Mal meets a young and impressionable Darla. Annette tries to make nice with Dawn. And Kate pays Angel a visit.

Bavaria. Summer, 1645. Mal's horse gallops in the moonlight, dragging along two captured soldiers. He stops at a cave in the Swabian hills, helping the dazed and bloody prisoners to their feet, then leading them into a deep part of the cave, where there is light. Mal drops the rope and leaps down into the cavern, where there are nine vampires. "Who dares to enter!?," a male vampire demands in German.

"Who dares to question me?," Mal replies in German before casually tossing the fellow thirty feet across the room. At first, the Master can't believe his eyes. "Hein!" The vampires stare blankly. "They don't even know your name," Mal says in Latin. He stalks the room in his high black riding boots, tight brown leather pants and puffy white shirt, taking off his cavalier's hat. His hair is only a quarter inch high, much shorter than it would be when he fought Angel. "Everyone wears pants, Hein. Who would have thought that back in Antioch, when we all wore robes and togas?," he jokes about the Master's early years during the heyday of the Roman Empire. All the vampires are waiting for their Master to beat down this interloper, and can't understand why he just stands there, doing nothing.

"I thought you were dead," the Master finally offers, again in Latin.

"Ha! Who could kill me? In this world or any other?"

"It's been more than a thousand years."

"I have been busy, Hein. So many demons to subjugate. So few centuries. Tell me Hein, how has your plan to subjugate the humans going?," he asks with a wicked smile. Darla doesn't understand most of the Latin, but she realizes the black man is calling her Master "Hein," which she finds most undignified. She approaches Mal from behind.

"We call him Master," she says in English. He turns around and puts his left hand through her hair, causing her a mix of fear and exhilaration. Whoever he is, he radiates power.

"Not even God is my Master," he tells her in heavily-accented English. How bold. And deliciously blasphemous. He lets go of her. She smiles nervously. The Master finally walks over and seeks to regain control of the situation.

"A lot has changed since you left the scene," he says in English, hoping Mal will be less proficient in this language.

"You used to be so much prettier," he tells the Master sorrowfully. His minions can't understand why he hasn't ripped the black man's head off. "You used to live with Them. Now you hide from Them." Mal turns around and walks away. The Master kicks him in the back, knocking him down. His minions smile. Mal gets up and walks towards the shaft. "I bring gifts." Mal pulls the rope, and down come the two battered soldiers. Darla gets a big smile on her face.

"Swedes!" She rushes over and digs into one of them.

"If you're nice, I'll bring more," he tells the Master's minions. "I killed thirty eight this evening. Sixteen I fed from, and twenty I left to rot. Their lead balls bounce off me. Their pikes are feeble." He smiles. "Except when I'm wielding one." Darla finishes the first soldier and starts on the second. None of the other minions feel bold enough to accept the interloper's gift. Yet the Master does not punish Darla. Mal looks around at the five men and two other women, realizing who the favorite is.

"Hunting is beneath me," the Master says, dismissing Mal's exploits. "I have a higher calling."

"You and every other demon," Mal snorts. "We get strength from the humans. Without them, we're nothing. Don't you understand?"

"You want to be their slave?"

"Is a lion a slave to the antelope?"

"You never learn. You never change. You never, grow."

"We don't all grow uglier as we grow stronger." The enraged Master throws a right hook. Mal grabs his right arm and throws the Master face-first into a wall. The minions set upon him. He reaches his right arm out, grabs someone's neck and squeezes, turning him to dust. Darla, who's next to this guy, decides it would be smart to back away. Mal goes on the attack against those who surround him, landing a right cross, left roundhouse punch, right kick, split kick and left jab. All six opponents fly away, as if hit with an explosion. Mal rips off his shirt, cognizant of his splendid physique's ability to impress and intimidate. He goes after three men, hitting the one to his right with a right jab, the one to his left with a right cross, and the one in front of him with a left jab to the throat, pinning the vampire against the wall and crushing his spine so that Mal hits the stone on his follow-through. He flies across the room, grabs a female vampire by her hair, and twists her head clean off, holding it up for the others to see. The Master can't allow Mal to kill his followers. "These are your legions!," Mal taunts. The Master pounds his face with a left hook. Mal's head shoots to the left for an instant, but his feet don't even budge. Darla's never seen anyone withstand the Master like that.

"That is the last time you will hit me," Mal vows. The Master yells and throws a right cross that Mal backs his head away from. The Master lands a left to his stomach. "In the face. You may hit my body all you want." The Master lands a right hook to his ribs. "It's like fighting a brick wall." The Master tries a left cross, which Mal dodges before connecting with three quick right jabs and a left hook that sends the Master to the ground. His followers gasp. Mal senses that the only one who views him with awe rather than hate is Darla. He walks over to her. Naturally, she think he's going to kill her. Mal puts his left hand on her forehead and pushes down, leading her to fall to her knees. "Have no fear, my child." She gazes up in wonder at this God-like visitor. The Master can't abide this. He runs over and grabs Mal, pulling him away from her and tossing Mal across the room. He hits the wall with a low thud and stays on his feet. The other vampires flee, wanting to stay as far away from this strange and deadly creature as possible. They had never met a human-looking demon who was so quick, so strong and so durable. He hadn't even shown his vampire face yet. Which means he's only getting warmed up.

"You always have loved the yellow-haired," Mal says about the Master's clear preference for Darla over the others. "But you used to prefer fake to natural. Remember in Roman Carthage, when that was the thing to do?" The Master slowly approaches and unloads a right cross, left jab, right hook kick, left hook and right hook. Mal dodges or blocks all blows and hits the Master in the chest with a straight left kick, causing him to stagger back ten feet. Mal leaps forward, grabbing the Master and pushing him back into the wall just to the left of Darla. Then he lifts the Master up, tosses him into the ceiling, and watches as he falls face-first to the floor. His minions are devastated. The Master quickly gets up. "Kneel."

"Never." The Master throws a right hook. Mal grabs his fist and squeezes. The Master grimaces but does not cry out in pain.

"You have gotten stronger." If Mal did this to a normal vampire, he'd crush every bone in his hand. The Master tries a left uppercut. Mal grabs his wrist. "So have I." Mal spins and throws him into the wall, which he hits six feet off the ground. Mal then leaps forward and kicks the Master on his way down. When the Master tries to get up, he nails him in the mouth with a left hook kick. Then, finally, he goes bumpy, showing everyone his glowing red eyes and nearly three inch-long fangs. If he had done this at the beginning, they would have acquiesced without a fight. But where's the fun in that? Mal lets loose a deafening roar that echoes around the cavern. After eyeing all the other vampires, he looks at Darla and approaches her. She falls to her knees and lowers her head in supplication. Then she looks up again at his face, and those magnificent teeth. They weren't jagged. There was no overbite. They shone in the darkness, gleaming white. They were perfect. Like everything else about him. He returns to his human face, puts his right hand under her chin and lifts her head up. She rises to her feet.

"You don't like to be hidden in the darkness. I have a castle at Ulm, where the rivers meet." It had been a small fort, before Mal slaughtered the garrison, earning the thanks of the townspeople, whom he promised to protect from the deprivations of the various marauding armies. After two decades of rape, murder and pillaging, they view the black stranger as a gift from God, since he defends their lives and property while asking for nothing in return.

"Does it have a tower? With a view?"

"In every direction. You can see for miles."

"And you're lonely?," she asks, looking for some reciprocity of feeling.

"I lack, excitement." Darla smiles. He points at his shirt on the ground. "Would you mind?" Darla pouts. She liked him so much better without one. But she complies and fetches it, along with his hat. He puts the shirt on and carefully smooths out the wrinkles, then places the hat on his head just so.

"Your vanity will be your downfall," the Master predicts, recognizing that Mal is as self-centered as he was more than a millennium ago. Mal turns around to face the Master, who has yet to stand up because he knows that would invite another beating.

"Your contempt will be yours," Mal responds, referring to the Master's low view of humanity. He puts his left arm around Darla's waist. "Desire trumps devotion," he tells the Master. Mal takes Darla in his arms and walks out. She puts her arms around his neck and stares admiringly at his handsome face. The Master stands up. He knows Mal has cost him a major loss of face in the eyes of his followers. They didn't know he could bleed, that his face could show blue and purple bruises.

"She'll be back. He'll be gone soon." After all, he knows Mal could never care for a vampire the way he cares for the vampire he will one day name Darla. Outside, she spins in the warm night air and smiles. Mal picks her up and places her on the horse. Ever the consummate show-off, Mal stands in front of the horse with his back to the animal, leaps in the air, does a back flip and lands on the saddle. Darla yells with excitement, wraps her arms around his waist, fondles his impossibly well-developed abdominal muscles and rests her head on his right shoulder.

"Where to now?"

"Do you like Franks?" She thinks for a second and realizes he means Frenchmen.

"No more Swedes?" Actually, yes. They had agreed to pay him tribute. But he knew this tactic generally didn't impress the ladies, who found it unmanly to trade blood for gold. Of course, they loved the things he bought for them with that gold.

"They are hiding in houses. But the Franks are camped in the open. Did you know that we don't need to be invited into tents?" This is news to Darla. She'd never attacked thousands of armed men with thousands of steel swords and wooden tent poles. Then again, she'd never seen anyone beat the crap out of her Master.

"I suppose I could go for a French feast. And for dessert?" She bites his right earlobe.

"Patience. We have all day for that." He kicks the horse, which gallops westwards.

"ALL day?"

"I don't sleep. I have to do something to pass the time."

Annette stands in the office, holding up Mal's skull in her right hand. "Alas, poor Mal. I knew him . . . " She starts laughing. "No I didn't." She puts it back on the book case.

"It's all right," Wesley tells her. "I did the same thing. It's hard to resist." Wesley leaves to talk with the Slayers. Xander enters.

"Are you the girl who beat up Angel?"

"Beat up, no. Hurt, yes." Xander smiles.

"That's incredible. Him being a vampire, and you being a non-Slayer."

"He's a man. Men are weak. They think the world of themselves." Xander's not sure how to respond to that one.

"Anyway, I wish I could have, you know, seen you in action."

"Maybe you can come patrolling with me. When your fractured arm heals." She takes hold of his prosthetic left hand. "Did Nina also do this?"

"No. Her brother did. She broke the other arm."

"You've stood up to two Titans, and lived to tell the tale. Not very many men, not very many anything, can say that." Xander smiles.

"Why, thank you. So what are the vampires like in France? Do they drink wine, wear berets and have little pencil-thin mustaches?" She gets that he's joking and laughs.

"I can't say. We don't, exactly, hang out. And a lot of them are from other countries. Like Spike, the vampire you worked with. My great-grandfather lost an eye fighting him."

"That's horrible. Whatever happened to an eye for an eye? I'd say your family deserved justice if Spike wasn't already dead."

"He did burn Spike with a branding iron. Very badly."

"You don't say?" Xander smiles.

"We have the iron, and the melted skin, in our store room." Xander finds that rather grizzly. "I suppose we could try and clone him one day," she jokes.

"Believe me. That's the last thing the world needs."

"You don't like the ensouled vampires. Why?" Xander has trouble coming up with a response other than jealously.

"It's not that I dislike them, per se, so much as I have vivid memories of them both trying to kill me and my friends at various times."

"Fair enough. I'm not friendly with anyone who's tried to kill me either," she quips.

"Well, you're still young," Xander jokes back. "How young?," he innocently inquires.

"Eighteen." This wasn't the answer Xander was hoping for, since it further tempts him. Dawn's unnerved by Xander's interest in Annette, since she's only a year older than Dawn.

"Oh. Interesting. It was great talking to you, Annette."

"Thank you. You're a very funny for a demon fighter. They tend to be so serious." She furrows her brow to mimic brooding.

"I'm a demon fighter? I fight demons, I've fought demons for years. But no one ever called me that. I finally have a title." Having been thoroughly charmed by Annette, he leaves the room to go talk to Buffy. Dawn continues looking through the books Claude is preparing to repatriate.

"We'll send you copies on disc. Unless you're coming to Paris."

"What?"

"Isn't that what Buffy is doing?"

"She hasn't said anything."

"It's where the Council is. We can find apartments for you. And she's not needed here."

"I don't think she's looking that far ahead. She buried her Watcher yesterday, and one of her best friends is still in a coma." Dawn thinks Annette is sounding insensitive. Actually, Dawn thinks Annette is insensitive.

"I miss Rupert, too. He was like an uncle to me. Godfather, actually." Connor enters the office. He looks excited.

"Hey Annette. You wanna go hunting with me?"

"You sure you can keep up?" Connor laughs. "Seriously, I fear you'd scare the vampires away."

"You think I look that tough?"

"Well, I suppose you could appear fragile and vulnerable and, umm, biteable if you had to." Connor smiles and blushes. Fadila calls for Connor and he dutifully runs back into the lobby.

"Don't even think about it," Dawn warns. "He's mine." Annette is taken aback by the implication. She's also unnerved by the fact that Dawn looks like she wants to scratch her eyes out.

"I'm sorry. I did not know I was . . . " Dawn looks very skeptical. "I don't even want him. I wouldn't, even if he were available."

"Connor's not good enough for you?"

"He's sweet. And cute, I suppose."

"Suppose? He's gorgeous."

"But he's not smart."

"Connor is very - "

"Sorry. Learned."

"That's not his fault. He didn't go to school. He never even saw a book growing up."

"This is coming out wrong. I don't like macho-men fighters. Too much maintenance. Too large egos. I like scholars. With glasses. Maybe a tiny bit clumsy. If I'm going to be a Watcher at the office, I don't want to also have to be a Watcher at home."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I wasn't talking about you," Annette replies, further causing Dawn to think she was. Just then, the phone rings. After the second ring, Dawn decides to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Who is this?"

"Dawn."

"Oh. How are my visions?," Cordelia asks.

"Not bad. Except for the three-dimensional gore."

"Yeah. And that only gets worse over time. Is Angel there?"

"Could you get him?," Dawn asks Annette, since she's the one with two good legs. "He'll be right there," she tells Cordy.

"So . . . how's Connor?"

"Good."

"Good. You're not uncomfortable talking to me because I slept with him?"

"No. That was before we even met. Besides, he says you weren't that great." Angel enters. Dawn hands him the phone and hops out of the room.

"No need to get all bitchy about it," Cordy says.

"What?," Angel asks.

"Oh. Angel! Sorry. I thought you were, not you. Forget about it."

"Gladly. It's great to hear from you. Things have been kind of crazy, living with Xander, and Anya. And the five new Slayers."

"And Buffy." Angel had wanted to avoid that hornet's nest.

"She's in a cast. And in mourning. And, with a lot of other stuff to deal with." Hopefully, that would take care of Cordy's fears about what he's doing with Buffy.

"I get it. The girl's got problems even without the Hellmouth."

"How's New York treating you?"

"Good. I haven't found a place to live yet. But I think I've made a friend. You know that summer course I said I wanted to take? I really hit it off with the teacher, and I went to brunch with her friends this morning. They're hilarious."

"Any demons?," Angel jokes. Cordy laughs.

"No. Although one of them does seem to have a super-human, never mind."

"What did you, talk about, with them?," Angel asks.

"Not my life. Not my real life, anyway. I sort of edited out a lot of the stuff that would make me sound crazy."

"What's left?"

"Quite a bit, actually. It's surprisingly easy to sanitize your life and hide all the truly traumatic parts," Cordy says with a sigh. "Okay, it's tough trying to leave your world behind. But probably not as tough as staying in it."

Carrie stands in the bedroom of her "lover" Aleksander Petrovski, a world-renowned artist twenty years her senior. "Is something bothering you?," he asks.

"Not really."

"Something's on your mind. What is it, Carrie?"

"The truth?"

"Why not?"

"Okay. Brace yourself. I was thinking about . . . vampires," she confesses with a cringe.

"Were you attacked by one?"

"Very funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny."

"Oh no. Don't tell me you also – is it an artist thing?"

"More of a Russian thing. I heard stories in my youth. Once, I remember a man getting beheaded before burial to prevent him from rising."

"Some superstitions die hard. No pun intended."

"I've heard there are even some in Manhattan."

"They can afford the rents? What's a furnished coffin go for on the Upper East Side - fifteen hundred a month?"

"Maybe they've left. But there were rumors of one at Studio 54."

"That doesn't surprise me. It wouldn't have been the weirdest thing at that club. People probably wouldn't have even noticed," Carrie quips.

"I think that was the idea. He was English. Complete and utter working class poser. Went around yelling Disco bloody sucks' and trying to start fights."

"Sounds more like a soccer hooligan than a vampire."

"Except that the women he was seen leaving the club with had a habit of turning up dead."

"You'd think with a track record like that, they'd learn to stay away."

"From what I've heard, most vampires are physically repugnant parasites. But a select few live up to the suave reputation you westerners have given them.

"If we split up we'll cover more ground," Ariella argues.

"You'll also put yourself in greater danger," Buffy responds.

"You need bait," Claude argues to Buffy's consternation. "Every hunter needs bait. What about your boyfriends?" Buffy's jaw drops at the insensitive suggestion. But Madari and Rona smile.

"A Slay date," Madari replies.

"We've saved 'em before," Rona points out, each of them fondly remembering the moment.

"No no no no no," Buffy declares. "What would we say to their parents, if something happened? How could we live with ourselves? You don't bring outsiders into this."

"You have your friends helping out," Rona replies. "Why can't we do the same?"

"Well, not a whole gang, because that could get unwieldy," Madari clarifies. "But one person?"

"Have they ever seen a vampire?," Wesley inquires.

"Yeah," Rona answers.

"We've saved them," Madari adds. "Well, Rona and Amanda have. I haven't. Yet."

"That's kinda how we got together," Rona comments.

"Then I don't see the harm in teaching him how to defend himself and render assistance," Claude concludes.

"It's not your decision," Wesley retorts, trying to balance the desires of his Slayers with the justified concerns of Buffy.

"Who's decision is it?," Ariella asks. They think for a few seconds, then look at Buffy, who's not in a terribly authoritarian mood after the apocalypse she failed to prevent on her own. Then Buffy looks at the door and smiles.

"Kate."

"Buffy." Kate walks over and hugs her. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I-I didn't expect to see you here either. Did you come all this way to see me?" Kate takes a few seconds before responding.

"Actually, I'm here to see someone else." Wesley dashes out of the lobby and up the stairs.

"Guess he doesn't like you," Rona jokes. Sensing something was up that he had nothing to do with, Claude goes into the office to talk with his daughter.

"So, you're staying here. Like half the rest of Sunnydale," Kate says to Buffy.

"Yeah."

"How's the room?"

"Comfy."

Wesley bursts into Angel's/Buffy's room, where Angel is reading. He pants to catch his breath. "Wes, is something wrong?" Wesley holds up his hand and takes a few more deep breaths before speaking.

"Kate," he takes a couple more breaths, "Is in the lobby."

"Kate? You mean - ?"

"Detective Kate Lockley." Angel looks worried. Then alarmed.

"Has she - ?"

"Talked to Buffy? Yes. And neither is sure why the other is here." Angel races out of his room, leaps over the balcony and lands in the lobby, startling Kate.

"Angel."

"Kate. Long time no see," he quickly and nervously replies.

"You know Angel?," Buffy asks Kate.

"YOU know Angel?," Kate responds.

"Well, well, well. This is getting juicy," Anya notes to Xander from behind the counter.

"Of course I know Kate," Angel responds as if it's no big deal. "She used to work for the LAPD. In fact, she's the one who arrested me, the last time you were here."

"Really," Buffy replies, astonished. "That was you?"

"Kate, can we go somewhere and talk?," Angel asks.

"Sure. We do seem to have a lot to talk about." The two of them walk into the rear courtyard. Buffy's left with a lot of unanswered questions.

"Tell you what. If it's all right with you, take the night off. Tomorrow we'll be at full strength," she tells the girls.

"Great," Madari says.

"Thanks," Rona adds before the two of them rush off to their boyfriends. Ariella's left alone.

"You get hitched, you go soft," she jokes.

"I remember the last time we talked out here," Kate says to Angel.

"You seem to be doing a lot better now."

"I'm not the only one who's life has changed." They pause for a long time.

"How did you meet Rupert Giles?"

"How did you become a father? Okay, I think my question trumps yours."

"It wasn't something I planned on," Angel jokes.

"The intense, slightly frightening young man who claims you're his father also claims Darla as his mother. Assuming he's not making any of this up – and, let's face it, who would? – did you sleep with her before or after she began massacring people? Cause, if that's your turn-on, no wonder we never got off the ground," she quips.

"It was right after I got your message. The one you left when you were about to commit suicide."

"Oh." Kate looks stunned. "What!? How does that lead you to, you know - ?" He was more twisted than she ever imagined.

"It made me lose hope. It convinced me I couldn't make a difference. As had a lot of other things. But you giving up, because of me, that was the final straw."

"So, I'm to blame?"

"You say that like he's something bad."

"So, I'm to thank?," she asks with a chuckle.

"Actually, maybe you should thank Darla," Angel jokes back.

"Wait a second," Kate interrupts. "What about your curse?" Angel appears shocked.

"You knew about that?"

"Not when I knew you. But people talk."

"Which people?"

"It's not exactly a secret, Angel. Although, if I had known about it when we met, I wouldn't have been so disappointed." Angel smiles and appears flattered and intrigued. Kate wishes she hadn't said that.

"Disappointed?"

"It's not like I carried a torch around for you. But no girl likes to get turned down or ignored. Now I know part of the reason had nothing to do with me. Anyway, how'd you do it without losing your . . . ? Ohh. You wanted to, but when you couldn't, you decided you had no choice but to keep on being Mister Good Guy." She pauses again and looks a bit unsettled. "And then you came to my place? Perfect. I'm the girl you go to afterwards to talk."

"And revive, if I remember correctly."

"So, if that's what I am, what's Buffy?" Angel does not look eager to answer this question. "How does she fit into all this?" Several seconds of silence follow.

"We used to date," he grudgingly admits.

"Used to? When she was even younger? Sorry. I'm really not in a position to judge." She starts laughing.

"My relationship with Buffy is a lot of things. Humorous isn't one of them."

"It's not you. It's the new vampire. The one who now appears to be dead. Permanently."

"You mean Spike?"

"Yeah. The bottle blonde. Talk about a drop. From you to him? No wonder she seemed so morose." All of a sudden, Angel feels a rush of affection for Kate.