Through the strobing beams projected on the dance floor from the intricate arrays overhead, Faith swirled in a harsh, driving rhythm vaguely reminiscent of the one being performed by the band. Mostly, however, the Slayer appeared to be dancing in time to a beat audible only to herself, and from the expression on her face, she much preferred it that way.

She circled around and around a mostly inert figure that cared little about taking up valuable real estate on the Vortex's packed dance floor. A sudden, rapid burst of lights revealed the figure to be Kennedy, now even more annoyed than before, given that she had been half-blinded. Huffing, she crossed her arms and glared at Faith as the older Slayer completed another circuit and halted her rotation, coming to rest in front of Kennedy, although still caught up in the frenzy of her dance.

They regarded each other for a moment, then Faith jerked her chin at Kennedy. "I know you got better moves'n this," she commented, raising her voice to be heard over the music. "Or, well, maybe not better. But more fun than you bein' a statue."

"I don't even know why I'm here," Kennedy shot back, mostly to herself.

"Cuz I threatened you with two weeks of orientation once we start takin' newbies again." Faith grinned, having found some measure of humor in the strong-arm tactic that eluded her companion.

This was further evidenced by Kennedy's firm declaration of "This sucks," uttered just as the Slayer turned and stomped off the dance floor toward a table situated somewhere near the bar but still within clear view of the stage. Reaching the table, Kennedy snatched a full glass from the crowd of six or seven empty ones and downed it a single gulp before throwing herself into the nearest seat.

For a moment, Faith continued dancing, though her eyes were focused entirely on Kennedy. It didn't appear as though she was planning on moving from the spot she had staked for herself, but then rolled her eyes and claimed the other seat at the table. "Depressed don't look so good on you," she remarked.

In response, Kennedy grabbed the only other non-drained glass. "Let's try drunk instead," she suggested, and proceeded to make that glass just as empty, following up by searching the vicinity for a waitress.

Watching impassively, Faith assured her, "Feel free, I gotcher back. Not what you need, though," she added.

Kennedy was half out of her seat trying to attract attention, but turned to Faith with a frown. "Huh?"

"The booze," explained Faith, gesturing at the gathered platoon of glassware. "I mean, I guess it could be part of what you need, but really? I think you need somethin' like that."

Extending a finger to the dance floor, Faith pointed at something, and Kennedy narrowed her gaze as she tried to see what. Finally she spotted Faith's target: a woman who looked like she could've stepped off the cover of any given fashion magazine. The long dark hair was perfectly styled and moved in time to the music as did her swaying body. She filled the outfit she was almost wearing with a confident ease that only served to accentuate her attractiveness. As might be expected, the woman was not alone, but dancing with a besotted female who, while certainly not unattractive herself, was utterly dwarfed by the exotic presence of the other.

Having caught on to what Faith was insinuating, Kennedy gaped at the other Slayer. "Are you nuts?" Shock was splayed across her features at the suggestion.

"If I had a nickel for every time I'm asked that ..." replied Faith jokingly, then shrugged. "Maybe. Don't make me wrong, though."

Kennedy's alcohol-soaked brain continued to have trouble processing. "But Willow—"

"—dumped you," Faith completed matter-of-factly. "Right or wrong reasons, she did. You don't owe Red nothin' no more. You're hurt, she's ..." Tilting her head, Faith watched the dancing woman for a moment as she searched for a word, finally deciding on, "...lively. Good night's roll, no strings attached – do you a world'a better."

A waitress, presumably called 'Evie' according to her nametag, walked by balancing a tray loaded with drinks. The Slayer reached out and snatched one at random, nearly sending others tumbling to the floor. Just as the waitress was about to protest, Kennedy tossed a five-dollar bill on the tray and took several swallows from the glass. Sparing another moment to shoot a glare, Evie moved back to the bar to replace the pilfered drink.

Lowering the glass, Kennedy blinked heavily. "Can't. Will might ..." The Slayer shook her head and drained the remainder of the drink. "Too soon."

"Sure?" queried Faith, gesturing to the carnage littering the table. "Be cheaper." Kennedy simply shook her head again, and Faith turned away from the dancing couple. "Okay then, next round's on me. If we get enough in ya, we can salvage some fun outta tonight," she joked.

But Kennedy wasn't in a joking mood. Instead, she slumped down in her chair and stared at the empty glasses despondently. "I just don't understand why," she groaned miserably.

Grabbing a glass, Faith tilted it to her lips, swallowing the melted ice and remnants of whatever drink had previously resided there. "Yeah you do."

"Huh?"

"You know why," the other Slayer repeated, fishing out an ice cube and holding it between two fingers as she sucked on it lightly. "You know exactly why. She told you."

Kennedy sniffed, a grand, maudlin sound that could only be achieved by the highly intoxicated. "But ... I love her," she declared, her voice thick. "So much. Why am I not enough?"

Unwilling to add fuel to the very messy fire that lay ahead, Faith continued to calmly lay out the facts. "Ain't about you. This is all about Red."

"She's not mine," snapped Kennedy, transitioning swiftly into anger. "I think that makes it plenty about me."

The ice cube paused on its way to Faith's lips again. The Slayer quirked an eyebrow at Kennedy, unconcerned by the other woman's rapidly shifting moods. "Wasn't that sorta thing part'a the problem in the first place?"

For a moment, Kennedy simply glared, then swiped her hand in Faith's general direction, and several other directions, since her wrist seemed to have become oddly boneless for a moment. "Fancy logic mind tricks," she slurred. "You suck."

"An' she unleashes the big guns," smirked Faith. "Here, you just need more booze. Let's see what we can do about that."

Seizing the younger Slayer by the arm, Faith took a step toward the bar, but then stopped, as something grabbed her attention. She turned toward the stage, frowning and scanning the throngs of people, eventually spying Xander. Registering surprise, Faith pushed her way through the mass to Xander's side, a griping and slightly unsteady Kennedy still in tow.

Finally carving out a hole for herself next to the carpenter, Faith ducked her head low to speak in his ear. "Yo, X-Man, s'up?" she greeted amicably, but Xander showed no sign that he had even noticed her presence, let alone make an effort to acknowledge her.

"Xand?" she tried again, frowning at the continued lack of reaction. Faith placed her hand on Xander's arm and he turned toward her, however his face displayed no reaction to either her or Kennedy. Indeed, his features were devoid of any expression. Without comment, Xander turned back toward the stage.

Confusion was the dominant response from Faith, but Kennedy, situated comfortably on the train to Drunksville, immediately became enraged. "Oh, oh, I see how it is." She staggered forward, almost breaking free of Faith's hold, and glared venomously at Xander's unconcerned back. "Don't matter I lived with you for months. Don't matter I used to listen to your lame ass jokes an' eat that failed biological experiment you call 'dinner'. Don't matter I actually had to wash your underwear sometimes." Still Xander displayed no reaction, and Kennedy progressively worked herself into a righteous fury. "Nooooo, suddenly Willow dumps me an' now I'm the bad guy. Let's just ignore Kennedy, we only barely tolerated her in the first place cuz she and Willow were fu—"

"Whoa, okay there Sparky, we're five by five," Faith intercepted smoothly, her hand still firmly clasped around Kennedy's arm. She placed herself between the agitated Slayer and a still oblivious Xander. "Time for a time out, yeah? Beatin' up on B's little Scoobies don't sit so well with her, trust me."

Pushing her way through the crowd, Faith began to lead Kennedy away, though it was clear Kennedy wasn't yet ready to depart. "An' you snore so loud I nearly Slayed you!" she yelled while being dragged off, although oddly attracting little attention from the male population crowding the dance floor.

Safely back at their table, Faith forced Kennedy to resume her seat, although all her anger had all but dissipated. "I hate men," she grumbled listlessly as she slumped forward.

"Yeah, well, that was sorta implied," replied Faith, still distracted by their recent encounter.

Kennedy sniffed loudly, scrubbing clumsily at her nose. "Xander's such a jerk."

Frowning, the other Slayer studied the stage, where the carpenter could only barely be seen through the crowd. "I dunno," she responded, half to herself. "I mean, I known the X-Man for a while now. Not really in him to keep his mouth shut. Ever. Huh." She frowned again, then turned back to Kennedy, noting immediately that the younger women was beginning to tear up.

"I miss her," Kennedy managed to whimper in a piteous voice.

"You're right," Faith readily agreed. "More booze."

"Scotch?"

The afternoon sun streamed through the walls of windows that made up Giles' loft. Blinds and curtains were thrown open to allow as much light into the area as possible, and given the clear sky outside, it cast a cheerful glow throughout the apartment.

Taking all this in, Hannah wandered around slowly, noting every detail of Giles' decorations, obviously admiring everything. At the Watcher's question, she turned to find him standing in the kitchen, presenting a bottle of amber liquid. She smiled and nodded, as Giles tipped it to fill the second glass on the counter.

Continuing her examination, Hannah accepted the drink when Giles approached her, and gestured toward the loft. "This is nice," she complimented. "Very you."

Smirking, Giles responded, "I'm going to assume you mean in an open and charming way, and not in an overpriced, midlife crisis way."

"Wise decision."

Giles sipped on his scotch as he moved to one of the couches skirting the coffee table. The table's surface was strewn with folders, papers and note pads, very clearly a work-in-progress. Setting the glass down, Giles grabbed the folder closest to him and opened it. "Shall we get started?" He didn't look up as Hannah approached, instead continuing, "Now I've sorted through most of the Slayers' backgrounds, but there are a few here who ..."

His voice trailed away as the folder was closed, and he glanced up at the blonde with a raised eyebrow.

"When's the last time you had a day off?" Hannah asked without preamble.

"What?" Blinking, it took Giles's brain a moment to switch focus. "Oh, uhm ..." He gave the matter some thought. "W-Well last week Dawn and I spent a delightful afternoon visiting every single shoe store within a ten-mile radius. Fascinating, really. Did you know that there is some sort of universal law that dictates the exact same pair of shoes are somehow better when purchased for twice the price?"

Hannah grinned at that, but pressed onward. "Anything that didn't emasculate you in some way?"

Again a moment lost in thought, then Giles' face brightened as he remembered something. "Late last month Xander and I went shopping for some power tools." His pride was undeniable. "He's becoming quite adept at woodworking, despite his handicap. You should see the chair he's been working on—"

Anxious to make her point clear, Hannah interrupted. "Okay, rephrased question: When's the last time you took a day off for you. Just you. Not your work, not your kids ... You."

"If memory serves, I spent a delightful day reading through some captivating ancient texts in ... Erm, 1999?" offered Giles meekly.

Crossing her arms, a smirk tugged at Hannah's lips, and she peered down at her ex-husband.

He met her expression with considerably less humor. "Oh do get that look off your face, being smug never did suit you."

"You need a break," she concluded emphatically.

But Giles firmly shook his head, dismissing the notion outright as he opened the folder again. "I can consider taking a day off when we are assured that things are secure and nobody is in any danger."

"Rupert, the work you do, you can never know that," countered Hannah just as firmly.

His head snapping up, Giles shot back, "Well I'd settle for making sure they can walk through the halls without running the risk of being beaten to death." Frustrated, the Watcher threw the folder back on the coffee table and crossed to the window, glaring angrily at nothing in particular. Hannah observed him for a moment before setting her own glass down and walking over, standing just by his shoulder, easily able to see his face in the reflection of the window.

For a minute, neither said anything, Giles still lost in his own thoughts and Hannah simply content to wait for him to make the first move. Finally, Giles spoke, his tone bitter. "We've lost so much."

Their eyes locked briefly in the mirrored image, and Hannah smiled sadly, but with understanding. "War is hell, Rupert."

"Unfortunately, that offers little comfort," he replied, glancing away.

Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, Hannah's expression grew soft and compassionate. "I know and I wish I could tell you that my coming here ensured that none of them will ever be hurt again. We both know better, and I won't lie to you. But I promise, I will do whatever it takes to do my job." Giles turned toward her, and she allowed her hand to slip to his upper arm, squeezing it reassuringly. "Whatever it takes. You know I will."

Giles rested his hand on top of hers and squeezed back gratefully for just a moment. "Yes. I know. I just wish you weren't needed."

The blonde grinned broadly and gestured toward Giles. "Hey, a man's dependency? What more validation could I need?" She looked pleased when he allowed himself a small laugh, then turned back to the matter at hand. "Now seriously, Rupert, I've only been around a few days and I can see how tightly you're wound. How about you and I just go somewhere." She waved her hand at the window. "Beach or the mountains or whatever the hell's in this area. Someplace that's not Council related. I think the wheels can keep turning without you for a few hours."

For a brief moment, Giles appeared tempted, but then shook his head. "I can't. There's too much to do. It's too important."

"And how much more could you get done after a decent break?" she pressed. "You can't keep going like this, Rupert."

Giles simply shook his head again and returned to the couch. Hannah watched him go back to work. She sighed and tilted her head to one side, studying him. A fond, yet determined smile crossed her face, as she sat next to him and grabbed a file of her own.

The front door to the Scoobies' house opened slowly and a tentative Kennedy stuck her head inside, glancing around in all directions. Seeing no one, she entered carefully, a large box dangling from one hand, and pushed the door closed. Fine traces of guilt hovered around her. The manner in which her eyes constantly scanned indicated she was clearly on the lookout for something – something it seemed she largely wanted to avoid.

Safely making it to the stairs, Kennedy managed to take the first two before she heard a stomping from above. Suddenly, Dawn appeared on the first landing and screeched to a halt, blinking in surprise. The two stared at each other for a few heartbeats until Kennedy finally broke the silence. "Uh ... hi."

Crossing her arms, Dawn shifted into a position that somehow managed to convey her disdain. "God, are you stalking now?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "That is so totally lame."

"I'm not stalking, I'm collecting," retorted Kennedy, lifting the box in her hand and giving it a little shake. "I left some of my stuff here. I just wanna get it and go," she snapped, sounding tired.

"You left stuff. Right." Dawn wasn't entirely buying into the explanation. "That's only slightly less lame."

The Slayer sighed and ran a hand through her hair, clearly lacking the energy and inclination to go twelve rounds. "Look, can I go get it or not?"

Taking a long minute to appraise Kennedy, Dawn finally stood to one side. "Fine, but I'm coming too, and if you touch anything that doesn't look like yours ..." She frowned, trying to come up with a threat that would in theory hold against a Slayer. "Well I guess I can't actually stop you, but I'm telling."

Her eye roll very obviously indicated exactly how intimidated Kennedy felt. "You do that," she responded as she passed Dawn on the stairs.

Reaching the second story, Kennedy strode down the hall, Dawn right on her heels. She passed the first door without a glance, instead heading straight for the one at the far end, near the hallway junction. Twisting the knob, Kennedy pushed open the door to Willow's room. Hesitating briefly, a pained expression on her face, she took a deep breath and crossed the threshold, tossing the box on the neatly made bed and going immediately to the nearby dresser, her gaze locked and focused on the task at hand.

Skipping the top drawer, she went directly to the second, sifting through and pulling out the occasional shirt and pair of socks. Almost without looking she tossed them at the box, each item easily landing inside. Moving to the next drawer, Kennedy did her best to ignore Dawn, standing in the doorway with her arms still crossed, watching the Slayer's every move like a hawk. "I'm not sorry you broke up," Dawn finally stated factually.

"Thanks, that's comforting," responded Kennedy with an irritated glance. "Have you considered a career in psychiatry?"

Dawn glared, but continued regardless. "I'm not sorry you broke up, but I am sorry if it upset you."

Kennedy closed the last drawer and moved to one of the end tables by the bed, pulling open the drawer there and removing the books and assorted odds and ends inside. "If it upset me," she laughed bitterly. "No, I was dancing in the streets right after I got my heart pulverized. It was a great fun, you should've been there."

"I just mean," Dawn tried again, her aggressive tone had all but disappeared, "Willow kinda explained some stuff, and, well ... It's gotta suck."

Kennedy paused in the process of packing the box, not looking up as she spoke. "Not the strongest adjective, but pretty much, yeah," she admitted somberly. She quickly placed the rest of the items inside and moved to the bathroom.

Raising her voice to carry to the adjoining area, the teenager continued, "I could tell you were really into her."

The Slayer emerged with an armload of toiletries. "And we see how much that counted for," she snorted, dumping them unceremoniously into the box with the rest.

"Do you think you'll get back together?" questioned Dawn, with honest curiosity.

Arching her eyebrows, Kennedy put one hand on the box and the other on her hip as she regarded Dawn. "Planning on some pre-emptive sabotage?"

Mildly embarrassed, Dawn shifted her position. "No-o. I just, you know. Wondered," she shrugged.

With a sigh, the Slayer clenched her eyes shut. "Honestly Dawn, right now it's all I can do to keep from screaming or crying or hitting something. Or all three." She opened her eyes again and shook her head. "Not really the right frame of mind for reconciliation."

This made sense to the teenager, and she nodded. "I think you're okay though." At Kennedy's surprised look, she added, "You know, when you're not in the house, always hanging around, being all bossy and irritating and stuff."

Chuckling, Kennedy moved to the closet, tugging the door open and glancing at Dawn over her shoulder. "Yeah, well, I guess you're okay too when I don't have to listen to you whine 24/7."

Silence descended for a moment, as neither seemed particularly inclined to disagree with the other's assessment.

"I still don't like you with Willow, though," Dawn declared. "Which I know is all immature or whatever, but I don't care."

Her first instinct was to snap something back, but instead Kennedy simply shrugged as she tossed a few more shirts and a pair of jeans into the nearly full box. "Well at least you're honest," the Slayer remarked instead. "I respect that."

Dawn looked both pleased and surprised at the unexpected compliment. "You know, I never told you this, but the way you stand up to Buffy? Very cool," she grinned, gesturing with her hand for emphasis. "You don't let her push you around."

"Buffy knows her stuff, yeah, but god. Was she born superior?" Kennedy shook her head, widening her eyes at her frustration. "Drives me freakin' insane."

Delighted at having found someone who could relate, Dawn became animated and anxious to share. "Oh, and the way she gives you that look? That 'I'm not really listening, I'm just humoring you' look? Ugh!"

They both laughed, then stopped, each glancing at the other in confusion, surprised to find themselves sharing a moment.

"Huh," Dawn muttered, frowning.

"And they say love brings us together," smirked Kennedy.

The sun was a distant memory in the sky by the time Dawn joined Giles, Buffy and Willow in the library. Willow was in her usual place in front of her laptop, as engrossed with whatever was displaying on her screen as Buffy and Giles, who hovered over her shoulder, intently reading.

"Hey Willow, do you own this really slinky red and black thing, looks like something Madonna wouldn't be caught dead in?" Dawn queried as she approached the group.

All three heads jerked up at the question, Willow in particular gaping and confused. "What? Slinky, red— What?"

Buffy frowned and regarded her sister curiously. "Why are you asking and do we have to have a long talk about it?"

Dawn rolled her eyes, though without any real irritation. "Kennedy was at the house, she said she left some stuff behind. She was being grabby with this thing that was all red and shiny and looked like it was cut down to—" Lifting her hand level with the top of her chest, Dawn let it drop, rapidly plunging well beyond what might be considered a decent point.

The redhead's face flared a bright scarlet, and she waved her hands in the air, causing the teenager to pause in her careful consideration of just how low her hand should rest so as to present an accurate picture. "Uhh, no. No, that- that wasn't mine. That was— Not mine. No. So- so, gone, yes, t-that's okay, because, you know," Willow let out a sharp puff that was probably intended to be derisive, "so not mine."

Raising an eyebrow, Buffy turned to Willow, amusement evident in her voice. "Maybe I should have a long talk with you," she grinned, playfully poking the witch in the shoulder, renewing the blush.

Furiously cleaning his glasses, Giles remarked, "I beg of you to wait until I'm in no danger of being haunted by unbidden images for the rest of my life."

"So you saw her?" Willow asked Dawn, sounding a little sad. "Is she okay?"

Approaching the computer monitor to see what was holding everyone's attention, Dawn shrugged slightly. "Don't think she's ready to start painting the world in rainbows, but she seemed okay. Considering."

Willow gnawed on her lower lip, but nodded.

"So what's up?" the teenager asked, peering at the display from over Willow's head.

Buffy straightened and crossed her arms, turning to Dawn. "Wonder Willow thinks she's got something on our Shirley Manson wannabes."

Expounding, Giles added, "Willow's going through old newspapers and such from different areas of the world." He turned back to the screen, studying it carefully. "It appears as though there may be some sort of correlation between these girls' performances and a series of murder/suicides."

"They play really heavy depressing stuff?" Dawn suggested, only half joking.

Shaking her head, Buffy replied, "No, it was pretty upbeat. And very much not worth all the attention they were getting, I add."

Reaching over Willow, Dawn picked up the flier and examined it closely. "'Persephone's Tears'. Catchy name." She frowned as a memory stirred. "Rings a bell, though, hm."

At that moment, Willow spoke up. "I think I found another link," she announced, pointing to the screen.

Giles leaned forward, reading over her shoulder. "'Family of five found dead' ... Seems the father simply came home one night and- and ... Oh." Blanching, the Watcher pulled back.

"What? What is it?" Dawn tried desperately to see what everyone else was looking at, but Buffy kept a firm hand on the teenager's shoulder and prevented her from getting too close.

"Ew," the Slayer summed up, wrinkling her nose at the computer. "It involves an axe and a whole lot of details not suitable for sisters of me named Dawn." Buffy expertly ignored Dawn's glare.

Willow glanced at the others, indicating something specific. "Yeah, but here's the weirdness. Did you guys see the date?"

Buffy and Giles both braved a second look as Dawn huffed at her continued exclusion. Reading carefully, Giles squinted at the small type. "May 12, 19 ... 1938."

"A-And that's not all," the redhead continued, clicking through to another section. "See here, under local entertainment? Same group name, and that picture–" she jabbed at it accusingly "–looks mighty gosh darned familiar."

Finally allowed to get a proper view, Dawn compared it to the flier in her hand. "Less with the piercing," she reported.

Pulling back, Buffy started drawing conclusions, still staring at the grainy image on the monitor. "Okay, so either they're better preserved than Dick Clark or—"

"—or they don't age," finished Willow.

"Immortal beings leaving a trail of dead bodies in their wake. This bodes well," remarked Giles dryly.

"Will, how far back can you trace this?" Buffy asked, resting her hand on the back of the other woman's chair.

Wiggling the fingers on her left hand, Willow muttered, "Let's see ..." Despite being mostly confined to one-handed typing, the hacker's speed remained impressive.

But Buffy had more important things on her mind, and she turned to Giles, who had settled in the chair next to Willow. "I suppose it's pointless to say I don't like this."

"Yes," the Watcher agreed, "but if it makes you feel better ..."

"I don't like this."

Dawn remained engrossed in the flier, staring at it with a furrowed brow. "It's so familiar. And check out these names." Turning the paper around to the others, she pointed to the appropriate section. "Parth, Gei, Kosia ..." She chuckled. "And I thought 'Dawn' sucked."

"Whoa," Willow murmured, commanding everyone's full attention.

Leaning forward, Buffy peered at the computer screen. "What'cha got?"

"Almost a whole village wiped itself out," she replied with a touch of awe. "Right after this traveling trio of women singers with 'voices like heavenly angels' paid 'em a visit for a harvest festival."

Narrowing his gaze, Giles also leaned forward. "When exactly are we talking about?"

Willow glanced up and met his eye. "1464," she stated very carefully.

"Wow." Dawn was clearly impressed. "Move over Dick Clark."

Still firmly in Slayer mode, Buffy turned to Giles, her words coming quickly in her haste to get things taken care of. "Okay, so if we're assuming these are the same girls, the next step is to figure out what we're dealing with, before Trillium pulls a Jonestown."

Deep in thought, Giles reached out and took the flier from Dawn, studying it for a long moment. "I wonder ..." he began, then glanced up, the others all staring at him expectantly. "What do you know of the Sirens?"

"Unimpressive vehicle for Dana Delaney?" Buffy shrugged.

"Oh! That's it!" exclaimed Dawn, clapping her hands together. "In English, we were talking about The Odyssey! That's why this is so familiar! Ligeia, Leukosia, Parthenope ... They're the Sirens!"

Willow frowned and looked from Dawn to Giles. "But the Sirens were defeated, right? By Ulysses?"

"Well he managed to avoid their allure and some myths say that they then drowned themselves," Giles agreed, then shrugged with his eyebrows, "but ... well, myths. Hardly the most accurate in all details."

Disinterested in the finer points, Buffy said, "Okay, so I'm ... what? Off to battle the mascot for Chicken of the Sea?"

"They're more birdy than fishy, actually," Willow replied, turning back to her laptop and calling up another search engine.

"That'll work too," the Slayer agreed amicably, not seeming to care much about the form. "It's about time I put in my two-cents on today's music."

"Hey, the gang's all here."

Everyone glanced up at the newcomer, watching as Faith strode into the library, a book in her hand. Faith took stock of the assembled Scoobies, and amended, "Almost all. X-Man got another late night, huh?"

Buffy still hadn't quite reconciled the unexpected library appearance. "Faith? What are you doing here?"

Raising the book, Faith replied, "Just droppin' this off."

Everyone continued to stare blankly at the dark Slayer.

"What? I can read, y'know," defended Faith.

Giles was the first to shake himself from the stupor. "Er, yes, of course. You were saying something about Xander...?"

"Oh, yeah," she confirmed, gesturing behind her. "Last night, saw him at the Vortex. Way zoned."

"At the Vortex," Buffy repeated flatly. "Last night."

Tossing the book into the air and catching it, Faith nodded, not picking up on the tension in Buffy's voice. "Yup."

"But last night? He was in bed last night," Willow disputed. "He- He was all upset with the tummy a-and head and so he stayed home and rested."

The redhead's protests didn't make the words true, however, and Faith simply shrugged. "Didn't look home or restin' to me. Didn't look much of anything, actually, but it was definitely him."

Slowly, an unwelcome thought forming in her mind, Buffy turned to Willow. "Didn't Xander say he'd heard the group a few times already...?"

Her eyes widening, the witch's thoughts followed the same path. "And he was all absorby ..."

Buffy, Willow and Dawn shared a look, then as though at some unspoken command, all ran for the library exit, tearing past a surprised Faith. "Giles, keep researching!" called Buffy over her shoulder. "We need a way to kill these things!"

And with that, they were gone. Faith raised her eyebrows, then turned to Giles, holding up the paperback in her hand. "So Anita Blake, pretty wicked. Got any more?"

The front door burst open, and the girls tumbled into the house, practically falling over each other in their rush.

"Xander!" three voices called out in harmony, but received no response. Immediately, Buffy sprinted upstairs while Willow took the living room and Dawn ducked into the kitchen. A few moments later, Buffy ran back down, joining the others in the foyer, all shaking their heads.

"Okay," Buffy began in a calm, authoritative voice. "Okay, I'm gonna head to the Vortex, see if he's there. Dawn, you try his cell phone. Willow, you—"

The door opening again cut off her instructions. Xander pulled himself inside, his feet literally dragging with every step. Pale and obviously pained, the carpenter had looked better.

"Xander!" Willow exclaimed, rushing forward.

"You okay? You don't look so good," frowned Dawn from his other side.

Nodding, then groaning with the effort, Xander muttered, "Head hurts."

"Gee, think maybe it has something to do with the non-stop clubbing?" Buffy chided with a touch of sarcasm, even as she moved around to help him to the couch.

Almost immediately, Xander flopped over on his back, one arm flung across his eyes. "Don't wanna go," he croaked weakly. "Can't help it. Calls out to me..."

"Yeah, I hear that's their thing," the blonde replied sympathetically, smoothing his hair away from his forehead.

Willow chuckled, musing mostly to herself, "It's funny. Dressed like that, you'd think they could get groupies the old fashioned way."

Straightening, Buffy faced to the others. "Okay, we need answers," she declared in a no-nonsense tone that indicated playtime was long over. "No platinum record for these ladies."

"I think I found— Oh poop." Willow glanced around with a frown, then turned to Buffy. "I left my laptop in the library."

Already, the Slayer was heading for the door. "No problem. I'll run back real quick and get it."

"Oh, and can you pick up some books while you're there?" asked Dawn. "I think I remember reading something about separating mythological fact from fiction, might help."

Stopping in mid-stride, Buffy turned back to her sister and crossed her arms. "I thought you had homework."

"Well then you'd be myth-taken," replied Dawn, grinning wide at her own joke. Buffy simply glared, and the teenager rolled her eyes. "Just a little bit. But come on, I wanna help."

"You can help," Buffy readily agreed, "after homework." Dawn pouted impressively, but at her sister's sharp look, said nothing else. Buffy turned to the carpenter, who had hardly moved since settling on the couch. "Don't worry Xander, we'll get this taken care of." Xander managed a small, painful nod as Buffy said to the others, "I'll be back in a few."

The Slayer ran out of the house, tossing the door closed behind her, and Willow moved to Xander's side, tugging gently on his arm to prompt him up. "Let's get you upstairs, nice comfy bed? I can bring you some soup or somethin'?"

"No. Thanks," he replied with another groan. "Just gonna lay here for a few, try and make the world stop spinning."

The redhead let his arm drop and took a step back. "Oh, o-okay then," she smiled, instead turning to Dawn, who was hovering nearby, and led her upstairs. "C'mon Dawnie, we both got school stuff that needs finishing."

Willow and Dawn moved up the stairs, and Xander gingerly turned his head, peeking out from under his arm as he watched them go. Once they were out of sight, his face become totally blank and expressionless, even the pain vanishing without a trace. He swung his legs over the side of the couch and stood up in one fluid motion, crossing the room to the chest in the far corner. Opening it in a mechanical manner, Xander reached inside and extracted a giant duel-headed axe. He gazed at the vicious blade before his eye turned toward the stairs.