The sunlight filtered through the leaves and cast a bright, dappled pattern across the floor and the bed. The beauty of the shifting patterns was lost on Buffy Summers as she pulled herself to a sitting position. She swung her feet to the floor and the shock of the impact rippled right through to the top of her skull. She took great care in making her way down the stairs, then stopped at the first-floor landing. Her mother was at the kitchen table.

"So," Joyce said, slowly stirring her coffee, "you had a good time last night?"

"Huh?"

"I was just asking-"

"No." Buffy shook her head and regretted it. "You don't get to do that."

"Do what?" Joyce's brow furrowed.

"Tell me to go out, then eye-tsk when I get home." Buffy took the last two steps to the floor

Joyce lifted her cup, took a sip, then placed it on the table with great deliberation. "I just thought you'd be a little… the worse for wear."

"Huh?"

"Well, after I saw the car."

"What?" The erstwhile Slayer frowned, then slowly made her way across the living room and pulled back the curtain. She stared out for a moment, squinting in the weekend sunshine, then turned away from the window. "Okay, granted, that doesn't look good, but I would like to point out that there is no damage to either vehicle and there won't even be a rut on the lawn."

Joyce bit her lip. "Buffy, that's not-"

"I know that's not the point, Mom." Buffy went into the kitchen. She shoved two slices of bread into the toaster, then opened the refrigerator, took out the butter, and winced slightly as the knife scraped against the porcelain dish.

Joyce swiveled slightly in her seat. "Honey, I know I encouraged you to get out more-"

"That's right, you did." Buffy took a hard bite out of the toast, her teeth tearing at the crusty bread.

"Yes, I said that, but I didn't mean for you-"

"For me to what, Mom? Get wasted?" Buffy's mouth was suddenly dry; she grabbed glass and held it under the tap, then drank it in one gulp. She lowered the glass and took a deep breath. "What did you think college kids did at parties? I suppose you never had one too many? Or had they not yet invented alcohol when you were in college?"

Joyce's lips thinned and she rotated the cup between her hands. "No, I did, and I know that it's… I was young-"

"Yeah, and you're not anymore." The glass hit the countertop with more force than intended; it vibrated, then shattered, sending shards of glass flying and leaving Buffy standing there dumbfounded, blood oozing from a cut on her palm.

"Oh, Buffy." Joyce was out of her chair like a shot. "Here, let me see. I don't think there's any glass in it… here, hold it under the faucet… Let me get some disinfectant and a bandaid."

Buffy stood rooted to the spot as her mother cleaned the wound, then bandaged it with a gauze pad and tape. She stared at the crisp white dressing as Joyce held her by the shoulder and bent down to look into her face.

"Honey, I know I pushed you to get out more, I'm just a little worried that the first time you go out, you come home…" Joyce sighed as her voice trailed away.

Buffy pulled her gaze away from her hand and looked at her mother. "I… the punch was spiked and I just… I got caught a little off-guard, that's all, and before I knew it… and then there was this guy and I got pissed off and, um-" She shrugged. "It wasn't my finest hour... but I'm not AA-bound, honestly."

Joyce took a step back and her eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute… 'there was this guy'?"

Buffy shook her head. "He acted like he wanted to help, but he got mega-handsy." She shrugged. "I think he thought 'drunk girl leaving party early' filled a slot on his bingo card."

Joyce nodded slowly. "And you…?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I put him on his ass. It was probably partly accidental, but only a little."

"I see." Joyce frowned. "When you say 'put him on his ass'..." Her eyebrows lifted.

Buffy closed her eyes and hugged herself. "A little of the old Slayer training came out."

"Okay." Joyce crossed her arms and nodded. "Well, I guess that's a good thing. How do you feel today?"

Buffy considered. "There's a small tom-tom playing in my head and the light seems a little harsh, but, overall? I'm dealing." She held up her wounded palm. "If I don't poke any more holes in myself."

"When I saw how the car was parked, I expected worse." Joyce leaned against the counter beside her child.

Buffy thought for a moment. "Injuries heal faster than normal… " She waggled her bandaged hand. "This'll be gone in a couple days. Maybe the same thing happens when I drink."

"Maybe," Joyce said. "But, uh, let's not test that theory too much, okay?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay, Carrie Nation. It's not like last night was a plan."

Joyce nodded. "Then I'll try not to hover, but… next time, if this happens, use that new phone to call me for a ride, okay?"

Buffy's jaw dropped. "Honest to god, Mom. I never thought of that." She held up her bandaged hand. "I swear."

"All right." Joyce exhaled and pushed away from the counter. "Big plans for today?"

"I'm going to the library." Buffy stopped and made a face. "Ew. That just sounded so wrong."

"How will you get into the school on a Saturday?" Joyce closed her eyes and shook her head. "What am I saying?"

"No, no, I don't mean the high school library." Buffy's eyes suddenly stung and she blinked. "I, uh, I'm going to the public library this morning. They're open until noon on Saturdays, then I'm gonna hit the library at the U."

"I'm impressed." Joyce gathered her cup from the sink and rinsed it. "I'm assuming it's for school."

"Yeah." Buffy headed toward the stairs. "There's a paper assigned for Mythology and I need to do some research."

"Well, by all means. Will I see you for lunch?"

Buffy turned on the stairs. "I don't think so. I'll probably just grub-grab on campus. See you for dinner, though."

As she pulled the RAV into a space in front of the Sunnydale public library, Buffy realized that, aside from the light pulsing in her head and the low-key throbbing in her palm, she felt quite good. She had locked the car and was headed for the door when she realized that she had not dreamed the night before. She shook her head and pushed through into an area as dark and mysterious to her as the Hellmouth itself.

A bell tinkled overhead as she entered the library. The sound was startling in its effect, the silvery peal echoing among the quiet shelves. The room felt at once familiar and utterly foreign. Buffy stopped, looking around.

"Can I help you?"

The librarian was seated behind a semicircular counter. She was a woman in her forties with almond eyes, thick dark hair cut at the nape of her neck, and a smile so white Buffy was tempted to shade her eyes.

"Uh, yeah." Buffy looked around. "I'm looking for books on mythology?"

"Popular or reference?"

"Huh?" Buffy blinked; she knew she sounded stupid and she hated it.

"Well, are you looking for general-purpose anthologies and compilations of myths or-"

"It's for a paper," Buffy blurted. "At college. UCS."

"So, reference it is." The librarian came around her counter with a smooth economy of motion and crossed the carpeted floor with short, rapid strides. "Here. These shelves should have what you're looking for. General texts are here on the left, then books dealing with specific cultures, grouped by country of origin and author." She turned toward Buffy, practically glowing at the opportunity to help. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Uh, it's a paper on archetypes, y'know, the hero, the devil figure-"

"Ah." The librarian squinched up her nose; a small vertical line appeared between her eyebrows. "Sorry to interrupt, I just get a little… excited."

"That's okay. I'm not excited at all, so it evens out." Buffy looked at the line of books. "Hey, Jung on Mythology. That seems pretty dead-on."

"Here's another one." The librarian hefted a volume. "The Book of Symbols. These two might be a good start."

"Okay." Buffy tucked the books under her arm. "Thank you for the help."

"Don't mention it. What's a librarian for?"

"You'd be surprised," Buffy murmured to the woman's back.

Buffy blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked at the clock. It was somehow already 11:30. She looked down; the yellow legal pad was covered in notes, and she felt vaguely pleased with herself as she closed the book and stood up.

"Should I put these back?" She held up one of the volumes.

"No, no, just leave them here." The librarian tapped the counter beside her. "I'll shelve them."

Buffy hiked her backpack onto her shoulder and deposited the books in the indicated space, then stepped back. "Well, uh, thanks again," she said.

"My pleasure," the librarian said. "Come back whenever you need to know something."

"Yeah," Buffy said. "I'll do that."

By the time she reached the U, Buffy was well and truly hungry. She grabbed two tacos at the Union and parked herself at a table in the corner of the courtyard. She was famished and wolfed down her lunch, making liberal use of napkins to wipe the grease from her chin.

Appetite satisfied, the ex-Slayer grabbed her backpack and headed to the Zimlich Library. As she walked, she flexed her hand, feeling the jolt of pain whenever she fully opened her palm. Her head, however, was practically pain-free: apparently Slayers could conquer hangovers as well as vampires.

The entrance to Zimlich was at the top of eight wide marble steps, the kind of steps that invited humility. Buffy resisted the temptation to turn and thrust her fists into the air when she reached the final step; instead, she pushed into the hushed, ornate lobby of one of the oldest buildings on campus. The entry door was old oak, flanked on either side by high mullioned windows. The lobby was slathered with dark, gleaming old wood; the floor was covered with black marble tile worn slippery by the passage of decades of feet, then polished to a life-endangering shine. Across from her, though, the entry to the actual shelves was marked by turnstiles and magnetic scanners. Buffy snickered. Was the theft of library books an actual threat? Although, if Willow were here… Buffy's throat tightened and her eyes stung. She dug her fingers into her palm until the pain left no room for the sad thoughts.

The student librarian at the desk sent her to the third floor. Buffy was almost overwhelmed by the sheer volume of volumes before her. The former Slayer took a deep breath, sighed, and looked at the list in her hand. "Okay," she muttered, "let's start with the 'A's." It turned out that being friends with Willow Rosenberg had resulted in the transfer of some heretofore invisible skills. As she perused the spines of the books, it was as though she could hear Willow whispering 'Yeah, that one. No, not that one.' She felt both very close to and very far away from her friend as she selected four that looked most promising and went to a study carrel.

The afternoon went by surprisingly fast: information from one book led her to another, a knotty concept necessitating another volume. When she pushed her hair away from her face and blinked her tired, burning eyes, she realized that the library would close in fifteen minutes. She slid her notepad and pens into her backpack and stopped at a water fountain; her throat was parched.

It was still light when she exited the library, but the rays were definitely slanting. Buffy shook her sunglasses open; as she put them on, a scrum of movement in the direction of the Union caught her attention. Something about the energy drew her toward it. She frowned as she drew close; the crowd occupied most of the plaza outside the Union. A small semicircle was cleared by the Union itself; a young woman was speaking urgently, but Buffy couldn't make out her words. As the former Slayer's eyes roamed over the crowd, she spied Bryn McDaniel.

"Did I miss Simone de Beauvoir's birthday?" Buffy asked as she sidled up to the taller girl. "I know I'm a little hungover, but I was sure I'd remember that."

"What? Buffy?"

"Yeah." She noticed a number of disapproving looks being directed at her in the wake of her jape. "What's going on?"

"Here. Come here." Bryn grabbed her by the arm and pulled the erstwhile Slayer to the fringes of the crowd where there was more room. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said, what's happening?" Buffy glanced toward the throng. "That is definitely some bad energy."

"Yeah." Bryn licked her lips. "Yeah, it is."

"Uh-huh." Buffy nodded. "Because…?"

Bryn's eyes widened. "Oh, I forgot, you don't live on campus. Oh, wow." Bryn covered her mouth with her hands. When she lowered them she whispered. "Emily was assaulted last night."

"What? What do you mean?" Buffy felt a sudden nausea in the pit of her stomach.

"Emily. Emily Vandiver. You remember, from the party?" Bryn's face was pinched, as though it was all she could do to refrain from crying.

"Uh, yeah, I do." Buffy shook her head. "Parts of the night are a little fuzzy, but I do remember her… blond, midway between us in height, really blue eyeshadow?"

Bryn nodded. "Yeah, that's her. She was attacked on her way home after the party."

"Attacked?" Buffy felt sweat prickle along her hairline. "Oh god, was she bitten?"

Bryn looked at Buffy as though the shorter girl was crazy. "I don't know, I mean, I guess it's possible."

"Why didn't you call me?"

Bryn looked puzzled. "I guess… I didn't think of it."

"Where did it happen?" Buffy asked, a frantic edge growing in her voice. "Was it in a cemetery?"

"No." Bryn shook her head. "What… why… No. The guy offered to take her home, only he raped her."

"What?" Buffy blinked. "Raped?"

"Uh, yeah." Bryn's eyebrows drew together. "What did you think I meant? Wait, did you think she got murdered?"

"I guess I went to the worst place. Like I said, still not one hundred percent me." Buffy pressed the fingers of her right hand to her forehead. "Raped her? At the party? At her dorm?"

"Like I said, she was pretty out of it, enough that she left before I did. She was apparently having trouble walking, and this guy stopped, he was nice and asked if she was okay and if she needed any help. I guess Emily was pretty wasted, so she said yes, and he offered to drive her home, and she got in his car with him, and then..."

Buffy blinked rapidly. "Where…?"

"He pulled into one of the public lots off Creekside."

"He did it in the car?" Buffy's voice held a mixed note of revulsion and disbelief. "In a parking lot?"

Bryn nodded. "Yeah, then he drove her to her dorm and let her out." She swallowed. "Let her out. Jesus. Dumped her is what he did."

Buffy groped for words. "Gross. What… what happened then?"

Bryn chewed her lip and sighed. "Like I said, she was pretty wasted. She told her roommate something bad had happened, then passed out. She was pretty hungover this morning and her memory's still not so great, but she's kinda pieced it together. Her roommate started calling people and eventually…" Bryn extended a hand, taking in the crowd, which had turned its attention back to the speaker.

Buffy nodded. "Has she… I mean, the police, she called them, right?"

Bryn shook her head. "I don't know, but… I don't know who all she's actually talked to… I mean, I'm getting a lot of this secondhand myself."

Buffy stared toward the Union, a cold knot in her chest. "And this is, what, a protest?"

"Not really, not yet."Bryn held up her hands, palms raised. "I think everybody just kind of came together and, now, we're sort of trying to hash out what to do."

"Uh-huh." Buffy blinked. She felt sick and dizzy. "Could you… could you keep posted? You've still got my number, right?"

She stumbled back to her car, her head roaring, wanting to believe that it was all a macabre coincidence, nauseated by the certainty that it almost certainly was not. She slung her backpack into the RAV's passenger seat, her movements jerky and fast from adrenaline; she closed the driver's side door with too much force, her hand slipped from the armrest and banged against the steering wheel. Buffy grimaced, her wounded hand throbbed, a stab of pain that made her breath hitch in her throat. Grimacing, she cradled her hand and breathed slowly until the pain subsided to a manageable ache, then jabbed the keys into the ignition and pulled away. The last vestiges of twilight tinged the trees as she pulled into the Summers driveway, blood soaking through the bandage on her hand. She wrestled her backpack out of the passenger seat and slammed the door behind her, her jaw set as she took quick steps across the lawn.

"Are you all right?" Joyce turned toward her daughter. Buffy glanced at the TV; Early Edition was on. Her mother loved the show; Buffy could only wish that she got the news early. If she had, maybe Emily…

"I, uh, I hit my hand. It started bleeding again." Buffy displayed the crimson-stained gauze and started for the bathroom.

"Here," Joyce said, rising from the armchair, "let me see."

"Mom, I can-"

"I know, you're an adult." Joyce looked at her daughter, hands on hips. "And I know you've killed monsters, but please, let your mother bandage your boo-boo."

"It's either that, or you stand in the door and watch me, isn't it?" Buffy shook her head. "Okay." They went into the bathroom, where Joyce brought out the hydrogen peroxide.

"I'll never get used to that." She tilted her daughter's hand back and peered at it. "It's already closing."

"Yeah, probably already be good as new if I hadn't smacked it on the steering wheel like an idiot." Buffy shifted her weight.

"Is everything okay?" Joyce asked. "You seem… jumpy."

"Uh, probably all the studying, you know, the old brain needs to calm down. I'm not used to using it so much, I may have gotten it overheated."

Joyce made a disgusted noise and snipped a strip of tape. "Please. Did the research go well?"

"Yeah." Buffy cut her eyes toward the mirror; her reflection looked tense and haunted. "I found… lots of good stuff. Make a kick-ass paper."

"I hear that's the new grading scale, summa cum kick-ass." Joyce took a short step back and examined her handiwork. "All done."

"Thanks, mom," Buffy said. "I think I'm gonna go up to my room." Her mother looked at her for a moment, then went back to the chair, lips tight. Buffy paused midway up the stairs and looked back at Joyce's silhouette. Her mouth opened, she hesitated, then turned and continued up the steps. The tree frogs were beginning to sing as Buffy pulled her notes from her backpack and tried to begin sketching out her paper's form, but the damn frogs wouldn't shut up, and there was no room in her head for the paper; her recollection of her own party experience and Bryn's description of Emily's assault circled each other warily. She rubbed away tears and pressed on her hand, the physical pain pushing the emotional distress into second place. She was still staring blankly at her notes when she heard her mother coming upstairs. On stiff legs, she crossed the room and opened her door.

Joyce paused in the doorway to her bedroom. "Buffy, what's wrong?"

Buffy blinked. "Mom, it's- I- Have you got a minute?"

"Of course." Joyce placed her hands on her Buffy's upper arms and guided the girl back into her room. They sat side-by-side on the bed, the mother's arm around the daughter's shoulders. Moments of silence passed before Buffy looked up.

"No questions? No very special moments of Full House wisdom?"

Her mother shook her head. "Well, I'm not an Uncle Joey or Jesse, and the dad was a loser, so… "

Buffy swiped at her face. "You could be Aunt Becky."

Joyce threw back her head and chuckled. "Oh, sweetie, I wish I was young enough to pretend to be Lori Loughlin." She tilted her head, touching her daughter just above the ear. "No, we'll just have to work through this one on our own."

"Do you remember the guy I told you about? The one who got handsy after the party?"

Joyce drew back. "Yes. Is he harassing you?"

"No, no, that's not it." Buffy shook her head. "But, while I was on campus, I found out that another girl, a girl at the party, a girl I met, she was… raped."

A heartbeat of horrified silence passed. "Oh, honey, I am so… sorry." Joyce bit her lip. "I know it's frightening to think about what might have happened, but-"

"No, mom, that's not it… I mean, I guess it might have crossed my mind, but…" Buffy slipped out from under her mother's arm and stood up. "I think it might be the same guy."

"What?" Joyce's eyes widened. "Oh, that's… why do you think that?"

"I don't know, it's a vibe, the same MO… find a girl that's drunk, act friendly, offer to drive her home… only, Emily got in the car, and now…" Buffy's voice trailed off, then she blurted, "It's like I let him off the hook and he hurt someone else."

"No." Joyce shook her head. "I'm sorry, I know I should probably be more tactful, but I'm too upset… no, do not blame yourself for someone else's bad…" Her mouth set in a grim line. "For someone else's crime."

"But I might have stopped him."

Joyce nodded and took a deep breath. "So, if you were still the Slayer, what would you do now?"

Buffy blinked and frowned. "I would… I'd ask-" Her eyes clouded. "I'd ask Willow to research something, find out who this Patrick guy is. Or I'd go to Giles."

Joyce bit her lip. "But they're not here."

"No." The erstwhile Slayer shook her head, eyes gleaming. "They're not."

"But you still are."

"Huh?" Buffy looked at her mother.

"You act like you were a missile that Rupert Giles loaded and aimed, like… like… like you were his weapon." Joyce blinked. "And now that he and Willow are gone, you're…" She sighed. "You are more than strength. I've seen it." She stood and wrapped her daughter in a hug. "You might be the one person who can actually do something about this."

"Wait. You're telling me to go kick ass?" Buffy pulled away from the hug. "What if I get in trouble?"

Joyce cocked her head. "Will any of this trouble rise from the dead. Will it possibly cause the end of the world?"

"I… I don't see how."

Joyce nodded. "Then I will… what's your phrase… I will deal."