Eastlake High makes Buffy's hellmouth look like a crack in the sidewalk.

He took both of my hands, twisting to face me more fully on the flattened box beneath us, and again the colors in his irises seemed to pulse with my heartbeat.

Like I'm going to pass up an opportunity to smack your cousin.

I should have said something. ... But my mouth wouldn't open, and the longer I stood there in silence, the better I can to understand the problem. It wasn't that I had nothing to say to him. It was that I had too much to say.

I held her tighter, just because I could. Because she was fierce, and beautiful, and mind.

She wasn't feeling nothing. She was feeling too much. She was blocking it all out. That was a survival skill, and her still-beating heart was proof that it worked.

I laughed and it almost felt good. "Is that a dig at my liquor cabinet?" Cam smiled. "That wasn't liquor, it was swill. And that wasn't a cabinet, it was a drawer.