Buffy blinked furiously and was glad that she could steady his head -- his face with his eyes that would otherwise see her -- against the buttoned front of her pajama top. That draft had been too much. But so, of course, had the one before it. And the mission in between.

The General. The dream. The circus. The man tied up in the closet. The infected. The helplessness. Buffy had spent five months in Luceti without her powers and she'd never felt as helpless then as she had the past few excursions.

She said nothing. Not yet. Not until she could trust her voice not to waver.