The Surf 'N' Turf was a pleasant restaurant with a cheerful atmosphere – not too high-class for a respectable pair of jeans and decent polo, if such should be the outfit of choice. Buffy's date, however, had opted for something a little more formal. He wore a pair of dark twill Dockers and a powder blue linen shirt, complete with patterned silk tie, albeit that such was fastened loosely under his collar. It was apparent that Buffy had made some effort to dress in accordance with "first-meeting-sight-unseen" standards – a rather conservative black sweater with tiny pearls at the neck and cuffs, and matching black wool pants. Her face wore a tired expression but she was trying very hard to appear animated and lively. In one corner, close to the picture window, a piano player tickled unobtrusively on the ivories.

"So ..." said Jacob with a charming smile which lit up his baby-face, "You and Willow. Best friends, huh?"

Buffy nodded with as much enthusiasm as she could muster given her state of utter fatigue. "The best of best. Almost eight years now. I thought about upgrading her to a newer model, but her warrantee had expired." She grinned.

Jacob laughed. It was an honest sound with no hint of pretension. He shook his head in an almost disbelieving manner. "She's really something."

"That she is," Buffy wholeheartedly agreed. "A one-of-a-kind Rosenberg original."

"When she set this date up, she didn't really say a whole lot," mused Jacob doubtfully. "I hope this place is okay."

"Oh yeah. It's great," mumbled Buffy through a mouthful of breadstick. She waved it in the air for emphasis. "Good bread."

Jacob smiled. "Glad to hear it. Do you think it's the sort of place Willow would like?"

"Will?" the Slayer questioned, raising an eyebrow and appraising her surroundings. "If you can convince the piano man over there to trade in his Brahms for some Billy Joel, I don't see why not."

Jacob nodded sagely and seemed to file the information away for future reference. "Did Willow tell you anything about me?" he queried taking a sip of water, eyes watching Buffy over the rim of his glass. "Talk about me? At all?"

Buffy pondered the question for a moment before answering. "Well, she said you were nice and funny, a good listener ... Kinda geeky, but from her it's a compliment, trust me. You two know each other from school, I assume?" She plucked another breadstick from the plate.

"Yeah, we have Differential Equations together," he confirmed, eyes growing wide with wonder and admiration. "She's incredible. I've never met anyone so smart in my life." He threw Buffy an endearing grin. "And coming from the youngest of four egomaniac brothers who all graduated with top honors from either Harvard or MIT, that's saying something."

"I know her brain has rendered me speechless on many an occasion," Buffy chuckled in response.

Jacob rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward the Slayer with interest. "What about you? Where do you go to school?"

"Oh, I, uh ... I don't," Buffy shrugged, hastening to add, "So much. I-I mean I teach school ... sort of. There's lessons and homework ... Not really a final exam and you sorta take it pass/fail, but ..."

"Hey, it's all good," said Jacob encouragingly. "School's not for everybody, I get that. Looks like it is for Willow, though."

Buffy seized upon the change of topic. "Oh, totally. I think once Will graduates, she's just gonna go back and start all over again."

"A career student, huh?" Jacob nodded with approval. "Very cool. What about interests?"

"Oh, I like shopping, bad movies, foot massages, techno music, ice skating ... though I'll deny the last one with my dying breath," she replied in a mock confidential tone.

Jacob smiled indulgently. "I meant Willow."

For a moment, Buffy frowned. Then realization began to set in.

"Jacob ..." she began hesitantly, "you do know you don't really have a shot with Willow, right?"

Disappointment flashed briefly across his face. "But ... I'm nice and funny and a good listener ... And geeky, don't forget geeky," he added hopefully.

"Riiight," Buffy concurred slowly, "but ... you're not exactly her ... type."

Considering the statement thoughtfully, Jacob absent-mindedly rearranged his silverware. Somewhat at a loss for words, Buffy looked around the room. Her gaze rested upon the pianist who promptly treated her to a blatant wink. Rolling her eyes, she turned her attention back to her date, who still clearly didn’t understand her point.

"You know," she told him, trying to be delicate, "in the ... total package sense." She wiggled her eyebrows, obviously hoping the gesture would get her point across.

Confused, Jacob shook his head.

The Slayer blew out a puff of air. "Genderly speaking," she said bluntly.

His expression remained baffled, but only momentarily before the penny dropped.

"Ohhhhhhhh." His face visibly fell. "Damn."

Obviously uncomfortable with the situation of being on a date with someone who had no interest in her whatsoever, Buffy devoured yet another breadstick. She was reluctant to survey the dining room again in case she made eye contact with the piano player. On the other side of the table, Jacob was apparently fully digesting the recent revelation as he watched the ice melt in his glass of water. Suddenly, he brightened considerably, almost as though a delightful thought had just invaded his mind.

"So, you and Willow ... the best of best friends, huh?"

Wearily, Buffy massaged her aching temples and sighed.

Arm-in-arm, Willow and Xander entered The Common Grounds. The place was pretty busy, even for a Friday night, but they managed to locate a vacant spot. With a thoroughly pleased expression, Willow carefully deposited the books she was carrying onto the table. Xander regarded them with a look of faux irritation.

"We might'a made if you hadn't detoured," he grumbled.

"I know, but look!" The redhead gestured gleefully toward the neat stack. "This is vital research material. I had a thought the other day, about hypothetical basement universes and their creation theories? Given what we know about other dimensions and the most popular ideas regarding black holes, it could be possible to—"

"I really wanted to see Stuck on You," interrupted the carpenter grumpily. "A feel-good comedy about an unfortunate physical deformity. It's destined to be a classic."

Willow rolled her eyes and patted his shoulder in commiseration. "We'll catch the next one."

Xander shrugged and then his face brightened. "I got asked out on a date for tonight," he announced.

"Geez, been that kinda week, huh?" Willow grinned and Xander grinned right back. "As you are choosing to spend your time in the company of me and not some fetching young starlet," the witch continued, "I'm guessin' you said no?"

Xander's expression was reflective. "Yeah. I thought about it though ... an' now I feel sorta guilty for thinkin' about it. That make sense?"

Willow could empathize entirely. "Only too well. You're probably gonna feel guilty for considerin' it for a while." She chuckled. "Just wait ‘til you actually go on one. Whoo, and the first-time-after-sex guilt? Yowza."

"Feelin' better about this already," declared the sardonic carpenter. "Glad we talked."

The redhead punched his arm. "Don't be all grouchy, I'm just bein' honest."

"I know," apologized Xander. "Sorry. I'm just ... I don't know what to do. It's like ... I wanna meet someone else, but I don't."

Willow smiled a little sadly. "Anya wouldn't have wanted you to stay alone forever." She noted Xander's mildly accusing look. "She might've said that, but she didn't really mean it, you know that," the witch assured.

Xander sighed. "I suppose."

"No suppose, it's true." insisted Willow. "I'd like to tell you the guilt an' stuff'll just vanish overnight, but it doesn't work that way. It'll get manageable, though. You just gotta remember, they'd want us to meet someone. It's not a betrayal."

"An' you make a convincing argument, still bein' single an' all," retorted the carpenter dryly.

The redhead smirked. "I give good advice, never said I could take it. Seriously, if you wanna date again, you should, Xander. Really. A-An' if you're not ready to yet, that's okay too."

"This social stuff's hard work, isn't it?" He blew out an exasperated puff of air.

"Sorta puts fightin' evil in a whole new perspective. One thing I learned about love, though? It always comes along when you least expect it." Willow smiled encouragingly.

Xander nodded and got to his feet. "Gonna go get us an order. Usual?"

"Yes please," beamed the witch, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

She watched Xander's retreating back for a moment and then cracked open one of the super thick books she'd just purchased. Quickly becoming engrossed, she swiftly ran a forefinger along the lines of text. Consequently, she failed to notice that her reading material had attracted the attention of a rather pretty young woman seated at the next table.

The woman ruffled her short dark hair and set her gold-rimmed glasses more firmly on the bridge of her nose. Peering through the somewhat thick lenses, she was intent upon the content of the book and then her gaze traveled to the reader. Tentative at first, the brunette took a deep breath and then approached Willow's table, where she stood hesitantly. The absorbed witch didn't realize anyone was there until a soft voice interrupted her study. "Hi."

Startled, Willow looked up and instinctively inserted a finger into the book to mark her place. Her responding smile was friendly. "Oh. Hey?"

"Sorry to bother you," the brunette began. "I just couldn't help but notice what you were reading." She tilted her head to catch the title – Cosmological Physics. "Are you ...?"

The redhead pooh-poohed the implication. "Oh, well, I'm pretty much just a novice. But it's fascinating. I've been toying around with some thoughts, about inflation cosmology and alternate universes. Do you ...?"

The other woman blushed. "It's sort of a hobby of mine. I'm so used to getting blank stares when I talk about it to anyone, it was a complete shock when I saw somebody else in the world actually knew what it was!"

Willow's face brightened with interest. "Really? Oh, wow, that's ... This is high-level stuff. And it's just a hobby?" The brunette nodded. "That's incredible. I bet you could teach me so much!"

The witch indicated the empty seat that had previously been occupied by Xander. With a smile, the woman sat down. "Oh, I don't know about so much," she admitted. "I bet we could learn a lot from each other, though. But if you had questions ...?"

"You betcha by golly I got questions!" Extracting her finger, the redhead shoved the book to one side and extended her hand. "I'm Willow."

"Jessica," responded the brunette. "I ... guess that should've probably come first," she chuckled.

Willow grinned. "Ahh, who has time for such pleasantries when there's knowledge to pursue?" she stated dismissively.

Jessica returned the grin and inched her chair a little closer. "Well now that's out of the way, you said you had questions?"

"Yes, questions o' plenty," confirmed the redhead. "Like ... Okay, so you know about the information loss paradox for black holes?" Jessica inclined her head knowingly. "I was wondering, if time evolution is not unitary, then ..."

At the front of the coffee shop, Xander waited patiently for his order. Turning around, he noted Willow and Jessica talking. The face of the witch was aglow as she gestured with her hands, and the woman across from her was smiling with a bright intelligence as she rested her elbows on the table, obviously entranced by the animated redhead. His eyebrow slowly raised as he watched the pair for a long minute. Then, his expression crinkled with fond affection. He handed over his money to the girl behind the counter who had checked back to confirm what he wanted.

"Bit of a change'a plans," he confided. "Could I get that mint mocha to go, an' the other? Wouldja deliver it to the bubbly little redhead right there—" he pointed in Willow's direction, "—an' tell her Xander said ‘Practice what you preach'?"

The girl smiled in agreement, seemingly happy to comply – a rare customer service person who appeared willing to go above and beyond her job description. She scurried away to complete the order. Xander stuffed his change into his pocket and glanced again at Willow. He nodded his head and grinned.

Xander strolled through the busy streets of downtown Trillium, sipping occasionally on his mint mocha. He was alone, and obviously looked it, but there was no trace of bitterness clinging to the carpenter. Instead, he seemed content for the moment to simply enjoy a pleasant, if chilly, nighttime walk.

"Yo, X-Man!" Faith's voice called out, and Xander turned to spy the Slayer crossing the street and jogging toward him.

"Hey, Faith," he greeted with a smile as she came to a stop in front of him.

Faith nodded, and searched the surrounding area, her gaze sweeping in all directions. Tipping her head to one side, she returned her focus to Xander. "Just you?" she questioned with a touch of surprise. "Friday night, figured you'd be hangin' with the Get Along Gang."

Reaching out, she plucked the mocha from Xander's hands and immediately began to slurp. Xander didn't protest, or even seem to notice as he shrugged. "Usually," he replied amiably. "They all decided to go and get social lives this week though."

"No lie? Without gettin' one for you too? Pretty inconsiderate," she smirked, helping herself to more of his drink.

"True," he immediately agreed, then placed his hand on his chest and sighed magnanimously. "I'm the big-hearted sort, though, so I'll get over it. What about you? Nothing to kill on the slate tonight?"

Swallowing a large mouthful of beverage, Faith shook her head. "Nah. Was gonna hit the ‘Tex with Robin—" she jerked her head over her shoulder toward the direction of the club "—but he's got some big meetin' thing goin' with Oxford and Mrs. G – so tonight, I'm a free agent." With a final gulp from Xander's cup, she handed it back to the carpenter. Again absently, Xander reclaimed his drink without seeming to notice.

Faith glanced around the busy streets, then smiled at Xander. "Say, you wanna hang?" Tossing her hands in the air, Faith began to dance in front of him, enticing but not particularly seductive or suggestive. "Do a little dance, make a little—"

"Light conversation?" Xander finished with a nervous grin.

Halting mid-twirl, Faith socked Xander in the arm, paying little attention to the pained expression as he clutched his new bruise protectively. "'Course. Horn dog," she chastised with a grin. "So, whaddya say?"

Rubbing his injury one final time, Xander glanced at the Slayer with a twinkle in his eye. "That depends. Any plans to try an' kill me at the conclusion of this evening's activities?" he joked.

A nonchalant shrug was her initial response. "Not if you don't give me no lip," Faith bantered.

"As sterling as a guarantee I'm likely to get." He gestured with his hand. "Lead on, MacSlayer."

Together, they proceeded down the street. Xander lifted his mocha to enjoy the minty refreshness. He tipped it to his lips, then tilted the cup further and further still. Finally, with a frown, he turned the whole thing upside down, depositing only a few scant drops onto the damp sidewalk. He glared half-heartedly at Faith, who either hadn't noticed or was studiously ignoring him. Sighing, he threw the empty cup into a wastebasket as they walked past.

With one hand, he pulled aside the voile hangings surrounding the bed. The opening was slight but more than sufficient for him to clearly see the girl, her long ash brown hair spilling across the pillow and skin the color of pale ivory. Muted candlelight caressed her face, lending a blush to her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically in deep slumber, although her eyelids fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. He smiled and whispered, "You hear me ..."

He leaned over the sleeping figure, eyes devouring the rounded shoulder and the elegant curve of her neck – skin like Columbian coffee. A tiny topaz stud glittered in her earlobe. Her hair was dark with the gloss of a raven's plumage. Her sigh was almost inaudible as he gently waved a hand in front of her face. She stirred a little in her reverie as he murmured, "You sense me ..."

Lying atop the quilt, one elbow propped against the pillow, his hand traced the shape of the girl beneath the covers, leisurely following the lines of her spine to the nape of her neck. Erin shivered at the intimate touch but her eyes remained closed. He stroked the chestnut hair and its curls encircled his fingers. He leant forward and breathed softly into her ear, "I can feel you ..."

From the edge of the marble dais, he surveyed the girl beneath the covers – virtually shapeless in its huddled form, sheets pulled over the head so that only a glimpse of the brunette's hair could be seen. Parting the gossamer veil, he climbed upon the bed with the agility and grace of a lithe cheetah. On hands and knees, he moved closer as though stalking prey, a tiny smile playing about his lips.

"I can feel you want me ..." he growled, tone low and enticing.

With an irritated groan of exasperation, the figure threw back the bedclothes and sat up.

"Do you mind?" snapped a disgruntled Kennedy. "Trying to sleep here."

A tiny frown crept across his forehead. The expression of confusion was alien to his features and it sat awkwardly upon his face. He paused uncertainly as Kennedy appraised him with a critical eye, noting the open shirt and jeans unbuttoned at the waistband. Resting upon his boot heels, he ran his fingers through his hair and flexed his pectorals, regarding Kennedy with a "come hither" look in his eyes.

She laughed. The sound was demeaning and laced with contempt. "Yeeeeah," she told him in a tone dripping with sarcasm. "That's gonna happen."

Rolling her eyes, Kennedy shook her head in disbelief before laying back down and jerking the covers over her head.

Buffy tossed and turned fitfully, her head snapping to-and fro across the pillow. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath the closed lids and her nostrils twitched at the penetrating scent. Straddling her body, he was slowly lowering himself, inch by inch. The tip of his tongue licked at her neck. His breath was warm like a sultry summer evening breeze. "And you do want me? Don't you?" His voice was husky with anticipated passion.

Eyes still closed, she moaned – a protesting yet yielding murmur. "Ye—"

Spluttering and choking for oxygen, the Slayer sat bolt upright in her bed. She coughed violently as tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the cold water that had just been thrown into her face. Willow, Xander and Dawn regarded her with much concern as a forgotten tumbler held in the teenager's hand dripped the remains of its contents onto the carpet.

"I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason for this," gasped Buffy. "I suggest telling me what it is very quickly."

"Waking up. You, and the problems therein," a worried Willow hastened to provide. "We couldn't get you up."

"I must'a been tryin' for a good ten minutes," added Xander anxiously "All of us. You were gone, Buff. Bought a retirement home in the Land of Nod and wasted no time movin' in."

The Slayer glanced at the clock, a stare beginning to widen as she noted the time – 12:19PM. She rubbed tight fists over her eyes – eyes smudged with dark circles and obviously crying out for rest.

"The water was a last resort," Dawn added. "And I was so worried that I didn't even enjoy throwing it on you." This statement drew dubious looks from the others. "Well maybe just a little," she admitted. "But mostly I'm just worried. What's going on?"

Buffy yawned and then stretched. "I'm running late for my lunch date, for starters," she mumbled, but her attempt at humor failed to allay the group's fears.

She sighed. "I'm not sure. I'm officially irritated by it, though. Xander, check in with Giles, see what he's found out about this sleeping sickness thing. Will—"

Willow nodded vehemently. "Hop on the research bandwagon. I have to meet Erin at the library to work on a project, but that'll take a few hours tops. Then it's research mode for me."

"What about me?" Dawn piped in eagerly. "What can I do?"

Buffy scrubbed at her bleary and tired eyes. "Help me get ready for this date," she ordered crabbily. "I'm gonna need more than Slayer powers to make it through this one."

At the brightly lit café, an attractive young man poured sugar into his third cup of coffee and looked hopefully toward the door for the umpeenth time. Setting the canister down on the cheerful red-and-white checkerboard tablecloth, he pointedly looked at his wristwatch again and sighed heavily, not noticing when Buffy finally arrived.

She quickly surveyed the room. It was relatively sparse in the patron department, probably because the hour was way past the customary lunch rush. A figure with short-cropped blond hair – obviously styled with precision to project a boyishly tousled effect – rose from one of the tables. He was wearing a flawlessly pressed pair of black jeans and tucked-in polo shirt of hunter green. He waved hesitantly, calling out "Buffy?" in an expectant tone.

Smiling, she hurried over. He pulled out a chair and waited for her to take a seat before resuming his own spot on the other side of the table.

"Kyle, right? Hi. Sorry," she said apologetically. "I totally overslept."

Kyle twitched an amused eyebrow, "Until noon?"

The Slayer opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it again. "I work the graveyard shift," she eventually muttered.

Kyle's hazel eyes became animated with interest. "Oh, really? What do you do?"

Buffy paused for a moment and then stated confidently, "I teach." She nodded firmly to herself as if in affirmation of the fact, a pleased expression crossing her face.

Kyle blinked in disbelief. "You teach. The graveyard shift."

"... night classes?" offered the Slayer.

Wisely, Kyle decided to pursue the matter no further, although he wasn't entirely able to wipe the dubious expression from his face.

Buffy swiped a hand across her forehead where beads of perspiration were beginning to form. Bundled as she was in a thick thigh-length mohair coat, the warmth of the café was really quite unbearable. Her date diligently noted the discomfort. "Do you wanna take your coat off?"

The Slayer shook her head. "Not really, no." Kyle regarded her quizzically.

Buffy sighed before continuing, "So, you remember the part where I said I got up late today?" Kyle nodded his remembrance. "Well – see, it's actually a funny story – this led to me being really, really late coming here, and since I've not been sleeping well lately due to ... grading papers ... Well, I sort of got my little sister to help me get ready. And let's just say that her idea of appropriate dating attire means she will never be leaving the house again."

He grinned, displaying a set of incredibly white teeth. "Oh come on, how bad can it be?"

"Bad," groaned Buffy. "Really bad. We're talking played-twenty-times-an-hour-on-CNN bad."

Kyle seemed inclined to disagree. "I bet it's cute," he cajoled, "and fashionable.

"If it is, then I'm really out of touch," huffed the Slayer.

Kyle seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her protestations. "C'mon," he urged, flashing another brilliant smile. "Let's see it."

With a grand sigh, Buffy stood up and removed her coat, revealing a pair of extremely low-riding hip-huggers and a spaghetti-strap baby-doll tank top sporting a huge pink heart impaled with swords and bearing the caption "Bad Girl".

Kyle stared at the apparition. "Uh-huh," he murmured.

Minorly mortified, Buffy slunk back down into her chair. Reaching out for the glass of water in front of her, she sipped it through the straw, her entire demeanor indicating a desire to be anywhere else other than where she was at this moment in time.

With a critical tilt of his head and judgmental frown dominating his face, Kyle continued to examine the outfit. Buffy squirmed in her seat at the intense analysis. Finally, to her relief, he appeared to let the issue drop and returned to the art of conversation.

"So, you and Xander, known each other long?"

Buffy visibly relaxed. "Seems like forever sometimes. How did you two meet?"

"Hardware store," he replied. "I like go there sometimes. You meet the most interesting people."

"I'll bet. What better way to break the ice than over drill bits?" responded Buffy, tugging one of the spaghetti-straps back onto her shoulder.

Kyle regarded her with a strange expression, almost as though her were trying to determine whether or not she was being sarcastic. The Slayer recognized the look immediately, not appearing to know the true answer herself. She swirled her straw around the glass of water as the conversation lulled into an uncomfortable quietude. Taking another sip, she tried again.

"What about you," she asked, attempting to infuse her voice with true interest. "What do you do?"

He smiled sunnily. "I work at Avalon Gym, up on Burns?"

"Oh, wow. So you're, what ... a coach or trainer or something?" This time, Buffy's tone did indeed imply a certain amount of enthusiasm.

Kyle shook his head. "I work the juice bar."

"Oh," replied Buffy, hoping that the disappointment wasn't too noticeable. She searched for something more to say, but found she had reached a dead-end.

Several minutes of awkward silence passed. Tapping a drumbeat upon the tablecloth with his spoon, Kyle began to admire the décor with far more attention than it warranted, as Buffy snatched up the menu and studied it carefully without actually absorbing the words. Sensing concentrated scrutiny, the Slayer peered sneakily over the top of her laminated bill o' fare. Kyle was staring at her, frowning deeply and cocking his head. He seemed to be trying to work through some complex and intricate puzzle. Deciding to ignore the rather rude inspection, Buffy returned to the menu but the letters wavered and she nodded, almost falling asleep. With a jolt, she raised her head and tossed a wayward lock of hair from her eyes. A short gasp from Kyle caused her to look in his direction. He continued to stare unflinchingly as his gaze grew more intense. Slowly, the Slayer turned another page of the menu, almost dropping it as Kyle abruptly demanded, "Again! Do that again!"

Buffy swiveled in her chair to look at him. His face was alight with some type of recognition, his hazel eyes glowing with realization – it almost seemed as though he had just experienced some type of earth-shattering epiphany.

Confounded, Buffy blinked. "Do ... what?"

"That thing!" he said, barely able to contain his excitement. "That thing you just did!"

Buffy adopted an ‘oooookay' attitude but said nothing. Very slowly and very deliberately, she turned the page of the menu back and then forward again.

"No, the ... thing!" protested a frustrated Kyle. "The ... hair thing!" He tossed his own head to mimic the desired motion, although every blond strand remained perfectly in place.

Still wearing an extremely confused but now wary expression, the Slayer did as requested. With narrowed eyes, Kyle studied the movement very closely. Then suddenly, not to mention inappropriately, he began to laugh.

"Okay," responded an irritated Buffy, stuffing the carte du jour back into its holder. "Not getting the joke here."

"Oh my god," he spluttered. "I can't believe it." His laughter grew heartier, if such were possible. "I simply can't believe it!" He gasped for breath.

Buffy's smile was sardonic. "Amazingly, I'm sharing similar thoughts," she snapped. "Care to explain your half?"

The grin on his face was huge, almost ear-splitting. He all but bounced in his seat, slamming his hands on the table in a bright, happy and overjoyed fashion. Buffy snatched her glass of water before it spilled.

"I'm gay!" declared Kyle, settling back down in his chair and waiting expectantly, as though he were about to be honored with some type of extraordinarily valuable prize.

"You're gay," blinked a stunned Buffy.

"Yeah!" he confirmed jubilantly. "I mean ... I guess I always knew, but I didn't realize it, not really, until just now! I started thinking about it when you took your coat off. I mean, there you are, barely wearing anything at all really—" the Slayer grimaced as she looked down at her outfit "—and you'd think that'd do something for me, right? But no! Not a thing! All could think was, ‘I can't believe she had the nerve to leave the house like that'."

At this statement, Buffy's eyes flew open wide in total amazement at his absolute lack of tact. There was no trace of sleepiness now. Kyle failed to notice her look of disdain however, engrossed as he was in an exultant personal reverie of joyous discovery. As surreptitiously as possible, the Slayer slipped back into her coat and pulled it tight around her.

Almost without stopping to take in any oxygen, Kyle continued. "But it all clicked into place when you did the hair flip thing. I mean, for years now, I've dated girl after girl, and sure, those dates have gone okay. They've been gorgeous and we've had fun ... but it wasn't until today ..." He paused and as though actually seeing Buffy for the first time, reached out and took her hand. "It wasn't until you, Buffy, that I realized I'm gay."

"Stop ..." she objected, but he obviously thought she was merely being modest.

"Really," he told her in complete sincerity. "I owe it all to you. If it hadn't been for me finding you completely unattractive, I might have—"

"No, seriously. I mean it – stop," came the clipped retort. She snatched her hand from his grasp, but again, he didn't seem notice. He wallowed happily in the new found revelation, far too wound up in himself to be aware of how insulting he was being.

He inhaled deeply. "I can't get over how good it feels, to finally realize the truth," he stated with conviction. "It's like a whole new world has opened up."

"I know it's doing wonders for me," muttered Buffy darkly.

"So many things make sense now," Kyle added, as much to himself as to anyone else. "So much is clear. So much—" His eyes widened as another thought seem to pop into his mind. He smoothed the collar of his shirt and raised his hand as though he were about the run his fingers through his hair. Then, apparently deciding it was immaculate just as it was, thought better of it. He focused his attention on the Slayer with a speculative gaze.

"So," he questioned with a suave air and blinding toothy grin, "you and Xander, you're really good friends, right?"

With a loud groan, Buffy allowed her head to slump heavily upon the table.

In the rec room of Slayer Central, Kennedy lounged in one of the armchairs, remote at the ready. By the far wall, two Juniors were playing Dance Dance Revolution, volume appropriately lowered to a non-ear-splitting levels. Nearby, three more girls watched the pair of players, but other than that, the area was rather empty.

Upon entering the room, Faith made her way to the couch and vaulted over the back, landing with a solid thud on the cushion closest to Kennedy's chair. She waved a fistful of rolled-up comics at Kennedy before tossing them onto the couch next to her. "S'up?" she inquired.

Kennedy shrugged. "Not much. Planning to clear some stuff off TiVo. I love this thing." She turned her attention to the myriad of buttons, punching first one and then another, delighting in the variety of noises each one made. She grinned at Faith who failed to appear as amused as the younger girl. Kennedy rolled her eyes but ceased the incessant ‘be-doop'.

"Anyway. Great Christmas present to the girls," she told Faith with a satisfied nod. "Gotta hand it to Giles."

Faith settled back against the cushion. "What's on the menu?"

"Got the latest ‘Survivor' to catch up on." Kennedy regarded the other girl with an excited expression. Faith puffed out her cheeks in a disdainful scoff, which Kennedy chose to ignore. "You?" she questioned.

The dark Slayer wrinkled her nose. "Not much. Pretty lazy Saturday. Was out late, so takin' it easy. Do a little readin'." She grabbed one of the comic books and proceeded to curl it in the opposite direction to that which it had already adopted. Satisfied that it was sufficiently flat, she opened the cover and folded it back. Throwing her feet up on the couch, she stretched out to commandeer its entire length and gave a sigh of contentment.

Kennedy grinned. "Andrew'll have an aneurysm if he sees you treating your comics that way."

"Not mine," stated Faith in an offhand manner.

"That's even worse," chuckled Kennedy. "Whose are they?"

Faith flopped onto her stomach and rested her chin on the arm of the couch. "Andrew's," she said with a wicked smirk at Kennedy before rolling to her former position.

Kennedy broke into a burst of laughter. "Remind me not to be there when he finds them." She scrolled through the recorded programs until the title of her 'Survivor' episode was highlighted. Duplicating Faith's contended sigh, she settled in her chair. "Ahh, time for some fake action."

Just as the 'Outwit-Outplay-Outlast' logo appeared on the screen, the dual doors of the rec room exploded open. Fragments of splintered wood were violently scattered as a young Slayer was hurled through the entrance like a fast-pitched baseball. Sailing across the room, she collided with the scoreboard on the air hockey table, but the impact failed to halt her momentum. Like a bolt let loose from a crossbow, her body continued until it made contact with the wall. She smashed into the plaster with a sickening thud, the force creating a huge dent from which jagged cracks spidered their way along the surface. Slumping heavily to the floor, she lay there, immobile but groaning softly.

Almost in the blink of an eye, another Junior followed in the wake of the first. She too slammed into the plaster, just to the right of her predecessor, but the impact was more brutal this time, given the lack of a door and scoreboard to soften the momentum. The girl fell face-down close to her unfortunate companion. Also motionless, she made no sound, her right leg twisted at an unnatural angle.

With the arrival of the second casualty, the DDR game came to an instant stop. Both Faith and Kennedy immediately sat upright, heads swiveling to stare at the entrance. The apparent attacker stood at the threshold of the fractured doorframe. She was young, perhaps 17 or 18 years old with cropped dark brown hair. Lean and obviously fit, her dress was conservative – a long-sleeved black shirt and functional black jeans. She surveyed the room with an impassive expression, hands resting comfortably upon her hips. Her gaze traveled from the Senior Slayers to the younger ones, seemingly struck down with paralysis as they stared at her in shocked amazement. She sneered and gave an ugly chuckle.

"Or, I could settle for the real thing," said Kennedy, leaping out of her chair and rushing toward the intruder.

"Hey," yelled Faith, "I saw her first!" Arching her back, the dark Slayer pushed with her hands and propelled herself off the couch in a backward flip. Landing lightly, she spun on a dime and without hesitation, used her fist to blast the glass cover of a box affixed to the wall. Heedless, of the needle-like shards that erupted, she punched the large button residing within the shattered plastic. Alarm bells began to ring shrilly throughout every corner of Slayer Central, accompanied by steadily flashing red lights placed near the ceiling. Her initial duty carried out, Faith turned toward the real action and raced to join the battle in progress.