Back at the hotel, Cordelia pulls out a list of local cemeteries, funeral homes, and mausoleums. Angel says that Drusilla would want to "put the body in the ground." Wesley says that burial isn't necessary, and Angel explains that Dru is a "classicist." "She's a loony," Cordy observes. Angel lets that pass, and suggests that they focus their attention on cemeteries that have "a view of the night sky." Cordy says, "So, just outside cemeteries, then?" Snerk. Wesley says that Darla isn't necessarily buried in a cemetery. Angel furrows his enormous brow, and says that Dru is viewing Darla's resurrection as a birth: "She talked about getting the nursery ready." He adds that Dru wanted a view of the stars, and says, "She spent hours in my garden in Sunnydale communing with the night sky." Angel had a garden? I guess he meant that overgrown courtyard outside the mansion. Okay, sure, it's a garden. And Dru's nursery rhymes are part of a ritual. Sure. Gunn decides that this time he's gonna play the smartest person in the room -- like that's worth bragging about -- and suggests that Drusilla meant a nursery for plants. Cordy says she'll look for a plant nursery that's up high and owned by Wolfram & Hart.
Darla-vert. We pull back from an outside view of the nursery as Angel drops into the frame. From? I don't know. Another building, I guess. We'll let it pass. He enters the unlocked nursery (nice job on security, Holland) and checks out the big trough o' soil. A little digging, and he uncovers a face wrapped in gauze. Uh oh, I think Drusilla took all that talk about being a "mummy" the wrong way. He lifts the wrapping off, and reveals -- Darla! Oh, wait, that's not a surprise. He clears the dirt away from her cleavage, which is very thoughtful of him, and pulls a phallus out of his pocket. Not even fifteen minutes into the episode, and already the Freudian implications are staggering. He lifts the stake, takes aim, and then Dru whacks him on the back with a shovel. In between whammos, Dru explains that the moon was kind enough to show her Angel's approach. She says, "It told me to come into the twentieth century." Angel looks pained and tells her, "It's the twenty-first century, Dru." Drusilla moans and replies, "I'm still lagging!" as she kicks the shovel into Angel's face. I don't want to hear any debates about when the twenty-first century starts, because I don't care: that was funny. Then Darla opens her eyes and gasps at the amount of mascara they've plastered onto her. Angel and Dru continue their greenhouse-fu. Angel briefly gets the upper hand and prepares to stake Darla, but she's not in her bed any more. He turns, and Darla grabs him by the throat. Dru looks on smugly and says, "Now everybody's home." Thank goodness we have the commercial break to recover from the shock of Drusilla's pronouncing the letter "H."