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Connor hadn’t a clue what precisely it was that had drawn him back to this place. One major life-altering event and a whole new set of memories later but this was where his thoughts still jumped back to. Perhaps because even in the comfort of being handed everything he’d ever dreamed of, the truth continued to haunt him. Connor Reilly wasn’t the one who was standing there over the makeshift gravestone that symbolized the burial site.

“Hello Father.” It was an echo of the past; Stephen’s voice. It contrasted Connor’s to a point where they truly could have been two different people. Stephen’s tone was monotonous, devoid of emotion. The pronunciation had slid back into its old formal English pattern, complete with an enunciated Estuary accent. Perhaps with the two separated sets of memories they could be considered different personality states.

“Happy Father’s Day.” He managed not to fidget even though he wanted to. That was a Connor adopted mannerism. Holtz would have chided him for it, told him to be more respectful, to give his undivided attention to those who deserved it. “Would that you could see me now. Would you hate me as much as you hated Angel? For who I’ve become? Because I’ve learned to accept Angelus for what he really is?”

His hands were shaking at his side and he balled them into fists in attempt to suppress the motion. Ironic, he wasn’t actually talking to anyone other than his own conscience, but that knowledge didn’t ease his nerves any.

“He saved my life.” It felt like the interjection of an argument. And Connor could predict precisely what Holtz would have said to him. Eighteen years alone with a person did that to one’s knowledge of another. “…he was too late, though.” There was hesitation in the admittance. Angel had saved Connor from himself and his own waking state of Limbo at many a cost that Connor could never repay him for.

“I’ve tried…” his voiced softened a bit, his posture slouching as though in defeat. “I’ve tried to be normal. He gave me everything - Angel. Family, happiness, a chance to live without having to fight.” A bitter chuckle escaped as he shook his head. “…but I’m not normal. I’ll never be normal. I knew that much even without my memories. —But I tried so hard to ignore the truth. Tried so hard to make Angel’s sacrifice worth it.”

He knelt in front of the grave site, unclenching a fist and slowly reaching out a hand to place on the stone he’d chosen to mark the burial site. Justine had explained that that was what one did when someone they cared about passed away. He traced the scratch marks of the stone with his finger; Justine had scratched R.I.P. into it. Stephen hadn’t understood the symbolism, but Connor did.

“It’s ironic, pretty funny even…the best gift that I can give to you this day is my misery.” Another even more bitter chuckle. “But with that I give you the joint knowledge that with my despair there’s Angel’s. I can’t be his son.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“My heart belongs with Angel.” He’d find such words embarrassing in any other context, but there was the reality. “And I can’t give it to him. Not in the way he’d like me to. I’ll always belong to you. I’ll always belong to the Reillys. But I’ll never truly belong to my real father.”

“—and that’s the greatest gift I never gave you…isn’t it, Dad?”

Description
Connor hadn’t a clue what precisely it was that had drawn him back to this place. One major life-altering event and a whole new set of memories later but this was where his thoughts still jumped back to. Perhaps because even in the comfort of being handed everything he’d ever dreamed of, the truth continued to haunt him. Connor Reilly wasn’t the one who was standing there over the makeshift gravestone that symbolized the burial site.

“Hello Father.” It was an echo of the past; Stephen’s voice. It contrasted Connor’s to a point where they truly could have been two different people. Stephen’s tone was monotonous, devoid of emotion. The pronunciation had slid back into its old formal English pattern, complete with an enunciated Estuary accent. Perhaps with the two separated sets of memories they could be considered different personality states.

“Happy Father’s Day.” He managed not to fidget even though he wanted to. That was a Connor adopted mannerism. Holtz would have chided him for it, told him to be more respectful, to give his undivided attention to those who deserved it. “Would that you could see me now. Would you hate me as much as you hated Angel? For who I’ve become? Because I’ve learned to accept Angelus for what he really is?”

His hands were shaking at his side and he balled them into fists in attempt to suppress the motion. Ironic, he wasn’t actually talking to anyone other than his own conscience, but that knowledge didn’t ease his nerves any.

“He saved my life.” It felt like the interjection of an argument. And Connor could predict precisely what Holtz would have said to him. Eighteen years alone with a person did that to one’s knowledge of another. “…he was too late, though.” There was hesitation in the admittance. Angel had saved Connor from himself and his own waking state of Limbo at many a cost that Connor could never repay him for.

“I’ve tried…” his voiced softened a bit, his posture slouching as though in defeat. “I’ve tried to be normal. He gave me everything - Angel. Family, happiness, a chance to live without having to fight.” A bitter chuckle escaped as he shook his head. “…but I’m not normal. I’ll never be normal. I knew that much even without my memories. —But I tried so hard to ignore the truth. Tried so hard to make Angel’s sacrifice worth it.”

He knelt in front of the grave site, unclenching a fist and slowly reaching out a hand to place on the stone he’d chosen to mark the burial site. Justine had explained that that was what one did when someone they cared about passed away. He traced the scratch marks of the stone with his finger; Justine had scratched R.I.P. into it. Stephen hadn’t understood the symbolism, but Connor did.

“It’s ironic, pretty funny even…the best gift that I can give to you this day is my misery.” Another even more bitter chuckle. “But with that I give you the joint knowledge that with my despair there’s Angel’s. I can’t be his son.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“My heart belongs with Angel.” He’d find such words embarrassing in any other context, but there was the reality. “And I can’t give it to him. Not in the way he’d like me to. I’ll always belong to you. I’ll always belong to the Reillys. But I’ll never truly belong to my real father.”

“—and that’s the greatest gift I never gave you…isn’t it, Dad?”