Stepping gingerly down the stairs leading to the ground level of the library, Giles shuffled the small stack of books in his arms into a more comfortable position. Dawn glanced up from the volume she was reading as the Watcher approached, taking note of the new texts to research with a slightly hopeful expression.

"Here is some more information dealing with locks and such," explained Giles, setting the books down as Dawn cleared a space next to her. "Though I must confess, I'm not convinced that this is the correct path we should be taking."

Dawn made a dismissive gesture as she reached for the topmost volume. "Yeah, well, we weren't gettin' anywhere with your 'big ol' eye on a giant magic stick' theory."

Puffing himself up, Giles retorted, "It was considerably more involved than a- a 'magic stick'." He spat the words distastefully, but Dawn remained unimpressed.

"No more helpful, though, since hey! Here we are, no closer."

The comments were anything but appreciated, and the Watcher threw an irritated glance at an oblivious Dawn. "Yes, well, you've delivered your idea on the symbol being some sort of key-shape, now perhaps you'd best get home." He clearly thought this was a fabulous idea, but his enthusiasm was not infectious.

"Nah, I'm good," the teenager replied, completely missing both the point and Giles' look of exasperation. "I can't handle any more Warden Buffy today. Longer I'm out, the better."

"Matter of opinion," muttered Giles only partly under his breath as he took a seat across the table.

Pulling her nose out of the book in front of her, Dawn beamed a cheery smile at Giles. "Besides, who knows keys better than me?" she chirped.

With a long-suffering sigh, Giles relented. "Very well. But could we please try to keep the snide comments to ourselves?"

"Fine. From here on out, I'm snide-free," she agreed, only marginally less so.

Both turned back to their respective research materials and a silence descended for several minutes, with the only sound being the occasional wisp of a page being turned.

Until Dawn shattered it with an excited, "Oh!"

Expectantly, Giles glanced up to see Dawn making a selection with her finger as she twisted the book toward him. "What do you have?" he asked, adjusting his glasses.

"Look, read this passage," she tapped her finger on the page and then pulled back, a proud grin on her face as Giles concentrated on the text. The smile persisted right up until the time the Watcher's expression fell, and she frowned at him, confused.

Giles pushed the book back across the table. "This refers to a god-king locking one of his wives in a very tall tower with no food or water for the rest of her life while he ordered his eunuchs to gouge out the eyes and, erm, other things of her lover."

"Oh!" Dawn uttered again, this time sounding more like a squeak. "Guess that's not really helpful then."

"No, not as such."

Glaring at the book, the brunette snapped it shut and placed it on top of the pile to her left. "...stupid Sumerians," she muttered darkly. "They invented the wheel, they couldn't have invented English too?"

There seemed little to add to that, and several more minutes of quiet research continued until Dawn again spoke up. "I know this seems, like, impossible, but d'you ever think that maybe the answer just isn't in these books?" she asked Giles, gesturing toward the stacks on the table. "I mean, okay, it's like you have a copy of every book ever written, but ..."

"The thought has occurred to me, yes," he nodded. "When I go back to England next week, I'll be picking up some—"

Her head snapping up sharply, Dawn looked panicked. "Wait, what? England?"

"Yes," replied Giles casually. "Next week."

Dawn was anything but casual. "When were you gonna tell us?"

"I was planning on mentioning it Sunday, at dinner." He frowned at her reaction and attempted to soothe the frazzled teen. "It's not a huge trip, just for a few days."

The soothing wasn't working either, and Dawn managed to somehow make her already saucer-sized eyes even larger. "But ... but you can't go to England! What if you don't come back?"

"Dawn, I'll be coming back, I just have some business that needs to be wrapped up, and there are some texts and ... and other things that I'll be bringing back with me." It was plain that Giles was trying very hard to maintain a calm, level voice, but it wasn't easy.

Given how much impact his words were having, he mightn't even have bothered. "But you're supposed to be here!" insisted Dawn. "Willow's been all hurt a-and we're supposed to be looking stuff up to keep her safe!" She grabbed the book previously deemed useless and flapped it at Giles.

"Believe me, the safety of all of you is my paramount concern," he reaffirmed, snatching the book away and returning it to the pile. "But as you just stated, we're drawing a- a blank with what we have here. I believe I have some books in storage that will be invaluable to our continued research."

Crossing her arms, the teenager visibly huffed. "Well why can't you just have 'em delivered? Or just send one of your little Watcher flunkies to pick 'em up for you? Then you can stay here and not be away and stuff."

True anger slowly seeped into Giles' features. "First of all, I do not have 'flunkies', I have highly trained members of a professional team whose time and efforts are better spent doing their jobs than running international errands. And frankly, I could do with getting away for a few days," he snapped.

Anger quickly gave way to bafflement, as he reflected on his words, but it was too late to retract them now; Dawn had immediately latched on and was holding them in a death grip.

"Ah-ha! See? I thought so! This is all about leaving us again!" she accused.

Rolling his eyes as his emotions quickly switched gears again, Giles groaned, "Could you pretend to be a grown up for just one fleeting moment?"

"But when you leave, bad stuff happens!" whined Dawn, sounding decidedly un-grown up-like.

"'Bad stuff' happens when I'm here, too!" he retorted angrily.

But Dawn had taken a few steps back in the conversation, and she crossed her arms defensively as she glared. "What do you mean 'pretend to be a grown up'?"

"Well honestly, sometimes you act like a self-absorbed teenager."

"Hello? Teenager here!" she replied, gesturing at herself. "We're sort of supposed to be self-absorbed, it's a hormone thing..?"

"Well stop it!" Giles shouted unreasonably. "It's bloody irritating."

She exhaled sharply, communicating what she thought of that observation. "Right, because I corner the market on irritating."

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, slowly and indignantly.

"Oh come on. You're so snotty and superior and ... and ..." She searched for a proper adjective to sum up the Watcher. "So Giles."

Her conclusion was met with yet another eye roll and a heavy sigh. "Oh, yes, it all makes sense now," he responded dryly. "I see the error of my ways."

Opening her mouth silently, Dawn thrust an accusing finger at Giles. "Like that! When you do that!"

Giles' only course of action was to rub his forehead painfully and grit his teeth.

Walking briskly down the street in the onset of heavy dusk, Xander and Andrew were embroiled in the middle of a fierce, obviously extremely important intellectual discussion.

"You're insane," stated Xander with utmost conviction. "There's no way."

Andrew had just the comeback for this situation: "Yes way!"

"Nuh-uh!" the carpenter retorted.

"Yuh-huh!" was the immediate reply.

Holding up his hands, Xander brought both of them to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk of downtown Trillium. A businessman who had been following closely behind had to step around them, glaring angrily as he passed but not slowing his pace. Neither man paid him any attention.

"Okay, I'm about two seconds from giving you the mother of all wedgies, so I'm going to step back—" Xander took a step backward. "—take a deep breath—" He did so. "—and resume this debate in a calm, mature manner."

Andrew waited expectantly.

"Nuh-uh."

With that, Xander continued on their path, Andrew at his heels.

"Come on, hear me out," the blond pleaded. "I'm just saying, Havok was as good a leader as—"

"Don't say it," ordered Xander, holding up a finger. "It's bad enough you're even thinkin' it."

With a frustrated sigh, Andrew blurted out, "What's so great about Cyclops?"

His eye wide, Xander regarded Andrew as though he'd just suggested that Superman was big wuss who secretly played with My Little Ponies. "As compared to Havok?" he boggled. "Oh, how about maybe everything?"

They arrived outside of their destination, a decent-sized comic book store called "The Rogue's Gallery". Pulling the door open, the pair stepped inside to the jingle of bells tied to the inside door handle. It seemed the typical comic book store, with every millimeter of wall space taken up with posters, action figure displays, comic book back issues, and even a giant inflatable Spider-Man suspended from the ceiling. But the wonder of all these treasures was lost on Xander and Andrew, deep in the throws of pointless arguing, their bickering not having ceased in the slightest despite the location change.

As Andrew had mentioned, the store was quite packed considering the lateness of the evening. Six pairs of Magic players were seated across from their opponents at the long tables that took up one entire side of the store, and several spectators surrounded the matches in progress, either there simply to watch or, judging from the card boxes in-hand, waiting to play themselves. The man seated closest to the door rose to his feet as the door opened, and moved behind the counter. He found the shelf number he was looking for and retrieved a decent-sized stack of comic books, handing them to Andrew with a smile.

Andrew, however, was focused on Xander, and while he automatically took the offered items, neither thanked nor acknowledged, choosing instead to press on with his point. "Havok proved himself to be a versatile and capable leader during Peter David's incredible run of X-Factor starting with issue number 71 where—"

"Doesn't count."

Andrew gaped at a resolute Xander. "What?" he whined. "How can that not count?"

The reply was simple. "Peter David."

"And? So?"

"Peter David could make Speedball not suck." A chorus of affirmative mumbles and nodding heads around the store confirmed the truth of Xander's statement. "So you can't count those issues. Although they do prove my point, because Havok started sucking yet again after Peter David left."

"I liked Speedball," Andrew quietly pouted before moving back to bigger, more important matters. "But then what's left?" he asked plaintively.

Triumphantly, Xander crossed his arms and stared down at the blond. "I rest my case."

Deflated for just a moment, Andrew quickly regained some steam as a thought occurred. "Oh, wait, there's some stuff! New stuff, where Havok ..." he trailed off and went back to being defeated. "Chuck Austen," he groaned.

"Chuck Austen," echoed Xander comfortingly.

"Oh fiddle faddle."

Sensing a perfect opportunity to intercept and get paid, the store clerk cleared his throat, attracting Andrew's attention. The blond jumped, obviously having forgotten where they were, and mumbled an apology as he handed over his purchases and fumbled for his wallet.

While ringing up the books, Counter Guy glanced over at Xander curiously. "So what were you two talkin' about?" he inquired.

Xander gave an amused snort. "Andrew seemed under the extremely amusing illusion that Havok was one of the best X-Men leaders."

Frowning as he opened his Dragonball Z wallet, Andrew defended, "But ... with his uncontrollable powers and natural leadership—"

"—we can call him 'Cyclops'," finished Xander, paying no attention to Andrew's spluttering.

The employee had his own opinions, and felt free to express them. "I always thought Storm was the best leader, personally," he shrugged, bagging Andrew's books and handing over the package.

Instantly ceasing his pout, Andrew's face became animated once more. "Oh, yes! Like when she beat—" he stared pointedly at Xander "—Cyclops for leadership of the team and soundly defeated him even without her powers!"

"It was rigged, I tell ya!" protested Xander, following Andrew out of the store. The sounds of the two grown men's squabbling seemed to linger, even after the door closed behind them and they had vanished from sight.

Amused, Counter Guy shook his head and returned to his seat at the tables, preparing to continue to watch the Magic games still in progress. Thin, scraggly male wearing a threadbare black Vesuvan Doppelgänger t-shirt caught the employee's attention and rolled his eyes toward the door.

"Geeks, huh?" the player said contemptuously. "Pfft." His light tone vanished instantly as he realized what his opponent was attempting to do, and he gawked at the man across the table. "Hel-lo, that is il-legal!" he sneered in a nasally voice. "According to rule number 502.26e, a face-down Exalted Angel has a converted mana cost of zero! Duh!"

Still propped against the headboard, Willow was balancing one of Giles' books in her lap. A soft knock on the door interrupted her reading, and she glanced up to see it slowly swing open and Kennedy crossed the threshold tentatively. Her expression guarded, Willow closed the book and set it aside as Kennedy fully entered the room, closing the door. Neither spoke for a moment that seemed to drag in the uncomfortable silence.

"Hey," the redhead finally offered.

"Hey," Kennedy replied.

Silence continued to dominate the room, thick and unpleasant.

Shuffling in the bed, when Willow spoke it sounded far too loud. "Well, that went well," she announced with false cheer. "Maybe if we try real hard, some day we'll be able to speak to each other in compound sentences."

A sigh escaped the Slayer's mouth and shaking her head, she stared at the witch. "I don't want to fight."

"Well me neither!"

"So why are we fighting?"

"We're not!" Willow immediately protested. "We're ... we're ..." She gave a puzzled frown. "I don't know what we're doing. But it isn't fighting!"

Waving her hand, Kennedy relented. "Fine. Fine, it's not fighting." Another step brought her closer to the bed. "Look, I just came up to apologize and see how you are."

"I'm okay. I'm ..." A hand crept up of its own accord and rubbed painfully across Willow's forehead. "I have a headache, actually," she admitted with some reluctance.

Responding immediately, Kennedy grabbed the mostly empty water glass from the nightstand and crossed to the adjoining bathroom. The glass now full, she returned to the bedside. Opening the bottle of pain killers, she deposited two in her hand and offered them to Willow. The redhead accepted them gratefully and quickly tossed them back, draining the glass and setting it back on the table with a "Thanks."

"It's all this not-fighting. You should be getting rest. I should go." Kennedy turned to the door and managed half a step before Willow grabbed her hand.

"No, stay," she urged. "It gets all lonely up here with just me, my books, and a whole bunch'a quiet." The Slayer's expression registered uncertainty, and Willow frowned in confusion. "What's the matter?"

Kennedy shook it off, trying to allay Willow's concerns. "I'm just having a weird day. I'm afraid I'm gonna start saying stuff if I stay."

Rather than this being a deterrent, the redhead actually seemed pleased with the idea. "Stuff is good," she declared, excited at prospect. "We haven't had a good stuff-filled conversation in forever."

"Yeah, but it's not all good stuff," Kennedy persisted.

Willow tilted her head. "There's bad stuff? You have bad stuff you wanna say?"

"No, I don't, that's the thing." The Slayer sighed, a frustrated, angry sound. "It's confusing. I don't wanna talk about it."

Still frowning, Willow shrugged. "Okay," she agreed with slight reluctance. "What do you wanna do then?"

As silence once again filled the room, Willow picked at the blanket covering her legs and Kennedy crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. Suddenly, as though she had been trying to keep the thought quiet but it managed to somehow burst free, the witch exclaimed, "God, we don't have anything even remotely in common do we?"

Kennedy's head snapped around to regard the redhead.

"Well except for that," continued Willow mostly to herself, "and I'm so not in the mood right now." As soon as she had finished, her mouth shut so fast that the click of her teeth was audible. She gazed at Kennedy with a wide eyes, stammering, "I ... I ..."

But Kennedy didn't dispute the statement, instead seeming to take it as fact. "Do we have to have something in common?" she asked softly before attempting a chuckle. "I thought diversity was good."

"We don't. I-It is," Willow agreed with both statements. "But sometimes wouldn't it be nice to be able to actually, you know ... do stuff? Share interests?"

"We do share interests! We ..." Frowning, the Slayer fell silent as she pondered deeply, then her face lightened as she poked the air. "That movie we saw a couple weeks ago. We both liked that."

Willow's expression crumbled. "I said it was a complete waste of a perfectly good two hours and I felt the director owed me a personal apology."

Blinking, the brunette was momentarily taken aback. "...but you enjoyed saying it, right?" she grinned weakly. "And come on, weren't the explosions the coolest?"

Willow didn't seem particularly inclined to agree.

"Okay, so no," continued Kennedy calmly, but then in the blink of an eye began to lose her temper. "What do you want from me, Will?" she asked wearily.

Willow's control wasn't doing so well either. "I don't want anything from you," the witch spat back. "Except maybe, you know, girlfriendy stuff, if that's not too wacky a notion."

"I'm not the one who can't make the time! Spending time with you is like ..." Kennedy shook her head, at a loss for words. "It's indescribable. I'll take any chance I can get. When you want to do something with me, my whole world stops. But when it's me coming to you, it's like I have to call ahead and schedule three weeks in advance." Crossing her arms angrily, the Slayer leveled an icy stare. "That's not fair, Will, it's not right."

"I have responsibilities! School, a-and research and—"

"You always have something. I know that only too well, believe me." The brunette's voice was dripping with bitterness. "But this isn't a new thing. As soon as we left Sunnydale and maybe even before, if it wasn't you calling the shots then off you'd go at the drop of a hat. Something else always seemed more important." Blinking, Kennedy began to straighten and harsh realization seeped into her expression. "Something else always is more important than me ... Isn't it?"

She wanted to protest, that much was obvious. Willow's mouth opened, forming the word 'no' almost before she had heard the question. But under Kennedy's intense, searching stare, there was only one thing she could relay. The truth.

"Yes."

"Just talk," suggested Buffy helpfully as she threw a vicious right hook, connecting solidly with the vampire's face. The Slayer shrugged, her grip on the vamp's jacket ensuring he stayed upright. "You know, when your mouth isn't full," she advised, filling the creature's mouth with her fist.

The hold released, the vampire stumbled backward a few steps, almost colliding with a nearby gravestone as he swerved unsteadily. Buffy watched him expectantly for some sort of response, sighing heavily when none came. "Come on, you have to know something about it. Big evil, eye-thingie, kind of a pyromaniac...?" she prompted, moving her hand in a 'come on' gesture.

Obviously in great pain, the vampire simply shook his head, his hand coming up to his mouth. "I fink yoo broke m' toof!" he accused, an offended expression making its way across his face.

"Oops, my bad," replied Buffy, grabbing the vampire by the wrist and easily flipping him to the ground. "Maybe you can get it crowned," she suggested, twisting his arm to a painfully awkward angle as she stomped her boot into his chest. "Which hey! You can only do if you're not dust in the wind. Which you're about to be in three seconds if you don't talk." Emphasizing the last word, the Slayer gave the vampire's arm another painful twist, an audible snapping sound filling the air.

Groaning in pain, the vampire again shook his head. "I dunno what you're talkin' about!" he swore. "Honest!"

Buffy frowned at the vampire petulantly. "Oh come on. You evil types always know what other evil types are doing. It's like an evil type law or something. Maybe you just need more motivation." With her free arm, Buffy reached into her jacket and produced a stake. "Meet Mr. Pointy," she introduced. "Version ... six- or seven-point-something, I forget exactly." She positioned the stake over the wide-eyed vampire, the business end directly above his heart. "Now talk, or we see what happens when Mr. Pointy and Mr. Gravity meet with the help of Slayer strength."

Terror flared in the vampire's eyes, and it lent him a momentary burst of adrenaline. Ignoring the painful hold on his arm, he managed to swing his leg to the side and catch Buffy in the backs of her knees. With a yelp of surprise, the blonde's legs gave out and she tipped backward, releasing her grip on the vampire in the process. Taking full advantage of the situation, he quickly rolled to his feet and ran away from the rapidly recovering Buffy.

Twisting his head back over his shoulder to see if he was being followed, the vampire failed to notice when he ran, full speed, into an outstretched stake. He actually kept running for a pace or two before realizing what had happened and his body crumbled to dust.

Buffy jogged over and considered the remains with an expression of bitter disappointment. "I was about to do that," she glared as Faith emerged from the shadows shrouding the tree she had been leaning against.

"Yeah, looked like it, too, with him runnin' away an' all," the dark Slayer smirked, managing to make the gesture more malevolent than amused.

"I was catching up."

Shrugging, Faith spread her arms wide, the smirk still firmly in place. "Yeah well, what can I say? In the Slayer game, you snooze, you lose."

This answer only served to intensify the blonde's aggravation. "What about the part of the Slayer game that says 'Don't steal my kills'?" she demanded, waving at the general area where the vampire had been.

"I'll remember that next time a vamp's got his fangs in ya." Faith tilted her head to one side, examining Buffy carefully. "Oh, but wait, you like that, don'tcha?"

Buffy was taken aback, her eyes widening at the other Slayer for just a moment before narrowing. "Ex-cuse me?"

"You know. You. Dead things. Penetration." She frowned as though deep in thought, her lips still twitching upwards. "Pretty sure they got a name for that sorta thing."

"I know I'm thinking of several for you right about now," Buffy shot back, the fury rising in her voice. "Why are you even here, Faith?"

The brunette gestured to the entire cemetery. "Patrolling," she explained. "Keeping the world safe from the things that bump you in the night."

"I mean, why are you here? I thought you were on the big path of redemption. Serving your time, saving your soul, whatever line you fed Angel. 25 to life, wasn't it, Faith?" Crossing her arms, Buffy looked Faith up-and-down. "And yet, here you are, no bars, no unflattering orange jumpsuit. Two and a half years. That's all it takes for redemption these days?"

Faith tensed. It was a small thing, easily missed but unmistakable. In that moment, the Slayer changed from amused antagonist to something much, much more deadly. "Someone had to stick around an' clean up your mess," replied Faith, her voice quiet and steady as she stepped closer. "An' that just kills you, don't it? That it's finally me with the friends an' the respect, an' you're left on the outside lookin' in. You had it all an' you threw it away, B." Faith's face was mere inches from Buffy now, but the blonde didn't flinch, didn't look even remotely uncomfortable. "I'm finally the winner an' you're the loser an' you can't stand it."

"I'm the loser?" laughed Buffy. "Tell me Faith, I've always wondered – how did it feel when I stabbed you in the gut with your own knife?"

The response was a backhand across Buffy's face that was so powerful the sound reverberated across the graveyard. The blonde took one staggering step, but no more, and when she turned back, her eyes were blazing.

Looming nearby, her fists clenched tightly, Faith snarled, "Not as good as that."

The tension in the library had risen to a level that was nearly tangible. Dawn remained fixed in her seat, glaring defiantly at Giles. The Watcher, on the other hand, had at some point removed his glasses and was leaning across the table at Dawn, his face very nearly touching her own. His eyes were a cold, steel blue, no trace remained of his usual warmth and compassion; his expression one of complete and utter danger.

"I suggest, little girl," he spoke in a low, deadly quiet voice, "that for your own sake you learn very quickly how to keep – your mouth – shut."

Surprisingly, Dawn didn't back down. She continued to glare at Giles, unwaveringly recalcitrant. The two locked eyes, neither willing to concede even a fraction of an inch, when Dawn suddenly adopted a look of total surprise, her jaw dangling open.

"Ohmygod!" she blurted. "Did you just go all 'Ripper' on me?!"

For a moment, her words didn't even seem to register, then Giles blinked, and while his expression remained stony, his eyes softened. Blinking again, the mask vanished. A third time, and he pulled away from the teenager, exhaling heavily as he did so. "Good lord," he muttered, quickly reseating himself and fumbling for his glasses.

Dawn thrust an accusing finger at Giles, waggling it frantically. "You did! I knew it!" She crossed her arms and threw herself against the back of the chair. "Okay, that is so not normal."

"No, no it's not," the Watcher readily agreed, the arms of his glasses not quite reaching his ears several time before he was able to get them situated properly. "What on earth is going on?"

"A-And Buffy, too, she was ..." Trailing off, Dawn shrugged. "Well, pretty much Buffy, but, like, times a hundred!"

Still lost in his own thoughts, Giles murmured, "I-It's like I couldn't control myself. The- The thoughts an-and feelings just came out, and then fed on themselves ..."

"Oh, and me! I think I'm being, like, all whiny and stuff." The teenager regarded Giles with interest. "Am I? Being all whiny and stuff?"

"More than usual?" he replied dryly. "I honestly hadn't noticed."

As soon as he had spoken, Giles quickly motioned with his hand at the space where words might have been, were they tangible objects, as if to say, 'Like that!'

Mildly offended, Dawn concluded, "Okay, so this blows. What is it?"

"It's like our ... inhibitions have been altered, or- or removed," began Giles, his mind hard at work to make sense of what was going on. "Whatever keeps us from saying the thoughts and giving voice to the feelings that—"

"God, can you ever answer a question in three words or less?" groaned Dawn, then quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, staring at Giles with wide eyes.

The Watcher remained unphased. "...rather like that."

Tentatively, as though something big and nasty might escape at any moment, the teenager peeled her hand away from her mouth. "Geez," she stated after a moment, considering his statement. "Well, is it just us?"

Determined to find out, Giles rose to his feet and headed for the door, Dawn right behind him. They had only taken two steps down the hallway when a Slayer sailed through the air from a nearby branching corridor, and crashed through the window. Almost immediately, with a feral cry of rage, a second Slayer dove through the new opening. The sounds of a fierce conflict could be heard from the front lawn where the two girls had landed and resumed their battle.

The pair remained rooted to the spot, not taking another step forward. "Oh dear," Giles finally decided to say. "This ... is not good."

Ever so slowly, Dawn turned her narrowed gaze at the Watcher. "Gee, d'ya think?" she asked with every scrap of sarcasm she could muster. Which, it turned out, was quite a lot.

With just as much irritation, Giles glowered at the young girl. "Yes, I do. Emotion is one of the most powerful forces on the planet. It is raw, primal. Only the restrictions we place on ourselves keep it from dominating us completely. The words we say, the actions we take ... All are governed by our inhibitions. If they have indeed been removed ..." His eyes fell on the shattered window. "There's absolutely no telling what may happen."

Letting her body to go limp, Faith crashed through a tombstone back first, sending an explosion of rock into the air. She landed on her shoulders and allowed the momentum to carry her into a roll, tumbling across the cool, wet grass for several yards before kicking out of the move and springing to her feet. Bouncing up and down, Faith rotated her head and shook her shoulders, a look of pure delight spreading across her features. Coupled with the hungry gleam in her eyes, the Slayer looked more than a little insane.

"Oh yeah," she whooped to the sky, "that's what I'm talkin' about!" Grinning, Faith fixed her gaze upon her opponent. "Don't hold back B. Tell me how you really feel."

Buffy took a step forward, staring at Faith with the same murderous intensity. "Trust me, by the time I'm done? You'll feel it too."