They were having a celebration. Not the celebration that Willow had wanted, which would be the 'congratulations on getting your groove thing on with Buffy' celebration, but the other one, which was the 'congratulations on getting your kitchen replaced with working air conditioning after Willow burned it down' celebration. The don't make cards for that.

So most people just brought booze.

And lasagna.

So they 'ooh'ed and 'ahh'ed at the marvels of the new kitchen, standing about the central island, eating the lasagna and drinking the booze.

Willow alternated from eyeing Buffy longingly, scowling at Xander (she needed some alone time to have it out with him), feeling ashamed at the destruction she'd recently caused, and faking cheerfulness to the assembled gang. During a portion of that last part, she realized that there was no Andrew there.

"Where'd Andrew run off to?" she asked.

Xander shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen him since last night. His apartment is deserted. It's either really important business, or they're having a Star Trek convention."

The phone rang, suddenly. "Buffy! Phone!" yelled Dawn, despite the fact that they were both right next to the damned thing.

"You are such a brat," said Buffy as she picked up the handset. "How old are you, twelve?"

"I did that until I was sixteen," replied Xander, expecting to be ridiculed by those assembled. Instead, he found himself being dragged into the guestroom by a clearly agitated Willow. "I take it we're not in here for a quickie," he said, observing her less than sultry demeanor. "What can I do for ya?"

"What the hell kind of plan was that?" she hissed at him. This was not a good sign. She dare criticize movie night? Well, yes, she did dare. "Was it just an opportunity for you to humiliate Andrew? That was very mean of you by the way. I should kick your tushy for that, mister, except I thought it was funny too, but it still wasn't nice. The only thing we really got out of that whole debacle was the informal announcement of Dawnie's experimentation phase-"

"Which I didn't plan on, so don't blame that on-"

"This isn't about them!" Willow interupted. "It's about me! My life fell apart. I'm craving my best friend and the last few days since I got here have been pure torment."

"I've had a good week."

"You spent last night in the hospital."

"Yeah, but Faith was there taking care of me, nurse's costume and everything," he reminiced. "Good times... though I am still peeing blood."

"Serves you right. The point is that, if anything, I've managed to alienate Buffy through all these cockamamie schemes we've come up with. So: no more cockamamie schemes. Tell Faith to keep all of her plans to herself. From now on I'm going to do this the old fashioned way."

The relief was plastered thickly on Xander's face. "Thank God," he said, all the weight lifted instantaneously from his shoulders. The scheming and the painful innuendo at last behind them. "You're finally going to just tell Buff how you feel about her."

"No... I'm going to use a spell on her. I've narrowed it down to three options, and I need you to run around the seedier parts of the city tomorrow to find the underground occult shops and find ingredients."

Xander gave up hoping. "Will, this is a bad, nay, very bad idea. Possibly the worst idea you've ever had. This ranks right up there with my worst ideas of all time. You don't want to stoop to my level. Bad things always happen. May I remind you of angry mob of women? Or sing 'till you spontaneously combust? Or Great American Road Trip to Oxnard, which had nothing to do with magic but I think is necessary to demonstrate the horribleness of your idea."

"But Xander-"

"Stupid. As. Me."

Willow's face fell. "You're right. Foolish plan. But what do I do now? I'm out of ideas."

"Well... you coul-"

"Willow!" yelled Buffy as she burst through the door. "Pack your bags. That was Giles. He needs us to go to England for a mission. What're you guys talking about?"

"We're tal-" Xander started, and was elbowed in the ribs. "Aah... kidneys!"

"Nothing important," Willow smiled innocently. "Pack bags? Mostly still packed. Good to go right away."

Buffy's eyes narrowed at her unusual bout of violence, but if she suspected anything unseemly she didn't say anything about it. "Alright. Fine. Plane leaves in three hours. You can take the window seat. I hope this trip helps get your mind off your troubles," she said as she unwittingly send Willow into a heated frenzy by grasping her by the shoulder, gaving her a sweet smile, and turning to pack her own luggage.

Forget her troubles? Three hours on a cramped plane next to Buffy? Not a chance.