DISCLAIMER: Was that not a weird Academy Awards ceremony this year? Microphone goofs, people being given their awards in the aisles instead of onstage, bangs and crashes during scene changes, Sean Penn getting all huffy when Chris Rock made a joke about Jude Law. It was like a high school talent show, only with much more expensive outfits. Highlight of the evening: Colin Mochrie in a tutu as the Snack Fairy. I loves me some Canadian improvisational comedians.

As always, all Shaun of the Dead characters belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright.

After a fine, four-course dinner in the hotel's restaurant, Shaun and Emma headed back upstairs to their room.

"That was some of the best duck a l'orange I've ever had," Emma gushed, twirling onto the bed and kicking off her shoes.

"It was certainly worth every penny," Shaun mused, inwardly wincing at the thought of the cumulative bill for the weekend as he stood at the mirror loosening his tie. While they'd been dating, he was aware of Emma's taste toward the finer things; he just didn't realize that being on a mini-break would exponentially increase the cost of those finer things.

"You all right, Shaun? You were very quiet during dinner." She came up behind him, placing her hands around his waist and her chin on his shoulder. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

Of course, he thought, wanting to talk about something would certainly have caused him to be quiet. His head was still spinning from his earlier encounter with Sara, and he certainly wasn't about to mention it to Emma. He needed time to process, figure out what all this meant, if it meant anything. Based on his experience, having a slayer in the near vicinity was never a good thing. Especially when it was this particular slayer.

"Then again, we don't have to talk," she purred in his ear. "It is getting near bedtime, isn't it?"

"Actually, Em, I'm wide awake," he said, gently extracting himself from her embrace. "I think I'm gonna' go downstairs to the bar and play a few rounds of pool."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's been a really long day. Why don't you get some rest and I'll be back before you know it," he suggested, moving quickly toward the door.

"Okay. Bye!" she called as he closed the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Sara walked purposefully into the Council's makeshift war-room in one of the ground floor rooms of the inn and slammed the door, tossing her crossbow on the bed. Her handler Julian looked up from his desk. "Ah, Sara, how did it go?" he asked cheerily.

She said nothing as she walked up to him. Grabbing him roughly by the collar to pull him out of the chair, she slammed him against the wall and placed her hand on his throat. "Why is he here?" she demanded.

"Who?"

"Shaun Riley—why is he here?"

"I have no idea who you're talking about…" he stammered with some difficulty.

"He is a former Council operative. Do you expect me to believe it's just a coincidence that he's here at the same time as me?"

"Sara, I assure you, I don't know this Shaun. And if I did, I would have told you. I'd never willingly do something to upset you."

She stared into his eyes, trying to determine whether he was lying. Finally she released her grip on his throat. "I'm not upset," she declared.

"Yeah, well, tell that to my trachea," he said, rubbing his bruised throat. He resumed his seat at the desk.

She turned away from Julian and crossed the room as he buried his nose in paperwork again. Considering him from her perch on an armchair, she realized that her new handler could be described as having a vaguely rat-like appearance. That is, if the rat were handsome with a strong brow, penetrating eyes, and an irresistible smile. Of course, Sara never saw him that way. She saw him as an uptight prat from Manchester sent down to give her orders.

"Where did you see this Shaun?" he asked her.

"He was in Room 23. He and his new girlfriend are staying in that room," she replied, her voice dripping with contempt.

"So that's another dead end, I gather."

"I would say so."

"But all the other guests have been accounted for. Are you sure there wasn't a Greek shaman staying in that room?"

"Pretty sure," Sara confirmed. "So where do we stand?"

"Three disappearances in this area in as many weeks. No visible connection between the victims, no ransom demands, and no bodies as of yet. I'm beginning to think we should just pack up and leave this to the local police. Whatever psychic disturbance they wanted us to investigate, there's no evidence of a connection." He continued to shift through papers. "This Shaun Riley, he used to work for the Council?"

"Briefly, during the time of Davrok Sakkari's attempt at the apocalypse."

"And you worked with him?"

"You could say that," she said nonchalantly, trying to evade the details that had come rushing back to her in the aftermath of meeting up with Shaun again. Suddenly, she jumped to her feet and went for the door again. "I'm going out."

"Again? Why?"

"You wanted me to do recon, remember?"

"Sara, if you're saying that you're doing recon in order to cover the fact that you're going to seek out Shaun again," he said slowly, "then I'd rather not know."

"Good. I'd rather not tell you," she remarked, closing the door behind her.

In the cozy, smoky bar of the Eden River Inn, Shaun lined up the pool cue, carefully taking aim at the three ball with the full intention of sinking it in the corner pocket.

"Still endangering innocent bystanders?" a familiar voice interrupted from the doorway.

"I'll have you know my game is greatly improved since you left," he replied without looking up.

"Had a lot of free time to practice with your stick, have you?" Sara walked up beside him at the table, casually swirling a glass of dark liquid in her hand and leaned in close enough that he could smell her perfume. "If you're going after the three, you're using the wrong approach. You should slide your angle of attack a little to the right."

He threw her a sideways glance and huffed impatiently. Then he took the shot, watching sadly as the cue ball succeeded in missing every ball on the table.

"Nice shot," she observed.

He straightened up to face her. "Yeah, well, you distracted me."

"Really?" she gasped in mock surprise. "I didn't think I could still do that." She placed her drink on the table, turned and walked toward the other pool cues on the wall.

"It was just a…a momentary lapse of concentration," he said dismissively.

"Think you can concentrate long enough for a game of nine-ball?" she asked.

"Fine. Rack 'em up."

Sara placed the rack on the table and then arranged the balls within it. "So…what's her name?" she inquired with forced friendliness.

"Her name is Emma."

"What's she like?" she asked, in a more condescending tone than she intended, as she removed the rack with a flourish. "Gentleman breaks, by the way."

"Thank you," he said, taking aim at the cluster of balls and then sending the cue ball hurtling towards them. They scattered but none of them headed for a pocket. "She's nice."

"Nice," she repeated. "How did you meet her?"

"I'd rather not say."

She looked at him with feigned sympathy. "Oh, Shaun, she's not a Russian mail order bride, is she?"

"No," he insisted with an exasperated pout.

She'd forgotten how much she adored that expression on his face. "Is she a high-priced escort provided to all Foree Electric Senior Sales Managers?" she continued.

"No. Sara, I realize it's hard for you to believe that I could meet someone in the course of everyday life when there isn't a zombie or vampire invasion going on, but it did happen."

"Okaaay. Sense of humor was obviously the first casualty of your 'normal' relationship," she muttered, taking another sip of her drink. "So how long have you been together?"

"Three months now."

"Three months? And she's still just…nice?" Sara leaned over the table, lining up the pool cue for a shot.

"Emma is kind and loyal and honest," Shaun proclaimed. "I trust her, she makes me happy."

"Is she a woman or a Springer Spaniel?" she quipped. She took the shot but missed. Straightening up to face Shaun, she shrugged and said with a weak smile, "Guess I'm off my game."

"What do you want, Sara?" he asked impatiently.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well, I'm sorry but it's a bit awkward to make conversation with a dead woman."

"I thought we already covered that," she sighed.

"Not to my satisfaction." He placed his pool cue down on the table and faced her. "You want to come back here and pretend that everything is hunky-dory? Well, it's not. You left me. And more important than that, you died!"

"I didn't exactly have a choice!" she protested.

"No, you made your choice when you got on that plane to Hungary all those months ago," he stated. "Look, it was really hard for me to come to terms with your absence and your subsequent death, but I did. You are a chapter in my life that is closed, all right? Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go upstairs and get into bed with my girlfriend." He turned and walked out of the bar.

Sara was left alone, staring into the green felt surface of the table, till a waiter approached her. "Would you like another drink, ma'am?" he asked her.

"Yes," she answered softly. "And make it a double."