A huge bear-sized yawn punctuated Buffy's arrival downstairs. She had changed out of her pajamas, though given her otherwise disheveled appearance, it must have been a close battle. Dark circles were beginning to form under her eyes and she nearly bumped into the wall as she rounded the corner into the kitchen. It was clear that the Slayer's night had been far from restful.

Dragging herself through the kitchen toward the dining room, she began to pick up the traces of a conversation in progress.

"...blue," Willow stated, causing Buffy's teeth to instantly grit together. However she was the Slayer, and no force on earth – not even a replay of her horrible morning the day before – was going to defeat her.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, Buffy entered the dining room, laughing with an exaggerated force that tried so very hard to be genuine. "HAHAHAHAHA—"

The laugh died in her throat as she saw Dawn standing before Willow and Xander, holding up two shirts, one green and the other blue. All three were staring at Buffy with wide-eyed expressions ranging from mild confusion to abject terror.

Buffy looked as though she wished she were dead. Again. Then she cleared her throat nervously and attempted to recover. "There was this ... thing. Funny thing. Last night, on TV Land. 'Three's Company' rerun. See, Mr. Furley thought that Jack was gay which led to this big misunderstanding and ..." It wasn't working. She cleared her throat and tried a new approach. "So, waffles?"

Meekly, Buffy slid into one of the chairs around the table and helped herself to a glass of juice. Dawn draped the two shirts over the back of a vacant chair and sat down next to Buffy as the morning valiantly strove to return to whatever passed for normal. Willow was still deeply engrossed with her laptop and Xander shoveled a mouthful of syrupy waffle into his mouth before focusing on the Slayer.

"So, how'd you sleep last night, Buff?" he inquired after a big gulp of milk. "Any more scenes out of Evil Dead?"

Rubbing her forehead, Buffy nodded. "Yeah, actually. And may I say? Getting tedious."

"Maybe you need a Boomstick," Xander offered helpfully.

"Nah, those things're never useful."

Willow glanced up from her research, frustration evident. "Don't suppose they were kind enough to provide ya with names or anythin' this time, huh?" She waved a disgusted hand at the computer. "We turned up, oh, about a bajillion possibilities yesterday."

Dawn speared her last sausage link and considered it thoughtfully. "Just how much is 'a bajillion' anyway?" she queried.

"It's how many days you're gonna be grounded if you're late for school again, now get moving," shooed Buffy.

Biting into the sausage like she wished it were something bigger and more sistery, Dawn finished her breakfast and stomped upstairs.

Frowning as she tried to recall as many details as possible, Buffy turned to Willow. "Their vocabulary was pretty limited, but the little boy did have something on his jacket. Sort of a symbol, like this feathery-lion-eagle thing."

"A griffin?" asked Willow excitedly.

Buffy shrugged. "Sure. Why not."

Eyes shining, Willow leapt back into her computer research. "Oo, I think that ... " she began, trailing off as the clackity sounds of her fingers flying over the keyboard filled the room.

"Aaaand she's off in WillowSpace, where non-brains fear to tread," Xander grinned, watching his friend work.

Considering the absorbed hacker carefully, Buffy asked Xander, "Have you ever wondered just how much we could mess with her when she's like this?"

"I nearly covered her with rubber spiders one time, but I chickened out," he admitted.

"She can be pretty scary with the right motivation."

With a chuckle, Xander corrected, "I was more afraid of being twenty years old and still in eighth grade because she stopped helping me in math."

Buffy shuddered at the thought. "Brr. I think I prefer my zombies."

"Got it!" Willow exclaimed happily as she pointed to the monitor, oblivious to any other conversation. Buffy and Xander both fixed their entire attention on the redhead as she revealed her findings. "The crest, it-it's from Sorenson Academy, a private school here in town. I crosschecked their student roster with the list we made yesterday, and I got a match. Stephen Toriello, 12 years old. He died about two weeks ago in a car accident on Avalon Hill. That's about five miles out of town. Tricky roads out there, real bendy."

"Drunk driving or something?" asked Buffy, leaning over slightly to peer at the laptop.

Reading for a moment, Willow shook her head. "The report says the police think the father fell asleep at the wheel or something." She reviewed the information further. "The crash killed the whole family – a husband, wife, one of their sons ... Everyone except Ryan, the oldest. He was thrown out of the car. It says they found him alive, but in a coma."

"Sounds like a good place to start," concluded Xander before turning to the Slayer. "Now my next question is: where are these zombies, and are brains on the menu? Cuz if so, I'm thinkin' that stopping them before lunchtime might be a good idea."

"They didn't seem to be on the hunt for munchies, but crawling out of your grave, you can work up a pretty big appetite. And I speak from experience," Buffy smirked. "We'll have to find them, just in case." She considered her options, then broke into a pleased smile. "And lucky for us, we have a zombie hunting squad all eagerly ready and willing to leap into the fray."

On one side of the rec room, there was a variety six-pack of Slayers. Blue-, green- and brown-eyed girls; blonde, brown, black and auburn hair, in curls, straight styles and even something that looked like a cross between a buzz cut and a mohawk. Some appeared almost at attention, others slouched with crossed arms. None, however, seemed very lively.

And on the other side was Buffy, who had enough liveliness for all of them.

"So, these zombies could be out there anywhere right now," she animatedly explained. "If they are, we need to find them before someone becomes the main ingredient in a brain soufflé."

A couple of the listening Slayers looked at each other dubiously. The gesture was lost on Buffy, who continued laying out plans, occasionally pointing in directions as she did so.

"Now, it's daylight, so there shouldn't be much going on, and no problems with splitting up. We can cover more ground that way. Anyone sees zombie action, call me and we can take the situation from there."

Slowly, Buffy's expression began to reflect her appraisal of the group's mood, but she pressed on. "Are there any questions?"

Several seconds of silence later, it was certain there were no questions.

"Alright. Excellent. Good luck," she nodded.

None of the Slayers moved. Buffy blinked at them.

"I can't help but notice that nobody is actually leaving to find zombies," Buffy pointed out.

A few more of the Slayers looked at each other. A couple shifted their weight to the other foot but otherwise remained unmoving.

Buffy made a sweeping gesture toward the outside with her hands. "I've given you a fray ... Go leap into it!"

One of the Slayers toward the front stepped forward slightly. She was obviously somewhat intimidated, but bolstered by her fellow Slayers' lack of action. "No offense, but we don't really feel like it."

"You don't ... feel like it?" Buffy's repeated slowly, as though the words were foreign. "This isn't a hobby, girls, it's a job. Our job. And we do it every day. There are people out there who need our help. We help them."

"That why I heard you took a two month vacation?" a curly-haired redhead asked.

There was a palpable sense of solidarity and resistance in the group, and while it was admirable that they were working together as a team, it wasn't when they were doing so against Buffy. Her expression, first a little hurt at the words, quickly switched to irritation. "Okay, now you listen—"

"What's goin' on?" Seven heads turned toward Faith, who was approaching the gathering from the side. She stopped just short of actually stepping between Buffy and the other Slayers. Her anger was clear, but the target wasn't.

"Colonel Buffy is here trying to tell us what to do," Curly told her, pointing an accusing finger. "Send us off on some zombie hunt."

"So why the hell ain't you doin' it?" Faith demanded. The effect was like extinguishing a candle—all flames of defiance died in those few words, and without moving at all the Slayers seemed to cringe collectively as a group. "She says somethin's important and needs checkin', it's important an' needs checkin'." Leveling a glare at each and every assembled Junior, Faith's expression brokered no disagreement whatsoever. "So what exactly you waitin' for, an engraved invitation?"

Only too happy to escape Faith's wrath, the Slayers scampered out of the room without even so much as a glare back at Buffy, but that was okay because she was busily glaring at her counterpart. "What was all that about? I ask them to do something, you bark out orders, yet somehow I'm 'Colonel Buffy' and they happily run off to do your bidding?"

Faith shook her head. "Problem wasn't whatcha said or how you said it, B. You gotta understand, most'a these girls don't got a clue who you are." She put her hands on her hips "Ones that do, mostly they heard that you split right after we got here. Why should they listen to you?"

Buffy's indignity was at an all-time high. "Because I've been doing this, what, fifty times longer than they have? Died twice? Seen things they can't imagine? Stopped more apocalypses than I can count on one hand?" Buffy recounted, extending a finger for each reason, and withdrew her hand as she made the last statement.

"And how they supposed to know that? You think we sung 'em to bed at night with songs 'bout how great you are?"

"So that's how it is," Buffy concluded quietly with a shake of her head.

"Hey, ain't no station in this town for the pity train," Faith snapped without sympathy. She spread her arms wide, indicating the area around them. "You see all this? This is us bustin' our asses."

She noticed the hurt on Buffy's face and curbed herself a little. "Look, all I'm sayin' is, give it time. Me, Red, Oxford ... We know you got it where it counts," she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the departed Slayers, "but they don't. They can't. Ya just gotta prove yourself before you can expect 'em to follow ya around."

"I didn't have time to prove myself right now," Buffy protested. "People could be dying."

"An' that's why I gotcher back. But don't forget, they're not weapons and tools, B. They're people. Just like us."

The words carried an impact, and Buffy's anger was beginning to burn off. She smirked, just a little. "I dunno, did you see the one with that hair? Didn't seem too much like us to me."

Faith shrugged. "Okay, so Elise ain't quite like us. But she's still a person. And you oughta see her staking, she's like, I dunno, an artist or somethin'."

There were a few moments of silence, where it appeared neither knew how to continue the conversation, or if they even needed to, but Buffy finally did. "Thanks. For ... you know."

"No big, don't make a deal of it," Faith shrugged.

Buffy chuckled. "I can't believe you just lectured me on how to handle them."

The thought seemed to occur to Faith for the first time. She looked genuinely surprised. "Yeah, I did, huh?" She grinned delightedly. "That was pretty cool."

"You know what the witchy world needs?" Willow queried cheerfully. "A magazine. Like a- a journal, where we can all publish articles with stuff we've learned. With titles like 'Hellebore: Ten Unknown Uses' and 'Familiarize Your Familiar'," her tone grew darker and considerably more irked. "And 'How To Make Tedious Spell Modifications The Most Fun Thing Ever'."

Only barely restraining the urge to throw down her pen, Willow glared at the book lying open between her and Giles. They were both taking meticulous notes, their individual legal pads overflowing with writing and intricate diagrams.

"I believe I saw at least one of those article titles while waiting in line at the supermarket recently," commented Giles as he finished scribbling something onto the pad.

Smirking, Willow bent back to her work and watched Giles out of the corner of her eye. "Was it the headliner for your most recent Enquirer?"

"Like I'd pay money for that rubbish," he snorted in an offended tone. "It was Weekly World News, I believe."

"The polar opposite to 'rubbish', of course," the redhead grinned.

Neglecting the book for a moment, Giles felt the need to defend his reading habits. "I'll have you know there's an element of truth to that rag. You'd be amazed at how many reported portents of the apocalypse actually are portents of the apocalypse."

Willow also ignored the task in front of her, clearly finding this new activity much more enjoyable. "So, you've been able to prove once and for all that Bat Boy's a vampire?" she asked.

"I can say with complete certainty that I have absolutely no idea what Bat Boy is supposed to be," Giles responded with something like wonder in his voice, earning a laugh from Willow.

"Still though," she continued, waving her pen at the materials in front of them, "we've been at this for hours now. Even I'm startin' to get bored."

Giles nodded his understanding, but was adamant. "Given the complexity of the spell, however, and its importance, it's best to be thorough."

"Oh, I'm not complaining," the witch responded. She took note of Giles' questioning eyebrow. "Okay, I am complaining, but yeah. Important, I know."

With the smallest of frowns, Giles picked up the legal pad and flipped back over several pages filled with tiny handwriting and copious notes. "I confess, the more I learn about this spell, the more concerned I'm becoming for your safety," he admitted. "I-It was designed for use by an entire coven of powerful witches. As vital as this information is, it's not worth risking you." He replaced the pad in front of him and turned to Willow. "If you feel at all uncomfortable ..."

"I don't," she immediately assured him, maybe just a little too quickly. "I mean, okay, there's the usual fear that goes with casting out this far," Willow conceded before beamed a trusting smile at Giles. "But I've got you there as my anchor. A-An' I know you know that if you let anything happen to me, I'll find some way t'come back and haunt'cha. Infest your dreams with that dancing baby thing from 'Ally McBeal' or somethin'."

"Ah yes, I'm suddenly feeling extremely motivated."

Willow continued to smile for a moment, before it faded, giving way to a much more serious and contemplative expression. She fidgeted in her seat nervously, clearing her throat before broaching a very concerning subject. Giles had picked up on her attitude change, and was waiting expectantly for the witch to voice any worries she might be harboring.

"You don't think ..." she began, but broke off and tried explaining first. "I've done something like this before a-and it was really pretty ... you know ... intense."

Giles nodded, "I'd imagine so. Any time you open yourself to mystical journeys of this sort, you expand your sensitivities ten-fold."

"Right, about that. The ... The multi-folded ... sensitivities." She swallowed hard, suddenly finding it difficult to look at Giles directly as her eyes darted to one side. "I-It's just ... you don't think this'll get at all ..."

Waving her hand, Willow seemed convinced that she had provided enough information to convey her meaning. The expression on the Watcher's face indicated just the opposite, despite his efforts to understand.

"Being intense and all ..." she elaborated, widening her eyes and inclining her head to further prompt him along. Giles could only shake his head and look completely confused.

"You know ..." emphasized Willow, wiggling her eyebrows a little before blushing, thoroughly embarrassed.

Giles remained utterly perplexed for just a moment before the pieces began to fall into place. "Oh," he began, eyes growing wide as the picture became fully formed. "OH! Oh, dear lord," he muttered, visibly blanching.

Nodding, her face now as red as her hair, Willow looked everywhere but at Giles who, for his part, appeared to be beyond disturbed by the faintest hint of a possible suggestion of something so horrendously inappropriate.

"Absolutely not," he vehemently declared, just as Willow cheerfully piped in with, "Good, didn't think so."

Giles polished his glasses fiercely while Willow suddenly found the passage of text she was reading incredibly fascinating.

"If only it were this easy to scrub my brain," Giles muttered to himself.

"Oh, hey look, another use for Hellebore," the witch pointed out with feigned interest.

Clearing his throat, the Watcher replaced his glasses. "While my mind continues to work feverishly on pretending that conversation never occurred, I did want to mention that we may need to take extra precautions with this spell, even beyond those we're already taking. In my meetings with the Covens yesterday, they informed me that they're sensing a serious magickal energy building." He frowned. "It's odd – they can sense it, but can't pinpoint it."

"Sounds very 'something but nothing' to me," reflected Willow.

"Yes, my thoughts exactly."

The research continued in silence for a moment before Willow glanced to Giles. "Doesn't have the same kind of ominous zing as 'From beneath you it devours', does it?"

Giles scrunched up his face and shook his head.

With a deep breath, Buffy strode through the automatic doors of the hospital. Her nose crinkled as the smell hit her – overly clean, sterilized and unmistakable – and she glared at her surroundings with open disdain. Hospitals and Buffy Summers were clearly only barely on speaking terms.

Quickly spotting the reception desk, Buffy headed toward it purposely, wanting very much to do what was necessary and escape, but as ever, life had other plans. The young nurse manning the station, rather than diligent and attentive to her work, was lazily pivoting her chair back and forth in a semi-circle. As she spoke into the phone receiver, she loosely curled the cord around her finger. Glancing up at the Slayer's approach, the nurse remained impassive as Buffy smiled politely, choosing instead to remain attentive to the other conversation. Buffy's smile remained fixed firmly in place, even as her eyes narrowed.

"Aww, baby, you know I miss you too," the nurse cooed. "Every minute's, like ... a really long minute." Buffy rolled her eyes at the poetry. "I wish I was there too."

Buffy cleared her throat loudly, staring pointedly at the nurse, whose response was to twist further away in her chair and block the Slayer from view.

"I get off in an hour," she said suggestively. "I can come by your place."

Any semblance of patience had vanished, and Buffy half-leaned over the front desk, waving her hand back and forth. "Hel-looo...? Already done the invisible routine, Nurse Ratched, I know you can see me."

With an icy glare, the nurse very deliberately continued her conversation. "You can cook me dinner, I can give you dessert—"

"Okay, that's it." The blonde snatched away the phone and slammed it into the cradle.

"Hey!" the nurse exclaimed loudly, scrambling to her feet.

Buffy crossed her arms, not flinching even remotely under the other woman's fury. "Now you've validated my existence, I can give your job meaning," she quipped. "See what a wonderful relationship we've already developed in such a short time? I, for one, am getting all teary just thinking about it."

"Look you—"

"No, you look," the Slayer interrupted, her expression equally furious. "I have had a ... truly sucky couple of days, and I'm not in the mood to add poor customer service to my list of wrongs. I'm here to see someone – point me in the right direction and you can get back to your snookums. Ryan Toriello. He was brought in about two weeks ago, car accident."

All the defiance drained out of the nurse, and her expression softened. She actually looked for the first time like a person who devoted her entire life to caring for others. "You know Ryan?" she asked tentatively.

The change took Buffy slightly aback, and she too allowed her irritation to fade. "I'm a ... friend of the family."

Breathing a sigh of relief, the nurse gazed at Buffy with a hopeful expression. "Oh, thank god, maybe you can help him."

"Huh?"

"Ryan's not here anymore," she explained. "He woke up from his coma about a week ago, and a few days after, he just disappeared. We think he ran away, but we haven't been able to find him. Social services have been by his house and everything, but it doesn't look like he's even been there." She shook her head ruefully. "We've been worried sick – he was such a sweet kid."

Buffy absorbed all this information. "When did you say he ran away?" she asked as a thought occurred.

Sorting through a stack of nearby folders, the nurse found the one she was looking for and extracted it from the pile. She opened and scanned it, finally finding the information and jabbing at it with her finger. "Two days ago," she responded.

"Just in time for the dream-o-vision creature feature," confirmed Buffy to herself.

"What?"

"Never mind," the Slayer dismissed as she ran for the exit, heedless of the other woman's confused expression. "Thanks. Enjoy your dessert."

Willow stood in front of a long table against the wall of her Sanctum, the open window allowing a cool breeze to drift through the room. The redhead was intently focused on the array of herbs soaking in various jars and shallow dishes across the tabletop, and consequently paying little attention to the open door behind her. Engrossed, she never noticed the hand reaching out, ever so slowly, until it clamped onto her shoulder and she spun around with a gasp.

"Judith!" exclaimed Willow, a hand darting to her chest as she fought to regain control of her breathing.

The brunette smiled broadly, her expression open and friendly. "Hey Willow," she greeted amiably. "The door was open and you looked pretty intense. I admit it – my curiosity got the better of me."

Turning back to her herbs, Willow admonished, "You should watch that. You know what they say about curiosity and the cat."

"Something about always landing on its feet, right?" the Slayer responded with a smirk.

Willow chuckled. "Something like that."

"I think I've got a few lives to spare," shrugged Judith confidently, "so I'll take my chances. What're you doing?" She peered over Willow's shoulder, just barely beyond 'personal space' range.

There was a slight hesitation before the witch responded with a vague gesture at the items strewn about her. "Oh, this? Nothing much. Purifying some herbs. Pretty dull."

"No, no, I think it's fascinating," Judith insisted, moving closer. "What are you doing it for?"

Glancing at the Slayer over her shoulder, Willow relaxed slightly at the girl's benign interest. "It helps bring out the true essence of the herbs. Makes them more potent."

"You know I hear they have this new thing out now called an 'air freshener'," commented Judith with an amused tone. "Might be a bit more efficient."

"They're spelly herbs, not smelly herbs," Willow grinned.

Judith nodded, circling around Willow to stand at her other side. "Ahhh. So, you purify them, and it makes the magic stronger," she summarized.

"Yup, that's about the size of it."

The Slayer seemed content to watch Willow work for several moments, taking note of the great care the witch was putting into ensuring each herb was soaking in just the right amount of solution, sprinkling unrecognizable ingredients into the odd one or two, although there was no obviously apparent way of knowing how she determined which needed the addition.

"Looks like a lot of work," commented Judith after a time, fixing Willow with an appraising stare.

"Sorta," she agreed. "See, herbs can be purified in lots of different ways, with lots of different effects. To get the one you want, you have to do everything juuuust right." Her statement was punctuated by adding a pinch of some odd-smelling yellowish powder to one of the jars, turning the herb inside a bright, blood red.

"Sounds pretty specific," the Slayer continued. "So then I'm guessing you're doing this with something particular in mind."

Willow opened and closed her mouth silently one time, formulating her thoughts. "Sorta," she finally stated.

"Very cool," observed Judith, her eyes riveted to the witch. "What spell?"

Shuffling uncomfortably, Willow replied, "A ... tracer. I'm going to trace back a ... another spell. See if I can find out who cast it and where they are."

Judith was impressed. "Wow, you can do that?" she asked with innocent awe.

Unconsciously, the witch smiled at the wonder in the question and responded with some pride. "Yup. It's not easy – hence the herb spa – but it can be done."

"This has something to do with that lion-dog-thing, right?" The question took Willow completely by surprise, and she regarded the Slayer with a wide-eyed expression that caused Judith to grin. "Hey, word travels fast," she explained. "No such thing as a secret when you live with an army of 16-year old girls."

"No, I guess not," Willow muttered, then sighed as she returned to the jars. "Well ... Yeah, it's ... it's for that."

"So all you need's a bunch of soggy herbs and you can just pinpoint something like that?"

Slowly raising her head, Willow slightly narrowed her gaze at Judith, eyeing the girl with just a hint of suspicion at the seemingly endless stream of questions. Judith smiled disarmingly at Willow.

"Sorry, I know," she apologized, tapping the side of her nose. "It's a fault. I used to drive my teachers nuts, always looking for every last little morsel of info, you know? What can I say?" she shrugged. "I love learning new stuff."

The suspicious look evaporated as Willow smiled, nodding her head to indicate that she understood that problem only too well.

"Plus, I ... I'm worried," Judith admitted with some reluctance. "For Hazel. She's my roommate, you know. Don't tell her this, but I've kinda taken a liking to the kid. She told me about how this thing just had a total mad-on for her, completely relentless. She's ... been having nightmares about it. She'll never admit it if you ask her, but I can tell – this thing has her scared, big time. I just wish I could make her feel better, but with nobody knowing a damn thing about it, let alone how to track it down ..."

Judith trailed off, concern evident on her face as she seemed to retreat into frustrated despair. Willow responded instantly, patting the girl's shoulder to help assure her. "Hey, we'll find it, don't you worry," she soothed confidently. "We've got my soggy herbs, a remnant of the spell thanks to the blood, and we've got me." The witch beamed. "In four days we'll have all the info we need to take these puppies right to the pound."

The Slayer's expression had settled into one that was completely unreadable and Willow frowned. "That was supposed t'make ya feel better...?" she prompted.

Almost visibly, Judith snapped back to attention and relief flooded her features. "Better. Yes. God, I feel so ... wow. Seriously, knowing that you guys are so close ... it's indescribable."

Bopping her head happily, Willow smiled, paying no attention to the fact that Judith remained somewhat distant.

"Now don't go spreading that around, okay?" the witch chided gently as she turned back to her work. "This is insider stuff. I know it's probably a juicy little tidbit for the rumor mill, but—"

"Oh, don't worry," Judith assured her. "You can trust me. I won't tell a soul."