"H-how?" Willow repeated with the same uncertainty as her high-school self.

"Monks," Jillian said, as if that explained everything, sipping her tea like any other snippet watcher. "Monks… well, sort of. Although I haven't been entirely filled in on the subject, apparently a group of monks created Tuesday over there" –a crash and a choir of 'ow's sounded from the living room- "from you and a certain Miss Tara Maclay."

"Tara? Tara?" did she hear her right? Tuesday was Tara's and… and her's. "You… how… why? Who asked for permission to make a child out of me?!"

"Monks generally don't ask permission to make a human being." Jillian answered dryly. "As was in Dawn's case. They have this whole predestined thing going on. Dawn was made for a purpose, and so was she. But Tuesday didn't come prepackaged with memories or extra years on her life. Tara was actually pregnant with her… the whole nine yards of the bloody girl."

"But she's five… that must mean…"

"Tuesday was created before you two even met." She finished lightly.

"Okay…but why should I even believe you? I mean, this girl you just dropped on my doorstep" –another crash- "could be anyone."

"And you're completely right. Why trust me? And the answer is because you have no other source to confirm it otherwise. You will be able to tell. First it will be little things; the way she can make pancakes like no other child on this earth, the books she'll fall completely head over heels for. Then it will grow, she'll sing, she'll have your eyes and Tara's hair, she'll have your phobia of frogs. In fact, she has all of the above, if care to notice. And, no Willow. I'm completely corporeal, thank you very much."

"But—"

"You're her mother, Miss Rosenberg. She needs a mother now. No more questions."

"Jillian—"

"Remember, Miss Rosenberg," Jillian rose up from her seat, out to the foyer to put her trench coat on as Willow followed intently. "One snowflake is all you need to start an avalanche." She hurried on to the door.

"Hey! You're just going to leave her and some wise-ass fortune cookie virtue here with me?" Willow was obviously nervous, as she only yelled under that circumstance or when she was angry.

Jillian smiled and said before she slammed the door, "Yes."

~*~Three Months Later~*~

"It's like this, Amanda. It's the face you were born with and I'm sorry for doing this but… Andrew… tell her something about Star Wars or something."

"Okay, for all of you not-so-dedicated fans, the movie doesn't end at Return of the Jedi. Actually, you know, Han Solo and Leia get hooked up and have twins; boy and girl, and another son, ironically named Anakin. And Luke? He does the big bang with—"

"Okay, Andy, I told you to say something to get her out of there, not bore her into a coma!"

The two men, okay, one man and another who desperately wished he was one, stood outside of the only bathroom in the entire manor. Sure, the place was huge, but it only had one, count 'em, one bathroom. Big disadvantage there.

"What are you guys doing?" Amanda asked, passing by through the hallway, one eyebrow raised.

"Wait—" Xander stopped pounding his fist in the door. "If you're not in there…"

The door was thrown open, a flash bounding down the hallway to the staircase.

"Well, at least that's over. And, no Andy boy, I'm first." Xander held his arm out to prevent Andrew from entering the bathroom, but he did so anyway. "Andrew!"

The door was slammed before another word was spoken. Amanda shrugged. "Tough luck, I guess." And headed down the stairs as well.

~*~

"This is the day, Mr. Andrew." He said to himself smugly in the mirror, unsheathing a sharp, tiny razor and shaking a can of shaving cream, spraying into his face. "Yummy."

Holding out the little object against his few proud strains of facial hair, he slid the razor down the thin mantle of fine hairs. "OW!" he shrieked at his first nick, dropping the cutting machine into the garbage can.

"Okay little dude, I'm going to be brave," he gulped, digging through the trash and finding his prize. Wait a sec…he thought, picking up another object; odd shaped and completely foreign to him. That was, until he read the label.

"Uncle Andrew? Eww…"