Title: Time to Talk
Author: Drusilla
Email: Drus1lla@hotmail.com
Rating: PG, I guess.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters used within this story, probably with the 
exception of Iain and Brighid, cuz I made them up.  But Buffy and Angel don't belong to 
me, they belong to the evil Joss monster, the WB, FOX, and whoever else owns a piece 
of them.
Author's Notes: It had to be done.  A stepping-stone towards answers that I do not have. I 
haven't decided what Riley 'did' in the past.  If anybody comes up with some good reason 
why Iain should still be pissed at him, let me know.
Summary: An inevitable conversation takes place.  I mean, the title says it all!


Dear Mom and Daddy,

I was out on a job today.  Shooting some photographs of kids and animals.  That's the 
worst kind of job, cuz they don't listen.  They make the job twice as hard.  But I need to 
get back to my point.  I was packing up my equipment, getting ready to go, when 
suddenly Riley was there.  Things were slightly awkward between us.  I hadn't seen him, 
or spoken to him since that night in the cemetery, nearly two weeks had gone by...


"Hey," a quiet voice greeted me.

I turned around and saw him standing there, letting the strap of my equipment bag fall 
back down to the ground.  I couldn't really look at him without wondering what had 
happened between Mom and his dad.  "Hi," I replied.  "My brother doesn't want me to 
see you anymore."

"Oh," there was a wounded note in his voice.  I finally looked up at him, seeing the look 
of pain on his face.  "What about you Brighid?  What do you want?"

I looked away from him, back out at the horizon.  The truth is that I don't know.  I want 
to know what happened in the past, but I don't want his father's past to color my opinion 
of Riley.  I want to know what kind of relationship I might have with him, but I don't 
want to alienate myself from my brother.  I want the two of you here to tell me what to 
do.  "I don't know," I finally answered.

"Your brother and my father have nothing to do with us," he said.

"Don't they?" I asked.  "Iain's the only family I have left.  I don't know about your family, 
but he's all I have.  We're finally close to one another, and I can't lose that." I felt the tears 
starting to well up in my eyes.  "Since my parents..." I couldn't continue.

"I know what it is to lose a parent," Riley said.  "Well not really, but my mother.  Look, 
let's go somewhere and talk, okay?"

I nodded in answer, falling into step beside him.  He picked up my equipment bag, 
carrying it on the long trek to the house.  I heard him moving around the living room as I 
made coffee.  I walked out of the kitchen with two mugs in my hands and saw him 
looking at the bookshelves.  Photo albums occupied half the shelves, the rest were books 
on demons, apocalypse, etc.

Riley looked up when he saw me, a small grin pulling at his mouth.  "Lot of pictures," he 
said, replacing the one of Daddy and Iain he had been looking at.

"My father liked pictures," I commented.  I set the cups down, then went to stand beside 
him.  I picked up the photo he had been looking at.  Daddy teaching Iain to ride a bicycle.

Riley picked up one of the thick, leather-bound volumes.  The word 'Vampyre' was 
emblazoned across the front.  He set it down, then looked back up at me.  "Who are you?" 
he whispered.

"You already know that," I answered, moving away from him to sit on the couch.  The 
look that crossed his face showed that he didn't believe me.  "Look, there are obviously 
things that we've kept from each other.  Stuff we just conveniently forgot to mention that 
we knew about.  Like the things that really crawl around this town at night.  How do you 
know what exists out there?"

Riley sighed and sat down next to me.  He waited a moment, then turned to face me.  "I 
told you that my dad moved here during college.  The truth of it is, that he was part of a 
military organization that was sent here to capture and study demons.  I don't really know 
why he decided to stay, he never told me.  When I was younger I just thought it was over-
protectiveness, he'd never let me out at night.  Then he finally told me, about vampires 
and the rest of it.  He made sure I could defend myself; you know crosses, stakes, and the 
rest of it.  What about you?"

"Ever since there have been vampires," I began.  "There's been the Slayer.  She fights 
vampires and other demons, fighting to rid the world of evil."  I saw the way he was 
suddenly scrutinizing me, wondering if I was talking about myself.  "My mother was the 
Slayer, and my father was a vampire."  I saw the disbelief on his face, and I could guess 
what he was thinking.  "I know what you're going to say," I cut him off.  "He _was_ a 
vampire.  He became human again."

"That's not possible," Riley said, disbelief on his face, in his voice.

"He was different than the rest of them to begin with," I said quietly.

"How?"

"He had a soul," I answered.  That look of shock and disbelief came over his face again. 
"When you become a vampire the demon takes your body, but it doesn't get your soul.  
That's gone," I repeated the familiar words.  "My father was cursed with a soul by 
gypsies.  About one hundred years later, he met my mother.  She was the Slayer."

"The Chosen One," he interrupted.

"Yes.  The one girl in all the world, blah blah bliddy blah.  That's the way my mom 
explained it.  He started helping her, and then they started seeing each other.  He became 
human a few years afterwards.  I-I really can't talk about them."  I felt the tears stinging 
my eyes again, threatening to spill.

"I understand," he said softly, taking my hand in his.

"You can't," I said, meeting his gaze.  "You didn't know them."


So we bared a little more of our souls to one another.  But I'm not really any closer to 
finding out what I wanted to know.  Riley doesn't know, his dad won't tell him.  Not that 
he hasn't asked.  All I know is that I'd like him in my life, I really like him.  I guess I'll go 
through your journals and letters again.  I don't know why, but I really need to know what 
happened.

Love,
Brighid