Disclaimer: There's Joss. Then there's me. He owns them, I'm actually nice to them sometimes.
Rating: G
Summary: Angel gets a letter. Guess who it's from...
Spoilers: Nothing too specific- Season Four

"Cordelia, did you get the mail?" Angel asked.

"Yup. It's on your desk. Alicia finally paid her bill, I think."

Walking into his office, he sat down in his chair and began flipping through the many envelopes. One in particular caught his eye, a creamy lavender envelope with his name written in a delicate script.

Oh, and the Sunnydale postmark.

Gently slicing open the flap, he pulled out a letter and another sealed envelope. The letter was written on a few sheets of notebook paper.

'Dear Angel,

I'm really tired.

I don't mean in some philosophical or emotional sense. I mean that I'm not getting enough sleep, and it's all your fault. I know that college students aren't known for their extremely healthy sleep patterns, but this is ridiculous.

I can hear her at night, okay? And I'm a really light sleeper, and the bags under my eyes are getting to be comically large. Cordelia would probably die laughing if she could see how awful I look.

But anyway. I confess, I thought you were doing the right thing when you left Sunnydale, I thought you were taking the first step towards making everyone happier, even if it hurt initially.

I see now that I was grievously mistaken. She's not happier. She has a boyfriend, she's doing well in her classes, and she's more miserable than ever.

And I'm losing sleep!

I don't really have a solution in mind, but this cannot go on. She's depressed (and pretending to be happy, which only makes depression worse), and I'm barely surviving. I fell asleep in the library the other day. The librarian yelled at me, Angel! Me! One of the few eighteen year olds in the country who actually likes the library!

Look, I'm sorry for all the exclamation points, but I'm sleep deprived and desperate. Please, please, I respect your mission for redemption, but unless something changes, my GPA is going to be as dead as you, and my roommate is going to be on the verge of suicide.

Come back and fix it, please. She claims she's over you, but the fact that I hear your name on an average of thirty-three times every night once she's asleep means that she's just a much better liar than myself. (Oh, and it's not just your name I hear, okay? I hear details, and even though best friends like to share, there are limits that her subconscious is not respecting. And when she's not describing scenarios I would be better off not knowing, she has entire conversations with you. She has at least seven alternate universes in her head, and you are the central figure in every one.)

I'd like to think that I'm doing this for her good, rather than betraying the secrets that she can't keep while dreaming. Or maybe I'm just so extraordinarily selfish that my sleep deprivation is more important to me than her privacy. Quite frankly, I'm so worn out, that I don't even have the energy to care anymore.

If you come back, I, at least, will welcome you back with open arms, if only because you represent the possibility of a solution.

She needs you.

_I_ need you.

Take pity. I hear that you help the hopeless, and that's what I am every night when she gets ready for bed.

Love and Supplication,
Willow '

Angel slowly opened the other envelope. In it was a snapshot of Buffy, asleep, her face bathed in moonlight and tears. Scrawled across the bottom in red pen was one word- "See?!"

Carefully replacing everything in the envelope, he placed it in his coat pocket, then walked out into the entryway.

"Cordelia? I need to go to Sunnydale."

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