Groo meets the Spike and Angel-worshipping leaders of Scyra. Buffy has a surprising proposal for Dawn. Cordy says goodbye, at least for now. And Angel makes his way to Sunnydale.

The Groosalug wanders, awestruck, down the main boulevard in the new capital city of Buffion. Only three years old, it is still very much under construction. Neighborhoods are separated by vast chasms of empty space laid out in rectangular blocks. To Groo's right, hundreds of people congregate in the agora, shopping and sharing news. To his left is the acropolis, fronted by three large, new, gleaming temples. Made nervous by people in the agora who point at him, Groo runs up the stairs to the acropolis. He enters a temple, and sees before him a twenty five foot-tall statue of Angel. He gulps. "They worship him." The dazed Groo staggers forward. Part of him thinks this is too surreal to be real. To his left, in between supporting columns, are eight foot-tall statues of Connor, Fred, Gunn, Wesley and Cordelia. He walks up to the Cordy statue, tilting his head up to stare into her surprisingly life-like marble face. "Do they worship her too?"

At the other end of the acropolis, Hiero and Kreon meet with a foreign ambassador in a long hall. They slouch in chairs on either side of the front end of a wooden table. The envoy who stands before them is a dark-skinned fellow with long, gray hair who wears a red, blue and yellow robe with an ornate pattern. He is clearly made uncomfortable by the brash, uncouth youths and their rough, barbaric, semi-civilized excuse for a court. But he tries his best to hide his feelings behind professional courtesy and protocol, two concepts Hiero and Kreon don't appear, in his opinion, to be very familiar with. He also suspects that, given their recent slew of conquests, that they are a nation of warmongers. Kreon does nothing to disabuse him of this belief, to the consternation of Hiero.

"We have no vassals," Hiero assures Ajanta. "Only allies."

"And enemies."

"Do you want to be our enemy?," Kreon asks. "Cause we don't wanna be yours. You didn't come all this way to start a war, did you?"

"I came to take the measure of your people, and their leaders."

"How'd we measure up?," Kreon asks with a hint of petulance. "We got ourselves a deal or not?"

"The High Elders of Multan sent me here because they believed a partnership was in the best interests of both our states. As is usually the case, they have been proven correct."

"Was that a yes?," Kreon wonders with a smirk. Hiero walks over to Ajanta, shakes his hand, bows, and tries his best to be courteous. Kreon just tears a piece of meat off a roasted chicken, drops it in his mouth and fills up his wine glass as he chews.

"It is an honor to be considered a friend of your great and storied city," Hiero tells the ambassador. "Cleander is waiting in the chambers of the Boule to finalize the text of the treaty with you, including the exchange of gifts and hostages. I look forward to the fruits of this partnership."

"Speaking of fruits, you want a bite before you hit the road?," Kreon asks, holding up a bunch of grapes while talking with his mouth full. Ajanta blanches at the well-meaning offer.

"Thank you, but I shouldn't keep your representative waiting."

"Suit yourself," Kreon says as he grabs a hunk of bread. Hiero sits back down at the table.

"Is this how you treat all foreign dignitaries?," an outraged Hiero asks, knowing that Kreon has negotiated an armistice or two while leading an army in the field.

"Usually I make more threats," he replies with a shrug. "But this time, I had nothing to threaten him with."

"It's a wonder we haven't had more wars," Hiero responds, shaking his head.

Kreon takes offense at the slight. "I tell it like it is. People respect that."

"They also respect the ten thousand spears you have pointed at their necks," Myrina jokes as she enters the hall and walks up to Kreon from behind. He turns around to look at his very pregnant wife.

"How's my love?"

"How do you think?," she asks in reply, wincing and grabbing her lower back with her right hand.

"It'll all be worth it soon," he assures his wife, hugging Myrina and kissing her belly.

"Easy for you to say. You're a man." She looks across the table at Hiero. "What did Penelope say after she gave birth?"

"That our baby was the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen." Myrina scowls.

"Also, that giving birth it was tougher than fighting in ten battles. And she should know." Now well into her third trimester, Myrina had grown sick of how the men waxed poetic about the miracle of life without considering the pain women had to undergo to make it all possible. "Speaking of which, when was the last time either of you were in the field?"

"Honey, I thought you like having me home."

"That was before it made me pregnant and made you soft."

"I'm not soft," an obviously hurt Kreon responds. He pulls up his tunic to show his flat stomach as proof. This sort of thing used to turn Myrina on, but not anymore.

"Is that so? When was the last time you killed a man?" He's too shocked to respond to this question.

"Don't worry," Hiero assures him. "Penelope was the save way right before. Both times."

"And yet she's out on campaign," Myrina points out. "While you're at home, away from your wife." Thus he lacked Kreon's excuse.

"My beloved wife insisted on retaking command so Andrea could come home and continue her studies. Someone had to stay here and take care of our children."

"You mean when I'm not taking care of them while you handle affairs of state with my husband. Two men doing the work of one."

"I know. But Kreon insists on tagging along." He scowls in response to Hiero's quip. "By the way, where are Conn and Dawna?"

"They're very fast. Sometimes too fast for me at this point. You know how they get when they play." Hiero's two year-old son runs into the hall from the back end of the hall. He is being chased by his three year-old sister. When they're six feet behind and ten feet to the left of their father, she tackles him, gets on top, takes out a tiny wooden nub, and pokes it towards her kid brother's chest.

"I staked you! I staked you!," she exclaims.

"Dawna, what did I tell you about hurting your brother?" She gets off him and stands up.

"I'm not hurting him. We're playing Slayer." Conn rolls over and stands up.

"I wanna play Champion!," he declares.

"Who's the damsel?"

"You!" Dawna glares down at her little brother.

"I'm too big and strong to be your damsel. Go find a baby to save."

"How 'bout you both play Champion with me," Hiero playfully suggests as he runs over and picks up Conn in his left arm and Dawna in his right. They both scream and laugh.

Kreon smiles and puts his left hand on Myrina's belly and his right arm around her lower back. Standing to his right, she puts his left arm around his shoulders. "That'll be us, soon."

"Not unless I'm having twins." He looks up at her with his seductive smile and tender doe eyes. "Don't get you're hopes up. It's gonna be a long time before I let you do this to me again." Hiero had warned him about the mood swings. Kreon knew better than to try to empathize with his spouse's ordeal. He used to laugh when his sister told him about how this nearly caused her to break Hiero's nose. Now that tale seems a lot less funny and a lot more cautionary. Little Conn climbs up onto the table and crawls over to Kreon.

"Uncle Keon! Uncle Keon!," he warbles. Kreon holds him up.

"How's my favorite nephew doing?" As he plays with the boy, a messenger runs into the hall. Myrina walks up to him.

"Send him in," she orders, causing the young man to rush back out the front door. She walks over to the table.

"Send who in?," he husband asks.

"That guy who's been going around telling people he knew Angel."

"Another one," Hiero scoffs.

"How do we handle this kook?," Kreon asks.

"Same way we took care of the others." They both chuckle, having encountered more than a few cranks over the past few years. Groo enters and slowly walks towards them.

"Big guy!," Conn exclaims. He's never seen a man over six feet tall.

"That's right," Hiero replies. "You're my big guy."

"No," Conn insists, slowly shaking his head. "Big guy!," he repeats, pointing his little arm at the approaching man, who stops ten feet in front of them.

"Name," Hiero casually orders, almost bored.

"I am the Groosalug."

"Did Angel mention a Groosalug?," Kreon asks Hiero.

"I don't believe he did."

"Please explain how you met Angel and the extent of your relationship with him," Kreon requests with the listless monotone of a DMV employee. It had become all-too-common for someone with an active imagination who was desperate for attention to place themselves in stories from Buffy's world and to try to convince others that they had personally known these legendary figures. A number of these pseudo-characters had created quite a following before being thoroughly debunked by the authorities. The curiosity about their marvelous heroes was so insatiable that many people were eager to listen to anybody who claimed to have inside information.

"I met Angel and his Companions in Pylea. Cordelia's arrival fulfilled a prophecy, allowing me to become king. Angel led the campaign to liberate my human subjects from their demon enslavers. After Angel and his Companions departed, I attempted to unite humans and demons and reconstruct their society. In this, I was not entirely successful. A revolution forced me to abdicate, and I came to Earth to be with my Princess, Cordelia.

"You two were married?," Kreon asks.

"No. But we made sex together."

Hiero thinks this over. "Angel mentioned the return of an old boyfriend. Was this after Connor's birth?"

"Connor!, Connor!," Conn screams with joy upon hearing the name of his namesake.

"He was an infant, much younger than this one, when I arrived. Then he disappeared. Then he reappeared, older. Nearly your age." Kreon is now twenty three. Hiero twenty eight.

"Did you know Spike?," Kreon asks.

"I fought in battle with him once. Buffy as well. It was Spike's idea that I come here. But Anya was the one who sent me."

"You met Anya?," Hiero asks with a smile. "She's very beautiful. And smart."

"Yes. She was once a champion for wronged women. Before she met the Xander, who is without his left hand."

"Missing a hand," Myrina notes. When Anya returned with an update four days (eight months) ago, she told them this. It was one of the pieces of information they had the priests keep from the general public in order to smoke out frauds. "How did he lose it?"

"Saving a Potential Slayer from a Titan named Seth. He is dead. But his sister, Nina, still wreaks havoc. In my world, her name is Na-an."

"Okay, we've heard enough," Hiero dismissively concludes. He and Kreon place the children on the floor. They run over to Aunt Myrina while the two men huddle together in the corner to discuss the matter.

"The others all talked too much," Kreon points out. "He doesn't. Frauds like to talk a lot. And he knew that thing about the Scooby." They assume that in Buffy's world this is the word for "Companion."

"Maybe he has an inside connection." Hiero's always the most skeptical about those claiming to know his hero Angel, while Kreon's the same way about those claiming to know Spike. "As for the slow talk, maybe he knows the less he says, the less likely he is to give himself away."

"And what's wrong with his eyes?"

"Looks to me like he slipped something into his wine."

"No wonder he thinks he's a demigod."

"It's been known to happen."

"So what do we do?"

"Follow my lead," Hiero suggests. They walk up to Groo, whom the children seem quite fascinated by. "You look like a warrior."

"I was born a warrior."

"Are you, by chance, a champion?"

"I was born a champion." Hiero smiles. Angel said nothing about a second champion. And he knows a champion needs to have super powers. "It's time for the test."

"Test?," Groo asks, slightly alarmed, figuring this involves some sort of agonizing ordeals.

"Yes. The test," Kreon adds with a smile. Right then, Groo hears a female yell coming from a room behind the hall and the sound of a person slamming into the ground. He rushes towards the noises of distress.

"Wait!," Hiero cautions, unable to stop Groo. Behind the hall is a training room, where Andrea is taking on four much larger male opponents. The first one tried a left jab and right hook, both of which she blocked before pushing the man back. He took a dagger in his right hand and charged her. She yelled, dodged to her right to avoid the blade at the last instant, grabbed his right arm and flipped him through the air. Groo heard his back slam into the wooden floor. A Second attacker tries a left hook kick, which she ducks, then a right roundhouse kick. She grabs his right foot, pulls it up and watches him fall down. He vaults back to his feet, only have Andrea leap at him and kick him in the chest with her right foot, knocking him into the wall. She blocks a left cross, lands a left jab to his nose, grabs his head and flips him over her shoulder. As his butt slams into the floor, she turns to take on a club-wielding opponent. She ducks a swing for her head and leaps above a swing for her knees, landing a right kick to his chin. When he swings again, she grabs the club with both hands and knees him in the groin. As the poor fellow groans, she takes hold of the club and whacks him twice on the back of his head, knocking him down.

She drops the bat and turns right to face her final opponent, who wields a wooden staff with both hands. She keeps her distance at first, showing respect for the weapon's reach. When he swings high, she ducks down, steps in and sweeps his legs. When he gets up, she lands a quick right roundhouse kick to his face, then charges in while he's off-balance, grabbing the staff with both hands and pushing him into the wall. He finally uses his superior strength to push her back. She retreats as he returns to the attack. When he swings, she grabs one side of the staff and spins around, using his momentum to spin her attacker around and send him towards the other wall. As he drifts away, she holds onto the staff and he lets go. She spins it in her right hand, inviting his next move. When he steps forward, she takes the weapon in both hands, smacks his right knee, shoves the butt end into his throat, spins around and strikes the back of his head, then forces the butt end into his spine, knocking him flat on his face. She drops the staff and smiles as bruised men limp to their feet. Groo is astounded.

"A Slayer!," he exclaims as he walks over to the buff, blonde seventeen year-old girl with the blonde pony tail who's thrashed these strapping young warriors. Her jaw drops.

"That is so cute! That's the most adorable thing anyone's ever said to me. You are so adorable! You are so cool. Who are you?"

"I am the Groosalug."

Kreon walks over to his sister. "He claims to know Angel. Says he's from the Higher World."

"Did you know Spike?"

"Not well." Andrea loses interest in the newcomer.

"You guys can hit the baths," Andrea says to her dejected workout partners. "Don't worry. You're gettin' better. I mean that." They look at her and smile weakly as they limp out a side door. "What me to handle him?"

"I think we can take care of that," Hiero responds. He and Kreon each take a wooden staff and circle round Groo.

"I sense you are thinking of attacking me."

"You sense right," Kreon responds.

"We just want to test your champion-ness," Hiero explains.

"But I do not want to hurt you."

"Oh, we're not worried about that." The two men charge and strike Groo. He shows not reaction, grabs each of them and tosses them fifteen feet back. Standing in the corner with her arms folded in front of her, a resting Andrea laughs. The guys steady themselves and go back in. Kreon sends the butt of his staff for Groo's windpipe. He grabs it and throws Kreon forward so that he knocks down Hiero. The get up, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Kreon pokes Groo in the sternum. Hiero jams him in the diaphragm. Nothing. Hiero nails him again. Kreon smashes Groo upside the head, breaking his staff in two. The two men look at each other, terrified. "Relax," Hiero assures Kreon as they back up. "It's because of whatever he put in his wine." Groo just stands there, refusing to pursue the surprisingly rude men he wanted to befriend.

"How do I pass this test?"

"By beating them up," Andrea answers, upsetting her brother and brother-in-law. He shrugs and approaches his opponents.

"A test is a test." Kreon lands a right hook to Groo's face and Hiero a right uppercut to his chin. Nothing. Groo puts his hands to their chest and pushes them into a wall, holding them there and squeezing their ribcages in the process. They both grimace and moan.

"Tap if you concede," he tells them, unwilling to strike these ordinary men and risk serious injury. They shake their heads out of pride and then kick Groo away. When they charge, he tosses Hiero into the wall to his left and Kreon into the wall to his right, near the door to the great hall. Myrina enters and sees her husband lying on his back after tumbling five feet straight down to the ground.

"I said you were going soft."

"You don't understand," he groans as he stands up.

"This guy's real," Hiero explains as he struggles to his feet. Groo had thrown them far harder than they'd ever been thrown before.

"Even so, I'm glad you're children didn't have to witness this," she replies to Hiero.

"That's for sure," a laughing Andrea adds. She loved the show Groo put on for her. "So do I really remind you of a real, live Slayer?," she asks.

"The ones I have seen." She smiles ear-to-ear. "Where do YOU get your power."

"Practice," the beaming young warriorette replies. "Helps having this guy as a big brother and this guy's wife as a big sister." Kreon appreciates the compliment, especially after the drubbing he just took.

"It was a, good fight," Kreon offers, patting Groo on the back.

"Yes. Good fight," Hiero adds. "Could you leave us for a moment?" Groo goes back into the hall to get gaped at by the curious children toddlers while Kreon, Hiero, Andrea and Myrina discuss what to do with him.

"A real live superhero," Andrea begins.

"This could create a problem," Kreon points out. Hiero nods. It's a political danger to have anyone who could claim to be closer to Angel or Spike around them. Especially someone who's stronger.

"If he wants trouble, why'd he come to you?," Andrea asks.

"I don't think he's very crafty," Myrina concludes.

"You think we can use him?," Kreon wonders.

"He said he was a failed leader. He hasn't used his powers to raise an army. I think he wants to be used."

"But he said he was a champion," Hiero reminds them.

"Maybe not all champions are leaders," Andrea surmises. "Or, maybe some of them are lower-level leaders who need other leaders to work for."

"I say we put him to use, and get him as far away from here as possible," Myrina proposes. She's an even shrewder political operator than her less crafty, less urbane husband. After all, he'd be a lot less successful if he didn't have someone to look out for his interests when he's off at the front.

"Koneg," Andrea suggests. "Panthesilea and her army are locked in that siege. Winter's coming."

"It's a thirty days' march," Kreon reminds her.

"Horse relays along our line of communications could get him there in eight," Hiero counters.

"It's worth a shot," Myrina adds.

"And even if they've already won, there's plenty of other work he can do on our northern frontier," Kreon concedes.

"I say we go give our new friend his marching orders," Hiero concludes. The two of them walk out. Myrina looks at Andrea.

"Men. They always need to think they're in charge."

"That's why I'm never getting married." Myrina looks stunned at Andrea's assertion. "Unless he's as strong and sexy and cool as Spike." Myrina smiles at her fond memories of Spike the Liberator as the two women walk out of the room. "Or Hiero." Myrina appears even more stunned than before. "I'm kidding. Well, mostly."

Buffy and Faith are outside, training the Potentials. The others are downstairs, doing what they can to pass the time.

"You made the evening papers. Or, maybe the morning papers. I'm not sure which. But you made them," Andrew reports to Giles.

"I don't care." Today's paper is meaningless of the world ends tomorrow.

"The Guardian, The Independent, the Daily Mirror all ran basically the same puff piece that we saw on the news yesterday. What's this in the Sun! Ripper Exposed. Best Friend Tells All.' Ripper? What do they call you that?" Giles rushes over to the computer, where Andrew's been doing his online search.

"Ethan Rayne. I should have suspected as much. Was there money involved?"

"It says he received ten thousand pounds for his story."

"How shameful," Anya declares. "Someone of your reputation should be commanding five times that. Ten thousand is what you get for dishing dirt on a common B-list celebrity."

"This is unbelievable. Every word. Every syllable. It's all lies, right Mister Giles?," Andrew asks.

"I'm not going to waste my time reading such filth," he evasively responds, walking away.

"Did you really take part in a ritualistic killing? Mister Giles? Mister Giles, say it ain't so."

"Killing is such a strong word," Xander offers.

"It implies intent," Willow adds. "An accident, well, that's really nobody's fault."

"I don't believe this," a dejected Andrew announces. "You're telling me the horrible, awful things this man says about you are true?"

"That's right kiddies," Spike jokes. "Rupert was once a real, live human being."

"And a much tougher one than you ever were," Giles casually shoots back, imagining what Ripper would have done to William the Poet.

"Sounds like you were a lot like me," Andrew says to Giles as he reads on. "A wayward young man. Always up to no good. Using magic to make mischief."

"He's got a point, Rupert," Spike say with a smile, knowing how much the comparison must irk Giles.

"Let's see what other articles there were," Willow suggests as she walks over, takes the mouse and clicks back to the search page. "Hey, there's one in Le Monde." Willow clicks to that page.

"But it's in French," Andrew protests. "And I wasn't done with the other one."

"That name looks familiar. Giles, isn't that French Watcher who came here named Claude Marcel?"

"Yes he is."

"He wrote something about you."

"And they published it? In Le Monde? That's an actual, serious newspaper. I suppose he wasn't merely bragging when he said he had friends in high places."

"So it's good stuff about you?," Willow asks.

"It should be." Giles walks over to translate the text. "The Rupert I Know," he says, reading the title. Then he quickly scans the three hundred word letter. "I first met Rupert in the summer of 1962. We were both thirteen. I took him tree climbing in the forest behind my parents' cottage in Gascon.' Oh dear."

"Why oh dear?," Willow wonders. Giles reads on, then breathes a sigh of relief.

"Never mind." Fortunately, Claude omitted the part about giving Giles his first joint, which is what he remembers about the encounter. "He thought I spoke very good French for an English boy. Then he mentions something about his wedding, where I was best men, and goes on to, well, heap far more praise on me than I deserve. Claude has quite a way with flattery, when he's not busy pissing everybody off."

"That's a bloody frog for you," Spike opines. "Rude if they don't think you matter, brown-nosing if they do."

"I take it you two didn't exactly hit it off," Xander assumes.

"Claude doesn't suffer fools very well," Giles quips.

Willow walks away from the computer and back over to Xander. "It's good that the Potentials are finally getting out for some fresh air," Willow says to him. "At lunch, Kennedy told me they were beginning to get a little stir crazy."

"I think we all are."

"Look on the bright side. It's our last day here," Anya says with her usual flippancy. "By this time tomorrow, we'll either be homeless or dead."

"Just the sort of positive thinking that made me fall in love with you," Xander jokes.

"Guess this is goodbye," Connor says to Cordelia on the landing just inside the front door.

"Not forever. I hope."

"Won't be the same without you."

"How would you know?," she jokes. "You've hardly been here with me."

"Still gonna miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Connor. Never forget that you're a champion. And that you're father loves you."

"I know. Dawn's always telling me the same two things."

"Now I know who's got the brains in that family," Cordy jokes. Connor laughs. "Take care of yourself." He hugs her. "And take care of your dad." She hugs him for a few seconds.

"Someone's gotta look after him," he kids. She rubs the top of his head, mussing up his hair, before moving on to Fred.

"Does Columbia have math and science requirements?," Fred asks in lieu of the standard sentimental banter.

"I think so."

"If you have any trouble with homework or problem sets, be sure to give me a call." Cordy smiles, a tear welling up in her right eye, and hugs Fred. Gunn's next in line. She doesn't know what to say to him. So he thinks of something first. Gunn's not used to goodbyes, since everyone he's lost has died before having a chance to move on.

"You got out of this town alive. You got out of the Hellmouth alive. How many people can say that?"

"Wouldn't be able to say that if it wasn't for you." They quickly hug.

"Well. Wesley. Wow."

"Four and one-half years together. It's been quite a journey. When I think back to what each of us was like at the start - "

"You've come a long way baby," she quips.

"You too."

"Try not to drool on me this time," she suggests, referring in jest to their last goodbye.

"I had nearly forgotten about that," he sighs in response to the embarrassing memory. They hug, and then she walks out to the courtyard, where Angel's sitting under the shade of the peristyle. He stands up.

"Guess there's nothing more for me to say," he tells her in resignation.

"Angel, it's hard for me too. But it would be even harder to stay. I have to leave because I love you, but we can't have a future together. What I kind life is that? I don't mean to sound selfish or petty - "

"Cordy, that's the last thing you are."

"Since when?," she asks with a grin and raised eyebrows. He pauses.

"I don't want to try to pin down a date, but you know what I mean. You've given me more than I could ever repay you for. You've come within an inch of giving your life more than a few times. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you, and I don't yet know how I'll manage without you, but I understand. And I, wish you the best. And, well, also, umm . . . " Cordy shuts Angel up by kissing him. After ten seconds of at first awkward and then affectionate lip-lock, she pulls back.

"I had to do something to shut you up," she says with a slightly embarrassed smile. "After all, I know you're the soft-spoken type who likes to do his talking with a furrowed brow and a meaningful stare. Guess we'll leave it with that." She slowly takes two steps back into the sunlight. They look at each other for a few more seconds before she walks out to her car. Angel sits down and runs his right hand along the vines on the wall. He feels like emotionally he's been through a lot today. But it was just beginning.

Buffy walks into Dawn's room. She's looking in her closet, deciding which clothes to wear. She turns around. "Sorry for not knocking," Buffy offers, unsure how to start the conversation.

"It's okay. Not like I was in the middle of anything embarrassing." She defensively closes the closet, then walks towards her sister. "What's up?"

"When Connor leaves here tonight, I want you go back with him." Dawn takes a little while to ponder the meaning of this surprise offer.

"You're really scared about me. Knowing how much you hate Connor - "

"I don't hate him," Buffy insists.

"Well, you don't like him."

"There's a huge difference."

"You don't like me being with him."

"That's not the issue."

"I know. The issue is you don't think I'm useful."

"I don't think it's the best idea for you to be fighting uber-vamps and a Titan who, thanks to her choice in men, may really have it in for you. Nina can kill with her bare hands in the blink of an eye. I saw what she did to Molly, and to Zora. They were dead before they knew she had touched them. What kind of a sister would I be if I gave her the chance to do the same to you?"

"I'm the one girl she doesn't want to kill. The one she can't kill. Giles said there are rules."

"Yes. Nina can't kill you unless you get in her way. And if you're there fighting with the rest of us, I don't see how you can't be in her way."

"Are you saying the same thing to Xander? Or Anya? What about Andrew?"

"I love you."

"And Xander?"

"He's good with heavy machinery," she weakly offers. "You saw what he did yesterday. And . . . he said no."

"Did he say why?"

"Because everyone he cares about will be there."

"And what if Connor stays?"

"That's not going to happen."

"You think they're coming all this way just to say hello and go home?"

"Why they're coming doesn't matter. They're not staying."

"And what about me? Does it matter what I want?"

"I thought you wanted to be with Connor."

"I also want to be with my family. Are you trying to make me choose one or the other?"

"You get those vision thingys that help Angel."

"So I'm useful to them, but not to you?"

"Dawn, I'm trying to protect you."

"I know. That's what you've always done. Because you don't think I can protect myself."

"We're not talking about regular vampires and demons."

"And you won't let me near them. Why would you let me near anything scarier?" Buffy grips Dawn's shoulders.

"This isn't the time for trying to prove yourself."

"Then when is?"

"You already have."

"When? When? Because I don't remember you ever deciding to treat me like I was responsible and capable. I just remember you ignoring me or telling me to go hide. Like now."

"That's not fair. You know that's not fair. And you know it's not true."

"Can we do this later?"

"When? After you're dead?"

"It's my town, too. And if you can't understand why it's my fight, too, then there's just no point to this. We'll end up arguing over who's to fault it is, and there's no winners if it comes to that. We'll both feel angry and lousy and forget why we love each other. So let's, you know, agree to disagree, and leave it at that."

"I don't want to lose you. It's that simple. I love you, and I don't want to lose you."

"And I don't want you to lose me, either. See, we agree about something." Buffy closes her eyes, tilts her head up and looks very pained.

"We'll talk about this later."

"If you insist. By the way, if you're thinking of forcing me to do what you want because you think, after it's all over, I'll thank you for it, I won't." Dawn folds her arms and gives Buffy one of her defiant stares. She shakes her head, turns around and leaves the room. Perhaps Dawn will feel different after she's seen Connor.

Connor runs into the office, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. "Ready to go?" They just stare at him, their jaws slightly ajar with shock and dismay. Angel slowly cringes, as if physically repelled by his son. "What? What!" Connor hates it when they look at him as if he's a freak and something's wrong with him.

"Your clothes," Angel responds, referring to the black leather pants and blue silk button-down shirt Connor's wearing. "They're, they're . . . where did you get them?"

"I didn't steal them, if that's what you think."

"No. Oh no. That's not the . . . issue. You said Spike gave you the pants."

"Naw, they were too baggy. I gave 'em to Groo."

"They fit him?," Angel asks, surprised.

"Yeah. Guess they were also really baggy on Spike."

"That would make these pants . . . tighter," Lorne meekly concludes, sharing Angel's discomfort.

"I bought these clothes."

"Where did you get the money?," Angel asks.

"You think I don't know how to get money? How do you think I fed myself after you kicked me out?"

"I had good reasons for doing that," Angel maintains, thinking that Connor's trying to play the victim.

"Didn't say you didn't. I just don't get why you're all up in my face about these threads. You never asked how I got any of my other clothes." There's silence. No one wants to say "you're dressed as if you're evil," fearing that might sound ridiculous. "I just thought I should wear something nice for Dawn," Connor finally offers, breaking the silence, and further curdling everyone's stomachs. "So are we goin' or not?"

"Yes," Angel finally responds after five seconds.

"I'll go bring the car around," Gunn adds, quickly walking out of the room. He is joined by Fred and Wes, who try not to look at Connor as they walk by him on their way out. Connor leans against the wall and hums the verse melody from Nirvana's "Serve The Servants." They are one of the groups Elijah's introduced him to, and Connor happens to identify with the lyrics to that particular song. He has a placid grin on his face as he leans up his head and stares at the ceiling. Lorne turns to Angel.

"You don't wanna know." Connor's thinking about Dawn in a way that reminds Lorne how his gift can be a curse.

"You can go join the others," Angel suggests. Connor leaves the room. Angel, who's standing to Lorne's left, puts his right hand on Lorne's left shoulder. "Good luck holding down the fort."

"Your violence-free sanctuary is safe in my hands," Lorne assures him. The Furies' spell means that Angel needn't worry about any attacks. Angel takes a few steps towards the door, then looks back at Lorne one more time. Lorne shakes his head.

"You really don't wanna know."

Giles gets off the phone with Claude Marcel. "Thanking him for the nice article?," Willow asks.

"Yes. But mostly I was discussing our looming battle."

"Did he have any advice we hadn't thought of?" Buffy and Faith are back outside with the Potentials, doing a little more training but mostly walking and talking about past victories, trying to boost their spirits.

"He doesn't think Faith needs to die in order to counteract Nina's spell. Claude's familiar with the legend, and he theorized that we only needed to cover the stake in Faith's blood.

"Which would weaken her, and also give Nina an opportunity to rip the stake out of my hands if the spell didn't work. Then we're really up a creek without a paddle."

"I explained that to Claude, and he agreed my approach was best. But he still maintained that the proper way to counteract blood magic was with blood."

"You mean Slayer's blood," Spike points out.

"Naturally. But our hope is to capture the sickle as use both weapons against Nina. Claude agreed that the only way to kill her, short of devouring her flesh, would be dismemberment and separating the body parts as much as possible. On the whole, he was optimistic."

"That's because he's not here," Anya reminds Giles.

"Yes, and because he knows we've overcome seemingly insurmountable odds in the past. He said something in French which I think can be loosely translated as You've taken this Hellmouth and made it your bitch.'" He repeats what Claude said verbatim.

"Gosh," Willow responds. "Even that sounds elegant in French."

"That man has a point," Xander happily concedes.

"Actually, the analogy's backwards," Anya begs to differ. "Buffy's kept the Hellmouth closed. If you've turned someone into your bitch, you make them open up." Giles, Xander and Willow are made queasy by this literal interpretation.

"Claude was optimistic enough to talk Council business. He is running the show at moment."

"Frenchy's in charge?," Spike asks.

"He's taken legal control of the endowment and transferred the organization to Paris."

"I don't bloody believe this. Our fight has been more nothing." Not that Spike liked the Council's old guard, but he's chauvinistic enough to regret the loss of a British institution. Even one that long tried to kill him.

"There was nothing left in London. This was the logical thing to do. Claude has a library, offices, a staff. Everything one needs recreate a viable organization."

"But everyone the world over understands English," Spike argues. "How many speak French?"

"All Watchers still have to be fluent in English. And they still have to study at Oxford. Though for only two years, instead of the previous five."

"Do they have any good covens in France?," Willow wonders.

"Yes. There's an excellent one in Breton."

"As excellent as the one in Devon?"

"So far as I know. And Claude tells me there are a few women with remarkable powers who live in seclusion in the Northern Pyrenees."

"It's a national disgrace," Spike reiterates, trying to hit some sort of nationalist chord in Rupert. "French bloody hegemony. What would Wellington say? What would Nelson say?"

"I don't think Lord Nelson cared much for witchcraft," Giles quips.

"Actually, I heard he did," Willow declares to the astonishment of Giles. "I read something somewhere about a certain fortune teller he met in Sicily."

"You don't say?" Willow goes on with the story. Spike gives up and heads into the kitchen for some blood. He has far more pressing problems to worry about.

Gunn drives the van, Fred rides shotgun, Wesley sits on the middle bench behind Gunn, Connor sits behind Fred, and Angel lies down on the back bench, out of direct sunlight. On the floor behind him are an assortment of weapons.

"Explain to me again why we couldn't wait until dusk?," Fred asks, looking back at Angel.

"We couldn't find their bunker in the dark. It'll be hard enough locating it in the light."

"We could have called ahead," Wesley suggests, "and have someone meet us in their own car, to escort us in."

"Then we'd be easy prey to a surprise attack," Angel rationalizes. "In the light, we can see any dangers, and we don't have to worry about these turokh-hans." Actually, Angel left early because he couldn't stand to wait any longer. He sat around for two hours after Cordelia left, and finally decided that was long enough to do nothing. Besides, Buffy could be planning a reconnaissance mission or something else important for that evening, and he wouldn't want to miss out. He's confident that once all of them are there, and once Buffy sees his face, she'll relent and accept their help.

NEXT: The big get-together.