===================

Dear Buffy,

I don't know if you'll read this. But I wanted to at least try. I feel I owe

you at least that much. Me trying. To explain, I mean. To explain what
really happened, why I snapped and screamed. Why I left with Angel that
night, and why I haven't spoken to you in the two weeks since.

So this is me, trying to explain. Bear with me.

After Angel came back from Hell, we talked a few times. Mostly about you,
sometimes about him or me. It was casual, kind of nice. When he left for
L.A., we promised to keep in touch, if only so he could check on you.

Well, we only talked sporadically, especially once I started college. And I
was fine. Until Oz left. And I fell apart. I can say it now - I totally fell
apart. Well, you were starting to notice Riley, Giles was not an option, and
Xander and Anya were, well, you know. So after Riley pulled me out of the
street, I went back to the dorm and took a chance.

I called Angel. And I am not ashamed to say I bawled.

He handled it well.

So we started talking, sometimes on the phone, sometimes over e-mail - once
he learned how. Now, THAT was funny - coaching a vampire still mostly stuck
in the 19th century how to jump the 21st century infohighway.

We were talking. Really talking, about who we think we are, where we are and

where we're going. Each of us, ourselves, with no thought to what our
friends think we should do, or what we think the other should do. It was
meaningful. And sacred.

We shared secrets and painful memories. It's so much easier to let them out
on paper, e-mail or even the phone, than in person. Have you ever noticed
that? How easy it is to break up over the phone? How hard it is to walk away
in person?

Made me understand why you ran away that summer. But I don't think I'll
forgive you for it, not quite completely. You took the coward's way out. I
see that now. But you did come back - and you tried, so hard, to make things
better. Eventually I forgot and we all moved on.

All that sharing - it's draining. I went through the wringer I don't
remember how many times - agonizing about you and your string of boy toys,
if Xander would ever figure out what to do with his life, about Giles'
drinking.

I think I know now how you might have felt when Angel almost drained you.
Empty. Flaccid. And that's how I felt when it came to spending time with the

gang.

Drained. Empty. Flaccid.

And Angel would always remind me that it's ME that should be most important.
 
 

ME. Me and who I am, and who I want to be. Not who I was. And certainly not
who the gang expected me to be.

You see, Angel was able to help me see that, because I helped him see the
same thing.

He has carried pain and anguish over lost love - yes, you included - and
family for so, so long. If he would have let himself, he would have drowned
in it long, long ago. But he didn't.

He put up that tough front, zinged us with a sarcastic remark or two and
eventually faded into the shadows.

But I couldn't let him go.

Because I could tell he wasn't being honest.

So I tucked away time to spend talking to him. I acted as if nothing was out

of the ordinary, because I knew you would have a fit. I even pushed away the

anger I felt when you went to see him. Twice. Twice! He'd become my best
friend - yes, even over you - and I couldn't even admit that I talked to
him, much less go see him without facing you - the proverbial firing squad -
when I got back.

So I got mad. You were moving right along with Riley and the Initiative,
when it seemed the Scoobies were falling apart. My best friend from
childhood was having an identity crisis. Did you even notice? Xander's
always been the comic relief, even for me, and when he wasn't comical
anymore, you dismissed him. But I didn't. Neither did Spike. His gain, in my
opinion. They match up well and if what I listen to at night is any
indication - they match up better than well.

Never mind about Xander. That's another letter, I'm sure. So back to where I

was ... college, the Initiative, Giles singing in a coffeehouse ...

Oz came back. I got messy again. So another phone call. This time, our talks
were different.

Darker. Baser. More emotional. More sexual.

About yearnings and urges, about the most primitive parts of ourselves. The
dark psyche of a souled vampire was not something I was prepared to
encounter, but it sure gave me some insight into my own life. My own wants
and needs. How we are slaves to them, how we channel them and turnthem into
obsessions. Or how we harness our urges and use them to our benefit.

I think, even then, we wanted each other. If Angel had been in Sunnydale the
night Oz left ... well, we would have needed another Orb of Thessulah.

As it was, Tara, I am very shamed to say, filled in great for what was at
the time a yearning for both Oz and Angel. Mostly Angel. She was in person
what his voice embodied on the phone - gentle and caring. Interested. And in
a way, I
came to love her.

But at first, it was all about shock value. Goddess, the look on your face.
And Xander just winked privately, acting out of sorts for what you've come
to expect from him. Little did you know that he and Spike had already
perfected the horizontal mambo on top of a concrete crypt, all with Anya's
blessing as long as she got a turn or two.

I think that expectations were our problem. The gang's, I mean. When we were
in high school,we all had roles and that was where we fit. But we've grown
up, and we don't fit those little holes anymore, Buffy. And no matter how
much Slayer strength you have, you can't force us back into them. You're
blind about that, and I hope all this has made you see.

And may I mention, that you are especially blind about Giles?? Has a clue
flown in the window and clobbered you upside the head yet?

Expectations. See? We all have them, right or wrong. And your expectations
of me are misguided. Your expectations of Xander are outdated. Your
expectations of Giles are just ... childish.

It doesn't mean we love you any less, Buffy. But we're rebelling. All of us.
What did you expect?

Even when I got together with Tara, it was more a rebellion against
not-being-me rather than being-me. I hope she can forgive me. Tara's really
a great person, and she didn't deserve my dumping her like a mistake. Which
she wasn't. Even though she was - actually, I mean that even though my being

with her was just making do, I still loved her.

But you don't want to read about Tara. You don't want to read about me,
either - and I seriously doubt you want to read any more about Angel. You
want to read about you. Or at the very least, the apology you think I owe
you.

Well, I'm sorry, you're not getting an apology. Damn. Isn't that just like
me? Apologizing for NOT apologizing. Well, this is just an explanation.
Because I don't owe you an apology, no matter what you think. For so many
years, I idolized you, Buffy. You were my best friend, and that was SO COOL
to be able to say that, but in fact, I was just another Scooby, really, when

it came to the bottom line. Someone who had better toe the line when it came

to the Slayer.

Because deep down - on that bottom line - you are the Slayer. Not Buffy. Not

more-Buffy-than-Slayer, or even more-Slayer-than-Buffy. Just the Slayer. And
that leaves no room for anyone else but yourself and your opinion.

I hope you can change your expectations for yourself. That's the bext place
to start. Took me quite a few heart-to-hearts with Angel to figure that one
out, much less believe it. I know, it's HARD to break the mold you fit into
so easily. It's so easy for you to be the Slayer. Well, how about this?

We need you to be Buffy. Just Buffy.

Well. If by some miraculous chance you're still reading this, here's my
explanation.

I love him. I love Angel.

Isn't that simple? I love him, and he loves me as much as he as able. That's

enough for me, for now.

He's a demon, you say. He's still dangerous, you say. It's not fair, you
say. He's supposed to be mine, you say.

Well, tough.

Ta,
Willow
 

next