A/N: I like Nina. I've only recently been able to watch the fifth season, and you know, I really like Nina. And I was feeling angsty. So Nina + angst this story. Please R+R.

Letters from Distant Places

Mexico was gorgeous in the springtime. One morning out on the beach, and Nina understood why people gravitated toward the clear waters and white sand of Cabo. It was absolute paradise.

And all she wanted was him.

She'd never been in love before; she didn't recognize the warning signs right off. And honest to God, she didn't understand it. Well, actually, she did, because, really… What red-blooded American woman stood a chance against the billowing coat, the piercing stare, the cars? Not her, that was for sure. And the vampire thing? More than a little hot. But those things were quickly overridden, by his quiet smile and the longing in his eyes when he watched the sunrise through the windows of his penthouse. She'd wanted to give him that sunrise, out on a beach or in the mountains, somewhere other than that damn law firm. And it dawned on her, just as the sun was dawning on LA. She loved him.

She didn't say it out loud, of course, because heroic vampire thing aside, Angel was a guy, and it wasn't as if he had been the most willing participant in the early stages of their relationship. But staring at the warm waves that bubbled up around her feet, feeling the sun on her back, she wondered if she should have. If that would have made the difference.

She doubted it. Angel had a stubborn streak.

She was about to go in, when she heard a voice behind her. "Nina Ash?"

"Yes?"

"A letter for you," the man said in accented English. She raised a brow as she took the bulky envelope. An Irishman delivering mail in Mexico?

"Thank you," she replied, digging into the pocket of her jean shorts. She handed him a bill. He smiled a little, thin face melancholy, and nodded before turning away.

There was nothing on the envelope except her name, scrawled in pretty, old-fashioned script. She recognized the handwriting, and sunk down in the sand, ripping it open, then just stared at what was in her hands. A letter, folded, and a plane ticket.

Her heart stopped.

Or that's what it felt like, because she knew then that he was dead.

Her hands were shaking, but she managed to unfold the letter without tearing the crisp edges of the paper. For a minute she just stared down at the words, letting them blur together in blue-black swirls, then let the letter fall. Her hands gripped the plane ticket instead.

He should have arrived that night.

Nina closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her face, letting the ticket crumple as the cool paper molded to her face. He'd wanted to be with her. That was almost enough to make her hate him.

Almost.