Victor sits on a chair in the great hall Russell Winters's old mansion, which he shares with Louis, a fruit of their alliance with Wolfram & Hart. (Being a vampire with no living heirs, the property reverted to W&H after Angel pushed Russell out the window.) Vic appears to be deep in thought, his left hand on his chin, three fingers in a fist, his thumb along his jaw line, his index finger pointing upwards to his left temple. His back is turned away from a woman in her late twenties wearing high heels and a business suit, whose arms are shackled to the wall and whose mouth is taped shut. On the stereo is Toad the Wet Sprocket's "Hold Her Down." Louis enters, holding several photos in his hands.

"Okay," he says as he throws one to the floor. "Okay," he says before chucking another. "Not bad. Nice. Damn! A sista! I'm gonna have fun with her." He walks over to Victor and waves his right hand in front of Vic's face. "Whassup! Will ya quit the brooding? Stop tryin' to fit the mold, man. It's their mold, not ours."

"I'm pondering our situation."

"Does that mean you're done with her?"

"Hands off!" Lou backs away.

"Okay, okay," he says as he backs away from the prisoner. "But from my experience, good thing's don't come to those who wait." He thinks Vic doesn't really enjoy terrorizing his victims like this, but indulges in such behavior to build a rep for being cerebral and serious. "That reminds me – we should try the Ebony-Ivory scam again tonight."

"Do you realize that the vast majority of the world's vampire-slaying capability is currently concentrated in this city?"

"What can I say? We popular."

"This is an historic moment."

"So long as it doesn't make you and me history."

"It could put us on the map. Or ruin us."

"Like I said, we gotta stay alive. It's that simple. Stop trying to sound like that dude on NFL Films."

"Our soldiers are threatening to flee."

"Have you given them the low-down? The Queen Bee's in crutches. Two of the others are walking wounded."

"That leaves three."

"Three girls who've never been here, and who don't know the streets."

"Angel knows the streets. Give him and Connor three Slayers, and they could do some serious damage."

"Not gonna happen!," Lou retorts, bringing his right foot down to emphasize each word. "Ain't no way any Slayer's eva gonna work for a vampire. Or his mutant bastard."

Raymond Chesterton, Wesley's doctor friend from England, finishes looking at Buffy, Amanda and Fadila. "I wouldn't remove the cast until Monday at the earliest. It's important the bone sets properly."

"What was that shot you gave me?," Buffy asks.

"Parathyroid hormone. It should help the femur repair itself."

"So, that would speed up my recovery? To, like, Sunday?"

"I don't think four days is too long to wait for a compound fracture to heal. Even for a Slayer. Unless there's some emergency that urgently requires your attention."

"In my line of work, you never know," she jokes.

"Fadila, Amanda, the new bandages I gave should speed up healing. You'll probably be capable of fighting tomorrow night, but I'd wait until Sunday just to be safe. Actually, Fadila, considering that you have a partially punctured lung, I'd have you hold off until Monday. If you're struck in the wounded area before it's fully repaired, there is a risk of sepsis setting in. Rule of thumb: if it still hurts to breathe, rest. Amanda, if it hurts to run, that's a sign your hamstring's not quite ready. You're Slayers, but you're still human." He leaves. Wesley follows him out.

"I think he wanted to see a little more of us, if you know what I mean," Amanda whispers to Fadila.

"You think he's some pervert?," a shocked Fadila asks.

"No. I think he sees us as really cool science experiments that happen to walk and talk."

"We are oddities. I should be dead, given my injuries."

"But we're not circus freaks."

"Not yet," Fadila jokes. It's one thing to be a Slayer among fellow demon fighters. It's quite another to re-enter the wider world – the Real' world, as Ella liked to call it.

"What did you think?," Wes asks Raymond.

"I think I would like to compare Buffy to the new Slayers. There's always been a question as to how Slayers develop, whether their bodies get stronger over time. But I suppose they've been through enough."

"To put it mildly."

"We don't know if Slayers improve solely because of practice and experience, or if they physically become stronger over the years. And, if so, at what point do they peak, and when should they retire. It's important to know what you can demand from each of them."

"You talk of them like they're horses," Wes replies with mild disgust.

"I talk of them like they're soldiers. You ask too much of one, she dies. You require too little of another, and she becomes demoralized."

"I think I can determine those things on my own. But thank you for your medical assistance."

"My pleasure. And thank you for indulging my professional curiosity. Speaking of which, how are Connor and Angel?"

"Completely recovered."

"My. A week ago, both were crippled. Whatever did that to them, it is dead?"

"Very much so."

"Thank goodness."

"How would you compare Connor to Amanda and Fadila?"

"I knew the professional curiosity wasn't entirely one-sided."

"It is a unique confluence of circumstances," Wes concedes.

"Unprecedented. Twice over. And while the Slayers are remarkable, Connor is more-so."

"Really. How?"

"His resting pulse and breathing rate are about half theirs. His bone density is off-the-charts. This makes sense. Slayers are like stock cars – ordinary vehicles given racing engines and reinforced frames. Connor is like a Formula One car. He was different from the beginning."

"You think he's stronger than the Slayers?," Wesley asks, rather surprised.

"Certainly he's more durable, with greater defensive capacity. As for offensive attacking ability – which is what really matters – it's impossible for me to say. At rest, Slayers appear normal. Normal Olympic athletes, but well within the range of human ability, nonetheless. Their power is explosive and episodic, brought on by hormone surges."

"Chester, you actually believe Slayer Power is nothing more that teenage girls and their out-of-control hormones?," Wesley asks dubiously.

"I see nothing surprising in that. What reservoir of power would you have tapped into instead?"

Dawn walks into an unfamiliar kitchen, wearing an unfamiliar blue business suit. Sitting at the table is Xander in a suit and tie. He puts down the paper and stands up. "Morning darling!" He walks over and kisses her on the lips before heading to the counter to pour another cup of coffee. Dawn stands there stunned. She has a gold ring on her left ring finger. So does he.

"Are we married?"

"That's what the minister said," Xander jokes. "Is something wrong?"

"Uhhh, ummm, ah, I don't know." She looks at her finger and her clothes again. "Where's Buffy?"

"I'm not sure. Probably someplace exciting and dangerous and far away. There's always something she has to go deal with."

"Does Buffy know about, us?"

Xander chuckles. "She was your maid of honor. You have the wackiest sense of humor. One of the things I love about you."

"You're the one with the wacky sense of humor."

"I suppose these sorts of things rub off after a while." She sits down. He kisses her forehead and sits back down. "You shouldn't be so surprised. You did have that crush on me."

"When I was fourteen."

"Things come full circle. I certainly wasn't expecting it. But after you finished college, it just sort of happened."

"Things just sort of always happen. But this . . . this . . . it's just so - "

"Inevitable?"

"Excuse me?"

"We do have a lot in common. Normals who can't relate to other normals, or to their superpowered friends. We see things in each other that others can't."

"Yeah," she says in resignation.

"Off to work." He kisses her on the lips, puts on his jacket and walks out.

"But not this. Not yet, anyway," she concludes, finishing her earlier thought.

Elijah and Connor sit in chairs in the hospital hallway, trying to pass the time while Dawn's in surgery. Eli, who, naturally, is considerably more calm than Connor, reads "The Innovator's Dilemma."

"Eli?"

"Yeah Connor?"

"Your last name's Campbell."

"Yeah."

"But your father - I mean, your stepdad, signed his name Mueller' on the register. And your mom's name is Lattimore. I though people with last names had the last name's of their parents."

"Campbell was my dad's name. My brother and I, we just kept it after he died."

"So how come your mom has a different name?"

"She went back to her maiden name. When she married again, she didn't bother changing it yet again."

"Oh. So when Kit marries you, will she take your name, or keep her own?"

Elijah stares into space for a few seconds. "Was that your wacky sense of humor, or your even wackier sense of serious?"

"Don't you love her?"

"I really like her. Which sounds rankly juvenile but, love, that's heavy." He sighs. "Which also sounds rankly juvenile. Look Connor, the world's not a storybook. There's a lot of stuff between Their eyes meet'' and They lived happily ever after.' Also, there's never really a Happily Ever After. It's a way for the writer to end the story. Affection isn't asymptotal. It doesn't reach a peak and stay there for eternity."

"Why not?"

"Life's unpredictable. Nothing stays the same forever. Except, you dad. And, for a long while, your mom. I see why you're having trouble grasping this concept of irreversible change and decay."

"Bodies decay. Not feelings." Connor is definitely his mother's son.

"What does marriage have to do with feelings? See, now YOU'RE the one who's stunned into silence," Elijah jokes.

"Marriage is about eternal love."

Elijah laughs, until he realizes the possibly vampiric connotations of "eternal" love, and wonders if that has any atavistic influence on Connor's view of romance. "No, marriage is about property. You can be in love without getting married. You can get married without being in love. It's a legal mechanism for pooling property." Anya would love this kid. Connor doesn't know quite how to respond.

"But, the vows."

"For an eighteen year-old, you seem awfully invested in the sanctity of this institution."

"My dad, his friends, Dawn's sister, they don't take us seriously. If we got married, they would."

"After they got through yelling at the two of you until they lost their voices. Knowing Buffy, there would probably also be violence. You'd have the world's first Shotgun Divorce'," he jokes, trying to make light of what to him is a very twisted conversation. "Does Dawn know you've been thinking about these things? Probably not, since she doesn't look at you like you're crazy."

"Is that what you're doing?," Connor jokes.

"Sorry. I've never had this conversation. And I certainly hadn't planned on having it now. Dawn's not going to die. You do know that?"

"She doesn't make it, the doctor's going to be real sorry." Elijah notices the homicidal glint in Connor's eye, and wonders if it's normal to recognize your best friend's look as "homicidal," since that implies you're used to seeing it.

"So much for malpractice insurance," he quips.

"That's the first time you've given me the Look."

"What look?"

"The one everyone else always gives me. The Freak' look."

"I'd tend to label you more extraordinary than freakish."

"You talk to me like you talk to Carlos. Or Preston. Like I'm normal."

"I wouldn't call either of them normal."

"Come on, E. Ya know what I mean."

"I do. Kit's asked me about it, too. So you never had a childhood. Childhood's overrated. It didn't exist until two centuries ago. Most people in the world still don't have one. Now I know that I can't understand what you've been through. But no one can really completely understand anyone else. It's a matter of degree."

"I heard Clarence and Carlos say you hang with me cause you got no other friends." Equipped with super-hearing and living is a building with hundreds of teenagers and thin walls, Connor's become a gossip sponge.

"I suppose that's true," Elijah concedes with a chuckle. "When it comes to friends, I have always preyed on the socially weak. And you can't get more outcast than you."

Dawn enters what appears to be a large cave. She looks down at herself, and sees that she's wearing tight white leather pants and a midriff-baring dark blue t-shirt with a silver star on it. "Oh God. What now?," she asks with a wince. Spike comes up from below.

"Hello cutie!" Dawn starts backing away. "Cum on love. You weren't so shy last night. When Dawn gets near the entrance she feels her left hand get scorched.

"Ow!" She pulls it towards her and looks outside. It's sunny. She inches her right foot out of the shadows, and it sizzles. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Spike says with a smile as he walks over towards her. She puts her right index and middle fingers to her carotid artery, and feels nothing.

"Oh no." She looks at Spike with fear and dread.

"Relax pet. You're still one of the good guys." He takes her left hand and slowly leads her deeper into the rather well-furnished cave.

"Why aren't you still one of the dead guys?" She had seen him go up in flames the day before. That should have registered with her subconscious.

"Why are you walking?," he asks with a smirk, lightly kicking her intact right knee. "Of course, now you can do a lot more than just bloody walk. Go ahead. Try 'em out." Dawn leaps fifteen feet up and grabs onto a stalactite. She then crawls over to the wall and down the wall back to the floor.

"Whoa," she says with a smile. Dawn leaps over Spike's head. He turns to see her, but she has already dashed back to her original position, and taps him on the back. "Over here, slowpoke."

"I knew you'd like it."

"No, I don't," she stammers, knowing she should definitely not welcome this.

"Don't kid yourself, kid."

"I'm never going to grow up."

"You're already grown up. Take a look in the mirror. Okay, wrong choice of words."

"I'll never have a job, a life. I'll never feel the sun on my face."

"How much does anyone really appreciate that when they're human? It's overrated. All that sunburn and sweating."

"You did this to me!" She leaps at Spike and pounces on top of him.

"Not bad, huh? All that power." He pushes her off and stands up. She leaps ten feet forward at him. He hops to his right and she misses. "Like wearing a bloody jet pack on your back. I know: you didn't ask for this. Neither did I. So what? No one asks to be a Slayer. No one asks to be bloody born in the first place. It's all about playing the cards you're dealt. This whining about your fate, it's the old, long-departed you. That Dawny died even before this Dawny was born." Spike picks up a small stone and uses its edge to make a deep cut on the left side of his neck. Dawn goes bumpy, leans in, then stops herself and pulls back, feeling her fangs.

"You made me evil!," she screams.

"Bollocks," he calmy responds, lighting up a cigarette with his zippo. He tosses the lighter behind him and sets the bed on fire. Dawn stops, frozen, her right hand about to slap his face. Spike exhales, backs up a step and starts pacing back and forth. "You have a soul. You've never killed a human. Except for a few evil ones who deserved it. You've never fed off a person. You do hunt: chasing the deer across the hills at night. Not too long ago you bagged a mountain lion. But you're good. Like me. Except with nothing to feel guilty for. So you'll never grow old. Neither will any of the new Slayers. But you'll be here long after they're in the ground. You decided to be in the demon-fighting game, and you know the rules: you wanna play, then you better get yourself some powers. Unless you're a man. They can get by on strength, courage and intellect alone. The rules are different for girls. Don't know why, but they are." The fire dies down since the bed is mostly consumed, and Dawn finds that she can move again. "Considering the options, this wusn't a bad deal. Sure, you coulda kept at it with those visions. Until your head exploded, or you had to acquire demon power to keep your cranium in one piece. And that only leads to things even worse than premature death."

"Speaking of which, what the Hell am I doing with you?"

"I'm the one you used to daydream about. Your white-haired knight on a motorcycle."

"The last time we talked, I threatened to kill you."

"Is there a better way to turn me on?" Dawn pauses to think this through.

"That doesn't explain why I'd chose you."

"I can do better."

"You can do worse."

"This is disgusting. You're old enough to be my - "

"Older sister's boyfriend's younger brother? Buffy was dating Angel when she was your age."

"Why aren't you with her?," Dawn asks, trying to upset Spike.

"Why do you think every man prefers her to you?"

"You're not every man. You're Spike."

"And I'm yours." He puts his hands around her waist. She pushes him back.

"You don't deserve me."

Spike chuckles. "Quite the egotistical twist. Had you been planning that one? Now we know this really is a dream."

"More like a nightmare." An ax passes through Spike's neck. His head falls to the ground, followed by his body. They don't turn to dust. Standing behind Spike is Joyce, who holds the ax and looks very angry.

"You should have listened to me the first time."

"Mom!" Joyce drops the ax, steps over Spike and approaches Dawn. Her look changes from anger to tenderness.

"Honey I'm very worried about you. This Connor boy you've been spending time with, I think he's trouble. As much as we loathe each other, Darla and I both agree that it would be best if you put an end this relationship. We don't want to be grandmothers to the same grandchild. Please don't make the same mistake your sister did. You don't have to follow in her footsteps. Why would anyone want to, if they had a choice? Dawn, I love you, and I want you to be safe and happy."

"I can have both?"

"Yes! Of course you can have both, my little pumpkin belly."

Angel addresses the troops. "Sometime today, something, or some things, are going to try to kill. We're going to try to stop them. I'll won't be able to help out for a few hours. Until then, Wesley and Fred, you take everything north of Marina del Rey. Gunn and Cordy, take everything south. Lorne's working the local demon grapevine, and once Connor gets back, we'll - "

"Angel?," Fred meekly says. Like Gunn and Wes, she looks worried. "You said Cordy." Angel pauses, realizes she's right, and appears embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. She's been with me from the very beginning. To not have her here - "

"I know," Wesley sympathizes. "We all miss her."

"I wonder how New York's treating her."

"She's gonna call, right?," Fred asks.

"I'm sure she's been busy," Angel responds. "Meeting new people, finding an apartment, making new friends."

Cordelia sits in a lecture hall. Most people are standing up and leaving. A few head up front to have their books signed by the short blonde woman who had been speaking. As that line starts to thin out, Cordy stands up, takes a deep breath, and summons the courage to meet the author. When her fans have all dispersed, she turns to get her coat and leave.

"Carrie Bradshaw?" The woman turns and sees a tall brunette.

"Yes?"

"I'm a big fan of your book. And your columns. I read them every chance I had, even though sometimes it was hard to find your paper in Los Angeles."

"Thank you," she replies dismissively. Cordy climbs up on stage.

"I, myself, have had a fairly eventful, and occasionally bizarre, dating life. In fact, I think the life of a single gal in LA is even more complicated than in Manhattan."

"It depends," she responds casually, turning to leave. Cordy, never one to be shy, steps boldly in her path.

"In fact, I was wondering if I could tell you about about it. Over a few cosmos. My treat."

"Sorry. I have to, umm, I have something."

"How bout we make a bet. If my dating experiences aren't stranger and more bizarre than yours, I'll buy you two pairs of Manolos." Cordy smiles. Carrie decides to think about this.

"Blaniks?"

"What else is there?" They both laugh.

"Two pair. That's a cool thousand. Either you're filthy rich, or you have one helluva story to tell."

"Either way, you win."

Carrie ponders this for a few seconds. The brunette doesn't look like a stalker, or a violent criminal. "There's a place a few blocks from here." Cordy smiles as they walk out.