They both sit on the end of the bed, and Wood asks which form The First used to appear to Faith. At first she tells him it was just a former boss of hers, but eventually she admits, "It sounds retarded but he was like a dad to me." Wood commiserates and says, "It was my mother when it came to me. And I mean it was her -- right down to the perfume." This line really struck a chord with me. Imagine how affecting it would be to have someone who for all the world IS a dear person, even smells like that person, whom you had lost beyond all hope of ever seeing again, and that someone sidled up next to you reiterating all of your worst fears, all of the things you keep locked up deep inside you, all of those things you lie awake nights hoping that no one else will ever find out about you. Think how that might feel. I wish the writers would have found some way of expressing all of that onscreen. Too bad. So sad. Go ahead and drop that in the Season Seven junk drawer, I guess.

"I'm so pissed off at myself," spits Faith, "I knew it was a trick." Wood reassures her, "Nobody wants to be alone, Faith. We all want someone who cares, to be touched that way. The First deals in figments but that wanting is real." Faith makes a crack about drinking her pain away, but wants to know if The First was truthful in the information it conveyed to Wood, in light of The Mayor's insistence that Buffy is dangerous to Faith. Faith frets, "The First keeps telling me to worry about her and I just wish she was here. In a couple of hours I'm gonna lead these girls into some serious crap and she's the only one..." What? The only one who has her fucktard antisocial behavior and lucky guesses validated by a script that makes sure that while she may occasionally falter, she will never truly be wrong? What can I say, Faith? You should have gotten yourself some better scriptwriters. At least you've never really pissed the Fashion Nazi off. Wood interrupts, "She's NOT the only one. You're a Slayer too, Faith, and I think you're a good leader." Faith isn't easily swayed. Wood gets up, saying, "So. Um. Tomorrow then?" Faith approaches him, husky-voiced, and takes his hand, saying, "Forget about tomorrow. This is tonight." Wait a minute! I didn't see anyone order a pizza. What's this bow-chicka-bow-wow music? She rubs his hands all over her face. They swap spit. He pulls her onto the bed. The camera lingers and lingers and lingers. The cat looks worried as I writhe around, holding my head. I attempt to claw my glasses off my face.