Angel's thrown off-guard by Buffy's erratic behavior, and Connor is mystified by a fateful decision Dawn has made. Meanwhile, Groo proves his worth in an epic duel that wins him a kingdom and the girl. Also, Darla tries to rattle Angel with some unsettling news and analysis.
"It's not that I don't get where you're coming from," Buffy assures Angel. "If I was in your place, if you were in grave danger when I had some free time on my hands, I'd be there. But tell me you wouldn't react the way I have if you were in my place."
"That's because you're stronger than me. You've done more. You'd threaten my position of leadership. But you don't have to worry about that."
"I only have to worry about you getting yourself killed in an act of selfless bravery."
"Then you must be worried all the time," Angel jokes. Buffy smiles.
"Angel, I'm glad you're here. I'd have been disappointed if you didn't come."
"And I'd have been surprised if you welcomed my help right away. That's not why I came. Not the main reason. I needed to see you. I couldn't pass up a chance to be near you again. To remind myself what I feel like when I'm with you. You send me - "
"Don't bother explaining," Buffy interjects. "I feel it too." It's a good think she interrupted, because Angel didn't know where to go from this stray Sam Cooke lyric. "I always tell myself that it's harder to be with you that away from you. But now that I'm with you, I'm not so sure." Buffy steps forward about a foot. Angel leans forward a foot. Buffy leans forward another foot and kisses him. After a brief pause, he kisses her back. Then they pull each other close and start going at it like old times.
The Groosalug enters the hill fort of Koneg to fight King Sigvard. His kinsmen laugh. The King's opponent looks strong, but not nearly strong enough for the task. Also watching are sixty of the besieging army's officers, serving as hostages to protect against a surprise attack. Sigvard steps forward. He is six feet eight inches tall, two hundred and sixty pounds of pure muscle. Arms like tree trunks. A neck like an even thicker tree trunk. A barrel chest. Long red hair. Pale, beady blue eyes. And a bushy red beard. He is shirtless, wearing black boots and tight brown leather pants, with a purple cape flowing down his back, secured by a gold chain in front. A servant removes the cape, and Sig grabs his sword out of the ground and raises it high over his head, turning round slowly so all his tribesmen can see. They roar with confidence. Groo's never seen a man with back hair. The giant sure is furry. Sigvard looks to him like the product of an unholy union between a human and a bear. Groo betrays no emotion as the three thousand tribesmen chant and sing in an attempt to rattle and intimidate him.
"If he loses, do we die?," Memnon asks Panthesilea.
"They promised to let us leave their country in peace."
"What's to keep them from slaughtering us and selling our men into slavery? We're not holding any cards."
"Yes we are. They know that if they slaughter us, our peoples will send an even larger army in the Spring to annihilate their nation."
"Honestly, if I were them, if I was on the receiving end of an unprovoked invasion by an army that killed thousands of my men and tried to take away my freedom, I wouldn't be quite so generous."
"Then again, our proxy warrior could triumph."
"Here's hoping we get lucky on this campaign one last time." They bang wooden mugs and down the homemade beer their hosts provided them with. Memnon gets a sour look on his face. "How can people drink this stuff?"
"They are barbarians," Panthesilea whispers into his ear. He nods.
"Only the ignorant could stomach this swill."
"Spike liked it," she reminds him.
"He also drank blood." His odd tastes in beverages was the one thing Memnon, Penny and the other Spike worshippers didn't emulate.
Groo picks up his sword. It's odd fighting with such an excessively large and unwieldy weapon, more than twice the weight of any previous sword he had used. He assumes the Furry Bear Man wins primarily by forcing his opponents to handle such an unfamiliar weapon. Not exactly fair and honorable by Groo's standards. Sigvard growls, charges and swings. Groo blocks it with his blade. The impact knocks him back a step. Sig keeps hacking away, driving Groo back. The weight of the blows would quickly tire a normal man. Sig swings for the neck. Groo ducks and gets behind his opponent, who turns in time to parries Groo's thrust. He kicks Groo in the chest and resumes the offensive, furiously stabbing and slashing, preventing Groo from doing anything but defend and retreat. He doesn't even have time to think. This will soon tire Sigvard, but he expects to win before than happens. Groo fails to notice that he is running out of room until he is four feet from the edge of the cliff at the back end of the fort. The two men lock swords in a test of strength. Groo's realization of his location distracts him for an instant, and with a mighty grunt Sigvard pushes him over the edge. Groo drops his sword and tries to grab onto the edge, but fails out of view. The cliff is perpendicular to the ground sixty feet below. The tribesmen stand up and cheer. Sigvard holds up both swords and crosses them above his head as he walks his victory lap. Memnon puts his head in his hands. Panthesilea stares straight ahead, not quite accepting that Groo has lost. She really believed in him. Her campaign was now a failure. The first failed campaign by any of the armies launched since Angel and Spike left. This was definitely going to hurt her political standing back home. It felt like the end of the world.
But Groo grabbed onto the side of the cliff forty feet down. His chest slammed into the rocks. The impact with the jagged rock face cut up his arms and legs. And he struggle to regain his breath, feeling like he had just been run over by a Rhinoceros. But he was very much alive. Groo hugs the cliff face for a minute, recovering from the impact. He hears the thousands of men celebrating his death. Just what he needed for motivation. It takes him another minute to make it back to the summit. By then, Panthesilea and Memnon have stood up, and are preparing to swallow their pride and beg for mercy. Then Groo forces his way through a crowd of enemies. When they see him, they part, getting out his way. It's like seeing a ghost. The raucous crowd gets quiet very quickly. Memnon and Penny can't believe their eyes. She nearly faints, the first time that had ever come even remotely close to happening. He looks pretty bang-up, but he's on his feet, which to everyone there is an absolute miracle. Once Groo catches sight of Sigvard's face, he knows the fight is his. On the one hand, it's a great letdown to find out that the man you just killed isn't really dead. On the other, it's horribly intimidating when you discover that the man you're fighting to the death can survive a sixty foot fall. (Actually, forty, but that's still dispiriting.) Groo picks up his sword, ready to resume fighting before Sigvard can recover from the shock. The King quickly grabs his weapon, and they circle one another. The spectators is on their feet, but remain completely silent. Groo patiently waits for Sigvard to attack, blocks the attempt and counterattacks. Sensing his advantage, Groo attacks with as much intensity as his opponent did at the beginning of the fight. Sigvard retreats. He strains to block Groo's well-placed thrusts, and only manages two wild swings in response, the first one Groo blocks, the second one he ducks. Sweat pours down into Sigvard's eyes. His shoulders and thighs are burning from his frantic attempts to hold his ground against this man who fights like no man. He doesn't let up. He doesn't seem to tire or weaken. The normal rules don't appear to apply to him. Now Sigvard thinks HE'S the one who's being hustled.
They lock swords and spin them around as Groo wears his opponent down, tests his reflexes and waits for an opening. He kicks Sig in the chest with his right foot, knocking him ten feet through the air and putting the giant on his back. Before he can get up, Groo's standing over him, swinging away. Sigvard holds his sword up and blocks three slashes, only to get stabbed in the left side of his abdomen, just below the rib cage. In his rage, Groo drives the sword one foot into the dirt, impaling Sigvard. His kinsmen gasp in horror. The six inch-wide, two inch-thick blade leaves a gaping, nearly always mortal wound. When Groo pulls the blade out, Sigvard screams as he sits up and swings for Groo's knees. Caught by surprise, he leaps backwards and upwards just in time to avoid losing a foot, but gets badly sliced in the front of his left leg, three inches above his ankle. The strike from the tip of his enemy's sword completely tears the muscle that runs up the tibia and leaves a stress fracture on the bone itself. The wound bleeds badly, giving the natives hope as their King very slowly stands up. They raise their voices, cheering him on. To the old men and the bards, this fight has taken on a mythic quality. It is a duel more-than-worthy of their greatest Heroes and Gods. Groo stumbles towards Sigvard, blocks his desperate slash and stabs for the heart. Sig rushes three steps backwards out of the way. Before the wounded giant can steady himself, Groo steps forward, spins round and drives his sword down through Sigvard's left collarbone and diagonally across his chest, through his ribs and heart, before pulling it up out of the man who two minutes earlier was celebrating his victory. Sigvard falls on his back, dead, his eyes wide-open, as if he still can't believe it.
Groo puts the point of the sword in the ground and leans on it like a cane, taking the weight off his injured left leg. No one makes a sound. They walk towards Sigvard's body to get a look and confirm for themselves that what they just witnessed really did happen. The invaders submerge their glee for fear of inciting the natives to butcher them. Most of them rush back down to their troops, who soon let up a roar when they hear the good news. A well-dressed native picks up the King's iron crown and gets down on his right knee, bowing and holding it out to Groo. Four other princes also bow, making sure to not gaze upon the Groosalug until he has accepted their offer and ordered them to get up. Still recovering from his epic battle, Groo has no idea what they're doing. He makes no response. After ten seconds, Memnon walks over and puts his right arm around Groo's shoulders. "They want you to be their king, champ."
"But I am not one of them. I am not even one of this world. I do not speak their language. I have no knowledge of their customs."
"They don't seem to care. So why should you?" Groo smiles. Well, grimaces. He's still in a lot of pain. He likes to idea of being a King again. And in this world he doesn't need to worry about the thorny problem of demon-human relations. On Pylea, he was a half-breed: inferior to some, a freak to others. On Earth, he was a curiosity. On Scyra, he is somewhere between hero and demigod.
"You may rise. Your offer honors me deeply, and I will accept it." They don't understand. Panthesilea translates, and they quickly stand. Groo lowers his head so the prince can place the crown on. He mutters something in his native tongue. The other princes yell out a few words. The rest of the tribe echoes them. Priests rush up to tend his wounds, anoint his forehead with oil, and tend to his every need. Memnon walks away. Like Kreon and Hiero, he's grateful that the new arrival wants to preside over a poor, primitive backwater from where he'll pose no threat to their power.
"He has to stay here for the winter, and I get to go home to my wife and children. It just doesn't get any better," Memnon announces as his briskly walks down to his men.
"Oh, I think it can," Panthesilea replies with a smile as she gazes over her shoulder at Groo while slowly strolling away. In two months, she had conquered twenty thousand square miles and two hundred thousand people at the cost of only slightly over one thousand lives and a pittance in gold and silver. Tonight, Panthesilea will be in the mood to celebrate her achievement. And who better to help with that than the man who delivered the knockout blow?
After about one minute of tongue-wrestling, Buffy pushes Angel back. She looks distressed. "I'm sorry. I can't do this."
"Because of Spike."
"No," Buffy reflexively disagrees before taking a few seconds to pace back-and-forth and figure out why Angel could be wrong. "Because of us. Because there is no us. This is pointless. It leads nowhere."
"You've known that for years. You certainly knew it a minute ago when you kissed me."
Buffy's frustrated by his incisiveness. "What is it that you want me to say?"
"You don't have to say anything. It's my fault. I thought Spike and you weren't together. You weren't acting like a couple back at your bunker."
"What I have – or don't have – with Spike is none of your business."
"It is if I read the situation wrong and tempt you into doing something you'll feel guilty for."
"You're reading way to much into this. I just don't want to play an encore of our greatest almost hits."
"And Spike's okay with this arrangement?" Now she's getting angry.
"What arrangement? And what part of None Of Your Business' don't you understand? I thought he would be the LAST thing you'd want to talk about."
"You're right. I don't care about him. But I care about the safety of the people he's rooming with. Spike doesn't take disappointment very well. And he's not the sort to go searching for a soul to win the merely Platonic love of the woman he pines after more than anything in the world. Spike may have certain expectations. When he founds out you don't share them - "
"It's all about sex for you. Life, death, souls. All about sex." Buffy laughs. She feels inspired to lash back. "Maybe if you did it more often, you'd realize there's more to life than screwing."
"It's not that I blame you for using him. Times like these, you need all the help you can get. The tricky part is to make sure he's not let down until after the apocalypse." Buffy hits his left eye with her right fist.
"Why the hell are you doing this?"
"Come on, Buffy. You're too smart to try and play dumb."
"You think I'm using him? How dare you!"
"I think you're trying to help him."
"I love Spike. And you have no right to come here and tell me I don't."
"Then why did you kiss me?"
"Nostalgia," she witheringly replies. "And why the twenty questions, Angel? Do I quiz you about Cordelia? Or Darla?" Her face looks especially bitter when Buffy speaks that last name.
"Because they never kept me away from you. Anything I did, everything I felt, for anyone else, while we were apart, was because we were apart. But none of that ever changed how I felt about you," he maintains as he slowly and carefully walks closer to Buffy.
"You think MY feelings have changed? Angel, you should know me better than that by now."
"Sometimes I wonder how well we really know each other anymore," Angel laments, alluding to him becoming a father and Buffy sleeping with Spike, neither of which the other one could have ever anticipated.
"Since when did that matter?," Buffy responds, confusing Angel somewhat. "Since when did familiarity have anything to do with love." He pulls her close. They passionately kiss again for about fifteen seconds before Buffy pushes Angel away for a second time. "I can't. I just can't . . . this is wrong."
"Sounds like you do this you're cheating on someone," Angel concludes.
"Shut up. He's not the problem. You are."
"I'm sorry Buffy. I don't mean to make a big deal about this. I just want to know where I stand with you."
"We're not dating."
"Which we?," Angel asks, genuinely unsure. "No, you mean both of us. Which I already knew. After all, you've lived with Spike for months, and I can't even smell him on you," Angel casually says to himself.
Unaccountably, this changes everything. Buffy leaps at Angel and puts him on his back with a right hook to the jaw. She leans down grabs his shirt with her right hand to pull Angel up towards her. "Spike loves me," Buffy says, hitting Angel in the right eye with her left fist. "I love him," she adds before landing another left hook to the eye. "End of story," she declares, pounding Angel's eye with two more left hooks before letting go of his shirt and walking away. Angel lies there, dazed both by the beating and by Buffy's sudden, violent explosion. Angel knew she had punished him out of guilt, because she knew what he said was true. Now was not the time for telling uncomfortable truths.
Connor and Dawn lie next to each other, kissing. Connor leans his head back, groans slowly, lies on his back and smiles. Dawn zips his pants back up. Connor breathing gradually slows down. Dawn lies on her back just to Connor's right, their shoulders touching, her left calf on top of his right shin. She puts her left hand on his heart. He puts his right hand on her stomach. They lean their heads to look at each other.
"Thanks for seconds," Connor says with big, goofy grin. "Never can stop at just one when it comes to you."
"It was only fair to reciprocate," Dawn replies with a smile. Connor slides his right hand down her pants. Dawn grabs his right forearm with her right hand and pulls his hand back up. "That's okay. We should stop now. Otherwise this could go on all night."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Connor comments with raised eyebrows.
"On most nights, no," Dawn replies, giving Connor a quick kiss on the lips. He kisses her back. "But tonight isn't most nights." This almost prompts Connor to express his fears. But he decides against it. After a few seconds, they both stare up at the stars.
"Hard to see these in LA."
"You may not have constellations, but you do have undestroyed buildings. There's always a trade-off," Dawn jokes. Connor slowly rubs her stomach with his right hand.
"Not anymore. Now I don't have to choose between my home and my girl."
"That's right. Guess we'll all have to stay with you and Angel once this thing's over. Where else can we go?"
"What about before that?"
"There's not much before that' time left."
"So I'm staying here with you tonight?" This surprises Dawn.
"Umm, Amanda might mind. I certainly hope she would. Buffy would mind, too. Even though her rooms on the other side of the bunker. And wouldn't Angel mind if you didn't come home with him?" Connor wasn't expecting this.
"I thought we were all staying."
"That's not what Buffy said."
"Why? Cause she doesn't want to share the glory?"
Dawn sits up. "Connor that's ridiculous. If anything, she doesn't want to share the body count. This is a Hellmouth thing. Which means it's a Slayer thing, and a Sunnydale thing. Which one of those applies to you?"
"She said this?"
"She was dead set against the idea from the moment Angel and called and said he was coming."
Connor sits up. "Okay. So we can both go back to LA."
Connor and Buffy on the same wavelength? Now that's worrisome. "I'm not going anywhere."
"What? Why not? Don't you wanna be with me?" Dawn stands up and starts walking away. Connor quickly leaps to his feet and follows.
"I can't believe you don't understand. You're supposed to be the ONE who understands."
"I understand Nina. How strong she is. How much she wants to pay me back for Mal." Dawn spins around. Connor stops.
"I think she's a little too focused on destroying the world to waste her time settling scores. Anyway, she was with that vampire for only one day. Two days tops. How attached could she have become?" Sort of hypocritical, since Connor and Dawn only spent three nights together.
"You belong with me."
"I know. But not yet."
"What if you don't make it to Yet? You expect me to let you die and do nothing to help?"
"When did you get so obsessed with protecting me? You used to be the one who believed in me. Now you're sounding just like Buffy." Dawn knew how much this would hurt Connor.
"I believe in you. I want you to fight. With me. I need you, Dawn. Buffy doesn't." She scowls and slaps the left side of his face with her right hand. Connor and his dad are being reminded tonight that the Summers women don't just argue with their mouths when they believe their honor has been impuned. They're also learning that neither of them understands the woman they love as well as they thought.
"Do I insult you?," Dawn responds, her eyes welling up with tears. "Do I call you worthless?"
"What? You're worth, like, everything to me."
"And so I don't matter to anyone else?"
"No."
"But you want to take me away from my family. My friends."
"No."
"That's exactly what would happen if I went home with you."
"Wouldn't you do the same to be with me? Cause I'd want you to. I'd give up my family, my friends, everything, anything, if I had to so we could be together. Isn't that what it means to be in love?"
"In Shakespeare. Or Titanic.' But this is real life. And besides, even in make believe, it never works out. Someone always dies in the end."
"Dawn, that's what I'm trying to stop. You're with me, you don't die."
"But I'm also not happy. Connor, you don't want the me that runs away."
"I also don't want the you that's dead."
"Well that's a risk I have to take, and you have to accept that."
"I can't stay?"
"And let Nina turn you again into a limping bruise?"
"If she's hurting me, she's not hurting anyone else."
"I think Spike would get jealous if someone usurped his position as Punching Bag-in-Chief," Dawn jokes, desperately trying to lighten the mood.
"You know why I fight? Not to help people. Not to fight evil, or make the world a better place. That's my dad's thing. I fight to protect the people I love. And that's the one kinda fight I won't back down from."
"Connor, the last thing I need is you wanting to die to save me. Because Nina would be more than happy to oblige. And then, she'd kill me too. Making your noble gesture kind of pointless."
Connor tries to make sense of this. "We both fight, we both die. You fight, you die. I leave, I live. We both leave, we both live."
"You're wrong about that second point. Nina likes challenges. Especially ones where people with superpowers protect normals and say There's no way you're getting past me.' Buffy stepped between her and the Potentials. She knocked Buffy out and killed Molly and Izora. Willow came out with mystical guns blazing, and Nina gleefully rose to the challenge. But yesterday, when we all cowered in her presence, she let us leave. And these last few days, the Potentials have been out on their own several times. But Nina never showed up to attack them, even though they were defenseless."
"She needs to be provoked?"
"That's what makes it fun for her. Let's face it, when you've been killing for as long as she has, the helpless, screaming victim gets sort of stale. But killing someone who thinks they can beat you, that's always fun."
"Well, yeah," Connor haltingly agrees, very uncomfortable about the fact that Dawn has him empathizing with the mortal enemy.
"Buffy said that in the first fight, Nina went off about how much pride they had. Then the next night, she told Buffy about how she likes to hurt Gods because they're all so proud and mighty. She doesn't eat. Or drink. Her body doesn't need food. But her spirit does. Nina feeds off pride. And between Buffy's pride and Faith's pride and Spike's pride and Willow's pride, she'll have so much to try and feast on that I won't even be on her menu."
"What about my pride?"
"You won't be there."
"She knows she can hurt me by killing you."
"Killing me but losing the battle doesn't do her any good. I'm sure she'll trying to get her vengeance, but only after all the powerful people are dead. And in that case, the world's doomed anyway, so you won't have very long to mourn. Look on the bright side." If Dawn is dead, the world is over. If the world survives, so does Dawn. Connor likes that logic, though his utter lack of schooling means that he doesn't know that the Law of the Contrapositive only holds if the initial statement can be proven to be true.
"What about the other demons? Those uber-vamps I hear about."
"I can handle myself in a fight. You knew that even before you knew that." She's referring to the fact that he had her fighting a vamp solo before he had even seen her kill one. Connor slowly grins. The thought of Dawn fighting has always been a turn-on for him.
"And I won't ever forget it. But stuff happens. One could get behind you while you were dusting another one. And what if Nina wants to make sure she avenges Mal even if she doesn't win, and goes after you at the start?"
"Do you think I don't worry about YOUR safety every single day? Being apart isn't easy for me, either. You still haven't told me how close Mal came to killing you."
"I couldn't stand up. I was bleeding everywhere, inside and out. If the stone I threw missed, I would have been dead. Angel too. He was also a goner." Connor likes to point out that he saved Angel's life. Angel also saved his, but that had happened many times before. For once, he owed Connor, and this was something Connor was proud of.
"So I could stand here all night spewing What Ifs?' about that fight. Our lives are dangerous. There are a lot of close calls. But that's no reason to run away."
"I want all of our close calls to be together." Dawn laughs at his violent quirky sense of romance.
"They will." Connor smiles. "But first I have to make it through this." Part of Connor's difficulty in understanding Dawn comes from his rootlessness, his lack of loyalty to a particular place or to others who call that place home. His loyalties have always been to people, usually one person. First Holtz, then Cordy, then Dawn.
"You know I always think you're right."
"That is what a man's supposed to do when he loves a woman," she responds jokingly, though in her world this is sometimes the literal truth, especially when Buffy's the woman in question.
"This is the one time it's hard for me to do that."
"These things are never easy. You have to believe in me. You have to trust my judgement. Everything will be okay."
"I want to, Dawn. I do. Usually I like doing what you say. But time it doesn't feel right."
"Well then do something that does." Dawn hugs him. "Shut up and hold me." This command Connor has no problem with. They stand there in silence, holding each other tight, no sounds but the ocean and a light nighttime breeze. As befits the arguments he's made, Connor doesn't want to let go.
Angel stands up and starts walking back to the bunker. Thanks to the pounding Buffy gave him, the areas just below and above his right eye are black and swollen. Darla appears in his path, dressed as she was when Angel came over to sleep with her. "You have to admit one thing: I never had any trouble choosing between you and Spike. Drusilla did, but I always thought that was because she's insane. What's Buffy's excuse?"
"You tried this before. It didn't work on me."
"Don't flatter yourself. You needed divine intervention to come through that one alive. And just so we're clear on this, I don't care about you. If I did, Nina would have killed you. You have no idea how difficult it was to convince her to spare my two darling boys."
"I'm not the buying the impersonation."
"It's much more than that, lover. I have her memories, her personality, her scent." She gets in his face, smiling playfully and seductively. He walks right through her. She reappears in front of him. "That was quick. Usually you like to stay inside me for much longer."
"In case you haven't figured it out by now, you're wasting your time with me," Angel declares as he continues walking. Darla walks beside him on his right.
"This isn't business. It's pleasure. With the two of us, when was it not?"
"The First Evil needs recreation? That's pathetic. So much for your mystique."
"I can't spend all my time corrupting people's souls. Anyway, in this world, I don't need to. Humans are perfectly capable of corrupting themselves. And the uncorrupted just keep making mistake after mistake. Like Buffy choosing Spike over you. She actually believes he has what it takes to save the day. That could prove to be her last mistake."
"I see that one of the advantages of being incorporeal is that people can't get rid of you. You're free to annoy to your heart's content. Though that does seem pretty petty for such a powerful entity."
"Or maybe Buffy will die because of your mistake. I suppose you could say you didn't know any better, that you had no idea taking out Mal while Nina was still around would endanger your precious little Mouseketeer. I know how good Mal was. That magnificent man could do things to a woman that make her not care if she's never going to Heaven, because Heaven could never be this good. And then when I'd wake up after passing out from the overload of ecstasy, Mal would entertain me by making the Master weep like a baby and wash Mal's feet with his tears. Never before, and never again, will there be a man who becomes a god."
"Because I killed him, and used your god's bones to decorate my lobby."
"You and Connor. And the two of you only survived because he let you. Mal allowed a hundred chances to kill you pass him by before you even had your first chance to kill him."
"I guess your hero forgot the importance of seizing the moment."
"And for that, Buffy will pay dearly. It took me a hundred years to get over Mal. Almost as long as it took me to get over you."
"You never got over me."
"Not while I was on the earth. But now that I'm with your precious Powers, things are different. Which reminds me: Are you as upset as I am about who Connor gave those Visions to? I keep trying to tell everyone up there why it's wrong, but they won't listen. The men I create have such tragic taste in women. I suppose that's MY curse. Of course, you're also to blame. A Slayer tries to kill you, you give her a hug and warm bed. Your own son makes an honest mistake, and you cast him out. That was your one chance to make him yours. Now he's lost forever. As a child, he was Holtz's. As an adult, he's hers. Where do you fit in, daddy?"
"Maybe you haven't learned this yet, but to hurt a guy's feelings, he has to respect your opinion."
"Or maybe you wanted to blow it with Connor because he was mine. An angry stepson didn't fit into your fantasy of post-Shan-Shu wedded bliss with Buffy. Best to keep your bastard boy, the spawn you created with your evil sire, out of sight. Admit it. You never wanted her to find out about him. Speaking of which, Nina has this funny joke about taking Connor out of the picture by turning him into a normal kid with fake parents and fake memories, a la you know who." She chuckles. "What's wrong, lover? You don't appreciate irony? It's just a joke. Besides, to purchase that kind of spell you'd practically have to mortgage your soul."
"Are you still talking? Because I stopped paying attention a while back. Still blabbing on about Mal?"
"I've figured out how your world works. When I came back, I didn't understand. I still didn't get it when I brought Connor into your world by taking myself out of it. But now I do. Everything that steps between you and your Buffy gets destroyed. Why do you think The Powers That Be tried to ruin Cordelia? Because you two were getting too close. If I had known the rules, maybe I would have acted differently." Darla shakes her head and laughs. "Maybe I would have settled for Lindsey. But I'm happy now. I've found a sweet, funny guy who appreciates me and treats me with respect. You know that I always had a weakness for that charming Irish brogue." Darla smirks and disappears. Angel, who assumes the First spews nothing but lies, forgets about the encounter and continues on his way.