The scene was like a frozen tableau. Dawn could only stare at the impossible sight before her, not believing the information her eyes were receiving. Unable to tear her gaze away from Tara, the teenager addressed Willow in a hushed voice filled with horror. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," the redhead replied with a shake of her head. "It wasn't me."

Dawn spun around to the witch, narrowing her eyes but saying nothing. She searched Willow's features for some evidence, the slightest hint that she was being lied to. Without flinching, Willow met the unspoken demands. A moment of intense scrutiny passed. Then Dawn's expression softened and she turned back to Tara, her eyes shining. The blonde hadn't moved. She continued to soak in everything about the teenager, a loving and tender smile ghosted on her lips.

Her words wavering, Dawn somehow managed to speak her fears. "Is it ... Is she like ... Mom?"

"I don't think so," replied Willow, then she chuckled. "If she is, she's the most well preserved zombie ever." Obviously not finding anything at all amusing in the statement, Dawn shot the redhead a dark look, and Willow glanced away, looking embarrassed at making light. "She's not a zombie. If she was ..." The witch shook her head, then with steady, unfaltering confidence, assured the teenager. "She's not. I'd know."

The continued affirmations were beginning to take their toll on Dawn, and her voice was becoming thin and strained. "It's her?" she asked, unconcerned at the note of desperate need that crept into the question.

"It's her," confirmed the redhead, her own emotions swimming to the surface in response.

The center of Dawn's attention once again became Tara, who had still not moved. It seemed as though the blonde might be content to spend the remainder of the day standing on the porch, simply staring at the teenager, committing every detail to memory.

Despite Willow's assurances, Dawn turned her fierce examinations to the woman in front of her. If there was anything malicious present, it was clear that she had every intention of finding it. "Then why won't she say something?" the teenager demanded, glancing to Willow, but she didn't wait for an answer before facing the blonde once more. "Say something ... please."

Tara swallowed the lump in her throat and tilted her head to one side. "Look at you," she whispered as she reached out to stroke a lock of the teenager's long brown hair.

"Tara?" asked Dawn, her voice cracking.

"You're almost a woman now." Tara's hand dropped to cup Dawn's cheek. "I'm so sorry I missed you growing up."

The gentle apology appeared to shatter whatever uncertainty remained. Dawn flung herself into the blonde's arms, crying openly. Without hesitation, Tara's arms wrapped around the sobbing teenager and she murmured words of calm and assurance.

Willow stood to one side, hugging herself as she watched the reunion, her own tears trailing unnoticed down her smiling face.

Every table in the library was littered with research volumes, some haphazardly tossed to one side and others left open at what appeared to be crucial pages. A dozen or so Watchers hovered around the tomes, listening intently and standing to attention as Giles addressed the congregation. Buffy lounged in one of the more comfortable chairs, another having been commandeered as a place for her sprained ankle. To her left, Faith was sprawled on the floor, leaning on her good arm, while Kennedy seemed to have simply thrown herself onto one of the overstuffed couches, leaving little room on either side for company. Xander stood behind Buffy, resting a hand on the back of her chair.

"I received a phone call a short time ago from three of our Slayers who were at the museum as part of their school field trip," the Senior Watcher was informing his audience. "Apparently there was some sort of incident involving several classmates that resulted in the death of one. It appears as though he was burned alive. As to what caused the fire, that's a little more uncertain."

Xander bent down to whisper in Buffy's ear. "Suddenly I feel like I'm back in high school. Like I should be cuttin' class or somethin'."

"I knew there was a good reason I dropped out," remarked Faith. "Glad he reminded me." She smirked at nobody in particular.

Either failing to hear or choosing to ignore Faith's barb, Giles persisted with his report of the event. "The two witnesses were understandably upset, but our Slayers were able to eavesdrop on their accounts. They claim that one of their friends had put on a pair of spectacles that is to be part of an upcoming exhibit when he began to act strangely. They brought home some of the exhibit brochures, which contain a picture of the artifact."

He folded back one of the brochures in his hand, pointed to the appropriate photograph and then handed it to a Watcher standing stiffly on his left. The Watcher in question snapped into action. He promptly took the proffered booklet and quickly scanned the page before passing it along. Moving toward Kennedy, Giles gave her a similar brochure. She studied it carefully before tossing it over her head to Faith. "Thank god for contacts, huh?" she remarked.

With a disinterested glance and a cursory nod of her head, Faith almost immediately handed the booklet to Buffy. Xander peered over the blonde's head.

Giles gave a small cough and all the Watchers instantly refocused their attention. "We'll use the information in the brochure as a starting point," he instructed. "One additional fact to be aware of ..."

He walked to a whiteboard behind him and, selecting a black dry erase pen, drew an arrow-shaped rune upon its surface.

The carpenter regarded the symbol with a grin. "You are here?" he suggested.

Faith snickered, obviously enjoying the joke. Xander's grin grew broader. Looking up, Buffy eyed the marking and shrugged before reaching for the nearest book as Giles glared sternly at the carpenter through his glasses. Grin slowly fading, Xander's gaze traveled toward the ceiling, ostensibly finding something of great interest in its architectural design.

"Yes, well," continued Giles. "This marking was found on the scene. According to the witnesses, it wasn't there before the attack, so it must be linked to whatever happened." He replaced the cap of the pen with a quiet click and then made his way back to the front of the group. "Our research will be difficult. The colloquial name of the artifact isn't one that's listed in any of our records, so we have no specific starting point. Unfortunately time is very much of the essence. The young man and the artifact have been missing for several hours now. It may take a considerable amount of—"

"Found it," declared Buffy waving her hand.

"—diligent ... What?" The Watcher turned to Buffy in amazement.

Xander leaned over the back of the blonde's chair to get a good look and then ducked as she held up a volume opened to an illustration of the desired spectacles.

"Here they are," she declared somewhat smugly. "They're the ..." she paused and brought the book down to her face, frowning at the words. "'Uhtskit skajohn'. Or something. The ‘o' looks like a little ‘don't' sign." She beamed at Giles.

Extending his hand, the Watcher swiftly took the book. He skimmed the text and then pronounced with perfect diction, "‘Utsikt Skjønn'."

"That was my second guess," Buffy nodded in agreement.

His face registering unbridled astonishment, an astounded Giles asked, "How did you find this so quickly?"

The blonde shrugged. "In the index under ‘glasses'." The blonde shrugged nonchalantly. "Duh."

"Eight years of researching," huffed Xander, "and we're only now checking the index? We are very dumb people."

Eyes moving rapidly from left to right, Giles perused the entry. "According to this," he read, "the glass in the ‘Utsikt Skjønn' is believed to have been crafted from an orb of the same name dating back to the time of the Vikings, around the 9th century. The orb was said to have been blessed by the god Tyr and would grant the holder purity of sight and invincibility in battle."

"Great," announced a sarcastic Kennedy, "just what my ego needs. Another baddie we can't kick the crap out of."

The Watcher glanced up from the text only briefly. "Given that its original owner was killed in a minor skirmish off the coast of Greenland, I'd say the orb's qualities were somewhat exaggerated."

"Shoulda sued for false advertising," scoffed Faith.

"The orb changed hands from there, becoming a war treasure," continued Giles. "It then fades out of history, reemerging again centuries later as the glass was incorporated into the artifact pictured here." He held up the pertinent page for all to see.

One of the Junior Watchers posed a hesitant question. "Sir, does it say how ..." he quickly checked the brochure to ensure his facts were correct, "... Constantin Gesualdo came to possess it?"

Giles consulted the tome once more. "No, it doesn't," he admitted. "I'd guess a trade, or- or gift or something along those lines. I suppose once the Italians acquired it, they changed its name."

"Big surprise there. Renaming it is the first thing I'd do," Buffy confided to Xander with an exaggerated eye-roll.

The carpenter grinned. "Alright," he began, "so final question, for the big money: What does it do?"

Frowning, Giles again referenced the volume. "It doesn't say," he replied with some disappointment.

Kennedy stretched and then grimaced at the pain in her side. "Anybody else feeling the anti-climax?" she asked irritably.

"There's a translated passage, a poem of some sort regarding the original orb." The Watcher's expression brightened considerably as he balanced the book in one hand and thrust the other into his pocket. He read as he paced back and forth:

"'Two are shown, both sides emerge
From darkest shadow and brightest light
If judged thee ill, my wrath will purge
If judged thee well, no harm from sight.'"

"Very pretty," said Buffy pointedly. "And it means ...?"

Giles closed the tome with a snap. "Yes, that is rather the question, isn't it?" he acceded. The comment was greeted with several frowns.

"We'll split up," he urged, attempting to infuse the suggestion with enthusiasm as he gestured toward the team of Watchers. "You all continue with the research. Now we know the artifact's original name, we can perhaps learn more. Call me as soon as you discover anything new. The rest of us will gather all the available Slayers and begin searching for Mr. Jeffreys."

Giles indicated a yearbook propped open on one of the tables. "We must isolate him as quickly as possible. There's no telling who may be hurt next."

Faith, Kennedy, Xander and Buffy crowded around the yearbook for a better look. The youth in the circled photograph, hair neatly combed and round face peppered with freckles, regarded them shyly with an almost self-conscious smile.

Jeffreys walked unsteadily along the pavement of an unremarkable neighborhood street. His pace was unnatural and hesitant. He paused every few steps as though obliged to make a decision regarding each scene that presented itself. Nevertheless, he failed to notice the figure pedaling a bicycle which squealed to a stop at the curb.

"Hey, you okay?" asked the rider, a young boy with tousled brown hair and a scratch along his cheek.

The question immediately attracted Jeffreys' attention, and he turned to gaze at the boy, scrutinizing the bicyclist with an unemotional and flat expression. Suddenly, his eyes began to widen and ...

With a flash, the scenario changed to a darkened bedroom, the only visible light coming from the flickering screen of a television. Laying atop the bed, a man and woman were sleeping, presumably having dozed off while watching a late night show. With a small creak, the door opened and the young bicycle rider entered, expression somewhat guilty but determined. He crept quietly and slowly toward an open purse set atop a nearby dresser.

To the accompaniment of another flash, the vista shifted slightly. The boy was now standing in front of the dresser. Stealthily, he reached inside and pulled out a wallet, extracting several bills while checking over his shoulder to ensure that the occupants of the room were still fast asleep.

Yet another flash and the young boy could now be seen coming out of a shop whose window display proclaimed it to be a store which sold video games. The sun was shining as brightly as the smile which adorned the boy's face. He had a package in his hand.

Jeffreys staggered a little as the following flash brought him back to the street where the cyclist was now peering anxiously into his face. Jeffreys twitched and prepared himself for what was sure to come. He was not disappointed as the expected flash showed him a vision of the rider, hands-free, pedaling down the middle of a road.

With the second flash, the boy was getting off his bicycle and tilting his head curiously as he warily approached a ring of bushes surrounding a brick house. Cowering within the depths of the foliage was a tiny pup, its back leg mangled and blood caking the white fur. Probably the victim of a hit-and-run, the wounded animal had crawled to the nearest sanctuary – red streaks, wet and glistening, had stained the concrete pavement. The eyes of the small dog were dull with pain as it licked feebly at its injury.

The next flash, the scene changed once more. This time, the boy was riding at full speed down the street, weaving from side to side as he balanced a box containing several blankets on his crossbar.

Another flash preceded a switch in panorama to what must have been the bike rider's room. He was searching desperately under his bed for some hidden treasure, periodically glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the box on the floor. After several desperate moments, his questing hands lit upon an unimpressive shoebox. Pulling it free, the boy sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against his bed. He yanked the lid off the shoebox and dumped its contents onto the floor. Crumpled bills and hundreds of coins tumbled onto the carpet.

Flash. The scenery had changed to the interior of an veterinary office. Over a long counter, the dog, back leg sporting a splint and enveloped in bandages, was being delivered to a young mother and her daughter. The pup struggled within the woman's arms in a furious attempt to reach the little girl. Cradling him gently, the child snuggled the pup's soft fur as the small dog showered her with slobbering kisses and emitted tiny yelps of delight. By the entrance stood the boy. He shuffled his feet, sniffed, and then scrubbed at his nose before opening the door with a huge grin and quietly exiting.

The final flash restored normality as Jeffreys stared with intensity at the bike rider. In return, the boy regarded him with unabashed confusion.

"You have been judged," came the pronouncement.

Becoming nervous at the severe tone, the cyclist leaned back in his seat, away from the piercing gaze.

"You have been found innocent," was the verdict. With that, Jeffreys turned away from the rider, as though he no longer existed.

The youngster watched Jeffreys shamble shakily along the street. A puzzled and rather derisive expression crossed his face. "Dude," he muttered to the retreating figure as he pedaled in the opposite direction, "you are wack."

The early evening was becoming quite dark as Giles and Xander searched the streets.

"It's annoying," stated the carpenter grumpily, "that's all I'm saying."

Giles made an attempt to instill confidence. "I'm finding it ... assuring. This is precisely what we've been training them to do – to be swift and efficient in the face of a crisis."

"Well they're swiftly and efficiently irritatin' me," snapped Xander, "so bravo."

Kicking at some imaginary and annoying obstruction in his path, he followed the Watcher as Giles turned at a street corner.

"There's this alleyway a block down," said the carpenter, brightening just a tad. "It's a shortcut to an abandoned construction site that's destined to be another fine parking lot some day. Kinda outta the way, so maybe he—"

Two Junior Slayers emerging from an alley about a block away cut Xander short. He audibly groaned as they waved and jogged toward him.

"Hi guys," the first to arrive greeted. "If you're going to the Dunn construction site—"

"You've just been there," a sardonic Xander finished for her.

"Uh-huh!" confirmed the second Slayer cheerfully.

"No sign." The carpenter's tone was flat.

"Nope," the first substantiated.

Xander blew out a puff of exasperated air. "And now you're on your way to ..." He glanced at Giles who was taken somewhat off guard.

"Oh, uh ..." stammered the Watcher, "we were planning to investigate Mueller Park next."

"We're not going there," the first Slayer told them. The carpenter allowed himself a tiny smile of gratification. "Kelly and Lynn already checked it out," she continued. Xander's face fell as he hung his head in something akin to despair. "We're heading to—"

Xander immediately held up his hand, palm outward. "No," he urged, "don't tell me. It'll ruin the surprise when I get there too late."

Amid expressions of total confusion, the two Juniors turned to Giles.

"Ignore him ... if that's physically possible. Continue your sweeps, and make sure to keep in contact with your group leader," the Watcher instructed, treating the pair to one of his more charming smiles.

Nodding, the two Junior Slayers sprinted into the gathering darkness.

Watching them go, Xander crossed his arms. "I'm startin' to think the middle-aged librarian and the one-eyed carpenter were not the best people to send on a search mission."

"Surely there's a better phrase you can think of to describe me," insisted an offended Giles. The eyes behind his glasses displayed a hint of annoyance.

"Oh sure," Xander agreed. "None so good at makin' you give me that look I so adore, though." This time, the Watcher openly glared. "That's the one," the carpenter smiled.

With a heavy sigh and a defeated shrug, Giles gave up the ghost. "Faith and Buffy's groups probably haven't completely finished searching their area, we could give them a hand."

"I think I've had about enough reminders that I'm easily outpaced by 15-year old girls," Xander stated firmly. "I say we do the only smart option left to us: give up."

Giles was obviously shocked at the proposition. "Xander, I can't believe you are suggesting we simply ... turn our backs on- on a lethal force walking arou—"

The carpenter violently waved both his hands in denial. "Whoa, back up there," he hastened to clarify. "I don't mean call the whole thing off. I mean just you an' me. If we were all we had, you know I'd be out here all night, no problem. But we're not all we got, an' compared to the human bloodhounds, you really think we're doin' anything more'n wastin' our time?"

Removing his glasses, Giles dug in his pockets for a handkerchief. Not finding one, he redeposited the unpolished spectacles on the bridge of his nose and frowned. "Well ... no, I suppose not. We could always return to the facility, assist with research."

"Sure," grouched Xander, "trade one failure for another, sounds great. How about this instead: we leave, go get dinner, and feed our hungry women at home." He eyed the Watcher with hopeful anticipation.

Giles was far from convinced. "I hardly think that's appropriate course of action, considering."

The carpenter's voice adopted a most persuasive tone. "Sure it is," he encouraged. "We all gotta eat. This way we're providing a valuable service to Willow and Dawn, and feeling less like complete losers in the process." Xander returned the Watcher's level stare with a sheepish grin. "Okay," he admitted. "I'll feel less like a complete loser, and you'll be helping. Plus you know Buffy's gonna be starved once this is all over, so by getting her dinner, you're fulfilling your Watcher duties."

"I'm fairly certain I did not study for years to become a pizza boy to a Slayer," responded Giles snippily.

The carpenter was instantly placating. "Of course not."

Giles considered Xander carefully for a moment, then sighed in resignation. "Oh all right, but I don't want to be gone for very long. I'll just call Buffy and let her know."

Fishing in his pocket, the Watcher extracted a cell phone and held it dubiously under a streetlight. Hesitantly punching random buttons, he cursed under his breath as he tried to find the stored numbers. The device emitted a chirpy farewell 'beep' as it turned itself off. Xander whistled quietly and examined the night sky. Muttering, Giles punched again and then smiled proudly as the contraption came back to life. This time, his efforts met with reward as Buffy's number, a sequence of bright neon-green digits, appeared on the tiny screen. With a deep breath, Giles cautiously depressed another button and held the phone to his ear. A satisfying ringing tone could be heard.

"Pizza boy," murmured the carpenter. "Pfft. Tonight so clearly calls for Chinese."

Willow leaned back and flipped on the floor lamp next to the couch, driving away the encroaching darkness left behind by the steadily setting sun. Straightening again, she jostled herself into a more comfortable position. She was sitting at an odd angle on the couch, half-turned toward Tara and Dawn. This provided her with a clear view of both, while having the added benefit of allowing her knees to periodically brush against Tara "accidentally". On the opposite side of the blonde sat Dawn, who obviously harbored no concern about remaining subtle. She had grasped Tara's hand between both of her own, and was holding it tightly as she talked with great enthusiasm.

"Oh, and then?" bubbled the teenager, nearly bouncing in place as she spoke. "We went out for ice cream. Ice cream, can you believe it? My teeth were chattering and it's, like, twenty-below or something, but off we go to Marble Slab."

Grinning broadly, Tara was lapping up every word. "What did you get?" she prompted, paying dutiful respect to the time-honored traditions of girl talk that insisted every detail, no matter how small, must be obtained.

"We shared a double dark chocolate on a white chocolate cone. Grip said he appreciated the dichotomy."

"Sharing ice cream already?" Tara favored Dawn with a teasing half-smile. "Sounds like true love."

At this, Dawn blushed wildly and Tara laughed, a delighted sound that immediately brought an expression of pure rapture to Willow's face. It took some doing, but somehow the redhead managed to shuffle even closer to Tara, verging very dangerously on the borders of her personal space but not quite crossing them.

Having regained her composure, Dawn confessed, "I'm thinking about inviting him to Buffy's birthday party on Friday." She squeezed Tara's hand tightly and gave it a small shake in her excitement. "I can't wait for you to meet him. I think you're really gonna like him."

"If you like him so much," the blonde witch agreed happily, "I don't see how I can't."

But Dawn had already moved on. "Oh, and then? I get home and I'm on the phone for, like, hours to Jackie and Brenda – Jackie has three-way – and they're all with the third degree. Which is, you know ... kinda cool but irritating at the same time. And it's like, all they can ask is, ‘Did he kiss you?', which is so totally none of their business."

The full-speed babbling came to a screeching halt as Dawn took note of the raised, questioning eyebrow she was receiving from Tara. A glance over the blonde's shoulder told her that she had even managed to wrest Willow's attention.

Flushing, the teenager laughed nervously. "I guess ‘It's none of your business' doesn't really work here, does it?"

Neither woman deigned to provide a verbal response. Tara simply lifted her eyebrow further while Willow waited expectantly.

"Okay, okay, there was a teeny little peck. On the cheek. It was very chaste," she hastened to assure them.

"Meeting him has no longer become optional, you realize that, right?" Tara pointed out in her best authoritative voice.

The teenager simply grinned widely in response and wrapped herself around Tara's arm, hugging it tightly as she leaned her head on the blonde's shoulder. With a fond smile, Tara rested her head on top of Dawn's, both content to simply enjoy a moment that neither thought they would have again.

Next to Tara sat Willow, watching the rebonding occurring before her eyes. She fidgeted in her seat, clearly wanting nothing more than to join in, but she hesitated. Doubt and apprehension filled her, and she hovered on the fringes, clearly feeling as though she didn't have the right to take part. It didn't stop her from wanting, however, and slowly, she extended her hand toward Tara's. Her eyes were riveted to the blonde, ready to pull back at the first sign that she was unwelcome, but the sound of the front door opening caused her to jerk away in surprise.

All three heads turned toward the living room entrance. The sound of keys being placed down and the rustling of plastic bags accompanied coats being taken off and hung up. "Ladies of the house," Xander announced grandly, "get ready for a surprise. We have returned and we bring moo goo—"

Followed closely by Giles, Xander entered the living room. Each man was carrying several bags of Chinese takeout, and neither was paying much attention to the room's occupants. Until Tara stood up and turned to face them. Almost immediately, Willow followed suit, standing just behind the blonde supportively.

"—gai—eeyaah." Xander jumped, paling as though he had just seen a ghost. His eye was opened wide in complete shock, but he uttered no further exclamation, nor made any additional movements.

Giles, on the other hand, narrowed his gaze. He took a few more steps into the room, leaning forward as he stared at Tara and tilting his head to one side in concentration. After a moment, he seemed to convince himself that he was in fact seeing what he first thought, and he straightened, blinking in amazement. "Good lord," he muttered to nobody in particular.

For several heartbeats, no one moved.

"Okay, your surprise wins," conceded Xander.