Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

I was sort of hoping you could tell me.

No, you're the same Buffy. With a deep tropical cellular tan.

Look at your friends, and tell me you don't love getting away with this...

It's OK. I'm gonna get you out of here.

I'm glad you're doing better.

- Are you sure about that? - Yes. God! Yes, I'm sure.

- What the hell are you doing here? - It's nice to see you, too, Katrina.

You can't understand why this is killing me.

What are they doing?

- Yeah. - She's totally hot.

That's the plan. Soon as my legs start working.

You can't even stand to be around me.

When you girls are done, the cerebral dampener's ready to be charged.

You're keeping secrets from me - other girls and...

Well, that's it, man. We're screwed.

No, that's not...

- Your masters. - My what?

No. I'll stay here with Dawn.

- Warren. - Thanks. Now, what's the problem, miss?

What? Using him?

I'm wrong. Tell me that I'm wrong, please.

- What? - With your job and the slaying.

Lucky for the bed.

You think? You bunch of little boys playing at being men?

I have this sudden urge to dedicate my productive cooperation.

- You think so? - Yes, Master.

"Injuries consistent with a fall. " The coroner's ruling it a suicide.

You don't think Buffy'll be able to put that together? She'll figure it out.

right under their noses.