Oz hummed to himself as he drove home from the Dingoes practice. He
  tried not to let the questions his fellow band mates were starting to ask
  bother him. His pre-sunset disappearances around the full moon had finally
  been noticed and Devon wanted to know what was up. Oz had brushed them
  all
  off, saying that it was none of their business. Devon's confrontational
  attitude had changed to a smirk when Oz had ended the argument by leaving.

  It wasn't until he was in his van and pulling onto the street that Oz had
  realized just how the others had interpreted his parting comment.

  [Why did I have to say that Willow was waiting for me?] Oz asked
  himself, [Now they're gonna assume I'm rushing home to 'get some'.
  Troglodytes. Willow doesn't deserve that.]

  Oz's pleasant thoughts of Willow kissage (and then some) were rudely
  interrupted by the flashing blue and red lights in his rear view mirror and
  the wail of a siren behind him. Oz pulled over to the curb, his mind
  frantically searching through his memories of the last few minutes. Did he
  run a stop sign or something while daydreaming?

  "This not of the good," Oz muttered as he saw in the side view mirrors
  that the two cops were approaching on either side of the van with their
  guns out. He placed both hands carefully on the steering wheel and held
  still as they stepped up to the doors.

  "Turn off the engine and step out of the vehicle," the cop on his left
  demanded, "Slowly. Keep your hands visible."

  Oz complied, wondering what the Hell was going on.

  =====

  Willow finished checking the chains in Oz's basement with a sigh. She
  still wasn't entirely comfortable with all this, even after nearly a year.
  Although she wondered if she and Oz should have talked to Giles about
  recent developments. But she didn't want to jinx it. Besides, it gave her a
  happy to think that their theory was right.

  The first time Willow had stayed the night to watch over him, it was
  because Oz had been going through a rough patch. His parents were having
  problems and he'd just wanted someone there so he wasn't alone when he
  woke
  up in the morning. Willow had been extremely nervous, but couldn't say no.
  It had surprised both of them the next morning when Willow had told Oz that
  he hadn't done anything even mildly threatening the previous night, despite
  his turbulent emotions. He'd merely gotten as close to Willow as the chains
  permitted, then curled up on the floor and gone to sleep.

  They'd puzzled over it for hours until Oz had finally suggested a
  reason they both considered most likely. He trusted her. So completely that
  even in his werewolf form, he knew she would never harm him. Nor he her.

  And they both thought that had to be it. He never tried to fight the
  chains or escape if she was there. The few times since that night that she
  hadn't been able to stay over, the next morning revealed evidence that Oz
  had tried to get loose. But when she was there, Oz was as docile as a pet
  pooch. He seemed to be gaining even more control over his werewolf self as
  time progressed. Willow secretly hoped that someday Oz would have enough
  control over his monthly alter ego that they could dispense with the chains
  all together.

  And after all these months, Willow was comfortable enough that they
  had brought a cot down to the basement for her and placed it just outside
  the range of the chains (no sense taking any unnecessary chances). Last
  night, Willow had even managed to fall asleep herself, proving that she
  trusted him enough even if he did manage to escape the chains while she
  was
  there.

  Willow was still coming to terms with her realization of how deeply
  they cared for each other. It was a little overwhelming to *know*, not just
  believe, how much they cared about and trusted each other. She shook off
  her awe once again, as the phone upstairs began ringing.

  "Hello?" Willow asked.

  "Willow," Oz replied, relief evident in his voice, "I'm glad you're
  there. I need your help. I've been arrested. I need you to come down to the
  police station and tell them where I was last night. Right now. You have to
  get me out of here before...."

  Oz chopped himself off. They both knew before what.

  "I'm coming, Oz," Willow said, refusing to let the panic suddenly
  welling up to overwhelm her.

  After assuring him she would be there as soon as possible, she called
  for a taxi and rushed downstairs to throw some of his chains into her
  knapsack. If she didn't get there in time, or if they couldn't get back to
  his house before moon rise, she would need them.

  =====

  Willow paid the cabbie and hurried up the steps into the Sunnydale
  Police station, her mind racing. They didn't have much time left, the sun
  had almost set and the moon would be rising soon. She had to get Oz out of
  there. *Now*.

  The desk sergeant took far too long, in Willow's mind, to find the
  paperwork associated with Oz's arrest and point her to Detective Milton,
  who was handling the case. The detective's desk was unoccupied when
  Willow
  found it and she stood nervously, casting her eyes around the busy
  squadroom in a vain effort to spot him.

  Giving up on her futile search, Willow thunked her backpack on his
  desk and was about to start asking--more like demanding in her present
  frame of mind--to speak to the detective *right now* when she saw the open
  file on his desk.

  Her conscience didn't make even a token protest as Willow sat in
  Milton's chair and quickly skimmed the file. Last night, just before
  closing at ten o'clock, the Food Warehouse, Sunnydale's largest
  supermarket, had been robbed. Two masked men had coerced the manager,
  at
  gunpoint, to open the safe. They made off with several thousand dollars in
  cash, escaping in a striped van.

  [And that's all they had when they arrested Oz?] Willow snorted in
  outraged disbelief, [They busted my boyfriend just because he was driving a
  striped van?!? Morons!]

  Willow turned to Milton's computer, only her eyes showing the anger
  and disgust she had for the stupidity of Sunnydale's "finest". Bypassing
  the detective's password protection with ease, Willow logged into the DMV.
  Seconds later, her search commands resulted in the screen displaying a list
  of several dozen striped vans registered in Southern California.

  "Hey!!"

  Willow ignored the shout, instructing the computer to search through
  the list of vans for the ones registered to owners with criminal records.
  From the descriptions of the witnesses, whoever had really robbed the Food
  Warehouse had not been a first time offender. She just hoped that the
  crooks had been stupid enough to use their own vehicle and not one they'd
  stolen.

  "Get away from that!" the shouter was closer now, "What do you think
  you're doing?"

  Willow didn't take her eyes off the screen as three files came up. The
  one in front showed a much more likely suspect than her Oz could ever be.
  Daniel Hoyle, a small time crook with a long history of robbing convenience
  stores, owned a striped van very similar to Oz's. And Hoyle's listed
  address was in Fondarin, barely twenty minutes away from Sunnydale. She
  couldn't believe it. From this three time loser's record, he *was* stupid
  enough to use his own van for a get away vehicle. He'd done it before.

  A hand grabbed Willow's arm and roughly hauled her out of the chair.

  "Get away from that!" an irate voice commanded, "Who are you and what
  do you want?"

  "Get your hands off me!" Willow shouted, jerking her arm free, "I'm
  here to rescue my boyfriend from your incompetence. Did you people even
  bother to check anything out, or were you just going arrest everybody that
  drives a striped van?"

  Dead silence descended on the squadroom at her outburst. Even Willow
  was surprised by her eruption.

  [Where did *that* come from?] Willow thought as the beefy plainclothes
  detective stared at her in astonishment.

  [Nobody messes with *my* boyfriend!] a voice snarled in the back of
  her mind.

  "If you cretins had done even the barest essentials of your job,"
  Willow continued, getting right in the cop's sweaty face, "You would have
  found a more logical suspect than Oz."

  Willow paused a moment and reached up a hand to physically turn the
  stunned man's face to the computer screen before continuing her diatribe.

  "I think a career criminal like that is far more likely a suspect than
  a college freshman who's never even had a parking ticket. He was at home
  all night last. I know because I was there with him. Now, are you going to
  take me to Percival Osbourne so I can take him home, or do you really want
  to see the punitive damages I'll demand in a wrongful arrest lawsuit?"

  [You go girl!] the voice in the back of her mind cheered.

  Warren Milton jerked his chin out of the seething girl's hand and
  stared at the screen. He didn't need this shit. He'd just returned from the
  Vacation From Hell with his nagging wife and whiny kids. He'd barely made
  it to his desk before the captain had handed him the file on last night's
  robbery. Before he'd had a chance to do more than glance at the file, word
  had come in that two uniforms were bringing in a suspect.

  One look at their "suspect" and Milton had known a major league
  headache was rapidly approaching. He didn't match the physical description
  of either one of the suspects, too short and too thin. The unlucky kid had
  just been the victim of a couple of eager beaver newbies with more gung-ho
  than brains. And those two rookies were in line for a brimstone ass chewing
  when this hit the captain's desk.

  Milton had been on his way back to his desk to see if he could
  straighten this mess out quietly when he'd seen the petite redhead at his
  computer. He wasn't sure what he'd expected from her, but having his hide
  verbally sandblasted in front of the whole department certainly hadn't been
  it. He silently counted to ten to get a handle on his temper, being told
  off by a girl who looked almost young enough to be his daughter had
  worsened his already bad mood.

  "Young lady," Milton said, crossing his arms over his chest, "If you
  can corroborate Mr. Osbourne's statement that he was at home last night,
  I'm sure we can straighten out this little misunderstanding without
  resorting to ridiculous threats."

  "There's nothing ridiculous about it," Willow retorted hotly, "If I
  found out about that Hoyle creep in less than five minutes, you people
  should have too. Obviously, none of you know how to do your jobs and I'm
  not going to let *my* Oz remain locked up here one second longer. Now, you
  take me to him and let him out and I might *think* about not suing you dry.
  I'm sure any jury of Sunnydale's residents would be very interested in
  discovering just what they're getting for their tax dollars. Or not
  getting, as the case may be."

  Milton was hard pressed to hold his temper in check. He didn't need to
  add to the long string of reprimands in his personnel file. And with his
  record, letting the itch to slap the sass from this girl get the better of
  him would probably be the last stop before a suspension, or forced
  retirement. Especially with the crowd of cops gawking at them.

  Grinding his teeth together, Milton gestured for Willow to follow him
  and started toward the rear of the building where the holding cells were.
  Willow held on to her righteous wrath and stomped after the man, leaving
  her backpack on his desk, forgotten. She hoped this wouldn't take long, Oz
  didn't have much time.

  =====

  Willow nearly gagged when she walked through the door to the holding
  cells. The stench of stale cigarette smoke, vomit and urine was
  overwhelming. She was a little intimidated by the surroundings, and the
  catcalls from some of the people in the cells didn't help. But all that
  just disappeared when Detective Milton led her to the last cell and she saw
  Oz behind the bars.

  "Willow!" Oz said, stepping up and wrapping his hands around the bars,
  "You're here. Gladness!"

  "I'm here, Oz," Willow replied, "And I'm going to get you out. Right now."

  Willow turned to the detective and glared at him, demanding, "Well?
  The door?"

  "Now just hold your horses a minute, miss!" Milton barked, his
  headache had arrived with bells on and he was in a mood to make the cause
  of it as miserable as he was by insisting on following procedures to the
  letter, "There are procedures to go through. We have to check out your
  statement....."

  Milton broke off when Oz suddenly cried out and fell away from the
  bars clutching his stomach.

  "Open the damn door *NOW*!" Willow commanded, "Let me in there!"

  Milton glanced between the girl and the young man writhing on the
  floor of the cell several times before motioning to the wide eyed uniformed
  cop to open the door. Willow immediately stepped inside the cell, ignoring
  the other prisoners who were backing away from the figure in the middle of
  the cell.

  Oz rolled on to his hands and knees, engulfed in the change. His back
  arched violently, splitting his shirt up the middle. Hair rapidly covered
  his whole body. Oz cried out in pain as his face began to transform, his
  brows ridges growing heavier, his mouth and nose elongating into a snout,
  his ears stretching to points. Willow dropped to her knees beside him and
  tried to hold him as his body was wracked with convulsions.

  Willow was tossed off him as Oz, the werewolf, leapt to his feet with
  a snarl. The dumbfounded witnesses broke their paralysis and rushed for the
  cell door, battering each other in their haste to escape. Willow sat on the
  floor, frantically digging in her pocket.

  The werewolf stood in the center of the cell, his head turning side to
  side as he surveyed his surroundings. This place was wrong- it was not the
  familiar place he always woke up in. This place stank of fear and smoke and
  unwashed bodies. It wasn't the warm comfortable place he was used to. Fear
  washed through him. Where was he? What was he doing here? Where was
  the
  friendly presence of the special one? He had to find her, this place was
  all wrong. This was not his place. He snarled again, his confusion
  mounting, and took a step toward the mass of bodies blocking the only
  opening in this wrong place.

  Willow finally managed to get the silver dog whistle out of her pocket
  and brought it to her lips. She took a deep breath and blew on it. Hard.
  The ultrasonic tone lanced through Oz's skull and he staggered backward,
  howling, his hands clutching his ears. Willow stood slowly and cautiously
  approached Oz, one hand holding the whistle to her lips. She extended her
  other hand in front of his snout, hoping that their theory was correct and
  her mere presence here would calm him down. From some of the books Giles

  had on werewolves, Willow knew what kind of carnage Oz could be capable of

  and she didn't want anything like that happening. If she could get Oz out
  of here without anyone getting hurt, it would be a lot easier to convince
  the police that he was no danger to the public.

  Like a single rose in the middle of compost heap, the scent of the
  special one penetrated the werewolf's nose and he opened his eyes. *She*
  was here! He wasn't in *his* place, but if *she* was here, *she* would take
  him back to his place.

  "Get back!" came a shout and Willow looked over her shoulder to see
  the detective and three uniformed officers pointing their guns into the
  cell. At Oz.

  "Back off!" she yelled at them, her angry voice complimenting Oz's
  menacing growl.

  Willow put one hand on Oz's chest to forestall any rush forward and
  reached the other hand up to wrap around his snout. She tugged on it
  gently, forcing Oz to look down and meet her eyes.

  "Oz, no," she admonished him, "Sit."

  Oz, his nose full of the scent of the special one, trusting her,
  complied with her instruction, sinking to the floor at her feet. His eyes
  never left hers. Willow turned back to the police and stifled a highly
  inappropriate giggle at their open mouthed stares.

  "Unless you've got silver bullets in those things," Willow chirped
  irreverently, "Shooting him will only piss him off. And I don't think you
  want to be dealing with a pissed off werewolf when I'm perfectly capable of
  keeping him calm and out of trouble. The fewer people around, the easier I
  can control him. Somebody bring me my backpack."

  A young uniformed policewoman dashed out of the cellblock, ecstatic to
  have a legitimate excuse for leaving the room and putting as much distance
  between herself and the furred creature sitting on the floor of the cell as
  possible. She hesitated beside the detective's desk. She convinced herself
  that if the young girl wasn't afraid to be right next to the werewolf, then
  it shouldn't pose any danger to her either. The policewoman was surprised
  by the weight of the girl's backpack and opened the zipper as she walked
  back to the cells.

  The policewoman returned to the cellblock to find a very odd sight.
  Not the absence of onlookers (Milton had had the area cleared-no sense in
  giving the werewolf more choices for a meal if the redhead was wrong), but
  the pair still in the cell. The girl had sat down next to the werewolf and
  was stroking his head as if he were a cat, whispering soothingly in his
  ear. Purring may not be a werewolf trait, but the bass, contented rumble
  coming from his chest certainly sounded like a purr.

  The policewoman caught Milton's eye and looked a question at him as
  she pulled one steel manacle from the backpack. Milton merely pointed into
  the cell. The cop cautiously stepped forward, holding the backpack extended
  in one hand as the other hovered near her holster. She stopped in her
  tracks when the werewolf's head snapped up and he growled at her.

  Willow grabbed Oz by the snout again, turning his eyes back to hers.

  "Just put it on the floor and push it to me with a broom or
  something," she told the cop, not taking her eyes from Oz's.

  Once Willow had her backpack, she began putting the manacles and
  shackles on Oz's wrists and ankles. The chains had enough slack in them to
  allow him to walk almost normally, but he would not be able to run or move
  his arms very much. The young policewoman watched the whole process with
  a
  sort of bemused disbelief, amazed at the ferocious-looking werewolf's
  placidity. The detective stood quietly, still seething quietly to himself
  that this whole mess had had to fall in *his* lap.

  "I'm going to see what's keeping them with that damned van," Milton
  grumbled, "Keep an eye on them.

  Milton stalked out of the cellblock.

  When Willow finished locking the chains together, she reached into the
  front pocket of her backpack and pulled out a coarse toothed metal brush.
  The policewoman's eyes widened when Willow began to calmly run the brush
  through Oz's fur and the werewolf sighed in obvious pleasure.

  "Um," the cop hesitated, still not quite sure she should believe the
  surreal scene before her, "I'm curious. How the Hell can you be so calm
  about this?"

  "He's my boyfriend," Willow answered simply.

  Willow giggled softly at the look of utter disbelief on the cop's face.

  "We *know* what can happen when he's like this," she elaborated,
  "That's why he's always locked up before he changes. If he hasn't been
  arrested by overzealous idiots, that is. It isn't that big a deal, it only
  happens three nights of the month after all. Besides, since he's usually
  chained up well ahead of time, he's a lot less dangerous than I can be when
  I have PMS."

  The policewoman snorted in amusement at the apt comparison. She knew
  her rare bouts of PMS had her temper about as stable as a runaway nuclear
  reactor. And this werewolf certainly didn't seem very threatening at the
  moment, basking as he was in the girl's attentions. Maybe some things were
  universal; she certainly loved it when she could convince her fiance to
  brush her hair for her. Perhaps the act had the same sort of calming
  influence on a werewolf.

  "Okay, flipside," the policewoman asked, her curiosity in overdrive,
  "Why is *he* so calm about all this? Aren't werewolves supposed to be sort
  of...well, vicious?"

  "He trusts me," Willow replied, again short and to the point.

  Disbelief again crept onto the woman's face. Willow sighed, wondering
  how she could possibly explain her certainty when both she and Oz were
  having trouble figuring it out.

  "It's kind of like....," Willow trailed off for a second as a
  perfectly logical explanation presented itself in her mind.

  [Could it really be that simple?] she wondered, staring at the
  werewolf curled contentedly in her lap.

  "Like?" the cop prodded.

  "I'm his Alpha," Willow murmured.

  "His what?" the cop asked, lost.

  "Wolves are pack animals," Willow said quietly, slightly stunned by
  this new interpretation, "And I'm the leader of his pack."

  "The leader of his pack?" the policewoman repeated doubtfully, her
  eyes darting from the petite figure of the redhead to the hulking furred
  form of the werewolf and back again.

  "Yes," Willow confirmed, her voice soft with awe, "The pack leader,
  the Alpha, is usually a male, but in this case.....You see, I'm the one
  that always locks him up. I stay with him. I can move around freely while
  he's chained. That makes me dominant to him. Even though it's just the two
  of us, the principle still applies."

  "The two of you?" the cop asked.

  "I'm not a werewolf," Willow grinned, "If I were, we wouldn't be
  having this fascinating conversation. Would we?"

  "I guess not," the cop agreed, "So, just because you're the person
  that puts him in chains, he thinks you're his pack leader?"

  "Well, I feed him, too," Willow confessed.

  "Feed him?"

  "Usually just a couple of pounds of raw hamburger, but sometimes I
  splurge on a big steak."

  The policewoman stared.

  Detective Milton returned to the cellblock and informed Willow that
  her "friend's" van was now out by the back door and would she please get
  the Hell gone so he could get back to work? He handed the keys to the
  uniformed policewoman, instructing her to see them safely on their way,
  before leaving the cellblock for the main squadroom.

  Willow exchanged a brief, amused smile with the policewoman before
  urging Oz to his feet and leading him by the chain out of the cell.

  =====

  Detective Milton stepped back into the squadroom to be met with dozens
  of questioning stares.

  "Nothing going on any of you need to be concerned about," he said
  brusquely, "Get back to work."

  Milton detoured from his path back to his desk. The Captain would
  undoubtably want a full report on this whole fiasco and Milton was going to
  rub the man's nose in the truth. Too many weird things happened in this
  burg that were just swept under the rug, and Milton was getting tired of
  it.

  He headed into the security office. He had the tech on duty rewind the
  videotape from the camera covering the cellblock and capture several still
  frames to print out. Back at his desk with the black and white images,
  Milton starting writing up a report. Not that he expected any follow up on
  that damned werewolf. With no injuries and the only witnesses other than
  cops just a few drunks and vagrants, Milton had no doubt that this would be
  just another 'anomalous incident' that was destined for the round file.

  =====

  Standing beside the zebra striped van, Oz growled again at the
  policewoman. He didn't know her scent and therefore needed to be warned
  away from *his* territory. Willow placed a calming hand on his chest. Over
  her shoulder, she told the woman to just toss her the keys. The cop did so
  and stepped back a few paces.

  Willow opened the side door and prodded Oz inside, closing and locking
  the door behind him. She smiled sweetly at the policewoman as she climbed
  in behind the wheel. After starting the engine and putting the van in gear,
  she waved goodbye and drove away, heading straight for Oz's house and the
  familiar safety of his basement.

  =====

  Warren Milton smiled nastily to himself as he fed change into the pay
  phone. Tonight's little incident with that furry freak never happened as
  far as the Captain, and the mayor, were concerned. Milton's report was
  probably already being fed into the shredder. And he'd just found out that
  the surveillance camera videotape had been "accidentally" erased. Milton
  looked down at the only evidence that still existed as he listened to the
  phone ring.

  "National Enquirer."

  "Good evening," Milton said smoothly, gazing at the one remaining
  still from the videotape, "I have a story I think you'll be interested in.
  Very interested."

  =====

  Epilogue-one week later

  Willow and Oz sat at the library's center table looking through Giles'
  books on werewolves while the librarian paced behind them, lost in thought.
  Giles was a little concerned with what the pair had just finished telling
  him, although he had to admit that Willow's theory did seem to explain the
  behaviour of Oz's werewolf alter ego.

  And as long as he was confessing things to himself, Giles might as
  well admit that the possibility fascinated him. If they were right and Oz
  did consider Willow the Alpha member of his pack, then she was in less
  danger than he'd assumed when he questioned the advisability of her keeping
  watch over him during the full moon. He still wasn't comfortable with the
  idea, but neither Oz nor Willow were going to listen to another lecture on
  the possible dangers involved.

  Giles' musings were cut off by the entrance of a slightly agitated
  Slayer, Xander and Cordelia at her heels.

  "Good, you're here," Buffy declared, holding up a copy of the National
  Enquirer, "We could have a problem."

  "A *tabloid*?" Willow exclaimed, "You think aliens are going to be
  coming to the Hellmouth?"

  "It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest," Buffy replied, "But I'm
  more worried about a story these sensationalists actually got kinda right."

  "What?" Willow asked.

  Buffy slapped the paper down on the table so all of them could see the
  headline:

  "Girlfriend Bails Werewolf Out Of Jail"

  Under the fourty-eight point type of the headline was a grainy black
  and white photograph of a girl leading a chained up werewolf out of a cell,
  a cop standing just to the side. Fortunately, no faces were visible. The
  cop's head and shoulders were cut off at the top of the photo and Willow
  had her back to the camera. No one would recognize Oz in his furry form.

  Giles and the Slayerettes eagerly read the accompanying story,
  dreading the possibility that Oz's secret was out. As a whole, the story
  was long on speculation and rumour with very few facts, fortunately. Police
  officials had "No Comment" and the story appeared to have been leaked by
  an
  "informed source within the Sunnydale PD". They all breathed a sigh of
  relief when they discovered that the story mentioned no names.

  After a short discussion, they decided that there wasn't enough to go
  on in the story for anyone to identify Oz or Willow and that they should
  probably do their best to just ignore the whole episode.

  "I really don't think these things are what Giles had in mind when he
  suggested you'd be doing yourself a favour by getting more involved in the
  research, Buffy," Xander teased.

  "Hey!" Buffy retorted indignantly, "I usually just browse through them
  in the checkout line. And I know you do too, Xander, so not another word. I
  just had a major wig when I saw that headline and the picture."

  "I don't think we have anything to worry about," Willow said, "Not
  when they put it next to this story."

  Willow folded out the paper so the others could see the story on the
  facing page:

  "Alien Pregnant By Elvis"

  The teens left the library laughing. Buffy, Willow, Xander and
  Cordelia to their respective classes and Oz to the parking lot. He'd have
  to hurry if he was going to make his own class at the college across town.

  Giles spared one last disgusted look at the tabloid before dropping it
  in the waste basket.

  "Rubbish," he muttered as he headed for his office.

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