Slowly, Oz’s eyelids began to flutter as he regained consciousness. Before actually opening his eyes to take in his surroundings, he reached out with his other senses to ascertain his situation.

He quickly realized that he was lying in a plush bed, with a large goosedown comforter wrapped around him, warming his bare chest. Exhaling deeply, he took a large sniff of the air around him, noticing the musky smell of another man in the room. However, try as he might, he could not pick up Buffy’s scent. This realization caused him to panic and his eyes snapped open before he quickly sat up, the large blanket falling to his waist.

A deep groan emitted from his lips and he brought his hand up to the back of his head. The sudden movement had caused a sharp pain to lance through his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, he traced his fingertips through the gel-dried strands of his hair and found a rather large bump. The contact of his fingers against the tender spot caused him to wince a bit. “Careful now, sir. You took quite a spill, you did,” the sound of a voice came from across the room.

Oz opened his eyes and peered across the dimly lit room at a young man sitting in a chair against the wall. He was dressed in a pair of brown pants and a loose white shirt tucked into the waist band, a pair of brown boots went up to his knees. Throwing the covers off of him, Oz swung his legs off of the bed, wondering for a moment where his pants had gone. “Where’s Buffy?” He asked the young man, in a raspy voice.

"What’s a Buffy?” the man, who had a cockney British accent, asked Oz.

“The girl,” Oz bit out harshly. “The girl that was with me.”

“Oh, that pretty little girl of yours is down the hall with Louise, that’s the maid. No need to worry, Louise will take right good care of her. My name’s Martin, sir. Martin Smith.”

Getting shakily to his feet Oz turned to the man, “Well, Martin Smith, do you think you could tell me what you’ve done with my pants?”

“Right, sir, they’re in the dresser,” Martin told Oz and went to get the pre-mentioned pants. “But, sir, the master told me you shouldn’t be up and about. You and your little girl both got rather nasty bumps on your heads.”

“She’s not *my little girl*,” Oz told Martin, a bit snappishly as he received his pants from him.

“Interesting breeches, sir. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen any like ‘em.” Martin told Oz as he tugged his jeans on. “Oh, I’ve got a shirt for you too,” he added and offered the shirt to Oz, who tugged it on, seemingly without noticing how baggy and pirate-y it looked. Sitting on the bed, Oz pulled on his sneakers, as quickly as his sluggish limbs would allow him.

“Sir, you really shouldn’t be out of bed,” Martin reminded him as he headed for the door.

Oz tugged open the door and moved out into the hall. He turned to Martin, who had followed him out.
“Which way?”

Martin pointed to his left, “At the very end, but shouldn’t you let her rest?”

Oz didn’t answer; he simply limped down the hall. When he got to the door at the end, he twisted the knob and swung the door open. His jaw fell open when he saw the sight before him. Buffy lay in a large bed, still unconscious, the covers around her waist, her chest completely bare. A young girl was at the side of the bed, sopping soapy water over Buffy’s bared breasts. The young girl, who Oz assumed was Louise, gasped when she saw Oz at the door and dropped her wash cloth. “Sir! A little decency, if you please!” she cried as she pulled the blanket back over Buffy’s naked chest.

An angry growl came up from deep in Oz’s chest and his animalistic possessiveness kicked in.
Stomping across the room, he grabbed Louise by the elbow and pulled her away from Buffy.

“Sir!” Martin cried from the frame of the door. Oz ignored the other man and yanked the covers off of Buffy, quickly drying the residual water away from her skin with the comforter. “Louise was just giving her a short bath, sir. She was covered in a strange slimy substance, and Lord knows what kinds of germs she might have been carrying.”

Oz paid no attention to Martin and Louise as they stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. Instead he propped Buffy and shook her a bit. “Buffy,” he attempted to awake her.

It was probably more the shaking than the hushed speaking of her name that awoke Buffy. She crinkled her nose and squeezed her eyelids tightly as she groaned, “God, my head.”

Satisfied with Buffy’s consciousness, Oz, for the second time that night, pulled his shirt from his back and guided Buffy’s languid arms into them. The shirt was so long that it went to mid-thigh on the small girl. “Oz, where the hell are we?” Buffy asked him in a raspy voice.

“I don’t know, Buffy, but we’re getting the hell out of here,” Oz answered as he scooped Buffy’s slight weight up into his arms. He turned and made his way to the door, motioning to Martin with his head to get out of his way. As he made his way to the staircase at the other end of the hall, the two servants followed after him.

“Well, that’s a fine ‘how do you do’!” Louise cried after him. “We took you in and nursed you. One would think you’d show some gratitude.”

“Hush, Louise,” Martin reprimanded. “I think he’s a bit frightened. He’ll be put at ease once the master talks to ‘IM. You’ll see.”

“Oz,” Buffy said in a quiet voice. “I can walk.”

“We’ll see about that after I get us out of here,” Oz grunted as he jogged them down the stairs.

“Okay, *Xander*,” Buffy relented sarcastically.

They finished their decent down the stairs, with Martin and Louise still close at their heels. Without even a thought on which way to head, Oz headed towards the den, where he knew the exit into the garden would be. However, as he passed through the entrance, Oz stepped dead in his tracks as he came face to face with a very familiar man. Buffy gasped in his ear and slowly he set her on her feet, but she still clung to him with an iron grip.

“Well, what’s all the hubbub about?” the man asked in a jovial voice with a large smile.

Martin stepped up behind Oz when neither he nor Buffy said anything. “Forgive me, master, but I think they may be a little frightened.”

“No need to be afraid,” the man said to the baffled teenagers. “Martin and Louise can attest that Edna May and I love to have visitors. Especially young visitors. Young people just seem to warm up the place.” The man seemed oblivious to the fact that Oz and Buffy were slowly backing away from him, both still wearing dumbfounded expressions on the their faces. “Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Richard Wilkins,” the man told them, stepping forward to offer his hand to Oz. “And you are?”

~~~ :)