The tombs shone silver under the light of the moon. Buffy walked slightly ahead of Willow and Tara. The Slayer was in patrol mode, but her attitude was somewhat casual and she fwipped her stake in the air as she strolled along. Behind her, Tara was reading aloud from the open book in her hands. According to the cover, it was entitled Sociology: Conduct and Consequences.

"'...prompts careful examination of consequences, both on an individual and societal level,'" she quoted from the text.

With a smooth movement, Willow tugged Tara to the left, removing her neatly from a path that would have lead directly to collision with a headstone. Flashing the redhead a thankful smile, Tara continued reading.

"'Every action, even the most mundane, may have far-reaching effects that only time will reveal.'"

"Oh, like, yesterday I was going to The Lion's Den for lunch," interjected Willow, anxious to provide an example, "but the grilled chicken just smelled so good at the BlueSpoon, I went there instead."

"And the great social ramification is that one more chicken's sacrifice was not in vain?" suggested Buffy dryly.

Willow grinned at the silliness that was occasionally Buffy. "No. The point is that we don't know what might've happened. I could've ... could've gotten the pizza, a-and choked to death on a pepper."

Tara smirked in amusement. "I'll have to remember to thank the next grilled chicken sandwich I see for saving your life."

Buffy glanced over her shoulder at the witches. "So everything we do could turn into a life-or-death situation?"

"It's not all quite that dramatic," responded Tara with a small frown. "But yeah. The basic idea is that anything could change everything."

"Which, okay, I kind of already knew from a big world-saving perspective," Buffy conceded. "But adding in the fear that oversleeping by five minutes might bring about the apocalypse? It's a pressure I really just did not need."

"I said you didn't have to take the class with me," Tara chided gently.

"No," agreed the Slayer, "but then I'd just have to take some other class, and the odds on finding someone in there who'll read the homework to me while I patrol for vampires is pretty slim."

Tara favored Buffy with a grin. "But it'd be fun to see those requests on the bulletin board."

"This is so exciting!" Willow suddenly exclaimed, like she simply couldn't keep her enthusiasm to herself any longer. "My best friend and my girlfriend – study buddies!" Without missing a beat, her expression became regretful. "I wish I could be there too! I should've just failed all my classes last year so you guys could catch up."

Tara arched an amused yet skeptical eyebrow, while Buffy regarded Willow as though she expected a voiceover to come on any minute and announce, "We've replaced Buffy's regular Willow with this insane imitation, let's see if she notices."

The redhead glanced between her two companions. "Okay, no I shouldn't," she admitted.

"Well the thought was nice," Tara told her sweetly.

"If highly alarming," added Buffy, blinking her eyes as she waited for reality to shift back into alignment.

It came crashing back all too soon as a sudden scream pierced the silence of the night, causing the three women to jump in surprise. Quickly zoning-in on the direction of the shrieks, Buffy wasted no time, breaking into a dead run and heading for wall that marked the boundary of the graveyard. Willow and Tara followed as fast as they could.

Sprinting through the gates of the cemetery, Buffy emerged onto the street. She halted, tensed and ready, searching the area for some sign as to the origin of the distress. She didn't have to wait long before another cry assaulted her ears. It was brief, as though abruptly stifled, but sufficient for the Slayer to determine the source. She raced toward a small warehouse just as Willow and Tara came barreling through the gate, both laboring for breath. Grabbing Willow's arm, Tara indicated Buffy's retreating figure and they hastened after her.

Bursting through the door, Buffy instantly took stock of her surroundings. Almost immediately her eyes were drawn to the figure dangling from the ceiling in the center of the room. There was little doubt that the demon was dead and from the expression on his face, his passing had been one of grateful relief. She frowned and took a step closer, peering at his exposed chest and the strange marking that had been etched into the livid green skin. It was the image of a sun being obliterated by the moon. Buffy stared at the marking for a moment, then continued to investigate the warehouse.

Panting heavily, Willow and Tara arrived at the warehouse entrance. Like Buffy, their eyes were involuntarily drawn toward the pitiful form suspended from the rafters. Tara regarded the swaying demon with sympathetic disdain. Willow simply wrinkled her nose.

"Okay, wow. I mean," stammered the redhead. "I know we've all got some demon issues, but ..."

Tara took a step nearer. "Is he...? I mean he's not still ..."

Turning, Buffy reexamined the body, closely and curiously, but clearly not pleased. "He's dead," she confirmed flatly.

Tara nodded, apparently finding comfort in the response.

"Not long though," stated Willow, peering into the gloom with sharp eyes. "Those cuts are still bleeding." Pulling back, the witch looked even paler than usual. "Buffy, who did this?"

"I don't know, but finding out just became my top priority," Buffy replied with grim determination. "Who and why."

A voice echoed from the shadows. "He is a message."

In unison, Buffy, Willow and Tara jerked their heads to the left where a girl emerged into the dim light. Her dark eyes were focused solely on Buffy. Tense and cautious the Slayer turned to face the new arrival. Willow and Tara fell in on either side of their friend, but still the girl concentrated only on Buffy.

"Can't say I think your delivery system's gonna give FedEx a run for its money," Buffy quipped, although her tone and expression remained level.

The girl stopped several feet from the trio, well beyond any sort of threatening range. Her hands were clasped demurely in front of her and she exuded no air of menace. Nevertheless, Buffy showed no indication that she would dropping her guard any time soon.

"He serves his master in death as well as life," the girl simply stated.

Buffy's mouth grew tight. "What's the message?"

The girl cocked her head, gazing momentarily at the lifeless body. Then, her eyes shifted back to Buffy. "I am coming," she announced quietly.

Buffy, Willow and Tara shared a dubious look.

"Who are you?" asked Tara, mostly masking her apprehension.

The girl declined to answer. Indeed, she gave the impression that she hadn't even heard the question.

"Oh don't go getting all secretive on us now," urged Buffy briskly. "Who are you?"

The girl bowed her head slightly, respectfully, in the Slayer's direction. "You may call me Hitanko."

"Japanese?" asked Willow.

Hitanko failed to acknowledge the redhead and Willow frowned at being so blatantly ignored.

"Well 'Hitanko'," Buffy told her firmly, "I'm not sure if you got the memo? But we don't really go for the whole 'torture' thing in my town."

"You are Slayer." The statement was short and to the point, but held something of a inquiry.

"Yeees, a Slayer," affirmed Buffy. "Not the Marquis de Sade."

"If you are Slayer," Hitanko continued, "to what concern is how the creature met its death?" She shrugged her shoulders elegantly. "It is dead."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "The ends justify the means?"

Hitanko inclined her head graciously, indicating agreement.

"You ever notice how the only people who use that argument are the ones doing something they probably shouldn't?" Buffy mused rhetorically.

Willow, who had been studying the demon's body, fired another question. "What's that symbol?"

As before, Hitanko denied Willow's very existence, not even glancing in her direction. The redhead inhaled sharply. Coupled with the fists beginning to clench at her side, it was clear her temper had been stretched near to the breaking point.

"My friend asked you a question," prompted Buffy.

Hitanko nodded. "I am aware."

The Slayer crossed her arms. "I was okay with you being a torturer and all, but you're rude too? You're really stepping over the line now."

"I do not speak with ..." Hitanko glanced very deliberately first at Tara and then at Willow before returning her focus to Buffy, "...shimobe." A sneer crossed her lips as she all but spat the word.

The Slayer opened her mouth as though she were about to respond, but she plainly failed to understand what Hitanko had just said. So, instead of a witty retort, Buffy could do little but frown and shake her head. Arching a quizzical eyebrow, the Slayer flashed Willow a searching glance, but the redhead was equally as uninformed. Given Willow's dour expression, however, her best guess led to nothing good. Consequently, the redhead was glaring her heart out.

"'Servant'," supplied Tara.

Both Buffy and Willow looked to Tara in surprise.

"It means 'servant'," she verified before shrugging. "I took a semester of Japanese culture."

"Servant?" Willow repeated indignantly – whatever she'd come up with obviously hadn't quite reached down to that level. She turned to Hitanko furiously. "Servant? Th- That ... That's worse than sidekick!" She marched forward and, for probably the first time in her life, actually managed to loom over another individual. "I'm not sure where you got your group dynamic info from, you ..." She flailed for a moment, trying desperately to come up with an appropriately stinging insult. "...you really wrong person," she finally accused. "But I am Buffy's friend, not her ser—"

She never got to finish her tirade. Delivering a backhand with so much speed that it was merely a blur, Hitanko slapped the redhead with sufficient force to lift Willow from her feet and send her spinning into the air. She crashed into a nearby support beam and then slumped heavily to the floor, where she lay unmoving.

"Know your place," Hitanko commanded, her tone deceptively subdued.

Buffy and Tara were horrified as they voiced their shock in unison. "Willow!"

Tara quickly turned to face the aggressor. "Incastrare," she murmured.

A shimmering box-like outline materialized in the vicinity of Hitanko's presence. It would have appeared around the girl too, had she still been in that location, but she had vanished, unseen and soundless as a figment of the imagination. Immediately, Buffy assumed a defensive course of action.

"Tara, take care of Willow."

Tara needed no further urging as she rushed to Willow's side.

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the surrounding shadows. Slowly rotating, her expression was one of intense concentration, her every sense attuned to zeroing in on her prey. Save for the soft sound of their breaths, the warehouse was deathly silent.

"Did you run?" Buffy whispered into the silence, and almost as soon as the question had been posed, a rattling from the opposite end of the warehouse reached her ears. The Slayer whirled to face that direction. "I'm guessing that would be a no."

Buffy took one step forward, followed by a second when she abruptly spun around and seized the fist that was a fraction of an inch away from impacting with the back of her head.

"You'll need better tricks than that," Buffy chided Hitanko. "I've actually seen a movie in my lifetime."

With a sudden, vicious tug, Hitanko wrenched her arm from the Slayer's grasp, and despite superhuman reflexes, Buffy was pulled off-balance. Her opponent wasted no time. Simultaneously, she stepped back and lashed out with a kick that landed squarely in Buffy's chest. The force was so great that Buffy was knocked off of her feet and into the air, her fall cushioned only by a stack of heavy boxes several feet away.

Recovering in the blink of an eye, Buffy rolled to the side, only to find Hitanko waiting. The smaller woman drove her fist downwards with blinding speed, and Buffy barely managed to avoid having her skull pulverized on the hard concrete.

However fast Buffy moved, it wasn't fast enough to completely escape injury. The punch clipped her jaw on its way to crack and fragment the hard floor. Not willing to let the opportunity to go waste, Buffy shifted to the side and swung her leg out to kick Hitanko's profile. Her leverage was insufficient to put much force behind the blow, but it was enough knock the dark-haired girl away and buy Buffy the time to get to her feet.

It was with almost deliberate slowness that Hitanko turned to regard Buffy. The girl's pallor remained, but her perfect, smooth features had become twisted and mutated into a familiar topography of horror. Her brow was pronounced and ridged, her eyes an inhuman yellow, and there was the promise of fangs lurking behind her red lips.

"Vampire," Buffy declared, the 'of course' all but spoken. "Questions, rapidly pairing off with answers."

Not bothering with the witty banter portion of the fight, Hitanko snarled and attacked, leading with an obvious strike at Buffy's temple. In a repeat of her earlier success, Buffy moved to grab vampire's hand, but it suddenly wasn't there. Hitanko instead grasped Buffy around the wrist and instantly, the blonde felt her arm being twisted in ways that human limbs weren't designed to twist. The vampire followed by thrusting her spare hand into the back of her captive's elbow. One twitch, and Buffy's arm would be completely shattered.

"To let an enemy learn your movements is teach them victory," Hitanko lectured.

"Didn't know I got a free fortune cookie with my fight," Buffy ground out between clenched teeth.

With a grunt that betrayed the effort, Buffy pulled on her trapped arm, jerking Hitanko around just enough to connect her free hand with the vampire's jaw. The action only gave Buffy enough freedom to wrench her arm away. It dangled limply at her side, and before she could check on it, Buffy was drenched in a rain of punches.

The blows came from all sides, only a fraction of them deflected by the Slayer's blocks and parries. It seemed the onslaught was endless, until Hitanko snatched Buffy's head in a vice-like grip and flung it away from her like a basketball. Buffy's skull cracked into the nearby wall, sending up a plume of plaster and dust to fall around her as the Slayer slumped to the floor.

Even as she fell, Buffy's arms were at the ready, prepared to ward off the inevitable killing strike, but as the air around her cleared, she could see the outline of the girl at the opposite side of the warehouse. With a grace that was almost surreal, Hitanko leapt atop a pile of crates, using them to reach the second story catwalk surrounding the warehouse. From there she sprung without a sound through the open window, and vanished from sight.

For a long moment Buffy simply continued to stare, but she shook it off and rolled to her feet. Testing her arm for permanent injury and wincing only slightly, she joined Tara. "How is she?" she asked anxiously.

Tara cradled Willow tenderly in her lap and carefully smoothed the bright hair away from the redhead's brow. "I-I think she's okay. Just banged up a little."

As if in response, Willow groaned and gingerly brought her hand up to her forehead. "This would be one of those consequence things we were talkin' about earlier, huh?" she muttered with a wry grimace.

Massaging the limp fingers, Tara breathed a huge sigh of relief and smiled thankfully into Willow's upturned face. "File that one away, sweetie: yell at the unknown evil person, get a nasty bump on your head."

"Where's the one that gets me chocolate and kisses?" pouted Willow.

Buffy, now all grins at Tara's doting and Willow's speedy recovery, replied, "I think this one may get you that too, but I'm all for finding a route to that goal that won't leave a bruise."

"Here here," agreed Willow in a pained tone.

Tara's attention turned to the Slayer. "She got away, huh?"

"Yeah," affirmed Buffy with frown.

"She better run," Willow declared loudly, somehow not looking quite as fierce as was intended given that she was simultaneously snuggling in Tara's lap.

With a chuckle, Buffy and Tara each seized an arm and helped Willow to her feet.

"'Servant', my ass," grumbled an indignant Willow. "I'll give her a serving of—"

The threat was cut short by the redhead's buckling legs, but Buffy and Tara had her safe. Willow winced again. "Ow," she complained mournfully, scrunching her lids tightly shut.

"How about we get you to bed," suggested Tara firmly, "then we can go commando."

Buffy's mouth twitched with undisguised amusement at the announcement and even Willow cracked open an eye. Tara was instantly flustered and a light blush crept into her cheeks.

"That's, uhm ..." she floundered miserably. "That's not exactly what I meant to say."

Buffy was immediately placating. "Of course not."

Supporting Willow between them, Buffy and Tara headed for the door.

"You're so evil," accused the redhead, whispering into Buffy's ear.

The Slayer shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, the truth hurts."

Perched on one of the larger library tables, Xander and Willow sat next to each other, swinging their legs in time. Buffy, slumped casual-fashion in a nearby armchair, shaded her eyes from the early morning sun filtering through the window. She shifted position occasionally to avoid the bright rays but had apparently decided to suffer through the discomfort rather than move. Tara was cross-legged on the floor, keeping moderately still as Dawn braided her hair. Giles paced back and forth before the group, deep in thought.

"You're certain she was a vampire?" queried the Watcher.

Buffy seemed to give the poser much consideration before she responded. "Pointies ..." she mused, indicating her teeth. "Bumpies ..." she tapped her forehead. "9 years of vampire experience ..." she wagged a thumb in her own direction and then pondered for another second. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna have to go with my instincts on this one."

"Yes, yes, all right," soothed Giles. "For her to have been as powerful as you say, she must be very old."

Buffy stretched out her legs. "Well I want her stylist. She didn't look a day over 150, 153 at the most."

"Okay, so we've got a name and a funky symbol," stated Xander, checking his notepad for the list he'd been making. "That about it? Any distinguishing marks or scars?"

"Not yet," snorted Willow, "but just you wait for our rematch." Working herself into a snit, the redhead fidgeted angrily on the tabletop. "'Servant'," she huffed under her breath.

"Maybe we should check out this demon guy too?" offered Tara, unable to actually look anywhere but straight ahead due to Dawn's ongoing fashion experiment. "If we can find out who his 'master' is, maybe we'll find her."

"Yes, excellent suggestion," agreed Giles, motioning to Xander. The younger man licked the tip of his pencil and began to scribble a note on the paper.

Stretching out, Buffy nudged Tara's arm with her toe. "Though I feel compelled to point out how hard it is to take anything you say seriously when your hair's done up in, like, fifteen tiny braids."

Twisting her head slightly, Tara tried to find Dawn's face. "Uh-oh, Dawnie. You're ruining my credibility."

"Yeah, but'cha look cool," insisted the teenager. "And everyone knows that's what really counts. Besides," she stifled a gaping yawn, "I have to do something to stay awake at the crack of dawn." She considered her words for a moment before adding, "I hate that phrase."

Willow chuckled. "Welcome to the fast-paced and exciting world of Scoobyage."

"Although you're welcome to join me in the almost as fast, slightly less exciting world of Watcherage," Xander invited. "Really. Any of you. Please." He hopefully scanned the room for volunteers.

"Aww, poor Xander," commiserated Buffy with something falling short of complete sincerity.

"I thought you said this was what you wanted?" Willow asked. "'Direction, helping others, an excuse to finally wear tweed'." At Xander's skeptical eyebrow she shrugged. "Okay, not so much the last one."

"I do," insisted the carpenter. "I did."

Giles sighed. "Honestly Xander, I hardly think it's as bad as you're making it sound."

"It's not," came yet another protestation. "I exaggerate for the humorous opportunities therein." Xander waved his hand, searching for the words. "It's just ..."

"The pressure?" tendered Dawn.

"The stigma?" proffered Willow.

"The bureaucracy?" put forth Tara.

"The responsibility?" suggested Buffy.

"The books," pronounced Xander emphatically. "I mean, Giles, man, I think I finally figured out why you let us help you way back when. It's just so you wouldn't be alone in your misery!"

Giles settled his glasses on the bridge of his nose and sniffed with righteous indignation. "I happen to quite like the books."

"Yeah, well," muttered Xander, "you would, you're all stuffy and British."

Crisply folding his arms, the Watcher adopted a lofty air. "Ahh yes, I keep forgetting how strange things are for you colonists here in the New World."

Xander took a deep breath. "But I digress. I wanna do this."

"Then let's make with the doing," encouraged Buffy with a firm nod.

The carpenter thumped his knee with an energetic fist. "I can do this."

"Damn straight!" Willow told him, thumping his other knee.

Tara was also in agreement. "We're with you, Xander."

"Only not literally," Dawn hastened to amend, "since I have school."

"And we—" Willow gestured between herself and Tara. "—have to study with Giles."

Buffy turned to Giles, her tone now serious. "I want to go back out there, hit the streets. See if I can dig up any more information."

The Watcher was in accord. "Yes, good idea." He peered at her over the top of his glasses. "Don't hesitate to bring any of the other Slayers if—"

"If I need them, I will," agreed Buffy. "I'd rather try myself first, though. Less noticeable that way."

At Giles' confirming nod, Buffy got to her feet and headed for the door. The Watcher's attention turned to Willow and Tara. Arching his eyebrows, he waited expectantly. Ruffling Xander's hair, Willow hopped down from the table and reached out to help Tara up. The blonde treated Xander to a charming goodbye smile as she and Willow left the room. Dawn grabbed her book bag and followed with a parting wave.

"I'll leave this to you, then," Giles informed Xander, already turning toward the exit. "Feel free to call in any of the other Watchers for assistance," he added cheerfully, "although I'd recommend trying to get as far as you can on your own first. For practice, you know."

"Right!" Xander readily agreed, his smile just a shade too bright as he sat among the piles of books. "Sure thing. No problem."

Giles stopped several paces from the door and turned back to the younger man, considering him for a brief moment. "You're doing very well, Xander," he finally stated, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. "I'm proud of you."

A warm, grateful smile spread across Xander's face, even as a thought seemed to occur to Giles and the Watcher's own mood faded into something much more sober. Xander didn't appear to notice, however, and as Giles quickly left, he directed his focus to the bright yellow legal pad in his lap.

"If this were high school," he muttered, "I'd be so cutting class right now ..."

With a heavy sigh of resignation, he grabbed the first book from a tall stack next to him. Shaking out his shoulders, he cracked it open and began to read.

Dawn stood in the doorway of the Sanctum, watching as Willow and Tara prepared the room.

"Still no go, huh?" asked the redhead with sympathy.

"Zippo. It's really cool that I got to miss a night of fun with my friends for nothing, though." The sarcasm was palpable.

"Not for nothing," insisted Tara kindly but firmly. "You obviously still have some Key powers left."

"Not now," grumbled the teenager. "I mean, we don't know that. I haven't gotten anything for months now. Not a flicker. I'm just ... It's like there's nothing."

Glancing over her shoulder at the disgruntled girl, Willow smiled encouragingly. "On the bright side, no headaches, either."

"Maybe not because of the powers," scoffed Dawn, "but trust me – there's still plenty of headaches, and most of them named 'Buffy'."

Willow frowned as she lined up a row of glass bottles according to height. "I thought she was doing better?"

"Well compared to when she found out, sure," admitted Dawn with a shrug that indicated the amount of better was far below her personal requirements. "But then nothing can top a week of Buffy expecting Glory or another hellgod to walk through the door every second."

"She was pretty stressed," Tara agreed, watching as Willow changed her mind and began sorting the bottles again, this time according to color.

Dawn looked at the blonde with complete disbelief. "Stressed? Tara, she nearly decapitated Giles with a butter knife when he didn't knock first."

"And here we were wonderin' why he keeps putting off Scooby Movie Night," Willow mused aloud. "I thought it was Xander's non-stop Angelina Jolie marathons."

"Xander's?" Dawn frowned in confusion at the back of Willow's head and crossed her arms. "I thought you were the one who kept telling him to rent Tomb Raider over and over again so you—"

Spinning on her heel, Willow widened her eyes in Dawn's direction. Tara's eyebrows rocketed almost to the hairline as she flashed the redhead a 'You're so almost in trouble, missy' look.

"I mean, you keep telling him not to rent it," Dawn hurriedly corrected. "You know, because ... because it's frivolous eye candy and our brains rot more and more each time we see it. I-In fact, I feel mine rotting right now, just by thinking about it." She laughed weakly and gestured to her brain as though it might leak out of her ears any second now.

With a sheepish look, Willow sidled up to Tara, whose expression hadn't shifted even a millimeter. The redhead kissed Tara on the cheek, then pulled back with a wide, if somewhat nervous grin.

"Heh!" she blustered, "You know Xander!"

"Yeah, I do," Tara replied, fighting to maintain her stern glare. "I'm pretty sure I know his best friend, too."

A half-grin stole over Tara's features as Willow turned away, shooting Dawn an accusatory glare. Suitably abashed, the teenager offered a tentative smile of apology.

Seemingly satisfied with the display of penance, Tara returned to the topic at hand. "Mr. Giles doesn't have any theories?"

Gently moving Dawn aside, the Watcher entered the Sanctum. He set his clipboard down on a small table by the door and adjusted his glasses.

"I believe there may, in fact, be a mind-control spell of sorts," he began with authority, "cast and maintained by certain television network producers, that compels viewers of these so-called 'reality shows' into repeated, almost incomprehensibly obsessive viewings."

He seemed unphased by the trio of blank stares.

"Not the theory you were looking for," he acknowledged. "Perhaps there's something more specific you had in mind?"

"We're talking about Dawn's Keyness," Willow filled in. She surveyed the arrangement of bottles – now sorted first by color and then by height – with some satisfaction and turned toward the others.

"And the lack thereof," griped the teenager.

"Ah. Yes. I suspect that Dawn has simply worn herself out."

The answer only seemed to add further puzzlement. "I know I'm a little tired, but ..."

"No, no, I mean your powers," clarified Giles. "Both instances of your powers as the Key manifesting themselves were ... well, extraordinary. Unlocking all the dimensional barriers back in Sunnydale, and- and then creating a stable portal across the ocean, large enough to facilitate the passage of almost a hundred individuals." He shrugged, the end result clearly making every sense in Giles' book. "It's no wonder your powers lie dormant once more."

"But I didn't know how I did either of those things," protested Dawn. "They just ... happened."

"All the more reason it's vital we continue with our meetings," the Watcher informed her. "Your power, when it returns, has incredible potential. And could also pose great dangers, without focus and control."

Willow's brow furrowed. "Which sort of ..." She tilted her head and regarded Giles questioningly. "You know, I've been meaning to ask – we're not gonna face an apocalypse every time Dawnie gets a paper cut, are we?"

Obviously, this was something that hadn't occurred to Dawn before now. Her eyes widened with apprehension and she quickly looked to Giles.

The Watcher treated Dawn to a reassuring smile. "I'd be very surprised. The ritual Glory performed required ... Well, the same things most rituals require. Very specific conditions needed to be met ... time, place, that sort of thing. I wouldn't be concerned."

"That's a relief," puffed Tara.

"Yeah," Willow nodded. "I was suddenly picturing Dawn as the girl in the plastic bubble." From the tiny smirk invading the redhead's lips, it was apparent that the image carried with it some element of amusement.

Dawn appeared to be tuning in to a similar mental projection. She frowned, obviously finding the visual nowhere near as comical. Tossing her head, she reached for her bookbag.

"School. Me. Going there," she announced. "Away from trauma."

She turned to leave, but then looked back to Giles thoughtfully.

"If I get powers again ... I'll be able to just, like, teleport to school, right?" she asked hopefully.

Giles immediately frowned at the suggestion. "The risk of behind discovered would be far too great to actually do so, but ... yes, in essence."

"Yes!" exclaimed Dawn, making a fist and driving her elbow downward. "I'll only have to get up, like ten minutes before class! Come on, powers!"

Her eyes glinted as she made her way along the hallway, cries of "goodbye" and "have a nice day" echoing in her wake.

"Zap!" she commanded, her voice drifting into the Sanctum. Then, "Open sesame!," followed by "Meka leka hi meka hiney ho!" There was a long pause. The final, plaintive "Aw, c'mon!" was only barely audible as Giles closed the door and turned to the two witches.

"Shall we begin?"

Willow and Tara assumed positions on the floor across from each other. Retrieving a chair, the Watcher settled comfortably nearby.

"What are we trying today, Mr. Giles?" inquired Tara.

"Yeah, you should pretty much be done with us by now," Willow stated. "I've been feeling like a lab rat all summer."

"There's still much we don't know about the magickal connection between the pair of you," Giles told them gently. "I thought this morning you two could simply attempt to synchronize your powers, and we'll take it from there."

Willow grinned at Tara. "I think we got off easy today."

Joining hands, the two witches closed their eyes.

"I'm okay with that," Tara declared. "I have that math in a few hours? The one that makes my brain hurt."

"Just say no to brain pain," instructed Willow firmly. "Want me to help you with your homework tonight?"

A golden shimmer began to form around their bodies.

Tara smiled, even though Willow couldn't see it. "What's the point of a genius girlfriend if you can't use her now and then?"

The glow shifted in color, moving from a bright gold to a silvery white to a pearlized gray and then back again. It was a subtle transformation, almost imperceptible.

"I have so many responses just itchin' to come out," replied the redhead with a tiny smirk, giving Tara's fingers a squeeze, "but there's this whole big thing with Giles being in the room."

"A detail that I am eternally grateful you recall," sighed a thankful Giles.

Even though they weren't looking at each other, Willow and Tara grinned in unison before falling into a tranquil silence. When Giles broke the hush, his tone was sedate and his voice muted.

"What do you feel?"

"Power," responded Tara.

"Calm," added Willow.

"Open yourselves to it and each other," the Watcher urged. He waited for a moment. The golden glow continued to shimmer. "Willow?"

"I can feel the magicks," she told him. "All of them. It's still scary ... but not so loud. Like they're calling me on a cell phone with a bad connection."

"Tara?"

The blonde's voice was soft. "There's so much power. I can touch it. Add to it. But it's not mine."

"What about pain?" asked Giles. "Any discomfort?"

"No," came Willow's reply.

A small frown crossed Tara's forehead. "But it's different."

"From before," confirmed Willow.

Giles leaned forward with interest. "From before...?"

"Before I died," clarified Tara.

This didn't seem to surprise the Watcher. "Oh. Well, yes, that's only to be expected. You yourself are different. You both are."

A serene smile invaded Willow's lips. "But it still feels good."

Tara nodded. "Good and right,"

Slowly, both witches opened their eyes, although it was with heavy lids; some part of them lingering within their connection.

Willow gave a contented sigh. "What can we say? It's all how it should be. Right baby?"

There was the briefest moment of hesitation before Tara emphatically declared, "Right. Like ... peanut butter and chocolate."

"Or Tim Burton and Johnny Depp," affirmed Willow.

"Or my continuing sense of detachment and any conversation you lot hold," contributed Giles.

"I-I don't think that one works quite so well," Tara pointed out with a conciliatory smile.

Willow was in total agreement. "Yeah, do-over for Giles. How about ..."

"Rum and Coke," ordered the triple-eyed demon, slapping down a grubby dog-eared bill.

Behind the counter of "After Midnight", a many-armed barkeep swept up the payment with one hand while another fixed the drink. His third and fourth hands polished shot glasses and a fifth wiped a wet rag over the counter. The sixth, having nothing better to do, was jammed into his pocket. He was obviously a talented, multi-tasking creature, and that fact entirely failed to impress his customer. With a sneer of disdain, Mr. Rum and Coke took the drink and then made his way to a small table in the corner.

"Terry ..."

The bartender started at the sound of his name and the merry whistle on his lips slowly died. He turned toward the muscled and tattooed figure behind him, who stood there shaking his huge bald pate disapprovingly. The man to whom the voice belonged was big, tough and gave the impression that he was not to be trifled with, despite the somewhat wry smirk he was displaying. Terry smiled nervously, his six hands twisting themselves together in a jittery dance. Terry was clearly of the simple monster variety – not too bright, but basically a good sort who was only too aware that he rested solidly on a bottom rung of the demon pecking order.

"Yeah?" he queried respectfully. "Yeah, Sam?"

"I saw that," Sam told him, crossing his arms across his broad chest and staring down at the bartender admonishingly.

"Saw what?" countered Terry. "I didn't do nothing."

Sam rolled his eyes. "The extra rum. C'mon, don't insult me."

"He's my friend, Sam." The declaration was made as though this statement would be more than sufficient defense in any court of law.

"Your friend?" Sam repeated skeptically, glancing at the triple-eyed demon who had his nose buried in a magazine that, judging from the cover, did not have humans as its target audience. "Isn't he the one you caught sleeping with your wife last week?"

Terry shook his head. "No, this was the one I caught last month."

"Ah, yeah," nodded Sam knowingly.

"But he didn't kill me after I sorta insulted his heritage," offered the barkeep brightly.

Sam's eyes found their way to the ceiling again. "What a pal," he stated in a flat tone.

Terry was encouraged. "A-And he said he'd keep not doin' that, if I hooked him up."

"Terry?"

"Yeah, Sam?" He regarded the beefy hand laid heavily upon his shoulder with some trepidation.

"Stop hooking him up with my profits."

The bartender bobbed his head in joyous agreement and breathed a sigh of relief as the grip on his flesh lessened.

"Now," added Sam, "how about you start restocking. I'll watch the counter."

Terry was nothing if not compliant. "Okay, Sam."

The whistle returning to his lips, Terry disappeared into the back. Sam was just starting to return the glasses to their racks when the front door opened and Buffy entered the bar. A bright shard of sunlight followed in her wake, illuminating the dusky interior. "After Midnight" was mostly empty – a handful of demons apart from Mr. Rum and Coke, and a rather unsavory bevy of humans. All the patrons watched the Slayer as she crossed the room. Judging from their collective expressions, most were well aware of her identity and swiftly made their escape into the rear where, presumably, there was an exit from the premises.

There were a few remaining customers, apparently ignorant of the fact they were in the presence of a Slayer. Plainly appreciative of Buffy's appearance, one of them began to leer, openly and rather suggestively. Without looking in his direction, she opened her jacket and flashed the stake tucked neatly into her belt. The demon's eyes narrowed and he checked her out again, warily this time. As recognition dawned, he beat a hasty retreat, closely followed by his scrambling buddies. The sole inhabitants of the room were now Buffy and Sam. The latter sighed heavily.

"Hey Terry, take a break, huh?" he called over his shoulder.

"Okay, Sam," came the cheery reply.

"Make it about ten minutes," Sam added, looking pointedly at Buffy. "This won't take any longer than that."

Buffy approached the counter, but continued to maintain her silence. Sam sighed once more.

"Come on Princess," he urged. "This is a modern bar, not a saloon in the old west. Let's cut the dramatics. What do you want?"

"And it's so good to see you again, too," rejoined the Slayer.

"Right, my heart's all fluttery," Sam said without humor. "Both of 'em."

Buffy tilted her head. "This is a new look for you. Sort of part biker, part convict, part suspiciously muscled and probably overcompensating."

With another sigh that spoke volumes, Sam promptly morphed, transforming from a six-foot plus bald hulk to an exotic example of the female species. Her skin was flawless and the luxurious hair fell in a tumble of tousled curls. She tapped her purple-painted fingernails impatiently on the bar.

"The daylight boys respond better to someone who looks more virile than they do," Sam informed Buffy matter-of-factly. "Probably makes 'em feel less like a loser for hanging out here before noon. Good for business, though." She eyed Buffy with disdain. "Well, when a Slayer doesn't show up and drive away said business. So I repeat: What do you want?"

"Information."

Sam quirked a critical eyebrow. "Don't wear those pants with those boots," she purred. "Thanks for dropping by."

"I said information not advice," snapped Buffy. "And my pants happen to match perfectly, thank you."

"As long as you think so, that's all that matters." Sam couldn't possibly have infused the placation with any less sincerity.

Buffy's eyes narrowed, but she wisely let the fashion critique drop. "I'm here about a demon." Sam's cupid-bow mouth opened to respond, but Buffy swiftly headed the approaching sarcasm at the pass. "A specific demon. I found him a couple blocks from here in an abandoned warehouse. Dead."

Sam tutted with disapproval. "Maybe you should teach your Barbie Death Patrol to clean up after themselves."

"This wasn't a Slayer," the blonde refuted with a shake of her head. "This demon ... He was tortured to death. It was ... I think it was going on for hours. Maybe even days."

The weight of Buffy's words hung in the air, and Sam was uncharacteristically silenced for a brief moment.

"I don't know who would've done that," she finally responded soberly. "I mean, we get some sickos come through here, but anyone who'd torture their own kind isn't really gonna be asked to join in a game of pool with the gang, you know? Probably not the social type."

"I know who did it too," Buffy continued. "A vampire. Little, Japanese. She said her name was 'Hitanko'."

A flash of realization appeared in Sam's eyes, and Buffy all but pounced. "You know her."

"I know of her," Sam corrected. "New player in town. She's—"

Sam's voice cut off as she suddenly snapped her mouth shut. An immaculately plucked eyebrow crept upwards as she surveyed the Slayer, but still she said nothing further.

Buffy's eyes widened expectantly, if impatiently. "I promise, I can keep up with the snail's pace exposition here," she assured. "She's...?"

A nonchalant toss of Sam's head sent her hair tumbling back over one shoulder "What's in it for me?"

Buffy stared for a moment. "What?"

"I mean, why should I help you?" Sam gestured toward the length and breadth of the deserted bar. "You've already scared away my morning business. I might as well close up for the day, go home and see if I can catch the end of 'The View'."

Slipping easily into intimidation mode, Buffy leaned over the counter toward Sam. "Look, I'm not in the mood for games. I didn't sleep too well last night, and you wanna know why?"

"Not really, no," muttered the demon.

"Because," Buffy continued as though she'd had nothing but complete encouraging agreement, "I spent half of it with nightmares about what I saw yesterday. So I didn't get my customary two, maybe three hours of beauty sleep as a result, and that—" The Slayer slammed her fist down on the bar, causing glasses to rattle and an alarmed Sam to jump. "—makes me pretty grouchy and short tempered. So unless you want to see up close and personal why it's a good idea to let me get some sleep? I suggest you start talking."

Sam seemed to feel threatened for a moment – seriously threatened – but it was a fleeting anxiety.

"You're not gonna hurt me," she stated with confidence.

"What?" Buffy immediately straightened, her expression indignant. "Yes I am!"

Sam shook her head and then smoothed the hair back into place. "No you're not. I'm harmless and you know it. You're having nightmares about tortured demons, Princess, you're not gonna just kill me."

Glowering, Buffy crossed her arms and stared. Hard. "Maybe you're confusing Slaying – which, by the way, is what I do – and torture."

"Nah, I got it," dismissed Sam. "And I got you. I'm harmless and you know it. Here, I'll prove it. Slay me."

"What?" repeated Buffy, no less incredulous.

Sam sashayed out from behind the bar. She executed a perfect three-point turn and then stood before Buffy with her arms spread wide. "Come on," she coaxed. "Slay."

"It's not a parlor trick!" Buffy protested, clearly not appreciating the implication.

"Spare me the semantics," Sam told her with an exasperated eye-roll. "Now come on."

Thoroughly indignant, Buffy's tone became entirely petulant. "What if I just don't want to?" Her chin jutted out defiantly. "Maybe I don't feel like it, did you ever think of that?"

"Didn't think so." Sam returned to her place behind the counter with a smug and self-satisfied expression. Smiling sweetly at Buffy, she continued. "Which brings us back to: What's in it for me? And don't start with the civic duty stuff next. I'm a demon. Soulless creature of the night, etc. etc. I prefer something a little more material."

The Slayer slumped onto one of the bar stools. "You're starting to remind me of someone I used to know."

Sam checked her wrist, despite the absence of any timepiece. "Clock's ticking, Princess."

"A fruit basket," Buffy blurted out.

Sam appeared taken aback at the suggestion. "Say wha huh?"

"A fruit basket," reiterated the Slayer. "All fruity and delicious. Bright red apples, succulent pears. Oh, and I think nectarines are in season." She grinned and nodded enticingly. "Mmm. Yum."

Sam frowned and wrinkled her button nose. "I was really thinking something a little more monetary."

"Yeah, I know you were," smirked Buffy. Using the foot rail for extra height, she projected her torso over the counter. Surprised by the sudden movement, Sam found herself pinned against a stack of beer crates and totally out of personal space.

The Slayer's words were spoken with deadly calm. "But I've seriously had enough of this. And while I won't kill you for being harmless? I just might for being irritating and wasting – my – time. So maybe you wanna rethink the offer on the table."

Sliding back onto the stool, Buffy waited expectantly.

Sam swallowed hard once or twice before responding. Although badly shaken, she managed to maintain her composure rather well, given the circumstances.

"Fruit basket," she said brightly, reconsidering the proposition. "Sounds great. Throw in a peach and I'm all yours."

"Deal," agreed the Slayer conservatively. "Now what do you know?" She paused for a second. "The truth," she cautioned.

"You already got the vampire part," Sam began, leaning one hand on the edge of the counter and placing the other on her hip. "What you might not know though, is she's on a serious recruiting drive. We're talking like something out of Bush Jr's deepest fantasies. She put out the word to the vamps in town – join or dust. And she's serious too."

Buffy processed the information. "What does she need all the vampires for?"

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it, Princess? She's building an army."