Faith continued to stare at the girl, seeming to consider whether or not she might actually be on something that would cause her to react so familiarly. Searching the girl's face, the Slayer tried to find a hint, some sort clue that would give her memory a jump-start.

At first glance, the girl appeared to be much like any other you would pass on the street. She was obviously trying for some sort of pseudo goth look, her hair very obviously dyed the darkest black possible, cut short and spiked. Draped around her tiny frame was a black satin jacket that was at least two sizes too big, slipping almost constantly from one bony shoulder, only to be tugged back into place and then slip again moments later. Her shirt was white with thin spaghetti straps that, in contrast to the jacket, seemed almost too small, not quite reaching her short skirt and exposing a simple bellybutton ring. Fishnet stockings and fingerless gloves rounded out the ensemble, which was topped off by a thick, chunky necklace clearly made of some cheap silver-knock-off.

But it was her face that made her stand out from the crowd. Despite the fact that her appearance created a decidedly unsavory impression, her face was still round and somehow unmarred, despite the very liberal application of makeup, including far too thick eyeliner and mascara. 'Angelic' would be the first adjective to spring to mind, including bright, pale blue eyes that seemed out of place amidst all the darkness with which the girl was clearly attempting to enshroud herself.

Faith frowned, unable to link the image before her with anything in her mind and she shook her head. "I don't know what you're—"

"Roxi!" the girl exclaimed, gesturing to herself, but still only received a blank stare from Faith. Enthusiasm deflating slightly under the lack of response, she tried again. "You know ... Roxanne?" When Faith only blinked, she added, "Renee's sister?"

All the house lights came up at once. "Oh! Rainbow Brite!" Faith nodded eagerly, happy to finally have a frame of reference. Smiling, the Slayer shook her head wistfully. "Damn, it's been forever. How's she doin'? Still got 31 flavors of hair?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, Roxi chewed on her jagged, nicotine-stained thumbnail. "Dunno," she replied without emotion. "Last I saw, she was hangin' with this guy. Real jerkwad. Said he wanted her to go with him, score some quick cash. Never saw her again."

"Oh." Every trace of joy vanished instantly from Faith's features, and for a second, she could only blink. "Crap, I'm sorry, I—"

"No biggie," the girl replied, showing no more regret than if she'd lost a paperclip of which she was moderately fond. "Not like we were all that close anyway. And hey, more room at home for me now, huh?" Her eyes darted away from Faith's briefly as she said that, but soon returned to find the Slayer frowning.

"What about the rest? Monroe, and Skeeter, and—"

"Gone. Jail, dead, or just gone."

The words were delivered in a flat, factual tone, and Faith didn't appear to know exactly how to react to them. There was a small measure of disbelief, but nothing else particularly discernable.

By contract, Roxi apparently had an tendency toward optimism, and she grabbed the perceived bright side with both hands and held on tight. "Hey, but now you're back, we can maybe, y'know, start again." The girl smiled brightly, even as Faith looked at her in confusion. "Get some new girls. I been wantin' to myself, but they all think I'm just some stupid kid. But now you're back, we'll have 'em rushin' to our door, beggin' to team up with us!"

Faith shook her head slowly and raised an eyebrow at Roxi. "I think you got me confused. I don't go for that no more."

"Oh? Then why the hell'd you come back to this armpit?" the girl challenged.

Instinctively, the Slayer opened her mouth to answer, but no words seemed inclined to emerge.

Noting the lack of response, Roxi filled in the silence. "You're just outta the loop is all," she concluded with a wave of her hand. "Life's better for all of us when you got friends to back you up. You'll remember."

"I just ..." Faith broke off as Roxi's words sunk in, and she glared slightly. "I got friends," she protested somewhat defensively.

Roxi's eyebrow twitched and she made a grand show of looking all around Faith, searching valiantly. "Invisible variety? Or they just in your head?"

'Defensive' had become Faith's new defining adjective. "Not here, not now, but I got 'em," the Slayer insisted, her hands balling into fists.

With a patronizing smirk, Roxi crossed her arms, causing the jacket to slip off both shoulders. "I can tell they're close friends, too."

"You don't know nothin' about me," spat Faith, jabbing her finger at the girl as she took a step forward.

Immediately taking one back to maintain the distance between them, Roxi's hands shot in the air. "Hey, we're cool," she soothed. "I'm sure you and your mystery friends're real tight." She relaxed again, and grinned, still with a condescending tone. "An' you're just here for the scenery, right? Say, have you met the latest members of the sanitation force?" Stepping to one side, Roxi dramatically presented the dumpster.

"No, not here for the scenery," Faith sneered, obviously finding no humor in this exchange.

"So you're here for ...?"

Expelling a lungful of air, the Slayer ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know!" she exclaimed, then slumped, as though the burst of frustration had left her drained. "Okay? I don't know."

"Hm." Roxi appeared to have extracted something significant from Faith's admission, and the discovery obviously pleased her. Tucking the pilfered candy bars into the inside lining of her jacket, the girl kept one out. Tugging away the outer wrapper, she balled it in one hand and tossed it in the general vicinity of the dumpster, unconcerned as she missed it completely. Watching Faith the entire time, Roxi took a huge bite of the chocolate, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before offering it to the older woman. "Want?" she asked simply.

Faith considered it warily, giving more attention to a candy bar than might have been expected for something so seemingly innocuous. Still, despite whatever reservations she may have been feeling, Faith reached out and plucked it from the other girl's hand. "Yeah."

Roxi's face split in a wide grin, and for just a moment she looked like nothing more than a young girl who woke up on Christmas morning to find everything she ever wanted under the tree. "Hell yeah," she agreed, then cast a quick glance over her shoulder. "Listen, I gotta be somewhere, but I'll catch you later. Enjoy."

With that, Roxi sprinted in the opposite direction. Faith watched her go without comment, then lifted the chocolate bar and ravenously sunk in her teeth.

The sapling had grown a little taller, a little prouder, since Willow had last visited the clearing. Its trunk was more sturdy and its boughs less fragile. She tilted her head and squinted through the sunlight at the leaves, sleek and glossy in the dappled rays. When grown, it would be a fine tree, a handsome tree, a worthy tribute to those it honored. The redhead walked slowly to the center of the glade and sat indian-style on the cool grass. From her position, she could easily see the sapling as it reached toward the sky, limbs gleefully embracing the warmth of the sun and the soft breeze that played among its branches. Smiling, she closed her eyes, seemingly lost for a moment in happy recollections, absorbing the peace and tranquility radiating throughout the area. Willow sighed with contentment.

The brace encircling her right wrist rested heavily in the witch's lap, but she appeared oblivious to the weight. Eyes remaining closed, she hummed quietly under her breath – a tuneless melody, but the nearby sparrows didn't seem to mind as they chirruped cheerfully in return. The passage of time was difficult to determine here in this place. It might take a spiraling blossom several minutes to fall to the earth or a cotton ball cloud might complete the journey of its arc in less than a heartbeat. And so, when Willow opened her eyes again, she was unsure how long she had been lost in her reverie. Stretching the injured arm, she steeled herself and then tried to wriggle her fingers. Almost immediately, they curled toward her palm. The motion was stilted and stiff and not totally devoid of pain, but still, it was a vast improvement when compared to the imperceptible twitching of the day before.

The smile that crossed the face of the redhead was radiant, but tears glistened in her eyes. With a great effort, she managed to swallow the tiny lump forming in her throat as her gaze traveled to the patches of bright blue sky peeking shyly through the branches of the sapling. "Thanks, baby," she whispered.

A sudden breeze swept through the clearing and tugged at Willow's shirt. Chuckling, she clutched at the collar and smoothed it down into place. Swiftly changing direction, the mischievous gust ruffled at her bright hair, tousling it impishly with what seemed to be intense affection. Exhaling deeply, the witch threw herself backward onto the lush carpet, allowed her eyelids to close and reveled in the magical moment.

"You okay?" There was a brief pause before Buffy added the non sequitur, "Battleaxe."

Willow and Buffy were stretched out on their backs upon an open, neatly trimmed grass lawn. They lay with their heads inches apart, toes pointed in opposite directions, so that their eyes could easily survey the same patch of sky.

Frowning at the blue, Willow scrutinized the clouds that drifted overhead. "Which one?"

"There." Buffy lifted her hand and pointed.

The witch leaned closer, trying to see along Buffy's line of sight. "Hm. Looks like one of those wiener dogs to me," she remarked after careful consideration, raising her own finger and tracing the outline. "See, with the tail, and the body, and the cute stumpy little legs?"

"Ugch, I hate those," griped the blonde with obvious disdain. "Something just shouldn't be that disproportionately long and self-propelled. It's unnatural." She gave her head a decisive shake. "No, I'm sticking with my battleaxe. Much more comfy."

Casting a sideways glance at her friend, Willow smirked, "You're so violent."

"And you're so ditching my question," countered Buffy, lightly jerking up her shoulder to bap the top of Willow's head, "which is totally not allowed."

"I'm not ditching." The denial lacked any real conviction. "I'm just ... inhabiting a shallow trench of avoidance for the moment."

Buffy's face softened and she rolled her head to the side to regard Willow more closely. "That bad, huh?"

Willow didn't meet her gaze. "Only in a painful way," she replied with an air far too casual to be genuine. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice pained but resigned. "She would've been 23 today."

Nodding, the blonde returned to staring blankly at the clouds. "Yeah," Buffy agreed softly.

"I had big plans, y'know?" Willow's spoke just a touch too loudly, the false cheer unable to fully cloak the bitterness. "Back before we ..." Trailing off, she started again. "Back then, I had it all mapped out. Where I was gonna take her on her 25th birthday. All the gifts I was gonna shower her with for her 48th. How I was gonna hold her hostage in our bed and do naughty things to her all day long on her 72nd." Buffy was unable to keep her eyebrow from shooting into her hairline with that one, and she slowly turned to regard her friend with something between hilarity and grievous concern. Catching the expression, Willow could only smirk and shrug. "Hey, it was my list," she defended, then sobered quickly. "But ... I can't. So yeah. Been better."

Neither spoke for a long moment, lost in thought as they watched the clouds wander airily in the cool breeze.

"I'm sorry." The words were so soft, it was almost as though they hadn't been spoken at all, and Willow frowned at the Slayer in confusion. But Buffy gave no indication that she had apologized, and instead, in a normal tone, asked, "You'll be okay though?"

"Yeah," replied Willow, choosing not to pursue the matter. "I mean, I'll probably have a good cry tonight, but I'll be okay."

Buffy allowed her head drop, her gaze meeting sad green eyes. "You know if you need to ..."

"I know." Willow smiled, genuine and grateful. "And maybe I will. Maybe a weepy chick flick movie fest is just what the doctor ordered."

"Beaches ..." began Buffy.

"Boys on the Side ..." Willow added.

They both grinned and rolled their eyes together, speaking in eerie synchronicity. "Steel Magnolias ..."

Willow chuckled and rested her forehead against the blonde's. "That'd be nice."

"Yeah," agreed Buffy in a soft voice. "Yeah, it would."

Drifting into a comfortable silence, their attention returned to the clouds overhead.

After several moments, Willow tilted her head to one side and extended her finger, toward a particularly complex-looking puffy cloud. "Glucose atom," she announced.

Buffy quickly identified the target, and examined it carefully, twisting her head first to the right and then the left. "That blobby demon I killed last week," the Slayer finally decided.

"Oh no, no issues here," remarked Willow with a grin.

The sunshine did little to enhance the overall gloominess of the dingy street, but Faith didn't seem to pay it any attention. She kicked a discarded Coke can in front of her, sending it flying several feet before it landed and bounced to one side and out of her immediate path. She glanced to one side as she passed by, seeming to give consideration toward retrieving it and renewing her game, but her feet continued moving forward and she soon abandoned the idea. Having been engrossed in her own thoughts, however, Faith looked up just in time to dart to the side as three teenage girls tore past, running at break-neck speed. She turned to watch them, her brow furrowed in irritation at the near-collision, but the trio obviously had more pressing concerns. They veered around the first corner they reached and disappeared from sight. Faith turned back the way they had come, and cocked her head to one side as her ears detected the faint and distant sounds of a burglar alarm. The ringing was soon drowned out by the high-pitched wail of a siren, and a police car sped into view. It shot past Faith, rounding the same corner the girls had taken moments before and the screeching rapidly faded into obscurity.

Faith watched the corner long after the police car had disappeared from sight and sound, lost to her own memories.

A teenaged Faith ducked around the corner of the dimly lit street, merging almost seamlessly with the shadows enveloping them on all sides. Five other girls joined her a fraction of a second later, all panting heavily, with beads of perspiration running down their faces. The girls were of varying ages and heights, although two, like Faith, were less winded and appeared more comfortable with their surroundings, hiding in the doorway of a darkened building. The tall blonde's eyes darted in every direction as she hid, allowing no detail to escape her keen notice. The other girl, her hair now dyed in black and white stripes rather than a colorful rainbow, crouched low and peeked cautiously out from around the corner.

The remaining girls were largely unremarkable, save for one who was obviously the youngest of the group by far. Her mousy brown hair and overly large dark eyes gave her the appearance of a frightened fawn, and as she trembled with fear and confusion, the comparison was not entirely inaccurate.

"We should split up," the blonde stated, glancing down to Rainbow Brite and receiving a quick nod, indicating that for now, the coast was clear.

"Split up, are you nuts?" one of the girls hissed, her tone making it plain she felt the question was rhetorical.

Brite rose smoothly and joined the remainder the group, casting a final glance over her shoulder. "Monroe's right. Leigh said that Zero said that cops're crackin' down. Somethin' 'bout the police chief guy promisin' to stamp out 'youth violence' or somethin'. They ain't gonna give up easy, not this time." Crossing her arms, Brite looked expectantly to Faith, as did the others.

"I hate election year," Faith grumbled to herself, then addressed the girls decisively. "Alright, split up. We'll meet later."

That was all they had been waiting for, and four bodies broke away instantly, running in different directions and vanishing as the city swallowed them whole. Faith prepared to join them when something attracted her attention out of the corner of her eye. She turned, surprised to see that the smallest girl had remained frozen in place, her eyes still wide.

"What, you deaf or somethin'?" gaped Faith. She thrust her finger to the side, glaring at the younger girl. "I said split!"

All the girl could do was remain in place, quivering with fear and tension. "Bu-But I—"

Her explanation was cut short as Faith slapped her hand roughly over the girl's mouth and yanked her back into the shadows. A second later, two policemen ran by. "I think I saw someone go this way!" one called out as they sprinted past, neither sparing a glance to the side street.

After the sound of pounding feet had died away, Faith cautiously released her grip on the girl, who spun toward Faith with terror in her eyes. "I can't. I can't," she insisted, her tone making valiant strides toward hysteria. "I don't know what to do."

"Pretty simple," Faith replied in a hushed but clipped voice, her eyes scanning in all directions. "Run. Don't get caught. Not freakin' brain surgery."

This did nothing for the girl's confidence and she shook her head rapidly. "Can't you—"

Again interrupting, Faith glared down at the younger girl, her patience having been thoroughly decimated by this point. "Look Skeeter, you said you wanted in this. Well congrats, you're in. But'cha playin' with the big girls now, and it's time you learned a hard lesson. In this life, y'got only one person you can rely on," she held up a lone finger for emphasis and stabbed it at the wide-eyed girl, "an' that's you. People come an' people go, an' yeah – maybe for a minute or two you got someone watchin' your back. But come the end of day, you only got you and I only got me." Straightening, Faith stared at Skeeter. Her face was devoid of any sympathy or compassion. "Me's who I gotta take care of now."

With that, Faith sprinted down the length of the side street, scaling a ten-foot high chain link fence in seconds and disappearing from sight. Skeeter watched her go, lower jaw quivering as she tried to decide what to do. Swallowing hard, she ran back out onto the street.

Almost immediately, a authoritative voice called out, "Hey, you!"

Skeeter turned and saw a policeman down the street, quickly joined by his partner. Panic welled within the girl, and she fled, running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. Immediately the officers gave chase, and they were rapidly gaining. Skeeter was already out of breath, and her legs were so comparatively short, there was no question that she would be caught. Gasping for breath, the girl sounded as though she would burst into tears at any moment.

The policemen were now only a few strides away when a bottle flew through the air, connecting solidly with one of the officer's shoulders. It didn't break, but the impact was sufficient to make him grunt in pain, and he gave up the pursuit to spin around angrily at his attacker. His partner, having run a few paces ahead, stopped and also turned.

Her hand resting casually against a nearby building, Faith observed the cops without a trace of fear or respect. "Oink oink, little piggies," taunted the brunette, her lips pulling back in a defiant smirk. "Think maybe you c'n take on a little girl who's actually more'n half your size?"

The policemen spared each other only a passing glance, then as one they rushed toward Faith, anger and humiliation evident in their eyes.

Grinning broadly, Faith pushed away from the wall and took a few jogging steps backward. "That's the spirit," she baited, before turning and running, the cops on her heels.

Giles strode hurriedly and purposefully through the halls of Slayer Central, bent over a clipboard and absently chewing on the pencil clenched between his teeth. Zipping past the private training room, he only barely glanced up to see Buffy, clad in a tank top and pair of loose jogging pants, pummeling a punching bag within an inch of its life. The Watcher screeched to a stop and stepped into the room, plucking the pencil from his mouth as he did so.

Buffy's eyes darted up at his entrance, and she nodded curtly before returning her full attention to the workout. "Hey."

"Buffy, I'm glad you're here," responded Giles, delving into the fascinating worlds of his clipboard. "I'm working on a new schedule, and I wanted to run it by you."

"Sure," the Slayer replied nonchalantly, her punches not ceasing.

Tracing down the list with his pencil, Giles came to the appropriate spot and shifted his weight to the other foot, planning to stay for a while to discuss these latest developments. "Now, I know that you're not especially fond of mornings, so I've made an effort to schedule the bulk of your classes in the early afternoon."

"Cool." Buffy didn't especially sound like she felt it was cool at all, but Giles didn't notice.

"Also, I'm hoping that I can get you and Faith to work on a curriculum in tandem." Glancing up, Giles explained, "I believe the lessons we're teaching will be more effective when demonstrated from the physical as well as the philosophical side."

Punches coming fast and rhythmically, Buffy gave one brusque nod. "Sounds good. Not like it'll make a whole lotta difference anyway, right?"

"Excellent," continued Giles, returning to his clipboard as he smoothly transitioned to the next topic at hand. "For Thursdays, I was— Wait, what was that?" His eyes narrowing, he stared at the blonde in confusion.

"Oh, nothing." The Slayer's voice was bright and cheerful, even as she did her best to beat the punching bag to within an inch of its stuffed life. "Just thinking, you know. How much difference does it really make? Paperwork. Schedules. Training to be the best."

His frown increasing, Giles tilted his head to one side. "This is one of those times when you're not really talking about what we're talking about, isn't it?"

"Suppose," conceded Buffy, grunting as she escalated her attacks.

"Well at least I identified it early this time," he congratulated himself, setting his clipboard on top of the nearest weight machine and regarding Buffy with stern but kind eyes. "What's this really all about?"

For a moment, Buffy's only answer was to pound on the bag. "Willow's in pain," she finally announced. "Big time pain."

Immediately, Giles became concerned. "Has the medication stopped working? I thought she was healing nicely. I mean, I know her hand is frustrating her, but—"

"Not ouch pain," Buffy corrected with a shake of her head. "Heart pain. Tara pain."

"Oh." Unconsciously, the Watcher whipped off his glasses and started to polish, staring at them intently as he decided on what to say next. "Well, yes, I suppose she is," he finally decided, replacing his glasses and looking to Buffy once more.

Judging from the speed of her jabs, Buffy had a lot of frustration to work through. "It's not gonna get better for her is it?" Without warning, her punches ceased, and Buffy reached out both hands to steady the quivering bag. "Not really. I mean, sometimes even now I hurt for Angel and Riley, and they're still alive somewhere off in not-with-Buffy Land. Losing Mom and ..." Hesitating for the briefest of moments, she continued, "...Spike – those are worse, but even then I think it's so completely different."

Giles favored his Slayer with a sad and understanding smile, free from judgment. "Everyone deals with grief and loss in their own way. Hers is no more or less valid than your own."

"No, I get that, and I'm not saying it is. But ... I mean, she's not trying to blow up the world anymore, and that's undeniably of the good, but then ..." Trailing off, Buffy's eyes darted to the ceiling, trying to find the right words to express herself.

"It takes time," Giles assured her. "Tara's death is still quite raw, and without Kennedy there to help remove some of the sting ... well, I'm not surprised things are a little rough for her right now."

Buffy sighed and rested her forehead against the punching bag briefly, then straightened and let her hands drop uselessly to her sides. "But it's never gonna go away. Gone, for good, like we can only hope might one day be the case for boy bands."

"Will she ever fully recover? Not entirely." Speaking with gentle authority, Giles was clearly drawing from his own experiences. "When you lose someone you love, particularly tragically, you never really do. But you know all this, so what is it really?"

Sighing again, more heavily this time, Buffy tossed her hands in the air. "I just feel guilty sometimes. Like I could've stopped all this. Like I should've stopped all this." The blonde shoved the punching bag, watching as it swayed back and forth. "And I guess it just makes me wonder, what's the point? We train and we work and when it really matters, we fail spectacularly." Buffy laughed, a humorless sound, then dropped her eyes. "Willow, Xander ... you. I can save the world, but when you guys need me most, I let you down."

"Buffy, you mustn't blame yourself," the Watcher insisted earnestly. "You can't save everyone."

Again, Buffy laughed, seeped in bitterness. "No? Seems to me I've done that six or seven times now."

"On a grand scale, yes, but not as individuals. You cannot know the future, you cannot keep everyone safe."

"I'm not asking for everyone. I'm asking for the people I care about," the Slayer snapped. She took a deep, calming breath and continued in an even voice. "We're talking six or seven apocalypses, Giles. So many I've lost count. If I can't have a 'save one, get one free' deal, then you'd think the world would at least give me a punch card system. You know – 'get five apocalypse stamps, turn in your card for a free saving of someone who matters'. It works for Subway."

Flashing her a small but genuine smile, Giles shook his head ruefully. "Unfortunately, it's not so simple. There are limits to what you can do. That's a hard thing to admit, I know, but it's the truth. Despite your calling, you are only human, living an, albeit extraordinary, yet still human life. And as I believe I've heard a bright young woman of my acquaintance say from time to time, 'life sucks'."

Despite herself, Buffy laughed, a clear and true sound this time. Giles chuckled along with her.

"I know," the blonde sighed, the humor evaporating and leaving her serious once more. "It doesn't really make it easier, but I know. I just wish ..."

Buffy's voice faded away, and Giles watched as an expression of deep regret settled on her features. "Wish what?" he gently prompted.

The Slayer blinked rapidly and sighed, a resigned and sorrowful sound. "I wish I could've saved them."

Giles' smile spoke of pure understanding. "I know," he commiserated. "I wish I could have too."

Stepping away from the punching bag, Buffy folded into Giles, embracing him and the comfort he offered. The Watcher unhesitatingly returned the hug, all thoughts of schedules, training and other unimportant matters forgotten.

The front door to the Scoobies' house was tossed open with complete disgust and Xander stomped inside. Unceremoniously, he threw his keys on the nearby table, heedless of their loud, angry jangle, and shrugged off his jacket. It, too, was thrown toward the coat rack, but the jacket wisely chose not to complain, and simply settled quietly on its hook.

"Xander?" Willow's voice called out from the kitchen.

"Yup, that's me," the carpenter replied with appallingly faux cheer. "Captain Xander of the brave ship No Depth Perception, home from a rousing adventure on the grand seas of high school, where I'm reminded of all the extracurricular reasons I was glad I blew mine up."

Wincing from the doorway, Willow regarded her friend. "Wanna super-size that cup of bitter?"

Xander waved his hand in the air sharply. "Ahh, I'm sorry," he apologized. Crossing to the living room, he hurled himself onto the couch, bouncing once on the cushions and crossing his arms, appearing for a moment as though he were a six-year old. A very grumpy, pouty six-year old in need of a nap and his woobie.

"No, it's okay," the redhead assured, following Xander and sitting next to him on the couch. "What happened?"

Somehow, Xander managed to slump further into the cushions. "Well after yesterday's little encounter with the jock flock, they decided it'd be neat to harass me all day. You know, hangin' around the table and snickering, making loud and thoroughly obnoxious comments while I'm quietly peddling my wares ... Nothing really obvious that would stand up in a court of law as justification for killing them all." Huffing, the carpenter's gaze narrowed. "You know, if only I did have two eyes, then I could double my glaring power."

Despite its seeming inappropriateness, Willow's face broke into a huge smile. "Well I just might be able t'do a little somethin' about that."

"Paint an eye on the patch?" guessed Xander, waving off the suggestion. "Already thought of that. Not as cool as you might think. It actually looks kinda disturbing. I had nightmares."

"No," Willow chuckled. She took his hand between both of hers, causing him to turn toward her. "Xander ... I can regrow your eye."