meant it.  But even if he did regret it having been Xander, it would be cruel to allow him to think so.

Besides which, he didn't think he did mind.  Not, perhaps, his first choice for a quick one-off in a seedy motel, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Xander pulled the edge of the shower curtain back and peered out at him, dark hair wet on his forehead, water drops clinging to his shoulders.  “Say that again, looking at me.”

Wesley stepped forward, looking at him.  At his eyes, his lower lip, the collection of drops on his collarbone.  “I'm not sorry it was you.”

Xander looked back at him, steady gaze not wavering.  Wesley, for his part, was having trouble keeping his eyes on Xander's face.

Perhaps he wasn't sorry, at all.

A moment passed, then the corner of Xander's mouth quirked, and he was starting to smile.  Drops of water were running down the side of his face and Wesley reached up and touched his cheek.

“Wes?” Xander asked, his voice impossibly calm. “Wanna get cleaned up?”

Wesley nodded, not exactly sure why, just knowing that right then it seemed like a very good idea.  Xander was still smiling at him as he pulled the shower curtain back the rest of the way.

“C'mon in, then. Unless you want me to just throw water at you.” 

“That won't be necessary,” Wesley said, stepping forward.  He knew that in about two more minutes he would be as brain-dead as he had the first time.  Normally his half-human nature gave him some protection against the typical response stallions had to sexual arousal — but when one had gone for years without so much as being touched....

He stumbled, climbing into the tub, but Xander held out a hand and steadied him.  His hand was wet, and warm, and Wesley shivered as he moved into the spray.

“I—”  He had no idea what he dared ask for.

“You going to warn me this time, Wes?” Xander said, his hand sliding over Wesley's arm.

“I think you know—” Wesley began, losing the words as Xander's other hand pushed soap along his hip.  Wes shuddered, having just enough sense to see the look in Xander's eyes.  Determined, yes.  But still tentative and unsure.  “Want.”  It was the only word he had as he stepped closer, moved into Xander's arms.

“Anything in particular?” Xander asked, sounding amused, and nervous.

“I want to kiss you,” Wesley said, right before he put his mouth on Xander's.

They held each other steady, in the spray of water, trying not to move on the slick ceramic.  But Xander was kissing him back, as eagerly and hungrily as Wesley wanted to kiss him.  He wished for a moment they were in the bed, or somewhere outside, far away from prying eyes so he wouldn't have to think about moving around in small, slippery places.

But slippery hands were on his back, and thoughts of other slippery places made him forget about anything much, at all.

Xander was kissing him, his mouth, his neck, his shoulders, and his hands were sweeping over Wes's back.  He could feel Xander's erection, hot against his hip.  It didn't take much to move his hand, just a little...Xander moaned when he touched him.

Then the hand was gone, and the water was off, but Xander was still kissing him, pushing him backwards, gently.  “Out of the tub,” Xander said, and Wes let himself be directed, let Xander's hands guide him.  For now. 

They got out of the tub; Xander paused to shut off the water.  As soon as Wesley was standing on cold tile, he turned back and tried to re-engage the kiss. 

Xander only let him for a moment, before breaking away again.  “I think—”

“No, no thinking.  Kiss me.”

Xander looked a bit taken aback, so Wesley kissed him again.  Hard, and demanding, because if they stopped they might not continue, and right now all he wanted was more.

Xander moaned into the kiss and tried to shift him around, tried to edge Wes out the door of the bathroom.  Wesley only moved so far, and when Xander pushed a little harder, Wesley stopped, stood where he was and let Xander move against him, wet and warm from the water.

“Bed?" Xander said into their next kiss, his hands drifting over Wes's back, down to his hips.

Those hands were driving Wes, making him hungry.  He didn't answer, just kissed him again, his own hand moving to weigh Xander's need.

“Wall,” Wesley said.