As the bedroom door closed, Kennedy turned her attention to the vampire left in her care. When she had first heard the others talking about Spike, she thought he'd be darker. Not evil dark, but hair dark. It was a shock when she'd finally laid eyes on him - his bleach-blond hair, pale skin… But what colour are his eyes?

Leaning forward, Kennedy brought a cautious hand to his angular face and lifted one of his eyelids. The unfocused orb was white like the rest of him, but the inner circle was a striking blue. This is where oceans are formed. Releasing his lid, she leaned back in the chair and looked around the room.

Her gaze took in some strange things. 'What is a grown woman doing with a stuffed pig on her dresser?' she mused. She got up from her perch and lifted it, admiring its curlicue tail and well-loved surface. It was obvious that this pig was Buffy's favourite.

Dropping it back on the dresser, she made her way around the room, eyeing pictures, holding up clothes. What a Slayer would want with so many tight-fitting outfits Kennedy could not understand. On the desk she found, buried underneath assorted hair accessories and stray papers ('It's not snooping if it's on top!'), a chunky ring, oversized for a girl as petite as Buffy, and a little gothic in appearance. Lifting it up, she realized it was attached to a chain, one that also held a crucifix. Weird.

She laid it back down, stretching the chain into a long oval, ring on one end, cross at the other. They looked so strange together, those two charms, like different ends of the same spectrum. Kinda like a Slayer and a vamp. What's up with these two anyway?

Kennedy had witnessed the touching little scene between Buffy and Spike and wondered if there wasn't a little more to their 'working relationship'. She didn't want to press, or poke her nose where it didn't belong…oh, who was she kidding? She'd ask Andrew as soon as her shift was up.

Sighing, she returned to the desk chair and slipped her book out from inside her jean jacket. Propping her feet up on the bed, Kennedy dove into Anne of Green Gables…

****

As the bedroom door closed, Buffy heard Dawn getting ready in the bathroom. Joining her sister, she too readied her toothbrush and began the morning ritual. Standing side-by-side, the blond and the brunette looked nothing alike. One was short, the other tall; one's hair was wavy, the other's straight; one had grown up too fast, the other hadn't really grown up at all.

But inside, they were as alike as any sisters could be. Fiery and passionate, brave and strong, loving and trusting, but fragile all the same. They were made of the same blood, and it was their bond.

Green eyes met blue in the mirror, and they smiled at each other around their toothbrushes. Completely in sync, they spit, rinsed, and spit again. The ritual complete, they cleaned up their mess and headed to Dawn's room.

Buffy closed the door behind them and immediately began changing into the clothes she had brought from her room. Dawn began rummaging in her closet and kept holding up outfits for her sister's approval.

"Nuh-uh," Buffy grimaced at a white cotton shirt and blue jeans.

"Right, too blah."

"Ummm…nope," Buffy replied to a frilly red shirt and black floods.

"Ok, too gothic, check."

"How 'bout this?" the older Summers suggested, holding up a long-sleeved, soft-shaded blue and purple swirled shirt and a knee-length, wide-hemmed dark blue jean skirt.

"Sure, looks good," Dawn assented. She changed out of her Bugs Bunny pyjamas and into her outfit while Buffy fussed with her make-up.

"How much is too much eyeliner?" she asked, dabbing at herself with the liquidy brush.

"You're asking me?" Dawn asked, eyes wide with surprise. Buffy turned around, a perplexed look on her face.

"Well, I just want to know if you think I look authoritative," she explained. "I've got a meeting with a new student today, she was expelled from her last school, and I want her to respect me, but not see me as…"

"…a teacher."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Hmmm…well, you always look authoritative to me. It's just that I know you better."

Buffy gave Dawn a sideways glance before turning to the mirror to assess her reflection. Behind her, Dawn began stuffing books and binders into her schoolbag before heading to the door.

"Just gonna grab my lunch from the fridge, then I'll be ready, k?"

"Yeah, be right down."

Grabbing up their dirty clothes, Buffy followed her sister downstairs and into the kitchen. While Dawn made her way to the fridge, Buffy headed to the basement door and tossed her bundle down the stairs. Her sister gave her an amused look, which she ignored. Grabbing her purse off the counter, she made her way to the front door, Dawn following close behind. The sisters stopped to wave at Giles, who gave them one of his trademark I'm-currently-occupied-at-the-moment looks, before walking out to the family SUV.

****

As the bedroom door closed, the other end of the phone finally picked up.

"Angel Investigations, hold please!" answered a very distraught sounding young woman.

"Erm, yes, of course I can - *click*…right then."

Giles was dismayed to discover that holding also required him to endure a touching rendition of 'Wind Beneath My Wings'. That song only brought bad memories to the Watcher.

"Ooh! Would you look at that…who knew Spike looked like General Tarkin!" exclaimed Andrew from his spot in front of Willow's laptop. Obviously, the young lad wasn't doing the correct research. Just as Giles was about to reprimand him, his torture was interrupted by the return of the girl on the line.

"Angel Investigations, sorry to keep you waiting," she greeted.

"Oh, that's quite alright. I gather it's quite busy at the moment?"

"Oh yes," she agreed, "we've been getting calls all day about ghosts in the attic and giant spiders and all sorts of ooky things…which you probably didn't need to hear about, what with your own supernatural sightings. You did call about a case, right?"

Rather amused at the girl's openness, Giles chuckled. "No, actually, I'm calling to speak with a Mr. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

"Oh! Oh…umm…ok, just…give me a second," the girl stammered.

Giles heard the click of the phone as it was placed on the counter, and the girl's voice could be heard in the background conversing with several men. Suddenly, the receiver was picked up and the girl had returned.

"May I ask who's speaking, please?" she asked in a very polite yet sweet voice.

"Certainly. I'm Rupert Giles."

Again, the phone was placed on the counter, but this time it was taken by the proper employee.

"Rupert?" a distinctly British Wesley asked.

"Hello, good to hear your voice again!" Giles replied.

"Oh, yes, certainly! What gives me the pleasure of this unexpected call? Oh, it is pleasant, isn't it?"

"More like business, really. We've finally determined what we're dealing with here, and it turns out the First Evil has returned to our fair town."

"How interesting! And how is that going for you?"

"Well…it's going all right, I suppose. We lost a potential slayer the other night. Ran off and got herself killed by the damned Turok-Han -"

"Potential slayer?" Wesley interrupted.

Giles sighed. He didn't want to give the ex-Watcher a play-by-play of the last few weeks. "It's not really why I called, Wesley."

"Oh, of course. Please, go on."

"I was wondering what you know about the Codex Prophecies."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone. Giles could picture him removing his glasses and placing the tip of one metal arm in the crook of his mouth, an action akin to his own habit of cleaning his glasses.

"Besides the fact that they are apocalyptic in nature and were compiled by the Council, I don't really know much about them."

"You wouldn't happen to know if there are any other - more complete - versions of them?"

Another pause. "I have some books in my apartment, I'll gladly peruse them if you'd like."

Buffy and Dawn waved at him as they headed out the door, and he half-heartedly nodded their way.

"Yes, that would be much appreciated."

"Of course. Anything in particular I should keep my eyes out for?"

"We're looking for any reference to 'The Prophet' or 'The Warrior' in context with a fallen angel figure."

"All right." Giles heard papers being shuffled and the scratch of a pen. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" Wesley asked.

"No, no, that's it. But it seems like you've got your hands full out there. Anything I can help you with?"

Wesley sighed, a tired and frustrated sound that echoed over the phone line. "We just recently got Cordelia's memory back, and now she's holed herself up in her room. She saw something that seems to have traumatized her a tad…I'm sure she'll get over it. And the elevated supernatural activity isn't helping either. But that will pass as well, I'm sure."

"I'm glad that Cordelia's feeling…well, I suppose she's not feeling much better is she? Well, I'm glad that her memory's been restored, at least."

"As are we."

"Well, do let me know how your research goes."

"Of course, Rupert."

"Shall I expect to hear from you soon?"

"Count on it. Say hello to everyone for us!"

"Oh, yes, and you too."

The two men hung up their phones and unknowingly assumed identical poses of deep thought and reflection.

****