The Bronze had been vacant for nearly three years, the cavernous building falling into disrepair. Angel stared up at the old, converted warehouse, as memories flooded through him, both good and bad.

Cordelia had told him of the massacre that had taken place inside, killing several of the local teenagers and both the owner and two managers. Buffy had been badly injured, suffering a broken arm and one of her own wooden stakes through the shoulder yet was still able to slaughter the dozen or so powerful vampires that had come looking for trouble. The nightclub had remained vacant ever since.

Angel had struggled with potent feelings of guilt after Cordy had shared the story with him. He should have been here, at Buffy's back, protecting her. He remembered his vow, given to Whistler in 1996, that he would help and protect the Slayer from his kind. The vampires.

And, he had failed. Time and time again.

Now it was 2006, seven years after he had bid goodbye to the only woman he would ever love and left Sunnydale forever.

He had finally given her the answer she had sought, breaking her tender heart for the last time...

Looking up at Angel with eyes turned emerald behind a sheen of tears, Buffy waited. Her full bottom lip trembled briefly, only to be caught between perfect white teeth.

"Angel...tell me..."

"No, Buffy, no..."

A sob, soft and torn. "Please..."

"I can't!"

"You can. You have to. It's the only way we can ever move on."

It was the closest to violence Angel had felt since regaining his soul and escaping from Hell. He rounded on the miserable woman in front of him, wanting to slap her.

No.

Kiss her. Hard and long until she admitted the futility of what she was requesting of him.

"Please, Angel...do this one thing for me!"

"No, damnit!"

"Tell me you don't love me anymore."

When he finally gave in, desperate to erase her misery, and told her what she wanted to hear, he wanted to scream from the pain twisting in his gut. Instead of healing her with his words, he saw the last sparkle of life die from her eyes. At that moment, he would have walked out into the midday sun if it would take back his hurtful words.

The words that had finally killed his beautiful Buffy.

"I don't love you anymore..."

Sighing deeply, Angel pushed the memory away. If he had anything to do with it, he was going to make it up to her. Even if it took forever.

Noticing the For Sale sign on the door, Angel committed the phone number to memory and walked away from this haven of grief.

"Something strange happened tonight."

Willow Rosenberg Harris looked up from her laptop computer to gaze at the Slayer. Whitney Barnett was curled up on the sofa, long legs tucked underneath her, looking deceptively relaxed. Willow had known from the moment Whitney had walked into the house after work that something was wrong. She had disappeared upstairs and it was almost an hour before she came back down, gracing her Watcher with her presence.

Xander Harris, Willow's husband and life-long friend, passed the huge bowl of popcorn in his lap to Whitney, never looking up from the television. She took it automatically, popping a few kernels into her mouth. Willow waited patiently. No one hurried Whitney. No one forced Whitney to do anything. When she was ready to tell her story, she would.

Willow didn't have to wait long.

"It was about seven-thirty or so, there were a couple of customers in the shop and I was sorting through some new stock," the young Slayer said, her eyes fastened on the television. "A man came in."

The fine hair on the back of Willow's neck prickled. Whitney wasn't easily flappable, but the expression in her bright blue eyes was anxious. Something had spooked her.

"I approached him, asked if I could help him, and as I got closer, I got the cramps, sudden. Really bad. Like I get when I'm near vamps."

Xander and Willow exchanged a look. "Well, that isn't too weird. Vamps come into the store on occasion, Buffy calls 'em curiosity seekers," Xander said, smiling nervously.

"He was different, Xand. Really handsome. No. Really very handsome. And he looked lost, confused," Whitney continued. "I was doubled over and the other customers were freaking and he was all concerned. He asked if I was all right."

"A polite vampire. Imagine that," Xander joked. He sobered up when Willow sent him a quelling look.

"I asked him what he wanted and he said he was looking for the owner of the shop. He didn't specifically mention Buffy, but..."

Willow shut off her computer and laid it aside. "What did he look like, Whitney?"

Despite herself, Whitney blushed. "Fantastic, for a vampire. Tall, dark, and drop-dead gorgeous. Forgive the pun."

Willow sighed and met Xander's knowing look. She had known it would only be a matter of time before Angel came back to Sunnydale.

And back into their lives.

Both lost in their own thoughts, Willow and Xander missed Whitney's next words.

". . . kill him? I can, you know, no prob."

"What? I'm sorry, Whitney, but what did you say?" Willow asked, focusing on her young charge.

Whitney smirked. "Dust him. Make Mr. Handsome Vampire a thing of the past. Can I?"

Getting up from the couch, Xander laughed humorlessly. "Not unless you want Buffy to beat you to a bloody pulp. My advice? Stay far away from Dead Boy."

"Dead Boy? Huh?"

Willow sighed as Xander left the room. "That was Angel."

"Oh. Oh! Angel. As in Angelus, Buffy's ex-boyfriend vampire."

"One and the same. At least, I'm assuming it is. I'll have to see him first," Willow said. She rested her head against the back of the chair, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "This is isn't good. . . "

Whitney leaned forward, concerned. "Do you want me to go fix you some tea? I think you still have some of that stuff you mixed up yourself, the tension-relieving stuff."

"Thank you, Whitney, that would be nice."

As the young Slayer hurried into the kitchen, Willow rubbed her temples and winced in pain.

Just as Buffy was beginning to find peace in her life, a little happiness, Willow thought, dismayed at the turn of events.

Angel coming back to Sunnydale would bring nothing but heartache.