Faith yawned as she parked the car outside the latest motel they were staying at. She pulled the keys from the ignition and opened her door. She slid out of her seat, then reached back inside for the newspaper.
She closed the car door, flipping the switch to lock it as she walked back to their room, pausing at the sight of an envelope on the doorstep.
Addressed to her.
She bent to pick it up, instantly recognising Wesley's handwriting. Her stomach lurched, a small part of her still angry at him for his actions regarding the Council, but another part curious of why he would be writing to her, especially after what had just happened with Fred.
Curiousity got the best of her and she turned back in the direction of the car, unlocking it and quickly slipping back inside to read the letter.
Faith,
I've thought a lot about you lately. Buffy once told me that I had destroyed you, but I'm not entirely sure that is true. But perhaps I did. Perhaps someone else did, long before I had the opportunity. Or perhaps you did it yourself, maybe a pre-emptive strike? Hurt yourself before anyone else can.
I won't apologise to you, since that would mean you would have to apologise to me, and where would either of us start? Things do tend to pile up, don't they? I will say, though, over the last few years, I really did begin to understand you a little better. Better than you imagine, I would think.
A few days ago, I lost the person who meant the most to me. Funny though, I thought I had lost her long before that, but I had accepted it. The way I had accepted that I had lost you, so long ago. But you surprised me, like few do... and so did she. Both of you proved me wrong. But what good is that, really?
I admit that I may be writing this letter for my own selfish reasons. It is not to make you feel better, or even for you to feel sorry for me, it is simply because I do not know who else I can turn to at this point in time. For, right now, I have lost any tie that might be keeping me in the world. And I believe that you may understand that better than anyone else. After all, not so long ago, you lost the man who looked after you, cared for you, and despite his greater plans for the town of Sunnydale, you were his one weakness.
I just told a member of my staff that I do not intend to die today, and I am not entirely sure that it wasn't a lie. At any rate, as I've learned, that old saying about paving the road to Hell isn't entirely accurate. But you would know that, am I right?
I suppose maybe I am writing this letter for you, a little. I suppose I want to tell you that I was wrong before. And that I should have tried harder to reach out to you, and not have given up so easily. You pushed us away, but we pushed you away too.
I spoke to Lorne earlier, about you. About what he sees when he reads you, and why, out of everything he has heard, after what he can see about you, why he has never been scared. Never doubted you for a second. He confessed that too often your eyes plague him in his sleep. He says they are troubled... but no, I don't think that's quite accurate. Haunted. That would describe them perfectly.
I see fleeting glimpses of them myself, both from you and from Angel. I suppose maybe that's why the two of you have such a connection. A connection that is rather difficult to understand at times. But the two of you get the same look in your eyes at times. The times when you let the barrier down and for an instant, you forget that anyone can see you.
I do not ask for your forgiveness, or even your sympathy. I understand that my knowledge of your test has damaged our already fragile relationship, and I regret that it may have destroyed any trust Sam had for me, and I cannot defend my actions at all. Nor do I feel like I need to.
But know this, Faith. There is a ledge at the edge of the darkness. You won't see it until you get there, and it may not be big enough for you to hold onto for very long. And more than likely, someone will be there, trying to kick you off. But it is there. I am going to stand on it now, and if by some small chance that I am able to hold on to the small amount of sanity I have left, feel free to disregard this letter. Or maybe you will want to do that anyway.
Choices, remember? The ones we make, the ones we don't.
We might all have been better off, but here we are anyway.
Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.
Faith stared at the piece of paper in her hand for a long moment, head falling back against the headrest.