Jun. 30th, 2006 10:15 pm
abetterlie: (Default)
“If I told you I just found out I was adopted,” he asks his little sister, “a few weeks ago, what would you say?”

Mere is fourteen and thinks she knows everything. He is nineteen and is none too sure about that fact, either.

“Connor, you self-important freak,” she says, “you’re not adopted. Mom has all those obnoxious photos of you as a baby. Way more than she has of me. Which is so unfair. No way you’re adopted.”

In her hands, she holds the waffle with icecream he just bought her. She grins at him, sure he’s come up with a new way to tease her. It’s the same grin she had as a toothless baby, only he has never seen her then. He has never met her until about nine months ago.

It’s impossible.

“No way,” he repeats, and grins back.

“Wow, you had me going there for a moment,” she says, and after gulfing down some more of her scrawberry-flavoured icecream, confesses: “You’re getting better. So that’s what this Stanford thing is good for. You’re totally motivating me to go to college, Connor.”

“Nah, you’re too smart for college already,” he shoots back, and by the time he is on his way back to Stanford, he knows two things: she has successfully made him loan her fifty dollars for A Very Important Very Secret Don’t Tell Mom And Dad thing, and he’ll never ask her again. This is his world now, Mere and Mom and Dad and Stanford. His one girlfriend was Tracy who dumped him which he’s till sore about somewhat, but Tracy is dating some football-playing math genius now and safe and sound, and not in a coma or in a grave. He never breathed in the dust of a vampire after staking it. He never killed anyone.

He never had a daughter.

He’s just a boy.

Everything else is a dream. This is his world, and he wants to keep it.

The next day, Angel drops by for coffee, and the world ends.
abetterlie: (Default)
ooc: given his current troubles, Connor isn't in a shape to answer this, and probably wouldn't write about it anyway, but the answer would be, caused by this request, the following ficlet, written in October:

The Clock Stops.
abetterlie: (Default)

I can't believe they told him. And I'm not sure why that's so - why that feels like a betrayal. I mean, neither of them can do magic, so it makes sense they'd need someone else's help. I should have thought of that. I don't know what I thought would happen. And yes, it could be worse - they could have involved Wolfram and Hart again, or Tucker Wells.

But it feels like this was something between us. And now it's not. Plus I wonder whom else they told. And I don't trust Todd Campbell anyway. Okay, he's helped out a couple of times, but that's just that - he had no reason to, except for his thing with Darla. And he and Angel have been enemies. So call me paranoid, but maybe that's his angle. Maybe he's like a human Wolfram and Hart and wants to trap Angel so he can have Darla for himself. (But how does that Piper chick figure in then?)

Anyway. Maybe I never should have asked them. Maybe I should have gone to Wolfram and Hart myself and asked directly. No, that would be stupid. Last time I did that, they wanted to dissect me.

I wish I could talk with Father or Justine about this, but they hate Angel's and Darla's guts anyway. Kara is already a member of the Darla fanclub and has just joined the Angel fan club, and Cordy - if I talked with Cordy, I'd have to tell her about Mom and Dad as well, and I just know what she'd say.

Sometimes I miss Quortoth. You always knew whom you could trust there. (Nobody, except Father.) And there were no secrets.

ETA: And now I find out they told Kara, too. Great. Just great.


abetterlie: (Default)

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