Mal gets acquainted with life in Hell, where they have very big plans for him. Connor and Dawn get reacquainted down at the shore. Plus, Angel and Buffy renew their chemistry at the graveyard, while Nina and Darla dissect their relationship. Then Angel makes an impassioned plea for Buffy to let him stay and help her in the big fight.
"Eighteen talents silver. Two gold. Plus your finest ship, and a crew of twenty men to sail it. Just as I requested," Mal says to Argus with a smile. He's pale and trembling with terror. Mal pats his right shoulder with his left hand. "What's the matter? I made you king." By biting Argus's commander and drinking his blood, of course.
"You've slaughtered more than two hundred of our men."
"Nonsense, Argus. My lady can take credit for over half of those. As for the others, they were looting your city. Many were raping the women. With my own eyes, I saw at least fifty sacking the palace. Smashing sculptures. Defacing those splendid wall paintings. I was merely maintaining discipline. Doing your job, you might say." Mal chuckles. Argus does not appreciate the joke. He witnessed firsthand what this monster did to his men. How much pleasure he took in sucking the life out of them. "The lives of men are meaningless. They are born, they die, others replace them. What they produce is precious. You may not understand. You may think me mad. But if you are ever fortunate enough to glimpse the pyramids, then you will understand. Flesh rots. Stone is immortal. Remember that, fair King."
"I want you and your woman off this island. Never set foot here again."
Mal laughs at the demand. Partly because Argus is powerless to enforce it. Partly because it is entirely unnecessary. "There's a great big world beyond here. I imagine it will take me a thousand years to see it all before I even think of returning to this humble speck of rock in the middle of the sea." Argus had met Mal when he was a man. He doesn't get why becoming a monster has caused this common soldier to put on airs and talk like some fancy priest or Divine Pharaoh.
"You have fun with that. We're done."
"I don't know about you, but I'm just getting started." Mal picks up the large chest containing his treasure and walks away. Argus is stunned. The bronze chest and its contents weigh more than one thousand pounds. After carrying it for a hundred yards, Mal drops it at the feet of ten men. Then load it onto the backs of their donkeys and continue the journey. Mal climbs onto a black stallion and gallops ten miles north to the shore, where he meets up with Nico (rhymes with Eye-ko). They set sail shortly before sunrise. Nico and Mal are enjoying themselves in their state room beneath the quarterdeck.
"Can I kill one of the men each night?," Nico asks as she sits up and straddles Mal, who's lying on the bed. "It only takes a few to sail a boat. And I'm not going to live off pigs until we reach Lebanon."
"What if we are attacked by pirates during the daytime?"
Nico pouts. "You care too much for the humans."
"It's their world." She slaps him and looks cross.
"It's OUR world."
"Not without them it isn't. And better a world of humans than one of demons. Could demons build the wonders men have put up? Do they have cities? What do they do for fun besides kill?"
"You are young. There is still too much human left inside you."
"Here's hoping I never lose any of it." She punches him in the nose.
"I should kill you right now for your heresy." Mal laughs at her threats.
"Come on, lover. You're saying you prefer a demon's body to this one?" She puts her hands on his pecs and abs, then smiles, conceding at least this one point. Mal may still have the heart of a human, but a hard life of farming, hunting and soldiering has given him with the body of a god.
Back in the present day, Mal wanders the precincts of Hell, his body engulfed in flame. Dozens of others in the same situation run around him, screaming and yelping in pain. "What is his problem?," a red-skinned, skinny, slightly reptilian demon asks a human-looking demon with two tiny black horns on his forehead.
"He's smarter than the rest. He knows that eternal punishment requires the preservation of the flesh."
"Oh no," another red demon declares, shaking his head. "You mean he's figured out that we can't really hurt him? That it's all in his heads?"
"How is that possible?," the other red demon asks. "He can feel the pain!"
"His nerves can. But his brain knows better."
"No wonder the boss wants him working with us."
"He already refused my offer," the human-looking demon reports.
"Damn. How can we change his mind without pain?"
"There are still plenty of ways I can hurt him." The human-looking demon snaps his fingers. The flames disappear. Mal comes out of his flashback. A giant stone-skinned Beast strides towards Mal and kicks him in the chest with its right hoof. He flies thirty feet through the air before his body slams down onto the bed of hot coals that lines the floor. This Beast grabs Mal's neck with his right hand, picks him up and pummels his head three times with his left fist. Mal passes out. The Beast lets go and lets him fall to the ground. The demon joins this Beast, and tells him to drag Mal away. When he comes to, he is a dark cell six feet high, two feet wide and one foot deep, allowing for no movement. On five sides are cold brick. In front of him is a solid steel door. Sensory deprivation. Mal closes his eyes, and returns to his memories. It's a little over two hundred years after he was sired. Mal is in a palace in Thebes, waiting for the Slayer, or "Sma," as the Egyptians call them. He has heard that killing one can be quite a treat.
Connor and Dawn get to the beach as the sun is setting. "Isn't this better?," she asks him.
"It's more peaceful." He looks east at the cliffs (Sunnydale's one hundred feet above sea level) and west at the waves and the orange-red setting sun. To the south is a strip of sand running three miles towards Asuncion Point, where the cliffs jut into the water, and the northwestern trajectory that characterizes the Southern California coast all the way from San Diego makes an abrupt right turn and heads almost due north through Northern California, Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia. The beach extends to the north for about a mile before meeting the bluffs where Xander disarmed Dark Willow the previous year. From the isolated shore, the leveled town is not visible. "Like nothing's changed." Dawn takes off her gray sweatshirt. Underneath, she's wearing the skimpy top she had on when dancing with R.J. at The Bronze. Connor flashes a goofy adolescent grin as he gets a look. His heart starts racing. "Okay. That's new."
"You look a little flush." She unbuttons the top two buttons on his blue silk shirt. He kisses her aggressively. The boy's clearly excited. "It's not quite new. I wore it when I went out with this guy last fall." Connor looks concerned. "It was a one-time thing. There was this love spell he had on all the girls in town." Connor puts his hands on her hips and stomach, moving his fingers up under the shirt as he kisses her neck and exposed right shoulder.
"He didn't deserve you," he declares before kissing her neck, chin and lips. She runs her fingers through his hair, then puts her hands on the back of his neck.
"That's sweet of you to say," she responds, caressing his face with her right hand. He kisses her lips a few more times. She smiles and rubs the tip of his nose with hers, putting her right hand on his chest so she can feel his heart. Dawn loves that she can make him so excited. She grabs his butt with her left hand and detects a noted elevation in his pulse.
"What happened to him?," Connor asks, feeling a sudden urge to possible pummel one of the current guests at the Hyperion.
"He's dead. Vampire attack. Plus maybe erotic asphyxiation. Something really gross." After getting sired by Drusilla, Vi seduced R.J., then killed him en coitus on the roof of the Bronze.
"Good," Connor replies without thinking, since he's glad he doesn't have to see this guy. Dawn backs away. "Sorry. I didn't mean, ya know. People dying is bad." He pauses and stares nervously at the ground. "Anyone else? Besides that vampire you kissed . . . and then staked?"
"No." Dawn can forgive Connor's initial reaction to R.J.'s fate. She understands jealousy. "Anyone you haven't told me about?"
"Naw. Okay, there was this one vampire who came onto me really strong. And I was kinda tempted. But I staked her before anything happened. I swear."
"I know," Dawn replies before flashing a small smile and reaching her right hand out to undo the third button on his shirt. "You're a lousy liar."
"Hope that's the only thing you think I'm lousy at," he answers with a smirk. Dawn closes her eyes and laughs for a moment. Connor steps forward, pulls her close and kisses her. She wraps her arms around him and they suck face for a little while. Then Connor drops to his knees and kisses her exposed hips and stomach, tonguing her belly button. Dawn moans and falls to the sand. Connor gets on top and they lip-lock and grope some more.
"God, I've missed you so much," Dawn tells Connor as he kisses her neck.
"How long has it been?"
"Twenty days, eleven hours and thirty five minutes. But who's counting?"
"I've dreamed about you every night. Well, most nights," Connor clarifies. "I can't control my dreams." It's almost like he's confessing out of a guilty conscience. Dawn thinks that's absolutely adorable. She smiles sweetly while running her right hair through the left side of his hair, which was starting to fall down over his forehead, which she kisses.
"You have this great way of making a girl feel like the important person in the whole world without even seeming to try."
"You are. At least to me."
"Case in point."
"I love you Dawn."
"Kinda noticed. Subtlety's something else you're not so good at." Connor reaches for his zipper. Dawn grabs his right hand with her left hand. "Case in point."
"What?," Connor asks, genuinely surprised and severely disappointed. He interlocks his fingers with hers, lifts her hands up and kisses her knuckles. "Something wrong?" ("How could the form-fitting leather pants fail him?," Connor thinks to himself.)
"It's just not the right . . . time." Turns out the looming apocalypse and the prospect of imminent death were not turn-ons for Dawny. They were just downers.
"I understand," Connor mumbles, not very convincingly. The end of the world seemed to get Cordy in the mood. Then again, she was most likely just using him to get pregnant with he still didn't know (and didn't want to know) what. Suffice it to say, there was still a lot about women he didn't yet understand. A dejected Connor stands up. Dawn sits up, reaches her right leg out and kicks his shins. He falls forward. She grabs him and rolls over so she's now on top.
"I didn't say we still couldn't have a little fun."
"What about more than a little?," he asks with a sly smirk.
"That's open to interpretation." She opens the rest of his buttons and pulls his shirt open, revealing quite a number of black and/or purple welts. She looks concerned as she gently runs her fingertips over his ribs and abdomen. "Are these all from Mal?"
"Most. I think a couple of the fresh ones are from Nina."
"Rough week."
"They all are. When you're not around." Pain was old hat to Connor. Pleasure was far more novel.
"Just so you know, you're way past the point when you have to impress me." That was an understatement. For Dawn, Connor probably passed that point five minutes after meeting her. He is by nature impressive.
"Come on, D. Just trying to keep it real." Like everyone else who knows Connor (save Elijah, who finds it quaintly charming coming from a guy raised in a hell dimension), she's not quite comfortable with his incongruous adoption of hip-hop slang. Connor can sense that Dawn's not exactly down with it. "I say what I feel. Always have." Dawn considers this for a second. Connor's right. He does. Even when (as was the case when he accused Buffy of being a bad sister) it risked getting him killed.
"Definitely NOT one of your bad qualities." They stare into each other's eyes for a few seconds. Then Dawn starts kissing his wounds. He leans his head back in the sand, closes his eyes, bites his lower lip and smiles.
"You're way better than that doctor." He's sure that if she was around, he would have been crippled for only one day, rather than two, after killing Mal. On the other hand, perhaps it was best she wasn't there when he was convalescing after his fight with Nina, given the nature of the injuries he sustained. That would have just been too frightening all around.
"I should hope so. Can a doctor do this?" Dawn grabs his wrists, pins Connor's arms to the ground, and starts sucking on the left side of his neck. Connor blissfully sighs and moans.
After dark, Buffy and Angel set out. They end up strolling through a graveyard to the north of the bunker. "This is about a mile from where your house was," Angel realizes.
"We used to go here all the time. Some couples have the malt shop, or wherever. We had Whitehaven Memorial Park." Fortunately, this was a different cemetery from where Spike's crypt was, and Joyce was buried in a third resting place. One of the good things about having so many graveyards in her town is that it helps Buffy avoid uncomfortable juxtapositions.
"I don't know why, but I always felt safe here," Angel mentions out of nowhere.
"Me too," Buffy quickly concurs, surprising herself.
"The really tough battles never took place on hallowed ground."
"It was like our practice field."
"I'm sorry I never took you somewhere a little more upbeat," Angel confesses. "Or a tad less morbid."
"We did go to the movies that one time." They both remember the movie and wince. "Which, in retrospect, made graveyards seem positively G-rated by comparison."
"And I did take you ice skating." He pauses. "Which, if I recall, was interrupted by an assassin from the Order of Taraka."
"It's the Hellmouth."
"Maybe if there had been an amusement park. A nice long ride on a Ferris Wheel could have been nice."
"Knowing our luck, the vampires would have stopped it when we were at the top and started attacking everyone in sight."
"You're right. Graveyards were the safest place to go on a date in this town."
"All the demons inside them were rookies. God I miss those days."
"Demons with eons of experience can be such a hassle." They both laugh knowingly, embracing the inherent weirdness of their love.
"It's funny. The last person to take me to a cemetery was Kate." A startled Angel practically jumps out of his clothes. He preferred the inherent, ingrained weirdness, not the layers of subsequent, far more disturbing weirdness that had accumulated over the years.
"Why was she . . . why were you . . . what was she doing here?," he stammers.
"Long, boring, demon-free story. But it was nice. In a very, very, VERY different way than being with you is." Angel should hope so. "She was amazingly sympathetic. And very comforting. We talked about my mom, and her mom, and her father. See, her mom died when she was seven, and her dad was killed by vampires a few years back. I don't mean to bore you with details about someone you've never even met." So Buffy hadn't remembered her brief, tense encounter in Los Angeles with Kate three years back. That was good. "I guess occasionally it's nice to be able to bond with someone who doesn't know all your deep, dark, icky secrets." Bond? Buffy and Kate? Oh dear. "Okay. I see you're in the early stages of a minor wig-out. If it makes you feel any better, I think Kate's heard about you. She told Spike that she thought the vampire with a soul was tall, dark and handsome, and he didn't fit the profile." Angel smiles. Good for Kate. Great for Kate. Three cheers for Kate. "I think she was just trying to be mean." No she wasn't!, Angel thinks to himself. Kate was telling it like it is. "Anyway, Willow and Kennedy thinks the lady cop's not exactly into men, if you know what I mean."
"On what grounds?," an outraged Angel demands to know. "That sounds very presumptuous of them."
"That's what I thought. She told me she has trouble meeting nice men in her line of work, which I can understand. Not that you're not nice. But us, that's the sort of once-in-one-lifetime thing that never happens to anybody else." They share a long, awkward pause. Is she saying they're destined to be together? Is she sending him some sort of signal? Angel can't come up with a safe, risk-free response. Buffy looks around. "I suppose this was the time when a vampire would usually jump out of nowhere and attack us," she quips to relieve the tension.
Behind what's left of a row of mausoleums two hundred feet away, Nina materializes. She spins round and glares at Darla, even more mad than before. "This better be good! I was about about to break that Beyonce tramp off something fierce. Dumb bitch thinks I'm trying to steal her bullfrog-lookin' boyfriend. Like I gotta stoop to conquer his ugly ass. Then she gets all up in my face, acting all ghetto. Who's she foolin'? I'm as dark as she is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go rock a much hotter brother's world." She laughs. "Handsome AND funny. Talks about how getting shot with bullets nine times makes him tough. I love sarcasm." She chuckles some more, having absorbed hundreds of direct hits from firearms without so much as chipping a nail. "He'll never think of women in quite the same way after I'm done with him. I just gotta get rid of his annoying blonde buddy who keeps hitting on me. By the way, what's an Oscar, and why should having him impress me?"
Darla just smiles serenely at Nina's ramblings. "I see you're one of those the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice' ladies," she comments on Nina's taste in men. Nina doesn't get the metaphor. Besides, it's not entirely true. Nina also has the hots for Giles.
"Why am I here?," she asks impatiently.
"Take a look." Nina's jaw drops.
"No. No. It can't be. Is this a joke?"
"I wish," Darla answers mournfully.
"You know, that's a little sick. His son is with her sister."
"Believe me, Nina. That's the LEAST of the reasons those two should not be together."
"Mal said Angel was too good for Buffy."
"He did!," Darla exclaims gleefully. "What a sweetie. What a wonderfully observant, insightful, right-on-the-money sweetie pie. Have I mentioned how much it pains me that he's no longer with us? I would have loved to hear him list the reasons Buffy was hopelessly unworthy of Angel's affections." Nina looks curiously at Darla. Why did this excite her so? Who was this person the First had chosen to take the form of? After a few seconds, Nina shrugs. It's probably nothing. Just a reflection of how much the First loathes its perky, persistent, seemingly unsinkable enemy.
"Why didn't you inform me of this connection earlier? It could have justified Mal helping me dispatch the Dark Avenger and his androgynous Sulky Boy sidekick. On the grounds that their deaths would have demoralized my adversary. I thought Mal's fight and my fight had nothing in common. And you LET me think that!"
"Because they don't," Darla snaps back at Nina, who's about to explode with rage. "They never did. Angel's fate and Buffy's fate are not entwined."
"They look pretty damn entwined to me!"
"At one time, yes," Darla painfully concedes. "But they've been unraveling for years. Now they are completely unconnected. What you're witnessing is a rerun." Darla realizes Nina might not know what those are. "A replay. Like the deeds of mythical ancestors your people used to re-enact for amusement and edification."
"Those were myths!!? What do you mean those were myths!?" It was like telling Alexander the Great that Heracles and Achilles were only figments of a few clever writers' imaginations after he'd spent his entire life believing he was a direct descendant of both of them, and that was where his phenomenal warrior abilities came from. In other words, a thousand times worse than telling a five year-old Christian boy that Santa Claus doesn't exist.
"I'm sorry, Nina. My mistake. I meant to say legendary ancestors," Darla condescendingly assures Nina. Best not to toy with the confidence of her star fighter, upon whom everything now depended. "Their true deeds were so incredible that many wrongly assumed they had to be myths. It was a slip of the tongue. I've spent too much time over the epochs around lying, deceitful, foolish gods who have filled my mind with their ridiculous heresies." She smiles and rubs Nina's back to assure her and calm her down, as a mother would with a child.
"Gods are stupid meanies."
"That's right, honey." Sometimes, the First was amazed at how deftly it could manipulate and shift Nina's personality. Almost as suddenly as she regressed, Nina returns to her mature, battle-hardened, cold-blooded self. She folds her arms and stares intently at Buffy and Angel.
"Those two seriously need a good lay," she comments. "I could cut the tension with my thumb. Of course, I could also cut through every bone in their hormone-infested bodies with my thumb," Nina adds with a cocky grin.
"Now that's my girl," Darla responds. Nina's head was back in the game.
"She cries. He cries. To hurt him, I don't even have to hurt him."
"Only her," Darla whispers into Nina's right ear.
"Cool. Good to know. Now can I get back to my party?"
"By all means. They're not the only ones who need a good lay."
"Or three. He is a mere mortal. I've got my eye on a few other studs. The night is still young." She vanishes.
"That it is," Darla says as she makes a quick final glance at her least favorite couple. "That it is." And she's gone.
"You're not getting what you came here for," Buffy flatly declares.
"What do think I came here for?," he defensively replies, fearful that she's assuming he came for a smooch-and-grope.
"I think we both know the answer to that." Angel declines to comment. After a few seconds, Buffy sighs and finishes her thought. She thinks Angel's being unnecessarily coy. "You want to help. To fight by my side tomorrow."
"I don't have any other plans," he responds nonchalantly.
"Well I do. And they involve you staying in Los Angeles."
"Why? Besides any worries about me stepping on your toes. No need. I've worked for you before. I know who runs the show in this town. Or is it a fear of tension between myself and Spike? Not an issue. Once we're battling for our lives against Nina and who knows what else, all our past differences will go out the window."
"I don't need your help."
"I know. Believe me, I know. But maybe someone else in that bunker might."
"We can't win by protecting each other. To make it out of there, we'll need to go on the offensive. And we can do that. You know why? Because everyone in that bunker has fought side-by-side for months. They trust each other. They know what to do without thinking or asking. You and your friends, you'll only sow confusion. It's just like if a few of them came to LA to help you guys out. They'd only get in the way. And possibly get themselves killed."
"We know what you're up against. And we know how to fight it."
"No you don't!"
"We've faced Nina!!"
"And gotten your asses kicked. We've faced Nina a lot more. And come out a lot better. The Potentials, Willow, Giles, they've gotten past the fear and intimidation. Have you?"
"What part of maximizing your forces at the moment of greatest danger don't you understand?," an exasperated Angel wants to know.
"You can't kill her. Your friends can't. Connor sure as hell can't. What use are you to me? I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound harsh. But didn't you just tell me that Faith and I would have been of no use against Mal? He came for you and Connor. That made it your fight. Well Nina's come for us."
"Mal didn't have a supporting cast. From what I've heard, all indications are that Nina will."
"Okay. Let's say I take you on to help with the uber-vamps. Nina's still there. And she doesn't have any silly rules about killing her enemies slowly, or not taking out people who aren't her primary targets. To her, everyone in the arena will be fair game. She'll kill your friends in a heartbeat. If she wants to, I can't stop her. And neither can you. It's all one fight. Not your gang versus the demons, and mine versus the Titan."
"She could have killed us. But she didn't."
"Because you weren't in Sunnydale! Besides, she could have killed Anya. She could have killed Willow. She could have killed Kennedy. She could have killed Spike. Or Faith. Or me. But she didn't. Because the time wasn't right. Come tomorrow, she's through procrastinating. It's her last chance."
"Nina had to know about our connection. The First must have told her. Maybe she, or it, didn't think we'd come down here. Maybe they didn't think we'd be of any use to you. That's how we win. Wait for the other side to underestimate us, and exploit that blind spot. Hit 'em from where they least expect it. That's how we slayed Mal. It's how you'll destroy Nina."
"I know. And get a load of who she's been making a real show of underestimating ever since she showed up in this town. Me. That's right. Don't ask me why. But I'm the one she doesn't worry about."
"Maybe that's what they want you to think. The First Evil knows your track record all too well. The best way to get under the skin of the other team's star is to pretend that the star is nothing special. You're used to the bad guys obsessing over you. You expect them to. I know that if my enemy and my friends' enemy acted like I wasn't anything special, it would drive me up the wall."
"In case you haven't noticed, the First might be devious, but not that devious. They're not much for the misdirection."
"When they're recruiting, perhaps. But Buffy, those were just the prelims. The forelorn hope. Every army dreams of destroying their enemy from the inside. It never works. Take the Napoleonic Wars. For fifteen years, the British tried to win the easy way, by trying to sow rebellion and betrayal among their enemy's friends and allies. It didn't work. France just kept getting stronger and stronger. Finally, the English, AND THEIR ALLIES, got off their asses and fought. That's how they beat Napoleon. That's how all great wars are won. People with a common interest stand together and defeat the enemy on the field of battle. This Trojan Horse, Fifth Column nonsense you've all been obsessed about is just that. Nonsense. A distraction. Something to give you a false sense of security and make you underestimate your enemy. Making Spike kill. Trying to goad Willow into flailing away. Whatever the Hell they've been up to with that Andrew chump. They're just feints. Deep down, from day one, the First has wanted to kill you, and everyone else, fair and square. The only way to take down an enemy like that is to come out with ALL your guns blazing, and hold NOTHING back. My friends know the risks. They also know that it's better to die and help you win than sit back, let you lose, and live in whatever Hell will follow."
"So let me get this straight," Buffy begins, ready to deflate his grand rhetoric. "The First is the English. But then they're Napoleon. I'm confused."
"You know what I meant," a frustrated Angel shoots back.
"I do. I also know that I've always won by sticking with the team that's brought me here. Not by adding on a couple ringers in the closing minutes."
"One of those victories proved to be rather Pyrrhic."
Buffy thinks about this. She's not acquainted with the history of the Epirote warlord. But she has heard the word used in other contexts. So it doesn't take her long to realize what he's getting at. And she doesn't like it one bit. He can see that on her face. "I thought you'd know better than to ever bring that up."
"Could things have turned out different if I had been there?"
"I suppose we could have lost," she replies drolly, avoiding the question. When Angel doesn't respond right away, she tries to confront it slightly less obliquely. "This is a completely different tactical situation," Buffy explains clinically, trying her best to keep emotions out of this very raw subject. "There were two separate fields of engagement. Two independent objectives. This battle's fought on a single front. No hostages. No additional pre-occupations. (Buffy's clinical way of alluding to Tara's mental state.) It's a much simpler battle. Tactically speaking. You're comparing apples and potatoes, Angel. Don't do that. Don't waste my time with stupid analogies."
He realizes line of inquiry was too personal, and refines it. "What's if it's not you? What if it's Faith?"
"Then it's probably over. Didn't Giles fill you in on the rules? I'm watching out for her. We all are. And, by the way, she's the only one who can use the only weapon we know of that can hurt Nina. So Faith's as well-protected as they come."
"What about Rupert? Or Dawn? If you send us packing, and she dies, do you think Connor will EVER forgive you? And trust me, you do not want him coming after you to avenge someone's death."
"I have practically BEGGED her to go back with you tonight to Los Angeles. But she refused. Before you leave, tell that to Connor. Let him beg her. And if she still says no, well, then we've both failed."
"Okay. Let's take you, Faith and Dawn out of the picture. What about everyone else? Assume you win. At what cost? Now, say that our presence could lower that cost. At the very least, we can save people you love. How much would a victory be worth to you if Xander dies?"
For the first time since they got on the topic of whether Angel should stay or go, Buffy manages a laugh. "You care about Xander?"
"Not especially. But you do. And Willow does. And that's enough to make me risk my life to save his. That, and the fact that my quest for redemption requires me to try and rescue any and all humans I possibly can. Let me worry about my friends, and the risks they'll be taking."
"I am. All I care about is winning, and making sure everyone who depends on me gets out alive. You can't help with the first goal. Which means you can't help with the second. Nina will cut you down. I'll say this for her, she knows how to taunt. And what better way to say Na-na, na-na-na' that to kill my reinforcements the moment she sees them. Her favorite schtick is to convince me that I can't protect my troops. That and nothing I, or anyone else tries, will put a dent into her. Oh look! Here are five more ways I can prove that coming to Buffy's aide will only get you killed.' You staying will only whet her appetite."
"You mean like when the Mayor saw you with Faith's knife?"
"That's not even close."
"Or when I didn't think Spike could walk? And assumed the Gypsy Spell was lost forever?"
"You're not even on the map anymore."
"Or when the Master thought he had finished you off?"
"You're really grasping."
"No I'm not, Buffy. The bad guys will always underestimate their enemies. Why play into that? Why make the same faulty assumptions that they do?"
"Because they're MY assumptions. And they're not faulty."
NEXT: Things between Angel and Buffy heat up as they get less verbal and more physical. Things between Connor and Dawn cool down as they get less physical and more verbal. And Wes, Gunn and Fred try to bond with the Scoobies while Spike seethes.