ANYHOO... the story picks up more or less at the beginning of "Graduation Day, Part 2"... so if you haven't had the pleasure of even seeing a poor internet bootleg of the ep, this is a MAJOR spoiler. Of course, if you haven't seen it, you wouldn't know that until you HAD seen it... but I digress. The rest of the Ep doesn't happen, and it would appear most of Season Three didn't happen, either. No mayor, bare mention of Faith, no Ascension, etc.
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Prologue
She punched Angel a third time, and he felt the change overcome him. He was weak from his illness, and it was the demon who had the strength to take control. He grabbed Buffy roughly by her tiny shoulders, and yanked her to him. He heard her gasp. His human soul, that part of him subsumed by the demon, the part of him who loved Buffy so much, cried out in objection. This was a horror beyond bearing.
The demon, however, had no such reservations. He sank his fangs into the soft skin of the Slayer's neck. The flesh was sweet, like cream butter, and hotter than any he'd tasted before. As his teeth set into the tough jugular vein, the rich blood, tinged with the magick born in the Chosen One, pounded into his mouth and down his throat. He moaned with mingled pleasure and horrified resignation, tugging her closer for better purchase. She gasped again and moaned loudly in return.
They fell to the floor. Even his human side could not help but be overcome by the sensations rushing through him -- the magick, the powerful life force running like an electric current between them.
Suddenly, he could feel her heart as if it were his own, pounding and racing to deliver the sweet blood to her starving tissues -- but instead, it was only filling him. He felt incredible strength -- hers and his own -- surge through him. His human self screamed in horror at what was happening.
The demon simply drank.
Her breath was coming faster, now. She reached out, in pain or ecstasy he didn't know and barely cared, crushing a sterling pitcher lying on the floor nearby. She wrapper her strong legs around him and gripped him to her. He grunted, from the pressure of her embrace as well as the greed of feeding on her magickal blood.
Angel could feel her heart slowing, exhausted and famished, her legs releasing him as her body went limp. But still he could not stop -- her blood was like liquid rapture -- the life essence pouring into him had him in it's clutches, like a drug.
Abruptly, her heart stopped. Angel regained control and rolled away from her, his human self fully re-emerging.
"Oh, God, Buffy!" He groaned, lifting her body up from the floor. He felt warm and flushed with her blood, while she now lay cold and pale in his arms. He pulled her to him. What had he done? By the shallowness of her breath, he could tell there were only moments remaining in her already short life. She managed to turn her eyes to meet his. Her gaze held nothing but love and understanding, not the contempt he felt he deserved. Then the light went out.
He bellowed at the top of his lungs. There was nothing he could do. He had killed her -- the love of his life, the only person who had ever given him a moment's true happiness, ever made him feel even a little bit worthy of the life he had been given. And he had destroyed her, as he had everyone else who had ever cared for him.
Unless...
Tears streamed down his face and he sobbed quietly as he sliced open his wrist. It was the only way to save her, now-- although he would also be damning her, and would thus be thrice damned himself.
"I am so sorry... Buffy..."
He put his bleeding wrist over her mouth so the blood --her blood-- poured freely into it. For a moment, nothing happened. A deep red rivulet merely dribbled out of the corner of her lips. She was white as a sheet, almost grey, and her eyes stared into nothing. Then, suddenly, she reached
up and gripped his arm tightly to her mouth, her eyes closed, sucking his wrist so hard it hurt. He gasped slightly from the pain, afraid that his veins might collapse from the pressure.
Buffy grunted as she fed ravenously. Angel turned away in disgust and shame. He was truly a monster, now -- a monster far beyond any redemption.
After a few minutes, he ripped his arm out of her grasp. She was on her feet in a moment, smiling cruelly, wiping the blood from her chin.
"Mmmmm... you sure were good..." She opened her mouth wide to reveal her new fangs. "Lover..."
Angel stood his ground, despite his horror and growing fear. This monster used to be Buffy. He had to remember that. And there was only one thing to do to help her now.
She ran a hand over her vampire features, frowning. "Boy, you sure did it this time didn't you, loser? Of all the rotten things you've done, this has GOT to be the worst." She snapped.
He blanched as if struck. He tried to keep control. He couldn't lose his temper, or things would get...
'Uglier?' he thought with bitter sarcasm. He looked with self-loathing on Buffy's vampire visage.
He only had time for that one glance, that one thought, before she was upon him. She was doubly strong now, her Slayer strength enhanced by her vampire strength. They exchanged several stunning blows -- but he couldn't put his heart behind his. This was his doing, how could he punish her for it? Even if she was now a demon...
"I'd just like to show you my sincere thanks, sweetheart." She spat, landing a kick to his chest that sent him flying across the room. He reeled from the impact with the far wall, still resisting reverting to full fight mode. He had to act quickly, or she would certainly destroy him, and the
world would be in big trouble. At that moment, she was breaking the leg off his coffee table to make a pretty nice, pointy stake.
"Shit." was all he could think of to say.
As he rose to move, hoping he could fend off her killer instinct until he could figure out what to do to slow her down, his hand came to rest on a small, smooth, but clearly heavy statue. He lifted it, holding it gingerly behind his back. When she charged, he swung at her with all his might -- there was no fear of killing her now even if he dropped a ten ton weight on her head.
But he could render her unconscious, temporarily. The statue met her skull with a dull crunch, and Buffy dropped to the floor like a stone.
He wasted no time, although his instincts raced between running in terror and falling to his knees in unbridled hysterics. He scooped Buffy up in his arms and set her wrists in the shackles she had once used to keep him restrained.
He looked at her for a long while, sorrow and remorse shadowing his heart as he mourned her, before he picked up the phone and dialed. He steeled himself for the inevitable conflict he was about to face.
"Hello, Willow?"