Chapter 7: Angel

April 12, 1997 – Saturday

Rosenberg Residence

"Movie night at Willow's was a great idea," Buffy thought to herself as she settled on the other girl's couch. The anticipation in Willow's eyes when she mentioned getting "Silence of the Lambs" on VHS had been contagious. But now, as the movie started playing, a sense of unease settled over Buffy like a dark cloud.

Jodie Foster's character, Clarice Starling, began her investigation, delving deeper into the twisted mind of Buffalo Bill. With each scene, Buffy's anxiety intensified. The portrayal of transgender individuals in the movie weighed heavily on her, hitting too close to home. It felt like a personal affront, an attack on her own identity and the struggles she faced.

"Turn it off," Buffy cried out, her voice quivering with distress. The sudden plea startled Xander, who raised an eyebrow in confusion. Willow, ever caring, immediately sensed the gravity of the situation.

"What? Why? This is totally insane!" Xander questioned, trying to comprehend Buffy's intense reaction.

Frantically, Buffy made her way to the safety of Willow's front porch, gripping the porch railing as her heart pounded in her chest. Willow and Xander followed, concerned and wanting to understand what had triggered such a strong response.

"What's wrong, Rutherford?" Willow asked, her voice filled with genuine concern, her eyes reflecting the worry etched on her face.

Tears welled up in Buffy's eyes as she struggled to compose herself. "The whole terrifying thing about Buffalo Bill is that he's portrayed as a woman," she explained, her laughter carrying a bitter edge. " A monster. Transgender women are depicted as monsters, scarier than the demons I face every day. I can't... I can't watch that, guys."

Xander's confusion deepened, but he could sense the pain in Buffy's voice. "I don't get it," he admitted, his voice filled with empathy.

Buffy shook her head, attempting to find solace in the midst of her swirling emotions. "I deal with so many real monsters in my life. To see regular people being demonized like that... it's unbearable. It makes me question the kindness of humanity. Maybe we do deserve to be wiped out."

Willow and Xander exchanged glances, the weight of Buffy's words sinking in. They struggled to fully comprehend the depth of her emotions, but they knew they needed to support her in that moment.

"Don't say that," Xander said firmly, his voice filled with empathy. "We'll find something else to watch."

Buffy sighed, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her emotions. She appreciated her friends' willingness to accommodate her feelings, but she knew it was time for her to leave. With a heavy heart, she turned to Willow and Xander, a sense of resignation in her voice. "It's okay," she said, her tone laced with a mix of sadness and acceptance. "I think I should just go home."

Willow and Xander watched Buffy leave, their minds filled with concern and confusion. They recognized that something significant had happened, something that touched Buffy's core, but they couldn't fully comprehend the depth of her experience.

Summers Home

"Buffy?" Dawn's voice drifted through the open window, reaching Buffy's ears as she sat on the roof of the front porch, lost in her thoughts. Startled, Buffy turned her gaze towards her sister, who leaned on the windowsill, concern etched on her face. Her presence alone brought a sense of comfort and safety to Buffy's weary heart. "What's wrong?"

With a heavy sigh, Buffy mustered the courage to open up. The weight of her emotions bore down on her as she confessed, "Willow's movie for movie night... it painted people like me in a negative light. Made them out to be the villains, the monsters."

Dawn's heart sank, the depth of Buffy's pain evident in her words. Determined to offer solace, she gracefully climbed out of the window and joined her sister on the roof. Wrapping her arm around Buffy, she pulled her closer, their bond providing a haven of support in the face of adversity. Her voice filled with compassion, she whispered, "Oh, Buffy. You don't have to face this alone. I'm here for you, always."

A soft, grateful smile graced Buffy's lips as she found solace in the warmth of Dawn's embrace. Resting her head upon her sister's shoulder, she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. "I know," she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of appreciation. "Having you by my side makes each day meaningful. It reminds me of the beauty that exists in this world, even in the face of adversity."

April 13, 1997 – Sunday

Club Venus

A few weeks had passed since Buffy's last visit to Club Venus, and as the neon lights illuminated the night sky, she felt a familiar pull to return to the vibrant haven. Stepping into the club, she was greeted by the familiar faces and pulsating beats that had become her refuge.

Peaches, Shadow, and Rochelle were engaged in animated conversation near the bar when Buffy approached. Their eyes lit up with delight as they spotted her, and they welcomed her with open arms.

"Buffy, darling! We've been eagerly awaiting your return," Peaches exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine excitement.

Buffy's lips curled into a grateful smile. "I've missed this place," she confessed, feeling a sense of comfort wash over her.

As she settled onto a barstool, the bartender nodded in recognition, already reaching for the ingredients to craft her favorite drink. The familiar scent of the cocktail mingled with the lively ambiance, instantly transporting Buffy into a world of blissful escape.

"Have you guys ever seen Silence of the Lambs?" Buffy asked looking at the queens.

Peaches, Shadow, and Rochelle exchanged glances, their expressions mirroring a mixture of curiosity and concern. Shadows danced across their faces as the neon lights reflected off their glittering costumes.

Peaches leaned forward; her eyes filled with genuine interest. "Yes, we have, darling. What's on your mind?" she inquired; her voice laced with a gentle touch of concern.

Buffy took a deep breath, her heart racing as she hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to express the emotions welling up within her. Her voice trembled slightly as she began to speak. "My friend Willow got it for a movie night last night. As I watched it became unbearable to continue. it portrays a transgender character in a negative light. It's like they're saying that people like me are monsters, something to be feared," she revealed, her voice filled with vulnerability.

The air in the club grew heavy with a mixture of tension and empathy as Buffy's words hung in the air. The vibrant energy that once filled the room seemed to dim momentarily, as if reflecting the weight of Buffy's emotions.

Peaches, Shadow, and Rochelle exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from delight to concern. Their eyes softened with understanding, and they leaned in closer, creating a protective circle around Buffy, a sanctuary amidst the pulsating beats.

Peaches reached out, her hand hovering over Buffy's trembling one, as if offering a lifeline of support. Her voice was gentle, filled with a profound compassion. "Oh, Buffy, my dear, we hear you. It's painful to witness the misrepresentation and demonization of our community. No one should be made to feel like a monster simply for being who they are."

Shadow's gaze was filled with a fierce determination, her voice steady and resolute. "You are not a monster, Buffy. You are a warrior, a beacon of strength and resilience. The ignorance portrayed in that movie does not define you or any of us. We stand together, united against the harmful stereotypes perpetuated by society."

Rochelle's voice carried a blend of empathy and determination. "Buffy, you are a beautiful, courageous soul. We see the light within you, the authenticity that shines brightly. Don't let the darkness of others' ignorance dull your spirit. You deserve love, acceptance, and understanding."

Tears welled up in Buffy's eyes, her vulnerability exposed before her chosen family. She felt a profound sense of relief, the weight of her fears lifted, replaced by a warm embrace of acceptance. They turned their attention away from the movie and engaged in more lighthearted conversation. Buffy shared stories of her recent battles against the forces of darkness. The drag queens listened intently, their laughter intermingling with her anecdotes, creating a harmonious symphony of joy.

As the night wore on, the dance floor beckoned Buffy with its pulsating rhythm. She could feel the music coursing through her veins, urging her to surrender to its magnetic pull. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she looked at her friends.

"Who's up for a dance-off?" she challenged, her voice brimming with playful excitement.

Peaches, Shadow, and Rochelle exchanged enthusiastic glances, and in an instant, they were all on their feet, moving as one towards the center of the dance floor. The crowd parted to make way for their infectious energy, as if knowing that something extraordinary was about to unfold.

Buffy let the music guide her movements, her body swaying with a captivating grace. Peaches, Shadow, and Rochelle matched her rhythm, each step infused with their own unique flair. The dance floor became their canvas, and together, they painted a picture of liberation and self-expression.

Cheers erupted from the crowd, applause filling the air as the quartet spun, twirled, and unleashed their boundless energy. As the night drew to a close, Buffy found herself surrounded by her friends, their arms interlaced in a tight embrace. Their laughter mingled with whispered promises of future reunions, creating a bittersweet symphony that echoed in her heart.

April 14, 1997 – Monday

Bronze

A repulsive cockroach scuttled frantically across the grimy floor of the Bronze, its grotesque presence sending shivers down the spines of the unsuspecting patrons. As the insect raced for cover, an eager foot homed in on it, guided by a mischievous voice urging, "Get it!"

"I got it!" a girl declared triumphantly, her eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and morbid fascination. She seized the lifeless roach from the ground, gripping it tightly as if it were a prized trophy. With a twisted sense of satisfaction, she nonchalantly deposited the carcass into a plastic container resting on a passing waiter's tray, alongside a macabre collection of deceased insectoid brethren. Her request followed with a sly grin, "Free drink, please."

The waiter, clad in a glistening silvery T-shirt, responded with a peculiar blend of delight and admiration, nodding happily at the girl's audacious display. The sight of the container filled with repugnant creatures seemed to amuse him, as if it were a testament to the bizarre festivities taking place that evening.

In the background, a vibrant banner loomed, its bold letters spelling out the unnerving message, "FUMIGATION PARTY. Find a cockroach, get a free drink."

Sitting across from Buffy, Willow observed the scene with a mixture of irony and amusement. Her voice tinged with sarcasm, she remarked, "Ah, the fumigation party."

Buffy, her gaze fixated on some invisible worry, absentmindedly toyed with her fingers. Stirring slightly, she managed to respond, "Hmm?"

"It's become an annual tradition," Willow continued, her tone laced with dry humor. "They shut down the Bronze for a few days, just to unleash their wrath on those loathsome cockroaches."

Buffy's gaze remained fixated on the table, her fingers tracing invisible patterns as she half-heartedly responded to Willow's explanation. The flickering neon lights of the Bronze seemed to mirror the conflicted emotions swirling within her. A faint smile played on her lips, masking the turbulent thoughts churning in her mind.

Willow sensed Buffy's detachment and pressed on, trying to bridge the gap between them. "It's a lot of fun." She leaned in, her voice tinged with sympathy, and gently probed, "What's it like where you are?"

Buffy's eyes lifted, revealing a mix of vulnerability and weariness. Her voice carried a hint of self-doubt as she admitted, " I'm sorry. I was just thinking... about things."

Willow's empathy deepened as she recognized the weight behind Buffy's words. She leaned closer, offering a comforting presence. "So, we're talking about what happened on Saturday?" she ventured, hoping to provide a space for Buffy to open up.

"No," Buffy answered.

"Then a girl or a guy?"

Buffy's sigh held a touch of resignation, as if grappling with her own complex emotions. She tilted her head, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. "Not exactly. For us to have a conversation about a girl or a guy, there would have to be a girl or a guy for us to have a conversation about." She wrinkled her nose, a mixture of self-deprecating humor and longing in her expression. "Was that a sentence?"

Willow's gaze softened, her heart aching for her friend. She reached across the table, her hand gently clasping Buffy's. "You lack a girl or a guy," she acknowledged, her voice tender and understanding.

Buffy's eyes met Willow's, a flicker of gratitude shining through her doubts. "I do. Which is fine with me most of the time, but..." Her voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken yearning hanging in the air.

"What about Angel?" Willow suggested tentatively, her tone laced with hope.

Buffy's reaction was immediate, a mix of hesitation and vulnerability crossing her features. "Angel? He's a vampire, Will," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of wistfulness.

Understanding dawned in Willow's eyes, realizing her attempt to bring comfort had missed the mark. She offered a sympathetic smile, seeking to ease Buffy's heartache. "He's not around much, it's true."

Despite the bittersweetness of the situation, a radiant smile broke across Buffy's face as she spoke of Angel. The intensity of her emotions shone through, momentarily lifting the weight from her shoulders. "When he's around, it's like the lights dim everywhere else. You know how it's like that with some guys?"

Willow nodded, her eyes filled with understanding and warmth. "Oh, yeah."

Buffy's eyes lingered on the pulsating dance floor, where Xander unleashed his uninhibited moves. His body gyrated with exuberance, resembling a lively aerobics routine that only Willow could fully comprehend. With each exaggerated arm pump, he wholeheartedly embraced his night fever routine, drawing the attention of Annie Vega, who cast an intrigued glance in his direction.

Breaking into a cheery smile, Xander greeted Annie, his voice filled with warmth, "Hey, Annie." However, his friendly exchange quickly shifted as Annie's possessive Neanderthal boyfriend shot him a menacing glare. Xander, undeterred, added with a touch of humor, "Vito! Just heading out." He swiftly navigated away, veering in another direction, but fate had different plans as he careened into Cordelia.

"Ouch!" Cordelia exclaimed in pain, wincing as the collision rattled her. "Please, do try to keep your extreme oafishness away from my two-hundred-dollar shoes."

Caught off guard by the impact, Xander stammered in response, "Sorry. I was just—" his words trailed off, his voice tinged with a hint of hesitation.

Cordelia's words cut through the air, laced with a mix of sarcasm and concern, "Getting off the floor before Annie Vega's boyfriend squashes you like a bug?"

A proud grin spread across Xander's face, his triumph evident as he replied, "Oh, so you noticed."

A knowing "Uh-huh" escaped Cordelia's lips, her gaze holding a complex blend of annoyance and begrudging acknowledgment.

"Well, thanks for being so understanding," Xander expressed, appreciating Cordelia's apparent sympathy.

In response, Cordelia shot him a flash of her haughty evil-eye, the embodiment of her sharp retort, "Sure."

Xander, still wanting to maintain a friendly tone, added, "And I don't know what everyone's talking about." Then, he decided to lob a verbal grenade into the mix. "That outfit doesn't make you look like a hooker." With that statement lingering in the air, he made his exit from the dance floor, leaving behind a trail of questionable aftermath. He caught up with his friends, their faces adorned with expressions that mirrored a sense of enjoyment one might have if they were, in fact, lifeless.

"Boy, that Cordelia's a regular breath of vile air," Xander remarked, attempting to lighten the mood. However, met with silence from his companions, he tilted his head and inquired, "What are you two up to?"

Willow's response carried a tinge of resignation, "Just sitting here, watching our barren lives pass us by. Oh, look, a cockroach." She swiftly eliminated the cockroach with a decisive whomp!

As Xander prepared to congratulate Willow on her swift technique, he noticed a lack of predatory satisfaction on her face. The sight of Buffy only added to his growing concern. "Whoa, stop this crazy whirligig of fun," he drawled, his tone laced with a touch of weariness. "I'm dizzy."

Buffy's emotions surged within her, a mix of determination and guilt. She uttered with a hint of resignation, "All right, now I'm infecting those near and dear to me. I'll see you guys tomorrow." The weight of her words hung heavy in the air as she readied herself for departure, mentally preparing for the challenges that lay ahead.

Willow's voice quivered with a touch of desperation, pleading, "Oh, don't go."

Xander's hopeful voice interjected, a tinge of desperation evident, "Yeah, it's early! We could, um, dance." He broke into his standard disco routine, a feeble attempt to keep Buffy from leaving.

"Rain check," Buffy responded, her smile bittersweet. Her expression held a mix of longing and sorrow as she pushed herself away from the table. Addressing both her friends, she bid them farewell, "'Night." With conflicting emotions swirling within her, she made her exit.

Willow, not ready to let the night end on such a somber note, extended her shoe towards Xander, showcasing the grotesque remains of her victorious kill. The cockroach, with its innards squashed and melded against her shoe, held a twisted allure. In an attempt to lighten the mood, she offered, "Want a free drink?"

In the midst of the bustling crowd and clamor, Angel stood in solitude, observing Buffy as she made her way towards the exit door of the Bronze. Enveloped by shadows, his face etched with a mixture of longing and concern, he watched her intently, his heart heavy with unspoken emotions.

As the hairs on the back of neck stood straight up, Buffy looked around, her eyes searching the darkness. However, by the time her gaze found him, Angel had vanished into the shadows, leaving behind an aura of untold longing and unspoken words.

Streets of Sunnydale

The empty street lay devoid of human presence, casting an eerie silence over Buffy's solitary journey homeward. In the distance, an ambulance siren wailed, its mournful cry echoing through the air, mingling with the dissonant symphony of car horns. Yet, amidst the cacophony of traffic, a faint noise reached Buffy's ears, a sound that pierced through the mundane clamor. She instinctively slowed her pace, her senses heightened, and cast a wary glance over her shoulder. Nothing greeted her gaze, but the lurking feeling of an unseen menace sent shivers down her spine. It was a familiar sensation, the eerie stillness that often preceded the stealthy approach of a lurking demon.

Resolute, she pressed on, her footsteps measured and deliberate. As anticipated, another sound pierced the air, creeping ever closer. She took a few more cautious steps before halting, her body tense with anticipation. This time, she refused to grant the lurking presence the satisfaction of her attention. With a blend of resignation and determination lacing her voice, she spoke into the night, "It's late. I'm tired, and I don't want to play games. Show yourself."

In response, something dropped abruptly to the ground behind her, accompanied by a bestial growl that sent a shiver down her spine. Swift as a reflex, Buffy's hand shot into her jacket, retrieving a trusty stake, her body pivoting to face the unknown threat. With her weapon poised to strike, her gaze locked onto the creature before her.

But before her stake could find its mark, a taloned hand snaked out from the shadows, capturing her wrist in a vice-like grip. Another hand joined the first, yanking her arm forcefully, causing the stake to clatter against the unforgiving cement. The first hand twisted her wrist mercilessly, rendering her weaponless and vulnerable.

There they stood, three figures shrouded in strange armor, emanating an aura of otherworldly power. Their strength surpassed that of typical vampires, their presence an unnerving reminder of the ever-evolving dangers that lurked in the darkness.

Buffy spoke amidst the escalating danger, her voice a mixture of both resolve and trepidation. "Oh, okay, nice. Hey, ow, okay. I'm letting go. I don't want to fight all three of you." Her words carried the weight of self-awareness, understanding the risks that lay before her.

Summoning every ounce of her inner strength, Buffy launched a swift and precise kick towards the vampire standing directly in front of her. This vampire, distinguished by his braided ponytail and a menacing set of fangs, received the impact right where it counted. "Unless I have to," she declared, a glimmer of unwavering determination evident in her voice. With that, the clash of battle erupted, emotions intermingling with the sound of chaos.

As the ponytail-clad vampire doubled over in pain, another adversary, marked by a scar that sealed one eye shut, ruthlessly struck Buffy in the back. The impact reverberated through her, causing a surge of pain to ripple through her body. Yet, she refused to yield, driven by an unyielding spirit.

Cornered and outnumbered, her adversaries flung her forcefully against a cold chain-link fence. Two of them seized her, pulling her between them while One-Eye, driven by the desire to end her life, closed in. His fangs gleamed ominously as he lowered his face towards her vulnerable neck. The scent of death permeated the air, a chilling reminder of the peril she faced.

In that terrifying moment, the realization of her own mortality flooded Buffy's thoughts, intertwining with her identity as a transgender girl. Images of her imagined demise took hold—a headstone engraved with the name "Rutherford Summers." The prospect of being remembered by a name that did not align with her true self caused her to cringe, a surge of anguish coursing through her.

However, just as darkness threatened to consume her, a familiar voice pierced through the chaos. Someone yanked One-Eye's head back, disrupting his deadly intent. It was Angel, a figure she never expected to appear in that critical moment. His voice, filled with authority and familiarity, resonated deeply. "Good dogs don't bite," he stated, his words carrying a sense of protection and defiance, reigniting a spark of hope within Buffy's heart.

Buffy propelled herself backward, desperation fueling her movements as she flung her legs upwards, striking her two captors with resounding force. The impact reverberated through the night, sending one of her assailants sprawling to the ground. However, Ponytail, driven by relentless determination, seized Buffy and hurled her mercilessly against the unyielding fence. Meanwhile, Angel, displaying a grace and ferocity reminiscent of a panther, deftly evaded One-Eye's attacks.

In a frenzied dance of violence, Angel maneuvered with fluidity, his movements a seamless blend of speed, aggression, and lethal precision. But One-Eye, fueled by sheer brutality, tore a pointed spike from the wrought iron fence and lunged at him, their clash electrifying the air with tension. Buffy, her heart pounding in her chest, cried out a warning, "Look out!"

Empowered by a surge of adrenaline, Buffy fiercely engaged Ponytail, unleashing her pent-up fury upon him. With her hands open, she struck his head back with a bone-jarring impact, then swiftly followed up by converging both her fists together, channeling all her strength into a devastating blow to his face, like a wrecking ball crashing into its target.

A momentary respite allowed Buffy to assess the situation. Her eyes widened with concern as she saw Angel go down, his body wounded and vulnerable. With determination etched across her face, she paused only briefly to deliver a forceful kick to One-Eye's face, momentarily disorienting him. Urgency surged through her as she extended a hand to Angel, the urgency driving her to shout, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and determination, "Run!"

Together, their bodies battered and their spirits resilient, they mustered their remaining strength and fled into the night, their hearts beating in unison, fueled by a shared determination to survive.

They fled with urgency and determination, their feet pounding against the pavement. Swiftly maneuvering through the streets, they traversed a desolate block, darted across an empty lot, and pressed onward to another block, eventually finding themselves amidst a quiet residential area. With each step, Buffy felt a connection between them, as if Angel instinctively understood their destination. Their synchronicity was uncanny, a testament to their unspoken bond.

As they turned onto Revello Drive, a surge of relief washed over Buffy, mingling with her concern for Angel's well-being. She stole a quick glance at him, her brows furrowing with worry as she noticed him clutching his side, his face etched with pain. Determined to protect him, she pushed aside her concerns and focused on the immediate threat, pumping her legs harder as the snarling vampires gained ground, their menacing presence fueling her adrenaline.

In a burst of speed, Buffy dashed ahead of Angel, leading the way. The front door of her home loomed closer, a symbol of safety within reach. As she reached the threshold, she flung the door open, her voice filled with urgency and desperation, "Angel, you're invited! Get in! Come on!"

Summers Home

As Buffy forcefully shut the door, cutting off their relentless pursuers, One-Eye lunged onto the porch, his outstretched hand grasping for her. Reacting swiftly, she slammed the door, the impact jarring his hand and causing him to yank it back in pain. Desperation coursed through her as she locked the door, her eyes fixed on the scene outside, her breath ragged and uneven as she fought to regain her composure.

"It's a good thing they can't come in unless they're invited," Buffy whispered with a sigh of relief, her voice tinged with both gratitude and awe as she recalled the wisdom passed down to her by Merrick, her first mentor. The words, once mere instructions, now held newfound significance in the face of the dire circumstances she found herself in. "I never put it to the test till tonight though."

The three vampires paced back and forth on the porch, their growls reverberating through the stillness of the night. Buffy's heart raced with apprehension, uncertain of how long they would linger. Her mind raced, hoping they would depart before her mother arrived home, praying for a respite from the danger that encircled them. She turned her gaze towards Angel, her eyes meeting his wounded and intense stare, his dark and penetrating gaze reaching deep into her soul.

With a mix of concern and determination, Buffy found her voice, her words laced with a compassionate urgency, "I'll get some bandages. Take off your jacket and shirt." Leading him into the kitchen, she observed his movements, the grace and vulnerability in his actions as he shed his black jacket, revealing the contours of his muscular physique. In a moment of profound vulnerability, he removed his white T-shirt, his bare torso exposed to her gaze.

Her heart skipped a beat as she turned to retrieve the first aid kit from the cupboard. But as she turned back towards him, her eyes widened, captivated by the sight before her. Time seemed to momentarily stand still as she beheld the sleek taper of his muscles, the smoothness of his skin along the nape of his neck. The world around her faded away, and her pulse quickened, stirred by a newfound awareness of the physical and emotional connection that bound them together.

As Angel shifted slightly, Buffy's attention was drawn to the large tattoo of a flying creature that rippled on his right shoulder. It was a mesmerizing sight, and she found herself stirring from her daze, her curiosity piqued. Breaking free from her captivation, she spoke, her voice carrying a mixture of awe and inquiry, "Nice tattoo. I take it that's because of your name..."

"More or less," he replied, his tone holding a touch of mystery, as she began to tend to his wound, their proximity bringing them closer than ever. Buffy was acutely aware of his presence, his face, his lips, mere inches from hers. A current of unspoken emotions crackled in the charged air between them, their connection tangible and electrifying.

To distract herself from the intensity of the moment, she voiced her gratitude, her words laced with a mixture of sincerity and playful suspicion, "I was lucky you came along." Her composure regained to some extent, she couldn't help but probe further, adding a hint of mock suspicion, "You were following me, weren't you? I was sure I sensed you before those three attacked."

Angel's smile, though faint, graced his features, and his eyes shimmered with an enigmatic warmth. "Why would I do that?" he asked, his voice carrying a gentle sincerity.

Buffy's words tumbled out rapidly, her fingers deftly tearing through the sterile packaging of the first aid kit, her nervous energy palpable. "You tell me. You're the one who said he was going to help, and other than the occasional cryptic message..." She released a nervous laugh, the sound revealing a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude. "I'm not saying I'm not happy about it tonight." As she finished bandaging his wound, she straightened up, her eyes meeting his.

With a quiet sincerity and vulnerability, Angel's voice resonated, his words echoing with hidden depths, "Maybe I like you."

She looked at him, her gaze locked with his, as her senses absorbed the surrounding details. The scent of his body, a subtle mingling of light perspiration and the faint aroma of soap or incense, filled her nostrils. The fragrance added a layer of intimacy to their proximity, intensifying the connection between them. Her voice trembled with a mixture of curiosity and vulnerability as she dared to voice her unspoken question, "Are you saying...?"

Angel's eyes held a steady gaze, reflecting both understanding and self-assurance. He completed her sentence, filling in the unspoken words that hung between them, "I'm gay?" A soft smile graced his lips as he continued, "More bisexual, actually." His gaze remained fixed on her, their eyes locking in an unspoken understanding.

With a flicker of curiosity, Buffy couldn't help but inquire further, her voice laced with genuine interest, "What about trans?" The question, born out of her own journey of self-discovery and identity, held a genuine curiosity. "Are there any transgender vampires?"

Angel's response held a note of honesty tinged with melancholy, "Some," he admitted. "Though they are rare." His admission mirrored the struggles faced by transgender individuals in mortal society, acknowledging the need for discretion and concealment. "Just like in mortal society, they tend to hide for the same reasons you might."

The front door swung open, shattering the tense atmosphere. In a surge of protective instinct, Buffy raced towards the entrance, her heart pounding in her chest. Her mother stood on the porch, a look of surprise etched upon her face, while Dawn trailed closely behind, her hands fumbling with her keys before reaching for the mailbox. With a sense of urgency, Buffy grasped both her mother and sister, pulling them swiftly inside, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger.

Joyce expressed concern, her voice tinged with confusion, "Honey, what are you doing?"

Dawn's eyes widened; the silent question evident on her lips as she mouthed the word "Vampire."

Taking a moment to assess the situation, Buffy's gaze darted to the yard before decisively closing and locking the door. A nod of confirmation passed between her and Dawn, acknowledging the unseen threat that lingered outside. Turning her attention back to her mother, Buffy offered a gentle smile, her voice reflecting a mix of reassurance and underlying worry, "There's a lot of weird people out at night, and I just feel better with you both safe and sound inside."

Her mind raced with the knowledge of Angel's presence in their kitchen, the urgency in her voice rising as she sought to divert her mother's attention. "You must be beat, Mom!" she exclaimed, her tone frantic, a desperate attempt to change the subject and ensure her mother's safety above all else.

Joyce's weary expression softened as she nodded, her fatigue evident. "I am. For a little gallery, you have no idea how much—"

Eager to divert attention and ensure her mother's rest, Buffy interjected, her voice brimming with eagerness, "Why don't you go upstairs and get into bed, and I can bring you some hot tea. I'll get Dawn to bed too."

Joyce's face lit up with pleasant surprise, her tone filled with appreciation. "That's sweet. Rutherford, what did you do?"

Caught off guard by the use of her birth name, Buffy's eyes widened momentarily, her attempts to maintain innocence faltering for a brief moment. She quickly recovered, feigning wide-eyed innocence as she responded, "Can't a son just be concerned about his sister and his mother?"

As Joyce's gaze shifted beyond Buffy's figure, her voice greeted someone unseen, breaking through the charade. "Hi."

The realization that the truth was about to surface sent a ripple of unease through Buffy's body. Yet, relief washed over her as she heard Angel's reply, "Hi."

Aware that their cover was on the verge of crumbling, Buffy hastened to introduce Angel, hoping to downplay the situation. With a slightly awkward gesture, she waved towards her mother, "Um, Angel, this is my mom," she said, her voice carrying a hint of nervousness. Then she directed her wave towards Dawn, "And this is my sister, Dawn. Mom, Dawn, this is Angel. We ran into each other on the way home."

Angel, ever composed, offered a polite greeting, his voice warm and friendly, "Hello. Nice to meet you."

"What do you do, Angel?" Joyce inquired, her tone polite yet curious, her eyes narrowing slightly as she waited for his response. The room hung heavy with anticipation as Angel hesitated, the weight of his past and his true nature lingering in the air.

Quick to intervene, Buffy stepped in, her voice infused with a mixture of protectiveness and a touch of playfulness, "He's a student." She inwardly acknowledged the slight discrepancy in his appearance, realizing he seemed a little too mature for high school. "First-year community college. Angel's been helping me with my history," she added, offering a laugh to ease the tension. "You know I've been toiling there."

The true extent to which her mother believed her explanation remained uncertain, hidden behind the veil of politeness. Joyce's response carried a note of concern, "It's a little late for tutoring." Her weariness apparent, she made her intentions clear, "I'm going to go to bed, and... Rutherford?"

Buffy, a mix of relief and responsibility washing over her, assured her mother, "I'll say goodnight, then tuck Dawn in and do the same."

Joyce cast another lingering gaze in Angel's direction, her scrutiny betraying the protective instincts of a mother. "It was nice to meet you."

With those words, Joyce turned and began her ascent up the stairs, leaving the room enveloped in a profound silence.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Buffy held the front door to her home open, her voice projecting with a mix of warmth and longing, "Goodnight. We'll hook up soon and do that study thing." With a gentle closing of the door, she motioned for Dawn and Angel to join her, their presence a comfort amidst the uncertainty that surrounded them. As they ascended the stairs, their footsteps echoing through the hallway, a shared anticipation lingered in the air, emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Entering the sanctuary of Buffy's bedroom, Angel and Dawn slipped inside, their gazes filled with curiosity and questioning. Buffy, her eyes reflecting a mixture of tenderness and protectiveness, checked down the hall before gently closing her door, ensuring their privacy and shielding their secrets from prying ears.

Dawn, her voice filled with a blend of wonder and curiosity, glanced between Angel and Buffy, her eyes brimming with unspoken questions. "Who is he, really?" she inquired.

As the weight of the moment settled upon them, Angel's gaze shifted towards Buffy, seeking guidance in navigating the delicate balance of disclosure. His voice carried a hint of uncertainty, his question filled with both concern and genuine curiosity, "How much does she know?"

Buffy met their gazes with unwavering honesty, her words laced with a deep sense of trust and love for her sister. "Dawn knows everything. That I'm trans, that I'm the Slayer," she revealed, her voice holding a mix of vulnerability and determination. The weight of their shared secrets, once a heavy burden, had been laid bare to protect and empower Dawn. Buffy continued, her voice filled with a mix of sisterly pride and concern, "The Slayer part, I told her a little more reluctantly, though. In the end, I told her to protect her. She actually carries a stake in her backpack for protection, just in case." Her gaze shifted towards Dawn; their connection unbreakable. "She even wears a cross."

A moment of silence enveloped the room as their shared truth settled upon them. Dawn's eyes turned towards Angel; her inquiry pointed yet open. "He's the vampire I told you about," Buffy confirmed, her voice holding a mix of caution and hope.

Dawn's eyes widened, a newfound understanding dawning upon her. "The one with a soul?" she asked, her gaze shifting between Buffy and Angel. Both nodded in unison.

"Look, I don't want to get you in any more trouble," Angel interjected, his gaze shifting between Buffy and Dawn, his voice laced with concern and a touch of selflessness. The weight of his own existence, his innate danger as a vampire, weighed heavily upon him.

Buffy met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with determination and a fierce protectiveness. "And while I know you are a vampire," she stated firmly, her voice brimming with conviction, "I also know there were three of them out there tonight that followed us here. Unless they've gone, you're safer here." Her gaze shifted towards Dawn a mix of concern and love etched upon her features. "You should head to bed. If Mom asks why you're still up, tell her I was telling you a story."

Dawn nodded in agreement, her trust in her sister unwavering. "Okay," she acquiesced, her voice carrying a touch of exhaustion. "Night, Buffy." Her eyes then turned towards Angel, her regard filled with both curiosity and a newfound understanding. "Night, Angel," she whispered, acknowledging the complexities of their shared reality.

"Goodnight," Angel responded, his voice gentle yet filled with a sense of longing. As Buffy leaned forward, placing a quick kiss on Dawn's cheek, their familial bond radiated with love and unspoken understanding. The youngest Summers sister departed, retreating to the sanctuary of her own room.

Buffy's gaze shifted around the room, her eyes tracing the familiar contours as if seeing it through a different lens. She spoke hesitantly, the weight of her words hanging in the air, "Two of us... One bed. That doesn't work." Awkwardness tinged her voice as she tried to navigate the delicate balance of their shared space. "Um, why don't you take the bed? You know, because you're wounded."

Angel felt a swell of emotion within him, touched by her genuine concern and thoughtfulness. He responded, his voice filled with gratitude, "I'll take the floor." His words carried a touch of self-deprecation as he sought to alleviate any protest from Buffy. "Oh, believe me, I've had worse."

Accepting his offer with a nod, Buffy gestured towards the window, her voice holding a mix of vulnerability and a hint of playful banter, "Then, ah, why don't you see if the Fang Gang is loitering and, um, keep your back turned while I change." Her request was both a practical suggestion and a glimpse into the deep-rooted vulnerabilities she carried.

Angel's smile was gentle as he crossed to the window, dutifully turning his back without hesitation. The rustle of clothing reached his ears, a reminder of the intimacy and trust she placed in him. As he surveyed the quiet darkness outside, his mind wandered, curiosity stirring within him. "If you don't mind my asking..."

Buffy's voice, tinged with a mix of vulnerability and resilience, reached his ears, "I have some dysphoria when it comes to people seeing me naked." Her words held a weight of honesty, unveiling a layer of her truth that she carried within her. "It's why at school, my Watcher, who knows, lets me change for gym class in his office."

Understanding washed over Angel, sympathy brimming within him. He kept his back turned, unsure if she was finished dressing, as he responded with empathy, "That must be hard." His voice carried the weight of compassion, acknowledging the challenges she faced on her journey of self-discovery.

Buffy's sigh held a tinge of weariness as she shared her truth, her voice revealing a mix of acceptance and longing, "It is." There was a pause, a breath shared between them, before she continued, her voice laden with curiosity, "I understand that you have a soul, of course. Is that why...?"

A quiet murmur escaped Angel's lips, his words resonating with a depth of understanding and unspoken purpose, "Somebody has to."

Buffy turned her gaze towards him, the moonlight streaming through the window blinds casting ethereal shadows across his face, forming a delicate pattern reminiscent of bars. In that moment, she couldn't help but be captivated by the sharp angles and contours of his profile, each feature etched with a sense of timeless beauty.

Their eyes met, an unspoken understanding passing between them, as Angel looked at her with genuine admiration. "You even look pretty when you go to sleep," he confessed, his words carrying a mixture of awe and affection.

A weak smile graced Buffy's lips as she responded, her voice laced with a touch of self-deprecation, "Well, when I wake up, it's an entirely different story." With a gentle gesture, she handed him a quilt and a pillow. "Sleep tight."

In the tranquil stillness of the moonlit room, they settled into their respective places—she on the bed, he on the floor. Both awake, their gazes drifted upwards, fixated on the ceiling above, yet acutely aware of the nearness of each other.

A hushed whisper broke the silence, Buffy's voice soft yet carrying a hint of vulnerability, "Angel?"

He responded, his voice a gentle murmur, "Hmmm?"

A playful curiosity danced within her words as she asked, "Do you snore?"

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice carrying a touch of nostalgia. "It's been a long time since anybody's been in a position to let me know."

Buffy's smile widened, a flicker of warmth and contentment spreading across her face. The thought that it had been a long time since he had slept with anyone, offered a sense of solace. It was a thought she could hold onto as she drifted into sleep, allowing dreams to carry her away.

Yet, despite her slumber, Angel remained awake throughout the night, his senses attuned to the rhythm of her heartbeat. In the gentle darkness, he listened, embracing the connection that bound them, finding solace in the simple presence of the girl who had captured his heart.

April 15, 1997 – Tuesday

Sunnydale High School

In the library, Buffy recounted the events of the previous night to Xander, Willow, and Giles. The atmosphere crackled with a mix of curiosity, concern, and a hint of underlying emotions.

"He spent the night? In your room? In your bed?" Xander's voice rose with incredulity, his words practically bursting forth.

The outrage in his tone flushed Buffy's cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and defensiveness tugging at her emotions. "Don't tell me you're jealous," she retorted, her voice carrying a trace of playful challenge.

Xander's admission came with a sense of genuine friendship, his words spoken with a touch of protectiveness, "Jealous, no. But you are my friend, Rutherford. And as your friend, it's my responsibility..."

Buffy's understanding gaze met Xander's, her voice filled with gratitude as she cut in, "Thank you."

Willow, her eyes sparkling with a touch of romantic curiosity, interjected dreamily, "That is so romantic. Wow. Did you, uh, I mean, did he, uh—"

Interrupting with a sense of pride and propriety, Buffy declared, "Perfect gentleman."

Giles, ever the watchful mentor, approached the group, a weighty book in his hands. With a determined expression, he sought to steer the conversation back to the pressing matters at hand. "Can we steer this riveting conversation back to the events that took place earlier in the evening?" He carefully laid the book down, pointing to an engraving within its pages. "Did they look like this?"

Buffy's gaze fell upon the image, confirming his suspicions. "Yeah. What's with the uniforms?"

Giles, his demeanor both grave and satisfied, responded, "It seems you encountered the Three—warrior vampires, very proud and strong."

His knowledge impressed Willow, prompting her to voice her admiration. "How is it you always know this stuff? You always know what's going on. I never know what's going on."

Giles gestured towards the piles of dusty books surrounding them, his voice carrying a touch of wry humor as he sipped from his coffee cup. "Well, you weren't here from midnight to six researching it." Buffy's call had reached him just as he was ready to retire for the night.

Sheepishly, Willow admitted, "No, I was sleeping."

Giles turned his attention back to Buffy, his tone filled with a sense of urgency. "Obviously, you're hurting the Master. He wouldn't send the Three for just anyone." After a moment of contemplation, he cleaned his glasses, his thoughts focused on the next steps they needed to take. "We must step up our training with weapons."

Xander chimed in, his concern palpable, "Rutherford, you'd better stay at my place until these samurai guys are history."

Giles shook his head, a note of assurance in his voice, "Rutherford is not in immediate jeopardy." As he placed his glasses back on, his gaze met Buffy's with determination. "Eventually, the Master will send someone else, but in the meantime, the Three, having failed, will offer up their own lives as penance."

The weight of their foe's failure hung in the air, mingling with the ever-present danger that lurked in the shadows.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

The library door, half covered with a sign declaring its closure, cast a sense of isolation and anticipation. Buffy's gaze wandered to a large locker brimming with an assortment of weapons. A flicker of excitement sparked in her eyes as she reached out and traced her fingers along the cold metal of a crossbow. "Cool, a crossbow," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of awe and eagerness. Her attention then shifted to the ammunition, the bolts that held the potential for deadly precision. Determined, she began loading the weapon, a purr of anticipation escaping her lips. "Huh, check out these babies," she mused. "Goodbye stakes, hello flying fatality." Her gaze scanned the room, her eagerness palpable as she sought a target for her newfound power. "What can I shoot?"

Giles, looking somewhat perturbed, stepped forward, clad in padded gear, and firmly took the crossbow from Buffy's hands. His voice carried a tone of authority as he stated, "Nothing. The crossbow comes later. You must first become proficient with the basic tools of combat." He picked up two long wooden poles, offering one to Buffy. "Let's begin with the quarterstaff, which, incidentally, will require countless hours of rigorous training. I speak from experience."

Accepting the challenge, Giles positioned himself, holding the quarterstaff across his body with both hands. He exuded a quiet intensity, ready to engage in combat, Giles-style. "Now, put on your pads," he instructed her.

Buffy tilted her head, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes. "I'm not going to need pads for you," she quipped, her voice laced with confidence.

Giles, undeterred, raised his chin slightly, accepting her challenge with a quiet determination. "We'll see about that." Saluting her by raising the right end of the staff, he declared, "En garde."

Their practice session commenced, the rhythmic clash of wood against wood echoing in the air. Buffy unleashed a flurry of strikes, high and low, unleashing her full strength. The impact reverberated through Giles, his bones protesting with an audible crack. He had taught her not to hold back, understanding that part of his duty as her Watcher was to prepare her for real battles.

Whack! With a forceful strike, Buffy sent Giles sprawling, his back hitting the ground with a thud. Both breathing heavily, they locked eyes, the weight of their shared journey etched in their expressions. Giles wheezed, his voice strained yet filled with satisfaction, "Good. Let's move on to the crossbow."

A tinge of sadness flickered in Buffy's eyes, her voice carrying a hint of melancholy as she offered her apology, "Sorry. Merrick gave me training in staves." The memory of Merrick, her former Watcher, and his ultimate sacrifice to keep her identity a secret from Lothos stirred within her, threatening to unleash a tear. She fought to keep it at bay, a testament to the profound impact he had on her life.

Summers Home

Taking a deep breath, Buffy cautiously opened her bedroom door, slipping inside and closing it behind her. The room seemed to shrink in size as her eyes scanned the shadows, searching for him. "Angel?" she called out softly, her voice laced with a mix of hope and vulnerability.

From the darkness, he emerged, his presence both comforting and enigmatic. "Hey," he greeted her, his voice carrying a subtle warmth that mirrored the emotions swirling within Buffy's heart.

A flicker of concern crossed her face as she considered his needs. "Are you hungry?" she asked, her gaze instinctively tilting her neck, a gesture of offering.

Angel's response was filled with gratitude and reassurance. "Thank you, but I am fine," he assured her. "As I told you and your Watcher, I drink pig's blood. I haven't drunk human blood in a very long time."

Buffy nodded, a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. "So, what did you do all day?" she inquired, seeking to bridge the gap between them.

His expression turned solemn, a hint of sorrow dancing in his eyes. "I read a little," he replied, gesturing toward her dresser. "And just thought about a lot of things." His voice carried a weight, a weight that Buffy sensed held deeper significance. "Buffy, I—"

Her attention abruptly shifted as she followed his gesture, her gaze landing on her journal resting atop the dresser. Horror washed over her features as she processed its presence. "My journal?" she squeaked, her voice filled with a mix of shock and disbelief. Swiftly, she marched over to the dresser, snatching the journal and tucking it away in the top drawer, forcefully closing it shut.

"Your mother moved your journal when she came in to straighten up. I watched her from the closet. I didn't read it, I swear," he clarified.

"Oh," Buffy's tense shoulders eased slightly as she absorbed the truth of his words. "The only one I've let read it is Dawn. So, she understood..." Her voice trailed off, a sense of connection forming between them, born from shared understanding and the protection of their loved ones.

Angel's gaze held a depth of understanding as he responded, "What was waiting for her in the dark if she wasn't prepared." A shared understanding passed between them. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted, a charged energy enveloping the room. "All I can think about is how badly I want to kiss you," His words hung in the air, his vulnerability laid bare.

"Kiss me?" Buffy echoed, her voice a breathless whisper as she met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as their eyes locked, a rush of warmth surging through her veins. Her face flushed with heat, while a delicious shiver danced along her skin. Slowly, she lifted her chin, feeling the gentle touch of his fingers cradling her face. Their lips met, a soft and tender kiss, uncertain yet brimming with the intensity of their emotions.

Everything else melted away—the weight of her Slayer duties, the complexities of her gender identity, the trials and tribulations of being a teenager. In that moment, all that mattered was the connection between them, the sensation of being held in Angel's arms, and the intoxicating sweetness of their kiss.

But as the kiss deepened, passion igniting between them, a jolt of realization pierced the haze. Buffy sensed his struggle, his attempt to push himself free. He backed away, averting his face, the weight of their desires tangled in a web of unattainability and restraint.

"What?" Buffy's voice trembled with a mixture of confusion and urgency as she struggled to catch her breath. "Angel, what's wrong?" Her eyes searched his face, hoping for an answer that would quell the growing unease within her.

In an instant, his expression transformed, revealing his vampiric visage with menacing fangs and a predatory snarl. Shock rippled through Buffy's veins, freezing her in place as she watched Angel's abrupt shift.

Without a word, he leaped out of the window, gracefully rolling down the rooftop before swiftly disappearing into the darkness of the night. Buffy stood there, her heart pounding, her mind spinning with questions. She had known he was a vampire, so why was he so afraid of revealing his true nature to her? The confusion and hurt mingled within her, stirring up a storm of emotions she was ill-prepared to face.

April 16, 1997 – Wednesday

Sunnydale High School

The weight of the previous night's encounter still hung heavy in the air as Buffy shared the unsettling truth with her closest friends and Giles. Seated on a bench in front of the school, she found solace in the presence of Willow by her side, while Xander and Giles stood before them, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.

"I can't believe this is happening," Buffy confessed, her voice tinged with disbelief and lingering shock. "One minute we're kissing, and the next… he was in gameface." Her eyes sought out Giles, silently pleading for some understanding. "We know he has a soul, but when we…"

Giles met her gaze with a sympathetic look, his eyes reflecting the depths of his knowledge and experience. "He may have simply been afraid of losing control, Rutherford," he offered, his voice filled with compassion. "Just like us, he may not fully understand how he obtained his soul, and the fear of the demon lurking close to the surface could be overwhelming for him."

Buffy nodded, her features twisted in a mixture of confusion, longing, and concern. The complexity of her feelings for Angel was a turbulent storm within her heart, and the revelation of his sudden transformation only added to the turmoil she grappled with.

"I know you have feelings for this guy," Xander questioned, his voice laced with genuine concern, reaching out to the depths of his worry for Buffy. "But it's not like you're in love with him, right?"

Buffy remained silent; her heartache evident in the flicker of emotions that danced across her face.

Xander instantly deciphered her unspoken response, and an explosion of disbelief burst forth from him. "You're in love with a vampire?" he exclaimed, his voice echoing with incredulity. "What, are you out of your mind?"

Caught off guard, Cordelia, positioned directly behind Xander, reacted with a sharp intake of breath, her eyes widening in shock like a sudden jolt of electricity had surged through her.

Xander was stricken with worry at his slipup. "Not vampire," he said correcting himself for Cordelia's benefit. "How can you love an umpire? Everyone hates them!"

Cordelia was delicately fierce, her emotions on the verge of charging forward, much like a bull prepared to strike. "Where did you get that dress?" she demanded, her voice laced with annoyance as she honed in on another girl crossing the quad, clad in the exact same dress as hers—a black ensemble adorned with a vibrant pop-art design. She snapped, her frustration palpable, "This is a one-of-a-kind Todd Oldham creation. Do you have any idea how much this dress cost?"

"Maybe this is a good thing," Xander reluctantly confessed, his voice tinged with a sense of melancholy acceptance. "Before it goes too far."

"I am sadly in agreement, Rutherford," Giles interjected, his tone filled with a touch of sadness. "He is a vampire and you are a Slayer. Even though he has proven he is good. It just wouldn't…"

A cascade of tears welled up in Buffy's eyes, reflecting the depths of her despair. Her delicate features contorted with an indescribable pain, etching a portrait of heartache that seemed carved into her very soul. With a sense of urgency, she hurriedly distanced herself from her friends and her Watcher, each step laden with the weight of her love for Angel.

Angel's Apartment

Angel walked down the dimly lit basement corridor, a chill running down his spine as he made his way towards his apartment. The door was slightly ajar, a subtle invitation that filled him with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, the soft light casting eerie shadows across the room.

With a flick of a switch, another light pierced the darkness, revealing more of the space around him. But as the glow spread, a sudden sense of foreboding washed over him, causing him to freeze in place. He could feel it—a presence lurking in the shadows, an inexplicable energy that sent shivers down his spine.

Summoning his courage, Angel demanded in a firm yet slightly trembling voice, "Who's here?" His heart pounded in his chest, but he stood unafraid, every sense heightened and alert.

"A friend," came a hauntingly familiar voice from the darkness. Slowly, Darla emerged, her ethereal figure taking shape before him, a wicked smile dancing on her lips. Anxiety washed over Angel as he recognized her, memories of their tumultuous past surging to the surface.

Her presence unsettled him, and he couldn't help but wonder what she was doing here. "Hi," she said, the sound of her voice sending conflicting emotions coursing through him. "It's been a while."

Angel's response was measured, trying to conceal the emotions swirling within him, but his voice betrayed a tinge of sorrow, "A lifetime."

"Or two. But who's counting?" she teased, reveling in the power she had over his emotions.

He couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in her appearance—the shift from kimonos to a Catholic-schoolgirl look. It intrigued him but also served as a stark reminder of how their paths had diverged over the years. Suppressing his emotions, he gestured towards her attire, trying to maintain a semblance of composure, "What's with the Catholic-schoolgirl look? Last time I saw you it was kimonos."

And last time I saw you, it wasn't high schoolers," Darla remarked, her words cutting deeper than she could have imagined. The pain in Angel's eyes was hidden behind a stoic facade, but it was unmistakably there, haunting him like a relentless ghost. "Don'tcha like?" she taunted, her actions seemingly innocent but laden with a cruel undertone, as if she delighted in causing him discomfort. With a tiny curtsy, she seemed to mock the memories they once shared.

"Remember Budapest, turn of the century? You were such a bad boy during that earthquake," she continued, her steps deliberate, evoking a sense of impending danger. Each mention of their shared past was like salt in his wounds, a reminder of the darkness he had once embraced.

"You did some damage yourself," he replied, attempting to hold his ground, but his voice trembled slightly, betraying the emotional turmoil within.

Her chuckle was a sultry whisper, sending a shiver down his spine. "Is there anything better than a natural disaster? The panic, the people lost in the streets. Like picking fruit off the vine," she mused, her words dripping with a perverse pleasure in destruction. As she roamed around his apartment, scrutinizing his possessions, he felt a profound sense of vulnerability, as if she could see into the depths of his soul.

Darla's eyes fell upon his bed, and her comment was laced with irony. "Nice," she observed mockingly, highlighting the stark contrast between his current life and the one he once had. "You're living above ground, like one of them. You and your new friend are attacking us, like one of them. But guess what, precious? You're not one of them."

In an instant, she pulled a string on a shade, unleashing a searing beam of sunlight that struck Angel like an arc of fire. The agony sliced through him, and he couldn't contain a cry of pain as he crumpled to the floor. "Are you?" she asked.

Despite the torment, he gritted his teeth, refusing to show her the extent of his suffering. "No, but I'm not exactly one of you, either," he retorted, his determination to retain his humanity unwavering, even in the face of Darla's malevolence.

"Is that what you tell yourself these days?" Her voice dripped with disdain, and Angel could feel the weight of her words bearing down on him like a suffocating darkness. Darla moved to the fridge, and as she swung the door open, the sight of the blood bags hanging from the top rack made his stomach churn. He knew exactly what she thought of this substitute, and her contemptuous gaze at the blood-bank labels only intensified the feeling of being judged for his choices.

"You're not exactly living off quiche," she drawled mockingly, her words like sharp knives that cut through his attempts to justify his existence. She closed the distance between them again, and her touch on his chest felt like ice, sending a shiver of anger and frustration through his veins. He suppressed his emotions, but inside, fury raged like a tempest.

"You and I both know what you hunger for. What you need. Hey, it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's who we are. It's what makes eternal life worth living," she whispered, her voice oozing temptation and wicked allure. Her caress seemed to reach into his soul, stirring feelings he desperately wished to keep locked away. But her words dug deep into the insecurities he wrestled with daily.

He forced himself not to react to her touch, his restraint hiding the maelstrom of emotions brewing beneath the surface. Her suggestive smile only added fuel to the fire, stoking his fury. "You can only suppress your real nature for so long. I can feel it brewing inside of you. I hope I'm around when it explodes," she taunted, a cruel glint in her eyes.

"Maybe you don't want to be," he retorted in a low, dangerous voice, his glare piercing through her like a stake.

"I'm not afraid of you. I bet she is, though," she said with a calculated nonchalance. She turned away from him, heading for the door, but not before delivering one final strike. "Or maybe I'm underestimating her. Does she even know about the curse?"

"The curse itself, no," he replied, his heart heavy with the weight of secrets he couldn't share with Buffy.

"And how did she react to the kiss you gave her last night?" she prodded, her words lingering in the air like a haunting echo.

Angel's mind flashed back to the tender yet surprising kiss he had shared with Buffy. It wasn't her ignorance of his vampiric nature that surprised her, but the transformation she had witnessed—the hint of his demon lurking beneath the surface. He knew she was grappling with the complexities of his existence, uncertain about how much of a monster he truly was. The memory of that moment stirred a whirlwind of emotions, leaving him torn between his longing for a normal life and his acceptance of the darkness that forever clung to him.

The Hellmouth – The Master's Cave

Darla stood before the Master, her emotions tightly veiled behind a mask of gratitude and confidence. "Don't think I'm not grateful, you letting me kill the Three," she said, her words tinged with a sense of hidden satisfaction. The opportunity to unleash her predatory instincts was a dark delight she relished.

The Master responded with a grand gesture, his demeanor commanding and regal. "How can my children learn if I do everything for them?" he mused, glancing over at Collin, the Anointed One, who sat nearby. His pride in grooming his followers was evident, and Darla understood the unspoken lesson—that power was to be earned, not simply granted.

"But you've got to let me take care of the Slayer," Darla added, her voice carrying an undercurrent of hunger. The thought of facing the formidable Slayer filled her with a strange mix of excitement and eagerness. To be the one to drain every drop of blood from Angel's human was a prospect she savored.

Raising an eyebrow, the Master retorted in his melodic, singsong voice, "Oh, you're giving me orders now." His words were a subtle reminder of the hierarchy within their dark world, a reminder that even the most trusted had their place.

As she turned away, Darla's voice softened, her words laced with an almost playful imitation of the Master. "Okay, then we'll just do nothing while she takes us out one by one." The notion of inaction in the face of danger didn't sit well with her, and she couldn't help but let a hint of defiance seep through her tone.

The Master, intrigued by her audacity, inquired, "Do I sense a plan, Darla?" The invitation hung in the air, coaxing her to reveal her intentions.

A sly smile crept across her face as she turned back to face him, a spark of cunning in her eyes. "Share," he urged.

Darla's words hung heavy in the air, filled with a potent mix of hope and desperation. "Angel kills her and comes back to the fold." The emotional weight behind her statement was evident, as if she clung to the possibility of her former lover's redemption like a lifeline in the darkness.

The Master's reaction was unexpected; his usually austere demeanor softened as he murmured, "Angel." His gaze wandered into the distance, reminiscing on memories that mirrored Darla's own recollections. Perhaps, like her, he too saw the visage of Angelus, the once ravening beast and scourge of Europe. The conflicting emotions etched across his face revealed a longing for the past, a yearning for the ferocity and chaos that once defined the creature they both cherished and feared.

"He was the most vicious creature I ever met. I miss him," the Master confessed, his words laced with nostalgia and a hint of melancholy. Darla understood this sentiment all too well, for Angelus had been their partner in chaos and their embodiment of true darkness.

"So, do I," Darla replied softly, her heart aching with the memories of the vicious and alluring monster who had once been her confidante and lover.

The Master's question probed the heart of their predicament, seeking to understand the enigma that was Angel's conflicted nature. "Why would he kill her if he feels for her?" he asked, the query holding both curiosity and perplexity.

Darla's smile held a complexity of emotions, a mixture of cunning and fondness for the one who had been both her tormentor and her source of solace. "To keep her from killing him," she revealed.

The Master returned her smile, finding delight in the intriguing dynamics of their twisted family. He relished the darker aspects of their collective existence, reveling in the manipulation and power that bound them together. Addressing the Anointed One, he spoke with pride, "You see how we all work together for the common good? That's how a family is supposed to function."

Sunnydale High School

Willow was diligently tutoring Buffy, trying to keep her focused on the lesson. Buffy, however, seemed preoccupied and distant, lost in her own thoughts. Willow tried to steer the conversation back to their history lesson, asking slowly, "So, Reconstruction began when?" Her tone held a mixture of patience and concern, sensing that something might be bothering her friend. "Rutherford?"

Buffy stirred from her reverie, her mind returning to the present. "Huh? Oh. Reconstruction. Reconstruction began after ah, the construction, which was shoddy, so they had to reconstruct—" Her words trailed off, and it was evident that her mind was not fully engaged in the lesson.

Quick to save the situation, Willow interjected, "After the destruction of the Civil War." She tried to guide Buffy back to the topic at hand, subtly offering her support and understanding.

Buffy took in the information but still seemed distant. "Right. The Civil War." Her thoughts seemed to drift again, and she made an unrelated comment, "During which, Angel was already like… a hundred and change." Her words carried a touch of wistfulness, and it was clear that her mind was wandering to a place beyond the history book.

Concerned about her friend, Willow gently asked, "Are we going to talk about boys, or are we going to help you pass history?" Her compassionate tone hinted at the depth of their friendship and her genuine care for Buffy's well-being. She decided to take a momentary break from the lesson, closing her history book, and leaned toward Buffy to have a more intimate conversation.

Though they were alone in the library, Willow lowered her voice even further, creating an atmosphere of trust and confidentiality. "Sometimes I have this fantasy that Xander's just going to grab me and kiss me right on the lips," she confided, sharing a personal thought that had been lingering in her mind.

Buffy warmed to the topic, recognizing the opportunity to open up to her friend. "You want Xander, you got to speak up," she advised, offering supportive encouragement to Willow in return. T

As the weight of their conversation settled in, Willow's panic was evident in her eyes and trembling voice. "No, no, no! No speaking up. That way leads to madness and sweaty palms," she exclaimed, she couldn't bear the thought of facing potential rejection or awkwardness if she were to reveal her feelings.

Unbeknownst to them, in the library stacks, Darla listened, her curiosity piqued by the exchange.

Hushing her tone, Willow leaned in closer to Buffy, as if they were sharing a secret. "Okay, here's something I've got to know. When Angel kissed you… how was it?" Her question carried both intrigue and a hint of jealousy, as if she couldn't help but wonder about the emotions shared between Buffy and Angel.

Buffy's face lit up with a rosy, dreamy glow as she reminisced about the kiss. "Unbelievable," she confessed with a soft laugh, lost in the memory of their intimate moment.

Willow couldn't help but be impressed by her friend's response. "Wow," she exclaimed, almost envious of the connection Buffy had experienced. The excitement, however, was quickly tempered by a realization that Buffy and Angel were destined for different paths. "And it is kind of novel how he'll stay young and handsome forever. Although you'll still get wrinkly and die…" Willow's words trailed off, her enthusiasm dampened as she unwittingly touched upon Buffy's hidden emotional struggle.

Seeing the impact of her words, Willow quickly realized she had touched a sensitive nerve and hastened to apologize, "I'll be quiet now," remorseful for potentially hurting her friend.

Buffy smiled sadly, understanding that Willow's curiosity stemmed from genuine concern and curiosity. "No, it's okay. I need to hear this. I need to get over him," she said with resolve, trying to come to terms with her own feelings.

With a sense of determination, Buffy opened her schoolbook, ready to focus on the task at hand. "Okay. Give me another half hour, and maybe something will sink in. Then I'm going home," she stated, demonstrating her perseverance to overcome the emotions that had been stirred within her.

Buffy tried her best to focus on the history lesson as Willow continued with her patient explanation. "Okay. The era of congressional Reconstruction," Willow intoned dutifully, her voice gentle and reassuring, "usually called Radical…"

Unbeknownst to Buffy and Willow, Darla gracefully glided away, her mind alive with calculated plans she intended to set in motion within the next half hour.

Summers Home

Joyce sat at the cluttered kitchen table, surrounded by mounds of paperwork that seemed to multiply by the minute. Her mind felt as chaotic as the scattered documents before her. Seeking a brief moment of solace, she poured herself a cup of coffee, its warmth soothing her nerves as she took a sip.

Amid the silence, a sudden creaking noise reverberated through the house, interrupting her thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked up with a mix of trepidation and concern. "Dawn?" she called out, hoping her daughter was the source of the mysterious sound.

From upstairs, Dawn's voice echoed down, reassuring her worried mother, "Yeah, mom?"

Joyce's maternal instincts kicked in, always attuned to her daughter's well-being. "Do you need anything?" she asked, her voice filled with love and care.

"I'm fine, mom. Just took a break in my homework to go to the bathroom," Dawn informed her, trying to alleviate any concerns.

With a soft sigh of relief, Joyce settled back into her task, attempting to focus on the account books for the gallery. But then, the creaking returned, this time sounding like it emanated from the outside. Her unease grew, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

Standing up, Joyce felt a sense of vulnerability as she cautiously made her way to the back door. Peering out the window, her eyes scanned the darkness, searching for any sign of movement or intruders. Yet, the view offered no answers, and her anxiety heightened.

Throughout the house, the creaks and groans seemed to echo louder, their eerie chorus making her edgier by the minute. Her nerves were already on edge when suddenly, someone knocked on the front door. Her body tensed, her mind raced, and a wave of fear washed over her like an unwelcome visitor.

Joyce stood there, trying to gather her courage as she approached the front door. Each step felt heavy with anticipation, unsure of who might be on the other side. The knocking persisted, a haunting sound that echoed through her soul, leaving her to confront the unknown with a mix of fear and determination.

As Joyce opened the front door, she was met with the sight of a lovely blond girl standing before her, her sweet smile exuding an air of warmth and innocence. The girl carried schoolbooks in her arms and was dressed conservatively, presenting an image that appeared both wholesome and sincere. "Hello?" Joyce greeted her politely, her maternal instincts making her instantly welcoming.

The girl introduced herself hesitantly, her name slipping from her lips like a fragile secret. "Hi. I'm Darla. A friend of Buffy's?" Her voice quivered slightly, unsure of how Joyce would react to her presence.

"Who?" Joyce inquired, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Internally, Darla cursed herself for assuming that Buffy had already come out to her mother. She had assumed that the secret was shared, but now she realized her mistake. Panic surged within her as she searched her memory for any hints that Willow might have said Buffy's deadname. "Rutherford," she finally managed to say, grasping at the only she had heard Willow utter.

"Oh," Joyce's expression relaxed, a hint of recognition flickering in her eyes. "Nice to meet you," she responded with a smile, her initial reservations easing upon realizing that Darla was a friend of her son's.

There was a momentary pause, the air thick with unspoken emotions and truths hovering just beneath the surface.

As Darla stood at the front door, her emotions danced nervously beneath her smile. She couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension about what lay ahead. "He didn't mention anything about me coming over for a study date, did he?" Her words were laced with a shy sweetness, her heart racing with the anticipation of the encounter.

Joyce's response held a hint of confusion and a subtle alarm, her motherly instincts stirring at the unexpected visitor. "No," she replied honestly, trying to make sense of the situation. "I thought he was studying with Willow at the library." Her voice carried a touch of concern, her thoughts racing to ensure her daughter's safety.

Darla quickly reassured her, her own emotions tugging at the edge of her words. "He is," she confirmed. "Willow's the Civil War expert, but then I was supposed to help him with the War of Independence. My family kind of goes back to those days."

"Well, I know he's supposed to be home soon," Joyce said, her motherly instincts driving her to offer hospitality. "Would you like to come in and wait?" Her invitation was warm and genuine, the unspoken desire to make Darla feel welcomed evident in her words.

As Darla stepped over the threshold of the Summers home, her heart fluttered with gratitude. "Very nice of you to invite me into your home."

Joyce smiled, slightly amused by the polite exchange. "You're welcome," she responded, her curiosity growing about this mysterious girl in front of her. As Darla entered the house, Joyce couldn't help but use the opportunity to engage in conversation. "I've been wrestling with the I.R.S. all night. Would you like something to eat?"

As Darla responded with a simple yet laden, "Yes. I would," her voice held a hint of longing.

Joyce, unknowingly stepping into a delicate dance, led the way to the kitchen. Her mind was occupied with thoughts of making Darla feel at ease, not realizing the reality lurking just below the surface. She turned to the unexpected guest and asked over her shoulder, "Do you feel like something little or something big?" Her motherly instincts to nurture and care for others shining through in her thoughtful gesture.

"Something big," Darla replied, her voice holding a subtle undertone of amusement and a dash of something darker. As the words left her lips, she allowed her vampire self to be revealed, the true essence of her being emerging from beneath the carefully constructed guise.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

As Angel stood before Buffy's front door, his emotions were in turmoil, torn between the need to warn her about Darla's sinister intentions and the fear of the words he would have to utter. The weight of the impending revelation burdened him, as he knew that what he had to say might shatter the fragile trust they had been building.

But just as he was about to knock, the piercing sound of terror ripped through the air, and he recognized Dawn's voice calling from upstairs. Panic surged through him, and instinct took over as he bolted to the back of the house, flinging open the door to a scene of horror.

Buffy's mother slumped in Darla's arms, her lifeblood staining the floor. The sight was enough to fuel the fires of his rage and desperation. "Let her go," he commanded, his voice laced with a mix of fear and determination. The sound of approaching footsteps from upstairs only added to his urgency; he knew he had to act quickly to protect Joyce and Dawn from Darla's malevolence.

Darla, seemingly unfazed by the chaos she had wrought, looked at Angel with a twisted grin, relishing the fear and desperation in his eyes. Her demon mouth dripped with the lifeblood of Buffy's mother, a grotesque display of her monstrous nature.

His heart pounded in his chest, his body reacting to the scent of warm, living blood that filled the room. Angel hesitated, torn between his primal instincts and his desire to save the lives of those he cared about. He knew that giving in to his hunger could lead to disastrous consequences.

With a seductive and inviting voice, Darla taunted him, holding Joyce's life like a macabre trophy. "Come on, Angel," she purred, her eyes gleaming with wicked pleasure at his inner struggle.

As he fought against the insidious change overtaking him, Angel's emotions waged a war of their own. He could hear Dawn's footsteps approaching, the sound heightening his sense of urgency, knowing he had to act swiftly to protect her and her mother.

"Just say yes," Darla's seductive voice brushed against his ear, sending shivers down his spine. But he resisted with all his might, clinging to the last vestiges of his humanity. His arms strained against the weight of the unconscious woman in his embrace, the struggle a physical manifestation of the battle for his own soul.

In his internal turmoil, he felt the change taking hold, the monstrous side of him clawing its way to the surface. The transformation was swift and chilling, too easy as if he were being pulled into the darkness against his will. Darla's triumphant expression sent a cold shiver down his spine, reminding him of the monstrous nature he once embraced. "Welcome home," she said.

As Darla moved toward the door, abandoning him with Joyce in his grip, he was left alone with his torment, torn between his primal instincts and the guilt that consumed him. His gaze lingered on the fresh, warm blood on Joyce's neck, and the sight only intensified the struggle within him. The hunger gnawed at his insides, the desire for the life force before him threatening to break his restraint.

But just as he was about to succumb to the darkness, a voice pierced through the chaos. "Hey, I'm home." Buffy's words cut through the air like a lifeline, momentarily halting the relentless pull toward his vampiric nature.

Buffy's sudden appearance froze Angel in his tracks, his fangs mere inches away from Joyce's neck. His shame washed over him like a tidal wave, realizing the horror of his actions. He couldn't speak; the fierce hunger mingled with overwhelming remorse rendered him speechless. In that moment, he felt like a monster, a creature of darkness, unworthy of the love and trust he had received from Buffy and her family.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

With a tumult of emotions brewing within her, Buffy's decision to throw Angel through the large window of the Summers house was fueled by a potent mix of anger, hurt, and betrayal. She couldn't stand the deception any longer, feeling the weight of their shattered trust bearing down upon her. The shards of glass, scattered around like fragments of her heart, symbolized the broken bond between them.

As Angel landed in a disheveled heap on the lawn, Buffy's heart raced with adrenaline and uncertainty. He rose to his feet, facing the sisters with an air of remorse, but his silence only fueled her frustration and disappointment. Her voice trembled with quiet, dangerous intensity as she questioned, "So was it all a lie? Wanting to help me? Do you in reality even have a soul or did you do some magic to make us think you did?"

His silence was deafening, and it cut her deeply. Buffy felt her trust shatter like the glass beneath her feet. She couldn't bear the thought that all the moments they shared might have been built on deceit. The pain of this revelation was a raw wound in her heart, leaving her vulnerable and guarded at the same time.

"You're not welcome here," she declared, her voice filled with both determination and heartache. The thought of him near her and her family now felt like a betrayal beyond measure. "You come near us and I'll kill you." The words were a harsh ultimatum, a desperate attempt to protect herself from further heartbreak.

As Angel looked at the sisters, a mix of regret and longing etched on his face, Buffy and Dawn turned their backs on him, their shared bond of trust forever broken. They raced into the kitchen.

Feeling her heart pounding in her chest, Buffy grabbed the phone, her hands shaking with a combination of fear and determination. With tear-filled eyes, she dialed 911, a lifeline to the outside world, and to the possibility of safety from the painful reality she now faced.

"Mom, Mom, can you hear me?" Dawn's frantic voice broke the silence, and Buffy's heart ached at the vulnerability in her sister's voice. The turmoil within the Summers house was mirrored in the whirlwind of emotions swirling within each of them, as they grappled with the aftermath of a truth that had shattered their world.

As Buffy's trembling fingers clutched the phone, her voice wavered with a mixture of fear and urgency. "Yes. I need an ambulance at sixteen-thirty Revello Drive," she relayed to the operator, the weight of her words heavy with worry. "Our mother... cut herself. She's lost a lot of blood. Please, please hurry." Her heart pounded in her chest, every second feeling like an eternity as she awaited help for her injured mother.

Hanging up the phone, her gaze turned anxiously to her surroundings, half-expecting another threat from Angel. But instead, relief washed over her as Xander and Willow entered through the back door, their presence providing a glimmer of comfort in the chaos.

"Hey, Rutherford," Xander greeted, attempting to maintain a sense of normalcy, but his words fell short when his eyes fell upon Joyce lying on the floor. "Oh, my God," he gasped, his emotions raw and unfiltered.

Willow's expression mirrored Xander's shock, her gasp revealing her deep concern. "What happened?" she inquired, her voice filled with worry and confusion, trying to make sense of the distressing scene before her.

"Angel," Buffy responded, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying his name aloud was enough to shatter the fragile worlds of both her and Dawn. In those few moments, the foundation of trust and security they had built around him crumbled, leaving them vulnerable and lost in the aftermath of betrayal.

Sunnydale Memorial Hospital

Giles strode down the sterile hospital corridor, his emotions in turmoil as he approached Joyce's room. The sight of her lying there, vulnerable and injured, sent a pang of sorrow through his heart. She was resting, but the small bandage on her neck served as a stark reminder of the danger they had all faced.

In the room, Buffy and Dawn stood protectively by their mother's bedside, their faces etched with worry and fear. Giles could see the weight of the recent events weighing heavily on their young shoulders, and he felt a profound sense of responsibility for their well-being.

As Buffy spoke, her voice trembled with guilt and remorse. "Do you remember anything, Mom?" she asked, seeking some clarity amidst the haze of her mother's memory.

Joyce's response was fuzzy, her mind trying to piece together the fragments of what had happened. "Just... your friend came over. I was going to make a snack," she slurred, the effort to recall the events evident in her voice.

The guilt in Buffy's eyes was palpable as she echoed the words, "My friend." The weight of her secret and the consequences of trusting Angel were etched in every line on her face.

Joyce continued to recount the events, her words carrying a mixture of confusion and vulnerability. "I guess I slipped and cut my neck on..." she trailed off, her mind struggling to grasp the details. "The doctor said it looked like a barbecue fork. We don't have a barbecue fork." The uncertainty in her voice tugged at everyone's heart, leaving them with unanswered questions.

Turning to Giles, Joyce inquired hesitantly, "Are you another doctor?" The confusion and disorientation in her eyes were a stark reminder of the traumatic ordeal she had endured.

Buffy quickly interjected, seeking to ease her mother's concerns, "Mom, this is Mr. Giles."

"The librarian from your school?" Joyce's voice trembled as she tried to comprehend the situation through the haze of sedatives. Confusion and concern knitted together on her face, revealing the emotional turmoil she was going through.

Giles stepped forward, his heart aching at the sight of Joyce lying in that hospital bed. "I just came to pay my respects," he said gently, his voice carrying an undercurrent of empathy and genuine care. "To wish you a speedy recovery."

Joyce tried to process his words. The gravity of the situation was not lost on her, and she attempted to make sense of the events unfolding around her. "Boy, the teachers really do care in this town," she mused, her voice tinged with both surprise and gratitude.

Buffy and Dawn, their emotions teetering on the edge, shared a tender moment with their mother. They each gave her a kiss on the cheek, their actions filled with love and concern, before stepping out of the room. Giles, Xander, and Willow followed them, the weight of the recent events etched on their faces.

In the corridor, Buffy pulled Dawn into her arms, seeking to provide comfort to her younger sister. Her weariness was evident, her shoulders slumping against the wall as she struggled to maintain her composure. "She's going to be okay," Buffy said, her voice holding a mix of exhaustion and determination. "They gave her some iron. Her blood count was a little..." .

"A little low," Giles finished for her. He, deeply moved by the sisters' plight, offered a gentle response, giving them the space, they needed to collect themselves. "It presents itself like a mild anemia," he said, his voice warm with understanding. He wished he could do more to alleviate their pain, to offer the comfort they so desperately needed.

"You're lucky you got to her as soon as you did," Giles continued, knowing that the situation could have been far more dire. "Lucky that you got there before he turned on Dawn." His words hung in the air, acknowledging the danger they had narrowly escaped, and the weight of what they were facing.

Buffy's head whipped around, her eyes burning with a mixture of pain and self-blame. "Lucky? Stupid," she muttered, her voice laced with misery. The weight of guilt bore down on her, as if she carried the burden of the world on her shoulders.

Dawn, ever the compassionate younger sister, rushed to her defense. "Bu... Rutherford, it's not your fault," she insisted, her voice trembling with emotion. She wanted to ease Buffy's suffering, to shield her from the blame she placed upon herself.

"Rutherford, Dawn is right," Xander chimed in, his tone compassionate and understanding. He could see the torment Buffy was going through, and he wanted to offer her some reassurance.

But Buffy's anger and pain weren't easily assuaged. Her gaze remained hard and angry as she faced Xander. "No?" she challenged him with a bitter edge to her voice. "I invited him into our home, even when I knew what he was. I know I shouldn't have, but I cared about him." Her voice wavered with regret and sorrow, the anguish in her heart spilling over.

Willow, who had her share of experiences with complicated emotions, offered her perspective, her voice soft yet resolute. "If you care about somebody," she said, glancing at Xander for a brief moment, "you care about them. You can't change that by—"

"Killing them?" Buffy interrupted, her voice tinged with defiance and pain. "Maybe not. But it's a start." Her words were filled with a mix of sorrow and anger, revealing the emotional turmoil she was going through. The internal conflict between her love for Angel and the necessity to protect her family tore at her soul, leaving her torn and shattered.

The weight of the conversation hung heavy in the air, the silence echoing the depth of their emotions. Xander's voice broke the stillness, offering a small glimmer of hope amidst the turmoil. "We'll keep an eye on your mom and Dawn," he assured Buffy, determination and concern etched on his face. He wanted to ease her burden, to protect the ones she loved as she ventured into the dangerous unknown.

Giles knew he had to speak up, even though he felt a knot of uncertainty in his gut. He wasn't sure if Buffy could defeat Angel, but he had to find the courage to voice his concerns. "Rutherford—" he began, his voice tinged with both caution and genuine care.

Buffy turned her gaze towards him, her eyes fierce with determination. "You can't stop me," she declared, her voice filled with unwavering resolve. "I know where he lives, I will start there." Her determination was like a wildfire, fueled by the pain of betrayal and the need to protect her family.

Giles persisted, his heart aching with worry for Buffy's safety. "Remember he is no ordinary vampire," he cautioned, lowering his voice to a whisper, as if to protect the fragile hope that still lingered in the room. "If there is such a thing. He knows you. He's faced the Three. I think this is going to take more than a simple stake." His concern for her was evident, a shadow of doubt clouding his expression.

"So, do I," Buffy responded sharply, refusing to back down. The resolve in her voice matched the fire in her eyes, unyielding in her determination to confront the one who had shattered her trust.

Giles fell silent, knowing that further words would not change Buffy's mind. Her decision was made, and he could only hope that she would be safe in her pursuit of justice.

Dawn's voice broke the heavy silence, her plea filled with emotion. "Make it painful, Rutherford," she implored, her love for her sister shining through her tear-filled eyes.

"Promise, Dawnie," Buffy replied, her voice softening as she made a solemn vow to protect her family, no matter the cost.

Sunnydale High School

In the dimly lit library, the weight of the crossbow felt heavy in Buffy's hands. Her heart pounded in her chest as she meticulously loaded three deadly bolts, each one representing a fierce determination to confront the darkness that loomed before her.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she tested the resistance of the bow, ensuring that it was in perfect condition. This weapon had become an extension of her will, a symbol of her resolve to protect those she loved and vanquish the malevolent forces that threatened their safety.

Angel's Apartment

The room felt stifling, the air heavy with tension as Angel sat slumped in the chair, encircled by the haunting presence of Darla. Her predatory movements kept him trapped, unable to escape the web she was spinning around him. Her voice, soft and insinuating, seemed to seep into his very soul as she purred, "She's out hunting you right now. She wants to kill you."

The weight of Darla's words pressed upon him like a suffocating cloak, filling him with a sense of dread and desperation. He longed to silence her, to make her vanish from his sight and thoughts forever. Yet, all he could manage was a feeble plea, "Leave me alone."

Darla's proximity felt suffocating, her presence an unyielding force that seemed to strip away any semblance of control Angel had left. Her words cut deep, slicing through his defenses like a dagger to his heart. "What did you think?" she taunted, leaning closer to him, her gaze penetrating his very essence. "Did you think she would understand? That she would look at your face—your true face—and give you a kiss?"

Sunnydale High School

Buffy's hands trembled as she took aim at the poster featuring the image of a seemingly carefree, yet cancer-ridden young man. Emotion welled up inside her, a mixture of frustration, anger, and sorrow. The caption, "Smoking sucks," felt like a cruel irony as she held the crossbow steady, the weight of the bolt echoing the weight of her emotions.

With a determined exhale, Buffy released the bolt, watching it pierce the heart of the cancer-ridden figure on the poster. As the bolt found its mark, she felt a surge of empowerment and purpose. It was as if her anger and sorrow were channeled into that single action, a cathartic release of pent-up emotions.

Angel's Apartment

As Darla continued to push him, her words cut deep into Angel's soul, reopening old wounds and reigniting the smoldering anger within him. Her callous disregard for his struggles, the insensitivity to his inner torment, and the manipulation of his emotions were like salt on an open wound.

"For a hundred years you've not had a moment's peace because you will not accept who you are," she taunted, the bitterness in her voice echoing the relentless torment he had endured. Her words were like a relentless barrage, wearing down his defenses and dredging up memories of the countless battles he had fought with his own identity.

His heart pounded in his chest, and his breaths came in heavy gasps as he felt the growing swell of anger consuming him. It was as if she had unleashed a beast within him, a raw and primal force that had been suppressed for too long. His inner turmoil raged like a tempest, and he struggled to maintain control as her words pushed him to the edge.

"Don't let her hunt you down," she continued, her voice seeping with malevolence. "Don't whimper and mewl like a mangy human. Kill. Feed. Live." Each word struck him like a blow, and he felt his emotions spiraling out of control, the anger and frustration bubbling to the surface.

Her words became the final trigger, breaking through the barriers of his restraint. In a surge of fury, he rose and slammed her against the wall, holding her wrists tightly in his grasp. The intensity in his eyes mirrored the tumultuous storm of emotions brewing within him.

"All right!" he spat out; his voice laced with savage determination. It was a moment of reckoning, a decision he could no longer delay. The relentless pressure, the internal struggle, and the constant battles with his own nature had brought him to this breaking point.

Darla's demeanor shifted, her eyes now serious, perhaps sensing the impending storm within him. She saw the unleashed animal behind his eyes, the raw and primal force yearning for release. Breathing heavily, she dared to ask, "What do you want?"

"I want it finished," he declared savagely, his anger and pain now laid bare. He was done with the constant torment, the never-ending battle against his true nature.

"That's good," she replied, a knowing smile dancing on her lips. Her glance shifted to his hands, still gripping her wrists firmly. "You're hurting me," she acknowledged, the pain evident in her voice. "That's good, too."

The Bronze

Buffy's footsteps echoed through the empty streets as she prowled through the town, her heart heavy with the weight of her mission. The vacant lot she passed served as a stark reminder of the desolation that often lurked in the shadows of her world. The barbed wire fence that bordered the lot seemed to symbolize the barriers she constantly faced in her fight against the forces of darkness.

As she neared the Bronze, the once bustling hotspot now deserted and lifeless, a pang of sadness washed over her. The small chalkboard sign by the entrance announcing the closure for fumigation only added to the desolate atmosphere. The words "Opening Bash this Saturday" felt like a distant echo of happier times, a time before her world had been turned upside down.

Amidst the eerie silence, she suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of glass breaking somewhere above her. Her instincts kicked in, and she swiftly looked up, her senses sharpened. The tension in the air was palpable, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she prepared for what might lie ahead.

Without hesitation, she moved along the side of the Bronze, her eyes scanning for any signs of danger. A metal utility ladder, stark against the night sky, caught her attention. It was attached to the wall, seemingly beckoning her to ascend.

With a deep breath, she began to climb, each rung bringing her closer to whatever awaited her above. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with the possibilities of what she might find. But fear did not paralyze her; it fueled her determination.

Sunnydale Memorial Hospital

Giles sat tenderly on one side of Joyce's hospital bed, his caring presence a comforting embrace. On the other side, Dawn, with a supportive and concerned expression, held her mother's hand, seeking to bring solace in the midst of difficult times.

"He talks about you all the time," Joyce shared with Giles, her voice filled with admiration and gratitude. "It's important to have teachers who make an impression."

A warm, affectionate smile graced Giles' face as he replied, "He makes quite an impression himself."

"I know he's having trouble with history," Joyce confided, her tone tinged with maternal concern. "Is it too difficult for him, or is he applying himself?"

In that moment, Giles and Dawn exchanged knowing glances, a silent understanding passing between them about the reasons behind Buffy's academic struggles. "It's not like that, Mom," Dawn reassured, her voice tender and caring.

"He's studying with Willow. He's studying with Darla," Joyce continued, her worry evident. "I mean, he is trying."

Giles immediately became alert, his senses sharpening as he carefully inquired, "Darla? I don't believe I know—"

"His friend. The one who came over tonight," Joyce filled in, her attention focused on the memory of the recent visitor, unaware of the anxiety that gripped Giles.

Dawn's worry crept into her voice as she interjected, "Mom, Rutherford doesn't know anyone named Darla."

"Poor thing," Joyce continued, seemingly oblivious to Dawn's concern, her mind preoccupied with the events of the evening. Despite her own vulnerability, she managed to offer them both an embarrassed smile. "I probably frightened her half to death when I fainted. Someone should really check and make sure she's all right."

Giles nodded, trying to conceal his urgency as he moved towards the door, with Dawn following close behind, their hearts filled with a shared determination. "Yes. Someone should. Right away. I'll do it."

Leaving the room, Giles and Dawn couldn't help but hear Joyce's faint murmur, her words tinged with awe and gratitude, "That school is amazing."

As they hurried down the hospital corridor, Dawn couldn't contain her assumptions, voicing her thoughts aloud, "I'm assuming Darla is a vampire."

"I believe so," Giles responded, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and uncertainty. Willow and Xander, waiting anxiously outside Ms. Summers's room, hurried to join them, sensing the urgency in Giles's words.

"We have a problem," he said urgently, the weight of the situation etched on his face. Turning his attention to Dawn, he hesitated before asking, "Did Rutherford carve you…"

"Yes," Dawn interjected, her voice strong and resolute, even as her hands trembled slightly. From her backpack, she retrieved a wicked-looking stake, holding it with a determined grip. "You want me to protect mom? Just in case?"

Giles's reluctance was evident, his concern for Dawn's safety warring with the necessity of the situation. Yet, he knew that in this perilous world, every possible precaution needed to be taken. "Just in case," he agreed, a heavy sigh escaping him, understanding the gravity of the responsibility he placed on Dawn's young shoulders.

The Bronze

Buffy pushed herself through the broken window, her heart racing with a mix of adrenaline and fear. In her hands, she tightly gripped her crossbow, a lifeline in this dangerous dance of the night. The balcony was her first target, and she meticulously scanned its shadowy corners, her eyes sharp and alert.

One step at a time, she descended the stairs, every movement deliberate as she methodically surveyed the main floor of the Bronze. In the dimness, she caught what seemed like a faint silhouette of a man, and her instincts kicked in. Swirling around, crossbow aimed, she was ready to confront the potential threat, only to find emptiness greeting her.

Unwavering in her pursuit, she continued her search, determination propelling her through the stillness of the night. Amidst the silence, a crash of broken glass echoed, prompting her to snap her focus towards the source. "I know you're there," she called out, her voice a mix of firmness and vulnerability, the crossbow sweeping across the darkness.

"I'm an animal, right?" a voice replied, tinged with a hint of resignation.

"You're not an animal," Buffy retorted, her tone conveying a complex blend of compassion and defiance. "Animals I like."

Her grip tightened on the crossbow, prepared for anything. Suddenly, her breath caught as he emerged from the shadows, standing uncomfortably close. His vampire face, a chilling reminder of the dangers that surrounded her, served as a haunting testament to the ever-present darkness she faced.

Angel's growl resonated with a mix of determination and suppressed emotions. "Let's get it done," he declared, his voice laced with a hint of urgency and conflicted resolve.

In a blur of motion, he leaped forward, his speed almost too much for Buffy to comprehend. She struggled to adapt, taking a moment to adjust to the astonishing swiftness of his attack. Before she could react, he collided with the nearby pool table, the impact sending a shiver of danger down her spine.

Swiftly bringing the crossbow to bear, she took aim and fired, but her shot went awry, the bolt embedding itself in the distant wall, as Angel effortlessly vaulted up onto the balcony, a ghostly figure in the shadows.

Buffy's heart pounded fiercely, her adrenaline surging as she reloaded the bow, her senses hyper-aware of every sound and movement around her. Her entire being was on edge, every Slayer instinct heightened to an almost hair-trigger level.

Unexpectedly, Angel descended behind her, a silent predator. His feet struck her neck, propelling her forcefully onto the pool table, leaving her momentarily dazed. Gathering her strength, she used the pool table as support, launching a counterattack with a powerful roundhouse kick that sent him reeling.

Seizing the opportunity while he was momentarily incapacitated, Buffy nimbly slid off the pool table and dropped to the floor, reaching for her crossbow. She lay on her back, the deadly weapon poised with unwavering focus on Angel, who now stood before her, presenting himself as a target.

As Angel's features transformed from his vampire guise into the handsome young man who once captivated her heart, conflicting emotions surged within Buffy. Memories of their shared battles against the Three flooded her mind, intertwining with the complexities of her feelings for him.

"Come on," he spoke, his voice hard and resolute, breaking the momentary spell of their past. "Don't go soft on me now."

Her shot missed its mark, the bolt flying far wide and embedding itself into a nearby post. The air seemed to crackle with tension as they locked eyes, the past and present converging in this charged encounter.

"Why?" she questioned, her voice trembling with anger and pain, as she rose to her feet. "Why did you wait so long? Why pretend to want to help? Was it all a cruel joke? To make me feel for you, and then..." She hesitated briefly, struggling to contain the torrent of emotions surging inside her. "I've killed a lot of vampires. I've never hated one before."

Angel's response was soft and tinged with his own turmoil. "Feels good, doesn't it?" he remarked, understanding the bittersweet release that came with righteous anger. "Feels simple."

Raw hurt and betrayal etched across her face as she continued to express her pain. "I invited you into my home," she confessed, needing him to understand the depth of her anguish. "And then you attacked my mom. And if I hadn't come home when I did, you would have attacked Dawn too, wouldn't you?"

"I killed my family," he uttered, his words carrying the weight of immense pain, as if recounting the darkest chapters of his past was an unbearable burden. His expression mirrored the turmoil within, a mix of regret and self-loathing simmering just beneath the surface. "I killed their friends. And their friends' children. For a hundred years, I offered an ugly death to everyone I met. And I did it with a song in my heart."

Buffy felt her heart ache for him, the complexity of his confession stirring a storm of emotions within her. She subtly raised her chin, trying to maintain her composure as she asked, "What changed?"

His voice carried both remorse and vulnerability as he shared his haunting revelation. "My soul was returned," he disclosed, his eyes reflecting the haunting memories of his actions. "I fed on a girl about your age. Beautiful." He gazed into the distance, the weight of his past actions evident in the lines etched on his face. "Dumb as a post. But a favorite among her clan."

"Her clan?" Buffy repeated, slightly puzzled by his choice of words.

"Romani," he explained, the word laced with sorrow. "Gypsies. The elders conjured the perfect punishment for me." He paused for a moment, the gravity of the revelation settling in. "They were the ones to restore my soul."

Buffy's mind raced, trying to comprehend the depth of his suffering and the path that led him to this moment. She couldn't help but question, "So you do have it? Your soul?"

"I do," he replied, his voice laden with emotion, revealing the depth of his inner turmoil. "But I didn't in the beginning. When you become a vampire, the demon takes your body, but it doesn't get your soul. That's gone. No conscience, no remorse. It's an easy way to live."

Amidst the enveloping darkness, he stood, a solitary figure, facing a Slayer whose heart was torn between vengeance and empathy. Despite the danger that loomed, he made no move to attack or flee. Instead, he chose to expose his vulnerable truth to the one person who had every reason to despise him.

"You have no idea what it's like to have done the things I've done and to care," he confessed, his words a mixture of regret and longing. "I haven't fed on a living human being since that day."

Her anger momentarily stilled; Buffy found herself grappling with a complex tangle of emotions. This being, who had caused unimaginable pain and suffering, was now standing before her, a soulful admission in his eyes. The revelation stirred something inside her, a glimmer of compassion in the midst of her quest for revenge.

"So, you started with my mom?" she lashed out, her pain and confusion spilling over.

"I didn't bite her," he replied earnestly, the weight of his words echoing in the dimly lit space. "And I wouldn't have bit Dawn either."

Buffy was taken aback, the revelation forcing her to reassess the beliefs she held so tightly. Conflicting emotions swirled within her, as the complexities of the situation weighed heavily on her heart. "Then why didn't you say something?" she questioned, her voice a mixture of frustration and a glimmer of hope that perhaps there was more to the story than she had assumed.

"I wanted to," he confessed, his voice heavy with self-loathing and internal conflict. "I can walk like a man, but I'm not one." He paused, the weight of his own darkness evident in the way he carried himself. "I wanted to kill you tonight."

Buffy understood his struggle intimately, for she had faced her own battle with these very desires. Her heart ached with the knowledge of the darkness that lurked within them both, an ever-present reminder of their disparate natures.

She knew the risk she was taking, yet she couldn't deny the compassion she felt for this tormented soul. Setting down her weapon, she approached him, her heart pounding with uncertainty and vulnerability. With a slight tilt of her head, she offered her neck, a silent plea for him to resist the temptation that enveloped them both.

"Go ahead," she whispered, her voice laced with a fragile hope. She believed he wouldn't harm her, but every instinct as a Slayer screamed for her to be cautious and vigilant. The dichotomy of the situation weighed heavily on her soul.

She was the Slayer, destined to fight and destroy the forces of darkness. He was a vampire, the embodiment of that very darkness. And yet, in this moment, they stood together, bound by their shared struggles and an unspoken connection.

He remained silent, his gaze locked with hers, haunted eyes searching for some semblance of humanity. As they stared into each other's depths, a fleeting moment of understanding passed between them, a fragile bridge of empathy forming amidst the turmoil.

With a subtle nod, she acknowledged the complexity of their emotions, recognizing that this path was far from easy. "Not as easy as it looks," she uttered, the weight of her words echoing the profound truth they shared.

A hint of a smile teased at the corner of his lips, revealing a flicker of humanity that hadn't yet been extinguished.

But just as the tender moment hung in the air, a new voice shattered the fragile peace, "Sure it is."

Streets of Sunnydale

Xander, Willow, and Giles dashed through the shadows of the night, their hearts racing in sync with their pounding footsteps, all driven by the desperate search for Buffy. The weight of uncertainty bore heavily on each of them, evident in the tense lines etched across their faces.

"We're near the Bronze. What now?" Willow's voice quivered with both urgency and apprehension, unsure of what awaited them.

Giles responded, his tone tinged with a mixture of determination and concern, "Keep looking for him."

Amidst the turmoil of the search, Xander's anxiety bubbled over, and he hesitated before voicing his deepest fears. "I have a question," he began, his voice filled with worry and frustration, "What if we find him, and he's fighting Angel or some of his friends? What the heck are we going to do about it?"

Silence followed his question, a heavy veil of uncertainty enveloping the group. In that moment, they felt the weight of their helplessness, knowing that the situation they faced defied easy answers or quick solutions.

The Bronze

Darla's approach was a study in nonchalance, her hands clasped behind her back as if the weight of the world meant nothing to her. Buffy felt a mixture of emotions—defensiveness, vulnerability, and an internal determination to stand her ground. Her heart fluttered with apprehension, bracing for the taunts that Darla was about to unleash.

"Do you know what the saddest thing in the world is?" Darla drawled, her words dripping with a malevolent charm.

In response, Buffy attempted to deflect the jab with a casual shrug, though the emotional impact of Darla's words couldn't be completely masked. "Bad hair on top of that outfit?" she retorted, trying to maintain her composure.

Darla, however, wasn't easily deterred, and her next barb struck deeper than Buffy cared to admit. "I might have said to be a freak like you," Darla sneered, causing Buffy to flinch at the cruel words. "But there is something just as sad. To love someone who used to love you." Darla's glare intensified, clearly relishing the discomfort she was causing.

The revelation caught Buffy by surprise, and her gaze instinctively shifted towards Angel, seeking some reassurance amidst the storm of emotions swirling within her. She struggled to process the information, her heart tugged in conflicting directions, wrestling with feelings of self-doubt and insecurity.

"You said you were bi," Buffy muttered, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "I should have guessed you might have at one time been involved with an actual woman."

As Darla revealed the depth of their past connection, the weight of centuries-old history hung in the air, an unspoken reminder of how much Angel had experienced before he crossed paths with Buffy.

Darla seemed to delight in causing pain, savoring the opportunity to share the details of her past with Angel, as if marking her territory over him. "We were together for several generations."

Fighting to regain her composure, Buffy remembered Darla, the vampire who had lured Xander's friend Jesse to the cemetery on her first night in Sunnydale. The memory steeled her resolve, and she pushed back, attempting to find her own power in the face of the vampire's taunts.

"Well, when you've been around since Columbus, you're bound to pile up a few exes," Buffy retorted, mustering a biting sneer. "You are older than him, right?" She leaned forward, her posture defiant as she added, "Just between us girls, you're looking a little worn around the eyes."

Darla's malevolent grin revealed her menacing fangs, the embodiment of evil as she taunted them with cruel triumph. "I made him," she proclaimed with satisfaction. "And there was a time when we shared everything." Her focus shifted to Angel, and a hint of wickedness crept into her voice. "Wasn't there, Angelus?"

Angel's silence spoke volumes, and Darla's smile slowly faded as she confronted the reality of his rejection. "You had a chance to come home. To rule with me in the Master's court for a thousand years. But you threw that away because of her," she said, her disbelief tinged with bitterness. "You love someone who hates us."

Buffy glanced at Angel, and their worried gazes locked for a moment, a wordless exchange of support and understanding passing between them. The depth of their feelings for each other remained unspoken but palpable in the charged atmosphere.

"You're sick," Darla continued, her voice taunting, reminiscent of the Master's eerie cadence. "And you'll always be sick, and you'll always remember what it was like to watch her die."

The chilling words hung in the air, amplifying the emotional tension. Buffy, though strong, felt a pang of unease, knowing that Darla's words aimed to strike where it hurt the most.

"You don't think I came alone, do you?" Darla's voice shifted, hinting at a sinister plan.

"I know I didn't," Buffy replied, her determination unwavering. With swift motion, she stomped on the crossbow, sending it soaring into her hands, prepared to defend herself.

Darla chuckled; her amusement mingled with malevolence. "Scary," she conceded, her eyes glinting with malice. With an ominous twist, she revealed two enormous revolvers from behind her back, aiming them directly at Buffy. "Scarier," she declared, firing with both hands, unleashing a barrage of bullets towards the Slayer.

The chaos erupted in a flurry of bullets and pain as Buffy sought refuge under the pool table, her heart pounding with a potent mix of fear and determination. The deafening gunshots echoed in the room, reverberating through her senses as she tried to shield herself from the deadly onslaught.

Angel bore the brunt of Darla's wrath. The piercing sound of a gunshot tore through the air, and a bullet found its mark, striking him in the shoulder. The impact sent him crashing into the wall, the crossbow bolt still lodged there, a symbol of the battle that raged within him.

"Angel!" Buffy's desperate cry carried the weight of her emotions, her concern for him magnified as she saw him crumple to the floor with a grunt of pain. Her heart ached, knowing that vampires might be resilient but not invincible to the agony inflicted by gunfire.

Yet, Darla remained callous and composed, her coldness contrasting with the mayhem she had unleashed. "Oh, don't worry," she said, almost tauntingly, as she nonchalantly discussed the limitations of bullets against vampires. "Bullets can't kill vampires. They can hurt them like hell, but—"

Before she could finish her sentence, she aimed her gun at Buffy again, indifferent to the terror in the Slayer's eyes. Time seemed to slow; the world reduced to the immediate threat of the barrel pointed at her. In that instant, Buffy's instincts took over, propelling her into action as she braced herself for the next barrage of bullets, ready to confront her own vulnerability head-on.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

In the darkened alley, fear clutched at their hearts as Xander, Willow, and Giles froze at the sound of gunfire echoing from within the Bronze. The abrupt bursts of shots sent shivers down their spines, their eyes widening in terror as they exchanged worried glances.

"Did you just hear—" Xander's voice wavered, the words barely escaping his lips, before they were interrupted by another round of gunshots, the sound more intense and closer than before.

Without hesitation, they knew they couldn't stand idly by. Their determination surged, driving them forward as they ran toward the Bronze, their feet carrying them through the shadows and toward the source of the danger.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Buffy crouched anxiously behind the pool table, her heart pounding in her chest as she listened to Darla's menacing taunts draw nearer. The air was thick with tension, and every word from the vampire's mouth felt like a blade slicing through her emotions.

"So many body parts, so few bullets," Darla's voice dripped with malevolence, each word sending a chill down Buffy's spine. "Let's begin with the kneecaps. No fun dancing without them…"

In that instant, the room erupted in gunfire, bullets raining down around Buffy. Her instincts kicked in, and with a swift move, she rose from her cover, unleashing a crossbow shot at Darla. The bolt slammed into the vampire's chest, eliciting a moment of hope in Buffy's heart as Darla doubled over in pain. The sight of the wounded vampire offered a fleeting sense of victory, and for a brief moment, Buffy allowed herself to believe she might escape unscathed.

Buffy stole a fleeting glance in Angel's direction, where he struggled to pull himself up using the crossbow bolt lodged in the wall. Concern for him tugged at her heartstrings, even in the midst of their desperate situation.

But her momentary reprieve was short-lived as Darla defied the odds, straightening back up with an unsettling resilience. "Close. But no heart," Darla's voice dripped with venom as she ripped the bolt out of her chest and discarded it, a chilling display of her unyielding malevolence.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Willow, Giles, and Xander's hearts pounded in unison as they entered the Bronze through the broken window on the second floor. The scene of destruction that unfolded before them filled them with horror, their faces etched with worry and desperation as they took in the dangerous situation below.

Xander's voice trembled with urgency as he whispered, "We need to distract her." His eyes darted to Buffy, and he saw the same realization she did—their friend had run out of bolts. Time was of the essence, and they needed a plan, fast.

In a frantic attempt to reach Buffy, Willow's voice rang out, pleading with desperation, "Rutherford, it wasn't Angel who attacked your mom. It was Darla!"

Darla, however, whirled in their direction, a storm of fury unleashed, raining bullets down upon them. Fear propelled them to duck, seeking whatever cover they could find amidst the chaos.

Meanwhile, on the main floor of the Bronze, Angel's breath came in ragged gasps as he pulled the crossbow bolt out of the wall. Pain flared in his wounded shoulder, but he pushed through it, determined to play his part in this critical confrontation.

Buffy took swift action, her emotions churning like a tempest as she faced off against Darla. With determination burning in her eyes, she sprang into action, rising to her feet and yanking the pool table toward her. The force knocked Darla off balance, and she slammed onto her back, momentarily caught off guard.

Seizing the opportunity, Buffy exerted all her strength, pushing the table with everything she had. Darla's guns blazed in response as the table flew backward, the fierce barrage of bullets tracking Buffy's movements. With agility and grit, Buffy made a daring dash, running towards the Bronze's coffee counter and flinging herself over it. The glass case shattered above her, a cascade of chaos echoing the turmoil in her heart.

n that tense moment, Giles' heart raced, his mind racing to find a way to save Buffy from the impending danger. His eyes darted around, searching for anything that could serve as a distraction. Then, a glimmer of hope appeared— a light board nearby. Without a moment's hesitation, he scrambled over to it, his fingers pounding and punching the buttons with urgency.

Spotlights burst to life, illuminating the darkness in a pulsating strobe. Darla, momentarily disoriented by the sudden change in lighting, gave Giles a fleeting sense of triumph. But the victory was short-lived as she relentlessly advanced on Buffy, her movements nightmarishly jerky in the throbbing flashes.

Behind the bar, Buffy huddled, her heart pounding in her chest as the bullets whizzed by, narrowly missing her. She dodged with a dancer's grace, but the glassware shattered like crystalline landmines around her, the shards bearing testament to the deadly game they were playing.

In the midst of the dangerous confrontation, Buffy felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with anxiety coursing through her veins. Darla's taunts cut deep, invoking emotions that she had worked so hard to overcome. "Come on," Darla urged with a cruel grin. "Take it like a man." The words felt like a barb aimed directly at her identity, a painful reminder of her past struggles.

Darla fired again, the shots echoing in the tumultuous strobe light, seemingly relishing the sense of impending victory. Buffy's heart pounded in her chest as she sought cover behind the counter, trying to shield herself from the hail of bullets. The strobe light flashed relentlessly, casting haunting shadows on her face, a vivid reminder of the battles she had fought within herself to embrace her true identity.

In the midst of the chaos, Giles' eyes caught a glimpse of Angel, standing resolute behind Darla, a crossbow bolt firmly in his hand. His heart swelled with a mixture of hope and trepidation as Angel rose without warning, plunging the arrow into Darla's back. In that moment, it felt like the world held its breath.

Giles swiftly shut off the strobe light, and the scene was bathed in moonlight, a stark contrast to the relentless turmoil that had just unfolded. Darla staggered, her guns clattering to the floor, her disbelief palpable as she turned towards Angel. The emotions in the room were palpable, as if time itself hung in suspension.

"Angel?" Darla murmured in a tone laced with astonishment and something deeper that she could not quite fathom. She reached out, perhaps seeking a glimmer of connection, but it was a fleeting moment, barely lasting at all.

As she collapsed into dust, the finality of the moment settled upon the room like a heavy fog. The battle was won, but the cost weighed heavily on everyone's hearts. Buffy rose from her shelter, her eyes wide with a mix of emotions—gratitude, relief, and an overwhelming sense of uncertainty.

Yet, words seemed inadequate to capture the complexity of the moment, and Angel stood there, unable to find the right thing to say to her. The silence between them felt both tender and laden with unspoken emotions. Slowly, he turned away, carrying the weight of their shared history, leaving Buffy to navigate the aftermath of this intense and life-altering encounter on her own.

April 19, 1997 – Saturday

The Bronze

Buffy felt a mix of emotions as she stepped foot inside the Bronze once again. The familiar sights greeted her, but everything seemed different. The vibrant place was alive with people chatting, music filling the air, and genuine laughter echoing through the room. It was both heartwarming and unsettling for Buffy, given the memories it held.

She couldn't forget the last time she had been here, especially the bittersweet encounter with Angel, whom she had not seen since. The cross he had once given her, a symbol of their connection, now rested close to her heart. It was a cherished reminder that Angel was unique among the terrifying vampires that roamed her peculiar and frightening world.

"Ah, the post-fumigation party," Xander exclaimed, trying to inject some cheerfulness into the atmosphere.

Buffy, curious and perhaps a bit skeptical, asked, "What's the difference between this and the pre-fumigation party?"

With a playful glint in his eye, Xander replied, "Much heartier cockroaches. They sure know how to survive!"

While Xander's joke had its intended effect, Buffy couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness lingering within her. Her eyes searched for Angel.

Willow, being the caring soul, she was, picked up on Buffy's unease and offered her kindness. "No word from Angel?" she gently inquired, hoping to provide comfort.

Buffy tried to mask her deeper emotions with a light tone, replying, "Naw. It's weird, though. In a way, I feel like he's still watching me."

Willow's smile remained warm and understanding. "Well, in a way, he sort of is. In the way that he's right over there," she revealed, gesturing to Angel's presence nearby.

As Buffy and Xander turned simultaneously, a surge of emotions swept over Buffy's heart. Her feelings for Angel were both tender and intense, and she couldn't contain the mix of anxiety and hope that filled her.

With a determined resolve, Buffy composed herself and took measured steps toward the enigmatic vampire she loved. As always, Angel stood alone, an aura of melancholy surrounding him.

Their eyes met, and time seemed to hold its breath as they stood there, enveloped in a whirlwind of unspoken emotions. The weight of their past and the uncertainty of their future hung in the air like an unspoken secret.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay. And your mother and Dawn," Angel finally broke the silence, his voice a mixture of concern and longing.

A soft smile touched Buffy's lips, betraying the depth of her affection for her loved ones. "All three of us are good," she reassured him. "I'm even thinking of seeing if I can get Giles to agree to let Dawn train with me. You know, for self-defense."

The vulnerability in his laughter didn't escape her notice as he replied, "If I can go a little while without being shot or stabbed, I'll be all right." But it was clear that beneath the humor, there was a hint of sadness, a longing for peace that seemed elusive.

Then, he hesitated, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air, "Look," he said, struggling to find the right words, "this can't—"

As he faltered with his words, Buffy understood the weight of what he couldn't bring himself to say aloud. "Ever be anything," she finished for him, her voice filled with a mix of love and sorrow. "I know," she whispered, the depth of her understanding evident in her eyes.

Despite the ache in her heart, Buffy tried to lighten the heavy moment with humor, attempting to conceal her pain. "For one thing, you're like two hundred and twenty-four years older than I am." But even in her jest, there was a poignant truth that couldn't be denied.

Angel's faint smile betrayed the turmoil he felt, appreciating her attempt to ease the situation for both of them. "I just have to… have to walk away from this," he finally admitted, his voice laden with sadness.

Her heart breaking, Buffy replied in a soft, almost fragile tone, "I know. Me, too." The pain of letting go tugged at her soul, yet she knew it was the only path forward.

They stood there, their eyes locked in a silent conversation, knowing that one of them had to make the first move to break the stalemate. "One of us has to go here," she said with a mixture of resignation and hope, her heart pounding in her chest.

"I know," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze never leaving hers.

Then, in a moment that felt both inevitable and necessary, Angel bent his head to kiss her. Buffy welcomed the bittersweet embrace, pouring all her love and warmth into his cold, soft lips. The tenderness of his kiss sent shivers down her spine, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, savoring the fleeting connection, aware that it might be the last time they shared such intimacy.

As the kiss ended, Buffy looked into Angel's eyes, trying to mask her pain with a gentle smile. She asked him with utmost care, "Are you okay?"

Struggling to find the right words, he hesitated, finally admitting, "It's just…"

Her eyes welled with tears, reflecting the ache in her heart. "Painful. I know." But even in her sorrow, she mustered the courage to say what needed to be said, "See you around?"

With a heavy heart, she turned away, walking away from the love she cherished so deeply.