Surrounded by books, Dawn sat at a table in one of Slayer Central's small and undesignated, but more comfortably furnished rooms. A tiny frown of concentration creased her forehead as she focused intently on the research she had been assigned, anxious to be successful in her quest. She jumped a little at the ringing of her cell phone but then, her eyes lit up at the tuneful tone – Christina Aguilera's "Genie in a Bottle." With a delighted grin plastered across her face, she dug deep into her pocket and yanked out the mobile. However, she forced her expression into 'be cool, be calm' mode before flipping open the phone.

"Hello?" Her voice was nonchalant. "Hey Grip, what's up?" She laughed brightly at the response. "Oh my god, totally. It's, like, 'are you now or have you ever been a human being?'" Dawn paused briefly at the reply. "I know!" As she listened, she doodled on a pad – mostly plump little hearts with arrows through them, flanked by the letters 'G' and 'D'. Her face split into a huge beam of excitement. "I would love—" She pulled up short in an attempt to curb her overt enthusiasm. "I mean ..." she continued casually. "Yeah, sure, that'd be cool."

Barely able to contain herself, she emitted a silent squeal, and then morphed again into Jane Cool. From the hallway outside, Quinn peeked into the room at the sound of Dawn's voice and, recognizing its inhabitant, hurriedly flew back the way he had just come. Engrossed in conversation once more, the teenager failed to notice Quinn's arrival, and his hasty departure went equally unnoticed.

Dawn now twirled her hair around her fingers as she spoke. "So when were you—" Her face abruptly fell. "Oh. No, tonight's no good, I've got ..." She glanced at the books and other research materials surrounding her. "Homework. Research. For that paper in Mrs. Fornside's class." She nodded into the phone. "Yeah, not for two weeks, but ..." She paused to sigh, grimacing as several strands of hair tightened around one of her fingers, threatening to cut off the circulation. "I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense, it's just ... It's really important that I do what I can now." She viciously tugged free the nearly numb digit and muttered, mostly to herself, with self-loathing. "God, I must sound like the most boring nerd alive."

She turned absently-mindedly as Quinn appeared on the threshold, closely followed by Ruth. Without waiting for an invitation, they entered the room, Ruth making a beeline for one of the more cozy armchairs. Dawn didn't pay them much attention. Instead, she cradled the phone in her hands, her features melting into something sappy and thoroughly enchanted.

"Really?" she murmured wonderingly into the mouthpiece. "No, Wednesday night'd be great. Yeah, I know, school night, but I got a hunch if things work out well today? I can get a least a week of leeway out of Buffy." She nodded enthusiastically. "Okay. See you then."

Snapping the phone shut, Dawn was the image of any steadily-becoming-completely-smitten 17-year old girl. Her expression grew dreamy and a far-away look invaded her eyes, interrupted only by Quinn floating down into her line of vision. The faerie hovered in front of her, sitting Indian-style with elbows resting on his knees and chin cupped in one hand. His facial expression almost mirrored that worn by Dawn. The teenager blinked in surprise and focused on the little creature.

He peered at the doodles with a wistful smile. "Ah. Young love."

Turning red as a recently boiled lobster, Dawn scrabbled desperately to turn over a new page as her pencil rolled onto the floor. Quickly stuffing the phone back into her pocket, she bent down to retrieve the writing implement. "It's—" she stammered, reappearing from beneath the table, "I mean, I'm not—"

Quinn looked to Ruth. "Oo, that flush!" he remarked, but not unkindly; he seemed genuinely excited. Turning back to Dawn, he reached out and nudged her shoulder. "Tell us all about him-or-her, and don’t you skimp on the juicy bits!"

The teenager was only too eager to reveal all. Her eyes drifted heavenward. "Well he's a him for starters, his name's Grip," she confided with a swooning sigh, "and he's got just the softest brown eyes that crinkle when he smiles and—" Abruptly, Dawn shook her head. "No, wait." Her hand made a cutting motion in the air, as though physically severing that derailed train of thought. "Bad timing. I have to do research and stuff. Scooby stuff."

Her focus returned to Quinn, who had produced a tiny bowl of popcorn from thin air and was chomping down on the contents with much relish. Dawn blinked. He was no longer wearing what he had when he first entered the room. Now seeming as though had stepped out of any generic slumber party movie, Quinn sported a pair of red satin pajamas and his hair had been separated into three pigtails, each neatly tied with a scarlet ribbon. The faerie's popcorn-laden fist stopped mid-way to its target, the corners of his mouth turned downward in blatant disappointment.

"Aww," he pouted.

"Now Quinn," instructed Ruth sharply, "we shouldn't distract the poor dear from her work."

His lower lip jutted out further. "Not even for the juicy bits?"

"Oh, I can maybe tell you later?" suggested Dawn. "You know, when Buffy's stomped on the bad guys and we don't have this whole nasty battle-thing looming."

Quinn extended a buttery pinkie. "Swear?"

Dawn reciprocated and they made a deal courtesy of mutually wrapped pinkies. It was sealed with a solemn shake.

"Swear," pledged Dawn.

Ruth wriggled comfortably in her chair. "So what's all this?"

The teenager turned her attention to the old woman. "Tara wanted me to research some spell stuff. She and Willow only have so much power for everything, so they're looking for anything that could help make it easier."

"That sounds very important," replied Ruth with a wise nod.

Dawn tossed her head impatiently. "It's not. It's busy work."

"Doesn’t look particularly busy to me," noted Quinn, mystically refilling his almost empty popcorn bowl.

The teenager hastened to clarify. "No, I mean ... There's really nothing I can do to help, right?" She gave Ruth a melancholy stare. "You know, you were there when they attacked. Buffy won't let me go to the fight, I can't do magick. So here I am, banished to the books yet again. They don’t even really expect me to find anything, it's just something to do so I don't feel left out."

"So then why bother?" the old woman questioned.

Dawn's jaw became determined. "Because I wanna show them just how wrong they are."

With a small smile that hinted of approval, Ruth nodded. "It's hard for them to see you as you really are," she told Dawn fondly as she leaned forward. "Not just a young girl, but as so much more. They've been trying to shield you from things, trying to protect the innocence that they themselves lost so long ago." The teenager was focused intently on Ruth's words, every syllable causing her to become further enraptured by the soft, yet firm and confident voice. "But inside each person, Dawn – especially you – there's something special. Something powerful and uniquely your own, something you alone possess. It's all there inside you, just waiting to be unlocked."

Dawn absorbed this news very carefully for a while and then blinked several times. "Wow," she puffed. "All that in me, huh? Cool."

Then Dawn cocked her head to the side and leveled a flat look at the Keeper, all fascination dropping away. "But seriously, what's with the cryptic?"

Ruth's answer was a smirk.

"Oh, she's not cryptic, Sunshine," informed Quinn with an long-suffering eye-roll. "She's senile. It's easy to confuse the two."

Dawn emphatically shook her head. "No, nuh-uh," she disputed. "I know cryptic, and this is it." Leaning forward, Dawn tried to plead her case. "Look, you're here to help us, right?" Ruth confirmed this with a brief nod, and the teenager quickly pressed onward. "Okay, so then why the games? If you know something, that'll help, just tell us."

The old woman pondered on this for a moment, but as she opened her mouth to respond, Dawn hastened to add, "And don't be cryptic!"

Ruth's laugh sounded dry and brittle, but she regarded Dawn with much affection. "There are some things that you can't be told; you can only learn them for yourself."

In exasperation, Dawn threw her hands into the air and then looked to Quinn for some type of clarification. The faerie shrugged and popped another couple of kernels into his mouth. "You should hear her try to decide what to have for dinner," he whispered confidentially. "You get used to it, love."

Apparently, deafness could not be counted among Ruth's list of ailments, and this statement earned Quinn a glower of disapproval. But the old woman's severity faded as she refocused once more on Dawn.

"I promise, I'm not trying to be difficult," she told the teenager sincerely. "When someone asks a question, they want and expect a specific answer, which is only sometimes the truth. Truth itself has to be sought, but only when the seeker is ready to hear it."

Dawn sighed. "But if you know something that'll help us against this Robespierre guy ..." she entreated.

"Then I suppose I'd be talking to someone who's ready to look for a little bit of truth about herself, wouldn't I?" replied Ruth, pointedly locking her gaze on Dawn.

Dawn eyed the old woman with some suspicion. "Are you sure you're not evil?"

"I promise," guaranteed Ruth.

"Because if you are evil, I'm so telling my sister."

"That sounds fair," agreed the old woman amicably.

Regarding Ruth warily, Dawn gave the proposition very careful consideration, even as she dragged her chair closer. Ruth smiled knowingly and threw Quinn a meaningful glance. He promptly produced a large dish of assorted Jelly Bellies and deposited it in her lap, continuing to hover nearby as he munched on his own bowl of popcorn.

Willow and Xander had assembled with Giles in his office. Upon the arrival of Buffy, the gathering was complete and each took a chair, settling themselves comfortably.

"The girls are about ready," announced the Slayer briskly. "Kennedy's with them now."

Giles inclined his head. "Excellent."

"Okay," began Xander, making sure to keep everyone's gaze, "just so I know what exactly to worry about and when ... Will an' Tara are gonna do a locator pinpoint thing on the magickal signature they've gotten from Ruth."

"Right," Willow confirmed with a nod. "That's the easy part. Once we've got the signature location, we'll have to open up and stabilize a huge honkin' portal that'll send you guys and the other Slayers right to 'em."

"But the doohickey won't be there," he verified.

Sighing heavily, Giles rolled his eyes heavenward. "'Huge honking' portals and ..." He looked as though he had just ingested something very distasteful. "...'doohickeys'. Somewhere, the Council founders are rolling in their graves."

"Maybe even literally," Buffy suggested helpfully.

Giles' expression said 'quite possibly', but he didn't dwell there, instead focusing on Xander. "No, we'll not be by the source. We'll be in the same facility, but we can't arrive directly next to it, the risk of- of magickal 'feedback' is too great. We should appear at the largest, safe and hopefully vacant point nearby."

Buffy also directed her words toward the carpenter. "Once we're in, you wait for my signal, Xander. I don’t want you running into a stream of Super Slayers on their way to us." Xander acknowledged the information with a crisp nod.

"Though, fingers crossed, they'll have a Super-ectomy by the time you guys see 'em," added Willow with an encouraging smile. "Tara and I'll keep it going as long as we can, but even if there's only fifty of 'em ... Well, let's just say the sooner Xander does his part, the better."

With a devious grin, the carpenter patted the bag o' goodies on the ground next to his chair. "Like the ancient caveman, I am prepared to club."

"I wish I was coming with you guys." Willow's tone was laced with concern and regret. "I don't like you going off all me-less."

"Yeah," the Slayer commiserated, "but you said you and Tara need peace, quiet and a safe place while you're doing the witchy mind meld, which are three things I can pretty much not guarantee you on a battlefield."

"I know, I know. But I still feel pouty, so—" Willow promptly threw all her energies into pouting furiously.

"Awww," cooed Xander, reaching over to pinch her cheek, "wookit da widdle—"

The indignant redhead smacked away the offending hand. "You deny me my pouty fun."

"Don't think of it as denying," rejoined the carpenter, wriggling threatening fingers. "Think of it as gratuitously mocking."

"But with love," Buffy hastened to clarify.

"Great big lovin' spoonfuls," affirmed Xander.

Giles massaged his forehead. "We really must find some place not my office to hold these intellectual discussions."

"Yeah, we could maybe go to—" Willow's eyes suddenly seemed to engulf a full 50% of her facial surface area, and she sat ramrod straight in her chair. "Oh!" Her hands flapped in the air, seemingly of their own accord. "Vacation!"

"Vacation?" Buffy immediately echoed, perking up like a puppy who'd heard the word 'walkies'. "A real, live, place-that-is-not-here-or-anywhere-close-where-Buffy-can-relax-and-be-pampered-and-shop vacation?"

"Include scantily clad native women," proposed Xander, "and I'm in."

Willow gave a dreamy nod at the suggestion, and then a new idea struck. Her face lit up like twinkling Christmas tree. "We can go to the Apple Campus in Cupertino! We can all take pictures by that adorable little street sign and—"

Still in the throes of delight, she found herself the object of incredulous stares. "Or, with the nearly naked native people," she finished meekly.

"I suppose it's too much to hope for you all to consider some sort of cultural significance to our destination beyond Mai Tais," ventured Giles, his tone indicating that his mind had already reviewed this possibility and sent it back with 'REJECTED' written in thick red ink.

"We are not spending our first family vacation surrounded by stodgy old things," Buffy declared firmly. "Unless we're going to Florida, in which case it's unavoidable."

The Watcher folded his arms across his chest. "I was thinking about Graceland, actually. I've often considered it's mere existence to be a cornerstone of American culture."

"You're just looking for new ways to be all snooty and British, aren't you?" Xander queried.

With mouth twitching, Giles agreed. "The thought had crossed my mind."

A brief smile of amusement shadowed Buffy's lips, but then she glanced at her watch. "Kennedy and the troops should be about ready. We'll figure out where we're going after?"

"Yeah," enthused Willow. "When we're all back and safe and sound and the bad guy's just another notch in the belt."

This was greeted with emphatic nods of approval. In unison, they got to their feet and looked at each other. They paused for a moment, seeming to wait for someone to fill the intervening space, but none did.

"Okay then," Buffy stated decisively, breaking the silence. "Let's do this."

"Do what?" asked an incredulous Robespierre.

With annoyance oozing from every pore, he stood in a room that was an exercise in contradictions. It was almost as though an architect had taken great pains to conceive and build a showplace of some grandiose design, but nobody had bothered to inform the interior decorator of the eminent plan. In short, the room was excessively ornate while remaining disappointingly ordinary. The area's most arresting feature stood in the center of the room – a glowing sphere some seven feet in diameter. It rested upon a tall, elaborate and sturdy pedestal of black marble delicately veined with gold leaf. The dominance of this flickering orb and its impressive plinth was unmistakable. Indeed, the remainder of the area paled to insignificance in the presence of this majestic artifact, whose interior glimmered with smoky swirls of a softly muted blue. Although the globe didn't appear to be emitting waves of infinite power, it nonetheless radiated with an aura of potential danger.

Like the cardinal points of a compass, four cloaked figures tended to the sphere. Their hands and outspread fingers extended toward its smooth surface. With eyes closed and wearing expressions of rapt concentration, the quartet of caretakers swayed gently in immaculate synchronicity as their lips moved in a soundless chant. A fifth cowled figure, identical in dress and appearance to his four entranced brethren, stood with bowed head before an intensely irritated Robespierre.

"He didn't say, sir," the mage informed politely. "Lord Madrigan simply bade us remain with the orb while he and the upper members of The Shrouded Circle returned to—"

Robespierre dismissed the explanation with a shake of his fist. "Well get him back here!"

An expression of mild amusement crossed the mage's face at such a notion. "Perhaps sir did not hear me correctly the first three times. Lord Madrigan is gone, sir. It is not for me to 'get' him. It is for him to return when he so chooses." He blinked innocently and waited with infinite patience for a response.

Robespierre's face began to turn purple and a small vein throbbed at his temple. "'When he so ...'" he spluttered from between tightly clenched teeth. "Send me to him."

With an air of urgent anticipation, Robespierre stood stiffly to attention as though he expected to be whisked through a portal at any second, or that some gigantic supernatural hand would lower itself into the room like a sky gondola, scoop him up and then deposit him instantly at his desired location. Neither of these things occurred and the mage regarded the man before him with something akin to pity.

"Lord Madrigan made it very clear he wasn't to be disturbed. Sir," he replied with a tone of mild sympathy.

"And I am making it clear that I want to see Madrigan. Now," came the enraged command.

The order was denied with a pacifying shake of the head. "Sorry, sir. If you'd like I could let Lord Madrigan know you're looking for him the next time he checks in?"

Robespierre obviously took this suggestion to be little more than an insult to injury and his temper soared. Seizing the mage by his cloak, he lifted him into the air and slammed him against the marble pedestal. The orb appeared unaffected by the impact and the quartet of caregivers simply shuffled several steps backward, effectively placing themselves well out of harm's way.

"You insignificant little insect," snarled Robespierre. "Do you have any idea who you're talking to?"

The reply of his hapless victim was delivered in a somewhat strained voice. "Someone in desperate need of a day off?"

Anger continuing to mount, Robespierre shook his captive like a rag doll, the glib response doing little to calm the tide of his vexation.

"I have crushed men – powerful men – beneath my heel," he hissed, "and each of them was worth a thousand of you. I have seen the closing of an era and risen to the calling of my father and his father, down through recorded history to the very foundation of the Watcher's Council. We were not meant to protect quietly from the shadows, we were meant to lead. I was meant to lead."

The mage's head rocked back and forth as he was rewarded with yet another violent shake. He visibly winced as he was slammed once more against the orb's pedestal.

"History was created by great men," continued the infuriated Robespierre, "and I will pen these final chapters in my own hand."

The distressed mage nodded in agreement. "Of course, sir. My apologies, sir."

"Does Madrigan forget who is in control here?" demanded Robespierre.

"No sir," reassured the unfortunate mage. "I'm certain he is only too well aware."

Robespierre's eyes narrowed for a moment and then he slammed his quarry into the pedestal one more time for good measure.

An expression of concern crossed the mage's face as he patted the sphere behind him with a slightly shaky hand. "Please be careful, sir. The orb is more fragile than it looks." Mostly to himself, he added, "The same might be said for me."

Suddenly repulsed, as though he were dirtying his hands with something totally abhorrent, Robespierre abruptly released the mage, who supported himself against the pedestal with a sigh of relief.

Regaining his composure, Robespierre smoothed the lapels of his jacket. "I don't even know why Madrigan insisted we keep that thing here," he muttered.

"It is the binding force behind your army, sir," reminded the mage, attempting to put some distance between himself and the Assemblage leader as smoothly as possible.

"All the more reason I'd think it shouldn't be kept here," sneered Robespierre, his expression ugly.

Tucking his hands into the fluted sleeves of his robe, the mage took another precautionary step backward. "Where on earth could be safer than among your invincible warriors?" he inquired cordially.

The answer he received was little more than a primal grunt. Robespierre clearly did not buy the reasoning, but refused to acknowledge so much as a hint that his precious girls might not be up to snuff.

"Not to worry," comforted the mage. "Lord Madrigan himself created it. You can rest assured it will perform its function flawlessly. Sir."

His foul mood still in overdrive, Robespierre turned toward the exit. "I want to see Madrigan the second you hear from him. The second." His tone was arrogant and he obviously expected to be obeyed without question.

"Absolutely, sir," the mage readily promised as Robespierre left the room. "I'm sure he can't wait to see you again."

Ensconced in the tranquility of the Sanctum, Willow and Tara sat on the floor across from each other. With eyes closed and each clasping the hands of the other, they were obviously in the depths of casting the spell that would open the portal. Hovering anxiously, Dawn was eager to lend what aid she could, but trying her best to remain still and not interrupt the delicate sequence. Also nearby sat Ruth, paying rapt attention to what was transpiring. From his perch on a table, Quinn watched the proceedings with avid interest.

In the courtyard outside Slayer Central, an army of girls stood in readiness. They numbered between 80 or 90, each armed to the teeth and shuffling with restive anticipation. None were inclined to engage in conversation while they waited, but there were many supportive nods exchanged and more than a few nervous smiles of encouragement.

With deeply furrowed brows, Willow and Tara descended further into their field of concentration. Glancing at Dawn, Ruth beckoned to the teenager, who moved slowly and carefully across the room until she reached the old woman's side. She bent down to catch the crackling whispered words, audible to Dawn alone. "Inside each person is something special."

An impatient Xander prowled back and forth behind the battalion assembled in the courtyard. A large canvas bag dangled from one hand and he bounced an impressive battleaxe on his right shoulder. He stopped pacing at Hannah's approach and noted her extensive arsenal with approval. She threw him a grin and then widened her eyes, as though asking 'Ready?' In response, he patted a crystal suspended from a thick silver chain around his neck and smiled confidently. Returning the smile with equal assurance, Hannah gestured with her thumb toward the tranquilizer gun strapped to her back and then treated the carpenter to a conspirative wink.

"Even if they don't realize it, it's there, inside," Ruth instructed softly. "Just waiting behind the door."

Dawn's eyes became veiled as her lids began to drift shut.

"We can't risk too much more," Tara informed quietly but urgently, sounding as though she were drowsy from her trance-like condition.

Willow's tone mirrored that of the blonde. "I know."

Kennedy patrolled the courtyard like a capable general inspecting the troops. Each muscle was tensed and every nerve in her body tingled. Her fists clenched and then unclenched as she seemed to be weighing the pros and cons of the impending battle, her brain churning over the minute details and blatantly more than keen to participate in the upcoming confrontation. Scanning the sea of faces, she spied an edgy Junior standing nearby. The girl was very young, perhaps no more than 14 years of age. She held her sword with some trepidation and the eyes that glanced briefly, almost ashamedly, in Kennedy's direction betrayed the anxiety she was trying so desperately to hide.

Kennedy noted the expression and moved toward the girl. "It's okay, Chrissie, don't be scared," she told her firmly but kindly. "You're not alone. You hear that? Feel it? The humming in your blood? Just listen for it."

As directed, Chrissie scrunched her lids tightly closed and appeared to focus solely on the sense of internal sound. A tiny smile began to invade her face, beginning with the lips and ending in the eyes which, when they opened again shone brightly with newfound awareness. Kennedy grinned broadly and Chrissie grinned back, all trace of misgiving having evaporated.

Kennedy slapped the girl upon the shoulder. "That's the sound of the thousand Slayers who came before you and the hundred more who've got your back. You can do it. You were born to do it."

"You were born to open the door," Ruth whispered to Dawn. Her tone was low and compelling. "To reach out your hand ..."

"It won't be enough," muttered Tara, her voice plainly revealing the strain.

"It has to be," gritted Willow, her breath coming in rapid and constrictive gasps.

Faith stood solitary within her self-imposed isolation. She might have been a statue, features etched dour with determination. She did not move and barely blinked, staring straight ahead as though by the sheer force of willpower alone, she could wrench open the portal.

With eyes clenched tightly shut, Dawn extended a trembling hand.

"... reach for the lock ..." urged Ruth, eagerly leaning forward as if such an action might lend potency to the teenager's efforts.

A grim-faced Giles waited in the courtyard. His outer mask of steadfast patience belied the inner restlessness. He glanced quickly at the person standing next to him as the faint hint of a proud smile played unconsciously and unbidden about his lips.

"...and turn the key," came Ruth's insistent demand.

Dawn's hand was now directly in front of her, fingers quivering. Suddenly, there was a blinding flare of greenish-white energy spikes, and on the lawn just beyond the courtyard, a large gateway materialized. The assembled army, wary and somewhat taken aback at its abrupt appearance, regarded the shimmering opening suspiciously for an instant.

Treating Giles to a brief nod and fleeting smile of reassurance, Buffy left her place at his side and moved to the front of the group. Briskly turning her back on the entranceway, the blonde crossed her arms and then addressed her comrades.

"I was going to come up here and make a big speech," she informed, the corners of her mouth turning slightly upward as though an amusing thought had flittered through her mind. "Something about protecting innocents and keeping the world safe. But that's what each one of you does, every single night. So instead I'll just say this: the Slayers on the other side of this portal might have been you. They're the you that chose to walk a different path. Here's where we set them straight. Who's ready to show them what the winning team looks like?"