Buffy and Xander visit comatose Willow, who is dreaming of Tara. Annette humiliates Angel, showing that a girl doesn't have to be a Slayer to be tough. Then Connor and Rona get into a vicious battle of the sexes.
To Dawn, Connor certainly seemed excited about fighting the new Slayers. But not for any acceptable reasons. Actually, there weren't any acceptable reasons. The joy of beating up on, or getting beat up by, girls seemed entirely too Spike-esque. The elevator door opens, and there, standing in the lobby, is Annette. Wonderful. Dawn's afternoon just keeps getting better and better. "Bonjour," Annette says with a wave. Dawn thinks it's for Connor, but then remembers Annette saw Connor only a few minutes ago, so the wave has to be for her. Dawn tries to manage a smile, but can't. Annette's too much of a threat: too pretty, too brainy, too friendly. Much too friendly. Angel goes into his office and brings out Mal's head. Annette looks delighted as she holds it before passing it to her father.
"You were right," Claude says to Wesley. "It is quite heavy."
"The bones Wesley sent us are on display in our lobby," Annette tells Angel and Connor. "I wrote the inscription myself: Here lie the bones of Mal, the greatest vampire in recorded history. Sired in Crete, 1471 B.C.E. Slayed in Los Angeles, May, 2004, by Angel and Connor.' What do you think?" They both smile.
"I'm in the Council Headquarters, for killing the greatest vampire of them all?," Angel asks with astonishment and pride.
"I'm in there too," Connor adds, looking very honored. "I have the stone I used to cut his spine. I can show you. Maybe you could put it in there. With the bones."
"I would love that."
"Cool," Connor responds with a big smile, succumbing to the seduction of fame. "I'll get it after training." Dawn recalls that for Connor "training" is another word for foreplay. She regrets Buffy's not there to join her in disliking Annette. Certainly Buffy would be offended to learn that Angel and Connor are celebrated in a Slayer Museum, perhaps more prominently than herself. Wesley is on the phone, wrangling the Slayers. Fadila and Ariella come down first.
"Hi Claude," Fadila says. He trades a few sentences with her in Arabic, then speaks a little Hebrew with Ariella. They both appreciate the gesture. Wesley doesn't appreciate the feeling that he's being undercut.
"Where are the others?," Claude asks.
"Making love, not war," Ariella jokes.
"Not literally," Fadila assures him. "Not yet, anyway."
"You killed a vampire on your own last night?," Connor asks Annette, further annoying Dawn.
"Slaying is like dating. You let him make the first move, and then stab him through the heart when he least expects it." Connor, who lacks a feel for metaphor, appears frightened. Annette puts her right hand on his left shoulder. "I am joking, Connor. I don't date." Dawn thinks of saying something really catty about Annette skipping right to the good part, but decides not to sound like the bitch she thinks Annette is.
"Amanda, Rona and Madari should be down momentarily," Wesley reports to Fadila and Ariella.
"How'd you pull that off?," Fadila asks.
"They're eager to train."
"Aren't they also eager to - never mind," Ariella comments. Wesley decides to walk away and enjoy a few seconds of peace. But Claude joins him.
"Ah, yes. A Watcher's oldest concern. Going back to the very beginning."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It is wise of you not to get in their way."
"If you're trying to talk about what I think you're trying to talk about, I'd rather not talk about it."
"It's important to attempt to see the world from their vantage point. What if you had extraordinary powers that made you irresistible to women while all-but-ensuring your death in a few years?" Wesley considers this prospect, and finds it terrifying.
"My Lord. It can't be that bad. Surely they would exercise more self-control."
"One can hope."
"Do you have a copy of the Nyazian Scrolls?," Annette asks Angel.
"Ugh, y-y-yes."
"Can I see? I know some Aramaic."
"Wesley's in charge of, umm, well, he's the one who understands it." He doesn't want to say Wes is in charge of prophecies after what happened with Connor.
"Cool. He'll let me see. How does it feel to read a prophecy that mentions you? It must be weird."
"Yeah." Angel's uncomfortable with her entire line of questioning.
"I wonder if by reading the scroll you change the future. Like a Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle for prophecies." She laughs. He doesn't quite get it. Fred overhears Annette and finds it hilarious. It's been so long since she's heard someone joke about Physics.
"I don't, um, I don't live my life by prophecies." Angel turns around and takes a sip of blood from his mug.
"Who does? Can you lose your soul by having a wet dream?" Angel spits the blood out. Fred no longer finds Annette so charming. Rona, Amanda and Madari arrive.
"Everyone's here," Wes announces. "Off to the training room."
"Oh, thank God," Angel says to himself. He didn't want to know what that girl could think up next.
Xander and Buffy look at Willow in her hospital bed, Buffy on her right, Xander on her left. Xander sits down. "Hi Willow. I'd hold your hand but, well, I don't really have any to spare. We're in LA now. Things are different. More space, but a lot less privacy. That, and some strange new neighbors. We miss you. We can't wait till you come back. Oh, and, umm, the new Slayers are very thankful for the gift you gave them. We all are. You saved the world, Will. Again. I just hope you'll be able to enjoy it sometime soon." There's a long pause before Buffy begins.
"When you wake up, you'll notice that a lot has changed. Giles is gone, Willow. We defeated the First Evil. The Hellmouth's closed. We survived Sunnydale. But, sometimes I wonder if it was worth the cost. Course I'll wonder a lot less once you're with us again. I don't know what you're feeling or thinking right now, but I hope it's not harsh, or scary. I hope you're not in pain. And I really hope you're not blaming yourself, because I know how awful that makes a person feel. You did what had to be done. Without you, none of us would be here."
"Sweets dreams, Willow," Xander says, kissing her on the forehead. "And see you soon."
Willow sits with Tara on a picnic blanket, drinking tea in a meadow. "I've missed you," Tara says with a shy smile.
"I've missed me too." Tara laughs. "And you." Her right hand touches Tara's left knee.
"G-g-guess who I met today?"
"Oh no." Willow looks worried.
"She was really nice. At first I thought she was hitting on me, which would, be, you know, totally weird. And creepy."
"You don't hafta tell me that."
"But she was just being polite. Turns out I'm not her type. Mostly, she just wanted to talk about you."
"Tara, I'm sorry. I-I never meant to hurt you. Ever."
"It's okay. You're young. You're beautiful. You have needs. Especially when the world's about to end and it feels like every night could be your last. I remember what that felt like," she confesses with a smile that only makes Willow feel more ashamed.
"I'm not good alone. You know that better than anyone," Willow responds with a nervous laugh.
"There's no blame here. You still loved me. Not her. She knew that. She told me. But it wasn't a problem for her. She understood. And, well, let's face it: getting to snuggle up against your naked bod every night is a pretty damn good consolation prize." Tara blushes, bites her lip and look at the ground.
"I cared for her a lot."
"She knows."
"Why are you making me feel guilty about how I treated her when I'm trying to feel guilty about how I treated you?"
"Why always guilt, Willow? Aren't there other ways to keep us alive?"
In the northeast wing of the basement is a bare room forty feet long and thirty feet wide. Rona and Amanda take turns on a heavy punching bag Angel hung in one corner. Madari practices tossing knives at a target on the wall. Fadila and Ariella playfully spar with wooden staffs while Connor watches. He complains about Ella going easy on Fadila because of her stab wound. Connor notes that was three days ago. Plenty of time to heal. He takes a look at the gash just under her left ribcage. Ever-possessive Dawn worries about Connor getting a Slayer to show him some skin, even if the Slayer in question is decidedly off-the-market. Angel talks with Madari, while Rona chats with Gunn and Amanda with Fred. Wesley walks around the room, arms folded, looking very much the school master. Claude and Annette whisper to one another while Dawn stands off by herself. "I think it's time we get started," Wesley announces.
"Started doing what?," Amanda asks. It takes him a few seconds to answer.
"Training, of course."
"Meaning what, exactly?," Amanda responds.
"Let's go boys against girls," Rona proposes.
"Meaning what, exactly?," Wesley inquires. He and Gunn aren't eager to fight Slayers.
"The three of us against Angel and Connor." Ariella and Madari nod in agreement. Connor seems eager.
"So one of us can get double-teamed?," Angel retorts. "That's hardly fair."
"You scared?," Madari wonders. The other Slayers are also baiting him. Annette steps forward into the center of the room.
"Maybe he's not ready. Maybe you're not ready. You can't know what it means to be a Slayer until you have seen what it means not to be one. Until you have seen how a girl who is not a Slayer fights a vampire."
"Are you saying you wanna fight Angel?," Fred asks incredulously.
"I'd like to experience what it is like to lose. You can't do that on the streets."
"Claude, are you all right with this?," Wesley inquires.
"My daughter is getting arrogant. Perhaps Angel can remind her of how limited her abilities are. Better to experience it here than in an alley somewhere."
"I'm not beating up your daughter." Angel doesn't quite understand Claude's strange approach of parenting. To be honest, he's a little shocked.
"You don't need to beat me up. Just beat me. Win. If you can." The Slayers like her bravado. Gunn, Wes and Fred think she's nuts.
"You're wearing a skirt. And high heels."
"Consider it a demonstration of what happens when a Slayer doesn't come to the rescue."
"You want to play the damsel?"
"Always," Annette replies with a mysterious grin.
"You're okay with this?," Angel asks Claude.
"I encourage it."
"They sure do things different in France," Fred whispers to Wes.
"Ready when you are," Annette says to Angel, bending her knees and putting her right foot forward. Everyone starts backing away towards the walls, leaving Angel all alone. He still can't believe this is for real.
"Very well then," Wesley declares. "Let the lesson begin." Angel give Wesley a look of shock. Then he looks at Claude, who leans against the wall twenty feet behind his daughter. He nods at Angel. Angel looks at Annette.
"Please don't hold back," Annette tells him. "I will be offended if you do." Angel stands there. She looks ready. He's not going to beat up on a defenseless girl. Then again, if he backs down, she and the Slayers will probably call him a coward. But, like she said, besting her did not require beating her. Because of her heels, a good blow or strong push would put Annette on her back. Then he gets on top, pins her shoulders down, leans in as if to bite her, and viola. "Let me see if you can live up to your reputation." She raises her eyebrows. He wonders if she has some sort of sick crush on him. If so, best to get this over with as soon as possible. He sends a right kick to her chest. She ducks down to her left, avoiding the blow. He quickly leaps forward to take her down, but she drops her right shoulder, transfers her weight from right to left, shoots her left arm forward and sends her palm crashing up into his nose.
"Ow!" The Slayers cheer. Annette sends her left palm towards Angel's chest. He grabs her wrist with his left hand. He hears something metal shoot out, as if released by a spring. She quickly pulls her right arm back. "Aigghh!!," Angel yells, grabbing his right hand with his left and falling to his knees. Blood drips onto the floor. Gunn, Wes and Fred stand slack-jawed. Connor has a big, goofy smile. Annette leans down and touches the stake attached to her right arm to Angel's back.
"Game, set, match. Better luck next time." She pats him on the head with her left hand. Connor's head turns as he watches her walk over to her dad.
"What the hell was that!?," Angel angrily asks. His friends rush over.
"Angel, are you all right?," Wes asks.
"I'm fine!" He gets back up.
"You sounded hurt," Fred notes. "I'll get you some bandages."
"I don't need any bandages," he maintains as the blood oozes from his right hand.
"How did you do that?," Connor asks Annette. She rolls up her right sleeve.
"I have one of those."
"Not like this one." Angel's device uses leather straps. Annette's are metal, with metal bracing running down either side of her forearm. The stake itself is two inches wide, half-an-inch thick and eight inches long, and encased in a metal sheath. Running for six inches along both sides are razor blades that stick out a quarter of an inch. "It is released by pressing a button on the inside of the wrist, which means if anyone squeezes you wrist, it shoots out. The design was my grandfather's. He lost three fingers fighting the Germans, and needed something the compensate."
"The greatest danger with a weapon such as this is that the opponent will grab it. There was a need to defend against that," Claude explains. "I refined the trigger mechanism so it could be activated by the opponent."
"This is tight," Gunn enthuses, looking over the device. He knows a thing or two about vampire-killing gadgets. "How do you get it to go back in?"
"Like this." Annette pushes in a button on the upper part of her forearm. She then easily slides the stake upwards with her left index finger. When it's all the way back in, the button shoots up, and the weapon is at rest and reloaded. Annette pulls down her sleeve.
"You guys sell these?," Gunn asks. "I'd love to buy a couple."
"I'll call my secretary, and have her mail a few here."
"That was very impressive," Wesley offers. Annette smiles from ear-to-ear.
"Thanks. Only doing what I was taught."
"What about that punch?"
"The second Clay-Liston fight," Claude explains. "The phantom punch that knocked Liston out." He reenacts as best he can the knockout "karate" punch thrown when Muhammad Ali was backing up and had his weight on his heels.
"Word!," Gunn explains. "I never of thought of trying something from boxing. Samauri movies, on the other hand," he jokes.
"The key is lateral weight transfer through the hips. It is the best punch to throw if you know you are about to be attacked by a heavier opponent." The Slayers all congratulate Annette on her impressive performance, high-fiving her and patting her on the back. It is very much like the aftermath of a championship fight. Everyone crowds around the winner, while the loser is alone. Fred returns.
"I found some bandages."
"Fred, I don't need - "
"Hold out your hand. Palm up." He obeys. She dresses his wounds. "Your nose looks a little crooked."
Angel feels it with his left hand. It was dislocated. The upward thrust of the heel of her hand did more than a head-on punch by a Slayer or Connor. He grimaces as he yanks his nose back into place. "She cheated."
"Angel . . . ," Fred sighs, dismayed that his being a sore loser.
"I was set up."
"What was that?," Claude asks with a smile.
"Nothing," Fred assures him.
"He thinks you played dirty pool," Claude says to his daughter. Having attended college in English, he picked up some Britishisms. She smiles and walks over to him.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know all the demons in Los Angeles fight fair." The Slayers giggle. Connor swoons. Dawn silently fumes.
"How did you cut me?," Angel asks, curious but not angry. The pain's subsided enough for him to be magnanimous. She rolls up her sleeve and pushes a button. Angel looks over the contraption with professional curiosity. "Neat tool." He immediately recognizes the utility of the razor blades. "This is quality work." Annette retracts the stake and rolls down her sleeve.
"And the best part is, you don't see it until it's too late."
"Annette has taught us an important lesson," Wesley begins, thrilling her and trying to gain back the floor from her father. "The greatest mistake a fighter can make is to underestimate his or her opponent. Angel assumed Annette was a pushover."
"No I didn't. I assumed she had some training and experience." But Wesley was not about to let Angel spoil his flow.
"She seemed powerless, and you were powerful. Never assume the enemy is powerless."
"I didn't," Angel pleads. Wesley looks at the Slayers.
"In the future, you could be Angel, and Annette could be an ordinary-looking vampire you've cornered in an alley, who pulls out a dagger or a switchblade when you least expect it. The lesson is, there is no such thing as a routine kill. Look at Angel now, and remember that." Now this is galling. Angel being turned into a cautionary tale of what not to do. But he'll let Wesley have his moment. To object would only make himself look worse.
"Maybe you could get one of those," Connor says to Dawn. For when you're better." Just what she needs: another reminder that for the next three months she'll be a spectator.
"That leaves you," Rona says to Connor.
"Let's get it on."
"Wait one second," Wesley cautions. He knows how intense Connor can get. "No weapons. And remember, this is sparing. Not a fight to the death."
"Lucky for him," Rona responds. The Slayers have been cooling their heels for three days, and are eager to try out their new powers. Angel finds their pack mentality disconcerting, especially since it makes them want to assert local dominance by attacking the existing power structure, i.e. Angel and his son. He was all for Girl Power, so long as it didn't come at his expense. The other four Slayers stay with their new friend Annette along the side wall. Angel, Fred and Gunn are along the back wall, behind Connor. Wes is with Claude on the opposite wall, behind Rona.
"You can do it, son," Angel encourages. "Just, go easy on her." He knew that pummeling a Slayer would piss Buffy off. "Wait a second," Angel announces, walking forward. Connor resents his dad's interference. "Can we make a rule: no crotch shots?"
"I second that proposal," Dawn tentatively offers. She stands on the side wall, twenty feet to the left of the Slayers, and fifteen feet to the right of Connor. He smiles. Angel groans and retreats to the back wall. Did she have to ruin everything involving his son by bringing sex into it? The Slayers cheer Rona on as she and Connor look each other over. He takes the lead, throwing a right roundhouse kick which she blocks. Connor steps back and lands a right hook kick to the ribs and a left uppercut to Rona's stomach. She responds with a left jab and a right kick. The Slayers cheer. Connor ducks a right hook and lands a right uppercut. Rona staggers back but stays on her feet. She settles down, gets over her fear, takes a left cross to the jaw and sends Connor ten feet back with a right uppercut.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this," she says with a smile. Rona leaps at Connor and drives a flying right kick into his chest, sending Connor to the ground. He lands a few feet from his father.
"You can do it, son." Just the thing to motivate Connor: encouragement from daddy. Gunn and Fred worry that Angel's getting a little too into this fight. The way they see it, there are no winners when two good guys wail on each other. They don't know why most of the other people in the room can't see it that way. When Connor stands up, Rona leaps at him and drives Connor into the wall. Angel moves to his right just in the nick of time to avoid getting smushed. "We need to get these walls padded," he says to Charles. Rona lands two left hooks to Connor's ribs. He blocks a right cross meant for his face and slams Rona into the wall.
"I'm with ya on that," Charles responds to Angel. Rona sends her left elbow into Connor's mouth and knocks him down with a right hook.
"Next time, how 'bout boxing gloves and head gear?," Fred suggests to Angel. It was getting hard to tell the difference between training and gladiatorial combat. Connor gets up just in time to be knocked down again by a leaping right roundhouse kick he never anticipated, and which Rona had never even attempted before. She's impressed by her newfound abilities. The Slayers sense victory. Connor leaps over Rona's head, puts his feet against the ceiling, pushes off and lands behind her. When she turns, he cuts off her knees with a sweep kick. She vaults to her feet — again, something she's never done before. Connor tries a right kick but she grabs his foot. He easily does a back flip to break free. Rona tries a right roundhouse kick, which Connor ducks under before tossing her into the side wall opposite the Slayers. He throws a right cross for her face, but she ducks, and his fist goes through the drywall and into the concrete. She sends him back with a left hook and a right uppercut. When she approaches and tries another left hook, he leaps fifteen feet to his right, towards Wesley and Claude. When she attacks again, he leaps to his right and bounces off the side wall back to the center of the room.
"This ain't hopscotch," Rona taunts.
"What's the matter? Can't keep up?" This goads Rona into trying a leaping right kick, which Connor ducks under, rolling past her. Now his superior experience in utilizing his super powers comes into play against the neophyte Slayer. He leans back away from a right hook and hits her chest with a right kick. He tosses left and right hooks which force her to cover her face and back up. Though she blocks the four blows, he's clearly assumed control of the fight. Connor lands a left kick to her stomach and a right uppercut to her chin. It is at this point that Buffy hops into the room. Connor connects with two quick left jabs and a right hook. Rona lands a right hook to Connor's left ear. He goes back to working the body with two left crosses and a right uppercut, follow by left and right hooks to her head. Rona goes down on her right knee. Connor raises his right fist to put her on her back. But Buffy wallops him in the back of the head with her wooden crutch. Rona gets to her feet and knocks the dazed Connor down with a right hook.
"What the hell was that for!?," Angel demands to know as he walks towards Buffy. The Slayers call it a victory for Rona. Connor just glares at Buffy and sulks off to the corner nearest Dawn.
"What was that for!? He was brutalizing a Slayer."
"They were training," Wesley assures her.
"You call that training? He was trying to beat her into unconsciousness."
"It was her idea," Dawn offers.
"Yeah B," Rona explains. "We were just havin' fun. Right Connor?"
"Sure."
"No hard feelings?"
"Naw." They shake hands. "Who's next?"
"I think we're done for today," Angel argues. He's not too eager about his son turning himself into a Slayer punching bag. Buffy can't conceive of a context in which the activities she witnessed could be considered fun without them being the preliminaries to rough sex. And that definitely wasn't in the offing, thank God.
"I think we've run out of bodies for today," Wesley tells the Slayers. "Unless you want to fight each other." He meant for that to reinforce his point, not as a serious question, which is how Ariella and Madari take it.
"Girl-on-girl action doesn't do it for me," Amanda jokes. "Did that come out wrong? No, it's right, whichever way you take it."
"I think Angel's still got a few rounds left in him," Ariella proposes.
"I'm sorry," Angel responds. "I'm just not into fighting Slayers."
"For the first time, I miss Spike," Rona declares.
"You're not afraid?," Madari asks Angel.
"This is not a contest to see who has the biggest . . . okay, wrong expression. Look, when I fight, it's serious. It's not play. I fight to the death. Which I don't think you want."
"You're right," Ariella remarks. "Your friends might miss you."
"Okay, that's enough macho posturing for one afternoon," Buffy declares.
"How can it be macho?," Fadila asks. "We're girls."
"Macho posturing is macho posturing, whether or not you have a penis."
"That should be carved on a plaque somewhere," Annette jokes.
"Angel, your nose is swollen. And you hand's bandaged. Which one of you hurt him?" Annette smiles as she slowly raises her had.
"Very funny."
"Not to him it wasn't. Go ahead, ask him about our fight." A perplexed Buffy looks at Angel.
"She had something up her sleeve."
"What?," Buffy asks, laughing. "Superpowers?"
"A weapon," Angel sheepishly replies. "She's tougher than she looks." Buffy looks Annette over.
"You mean like Dawn?" Her sister does not appreciate the comparison. Connor does.