"A Letter To Riley"

Author: Deb Nockels
Email: Debnockels@aol.com
Notes: The timeline in this story is a little skewed. The episodes it follows aired in December 2000, but it's taken me so much longer to finish than I'd anticipated (once I decided to expand it into a real story, not just the Letter itself) that it was hard to keep thinking myself back into that time frame. So some references are probably off. Also, my version of events isn't exactly canon all the way, as will become evident.
Thanks: Many, many, *many* thanks to my beta-readers, Anja & Chelle. You're the greatest! Your comments and suggestions, as always, were greatly appreciated. And, Chelle, my special gratitude for thinking up the spell for Anya. Thanks also to Joanna, of the BA Ficshop, who gave me valuable feedback in the early stages of this story.

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Dear Riley,

It's been two weeks since you left.  Two weeks since I stood staring up into the night sky, yelling to you while the helicopter slowly climbed higher and higher, with you inside.  Fourteen days since I stood in numb despair watching you fly away from me.  Did you hear me, Riley? Did you hear me shouting your name?  I'd like to think that you didn't, that the roar and beat of the helicopter drowned out my voice - that you weren't just ignoring me.  I know you didn't look back, though. Even from the ground I could see that.

It's funny; I'm not sure why I'm even writing this, ‘cause I know you'll never see it.  For one thing, I have no address to send it to except the Army, and somehow I don't think that addressing it to "Agent Riley Finn, c/o Demon-Infested Village Somewhere in Central America" would get very far.  So this will just lie in my dresser drawer until one day I decide to tear it up and throw it away.  I suppose I'm really writing it more to clear my own mind than anything.

You know, I wonder - even if I'd arrived in time to stop you from getting on the ‘copter, would you have thanked me for it, afterward?  You said you were leaving unless I gave you a reason not to, and I don't know if what I was going to say was a good enough reason to stay.

It was because of Xander that I went after you.  He found me not long after you and I had our "talk" that night.  I'd just dusted eight or ten vamps in about thirty seconds - isn't it amazing what anger and adrenaline can do?  They were the vamps running that human buffet you'd been helping to supply.  They tried to ambush me - guess they didn't appreciate my torching their cafeteria.  Oh, yes, one of them was your arm-biting girlfriend.  It gave me a lot of pleasure to watch her explode into dust, and if that sounds bitchy I really don't care.

Sorry; where was I?  Oh, yes, Xander.  Apparently Xander had realized something  was wrong between us, so he went after me.  I didn't have a clue that things weren't fine, but Xander saw it. Did everyone know but me? Because Willow didn't seem all that surprised either when I told her the next morning.  Was it that obvious?  And was I really that blind?

Anyway ... Xander and I also talked that night.  Actually, he did most of the talking - or maybe "lecturing" would be a better word.  I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was all about what a great guy you are, the kind who only comes along once in a lifetime, how you'd always given a hundred percent of yourself and that if there was any chance that I could love you, really love you, I shouldn't let you walk away.  And so I panicked and ran after you.

I know he meant it for the best, but now that I've had a little time to think about it and my emotions have calmed, I realize that I let myself get carried away by his words.  It was wrong of me to go after you.  It wouldn't have been fair to you, to stop you from pursuing your own life on the off chance that I might someday be able to love you the way you deserve to be loved.  Because even though Xander got a lot of things wrong, he was right about that part.  You are a wonderful person, Riley, a once in a lifetime catch for any girl.  But I ran after you not because I suddenly realized I couldn't bear to lose you, but because I was afraid I might be losing my best chance at a normal life.

Could I ever love you, really love you?  I don't know.  There, that's the honest truth, though it took me way too long to see it.  You told me that night that I never let you in, that I kept you at a distance.  Guess what?  You were right, even though I didn't realize it at the time - or maybe I just didn't want to acknowledge it.  I didn't let you all the way in.  I couldn't.

I probably don't even have to tell you why.  It's because of Angel.  Who else?  Xander said I'd been treating you like the rebound guy.  I'm sorry, but that's what you were.  I only wish I'd been able to see it before you got hurt.  God, how I wish that!  Hurting you was the last thing I wanted to do, I hope you can believe that.  When I told you that I'd given you my heart, my body and my soul, I thought it was the truth.  It wasn't until later that I understood it was only a partial truth, that there was a portion of myself that I'd unknowingly held back, the part of my heart and soul that belonged to Angel.  That still belong to him.

Funny, no one understands about Angel and me.  Xander, Willow, my mother, probably Giles too, all seem to think he was just a first love that ended unhappily.  Something that happens to most people, especially teenagers.  Xander told me I got "burned" by him.  Willow said that the pain I felt over him was "not my friend."  Translation:  It's time to move past the pain and find someone else, Buffy.

And you - just what do you think it was?  Because, you know, the things you said that night just stunned me.  You deliberately let yourself get bitten by a vampire because you wanted to try to understand the "power" Dracula and Angel had over me?  I mean - you grouped the two of them together into one category!  That totally boggled my mind.  That's what I meant when I said you didn't understand.  Where do I begin to try to straighten out a misconception that huge?

Yes, they're both vampires, but there's absolutely no other comparison between them, either in themselves or their effect on me.  Dracula was into control, and he got off on playing his seductive little mind games.  When he bit me ... he used some weird kind of mystical hypnotic power that I've never encountered before, although since then I've read that a few vampires do possess it, usually very old ones.  It works; oh yes, it works very well.  Just ask Xander if you don't believe me. "Spider-eating man-bitch" ring any bells with you?

But Angel ... my God, Riley, is that really what you thought my relationship with him was about?  Angel biting me regularly and exerting his thrall over me like Dracula did, or at least some sort of mysterious addictive rush that gave him "power" over me?  Or is that only what you wanted to believe it was?

No.  Angel and I loved each other.  Plain and simple.  Well, not really simple, because he's a vampire with a soul and an anti-happiness loophole and I'm the Slayer, but it is the plain truth.  We were in love.  God, we still are, or I am anyway.  I guess I can't really speak for him anymore.  Regardless, there was no enthrallment or "power" involved in our relationship, except the usual type that comes from being in love.  Unlike you and your vampire whores, Riley, Angel drank from me once, and only once, to save his life when he was dying from a poisoned arrow Faith shot him with.  And even then I literally had to force him to do it and he was sick with guilt afterward.  He couldn't control it, you see, and I lost a little too much blood and ended up in the hospital overnight -

Never mind, that's not important.  He left me the next night, after we killed the Mayor and stopped his ascension, and I felt like a part of me had died.  It took months before I began to recover - except I only thought I was getting over him.  I understand now that what really happened is that I shut that part off from the rest of me.  I had to.  Can you understand that, Riley?

Can you understand that it just hurt too much, that if I hadn't partitioned off the pain it would have overwhelmed me, possibly to the point where I wouldn't have been able to focus while slaying?  And that would have endangered not only me but everyone else.  You see, I'd lost Angel once before - when I sent him to Hell.  Did anyone ever tell you about that?  I know I didn't; I told you as little about Angel as I could get away with.  Xander maybe?  He seems to have spilled the beans about other things, maybe this was one of them.  Well, whatever; you're going to hear it now.  Except, not really, of course.

Anyway.  It was after Angel lost his soul, after we made love on my seventeenth birthday and he became evil again.  (I know you know about that.)  Short version, he got tired of taunting and tormenting me as he'd been doing for months and decided to end the world.  So he used his blood to awaken a dormant demon that would suck every living soul into hell when it drew its first breath in centuries.  I went to stop him.  We fought and I stabbed him with a sword just as Acathla, the demon, woke and started to take its first breath.  It worked.  Angel went to hell instead of all of us.  Good triumphed over evil once again.  

Hooray for me.

Except that it wasn't Evil Angel I sent to hell.  It was Angel, my Angel, who didn't know where we were and didn't remember anything that he'd done - rather, that the vampire demon had done during the months it had control of his body.  Willow had recast the gypsy curse and returned Angel's soul to his body - again.  Just in time for me to know he was back, to realize that he didn't remember a thing, and to understand that it didn't make a goddamn bit of difference.  Acathla was waking up and the only way to stop him from destroying humanity was with Angel's blood, since that's what was used to wake him.

So we kissed -

Sorry, I had to stop for a minute.  We kissed, I told him I loved him and he told me he loved me - and then, without a word of explanation, I ran the sword through his chest and condemned him to suffer the tortures of hell.  Forever, I thought.

I left town that day.  I think I had some kind of mental breakdown because I don't remember much except crying so hard that my throat ached for days.  Then when I finally ran out of tears, I was sitting on a bus on my way out of town.  I stayed in L.A. for three months, working as a waitress in a sleazy café.  I wasn't the Slayer, I wasn't even Buffy.  I was Anne, quiet, workaholic, unsociable, don't-get-near-me Anne.  I might have stayed Anne a lot longer if a teenage runaway from Sunnydale hadn't recognized me and begged me for help in finding her boyfriend.  Surprise, surprise, he'd been captured by demons.  

Well.  I fixed that problem and realized I couldn't escape my destiny.  So I came back home and tried to resume my life and stop imagining the tortures Angel was going through down in the demon dimension we call hell.  They don't like vampires very much down there, did you know that?  Something to do with them being "contaminated" because they have human bodies.  So the tortures designed for vampires are even more imaginative than the usual kind.  I wonder what they thought up for a vampire with not only a human body but a human soul?

I even started dating again, a nice normal boy from school named Scott.  A story I won't bore you with except to say that it didn't work out, which might have had something to do with the fact that Angel returned right in the middle of it.  Why and how he escaped or was set free from hell, I still don't know.  If Angel does he's never said. But there he was, turning my world upside down again, though of course I was glad he wasn't still suffering in hell.

At first we tried to stay apart.  Then we tried to just be friends - but it was hopeless.  I remember Spike telling us one night that we'd be in love until we died, or until it killed us.  I'm starting to believe he was right, at least as far as I'm concerned. God, it was so wonderful being with him again - and it hurt so much, knowing we could never again take the final step to fully express our love.  And I've gone into a lot more detail here than I intended to.  But do you understand why losing him a second time, only a year later, almost killed me?  What made it even harder was that he left voluntarily, because he wanted me to have a normal life - something which, to be fair, I'd wanted and fought for ever since being Called as the Slayer.

Have you ever noticed how if you get hit over the head with something often enough, it eventually sinks in?  I think I've finally gotten the message that I'll never have a "normal" life.  You showed me that.  And maybe it's for the best.  Maybe once I finally accept that normality and Buffy can't coexist, I'll be able to concentrate on becoming the best Slayer possible.  And just maybe I'll live to see my twenty-sixth birthday.  God, I never thought I'd start sounding like Kendra.  Poor Kendra.  I told you about her, didn't I?  Drusilla killed her.  She missed out on so much, but she was right about Slaying not being just a job, but who we are.  Who I am.  It's time I focused on that instead of trying to be "normal," whatever that may be.

You know, it's a good thing you'll never read this.  Somehow I don't think you'd appreciate how much of it is about Angel instead of you.  But then, you see, so much in our relationship always was about Angel, about how much I wasn't thinking about him and how much I'd gotten over him, only I was too - I don't know, dense?  Stubborn? Stupid?

Anyway, I didn't recognize it in time.  I gave you all I could, Riley; I really did, and I'm sorry it wasn't enough.  You were my link to normality, someone who knew what I am and loved me anyway, someone I could count on for backup and encouragement ... someone I cared for but who I thought could never hurt me the way Angel had.

And I was right, because even though I've cried because you're gone and feel a pang every time I automatically think, "I've got to call Riley about this," only to remember you're not here anymore, I know I'll get over it.  That sounds harsh, doesn't it? I do miss you, you know.  I miss your smile and the warmth of your body in bed at night and the comfort of your arms when I'm feeling down and the light in your eyes when you look at me.  But that isn't love, that's companionship and caring and lots of other things ... but not love, at least not the kind you want and deserve to have.  I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I couldn't give you what you needed; sorry that I didn't realize I was hurting you.  Most of all I'm sorry for acting like such a bitch during our last conversation.  You kept trying to explain but I got defensive and angry and wouldn't listen, just kept attacking you with my words.  I'm sorry; I get like that when I'm angry or upset.  The words just burst out and I say things I always regret later.  Even with - never mind.  I always regret it.

Of course, to be fair to me, I did warn you that I wasn't ready to talk to you yet, and you were the one who insisted on it.  

Well ... I guess that's it.  I hope you find what you're looking for, Riley.  You deserve it.  Please try to keep yourself safe.  I guess it's silly to even write down those words, because you'll never see this.  Even if I had an address to send it to, I wouldn't, not now - but it makes me feel better to put it down in black and white.

All right, Buffy, it's bad enough you talk to yourself, now you're writing to yourself. Way past time to stop, don't you think?

---

Buffy leaned back in the chair, brooding over what she'd written.  She really was glad Riley would never see it. What had started out as a simple letter of apology and explanation had turned into a piece of self-analysis and nostalgia more suited for her diary than a letter to her ex-boyfriend.  The last thing Riley needed to hear was all those details about her and Angel.  What had she been thinking when she wrote them down?  That he'd understand and sympathize, and miraculously change his mind and come back to Sunnydale?

She smiled bitterly, knowing that even if he walked through her door right that very moment, she'd send him away.  At least now she knew her own mind and emotions, and Riley didn't fit there anymore.  It was just as well that she hadn't been in time to stop him from leaving; he probably would be hating her by now for causing him to miss out on his demon-hunting mission.  Finally, with a long sigh she began folding the letter.

"What's that?"  Dawn lounged against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest.  Her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck.

Buffy glanced up.  "It's a letter I wrote to Riley."  She put the letter into one of her pale blue, personalized stationery envelopes, sealed it, then placed it on a corner of the desk

"Oh."  Dawn looked surprised.  "I didn't know you had an address for him."

"I don't."  Buffy stood up.  "Unless Riley comes back or writes and gives me a return address, he'll never see it."  Of course he wouldn't see it even if he did do either of those things, but there was no reason to tell that to Dawn.

Dawn frowned.  "Then ... why did you write it?"

"Mostly to clear my mind," Buffy replied.  Then she sighed.  "And my conscience."

"Oh!"  Dawn gave a wise nod.  "You wanted to apologize and let him know that you miss him."  

"Something like that," Buffy agreed.  She wasn't about to go into any of the details in her letter, or her subsequent thoughts, with her kid sister -

She shook her head.  With Dawn, who wasn't really her sister, even though both their memories said otherwise.

Then Dawn frowned again, returning Buffy's attention to her.  "Except, he won't know because he won't get the letter."

Buffy gave a weary shrug.  "Maybe he'll write, like I said.  It's okay, Dawn; don't worry about it."  She changed the subject briskly.  "I'm going to check on Mom and then figure out what to fix for dinner.  Want to help?"

"Sure."  Dawn started to follow Buffy, then stopped.  "Um, I'll be there in a minute, okay?"  She walked very slowly toward her room, waited until Buffy disappeared into their mother's bedroom, then silently darted back to Buffy's room, walked over to the desk and stared at the envelope.

Buffy's being all brave about it, but I can tell that this thing with Riley is really eating her up inside.  She's so sad.  If only there was some way I could get that letter to him, maybe he'd come back and she'd be happy again.

She gnawed on her bottom lip.  There must be a spell that could send the letter to him.  Maybe she could ask Willow - no, that wouldn't work.  Dawn made a face.  Willow would insist on checking with Buffy first, and she wanted it to be a surprise.  Her conscience had been bothering her lately.  Maybe Buffy was a pain in the neck at times, but she wasn't all that bad - for a big sister, that is.  She wanted to do something to make up for all the hard times she'd given Buffy in the past.  Well, for some of them at least.  Not to mention that with Riley out of the picture, her rather bossy big sister had a lot more time on her hands and that translated to Buffy keeping even stricter tabs on where Dawn went and who she was with.

Anya!  

Dawn brightened.  Of course!  Anya would help her.  Maybe.  Of course, Anya wasn't a demon now and claimed she didn't have her powers, but... .  Anyway, it couldn't hurt to ask her.  Wearing a satisfied smile, Dawn turned and walked out, joining her sister in Joyce's room.

---

The next morning Dawn discovered that, as she'd expected, Buffy planned to pay a visit to The Magic Box to get in some training time, and it took little effort on her part to persuade her big sis to let her tag along. A pleading glance and references to having finished her homework and being b-o-r-e-d did the trick.

Joyce said goodbye to them from the living room sofa, where she was lying with a book in her hand. Buffy paused by the door. "Are you sure you don't mind both of us being gone?"

"Not a bit," their mother said cheerfully. "It'll give me a chance to get caught up on my reading. Go on now, both of you. I'll be fine."

Dawn surveyed her carefully. She looked pretty good, considering - except for that dumb wig which really did look like she was wearing a cat on her head. Her color was better and the smile she flashed at them was the same, familiar smile Dawn had seen all her life. Reassured, she opened the door.

"All right," Buffy replied, still hovering. "But make sure you get some rest."

"Yes, Mom," Joyce promised solemnly. Then she smiled again, a smile Buffy responded to with a chuckle, and the girls left.

The shop wasn't busy, so it wasn't hard for Dawn to take Anya aside and ask her question. "Oh, sure," was Anya's nonchalant response. "There's lots of spells you can use to Send things to another person. I remember this girl in France, I think it was in 1730, somewhere around there. Anyway, she wanted me to send a barrel of horse dung to the guy who'd seduced her and then deserted her - wanted it dumped right on top of him as he sat in church. Just look at this mess! Humans are such slobs!" She began straightening the crystals on the display table.

"Did you do it?" asked Dawn, distracted in spite of herself by the uneasy fascination Anya's stories tended to evoke in her listeners.

Anya shrugged. "Of course. It caused a lot of talk, I can tell you, when that dung appeared out of nowhere. Sure made a big stink, too." A reminiscent smile widened her mouth, replaced by an angry glare when she noticed a scratch on one of the crystals.

"Uh ... I bet it did." Dawn blinked, then got back to the matter at hand. "So, could you still do a spell like that? I mean, you know, since you're not a demon anymore?"

"You want to dump horse manure on someone?" Anya asked, perplexed.

"Eww! No way!" Dawn grimaced. She looked around to be sure they were alone, and lowered her voice. "No, I want to send something to Riley. A letter."

"Why are you writing to Riley?" Anya was still frowning. "You know he's in love with Buffy, don't you? Even if he did let those vampire sluts suck on him ." Anya's eyes got suddenly big. "I mean, they were sucking his blood, not - uh - How old are you again?"

To Dawn's surprise, she looked really worried. Xander's influence and constant lectures on human behavior must really be taking hold. "I know what you meant," she soothed the agitated ex-demon. "Buffy told me. Well, she didn't really tell me exactly. I overheard her talking to Willow about it, but anyway, this letter I want to send isn't from me. It's from Buffy, but she doesn't know how to get it to him."

Anya took a moment to untangle that. "Why do you care? And why hasn't Buffy asked Willow about a Sending spell, if she's so anxious about it?"

Dawn shrugged. "I don't think she's thought about it. She's still too upset about everything to think clearly. But she wrote him this letter telling him how much she misses him, and I want to see that he gets it."

"How do you know what's in the letter?" One eyebrow raised slyly. "Did you read Buffy's letter? Xander says that you're not supposed to read other people's mail, you know. It's an invasion of their privacy. Also, it's illegal."

"You think I want to read all that mushy stuff?"

"Of course," was Anya's surprised reply.

Dawn started to bridle, then retreated, giving Anya a sheepish grin. "Okay, so maybe I'm curious - but I didn't read Buffy's letter and I'm not going to. I just want to get it to Riley so he can come back home and make Buffy happy again. Then maybe she'll stop playing mother to me, and I can get my life back."

An understanding look crossed Anya's face. "Oh, now I get it! Big Sister's getting on your nerves, huh?" She elbowed Dawn in the ribs in a jocular manner. "Well, to answer your question, yes, I could do the spell. It's not a hard one, especially since it's only a letter that's being Sent. But I'll need something that belonged to Riley to make it work."

"Like what?"

Shrugging, Anya pursed her lips. "Something personal. An item of clothing or jewelry or even an object that he was in frequent contact with. Like, a book that he read a lot. Or - or his weapon! You know, that shock gun thing. He kept that with him most of the time. Typical soldier." She sniffed.

Rolling her eyes a little, Dawn said, "He probably took his tazer with him when he left, Anya. I mean, he was going to go fight demons, you know. But I think Buffy might have an old sweater or shirt of his. I've seen her wearing it to bed. Not lately, of course."

"As long as she hasn't worn it too much," Anya cautioned. "It needs to have his psychic imprint on it, not hers. Maybe you better look for something else. In addition to the sweater, I mean. Oh! Did he ever give her any jewelry, a necklace or ring or anything like that? That would have great significance for the spell because it'd be something that connects them."

Dawn reflected. "I don't know. I'll try to find out."

"Well, see what you can get hold of," Anya told her. "Giles has the rest of the stuff I'll need here in the shop, so as soon as you get those things to me I can get going on the spell."

"Buffy," Dawn said later, as they were walking home. "Did Riley ever give you something of his?" As Buffy turned a surprised gaze on her, she hurried to add, "I mean like a shirt or sweater or ... something, you know, to remember him by?"

"Something to moon over now that he's gone, you mean?" Buffy remarked drily. "Yes, I think I have a sweater I borrowed once that I forgot to give back to him. Why?"

Dawn gave a casual shrug. "No reason. I just read a book once where the girl slept with her ex-boyfriend's T-shirt after they split up so she wouldn't feel so sad, and I wondered if you were doing anything sickening like that, that's all."

"Not in a million years," Buffy told her, firmly pushing away the memory of lying in bed clutching the leather jacket of Angel's that he'd given her, while tears poured down her face and her body ached so with missing him that it hurt to breathe.

"And he never gave you any jewelry or anything, either, did he?" Dawn persisted.

Buffy stopped. "Why this sudden interest in gifts from Riley?"

Dawn improvised swiftly. "This girl at school was talking about how her sister had broken up with her boyfriend, and he wanted her to give back this necklace he'd gotten her but she wouldn't do it. And I was thinking that Riley would never do anything so juvenile, but then I couldn't remember that he'd even given you any jewelry, which makes him seem kind of chintzy." She ran out of breath and gazed at Buffy with innocent eyes.

Buffy blinked a few times, sorting this out, then shook her head. "No, Riley wasn't chintzy. He did give me a necklace but I don't wear it now."

Secretly exultant, Dawn filed away that bit of information, at the same time nodding sympathetically. "It hurts too much to wear it. I understand."

Buffy looked away. "Yes, it does." It was the truth; after all, she hadn't specified why it hurt to wear the tiny diamond heart Riley had unexpectedly given her last fall. ("Because when I saw it I thought of you," had been his answer when she'd asked the reason for the gift.) Not that she'd ever worn it much anyway for fear the delicate chain would get torn off her neck during a battle. Now it resided at the very back of her top dresser drawer, tucked safely away in its velvet box. And there it would stay.

Dawn's chance to do some snooping came later that night, after their mother was settled in bed and Buffy had departed to go Bronzing with the Scoobies with a stern admonition to Dawn to "Stay at home with Mom." For once Dawn hadn't minded the bossy 'tude.

She waited until she was sure her mom was fast asleep then opened the door to Buffy's room. It took only a minute to find the sweater she remembered seeing. She folded the soft tan wool over her arm and turned to Buffy's jewelry box. Inside there were any number of rings and bracelets, from bulky plastic jobs Dawn hadn't seen her sister wear in years (thank goodness, she thought, eyeing them with disdain) to dainty silver circlets and wide, fake-gem-encrusted bands ... but no necklaces.

Okay. Have to look elsewhere. Dawn pulled open the top drawer. Her eyes were instantly drawn to two satin-covered boxes in the front that looked promising. The first one held a gleaming gold cross on a chain. She opened the second box. It too held a cross, but this one was fashioned of silver and was noticeably larger in size.

Gnawing her lip, Dawn considered them. One was Riley's gift, she was sure, but which one? Angel had given Buffy a cross too, she recalled, back when they'd first met, and Buffy had worn it often. And how weird was that, that both her boyfriends had given her the same gift? Of course, crosses did come in handy while hunting vampires, so maybe it wasn't so weird after all.

She closed her eyes, thinking back. A couple of months ago Buffy had gone on patrol wearing a cross. She'd noticed it because it had been a long time since she'd seen Buffy wear one.

"Why are you wearing a cross? You haven't done that in ages."

Buffy had looked a little sheepish. "I don't know, I just felt the need for a little more protection tonight, I guess. You know, with Glory roaming around and all."

Dawn opened her eyes. Yes, she was positive. It was the silver cross she'd had on, so that had to be from Riley. After all, she'd hardly be wearing the one Angel had given her, now would she? Dawn picked up the box with the silver cross and rearranged items in the drawer so the empty spot where it had been wasn't so obvious, then closed the drawer and slipped out.

---

The smoke from the burning herbs tickled Dawn's throat, making her cough. Sitting across from her, Anya glared at her.  "Quiet.  Please," she added, apparently remembering there existed such a thing as manners.  She began the chant.

"Diana, Goddess of the Hunt, I invoke thee.  Venus, Goddess of Love, I invoke thee.  Divine Power, borrowed wind, with love in mind this note was penned. Goddesses, hear our cry, seek out the one we name.  This token we need delivered. True love has to claim.

"With borrowed wind, see this note sent.  Let it follow where true love went.  Riley Finn the name declares; where true love awaits you'll find him there."

"And make sure he reads it!" Dawn added, just before Anya chanted, "So mote it be!"

Glaring at Dawn, Anya dashed the bundle of smoldering herbs into the brazier on the floor between them, extinguishing them in the liquid inside.  A soft white haze began drifting upward from the surface.  Dawn caught her breath, feeling her eyes widen. She'd never before witnessed an actual spell being worked, and even though she knew magic was real - well, seeing it was different from hearing it described.

The haze rose higher, drifting toward the envelope resting on top of Riley's sweater. The silver cross lay atop the envelope and all were enclosed inside a circle of crushed herbs.  The haze settled over the pale blue rectangle, and for long moments nothing happened.  Dawn was just about to ask Anya why it was just sitting there when a movement caught her eye.

The envelope was quivering.  Dawn gasped.  Slowly, very slowly, it began to float upward, the mist swirling around it, the envelope turning as it rose until it no longer lay flat but stood upright as though held in an invisible hand.  The cross slithered off and landed on the sweater.  About a foot above their heads the envelope stopped, shivering as if a wind were buffeting it.  The seconds ticked by.  Thirty of them.  Sixty.  Finally Dawn looked over at Anya, noticing the frown on her face.

"Is anything wrong?" she whispered apprehensively.

"I hope not.  I've never seen the spell work like this before," Anya returned in her normal tone of voice.  "Usually the object just vanishes after a few seconds."  

Even as she spoke the mist began to glow, becoming brighter by the second, until finally an explosion of light made Dawn cry out and shield her eyes.  Anya squinted, but remained focused on the envelope until, suddenly and silently, it vanished from view.

Dawn lowered her arm, blinking.  "Wow, that was - cool!   And bright."  She blinked again, trying to dispel the after-images floating in her vision.  "What made it act like that?"

Anya chewed thoughtfully on her lip.  "I don't know.  It's almost like the spell wasn't sure what it was supposed to do."  She fixed Dawn with a sharp look.  "You're sure that letter was for Riley?  I mean, the envelope didn't have his name on it or anything."

"Yep," Dawn assured her blithely.  "I saw Buffy put it in the envelope and set the envelope on her desk.  It was the only one there.  Maybe it just took the spell a little while to get a fix on where Riley is."

"Maybe."  Anya wasn't convinced.  She frowned, trying to recreate the past couple of minutes.  Had she seen what she thought she'd seen?  In the split-second before it disappeared, had there been, not one, but two envelopes in the midst of the haze? She gave her head a shake.  No, how could there be two?  It had to be an optical illusion brought on by the brilliant light - like, like seeing water on the street that was really only heat waves.  Frowning, she told Dawn, "Don't ever tamper with a spell like that again."

"Like what?"  Dawn looked blank.

Anya huffed impatiently.  "Interrupting before the spell is finished.  'Make sure he reads it'," she repeated.

"Oh."  Dawn gave her a sheepish look.  "I'm sorry, I just suddenly thought that he might be angry and wouldn't read the letter, so it just kind of popped out.  You don't think it caused any problems, do you?"  Now she looked worried.

Much as Anya would have liked to administer more stern reproofs, her innate honesty impelled her to say, "Probably not - this time.  But at the wrong time, with a stronger spell, it could be very dangerous, Dawn.  Magic isn't something you can play around with.  Every single word has significance."

"I'm sorry."  Dawn sounded subdued.

Briskly dismissing her concerns, Anya got to her feet and asked, "Are you going to tell Buffy what you did?"

"Nope."  Dawn also rose.  "I want it to be a surprise when Riley writes back to her - or just shows up, that would be even better."  She grinned.  "She'll owe me big time then!"  She seemed to have recovered from her momentary remorse.

"What if she notices it's gone?"

Dawn shrugged innocently.  "What if she does?  I don't know anything about it.  Maybe the wind blew it away. She's always leaving her window open."

Anya was impressed.  Dawn seemed to have covered her ass - her rear end - pretty well.  "Well, just remember, if anything goes wrong I had nothing to do with it." She was still uneasy about that glimpse of two envelopes where there should only have been one.

Dawn squatted down and picked up the brazier.  "Nothing's going to go wrong.  Now, where does this go?"

---

SOMEWHERE NEAR BELIZE
CENTRAL AMERICA

"Man, I'm glad that's over!"  Graham wiped his face, grimacing at the mess it made of his handkerchief.  "What was that thing?"  They had just returned to their base camp after dispatching yet another demon from yet another nest - the third they'd cleaned out since their arrival in Central America two weeks earlier - and only a couple of miles from the previous nest.  This one held a new species they hadn't encountered before.  At least most of the unit hadn't.

"It was a Vorlok demon," contributed Riley.  His face and fatigues were also liberally spattered with the yellowish goo that was the demon's blood.  Around them, the rest of their squad dispersed with low, and not-so-low, mutters about getting cleaned up.

"How do you know that?"  Graham looked at him curiously.  "No, wait.  Let me take a wild guess: Buffy."

Riley nodded.  "There was one in Sunnydale last year.  It killed two people before we were able to track it down and kill it."

" 'We'?"

"Buffy and I."

Graham's brows rose upward.  "Well, I've got to give her credit for having sense enough to let you help her instead of trying to go it alone like she usually does.  Those things are damn strong.  I mean, it took four of us to kill this one, and that was after it had been zapped three times."

Riley laughed out loud.

"What?"  Graham looked nettled.  Two of their squadron approached, obviously on their way to the showers.  "Don't use up all the hot water," he threatened them as they passed.  Grinning, they gave him mock-salutes.

"You still don't understand about the Slayer, do you?  Even after everything you saw last year."  Riley shook his head, cutting short his laugh before it turned bitter.  "Gray, Buffy let me help her.  She knew I needed to feel useful so she pretended to need my help."

"Come off it, man," Graham said impatiently.  "I know she can kill vampires single-handed - she proved that, God knows - but this is an eight-foot demon we're talking about."  They stopped in front of Riley's tent; Graham's was about ten feet further on.

Riley looked him in the eye.  "The Vorlok threw me into a tree.  I was completely stunned, unable to move, for more than a minute.  By the time I could move it was all over.  Buffy killed it by herself, Graham.   All I did was help her stalk it."

It was a moment before Graham spoke.  "At least tell me it was injured."  His voice was subdued.

"Sorry."  Riley shook his head.  "Not a mark or a wound on it - well, not until Buffy got to it.  After that it was minus a head."

"She - beheaded it?"  Graham gaped, knowing firsthand just how much strength it took to slice through the muscle, bone, and gristle of even a vampire's neck, much less an eight-foot demon that would take a size twenty-eight in collars - assuming it ever had need of such a thing.

"With one pass," confirmed Riley.  "She's the Slayer."  His voice held as much pain as pride.

Graham was silent again.  "Why did you leave?"  It was the first time he'd asked that question.  Probably the first time he'd dared to, Riley mused to himself.  He'd made it clear from the outset that questions about Buffy were off-limits.

"You love her, I know that," Graham continued.

"She doesn't love me."  Looking away, Riley wasn't sure why he'd admitted that to Graham.  Yes, he was.  Under the intense combat conditions of the past weeks their bond had quickly returned.  Graham was once again the friend he'd been, before.

Before Buffy came into his life.  Before the Initiative shit hit the fan and Maggie Walsh went psycho.  Before he discovered that the Initiative had used him as a human guinea pig.  Before his world turned upside down.

Graham looked skeptical.  "You could've fooled me.  Look, I don't particularly like Buffy, I've never pretended to, but - the way she acted when you were having that, uh, problem with your heart - she was worried about you, Riley.  Really worried.  And she busted her ass to find out where you'd hidden yourself and get you to the doc before you blew a gasket."

Riley wheeled abruptly, opening the flap of his tent.  "If we're going to have a heart-to-heart, let's at least get clean while we're at it.  If I have to smell this demon stink much longer it'll be my stomach that's spilling, not my guts.  I'll meet you in the showers in five."

"Let's make it three."  Graham made a gagging sound.  "I'm about ready to choke, myself."

Sure enough Graham was already there, at the second of the two shower stalls, when Riley arrived not three but four minutes later.  At first they were too busy scrubbing to talk, but finally they decided they were as clean as they were likely to get with the primitive, makeshift plumbing.  Since their unit had to be ready to move at a moment's notice, permanent structures were out of the question.  Still, at least they were able to shower now - and with mostly hot water.  Their first week they'd been too involved with the demon nests to even think about doing more than make an occasional quick swipe with a cold, wet cloth.  No one wanted to take the risk of facing a demon attack while naked.

Graham wrapped his towel around his waist.  "You were saying?" he prompted Riley to continue their discussion.  Droplets of water gleamed faintly on his broad shoulders.

"I wasn't."  Riley rubbed his head vigorously with the towel before applying it to his torso.  "You were the one doing the talking."

"Yeah.  All right, in the beginning I thought Buffy only wanted you as a way to infiltrate the Initiative.  I was wrong; I admit it.  And what Walsh tried to do to her - well, nothing can excuse that.  But I still resent Buffy like hell, because she turned you from a damn good soldier into her sidekick."

Calmly, Graham held up one hand to ward off Riley's angry glare.  "I'm sorry, but that's the way I see it.  You used to have a mission - forget it; I already covered that back in Sunnydale and there's no point in repeating myself.  Look, I'm trying to be fair here.  No one fights for someone the way she did for you last year unless that someone means a lot to them.  So unless she started putting cyanide in your coffee or something - "

Raising an eyebrow, he cocked his head, in a "Well?" position, waiting.  Riley smiled faintly.  "No."

Graham shrugged.  "Then all I'm saying is I think you're mistaken.  Even I have to admit the girl cares for you."  He pulled a khaki T-shirt over his head and reached for his shorts.

Riley draped his wet towel around his neck and retrieved his own briefs from the hook set into the side of the tent.  "I know Buffy cares for me, Gray.  Caring isn't love.  She doesn't love me, not the way I love her, with all my heart and soul, thanking God every day that I was lucky enough to have her - even if it was only for a short while."  Sliding on his light cotton camouflage pants, he slipped his bare feet into his shoes and began pulling on a dark green T-shirt.

His simple, heartfelt declaration left Graham speechless, and somewhat embarrassed.  He wasn't used to men being so open about their more tender feelings.  Briefly he wondered what it was like to love someone that wholeheartedly, without reservation.  Somehow he doubted that he'd ever know the feeling.  Finally, he said, "If you feel like that, then I really don't understand why you're here with us.  Why you walked away from her."  Now fully dressed, he fell in beside Riley as they headed back to their tents.

Hesitating, Riley glanced over at him, then looked away.  "Because you were right when you told me in Sunnydale that it wouldn't be enough, just being the mission's boyfriend.  It was hard, knowing that she didn't really need my help, that I might even be making it more difficult for her because she felt the need to watch out for me.  And ... I did something stupid.  Really, really stupid."

"You went out with someone else?" Graham asked tentatively.  Somehow that didn't seem like the Riley Finn he'd known.  Or thought he'd known.

"Worse."  Again Riley flicked a look at his friend.  Checking to make sure no one was in earshot, he took a deep breath.  "I let a vampire bite me.  On purpose."

Graham's face went blank.  "You what?"  As if he thought he'd heard wrong.

"I deliberately let a vampire bite me.  More than once."

Graham stopped dead in his tracks and stared at him.  "That's what those marks on your arms are!  I wondered.  Why the hell would you do something crazy like that?"

Riley took another breath.  "  I ... went a little crazy, I guess.  Gray, you're not going to believe this, but... last September Dracula came to Sunnydale."  In response to Graham's look, he added.  "Yeah, the Dracula.  Bram Stoker, Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee - Dracula.  He's real, he exists, and he was in Sunnydale.  Because he wanted to meet Buffy, he said.

"He ... put her under some kind of magical compulsion - a thrall, they called it - and bit her, and she couldn't tell anyone about it.  She hid the marks with a scarf, but she was acting all weird and I got suspicious and pulled the scarf off.  That broke the enthrallment, I guess, and then she was able to talk about what had happened.  Anyway, we all went hunting for Dracula and Buffy finally staked him."

"Buffy killed Dracula?" Graham exclaimed.

"No."  Riley shook his head.  "She staked him but ... the guy's different from any vampire I've ever heard about, because he didn't stay dusted - but I guess she'd convinced him that Sunnydale wasn't a healthy place to be, ‘cause he left.  Took his castle with him too."

Throughout it all Graham just stared at him without interrupting, except for that one startled question.  When Riley finished, it was Graham's turn to take a deep breath, running his hand over his close-cropped hair.  "If it was anyone but you telling me this, Ri, I'd be sending for the medics about now.  Since it is you, I have to believe it.  But what does Dracula have to do with you letting vampires bite you?"

"Come inside.  I need socks."  They ducked inside Riley's tent, Graham sitting on the cot while Riley hunted up a pair of almost-clean socks.  "The Dracula thing, him casting that thrall over Buffy and biting her, I just couldn't stop thinking about it.  That and - "

He hesitated, debating whether to tell Graham about Angel.  He decided against it.  Finding out that Buffy's first lover had been a vampire, however soulful and good-intentioned, would only prejudice Graham further against her.  Besides, it wasn't his secret to tell.

"And what?"  Graham eyed him.

"The fact that she hid it from us," Riley continued hurriedly.  "I became almost obsessed by it.  Why hadn't she told me?  How could a vampire exert such power over the Slayer?  I - I wanted to understand, so I ... let one bite me."

Graham cast his eyes upward at such stupidity.  "Well?  What happened?  Did getting bitten answer your questions?"

"In a way," Riley answered.  "I found out that a vampire's bite can be ... addicting.  Did you ever hear of humans paying vampires to drink from them?"  At Graham's exclamation of shock and disgust, he smiled a little.  "It happens at times.  There was an operation like that in Sunnydale.  I paid them a visit, and then kept going back."

"You've got to be kidding."

Riley met his disbelieving gaze straight on.  "Like I said, addictive.  There's a ... a rush that comes from knowing how dangerous it is - I mean, there's no guarantee the vampire won't just drain you dry.  Anyway, the same night that you and the Captain came to see me, Buffy found out, which brought me to my senses - real fast.  But she was ... upset."

Graham gave a short bark of laughter.  "I'll just bet she was.  So she told you to get the hell out, huh?"

"No."  Riley looked away.  "The next night I told her that unless she could give me a reason to stay I was leaving at midnight, with you.  She didn't show - so here I am."

Graham held up a hand.  "Let me make sure I understand this.  Your girlfriend finds you getting drained by vampires - paying them to drink your blood - and you give her an ultimatum?"  He shook his head.  "You've got balls, Finn, I'll give you that.  Not much in the brains department, though, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Like that ever stopped you before," Riley snorted.

Graham stood up.  "I'm going to go grab forty winks."  He gazed down at Riley, who was still sitting on his cot.  "I'm sorry it ended badly, but maybe it's for the best.  Because whether Buffy does or doesn't love you, I really believe this is what you're meant to be doing.  You're a hell of a fighter and one damn fine soldier, and I can't believe that tagging along at Buffy's heels was satisfying for you, however much you loved her."

Before Riley could reply, he was gone.  Riley stared at the tent flap for a while before slowly lying down, shoes and all.  Then he stared at the ceiling, though with unseeing eyes.  Like Buffy, Graham also thought he'd given her an ultimatum that night.  At the time he honestly hadn't thought that was what he was doing, but now, with hindsight, he had to admit that it really had been.  Furthermore, it was an ultimatum given at the worst possible time, though the timing hadn't exactly been under his control.  It wasn't his fault that the unit was leaving that very night, was it?

No, he sighed to himself, but he could have waited and caught up with them later, if things hadn't worked out with Buffy.  He knew how ballistic she got sometimes, and that she needed a cooling-off period before she was ready to talk with any degree of calmness about whatever was bothering her.  Which raised the disturbing question, why had he forced her into the discussion that night, when she was still highly emotional?  Was he, deep down, wanting her to tell him to get lost (to use Graham's words) - to take the decision out of his hands?  

Or had he really hoped that hearing he was thinking of leaving would shock Buffy into begging him to stay, into declaring and demonstrating her love in terms so clear and unmistakable that they would finally convince him?

"What else do you want from me, Riley?  I've given you everything that I have.  I've given you my heart, my body, and soul."

"You say that, but I don't feel it.  I just don't feel it."

"Well, whose fault is that?  Because I'm telling you, this is it.  This is me.  This is the package."

Not for the first time, he was gnawed by doubt.  Maybe he'd been mistaken.  Maybe Buffy really did love him.  Could it be something in him that simply refused to let him believe it?  A growing insecurity that she, a woman with super powers, couldn't possibly love someone who was just a normal person?  God, had he thrown away his chance at happiness?

He must have dozed off, because a sudden burst of light jolted him awake.  He blinked.  Something landed with a rustling sound on his stomach.  Riley shot upright, looking wildly around, and sending the object, a pale blue envelope, sliding down onto the bed.  No one was there.  He sniffed the air, detecting a faint odor of ... herbs?  He looked down.  There was something in the envelope.  The personalized return address caught his eye:

Buffy A. Summers
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA 93100

Buffy?  He stared at it.  Magic; that was the only possible explanation for this sudden appearance.  Buffy had written him a letter, and asked Willow to get it to him using magic.  Suddenly hopeful, Riley picked up the envelope and took out several folded stationery sheets.  "Dear Riley" were the first words he saw.  He kept reading.

Long minutes later he was once again flat on his cot, staring blindly upward.  Well.  That was that.  His instincts had been right; she didn't love him.  Not the way he loved her ... not the way she loved him.  Angel.  The one whose shadow he'd always sensed hovering over them, even before he knew his name and what he was.

Angel.  The vampire who loved the Slayer, and whom the Slayer loved in return.  A love that apparently had never faltered, even through situations that frankly made him cringe to imagine.  When they'd consummated their love Angel had turned evil and tormented her and her friends, even killing Giles' girlfriend (he'd heard that story from Xander) - and Buffy never stopped loving him.  Buffy had stabbed Angel and sent him to Hell for what was probably a hundred years or more of torment - and he still loved her.  Loved her enough to walk away from her so she could have a chance at a more normal life.  And instead of hating him for leaving, Buffy loved him still.

How had he ever thought he could compete with that?  

Another question buzzed in his brain:  Why had Buffy gone ahead and sent him the letter, when she'd made it clear in its contents that she had no intention of doing that?  What had changed her mind?  

Riley puzzled over that for a while without coming to any conclusion other than that it had been some kind of accident - probably another of Willow's spell going awry.  Suddenly Graham burst into his tent.  "Another nest has been spotted about ten miles away.  We're moving out!"  He ducked back out, leaving Riley gazing after him.

Wearily Riley got to his feet, folding the letter and replacing it in the envelope, then carefully stowing the letter in his duffel bag.  There'd be plenty of time for brooding later.  Right now it was time to go fight demons.

---

Angel sat in his room, hands steepled in front of him, brooding.  The glow of the city coming in through the window provided the only light in the room.  Why bother turning on a lamp?  He could see almost as well without artificial illumination, thanks to his vampiric nature.

His thoughts, as always these days, were dark ... darker than they'd been in a long, long while.  No, that wasn't quite true; it hadn't been all that long.  Ever since regaining his soul over a hundred years ago and realizing the true extent of the evil he'd wrought as a vampire, he'd wallowed in black guilt and horror.  In all those dragging, endless decades of despair, only one bright spot shone forth - the year he'd loved Buffy, and known she loved him.

How wondrous that year had been, how fresh and glowing and innocent.  And how brutally it had ended.  When he'd been miraculously returned to Sunnydale from his sojourn in hell, he'd been half-crazed from the torments he'd endured there.  For many days he'd been unable to distinguish between events that had really happened and those that were only delusions.  After all, how many times had the hellspawn made him see Buffy, believed her come to save him, only to have her image replaced by a sneering demon just as they embraced?  And how many, many more times had he seen her as a captive victim like himself, being tortured either by the demons or, just as often, by his own double?

Small wonder then that when rationality slowly returned, at first he hadn't believed the memories that came along with it.  Memories of deliberately frightening and taunting sweet little Willow and, worse, Buffy.  Memories of blood and dark laughter ... of a neck snapping between his hands like the stem of a flower and a familiar face slackened by death . . . of exulting in Buffy's tears and heartache.  Surely these images were false, only lingering remnants of his ordeal in the demon dimension ... they must be false, they must!

But not only was he able to remember only too well a time when he'd delighted in committing such horrors, there was the unmistakable change in Buffy's attitude.  No longer did she rush into his arms for an embrace and kiss, her eyes alight with love.  No, she held back, looking at him with reserve - and a lurking fear.  And so one day when she'd come on her daily visit to check on him, he'd asked, with his back to her, "They're true, aren't they?"

"What is?" she'd asked in return, but with a tone in her voice that told him she already knew what he meant.

"The ... things I've been remembering ... things I did that I don't want to believe really happened.  But they did."  At that point he'd turned around.  "Didn't they?"  Even then he'd been hoping against hope that he was mistaken ... but one look at her face told him the truth.

"Yes," she'd answered, simply, unhappily.  "They did."

"I - hurt you?  Stalked you?  Tried to - kill you?"  She'd given a tiny nod.  He'd swallowed, forcing himself to continue.  "And - Jenny Calendar?"

She'd looked away, biting her lip.

"I - killed her - and - left her body in ... "  He couldn't go on.

Her eyes had filled with tears.  "You lost your soul, Angel."

"How?" he'd asked in a voice gone raspy.  "How could that happen?"  

Her faltering answer plunged him once more into the black waters of utter despair, a maelstrom from which he'd fully emerged only once, briefly, on the Day That Wasn't.  Another fleeting point of light in the darkness that formed his existence ... and it too ended in a manner that almost tore him to pieces, inside.

But, somehow, he'd weathered that particular heartbreak, even though the ache of it never left him, and plodded along in his chosen task of helping the hopeless, until he was rocked by yet another blow - one he'd never dreamed could happen.  Darla had been brought back to life - human life, fragile and diseased - by Wolfram & Hart and then, just as she'd accepted her fate, she'd been Turned again by Drusilla.  

Now the two vampires were roaming Los Angeles, killing freely, and it was up to him to stop them.  Drusilla, whom he'd driven insane with his torments before Siring her into vampire existence.  Darla, his Sire, with whom he'd spent one hundred and fifty years, who'd tutored him in the ways of the vampire.  Darla, his onetime mentor and lover.  Darla, whom he'd staked four years ago when she tried to kill Buffy.

He had to stop them.  And the only way to do that, he knew, was to kill them.  Angel also knew he wasn't ready for that.  Although he'd been capable of cold-blooded murder -  for when he'd bolted the doors to the wine cellar in Holland Manners' basement, trapping all those inside and dooming them to death at Dru's and Darla's hands, it had been murder and nothing less - the thought of again plunging a stake into Darla's heart, or lopping off her beautiful head... .

He couldn't do it.  Not as he was then.  The recent past with a vulnerable, human, Darla was still too fresh, too painful.  And so he'd reached down into himself and let the darkness rise.  It was easy, so very, frighteningly, easy.  After all, it was always there, just below the surface.  All he had to do was ease up on his control, just a tiny bit ... and so he'd been able to throw a lighted cigarette into the pool of gasoline in the garage and walk out of the building without a backward glance, knowing the two vampire women wouldn't be able to escape the flames entirely ... knowing also that they would most likely survive.

With that action he'd thrown down the gauntlet.  Now it only remained to see how they would respond to his challenge.  Innocents would get hurt; he had no illusions about that.  That was why he'd fired Wesley, Cordelia, and Gunn, to get them out of the line of fire.  That was no guarantee, of course.  But he believed Wolfram & Hart, as well as Darla, were smart enough to recognize that hurting one of them now that they were no longer directly involved with his activities would shatter any hesitancy *he* might have remaining about destroying his enemies, regardless of his own personal safety.  And firing them had served another purpose as well:  he could carry out his mission with no distractions.

A burst of light made him blink.  Something pale came fluttering down from above, landing on the floor by his feet.  He stared at it.  It was an envelope.  Instinctively Angel looked up, but all that met his gaze was the shadowy expanse of the ceiling.  Mystified, he looked down again, unmoving for a long moment before, hesitantly, he reached down and picked up the envelope.

There was no name or address - on either side, he discovered when he turned it over.  There was, however, something printed in the upper left-hand corner.  The return address, most likely.  Vampiric vision or not, in the night's gloom Angel couldn't make out the small print.  Rising to his feet, he switched on a nearby lamp and, blinking a little in the sudden illumination, took another look.

Buffy A. Summers
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA 93100

The world seemed to stop while he stared at the printed lines.  Buffy?  Why would Buffy be writing to him?  And why in the world would she use magic to send him the letter?  Unless -

A chill swept through him, completely banishing the brooding thoughts that had consumed him during the past weeks.  He didn't even notice.

Buffy wouldn't resort to magic unless there was an emergency so dire that she couldn't wait even the single day it would take for an Express letter to be delivered.  And he hadn't been answering the phone.  Or checking the messages.

With growing dread he ripped open the envelope and snatched out the folded sheets inside.  His eyes swept over the first few lines so quickly that it took a moment for him to realize what he was reading.

"Dear Riley,

"It's been two weeks since you left.  Two weeks since I stood staring up into the night sky" -

Angel stopped.  Riley?  This was a letter to Riley, the new boyfriend she'd thrown in his face last May during the Faith incident?  The one she'd stated she loved and could trust, implying that she couldn't trust Angel?  Even though he'd known her biting words were born of her own pain over what she deemed his betrayal when he'd sided with Faith, they'd hurt so much that he'd lashed out at her in turn, raising his voice in a near-shout and ordering her to go home.  

Their parting that night had been angry and bitter on both sides, and although his visit to Sunnydale the next evening to apologize had cleared the air somewhat, the situation could scarcely be called normal.

---

Not that "normal" had ever been a word that applied to their relationship, he reflected with a bitter smile. How could it? Still, however strained the relations between them, he didn't believe that Buffy would, now, deliberately hurt him again by sending him a love letter she'd written to the man who'd replaced him in her life. No, it had to be a mistake of some kind, another of Willow's spells gone wrong, probably.

Wonder what's in it? It sounded like her Soldier Boy's away on a trip somewhere. Is she telling him how much she misses him ... how much she wishes he were there in her bed ... how much she loves him? You could find out. She'd never know.

No! Angel set the papers down on a nearby table. The last thing he needed right now was another painful reminder of what he'd lost - what he'd walked away from. He turned toward the telephone, intending to call Buffy and let her know what had happened. Then he stopped, hit by the realization of just how awkward that conversation would be. Mentally he rehearsed what he'd say:

"Buffy. Hi, it's me - Angel. Listen, you know that letter you magically sent to Riley? Well, I guess something went wrong because it, well, it, uh, came to me instead. But don't worry, I didn't read more than the first line or two."

Right. She'll believe *that*, whispered a voice in his head.

Of course she will, Angel argued with himself. She believed me when I told her I hadn't read her diary.

That was when she still trusted you.

Angel flinched.

You know you're dying to know what's in it. Go on, read it ... she'll never find out. Who knows? Maybe she's telling GI Joe to take a hike. You won't know unless you take a look. Go ahead. You know you want to. Open it. Read it. Read it.

Unable to resist the urge any longer, Angel went back to the table and picked up the letter again, wondering in a small corner of his mind why he was doing this.

" - Two weeks since I stood staring up into the night sky, yelling to you while the helicopter slowly climbed higher and higher with you inside."

Angel read on.

Some time later he realized he had returned to his chair and was once again staring into space. But this time his thoughts weren't of death and darkness and grim duty.

Buffy didn't love Riley.

That was the only clear thought in the spinning tangle of his mind. Riley had left her and she was upset about it - but she didn't love him. She loved ... him. In spite of a year and a half of separation and hurt feelings and harsh words on both sides - she still loved him as much as he loved her.

Angel couldn't help himself; tears rose to his eyes. Knowing her feelings for him still held fast... . Joy swept through him like sparkling wine, tempered with an equal measure of grief - because nothing in their situation had changed. Buffy deserved sunlight and laughter and soft, warm rain. He, now more than ever, existed in darkness, surrounded by death and blood.

Something tugged at his memory. Frowning, he looked again at her letter.

"Maybe once I finally accept that normality and Buffy can't coexist, I'll be able to concentrate on becoming the best Slayer possible. And just maybe I'll live to see my twenty-sixth birthday."

The shock hit him like a slap in the face. How could he have forgotten the simple, basic fact of Slayer statistics? Seventy percent of the Chosen Ones died before their twentieth birthday. Eighty percent were dead by twenty-five. Only one Slayer in history had lived to see thirty - and she had died two months later.

Words spoken close to a century ago rang in his memory: "You know, mate, I think Slayers have a death wish. Well, stands to reason, doesn't it? I mean, day in, day out, that's what they see ... what they do. They're all fascinated by it, maybe even a little bit in love with it."

Spike's words, spoken some months after he'd killed his first Slayer. At the time Angel had paid little attention to them. It was all he could do to maintain his precarious charade with Darla that despite having his soul he was once again part of their little "family"; he had no attention or energy to spare for anything outside of that. But now the words returned with deadly clarity, along with Spike's cocky, self-satisfied grin.

"Yes, I do believe I'm on to something, pet" - nuzzling Dru, who giggled and nuzzled him back. "All I have to do is figure out how to use it against one of them, and she's mine."

Angel felt another chill. Spike was a lot of things - rowdy, smug, rebellious, impertinent, foolhardy at times - but no one could call him stupid. Plus he possessed an amazing, at times downright uncanny, instinct about people. It was as though he could see into their minds and hearts. A Slayer death wish went a long way toward explaining why so many of them died at such a young age.

He read Buffy's letter one more time, searching for any telltale hint of such an attitude. Certainly the general tone was one of sadness and regret, and there was more than a touch of bleakness in her mention of hoping she would see her twenty-sixth birthday, but he could detect nothing else. No morbid fascination with death or unconscious desire to experience it. No suicidal depression. Just grim acceptance and a dogged determination to turn her focus toward being the Slayer.

If he'd been a breather, he would have sighed with relief. As it was ... Angel sank back down in the chair and forced himself to stop feeling and to start thinking.

Buffy's all right. She's sad right now, but that's to be expected, and even she admits that she'll get over it. Sooner or later. Going to Sunnydale not only wouldn't help her, it would probably just make things worse. She's accepted that we can't be together and is determined to make a new life for herself. I can't go barging in and upset that, not again, however much I want to see her. Besides, I can't leave L.A. while Darla and Dru are still at large. I've got to find them before they go on a real rampage. No, Buffy's strong; she'll be fine. I have to stay here; I have to.

Rising, Angel decisively folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope. Then he crossed over to the bureau, opened the top drawer and put the envelope inside. Closing the drawer again with a firm movement, he turned and left the room, sternly resisting the pull to read the letter one more time.

FOUR DAYS LATER

Angel walked into the Hyperion lobby and dropped his bag onto the marble floor with a muffled sigh of weariness. Another night of searching, another night of frustration and futility. He started over to the mini-fridge to get his dinner, but suddenly stopped, his head snapping to the right. "Who's here?"

"Long night?" A tall shadow detached itself from the even taller and darker shadow of a column. "You must really be tired. I would have thought you'd hear my heartbeat right away." A dark arm reached toward the wall, and suddenly the lobby was ablaze with light.

With incredulity Angel recognized the figure coming toward him. "What are you doing here?" He noticed the tazer the man carried. "Or is that obvious?"

Riley followed his gaze. "Oh, this?" He set the weapon on the counter. "Just a safety precaution. You never know what you might run across, do you?"

"No," Angel agreed evenly. "You might see almost anything in this town." The two men regarded each other for a long, tense moment - the tall, dark vampire and the slightly taller, lighter-haired soldier. Angel resumed his walk to the mini-fridge, passing Riley so closely their sleeves almost brushed, crowding his personal space in an instinctive power play. Riley didn't react, merely turned to keep him in view.

"Do you mind if I have a snack?" Angel asked. "I'm a little hungry, but if you're squeamish I can wait." He pulled out a bag of whole blood, waving it in front of his rival.

"Don't let me stop you," Riley said, with no expression on his face. And, to Angel's disappointment, he didn't even blink as the vampire downed the blood, following it with a drink of water from a bottle left behind when Cordy cleared out their stuff. He made a mental note to buy some more, then turned to his unexpected visitor.

"So if you're not here to kill me, why did you come?" he asked bluntly. "I thought you were off wiping out demons somewhere in Central America."

"How did you - " Riley looked puzzled. Then he went very still. "Did Buffy tell you I left?" Plain in his voice was the shock and betrayal he was feeling, thinking that Buffy would have called up her old boyfriend so quickly after his departure.

Angel shook his head. "No." It was true; she hadn't told him - not intentionally, at least. "I haven't spoken to Buffy since I was in Sunnydale last year." That was unequivocally true. "I - just found out. Pretty much by accident. Demons gossip too, you know, and the Hellmouth isn't that far from L.A.." Hoping that remark would mislead Riley and before the other man could question him any further, he quickly added, "You still haven't told me why you're here."

Riley glanced away. "To be honest, I'm not sure myself. I know why I told myself I was coming, but now I don't know if that was the real reason or just an excuse."

"So what was your maybe reason?" Leaning against the counter, Angel crossed his arms and regarded him steadily.

Riley's hands clenched and for a moment he didn't say anything. Then, taking a deep breath, he said, "A few days ago I got a letter from Buffy."

Angel felt a jolt. Riley had also received a letter? Could it be the same letter he'd received? Schooling his features, he said nothing, just waited.

Riley continued, "In it she made some things pretty clear. For a long time I've felt that she doesn't love me and now - now I know it for sure." His eyes suddenly fixed on Angel's. "She loves you. She's never stopped loving you."

Angel was speechless. Riley Finn had come here to let him know that Buffy still loved him ... to tell the ex-boyfriend of the woman he loved that he was no longer in the scene? Such generosity stunned Angel. He knew what it was costing the young man to admit such a thing, for his pain showed clearly in his honest face and in his eyes. It was the same anguish he himself had felt when he told Buffy she needed to find someone who could take her into the light and make love to her and give her children.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"What?" Angel blinked, coming back to the present.

Riley took a step forward. "I said, ‘What are you going to do about it?'. Or don't you love her anymore?"

Angel just looked at him. Instinctively Riley leaned away from the bleakness in those dark eyes. "It doesn't matter," Angel said. "We can't be together, regardless of how we feel. The risk is too great."

"Bullshit."

That was the last thing Angel expected to hear. "What?"

"So you can't make with the big happy because you'll lose your soul. Is that all that matters to you - sex? Because I know it isn't for Buffy."

"You don't know anything about it, boy." Angel's voice was low and filled with danger, but Riley ignored the warning.

"I know enough," he asserted quietly. "I know that Buffy's miserable without you, no matter how well she covers it up. And looking around, I'd say the same goes for you too. I mean, look at this place. No lights on anywhere." He swept his fingertips over a bare spot on the counter top, then displayed the powder coating them. "Dust an inch thick." He nodded at the answering machine. "And just look at all those messages."

Before he could stop himself, Angel obeyed. The lighted display informed him that twenty-four messages were waiting to be played back. He couldn't remember the last time he'd checked it - a week ago at least.

Riley went on. "You fired your staff with no warning - "

Angel cut in swiftly. "How the hell do you know that?"

"I listened to some of your messages while I was waiting for you," Riley said evenly. "Don't worry, I saved them for you -in case you ever want to hear them. That Cordelia's got a pretty sharp tongue when she's angry, doesn't she? The things she had to say were ... " He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head a little. "Well, let's just say I'm glad it's not me she's mad at."

He waited, but Angel had no reply. First, it was none of this outsider's business what his relations were with Cordelia and Wesley, and second ... he didn't know what to say. His conscience had begun nagging him lately, telling him that he hadn't needed to be that cold in his dismissal of his friends, that he could at least have tried to explain that he was only trying to protect them. Mostly.

Riley shrugged. "Fine. Look, you think I want you and Buffy to get back together? Not hardly." His eyes were steely. "In fact, the idea makes me sick to my stomach. But I thought you deserved to know the truth. And now that you do, if you want to be stupid enough to throw away the love of a woman like Buffy, that's your business. I've said what I came to say, so goodbye."

He slung the tazer over one shoulder, then paused. He eyed Angel for a moment, as if turning words over in his mind, but finally shrugged again and turned to leave without saying anything more. He'd reached the front doors before Angel spoke.

"Finn."

Riley turned, waiting.

Angel hesitated. "Thank you." He took a few steps toward the young man. "I know what it took for you to do this. I ... appreciate it."

"Then act on it," Riley answered harshly.

Angel shook his head. "I wish I could."

Riley surveyed him for a moment and shook his head in angry disgust. "I would give anything in the world to know that Buffy loved me," he said, his voice choked with frustration. "And you - the one she does love - you just turn your back on her!" Then, pushing open the glass door, he was gone without another word.

Angel made his weary way to his room, stopping to gulp down a second bag of blood. Once inside he went directly to the bureau, grabbed the letter and took it with him into the bathroom, reading it and absently undressing as he went, leaving a trail of discarded clothing behind. When he emerged from his shower, he made sure he was completely toweled dry before picking it up again. He didn't want any moisture falling on the pages and smearing the ink. The pale blue envelope, lying on the nightstand next to the bed, was the last thing he saw before finally falling asleep.

---

FIVE DAYS LATER

"Where's he going?" came a whisper from behind her shoulder.  Darla closed her eyes briefly, reflecting that Drusilla was the only person she knew of who could turn a whisper into a whine.  Idly she wondered if the girl had always been this annoying or if it was the result of Angelus destroying her sanity before he Turned her.

"Why isn't he looking for us?" Dru went on.  "He knows we're close by."  Frowning, Darla watched the dark figure on the street three stories below.  He walked past the building they were in without giving it even a glance, and kept going.
 
"I don't think he does know," Darla said slowly.  And that worried her.  Vampires always knew when other vampires were in the vicinity - not their exact location, but that they were somewhere around.  Angel gave no indication of sensing anything of the sort. He hadn't even discovered the bodies they'd left in the alley half a block away, though she'd seen him pass right by the entrance.  But then, he'd been acting strangely for several days now.  Not his usual intensely focused self.  He'd shown up late, if at all, at their kill scenes, and made only perfunctory searches for them before leaving the area. And as far as she could tell, he'd made no attempt to discover where they were staying during daylight hours.

She frowned again, wondering what was distracting him from his mission.  Had that pathetic trio of humans he'd fired somehow managed to get him involved in one of their cases?

Dru turned an uncomprehending face toward her.  "Of course he knows, Grandmum.  Daddy always knows when we're around ... he feels us.  We're in his blood, like tiny little insects ... creeping ... and crawling."  She began swaying. "Dancing ... in his blood.  He can't get away from us."

Darla looked impatiently at her companion.  How in the world had she been able to tolerate this loony for over a century?  Oh, yes, it was because Spike had been there to occupy most of Dru's attention.  Summoning her rapidly-dwindling reserves of patience yet again, she took Drusilla by the arm.  "Come on, Dru.  Angel must have something on his mind tonight, that's all.  Let's see where he's going."

Dru's glazed eyes focused on the other vampire, and lit up.  "Yess," she hissed, clapping her hands softly.  "We'll play Spies.  We'll follow the Angel Beast, we will. Follow him, quietly, secretly, flitting from shadow to shadow, silently on little cat feet." Suiting the actions to the words she slunk over to the door with dramatic, stealthy movements, then whirled in a circle, her dark hair flying around her head.  "And he'll never even know we're there!  Won't hear us, won't see us, won't know ... ."

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Darla opened the door and shoved Drusilla through. They found Angel with no trouble - he'd stopped in the next block to pull something out of his jacket pocket and look at it under a streetlight.  Darla's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.  It was a stationery envelope, the kind letters were mailed in, the same one he'd been carrying around with him for days.  Sometimes he read the letter inside, sometimes he didn't.  This night he started to take out its contents, then paused and thrust it back into his pocket before resuming his way.

They followed him as he wandered through the night streets, averting one vampire attack on a teenage hooker and an attempted carjacking an hour later on a scared tourist who'd definitely taken a wrong turn.  The vampire he dusted; the human carjackers, all three of them, scattered after he grabbed their guns with lightning speed and threw their leader into a wall - on the other side of the street.  At frequent intervals he touched his pocket, as if to reassure himself that the envelope was still there.  It was several long, boring hours before Angel finally headed toward home.  Not, Darla noted, the new office of Angel Investigations, but the Hyperion.  So maybe he wasn't doing a job for his old team after all.  In that case... .

"I'm hungry," Dru complained as they watched the light in Angel's room go on. "Let's go to Chinatown.  I feel like having a Chinese tonight.  The Angel Beast is going to bed now; he won't be any more fun.  Let's go eat."

"Soon," Darla promised.  "I want to see what's in that letter he's been carrying around."

Dru tossed her head disdainfully.  "It's from her.  The Slayer."

"What?" Darla whirled on her.  "The letter's from Buffy?  How do you know?"

"The letter told me."  Dru sounded surprised.  "Can't you see it - the light whenever he touches the letter?  It glows, and so does his heart.  It's the love that connects them. Hers and his."

Darla glared at her.  "Let me get this straight.  The reason Angel's been so distracted lately is because of Buffy?"  Unconsciously her lips drew back from clenched teeth.  "That bitch!" she ground out.  "You'd think now that they're not together she'd finally leave him alone to lead his own life.  But no, even when they're a hundred miles apart she just can't stop interfering!"

"She's got her claws in his heart," Dru hissed, hooking her own fingers like claws. "Stuck tight, they are, and he can't get loose."

"Like hell he can't!"  Darla spun around and stalked off.  Dru ran after her. "Grandmum, where are we going?" she panted.

Darla didn't stop.  "To Sunnydale, to see a certain ex-cheerleader!"

---

"What are you doing here?"  Angel tightened his choke hold on the man's throat. He'd left the Hyperion shortly after sunset to go pick up some bottled water.  Upon his return thirty minutes later, he'd discovered an intruder going through his belongings.  He loosened his arm a trifle, to allow speech.

"I'm snooping," Lindsey gasped.  "What does it look like?"

"And just what were you hoping to find, hmm?"

"Nothing."  Angel's arm tightened again.  Lindsey clawed at it futilely.  "Anything!" he choked out.  The arm eased a bit.  "I was just looking to see what was here."

Angel yanked him around to face him, speaking softly.  "You have a death wish or something?  I thought you were smarter than to walk into a vampire's lair.  Especially this vampire."

"I didn't think you'd be here.  Figured you'd be miles away by now."  Regaining some composure, the handsome young lawyer ran a finger inside his collar to loosen it and adjusted his shirt.  "How come you're not?  Aren't you at all concerned?"

"About what?"  Angel feigned boredom.  He knew this was the surest way to goad Lindsey.

The young attorney looked at him with surprise.  Suddenly he smiled, a pleased, malicious sort of grin that made Angel immediately wary.  "You don't know, do you? Well, I don't know what happened between you two last night, Darla wouldn't tell me, but I've never seen her in the state she was in.  I've seen her angry and sad and ..."

Lindsey searched for the word. " ...playful, but this ice-cold fury and determination, that's something new."

"What are you talking about?  I didn't even see Darla last night."  Angel still pretended to be uninterested, but Lindsey's description sent a chill down his spine.  He was familiar with that particular mood of Darla's, and it boded ill for someone.

"Really," Lindsey mused.  "You didn't see her, huh?  Well, for whatever reason, Darla's gone gunning for your girlfriend."

"My what?"  Angel blinked, confused thoughts of Cordelia flashing through his mind.  Surely they didn't think... "What girlfriend?"

Lindsey raised a sardonic eyebrow.  "How many do you have?  I'm talking about what's her name.  The Slayer - Muffy?"  A second later he crashed hard into the wall, his shirt bunched in Angel's fists.

Angel's eyes flashed dangerously.   "What about Buffy?"  He shoved Lindsey again, banging his head painfully. "Talk, Lindsey, and talk fast!"

With those yellow eyes blazing into his, Lindsey couldn't get the words out fast enough.  "Darla left last night to go kill her."  The next moment he was flung across the room as Angel fairly flew out the door, pausing only long enough to grab his cell phone on his way out.

Lindsey slowly got to his feet, wincing from his bruises.  He smiled and said to the empty doorway, "You'll never make it in time."  He surveyed the room.  "Well.  Since he's gone, might as well continue my search."

As the car squealed away from the curb, Angel dialed Giles' number on the phone. Cursing the traffic, he wove in and out among the slower cars to the accompaniment of blared car horns and shouted imprecations.

"Hello?"

"Giles, it's Angel.  You've got to warn Buffy that Darla's in town, and she's out for blood!"

"Angel?  What's that?  I don't understa - did you say Darla?"  Giles' voice was understandably confused.  And startled.

"Yes, I said Darla.  As in my sire whom I killed four years ago.  Look, I'm in my car on the cell phone and there's a hell of a lot of traffic so I don't want to try to explain it right now.  Stay in your own lane, you idiot!"  Slamming an elbow down on his car horn, he startled back into its lane an inattentive Ford Escort that had started to drift over right in front of him.

"Sorry, Giles, I can't stay on; there's a bunch of maniacs on the road tonight.  Just trust me.  Darla's back, she's in Sunnydale right now, and she wants revenge!"

"I - er - " Giles' voice faded.  "Very well, I'll call Buffy.  I trust you're on your way here to explain everything?"  The combination of exasperation and dryness came through loud and clear.

"As quickly as the damn traffic will let me," Angel assured him grimly.  "Oh, and Giles - I think Drusilla might be with her."

"Wonderful," came the resigned answer.  "All right, we'll see you later.  Er, come to my apartment.  You remember where it is?"

"Sure.  ‘Bye."  Angel pressed the End Talk button and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat but within easy reach, just in case Giles needed to call him back about something.  Then he turned his attention to the noisy, barely crawling traffic, which seemed to be peopled with either suicidal or homicidal drivers tonight.

More than two hours passed before he slid his car into an opening at the curb outside Giles' apartment building. Stepping out, he took a moment to work the kinks out of his neck and lower back, then walked over to the door and rang the bell.

Giles opened it. "Angel, you made it; I was beginning to worry. Come in. The traffic was bad?"

"A nightmare." Angel stepped inside. "Where's Buffy?"

"I'm here." Buffy came out from the kitchen, a glass of soda in her hand. She was dressed in her usual pants and sweater combination, and Angel was spellbound at the sight of her. God, she was as beautiful as ever ... but changed. Older, sadder, her eyes revealing a weary maturity far beyond her actual years. He swallowed.

"Hey." His voice came out in a whisper.

Her lips curved in the faintest of smiles. "Hey. How are you?"

"I've ... been better. You?" The moment was awkward, but not as much as he'd feared. Time seemed to flow backward, and this could have been any one of dozens of such meetings between them.

"Same here."

Giles interrupted, or they might have stood there for an hour, simply staring at one other. "As fascinating as this exchange is, do you think we might get to the point of your visit, Angel? And do have a seat." He gestured toward the living room.

With huge effort Angel tore his gaze away from Buffy's. "Yes, of course. Thank you." He allowed Giles to take his coat, then sat down in a chair. Buffy and Giles took the couch. Having offered refreshments and been politely refused, Giles cleared his throat and said, "Now. You said that Darla's back? I think that would be a very good place to start."

Angel gathered his thoughts. "There's this law firm, Wolfram & Hart. They have their fingers in most of the demonic activity around town, as well as just ordinary, human evil. In fact, I'm willing to bet that the firm was founded by demons. Anyway, close to a year ago they brought Darla back from the dead."

"But ... she was dust!" Buffy raised a puzzled face. "How can you bring back dust?"

"With magic," Angel and Giles stated simultaneously. Giles added, "There are several rituals for raising the dead, actually, but most of them result in ghosts or zombies. I've never heard of any of them being used to raise a vampire, however."

"She didn't come back as a vampire," Angel told them, all his pain and guilt returning with the memory. "She was human. And she was dying - from the same heart condition that was killing her when the Master Turned her four hundred years ago."

"The Master was her sire?" exclaimed Giles. "I had no idea." He looked fascinated by this tidbit of vampiric history. Buffy sent him a patient look, then said, "But now she's a vampire again?"

Angel nodded. "Yeah."

"Who Turned her this time?" she asked, then stopped, with a strange look at Angel. "Angel, it wasn't ... you?"

"No," he said quickly. "She ... wanted me to, begged me to, but I couldn't. Wouldn't." He closed his eyes briefly. "So Lindsey MacDonald, a partner with Wolfram & Hart, brought Dru in to do the job."

"So that's how Drusilla entered the picture again," Giles muttered.

Angel went on to relate the entire Darla saga, leaving out only the specifics of how she'd invaded his dreams. He wasn't comfortable sharing such intimate details with Giles ... and certainly not with Buffy. Looking at her now, at her haunting eyes only a few feet away, he couldn't understand the impact those dreams had had on him. He and Darla had always been extremely abandoned as lovers, and the sex between them mind-blowing, but he'd withstood its lack without that much difficulty. Until last fall, when suddenly it was all he could think about. All he dreamed about.

Then, unconsciously, he frowned. For the first time it occurred to him to wonder how Darla had accomplished that feat. How had she entered his dreams and made them so vivid? Not since the First Evil had forced him to dream of Buffy - to dream with Buffy - had he experienced such a depth of realism. Every time he'd woken from dreaming of Darla, he could still feel her touch lingering on his body - physically feel it. How had she done that?

"Angel?"

He looked up, startled. Giles and Buffy were both looking at him quizzically. "What?"

"Where were you?" Buffy asked. "You didn't hear a word we were saying."

"Sorry," he told them. "I - got sidetracked by something."

"Something pertinent to this situation?" asked Giles, leaning forward with eager interest.

"Uh, no, I can't see how it would be. Sorry. What were you saying?" Sternly Angel forced his attention back to the problem at hand.

"I was asking why Darla chose now to take her revenge on Buffy," Giles said. "She's been back for quite some time and been a vampire again for several months. Why choose this particular time? Did something happen that caused her to, er, turn her thoughts to Buffy?"

Frowning, Angel shook his head slowly. "Not that I know of, no. I mean, a couple of weeks ago I set her and Dru on fire, but - "

"You did what?" Buffy exclaimed. Giles looked at him sharply, eyes narrowed.

Angel opened his mouth, then closed it. He got up and paced around the room. Finally, not looking at them, he said, "I told you I hadn't been doing too well lately. That's an understatement. This thing with Darla has pretty much taken over my whole life. Cordelia and Wesley were right - I've been obsessed with her and with Wolfram & Hart, and - I, I let the demon rise. Only a little bit," he hastened to add.

"Why?" asked Giles, quietly. Buffy was speechless.

"Because I knew I couldn't kill her. Not yet. Every time I looked at her all I could see was her human self resting in my arms, dying but finally accepting her fate, finally at peace. And then ... then the door flies open and Dru comes gliding in and Lindsey's thugs hold Darla so she can't escape and - "

He couldn't go on. Giles seemed to be searching for something to say. Buffy got up and went over to Angel. "And you blame yourself for what happened." Her voice was soft. "Why?"

Angel turned to her. "I should have been able to stop them. But - it was right after the trials, and I was ... so tired ... and . . . they had electric prods ... and I, I couldn't." His voice cracked.

"Like tazers." Buffy grimaced. "That seems to be the popular weapon these days. So they zapped you, several times probably, and you couldn't move. Explain to me how you could have stopped them."

Angel ran a hand over his hair. "I should have heard them coming. I should have guessed what Lindsey was planning. I knew how obsessed he was with Darla - he's in love with her." Once more Angel began pacing, his hands moving with tense gestures. "I should have known he'd do anything to keep her alive - I mean - you know what I mean."

"Yes." Giles also stood up. "You mean that you should have been able to foresee everything that was going to happen, and prevented it. Angel, you're only human - " He looked disconcerted. "Er, that is, you're a vampire of course, but my point is that you're not a seer or a prophet, nor are you omniscient. You did the best you could, and that's all anyone can ask, even of one's self."

Buffy put out her hand when Angel passed close to her in his wandering, and caught him gently by the arm, stopping his agitated progress. "Angel, why does it upset you so much that you weren't able to save Darla?"

Angel stared down at her with troubled eyes. "Because ... we were the same. For hundreds of years she was evil incarnate, as I was, and then suddenly she had her soul again, just as I did. I wanted to help her adjust to it ... help her when the memories became too much. I didn't want her to have to deal with all of the pain alone, the way - " He stopped.

"The way you had to?" suggested Buffy. Angel nodded. Buffy regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment. "You thought that by saving Darla, the person who made you a vampire, you would also be saving yourself. Like you would somehow be making up for becoming a vampire in the first place."

Wearily, Angel rubbed his temples, shaking his head in confusion. "I don't know. I guess - yeah - something like that, maybe. I just - I knew I had to save her, and then when I couldn't, when I failed, I had to stop her. Any way I could."

Giles had also been studying him, his gaze searching. Suddenly he turned away. "Angel, there's something I want to try." He went into another room, where they heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing. When he returned he was holding a large wooden box - cedar, Angel thought - which he set on the coffee table. It opened to display a jumble of magical talismans, orbs, and other objects, scraps of papers, and small bags redolent with herbs.

"What are you doing?" Buffy looked over the items doubtfully.

Giles began lifting out different herbs. "Angel, you admit that your actions lately have been uncharacteristic ... obsessive even, am I right?"

"Yes."

"Very well then." He shook several different herbs into a small stone bowl, and started grinding the contents into a fine powder. "Have you considered that you might be under a spell?"

 

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