Tara sat cross-legged on the bed in Willow's room, watching the redhead pace nervously back and forth across the floor. Neither woman appeared particularly comfortable with the situation, but their resolve and determination were apparent.

"So, any great advice from Canada?" queried Willow, an exercise in perpetual motion.

Tara's eyes followed the redhead's rapid step. "Make sure you already have a happy predisposition toward snow," she suggested. "And change flat tires really fast."

"Ha!" exclaimed Willow as she came to a halt at the foot of the bed. "Flat tire, that's ... that's funny ..."

"There ... really wasn't a joke there," Tara replied with a slightly confused chuckle.

Willow wrinkled her nose. "No, I guess not." Her feet resumed their restless journey as a long silence enveloped the room.

Leaning forward, Tara rested her chin in her palm and quirked an eyebrow. "So much for small talk, huh?" she smirked.

"We just have too much talk," the redhead countered, still pacing. "We need a more appropriate size."

"Big talk?" volunteered Tara.

"Super-sized talk," Willow countered.

"Gargantuan talk."

"Colossal talk."

The blonde thought for a moment. "Prodigious talk."

"Well if that isn't enough talk," puffed Willow, "we're gonna have to do some serious editing."

They both chuckled, but any true merriment died very quickly. It was obvious there was simply too much to be said to continue to avoid the saying.

Willow slowed and finally came to a halt once more at the foot of the bed. She fidgeted with her fingers as she looked worriedly at Tara. "I'm scared," she admitted in a hurried breath, anxious to get the words out.

Immediately, the blonde's eyebrows knitted together. "Of me?"

"Of me. This ... Whatever's between us, whatever it means ... This power that I have, it's strong. Sometimes I think it's stronger than me. Stronger than any of us."

Slowly, Tara shook her head. "I can't believe that."

"I have to," declared Willow with acutely felt certainty. "It changed me, Tara. I let it change me. I wanted it to. The temptation to just ... You don't know. I can feel it. All the time." She suddenly looked tiny and crestfallen. "You shouldn't have to go through that."

"There's a lot of stuff we 'shouldn't' have to go through," the blonde told her gently. "But the bad stuff? It all helps make us who we are."

"And if you can't live with that person?"

Tara looked away, apparently at a loss to provide any satisfactory answer. "I'm scared too," she eventually acknowledged, able to meet Willow's gaze. "I-I'm ... I'm not who I used to be." She noted the redhead's expression of confusion and attempted to make her point clear. "Things are different. Now. The things I've gone through ..."

Still unable to grasp the full implication, Willow frowned. "What does that ...?"

"I don't know who you need. I don't know who I need," Tara added with a sardonic laugh.

The redhead's face broke into a smile. "Well that one's easy for me." She moved around to the side of the bed where Tara was sitting, bridging the distance between them. "I've always known," she affirmed softly.

"Willow ..." murmured Tara.

Kneeling in front of Tara, Willow's smile was so bright, it was almost impossible to not bask in its warmth. "Whatever you think is different," she told the blonde, "what you think is not-Tara? It doesn't change a darned thing. You're the same in all the ways that matter." The redhead's hand loitered over her heart. "I can feel it."

Tara shook her head doubtfully. "You don't know that."

Willow nodded with absolute conviction. "I know that."

"You can't."

"I do."

A tiny frown of concentration furrowed Tara's brow as she looked into the earnest upturned face. Willow projected an aura of total confidence in the words she had spoken as pure and simple fact. An eternity of moments passed between the pair, moments devoted to intense scrutiny and deep searching. Slowly, Willow began to rise, leaning forward and inching her way toward Tara.

"Whoever this 'New Tara' is?" Willow began in a low, intimate voice, "I wanna know her, too."

"Even if she's grouchy sometimes?" asked Tara in a hushed tone.

Willow's smile broadened. "Mm, I like grouchy. I bet New Tara gets the most adorable little crease in her forehead when she's grouchy."

As though a magnet were tugging at her, Tara began to slowly lean forward as well. "And even if she wakes up in the middle of the night from bad dreams?"

The smile transformed into an impish grin. "Sounds like a good excuse for early morning comfort cuddles."

There were scant inches separating them now. Tara's lids were becoming heavy and began to drift shut. "How about when—"

Her eyes shot open at the sudden emergence of a blinding flash that erupted between them. As an intense arc of energy leapt from Willow into Tara, they abruptly pulled apart, each instantly startled and somewhat short of breath.

Willow sat back on her heels, her hand leaping to her chest. "Okay, what the frilly heck was—" She swiftly surveyed the room and then locked her gaze once more upon Tara. Her features contorted in alarm and the blood drained from her face. "Oh god. Oh god," she muttered fearfully.

Shaking her head, Tara was still attempting to recover from the unexpected charge. Her eyes – now black and impenetrable as a starless midnight sky – roamed Willow's petrified face. "What is it?" she asked anxiously.

"Oh god," whispered Willow, rocking back and forth in horror.

The blonde reached out a hand, but Willow was clearly terrified and violently recoiled. "Don't touch me!"

Obviously wounded at the rejection, Tara immediately withdrew her gesture. "Willow? What's wrong?" Her tone was gentle but undeniably frightened.

Instantly, Willow deeply regretted her outburst, but the dread she was experiencing refused to abate. "Oh, baby, I ..." She paused before continuing in a voice that spoke primarily to herself. "What have I done?" Stumbling to her feet, Willow's began to blindly back away toward the door.

Stifling her own mounting feelings of panic, Tara also stood and moved slowly toward the redhead, like she was approaching a cornered and timorous rabbit. "Will, just calm down," she attempted to comforted. "Whatever it is, it'll be okay."

But Willow simply shook her head and would not be convinced. Gaze transfixed on Tara, almost as if she were unable to look elsewhere, the redhead continued to back away. She reached behind her for the door handle and upon finding it, turned and fled the room.

Tara called out Willow's name, but the redhead did not return. Instead, the only sound that met Tara's ears was that of footsteps pounding down the stairs. By the time the blonde reached the entrance to the room, the front door had slammed and Willow was gone.

Lost in confusion, Tara swallowed hard to contain the threatening tears. She ran a trembling hand through her hair and then retreated into Willow's bedroom. Her gaze traveled across the floor and around the walls, finally coming to rest upon her own reflection in the mirror above the dresser. The jet black eyes that regarded her from the looking glass registered complete astonishment.

Entranced at the vision, Tara approached the image. Her fingers reached out toward the reflection and then turned to her own face. In wonder, she traced the contours of her cheekbone just beneath the eye, hardly able to believe the manifestation. She blinked rapidly just to make sure it wasn't an illusion. It wasn't. She stared at the mirror image for a moment longer.

"Uh-oh."

In the large communal training room, a few pockets of Juniors were working on the weight machines but the room was mostly dominated by Faith, reclining on a tower of exercise mats while she watched Hazel shadow box in front of the wall-length mirror.

"This'll be so cool," enthused the younger girl. "Me. Large and in charge." She caught sight of Faith's reflected, dubious expression. "What? I'm taller than you." Hazel drew herself up to full height, but then quickly slumped again. "Just," she added under her breath. Her exuberance could not be contained for long, however, and she soon began chatting again. "It's exciting, though. And kinda scary. You think I'll do okay?"

"You'll be fine," Faith assured. "Just don't let 'em hit'cha too much. You newbies land a few blows on the teach an' you get all cocky."

A fleeting hint of worry crossed Hazel's features. "I'd feel better if you were there."

Faith quirked an eyebrow. "If I was there, I wouldn't need you to take over."

"Oh, sure, use logic," scoffed Hazel, throwing a roundhouse punch.

"You'll be great," Faith told her with a wave of dismissal. "Just remember: 8AM. How to use whatever's handy as a weapon. Don't get hit a lot."

Hazel nodded her understanding and then returned the majority of her focus to the workout. Faith watched in silence for a moment. "Y'know," she tossed out casually, "you change your mind, decide you wanna go visit your folks, I can get someone else to take the class."

Puffing and continuing to aim jabs at her mirror image, Hazel glanced at Faith. "You already offered that once."

"Well I'm offerin' again."

The young girl smiled gratefully but declined. "I'm good, Fiver. I mean, it still really sucks, but I did a lot of thinking last night. If I was home, just me and my sister ... well, this'd pretty much trash my world. My parents were everything."

"Livin' the suburban dream," muttered Faith with an eye-roll.

"I sure thought so," pondered Hazel, hopping lightly from one foot to the other. "Guess appearances really are deceiving. Or I'm blind as a bat."

The dark-haired Slayer shrugged. "They probably just didn't want you an' your sis all caught up in their personal crap."

Hazel seemed to be in agreement. "I'm sure it was all very altruistic. If I was still at home right now, though, I'd probably be crying pretty much all the time. Now I'm here, though."

Faith nodded with understanding. "So you don't have to really deal with 'em."

"It's not that," the younger girl told her. "They're not my world any more." Her all-encompassing gesture included the entire complex. "This is. Being here, training to be a real true blue superhero, saving people ... this is what I do now. I saw the movies and stuff, right? Watched the TV shows, read the comic books ... That's me. That's all of us. I can't think of anything better in the whole world."

Leaning forward, Faith rested her elbows on her knees. "Just wait 'til you hit your first apocalypse. Divorce'll seem like cake."

"See, there you go – just one more silvery sketch around that cloud of mine," Hazel grinned. "You, me, the Scoobies, all the other girls ... This is our home now." Hazel regarded the Senior Slayer's reflection in the mirror and grinned broadly.

Faith's watched the younger Slayer bob and weave against her imaginary opponent. "Be it ever so humble."

More workouts were occurring in other areas of the facility. Buffy and Giles had staked their claim on the private training room, the two circling each other cautiously. The Slayer aimed a kick at the Watcher's head and he blocked it with a well-padded hand.

"I can't believe you didn't make her talk," she griped.

Giles sighed heavily, as though he'd already explained the situation a dozen times. "She was tired. It was difficult to argue with her request to get some sleep. We will tackle this first thing in the morning. Besides, she does have something of a point about going through all the same information twice."

Pouting, Buffy turned to the wall and selected a broadsword, holding it aloft in attack position. She waited for Giles to do the same. "But you know stuff. She told you stuff."

Irritated with the stubborn glove, Giles shook his wrist in an agitated fashion. He scooted the discarded hand covering to one side with his shoe and poised his weapon. "I know a little bit of ... of 'stuff', yes, but certainly not enough to pop over to Robespierre's for a spot of tea. He- He's hidden himself remarkably well." He regarded the Slayer seriously. "We're going to need her help, Buffy."

"I'm being good," she insisted peevishly. "Good, yet cautious." She gave a tiny smirk. "Just like my Watcher taught me."

Giles leaned upon the hilt of his cutlass and nodded sagely. "Ah, remarkable chap. Very astute. You should listen to him more often, I think."

"Nah. He talks funny," rejoined Buffy, suddenly spinning gracefully and arcing her blade at Giles' knee. He hastily parried the blow and waited for her next assault.

"Giles?"

Giles regarded her warily this time. "Yes?"

"When you first met me ... what did you think?" She feinted to the left and then lunged but the Watcher was ready.

"'That outfit is entirely inappropriate for Slaying'," he told her crisply. Buffy laughed and Giles was obliged to smile. "I also seem to recall thinking, 'Good lord. She's only a child'," he added fondly, brandishing his weapon defensively, but Buffy was now leaning upon the hilt of her sword and apparently in anything but attack mode for the moment.

Laying down his cutlass, the Watcher moved to the ice chest and extracted two bottles of water, handing one to Buffy. The Slayer sipped slowly as Giles gulped his like a thirsty man in the desert.

"It's funny how serious you were back then," she smiled indulgently. "You were, like, Watcher Concentrate, all tweed and superiority."

Giles peered at her over his upturned bottle as he drained it dry. "Had to take classes, you know," he confided. "Coming across that uptight is an art form one must refine."

The Slayer tilted her head to one side in contemplation. "Would you go back there? If you could?"

"Would you?" he challenged.

Buffy gave the matter some considerable thought and then smirked. "I asked you first."

Raising an eyebrow, Giles regarded his Slayer petulantly. "Well I asked you second."

"You are such a child," Buffy retorted with an eye roll.

"I know you are, my dear Slayer, but what am I?"

His tone was so prim and proper that Buffy let loose with a loud peal of laughter. Giles' eyes glinted with amusement behind his glasses, but he consented to end the petty bickering and answer the question.

"Would I return to those days of willingly being under the Council's thumb?" he pondered, as though mulling over the proposition. "Of dealing with endless streams of children with no interest in learning, who viewed the library only as a prime place to celebrate their teenage hormones in seclusion? Lying awake at night, worrying that you weren't taking your duties seriously and were, at that moment, getting yourself killed?" He shook his head emphatically. "No, I can't say that I miss those days much at all."

He looked at Buffy's now sober and thoughtful face. "And you?"

Buffy shrugged. "Sometimes. It all seemed so much simpler then."

This was something the Watcher found unable to refute. "Yes, I expect it did."

"But mostly ..." the blonde continued. "No. I don't think I'd go back. I mean, then? I didn't even have a cell phone."

Again, Giles had no argument to offer in rebuttal. "Yes, it all balances out now." He paused. "What brought all this on?"

Distractedly, Buffy slashed at the air with her honed blade. "Dawn was just talking earlier about Mom and stuff. I guess I just got bit by the nostalgia bug."

"I think I have some understanding of that," the Watcher commiserated. "Still, we can only learn from the past, not dwell in it."

Wide-eyed, Buffy blinked. "So says the man who still thinks MTV is a tool of dark forces."

"Well honestly," he protested, "have you ever stopped and really considered Carson Daly? I think I need say no more." Aiming his empty water bottle at a trashcan in the corner, he executed a perfect basket and then hefted his cutlass. "Now, let's practice your counter attack."

They had just begun the blow-exchange process when Faith appeared at the doorway. With a jarring clang of metal, both Giles and Buffy turned in her direction.

The dark-haired Slayer took a step back. "Sorry. I'll go to my room."

Buffy beckoned her forward. "No, Faith," she insisted, "it's cool."

But Faith was not easily convinced. "I got a bag in my room," she responded with a shrug. "I can pound on that."

Concerned, Giles took a step toward her. "Are you all right?"

She jerked her head. "Five by five. Little wired is all."

"You can feel it too, huh?," asked Buffy, instantly sympathetic to the mood. "All the tension."

"A bit," admitted Faith. "Now we got a face to go with the name, I just wanna go smack it around. Waitin's not exactly my strong point."

"Well why don't you join us?" came Giles' suggestion.

Faith dismissed the notion. "Nah, this is a Slayer/Watcher thing."

"Last time I checked I was, technically, your Watcher also," chuckled Giles wryly.

Moving to the entrance, Buffy seized Faith's arm, tugging her further into the room. "Just think of all the fun we can have. All the friendly rivalries ... Being the favorite Slayer, picking out the best 'Watcher's Day' present ..." she grinned conspiratorially.

Faith snorted, but didn't pull away. "Think we got enough rivalries to last us a lifetime, B."

"Nah," gainsaid the blonde. "It's like Jell-O – there's always room for more."

Faith cast a questioning glance toward Giles, who simply smiled and then quickly hurled his cutlass at the dark-haired Slayer. Reacting immediately, she caught it deftly by the hilt with one hand.

"We're working on taking advantage of any weakness in your opponent," he told her.

"Might know a little somethin' about that," Faith conceded with a cocky grin.

Buffy was scornful in her indignation. "Well let's see what'cha got."

Treating himself to another bottle of cool water, Giles settled down comfortably on a nearby bench to watch the entertainment.

The morning had dawned clear, bright and cloudless. In the library, its lone occupant stood before one of the windows and squinted at the bright sun before taking stock of the vast inventory of books that lined the walls and the upper level. Ruth nodded her ancient head in approval and eyed several of the volumes with much interest, not bothering to turn when Willow quietly entered the room. The redhead had clearly been in search of something and had now apparently found the object of her quest in the form of the old woman.

"Hello, Willow," came the soft greeting in a voice which sounded rather like crackling parchment.

Willow was a somewhat startled at the obvious recognition and her reply held a questioning note. "Hi?"

Slowly turning, an expression of surprise crossed Ruth's features as she laid eyes upon Willow, but it soon became a smile.

Having caught the look, the redhead looked down at herself in confusion. "What?"

"You're not what I expected," chuckled the old woman with a hint of delight. "How refreshing. Do you have any idea how rare it is for someone my age to actually be surprised?"

Willow took a cautious step closer. "What did ... You expected something?"

Ruth's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Don't we all?"

"But you know me?"

"My child," she responded with an indulgent smile, "every witch, warlock, mage or sorceress worthy of the title knows you." Tilting her head to one side, Ruth queried, "You didn't honestly expect to make the Earth scream and remain anonymous, did you?"

A flush invaded Willow's cheeks but she shook her head sharply, refusing to be distracted. "I wanted to talk to you."

"We are talking," the old woman pointed out.

"I mean about specific stuff," Willow told her. "Giles, Tara ... they think you know things."

Ruth shuffled across the floor. "I do. My oatmeal raisin cookie recipe, for example."

The redhead's eyes widened. "Oh, I-I like oatmeal rais—" She abruptly severed that train of thought with a wave of her hand. "Do you know what's happening?"

"You might want to be a little more specific, dear," Ruth chuckled. She sank into a comfortably stuffed chair with a sigh of relief to be off her feet.

Willow moved closer. "To me. Us. My powers."

"Ah," Ruth breathed knowingly. She scrutinized Willow's eager face as her fingers absently drummed against her chin. After a moment, she shook her head. "I'm not really sure," she mused, her eyes still locked on Willow. "There's obviously a connection there, but ..." Her forehead creased in a deep frown. "You're blocking it," she claimed firmly.

"Darn tootin' I'm blocking it!" came the instant reply. "Do you know what happened yesterday?"

The old woman opened her mouth to respond, but the question had apparently been rhetorical, as Willow had every intention of answering it regardless. The redhead began to pace back and forth as she spoke.

"There we were, things looking ... really good, I'm about a second away from my first Tara smoochie in, oh, forever, a-and then bam! ..." Willow frowned as she replayed the events in her head. "Only not so much bam! as flash!," she corrected as an aside, before resuming in a more anxious voice. "Then there's this- this feeling like I'm under attack by a vacuum cleaner from hell and suddenly Tara needs Visine for evil and is that what I really look like when I get the black magick eyes, because, wow! Scary!"

Yet another frown invaded Ruth's forehead, adding to the numerous wrinkles already ensconced there. "What did she do?"

"Tried to stop me from freaking out! Yeah, like that was possible." The scoff was accompanied by a self-effacing eye roll.

Turning this new information over in her mind, Ruth leaned forward in the chair. "Is she okay now?"

"I haven't seen her this morning," the redhead replied, "but ... when I finally went home last night, she was fine. Her eyes were nice and normal. She said it wore off after about ten minutes, but ..." Willow twisted her fingers, the recollection plainly distressing. "I don't ever want to see that again. Not ever. I like her eyes the way they should be – blue and perfect. They shouldn't be evil ..." Her gaze drifted to the floor. To herself, she added, "Like mine."

Ruth's joints creaked a little as she moved into a more comfortable position. "But her personality, her attitude? That didn't shift at all?"

Willow thought for a moment. "Well she was scared, which was so not the surprise, but ..." She paused and seemed to dig deeper. "No. She acted just like Tara. She didn't even seem to notice it."

The old woman concentrated on digesting the information while a concerned Willow hovered expectantly. However, the redhead was apparently not prepared to wait very long. "What does that mean?" she demanded. "It means something good, right? No, of course it's not good. But ... But it doesn't necessarily mean bad? But when it was me, I didn't think it was bad at first either." Her tone grew almost desperate. "How can I stop it?"

Surveying the anxious face, Ruth shook her head apologetically. "I don't think you can, dear."

Clearly, this was not what Willow wanted to hear. "But I have to! What's gonna happen if I don't?"

"I don't know," the old woman told her honestly. "The answer to that is really up to you and Tara."

She reached out her hand to Willow, and the redhead – appearing almost shell-shocked – reacted instinctively and took it. Using Willow as a lever, Ruth hauled herself to her feet, her knees popping noisily as she did so. With a thankful smile, the Keeper patted the younger woman's hand.

This seemed to jar Willow from her thoughts, and with a frown, she opened her mouth to further question, or perhaps protest Ruth's words. She never got the chance to speak, however, as Giles entered the room, closely followed by several of the others.

Riffling through a sheaf of notes, the Watcher looked up briefly and smiled at the two women already in the room. "Ahh, good, you're both here." He nodded with satisfaction. "Shall we get started then?"

With a final parting smile in Willow's direction, Ruth headed toward Giles, leaving Willow lingering on the fringes, a worried expression on her face.

Much to Giles' delight, everyone had arrived on time for the meeting and had now taken up positions at various tables, either sitting or standing. As the center of attention, Ruth smiled happily to note that every eye was concentrated on her. She dramatically dragged out the moment of suspense before deciding to speak.

"For a few decades now," she began, "I've made it something of a habit to not concern myself too much with the outside world. I've found it doesn't quite hold the same interest for me that it once did, and I was tired. So very tired. I was content, not paying things much mind. There were of course moments where I couldn't completely tune everything out." At this, she glanced briefly and meaningfully at Willow. "I was detached, not blind. One such event occurred a few months ago."

Giles took up the tale as Ruth's eyes sparkled indulgently. "I believe the catalyst for Ruth's ... renewed sense of interest was Tara's resurrection," the Watcher explained.

Xander leaned toward Tara. "Boy, you just woke up everyone, didn't you, missy?" He wagged a reproving finger. "Keep it down next time you rise from the dead."

Tara grimaced. "I, uhm ... I think I'll skip on the 'next time' part."

"Once my attention had been attracted," stated Ruth, taking the lead once again, "I wasn't particularly in the mood to just let it go." She began to grumble under her breath. "I'd already missed the end of 'The Price is Right'." She scowled in aggravation for a second and then continued in her normal scratchy voice. "So I stretched a few old magick muscles, and went sniffing around."

"Sniffing," echoed Buffy. "I'm guessing not for potpourri."

Ruth fixed the blonde Slayer with a piercing stare, beneath which Buffy refused to waver. "Youth today," sighed the old woman regretfully, "no appreciation for hyperbole." Sensing the mounting atmosphere of agitation, Ruth rolled her eyes a little and then continued. "After some investigation and reflection, I was able to get an impression of the signature."

Kennedy waved an impatient hand. "Okay, I'm officially confused."

Willow hastened to explain. "Every spell has a sort of- of fingerprint. An impression left by the caster, or possibly casters. Two witches can cast the exact same spell, but leave behind completely different signatures."

"You have to be pretty sensitive to pick them up though," added Tara, "unless you're already really familiar with the signature."

Ruth nodded wisely, seemingly content with these explanations. "I wasn't able to get an exact match, but I did find something extremely similar ... and very powerful. I spent some time trying to get as much information as I could, but it's impressively shrouded. Slipperier than a pumpkin seed in the rain."

"What're we talkin'?" interrupted Faith. "This that Robespierre guy?"

Giles was quick to confirm. "That's what I suspect. Although Robespierre himself never showed any particular leaning towards mystical powers ... in fact, he more often than not seemed to deem it as unrefined, antiquated at best. Still, given the nature of the attacker and our difficulty in locating him through more conventional means ... Well, he appears to have expanded his resources."

"And it makes sense," asserted Willow crisply. "If he's working the magicks to juice up Slayers an' I couldn't even catch a trace of it, it's pretty punchy power."

"So," pondered Kennedy, "we're talking busting in and busting heads, right?"

"It's most likely an item of some sort acting as a conduit," Ruth submitted with conviction. "The readings I was able to get show a steady stream of power, constantly flowing but constantly regenerating too. The levels don't fluctuate or decrease, they simply rise steadily. Anything living, even something that powerful, would have to slow or stop occasionally."

Xander mulled this over for a moment. "Okay, so summing up: Big Bad, Big Power. Power in doohickey. Doohickey smashy, power go bye-bye."

"You have such a way with words," Wood told him. Xander beamed in satisfaction.

Giles folded his arms across his chest. "Power will not go 'bye-bye'," he responded, the repeated words almost distasteful, "so much as simply stop feeding into whatever is draining it. If my assumptions are correct, the power already expended will remain in ... whatever was absorbing it."

"You're thinking the Super Slayers," volunteered Dawn, who had brought a legal pad with her and already covered several sheets of paper with copious notes. She smiled proudly at the Watcher's nod of affirmation.

"What about the magic users behind this?" asked Hannah, leaning over the back of Wood's chair.

"Powerful, no doubt, but not our primary concern," Giles told her and then turned his attention to the assembly as a whole. "They're under the command of Robespierre. Without him and without their power source or conduit or whatever it is, they'll likely scatter. The commander and his army must be our top priorities. Once we've stopped them, we can seek out the spellcasters after."

Buffy took a deep breath. "Okay, so step one: we destroy the battery and somehow get rid of whatever leftovers is turning these other Slayers into T-1000s, right?" She regarded Giles expectantly.

"In its most basic form, that would be the plan, yes," he conceded.

Nodding grimly, Buffy turned to Ruth. "Great So where are they?"

"I don't exactly know ..." came the response. It was a reply not taken well by the blonde Slayer, and she appeared ready to launch a major protest. Ruth held up a hand to stave off the impending storm.

"...but," the old woman added brightly, "I can help you find them."