Seated on the low parapet that lined the front steps of Trillium High, Tara waited. Lost in thought, she paid little attention to the bell signaling the end of classes for the day and was startled when kids began to pour out of the school. They streamed past in chaotic and gleeful hordes, not giving the blonde a second glance as she watched the exit door expectantly. Finally, the figure she had been eagerly anticipating emerged and Dawn descended the stone steps, chatting in an animated fashion to a couple of her friends. Tara waited until they had said their goodbyes before standing up to wave.

"Dawn!" she called, attracting the teenager's attention.

Dawn was initially surprised, but that was soon replaced by a look of pleasure. She hurried toward the blonde.

"Hey!" she greeted with a broad smile. "What're you doing here?" The smile began to fade as a worried frown creased the teenager's forehead. "Nothing's wrong, right?"

"No, no, nothing wrong," Tara quickly assured. "I just thought we could, you know ... walk and talk. Do some more catching up."

Dawn beamed happily. "So preferable to something being wrong."

Shifting her backpack to the other shoulder, the teenager threaded her arm through Tara's and hugged it tight. Tara smiled at the girl with great affection as they started to walk away from the building. The further they got, the more the pedestrian population thinned until they were virtually alone.

"How's stuff going?" Dawn asked. "You doing okay? You don't need anything, do you?"

Tara shook her head. "Nah, I have everything." She turned to Dawn with a wry grin. "I'm pretty low-maintenance."

"Well if there's anything you want," the teenager insisted, "just tell me. Not that I'm financially independent, but I know where Buffy hides the credit cards."

"And have your sister come after me for leading you into a life of crime?" Tara admonished. "I think I'll pass."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Yeah, like we need more fuel for that inferno." Her tone adopted a more serious note. "I'm so sorry for, like ... everything Buffy-related. I can't believe she's still acting like a little ... overbearing despot."

Tara quirked an eyebrow. "'Despot'?"

"World history: it's not just for sleeping anymore," smirked the teenager.

"You shouldn't be too tough on Buffy," Tara softly told the girl, gently squeezing her arm. "She's just ... She works so hard to keep everyone safe."

"Yeah," replied Dawn grudgingly, "but that's just it: we are safe. I mean, you know, if you were some big demon monster then I'd understand. But you're not. She's just being a ... a thing that I really want to say but that I'd probably get in trouble for."

The blonde nodded her understanding. "I know it can be frustrating. But she only gets that way because she loves you. All of you. She has to make really tough decisions sometimes to keep the people she loves safe. It's ... That's not easy."

"But she loves you, too," insisted Dawn, hugging Tara's arm even tighter. "We just have to convince her that you're the real deal and you're not here to murder any of us."

She smiled into Tara's face but was met with an uncomfortable silence. The pair's walk slowed to a stop and Dawn gazed at the blonde with a puzzled expression.

Tara turned to the girl and reached out with her free hand to stroke the silky hair. "Dawn ..." she began. "You know that I love you, right?"

Dawn's smile grew wide. "I know."

"And I always will," the blonde continued. "No matter what happens. To me, or to ..." She paused, breaking the thread of conversation before adding, "I always will."

The teenager's smile visibly faltered. "What's wrong?" she demanded. "Something's wrong."

"I just wanted to be able to say that. I didn't get to last time, and ... I wanted to make sure you knew."

Tara moved to continue their walk, but Dawn wasn't going along. With a jerk on the arm she still held tightly, she returned Tara to a halt. "Are you leaving again?" she asked, a trace of accusation creeping into her voice. "You are, aren't you?"

Holding the teenager's gaze, Tara shook her head. "I don't want to, Dawnie, but sometimes things happen that—"

Tears began to well in Dawn's eyes. She shook Tara's sleeve. "No," she commanded. "No, you can't do that! You can't just come back and leave me again!"

The blonde reached a hand toward Dawn's cheek, but the teenager backed away. "Honey ..." Tara pleaded.

"What about Willow?" asked a tearful Dawn. "Do you even know what happened to her last time you went away? It took her over a year to look like breathing wasn't painful! How can you even think about hurting her?"

Opening her arms, the witch enveloped the teenager within her embrace. Dawn exhibited a token protest but immediately relented. "Shh," soothed the blonde. "I don't wanna leave, I promise. I just ..." A laugh totally lacking in humor escaped Tara's lips. "I learned the hard way that sometimes bad stuff happens, you know? Whether you want it to or not, that's just how things go sometimes."

"Well it needs to stop now, okay?" Dawn requested with a smothered sniffle.

Tara chuckled but failed to respond. She simply continued to hug the teenager, smoothing her hair as Dawn basked in the affection.

Dawn sniffed again. "Can we get some ice cream?" she asked in a muffled voice.

"Solves all problems, huh?" replied Tara with a rueful smile.

Dawn pulled away slightly and looked at the blonde. "It at least makes them smaller for a while," she whispered.

"Well sure," agreed Tara. "Who can worry about anything else when you have the dilemma of 31 flavors?"

Slipping her hand into the crook of Dawn's elbow, Tara led the teenager away. Dawn scrubbed at her nose and managed to force a weak smile. The blonde appeared gratified that the teenager's tears were at least subsiding. Together and arm-in-arm, they walked in the direction of the ice cream shop. Borne on a sudden gust of chilly wind, Tara's voice floated heavenward.

"So, did you finally ask him?"

Dawn nodded with much exuberance and snuggled closer to the blonde.

"Tell me all about it," Tara happily insisted, allowing herself to indulge in the intimate huddle. "I wanna hear everything."

"You don't wanna hear anything I say!" accused an infuriated Willow, hands flailing wildly.

"Of course I do!" rejoined Buffy at the top of her voice. "When you stop saying crazy stuff!"

The atmosphere shrouding the living room was so charged that it could have supplied power to the whole of downtown Trillium for at least a day and a half. Standing, the two women faced each other from opposite ends of the couch. The Slayer, arms firmly crossed, glared at Willow. The witch, fists clenched and rigid against her thighs, glowered at Buffy. Xander sat uneasily on the edge of the middle cushion, his body tense and his expression distressed. Vainly, he tried to instill some rationalization into the agitated situation.

"Guys," he urged in a tone he desperately hoped was pacifying, "this can't be healthy. Just ... just stop. Stop and talk. For the love of all that is good and decent."

Willow continued to fix the Slayer with an angry stare, while Buffy's eyes almost appeared to be shooting tiny but deadly daggers in the direction of the witch. Xander looked from one to the other for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision. Reaching out, he seized each woman by the hand and pulled them both onto the couch. With no regard for his own safety, he maintained his central position as mediator. Neither Buffy nor Willow put up much of a struggle, but they did not go gracefully.

"Sitting," confirmed the carpenter with a forceful nod. "Sitting is good. I applaud this bold first step. Now we seem to be goin' in circles. Very tight, nerve-wracking circles that are causin' my blood pressure to skyrocket. So we're gonna do this nice and orderly-like. Buff, why don't you go first?"

The Slayer took a deep and calming breath. "Willow," she began, "you are probably the smartest person I've ever met in my entire life. So why you insist on being so stupid about this—"

"Stupid?!" The redhead's voice was shrill and she would have stood up again if not for Xander's restraining grip.

"Let's try talking without the added bonus of being insulting," suggested Xander, refusing to release either combatant. "Will?"

But the witch's record appeared to be stuck in the same groove. "Stupid?!"

With an agonizing groan, Xander threw his despairing hands into the air before employing them to cradle his pounding head.

"Calgon," he implored, "take me away."

Xander paused at the entrance to the private training room. "Hey, Faith, y'got a minute?"

Dressed in a form-fitting black tank top and a pair of sweat pants, the Slayer straddled a padded bench, back to the door, performing curls and working zealously on her injured arm. The sling was gone and although her shoulder still sported surgical tape, it was less so than before. She turned slightly at the sound of the carpenter's voice and grinned to see him hovering nervously on the threshold.

"Buy me a drink at B's party tonight, y'might even get two," she told him, her arm continuing to pump.

Xander wholeheartedly agreed. "Deal."

Venturing into the room, he joined Faith on the bench and sat across from her, facing the door. The Slayer's cantilever action never ceased, but she threw him an attentive glance.

"I've got a problem," he stated with finality.

Faith shrugged. "Figured you weren't here for the scenery."

"It's Buffy and Willow," confided the carpenter.

"Still actin' like guests on Jerry Springer, huh?"

"Only without the big bald guy to pull ‘em apart," affirmed Xander wearily. "It's just ... I mean yeah, okay, completely sick of it. That's a given. But here's the thing – I don't know what to do. They're both so defensive right now, I don't think they're even listenin' to each other any more. It's like, they just get pre-pissed, an' one of ‘em could say, ‘You know, I really like Werthers,' and the other would start screaming about it."

Faith tossed her hair back from her face. "Lock ‘em in a room, make ‘em fight it out?" she suggested. It was impossible to tell if she was being serious or not.

"I thought about it for all of three seconds before realizing that I'd probably wind up with at least one, possibly two less friends," Xander muttered miserably.

"Yeah, guessin' that would be a problem," she admitted. "Gotta be a limit on how many people in the world can put up with you, need to keep the ones y'found in one piece."

Faith grinned – an attempt in her own small way to cheer him up. Xander returned the grin, but it was an insipid effort at best and his heart wasn't in it.

Shifting to a more comfortable position, Faith increased the rate of her lifting. "Wanna maybe spilt ‘em up? I can hijack B for the weekend, you keep Red occupied? Maybe it'll burn off if they're not around each other."

"I don't think that'd work." Xander's tone was of the defeatist variety. "I don't think Buffy'll let Tara out of her sight for more than a few hours at a time, an' Will's so paranoid right now, she'd probably think Buffy's off assembling an army or something."

The Slayer blew out an exaggerated puff of air. "All this over one person," she marveled. "Y'know, I met her once. Wasn't completely myself at the time, but still. Can't say I was too impressed. Scared little thing, stutterin', totally moon-eyed over Will."

"It's cuz'a her we figured out an' reversed your brain-swappin' hostile takeover."

"That a fact?" said Faith, considering this newly acquired information. "Huh. I always wondered."

Xander's fingers drummed an impatient rat-a-tat on the leather cushion of the bench. "Trip down memory lane's not really the issue here," he pointed out. "I wanted your advice on how to handle ‘em."

Faith hesitated mid-lift. "You wanted my advice?" The carpenter nodded. "On how to deal with people?" The carpenter nodded again, with more enthusiasm this time. "Damn," cursed Faith, "you gotta be desperate."

"What?" queried a puzzled Xander. "It's not so weird."

Faith tilted her head to one side and shot him a 'yeah, right' look.

The carpenter had the good grace to appear abashed. "Okay, it's a little weird. But see, here's the thing – you're the perfect choice cuz you're devoid of feeling."

"No, please, stop," Faith told him flatly. "I'm blushing."

Xander hastened to clarify. "Not on everything. But on this. See, it's like ... I know you like Willow okay an' all, but you're not like best buds or anything, right?"

"She's still got this little grudge about me an' a knife," admitted the Slayer, "and I still got one for ... well, cuz that's what I do. So yeah, okay," she conceded with a nod.

"An' Tara," persisted Xander, "you said it yourself – you only had one conversation an' that was like four years ago, so no real bond there either, right?" Receiving further confirmation, Xander continued with renewed enthusiasm, apparently feeling as though he were finally getting somewhere. "Okay. Well I don't have that detachment. Buffy an' Willow're my best friends, and I like Tara a whole heck of a lot, so I can't really see clear. Dawn's almost as wrapped up in this as Will, just the thought of havin' this conversation with Kennedy makes my fillings hurt, an' Giles is so busy being Mr. Objective that I can't get anything outta him that's not 115% neutral. An' I gotta talk to someone. Stepping away from my characteristic frivolity for a second, I'm seriously worried someone's gonna get hurt over this. We're not talkin' paper cut, tiny Band-Aid hurt either."

Faith smirked at the over-long explanation. "You couldn'a just said please?"

Lowering the weighted dumbbell to the floor, the Slayer grabbed a nearby towel and mopped her forehead. Her expression grew serious as she pondered the proposition. "Geez Xan, I really dunno what to tell ya. I mean, me? Somethin' looks threatenin', my gut instinct is t' take it out. End of problem, end of story." She rolled her shoulder in order to work out the kinks before adding, "But I'm comin' to learn my gut instinct ain't always the best way t' go."

Dropping the towel, she executed an arm swing and Xander scooted backward out of harm's way as a clenched fist whizzed past his ear. "Speakin' as the appointed outsider here," Faith continued, "the root of all the problems is this Tara chick. She's the linchpin here, yeah?" She looked to the carpenter for affirmation and he nodded. "Can't figure anythin' else out before you know what'cha gotta do about her," the Slayer counseled. "An' really, that one's pretty simple: either she's who she says she is or she ain't. Figure out which one's right an' go from there. Seems to me like everythin' else'll just fall into place."

She grinned cheerfully – case closed.

Xander was nowhere near as optimistic. "Or fall apart," he mumbled darkly.

Alone in the library sat the solitary figure of Tara. Engrossed in the open book before her, she had occupied a small table some distance from the entrance, but still within view of anyone who happened to be passing. Dressed in a Victorian-style high-necked blouse of embroidered pale green muslin, complete with floor-length skirt of a heavier material and more emerald in color, the blonde was apparently ready for the upcoming evening's festivities. She wrinkled her nose a little at the musty smell – an odious combination of myrrh and clove oil – which emanated from the ancient volume of spells as she turned the pages. The script was archaic in nature and not easy to decipher, but Tara was determined. She paused at a page entitled "Ad Agnosco Pondera" and ran her forefinger down the list of components that included a variety of specific herbs and at least one personal item belonging to the spell's intended subject.

Absorbed in her reading, Tara failed to notice Willow enter the room. The redhead, bearing a rather large box wrapped in Powerpuff Girls gift paper, had obviously also made a conscious effort to dress in accordance with the impending occasion. Attired in a calf-length wool skirt of burnt sienna and a cowl-necked sweater of almost the same shade, the color perfectly complemented her auburn hair and she had polished her brown boots to a brilliant shine. Declining to immediately announce her presence, Willow chose instead to watch the blonde from the doorway and her eyes radiated heartfelt affection. She drank deeply of the image for a few moments and then shook herself free from the self-indulgent reverie before moving further into the library.

"Hey, you," the redhead greeted cheerily.

Startled, Tara's hand instinctively snaked across the table toward another book that stood open. As casually as she could, she slid the volume closer and laid it atop the one in front of her. The movement was smooth and natural and if Willow had noticed anything untoward, she certainly didn't draw attention to the fact.

"Hey," replied Tara softly, turning in her seat. She glanced at the box Willow was carrying. "Party time?"

The redhead nodded enthusiastically. "Just about. I put your name on the card too. I figured you didn't have time to get anything, and who wants to be the odd girl out when it comes to gift giving? That's just all kinds of awkward."

Tara smiled. "That was sweet." Willow beamed brightly at the words and basked in the warmth of the endearing smile. "So" continued the blonde, "what'd we get her?"

"Oh, well, a few months back, Dawn broke Buffy's discman. On accident, of course. Anyway, for days Buffy wouldn't stop going on about how Dawn's been breaking her stuff ever since she was little. And she was oddly fixated on this one Christmas, where she got a Lite Brite. You remember, those big box things with the light bulb inside, a-and little plastic pegs you could use to make pictures?" Tara nodded. "Well anyway, before the year was out, Dawn broke Buffy's, and this has apparently been an unhealing scar Buffy's carried for nearly two decades."

Her explanation partially complete, Willow proudly displayed her wrapped box before resuming.

"So I went on eBay and I found her one. Not one of those new cube things either, but the real thing. With- With pegs, and even some picture sheet sets!" The redhead glowed with pride. "My Little Pony and Barbie."

Pushing the books away, Tara stood up. "No Rainbow Brite?" she questioned. "I would've thought the Brite-to-Brite synchronicity would've been irresistible."

"Oo, I should've thought'a that," grinned Willow. She drew herself up and nodded decisively. "That settles it, I'll never shop without you again."

Tara smirked in return, but the gesture was fleeting. It seemed that the blonde had much on her mind.

"You ready?"

"As I'm gonna be," Tara sighed.

Giles stood before an open cabinet in his office. The interior of the door had been fitted with an oval, mid-length mirror whose frame was made from white ash. Obviously an antique of some significant age, its border was intricately carved with coiled serpents, winged dragons, grinning skulls and satanic-type images. The Watcher examined his reflection to ensure that his hair was neatly combed and his tie straight. Satisfied, he smiled at the image – a stark contrast to the malevolent expressions of the etched demonic faces, with their wicked horns and cruelly-forked tongues, which leered at him from the ash frame.

Closing the cabinet with a soft click, Giles deposited the key safely into his pocket and crossed to his desk to retrieve a package. The long and slender box he picked up and tucked beneath his arm had been wrapped tastefully in gold foil and adorned with red satin ribbons. Turning, he made his way toward the door but his hand had barely grazed the handle when the telephone summoned. Hurrying back to his desk, the Watcher had the receiver to his ear before the second ring.

"Hello?" He listened for a response. "Ahh, Miss Harkness, yes. I spoke to one of your—" Giles paused and lay Buffy's birthday present on the desk. "Yes," he affirmed, drumming thoughtfully on the slim package with his fingertips before saying " Yes ..." again. A small frown creased his forehead. "I see." In a distracted fashion, he toyed with the satin ribbons. "What information do we need to be certain?" The Watcher nodded briefly at the answer. "Ah. Of course." The frown deepened. "No, I agree, until we know for sure." He continued to listen attentively. "Yes," he replied, his tone slightly unsettled. "No, no, thank you," Giles quickly assured. "Yes, of course. As soon as I know anything," he added. "Thank you for the offer, though I'm sure you can appreciate my hope that it won't come to that." The reaction he received seemed to afford a small amount of comfort. "Yes. Thank you again."

The Watcher sat quite still for several seconds, the handset still at his ear. Then, finally realizing that the other party had broken the connection, he replaced it in the cradle. Removing his glasses, he tossed them onto the desk, where they would have slid to the floor had Buffy's gift not halted their momentum. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Oh, dear."