A LETTER TO RILEY

"A Letter To Riley - Part Two"
by Debbie Nockels
(April 2001)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. They're owned by Joss Whedon, MutantEnemy, Sandollar, Kuzui, the WB, Fox, etc.
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��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.

On To Part Three

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