Scene: The Mansion
The demon dealt Buffy a blow with the solid hilt of the scimitar, snapping her head painfully to the right. In one continuous stroke, he brought the blade around over his head and thrust it, point first, at Buffy's heart.
An enraged roar filled the air as a blur of black launched itself in front of the blade. The scimitar was honed so sharp that it buried itself in Angel's stomach with almost no resistance. The growl of protective rage turned into an involuntary cry of agony as the weapon pierced his body. Buffy stood in frozen horror as she watched the stain of blood grow around the tip of the blade, protruding from his back. Then the strength left Angel's legs and he fell in a torn, bloody heap to the cold concrete floor.
"Angel!" The cry was ripped from Buffy's throat. She stepped toward him, and saw, through a sheen of tears, the demon pull the scimitar from Angel's unconscious body. He turned to her, a disturbing parody of a grin on his grotesque face, and waved the blade, still dripping with Angel's blood, at her.
The sight made Buffy snap. She flung herself at the creature, heedless of the weapon he still held, and knocked him to the floor. She kicked away the scimitar, then landed hard on the ground when her other leg was kicked out from under her. She rolled away from the demon and got up just in time to receive a huge fist in her face. She returned with two of her own, putting all her energy, her pain, and her fear for Angel into her attack. A series of roundhouse kicks drove the creature back against the wall. Seeing the scimitar where Buffy had kicked it, he dove for the weapon.
Too late, Buffy realized what was happening. She tried to get to it first, but the demon already had it, and before she could block it, she felt fire in her right arm as it was cut to the bone from elbow to wrist. She stumbled, then put the pain from her mind as she and the demon circled each other.
She moved first, feinting to the left, and when he brought the blade down, she grabbed his arm, took the weapon, and kicked him in the face. He staggered back, and before he could regain his balance, Buffy swung the scimitar at his neck so hard that both it and the creature's head were thrown across the room. She fell to her knees, shaking, blood pumping from her arm, and closed her eyes. She willed her racing heart to return to a normal rate. When she had caught her breath, she opened her eyes to see Angel lying where he had fallen.
"Oh, God," she whispered. She tried to stand up to go to him, but the amount of blood she had lost had made her weak, and she had to crawl. She sat beside him and placed her hand on his chest. The wound had stopped bleeding, and she feared it was because he had little blood left.
She shifted her gaze to his face. He still wore his game face, the one that had been the last thing so many people had seen before their death at his hands. The face that inspired fear and hatred in everyone but her. She could never fear him. Not after he had put his own life in danger so many times to save hers. Her vision blurred again and she swiped her hand across her eyes.
Buffy gasped as the movement brought sharp pain ... and an idea. She carefully settled herself against Angel, lying half on top of him, and placed her torn arm against his mouth. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes as she flexed her arm. The wound started to bleed more quickly, and she began to feel faint. Time lost meaning as she struggled to remain conscious, feeding him. What seemed like years later, but may have been only minutes, she dimly felt a pair of sharp fangs pierce her arm, and she relaxed, triumphant. * I did it. * The thought floated through her mind. * I saved you. * Buffy then smiled slightly, and gave up the struggle she knew was already lost.
Angel opened his eyes slowly, not certain were he was. He tasted blood in his mouth - Buffy's - and looked down quickly. * No... *
He realized in an instant what had happened, what she had done. He closed his eyes against the pain that ripped through him with more viciousness than the demon's blade had. Tears he hadn't cried in years squeezed from the corners of his eyes, and he let them fall.
Slowly, Angel sat up and gathered Buffy's lifeless body against him. He pressed his face against her neck, and held her for a few moments, silent, stroking her hair and back. His hand brushed against something in the waistband of her jeans, and he stilled.
Wearing a smile eerily similar to that which Buffy had worn only minutes before, Angel laid her down gently and removed the stake from her jeans.
A moment later, it was over, the cover of darkness hiding from view the image of a lifeless girl blanketed in the ashes of her demon lover.
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