Dear Spike: I'm sorry about the squirrels. I'm sorry for leaving you in bed with Xander for over a year now, with no sex, even, because there's still 5 other people in the room with you. I'm sorry for making you like it when Angelus spanked you; that was terribly undignified. I'm not sorry for giving you to Anya and Xander, twice; they'll take good care of you. I am sorry about the vomiting, but you're the one who had to have the damned blooming onion.
Dear Xander: I'm sorry about the bloody Count Chocula -- but hey, at least you got some hella good sex out of it. Someday you may even get out of bed. I'm desperately sorry for the one where I caved and let you be the victim. Also, on reflection, the hanging, wrist-slitting, overdosing, electrocution, undetailed encounters with blunt-object head trauma, and fifty-plus years of nonspecified suicide attempts probably weren't very fun, even if it all worked out right in the end. Er... Here, have a husband and some piranha.
Dear Willow: You brought it on yourself. Don't come crying to me for sympathy.
Dear Tara: Look, you're alive in two different ongoing series past where you'd be dead in canon. Plus if I ever get Xander and Spike out of bed, you wouldn't die in that other series either. What more do you want from me?
Dear Buffy: Sorry about making you wait for the bathroom?
Dear Giles: Sorry for letting Spike shove his hand up... well, no, really, I'm not. You liked it. And it's not like you didn't do it first.
Dear Dawn: Sorry you don't even *exist* yet. You're meant to! Really! But hey, how cool is it that we gave you a boyfriend named Justin in that other series, before "All the Way" ever aired. *And* we made him not a vampire.
Dear Angel: I'm very, very, very, very, very sorry for the blue bath foam. Consider yourself redeemed.
Dear Adrian and Lennox: I'm sorry I had that brief flash of insanity and thought I could write original characters with an actual *plot*. I blame byrne, squashed, and cicirossi, among others. Also, deeply sorry you never actually got to the fisting that was the point of the story. Er, aside from the *cough*plot*cough*.
Dear Mulder and Scully: I'm just... really sorry. Especially about the white zinfandel. And the chicken wings. And pretty much the whole story. What can I say; it was my first.
Dear Doctor: I miss you. Sorry I skipped town.