Choking back sobs, Angel staggered wearily down the alleyway. The old grey buildings loomed above him as the full weight of his exhaustion pressed down upon him. His mind was still a jumble of thoughts and nothing seemed to make sense to him anymore. All he knew was this: he had mentally, emotionally and physically destroyed the one thing in his world that made sense to him - the woman he loved; he was a danger to her well-being and closeness to him was the last thing she needed; nonetheless, he yearned to be near. Pressing his back against the wall, he slumped into a fetal position and cradled his head against his knees.
Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the steady cacophony of Angel's cries; he couldn't have cared less. Living on the streets of L.A., he had learned to ignore the incessant glares of pedestrians as they looked down upon him with a mixture of trepidation and disgust. He did not see the familiar figures of his former vampire companions as they determinedly plodded towards Sunnydale General - grim smiles plastered on their wrinkled features.
Buffy's operating room was no longer the site of so much chaotic activity. A wave of relief washed over the medical personnel as they vacated the premises, leaving a few nurses behind to monitor her progress; her condition was now stable and the healing process had already begun. The hospital was abuzz with word of the brave young girl who had miraculously survived a severe bullet wound to the abdomen.
Xander sat anxiously in the waiting room with a copy of "Cosmopolitan" clenched tightly in his grip. The same petite nurse he had encountered earlier strode over to him, flashing him a soothing smile as she approached. "She'll be fine, you have nothing to worry about," she stated reassuringly. Xander's face brightened as he lifted himself out of his chair and let out a deep sigh of contentment; he knew everything would be all right - it was a given; the heroine always pulls through and the nasty ex-vampire lover always runs off frantically into the night. He still wasn't sure about the last part but having Angel absent was enough to give him a positive outlook on life. Xander's mental celebration was interrupted by the sudden embarassment caused by the knowledge that he was sighted with his copy of 'Cosmo'. Looking down bashfully, he glanced at the cover and then back up into the amused face of the nurse. "Ummm..." he looked down again to read the print: 'Know your G-spot inside out'. Dropping the magazine in horror, he sat back down in his chair. "Uhhh, keep me posted," he grumbled. The nurse sensed his acute humiliation and backed off quickly.
Drusilla swayed from side to side, swinging her head about as she spoke inaudible words to herself. "Pet? Have you picked up on them yet?" Spike asked, his eyes growing large with speculation. He loved the feeling of the hunt, and with Dru and her detailed premonitions the hunt was so much easier. Spike wasn't so much interested in capturing the Slayer. Their traditional game of cat and mouse had lost its novelty; Spike had a new target in mind - Angel. As if it weren't enough to see his beloved Dru making eyes at her long lost sire, it was just as painful to see her sauntering into the night in search of something other than vengeance: love. "Mmmm" she muttered, licking her lips hungrily. "I've picked up their scent; it's nearby. Poor Slayer.....she's.....ohhh." Dru began bouncing up and down in pure anticipation. Stealthily, the odd couple stalked further into the velvet night and closer towards Sunnydale General.
How much time had passed? He had no idea. All he knew was that immortal life as he knew it was over; his mind raced. It was an impossible task in itself to construct a steady thought pattern. All of the memories from the past six months flooded over him. He could see it so clearly - Buffy standing alone and abandoned in his apartment after he so nonchalantly made a mockery of their first and only night together. "How could I?" he thought harshly to himself. He couldn't fathom how his soul could have possibly neglected to respond to her tears. It didn't make sense. He loved her so much and he was overpowered all too quickly by the demon which had reeked havoc in his life all those years ago. Suddenly it occurred to him: the emotions he was experiencing before his soul had left his body; he remembered the feeling of contentment and total and complete happiness. He was truly happy, if only for that brief moment before all of it was ripped away from him...too easily. Lying with Buffy he came to the realization that he had been blessed by Whistler's prophecy; it gave him the love of a lifetime, and he was happy to be in the moment. All the hauntingly horrific memories of his scurge in Europe seemed to disappear. It was magical, the way only she mattered in that moment - strange how the one thing that meant the world to him would later become the one thing he dreamed of killing.
Angel took in his setting, absorbing every detail. It was something to focus on, to block out his past and his pain; he couldn't deal with it all just yet - it was too much for his battered soul to take. Suddenly Angel's concentration was interrupted by an inexplicable sound: a grating, like a squeal or a groan; he grew anxious but excused the noise after seeing an elderly homeless man hobbling into the street, a tin flask hugged tightly to his chest. "Some old drunk," Angel thought to himself; his mind was inundated with a lightning quick vision of his life in Dublin: nights spent with nameless aquaintances at the pub - meaningless entities with no other purpose in life but to drown themselves in a bottle of whiskey; he permitted a half-amused smile to flit across his visage. Fading further into the shadows, Angel cloaked himself in the comforting darkness as he retreated into the night.
The harsh lighting in the hospital waiting room blinded Dru's light-sensitive eyes. Stalking past the admissions desk, Spike anxiously followed her lead. She was hot on the trail, visions of a wounded Buffy flickering through her mind; she made a small crooning sound and quickened her pace. Drusilla loved the feeling of triumph as it pulsated through her being.
A young orderly took a defensive position at the end of the corridor. With no regard for human life, the twisted pair raced determinedly towards him. "Excuse me, where do you think you're...." he gasped and, after being bowled over, he ricocheted off the wall and landed in a limp heap on the ground. Whipping open the large double doors, Spike and Dru made their entrance. A nurse standing at the side of Buffy's gurney tried to impede the progress of the intrusive couple. Crushing the petrified woman against his rib cage, Spike lowered his razor sharp incisors to the soft flesh at the nape of her neck; he sank his teeth into her skin, savouring the sweet kill and allowing the fresh warm blood to dance across his taste buds. The lifeless body slumped to the ground with a light thud as Spike turned his attention towards Dru who was now gawking admirably at the sleeping Slayer. "Psssst, Spikey...shhhh, I have a secret. Want to know my secret, love?" she chirped in a sing-song voice. Spike nodded his head awkwardly; he didn't know what to expect from Drusilla at this point; she seemed so above it all which scared him to no end. "I think I've found a new playmate for Miss Edith." Spikes choppy protests went unnoticed as Drusilla scooped the exhausted Slayer into her arms. "Dru, she's wounded. She'll never make it." Spike exclaimed. Dru either didn't hear or didn't care; she seemed to be relying on fate a great deal tonight.
The back door of Buffy's room was the perfect getaway for Dru; she didn't have the time or patience to put up with hospital authorities halting her in the busy halls of the hospital. Stepping into the cool night air, Drusilla hauled Buffy up into her arms and walked more deeply into the pervasive night, with Spike following close behind.
Angel's condition had improved; he was seeing things from a more logical perspective and his life was starting to come into focus. The problem was: the more focused his life became, the more traumatic his existance seemed. He was fighting back the urge to race towards Sunnydale General and steal Buffy from the confines of her room - take her to his apartment and care for her as only he knew how, but that wasn't what she needed...or wanted for that matter. In the midst of his emotional battle, Angel felt his basic instincts overwhelm his common sense. These instinctive feelings felt all too familiar; they were the same alarm bells that went off in his head whenever Buffy was in danger. Scanning the premises, Angel staggered into the street. Two dark figures moved swiftly in the night, and a wave of eerie familiarity washed over him. Fearful and unsure, Angel stalked the supposed strangers through the streets of Sunnydale, to what destination he did not know.