Set in Season Two, sometime after Innocence. Let me know what you think!

--

She was tired of waiting, tired of caring. Tired of hurting.

Tired of living.

She knew where he would be, and she knew he would be alone. She packed a stake. She thought about it, and then left the crossbow at home. She had no desire to kill him from afar. If she couldn't beat him in hand to hand combat, she figured she was a poor goddamn excuse for a slayer.

She didn't tell anybody where she was going.

She found him in an alley with no one around. She stepped out of the shadows twenty feet from him, and then stood still, staring him down.

She vaguely noticed that it didn't hurt anymore, to see Angel's face twisted into Angelus' leer. She just didn't care.

She just wanted him dead.

Angelus stopped his stroll. He met her gaze and smiled slowly. "Hey, lover!" he called to her.His voice was low, dangerous. "What a wonderful surprise! It's been so long. How ya been? Still pining over me?" He grinned widely and stepped closer. "You're so persistent. I love that about you. It gives me so many chances…" he took another step.

"…to find new ways…" another few inches closer.

"…to just rip that heart of yours into little tiny pieces."

Buffy didn't move. She felt as if the world were muffled in cotton, and she liked it that way. If she thought about anything, it was going to hurt. So she concentrated on just staring him down. If he would just come closer, she would have the advantage…

He smiled even more widely, "It's just good clean fun, huh, Buff? So…" his voice lowered to a whisper, "whatcha wanna do tonight?"

He was still slowly walking towards her. Abruptly she spoke, making him stop.

"I wanna end this, Angelus," she said quietly. Her tone was completely flat. He looked surprised that she called him that name.

"I only have a stake. I didn't bring the crossbow."

She took a breath.

"I feel like dying. Or killing. Or both… and… I like the idea of ...you being part of that scenario.

"I like it--" she blinked, feeling her heart crack a little – "very much."

She raised her voice and stepped towards him, pushing herself forward until she was just inches away. She raised her voice and glared into his face. "Whatdya think, lover? Wanna see who's really the baddest demon? Wanna play?" She felt her voice shake. She gritted her teeth.

He didn't answer at first. They stood still, staring at each other, Angelus still smiling his dangerous smile, Buffy's face worn and exhausted and fierce.

Then he grabbed her, pinning her in an embrace. "Oh, I love that idea!" he hissed, suddenly in game face.

She was frozen –

In his arms –

their noses almost touching –

She stared in his eyes –

time stopped –

and then everything sped up as she forced herself to move, to fight. She pushed his arms easily up from her sides and flipped him over her. He landed hard on his back on the pavement, but was up before she could turn around. She lunged at him and got in a good punch on his jaw and then a spin kick that knocked him into a pile of trashcans behind him. But he was on his game tonight and bounced back up, blew her a kiss, and came back at her. His fist connected with her nose and spun her around. She quickly crouched to duck a second blow and then rose up to kick him hard in the face. He blocked her kick and threw her against the wall.

Around and around they went, evenly matched and tireless. It started to drizzle. Buffy felt as though she could fight him forever. She knew she would not stop until one of them was dead. She tripped him, stomped on his knee, and punched him in the face; he rolled away from her and then was up again and landed another punch on her bruised temple. She didn't feel it and didn't care.

She punched him again and again, faster….ducking his blows, trying not to get hurt too badly…over and over again. It was raining harder now.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Water coursed down her face in the storm.

And then she felt it – he was slowing. She saw it in his face. He was tiring. She had him.

She punched even harder, whipping his head around, threw him against the wall.

And something in her broke.

The calm façade blew apart and in its place her pent up anger and fear and pain came whirling out of her like a dervish, driving her arms like hammers. She began to scream, to cry, to rage at him even as she pummeled him with her fists and her feet. More and more and faster and faster. She punished him for leaving her, for loving her, for breaking her heart, for terrorizing her friends and family. She had completely lost control. It was the most glorious fight of her life. She was soaked to the skin. She had him pinned against a wall – she reached back for her stake, preparing for the end –

And then suddenly it all changed to slow motion as he pushed forward and drove a knife into her stomach.

She felt the pain roar through her like a train. She watched as if she wasn't in her own body as slowly – slowly – her arms flew apart, of their own accord. She felt herself arch backwards in agony, and fought to stay on her feet, fought to stay conscious --

He pushed himself forward off the wall, and grabbed her as she staggered. His face was bloody and beaten. He pulled her to him, forcing the knife deeper into her, and she gasped and gurgled. He pushed his face into hers, snarling, as the rain mixed their blood.

"Gotcha," he said.

Time went fluid and loopy. She felt dizziness pulling at her but she pulled back against it and forced her eyes open. With drenched, bloody hands she pushed at him, then harder, and with a great shove she pushed herself away from him and off of the knife. She stumbled backwards and nearly fell, bile rising in her throat, miasma dancing in her vision. She forced a fist into the wound, to hold it together, to help her stay upright.

She didn't see him coming but suddenly he was in her face, grinning again even as blood and rain ran down his face and off of his chin. She swung at him but he blocked it easily, grabbing her arm and then twisting it behind her, bending her forward. She gasped and struggled, but she was weakening.

I have to get out of this, she thought, squinting desperately around through the downpour for a tool, a trick, a way out. There was nothing…and then she saw it. She viciously slammed her head up, connecting with his chin and breaking his grip on her. It was Angelus' turn to stagger backwards dizzily. She shot forward away from him and grabbed a metal rod out of the trash. Before he had recovered his balance she bashed him in the head with it with all of her strength. The first blow knocked him to his hands and knees, the second onto his face. After the third, he lay still.

She stood there, swaying. She reached into her shirt, almost falling over with the effort, for her stake, to finish the deed and kill the motherfucker.

Her shirt was empty. The stake was gone.

She patted her shirt frantically, and then looked all around them, but it had disappeared. OK, she thought, no biggie, I can make another one, there's gotta be some wood in the trash here…but turning to look was more then she could do. She had run out of time. She staggered and fell against the wall. Her clothes were warm where they were soaked with her blood.

Fuck! She yelled at herself. Hold it together! Finish the job!

Trembling, she tried one more time to turn towards the trashpile when she heard a terrible sound.

Vampires, in the street at the end of the alley. She heard them growl. They smelled blood.

Oh, shit.

Self-preservation took over and forced her to move. With a burst of energy, she ran – but the alley was a dead end. She had to hide before they found her, she couldn't fight anybody like this! Frantically she leapt up to a window ledge, almost slipping off in the rain. She broke the window, and threw herself through.

She landed and rolled on an old wooden floor. Immediately she jumped to her feet, and then fell again to her knees as pain and dizziness threatened to flatten her. I won't, she told herself desperately, and forced herself to stand again. This time she didn't fall.

The vamps would be able to smell her, and she wasn't going to be able to get home in this condition. She had to hide until daylight – someplace hard to get to.

She looked around. She was in a huge room – an old warehouse, with giant ducts running from the ceiling. With a running jump, fighting the urge to throw up, she bounded onto a large table and flung herself up to a duct. The motion tore at her wounded stomach until she had to bite her tongue hard to keep from crying out. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she punched a hole in the ceiling and forced herself up and through. With her last strength she covered the hole and then crawled as far into the darkness as she could. She curled up in a corner, and passed out.

--

Xander took another bite of his apple, and then spoke with his mouth full. "Whmmph Bmmff?"

Bits of chewed apple flew out and landed on the library table. Xander noticed Giles' glare, looked down and saw the mess, swallowed, and grinned. "Oops, sorry. Told you I was a cretin. Willow, pass me a kleenex?"

"She wasn't in History with you?" asked Willow.

"Nope. She got to miss out on that barrel of laughs. Giles, you seen her?"

Giles leaned out of the stacks again, now looking concerned. "No…no, she hasn't been by today. Erm, I wasn't expecting her until noon, and it's…" He looked at his watch. "Oh goodness, it's quite late, isn't it?"

"It's one thirty," said Willow helpfully. "I'm worried. I know, I know, I'm always worried, but sometimes, the worrying, it's a helpful thing. I don't think she's in school today. Xander, whaddya say we call her house?"

"Already there, Will…" He dialed and listened, and then hung up. "No answer."

"Her Mom's out of town," said Willow. "If something happened to her last night no one would know. Xander, let's go check on her."

"But Principal Snyder?"

"Are you kidding? Screw him. Come on – my car's in the back lot."

--

Buffy's house was empty, but not dark. The lights were on in the living room. No one answered the door.

"Like she never came home last night," whimpered Willow.

"OK, OK, we are not called the scoobies for no reason," said Xander. "What's the next thing we would do if we were meddling kids?"

"Break in," said Willow, instantly brightening.

They climbed the porch to Buffy's window, pushed it open, and tumbled onto her floor. Her room looked totally normal.

Xander looked around in disappointment. "No signs of a fight…"

"That's a good thing!" said Willow pointedly.

Xander glared at her for interrupting him. "…no note left, explaining exactly where she was going; no breadcrumbs, no nothing! You could have helped us here, Buff!" he complained to the walls.

"Well, we do have one thing to go on," said Willow. "Her gear bag is here, and I think everything's in it. It doesn't look like she went out slaying."

--

Miles away, Buffy lay curled where she'd collapsed, trembling with fever. Blood dripped from her shirt and ran in streaks along the uneven floor. She was dreaming of Angel.

--