Xander simply sat, blinking stupidly the beaming Willow next to him.

"You can what?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Your eye. I can regrow your eye," she repeated excitedly, then stopped and frowned as she considered her words. "Or, well, not I. You I. Since it's your eye."

"Aye?" offered Xander tentatively, desperately seeking some sort of roadmap for the conversation.

His confusion only seemed to fuel Willow's fervor, and she bounced his hand up and down several times before calming enough to explain. "I can help you channel energies and regrow your eye. You'll be back to normal, Xander, like it never happened."

Slowly, the carpenter retracted his hand, frowning. "What, like ... just like that?"

"Well, no, it'll take a little while," she admitted. "If you want all-at-once, you hafta go to the dark magicks, and that's just unpleasant." The witch crinkled her nose distastefully. "Icky fluids, a sacrifice or two, and you'd probably end up with an evil hell-eye or something."

"Would it shoot laser beams?" Xander found himself asking curiously.

"Quite possibly."

For the briefest of brief seconds, the carpenter looked intrigued before sanity returned and he shook his head. "But this other thing ... that's all natural? Like, organic hippy farm natural?"

"Yup. I found something while I was looking up stuff for my hand—" Eyes widening, Willow interrupted herself. "Oh! Look!" Raising her right hand, she wiggled her fingers as much as possible, a huge, proud grin plastered to her face.

"That's great Will, you'll be flipping me off in no time," Xander commented quickly. "Now my eye...?"

Lowering her hand again, Willow became serious. "Oh, yeah. See, I've ..." The witch shuffled slightly in her seat, and dropped her eyes briefly. "I-I've been looking for something to ... to, y'know, make your eye better. Since Caleb." Regaining some of her earlier conviction, Willow's voice grew stronger. "The thing is, the eye's really complex. I mean, one wrong slip and you're seeing everything half upside-down and in psychedelic colors for the rest of your life."

Xander raised an eyebrow at his friend warily. "Way to instill confidence."

"Shh, I'm not done," she chastised, batting her hand in his direction. "So I've been looking, ever since, and zippo. But I figured it out while going through some of Giles' books. By combining different meditation and channeling techniques with some magic – of the white variety," she quickly added, "– and a whole lotta reading up on ophthalmology ... Presto!" Settling back with a very proud grin, Willow beamed at Xander. "New eye."

"You can do it," he stated with wonder, not quite making it a question.

"I can do it," she replied, steady and assured.

Pushing up to his feet, Xander nervously ran his fingers through his hair and began pacing around the room. "I dunno."

Whatever answer Willow was expecting, that was clearly not it. "You don't ..." she began, frowning. "What's not to know? Don't you trust me?"

Turning back quickly, the carpenter hastened to reassure her. "No, it's not that. Of course I trust you. Just that ... It feels wrong."

"It's not wrong," the redhead insisted, also rising to her feet and moving to stand in front of Xander. "What's wrong is that this happened to you in the first place. What's wrong is that you can't get a job at a construction company because of some crazy preacher." Gesturing toward the window, she added angrily, "A couple'a fatheads bothering you for wearing an eye patch, that's what's wrong here. All we'll be doing is putting it right."

Xander was still not fully convinced. "And this isn't all ooky, hair dyeing, world-ending bad mojo?" he asked provisionally.

"Absolutely not. We're asking for your body to be allowed to heal itself, that's it. You'll actually be doing most of the work, I'm just like- like the director." Eyes widening, the witch became excited again. "Ooo, maybe I can get myself one of those chairs."

She was alone in her enthusiasm, however. Xander sighed heavily, the offer seeming to weigh heavily. "I dunno, I still ..." He didn't complete his sentence, and his gaze darted to the side.

Still frowning, Willow moved her head to to catch his attention. "What is it?" she gently questioned.

"I'm not sure." Frustration was making itself evident in the carpenter's speech. "I mean, you're offering to give me back one of the things I've wanted most ... so why'm I not grabbin' it?"

Willow had no easy answers, but was keen to help. "D'you wanna talk about it?"

A contemplative moment passed, then Xander shook his head. "I don't really know what to say," he explained with an apologetic shrug. "How long do I have to figure this out?'

She was quick to assure him. "Long as you want, I'm not goin' anywhere. I mean, some times are better than others for working on this," the witch brushed the details aside, "but that's just the doing. Take as long as you need."

Xander nodded and opened his mouth as though he were about to say something else, then closed it again without comment and headed for the stairs.

"If you wanna talk ..." Willow offered, watching him leave with concern.

Glancing over his shoulder, Xander smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Will."

He continued out of the room, and the echo of his footsteps reached where Willow stood, watching him with a perplexed frown.

The glow from Faith's cigarette was almost obliterated by the pale, unnatural light cast down from the streetlamps that lined the sidewalk. She was seated atop a pile of crates, dumped in front of the fence surrounding a vacant lot. Faith stared absently at the three-story abandoned building across the street. In its prime, it appeared to have possibly been a warehouse of some sort, but its prime had long since passed, and while the building seemed stable, it was undeniably derelict.

The Slayer didn't bother to glance up as a figure approached her and silently stood nearby, for a minute or two. "I knew you'd come here eventually," Roxi stated with a hint of pride for her deductive skills.

"Got me all figured out, huh?" inquired Faith in a flat tone that very clearly stated her opinion on the matter.

Roxi tilted her head to the side and gnawed absently on her thumbnail as she considered Faith. "Not totally," she admitted. "Still not sure why you think you're here."

That earned her a chuckle, and Faith took a drag from her cigarette. Still, she remained focused on the building and had yet to visually acknowledge the girl's presence. "Why I think I'm here," she repeated, a laugh in her voice.

Shrugging, Roxi nodded. "Well yeah. Cuz I'm pretty sure I know the real reason, just don't know what you're telling yourself."

Without being asked, the girl tugged her jacket closer around her bony shoulders and settled down on one of the crates at Faith's feet. She gazed up at Faith, looking rather like an adoring subject at her ruler's throne.

"Bum a cig?" she asked.

"Shouldn't smoke at your age," responded Faith, the words coming out more automatic than derived from any true aversion to the young girl's nicotine habit. Roxi didn't see fit to grace the comment with one of her own, and simply continued to stare at Faith. The Slayer reached into her jacket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros, shaking one free and offering it to the girl. The cigarette plucked free, Faith followed up with her lighter, her thumb easily bringing the flame to life. For the first time, the Slayer beheld the girl, watching as Roxi set the paper in the fire and inhaled deeply.

Faith released her thumb, and the flame died once more. She easily slipped it back into the depths of her jacket and the two were content to smoke in silence, only the distant sounds of traffic breaking the stillness of the night.

"Not gonna ask me why you're here?" broached Roxi.

Puffing out her lungful of smoke, Faith replied, "Still figuring it out myself."

"You mean hiding."

"You always this annoying?" shot the Slayer, glaring at the younger girl.

Roxi grinned at Faith's reaction, but didn't answer the question. Instead, she took another long drag and blew the smoke in the direction of the abandoned building that had so completely captured Faith's attention. "The girls tried for a while. After you suddenly got all high and mighty and left with Mary Poppins."

The news was received without obvious impact. "What happened?"

"I only know what Renee bitched about," Roxi explained, reporting the details in an almost bored tone. "Pretty much seemed like nobody could agree on what to do next. There was some screamin', some hair pullin', and finally everyone just said 'Screw this' an' went their own way. Most vanished soon after, you know how that is."

Faith acknowledged only with a nod.

"Might come back, though." Roxi brightened, seeming hopeful for the first time. "Now you're here. An' that IS why you're here, y'know."

Unable or unwilling to suppress an eye roll, Faith sighed. "You're not gonna let it go until you've spilled it, so go ahead." She waved her hand indulgently. "Enlighten me."

"You're not happy," the girl responded immediately, leaning forward in her makeshift chair, the forgotten cigarette dangling from her fingertips. "Where you went. You can't be, else you'd sure as hell be there an' not here." Straightening again, the girl spoke with strength and unwavering conviction. "But here's where you belong. On these streets, doin' whatever you want, whenever you want."

"Life's not all about doin' whatever you want."

"No, only the parts worth livin'."

The Slayer looked weary as she shook her head. "It's not that simple."

Giving Faith's words carefully consideration, Roxi shrugged. "Seems like it to me. Maybe some people get the best stuff handed to 'em, but not us. We gotta do the best we can with what we got. Make things better for us." For emphasis, she jerked a thumb toward herself.

"There's more people'n just us to worry about," pressed Faith, continuing to debate but lacking the passion exhibited by the younger girl.

Openly scoffing, Roxi flicked her cigarette ashes to the ground, all but sneering at Faith. "So that's what you are now? Some great people-helper? That somehow make it better that not one'a them gives a crap about you?"

When the Slayer didn't answer, Roxi smirked, a self-satisfied expression that would make a compelling argument for being slapped. "Good comeback."

Faith didn't rise to the bait. "Helpin' other people ... It's got its own reward." Again, her words sounded automated, like the Slayer had been programmed with a select group of responses and was simply regurgitating them on command.

"Very convincing," the girl remarked, her sarcasm blatant. "Say it a few thousand more times, y'might even start believin' it." Taking a final pull on the cigarette, Roxi rose to her feet and flicked the butt over the fence into the vacant lot. "Thanks for the cancer," she called over her shoulder as she walked away, leaving Faith to her contemplations.

In the training room of Slayer Central, large squadrons of girls dominated almost the entire area, overseen by several Watchers. Giles hovered on the fringes of the apparent pandemonium and glanced nervously at his clipboard.

"Chaos," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"Ah, but organized chaos," corrected a young auburn-haired Watcher standing on his left.

Giles frowned.

"But still chaos," admitted the Watcher with a rueful grin.

Giles raised his voice so as to be heard above the commotion of shuffling feet and animated conversation. "Girls," he ventured then, more loudly, "Girls!"

Several dozen pairs of expectant eyes turned in his direction.

"Um...yes," he flashed what he hoped would be a charming smile. "All of you scheduled for the 11:00 a.m. class with Mr. MacDonald, please assemble in this corner." He gestured toward the red-headed Watcher who promptly waved a fistful of folders into the air.

"11:00 a.m.," boomed Mac. "Staff weaponry, over here!" His voice carried easily over the incessant chatter and about fifteen trainee Slayers rushed to form a line. He grinned at their eager young faces and a couple of them blushed. There were mutterings of, "He reminds me of Danny Bonaduce, you know, 'Partridge Family'," followed by protestations of, "Well, I think he's kinda cute." Mac continued to grin.

"Erm, yes," said Giles peering over the rims of his glasses, "Thank you, Mac." He turned his attention back to the group. "Those scheduled to be in the meeting to discuss schooling alternatives, over here with Ms. Bartrum!"

Approximately half of the remaining assembly moved to a corner of the room. Visibly far from enthusiastic about their upcoming assignment, the girls gathered in an untidy circle around the petite brunette wearing a tailored suit and sporting functional low-heeled shoes. Turning sharply, she led her reluctant students from the room. They followed slowly in ragged single file.

Entering the training room, Kennedy watched them go and chuckled to herself before making her way to where Giles was standing, clipboard hanging limply from his hand. She quirked an eyebrow. "Y'know," she began, "I've been meaning to ask why you thought it'd be a good idea to restructure everything, like ... now."

Giles blinked and then stared for a moment, obviously still lost in thought. "Oh, Kennedy!" he said as the face registered. "Uhm, good morning, how are you?"

"Not in the mood for small talk," came the curt reply before she returned to her previous question. "So why now?"

Giles sighed. "Logistics, mostly. We knew that our previous arrangements weren't quite working out under the weight of all the Slayers we were bringing in, and since it will be at least another week before we're ready to resume admissions, this seemed an opportune time."

Kennedy shrugged. "Suppose it makes as much sense as anything else going on these days,"

Through the doorway, a Watcher clutching yet another clipboard surveyed the room with confusion before spotting Giles. Tall and wiry with a decided spring to his step, he bounced purposefully in Giles' direction.

"Mr. Giles," he called, waving to attract attention. "Mr. Giles, there's a problem."

"Oh good," replied Giles with the slightest hint of sarcasm. "That's new."

"Indeed," confirmed the newcomer, nodding cheerfully and obviously immune to all variations of irony. "It appears that two of my classes conflict: I have swordsmanship at 11:00 and archery at 11:30, but both have been allotted an hour."

Irritated, Giles tapped a pencil on his own master schedule. "Dammit, they assured me they'd worked all this out." His eyes searched the room. "Spencer!"

Kennedy peered over Giles' shoulder. "I'll do it," she volunteered.

"Spencer!" yelled Giles again and then turned to the Slayer. "You'll do what?" he asked.

"The archery class," Kennedy told him firmly. "Actually pretty much what I wanted to talk to you about anyway."

Giles dismissed the agitated Watcher with a tired flick of his wrist. "All right then Preston, you stick with swordplay."

Beaming, Preston bounded toward the door, rounding up his small army of wannabe fencers along the way.

Shaking his head, Giles turned back to Kennedy. "Are you certain? You're already taking on a lot as it is. With your own classes, simulations and patrols ..."

Kennedy laughed. It was a hollow sound. "I'm sure. I mean, what else am I gonna do? Sit in my thoroughly depressing, lonely room and stare at the walls I can't be bothered to decorate?"

Giles forehead creased a little with concern. "Just because your relationship with Wil-"

The Slayer quickly held up a hand, effectively stifling any further conversation on that point. "Don't. I mean ... I appreciate what you're saying ... or, well, what you'd say if I let you ... but I don't wanna talk about it right now." Embarrassed, she shrugged her shoulders. "I've sorta moved to the 'angry' stage."

"So I see," came the reply. "Well, if you do ..."

Kennedy nodded. "Got you on speed dial. So, that's one more hour killed outta my day. What else you got for me?"

Giles contemplated the question for a moment. "Oh, well ... We are thinking about instituting some sort of classes or seminars on leadership ..."

"Yeah, cool," agreed an uninterested Kennedy, peering closer at the clipboard in the Watcher's hand. "Anything where I can hit stuff?"

Giles slowly lowered the syllabus until it was hidden from the Slayer's view. "Uhm ... Yes. Let's- Let's see how you do with what you've got now, and we can perhaps discuss expanding next week, hm? A-And do please try not to injure the girls too badly."

Kennedy jogged lightly from one foot to the other, "I'll do my best," she promised. She sprinted toward the waiting group, who brightened considerably upon realizing she would be their instructor. "Okay maggots – archery, 11:30, let's line up, people!" she ordered. The group collectively grinned.

Wincing, Giles rubbed vigorously at his forehead as a well-built man, who could have been cast from the same mould as an NFL defensive linebacker, strode toward him. The three-piece business suit looked odd on his large frame, odd but somehow not necessarily out of place.

"I was told you bellowed for me, sir?" he queried. His voice was deep, but soft and rather soothing.

"Indeed I did, Spencer," said the Watcher wearily. "We need to make note that Kennedy will be taking over Preston's 11:30, since he appears to have lost the ability to clone himself."

Spencer scrutinized his own clipboard and then grimaced. "Oops. Sorry sir, I thought we caught all those."

The Watcher settled his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Do another review. I think we have more than enough natural stress, no need to go out of our way to create more."

"Yes sir," concurred Spencer respectfully.

Slamming his pencil down on the clipboard, Giles shoved everything into Spencer's barrel chest. "And take over for a moment, would you? I believe I need a good not being here."

"Yes sir," replied the would-be linebacker, cradling the clipboard with exaggerated reverence. "Enjoy the momentary breath of sanity." He watched Giles leave the room and then swiftly reviewed the checklist before resuming the task of organization.

Outside the door, Giles sighed heavily and marched down the hall. He paused, made to turn left and then went straight on. At the next intersection, he veered right, but again changed his mind. He threw up his hands and then spun on his heel, bumping directly into Hannah who was making her way around the corner.

"Oh Hannah! Oh, I'm sorry," he muttered.

Hannah smiled. "Quite alright. I was just looking for you, actually."

Giles removed his glasses and began to polish them with a handkerchief from his back pocket. "Please do say you've come to take me away from all this."

"I have been saying that," smirked Hannah.

"Oh, yes, so you have," agreed the Watcher. "My push toward sarcasm isn't really working very well."

Hannah tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow and squeezed. "Come on, we need a cigarette break." She led him toward the entrance hall.

"I thought you quit?" accused Giles.

"I did," confessed Hannah, "I was talking about you."

"But I quit too," he insisted.

"Yes, but you look like you might want to start again very soon."

Chuckling, Giles allowed his ex-wife to escort him outside. They leaned comfortably across from each other on the large stone banisters lining the front staircase.

"So what is it?" queried Hannah, her tone gentle and somewhat concerned.

Giles sighed. "Oh, just ... stress. Chaos."

"Bureaucracy," snorted Hannah..

"Yes."

"I remember when you used to hate bureaucracy," she stated.

"And I remember when you first began to wear that exact style of clothing," retorted the Watcher. "Only it was in fashion then." He tilted his head and gestured at the flared hip-huggers and wide leather belt.

Hannah shrugged, obviously taking no offense whatsoever at the remark. "I like what I like. Find a thing that works for you and stick with it, that's what I always say." She grinned. "Admittedly, Carnaby Street isn't what it used to be, but if you know where to look ..." She extended her arms and twirled, before coming to rest with a hand against her hip. Fluttering her eyelashes, she struck a pose.

Giles laughed admiringly, "You really haven't changed."

"And you really have," replied Hannah regretfully. Then, she cocked her head and examined him from head to toe. "Or have you?" she mused. "Hmmm."

Giles coughed and inspected a cloud skittering overhead with intense interest. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he shuffled a little from side-to-side. Hannah sat down on the stone step and clasped her knees to her chin, content to silently observe his obvious discomfort.

"Truly as adorable as ever," she murmured to herself.

Xander sat behind his assigned table, one among dozens just like it that stretched down the breezeway of Trillium High. Each was occupied by another prospective local craftsperson, their creations on display for all to see. Numerous residents were browsing the tables and enjoying the pleasant weather on this crisp October afternoon.

Reaching out, Xander straightened the items on his table – small, beautifully carved boxes and toy wooden cars sat alongside incense holders, magazine racks, and other works of art that had originated from his workshop. Ducking momentarily under the table, Xander opened the toolbox at his feet, which had been commandeered and transformed into a till. From the look of the cash inside, the fair was being good to him.

Checking to make sure he had plenty of change, Xander moved to the box behind him and pulled out a few more items to supplement those on table. He retrieved an incense boat with a cute little carved dragon on one end to hold the stick, and turned back to table, only to jump when he realized he wasn't alone.

Dawn's friend Virginia was standing there, as close as physically possible to the carpenter without crossing the imaginary border between seller and customer. Her hands were clasped in front of her and she was wringing them nervously, but a delighted and thoroughly enamored smile was plastered on her face. Now she had Xander's attention, it seemed the tiny blonde didn't know what to do, and for the briefest moment it looked as though she might suddenly turn tail and run. But instead, she raised her hand, jerking it upward in a mechanical motion and then just as rapidly dropping it again. "Xander! Hi!" she blurted out in a shrill voice.

"Ginny!" Xander responded, blinking in surprise. "Good to see you. You're looking very truant-y today."

Virginia laughed. And laughed. And then laughed some more. It was high-pitched and unsettling. People began to glance in their direction. Unable to do much more than stare, Xander's expression was trapped just on the pleasant side of horrified.

Winding down first to giggles and then a long, contented sigh, Virginia stared at Xander adoringly. "You're so funny."

Smirking, Xander set the incense boat on the table and rearranged the display to accommodate it. "Yeah, me an' Carrot Top, we'll be takin' the world by storm any day now, just you wait. Seriously, though, I thought you had class."

The blonde sheepishly raised the bathroom pass clutched tight in her hand.

"Ahh, the old 'Pass and Play'." The carpenter nodded his approval. "I know it well."

Blushing, Virginia shuffled her feet, stealing the occasional glance at Xander. "Dawn told me you were here but whenever I passed by earlier you had some many people around and I wanted to see you. And have you see me. So we could see each other." The girl erupted into peals of nervous laughter, startling an elderly woman a few booths away who was browsing a table of afghans.

"Ha-ha ... Yeeeah."

"So, you've been busy?" she asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet and peering at him with interest. "Selling lots of stuff?"

Xander nodded and smiled proudly. "I have, actually, which is doing wonders for my already fragile self-esteem. I'm actually out of ducks, and that is a phrase I never thought I'd hear myself say."

Virginia laughed again, far too loudly, and then the noise finally echoed back to her and she seemed to realize just how creepy it sounded. She stopped short, much to everyone's relief. "Sorry," she hastily apologized.

Xander smiled again, reassuring the embarrassed girl. "No problem. This isn't too bad for my self-esteem either."

The expression that blanketed Virginia's features was bright, glassy, and utterly smitten. "You have the most gorgeous eyes," she murmured, then her face fell, not just from the realization that she'd spoken aloud, but also from her word choice. "Eye!" the blonde spluttered, hastily correcting herself. "Oh, god!"

Renewing her hand-wringing, it seemed quite possible that she would twist her fingers off completely if left to her own devices. She was totally stricken, and only began to calm when Xander smiled at her gently.

"Hey, it's okay. I have it on good authority that all the gorgeousness simply shifted into one eye." He jerked his head to the right, indicating the side without the patch, then shrugged. "Okay, so it was my authority, but it was good."

Visibly relaxing, Virginia giggled, genuine this time and thankfully not so scary. A moment later, her mood shifted again, and she suddenly found her feet intensely interesting. "Do you ..." Gnawing her bottom lip, the blonde tried again. "After school, do you ... doyouwannagogetaburgerwithme?"

The words spilled out in one jumbled rush, and it took Xander a second to decode the message received. All the while, Virginia regarded him hopefully. Both were far too engrossed to pay much attention to the young man who had approached from the side, his interest having been ensnared by a beautiful end table standing among several larger items the carpenter had for sale.

Once the question was unscrambled, Xander's eye widened. "That's ... very Lolita of you," he smiled uncomfortably. "How's about you, me, Dawn, and any number of your friends who can all act as able-bodied witnesses get a pizza in a crowded, well-lit establishment instead?"

Giggling again, Virginia nodded enthusiastically and bounced once. "See you after school!" she called out, as she prepared to leave.

"Bring a hankerin' for all the tomato-cheese bread you can muster," Xander advised, earning him a broad smile before the blonde jogged to the main school building.

Free from the awkward, if flattering, attentions, Xander noticed the potential customer closely examining his end table. The man had an olive complexion and short, straight black hair with dark, intelligent eyes. He had a definitive exotic appearance to him, doubtless heightened by the blue silk shirt he wore tucked into a pair of pressed black slacks. The man exuded an air of someone used to the finer things in life.

"Hey," Xander nodded in greeting.

"Hi," the man replied with a charming smile. He gestured to the wooden items that surrounded Xander. "Did you create all these yourself?" Interestingly, he didn't appear to carry an accent, although the precise crispness of his words hinted that English was not his native language.

Grinning proudly, Xander stated, "Yup. Just me, a pair'a hands, an' the best power tools someone else's money can buy."

With a chuckle, the man ran his fingers along the edge of an elaborate jewelry box set out for display. "I'm impressed. You're very good."

"Thanks. Just your average, run of the mill, genius."

"Genius, huh?" he repeated with an amused expression.

Xander shrugged and spread his hands. "Or, well, person of somewhat average ability. But 'genius' has a much more impressive sound."

Further amused, the man extended his hand to Xander with a warm smile, his fingers long and tapered like a piano player. Xander's, by contrast, were large and calloused from years of hard work – both of the construction and Slaying variety – but the two shook firmly.

"Banan," the man introduced. "Henry Banan. I own a shop downtown, The Bazaar."

Still smiling in a friendly fashion, the carpenter's expression was devoid of recognition. "Uhh, okay."

"And that blank look on your face would be why I'm renovating," smirked Banan, not offended in the slightest. "I'm considering branching out a bit ... and I think you might just be what I'm looking for."

Faith was walking through the darkened streets, not seeming to have any specific goal in mind, when the sound of shattering glass echoed through the night and brought the Slayer up short. Instinctively, she turned around to investigate, tracing the noise to a local music store. The front window had been kicked in, and a figure could be seen inside, though the details were obscured by shadows. Whoever it was, they didn't appear to be in any hurry, casually perusing the rows of CDs and selectively stuffing the odd one or two in into pockets.

Silently, Faith climbed in through the window and observed the figure for a moment, a smirk forming on her lips at the brazen and unhurried attitude. "What, the new Christina Aguilera album out already?" Faith inquired casually. "Nobody told me."

Startled, the figure jumped and spun around, suddenly illuminated by a nearby streetlight. Faith rolled her eyes. "And somehow, I'm not surprised. The hell you doin'?"

Roxi's eyes had widened automatically at the sound of someone else's voice, but as soon as she saw it was Faith, she visibly relaxed, her manner returning to its usual flippancy. "Gettin' some new tunes, the hell you doin'?"

"Seriously thinkin' about stompin' your ass," the Slayer replied, narrowing her eyes threateningly.

"Right, cuz this?" Roxi spread her arms wide to encompass the store. "Nothing you'd ever do. C'mon." Glancing at the rack next to her, the girl grabbed a CD and waggled it in the air. "A little Primus makes everything better."

The brunette wasn't remotely impressed, and she shook her head disapprovingly. "I know CD prices are mad crazy now, but this is kinda extreme, don'tcha think?"

Returning to her browsing, Roxi leisurely wandered through the aisles, looking for all the world like a casual shopper. She sneered derisively at Faith's chastising. "There was a sale. I couldn't resist."

"C'mon, let's go," urged Faith, jerking her head toward the broken window behind her. "Put the stuff back, an' let's get outta here."

Flipping through the CDs, Roxi grabbed one and turned it over to examine the track listing. She didn't grant Faith the courtesy of even a glance as she responded, "Oh, sure. Then I can leave a big 'Sorry, my bad!' note about the window and we go to the five and dime for a milk shake." Stuffing the case in her pocket with the others, Roxi examined Faith critically, a disappointed frown on her face. "What's happened to you, Faith? You so miserable you gotta ruin everyone else's time?"

The Slayer gestured to the store. "This is a good time, huh?"

"Works for me."

A police siren erupting into the silence caused both to jerk their heads toward the window. It was rapidly approaching, and very obviously heading straight for them. Wearing a knowing expression, Faith turned to Roxi. "How 'bout bein' cellmates with Big Bertha, think that'll work for ya too?"

Roxi winked as she grabbed yet another CD and shoved it into her bulging pockets. "They gotta catch me first."

The girl zipped past Faith and jumped dexterously through the empty windowpane, hitting the street at a run, soon disappearing from sight. Faith stepped back into the shadows as the police car, sirens wailing, shot by the window in the direction Roxi had taken. Faith watched it drive past, remaining cloaked in the darkness.

By contrast, Roxi was not hidden at all, and looked very much like she wished she were. Taking a corner sharply, the small brunette was not the fastest runner, but she had a feline grace and was obviously no stranger to similar situations.

The alley she found herself in was narrow – far too narrow for a car to squeeze through. The vehicle came to a screeching halt at the entrance, and two officers, a man and a woman, leapt out. Without hesitation, they ran down the alley after the girl.

Like a twisting corridor, the alley was long and branching, and Roxi ducked down the first left she came to, knowing the police officers were rapidly closing in. "Silent alarms," Roxi muttered to herself between pants. "It's always the damned silent alarms."

Casting her gaze all around, Roxi spied an opening that had likely held glass once upon a time, and dove through it. She found herself in an abandoned building, but to her dismay, could find no back exit. Realizing she was trapped, Roxi looked around frantically, seeking some way out of this situation, but there was none. Her eyes wide and frightened, she turned back to the window, just as the officers' silhouettes filled the opening.

"Shi—"

The girl's curse was broken off by the shattering sound of glass breaking. A bottle had been thrown with unerring accuracy, impacting with the brick wall over the cops' heads, showering them with glass fragments but causing no real damage. Shocked, the police officers spun to where the bottle must have come from, their gazes drifting up to the rooftop of the two-story building behind them.

A figure stood, hands on hips, glaring down defiantly. "Oink oink," it called out, before executing a spectacular flip from the roof, landing solidly on the ground below. The officers stared dumbly at Faith, who strode forward, oozing confidence and danger. She remained well out of reach, but close enough so they could easily hear her.

Clutched in Faith's grasp were a handful of CDs. As the police officers looked on, dumbfounded, Faith began to sort through them, off-hand and almost bored. "Robbie Williams," she read. "Ugh." She flicked it over her shoulder, the plastic case clattering to the ground and echoing down the narrow passage. "Evanescence. Way overplayed," she confided, tossing it to the side carelessly. Examining each of the remaining discs in her hand, Faith declared, "Crap. Crap. And crap." Each case was dropped without regard.

Sighing despondently, Faith regarded the officers, shaking her head. "Dunno. Popular music? Does nothin' for me. Maybe the Tower Records down the block's got a better collection, what'cha think?"

The cops, who had been staring at Faith this entire time, locked in a dumb stupor, simultaneously rushed the Slayer. She grinned and easily backed out of their grasp.

"That's the spirit," she breathed, smiling in a moment of pure delight before spinning and running in the opposite direction, the officers right on her heels. Roxi emerged from the abandoned building and grinned.