All disclaimers in part one.

Monday

"Nothing taken from the office, the bookcage, or the shelves." Willow ticked off the inventory on her fingers as she spoke. "Giles checked through everything. Every cross, every stake, every weird little artifact was in its place."

"You're kidding," Buffy said, jiggling the handle of the locker uselessly. "They have to have taken something."

Willow shook her head. "We looked through everything while you guys went back on patrol."

The Slayer scowled at her locker. "I swear, Snyder deliberately picked out the worst locker in the whole school for me." She sighed and switched back to the topic at hand. "So, any clue on what they were after?"

"Well, Giles is looking into stuff on ghosts," Willow offered, earning a confused look from Buffy. "There was that ghostly thing that appeared last night, and it popped up right over the Hellmouth, and right where Mike landed."

Buffy gave up trying to jimmy her locker open, delivering a swift kick to a certain spot on the door. It swung open easily, and she swapped books and notebooks before shutting it again a moment later. "Mmmm. So, in other words, Giles doesn't know what's going on."

"Not really," Willow explained. "I think he has a clue. He had that look he gets when something seems really familiar to him, but it'll take him a day or two to find it in his books." She frowned. "Then he got the look he gets when he thought he was on to something and he has to start over."

"Really?" Buffy asked.

Willow nodded. "Mike was looking through the want ads when I left."

Buffy nodded understandingly as someone came up behind Willow and wrapped his arms around her waist. The petite redhead almost jumped in surprise before she realized who it was, leaning back into his embrace. "Oz," Willow admonished, smiling, "you scared me."

"You don't look all that scared," the musician answered.

Buffy smiled in spite of herself. "PDA alert, guys. Break it up." Shaking his head, Oz let go of Willow before an administrator could catch them. "So how's the IDs coming?"

"Dropped them off at Giles' during lunch," Oz responded.

The two girls gaped at him as they edged their way to the wall, out of the flow of traffic. "They're done?" Willow asked incredulously.

Oz leaned back against the wall. "The man works fast."

"No way," Buffy retorted. "Nothing gets done that fast in Sunnydale."

"Nothing good, anyway," Willow added. "And I guess this is illegal, technically, but it's still a good thing."

Oz nodded as Buffy checked her watch and led them back into the flow of traffic. "Technically."

The subject was temporarily dropped as they weaved their way through the stampede of students, until finally they reached Buffy's goal. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't this the office?" Willow asked.

Buffy nodded. "Yep. The domain of Snyder." At their confused looks, she added, "Turns out I didn't finish all the hours of counseling I had to get when Platt got killed. And now that they got that new guy, Mr. Stone, Snyder's making me finish it up after school just to satisfy his sadistic tendencies."

As they entered the office, Oz winced. "The excitement continues."

"Yeah, well, if he'll get off my back--" Buffy broke off as she realized just who was sitting in the waiting area. "Mike? What are you doing here?"

Surprised, Mike glanced up from the folded page of want ads he was looking over, and Willow glanced knowingly at Buffy. "Trying to get a job."

Willow looked baffled. "Why?"

Mike sighed, leaning back against the peeling plastic upholstery. "I'm being realistic. We spent hours looking through books that have been around longer than taxes, and couldn't find a thing." He looked down at the floor. "And I can't just leech off Giles until I find a way home."

"What I think she meant was," Buffy clarified, "why here?"

"What can I say? I'm desperate."

"That's an understatement," Oz observed.

"Well, out of the available jobs I can do that don't require heavy background checks, here are a few of my options." Mike ticked off on his fingers as he spoke. "Sanitation department. School janitor. Bussing tables at this club. Taxi driver."

The others shuddered sympathetically. "Ouch," Buffy murmured. "That's it?"

"There's a few more," Mike admitted. "But I'm not going near anyplace called 'Hot Dog on a Stick.'"

"Ah, Miss Summers. Discussing your brilliant future career options?"

Buffy glanced up and grimaced to see Snyder standing a few paces away, oozing insincerity as always. The principal continued as she rolled her eyes. "Sometime today you might deign to make your way to the guidance counselor's office. Of course, it's all up to you," he added.

Buffy blinked. "Excuse me?"

Snyder smirked. "Personally, I think the straitjacket look would do wonders for you."

The Slayer shook her head and shoved past him, storming off towards the guidance counselor's office. Snyder turned back to the others, seemingly unperturbed. "Unless you two are on a careening course towards a padded room as well, I'd suggest you run along home." He suddenly noticed Mike, who was getting to his feet. "Can I help you?"

"Thanks," Mike answered, "but I'll pass." On his way out, Willow could clearly hear him mutter, "Sanitation's looking better and better."

Mayor Wilkins nodded to his guest. "Can I get you a refreshment? Tea? Coffee? Perhaps some milk, if you prefer?"

"I'm fine, thank you." The tall woman sitting in front of his desk smiled. From his viewpoint and the angle of the late afternoon sunlight behind her, Allan couldn't get a good look at her face. "Besides, anything that clogs up the vocal cords is a bad idea."

Wilkins chuckled at that, settling down in his chair. "Yes, I could see how that would be a problem in your line of work." He folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "Now what would be the purpose of this little visit?"

"As you probably know by now, I've brought my act to Sunnydale." At his nod, she continued, playing with her necklace. "Normally, we breeze through with no trouble. But this is different." She looked up from her jewelry before continuing. "I've heard that you run the show on the Hellmouth."

"Did you hear that?" the Mayor chortled, grinning at Allan. "My reputation precedes me." He turned back to his guest. "Miss Halverson, is this building up to some sort of proposition?"

"I'd just prefer not to have to contend with any of your business practices."

"So you're asking permission," Wilkins finished. "From what I've heard, that's not like you."

"I'm a realist." She folded her hands in her lap. "I could have gone and set up shop on my own, but I'd rather cause mayhem without any complications."

The Mayor smiled at that. "Well, mayhem is just up my alley nowadays. Besides, any sort of confusion you can create - so long as it doesn't interfere with my activities - would be much appreciated."

"Which means you won't be sending any committees to deal with us?"

"You've done your homework, haven't you?" At the look she gave him, he smiled, holding his hands up in a gesture of supplication. "You have my word."

She sighed. "I suppose that's good enough." With that, she stood up. "If that's all, I'll be off. The natives are getting restless."

"Just one of the downsides to not working alone," Wilkins answered, nodding.

Pausing at the door, the woman turned and leaned towards Allan, letting an odd tone seep into her voice. "Sit." Without even realizing what he was doing, Allan violently crashed into a sitting position on the floor. Chuckling, the woman walked out.

The Mayor burst out laughing heartily. "Quite a woman, isn't she?" he asked Allan before dissolving back into laughter.

For the nth time, Allan Finch wondered just how he was going to get out of this line of work.

The manager of the Bronze sat down in his "office," a former storage room in the back he'd managed to furnish to resemble an office. Harry stared at the piles of papers on his desk and scowled. This was great. Just great. The riot damage from Saturday would cost him a bundle. Not only that, but he had no band booked for the week; the group who were booked there had lost their lead singer to another of those gang attacks. And his usual fallback was playing out of town for most of the week. Unless an act fell into his lap suddenly, they weren't going to make up for the repair costs.

"I should've just opened a restaurant," he muttered as someone knocked on the door. Probably Tina, the airhead he'd hired last week, reporting another screwup. "It's open!"

The woman who stepped through the door was definitely not Tina. Not unless she'd dyed her hair red and grown a foot. The redheaded Amazon who stood before him was easily five foot ten, but it wasn't her height that made him gape. It was her eyes that seemed to fix him to the spot, making him feel like a fly caught in a spider's web.

Seeing his reaction, she smirked. "I hear you're looking for an act."

All Harry could do was nod.

When Mike entered the school library, he found Giles engrossed in one of the oldest books he'd ever seen. The Watcher didn't even notice his entrance, and Mike had to clear his throat just to get his attention.

Giles jumped at the sound, nearly knocking his glasses off in surprise. "Sorry," Mike said. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no, it's quite all right." Giles rubbed at the bridge of his nose as Mike sat down across from him. "How goes the job search?"

Mike smiled and shrugged. "I've decided not to pursue a career as a school custodian."

Giles nodded. "You've met Principal Snyder, I see."

"Unfortunately," Mike answered. "He's not human, is he?"

"As far as we know, he's human," Giles responded, his gaze dropping back to the pages of the book. "Although whether or not he is truly evil..." He paused. "The jury is still out on that."

Nodding, Mike sat down at the table. "I had a squad leader like that. Promised myself if I ever had to work under someone like that again, I'd resign or shoot myself."

"I wouldn't blame you at all," Giles murmured.

Mike leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "Only decent option I have is teaching self-defense at the gym downtown."

"In Sunnydale, there's quite a market for that," Giles noted, looking up from the book again. "You're sure you can get the job?"

"I got my second black belt years ago, so yeah, I probably can." Mike sighed. "But it doesn't pay enough unless I want to live in a Motel 6."

He opened his eyes and paused, his gaze traveling to a far corner of the library. A dark-armored figure was standing beside the bookcage, watching them. "What the--"

Giles noticed Mike's discomfort. "Are you all right?"

"Huh?" Mike glanced at the Watcher, then back at the bookcage. There was no one there. "Oh, yeah. Just kind of tired."

"You know, you don't have to worry about getting employment so soon," Giles added as he turned a page. "Even if we don't discover the reason for your appearance immediately, it won't be a bother to put you up for a while. You may have to limit yourself to the couch, but it won't be much trouble."

"Thanks," Mike added, glancing at the empty space where the figure had been standing, "but it wouldn't feel right."

There was a brilliant flare of light above them, and a shimmering hole opened up in space. A figure dived through, a mass of limbs and joints as it tumbled gracelessly down the dusty slope, unfolding at his feet.

"Who are you?"

Anything else he would have asked was cut off as she brushed her hair back from her face and a pair of large hazel eyes met his own. Before he knew what was happening, he was pulled into their depths, entranced by the strange girl who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Then the creatures had appeared, interrupting anything else that could have been said. But even as he fought back, her face lingered in his mind. He was the rational one, the disciplined one, the one with common sense.

And all he could think about was protecting a girl he didn't even know.

When it was over, she turned back to face him, and again those eyes captured his.

"My name is Maya."

As her friends were turned to stone, he heard her stop and cry out, starting towards certain death. Panicked, he pulled her along, an arm around her shoulders, trying to ignore the feel of her skin and her long, unbound hair that brushed against his cheek. They raced through the jungle, trying to escape the petrifying wave that was freezing her world into stone.

The earth cracked open beneath him, and he heard her scream as he was swallowed up.

"Mike!!!"

Mike's eyes flew open, and he nearly fell off the couch in Giles' living room. He sat up, breathing heavily, as his surroundings registered in his mind: couch, bookshelf, coffee table. It had just been a dream. He was still in Sunnydale, light-years away from where Maya might be if it was the same dimension. Not that this was all that comforting.

He wiped the sweat off his face, trying to untangle himself from the sheets before lying back down and staring at the ceiling. What's wrong with me? Of all people to dream about, why Maya? He knew her the least of the five friends he'd left behind. But what was disturbing was that the way she'd mesmerized him in the dream wasn't far removed from how he'd really felt. It was an instant, captivating attraction, so sudden and unreal that it bothered him.

"I knew her for all of three hours and already I'm dreaming about her," he murmured to the ceiling. "Isn't this how stalkers start out?"

The ceiling, quite naturally, provided no answer. Sighing, he rolled over and forced himself to relax. Whether he liked it or not, he probably wasn't going to get a chance to sleep in. Generally, he was a light sleeper, and he doubted he'd sleep through an overworked school-librarian-slash-Watcher's attempts to get ready for work. Besides, the job search would continue tomorrow, and he had to be coherent.

Closing his eyes, Mike took a deep breath and let his mind drift as sleep finally began to claim him.

My name is Maya.

At that memory, Mike almost shocked himself back to awareness, but it was too late and he was too tired. He gave up on psychoanalyzing himself and fell asleep.

Tuesday

Seven down, one last option to go. Mike was getting used to the rejections.

"I hate to tell you this, kid," Harry answered regretfully, "but I've got all the help I need."

Mike sighed. "Yeah, well, that seems to be the pattern." He was a little more disappointed than usual; here, at least, was a boss he wouldn't have minded working for. Harry Foster was a big, stocky man in his mid-forties, somewhat laid-back but not above yelling at idiots. He reminded Mike a bit of one of his uncles back home.

"Don't get me wrong," Harry was saying. "Believe me, I'd hire you if I could. I know common sense when I see it." He turned towards the still empty club. "Not unless you can--"

Whatever he was going to say was cut short as he spotted a couple of waiters fumbling behind the bar. "Nick! Tina! What do you think you're doing back there?"

"The tap's jammed back here, Harry," Tina explained as the manager strode over to the bar, with Mike right behind him. "Dumbass here bumped it with his knee, and I can't shut it off now."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," her co-worker snapped.

"Shit," Harry muttered. "This is the last thing we need."

Mike was leaning over the counter, peering down at Nick's attempts to close the valve. "You're going to break it if you keep that up," he observed. "You've got to pull it sideways, towards her. It should pop back in."

The younger man blinked, confused. "What?"

"Let me show you." Mike squeezed his way around Tina behind the bar and grasped the handle of the tap, jerking it sharply to the left rather than trying to turn it. There was a popping sound, and Mike easily turned the handle, cutting off the flow. "There. You knocked it out of whack, so the valve couldn't close. Happens a lot."

As he looked up again, he realized that both Harry and the waitress were giving him curious looks. "You tend bar before?" Harry asked.

"A little," Mike admitted. "Had to pay for school."

A wide grin spread across Harry's face. But before the manager could continue, a shout interrupted their conversation. "Yo, Harry!"

The lanky, dark-skinned young man was leaning against one of the speakers being set up on the stage, a cigarette clamped between his teeth. "Where's the good plug again?" Standing behind him, inspecting the lights with a critical eye, a tall redheaded woman made a face.

She noticed Mike suddenly, and her brilliant green eyes met his. A slow smile spread across her aristocratic face as she fixed him with her best "come-hither" stare. Oddly enough, it didn't have the desired effect. The cold green eyes and sharklike smile sent an inexplicable chill through him, and he turned away.

"Right side of the stage, Mal!" Harry hollered back before turning to Mike. "What I was going to say, kid, is I might have a job for you after all."

Mike brightened somewhat at that, forgetting about the ice queen on the stage. "For real?"

"Yeah." Harry turned away, gesturing for Mike to follow. "C'mon. We'll discuss it in my office."

Unable to believe his luck, Mike followed the manager towards the back. The redhead watched him go, her eyes narrowing.

"So what are you planning on doing tonight?" Willow asked as the two friends sat in the shade of an oak tree beside the athletic field.

Buffy sighed. "Well, after I'm done in guidance, Giles pretty much has the evening booked. Training, patrol, that stuff."

"The whole evening?" Willow asked, and Buffy nodded. "Wow. What's the occasion?"

"Nothing's happened since the attack," Buffy answered. "So Giles figures that they're waiting around for something big." She sighed, lying back on the grass. "He's probably right. Paranoid, but probably right."

"He's been kind of jumpy lately," Willow observed.

Their conversation was interrupted as Xander and Oz hurried over, lugging a huge picnic basket between them. Cordelia followed, carrying a thermos. "Ladies," Xander grunted as they set the basket on the blanket, "your feast."

"Wow," Buffy exclaimed as Cordelia opened the basket and began sorting out packs. "Where's the army that's going to eat all that?"

"They went for catering, so I had to settle for you," Cordelia answered, pulling out several wrapped packages and handing them out in turn. "Besides, if we're going to take advantage of the 'seniors leave for lunch' privilege, it should be an edible lunch."

"Cordy, I'm impressed," Xander commented. "Is there a spark of the sharing spirit in there somewhere?"

She shoved a steak-and-cheese sub into his hands. "Here, Xander. Put something in your mouth."

"Who's jumpy lately?" Oz asked as he settled down beside Willow.

"Giles," Buffy responded. "He's on a training kick all of a sudden."

Xander reached behind Cordelia and snagged a bottle of Coke. "Still feeling the burn from evil Watcher lady, huh?"

"Yes and no," Buffy answered. "I think it's more the fact that she turned out to be a fake that's making him feel inadequate." Xander was struggling with the cap. "Need help with that?"

"No, I'm fine," Xander grunted.

They sat there while he strove to unscrew the bottle. Several seconds passed, and he had no success. "I can do it," Xander insisted as Buffy opened her mouth to speak.

Without a word, Oz reached over and unscrewed the cap, turning it in the opposite direction that Xander had. "Oh," Xander muttered, dumbfounded. "Thanks."

"Speaking of inadequate," Cordelia began.

He took a swig and shot her a look. "Could you be nice to me for five seconds?"

"In public? No." She smiled. "You know you love it."

In response, he reached over to tickle her. "Xander, stop!" she shrieked, slapping at him halfheartedly as he continued relentlessly.

"So the Bronze is out?" Willow concluded, ignoring the giggling pair beside her.

"'Fraid so," Buffy told her.

Cordelia managed to shove Xander away, sitting up and brushing herself off. "We're going to the movies. That is, if Tickle-Me-Xander can keep his hands to himself."

Xander just grinned. "You know you love it."

Willow looked to Oz. "We're playing up in Monterey tonight," the musician offered. "I'll take you if you want me to."

"Really?" Willow beamed. "Thank you, Oz! Thank you so much!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

"Someone's searching for a social life tonight," Cordelia noted.

Buffy leaned forward, speaking in a lower voice. "Her mom suddenly wanted to be best friends this week."

Both Cordelia and Xander grimaced at that.

"All right!" Giles exclaimed as Buffy delivered yet another vicious kick to the padded target he was holding. She backed down, and he dropped the target on the floor, leaning on the desk for support. "That's, that's enough for now."

Buffy looked him up and down. "Are you okay, Giles?"

"I just need a moment." He wiped his brow. "I'm usually in better form than this. I suppose the heat is getting to me."

"No kidding. It's like an Easy-Bake oven in here."

"Actually, you're hitting a bit harder than usual," Giles continued. "There isn't anything you'd like to talk about, is there?"

The Slayer scowled. "Giles, don't ask me to talk about my problems. Please. An hour with Kidney Stone was enough."

"Kidney Stone?" Giles echoed, chuckling. As Buffy glared at him, he held up a hand. "No, it's - it's quite appropriate, actually."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's kind of hard for me to relax and sort out my problems with a counselor who's that hyper," Buffy went on. "I swear, Giles, he must be on something."

Giles was nodding. "Yes, well, Jerome does hover around the coffee maker in the lounge." He became serious. "But you must give the man a chance. For one thing, his report will ultimately decide whether you stay in school."

"I guess so," Buffy sighed.

"Besides," Giles went on, "from what I've heard, he's coming from a rather unpleasant prior position in Stone Canyon. Something to do with a couple of students continually making life harder for him."

Someone coughed, and they turned to see Mike leaning on the circulation desk. "If I'm interrupting anything," he said, "I'll leave."

"No, no, we're just taking a break," Giles insisted, beckoning.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "He is. I'm just venting. How come you waited ten minutes to announce your presence?"

"I didn't think interrupting was such a good idea," Mike explained. "If I distracted you at the wrong time, well, we'd be taking Giles to the ER." The Watcher smiled in silent agreement.

"I think we might have to anyway," Buffy joked, giving Giles a look.

Giles straightened. "If Faith would get here sometime this millennium, I wouldn't be in this shape, now would I?"

"He says after hounding me about training all morning," Buffy shot back.

"Okay, okay!" Mike cried. "I might as well spot for him if this keeps up."

Slayer and Watcher turned to stare at him. "Are you serious?" Buffy asked.

Mike paused, thoughtful. "Well..." Abruptly, he shook his head. "Look, I just came to let you know I might have a halfway decent job."

"Finally some good news," Giles began, but paused. "'Might?'"

"Nothing's definite yet," Mike replied. "I got the job out of sheer luck, but I've got to pull a shift tonight to make sure I'll be working there for a while. So I'm going to be back kind of late."

Buffy folded her arms. "So what's the job?"

"I'm not saying anything or I'll jinx it. Let's just say it's a hell of a lot better than sanitation or Snyder." He turned to Giles. "So it's not going to be a problem?"

"No, perhaps not," the Watcher said thoughtfully. "On one condition. You take my place for twenty minutes."

Mike started at that. "You're kidding."

"Actually," Giles said with a small smile, "no." He straightened up. "It's just warm-up, really. Simple offensive-defensive drills. Mike, you can take the defensive and Buffy, the offensive." As the two young people continued to stare at him, he sat down to watch. "Focus on form and accuracy instead of brute strength. In short, Buffy, don't kill him."

"You're serious?" Buffy asked.

Giles nodded. "Twenty minutes."

Reluctantly, Mike tossed his jacket over a chair. "All right, let's get it over with."

Buffy grinned as they took up their stances. "Think you can last twenty minutes?"

"Maybe I'll get lucky."

He lasted for twenty-three.

"Is it always this busy on a Tuesday?" Mike had to shout over the din to be heard.

Of course, Tina's attention was elsewhere. "What?"

"I said, is it always this busy on a Tuesday night?"

The blonde waitress frowned, shaking her head. "Not usually this busy," she mused, playing with a stray lock of hair. "I mean, this is the only place to go in Sunnydale, but, like, we usually get competition from Must See TV."

"Oh." Mike nodded, pretending to understand. "Must be all reruns tonight."

"Yeah, right. It's sweeps week." She leaned over the counter. "So are you seeing anybody?"

Mike sighed and looked past her to a table of teenagers who looked increasingly impatient. "You know something? Those guys over there look like they need to order. They've been glaring at us for the past ten minutes."

She glanced over at the table. "So?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't you wait tables around here?"

A few seconds passed before she bounced up, understanding. "Oh, yeah! I'll see you later, okay?" She picked up her notepad before bouncing over to the table.

Mike groaned. "Where do they find these people?" He didn't have time to reflect as another teenager came up to try to get a beer out of the new bartender.

The kid was overdoing the swagger, not to mention he couldn't be a day over fifteen. "Gimme a Molson's."

"Yeah, right. ID."

On the stage, the band was starting a new set, and the crowd got a little quieter as the elbow room in front of the stage became less. Left alone for the moment, Mike glanced over at the four band members and frowned, reviewing the little he knew about them. Most of it had come from listening to them argue or from listening to Tina babble about them. The Amazon - Lori, he thought her name was - was on lead guitar and vocals, and seemed to believe she owned the other three. As for the drummer, Malik, if he wasn't arguing with Lori about something, he was getting a smoke in the alley.

The other two he didn't know so well. Mike didn't even know the name of the girl who did keyboard and backup vocals, but that was because he hadn't bothered to learn it. Tina said the girl gave her the creeps, and Mike could see why. She couldn't be older than fifteen, and her mind seemed to be continually on another plane of existence. "And her fashion sense!" Tina had lamented. "What does she call that look, 'not-quite-Goth?'" But there was something else about her that unnerved Mike, probably just in the way she stared at people. You had the uncomfortable feeling that her gaze could burn right through you.

Mike sighed and turned his attention to the bass player, a guy named Frank. Of the four of them, he seemed like the most normal, although he never spoke a word. He was tall and lanky with spiky black hair and dark eyes that always seemed worried or depressed. Maybe he just seemed normal because he was also uncomfortable with the motley crew - it was almost as if he was thrown in with them against his will.

He was jarred out of those thoughts as Lori leaned into the microphone. By this time, everyone in the nightclub was paying some attention to the music, seemingly entranced. For his part, Mike thought they weren't bad at all, but he was starting to get a headache. He searched behind the bar for the Tylenol as they hit the chorus.

Why should I (why should I)
Why should I (why should I)
solidify?

Finding the bottle, he shook two out and glanced around to see if Harry or anyone else was looking his way. It was just Tylenol, but he didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea on his first night. Strangely enough, no one was looking his way; almost everyone was caught up in the music, especially the people on the dance floor. Pouring himself a glass of water, Mike downed the pills and dumped the glass in the sink. Sure, this band was pretty good, but not that great.

Make me real so you
can see me...

As he continued to scan the crowd, trying to figure out what was with these people, he suddenly noticed a dark shape by the pool tables, covered from head to toe in black armor, watching him. It was the same hallucination as before, except this time, it didn't blink out. He felt frozen in place, waiting for it to make its move.

Then the song ended, and the spell was broken. Mike jerked back, shaking his head to clear it, as applause replaced the music. When he turned back to look at the pool tables, there was no sign of the apparition.

But his headache was gone as well. Sighing, he steeled himself to deal with the next teenager who swaggered up to the bar.

"Any news yet?" The Mayor, for a change, got right to the point.

On the other end of the phone, Trick sighed. "Depends on what you call news."

"Which, I assume, means 'no.'"

"Not exactly," Trick answered. "The Slayer and her friends haven't picked up on the Halverson project yet, though. They're too busy whining about the heat."

Wilkins leaned back in his chair. "Good, good. Speaking of the opposition, what do we know about this newcomer - what's his name?"

"Mike something." Trick frowned. "Him we don't know much about. But if you ask me," he added in a lower voice, "I don't think we have to worry much about this one. Kid can fight, but that's about it. Nothing special."

"I suppose we really don't have the time to investigate that new development," Wilkins admitted. "But it's only been a few days. Just keep your ears open and let me know if anything comes up."

The vampire smiled. "That's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

Wednesday

"So how goes the head-shrinking?" Cordelia asked in an uncharacteristically interested tone as Buffy set her tray down at the lunch table. They couldn't take advantage of the lunch privilege mainly because Cordelia's car was blocked in by an illegally parked Jeep - and the owner just happened to be a faculty member.

"It's all right," Buffy answered warily as she sat down beside Willow. "I've been going for the past two days. Why the sudden interest?"

The May Queen suddenly became very interested in her half-empty tray, and Xander answered. "Cordy has to spend some time in guidance next period. She told Freeman exactly what she thought of him." At his girlfriend's dismayed look, he put an arm around her and added, "Which was, I might add, an incredibly bold move that many of us have been tempted to make ourselves."

She moaned and put her head on his shoulder. "I don't know what came over me. I just couldn't stop staring at his stupid comb-over ponytail."

"So...what did you say?" Buffy asked, interested.

"Just the basics," Cordelia mumbled.

Xander grinned with pride. "You know: that he's an idiot, that everyone knows it's a comb-over, that his obsession with Dolly Parton has nothing to do with the executive branch, and that he doesn't need to smoke on the roof because the school doesn't need a chimney."

"Everything we've all wanted to say but never got the guts to," Buffy concluded. "I'm impressed."

Cordelia did not look convinced, and Willow added, "Well, you're using your powers of insult for good instead of for evil. That's, that's always a good thing."

"I'd go and lend her moral support," Xander added to Buffy, "but I got stuck with detention. Something about the subject I picked for art class."

"What subject was that?" Cordelia asked.

Xander blanched a bit. "Oh, uh, nothing really. Typical school censorship."

Buffy smiled and interrupted before they could begin squabbling. "The new guy - Mr. Stone - is pretty weird."

"What are they calling him?" Willow interrupted. "Kidney Stone?"

Nodding, Buffy continued. "He's harmless, but he's just kind of out to lunch. He wanted me to call him 'Jerome' but I said no. And he was trying way too hard to 'be my friend,' or just get me to talk to him. Kind of nervous. He's probably not going to keep you very long, though." When Cordelia did not look convinced, Buffy added, "Hey, at least he doesn't smoke like a chimney."

"You just convince him you're not crazy," Oz put in. "That's all."

"It's not me, it's the heat," Cordelia groaned. "If they don't fix the air conditioning sometime this year, I'll go completely insane! Before you know it, I'll be wearing Kmart!"

Willow glanced around at the other students eating outside, as drained by the heat as they were. The only reason so many students were eating outside was that there was at least a breeze, while the indoor cafeteria was suffocating. "Everybody's drained from the heat, Cordelia. It's not just you."

Xander nodded, looking past the group. "No kidding."

Curious, Buffy turned to see what he was looking at. Jonathan was trudging past the picnic tables, seemingly in a daze. He nearly walked smack into a pole, and collided head-on with one of the football jocks, who promptly grabbed him by the collar. Surprisingly, Jonathan didn't look all that scared; it was almost as if he was so tired it hadn't quite registered in his brain that he was about to be pounded.

Buffy stood up. "That's not the heat," she muttered as she maneuvered around the tables to reach Jonathan. She shoved her way in between Jonathan and the bully, forcing the bully to let go of him. As Jonathan stumbled back in a daze, Buffy got right in the bully's face. "Go smack someone else against your ego shield."

"Hey, that little punk should learn to watch where he's going," was the response. "So I was just gonna teach him."

"Hello?" Buffy snapped. "Look at him. He's sick. What, you're going to show how macho you are by beating up on a sick kid?"

He grabbed her wrist. "Like you're gonna do anything about it."

Ordinarily, Buffy would have just flipped him over her head, but some people were watching. Turning so that no one could get a look at what she was doing, she wrenched her wrist out of his hand and grabbed his own wrist, twisting it roughly. As his face contorted in pain, she murmured, "Want everyone to see you get trashed?"

He grimaced. "You win, Summers." Satisfied, Buffy let go.

As he walked away, rubbing his wrist, Buffy turned back to Jonathan. He was leaning against the wall for support, and up close he really did look drained. He was somewhat pale and sweaty, and he was this close to falling asleep then and there. "Are you all right?"

Jonathan nodded vaguely as Willow and Xander, followed by Oz and Cordelia, came up behind Buffy. "Yeah, I'm okay now. Thanks."

"Trust me, buddy, 'okay' is not how you look right now," Xander replied. "Just stating the obvious."

"I'm just kind of tired," Jonathan mumbled. "I think I gotta sit down."

The other five managed to herd him back to sit at their table. "You don't have mono, do you?" Cordelia asked warily. "My cousin Jess had that for a whole year, and her social life almost died out completely."

Jonathan shrugged. "I was fine yesterday."

Willow reached forward and put a hand to Jonathan's head. "You don't have a fever," she observed. "Did you eat anything?"

"I'm not sick," Jonathan insisted. "I just can't stay awake."

"What do you have after lunch?" Oz asked.

Confused, Jonathan blinked, willing his brain cells to produce the answer. "Uh, I think Government."

Xander realized what Oz was getting at. "Freeman can put me to sleep even with two cans of Surge."

"You're not gonna make it," Willow concluded. "Get a note and go to the nurse's office."

"They won't let me," Jonathan mumbled.

"Tell them you think you have mono," Buffy suggested. "They'll do whatever they can to get you out of the building."

Jonathan wavered. "I don't know."

"Go to the nurse," Willow repeated. "I'm - I'm ordering you to go," she added sternly. "Now."

"Okay, okay," Jonathan acquiesced, getting up. "Thanks, guys." With that, he shuffled off.

Willow turned back to Oz. "You think that was forceful enough? I know I'm not that intimidating, well, not at all, but he really looked sick and I was worried."

"Extremely forceful, Will," Xander assured her, putting an arm around Cordelia.

"Really?"

Oz smiled and nodded. "You're still cute when you're forceful," he added, and she frowned. "That's a difficult balance to attain." Willow brightened again.

Buffy was silent, watching Jonathan trudge off. Sure, he could just be sick, but a nagging feeling was telling her otherwise. Besides, Jonathan regularly came into contact with the forces of darkness whether he liked it or not. He was a magnet for trouble, and her "Slayer sense" was telling her that it had found him yet again. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him before turning back to her lunch.

"...and the square of the cosine plus the square of the sine, you recall, is always equal to 1. So if we divide the cosine out..."

Xander's head lolled back as the trigonometry teacher, a substitute who practically read out of the textbook, droned on mercilessly. The ceiling was not much more interesting, so he turned his gaze to the rest of the classroom. Most of the other students were reacting similarly, staring into space, doodling, a few faking death in the back row. The heat was even getting to the teacher, who stopped mid-drone to fan herself with the workbook in her hands.

Surprisingly enough, Harmony, who always had the irritatingly perky habit of always raising her hand - whether she knew the answer or not - was passed out over her desk, fast asleep. The teacher didn't notice it at first, but when Harmony started to snore, several students started giggling. Sighing, the sub closed the workbook and walked over to Harmony's desk. "Miss Kendall."

No reaction. "Miss Kendall?" the sub repeated, louder. When that didn't work, she leaned down and shouted, "Miss Kendall!"

At that, Harmony jolted awake, sitting up like a bullet and nearly falling out of her chair with the violent motion. As she sat there, blinking, her blonde hair in her face, the entire class erupted into laughter. "Miss Kendall," the sub repeated sternly, "I'd advise sleeping in your own bed in your own home; it'll spare you the chiropractic bills later." This elicited some more giggles. "In the meantime, please move up to the front row next to Mr. Harris so you can stay awake." Xander flinched.

Nodding, Harmony absently gathered up her books and stood up, rather unsteadily. Seeing the way she was wobbling, Xander frowned, forgetting his disgust at the prospect of having to sit next to her. As much as he despised her, this was not normal. Even if she was at school sick, Harmony constantly had to put on the perfect poised Barbie doll act. But now her hair was hanging in her face, and she was barely noticing the giggling as she stumbled down the aisle. In fact, she wasn't balancing all that well.

As she passed the second row, Harmony's legs suddenly gave out under her, and the cheerleader crumpled to the floor, scattering books and papers everywhere. The laughter immediately died away as several students - including Xander - jumped to their feet and crowded around the pale, drawn form on the floor. The substitute shoved through the students, kneeling down at her side. "Someone get the nurse!"

"I'll do it," Xander announced before anyone else could volunteer, grabbing up the hall pass before turning and hurrying down the hall towards the nurse's office. The nurse, nothing, he thought. I'd better talk to Giles.

The Bronze was fairly empty, but then again, it was only three in the afternoon. Technically, it shouldn't have been open, but the manager either didn't expect or didn't care if anyone wandered in. It was probably due to the damages from Saturday; the blackout riot had cost the manager a few windows and some furniture. They were still dealing with repairs on top of cleaning up after the patrons.

Whatever the reason, Faith had nothing better to do. It looked to be a standard patrolling week; Giles hadn't found anything out of the ordinary. There were a few hours left til sunset, and most of the Scooby Gang was otherwise occupied: Xander, stuck in detention, Willow, stuck tutoring, and Buffy, stuck with the guidance counselor. So there was time to kill.

A new guy was behind the bar, cleaning off the glasses and sweeping up, his back turned to her. Faith strode over and leaned casually against the bar. "Give me a Miller."

"Give me some ID," a familiar voice shot back.

At that, she looked up and was surprised to see Mike behind the bar. "Corbett, what are you doing? The real bartender know you're back there?"

"Very funny. I'm working, of course." She rolled her eyes, and he added, "Hey, it's better than janitor duty at Sunnydale."

Faith snorted. "What loser let you tend bar?"

"The same loser who's watching me like a hawk. ID."

"Come on, just give me a drink."

"Not until you show some ID," Mike insisted. "If I lose this job, I'm condemned to janitor work."

Sighing, she leaned back and fished out a Massachusetts driver's license, intending to merely flick it briefly past his line of vision. But Mike was just quick enough to catch her wrist and peer closely at the card. "Hey!" Roughly, Faith yanked her wrist free, so hard that Mike had to catch himself against the bar. "Don't you trust me?"

Mike smirked, rubbing his hand. "No." He paused, a curious expression crossing his face before he continued, "I just wondered if that was your real name. Never would have figured you for a Scot, though." At her blank look, he added, "Faith Mackenzie?"

"I don't know. Probably closer to Spuds than Macbeth." He smirked at that, and she gave him her best manipulative little smile. "Now will you give me one, Corbett?"

"The name's Mike." He was still smirking. "Maybe I should start calling you 'Mac' from now on."

Faith cocked her head. "You're not getting any extra points here."

"I'm not trying to score," Mike answered. "Planning to patrol on a buzz?"

"What's your point?"

"For one thing, I know a fake ID when I see one." As she continued to look him up and down, he added, "Besides, you're dangerous enough when you're sober."

She merely stared at him for a few seconds before smiling and conceding the point. "All right, give me a Dew." As he pulled out a clean glass, she added, "How'd you get this job anyway?"

"Dumb luck." He produced a cold can of Mountain Dew, setting it beside the glass. "Came down to bus tables yesterday, but I was too late - they'd already hired enough people. Of course, they were short a bartender."

"And desperate enough to let you do it." She tossed a few dollars on the counter before popping open the can and taking a swig.

"Hey. I tended bar a few years. Had to pay for school." He took the money, opened the cash register, and counted out the change. "Besides, Harry's kind of in a rush. New band came in and charmed the pants off him, not to mention they really packed in a lot of people last night."

"Tuesday night?" Faith repeated. "They're that kicking, huh?"

Mike grimaced. "Yeah, but - I don't know why, but every time I've heard them, it gives me a headache." He shrugged and slammed the cash drawer shut. "I'm probably going to pick up some earplugs when I get a chance."

She nodded, changing the subject. "So you're working here tonight?"

He checked his watch before taking the glass and washing it off. "I'm off in half an hour. The only catch to getting the job was that I had to do a test night and help today with cleanup. There was some kind of riot here Saturday."

"Heard about it from B," Faith answered. "First time that's happened here without any vamps around."

Mike stopped mid-rinse. "So...vampire attacks happen here a lot?"

"All the time," Faith continued. "I mean, with all the teenagers and the drinking and the partying, it's a vamp magnet."

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head, chuckling. "Yeah, I picked a great place to work." Glancing down at the cabinets and compartments beneath the bar, he frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe they should keep some stakes back here."

"Mmm-hmm," Faith agreed absently, her eyes straying to the group clustered around the speakers. "So about this band - what do you think?"

Mike followed her gaze, looking thoughtful. "They're pretty damned good. But every time they play, I get an automatic headache. And it won't go away until the music stops. I don't know why. I guess--"

He broke off then, staring at something. "Mike?" Faith asked, bringing him back to his senses. "You there?"

"What? I - yeah, I'm fine." He glanced back at the stage and frowned. "It was there a minute ago..."

"Yo!" Faith punched him lightly in the arm. "Ground control to Major Corbett." As he snapped out of it, she inclined her head towards the door. "You're done, so let's motorvate."

Mike dried the last glass and put it away before checking his watch again. "It's 3:20. Close enough for government work."

Faith grinned as he locked the register and they headed out into the late afternoon heat. "You're learning."

"So how many extra points is that?"

She cocked her head. "I thought you weren't trying to score."

"Just wondering," Mike answered absently.

Faith saw the look on his face and briefly wondered just what was going on in his head. "C'mon," she urged, taking his arm. "Let's go see if the Scooby Gang's made parole."