Disclaimer- Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series both are property of Joss Whedon

Note- If you have not yet discovered, you may be about to find out that I am a bit of a sadist

She was alone. Alone, seated Indian style, on her bed, save for the single envelope that lay, unopened, at her feet. She had just returned with her squad from another excursion, when Xander had informed her of the impromptu visitor in the dead of night just a few days ago. Once debriefed, she retired to her room, taking the envelope with her.

It wasn't from anyone she knew, past or present. Communication between her closest friends were through the use of different medium, considering their line of work, and all they been through. And of her past acquaintances knew nothing of her life since they parted.

Just a blank envelope with who knows what inside.

Hours passed as she wrestled with her own conciseness, on whether to open or burn the item, and whatever contents it held. But curiosity won over. Tearing open one side she discovered the contents: a letter. A letter for her.

Miss Summers

If this reaches you, it most probable you will not hear from me ever again.

Firstly, I want you to know I don't blame you. Not for any of it. We've both made decisions on our own judgment without informing the other. This isn't the first time Perhaps we have drifted too far apart from each to be even a part of each others world, let alone live in it.

You were right what you said to me then early that morning. That time when I was at my weakest when all I could do was resign myself to my fate. Whether it was your faith in me or the grace divine intervention that had caused that miraculous snowfall and clouded day, it had been enough.

I had taken time but I have come to realize I did have a purpose. While it was too late for myself, there was still a chance for others. Others who needed me. Needed my aid, my advice, my help. Help to bring them back out of their personal hell and make sense of their lives. To bring back from the darkness. Have them find their strength, their courage, their sanity.

It isn't an easy path, doing what's right in world filled with darkness. Where hopelessness thrives, fear intimidates and power corrupts. Several times my Enemies who believe the world belongs to them, who cause pain, strife, suffering, and who care nothing for the lives they destroy.

The Hyperion Hotel.

From the look of things, it was evident that no one set foot in here for a while A layer of duct covered the floor, the furniture, even rails of the stairwells. The walls had faded in color, having lost their shade, almost glowing when illuminated by the lights.

Connor Reilly still recalled the last time he had been here. It was period of his life he'd rather forget, along with the rest of restored memories.

Memories of a past he had not wanted to know, and a present he had created. Or at least helped to.

While prior actions, done by others , had contributed to the outcome he himself wasn't totally blameless.

Had he listened to his mother, had he released that girl, Perhaps Angel would not have had to make a deal with the devil in exchange for his life, a normal life, one without the lies and deception, the facades and the pain. Had he listened.

Something he'd only done as direct consequence of not listening earlier, of sealing Angel into a steal crate and sinking him to the depths of the Pacific.

Yet he'd done so.

He'd allowed himself to be manipulated for another's ends. And then he'd learned it.

Too late to fix the mistakes now. Too late for closure.

Angel was dead. The others were dead. Angel's team. Angel's family.

His family.

He thought of the last conversation he'd had with his father.

Angel's last words still rang through his mind. As long as you're okay, they can't.

He understood now.

This is who he was now. This was his job; his inheritance. His penance.

The life of illusion was pleasing enough.

It was time to return to reality.

….. the importance to go on, to keep fighting. I've come to discover something. Our struggle in the grand scheme of things.

Nothing we do matters.

And all that matters is what is what we do.

I just want to say thank you. Thank you for the trust you've given me. Thank you for the kindness you've shown me. Thank you for the unwavering faith you've had in me. And most important thank you for existing. Thank you for being you. It may have been a short while that I've lived with a purpose. But know I'd be useless a hell of a lot lot longer If I hadn't met you.

Regards

It went unsigned, but Buffy knew who had written it. The numerous hints, repeated every so often, were out there in neon lights. Skimming over the letter, her eyes fell again on words, at the top.

Miss Summers.

It may have as well said "to whom it may concern". In the past eight years, Angel and her have gone from comrades, to lovers, to friends, to mere perfect strangers. She had thought of the day they'd first met, when she kicked him in the back in that alley. The incident on that night, took place so long ago, it may as well have been a nothing but a figment of fancy. He had saved her that night with his gift and his warning. If not for first ever encounter she would have been but a day afterwards. So would the town, the countless others she had then saved. He had caused her to take up the burden of the Slayer, to expel the haughtiness in her that long for a normal life; the one she had before even before Merrick: one of parties, boys and indifference. That wasn't her anymore. It was not who she was.

He continued to help her, had done so even after she discovered his secret, what he was, and she allowed him. What's more she had wanted it, was thankful for it. Had it been any other slayer, one who was properly schooled in her ways, who learned and acted as the unquestioning tool of the Council, he would no doubt, have not been as lucky. His warnings would be unwanted and soon enough so would his help. With his aid, ignored and belittled he would no doubt be hunted, all the while making enemies on both sides.

Not with her though. Just as him, she too was an anomaly. Because she went with her gut she had trusted him. And despite the effect on both of them, the unwarily created negative consequences, they grew better for it.

They persevered.

Or so he thought.

The last she had heard of the vampire, he had been running the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart. A law firm that had had a hand in every single aspect of injustice. That transgressed, and defied the very nature of existence of and for the law. An organization so powerful, so insidiously wicked, that every evil she had faced could not think to hold a candle to it.

Had Angel been seduced by power easily? Had he betrayed everything he once stood for? That he once fought for?

They had not spoken since her mystical revival from beyond the grave, yet even then it should have been evident they have drifted too far apart. She thought back to the last time she saw him. He had delivered that amulet, that stupid blasted item designed to gain her an advantage over the first evil.

The same amulet had Spike willingly wore in that battle. What had become of the other souled vampire? What fate had befallen him?

It was months before she had learned that amulet had been property of Wolfram and Hart and months later that Angel was running said firm. More questions. She vowed then to cut ties with him. When a unstable slayer was located within the grounds of Los Angeles, she sent Andrew, with a message. She had also sent a slayer squad.

She did not think of him again.

Until now. A letter for her eyes only, and delivered by an unknown youth. What game was Angel playing at?

What did he mean when he did not blame her? Or that it was most probable she wouldn't ever hear from him?

She skimmed over the words multiple more times, before deciding. Whatever head game this was, it was one she had no interest in playing

Tossing the letter aside, she moved to her closet. She packed a bag with a few days clothes and some basic essentials.

She was going to LA. She would get some answers.

Having hung the last frame on the wall, Connor Reilly stepped back to admire his handiwork. Adorning the wall of the office, adjacent to the bare one behind his work desk, was a honorarium, an homage, to his family. His real family. His true family. He lifted his head, his blue grey-eyes once again grazing to the words at the top. The bronze capital letters, in an arching fashion spelled out his inheritance: ANGEL INVESTIGATIONS. Directly beneath, and in an even horizontal manner, letters perfectly spaced from each other, and with the starting one just below and to the left of the "A" and the ending just as down and to the right of the "S" and in simple calligraphy it said "ORIGINAL TEAM"

He looked at the pictures, framed in the finest mahogany, of the people that had made up this family, his eyes closing as he thought back to earlier times.

Charles Gunn.- A man who had lived by instinct. One with whom he had quarreled on a many occasion and about many a manner. A man, who as a kid, had taken to defending his own turf from vampires before joining his father's crew. A street brawler. A survivor.

Wesley Wyndham-Price.- The British transcriber, exorcist, and gunslinger. The man, whom he later learned had laid the unwittingly skewed the first domino, fooled by a false prophecy and deceived by man and his protégé, both driven mad by vengeance and grief, that had been directly the cause of his own harsh upbringing and his unstable life.

Cordelia Chase- A women he knew and yet one he didn't. There was a difference between the woman who cared for him as an infant, and the one who seduced and manipulated him as a teen.

Winifred Burkle- The young woman whom Angel and the others had rescued from another dimension. The Texan who loved tacos, puzzles, and a stuffed toy whose name he couldn't remember.

He looked at last picture, the one above the four, set up in a 2 by 2 fashion.

Angel: The founder and leader.

While he had photographs of the others, the image of his birth father had been all done from memory. It was but a sketch, and a poor at that.

The sound of doors opening caught his attention. The time for reminiscing was to be delayed.

In the lobby descending the landing, was a young woman. A woman with blonde hair falling just beyond her shoulders and worn features.

"Where is Angel?"

From her tone she was all business, yet her eyes held a hint of worry. He did not doubt the identity of this woman. He had read the journal enough times to know that she was the one.

His expression hardened.

"You."

Buffy was stunned by the young man's expression. It was cold, synnical even. Could this be the same man Xander had said showed up at the castle; the one who delivered Angel's letter to her?

Not giving her time to respond to continued.

"So you're the one." He took two more steps towards the landing, the one from which two adjacent sets of stairs had led to the second floor.

"He said you unwavering faith in."

Buffy Summers remained where she was, frozen on the spot. She could not tear herself away from his gaze. The way boys eyes glared at her in judgment, so condescendingly, as if she had

Slowly, anxiously, she parted her lips to address him.

His words stopped her again.

"Where was that faith, when he was at his weakest. Where was it when he lost friends, one after another, time and time again? When he could do nothing as young woman suffered a fate worse than death? Where was is it when he and his allies entered a battle that knew they would not win?"

He approached her as he kept walking. His footsteps had brought him to within an arm's length of her.

Enough with the accusation Buffy thought.

Finding her voice again she cut him off mid speak.

"What are you talking about, where is Angel?"

Connor Reilly glared at the woman.

So she didn't know.

Whatever the contents of that letter had been, there was no mention of Angel's intention and why he had done what he'd done. Realization had dawned on him, that he should have expected her outburst; her confusion. Despite what he'd come across in that journal, whether it was the numerous praises, or the failed stages of their association with one another, Angel wouldn't have allowed her to know of his decision: the fight he brought on himself, and its most likely outcome. No doubt he'd prefer they part on better terms.

So be it. He'd put the final nail in that coffin.

"You're too late miss Summers. My father's dead. They all are."

He did not bother to react to her shocked expression. Be it hearing of Angel's fate or of the knowledge the vampire was his father.

"Angel Investigations is under new management. The second generation has control."

So now you know the truth. Angel and his crew are no more.

As for why, pretty much the same reason I started this write up. I felt NFA didn't provide the appropriate closure and the show took some twists I didn't like. But heck I don't make the call.