"Ugh!" Willow growled, "Hands off, G.I. Jerkface!"

"No problem, sweetheart." The guard shoved her back into her cell with a sneer and unwarranted roughness.

"Careful with that one," said the second guard that had escorted her. "Boss wants her in mint condition, and I'm not taking the fall if you accidentally smash her brains on the floor."

The other guard grunted, locking the cell before the two of them walked away.

"Willow," Tara said, crawling up to her friend, "A-are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Willow huffed. She sat up, dusting herself off.

Tara frowned. "I a-asked if they hurt you. That wasn't really a no."

"They got a little shock-happy," Willow said. "They were trying to get me to use my magicks."

"They did that to me too," said Tara. "They measure it, somehow. I was k-kinda a pushover, though. Did they get you to do it?"

"I—" Willow blinked. "I don't remember. I must have blacked out, or they drugged me again."

Tara looked at Willow and frowned. "Hmm."

"What?"

"It's just—" Tara said. "I am good at reading auras, sensing energies. Yours is very hot—electric, almost. Powerful, like someone who just did big magicks."

"You can see that? Even with the stupid collar on?"

"When you're really in tune with the Earth… You can sense magick even if you're not using it, even if y-you're not trying," said Tara. "It's about being connected to the Earth; it's not about power. I think these things focus on the power."

"That's cool. You'll have to teach me when we get outta here."

Tara nodded slowly, distracted. "Did you h-hear what that guard said?"

"Huh?" said Willow, "Oh. Yeah, 'mint condition'. That sounds like a good thing, right?"

"I hope so," said Tara. But she didn't look so optimistic.

"They made you the what?" said Giles.

"The janitor!" said Xander. "How the heck am I supposed to rescue Buffy and Willow when I'm taking out trash and polishing floors?"

"You would be surprised how much access and information you might be able to acquire in such an overlooked role," said Giles. "This could be a great start. I'm surprised they hired you so quickly, especially given that you aren't military as these men seem to be."

"Sounds like they're low on people-power," Xander shrugged. "They want the fewest people possible knowing about what goes bump in the night, it helped that I was already in the know. And my background check cleared, somehow."

"Well I think this will be a great opportunity for us to find some information on this organization. Even if it is a tad humiliating for you."

"Oh yeah?" said Xander. "And what are you gonna do while I'm sweeping up after a buncha commandos, Watcher-man?"

"Just a little magick," said Giles. Xander realized he'd begun setting up some candles in a small semi-circle on the coffee table.

"Isn't that Willow's gig?" said Xander.

"Indeed," said Giles. "Before she got captured, Willow set up a temporary telepathic link between us. It's very short lived, but I think we've given her enough time to get some intel now, don't you?"

"And you waited until after I got the job as toilet plunger guy to tell me this, why…?"

"Whatever Willow can tell us can't be our only hand, Xander. Surely you know that. Whatever we're up against, it's a big operation to be able to keep the Slayer locked up." He paused, chuckled: "Plus, your frustration with your assignment is not un-amusing to me. Now help me light these candles."

Willow awoke with a scream, clawing at her head like her brain was leaking out of her ears.

Willow, can you hear me? came Giles' distorted voice from inside her mind.

"Ah—" Willow cried. "Ow— Giles—!"

"Willow?" Tara was groggy, but immediately concerned nonetheless, "What's wrong?"

Willow pulled violently, futilely at her collar, "It's— a spell I— Ow, ow, Giles! Stop talking so loud!" she groaned.

Tara stared at Willow bizarrely. "Willow, who are you talking to?" she whispered.

Willow ignored her, panting. "G-giles, c-can't talk long," she eked out. "They— My magick…— Hurts."

She paused—this must be the side of the conversation Tara couldn't hear.

"I c-can't," Willow cried as her nose started bleeding. "P-p-p-p—" Willow stuttered. "P-Professor Walsh…—" She fainted.

"Willow?" Giles cried as the telepathic link broke, "Willow!"

"What happened?" said Xander. "What did she say?"

"She was screaming," said Giles, his face harrowed. "Whatever these men did, her own magick was hurting her. I can't use the link again, I'm afraid it might kill her."

"So we got nothing?"

"There was one thing she was able to tell me," said Giles. "Professor Walsh."

"Guess we know what happens if we manage to use our magick with these things on," Willow mumbled after coming to a few moments later.

"What was that?" said Tara. "Who were you talking to?"

"A friend of mine," said Willow. "I set up a telepathic channel for him to use once I got in here. I guess it still tripped this thing's magick-ometer, but I couldn't do anything to stop it since he was the one that opened the link."

"Are you better now?" said Tara.

"I think so," said Willow. She looked down at the smock they'd given her, which was covered in blood from her nose. "Think they'll give me a new shirt?"

"I spy with my little eye…" said Buffy, "Something white."

"The bloody wall," said William. "I spy with my little eye something white."

"The wall?" said Buffy.

"No, the ceiling." Buffy heard William bang his fist on their shared wall. "I am going to go crazy I'm here for another second."

"Ok, let's do something else then," said Buffy. "Let's get to know each other. Where are you from?"

"What kind of bloody question is that?"

"England, I guess?"

"London, to be specific. Thought the accent gave it away," said William. "You?"

"Here," Buffy said. "Well, LA."

"What brings you a whole two and a half hours away from the big city?"

"School," Buffy said quickly. "I'm, uh, studying at UCSD."

"Educated, eh?" said William. "What do you study?"

"Not sure yet. I was getting kinda into psychology until—... Well, I guess other stuff is cool too. History has all that… history."

"I know a thing or two about history," said William.

"Well England's a historical place," said Buffy. "I have a friend who's English and he loves old things."

"I prefer young things," said William.

"Okay, ew?" said Buffy. "What brought you all the way out here, anyway?"
"End of the world," said William.

Buffy narrowed her eyes, "Stopping it, or starting it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Buffy sighed. "You figure out what they put in your brain yet?"

"Nope," said William. "Think they'll tell me if I ask real nice?"

"Not sure these guys are super interested in talking," said Buffy. "I think punching might be our only option. They seem pretty afraid of us, don't they? With all those weapons and tasers and drugs?"

"Of course they're afraid of us," said William. "They're just people, after all."

"You tried escaping yet?"

"Tried," said William. "Never got nowhere, though."

"Maybe if we worked together…" Buffy offered. "You know what they say about two heads, even if one's been all spliced into by mad scientists."

"I see what you're getting at," said William. "It's a deal."

"I'm really hungry, Tara," Willow groaned. "Do they really drug every meal?"

"No," Tara said. "But there's n-no way to tell when they do. I t-think they play mind games on purpose." She sighed. "I'm hungry too. We definitely haven't been eating enough."

"Then let's eat," said Willow. "Who cares if it's drugged? They'll just come take us anyway. Maybe it's safe this time. Anyway, if we don't eat, we're gonna be too weak to escape whenever the time comes."

"O-okay," Tara said, watching Willow take a big spoonful of peas.

"Mmm," Willow moaned. "I mean, it's gross but I was starving."

Willow kept eating, and Tara was beginning to think this meal really was safe. She took a forkful of her own food and lifted it hesitantly into the air. "How do you feel?"

"Oh, it's definitely drugged," Willow laughed. Tara dropped her fork, but Willow just shoved food in her mouth as fast as she could, presumably so that she could get as much as possible before passing out. "If they take me, glare at them real mean-like for me, okay?"

It wasn't long at all before the tray and the plastic fork slipped from Willow's slackening grip and Tara helped lower her to the ground. Tara smiled softly. "Night, Willow."

Willow chuckled, "Nighty-night Tara-Tara, see you tomorrow."

"So Professor Walsh," said Xander. "I think that's one of Buffy and Willow's teachers. Kinda scary, they said. I mean, not demon-scary but teacher-scary. And not demon-teacher-scary either, like the praying mantis lady. Just, you know, mean." He took a deep breath, "Will didn't tell you how she's connected to all this?"

"No," said Giles. "But she wouldn't have said it if it wasn't important. The question now is… How do we get close to this Professor Walsh without revealing our hand? There is no reason she should suspect any connection between myself and the girls, and I'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible."

"And you thought my undercover job was going to be rough," Xander smirked. "If what the gals have told me is true, Professor Walsh sounds like a real piece of work. Probably a lonely old crone, married to her books, smarter than all her peers, all alone in her IQ bracket. Sounding familiar?"

"Not at all, Xander. What are you getting at?"

"Thing is," said Xander. "I happen to know a rather ruggedly handsome pseudo-academic whose bookish charm could snag any post-menopausal dame, let alone a cranky hag who probably hasn't known the touch of a man since the dark ages."

"Spit it out, boy. What are you suggesting?"

Xander grinned, sly. "Hey, what's Winnie-The-Pooh eat out of?"

Buffy also found herself succumbing to the drugged food, and when she awoke she wasn't in a doctor's office or a medical lab or some kinda evil science dungeon, but strapped to a rather comfortable chair (considering that Buffy hadn't been afforded any chairs to sit in at all until now) in a room that looked not unlike a professor's office.

And it was. Because on the other side of a large wooden desk, a plush red chair whirled around to reveal Professor Walsh with an aggravating smirk on her lips.

"Change of scenery," said Buffy. "How come?"

"I thought we could talk," said Walsh. "This is my office, away from all of the scientists and doctors and soldiers. I had a few questions for you, if you don't mind."

"'Mind'?" Buffy said, "I'm sorry, you didn't ask me if I 'minded' being kidnapped, drugged, operated on, and held against my will."

"Hosti— Miss Summers," Walsh corrected. "I know our methods may be extreme, but you must understand that that is in fact all we are trying to do here: to understand."

"Have you tried reading a book?" said Buffy. "And there's this whole new thing called the internet you could try."

"Accurate information about demons and the supernatural is limited," said Walsh. "Most texts are locked away by powerful eccentrics and holier-than-thou councils who think that knowledge is dangerous. And you must understand that whatever is put forth in these texts must be tested."

"Why?" Buffy cried. "Okay, I get the demons. You want to fight them, right? So fight them! What's with all the tests?"

"Right to the violence," Walsh shook her head. "You say you're not a demon, but they all seem to jump right to that solution, don't they?"

"I'm not a demon," Buffy growled.

"Maybe so, but you're something . Look at it from our perspective, Miss Summers," said Walsh. "You surely know as well as I do that there are plenty of demons who take the forms of humans, waiting and watching. Your strength makes you incredibly dangerous; we can't just let you wander free." She leaned forward, "But if you cooperate and answer my questions, it might help build that trust."

"Fine," Buffy huffed. "What do you want to know?"

"What are you?" said Walsh. "Your physiology is fascinatingly unremarkable."

"That's an oxymoron, and I'm a Slayer," Buffy said. Off Walsh's raised eyebrow, she continued, "Chosen one. One girl in all the world? Strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness?"

"'The chosen one? You really expect me to believe that?"

Buffy rolled her eyes, "You really don't know, do you? How can you guys call yourselves experts on this stuff if you don't even know what a Slayer is?"

"I know what it is," said Walsh. "I thought it was a myth."

"Well you were myth— Actually, you don't even deserve a bad pun right now. That's how much you and your goons are pissing me off."

"Your powers," Walsh continued. "When did they develop?"

"Why?"

"Would you rather answer my questions, Miss Summers," said Walsh, "Or would you rather vivisection?"

"When I was fifteen," said Buffy. "One Slayer dies, another is called. That's how it works."

"Hmm," said Walsh. "So these abilities were given to you?"

"I guess," Buffy shrugged. "I didn't ask for them, if that's what you're asking."

Walsh nodded slowly. "Only girls can be Slayers, at least that's what the stories say."

"Yeah," said Buffy. "That's not wrong."

"Why is that?"

Buffy rolled her eyes, "I don't know. How would I know? I really don't know anything, Professor. You know that, you grade my tests."

"My TAs grade your tests," said Walsh. "I have more important things to spend my time doing."

"Ah, right. The highly unethical human experimentation."

"Pretty soon, Hostile 23, you'll come around to our way of thinking. And if you don't?" She shrugged, "That's okay, too." She cleared her throat, "That will be all, Miss Summers. Finn? Take her back to her cell."

The door opened, and Riley came in. He undid Buffy's straps and shoved her from the room.

"Watch it!" Buffy said once they were in the hall. "What gives, Riley? Tell Darth-Scully that I'm not down for the probing and prodding. You know I'm not a bad guy, tell her to let me go."

"I can't," Riley said. "Walsh is… stubborn. If I turn on her… I mean, she has a lot of power. And so do you."

"You trust her, don't you?" said Buffy. She scoffed, "Why?"

"You wouldn't understand," said Riley. "You're one of Them. Listen, I'm going to see if I can get you some good food. Non-drugged. Just hang in there, okay?"

When Willow awoke, Tara was gone. She was a little confused at how she could have slept through them taking her, until she blinked the haze from her eyes and noticed the mostly-eaten tray of food. She grimaced, wondering why she thought that was a good idea, but her stomach that no longer ached told her it was probably worth it.

It wasn't long before the door opened and Tara was tossed back into the cell. Willow crawled over to her.

"Tara, can you hear me?" Willow said, shaking her gently.

"Ohhh," Tara groaned, "Where am I?"

"Back in the cell," Willow said. "What'd they do to you?" Willow felt around, checking for injuries, and Tara winced and pulled back when she touched her left side.

Willow carefully lifted Tara's shirt to see an angry scare, neatly stitched up and running along her side.

"You're all sewed up," said Willow. She hugged her gently, "You're gonna be okay, though. Promise."

When Xander entered the Mess Hall, it was not as a happy camper. He scowled as he dragged the mop across the floor, waiting for soldiers and scientists to finish their meals so that he could clean up their scraps.

He noticed Graham and Forrest at a table in the corner and decided to make himself known.

"Hey guys! If it isn't Teddy Graham and Forrest Gump," Xander said.

"Never call us that again," said Forrest.

"You liking your new gig?" said Graham.

"Hey, everyone's gotta start somewhere. Right?" said Xander, feigning gratitude. "Say, cleaning the cafeteria is fine 'n all, but you guys probably have some demon slime and vampire blood that needs scrubbing too, right? When do I get access to the cells?"

"I know you want to join the party, Harris," said Forrest. "But you're not trained to handle sub-terrestrials, at least not yet. Sick to your assigned areas. Hey, do a good job? Maybe you'll be promoted."

Students poured out of the lecture hall, rushing to make their next classes. And among the swarm of adolescents, Rupert Giles rounded the corner, almost like he'd perfectly timed his entrance based on a copy of the lecture schedule.

And now he was strutting down the hallway, nose buried in a book. Now, walking while reading was one of Giles' secret skills, but today he managed to feign clumsiness enough that he collided directly with Professor Walsh, her papers and his book falling to a mess on the ground.

"I am terribly sorry," said Giles. "I must have not been paying attention, I was so engrossed in this—" He made a show of glimpsing the author's photo on the back of his book as he picked it up. "...book. I'm sorry, are you Professor Margaret Walsh?"

"That's me," said Walsh. "And you're, what, blind?"

"Distracted, I'm afraid," said Giles. "Your book is absolutely fascinating. The ideas you've put forth regarding psychoanalysis and fear… I never was interested in the topic until I picked up your book, Doctor."

"I'm flattered," said Walsh as Giles helped her pick up her papers. "Excuse me. I am very busy."

"Just one moment. Surely you have the time to discuss your research with a fellow educator."

"Are you a professor here, Mr…—?"

"Giles!" he interjected. "Rupert Giles. And no, I used to work at the local high school."

"The one that blew up?"

"Erm, yes," said Giles. "The one that blew up."

Walsh nodded slowly. "What did you teach?"

"Um," said Giles. "I was the librarian."

Walsh rolled her eyes. "Mr. Giles, I really don't have time—"

"I was particularly interested," Giles continued, "In the part of your book that discusses the supernatural. The psychological processes that lead to the creations of these myths, and if they are really myths at all. These myths and monsters have fascinated me all my life, Professor, and I had never before thought to tie them to psychoanalysis as you have here. And this town certainly has a way about it, does it not?"

"It does," said Walsh. "I am glad you are enjoying the text. I have other papers you might be interested in."

"I would love to read them," said Giles. "You are simply brilliant, Professor. And— Well, no. That would be inappropriate…"

"What?" said Walsh, no longer seeming so much in a rush.

"It's just…" Giles had to swallow a grimace at the show of false affection that was to follow: "If I may… Professor Walsh, has anyone ever told you that your eyes are exceptionally… erm, blue?"