Dear Xander,

I wouldn't blame you one bit if you crumpled up this letter and tossed it in the trash. You have every reason in the world to totally hate my guts. But before you go crumpling, at least have the satisfaction of knowing that I was scared shitless to write this thing.

Yeah, me scared. The bad ass Slayer bitch with a 'tude scared to write a stupid letter. I hate writing. My spelling always sucks and I never know how to put things into words right. But that's not what really scared me.

What scared me was knowing that if I write you a letter, I have to face up to the horrible things I did to you. I have to remember, and feel all guilty and shit, and I hate that. By remembering you, I remember myself, and I don't really like my memories of me. It's like when I remember those days, I want to jump up real quick and change the channel to someone else's memories. Cause my memories are scarier than lots of those crappy horror movies they play on The Movie Channel.

I guess I'm writing you, here from my pathetic maximum-security cell, to apologize. Nothing I could say is enough, but at least you can know that as I've sat here in this rat hole, I've had plenty of time to think about all the things I miss, all the things I wish I hadn't done, and all the things I wish I had.

I wish I had listened to you. You know, on that night when you tried to talk sense to me, but I wasn't having any of it? That night where instead of letting you be Decent Guy, I had to be Psycho Slut and try to kill one of the only people in the world that had the guts to tell me to face reality?

I have nightmares about that night, except the positions are reversed. You're choking me, telling me that I mean nothing, that I'm worth nothing, that you'll forget all about me after I'm dead. Because that's how I felt-like if I were to drop off the face of the world tomorrow, no one would care. Except maybe the Weenie Council, cause then they'd get themselves a new Slayer.

Not like Buffy. Everyone will miss her. Angel called me with the news about B. There was no way on earth I'd be let out to go to the funeral, but even if it was possible, I don't think I could have gone. Then I'd have to face all you guys-the good guys, the Scooby Gang, the people I betrayed and spit on and have no business being with. B was always the good one, and yeah, I was jealous. She had all of you guys to love her. I never had a Scooby Gang. I just have me. Pity party, party of one.

But despite all the things B did to royally piss me off (like put me in a fucking coma) deep down I always wished our positions were reversed. It was like a wet dream when Wilkins sent me that thing-a-ma-jig that let me switch bodies with Buffy. For a short time, I felt what it was like for people to respect and care about me. It really got me thinking. I'd spent so long convincing others that I didn't give a shit about anything, I'd almost convinced myself I really didn't. But I do.

I wish I could go back and do things differently. Like that night we had sex. Wanna know why I came on to you? Cause I was so sick of everyone loving Buffy. It was always all about Buffy. You still had a major thing for her; don't even try to deny it. I wanted you because I was jealous, and I thought it would piss B off when she found out I'd popped your cherry.

But afterwards, you looked at me. It scared the hell out me when I saw myself reflected in your eyes. You looked at me like I was beautiful. You were so...gentle. I'm not used to that. I mean, you didn't ask me to snag you a beer, or make me sleep in the wet spot. That completely wigged me out. You were just supposed to be a quick romp, a notch in my belt, something to bait Buffy with to cause a little trouble. You weren't supposed to look at me with puppy dog eyes filled with hope that it was something more than what it was.

I was so stupid. I'd longed for someone to look at me like I was special, special like Buffy, but when it actually happened, I panicked and threw you the hell out of my apartment. Some brave Slayer I am, huh? I can kick major demon ass without flinching, but when faced with the possibility of developing a real emotional connection with someone, I was shaking in my go-go boots.

I should have let you stay the whole night. Maybe I wouldn't have spun off the deep end if I'd let down my guard and opened my heart to you. I'll never know now. Like everything else I touch, I screwed up. Now you've got that weird little demon chick to warm up your bed at night. Hope that works out for ya. Don't piss her off.

I guess I'm not very good at apologizing. I haven't even gotten to the "I'm sorry" portion. Here goes-Xander, I am sorry. I'm sorry I treated you like you meant nothing, because in truth, you do mean something to me.

I know what you did while I was in a coma. It took awhile, but I figured it out. After I turned myself in to the cops (which I should have done a long time ago, if I had listened to you) I was assigned a defense attorney. Her name was Carmella. She reminded me a little of Joyce, cause she immediately acted all mom-ish around me. She was great-she helped me get a reduced sentence. Don't worry, I won't be visiting Sunnydale for at least another five years assuming I behave myself.

When Carmella visited me, she gave me some of my personal stuff. She included something I didn't recognize. It was a book. I knew it wasn't mine. The last book I read was the phone book, and that was 'cause I needed to look up the number of the pizza delivery place. It was "On The Road," by Jack Kerouac.

I asked Carmella where she got it, and she said it was in a box of my personal effects that she had delivered from the Sunnydale Hospital. I opened the book, and written in the upper right hand corner of the first page were the initials "X.H." How many people in the world have a name that starts with an X??? Brilliant detective that I am, I knew immediately that the book was yours, but I had no idea how it got in with my stuff. I asked Carmella to call the hospital and ask if they knew anything.

The charge nurse on the ward I stayed on remembered you. She told Carmella that a dark-haired young man would visit me in the hospital and read to me. She remembered you because you were the only visitor I ever got after the Mayor died.

For a long time, I was completely thrown. I tried to tell myself that you visited me to lord over the fact that the tables were turned, that I was the helpless one, that you were laughing at me because Buffy had kicked my ass. But I knew that wasn't really your style. Short-sheeting my hospital bed, maybe.

Why did you visit me? How could you do that, after how I treated you? Damn, you Scoobies are so good and pure you should be on that fucking Seventh Heaven show. The only reason you should have visited my hospital room was to pull the life support plugs.

But bizarre as it sounds, I found comfort knowing that you were there looking over me. Knowing that you took the time to visit me when I was practically dead gave me renewed hope. Hope that maybe someone would actually give a shit if I died tomorrow. I could say Angel would care if I died, but considering how much you dislike the guy maybe I should just keep my mouth shut-hmm, too late.

So I guess this letter is both an apology, and a thank you. You didn't have to care about me, but the fact that you did means more to me than I'm smart enough to express.

Years from now, if you ever see me on the street, I hope you don't look at me with fear in your eyes. God knows I deserve to have you turn your back on me. I'm guilty of many things, and I have many months ahead of me to try to atone for them. I hope when the time comes you allow me the chance to apologize in person, and to thank you for the few kindnesses you extended me.

Sincerely,

Faith

P.S. I confess, it was more than seven minutes. Not bad for a rookie.

Dear Faith,

Wow.

The word "surprised" does not even BEGIN to describe how I felt when I received your letter. Freaked out, petrified, ticked off, confused...those things all come to mind, too. I sat and stared at the envelope (BTW - nice prison logo stationery) but I couldn't bring myself to open it for a few days. I guess I was as gutless about wanting to read the letter as you were to write it.

I couldn't understand why you'd want to write to me, of all people. See, want, take, forget...isn't that what you told me? Then I got pissed, because I figured you'd heard about Buffy's death and you wanted to rub salt in my wounds. I almost threw it out, but I can't stand mysteries. I always have to know what's going on, or it'll gnaw at me forever.

So I read it. Yep, master of the obvious, that's me.

I'm not sure what I want to say to you. Should I tell you about my nightmares about that night? Lemme tell ya, I've got some doozies. Some I was too scared, too ashamed to tell anyone about, even Willow.

Actually, I've never really talked to anyone about you. My feelings about you are all so jumbled up, I don't understand them myself, so I don't know how I could ever explain them to Anya or Willow. Buffy might have understood. She knew what it was like to have a hot n' cold relationship with you. And Giles...well, he doesn't take much that I say very seriously. Correction, he doesn't take ANYTHING I say seriously.

What you did to me really hurt. Not just the "choking the life out of me" thing - oh, thanks for the lovely bruises, I had a great time trying to explain those to the guidance counselor at school. I mean the betraying my trust part, and not considering me a friend. When I said I thought we had a connection, I really did...and not just because of the slam-bam-thank-you-Xander incident.

How do I explain our connection? I'll sound pathetic no matter how I phrase it, so I'll just go for the truth. When I first met you, I was in awe of you. You were so fearless, so wild, so brave. Everything I wasn't. I was really attracted to you. I know, I was a 17-year-old guy; I pretty much liked anything with a bumpy chest. But you were like a famous rock star, and I was an adoring groupie. You were so totally out of my league.

Then I saw aspects of you that made me realize that you were a lot more vulnerable than I thought, and I became even more intrigued. Like how you were always a bit of an outsider, hovering on the fringe of the Scooby sub-culture. You seemed almost shy sometimes, like you felt you didn't deserve to be there. How the heck do you think I feel? Everyone else had some cool secret power to let them into the club-witch, werewolf, vampire, Slayer. I'm just the donut boy. Yeah, vamps really fear me when I face them with my wicked blueberry fritter.

I also noticed that you didn't like to talk about your personal life. When we'd all hang out, I recognized the pain in your eyes whenever the conversation would drift towards family stuff. Unfortunately, I could really relate to that. It was like looking in a mirror. I think we both know that sometimes things that happen behind closed doors are much worse than the supernatural creatures we fought outside every night.

It was a pretty scary time for me back then. Cordy dumped me, and I felt like I was the biggest loser on the planet. I think having Cordy tell me I was a loser every day probably contributed to that perception. Except for you, all my friends were getting ready to go off to college. They had so many wonderful opportunities. They were all going forth to seize their destinies.

I was destined for nothing. Hello, world of name tags and hair nets, I'm ready to take your order now. High school wasn't over yet, but I already felt so incredibly alone.

The night you invited me into your bed (well, invited sounds too polite...as I recall, you threw me down and jumped on me) I hoped maybe you needed someone as much as I did. I know. Cling much?

Sex was scarier than I thought it would be. I didn't think it was possible to feel more naked than I already was. It happened so fast-but I'm quite positive it was longer than seven minutes. In those moments, I couldn't take my eyes off of you. Yes, Faith, you were beautiful. I was so happy that you shared a side of yourself that none of the others would see, and that you wanted to be with me. Maybe I wasn't such a loser, if someone as exciting as you wanted me.

That bliss didn't last long. Jeez, couldn't you have waited for me to put my clothes back on before you tossed me out? It was cold that night!

So, maybe it wasn't the love connection I was hoping for. I still thought we were friends, at least. I cared about you. I knew how messed up you were after the...accident...and all I wanted to do was help. I wanted you to see that you weren't alone, that you didn't have to deal with something so traumatic all by yourself. When you laughed in my face, called me your boy toy, told me I was someone to forget, it cut me to the bone. It almost hurt worse than, well, I hope you don't mind if I don't talk about what happened next. I don't like to remember.

All of a sudden, you weren't one of us anymore. Believe it or not, I think I understand why you took up with Mayor McSnake. He treated you like a daughter, didn't he? Were you hoping you could start over with a new family, so you wouldn't have to remember your real one? I wish you had given all of us more of a chance before you wrote us off, Faith. The Scoobies could have become your new family...I know, because in my heart, they have replaced mine.

When you got hurt, I didn't cheer about it. It wasn't like all the other times Buffy defeated the Special Guest Villain of the Week. Seeing you in that hospital bed, badly beaten, almost no chance of ever waking up, it really gave me the chills. It brought up all my fears about my friends leaving me behind. Being alone and forgotten forever-that would be my worst nightmare. I couldn't let you suffer that fate. No one deserves that.

I'd visit you as often as I could, but I never told anyone. I didn't think the girls would understand. I'd watch you for hours sometimes. I'd talk to you and read to you, wondering if you knew I was there. You looked so innocent, so pretty, like you were asleep but could wake up any moment. I would fantasize that you'd come out of your coma with amnesia-no, I don't watch "Passions," really, I don't!

Okay, maybe once or twice with Spike, and only because he forced me to.

Anyway, in my dream, Amnesia Faith would be freed from all her horrible memories, and we would start over. "Hi, I'm Xander! Nice to meet you. Would you like to go out for a double mocha?" Pretty dorky, huh? Well, that's me. We never had a real date, just the sex part. I wish I had asked you out. I wish you had said "yes." I really wish it hadn't played out like it did. Like you wrote in your letter, now we'll never know.

Buffy filled me in about what went down in L.A. before your arrest. As much as I hate to write this, I'm glad Dead Boy was able to help you find the peace you needed...I just wish it had been me. Please tell me that you kicked his ass first, right? God, when will I stop being jealous of that guy? What is it with him and Slayers?

Anyway, I can't forget what happened, Faith, but I want you to know that I don't hate you. I wanted to hate you sometimes, but I never could. It was hard to trust people after knowing you. It took a long time for me to be able to relax around Anya. I kept expecting her to tell me our whole relationship was a joke, that she was just using me. I kept waiting for her to hurt me.

You don't know Anya. The woman is absolutely relentless. She never gave up on me, especially in bed. After over a thousand years of celibacy, she's really trying to make up for lost time. Sometimes I wonder if I'm going to survive the experience, but at least I'll die with a really big smile on my face.

I finally took that last step, and dared to love her. Anya wound her way into my heart, and now we're getting married. Willow isn't too thrilled about it, but I'll deal with that. Letting myself love Anya was the hardest thing I've ever done, but I realized that if I ever wanted to be truly happy, I had to be willing to accept the risk. No pain, no gain, right?

I hope one day you have the courage to take that risk, Faith. No one should ever feel alone. Don't ever be afraid to let people see how beautiful you really are.

Well, my hand is really starting to cramp, so I'm going to sign off now. One of the downsides of not having super-slayer stamina, I guess. I'm not very good at correspondence, just ask Grandma Harriet, but if you want to write to me once in awhile, I promise to respond.

Your friend,

Xander

P.S. If you see my cousin Gretchen in The Big House, say "hi" for me. She's doing 2-4 years for theft, check forgery and credit card fraud. Uncle Rory also sends his love.