Careful to make no sudden movements, Tara delicately stepped backward and away from Kennedy. Though momentarily stunned by the unexpected threat, she quickly regained composure and raised her hand as if to ward off the impending blow.

"Proté—" she began to murmur.

But before Tara could complete the incantation, Kennedy's arm snapped forward and she hurled the wrench with a powerful show of force. It whizzed past Tara's head, missing by mere inches and making her hair whip in the backdraft. Spinning end-over-end, it imbedded itself into the chest of a squat, long-armed creature. Taken by surprise, the gray-furred demon uttered a single grunt as the projectile made impact. It seemed to hover for a moment, caught in the mid-leap of an attack on the blonde directly within its path. The vicious claws scrabbled at the air as it fell heavily to the ground and landed with a soft thud into the snow bank. The body twitched only once and then lay still.

Whirling, Tara took note of the motionless demon and blinked with shock. Then, she wrinkled her nose. "I-I don't think we're gonna want to use that again. Ever," she remarked with open disgust.

Kennedy approached the fallen creature and prodded it in the ribs with the toe of her boot. "Dammit," she muttered darkly "That was my only one of those. Stupid demon."

"Huh. That was pretty clever," pondered Tara. "I'm guessing it set out the tire trap, kinda ... catching prey."

"Canada's certainly got some new breeds of nasty," Kennedy admitted grudgingly, poking it once more for good measure.

Tara surveyed the desolate stretch of highway. "I wonder how many people it's killed out here."

"Well it won't be killing any more," the Slayer replied matter-of-factly, "so score one for the good guys – defender of traveling families and innocent tires everywhere. Unfortunately ..." Her gaze returned to the flat and she stared at it balefully.

Following the brunette's eyes, Tara smirked. "Curatio ventulus," she chanted.

Instantly, a light breeze blew across the area. Kennedy regarded Tara with some astonishment, but Tara failed to notice, her focus intent upon the tire. The Slayer's attention also returned to the flat tire, which was no longer quite as flat. It continued inflated itself until it became normal-sized.

"Clausus," murmured Tara.

The punctured areas glowed brightly for several seconds before gradually fading to reveal a tire that was whole and undamaged once more. Slowly, the summoned breeze began to dissipate. With a small frown, Kennedy bent down to check, running her hand across the now-sealed rubber. "Handy," she appraised.

Tara shrugged good-naturedly. "I've got a hundred and one uses."

Looking up, Kennedy arched an amused eyebrow, but Tara had gone back to inspecting the fast-freezing demon.

"I think we should probably move him," she told Kennedy. "Back into the woods? So he's not just lying here on the side of the road and everything."

"Don't suppose you have a spell for that too, huh?" chuckled the brunette.

Tara studied the creature with a critical eye, ostensibly trying to find the most suitable angle. "Why use magick when you can do something yourself?" she asked, finally settling on simply grabbing one of its too-long arms. Her expression clearly indicated she was far from thrilled at the prospect, but had determined such had to be done.

With a grin, the Slayer joined her. "So you don't have to actually touch stuff like this?" she suggested, grabbing the other arm and helping Tara to drag the monster toward the trees.

"I'm really not in an objective frame of mind at the moment," Tara grimaced. "Ask me again in about ten minutes."

Kennedy snickered as the two women deposited the body beneath a thick fir tree, well out of sight from the highway. Together, they walked back to the SUV.

"So the tire mojo," the Slayer began. "You couldn't have done that half an hour ago?"

"Maybe next time I say I can help, you'll actually listen to me," smirked Tara.

A moment of silence followed which was broken Kennedy.

"Nahh."

In the living room, Buffy and Willow were sharing the couch, lying on opposite ends with Buffy closest to the entrance. They had each claimed an armrest and were using it to support the upper back while torsos and legs took up most of the remaining cushion surface area.

"It's so quiet," noted Buffy.

"Which is good," Willow stated.

The blonde was in complete agreement. "Absolutely. Quality Scooby time." She frowned. "As soon as Xander gets here. Where was he going?"

"He wouldn't say," replied Willow with a tiny pout. "He just told me knew how to make the night a good one. He seems to be under the impression that we are in need of cheering."

"Silly Xander," huffed Buffy.

"Totally," came the confirmation. "I mean, me? Full of cheer."

"Mirth, even," added the blonde.

Willow nodded emphatically. "And why shouldn't I be? Tara and Kennedy going off alone into the wilderness because they received some psychic summons from a person we've never heard of before who has an unexplained need to see Tara? That would have no impact on my mood whatsoever."

"None at all," affirmed Buffy forcefully. "And as for myself, I'm not even remotely overprotective to the point of scary about my little sister, recently plagued by a series of disturbingly Mom-like headaches which have now disappeared as suddenly as they arrived. Why would that bother me?"

"It wouldn't."

"Not at all."

"Silly Xander."

"Silly Xander," echoed Buffy, "who is, himself, devoid of mope."

"He and mope aren't even on speaking terms," agreed the witch.

"Despite not getting as much work as he wants ..."

"... and being lonely ..."

"... and having to deal with us," the blonde finished before quickly clarifying. "Not that we have anything in need of dealing."

"Because we don't." Willow's nod was firm. "And neither does he."

Buffy shook her head at the absent carpenter. "He's very silly."

As if on cue, the front door opened. Leaning her head all the way back over the armrest, Buffy regarded the entrance to the living room from an upside down perspective.

"I have returned," Xander announced grandly, sight unseen.

"Cool," replied Buffy. "We were just talking about how we're all doing so well."

From the foyer came the sounds of a coat being removed and shoes being discarded. "You two sure about that?" called Xander.

"Absolutely," assured Willow. "My good friend Buffy and I have thoroughly analyzed the situation and determined that we are both in excellent spirits." She frowned at the noises emanating from the direction of the foyer, indicating the moving around of things that appeared to be fairly bulky.

"Sure you're sure?" was Xander's amused query.

Both Willow and Buffy shared a look before sighing heavily in unison. "No," came the stereophonic response.

"Good," commented the still unseen Xander.

A frown creased Buffy's forehead. "Good?" She looked to Willow. "Did he just say 'good'?"

"I think he did," conceded the redhead. "We can punish him for that, right?"

"Yeah," affirmed the blonde, screwing up her nose. "But he may like it."

Willow also adopted a distasteful expression. "Oh, yeah."

Her gaze moved to the living room entrance where Xander had suddenly appeared. Bearing a big box in both arms and sporting a huge grin, he strolled casually to the coffee table and deposited his burden. He stood back and waited expectantly. Willow and Buffy looked at each other, then turned their attentions to the box before finally treating Xander to a dubious narrowing of the eyes.

"A box?" queried the redhead doubtfully.

Xander gave her an emphatic nod. "Box make better."

"What's in it?" asked a suspicious Buffy.

"Well that's the better part," replied the carpenter with a broad grin.

Both women still appeared leery, but Xander simply waited, looking very proud of himself. He nodded encouragingly as they uncurled themselves from the couch and warily broached the vicinity of the box. Willow and Buffy gasped in unison at the contents.

"Xander!" proclaimed a delighted Willow.

"I do feel better!" declared Buffy, hastening to add, "Not that I was bad."

Xander crossed his arms and beamed with satisfaction. "Do I know my girls or do I know my girls?"

Exchanging a glance of glee, both women reached into the box. Buffy's hands emerged holding two tubs of ice cream: one Half Baked and the other Karamel Sutra. With a tiny shriek of happiness, Willow hugged a super-sized bag of Doritos to her chest while Xander pulled out a box of Twinkies so large that it could only have been bought at one of those warehouse food places. He waved the carton aloft.

"I hereby declare this Scooby Pig Out Night. We will feast like the Romans, only less with the vomiting. I have pizza on the way, and two 24-packs of soda in the car." He pointed to the box. "DVDs are inside."

Willow peered hopefully. "Did you get a pie?"

Xander smiled good-naturedly as he fished in his pocket for the car keys. "I'll be right back."

Willow's grin was immense as Xander jogged out of the front door. She turned to Buffy, whose head was buried in the box, inspecting the multitude of assorted goodies.

"Think this'll help?" The blonde's voice was muffled.

Willow ripped open the bag of Doritos and snagged herself a large chip, eying it with relish.

"No," she replied matter-of-factly. "But at least we won't be miserable and hungry."

In one of the larger dormitory rooms, Giles was stuffing a pillow into a crisply clean case of white cotton. The area had obviously been vacant for some time, being totally devoid of any decoration save for the bed and a small three-drawer dresser. Faith paused in the doorway and watched Giles struggle as he shook the case violently in his attempt to distribute the pillow as uniformly as possible. It wasn't long before he noticed her, and smiled in greeting. "Oh, Faith, good evening."

"Hey," she replied, indicating the linen laid on the bare mattress with her chin. "What's all this?"

The Watcher frowned and gave the pillow another fierce shake. "Oh, I'm making up a room for our guest."

"Figured she'd make like Samantha an' just do it up herself," commented Faith.

"Samantha?" queried a confused Giles.

Faith cocked her head. "You know ... Samantha, Darrin, Tabitha ... 'Bewitched'. Had the whole nose wiggle thing goin'."

"Yes? How charming," came the perplexed response.

"Come in at 3, 4 in the mornin' from patrol, you take what the TV gives you," she shrugged.

Presumably now satisfied with the pillow, Giles held up a sheet. "Would you mind...?"

"Yeah, sure," Faith readily agreed. She moved to one side of the bed and grabbed the half of the sheet the Watcher tossed to her.

"Hospital corners now," he instructed.

Faith rolled her eyes, but didn't argue, choosing instead to focus on other matters. "Hey Oxford, can I ask you something?"

"I'm fairly certain you just did," Giles told her with a small grin of amusement.

Faith smirked. "Man, I hate that crap."

"I do too, actually," admitted the Watcher. "It's just such a rare occasion I get to use it on someone else." He leaned across the bed to check her handiwork, then straightened again and regarded the Slayer. "Yes, Faith, you may ask me whatever you like. Answering is, of course, another matter entirely."

"It's nothin' bad," the dark-haired Slayer assured. "I'm just tryin' to help someone, an' I'm not sure how to do it."

He shot her a quick glance. "Oh? Help them how?"

"One'a my girls," Faith explained. "She's kinda bummed about family stuff back home. I wanna make her feel better, but nothin' I can think of is really gonna do the trick."

Giles smoothed the sheet and treated the Slayer to a genuine smile of commendation. "Faith, I think that's marvelous. You wanting to help out one of your charges." He picked up a blanket and shook it out. Faith nabbed the edge that sailed toward her. "That's very selfless of you."

Looking somewhat embarrassed, Faith tried to blow it off. "Not really. If she walks around like someone killed her puppy then it's just gonna rub off on all the other troops. Bad for morale." Her tone became defensive. "I ain't soft or nothin'."

Giles shook his head vehemently. "No, of course not. Heaven forbid."

"... okay," stated Faith with conviction. "Long as that's clear."

"Quite," agreed the Watcher seriously.

"So ... what should I do?"

Giles settled his glasses more firmly upon the bridge of his nose. "Unfortunately, despite all appearances, I'm actually NOT the leading authority on young teenage girls." He admitted wryly.

"You're kiddin' me." Faith's tone was incredulous. "You're like ... the Big Daddy. B, an' Red ... Xan ..."

"I am the ..." Giles frowned at word choice, but pushed on valiantly. ".... 'big daddy' mostly by virtue of the fact that I have been the only consistent older male presence in their lives for some time. This comes with no sudden bursts of insight or knowledge, however."

The Slayer's face registered open disappointment. "Oh."

Immediately, Giles was anxious to make amends. "But- But I have made several observations over the years, and I may have one suggestion."

Her expression brightened considerably. "I'm all ears."

"I believe that ingesting copious amounts of confection has some sort of recuperative powers. I find that something frozen, containing several thoroughly unappetizing dollops of raw dough is a popular selection."

Her brow deeply furrowed, Faith shook her head in confusion. "What?"

"Try chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream," he restated.

The mood of hopeful anticipation deflated like a pinpricked balloon. "That's your big advice?" questioned Faith dubiously. "Ice cream?"

"I've heard it's quite tasty," the Watcher told her with an encouraging nod.

Lounging on the couch, legs stretched out in front of her, Buffy delved into the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream with a large serving spoon. "So good," she murmured contentedly.

The formerly neat living room was now well on its way to becoming a disaster area. A mostly-empty pizza box had been tossed carelessly into the middle of the coffee table, surrounded by balled-up taco wrappers, several open bags of assorted chips, shredded cellophane, and bowls of a variety of different candies. Nonetheless, the three indulgees showed little sign of slowing down their rate of consumption. Indeed, their expressions indicated that they might just now actually be getting started.

Willow was perched cross-legged upon one of the couch's cushions. She glanced at Xander sitting on the floor to the side of her. "Okay, I bet you ..." She cast searching eyes upon the piles of food until she spied something. "I bet you can't drink a whole can of Coke in five seconds."

Xander pooh-poohed the very idea. "Oh please. Think of something challenging. That's beneath me."

Willow's tone was triumph-laden. "So you refuse then?"

"And give you the satisfaction of putting an incriminating red tick mark by my name?" came the accusation. "You wish." He wiggled his fingers and was promptly rewarded by a smug Willow thrusting a Coke into his hand.

"Come on then, tough guy," she challenged.

Pointing the pull tag toward her, Xander popped open the can. He shot her a fierce and competitive look, but the gleeful grin betrayed the underlying essence of fun. He then turned to Buffy.

"Ready, O Mistress of the Time?"

Buffy waved her wrist in the air, displaying the watch she was wearing. "Okay, ready and ..." She glanced at Xander who had the can poised at his mouth, ready and waiting. "Go!"

Swallowing noisily, Xander began to guzzle as Buffy counted the seconds. "One ... Two ... Three ... Four ... Fi—"

But before she could complete the countdown, Xander announced that he was done – to the accompaniment of a very loud, very demonstrative, and intrinsically manly belch. Both women began to laugh, their faces contorted with entertained disgust. With pride, the carpenter forcefully slammed the empty can down on the coffee table.

Buffy shuddered through her giggling. "God, don't ever ask him to do that again."

"Ew, I promise," returned Willow, wrinkling her nose and grinning broadly.

"C'mon now, I met my challenge, so let's make with the black ticky," insisted Xander.

From the closest end table, Willow grabbed the small whiteboard that usually hung on the refrigerator door. It had been divided into three rows, one for each of them. There were several black check marks under each person's name, as well as quite a few red ones. Pulling the top from a felt-tip pen, the redhead placed a black tick in Xander's section. He peered at it curiously, trying to see the scores.

Clearing her throat in an official manner, Willow summarized the results thus far. "Ms. Summers has five completions, four pass/fail ..." Buffy nodded and appeared to be moderately pleased as she shoveled another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. "Mr. Harris, you have seven completions and only two pass/fail ..."

Xander made a fist and held it high over his head. "Victory!"

"... aaaaand I've got one to eight," the redhead hurriedly finished. Her expression grew cranky as both Buffy and Xander started to boo and hiss.

"Well sorry, some of us just aren't so ... piggy," she admonished with an air of superiority.

Xander frowned at Buffy. "Did she just insult us?"

"I know my ego is all bruised," came the confirmation.

The carpenter rubbed his hands together evilly. "You know what this calls for."

On edge, Willow shrank into the back of the couch, inching away from Buffy who was sliding across the cushions, and cowering beneath the upright Xander, now looming above her.

"It's harsh and brutal, but she's left us no other choice," Buffy murmured regretfully.

Willow's eyes opened wide as the enemy closed in. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare!"

But her protest went unheeded. With a unanimous whoop of "Willow-pile!!," Xander and Buffy attacked, launching themselves at the groveling Willow, in order to bestow merciless tickling and a shower of unrestrained noogies.

"Ahh! Stop it!" squealed Willow. "I know spells! Lots of spells! I'll get Hecate down and you'll both be so whammied!"

The aggressors paused, but lurked in readiness to resume their assault at a moment's notice as Willow panted and tried to catch her breath.

"Promise to stop being so pouty?" demanded Xander, fingers twitching.

"I'm not pouty," objected the witch. "I just didn't want to eat fifteen Twinkies without stopping. I like my stomach contents ... you know, in my stomach."

"Cuz if I can let all my worries go ..." cautioned Buffy.

"Let them go?" scoffed Willow. "You've been checking your cell phone for missed calls every five minutes. I've clocked you."

The blonde's eyes narrowed but Willow raised her hands in defense. "I'm just saying!" she urged. "It's not only me."

"Bleah," came the reply as Buffy threw herself back onto the couch with a blatant pout.

An expression of alarm invaded Xander's face as he sensed he was losing them. "Ohhh no you don't. You—" He jabbed a finger in Buffy's direction, "—are going to let your little sister grow up and stop freaking whenever she gets a canker sore."

Buffy blinked in amazement at the accusation. "I'm not—"

There was no time for further denial. "And you—" He turned to Willow, "—will stop letting your love life, or lack thereof, turn you into a gloomy guts."

"But I—" began the redhead.

Xander gave a dismissive wave, effectively cutting her off. "So I have said, so it shall be. Now." He thrust a package at each woman. "Eat a Ding Dong."

"You're very bossy," Willow commented peevishly.

"It's all the sugar," he mused. "I think it's rotting my brain from the inside."

With the critical eye of a school marm, he watched until both girls started to unwrap their snack cakes. Then, smiling with vast satisfaction, he grabbed one for himself, tearing it open and stuffing the whole thing into his mouth before either of the other two had taken more than one bite.

"I wonder if they're there yet," pondered Willow, mostly to herself. She flinched as pair of Ding Dong wrappers were thrown at her.

"Okay! Geez," she griped, sinking her teeth savagely into the icing. "Any Funyuns left?" she asked through a mouthful of chocolate crumbs.

"Take a right," instructed Kennedy, glancing at Tara who was behind the wheel.

The snow was falling now, and the road they traveled as no longer a highway but some type of wide trail. Darkness was beginning to fall and visibility was not at its best.

Tara leaned forward in an attempt to see more clearly. "Where? I don't see any roads. Just trees. Lots of trees. And some snow. Which would be pretty if we weren't, you know ... lost."

"We're not lost," snapped Kennedy.

"So we know where to go, then," responded Tara with a hint of sarcasm.

The brunette's eyes narrowed. "We'd be going right, if you'd listen to me."

A flush of anger crept into Tara's cheeks, but she forced herself to take a deep and calming breath. "I'll take the first right that won't require us to cut down the forest first, okay?"

The other woman puffed impatiently. "Can't you just ..." She wiggled her fingers in mock enchantment. "... and find the way there?"

"I could maybe help us find the way out if we get too turned around," the blonde replied thoughtfully. "But without knowing exactly where we're going or who we're looking for, I-I won't be able to find the Keeper of the Wing." Her forehead creased in a tiny frown. "She's here somewhere, though. There's ... Magick is everywhere in here. I-It's a little overwhelming."

Huffing, Kennedy sank down into her seat and glared at the hand-written directions lying in her lap.

Tara glanced quickly at the Slayer. "I'm sure we'll find it soon," she commiserated kindly. "You're just tired."

"You think?" retorted the brunette. "I knew there was a reason I hated taking family trips," she muttered darkly.

Rubbing at her eyes, Tara was obviously equally as fatigued. "Well why did you come then?"

"Someone had to," shrugged Kennedy off-handedly.

"Buffy would have," the blonde told her with conviction.

"Oh yeah, Buffy the perfect," Kennedy sneered. "I just wanted to, okay? I thought maybe it'd help me ... I dunno. Learn something."

"And did you?"

"Mostly that you're more repressed than then entire British royal family," was the curt reply.

"What?"

Kennedy arched an eyebrow. "I mean look at you." Blinking with confusion, Tara took stock of herself and frowned. "You're so damned busy not dealing with stuff that you're stuck," continued the brunette. "You can't handle the back, so you can't move forward."

"I'm not—" Tara began to protest.

Swift to interrupt, Kennedy effectively cut short the blonde's objection. "You know what pisses me off?"

"I'm guessing you'll tell me," grumbled Tara.

"You could have it all, and it's like you don't even want it," snorted Kennedy disdainfully. "I mean, you got a second chance at life! You got a do-over, but with all the good stuff still in place! The friends, the respect ..."

Tara seemed to withdraw into herself. "It's not just good stuff," she stated softly.

Kennedy waved a hand in the witch's direction, and the gesture screamed of frustration. "But instead you do that! You just fold up and push it away and don't deal with crap. What the hell?"

"It's not that simple," the blonde offered in quiet defense.

"Yeah, you know what?" Kennedy challenged. "It is. You went through some bad stuff, and that sucks, but it's life. If you're not gonna face that and deal with it, you might as well be back in the ground. You've got people around you who'd drop everything to help you. They want to help you so much they can taste it."

Tara shook her head. "This is ... These are my problems. They shouldn't have to—"

The Slayer swiveled in her seat. "I knew it!" she announced triumphantly.

The tone of victory had apparently truly grated on Tara last nerve and she shot Kennedy a withering look before turning her attention back to the road ahead.

Entirely unfazed, she repeated, "I knew it! You're doing this whole suffer-in-silence martyr thing! You think it, what? Makes you more noble? Keeps everybody good and sympathetic?" Her voice took on a patronizing note. "Oh, poor Tara, always so giving, can't burden everyone else with her pain." Her voice returned to normal, but her scorn didn't lessen. "God, do you always have to be so perfect?"

Tara's mouth had tightened into a thin line. "Do you always have to be such a bitch?"

As soon as the words were spoken, an expression of mortification crossed Tara's face. For a second, Kennedy blinked in amazement and then broke into a huge grin.

"You've been wanting to say that for hours, haven't you?" she questioned cheerily.

"Oh my god, I'm ..." Tara stammered an apology. "I- I didn't mean ..."

Kennedy's attitude was almost smug. "Oh no, you meant it," she nodded confidently.

Tara battled her rising irritation. "Why do you do that?" she asked in a clipped tone. "That stubborn, superior thing. I-It's like the tire, you just had to do it all yourself. I mean it's obviously defensive, but—"

"Sorry Mrs. Freud," replied Kennedy, her voice far from apologetic. "But there's room for only one psychoanalysis in this vehicle, and trust me on this – you are by far the more screwed up of us."

Tara's eyes blazed. "See, you did it again."

"Do you even want her?" challenged Kennedy.

The abrupt nonsequitur took Tara off-guard and she blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Willow," stated the brunette firmly. "Do you even want her? Because you've got to know that she wants you."

Tara appeared befuddled. "What ... What does that have to do with anything?"

"Please. It has everything to do with everything." Kennedy rolled her eyes condescendingly but Tara still appeared to be in the dark. The brunette leaned forward. "Look, I'll make it real simple: If you don't want her, then have the decency to let her go."

"I'm not holding her," Tara insisted.

Kennedy let out a sardonic chuckle. "Which, incidentally, isn't doing much to prove to me that you're not an idiot." She ignored the witch's frown and continued with her tirade. "And by the way? Yeah, you are."

"I thought you were going to make this simple," snipped Tara.

Kennedy leaned back against the headrest with a heavy sigh. "She's been waiting for you since the second she saw you across the street. Probably longer, if I wanna sacrifice my ego. I think fifty years from now, some part of her will still be waiting. The bottom line is: that's not right. Not if you don't want her. Not when there are people out there who do." Slowly, she turned to stare at the blonde's profile. The gaze was intense in its scrutiny. "So. Tell me right now that you don't still love Willow and want to be with her."

Tara dragged her attention from the road to meet Kennedy's penetrating eyes. Kennedy held the stare and it was the blonde who looked away first. The Slayer waited for a moment but ostensibly, Tara had nothing to offer by way of words.

"And there we go," Kennedy concluded. "Which brings us to the next point: What the hell are you waiting for?"

"Why are you ..." Tara began and then smirked with apparent realization. "You're trying to get us back together."

Kennedy's response was virtually automatic. "No way."

"You are!" insisted Tara with a smile which quickly became a puzzled frown. "Why are you?"

Kennedy slumped down further into her seat and propped her feet on the dashboard. "I love Willow. That's not news. But I'm realistic. While she's yours, she can never be mine. If she thinks there's the slightest chance, I don't even have a shot. Hence the questions. I knew what she wanted but I wasn't sure about you." She shrugged. "Now I'm sure."

"Sooo you're playing matchmaker because...?" prompted Tara.

"Because," Kennedy told her, "I want Willow to be happy."

Tara pondered for a moment and then nodded, seeming to recognize the sense and sincerity behind the statement.

"And," the Slayer added sharply, "because it's pretty damned clear that if someone doesn't step in and kick you in the ass, you'll both keep circling around each other until one of you crashes and burns." She tutted in frustration and rolled her eyes. "This is so not hard. Why the hell you have to make it into this big drama is beyond me. It's freaking irritating."

"See, you were sounding nice up until that point." Tara allowed herself a tiny smile.

Kennedy glanced sideways at the blonde from beneath lowered lids. "Well, can't go giving you false impressions, can I?"

Only the purring engine and the occasional 'swish' of the windshield wipers broke the hush that followed.

"You're so different," Tara suddenly announced. Kennedy quirked an eyebrow and waited for clarification. "From how I thought you'd be," the witch added. "When Willow first mentioned she'd ... she'd found someone, I thought ... I dunno. I thought you'd be kinda like ... me."

Kennedy snorted a laugh at that and Tara was obliged to grin.

"I-I guess that's kinda self-centered," she admitted.

"Maybe a little," conceded the Slayer. "But no. I think the last thing Will needed was someone to remind her of you every second of every day. So she traded up." She shot Tara a mischievous grin and the blonde chuckled.

"I'm the anti-Tara," Kennedy declared, puffing out her chest with mock pride.

Agreement was quick and quite certain. "I'm surprised we can exist in the same space without canceling each other out. Do we even have anything in common? At all?"

"Willow," Kennedy replied with a tinge of regret.

There was a pause.

"Well there's that," admitted Tara.

Kennedy returned her feet to the floorboard of the car. She leaned forward and, with a knowing look, treated Tara to a leering grin.

The witch blushed. "A-And that too."

Both women relaxed a little as the tension between them seemed to ease.

Tara peered out through the windshield. "Hey, look – a right," she pointed out with a smile.

"About time," puffed the brunette. "Take that bad boy."

As Tara turned the wheel, Kennedy referred to her handwritten directions. "It says we keep straight for a couple miles."

"Boy, when Mr. Giles said she was living somewhere remote, he wasn't kidding," Tara remarked as she observed that the new trail looked unmistakably similar to the old trail.

"Chapleau so far – not that impressive," commented Kennedy with something of a sneer. She dug around under the seat, unearthing an unlabeled CD that she waved at Tara. "Feel like some tunes? The radio hasn't picked up anything for hours." She turned the disk back and forth and frowned. "Though I have no idea what's on this."

"Oh, that's one of mine," the blonde responded.

Kennedy held it at arms length and regarded it with contempt. "It's not easy listening crap, is it?" she asked warily.

Smirking, Tara took the CD and popped it into the player. Within seconds, a strong beat filled the interior of the SUV. Then, a woman could be heard singing in the background, followed by a male voice:

Unconditional love, talking about the stuff that don't wear off. It don't fade, it'll last for all these crazy days ...

An expression of unadulterated shock invaded Kennedy's features. She blinked at Tara in total astonishment, mouth gaping. Now, it was Tara's turn to act smug and she grinned into Kennedy's disbelieving face.

"Tupac Shakur?" gaped the brunette.

"He was a great poet," Tara offered by way of explanation.

"Yeah, but ..." Kennedy seemed at a loss for words. "But what the hell do you have in common with a black male rapper who grew up on the streets of New York?"

"Nothing." Eyes wide in feigned surprise, Tara regarded Kennedy innocently. "Amazing, isn't it?"

Shaking her head, Kennedy seemed to be trying to absorb this turn of events. Tara grinned broadly, obviously delighted that she had been able to take Kennedy so unawares. She turned her attention back to the road, just in time to see something huge leap in front of the SUV.

Instinctively, Kennedy threw an arm across Tara's chest. "Look out!"

Wrestling with the steering wheel, Tara managed to make a sharp swerve off to the side of the wide trail. She struggled in vain to maintain command of the vehicle as it careened out of control, directly toward a row of large trees.