In the dining room of Slayer Central, Xander sat alone at one of the smaller tables, a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of him. Absentmindedly, he twirled the pasta around his fork and then untwirled it again until it landed with a plop back on the plate. Holding the utensil in the air, he turned it back and forth, regarding it with great interest. The room was, for the most part, rather empty except for a couple of groups of girls chatting animatedly at some of the other tables and three Juniors sitting close to the carpenter. They had commandeered a nearby table and, obviously under orders to seek out and maintain a good vantage point, were trying in an unobtrusive fashion to keep tabs on Xander. To the informed eye, their purpose would probably have been all too apparent, given the furtive glances being constantly cast upon the carpenter, coupled with the air of apprehension and devotion to duty that surrounded the trio. But Xander was blissfully unaware of the scrutiny as he continued to ponder the fascinating merits of pronged silverware.

From the area of the kitchen, Kennedy emerged bearing a huge sub sandwich. Surveying the room, she spied Xander sitting by himself and sauntered toward him.

"Hey," she greeted, putting her sandwich on the table and pulling out a chair.

The carpenter declined to reply, simply nodding and then grunting an indecipherable acknowledgment. The lack of enthusiasm didn't seem to discourage Kennedy as she sat down and critically examined her sandwich.

"I wonder why they call it a 'hero'," she mused. "I don't see much particularly heroic about it, do you? Besides just the stones needed to mix no less than seven different kinds of pork."

With a shrug, Kennedy took a huge bite and began to chew. She glanced at Xander's plate of mangled spaghetti and then at the carpenter himself. "Not hungry?" she mumbled through a mouthful of bread.

"Had a big breakfast," was the surly response.

Kennedy licked a smear of mustard from her finger. "Whole box of Eggos?"

Xander gave a curt nod. "Something like that."

"Cool," replied Kennedy, seemingly oblivious to the carpenter's sour attitude. "So what's up? Will doesn't have classes today, and Buffy's in the clear for another day or two because of her foot ... Figured you three musketeers would be ... musketeering."

Xander stabbed brutally at an innocent meatball. "I couldn't take the yelling anymore. I figured anywhere else was better." He waved the impaled sauce-sodden glob of meat at the room in general. "Even here," he sneered.

"Yelling, huh?" questioned Kennedy taking another bite. "What happened, someone machine-wash another of Buffy's 'dry clean only' shirts?"

"Nah," replied Xander, shaking his fork until the meatball found a home within a mound of spaghetti on the plate. "It's just been crazy since Tara came back. Buffy and Willow just will not shut—"

Kennedy tried valiantly to swallow the half-chewed portion of sandwich in her mouth and nearly choked in the process. "What? Wait, what?" she spluttered.

"Buffy. Willow," reiterated an irritated Xander. "Screeching like harpies."

"Tara's back?" the Slayer repeated as though she couldn't possibly have heard correctly.

Xander nodded nonchalantly. "Then there's that."

Kennedy was clearly stunned by the news. "Tara. Willow's Tara."

The carpenter regarded his warped reflection in the handle of the fork. "Uh-huh," he confirmed in a bored tone.

"Willow's precious 'so good she should be sainted' Tara."

"Yup," Xander affirmed with equal disinterest.

"Willow's dead Tara," continued an incredulous Kennedy.

A frown of irritation creased the carpenter's forehead. "Yes," he snapped. "The Tara you think it is, that Tara."

Kennedy swiveled in her chair and addressed Xander as though he were a very simple child. "But she's dead."

"Apparently that doesn't really mean as much as it used to." Xander shrugged in dismissal.

"But how? Why now?" Her grip on the sandwich was becoming so tight it began to fall to pieces in her hands. Wrinkling her nose in disgust at what was now a totally unappealing hunk of bread and meat, Kennedy dropped it on the tabletop.

"Which brings us back to the screeching part," sighed the carpenter. "Tara won't exactly say and Willow won't push, which means Buffy's got her Slayertude on at full force. Buffy's convinced that Tara's really some evil demon creature thing sent to kill Willow."

Kennedy body snapped to attention. "Creature, sent to ..."

Without uttering another word, she sprang to her feet and, with great purpose, marched out of the room – a woman with an urgent mission. Xander watched her for a mere split second and then immediately lost interest in the entire scenario. He focused his attention once more on the captivating fork. Raising it to eye level, he tilted his head and closely examined the now twisted tines. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he applied pressure until the handle bent toward itself forming an upside-down 'U'. He studied the mutilated utensil with great interest and then gave a delighted grin.

"That," he stated with much satisfaction, "is very cool."

Willow seemed insistent upon maintaining her light and cheerful mood from earlier, clutching it with both hands and refusing to let go. She followed a much more sedate Tara down the stairs, chatting happily all the while. "I'm thinking maybe something in a nice light blue? To compliment your eyes?"

The redhead couldn't see it from her vantage point, but Tara's smirk was audible. "It's a room, Will, not a blouse."

"No, no, I know," she agreed, taking an extra large hop at the final step to land in the foyer. "Just thinkin', blue's good. Or-or orange. Or green, or ... whatever you want."

Together, they made their way into the kitchen and the blonde crossed to the refrigerator, tugging the door open and peering inside. "I just think it's a little early to be redecorating," she explained, her voice muffled slightly as her head all but disappeared.

Hovering nearby, Willow wrung her hands uncertainly. "Well sure, okay, only ... It's your room. And I want it to feel ..." She waved, searching for the right word. "...roomy."

"The room's fine," assured Tara with a glance over her shoulder before returning her attentions to the icebox. Her tone was somewhat disapproving. "There's not a whole lot in here."

The eye roll was almost required. "Yeah, Buffy's a pig."

"Want sandwiches then?"

The redhead nodded with excessive enthusiasm, giving the impression that she would've been just as happy had Tara suggested grilled kitten-kebabs. "Sure, sandwiches are great. Yummy. Bordering on delish, even." Slinking into a nearby stool by the center island, Willow settled back to watch the sandwich-making process.

Lettuce, tomatoes, and a block of cheese in tow, Tara emerged from the refrigerator and deposited the items opposite Willow. She glanced around with a furrowed brow, obviously searching for something, and wordlessly Willow pointed to an unobtrusive box behind the blonde. Tara smiled her thanks and retrieved a loaf of wheat bread.

As the sandwiches slowly began to take shape, Willow picked absently at a frayed edge of her long-sleeved shirt, her eyes downcast. "You know," she stated in a nervous voice that tried very hard to be casual, "if you don't like that room, you could always ... stay in mine."

The knife in Tara's hand slipped, and the thin slice of tomato she was so carefully cutting became bloated on one end. Quickly regaining her composure, she spoke kindly but firmly. "I really don't think that's—"

"Alone!" Hands came up, as though to ward off the mere suggestion of impropriety. "Oh, totally alone. Without me, I mean. Switching. We can switch rooms, in that my room would become your room, and the guest room would become my room, and i-it's cool that way." Stronger, more thoroughly convinced, she continued with confidence, "It's better, it's like we're back in college again! You know, separate dorm rooms down the hall, only it's thankfully less communal in the showering sense and has thicker walls, which can be really good when Dawn goes on one of her late night study binges."

Smiling lightly, Tara bent back to the task at hand. "The guest room's fine," she assured. "It's nice."

Willow nodded just the once, the matter seemingly settled in her mind. "Okay. But then it's not the guest room anymore – it's the Tara Room." Green eyes widened as a brilliant idea suddenly occurred. "Oo, and we can make a little sign for it and everything! With little gold stars and sparkly rainbow stickers..."

"We'll see," the blonde said indulgently as she returned to the refrigerator. "Turkey or chicken?"

A response was partway formed, but cut short by the explosive bang of the front door being hurled open, followed immediately by Kennedy bellowing, "Willow?!"

Jumping nearly a foot off the stool, the redhead leaned back to peer out of the kitchen entrance. "In here!" she called. "Geez, what's goin' on?"

In less than a second, Kennedy had rushed into the room and was standing at Willow's side. Her hair was disheveled and wind-blown, and although the Slayer was in far too good a shape to be panting, she was breathing heavily, giving the impression that she'd run the entire way to the house. Any possible physical tiredness did nothing to her mental state of being, and her eagle-like gaze swept first over Willow, assuring herself that the witch was uninjured, and then the rest of the room.

Tara stood blinking in surprise by the open refrigerator, a packet of lunchmeat dangling from each hand. Confusion was evident on the blonde's features, increasing exponentially as Kennedy's dark eyes zeroed in and locked onto her. There was no comprehension in Tara's expression, no understanding – but Kennedy knew. Recognition flared on the Slayer's face and she began to stalk forward, placing herself between Willow and the blonde as she radiated unspoken threats.

Immediately Willow was on her feet. "Kennedy, wait!"

The confusion lasted only a moment longer, then the name sank in and suddenly, Tara understood. Nodding slightly to herself, she made sure to move in very smooth, easily telegraphed gestures. She closed the refrigerator door and returned to the food-in-progress, placing the meat next to the other ingredients. That done, she looked over to Kennedy, meeting the Slayer's smoldering glare. "We were about to have lunch. Would you like something?"

"Sure. I'll take an extra-large explanation, hold the rhetoric, and a side order of what-in-the-hell."

"Kennedy ..." Willow cautioned, moving to stand by the Slayer.

Incredulous, Kennedy turned to her ex-girlfriend. "Will, what are you doing?" she asked, absurdly sounding like she'd just caught Willow sneaking an extra cookie before dinner.

Tara gestured to the spread on the countertop. "Sandwiches?" she offered with a weak half-grin.

Kennedy was not amused. "I've heard all about your story," she snapped, whirling on the blonde. "Or, rather, the fact that there conveniently is no story." She spun back to Willow. "With all the crap going down right now, how can you just trust this ..." Lacking an appropriate descriptive word, she settled for waving a hand in Tara's direction.

"I know this is hard ..."

"Hard? Try impossible. Try shouldn't be."

Willow had been handling Kennedy carefully, like an explosive that might blow up at the slightest jar. But now, her own irritations surged to the forefront and her temper became lost somewhere along the way. "Is this some sort of shared Slayer gene that prevents you all from seeing only in shades of black and slightly less-dark black? The stuff you guys fight every day, you just accept it, no problem. But suddenly something good happens that, yes, is a little on the wonky side, but you- you don't even wait to find out what's goin' on, you immediately assume it's bad!"

"Because it usually is!" retorted Kennedy. The 'and you know it' was unspoken, but very much implied.

"Look, this hasn't been a- a pleasant stroll in the park for me either, y'know? I mean, hello!" Willow tossed her arm out, and the motion brought the redhead back into visual contact with Tara. Throughout everything, Tara had remained silent, simply standing back and quietly observing. Her calm presence acted as a soothing balm for Willow's frustrations. Despite everything, she found herself smiling as she turned back to Kennedy. "It's her," she confirmed with quiet assurance. "I just know it. I can feel it."

The change in Willow's attitude was obvious, and Kennedy's was suddenly struck by an unpleasant realization. "She's already sucked you in, hasn't she?" the Slayer stated in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "I mean, just like that, she walks in the door and you're—"

With a pained expression, Willow laid a gentle hand on the other woman's arm. "It's not that simple. It's ... We'll talk later, okay?"

Like someone opening a dam, anger flooded the Slayer. "Sure. Later. Later, when this thing's put a knife in your back or something." Imploringly, Kennedy grasped the redhead by her shoulders, unable to completely resist giving her a slight shake, as though it would somehow make her see reason. "Will, this is the perfect way to get to you, don't you see that?"

Willow's response was tender but firm as she reached up and pried the brunette's hands away, holding them in her own. "Later. She can't hurt me unless I let her, you know that. I'll be fine."

For a long moment, Kennedy simply held Willow's eyes, but she eventually relented, albeit reluctantly. "Fine," she sighed, then turned to the blonde behind her, affixing Tara with a glare usually reserved for demons and vampires. "You so much as even think about hurting her," snarled the Slayer, "– any kind of hurt – and I swear, you will regret the day you decided to reclaim that face."

Tara stared into Kennedy's unflinching, unyielding gaze, absorbing the words. Then she nodded her understanding.

This seemed good enough, and Kennedy's entire focus returned to Willow. "I'm holding you to later," she promised, and then dropped her voice down low as she stepped closer to the redhead, peering at her intently as they stood mere inches apart. "I don't like this. On so many levels I've lost count. But ... be careful. Please."

Accepting Willow's nod, Kennedy shot Tara a final intimidating look over her shoulder and exited the house as suddenly as she had entered.

It seemed almost as though the Slayer had taken all the air with her, and an awkward silence blanketed the room. "So," Tara finally broached, rubbing her arms subconsciously. "That was Kennedy, huh? She's ... fiery."

"She's a good person," replied Willow, then she smirked. "Kinda like a badger on PCP sometimes, but her heart's in the right place."

"I can tell." The blonde's gaze dropped and she seemed to find the lettuce absolutely fascinating. "She loves you very much," she softly observed.

There was nothing judgmental in the statement, but Willow shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the next. "We ... I mean ..."

"I-It's okay. You already told me. About ... you two. Seeing her, though, that's ..." Trailing off, Tara took a deep breath. "So, was that turkey or chicken?"

Unprepared to simply let it go at that, Willow went to the other woman, ducking her head to catch Tara's eyes as they darted away. "Hey ... Are you freaked?"

With a tiny shrug, she admitted, "A little. But it's okay." Straightening, she flashed the redhead a smile, filled with sincerity. "I'm glad you had someone. Really."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Willow lightly inquired.

Tara mulled over the question. "Later," she finally replied with a nod.

"Wow, 'later''s gonna be pretty busy," concluded Willow, boosting her tone back into upbeat mode. "Better make sure my schedule's clear. Now," she clapped her hands together, "how about the appropriate drinks to compliment this fine meal? I think Dawn decided to experiment by mixing three or four vastly different Kool-Aid flavors, feel daring?"

Willow's efforts earned her a grin that she was compelled to return.

Buffy and Giles moved at a brisk pace through the halls of Slayer Central. Buffy's limp had all but disappeared now and seemed to be giving her next to no trouble. They soon arrived at the training room where Faith was waiting for them.

"'Bout time," she snapped. "What'd you do, give her the Pictionary version?"

With a small sigh, the Watcher chose to ignore the jibe. "Where is he now?"

"Got a few girls tailin' him, they'll ..." Faith paused and frowned at the approaching three figures, "be comin' this way without the X-Man in sight." With a determined stomp, she moved toward the cowed trio of Juniors. "What the hell are you doin' here? I told you to stick to him like glue. This ain't glue. This is some generic Elmer's crap."

"We ... Uh, we ..." began the first Junior, glancing quickly at the girl following close behind. "It's Richelle's fault."

"What?!" demanded the offended Richelle.

"Oh, yeah," added the third Junior. "Richelle's fault, totally."

Richelle gritted her teeth. "Oh, you two are so gonna get it."

"Well they'll have to wait their turn," promised Faith. "Now what the hell happened?"

Richelle clasped her hands behind her back and hung her head. "Andrew came over and started saying how Darkman was Sam Raimi's best movie," she offered reluctantly. Bitterly, she added, "I mean, hello? Evil Dead?"

"Niiiice," murmured Buffy rolling her eyes.

Faith jabbed a thumb over her shoulder toward the blonde Slayer. "Now you've given that one somethin' to use against me," she stated threateningly.

"Oh don't worry," Buffy cheerfully assured. "I had plenty."

"Okay," Faith grudgingly admitted, "somethin' else to use against me. Rapidly shootin' past 'not happy', ladies. What else you got for me?"

The first two Juniors looked toward the third. She nervously cleared her throat. "He was in the cafeteria, not really doing much. He was talking to Kennedy, then ..." Drifting off, the Slayer let her hand flap back and forth.

Clearly irritated, Faith tapped her foot. "Uh-huh."

"Have you seen Darkman?" Richelle persisted in a lame fashion.

The trio of Juniors took a defensive step backward as Faith glowered. "Here's what's gonna happen," she told them firmly. "You three are gonna go to your dorm rooms an' you're gonna stay there until I come get you. Then we're all gonna learn what it means to stick to an assignment and not get distracted by stupid crap. Got it?"

In unison, they nodded gloomily.

"Then why do I still see you here?" asked Faith, her tone deceptively calm.

No further hint was needed. They immediately took to their heels. Spinning around, Faith jabbed a finger at Buffy. "Not a word," she warned.

Buffy regarded her with wide eyes. "Not at all."

Faith returned the blonde's innocuous gaze with a menacing glare for a moment, but Buffy was the perfect picture of innocence. The dark Slayer then turned to Giles but before she could utter a word, Buffy opened her mouth.

"Personally, I liked Army of Darkness," she stated with conviction and then, before Faith could provide any type of comeback, the blonde fixed her attention on the Watcher. "So Giles, what's going on? Besides Xander rather uncharacteristically demonstrating male PMS, last I checked, he couldn't fling Slayers around like ... easy flinging things."

Giles thrust his hands into his pockets and looked nervously from Buffy to Faith and then back to Buffy again. "I'm not certain," he began hesitantly. "I suppose research is our best course of action."

The two Slayers immediately recoiled, as though the Watcher were infected with some contagious disease.

"Sounds good," confirmed Buffy taking an additional step backward.

"Yeah," Faith agreed, following Buffy's lead. "Good luck with that."

"We'll just go find Xander," continued the blonde. "Clean up Faith's girls' mess."

And with that, they both turned and headed down the hall.

"Just had to get the last dig in, didn'tcha?" Faith niggled as they walked away.

Buffy pouted. "Ahh, I'm having a bad day."

Giles watched them walk away, muttering darkly at each other as they went. With a huff of exasperation, he rubbed a hand across his forehead before disappearing in the opposite direction.

As Dawn rounded the stairs leading to the second floor of her home, the first thing she noticed was that the ladder to the attic had been pulled down, leaving a gaping hole in the ceiling. She raised a quizzical eyebrow until Tara emerged from the guest room with a box in her arms.

"Moving in for good, huh?" Dawn smiled.

"Oh, hey Dawnie," replied Tara, peering over the top of the box.

Willow's head suddenly poked down from the attic. "Hey," she greeted cheerfully, disappearing again after the teenager wiggled her fingers in response.

Still waiting for an answer, Dawn eyed the box, prompting a response. "Moving in, yeah," Tara confirmed, shifting the armload into a more comfortable position. "Though I don't have much ... so I guess it's more like moving sideways."

The redhead reemerged at that point, and Tara handed the box up to her, holding her arms in position to catch it, just in case, until it had been safely dragged out of sight.

"Well whatever you call it, I'm in complete support," stated Dawn with a decisive nod of her head. Casting her eyes toward the attic, making sure Willow wasn't visible, the teenager edged closer to Tara. "Though I guess I sort of figured you and Willow ..."

Tara's expression fell, but just for a moment. "That's ... It's complicated."

"I get that. And you know, it's okay." On an impulse, as though her arms had suddenly developed a mind of their own, she hugged the blonde tightly. "You're back again! And just in time for term paper season!"

That earned her a hearty chuckle, although as Willow descended the steps, she regarded Dawn indignantly. "I see how it is," she accused in a faux wounded tone. "Use up my math and science and just toss me aside." Reaching the bottom of the ladder, she sniffed haughtily and jutted out her chin. "Fine. I'll remember this next time you have trig homework, missy."

Rather than panic and rush to soothe things over, Dawn smiled her most hopeful smile. "Actually there's something I need your help with now. Both of you. It's really important," she emphasized.

"Sure, of course," Tara responded instantly. Laying her hand on Dawn's arm, she led the teenager into the room previously billed as 'guest'. It was almost starkly bare, the boxes that had simply been left there out of laziness over the past several months had been mostly relocated, and a set of clean, folded sheets and blankets rested on top of the bed, ready for use. Tara sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to her invitingly. It was all the encouragement Dawn needed, and she dropped down, bouncing once on the mattress.

Willow joined them, leaning back against the nearby wall. "What's up?"

Steeling herself, Dawn took a deep breath. "Okay, so you know how I mentioned I wanted to ask Grip to Buffy's birthday party, right?"

Tara nodded. "Right ..."

Dawn tossed her hands out, like her words had been presented to those assembled. "So that's the problem."

"He turned you down?" a disbelieving Willow asked.

"Oh, sweetie ..." Tara draped her arm over the teenager's shoulders, rubbing them comfortingly. "You'll find someone else."

Willow was in complete and total agreement. "Someone better. Someone with ... taste!" Considering for a moment, she added, "And- And a normal hair color!"

"'Normal' hair?" The blonde's eyebrow twitched upwards. "What color is it now?"

Glancing from one woman to the next, Dawn dragged out, "Not really the issue, guys ..."

Willow mouthed the word "blue" at Tara, causing the eyebrow to scale further upward, but Dawn quickly reclaimed their attention. "I didn't ask," she confessed.

"He turned you down without you even asking?" The redhead's indignity on Dawn's behalf knew no bounds. "Pfft. Rude much?"

"You haven't asked him yet?" prompted Tara.

"No," the teenager replied simply, though she soon degenerated into a full-blown pout. "I mean, I keep trying, but it's, like, every time I get up the nerve, I've got a two-second window, then it fizzles and dies, and I'm just sort of standing there."

The look on Willow's face said she knew only too well where Dawn was coming from. "Empathizing, right here."

"He can't say 'yes' if you don't ask him," Tara pointed out.

"And he can't say 'no', either," insisted Dawn. "What if he did? What if I finally ask him and he just stares at me like I'm just some stupid kid?" Her anguish at this hypothetical scenario was only too evident.

Willow gave a little self-effacing smile and shrugged, seeming to already accept that her answer was going to sound lame to the frazzled teen. "That's the risk you take sometimes. There's a chance for bad, sure, but ..."

"But sometimes you have to go through the bad stuff," Tara picked up smoothly. "It's the only way the good stuff has any meaning, you know?"

Dawn huffed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I'm just a big chicken."

Quick to try and dispel any negativity, Tara gave her a reassuring squeeze. "No, no. Not big. Tiny. You're a very tiny chicken."

"A cute little fuzzy yellow chickie. And you know how irresistible those are," Willow noted knowledgably.

Despite herself, Dawn found a smile forming. "Okay. I'll ask him tomorrow." Off of the witches' look, she amended, "Or possibly tonight."

"There you go," agreed Tara supportively. She made an arc in the air with her hand. "Dive through that two-second window."

Keen not to be left out, Willow eagerly contributed, "Yeah, and if he turns you down, we'll sic a Slayer on 'im!" Dawn and Tara turned to regard the redhead skeptically. "C'mon, it's the perfect plan! What self-respecting 17-year old boy is gonna admit he was beaten up by a little girl?"

Without warning, Dawn erupted into a broad grin and she wriggled happily next to Tara, unable to fully contain herself. "I'm so glad I talked to you guys. I was gonna go to Xander at first. This was much better."

"Xander?" Willow sounded surprised. "Why Xander?"

"Oh, well, I figured ..." She shrugged. "You know, he'd maybe be a bit more up on asking guys out. ...Not like that!" she hastened to add in light of the bemused expression on both women's faces. "I mean, you know, being a guy and all."

The redhead openly scoffed. "The closest Xander ever got to being asked out involved Anya and ... and a story he can tell you when you're older." Willow cleared her throat nervously and glanced away, a blush appearing on her cheeks.

Dawn chose not to dwell on the untold tale. "Anyway, I haven't seen him since this morning, and he was acting pretty out of it last night."

"Out of it?" inquired Tara with concern. "How so?"

"Just sort of ... I dunno. Almost ... mean. Like he didn't really care about much of anything, and just talking was this huge pain."

"That doesn't sound like Xander," frowned Tara, glancing over to Willow.

"No, it doesn't," she agreed. "Hm." Any further speculation was cut off by the faint but prominent strains of a digitized "Rule Britannia" coming from Willow's room. The redhead rushed out to answer her phone, leaving Dawn and Tara to puzzle over this new development.

"It's probably something evil," the teenager concluded pragmatically.

"Maybe it was just a bad day?" suggested Tara. "Things have been kinda stressy lately."

"Maybe." After a moment, she added, "Probably not, though."

Tara's expression was somewhere between amused and perplexed. "When did you get all cynical?"

Rolling her eyes, Dawn replied, "C'mon. I'm, like, a thousand-thousand years old."

"And yet you're afraid to ask a boy to a party."

"I'm cynical, yet wimpy?"

At that point, Willow appeared in the doorway, cell phone pressed to her ear. "Uh-huh ..." she spoke into it, listening intently. "Uh-huh ... huh ... okay." She snapped the phone closed and regarded the others. "Something evil's happened to Xander," she announced without preamble.

Dawn thrust her finger at Tara, victory shining in her eyes. "Ah-ha!"

The pace Buffy was setting as she all but ran through the halls of Slayer Central seemed to make it impossible for her to notice anything. Such was not the case however, as her head was in constant motion, checking down corridors and in empty rooms in her relentless search.

As she passed by one of the windows that faced the front of the building, she spied her target. Running now, she quickly burst into the main entrance hall and threw open one of the oversized double doors. "Xander!" she called immediately as she jogged outside.

The carpenter was several yards from the front steps when the voice reached him. Although accompanied by a sigh and eye roll that to incidate boredom, he did stop and start to backtrack. He had moved only a short distance before Buffy joined him and, guiding him by the elbow, began to direct him toward the building. He raised his eyebrow at her hand on him, but seemed content for the moment to let it linger.

"Are you okay?" asked Buffy as she all but dragged Xander along.

"Fine," he responded tersely. "Never better."

Pushing the door all the way open, she led him inside, finally coming to a halt in the empty foyer and releasing her hold on his elbow. She spun around to face him, concern warring with aggravation. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"You brought me here, how should I know?" he shot back.

The Slayer had clearly reached her limit and decided on the direct route. "Okay, fine. You know you put Hazel in the infirmary? You could've really hurt her!"

"Did I?" inquired Xander, though he didn't seem to particularly care what the answer would be.

"Nooo, that would be the 'could have' portion of our program."

"Then what's the big deal?" he shrugged. Not bothering to wait for a response, the carpenter moved toward the exit.

Buffy's hand lashed out and tightly grabbed his arm. "Okay, I don't have the time or patience for this right now. What is wrong?" she demanded, giving him a shake.

"How about you bein' Miss Grabby Hands, for a start?" he rejoined. Xander tried to yank his arm away, but found the Slayer's grip to be too strong. "Let go." It wasn't a request.

"No. Not until you tell me what's going on. You're acting like a first-class jerk," Buffy told him almost confidentially, like this was a big secret that absolutely could not get out.

"Oh, so now you wanna listen? Well sorry, 'Buff'." The odd emphasis he placed on his nickname for the Slayer made it sound like a dirty word. "I suddenly find myself with nothing to say to you." Once again, Xander tried to twist out of her grasp, but it was too strong. "Now let go."

Ignoring the demand, Buffy considered Xander's statement. "Is this about...?" she began, then her expression softened, though her grip did not. "Look, Xand, I'm sorry about that. This whole Willow thing, it's making me crazy. I know I'm coming off kinda ..." She sighed heavily and regarded him with an expression that, had Xander been acting normally, would have caused him to drop everything and settle in for a long session of talking that would have done the best girl-type friend in the world proud. "I just—"

But things with Xander were anything but normal. "Not. Interested." Violently, he jerked her arm back, and much to Buffy's astonishment, managed this time to break away. Like a natural-born fighter, Xander took advantage of the Slayer's complete surprise and pushed her from him as hard as he could. The blonde went flying until the wall rather jarringly stopped her short. Colliding with it face first, Buffy hit the wood paneling with a dull thud that elicited a small groan before she crumpled to the ground.

Dispassionately, Xander surveyed the prone, unmoving body of the Slayer. "Well thank god for the sound of silence. Now," he decided, clapping his hands together and rubbing them eagerly, "where's a guy gotta go to get some fun around here?"