Buffy knew he was there before she even heard the soft knock on her door. Rubbing her tired eyes wearily, she called, “Come in.”

  Angel slid in with his usual stealth like grace, smiling slightly, “It's strange to see you behind a desk.”

  She smiled as well, but coolly. “Yeah, it was weird at first but I got used to it. After all, I had to, I was put out of the job when Sunnydale got a little less Hellmouthy.”

  He came forward uncertainly and she motioned him to sit in the chair across from her. “So, the human thing,” she began. “How and when?”

  “I knew I had the chance to become human when Doyle found the Scroll…”

  “Oh yeah, how is Doyle?” Buffy interrupted curiously, “And Cordy?”

  A brief flash of pain went through Angel's eyes, “ Doyle died. Eleven years ago. Cordy's great. When AI disbanded she and Gunn married. It's an unusual relationship but they suit each other.”

  Buffy stared at him for a moment. “I am so sorry about Doyle. Why didn't you tell me?”

  “Didn't see a point,” Angel shrugged. “We weren't talking much…”

  She nodded, understanding, “I see. And who's Gunn? He sounds like someone I might like.”

  “He's like you. Street smart,” Angel grinned, lost in memories. “I hired him on after Doyle died. He and Cordy fell for each other and they still live in LA… Cordy's been doing plays and everything, and Gunn joined the police force, which is something he swore he would never do. I left after it became clear I had made quite a few enemies in LA. Ones that were all to happy to learn I'd lost my super strength. Photography became my mainstay and I adopted the name Valenti for my career.”

  Buffy shook her head in wonder. “Why didn't you tell me when you became human? I don't understand that… that you wouldn't even want me to know…”

  He grimaced and looked straight into her eyes. “I did come to tell you Buffy. But…”

  “I was already gone,” she finished quietly, her eyes widening with realization.

  “Yep,” Angel confirmed. “I came down to Sunnydale on your 22nd Birthday, to share the news…and I don't know what I expected. Not for your mother to tell me that you had moved to Iowa. With Riley. As his bride,” he continued, in an almost conversational tone. A tone he used to block out extreme pain, she recognized.  Buffy felt her heart crack just slightly, painfully, but it was enough for her to close herself off even more. No way was she letting him in again. NO way.

  “It must have been a surprise,” she remarked and his head shot up.

  “Something like that,” he returned and she wondered then how much it had hurt when he found out she was married. A thought came to her…was he married now?

  “So…” she began, searching his hands for tell-tale rings.

  He interrupted, “I'm not.”

  “What?” she said, annoyed. “You don't even know what I was going to ask.”

“Yes I do,” he said softly, “you were going to ask if I'm married. I'm not.”

  Buffy looked down at the pattern her black boots were tracing in the cream carpet. Why couldn't he have just stayed in LA? Why did she have to go through this again?  She stood up and walked over to her window, which was wreathed with boughs of pine needles, gold ribbon, and strung with tiny white lights.

  “I see you've decorated for Christmas,” he commented and she didn't turn around.

   “Yes.”

  His breath suddenly stirred her neck. She hadn't even heard him get up and come behind her. “Buffy,” he murmured into her hair. Keeping her back ramrod straight she stared ahead at the view of the city blankly.

  “What do you want Angel?” she asked dully, coldly and his hands slid up the backs of her arms, pulling her back against him.

  “What have I always wanted?” he breathed into her ear and she suppressed a shudder, standing stock still in his semi-embrace, not answering.

  “Spend Christmas with me,” he asked her, and she laughed brokenly, finding the strength finally, or at least the will, to push him violently away.

  “God, no, Angel!” she cried, pushing her hair out of her eyes and leaning face first against the cool pane of glass, watching the snow fall lightly outside. “What do you think? You can just come back into my life? That I'm going to be the same Buffy as I used to be?”

  “No,” he protested, taking her fingers in his. “I want to get to know the new Buffy. Can't we be in each other's lives?”

  “No,” she answered with certainty. “NO…I can't do it again. I…can't…”

  Suddenly she felt his hands pushing aside the heavy fall of hair on her back, and then felt the soft press of his lips on the side of her neck. Shivering, she tried to be immune, tried to ignore the hot, slight wetness of his oh so familiar mouth as it slid over her nape  to her ear, closing over the lobe and biting gently.

  Feeling a throb building in her stomach, Buffy wrenched away from him, whirling to face him, saw his flushed face and felt an involuntary stab of desire. God, she didn't want this. This fire. Why couldn't it have burned out?

  “Leave,” she said, so quietly, just a whisper.

  “Buffy,” he said helplessly, his voice low and husky. She stared into the eyes she loved and felt the wall of ice slide precariously back into place. Where it belonged. Protecting her.

  “I mean it,” she repeated and he came forward, grasping her arms, lifting one hand to cup her smooth cheek.

  “Say you don't still love me and I'll go,” he demanded, “Tell me that you don't love me.”

  She remembered long ago when she has said that same thing to him.

I can fool Giles and I can fool my friends, but I can't fool myself….and Spike for some reason. We're not friends. We never were.”

  “There has to be some way we can still see each other” he had protested, and she had recognized what he was doing. Grasping at straws, trying to delay the inevitable. And she had given him a way then. A way to prolong it.

  “There is. Tell me that you don't love me.”

  There had been no answer then but Buffy couldn't leave it hanging now. There were no straws to grasp. Her heart couldn't take it. “I…I don't… love you Angel. Please let me go.”

  Stricken, his hand left her face, and she mourned for a split second the loss of it.  “Please…leave me alone.”

  Turning, she slipped back into her chair,  holding her breath. And then there it was. The sound of the door closing. Steps going down the hall. Hot tears fell over her cheeks, hitting the front of her dress and sliding down to her belly. As if her heart was weeping. Buffy lowered her head and watched the snow fall outside, until it blurred.

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