April 1999

Buffy looked at Angel. "I can't believe you're breaking up with me." She walked a few aimless steps, then turned. Brokenly she asked, "How am I supposed to stay away from you?"

Angel forced himself to say it. "I'm leaving. After the Ascension, after it's finished with the mayor and Faith, if we survive ... I'll go."

She couldn't have looked more stricken if he'd slapped her. "Where?"

"I don't know."

Buffy stared at the ground, then at him. "Is this really happening?" The desolation in her voice stabbed Angel with more pain than he could ever remember feeling. Only his conviction that this was the right course of action for Buffy's sake kept him silent as she walked away from him.

---

Without you, the ground thaws...the rain falls...the grass grows.
Without you, the seeds root...the flowers bloom...the children play...
The stars gleam...the poets dream...the eagles fly.
Without you, the earth turns...the sun burns...
But I die
Without you.

---

The early morning sparkled, fresh and clean and cool after the previous night's storm. Buffy walked across campus, ignoring the wet grass that darkened her well-worn shoes. When she reached the jogging path she took a few more minutes to make sure she was adequately stretched and warmed up, then set off. Even though dawn had barely broken, the path was far from deserted. Buffy saw at least a dozen other early birds, most of whom she recognized by sight though she knew the names of only a few. Serious runners all, they exchanged friendly nods, but spared no breath for chit-chat.

After the first mile Buffy increased her pace to the speed she intended to maintain for the remainder of her run. A mile later a light film of sweat broke out on her body, but her breathing was even and controlled.

She loved these early morning runs, especially once autumn had finally - in late October - broken the relentless California heat; loved the cool air against her heated body; loved the sensation of her muscles working together in perfect coordination. Most of all she craved the mindlessness of it.

When she ran her brain turned off, except for that portion of it that watched for obstacles in the path and other safety hazards. No thoughts of unwritten papers due in the much too near future plagued her with guilt. No Slayer-related battle strategies replayed themselves. No images of a tall, dark man with pale skin and eyes that pierced her soul disturbed her equilibrium. Especially there were no distracting recollections of her dream from the night before, the dream where she and Angel made love on a moonlit beach, with passion and without fear. There was only the morning, the track, and the run.

"Hi!" Without warning someone appeared beside her. Buffy whirled, instinctively going into a defensive stance. "Hey!" The young man shied away, hands held apart. "Down, girl!" He laughed.

Buffy took a deep breath. Her heart was racing from the adrenaline surge. "So you think that's funny, Greg? Next time you sneak up behind someone don't be surprised if you end up flat on your back in the dirt. With a broken arm!" she added as an afterthought before turning away and continuing her run.

"Hey!" Greg jogged after her. "Look, I'm sorry. I thought you'd hear me coming up. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," Buffy said through gritted teeth. "You startled me - there's a difference." She increased her speed, hoping he'd take the hint. Greg, however, easily matched her pace.

Buffy sighed, her pleasure in the run broken by this intrusion. She was pretty sure she knew what was coming next, having seen the warning symptoms. Gregory Hinkle was in her English class, and during the last two weeks had made a point of taking a seat as close to her as possible. He also hovered around her after class, trying to engage her in conversation. Buffy had been polite but cool, excusing herself on the grounds of "another class." Apparently the attractive young student had decided on a more active approach, although to her surprise he was perceptive enough to wait until they had finished their run before making his pitch.

"Hey, Buffy, how about we grab a coffee or something in the student union? My treat." Greg gazed at her hopefully.

Buffy sighed but accepted the invitation. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner he would stop bothering her. Although school had only been in session for three months, she had already developed a sure-fire strategy for discouraging unwanted admirers. While Greg was getting their drinks Buffy pulled her weapon out of her fanny pack, and was perusing it intently when he got back to their table.

"Here you go, one spring water for you, one latte for me." He set them down, then noticed the book she put to one side at his approach. "What're you reading?"

"It's a book by Stephen Hawking. It's fascinating; have you read it?" She looked at him expectantly.

"Stephen Hawking? Oh, yeah, I read one of his older books a few years ago; it was pretty good." Greg took a sip of his latte. "I think it was called Carrie."

"That's Stephen King," Buffy said evenly. "Stephen Hawking is a scientist; he writes about quantum physics."

"Quantum physics?" Greg looked blank.

"You know - black holes in space, relativity, things like that." Buffy hoped the end of this conversation was near; she had just about exhausted her limited scientific vocabulary.

"Oh. You're, uh, taking a class in that? Is this required reading?" He indicated the volume.

"Oh, no." She gave him a surprised look. "It's not required."

He blinked. "You mean you're reading it for fun?"

"Of course. It's fascinating; you really ought to give it a try. Here, if you'd like to borrow it I'm sure I can find a copy at the library." She pushed the book toward him.

"Uh, no, thanks just the same. Gosh, look at the time. I'm going to be late." For what, he didn't say. Greg scrambled to his feet. "Well, see you in class."

Buffy grinned as he practically ran out of the building. "Works every time." She patted the book fondly and replaced it in her fanny pack.

"What works every time?" Willow plopped down in the chair across from Buffy. Oz followed suit. "I bet I know," he said. "You just used the 'I'm a Brainy Physics Major' ploy on some poor fellow."

Buffy chuckled. "He never knew what hit him."

"Who was it this time?" Willow wanted to know.

"A guy from my English class named Greg Hinkle."

Willow looked interested. "Oh yeah, I know who he is. How come you turned him down? He's cute, reminds me of Robert Redford, only taller and, and not as blonde and ... well, younger, of course."

"A whole lot younger," Buffy agreed. "About forty years, give or take a few."

Oz interrupted. "The point isn't his looks. The point is why didn't you want to go out with him?"

Buffy shrugged. "He's too immature, not to mention not the smartest guy in town. He thought Stephen Hawking wrote Carrie."

"Ouch." Willow made a face.

"Really," Buffy agreed. "Even I know better than that."

Oz raised one eyebrow. "Since when have you insisted on Mensa candidates for dates?".

"Since never, but what's the use?" Buffy said. "Oz, I don't lead a normal life. Sooner or later any guy I'd start dating would be disappointed - just like Scott was. So why start anything? Until Slayers start coming in the male gender I figure my social life is pretty much a dead issue. No pun intended."

She stood up. "I have to go clean up before class. You guys going home this weekend?" The question was rhetorical, as Willow went home to Sunnydale every weekend, and where Willow went, Oz came along.

"Yeah," Willow answered. "My mom laid the guilt thing on me 'cause I didn't go last weekend. But at least she invited Oz for dinner tonight."

"Why didn't you go last weekend?" Buffy was surprised.

"Full moon," Oz supplied. "Will insisted on staying with me." He looked at her fondly.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot." Now Buffy understood. Oz was a werewolf, and he made sure he was securely locked away during the full of the moon. "Well, I'll be there too. Maybe I'll see you at The Bronze?"

"Probably." Willow grinned at her. "Unless you want to hit another Sunnydale hot spot."

Buffy chuckled. "Like what, the ice cream parlor? I'll pass, thanks." They made arrangements to meet at The Bronze, then Buffy left.

---

As Joyce Summers drove home she was busily planning the Thanksgiving dinner for next week. Ham or turkey; that was always a big decision. Last year I fixed a turkey, so maybe Buffy would like ham this time.

Turning onto her street, she saw Buffy's car parked at the curb. She and Buffy's father had pooled their finances to buy her a five-year-old Toyota Camry as a graduation present. It was unmistakable: the previous owner had painted it blinding shade of purple, which Buffy adored but which made Joyce shudder every time she saw it. However, the paint job was undoubtedly the reason the price had been so cheap - comparatively speaking. And she had to admit that it made the car easy to spot in a parking lot.

"Buffy?" Joyce tossed her purse on the couch.

"In the kitchen," Buffy called back. Joyce found her making a sandwich. She took one look at it and burst out laughing

"Something funny about my food?" Buffy asked quizzically. She took a bite; lettuce and tomato tried to slide off onto the plate but she pushed them back into place.

"My mother would have called that a Dagwood," Joyce chuckled.

"A which?"

"You know, the comic strip Blondie. Dagwood is Blondie's husband, and he's always making these huge sandwiches with all the leftovers in the fridge."

"Oh." Buffy nodded her understanding. "Like Shaggy in Scooby-Doo. "

"Well . . . yes." Joyce decided to drop the cultural exchange. "So how have you been, honey? Are you still running every morning?"

"Yth." The word came out muffled. Buffy swallowed and tried again. "Yes. I am."

"Well, I'm glad you're getting your exercise, but don't overdo it, okay? You're looking a little too thin. Are you eating enough?"

"Yes, Mom." Buffy sighed patiently. "I burn a lot of energy, that's all."

"I know." Joyce smiled at her. "You always have. Hey, I have an idea. How about if you wrap the rest of your sandwich for later, and I'll take you out to dinner. I'm starved and I don't feel like cooking."

"Mexican?" Buffy suggested, eyes brightening. She loved Mexican, but Taco Bell was all she could afford at school and even Gorditas palled after a while. But real Mexican . . . . She found a plastic bag for the sandwich.

"If that's what you'd like, sure. But we're taking my car." No way was Joyce going to ride in that purple eyesore.

"Okay. Let's go." Buffy was out of the kitchen before Joyce could blink. She blinked anyway. "I guess she's hungry too," she remarked to the walls.

Thirty minutes later, relaxing over a margarita and chips and salsa - Buffy had a Coke - Joyce asked, "So are you seeing anybody?"

"You mean since last week? No." Buffy dunked a chip into the salsa, scooped up all the chip could hold, and hastily crammed it into her mouth.

"What's the matter with the boys at that school? Are they all gay?" Joyce was only half joking. Buffy seemed to have no social life, except with her friends Willow and Oz. Xander was still away on his cross-country road trip, not that Xander was anything more than a friend.

Buffy shrugged. "I've been asked out, just not by anyone I'd care to go out with. Oh good, here's our food." The server placed two plates before them, with the usual warning about them being hot.

"So what was wrong with the guys who asked you out?" Joyce persisted despite the inner voice telling her she needed to drop the subject. Hastily she put on a joking tone. "Warts? Halitosis?"

Buffy said flatly, "They're not Angel. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She stabbed her fork into the enchilada suiza as if it were a vampire's heart.

Joyce dropped her eyes. No, that was not what she'd wanted to hear, though she wasn't surprised to hear it. She fought back a wave of guilt.

I did the right thing for Buffy, going to Angel that day with my concerns about their relationship. Everything I said was true. He knew it too; I could tell by the look on his face. Buffy's young; she'll get over him. Eventually. I wish I were as certain of Angel. He cared - cares - for her more than I realized. He proved that.

She thought back to graduation night. Reluctantly giving in to Buffy's pleas that she leave town ("Please, Mom. I'm going to fight this thing, but I can't do it if I'm worried about you. If you stay you'll get me killed.") Joyce had spent the evening parked at the side of the road about five miles out of town. When the radio program was interrupted by a news bulletin of an explosion at the high school, she could stand it no longer. She raced to the school. It had taken her some time to find anyone she knew in the confusion of smoke, paramedics, and hysterical parents and students

Finally she'd spotted Angel's unmistakable silhouette and started toward him in relief, certain Buffy wouldn't be far away. Then something in his attitude stopped her. Why was he just standing there? What was he staring at? Following the direction of his gaze she'd seen Buffy, who also stood motionless, looking back at Angel from across the school parking lot. Confused as to what was happening, she'd stayed where she was, back in the shadows.

After a long moment Angel had turned and simply walked away. His path happened to be in her direction, so as he came near she stepped forward. "You're leaving." It wasn't a question. Once she had seen his face she had known.

"It's the only way." His voice was flat. She'd understood: if he didn't leave he wouldn't be able to stay away from Buffy - or Buffy from him.

"Angel, I... " She faltered; what could she say? That she was sorry? Being sorry couldn't change the truth. "I wish it didn't have to be this way."

He'd looked at her then, and she'd winced at what she'd seen in his eyes: the look of a man renouncing his last hope of heaven. "So do I." He'd left her then, and as she watched him disappear from sight tears filled her eyes.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

With a start, Joyce came back to the present. Across the table Buffy regarded her with concern. "I'm fine, honey."

"Then why are you crying?"

"What?" Surprised, Joyce realized Buffy was right; there were tears in her eyes. Hastily she blinked them away. "Sorry. I . . . just happened to remember something. Don't worry about it." Forcing her voice into a normal tone, she asked, "So, have you heard from Angel?"

"No, Mom." Buffy's tone said it was a stupid question. "We don't write."

"Buffy, I know it's hard." Joyce leaned forward. "I know how much it hurts to lose someone you care about. It will get easier, I promise you. With time."

Buffy's smile was forced. "I know. Don't worry about me, I'm doing fine. Willow and Oz are in town. I'm meeting them at The Bronze tonight, after I see Giles." Joyce accepted the change of subject, and they talked awhile about those two.

"They're such a cute couple. I hope they last." Joyce realized too late that her remark may not have been the most tactful one under the circumstances, but Buffy didn't seem to notice.

"I hope so, too," she said. "They're good for each other." Chatting then about Xander and the hilarious postcards he sent to everyone, they finished their meal. Joyce took Buffy back to the house to get her car, and Buffy left to check in with Giles.

---

"Giles?" Buffy stuck her head in the door of the Bell, Book & Candle.

"Buffy?" Giles turned from the shelf where he'd just replaced a book. "Hello."

"Hi!" She came inside. "So, how are things at the Hellmouth? Any activity this week?" Giles took off his glasses and started polishing them with his handkerchief. Buffy smiled at this familiar gesture; she often wondered if he was aware of how frequently he performed it.

"Nothing that I could detect. I did a few sweeps of the cemeteries but everything seems quiet." Giles sighed, replaced his glasses. "You know, I hadn't realized before just how helpful Angel was with all that. He seemed to be able to pick up on - " Giles stopped. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Buffy said evenly. "Angel helped a lot when it came to hearing what was going down. I'm sure you miss his input."

"Er, yes." Giles pulled his glasses off then replaced them again without seeming to realize it. "Anyway, if you would make at least a partial sweep before you go to The Bronze tonight, it would relieve my mind a bit."

"Sure thing." Then Buffy did a double take. "Wait. How did you know I'm going to The Bronze tonight?" Giles raised an eyebrow. "You always do," he said.

"Oh." Buffy rallied. "Well, okay. But ... just because I always do doesn't mean I - I always will, you know. I mean, some time I might go somewhere else." Later, as she toured the last cemetery, she wondered why Giles' remark had flustered her. It was true that she went to The Bronze a lot; but what of it? So did everyone. In Sunnydale there really was nowhere else to go for fun, food and dancing.

It's like he was saying I'm in a rut. I'm not in a rut. I'm rutless. If anything's in a rut it's Sunnydale. This town seriously needs to get some night-life. A vampire lurking behind a headstone leaped out at her, only to meet the business end of Mr. Pointy and explode in a shower of dust. Some good night-life, that is. Vampires and other demons don't exactly count.

The clamor from the band could be heard half a block away. Buffy listened. Sounds like the Dingoes. She entered the building, wormed her way through the crowd. It is the Dingoes, and there's Willow, right up front as usual. Hmm.

"Hey, why didn't you tell me Oz was playing tonight?" She took the stool next to her friend.

"We didn't know until we got here," Willow told her. "The other band canceled at the last minute - I think their drummer got sick - and the Dingoes filled in. Oz is up there with them."

Buffy had already seen him, head bent over his guitar, a frown of concentration on his face. She threw him a wave as he glanced up, then changed the subject. "Hey, Will, how come you can always get a table? I never can get one unless I'm with you, then somehow one just magically appears." She used the word deliberately, just to see her friend blush. "You're not doing a bibbity-bobbity-boo, are you? Isn't that bad karma, using your powers for personal gain?"

"It's just a table," Willow said defensively. "It's not like I'm winning the lottery or anything." Truly curious, Buffy asked, "So what is it that you do, exactly? You don't really make a table appear out of thin air, do you?"

Willow looked shocked. "Of course not! That would be dangerous. What if someone was standing in that space? Not that I could do that anyway. No, all I do is a little spell so that the people at a table decide to leave just as we get close. It doesn't hurt anybody." She looked so guilty Buffy was sorry she'd brought it up.

"Will, I was just pulling your chain a little. I'm sorry. I honestly don't think there's anything wrong with what you're - "

The words died in her throat. Across the room she had spotted a familiar figure. Tall. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Black jacket. His back was turned to her, and for a second she considered just leaving. Right then and there, before he saw her. Then she knew that nothing on earth could persuade her to go.

"Buffy, what's wrong?"

Buffy not only couldn't speak, she could hardly breathe. She nodded and Willow followed the direction of her nod. Her eyes widened. "Angel? What's he doing here?" Buffy shook her head. "I don't know," she managed to say.

Willow looked at her. "Are you ... going over?" Buffy nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed on his broad back. "Oh, yes." For in that moment of stunned recognition she'd realized the true reason she haunted The Bronze every time she was in town: she'd been hoping against hope that one night he'd be there. That he'd tell her he'd changed his mind, that he couldn't live without her. And now, here he was.

She slid off the stool and started walking toward him. Her palms were sweaty and she swallowed more than once during her short trip across the crowded floor. Then she was there, behind him. She touched his sleeve. "Angel."

He turned around. Buffy felt the shock like a physical blow to her stomach. It wasn't Angel. It was no one she'd ever seen before. "Well, hi. I'm sorry, have we met? I'm terrible at remembering people." The young man smiled apologetically. He was tall; he was dark. He was even good-looking. He wasn't Angel.

"Sorry. I thought ... sorry." How she found voice enough to whisper even that much, Buffy never knew. She backed away. The only thought in her mind was that Angel wasn't there. Angel would never be there, no matter how many times she came looking for him. He had left her and she would never see him again. She turned and stumbled toward the exit. Blinded by tears, she kept bumping into people.

"Here, lean on me." It was Willow, of course. Sweet, wonderful Willow, the best friend a girl could have. They made it outside and into a nearby alley before Buffy collapsed, sobbing as she hadn't done in months. Not since the day after Angel broke up with her, and that day too it had been Willow who held her and smoothed her hair, Willow who handed her tissues while she cried until her nose swelled so much she couldn't breathe and her throat was raw.

"Oh, Buffy, I'm sorry." Willow rocked her friend, ignoring the tears making a soggy mess of her sweater. "I'm so sorry."

"I'll never see him again, Will!" The words came raggedly, in between sobs that shook her entire body. "I don't even know where he is, if he's all right. He could die and I'd never know it! Oh, Will, it hurts so much; I can't bear it!"

Willow caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning her head sharply, she relaxed when she saw it was Oz. Concern written all over his face, he telegraphed a silent message to her with one twist of his eyebrows: Can I help? She shook her head, but smiled thanks. Suddenly Buffy began gasping. She clutched at Willow.

"I - can't - breathe." Her eyes stared in panic at Willow, her breaths coming in rapid little puffs. Willow felt the beginnings of panic herself. Nightmare visions of a heart attack sped through her mind.

"Oz!"

He was there in an instant. "She's hyperventilating, that's all. Buffy, breathe into your hands." He cupped her hands over her mouth and nose and held them in place. "Breathe into your hands. Your body needs carbon dioxide." After only a few moments Buffy's breathing slowed. Oz waited a bit longer then lowered her hands from her face. "How do you feel?"

"Better," Buffy said faintly. "Thanks." She tried to smile. "I must look like - " Then she started crying again, though more quietly. "I'm sorry ... ." She couldn't go on.

They helped her to stand. "Come on, we'll take you home." Buffy nodded. By the time they reached her house, although still crying she had recovered enough to ask Willow to come in to explain to her mother. "I just can't, and you know how mothers are." Willow knew how most mothers were, anyway, and that included Joyce Summers. They went in, leaving Oz out in the van.

Out in the kitchen, Joyce heard the front door open. Surprised, she looked at the clock. Buffy had only been gone forty minutes. "Buffy?" Somewhat alarmed, she got up from the table where she'd been going over accounts, was reassured to hear Buffy's voice in reply. "It's me." Then she frowned. Buffy's voice had sounded ... strange.

"You're home early," she commented as she walked to the front room. "Is everything all - " Her voice froze at the sight of her daughter's tear-ravaged face. "What happened? Buffy, are you all right?" She hurried to her side.

Buffy raised a hand to stop her. "I can't talk tonight." Her voice was raspy; tears continued to stream down her cheeks, unchecked. "Willow will explain. I'll see you in the morning." Without another word she hurried upstairs.

"Willow?" Almost frantic, Joyce looked at Willow. "What happened to her?"

"She thought she saw Angel at the club," Willow said without preamble. "There was someone there who looked just like him from the back. I mean, I thought it was him too. I think ... " Willow's eyes filled. "I think she's been bottling everything up since the night he left, and this sort of popped the cork."

"Oh, God," Joyce breathed. "Poor Buffy." Her heart ached for her daughter's pain.

Willow wiped her eyes. "It'd be 'poor Angel' if I could get my hands on him," she muttered. "The big ... jerk." She turned to leave. Joyce followed her to the door.

"Angel did the right thing by leaving, Willow. What kind of life could they have had together?"

"You know, Mrs. Summers, for a while I agreed with that." Willow looked at Joyce gravely. "But how could it be worse than this? She's not made of steel; how much can she be expected to take without breaking?"

"I know she's hurting right now," Joyce said. "But in time she'll understand why Angel - "

Willow cut her off. "She understands now. Understanding doesn't always help. Buffy gave up so much for Angel." She laughed bitterly. "She even gave him her blood to save his stupid life, and he just walked away from her - "

"Gave him her blood?" Joyce interrupted. "What do you mean?"

Willow looked surprised. "After Faith shot him," she said, adding uneasily, "I thought Buffy told you about it."

Joyce shook her head. "When did this happen?" she asked.

Willow sounded even more hesitant. "Um, the day before graduation? Uh, listen, Mrs. Summers, I better go. My mom ... ." She sidled toward the door.

"Willow." Joyce touched the girl's arm. "Please tell me what happened." Willow looked very unhappy, but was saved by the appearance of Oz in the doorway.

"It's okay, Will; I'll tell her," he said, putting his arm around her waist. Willow flashed him a grateful look. Oz faced Joyce. "Faith shot Angel with a poisoned arrow. Turns out that vampires aren't immune to all poisons. He was dying, slowly and painfully, and the only thing that would save him was the blood of a Slayer. Buffy went after Faith to take her to Angel, but they fought and Buffy stabbed her. Faith fell from two or three stories up. Buffy thought she was dead, so she went back to Angel and forced him to drink from her."

"Forced him?" Joyce asked. "How?" The story she was hearing stunned her.

"I don't know," Oz said. "I never heard that part, so I guess it's back to you, Will."

Willow shook her head. "I'm not sure. Buffy only told me that he kept refusing, so she had to force him. He was pretty weak, you know. People who are dying tend to be, even if they are vampires."

"Yes," said Joyce, meaninglessly. "Thank you, Willow. You, too, Oz." She let them leave without further hindrance, and walked upstairs. Outside Buffy's bedroom she paused. No light showed under the door. She tapped, very softly; no reply. Opening the door with care, she listened, and was rewarded with the sound of deep, regular breathing.

She's asleep, thank God. Joyce pulled the door almost shut, leaving just a crack open so that she could hear if Buffy needed her during the night, and went to her bedroom. She undressed, put on her nightgown, cleaned her face, brushed her teeth... all the mechanical rituals that went with bedtime, trying to put off the moment when she'd have to think about what she'd just learned. Finally she could delay it no longer. She sat on the edge of her bed, recalling Willow's question.

How much can one person be expected to take? Joyce ran the highlights through her mind, as many as she knew anyway. She was quite sure there were more that Buffy would never reveal to her. Even as it was, some of what she knew she had had to coax out of Giles.

In little more than three years Buffy had discovered that such things as vampires and other demons actually existed and that she was the Slayer, whose destiny it was to fight them. She had seen her first Watcher killed in front of her eyes by a vampire, and been expelled from high school when the gym accidentally burned down during a battle with that vampire and his pals.

Her parents had divorced; she had moved to a new town away from all her friends and started at a new school, only to find that it sat on a Hellmouth and was therefore the Grand Central Station for demonic activity. The young man she was attracted to turned out to be a two-hundred-year-old vampire - albeit a vampire cursed with a soul, and therefore someone who aided her in her ceaseless war against evil.

In the following year their initial attraction, strong enough already, quickly grew into love, and eventually the inevitable happened: They made love. And something that should have brought nothing but joy instead thrust Buffy straight into a living nightmare when Angel's curse was thereby deactivated, and the demon within him regained control.

After long months of mental and emotional torture during which he threatened everyone she cared for and even killed Jenny Calendar, the computer science teacher, Angel had resurrected a demon to destroy the world. And Buffy had known she must, finally, kill him. And she had - but only after the spell Willow had worked in a frantic last-minute effort to re-soul him had taken effect, reverting him once again to the Angel she had known and loved.

But it was too late. The demon, Acathla, had awakened, and as it had been Angel's blood that woke it, only Angel's blood could stop it from pulling every living thing in the world into Hell as it took its first breath. And so Buffy killed the man she loved, knowing that in doing so she sent him straight to Hell.

Literally.

That night Buffy had disappeared, simply walked out of the house leaving only a note. She'd stayed away for several months, but when she finally returned she seemed to have come to terms with what had happened. She'd even started dating a boy at school - Scott - and Joyce had begun to hope her daughter might actually have a somewhat normal life. Then, beyond all expectations, Angel had returned. Buffy hadn't killed him after all, though he had indeed been in Hell - for hundreds of years, by his reckoning.

Joyce sighed. Angel. Everything always came back to Angel. Last year, despite an understandably shaky start and numerous setbacks, their feeling for each other had grown until no one doubted the reality of their love - not even her, much as she wished she could believe it a mere schoolgirl infatuation on Buffy's part.

As if all this wasn't enough, there was also Faith, young, defiantly aggressive, and a renegade Slayer. Her defection to the Mayor's side had hurt Buffy, and now that Joyce knew how Faith had met her end she realized Buffy must be suffering over that too. Faith had died the week after graduation. In a year's time Buffy had had to kill the man she loved and a girl she'd once considered a friend, before being betrayed by her. She'd risked her life to save Angel's, only to have him walk away from her.

Joyce sighed again, weary to the bone. What's done is done, and I still hope it is for the best. Besides, even if I wanted to I couldn't change anything. I don't have the slightest idea where Angel went.

 

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