Kate learns the truth about Connor. Mal tries to bargain his way out of Hell. And Angel and friends learn that Lindsey's not the only singing lawyer in town.
"Just in case Angel asks, I'm doing fine," Kate tells Wes.
"I'll be sure to pass that along." Even though Wes anticipated it, Connor's arrival comes suddenly, thanks to his usual speed and stealth.
"You know my parents?"
Kate turns to her right and sees Connor. "I'm sorry?"
"Angel and Darla. You know them."
"Uhhh, yeah. I guess I did. Not very well. Why are you asking?" Wesley takes two steps back and gets in position to see her face when she hears the news.
"They're my parents."
Kate laughs. "I, I don't understand." Lindsey looks at them, guesses at what might be transpiring, and discreetly makes his way over.
"Angel's my dad. Darla's my mom." Kate looks dumbstruck.
"I'm sorry?" Wesley realizes this could go on forever, and elects to reenter the conversation.
"Did you know my mother when she was human?"
"Yes. I met Darla. Why do you keep calling her your mother?"
"She gave birth to me. Sort of. What was she like?" Devious, murderous, blood-thirsty: where was Kate to begin? Oh, right. That whole thing about her giving birth.
"May I talk to you for one second?," Wes politely asks Kate, nudging her away from Connor, who doesn't understand why this woman won't give him a few desperately desired scraps of information about his human mother.
"Is this supposed to be someone's idea of a very sick joke?," Kate wonders, not at all amused.
"That would depend on how you look at it. But don't blame Connor. He's only being literal."
"Whatever's going on, it's in extremely poor taste. At a funeral, of all places."
"Can we go for a walk?"
"Why? So you can lead me into some other practical joke?"
"Connor is no laughing matter." And Wesley has the scar to prove it. "I'm sorry he approached you like that, but it's his way."
Connor sulks back over to Dawn. "Is something wrong?"
"That woman won't talk to me."
"Maybe if you were more polite, she would," Buffy offers. Wesley finally coaxes Kate outside of Connor's earshot and tells the story as quickly and calmy as possible, leaving out certain uncomfortable details like how Holtz obtained Connor.
"Did he sleep with her before or after the massacres?"
"Which one?" Kate sighs and shakes her head.
"Why doesn't this surprise me?"
"That's a very good question. I don't see how it couldn't."
"Of course Angel slept with her. He was clearly coming unhinged."
"You sound almost, jealous," he notes with raised eyebrows.
She scoffs at this notion. "Oh no. That's the last thing I'd want to do with him. Okay maybe not the last. Be we were, I was, our relationship, if you could call it that, was way past those sorts of feelings. Come to think of it, we were past that after the first time we met," when she invited him back to her place and he demurred. Wesley finds her rapid-fire protests to be quite defensive.
"I'm surprised that's the aspect you're fixated on."
She punches him in the shoulder. Wes flinches. "I am not fixated! It just happens to be the only part I can understand. Miracle births, time travel, alternate dimensions. It's all too Star Trek. Crime, killing, acts of passion, those I can understand. I come across them every day. Vampires and demons are just extreme versions of human depravity. This apocalyptic-messianic stuff is, beyond my realm."
"Says the paranormal police officer as she stands amidst the ruins of a city seated atop a now-dormant Hellmouth." Kate slowly starts to chuckle.
"Point taken." She pauses to consider ramifications. "If Buffy's sister is dating Angel's son, does that mean Buffy and Angel know each other?" Wes endeavors to keep a straight face.
Before Lindsey reaches Kate, he is intercepted by the five new Slayers. "We're sorry," Rona offers.
"We miss her too," Amanda adds.
"That's nice of you to say," Lindsey responds.
"She died a hero," Fadila assures him.
"Granted, Angel would be a hell of an improvement over that last vampire she was putting in time with, but I care about Buffy too much to wish Angel on her. He's just not a relationship guy. I'd hate to see her fall for him and get disappointed." Wesley nods, keeps his mouth shut, and lets Kate ramble on.
"If you want someone to talk to - " Ariella suggests.
"Or a shoulder to cry on," Madari adds. Rona and Amanda look away from Lindsey, since looking at him while imagining physical intimacy, no matter how minor, would cause them to smile.
"We could certainly use someone to talk to," Fadila notes. "It was pretty horrific."
"Honestly, we feel guilty that it was her and Giles instead of us," Rona confesses.
"I can't imagine what you all have been through," Lindsey responds. "But thanks for your kind words. They mean a lot." The girls stand there, looking at Lindsey with appropriately glum expressions. They all want to hug him, as a sign of condolence. But each of them knows it would be inappropriate, since it would make them feel too good for this sad occasion.
"I think it's very wise the way you've turned down interview requests," Anya says to Stella. "Better to appear more interested in your constituents than in your own fame."
"I am more interested in serving my constituents," Stella replies.
"Now that's the sort of sound bite the voters love to hear."
"The city I run is in ruins," Stella reminds Anya, pointing out that there are things more important than popularity.
"But the people want to return."
"Most of them, yes."
"And I heard that Washington is giving you billions to rebuild."
"1.2 billion. Which, with the private insurance money, should be enough to get things going."
"And once people begin to notice the lower death rate, on account of the Hellmouth closing, property values will skyrocket."
"Maybe in ten years, this town will be better than it ever was."
"By which point you'll already be governor, and probably planning your presidential campaign."
"We seem to be failing to communicate."
"Come on, Mayor. You've heard the poll numbers. You'd win the recall election by a mile. And unlike Arnold, you've actually killed real monsters."
"I would have to be incredibly craven to leave my community at a time like this."
"So I shouldn't raise money for the Draft Santos' web site?"
"You're a fundraiser?"
"Not yet. But I love the idea of convincing people to give me money in exchange for nothing. It sounds like a fantasy. I won't believe it's possible until I've actually done it." Buffy comes over to talk to Stella. Her discomfort is overridden by Stella's relief to be done talking to Anya.
"Buffy! So glad to see you again. How terrible that it has to be under these circumstances."
"I know. I'm sorry. I miss Giles as much as you do."
"If not more. You did know him far longer. He talked about you like a proud father." Buffy smiles uneasily.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save him." Buffy looks down at the ground. "And I hope that deep down inside you don't blame me." Stella appears shocked at the notion.
"What? Why would I ever - ? . . . Buffy, I know what it's like to lose someone close. You wish it had been you. Because you know that they didn't deserve to die, you begin to think that you did. Don't. If you had died — again — and Rupert had survived, he wouldn't have been able to live with himself. More than anything else, he wanted you to have a future."
"I miss Rupert Giles, too," Anya offers. "He was the only completely decent man I ever met. In eleven centuries. Which says a lot about his character."
Stella finds this strangely touching. She thinks it's strange that she could find anything Anya said to be touching. "Buffy, I'm very serious." She can tell Buffy's massively burdened with guilt. "Sometimes when he was depressed he would add up how much longer he had lived than each dead Potential Slayer. That was what got to him: not the end of the world, not the triumph of Evil, but the lives those girls never got to live. He died happy." Stella stops to hold back a tear. "That was the worst part — I'm devastated, and he looks at peace." For the first time, Buffy thinks about the pain her death caused her friends. They must have felt just as she feels now. "It was like he was telling me not to mourn. How could I not, without paying a disservice to his memory? But mourning is very different from guilt. And the last thing Rupert would have wanted was for you, of all people, to feel guilty."
Or, as Giles put it in his final moments, "I've always thought it would be more just if, sometimes, the Watcher died, and the Slayer lived." With that in mind, the scene shifts to Egypt in the year 1295 B.C. Mal, now one hundred and seventy five years old, is ready to kill his first Slayer. Currently, she is fighting his latest female companion, a stake in her left hand and a sickle in her right. The vampire grabs the Slayer and throws her down the long hypostyle hall, with rows of richly-decorated columns on either side. The Slayer stands and takes a right roundhouse kick to the head. When the vampire tries a right cross, she cuts her right forearm with the sickle. When she tries a straight left kick, she slashes the vampire's calf. The Slayer is five-and-a-half feet tall, making her taller than most women, as well as plenty of men. She fights like a statue, letting her opponents take the lead and repelling all attacks, all the while maintaining a stern, forbidding expression on her face. She wears blue eyeliner that extends beyond her eyes and terminates dramatically in a point on each temple. Her light brown face is bronzed, providing a contrast with the eyeliner and giving her a more forbidding and regal appearance. Her black hair is tucked under her ears before flaring out across the back of her shoulders. Her clothing is brightly-colored and resplendent, though not confining or clumsy. The sleeveless tunic comes down to a few inches above her knees. The idea is to intimidate the vampires by appearing to be a female warrior Pharaoh or Goddess. The vamps already think most of the gods are against them, and are therefore easily cowed by an incredibly powerful opponent of resplendently regal appearance. The Egyptian vampires, that is. Foreign vampires have no such fear of imagery they can't understand.
But they die just the same. The Slayer takes advantage of the vampire's injuries to land a straight right kick to the chin and a leaping left roundhouse to the face. The vampire staggers back, steadies herself and throws a left jab. The Slayer uses the sickle to chop off her left hand. She screams and reaches for the Slayer's throat with her right hand. The Slayer cuts that off as well. The vampire looks in horror at her arms and leaps at her opponent. The Slayer calmy stands still and drives the stake through her heart. One down, one to go.
But the other vampire, who's terrorized Thebes the past few nights, is nowhere to be seen. Not in the courtyards or the servants' quarters, or even the vizier's suite. The palace is eerily quiet. Then the horrified Slayer's nightmare comes true. Four guards outside the young Pharaoh's chamber are unconscious. Heads will roll for this, including hers. But how did he get past all the other layers of security without being seen, and without having to use violence? She hears footsteps behind the curtain, and rushes towards the boy's bedchamber. A black man pops out to meet her. There's no blood on his mouth, which is mildly reassuring. She stands still, and lets him walk down a few stairs and circle round her. "The Pharaoh is resting, and wishes to not be disturbed," Mal tells her, as if he's her superior. "Young Rameses enjoys my stories about Tutmoses especially the Battle at Megiddo. I was there. Fighting by his side." Mal chuckles as he continues to circle round the Slayer, who holds her ground and shows no fear. "Rameses wants to recapture that glory. I tried unsuccessfully to convince him that is impossible. Nations change. They are not immortal." He laughs some more. "Not like me. I only get stronger."
"Or you vanish. Like your harlot."
"I told her to stay in tonight." Mal shrugs. "Oh well." He stands still and holds his arms out. "So are you going to attack me or not? One of us has to start the fight. And you're holding all the weapons." He leaps twenty feet back and grabs one of the unconscious guard's spear. "Not anymore." He rips off the spear point, and tosses it away, mystifying the Slayer. Now he's only holding a six foot-long wooden stick. She attacks while he calmy twirls the stick in his left hand. She swings her sickle for his left arm. He pulls the arm back and spins round, stabbing for her left eye. She parries the stick with the stake in her left hand and kicks him in the stomach with her right foot. He smiles. "Again, please." She lands a left kick to his face. Mal backs up and seeks cover behind a two foot-wide column.
"Hiding like a coward?," she taunts.
"A coward would have run you through with the spear." He climbs fifteen feet up the column and bounds toward the center of the room. "I need no weapons to kill you. Only these." He bears his teeth. They are much smaller than they will one day become, but already his eyes glow a bright red. The Slayer attacks. Mal is quick enough to dodge her sword slashes and duck her kicks as he shuffles his feet along the floor, always half a step ahead. Finally, he sees an opening and lands a left hook kick to the face, followed by a right cross. The enraged and frustrated Slayer swings for his left wrist. He gets his stick on the inside of the sickle and ties the weapon up, then spins his stick around to pry it from her hand. Next, he smashes the stick over her head, snapping it in two, and drops his weapon. She tries a left hook kick, which he blocks with his right arm. She goes for his exposed chest with the stake in her left hand. He grabs her wrist with his left hand, twists it around her back and breaks her arm. She falls to her knees and cries out in pain. Mal leans down to bite her neck from behind.
Back to the present. Mal is in hell, getting pounded on by a Beast. A left jab sends him crashing into the back wall. Mal struggles to stay up on his wobbly legs and looks up at his much taller opponent, who tries to box the vampire's ears. Mal ducks and lands four punches to the body. But they are of no use, since the demon's skin is made of rock. The Beast bashes the top of Mal's head with his right fist, and he falls to his knees. "You don't break," the demon says with a smile. "More fun for me." He nails Mal's left eye with two right hooks. Mal's body wobbles, and he falls forward onto his face, reaching his arms out, grabbing the demon's left hoof, and pulling him down. The Beast's back crashes onto the dusty stone floor as Mal slowly climbs to his feet. He leans his back against the wall to enjoy a few seconds' respite as the Beast stands up.
"Do you yield?," Mal asks. The Beast chuckles at this ludicrous request from a man who can barely stand. Mal charges in heedlessly. The Beast bashes him with a left cross. Mal stays up and wraps his arms around the demon's torso. He groans as he struggles to lift the Beast, hoping he can get the demon off the ground before his legs and back give out. He succeeds, and bodyslams his opponent. Mal then takes advantage of the demon's temporary shock to grab his horns from behind, growling as he slowly twists the demon's head off. He cries out in horror a split second before death, realizing only then that he is doomed. Mal spikes the head into the floor and staggers round. Azreal enters. He looks with astonishment at the decapitated Beast.
"I had no idea they could be killed like that."
"You can't break me down. Now give me what I want before I kill any more of your creatures."
"We are prepared to offer you a choice position, with plenty of responsibility."
"Let me see the man in charge."
"That's not possible at this stage. You've barely arrived. These things take time."
"I serve no master."
"Then you rot in a cage."
"Killing all who seek to torment me." He swings for Azreal, but the demon keeps shifting positions to avoid all blows, leaving Mal swatting at air.
"It doesn't have to be this difficult," Azreal cooly says as he walks away.
"You can't hold me forever!"
Azreal turns around and smiles. "Oh yes we can."
"And I'll make you regret it! I've conquered every world I've ever lived in. And I'll conquer this one. Unless you let me out." Azreal slams the thick iron bars shut. Mal staggers over and grabs them. Azreal stands there to listen. Perhaps the vampire was coming round. He seemed desperate. "Send me to a place where I can do you and your boss some good."
He thinks this over, letting Mal believe from his facial expressions that he might say yes. "We can't control you here. How could we ever hope control you somewhere else?," he asks with a smile before walking away. Mal pounds on the bars. Then he walks over to the Beast's corpse, gets on his knees, rips of the horns, and uses them to chip away at the skin, attempting to make simple edged stone weapons much as he had when he was a young boy, hunting to fill his hungry belly. He was back where he started three-and-a-half millennia ago. It would be a tough climb. But he always loved a challenge, the more arduous the better.
"How you holding up?," Lindsey asks Xander.
"Literally, or figuratively? Literally, I'm holding up well. I have to, because if I trip, I have no way of breaking my fall."
"I wish I could say I knew what you're going through."
"Actually, I wish you couldn't. You're a decent guy, Lindsey." Of course Xander would feel that way about Angel's old arch-enemy.
"At least you lost yours doing something noble. Unlike yours truly. If I could give you mine, I would."
Xander shakes his head. "I could never . . . besides, it's the wrong hand."
"I meant the one that's never been evil. I could still strum with my right, and use a slide for fingering."
"I appreciate the offer." What he actually appreciates is a guy who can help him make light of his new disability while also empathizing. "You should come down to LA for dinner. I know a lot of us would love to hang out you."
"And I know one person who wouldn't."
"That's the best part." Xander would love to see Angel envious.
"Lorne's setting up a club in the basement. Tonight's opening night."
"Perhaps another. Right now, I really don't feel much like singing."
That night, Lorne's new club in the Hyperion basement is packed to its capacity of one hundred fifty patrons. Along the right wall and the back wall is a raised platform for booths and tables. Buffy and the others sit in the "VIP" section along the right wall, opposite the bar. Everyone wants to kick back and forget about recent horrors, if only for a few hours. The neo-Slayers are with their boyfriends, except for Ariella and Fadila, who are together, causing them to joke some more with each other about their "forbidden" relationship. (Ella still hasn't decided which would upset her parents more: having a Palestinian best friend or becoming a lesbian). Dawn and Connor are at a semi-circular booth with Eli and Kit. Xander, Anya, Buffy and Angel are at an adjacent booth. Next to them are Wes, Gunn and Fred. Lorne's chatting them up while a demon sings.
"He's better than most performers at Caritas," Wes comments.
"Because he's a pro. Just like everyone else onstage tonight. It's opening night. Why take a risk on amateurs?"
"I love the remodeling job you did," Fred enthuses about a room where a month ago they fought to the bitter end with Angelus's vampire gang.
"Thank Xander. His crew did it. Though they were following my plan."
"It's a shame he'll never work again," Fred sighs. "Xander was so good with his hands." Gun and Wes look worried. "And his tools. Building things with them."
"I don't believe it!," Anya exclaims.
"I know. Who knew a Gak demon could sing?," Buffy quips.
"That's Ainu. And Grella. And Istra. This place is crawling with Vengeance Demons."
Xander appears worried. "Hopefully not at work."
"Of course not. Otherwise they'd be chatting up the bitter-looking women at the bar. They're clearly off-duty. As are Felnao and Zulchinatza in back. Is this some sort of reunion? I'm going to talk to Grella." She hops over. Grella stands up and they embrace like old friends.
"Anyaka! I haven't seen you in ages. What happened to your leg?"
"Don't get your hopes up, Grel. It was done by a woman, and she was already ripped limb-from-limb."
"Fabulous. What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? What are all of you doing here?" Lorne takes the stage.
"Thank you. A big round of applause. How knew a Gak could yak like that? Up next is a horse of a different color. Literally. Except he's not a horse. Though he does have a beautiful main. Making his LA debut, put your hands together for Clay Jenks." A couple dozen humans clap loudly, and a few of the women yell.
"Sounds like this guy already has a fan base," Xander notes. A tall man walks onto the darkened stage, wearing tight blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a white jacket. He looks down and starts playing his acoustic guitar left-handed. After a few bars, the spotlight comes on and the man lifts his head and starts singing into the microphone. Angel gasps. It's none other than Clayton Jenkins, evil Wolfram & Hart lawyer. He leaves the table and rushes across the room to Lorne, who stands at the end of the bar, listening and smiling.
"Connor, is something wrong?," Dawn asks.
"I know this guy. I met him the night before last night. He killed a vampire and gave me his card." And the keys to a vacation house, he might have added.
Clayton sings an old bluegrass standard in his original Kentucky twang:
"Tempted and tried, we're oft made to wonder,
Why it should be thus all the day long.
While there are others living about us,
Never molested, though in the wrong."
"What the hell is he doing in here?," an irate Angel demands to know.
"Knocking the audience's socks off."
"He's from Wolfram & Hart. He came in here in Monday?" Lorne looks a little closer.
"I thought I'd seen him somewhere," Lorne replies. "Though I don't pick up a hate vibe."
"Clay Jenkins. Clayton Jenkins. How could you not pick up on that?"
"I didn't know the lawyer's name. Anyway, Clay comes highly recommended. Plenty of great references from happy promoters and club owners. I thought he was a full-time musician."
"Is that who I think it is?," Fred asks.
"Apparently Wolfram & Hart likes lawyers who can carry a tune," Wes adds.
Angel can't believe this. The lawyer he holds partly responsible for what happened in Sunnydale is singing to the survivors in Angel's home. It was beyond sickening. And it was about to get worse:
"When death has come and taken our loved ones,
It leaves our home so lonely and drear,
Then do we wonder why others prosper
Living so wicked year after year.
"Farther along we'll know all about it,
Farther along we'll understand why;
Cheer up my brother, live in the sunshine,
We'll understand it all by and by."
"A funeral dirge! About unjust death! To a room full of people who've just . . . " Angel's ready to explode.
"And the worst part is, and long as he's within these four walls, you can't touch him."
And to top it all off, Buffy, Xander, Anya, Dawn and the neo-Slayers appear to be moved by the music:
"Faithful til death, said our loving Master
A few more days to labor and wait,
Toils of the road will then seem as nothing
As we sweet through the beautiful gate."
Angel swore that when Clay sang that last line, his blue eyes darted towards Buffy. Even without knowing who the singer is, a chill goes up Buffy's spine. Angel rushes over. "He's evil."
"Could you be more specific," Buffy suggests.
"The man on stage. He's a lawyer working for my arch-enemy. And he umm, he, he offered my something that could have helped you fight the First. If I killed an innocent ten year-old girl."
"Sounds like a real scumbag. Why's he here?"
"Lorne didn't know." Clayton finishes. The audience cheers.
"And he's very good," Xander offers. "Scumbag or not."
"He's a lawyer, and a fighter, and a singer," Dawn notes. "What did he want with you?"
"Nothing," Connor defensively responds. "Just to apologize for when they tried to dissect me."
"They cut you open!"
"No. They never got the chance. And all those people were killed by the Beast. He's, he's knew."
"What are you hiding?," Kit asks Connor.
"Nothing."
"Leave my boy alone," Elijah suggests.
"There's something you're not telling Dawn about this man."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do."
Connor shivers. "Are you reading my mind?" Kit's freaking him out in much the same way he freaks plenty of other people out.
"I don't need to be a mind reader to you're hiding something."
"If I was thinking — just thinking — about another woman, would you be able to tell?," Elijah asks his girlfriend, trying to make light of the situation and take the heat off of Connor.
"It's okay, Kit," Dawn assures her friend. "Connor wouldn't hide anything from me." She puts her right arm around his shoulders, looks at Connor and smiles. He smiles back nervously.
Clay walks over to the piano on the right side of the stage (away from Buffy and friends), takes off his jacket, sits down and begins playing Jackson Browne's "Rock Me On The Water:"
"The road is filled with homeless souls,
Every woman, child and man.
Who have no idea where they will go,
But they'll help you if they can."
"Okay, he's evil. Is this is his way of rubbing it in?," Buffy asks Angel.
"He really likes to rub it in."
"This guy's beaten you before?," Xander inquires. Angel tries to control his anger.
"No. He's never beaten me. But he gloats as if every day he's still alive, every day I'm not foiling his every plan, is some sort of victory."
"So he's petty, childish and immature, and you could kick his ass anytime," Buffy concludes. Actually, Angel had tried that, and found it more difficult than expected. "I don't see why you should seethe."
"I'm not seething."
"Isn't it unusual for male lawyers to have hair that long?," Xander asks. "I mean, it's longer than Buffy's." Clayton finishes his set and receives a big round of applause. Lorne quickly hops up on stage and launches into "It's Not Easy Being Green," cutting Clay's adulation short and not even thanking him. Clayton mingles with fans near the bar, shaking hands and signing autographs.
"He was good, but he wasn't that good," Buffy comments on the star treatment, unnerving Angel. He still hasn't accepted Lindsey's talent, to say nothing of this far more slimy and insidious foe. "Is he working some sort of augmenting spell?"
"Wouldn't that make everyone love him?," Xander asks. "Including us?"
"You know Lorne?," Ainu asks Anya with a smile. "Could you introduce me?"
"Introduce yourself," Istra recommends. "He's very approachable."
"And lonely," Anya adds. She finds this Lorne-as-heartthrob talk a little odd.
"Not anymore," Grella reports. The Vengeance Demons giggle.
"Yes. It is funny that you're swooning over a demon who dresses like Liberace."
"Anyaka, please don't stereotype," Grella tells her with an air of politically correct superiority.
"And if you must," Ainu begins, "Get your stereotypes right. Everyone knows it's the muscular Pyleans who go for that sort of thing."
"All those years away on campaign, with nary a woman in sight," Istra jokes. The girls snicker.
"While the effeminate Pyleans always make the best lovers," Ainu concludes.
"Not always," Anya objects.
"Anyaka!," Grella exclaims.
"Grel, I'm ten times older than you. I've experienced things you can't imagine."
"Like human love," Istra ripostes. The girls share a laugh at Anya's expense.
"Don't mock," Grella cautions. "Human men can be very giving."
"You mean they're pushovers," Ainu quips.
"Is there a difference?"
Clay finishes up with his fans and heads to the back of the room to see Mona, who wears a wide-brimmed hat and a curly blonde wig. They hug and whisper sweet somethings. Mona looks in Buffy's direction and grins mischievously. Never lacking for chutzpah, Clayton approaches Buffy and Angel. Angel stands. The two men stare each other down, Angel looking intense, Clay appearing to be intensely disinterested. "Lovely club. Great opening night! I wish you the best of success." Clayton tries to step past Angel towards Buffy, who's sitting down. Angel blocks his path. Clay chuckles. "She doesn't need your protection. Certainly not in here."
"Why don't we continue this conversation outside," Angel suggests.
"I love being threatened. It makes me feel important." Sitting in the booth with Buffy, Xander can't help but feel a perverse admiration for a guy who's standing up to Angel and doing such a great job of getting under his skin.
"Is there something you want to say to me?," Buffy asks contempt and bravado.
"Yes." Clay smiles. As he steps by Angel, his expression immediately changes from smug to consoling. He leans over, looks down at Buffy and flashes his soft blue eyes. "It's always hard to beat an enemy who is prepared for you. The First Evil knew of your immense power. So they were able to deploy something to counter you. But only at great cost. Since they had to put all their energies into neutralizing you, that had nothing left to react to any unforeseen developments. Others were able to prevail only because you had already drawn all the enemy's fire. And still, they could not eliminate you. One of the most powerful armies in the universe points all its guns at you, and you're the one still standing. It's a powerful lesson. And once everyone learns it, only the foolish will challenge you. Have a lovely evening." He nods and smiles at Xander, then turns, looks at Angel and smirks.
"What is that lizard up to now?," Wes asks from the next booth. Mona walks past, looks at Fred and smiles flirtatiously.
"Is that woman coming onto you?," Gunn asks. When she sees Mona take Clay's right arm, she realizes who it is, and cringes. The happy couple walks past Dawn's booth. Mona glances at Kit, looking more businesslike than mischievous. Clay and Mona turn left, walk past the stage and head for the exit. Kit shivers.
"I feel violated!"
Elijah moves away and looks nervous. "Sorry. I didn't know that putting my hand on your knee was crossing a line. But if that's too much, I'll, I'll hold back."
"Not you. Her."
"Her? How?"
"She has power."
"The musician-lawyer-fighter is dating a witch?," Dawn asks. "That can't be a good combination."
"He said he was in love," Connor recalls.
"I need to talk to my dad." Kit runs out of the room.
"Not to sound selfish or anything," a still-confused Eli says to Dawn, "But that had nothing to do with me, right?"