Over in Scyra, in the city of Spikeopolous, Kreon and Myrina lie on a bed with their new born baby. "Isn't he precious?," Myrina coos.

"It's amazing to watch you create life, and to know that I could be part of something so wonderful. Hiero says it's even better the second time around."

"Not on your life," Myrina replies with a scowl. She's still recovering from an excruciating labor.

"We wouldn't want our son to be all alone."

"You want another one? Carry it yourself." Kreon takes the second hint and drops the subject.

"What should we name him?"

"How bout your father's name?"

"Demetrius? That's a good, strong name."

"I meant your other father."

"Spike? It's not a proper name. Maybe it is in his world - "

"I meant William."

"Oh." Kreon smiles. "I like it."

"Hey little William." The baby smiles. "See. He likes it already." The baby reaches his right arm up and wraps his tiny hand tightly around Kreon's left index finger.

"What a grip! I bet he's gonna grow up to be a great fighter."

"Or a peace maker. We do need more of those. Especially with the revolt. Which you seem oddly unworried about."

"It was going to happen sooner or later. Personally, I'm glad it's so widespread. Like Spike said, better to take on all your enemies at once."

"Your sister said the same thing."

"There you go."

"But Hiero's not so sure."

"He just likes to brood about the costs. The thoughtful warrior.' You know where he got that from. What a bollocks." Kreon uses Spike's slang rather indiscriminately and improperly.

"Don't use that kind of language around our son. I don't want little William's first words to be bloody hell."

Kreon laughs. "Why not? It would be so cute!"

Wesley, in a dark suit, walks down the hall with Fred and opens Connor's door to wake Dawn up for the funeral. They're both still sleeping. Dawn has her right arm around Connor "Aww. Don't they look adorable?," Fred asks Wes.

"No. It's unnatural."

"How can you say that?"

"Given the history of her sister and his father, how could I not?"

"That ain't their fault."

"True, though it hardly makes it any easier to accept this as normal or proper."

"Were Buffy and Angel normal and proper?" Wesley sighs. Connor hears the two of them talking and opens his eyes. They close the door and leave. Connor takes Dawn's right hand in his left hand, and rubs his right hand up and down her left forearm as he lies on his back. Dawn awakes and yawns. Then she shoots up into a sitting position.

"We missed the alarm! Are we late?"

Connor crawls behind Dawn and looks at the digital clock to Dawn's right. "Is 7:32 late?"

"Not too late."

"Good." He wraps his arms around her chest and pulls her down on top of him. She laughs for a few seconds.

"But too late for any of that." She pries Connor's arms away, sits back up and puts her left foot on the floor. "I need to go take a bath."

"Sounds like fun."

"Alone," she replies, turning around to look at Connor. He pouts. "Get your mind out your pants. We're going to a funeral."

"Sorry."

Dawn laughs and shakes her head. "You always do that."

"Do what?"

"Agree with me."

"You want me to disagree?"

"I want you to . . . forget it." She wants him to learn and grow and become more emotionally mature, but that's a lot to get into at seven-thirty on a Saturday morning. "I want you to get breakfast. After you get dressed."

"Well, duh," he responds in jest. "I didn't fall into this world yesterday."

Anya knocks open Xander's door with one of her crutches, hops on in, and knocks it closed. Xander sits on his bed, wearing pants and a shirt, neither of which is buttoned. "I thought you could use a little help."

"Just because I don't have the use of either hand?," Xander responds, trying to sound darkly comic.

"I should take a saw to the end of that cast. Your fingers aren't broken. Why should they remain useless?"

"Because my wrist has to be immobilized, since rotating it risks re-breaking the two bones in my forearm."

"You should still be able to grab stuff." She balls her fingers together, then opens her palm. "That doesn't use the wrist."

"I think I'll try to get it a little scaled back on Monday. Most of the people they treat for multiple fractures aren't already missing a hand."

"Until then, I guess I'll have to dress you. Now stand up." Xander does this and looks away in shame as she buttons his shirt and pulls up and zips his pants. "Don't be so dramatic. I've taken your clothes off plenty of times. It's the exact same process, only in reverse."

"And to think, we're the lucky ones," Xander sighs in despair.

"We may be, inconvenienced. But, I guess, that's part of life. That's maybe the essence of life. You can't be inconvenienced or uncomfortable or in pain when your dead. Giles isn't - " She stops. A tear rolls down from the corner of her right eye. Xander instinctively reaches his left hand out to dry it. Of course, it's now an artificial hand. And feeling the plastic against her skin only makes Anya cry more. She buries her head in Xander's chest. He puts his arms around her. That, he can still do.

Angel walks into Buffy's room while she's buttoning her blouse. He averts his eyes. "Sorry."

"Oh for God sakes," Buffy groans. "You think that if we see each other in the most partial state of undress, we won't be able to control our actions?"

Angel is taken aback by her harsh response. "I was just trying to be polite," he meekly offers.

"I didn't mean to bite your head off. It's not you. Well, not only you. Lately I've had my fill of men who think they're irresistible."

"When did I make that assumption?"

Buffy scoffs. "When did you not?"

"I didn't come here to talk about us. Right now, I imagined that would be the last thing on your mind." Buffy sits down on the end of the bed.

"And your mind?"

"I miss Giles nearly as much as you. I miss Faith - "

"Probably more than me. Not that I don't . . . losing a Slayer is like losing a part of myself. I felt that way when Kendra died. I and I feel it even more with Faith."

"There was no one else on Earth who understood what it was like to be a Slayer."

"It's like losing a sister. A wayward sister who occasionally tried to sabotage my life."

"I've lost people who were close to me. Including one who chose to die in my place. If you want to talk about it - "

"I heard about Doyle. He had the visions my sister gets now."

"Doyle certainly can't be held responsible for that."

"No. There's only one person I hold responsible for that."

"I know my son hurt you. To be fair, he hurt me even worse."

"Something else I can hold against him," she adds half-jokingly.

"He's not evil. Just confused."

"Funny. That's exactly what Spike said." This gives Angel pause. "And that was after Connor tried to kill him. Several times."

"Spike was always impressed by persistence."

"It's not that I hate him. Not at this particular moment, at least. I just worry about what he's capable of. And, more to the point, I wonder why he's going to the funeral. He knows this isn't a date, doesn't he?"

"Connor wants to pay his respects to Faith. She did save his life."

"The boy finally learned to respect a Slayer."

"He respects you. If he doesn't like you, it's not your fault. It's mine."

"No. We didn't get along even before we knew each other's back story. That's enough talk about him for this month."

"I love you both. And it's upsetting to know that one of you can cause the other one pain."

"How come you're up so early?," Buffy asks, eager to change the subject. "You're beginning to make this Creature of the Night thing seem like a myth."

"I want to take care of the people checking out early. In case Anya wanted to gouge a few more before heading out."

"Is she working for you?," Buffy asks with concern.

"She seems to think so. Even though I never hired her."

"Where there's money to be made - "

"No one else seems to mind. Long as they're getting a cut of the windfall. I shudder to think what could happen if she ever got her hands on the agency's books."

"At least she's found something constructive to do with her time."

"Squeezing pennies from homeless refugees isn't constructive."

"It's not as bad as what she used to do."

Connor returns to his room holding three bags. "I got scrambled eggs, French toast, pancakes, bacon, sausage and hash browns."

"And for me?," Dawn asks.

"Blueberry pancakes with strawberry syrup, and a chocolate milkshake."

Dawn smiles. "You remembered our last meal together," before he returned to Sunnydale nearly a month ago. "Of course you did. You're such a sweetie." She dips her left index finger in the syrup and puts it in Connor's mouth. He playfully moves his head forward and doesn't let go as she pulls her hand back. The formerly groggy Connor has definitely perked up. "Hungry?" He smiles. "All that food should take you about five minutes to eat. I might look away for part of it. You're still, well, let's just say you're not quite ready for polite company." He takes about half the omelette in his left hand and shoves it into his mouth. "I know it's cause growing up you didn't have utensils and you had to eat quick while keeping and eye out for monsters. I guess it might take a while to soften you up."

"Not completely, I hope."

"I think that's impossible. Thankfully."

"This is nice. The two of us. Just hanging."

"Yeah. I'm really lucky. Going through all this without you would so much harder. Speaking of . . . this, what are you wearing? It think your dad's clothes would be way too big."

"I think I'll go borrow some stuff from Eli."

"You didn't ask him already? He's probably still asleep."

"Then I'll wake him."

"That'll go well," Dawn says with a sigh.

"A funeral?," Eli asks, in boxer shorts and a Rage Against The Machine t-shirt. He opens the closet. His parents stay in bed and try to get back to sleep. "Who died? Oh. Right. Everyone who's not wearing a cast. Let's see what I got." His hair's standing up and he's got more stubble than Connor's ever seen him with. "Blue or white?"

"What?"

"Your shirt. Is it blue or white?"

"Black."

"Interesting. And the pants? You do have pants that aren't jeans?"

"Yeah. They're black."

"Taking after your father, I see." Connor scowls. He doesn't view this as a compliment. "How about this one?" He holds out a gray tie.

"Sure."

"Let me guess: since you lack a tie, you also don't have a jacket. I don't think we're the same size." Connor's two inches taller. "But this should fit, more or less." He takes out a black blazer.

"Thanks. You're a real friend."

"As opposed to a fake one?," Elijah jokes. "You know how to tie this?" He pauses for two seconds. "Of course you don't." Eli puts it around his own neck, ties it loosely, then hands it to Connor. "That should make you presentable. Now please try to forget that I'm capable of waking up at this hour on a weekend." Connor smiles and leaves.

"Your friend seems nice," Elijah's mom offers. "But, odd."

"That's Connor." Nice, odd, and occasionally quite brutal.

Connor comes down the stairs towards the lobby, where Dawn's waiting with Xander and Anya. Dawn sees Connor all dressed up, and is pleasantly surprised. "Oh my God! Hello G.Q. You look good."

"Don't I always?," he impishly asks.

"Spiffy good. Not, grungy good." The elevator door opens. Buffy hops out.

"There you are," she says to Dawn with a sigh of relief. She glances at Connor. Buffy thinks he looks like a mobster in his black pants, black shirt, black jacket and slate gray tie.

"How was your night?," Dawns asks.

"Restful," Buffy replies with a shrug.

"Mine too," Dawn responds. Buffy wasn't about to ask how her night had been, given that it had been with Connor, but she finds this particular answer reassuring in the sense that it isn't cringe-inducing, which is how Buffy views her sister's relationship with Connor in general. Wesley walks back inside with Fadila, Ariella and Amanda.

"Has anyone seen Rona and Madari?," he asks.

"Rona said she overslept," Buffy reports. "She told me she'd be down soon." Angel steps out from the office.

"Did you approve of my entries in the ledger?," Anya eagerly asks.

"Yeah. They were, fine."

"I also entered them into a spreadsheet program on your computer."

"That's good. I guess."

"You'll have to forgive Angel," Wes says to Anya. "He couldn't tell the difference between Excel and Powerpoint." She laughs. Xander eyes Wes suspiciously. Angel notices his son and smiles.

"Connor! You're, all dressed up. Where did you, um, get those clothes?" Naturally he suspects theft.

"Eli gave 'em to me."

"Oh. No wonder the jacket's a little short in the arms. Did you do the tie?"

"No. He did."

"It is a little tight. The knot's a bit small. Let me fix that." He stands in front of Connor, unties it and reties it. "There you go. Perfect." Angel flashes a glowing smile and pats Connor on his left shoulder. "Chip off the old block."

"You have that look."

"What look?"

"The special' look. Is this a bonding thing?" Just then, everyone's startled by two loud thuds. Rona and Madari jumped down into the atrium from the second floor balcony.

"Sorry," Madari meekly offers the shocked onlookers.

"We were running late," Rona adds.

It's a inappropriately sunny day in Sunnydale. The eleven person contingent from Los Angeles makes up about a third of the mourners. Buffy's surprised by how many adults around Sunnydale Giles knew and she didn't. But there are a few familiar faces. Lindsey, looking both dapper and devastated. Kate, in a black pantsuit. Claude Marcel, whom she met that one time. Next to him is his eighteen year-old daughter Annette. She is tall, a full six inches above Buffy, with short, light brown hair and bright green eyes. Around her neck hangs a golden crucifix with Jesus carved on the front. After the minister's invocation, the four coffins are lowered into the ground amidst the ruins. Andrew would be honored to know he's being buried with the others. Claude walks over to Faith's and Kennedy's graves and pours something from a silver urn. He joins the others in a nearby tent. Buffy, who had been standing near Giles's grave, hops over and looks down into Faith's. "It's red ochre," Anya explains. "Usually connected with goddess worship. Supposed to have mild magical properties. Not sure why he'd pour it on them. Probably not anything sinister," she offers casually. Inside the tent, Claude is talking with Lindsey about Faith, and Annette chats with Estella and Vincente about Rupert Giles.

"What were you doing back there?," Buffy asks Claude, politely but suspiciously.

"It's a very old tradition, meant to put the Slayer's soul at peace."

"You mean, so they don't come back?," Buffy asks, a little wigged by the fact that he might consider this a possibility.

"Originally, that was probably the reason. Sometimes, the community would seek to resurrect the Slayer, because the monsters didn't disappear when she did." He pauses. "I mean no offense. Your situation was completely different. If the locals were successful, the Slayer would be brought back as a zombie, unlike you," he adds defensively. "The ochre prevented this abomination. Eventually, it became simply a sign of respect. A recognition of identity. Like a flag on a soldier's coffin, I suppose."

"Oh," Buffy replies to his too-thorough answer. "Really not glad I asked that." She sees Kate and hops over. Meanwhile, Connor talks with Dawn about Giles.

"He was nice to me. Even when everyone else wasn't. He gave me a chance. He just seemed to want to help people, not use them or take advantage of them."

"I remember when he used to babysit me."

"Me too," Annette says. Connor and Dawn turn and look at her. She's two inches taller than Dawn, and almost as tall as Connor.

"And you are?," Dawn asks with confusion and mild condescension.

"Annette Marcel. Claude's daughter." She holds out her right hand and smiles. Dawn hesitates before shaking it. She doesn't know why, but something about this girl rubs her the wrong way.

"Dawn Summers." Annette looks intrigued.

"Buffy's sister. The Key."

"Formerly. You've heard about me, or, it?," she asks. The Key reference is a tad dehumanizing. And Dawn thinks Annette's carrying herself like she thinks she's better than Dawn.

"My father believed that killing you would open the Hellmouth." Slightly less horrible than all dimensions merging into one, but equally catastrophic.

"So he was anti-killing me. Cool," Dawn responds glibly.

"And who is your silent companion?"

"I'm Connor." Annette's jaw drops and she smiles, looking him over from head-to-toe with astonishment.

"My deepest apologies. I imagined you clothed in leopard skin, like Hercules," she jokes. Dawn found that an intriguing fantasy, though not one this girl should be having.

"He's my boyfriend."

"Lover," Connor bashfully adds. Dawn smiles. Annette looks bemused.

"Just what your mother would say. How did you two meet? Probably not through your parents."

"You seem to know a lot about us," Dawn states suspiciously.

"I read. I listen. All part of getting to know the family business."

"Business?"

"Being a Watcher."

"You're a Watcher-in-Training?," Dawn asks nervously.

"Watchers without Slayers. That's how it's been in my family. We slay the vampires ourselves."

"Really," Connor remarks with a small grin. "You've slayed?"

"Thirty eight vampires. So far."

"I don't count mine. But, thirty eight. That's a lot. Do you hunt with your father?"

"I used to. But I've been working on my own for the past few months."

"Wow. That's, that's risky. For someone who's not . . . you know."

"Those of us who can't overpower them outsmart them. Lull the vampire into a false sense of security."

"How? By letting them bite you?," Dawn asks incredulously.

"Luckily, it's never come to that." She holds out her crucifix. "Thanks to Him."

"I don't know how tough vampires are in France, but around here they can rip those off pretty easily," Dawn replies.

Annette giggles. "I meant the protection of the Lord." She points upwards. "Not His mere talisman. Faith is more than crosses and holy water."

"You're religious?," Dawn asks. That would seem to lessen the chances she'd become a Slut Bomb and move in on Connor.

"Unlike my father. Or Rupere. Or Wesley. In fact, I'm the one who got my father thinking that you had to live for the world to continue."

"Yeah. About that. My death would have closed the uber-portal to all the other dimensions. I was going to — before Buffy jumped."

"That could have opened another portal."

"And you base that belief on what, exactly?"

"You were made by monks. Christian holy men. I reminded my father that Christians don't believe in human sacrifice to ward off evil spirits. Therefore, you weren't made to be destroyed." Dawn finds it creepy to hear a logical proof of her right to exist, especially one so casual and nonchalant.

"So your dad knows how special she is?," Connor asks, putting his right arm around Dawn's waist.

"As special as me, or anyone else. But not as special as you." She smiles at Connor and glances over her shoulder at him after she turns around and starts walking over to Wesley, who nervously keeps to himself, since he knows hardly any of Rupert's friends very well.

"Bonjour, Pricey," she says, smiling and biting her lower lip. Pricey is her father's demeaning nickname for Wes, though it's always sounded more adorable than demeaning coming from her lips.

Meanwhile, Dawn stares daggers at the proud and pouty new arrival, whom she is beginning to view the way Buffy always viewed Cordelia. "She seemed nice," Connor offers, to Dawn's dismay.

"Maybe to you. But still condescending." Annette gave the impression she saw Connor as some sort of Noble Savage.

"We should work with her." Dawn's head darts left to look at Connor with shock.

"What?"

"She's a Watcher."

"She's training to be a Watcher."

"So she fights and reads, like you. Maybe you two could hang out." Dawn quietly groans.

"Annette!," Wes exclaims. "My goodness. How you've grown."

"My goodness, how you've shaved," she replies in jest. "Papa said you were overgrown with whiskers."

"I thought I should look presentable today."

"Your hair's much shorter. I like it."

"Yours too. I like it as well." The last time he saw "Annie," when she was twelve, her hair went down nearly to her waist.

"It's easier for fighting."

"I suppose it would be. I still can't believe your father lets you patrol on your own."

"I'm a big girl."

"That . . . umm . . . that you definitely are." Since he knew her as a child, Wesley's beginning to feel a little like a dirty old man. Back then, she had a "sweet" schoolgirl crush on him. God forbid she still did, now that she's old enough to attempt to act on it. "Will you excuse me one moment? I'm going to go check on the Slayers." He turns around. She grabs his right wrist. He spins back to look at her nervously.

"How are they handling it?"

"They grieve for Giles, and Faith, and Kennedy. The only thing I can do is give them time to recover psychologically."

"I meant the transformation. It's never happened like this: five girls, at once, who all know what they are from the start. If I were them, I'd be, I don't know, bouncing off buildings, going wild. It's only human to test limits, and their limits are, well, not very limiting." Wesley hadn't imagined a repeat of Buffy's and Faith's "fun" period, but in a major city instead of a small town.

"They're still grieving."

"They're not nuns, Wesley," Annette replies with a giggle at his naivete. "They're warriors. What do warriors do to forget about the horrors of battle?"

"I wouldn't quite compare them to a bunch of sailors on shore leave," he responds in a low voice. He finds it odd discussing these girls in such a theoretical, impersonal way, especially when they are only forty five feet away.

"Papa says Slayers torn from family and friends can be very dangerous to themselves, and others." Wesley ponders this. The only Slayer he knows of who ever fit that description was Faith. Okay, point taken.

"For a man who's never worked with a Slayer, your father seems to have an awful lot of opinions about how to watch over them," he replies evasively.

"You know papa. He has opinions on everything," she replies with a smile, just to show she doesn't mean to sound confrontational.

As Lindsey talks with fellow lawyer Vincente, his sister Estella converses with Kate, whom she's gotten to know real well since the earthquake. "It's a good turnout," Kate offers. "Especially for an off-limits disaster area you have to cross military checkpoints to get into."

"Rupert would be proud. Of course, he'd be proud simply because we're able to stand here today, unmolested by unspeakable creatures. He would talk about death. About how this time it was different. But I didn't, I didn't expect - "

"No one ever does." They stand in silence for a few seconds. "Is he here for Faith?," Kate asks, pointing at Wesley.

"And Rupert. They used to work together here."

"In Sunnydale?"

"During the Mayoral crisis," her euphemism for the Ascension when talking to the uninitiated. Kate has a relatively open mind, but Stella's not about to subject her to the notion of a politician turning into a giant snake. "Do you know him?"

"We crossed paths back in LA." So Wesley would know Buffy. Did that mean Buffy knew of Angel through Wesley? Remember, Kate's still completely in the dark about Angel having lived in Sunnydale. She decides to pay him a friendly visit. On the way over, she sees Buffy, who's talking to Dawn and trying to ignore Connor's presence.

"Kate!," Buffy says, recognizing a familiar and friendly face.

"Good to see you again, Buffy. Too bad it has to be under these circumstances."

"Tell me about it."

"How are you holding up?"

"On one leg," Buffy jokes. "I'm dealing, or whatever I'm supposed to be doing."

"These can be tough times. I remember when my father was killed. It took a long time for me to accept the loss. Or to forgive myself for letting it happen. If you want to talk later on - "

"Sure. Okay. That would be nice."

"Is this the beautiful, brilliant sister you told me about?"

"You said those things about me?," Dawn asks with pleasant surprise.

"I know I would," Connor offers, trying as always to upstage Buffy.

"This is Dawn," Buffy says to Kate.

"Nice to meet you," Dawn offers. "This is my boyfriend Connor." Connor's blue eyes meet the blue eyes of a woman who knew his parents all to well, and also not well enough.

"Hi," Connor says. He seems like a nice, peaceful boy. Definitely not a trouble maker. Of course, Kate has a habit of misreading people.

"Nice to meet you both. I'm going to go make the rounds," Kate tells Buffy before leaving.

"She seemed nice," Connor concluded, for once agreeing with Buffy.

Wesley is surprised to see Kate approach. "It's been a while."

"You were paler the last time I saw you," Wesley responds, referring to when he was interrogated after she had been bitten.

"Speaking of Angel, how is he? Staying out of trouble, I hope."

"Certainly not causing any as of late, if that's what you're asking," he replies with a weak laugh. Connor's ears perk up when he sees the blonde stranger utter the name of his father.

"Has the Darla situation been finally put under control?" Now Connor's ears are burning.

"You might say that," Wes responds cagily. He spots Connor looking their way, and braces for the collision.