BoysLife

Disclaimer: Angel, Connor, and other characters and situations specific to the TV series �Angel� are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, The WB Network, Evil Fox, and other corporate entities too numerous to list. No ownership is implied by the author.

*Spoilers: Angel: season 3, through �Dad�

Summary: Tiny core samples of an extraordinary, but typical, life.

Author's Note: Speculative story based on Angel S3. In fact, extremely speculative, as I *really* think that Connor's life will be nowhere near normal, and suspect it won't be especially long.

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Chapter 1: 3 Weeks- In Nomine Patri

Angel stood a few feet back, behind Cordelia and Wesley, who were holding his son up for the priest to baptize. He knew this was crazy, and the irony of asking his friends to lie to a servant of the church in order to get this done was not lost on him.

On the other hand, maybe they didn't have to lie. Wesley certainly had enough esoteric contacts around; maybe he had found the one priest who took the prospect of a human infant with vampire parents completely in stride.

The priest dipped his hands in the holy water and Angel winced as it dropped onto the child's forehead, but of course it was harmless to Connor. One more thing that distanced him from his father.

Angel could not bring himself to touch his son for several hours afterward, not wanting to stain the infant's newly re-made innocence.

Chapter 2: 15 months- Communication

"It's not like he doesn't *understand* words," Fred said. "If you say 'milk' or 'teddy' to him, he'll reach out for them. He's just not ready to say them yet."

"I don't know," Wesley said uncertainly. "I think he should at least be using baby talk by now. Wah-wah or something."

"Will you guys loosen up," Cordy said. "He'll talk when he's ready. If he hasn't said anything by the time he's ready for school, we can take him to a doctor."

Just then Angel entered the room and crossed to where his son was stacking blocks. "How's my darling boy?" he said, crouching down beside the child.

Connor's face broke into a wide smile and he reached one hand towards his father with a delighted squeal.

"What are we making here?" Angel said, turning to the blocks. "A house? A bridge?" It was not immediately apparent.

Connor had lost interest in his toys and was now reaching with both hands for his father, whining to be picked up. Angel pretended to be oblivious, and looked behind him.

"What do you want?" he said. "Is there something over there?"

Connor whined harder, shaking his arms in frustration. Angel continued to look around the room. "Do you want something to eat?" he said. "Or one of your toys?"

Finally the toddler couldn't stand it anymore. "Angel!" he burst out, clear as day.

"That's right," Angel said, scooping him up and cuddling him.

Cordy reacted first. "He talked!" she said.

Angel looked up at her, confused. "Of course he talked," he said.

"We were just discussing that none of *us* had ever heard him talk," Wesley said. "In fact, some of us were beginning to be concerned."

"He talks to me all the time," Angel told them. "Don't you, Connor?"

In response, the child squealed again.

"See," Angel said. "You guys worry too much."

Chapter 3: 3 1/2 Years- Storm

"Angel!" Connor cried out as he ran into the vampire's bedroom and jumped onto the bed. His voice was filled with fear, and Angel was awake in an instant, gathering the child in his arms.

"What is it?" he asked.

In reply, there was a crash of thunder, and the boy hugged his father, sobbing. "Angel, make it stop."

"It's okay," Angel said soothingly. "It's just a thunderstorm. It can't hurt you."

Cordy rolled over to look at them. "Since when do you call your father 'Angel,'" she asked sleepily.

"Since always," Connor replied indignantly.

"He does it when he's frightened," Angel explained.

There was another thunderclap, and Connor snuggled closer to his father, whimpering. "Why is it doing that?" he asked.

"I don't know exactly why," Angel said calmly. "Something to do with the atmosphere. Hot air meeting cold air. We can check on the computer tomorrow. But the important thing is it's up in the sky, and you're safe inside with us."

"It's too loud," Connor complained.

"It's okay to be a little scared," Angel said. "Your Uncle Spike? He doesn't like thunderstorms, either."

Cordelia chuckled lightly. "The bleached menace? Oh, wait until I see him again. No mercy."

"No you won't," Angel scolded, but Connor was interested.

"Uncle Spike? Really?"

"Yep," Angel affirmed. There was another low rumble of thunder, now off in the distance. "And now the storm is moving off. See?"

Connor nodded, and curled into his father's lap. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Angel glanced over his son's shoulder at Cordelia, who gave a small nod. "Okay," he said. "Get under."

"Thanks, Daddy," Connor said, scrambling into the covers. Once he was situated, Angel leaned towards him and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Love you," he said.

"Love you, too," Connor said, and with a yawn fell straight to sleep.

Chapter 4: 5 Years- School

�Do you have everything?� Cordelia asked, and Connor checked his Mickey Mouse backpack for the third time.

�I think so,� he said uncertainly.

�He should be fine,� Wesley said. �It�s only Kindergarten. If he doesn�t have it today, he can take it tomorrow.�

Angel entered from the kitchen carrying Connor�s lunchbox. �I gave you peanut butter and jelly,� he said, �and some of those fish crackers. Is that all right?�

�Uh huh,� Connor said unenthusiastically.

�Oh. Cordelia,� Angel said, only just noticing her. �I didn�t expect you until nine.�

�And miss seeing Connor off on his first day of school? Not a chance.�

�Thanks,� Angel said.

�Do I have to go?� Connor asked.

Angel picked up his son and gave him a squeeze. �Don�t you want to learn to read and do math?� he asked.

�Wesley could teach me.�

The Englishman got a thoughtful expression. �It�s true, I could,� he said.

�Wesley,� Angel admonished, then, �you�ll learn to write, too. You can send emails to Fred and Bob and the baby in Fresno, and to Uncle Spike� wherever he is this week.�

�But I�ll miss you,� Connor pouted, melting every heart in the room but his father�s.

�I�ll miss you, too,� Angel said. �But you have to go to school. Don�t you want to be smart like Wesley?�

�I guess,� Connor said.

�Tell him how long you went to school, Wes.�

�Seventeen years,� Wesley said. �That�s counting university, of course.�

�Seventeen years?!� Connor couldn�t believe his ears.

�Let�s start with Kindergarten, okay,� Cordy said, lifting the boy down.

�Come on,� Wesley said, picking up the car keys. �We don�t want to be late your very first day.�

Reluctantly the boy took the ex-Watcher�s hand and looked back over his shoulder. �I wish you could come,� he said to his father.

�I wish I could, too,� Angel said. �But you know the sun is very bad for me.�

�I know,� Connor said, then he followed Wesley to where the car was waiting out front.

�You have to tell him,� Cordelia told Angel as the front door closed.

�I will,� Angel said. �When he�s old enough.�

Connor spared a last look at the hotel as the car pulled away to see his father at the window, carefully avoiding the early morning sun that slanted in.

Connor waved, trying to look brave as his father waved back.

Chapter 5: 8 Years- Fight

Connor came in from school, his face flushed and swollen and wet with tears. He wanted to go straight into his father's office, but through the open door he saw Ms. Morgan, one eye covered with a black patch, like a pirate, leaning on her dragon-headed cane, and stopped. He heard her voice, and Wesley's, raised in argument, and he shuddered. Something about the woman had always frightened him.

"Connor, what happened? Are you all right?" Cordelia had entered from the file rooms.

"I... I..." Connor started sobbing, and Cordy came to him and quickly guided him to her rooms.

Gunn sat up as they entered. "What's wrong?" he asked, but Cordelia ignored him and took the boy through to the bathroom.

"Lean over the sink," she instructed, running water onto a cloth and pressing it on the back of his neck. "Just calm down," she said soothingly, "and tell me what happened."

"I... was... there was... I had a fight with Scott Pembroke," he said between broken sobs.

"Some kid beat you up?" Gunn said angrily from the doorway.

"No... he... I... I hit him."

"Did he hurt you?" Cordy asked.

"No."

"Did he hit you first?"

"No. I did like you taught me, Charles. I knocked him down and made sure he didn't get back up."

"No kidding," Gunn said proudly, earning him a glare from Cordelia. "I mean," he clarified, "you shouldn't use those moves on humans. Little humans. Kids. You should only use them on adults that try to hurt you or grab you."

"I didn't mean to hurt him so bad," Connor said, dissolving into tears again.

"What started the fight?" Cordy said calmly.

"He called Dad a freak," Connor gasped. "Said only freaks stay out of the sun, and everyone knows this hotel is full of freaks."

"That's it," Gunn said. "This kid is dead."

"Charles. Please," Cordelia said, then she returned to Connor. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks," she said. "Your father, and Charles and I, and Wesley, and Faith, all love you very much, but we aren't like most families, and not everyone is going to understand that. If they call us names it's because they're ignorant and don't know any better, so what they think doesn't matter. Nothing anyone else says or thinks changes how we feel about you. Do you understand?"

Tears still coming, Connor nodded, and Cordelia pressed the cloth against his neck again.

"Now try to calm down," she said. "Take deep breaths. Do you want Charles to get you some orange juice?"

"Okay," Connor said, sniffling, and Gunn withdrew to the kitchen.

Cordelia knelt down and hugged Connor tight. "We all love you," she said. "And that will never change. Not ever."

Chapter 6: 13 Years- Birthday

From the top of the staircase, Connor saw the familiar figure, slim, blond, in his black great-coat, standing in the hotel lobby. "Uncle Spike," Connor called out, and the figure turned, and smiled.

Connor took the stairs two at a time, launching himself from the landing into his favorite relative's arms. "You came!" Connor cried excitedly. "I was hoping you would."

"You thought I'd miss your thirteenth birthday?" Spike said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Not bloody likely." He took hold of Connor's shoulders and held him at arm's length. "Look at you, then. Almost tall as me. You'll be taking a run at your dad before long."

Connor started towards the dining room, pulling Spike along behind him. "Come on," he said. "We're starting dinner soon. How long are you staying? At least stay a few days this time."

"Might at that," Spike said. "Maybe longer. Depending what your old man says, of course."

"Spike, you're here." Angel was already in the dining room, setting the table for dinner. "It's good to see you."

"Glad to hear that, mate," Spike said. "Ran into a bit of trouble..."

"Later," Angel said, as the rest of Connor's 'family' entered for the meal.

They ate a fine dinner of spaghetti and meatballs (Connor's favorite) and the boy opened his gifts, then Angel raised his hands for everyone's attention.

"Connor," he began seriously, and his son put down the game he was fiddling with, aware this was important. "You're thirteen years old now. Almost a man. And it's time for you to find out the truth about yourself." Angel shifted uncomfortably, aware everyone at the table was watching him intently as he spoke.

"I was born in a town called Galway, in Ireland," Angel went on, "and the year was 1726..."

Chapter 7: 16 Years- Romance

Connor entered the darkened hotel lobby, half-glad no one was around, and half-hoping his father might still be up and at home. He climbed the stairs slowly, trying to move silently, in case his father *was* about. He didn't know if he felt like talking, or what to say. It was his own business to work through; they wouldn't understand.

Sure enough, the door to his father's rooms was slightly ajar, and the light from within fell across the garishly patterned carpet. Connor was about to pass by when he heard his 'Uncle' Spike's voice within.

"How in the hell did you score nineteen points, Angelus? I must have added that wrong..."

Connor hesitated at the doorway. He should at least tell them he was home. Maybe they wouldn't ask why it was so early.

Then the decision was taken out of his hands as the door swung open. Connor hadn't heard his father get up and come over, but of course he wouldn't.

"Connor," Angel said, as though he hadn't recognized his son's scent and heartbeat from inside the room. "What are you doing home?"

"We, uh, decided to leave early," Connor hedged.

"You should have asked her in," Angel said, opening the door all the way and returning to the game.

Connor hovered in the doorway. "She was tired," he said.

Spike looked up at him and gave the boy an appraising look. "She broke it off with you, didn't she," he said.

Connor's mouth dropped open. "How did..?"

Angel looked up again, his eyes soft with sympathy. "Connor, I'm so sorry. I know you really liked her."

Spike stood, a sad smile on his face. "Unfortunately, I know heartbreak when I see it." He turned to Angel and bowed his head slightly. "We'll continue this later. I think you might have to take the boy out for ice cream." He slid out the door past Connor and patted him on the arm.

Connor thought for a second how strange it should be that skin so cool and smooth, so unnatural, should be a comfort to him.

Chapter 8: 18 Years- Manhood

Connor surveyed the lobby, knowing it would soon be filled with family and well-wishers. Cordelia had taken the plans in hand, as usual, and had done her usual impeccable job. Cherry and white bunting was draped tastefully over everything, and silver cardboard '19s' hung at intervals around the walls.

The main desk, to Connor's embarrassment, seemed to be a shrine to his scholastic achievement. There were honor-roll certificates and wrestling medals and the California State Art Award for High-School Seniors (4th place).

There were also pictures of him at many different ages, some with Angel, a few alone, a number of him with others: Wesley, Cordelia, Spike, Fred, Charles.

He remembered suddenly an art project he'd been assigned as a Freshman- a visual representation of his family tree. He remembered the tangled vampire bloodlines Angel and Spike tried to map out in criss-crossing branches before they finally all gave up and invented a history from whole cloth.

Connor's mother, Darla, and her 'parents,' Drusilla and T. Master. Connor's father, Angel, and his aunts and uncles, Wesley, Cordelia, Charles, and Spike, not to mention cousins and second-cousins, Fred, Buffy, Xander, Willow, Rupert Giles, and Faith. Plus the numerous spouses and children.

A family tree of the heart, Cordelia had called it.

Angel and Connor had worked on it together, Angel doing sketches of all the members and Connor illuminating them by various media: Charles in broad strokes of color, Fred in watercolors as delicate as flower-petals. It had won a city-wide art competition, even if the symbolism of the red and green leaves was lost on the judges.

And now, despite a long-standing family joke about how he was expected to attend Notre Dame, a scholarship to UCLA's School of Fine Arts was awaiting him in the Fall.

"She did a nice job," Angel said from the stairs, and Connor turned to face his father.

"She's very proud of you," Angel went on. "We're all very proud of you."

Connor gave one of his lopsided smiles that made his father think a reflection would be redundant. Angel held out his arms and took his son into a hug. "And I love you," he said. "More than I ever thought was possible, from the very first time I saw you."

"Dad," Connor protested.

"It's true," Angel said, letting him go. "Ancient prophecy aside, you've always been my miracle child."

Connor gave his father a look that was half embarrassment and half pride. "Thanks," he said.

"We have to get going though. People will be arriving soon." Angel picked up the mortarboard that Cordy had included on the display and handed it to his son. "You ready?"

Connor stared at the mortarboard for a moment, the grin still on his face. "Yeah," he said. "And Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I love you, too."

fin

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