Another morning, another breakfast, with even Dawn in attendance this time. A newspaper lay next to Willow, mostly forgotten, and nobody was actually eating – instead, all attention was focused on the scowling contest between combatants Dawn and Buffy Summers. Buffy was winning, in spite of the fact that she was clearly exerting three times the normal amount of energy simply to keep herself awake.

"Doesn't matter," Buffy stubbornly insisted, her arms crossed over her chest. "I want to meet him."

Anxious for some sort of escape route, Dawn looked to Xander and Willow, but she found no support for her case. Instead, both seemed to be in complete agreement with the Slayer. Quickly realizing she was being forced into a corner, Dawn glanced back to Buffy nervously. "Okay, fine, but ... Don't scare him off? Please?"

"I promise only not to maim."

Dawn began fretting on the spot.

"Visibly," Buffy added, sending her sister straight down the path to a nervous breakdown.

Xander was quick to jump in and soothe the frazzled teen's nerves. "She's joking." Dawn turned back to the blonde, finding nothing at all of a jovial nature in the expression there. With a whimper, Dawn cast a pleading look at Xander, who patted her hand assuringly. "She's joking." Buffy simply huffed audibly and sipped her juice as Xander continued. "We just wanna meet the guy who's claimed our little Dawnster's heart."

Dawn obviously felt secure enough again to be snarky. "It's a date, not a betrothal, geez."

"And make sure it stays that way," Buffy grumbled.

Willow leaned forward, settling into the tried and familiar mode of girl talk. "So where's he gonna take you?" she inquired excitedly.

"I don't know," replied Dawn with equal excitement. "He said somewhere different." Catching Buffy's look, she added, "Though I'm sure it's well lit and chaperoned."

Clasping her hands together, the redhead gazed at Dawn with a loving expression that was leaning heavily on the ‘overly dramatic' side. "Our Dawnie's first date! You're growin' up so fast!" With a gasp, Willow suddenly exclaimed, "Oh! Pictures! We have to have pictures! Lots of pictures!"

The teenager's eyes flew open, and she looked as though she was trapped by insanity on all sides. She completely missed the huge wink Willow shot at Xander, instead doing her best to shift the focus of attention away from her and the numerous ways she could be humiliated. "What about Buffy? I'm not the only one with a date tonight."

"Don't worry. I'll be snappin' pics of her and Jacob too," confirmed Willow.

The expected onslaught of protest never arrived, as Buffy was too busy nodding off at the table to pay the conversation any further mind. Her cheek had slid halfway down her arm, but something inside finally snapped her back to attention, and the Slayer sat up straight in her seat. She blinked her eyes wide, trying to force them open.

Dawn leaned over to Willow, speaking in a whispered voice. "Can you get one now? It might make good blackmail material later."

Willow grinned and shooed Dawn toward the doorway.

"Fine, school for me. Jackie'll be here any minute." With a final semi-glare at her sister, Dawn left the room. Buffy's head was once again perched on her hand, her fist deeply embedded into her cheek and she was making every conceivable effort to remain conscious.

Xander studied the blonde carefully for a moment. His eyes still riveted on Buffy, he said to Willow, "You realize this is probably a sign of some sort of evil."

"Yeah, figured as much," agreed Willow with a nod. "Probably has something to do with this." She flipped the newspaper to the front page, revealing a headline that read, ‘Three More Victims of Mysterious Sleeping Sickness'. "There are seven cases reported total," the witch relayed, checking the paper to verify her facts. "It looks like it's localized to Trillium – of course – and so far it's only women who are affected."

Also reading the paper, though at an awkward angle, Xander huffed. "That's just discrimination. I want equal napping opportunity!"

Ignoring him, Willow continued to summarize the article. "The victims are falling into a coma-like state, but their vital signs are strong. They just aren't waking up." Sparing a glance at her watch, the redhead suddenly became alarmed and hurriedly began to gather her books together, shoving them deep within the confines of her backpack. "Anyway, I'll check it out later, do some research. We should probably mention it to Giles, just in case."

"On it," he replied.

Willow sprinted for the door. "Cool gotta run can't be late for class have a nice day I'll see you after school bye!" she shouted over her shoulder in one breath.

This left only Xander and Buffy. "So, Buff," the carpenter began. "Big dinner date with Willow's friend tonight ... Big lunch date with my friend Kyle tomorrow ... I bet'cha just feelin' the excitement."

He turned to Buffy. She was indeed feeling the excitement. She was feeling it so much, her head had slipped down and her face was resting mostly on her toast. She snored lightly.

Reaching out, Xander clasped a hand on Buffy's arm and shook, first gently, then with more gusto until the blonde jerked her head up. The toast remained stuck to her face for just a moment, then slowly peeled away and landed back on the plate with a crusty ‘thunk!' She was clearly disoriented and looked around in confusion.

"The main message I'm getting outta all this is ‘buy stock in No Doze'," commented Xander, giving her arm a concerned squeeze. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Buffy replied simply. "Tired."

"Wanna maybe go back to bed?"

Buffy shook her head then rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Uh-uh. Not in the mood for more scenes from an after-hours Lifetime movie."

"Maybe it's like A Nightmare on Elm Street," Xander suggested helpfully. "Only with more silk and less murder."

"I think I'd almost prefer the murder," replied Buffy grimly. "At least that I'm somewhat familiar with."

"Most interesting."

Giles was seated behind his desk, carefully reading over the article that Willow had pointed out that morning. In one of the chairs across from him, Xander played with a miniature sword that doubled as a letter opener, pretending to be a foot-high Errol Flynn.

"Yup," the carpenter agreed, parrying an imaginary attack. "Very Sandman. What'dya think it is?"

"I'm not entirely sure," replied Giles with a frown. "It could be any one of a number of causes. A curse, a magickal creature, a late-night marathon of old ‘Twilight Zone' episodes ..." Grinning at his own small attempt at humor, Giles turned to Xander, only to find that he was alone in his merriment. Giles cleared his threat and returned to the article. "Right, well, at least the young ladies affected don't appear to be in any immediate physical danger. I'll get some of the staff on it right away."

"Okie-dokie." Xander finished his ‘battle' with a dramatic flourish, returned the letter opener to its proper place and rose to his feet. "If you need any help, just lemme know. I'll be in my workshop."

Setting the paper down, Giles glanced to Xander. "I've been meaning to ask how that was working for you. Do you have enough room?"

"Oh, yeah, plenty. I'm like Bob Vila in there. Only with no beard. Maybe I should grow one. What do you think?" Reaching out, Xander snatched the bushy black scarf that was draped on the coat rack by the door. He held it up to his chin and smiled charmingly, looking every bit a reject from ZZ Top. "Thick manly beard? Might be the key to a soaring victory or crushing defeat when I get the business goin'."

"I'd, uh ... I'd recommend holding off for the time being," advised Giles with a smirk. Shrugging, Xander returned the scarf . "When do you think you'll be ready to start?" the Watcher inquired.

Xander chewed on the question. "Ohhh ... A month or three? I'm workin' on some new designs now, buildin' up an inventory – Heh. I have an ‘inventory'. How cool is that?" The carpenter grinned at Giles like a little boy on Christmas morning, and Giles couldn't help but smile in return at Xander's enthusiasm. "Will's puttin' in double time on the website, so that'll actually be ready before I am. That's what happens when you draft an over-achiever, I suppose. But it's exciting."

"You know if you need any financial backing, or—"

"No, thanks." The reply was quick, but Xander held up his hand and explained. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer, G-Man, cuz I do. But ..." Shuffling his feet, Xander appeared embarrassed by his admission. "This is somethin' I wanna do myself. Web site aside, of course."

"Of course," Giles smiled understandingly.

"Gettin' the money together, makin' it all fly ... it'll be somethin' I can really be proud of, y'know?"

Studying Xander for a moment, the Watcher nodded, and Xander relaxed as he realized his rejection hadn't offended. Giles regarded Xander fondly. "Well I know that I'm certainly proud of you, so it stands to reason that you should be too."

Grinning again, Xander ducked his head, and it was apparent that he was all but bursting at the seams at Giles' approval. "Thanks," he said, smile evident in his voice. He reached for the knob behind him and pulled open the door open. "Anyway, I'm gonna head on over. Got a rockin' chair that can't rock yet, an' that's just sad."

Giles lifted the newspaper to read the article again, when Xander's spoke once more. "Oh, yeah, an' you might wanna stop off in the training room an' see Buffy."

"Buffy?" The Watcher frowned. "Why, what's wrong?"

"I think she may be comin' down with this ‘sleeping sickness' thing. She said she's been havin' some pretty strange dreams the past few nights, though. Might be linked."

The information was mentally filed away. "Yes, it may at that. Thank you, Xander."

"Sure thing." As the carpenter left the room, his voice trailed back, chatting to himself. "Maybe ‘The Wooden Nickel'? Hmmm ..."

The door closed with a soft click, and Giles studied the newspaper once more.

Giles strode into the private training room, obviously on the hunt for something or someone. He soon spotted his target. Buffy lay on a workout table designed for helping with sit-ups. Her positioning was perfect – feet underneath the provided supports, hands tucked behind her head. She gave every impression of an individual about to begin an intensive work-out. Were it not for the snoring.

Concerned, Giles crossed to his Slayer, peering down at her, but the blonde showed no signs of waking any time soon. "Buffy." No reaction. He tried again, louder and more forceful. "Buffy!"

With a start, Buffy jumped awake, managing very quickly this time to ascertain her surroundings. She immediately executed a sit-up. "Uhh ... one! ......hundred and sixty ... four." She coughed and cast a sidelong glance at Giles, as though checking to see if he was buying it, then performed another. "One hundred and sixty-five ..."

"Yes, I'm tremendously impressed," commented Giles dismissively. "Now what's going on?"

Sighing, Buffy laid back down, pulling her arms out from behind her head and lacing her fingers over her stomach. "I'm keeping in shape?"

"Xander tells me you're not sleeping well." Giles took a seat on the nearby weight machine and waited expectantly for an answer.

Buffy scoffed. "And you believe everything Xander tells you? So you really think that Furbies were demonic instruments of everlasting terror?"

"I've not entire discounted that theory," the Watcher replied dryly. "But regardless, when it comes to you, I believe Xander can be trusted."

Exhaling heavily, Buffy relented. "I've been having trouble sleeping the past few days. There've been dreams."

Giles leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Prophetic dreams?"

"I don't think so." Brightening considerably, she added, "But now that you mention it, I wouldn't mind a prophetic dream or two revolving around a Blaine Wilson knock-off instead of pain and horror. Would make a nice change."

Things were still a little too vague for Giles to follow. "I'm not sure I understand."

"The dreams. They haven't been ... terrible or threatening. Not in the typical sense, anyway." She emitted a short, humorless laugh. "Personally, that's a whole ‘nother issue." Giles shook his head, still not getting it, and Buffy flushed with embarrassment. "They're ... those kind of dreams. Sort of ... seductive."

"Oh." A moment passed, then Giles' eyes widened. "Oh. I see." Within an instant, his glasses had been whipped off and were being intently polished.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, fighting her discomfort in her own way. "Anyway, Willow and Xander seem convinced that it's just Repressed Buffy, and if I become a contestant on 'The Dating Game', all will be well."

"Their solutions are certainly ... inventive," responded Giles, replacing his glasses.

The Slayer crossed her arms, though the gesture lost some of its forcefulness given her odd position. "And pushy. They've already fixed me up." Turning to Giles, Buffy glanced at him hopefully. "I don't suppose now's when you could sort of regress back to your old hair-pullingly frustrating ways and forbid me from dating because it conflicts with my sacred duty?"

Giles smirked. "No. But I'm very much appreciating the irony of you asking me to do so."

"Humph."

"Speaking honestly, however, I think this is a good idea. Now that you no longer have to bear the burden of being the only Chosen One, you should feel free to enjoy life outside of this place," advised Giles, waving his hand to indicate Slayer Central.

Buffy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Just like you, oh workaholic?"

Puffing himself up, the Watcher adopted an air of exaggerated indignity. "I'll have you know that I had a dinner engagement just last night."

"Okay, so now you're dating more than me?" she boggled. "My lameness must be stopped."

"That's the spirit," he encouraged, then frowned as all the words sunk in. "Sort of."

"Besides," Buffy continued, turning her head toward the ceiling, "even Dawn has a date tonight. I can't let my little sister become more social than me. The need to kill her would become unbearable."

"Dawn is dating now?"

Pushing herself upright, Buffy turned to face Giles with an incredulous expression. "Oh, yeah, totally. Some guy from school asked her out and everything. Doesn't that just blow your mind? It seems like only yesterday we were on the run from an insane brain-sucking hellgod who wanted to use Dawn to bring about the apocalypse." She sighed wistfully. "Is this the little Key I carried?"

This seemed to cement a further concern for Giles, and he regarded Buffy carefully. "Are you certain these dreams aren't more serious?"

"As certain as we ever can be. Which, I guess – no." Buffy shrugged. "But I feel fine. Just that I've been cast as Rip Wan Winkle." She flashed her most reassuring smile at Giles. "I'll take a little siesta this afternoon and I'll be fine. Now come on." Reaching out, the blonde playfully nudged his knee with her foot playfully, a wicked smile appearing on her lips. "Help me think of ways I can embarrass Dawn tonight."

Xander's workshop was a fine specimen of just what a workshop should be. If it had it parents, they would have been very proud. The wall opposite the door was laden with tools of every possible variety, and the right-hand corner was inhabited by all manner of electric devices that would have come with warning labels. Workbenches were scattered around at easily accessible intervals, each dotted with wooden treasures in various stages of completion. Just to the left of the entrance was a long table that contained rows of finished items, all varnished to a beautiful sheen. Above them, on a shelf that was undoubtedly homemade, rested a small stereo currently blaring a strong but odd beat into the room.

Before the wall o' tools, Xander was working on carving a design into the rudder for the not-yet-rocking chair that stood nearby. Engrossed, he sung to himself as he carved. "Know your chicken. You got to know your chicken," he intoned with an outrageous and probably insulting accent.

He failed to notice as Sonja, the Junior Slayer who had arrived not long ago from Sweden, entered the room. "Hey Xander," she greeted cheerfully.

Startled, Xander jumped and spun around to the door. "Sonja! Hey there."

The blonde indicated the work-in-progress with her chin. "Am I interrupting?"

"Nothin' vitally important," the carpenter assured. "Little bit of carving. Just giving it my awl." With a pleased grin, Xander lifted the tool into sight, but rather than echoing amusement, Sonja simply frowned in confusion. Hastily, Xander shoved the awl into his tool belt. "Tool humor. It's specialized now, but just you wait – it'll be sweeping the country any day now." He spoke with complete authority, and that finally managed to net him the smile he was seeking. Crossing his arms in satisfaction, Xander asked, "So, what can I do for you?"

She stepped further into the room before answering. "Well, I have a little problem. I was hoping you could help." Her face was serious. "It's kinda important."

"Sure," responded Xander instantly. He reached to the side and grabbed two unvarnished stools setting one down in front of Sonja. He patted it invitingly. "Have a seat and tell the Xan-Man what he can do for you. I've got my ‘attentive and concerned' face all ready." Sitting on the other stool, the carpenter proceeded to demonstrate said face, his chin resting on his fist as he leaned forward.

Giggling, Sonja also sat down, folding her hands in her lap. She affixed an intent stare at Xander. "It's like this ... There's this movie out that I really want to see, but I don't want to go alone. And I was thinking you could help. By going with me. And we could get dinner, too, because food is important," she added almost as an afterthought.

Initially, Xander only blinked. His face was still locked in ‘attentive and concerned' mode, which only made the puzzled look in his eyes all the more absurd. He summed up his reaction with, "Huh?"

Deciding that the direct route was the necessary one, Sonja cut straight to the chase. "Do you want to go out? Tonight? With me?"

"Oh." Xander straightened, an unreadable expression on his face. "That's ..."

Then he said nothing, choosing instead to consider the request. Which he did, very seriously, mulling it over and tilting his head to one side. Sonja waited patiently, her own features mostly blank, save a tinge of hope.

Finally, after what seemed a too-long stretch of time, Xander smiled, but it was regretful. "I don't think so. Not right now."

"It's my hair, isn't it?" queried Sonja as she grabbed several strands and then let them fall back onto her shoulder. "I knew I should've gotten it styled first."

"No, your hair's fine. It's nice. And it's nothing to do with you. It's all me." Sonja shook her head, not understanding. Settling further on his stool, Xander attempted to explain. "Not too long ago there was ... someone. Someone who meant a lot to me." He smiled fondly, and as he continued speaking, it was clear he'd forgotten for the moment that anyone else was in the room. "An' even though she was demanding, an' greedy, an' outspoken to the point where the word loses all meaning ... I loved her. I loved her up to the day she died. An' the part that gets me is, I don't think she knew."

Blinking his lone eye, Xander again became aware of his surroundings, and he smiled ruefully. "Anyway," he said to Sonja, "bottom line, I'm still workin' through some stuff. An' as much fun as dinner and a movie sounds, I'm just not ready."

Accepting this, the blonde rose, nodding her head in sympathy. She took a step toward the door, then turned back. regarding Xander thoughtfully. "I think she must've known," Sonja told him compassionately. "It seems quite obvious to me."

With that, she favored the carpenter with a pleasant smile, and then left him to his thoughts. Xander remained seated and contemplative for a moment, then stood and returned to his workbench. Instead of continuing to carve the rocking chair, however, he reached toward the back and brought forward a half-finished picture frame. Staring at it for a moment, Xander began to carve.

Once more, the carpenter became so engrossed in the task at hand that he failed to notice his new visitor. Almost anxiously, Andrew entered, looking perturbed. "Xander! I was looking for you everywhere!" the blond exclaimed, almost accusatorily.

"Well that's part of your problem, Andy, I can't be everywhere," came the smooth reply.

Andrew simply blinked, uncomprehending.

The answering sigh was weary and quite obviously lamenting a world that could never truly understand. "Unfunny Humor Brigade: 2; Xander Harris: 0." Shaking his head, Xander set down the picture frame and regarded Andrew. "What's up?"

"I have this little bitty problem. You're my only hope."

"I should start chargin'," grinned Xander, "I'll have enough money for this business in no time." Gesturing to the still-arranged stools, Xander reclaimed his seat. "What'cha need?"

Settling himself down, Andrew perched on the edge of the stool, his expression grave and serious as he steeled himself to deliver news of utmost importance. "I made a vow to myself that I would see Return of the King every third day until the movie was no longer being shown at a theater near me, and today's just such a day but ..." The blond was clearly distressed, and his voice took on a slight whine. "I don't have anyone to go with. I checked with the girls, but they're either not interested or seem to think that ‘I've seen it already' is a valid excuse." The dismissive wave of his hand indicated that in Andrew's world, such reasoning was nothing short of an incredible, unspeakable copout.

"You could, you know ..." Xander shrugged, "just go yourself."

"But that's so lame!" protested a vehement Andrew. Gnawing his bottom lip, he added, "Plus, I want someone to be there with me when Sam begs Frodo—" In a thoroughly unconvincing accent, overwrought with emotion, he delivered, "‘Don't leave me here alone. Don't go where I can't follow'—" He dropped the accent and ducked his head, embarrassed. "—because ... because I sometimes cry."

Xander was powerless to do anything but raise an eyebrow.

The blond quickly pointed out, "But mostly because it's lame." He cleared his throat, and sat up straighter. "So, will you go? Tonight? With me?"

Suddenly struck with an unpleasant parallel, Xander leapt to his feet. "Okay, now I'm officially disturbed." Smiling congenially, the stool safely between them, the carpenter shook his head. "Sorry, Andy. Got plans tonight. Big plans of the utmost importance."

The living room at the Scoobies' home was abuzz with frantic energy. Xander quickly strode in from the kitchen, carrying with him one of the high-backed, stiff-looking dining room chairs. He set it on the other side of the coffee table, across from the couch, twisting it by varying minute degrees to ensure its arrangement was just right.

Nearby, Buffy stood with her arms crossed, surveying the chair's positioning with equal scrutiny. Satisfied, she glanced over at her accomplices. "Now, do we have everything? It's got to be perfect."

"It will be," Willow reassured from her position on the couch.

Gesturing grandly, Xander indicated his handiwork. "Interrogation chair at the ready."

"Intimidating, baleful glare armed." To prove this statement, Willow performed the glare, just managing to pull it off.

Nodding her approval, Buffy continued to run down her mental checklist. "The tests?"

"Vampire's easy," replied the carpenter. "An' Will's cooked up some demon-energy testing thing."

With a smile, Willow held up a clear quartz crystal. "Right here. We just have to touch him with it," she explained, her tone showing she was pleased with her solution. "If he's rollin' in demonic energy, it'll zap him and glow this really pretty pink color. Sort of like- like a cross between flamingo and a nice fuchsia with juuuust a hint of orchid." The witch beamed.

Buffy reached out and took the offered crystal. "So ... pink, then," she summarized.

"Remember that spell," requested Xander of Willow. "When I start dating again, I think I'll need a few dozen."

Quickly moving things along, Buffy addressed the next item at hand. "Dawn?"

"She started gettin' ready about 45 minutes ago," Willow reported. "So if she's like you, we should be good for another half hour at least."

Xander absorbed the entire scene, then waved his hand at the coffee table. "D'you think we should maybe move that? Leave him open and defenseless?"

"Good idea." Effortlessly, Buffy lifted the table and everything on it, shifting it to the side of the room and out of the way. There was now only a vast empty space between the couch and the chair. Xander nodded his approval.

Just as Buffy turned around again, there was a knock at the front door. "Okay, he's here. Assume your positions," she commanded.

Willow straightened in her seat, tucking her hair behind her ears and adopting the glare she'd been practicing earlier. Xander took up residence on the opposite end of the couch, his features shifting into one similar to the redhead's. Buffy inspected the duo, and when she considered them sufficiently prepared, she strode to the door and tugged it open.

Grip stood on the front porch. His appearance was clean but casual with a pair of very baggy jeans that appeared new and a gray t-shirt bearing an unrecognizable design over a long-sleeved thermal shirt. He smiled charmingly at Buffy.

"Hey, Ms. Summers?" he greeted questioningly.

The Slayer simply stood there, very obviously appraising him.

"I'm Agrippa. Grip." At the complete lack of reaction, he cleared his throat nervously. "I'm, uh ... I'm here to take Dawn out?"

"Your hair," Buffy said flatly. "It's blue."

"Well blue's a pretty color," was the smooth response, followed by another charming smile.

Buffy was not charmed. She continued to level a stare at the boy as she held the door, her arm a barrier to the inviting warmth and comfort of inside.

Speaking with utmost politeness, but an undeniable touch of confusion, Grip asked, "Can I come in?"

"I don't know, can you?" the Slayer immediately challenged.

"Oooookay," he muttered amicably, and as Buffy took a step back, he easily crossed the threshold. Fully entering the foyer, he glanced around, and his gaze rested on Willow and Xander seated on the couch to his left. Once more Grip smiled, and entered the living room. "Hey." He lifted his hand in a half-wave. "I'm Grip."

In unison, Willow and Xander nodded, just the once and very stiff and formal. Grip frowned slightly, but remained in good spirits.

He jumped as Buffy appeared suddenly at his elbow. "Sit. I insist." Her tone brokered no room for discussion.

As he moved to the dining room chair, Buffy – keeping her eye on the boy at all times – took her place in the center of the couch. She, Willow and Xander sat shoulder-to-shoulder, a united front, each staring openly at Grip.

Grip, by contrast, was extremely isolated and looked small, despite the fact that at a little over six foot, he was not a tiny person.

Regardless of the unfamiliar oddness of the situation, the teenager was taking everything in a calm, easy-going stride. "Dawn's told me a lot about all of you," he began. Nodding to the redhead, he offered, "Willow, right?"

Rather than answer, Willow lifted an eyebrow, gazing at the boy with a haughty ‘maybe I am, maybe I'm not' expression, despite the fact that he was obviously correct.

Grip let it slide without comment, instead turning to the carpenter. "And Xander. We've met," he added. "How's your wood stuff coming along? I heard you pretty much sold out at the fair."

Smiling pleasantly, Xander was obviously pleased to have the topic broached. "It's doing really good, thanks. I'm workin' on savin' up money for my own bus—"

A sharp jab in the ribs, courtesy of an annoyed-looking Slayer, signaled the end of that conversation. Xander winced, and it took every effort for him to not clutch at his side. When he spoke again, it was obviously pained. "I mean—"

And with that, Xander said no more, simply taking on an unreadable expression similar to Willow's.

"So. ‘Grip'," began Buffy, placing an odd emphasis on the boy's nickname. "Where are you taking Dawn? My little sister Dawn?"

The inflection was obvious, but Grip was clearly becoming used to the tense atmosphere in the room by now, and was unphased. "I was thinking mini-golf," he replied.

Whatever plans the trio had been expecting to hear, this was clearly not it.

"Isn't it, like ... thirty degrees outside?" Willow questioned with a frown of complete disbelief.

"Yeah. I thought it'd make the water obstacles easier," the teenager replied with a straight face.

Once again, his response seemed to take the Scoobies off-guard, and they glanced at each other, uncertain of how to respond. As the situation threatened to lose momentum, Willow nudged the blonde, eyeing the crystal Buffy still had clasped in her hand.

Snapping to attention, the Slayer turned back to her sister's date. "Grip – Think fast."

With that, Buffy pitched the crystal straight at Grip's chest. He hands came up instinctively, and managed to snap around the crystal just as it impacted with his chest.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, and the three Scoobies leaned forward expectantly, tense and ready for his true demonic visage to unveil itself. They were unprepared for him to chuckle appreciatively. "That's some arm you've got, Ms. Summers. You should try out for our baseball team. With you around, maybe we wouldn't suck so bad."

With one hand, Grip rubbed the sensitive spot on his chest where he'd been struck, and with the other, he tossed the crystal back to Buffy. The Slayer checked it over, despite the obvious lack of glowy action, and quickly glanced at Willow. The witch shook her head, confirming that Grip was not demonic.

This didn't seem to afford the boy an easy ride, however, and Buffy leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees as she stared at Grip. "Make sure you take good care of her." The Slayer's voice was harsh, and the unspoken threat very plain. "She's very, very important to me."

Deliberately being as casual as possible, Xander handed Buffy a thick magazine, a left-over Sears' Wishbook from Christmas. Exercising the same nonchalant attitude, her gaze locked completely onto Grip, Buffy lifted the catalog and began to effortlessly rip it in two, spine first. "I like to keep the things important to me safe and in one piece," the blonde explained over the sound of slowly tearing paper.

"Guessing the magazine didn't make the cut, then," commented Grip in an attempt at levity.

The demonstration over, Buffy let the two halves drop to the floor and as she leaned back, Xander leaned forward, taking his turn. "See this patch?" he demanded, jerking his thumb towards the left side of his face. "If you think that looks all scary and macho, you should see what happened to the last guy that messed with Dawn."

Buffy twisted her head to stare at Xander as Willow peered around the Slayer to do the same. Both were entirely underwhelmed. Xander gave a little shrug, as though to say it was the best he could come up with. Grip watched the entire exchange, making a very obvious effort to stifle his rising amusement, and when he notice Xander's attentions returning to him, Grip very solemnly nodded his understanding.

All four looked up as the front door swung open, and Giles dashed into the house. "Am I late?" he panted anxiously. "Did I miss it?"

Glancing around, Giles quickly spotted the intimidation-in-progress, and his gaze narrowed upon sighting Grip. Whipping off his glasses, the Watcher strode forward, his demeanor changing with every step. The typical warm, comforting gentleness of Giles was replaced by something cold and harsh. His blue eyes frosted to steel, and when he stood next to Grip, he very literally towered over the boy. The Watcher had become someone to never, ever be crossed, and despite himself, Grip gave a small gulp.

"Dawn is very precious to all of us," Giles informed him. His voice was low and the tone soft but sharp as a knife's blade. Despite the volume, however, it was only too easy to hear both what was said and unsaid. "We love her like she were our own daughter." Giles took another step forward and while he smiled, there was nothing friendly in the gesture. "I suggest you treat her as though your life depended upon her happiness and well-being."

To his credit, Grip managed to not shrink away, but his eyes had widened slightly and it was evident he was taking Giles very, very seriously. For a moment, the Watcher continued to loom over the teenager, his point being made undeniably clear. Satisfied, Giles took a step back and turned to the others, slipping his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

"Can't stay, must dash," he told them, sounding every bit a bumbling ex-librarian. "Have a meeting and I'm already late. Have a good night everyone, enjoy your evening, Buffy."

Amidst smiles and waves, Giles made his departure as suddenly as his entrance. Again, Grip watched the odd scene unfolding before him, faint traces of a smile touching the corners of his lips. As soon as the door had clicked closed behind Giles, the Scoobies whirled back to Grip, their faces stony and devoid of emotion once more. Fully playing his part now, Grip's amusement vanished as well, and he turned expectantly to Willow as the last one left.

Pulling herself up straight and with an air of importance, the witch summoned forth her best daunting glower. "Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

Grip nodded somberly as the sound of feet clomping downstairs echoed in the room and within seconds, Dawn appeared at the entrance. Eyes wide, she took in the scene before her, and instantly connected the dots. "Oh my god!!" she cried, aghast. "Why don't you just bring out naked baby pictures to show him?!"

"Nah. I was an ugly baby," dismissed Xander with a wave of his hand. "Wouldn't wanna scare him."

Willow leaned over to Buffy and whispered, "Hey, she's early. Guess she's not just like you after all."

Dawn was locked in her worst nightmare, her eyes clenched tightly shut as though to deny the reality of the situation. "I could die. Right here. Right now. I could just die."

Smiling, Grip glanced over to Dawn. "I'd like to formally request you not," he said in a jovial tone, "since I got a hunch they might turn it into my fault."

Her eyes opened once again, but much to her dismay, the earth had swallowed neither her nor her family whole. "We are so out of here," Dawn announced, crossing her arms. "And then when it's time to come home? I think I'm gonna stay out there and become a street urchin."

Rising, Grip crossed to Dawn, but before he could reach her, she spun on her heel and stomped toward the door.

"We love you, Dawnie," chorused Buffy, Willow and Xander in a sing-song voice.

From the foyer, Dawn's dark muttering could only just be heard. "I could die," the teenager was insisting.

"Have fun," Buffy called out, knowing her sister could still hear her. "Be home by midnight. Be careful."

Dawn's answering grumble was inarticulate. As Grip went to join his date, he stopped in the living room entrance and turned back to the Scoobies. "It was great to meet you all. You were very intimidating, nice job."

The trio nodded and beamed at the compliment. Meanwhile, Dawn threw the door open and stamped into the night. Grip quickly followed, closing the door softly behind him.

From the couch, Buffy looked at her two best friends. "I think that went well," she declared cheerfully.

Outside, Dawn stood at the bottom of the porch steps, her arms crossed as she stared angrily at the clear night sky. Grip pulled the door shut and joined her. She didn't glance at him, instead keeping her head tilted upward as she closed her eyes painfully. "I can't believe they did that." Her teeth were clenched tightly. "I hate them."

"You shouldn't," commented Grip, his tone making it clear that he didn't consider the experience to be one that would scar him for life. "They obviously love you a whole lot. Polar energies colliding like that?" He shook his head gravely. "Bad juju."

Dawn's eyes drifted toward him, her expression apologetic. "I am so, so sorry. Next time we do this, we'll meet somewhere more friendly. Like, an abandoned building or the bus depot or a war zone or something."

"Next time, huh?" Grip grinned.

Immediately, Dawn began to flush scarlet, and she stammered, "Uhh, uh, I mean—"

But Grip had already moved on. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the house and smiled at his date. "I doubt they'll be like that next time. I tend to grow on people. Like athlete's foot." He paused before adding, "Less itchy, though."

Together, they began to walk down the front path and onto the sidewalk.

"Still," Dawn complained, although with considerably less venom than previously, "they shouldn't have acted like that."

"Nah, it's cool," Grip assured her. "You should see my family." He shook his head wonderingly. "My kid brother does stuff with mashed potatoes you gotta see to believe."

Meanwhile, inside the house, the gang moved efficiently to return the living room back to normal. Xander once again emerged from the kitchen, sans chair this time, and Buffy settled the coffee table back into its regular spot.

"So, you're off then?" Willow asked Buffy as Xander joined her on the couch.

Buffy tugged the furniture into place and sighed as she straightened. "Yeah, I guess so. I told him I'd meet him at 7:30. Don't wanna be late, I suppose." Her tone suggested she didn't suppose that at all, but Willow smiled encouragingly.

"It'll go great," she enthused. "Jacob's a nice guy, really. He's always so friendly and- and interested in everything when we talk." Nodding for emphasis, she added confidentially, "I gotta good feeling about this."

Xander was in ready agreement. "Absolutely! And if for some reason you don't like Jacob, just remember you've got Kyle all ready and willing to sweep you off your feet tomorrow."

Willow glared at the carpenter and he glared right back, both returning their attentions to Buffy as the blonde headed toward the door. Grabbing her coat from the rack, Buffy took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay. It's just a date," she said, giving her pep talk mostly to herself, though loud enough so the others could hear. "I've walked into hell itself. I've faced down some truly freaky stuff. I can handle a date."

Her friends nodded encouragingly, and Buffy whirled back to them with a look of pure panic. "What if I can't handle this?"

"You can handle this," Willow assured her in a calm voice. "You've done it before. It's easy. It's like fallin' off a log."

"Right." Buffy nodded. "Right. Logs. Falling. Okay." With another deep breath, she visibly steeled herself, opened the door and walked out, leaving Xander and Willow alone.

"So," the redhead began after a moment. "You an' me. Dateless in Seattle." She frowned. "Or, well, Trillium, whatever."

"That's okay, though," Xander hastened to point out. "Because we could both have dates."

Willow was in absolute agreement. "Completely. If we wanted them." She sniffed haughtily. "We just don't."'

"Dating scary," the carpenter agreed.

"So instead we'll ... Sit around here and ..."

They glanced around the room, searching for something to entertain. She chewed on her lower lip. He drummed his fingers on his thighs.

"Wanna go see a movie or somethin'?" suggested Xander after a minute had elapsed with no other suggestions.

"Sure as heck beats sittin' around here," Willow acknowledged.