Bouncing to her feet, Dawn moved to stand next to Tara. In complete contrast to the stunned and cautious expressions worn by Giles and Xander, the teenager was grinning broadly, like she'd just been given everything she'd ever wanted for Christmas. Clinging to Tara's arm, Dawn announced, "Look who's home!" She beamed at the two men, waiting for them to join in her celebration.

They didn't.

Giles continued to peer at Tara as though she were a specimen for study under a microscope. All previous traces of shock had vanished, leaving behind only cool, detached examination. His eyes traveled over the blonde's features, no detail escaping the Watcher's keen observation.

Calmly, Tara bore the scrutiny. Hands clasped in front of her in a non-challenging posture, she waited patiently. It was obvious that she had no intention of backing away from the inevitable confrontation, but she was in no particular hurry to get started.

It seemed as though Xander had taken all of Giles' emotions into himself. His head swung back and forth in a seemingly infinite loop, looking from Tara to Willow to Tara and then back again. Before his brains could become permanently scrambled, Xander settled his gaze on Willow. Swallowing hard, he croaked, "Will ... Did you...?"

Despite Dawn having asked a similar question earlier, pain lanced Willow's expression, and she shot Xander a wounded look. Becoming defensive, she opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, Giles spoke. "Willow wouldn't have done this," he told the carpenter. The Watcher's tone made the words indisputable fact and stated clearly that the matter was closed as far as he was concerned.

Surprise flashed briefly in Tara's eyes at Giles' vehemence, but it was for only a second. By the time attentions had returned to her, it had vanished without a trace.

Keeping a wary eye on Tara, the Watcher asked Willow, "Who is this?"

It was the blonde who answered. "Tara," she responded, speaking clearly and with assurance. Rather than reply, Giles chose to continue staring suspiciously at the woman. There was no doubt it was going to take far more than that to convince him, and Tara smiled with understanding, as though she had expected no less.

"Tara Maclay," she added almost cheerfully, as though she was being asked to stand up on the first day of school and introduce herself. "I'll be 22 this year, I love cats, Mercedes Lackey is a guilty pleasure, and last summer, we would stay up way too late after patrol, drinking chamomile tea and debating the merits of modern music."

Her presentation complete, Tara smiled again, but the atmosphere in the room had become oppressively quiet. Frowning in confusion, no longer even remotely at ease, the blonde glanced from one person to the next in an effort to find an explanation.

"You ..." Tara turned towards Willow as the redhead spoke in a quiet voice. "You'll be 24 this year."

It wasn't the answer Tara had been expecting, and her mouth formed a silent "oh" as she blinked rapidly. Her previous confidence was ripped away, and she was left staring at her feet, suddenly looking unsure and very alone.

Without thinking, Willow took a half step toward the shaken blonde, her hand extended and ready to offer comfort. Before she could move any further, however, Xander was there. Latching onto her elbow, he held her in place. "Will, maybe we can talk? Over there?" Gesturing with his head toward the back of the living room, the carpenter didn't wait for her to agree before steering her away. Willow dragged her feet and cast a worried gaze over her shoulder at Tara, but despite her reluctance, she didn't fight Xander's grasp.

The blonde had almost entirely withdrawn now, but she glanced up and smiled gratefully as Dawn slid a comforting arm around Tara's shoulders. She soon returned to her examination of the carpet, and consequently missed the furious, accusing glare the teenager was leveling at Giles.

Unphased by the open animosity, Giles absorbed Dawn's gestures. The teenager's stance was unmistakable – she was protecting Tara, and from her bearing, had every intention of continuing to do so. Turning his head, he observed Willow, standing several feet away in front of Xander. Despite the animated, obviously impassioned speech from the carpenter, the redhead wasn't listening. She spared no ounce of attention for Xander – it was all directed at Tara.

Giles frowned. He didn't like what he was seeing. Not one bit.

Despite the encumbrance of her injury, Faith easily navigated the sharp corner. With the agility of a sure-footed alley cat, she leapt onto a stack of conveniently placed crates and peered into the darkened storage facility. Convinced nothing was untoward, she nimbly hopped back into the street, crossed to another building and repeated the maneuver. Still finding nothing remarkable, she hit the ground again and made ready to move on. Then, a thought seemed to occur and she glanced behind, but nobody was there. Perching upon the edge of one of the crates, Faith sighed and waited expectantly, drumming her fidgety fingers against the rough wood. After a few moments, she was still alone and a flash of restlessness crossed her features. She dug in her jacket pocket for cigarettes. Flipping open the box, she discovered it was empty. "Crap," she muttered, tossing the pack to one side. "Crap," she said again, only louder this time, as the action jolted her sore shoulder.

All patience now expended, the Slayer got to her feet and jogged back toward the corner she had recently turned. Just before reaching it, however, a hobbling Buffy came into view. Limping badly, the blonde was obviously exerting far more than her usual amount of energy just to maintain the hurried pace she was attempting so valiantly to sustain. Apparently, Faith didn't consider the rate of speed to be quite that impressive.

"Christ, B, this guy could've slaughtered half the town by now."

"If he did, it'd probably make it a little easier to find him," puffed Buffy.

"And here I thought I was the dark one." Faith grinned at her own comment, but it soon became a frown at the blonde's hobble. "Seriously, you might wanna call it a night."

"No way," protested Buffy determinedly. "It's just a little pain. I'm fine."

"I'm not worried about the pain so much as the fact that you're slow as hell," Faith told her.

Buffy crossed her arms. "Y'know, just because you're good now doesn't mean you can't lie," she stated with a huff.

"Aww, sorry," responded the dark-haired Slayer, her tone lacking any hint of apology. "Next time I'll dip the truth in honey first, make it go down a little easier. But since I already screwed that up, I'll come straight: go home."

Buffy's mouth grew tight and she vehemently shook her head. "There's something running around my town immolating people—"

"Our town," said Faith pointedly.

The blonde frowned. "Grover's Corners? What?"

"No, Trillium," insisted a confused Faith. "What's this Grover thing?"

"Nothing, never mind," murmured Buffy. She regarded Faith with wide eyes. "You were saying?"

Faith sighed, not particularly overjoyed at the prospect of having to repeat herself, but doing her best to be understanding. "That it's not just you that's gotta run around – or limp around – an' keep everyone safe. Y'know that garbage you're always spoutin' off to the girls, ‘bout bein' a team or whatever? Well works for us too."

"No, I know that. See?" The blonde gestured at herself and then at Faith. "Look at us. All team-y."

"Good," grinned the dark-haired Slayer. "Then listen when I tell you to go home. Rest that thing or you'll be hurtin' for weeks."

In response, Buffy stared blatantly at Faith's arm. Following the blonde's leveled gaze, Faith shrugged with her good shoulder, ostensibly unphased.

"If I was walkin' on my hands, I could maybe see your point," she informed Buffy with conviction. "But tell y'what – if we get into some really crucial filing situation, I promise I'll sit out. Just for you."

Buffy narrowed her eyes and treated Faith to a fake smile. "You're so sweet," she said flatly.

Faith jammed her hand into her pocket. "Plus, you really are holdin' me up here," she said with sincerity.

"I retract the ‘sweet' comment," Buffy retorted.

"Thought you might." Faith smiled and hers was genuine. "Want me to call the X-Man, get him to come pick you up?"

"Are you kidding?" scoffed the blonde. "It takes a force of nature to keep Xander away from his kung pau chicken. I'll hoof it. It's a final act of defiance." She paused and looked at Faith with a grave expression. "As soon as you find anything ..."

The dark-haired Slayer presented her phone. "I'll call," she promised. Then, noting Buffy's dejected face added, "Hey, bright side: you get to go to your nice, comfy home while we're searchin' for the bad guy. Can't be wrong, right?"

It had likely taken some doing, but Xander had finally managed to claim the bulk of Willow's attention, although given the displeased look she was displaying, it had probably been a hostile takeover. Admirably, the carpenter wasn't backing down either. He stood his ground and pinned his best friend with a gaze that brokered no room for anything but the absolute truth. "Will, what's goin' on here?" he demanded.

"What do you mean, ‘what's going on'?" countered Willow defensively. "I think it's pretty obvious." She tossed her hand toward the blonde standing several feet away. "Tara's back."

Xander glanced over. "Well yeah, I can see that something's here, but—"

"Not ‘something'," the redhead insisted. "It's her."

Inhaling deeply, Xander ran a hand through his hair and let the breath out slowly, calming himself. "I know you want it to be her," he said in a soothing, empathizing tone. "God, I do too. But—"

Willow would not be placated. "No buts, Xander."

"But how can you be sure?" the carpenter questioned, his voice becoming harsh again in his agitated state. "I just—" He sighed and steadied himself once more, regarding Willow with an almost desperate expression. "I don't want you getting hurt over this. Not again. I'm outta crayon-breaky stories, y'know?"

Glowering darkly, the witch crossed her arms over her chest. "That's not funny."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But this ranks pretty high on my freakometer. I mean, one second my big worry is whether I got enough egg rolls, and the next, it's dead friends in my living room and—" Xander's eye widened as a new thought occurred to him and he dropped to a rasping whisper. "Oh god, what if it's the First?"

"It's not the First," Willow responded emphatically. She grabbed Xander by the chin and turned his head toward the main living room. "You can touch her, see?"

Sure enough, Dawn was standing next to Tara, tightly hugging the blonde's obviously corporeal arm.

"Okay, so not the First," he agreed with a sharp nod as he refocused on Willow. "But what about a zombie, or a robot, or vampire double from an alternate universe, or—"

"Or it's Tara."

The statement was made with such finality that Xander couldn't help but gaze at his friend with bottomless pity. "Tara's dead, Will," he reminded her gently.

Willow stared at Xander for a long moment then turned to watch Tara from across the room, saying nothing further.

The tension between Giles and Tara was palpable. The blonde had recovered somewhat from her momentary falter, but was obviously beginning to feel the strain of being under the Watcher's unrelenting, unyielding observation. Not that he was being overly aggressive or threatening – quite the contrary, Giles was the picture of utter formality. He remained polite and attentive, and was very clearly not allowing himself to entertain even the slightest notion that the young woman in front of him was who she claimed. And Tara knew it.

"This is quite a shock," stated the Watcher almost casually, though by no means offering that as an excuse or apology.

Tara nodded. "I know," she replied. Her eyes, like her tone, were full of understanding.

Tilting his head slightly to one side, Giles considered the blonde carefully then asked, "What happened? Why are you here?"

Instinctively, Tara glanced away, and although it was for the briefest of moments, the gesture could not escape Giles' keen notice. The frown that had become a permanent fixture increased, even as she answered his question. "The ones who brought me back ... they sent me here." Her eyebrows furrowed closer together as she searched for the words. "They told me I was needed, to- to ... I'm supposed to stop something evil."

"Something evil?" he repeated curiously. "What?"

Tara hesitated. "It's ... very bad."

"Yes, well, evil tends to be," retorted the Watcher dryly.

"Yes," a somber Tara agreed. "It does."

And with that, the blonde offered no more. Giles waited, somewhat less than patiently, and while there was no way Tara could not have known what he wanted, she would say nothing further.

Her silence only served to disturb the Watcher even more, and his lips pursed in a hard line as his eyes grew colder. His voice became harsh and carried with it the vaguest note of dangerous warning. "Well if you don't want to discuss why, perhaps you're more inclined to—"

"Look, what does it matter?"

Both Giles and Tara turned to Dawn, blinking at her in surprise as though they'd forgotten for the moment that she was there. Anger remained the current prevailing attitude Dawn had toward the Watcher, but exasperation had begun creeping in as well.

As though unsure he had heard correctly, Giles politely responded with, "I'm sorry?"

Dawn threw her free arm into the air – the other still preoccupied in clinging to Tara – and dropped it against her leg with a slap. "All these questions ... who, why, how ... Who cares? Tara's here, Giles. She's back."

The teenager thrust Tara's hand toward Giles. "Feel her," she insisted, her throat tight. "She's here, and she's real, and she's alive." As though suddenly exhausted, Dawn allowed Tara's arm to lower, then hugged it tightly like a security blanket. For a moment, she looked and sounded more like a scared three-year old than a girl on the verge of adulthood. "And I don't care why."

Clearly the extraordinarily trying situation was taking its toll on the Watcher, and his patience was wearing thin. Giles' mouth opened, preparing to issue forth any manner of chastisement to the younger Summers, but he never got the opportunity, as Tara stepped in first.

"Dawn, look at me," the blonde said sternly, her tone making it clear her request was not to be denied. Complying, the teenager did so, not bothering to hide the tears in her eyes. Tara was unmoved; her expression remained grave. "Mr. Giles is right. Something's unknown ... I'm unknown. Unknown is dangerous."

"You're not," Dawn vehemently protested, dismissing the very suggestion without even a moment's thought. "We know you, and you're not dangerous. You could never hurt any of us."

"He just wants to keep you safe," the blonde explained patiently. Dawn's head dropped, and Tara lifted the teenager's chin with her finger, not speaking again until their eyes connected once more. "And I need you to be safe too, Dawnie." Drawing her into a hug, Tara rested her chin atop the teenager's head and looked over at Giles, steadily meeting his gaze. "So whatever he needs to do ... it's okay. I understand."

The Watcher frowned, taken aback by Tara's words, but she'd already turned all of her attentions to the upset teenager cradled in her arms. He observed them with a puzzled expression, but seemed unsure of what to say next.

Willow glared furiously at Xander, her face flushed red and her jaw clenched shut. The carpenter took a step backward, his hands raised in front of him in a feeble effort to deflect some of the venom being shot in his direction. There was no returning anger as he spoke in a smooth, low voice. "I just don't wanna see you get hurt Will."

The confession was simple but sincere, and it seemed to get through to the witch. Willow sucked in a lungful of air and closed her eyes tightly. She held the breath for a long beat, then let it out slowly and opened her eyes again, calmer now. "I know," the redhead responded. "And I love you too. But ..."

Trailing off, Willow's gaze once more sought out Tara. She spared Xander a final glance, seeming to plead with him to understand, then turned and walked away.

Having reached Tara's side, Willow stood as close as possible without touching the blonde. She watched Dawn's quiet crying begin to subside as Tara stroked the teenager's hair, whispering words of comfort. A brief spark of longing danced across Willow's features, but it was fleeting and still she moved no closer.

As Tara began to break the hug, Dawn sniffed loudly and rubbed at her face. The teenager didn't seem to feel embarrassed at her emotional display – rather, the experience provided a greatly needed catharsis, and Dawn now looked tired, but much more relaxed and together. Glancing over her shoulder to Willow, Tara smiled. It was small and tinged with sadness, but the redhead's face lit up like a Christmas tree in immediate response regardless. Xander's approach, however, shattered the moment.

The usually jovial carpenter displayed none of his typical good humor. He stood just over Willow's shoulder, hovering there as he eyed Tara with confusion, wariness, and more than a little hostility. Almost like a soldier, he was at attention. He looked ready to pull Willow clear at the first indication that the blonde was going to transform into a slathering hellbeast, sent there to rip the redhead's still-beating heart from her chest.

Despite the fact that she was quite obviously the target of his enmity, Tara smiled affectionately at Xander's protective stance. Then she appeared to see him – really see him for the first time. She tilted her head to one side, raking her eyes across his face, taking in every detail and seeming to measure it against the image she held in her mind. Uncurling her arm from around Dawn's shoulders, the blonde moved slowly, unthreateningly, toward Xander, finally coming to a stop when she was standing before him.

Hostility had given way to discomfort, and despite towering over the blonde witch by at least a head, Xander shuffled uncomfortably under the sudden attention. Still though, he didn't move, and bore Tara's investigation with only a brief worried glance at Giles. The Watcher seemed more curious than alarmed, however, so Xander visibly tried to relax and watched the blonde with interest.

The final detail to receive Tara's examination was the most obvious, and her gaze eventually rested on the carpenter's eye patch. She reached out a tentative hand toward his face, causing Xander to blink. He seemed almost locked in the moment and it was unclear if he could have backed away, even if he'd wanted to. Ever so lightly, with the most featherlike of touches, Tara's fingers brushed against surface of the patch. As soon as she made contact with the material, her expression melted into one of profound sorrow, as though she hadn't quite believed it to be real until that tactile moment.

The touch didn't last long. She lowered hand and shifted her focus from the patch to Xander's lone brown eye. His gaze was no longer filled with either anger or suspicion – merely confusion.

"I've missed so much," she said sadly.

Xander didn't know how to reply to that. Nobody did.

All eyes were focused on Faith as she sprinted toward the abandoned warehouse. The assembly of a dozen or so Juniors parted as she approached and, without missing a beat, the dark-haired Slayer entered the building. She swiftly assessed the situation, noting every detail – Jeffreys at the far end of the structure, having backed up as far as he could go, and Kennedy, together with approximately thirty more Juniors, all hovering in a semi-circle near the middle of the room, apparently giving the boy a very wide berth. Faith glanced quickly to the right of Jeffreys and noticed a circular scorch mark bearing a runic symbol in the center that was cauterized into the wall. Faith's eyes widened in recognition as Kennedy left the group and moved closer to her.

"Did we lose anyone?" was Faith's first question.

Kennedy shook her head. "No. Not for lack of his trying, though."

She indicated a Junior Slayer off to one side being treated for minor burns and singed hair by her colleagues.

Kennedy turned back to Faith. "All we could make out was him saying ‘guilty', then the barbecue started. If she hadn't had Slayer reflexes ..."

Impatiently, Faith dismissed the "what if" with a wave of her hand. "So do we know yet what sets him off?"

"I called the Watchers," Kennedy told her. "All I keep getting is the damned stupid rhyme. I told them we need MacArthur, not Mother Goose." She inclined her chin in Jeffreys' direction. "Least he's quiet for the minute, but he could start moving again any time. We need answers, fast."

Faith nodded her head. "‘Bout time we get ‘em, then," she stated with deceptive quietude, her eyes never once straying from the motionless figure at the far end of the warehouse.

A weary and irritated Buffy opened the front door and limped inside. Final act of defiance or no, the walk home had obviously been a difficult one for the Slayer – but the physical discomfort paled in comparison to her pervading air of indignity. She threw her keys onto the table by the door where they joined their brethren.

"I'm home!" she called out, taking off her coat and tossing it onto the last vacant rack hook. The blonde moved into the kitchen, complaining bitterly the entire time. "Lemme tell you, I've had one of the weirdest days. Faith sent me home from patrol. Faith sent me home." The lingering offense apparently still stung. Buffy sighed and entered the dining room. "Can my day get any more surreal?"

The Slayer came to a dead halt in the entranceway. Her family was seated around the table, clearly in the middle of dinner. Open boxes of Chinese food were scattered here and there, and generous helpings had been distributed to the surrounding plates. A neat pile of fortune cookies waited patiently in the center. It looked like any other typical suppertime, save for the presence at the head of the table.

Buffy stared at Tara, blinking in shock. "I had to ask," she muttered to herself.