Nina plots how to combine defeating Buffy and avenging Mal. Groo makes his mark and finds his niche in Scyra. And Angel's friends find out there's a world where they're viewed as gods.

Connor emerges on the surface, smiling ear-to-ear. Dawn leaps up, wraps her legs around his waist and kisses him. Connor holds her and spins around, backing up a few steps before tripping over a piece of stone debris and falling on his back. They laugh and kiss some more. Dawn stands up and walks away, confusing Connor. "What's wrong?," he asks before putting his arms around her waist and kissing her neck.

"Look around."

"I've seen worse," Connor replies, kissing her right temple, then her right cheek.

"Easy for you to say."

"Good point. So what's wrong?"

"I'm happy. You're here, so I feel great, and then I look around and see this wasteland. Everything thousands of people spent there lives building, gone. So I feel guilty. It is a little incongruous, don't you think?" There's silence. Dawn turns around to see that Connor's confused. Evidently he didn't know what that word meant.

"If you say it is, then yeah," he answers with a smirk.

"How is it you always know the right thing to say?," Dawn asks with a smile before grabbing his shirt, pulling Connor in and kissing him. He lifts her up and she wraps her legs around him again. He really likes that. Makes it seem as if she's surrounding him. Dawn quickly puts her feet back on the ground, pushes Connor back into the side of the van and lunges eagerly at him. He puts his arms around Dawn and kisses her. Connor also likes it when she plays rough.

Two hundred feet away, Nina materializes. Her hair's blonde. She wears tight black pants and a midriff-baring backless silver top. Nina looks shocked, and not at all happy to be back in Sunnydale. She spins around until she spots Darla, who has on the v-neck black sweater and gold pants she wore when crashing Holland's party and feasting on the lawyers. "What is your problem?," Nina demands to know. "For your information, I was in the Hamptons at the hottest party of the year! It's the night before the big event. I need kick back and relax. Have you no regard for morale? By the way, love the outfit. Very fetching."

"Thank you," Darla responds.

"No tell me what I'm doing here!" Darla walks up to Nina, puts her right arm around her shoulders, then moves her head so that Nina's looking right at Dawn and Connor going at it. Nina's jaw hits the floor. It takes her ten seconds to say something.

"You have got to be kidding me. Her? With him!"

"One can't deny the painful irony," Darla comments knowingly.

"Irony, shmirony," Nina responds, pushing Darla away.

"I love you when you're mad," Darla says with a smile as she slowly walks towards her Titan.

"That sniveling, simpering girl is worthless! She has no power. Can't he do better?"

Darla wasn't expecting this to be Nina's first reaction. "I suppose that's one way to look at it," she says with raised eyebrows. "He is a very handsome lad. Has his mother's good looks. And her power. Is someone jealous?," she asks Nina playfully.

"He couldn't survive ten minutes with me," Nina replies, licking her upper lip and grinning.

"But what a great ten minutes they would be for him," Darla quips.

"Mal said the Vampire Spawn belonged with Buffy." Now this really upsets Darla. She strikes Nina's face with the back of her right hand, knocking her ten feet through the air before she crashes into the dirt. When Nina meets with the First, they're in a dimensional pocket, unseen to whatever humans are around them. It's like being inside and invisible room with two way mirrors looking outward. Nina's stunned by Darla's furious reaction. And a little frightened. She hates it when the First gets violent, because it's the one thing that can mess Nina up big time. This is the pitfall of being the one creature the First can touch.

"That beautiful boy can do a whole lot better than Buffy. She is the last girl he, or any other halfway decent man, ever belongs with."

"Okay, okay," Nina says as she stands up. "You really hate that Slayer."

"And you don't?"

"No." Darla picks Nina up. Her feet dangle in midair. "Not that I won't love defeating her and making her suffer horribly." Satisfied, Darla puts Nina down. "But I will enjoy it because I respect her. Buffy never gives up. I used to think it was because she's like Seth and I once were, fighting even when she knows it's hopeless, because she has too much honor to do anything else. Now I know it's because she's like I was after you met me. She never gives up because she's certain of victory. Defeat is inconceivable. So long as she can continue to fight, Buffy – and her friends – will find a way to prevail. So what goes through her mind when she can no longer fight? How painful will it be when the impossible becomes an absolute certainty?"

"That's nice, Nina. Very incisive," Darla flippantly says as she rolls her eyes. "Now pay attention and look at the two lovebirds, one of whom killed YOUR lovebird." She sees Nina tense her jaw and narrow her eyes. "That's my girl. Look at how happy she makes him. Now remember how sad he made you."

"That little bitch."

"I know."

"That ungrateful little bitch."

"Excuse me?" Nina keeps going off on these unforeseen tangents.

"I gave her life. I'm the reason she's alive! And this is how she repays me?"

"I beg your pardon, dear."

"I drove Glory from her dimension into this dimension. Along with the Key."

"I think her enemy gods had something to do with that."

"But I was decisive!"

"Thank you," Darla responds with a smile. "I was the one who put you there at exactly the right moment."

"Triple score. Hurting her hurts him, AND it hurts Buffy." Nina looks at Darla. "And you told me the ex-Key Girl was useless." Connor holds Dawn tight and aggressively kisses the right side of her neck.

"Connor," Dawn moans as she catches her breath. "We should go somewhere else."

"Where?," he asks before lightly kissing the tip of her nose. "Why?," he adds before nibbling on her left earlobe. Dawn leans her head back, sighs happily, and tries to keep her composure.

"Let's go to the beach. It's peaceful. No fallen buildings."

"What's wrong with right here?," Connor asks, reach his right arm out to the side and checking to see in the door is locked. It is. Which is good, because right now Connor's not considering how much this would anger and gross out everyone who had to ride home in the vehicle with him.

"I thought you like the beach?"

"Only if you're there. I'd like Quor Toth if you were there."

"That was a joke, right?"

"If you say so."

"Come on, Connor. Let's get away from everyone. They could pop out of there at any moment, which would totally ruin the mood." She puts her right palm to his left cheek and runs her right thumb over his lips. "Didn't we come out here to be alone?," she asks with a small pout.

"Okay," he says with a sigh, his heart pounding. "Where's the beach?"

Dawn looks a little surprised by the question. "There's a whole bunch to the east. But I think there's one to the west that's a little closer."

"You knew I was kidding, right?" Dawn leaps on his back and puts her arms around his chest. Connor takes a hold of her legs and races towards the setting sun. After going two hundred yards and getting into a built-up residential area, Connor trips on a foundation and falls into a basement as Dawn flies across the hole and lands on the grass in the backyard. At first she screamed, but she laughs after landing softly.

"Okay, no more rickshaw," Dawn says as she looks around. "Connor. Connor?"

"Down here." Dawn looks down and sees him on the basement floor. "Connor, are you okay?"

"You know me," Connor says as he slowly gets to his feet. "Takes a lot more than that to keep me down." Connor leaps back to ground level. "Especially when I got you to get up for." Dawn momentarily wonders if the double entendre is intentional.

"Maybe I should do the carrying," she suggests, picking Connor up and carrying him for about forty feet before letting go. They both laugh. "You know, you're really light. I think that vampire's head weighed more than your whole upper body," Dawn says, only moderately exaggerating.

"That a complaint?"

"Hardly," she responds, putting her hands on his chest. "I love you as a bantamweight. It makes you so much easier to play with." She grabs his shirt and pulls him closer. When their lips are three inches apart, they stare into each other's eyes. Connor growls. Dawn growls back without even thinking. They kiss, Connor puts his right arm around her shoulders, she puts her left arm around his waist, her right hand on his stomach and rests her head on his shoulder as they walk down the street together.

"Is that all?," Nina asks Darla. "Can I go now?"

"Why the hurry? Did you find a nice spot to mope?"

"Mourning period's over, honey. I know I'll never be able to replace Mal. But that doesn't mean I still can't have some fun." Nina disappears. Darla vanishes, them rematerializes closer to Dawn and Connor. She looks glum, folding her arms and shaking her head at what's become of her baby.

"This is what happens when a boy grows up without a mother."

"So are we your first visitors?," Fred asks.

"Other than my girlfriend and your girlfriend," Wesley says to Rupert.

"Do they know each other?," Anya wonders.

"Since Major, er, Kelly was the chief spokesperson for the military, and Stella served the same role on the civilian side, they spent a lot of time working together," Giles explains. "Stella had nothing but good things to say about her."

"Maybe you four can double-date sometime," Gunn suggests, not fully aware of the lingering acrimony between Wesley and Giles. Plus, the idea's just plain yucky. Which is why it makes Wes and Giles cringe.

"There was that cop lady," Andrew points out. "Scully meets Clarisse under the warm California sun." Andrew and Xander sigh, but for slightly different reasons.

"Of course," Willow adds. "Who can forget about Kate?"

"I'd like to," Spike grouses. Angel, Wesley and Gunn would have to agree. They get a little nervous. Except for Angel, who's terrified. But surely it can't be. It just can't.

"Did you say her name was Kate?," Wesley asks with slight trepidation.

"Kate Lockley," Buffy answers. Angel gulps. His unbeating heart falls down to his knees. "Do you know her?"

"No," Angel quickly replies. "Absolutely not."

"Never heard of her," Wesley adds.

"So she's a cop," Gunn notes, feigning ignorance. "A cop who works in Sunnydale?" Angel gasps. That would be a nightmare. Then again, where better than Sunnydale for a cop who specializes in the demonic to ply her trade.

"Kate is with the state police," Giles explains. "She lives in Sacramento." If Angel breathed, he would let out a big sigh of relief right now. "Kate has served as my official liaison to the outside authorities for these past few months, handling the complications that result when girls from around the world are taken from their homes and all brought to a single town for reasons that can't be explained." Now this strikes Angel, Wesley and Gunn as deeply ironic. Kate WAS the law enforcement authority who drew all the wrong conclusions and came after demon fighters. The Kate they knew would have arrested Giles in a heartbeat.

"She's the thin blue line that protects people from what they can't understand," Xander jokes. Yet more irony.

"So, you work closely with this, um, police officer woman?," Angel clumsily asks Giles.

"Yes. In fact, we've become quite good friends." Angel and Wesley look at each other nervously. Fred knows something's up, but isn't sure what. Faith's the only one who can make the connection, but she stays mum, since she'd rather not recount the part of her life when she met Kate.

"If I may ask, how exactly did the two of you meet?," Wesley wonders. Angel wishes Wes hadn't asked that. He wants to drop the whole Kate subject.

"The FBI had begun a missing persons investigation, and their leads pointed them towards California. Absurd and revolting as it sounds, they were operating on the theory that a middle-aged male cult leader was turning the missing girls into his child brides."

"Say what?," Rona exclaims.

"They thought we were your . . . " Kennedy begins. "Oh my God!"

"So that is why you got those dirty looks," Madari recalls, looking nauseous, along with the rest of the girls.

"Kate got out ahead of the Feds and traced the evidence to me. On my last trip back here, she stopped me at the airport and said I had thirty seconds to explain what I was up to before she put me under arrest. It took a little longer than that. At first I said I was protecting them. She demanded to know from what, I equivocated, she could tell I had something to hide, and, to my astonishment, broached the subject of demons. I soon told the whole truth, and Kate proved to be very open-minded and understanding." She was never that understanding when it came to Angel. "She connected what I told her with a spate of ritual stabbings, concluded I was on the level, and decided to offer her help. Soon enough, Kate threw the agents off my scent and proved herself to be a very discrete but highly effective shield." Discrete? Was he talking about the same detective they had known?

"There have been a couple times when we could have used such a shield to protect us from certain overzealous law enforcement officials," Wesley notes with utmost irony. "It's a shame we haven't met this woman." In a way, they hadn't.

"She is from Los Angeles," Buffy notes. "Grew up only a couple miles from where I grew up. I was surprised to find out that we have a lot in common." Surprised doesn't quite capture what Angel's feeling at this moment. "Okay, not a lot. Maybe just a few things. But I never imagined a cop could be so understanding." Neither did Angel. Or Faith, for that matter.

"I know what you're thinking, Angel," Spike surmises. "She's definitely your type. But the lady cop doesn't fancy our kind."

"No," Anya begs to differ. "She just didn't like you." Finally, a small shred of good news for Angel. Now Spike wants to drop the subject.

"Also, your slow-talking, pre-modern friend paid us a visit yesterday."

"My what?," Angel responds. "Wait a second. You don't mean - ?"

"The Groosalug?," Wesley adds.

"Boy, did he come at just the right time," Andrew says.

"It was cool how he chopped up Bringers like they were blades of grass," Amanda comments before looking unsure. "Can you chop up grass like that? Maybe I meant cut down. Either way, the dismemberment was a welcome sight."

"He fought with you, Buffy?," Angel asks, feeling a tad jealous.

"Very briefly."

"Sliced up two Reapers," Faith reports.

"Kind of the turning point of the entire fight," Kennedy notes.

Spike scoffs at this assertion. "Only cuz they didn't see him coming. Not that hard to behead someone who's looking the other way, now is it? And once our would-be hero got a look at Nina, he ran away like nancy boy."

"I'd say that was rather prudent of him," Wesley concludes.

"That doesn't sound like Groo at all," Angel comments.

"Apparently, he recognized her," Giles mentions. "Or, more correctly, he sensed who she was. In his world, he had been taught that no man can kill her."

"Girl's got quite a rep in Pylea," Gunn observes. "Just saying her name gave Lorne the trembles."

"Lorne said he was taught that no demon could kill her," Fred adds.

"Once again, happy to be none of the above," Buffy comments.

"So Groo left Sunnydale once he found out who you were fighting?," Angel asks.

"Only after threatening me with grievous bodily injury," Xander quips. Angel likes the sound of that.

"Why on earth would he do that?," Fred asks. After all, Xander seems like such a nice, sweet, brave guy.

"He has a bizarre, irrational Cordelia fixation," Buffy explains. "Obsession bordering on worship. Do they not have human women where he's from?" Fred and Gunn begin to sense why Cordelia didn't come with them. That would have made for one brutal, nasty cat-fight.

"They have plenty of women where we sent him," Spike adds.

"What is that supposed to mean?," Angel asks. He's imagining that Spike gave him directions to some brothel.

"What do you think?," Anya asks rhetorically. "I sent him to Scyra."

"Scyra," Gunn repeats. "Is that in the Central Valley?"

"It's the dimension I rescued from Spike's tyranny," Angel explains.

"You bloody liar!"

"Wasn't that why you sent me?," Angel asks Anya, putting her on the spot.

"It's called checks and balances. At no time did I use the word tyranny. I may have mentioned something about a potentially dangerous cult of personality. Oh don't give me that look, Spike. You had thousands of people ready to kill for you at a moment's notice."

"Can I help it if I'm popular? By the way, it was my idea to send him. I thought Mister Monosyllabic would fit in better over there."

It is December in Koneg. The marshes have frozen over and snow is falling in the forests. Panthesilea rides her horse in between the trees, chasing a trio of riders. She brings one man down with three arrows in the back, and takes out another with an arrow in the back of the head. While she focused on these two men, the third one circled round and charged her. When she first sees him, he's ten yards in front of her and closing fast. In one second, he'll be right on top of her. She doesn't have time to put her bow away and take out a close-combat weapon. Still holding the bow in her left hand, she ducks down when he tries to run her through with his spear so that her body is lying against her horse's neck. After avoiding the attack she takes her lasso in her right hand and swings it back, catching her opponent and unhorsing him before he can turn around. She dismounts and grabs her spear. The taller, hairy bearded man cuts himself free with his dagger. He's sure the woman will be easy to deal with hand-to-hand. He charges and thrusts for her heart. But while he's much stronger, she's quicker and more experienced. Panthesilea stands still and stabs him through his right hand. He drops the spear a few hundredths of a second before he would have landed the blow. Panthesilea smiles before running him through and piercing his heart. "Men are so predictable," she says as she climbs back on her horse and rides off to camp. Six thousand mercenaries, Amazons, allies and subject conscripts are besieging a large hill fort. Half the soldiers strengthen the camp's defenses against outside attack while the other half join the two thousand slaves they've freed from the enemy in building a ramp up to the enemy's stronghold forty feet above them. Currently, they are ten feet below their goal. Memnon meets Panthesilea.

"More enemy scouts?," he asks her.

"They're dead."

"But their army is getting closer. Ten thousand men from the other four tribes. Three thousand men inside that fortress. And we're running out of food."

"I'm sure they have plenty of provisions inside that stronghold we'll be capturing any day now. Look Memnon. I know you were against this from the start. I remember you saying it was suicide to attack a region without any food reserves after the harvest. But we're so close to winning. And this relieving force – that's nothing. We've faced worse odds on this campaign. Remember the Battle in Hyrcan? Twenty thousand of them against seven thousand of us. And what happened?"

"We routed them. But that's different - "

"We killed seven thousand. Lost only one thousand."

"And they've learned their lesson. They won't give us a second chance to fight in the open field. They'll simply use their cavalry and light troops to prevent us from gathering what meager food and forage is still out there and starve us into submission."

"Why does having children make a man softer? You used to be a terror."

"I'm as fierce as ever."

"Admit it. You miss your boy. And your girl. But you probably miss your boy more," she adds contemptuously.

"Little Nabis is probably taking his first step by now. And Alceste is getting so big. She looks just like her mother."

"She's three. Trust me, she looks nothing like Thalestris."

"And the sooner we triumph, the sooner I can get home and see them. So my children don't make me a weaker warrior. In fact, they make me a stronger one."

"But not strong enough to take on Sigvard and end this once and for all." They both look at the gigantic sword stuck in the earth. The local King, who's held up with his tribe inside the fort, threw down the sword, promising to engage in single combat with any man who could use the weapon. It was his way of taunting the civilized invaders as weak and effeminate, especially because they are being led by a woman.

"I can't wield that monstrosity with any skill. No man can. It's a trick. Sigvard couldn't even use it." They notice a large man on a white horse riding towards them. Memnon takes out his sword.

"Hold on," Panthesilea cautions. "He's not with the enemy."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He's clean." Memnon concedes the point and puts away his sword. Groo walks up to them. He's an inch taller than Memnon, who's about as well-built.

"I have been sent to help. Your leaders thought I could be of service here."

"You sure can," Memnon says with a chuckle. "Pick up that sword, carry it up there, and challenge their King to single combat." To Groo, this sounds like old times. Maybe too much like old times.

"Their King. Is he demon? Or part demon?" Memnon and Panthesilea laugh.

"We wish," Penny says to Memnon. "Then Sigvard would eat all his people, and we'd win!" They both share a laugh. Groo doesn't understand their odd sense of humor. He walks up to the sword. The blade is five feet long, six inches wide and two inches thick in the center.

"Now this is going to be funny," Memnon says to her. Groo grabs the handle with his right hand, picks the sword up, grabs the handle with both hands and starts swinging it side-to-side. Memnon's eyes bug out. He's shocked and emasculated. Panthesilea smiles and sizes up the powerful stranger.

"I'm guessing he doesn't have any children," she says to Memnon. "Not yet, anyway."

"They turned into conquerors!," Angel exclaims. "Where did I go wrong?"

"Where should I begin?," Spike mocks. "Oh. You're just talking about the time you spend over there. Not your life in general."

"I'll tell you the same thing I told Spike," Anya sighs patronizingly. "You knew this would happen. You militarized an entire nation. Raised tens of thousands of troops."

"But only to protect them from Spike's wanton aggression."

"And then you two made peace. Who were your giant armies going to attack? Everyone else. That's who."

"How giant are we talkin' about?," Gunn inquires.

"About thirty thousand a side," Spike answers. Fred, Gunn and Wes are stunned.

"You never told us they were that huge," she says to Angel.

"How on earth, or, in this instance, not on earth, did you attract so many followers?," Wesley asks Spike, implying by omission that it doesn't surprise him that Angel could have such a vast following.

"They convinced the people they were Gods," Anya answers. Once again, Angel had left out this disturbing detail when he first told his friends what happened.

"That was rather under-handed of you," Wesley says to Angel. "Frankly, I'm shocked you would do such a thing."

"I wouldn't have if Spike hadn't already conned everyone into treating him like a god."

"You lying little ponce. They told me I wus a god. I pleaded that I wasn't, they kept saying I wus, so eventually I gave up. Angel, on the other hand, was advertising his supposed godliness from the moment he set foot in their world."

"Why would anyone ever think you were a god?," Fred asks both of them.

"I don't know how many times I asked that very same question," Giles quips, referring only to Spike.

"I thought you were smart," Anya says to Fred. "It's not that hard to figure out."

Willow tries to explain without Anya's condescension. "These people don't have bipedal demons. But they do have anthropomorphic gods."

"And they had no other way of explaining a human with superhuman powers who couldn't be killed by metal stabbing weapons?," Fred asks.

"Guess she is a quick study," Anya comments.

"Angel didn't tell you about their freaky mythology?," Willow asks.

"That was something I chose to forget."

"So you don't know that to these people you're also deities?," Anya wonders. The three of them look at Angel.

"They liked hearing stories about our world. Which they see as a sort of Olympus. They have overactive imaginations and too much time on their hands."

"This is why you let us have boys over that night," Rona concludes. "So you could have fun with your role-playing games."

"Nonsense," Giles responds. "As much as we enjoyed the peace and quiet, I would never consider putting the future of another world in peril solely for the purpose of getting Spike out of the house for a few hours."

"There's a world where I'm worshipped?," Fred asks.

"Where we're all worshipped, each in a different way, by various cults," Anya explains. "Except for Andrew. And the Potentials."

"This is getting pretty twisted," Gunn concedes.

"So if I were to travel to this world, how exactly should I expect to be treated?," Wesley asks.

Gunn realizes the upside. "Are we talkin' parades? Banquets?"

"Concubines?," Xander adds. Wes and Gunn appear intrigued. The women scowl at Xander.

"There's also thousands of men who would be willing to sleep with each and every one of us," Anya tells the other ladies. "And women," she adds for Willow's and Kennedy's sake.

"And I bet they're all pimply losers I wouldn't wanna touch with a ten foot pole," Faith predicts. She knows a little something about attracting the wrong kind of guy. Before Lindsey, of course.

"Not all of them," Anya begs to differ. "Hiero had quite a crush on me, if you remember," she says to Angel.

"He had a thing for free spirits," Angel recalls. "And those were in pretty short supply where he's from."

"Must be why he married Penelope," Spike reports. Angel's stunned.

"Your Penelope? I don't believe it. No. No. I should have known. My last night there, Hiero told me he had fallen in love with a girl who beat him up."

"Their world sounds a lot like our world," Amanda comments.

"Who's Hero?," Gunn asks.

"Hiero," Spike points out angrily. Angel doesn't exactly know how to explain. "Adopted son" would sound very suspicious to them. And God forbid if it got back to Connor.

"He was Angel's page," Anya responds. "Penelope is the sister of Kreon, who was Spike's page. And one more thing," Anya says to switch the subject. "If you find it weird that people worship us and tell stories and write plays about our lives, then you should know I haven't even gotten to the worst part: They don't even think we're real. Or, if they think we're real, they don't think we have free will."

"How can a god not have free will?," Wesley asks, drawing concerned looks from his friends. "I'm trying to see it from their point of view. That doesn't mean I subscribe to it."

"I'm only talking about the intellectuals. Priests, philosophers, men of letters like yourself, ironically. They posit the existence of a Great Storyteller who invented us and pulls our strings. Or a committee of storytellers. There are differences of opinion."

"They never mentioned any of this to me," Angel grouses.

"It's a whole layer-cake of disturbing," Buffy comments. "Still, I don't see what the big deal is. I can't take seriously anyone who thinks I'm a god."

"The supreme, most powerful god, whom our entire universe revolves around," Anya adds. She starts to laugh. "Okay, I see your point. But that's where they stood three years ago. It's gotten worse."

"I'd hate to think how," Fred comments.

"What, are they writin' their own stories about us and makin' us do things we'd never really do?," Gunn asks.

"They've been doing that from day one."

Gunn, Wes and Fred look at Angel. "I didn't pay attention to that stuff."

"Neither did I," Spike adds.

"But they've done something worse. It all starts with Dawn and her phony memories. Some of the eggheads decided that, if her identity could be manufactured, than so could all of ours."

"They think our lives aren't real?," Kennedy asks.

"Not until each of us met Buffy. Or Angel, in the case of you two," she says to Fred and Gunn. "They believe everything we think we experienced before that is nothing but manufactured background material."

"That's bloody insulting," Spike comments.

"How do you think I feel?," Anya responds. "I've lived longer than everyone in this room combined. But like with all really good crackpot ideas, there's no way to disprove it."

"So, to them, only Buffy and Angel are real?," Faith asks.

"No. Angel didn't exist until Buffy met him. And Buffy didn't exist until she moved to Sunnydale."

"Let me get this straight," Giles begins. "According to these voyeurs – who, by the way, are in desperate need of lives of their own – none of us has existed since birth. However, some of us have existed longer than others."

"On the plus side, everything we've done since then is of our own free will. The ones who believe are memories are real also think we're puppets. It's basically a question which idea you find more insulting: that your life's a lie, or that you have no free will."

"Are they this irreverent with all their deities?," Fred asks. "It strikes me as an odd way to treat your gods."

"That's because the eggheads have stopped thinking of us as gods. To them, we're more like really, really, really huge celebrities whose motives and actions they endlessly analyze and whose futures they ceaselessly speculate over. No, that's not just the eggheads. Everybody analyzes and speculates. And the worst part is, a lot of them think I'M going to die tomorrow. They've practically voted me most likely to not make it out of here alive."

"Are you not popular?," Willow asks.

"Hardly. I'm very popular. But, according to these people, I'm also expendable. Buffy dying would be anti-climactic. Faith hasn't had enough exciting, sexy adventures. Andrew dying would be meaningless. So I'm the one who has to go, since I'll be missed, but not missed too much."

"That's wretchedly callous of them," Giles comments.

"Absolutely sickening," Xander adds.

"How would they feel if people speculated about their fate in such a morbid matter?," Giles wonders.

"They think ya'al are gods," Fred points out.

"You too," Spike reminds her. She'd like to forget about that part. As well as the theory that her five years of unspeakable torment in Pylea were just "character background."

"Yes. But my point was, they probably think we don't care what they think. How can a mere mortal hurt a god's feelings? 'Specially a mere mortal livin' in a whole other world."

"By the way, they spend a lot of time discussing and debating your sex life," Anya reports.

Fred's face goes red. "Those sick, twisted, yellow-bellied bastards!" Anya smiles, having caused Fred to refute her own argument.