Title: "The Best Day of My Life"

Author: Silvi

Disclaimers: the characters you recognize belong to Mr J. Whedon and Comp.

Category: Angst, Ficlett, Songfic

Character: Conner

Rating: G

Spoilers: None really, err I think...

AN: I´ve been reading some Conner centric fiction on and I must say that those have opened my eyes for this young man. At first when I heard about this character â€" I really hated him but thanks to the authors on I have gotten over it and this is a result of that. There are a lot of possibilities with this character and ways to make him sympathetic which I have embraced. So if anything I should give thanks to them for what they have done for me...

An#2: This takes place after Conner sank Angel into the ocean and he has been rescued. I plan to write a sequel but there will be no Connor boinking Cordy, you´ll just have to stay tuned if you want to find out. Also any OOC I´ll blame it on the AU fact of the story.

AN#3: The song is by George Strait, (a country singer) I printed out the lyrics as I listened to them so if they are incorrect I beg you-so-much-pardon.

It´s really what sustains us writers so that would be a yes please!

Dedication: To those of you that opened my eyes to this character.

Acknowledgement: A HUGE mega THANKS to Pat [mofetash] for Betaing this.

Words between [- italics -] indicates lyrics, words between [italics] indicates thoughts.

Summary: Conner reacts to a song on the radio...

Squishing through the gap between the boards he ignores the flare of pain in his shoulder as the tip of a nail grazes his skin. He´s so used to pushing pain to the back of his mind and this is so minor, compared to others in his life, that it barely registers in his mind.

Turning around he put the board in place before dusting himself off, scrunching his nose up as the dust reached his sensitive olfactory senses.

Shaking his head, he turned around and climbed up the stairs, refusing to think of the people in the old Hotel, in particular of one man - no he´s not a man!

Walking over to the work bench he had put in order what seems such a long time ago, he dumped his burden on it - a ratty old bag, much like everything else he had in his place.

He took out a candy bar from his back pocket, one he nicked from the fridge while he was in the hotel. He smirked thinking of how one of them would react to the discovery that their candy was gone. Soon the smirk slipped from his face as his hunger made itself known and he tore into the wrapping, taking a big chunk from the "chocolaty goodness" as he recalled Cordy describing it.

He didn´t really like stealing but he was hungry and when hunger took the seat everything else went out the window.

Returning to the rough workbench, he tipped the contents of the bag onto its flat surface surveying tonight´s discoveries from his latest scavenging trip while munching at his dinner.

Absently he turned on the old radio he had found on the premises - to his surprise he had found that it still worked.

It had puzzled him at first. He hadn´t known what it was for, but lurking around other people and listening in to their conversation it hadn´t taken him long to realize what the strange box had been.

It rattled a little breaking up the transmission a little bit before settling down. He turned the volume up, as he didn´t like the quiet. It made him too aware of his own loneliness - or really his own isolation. He never lets the idea that it, in a way, bothers him, because that would mean that he had let those people in under his guard.

Listening to the noise he wondered what it was. He knew that it was supposed to be music but it didn´t remind him of what Cordy had listened to. It sounded strange but he decided that he liked it, it made him want to sway and seeing that no one was around - not like there ever was a chance of that - he shrugged and did just that.

Picking up the object spread over the table sent a shiver up his spine. Shaking his head he wondered what had made him do that. Reaching out with his senses to see if he could detect anyone that was not supposed to be there, he sensed nothing and suddenly he registerted the words the man on the radio was singing:

- We loaded up my old station wagon - With a tent a Coleman and sleeping bags - Some fishing poles - A cooler of cokes - Three days before we had to get back

When you´re seven you´re in seventh heaven - When you´re going camping in the wild outdoors -

Closing his eyes his grip on the object tightened.

- As we turned off our phones that old dirt road - He looked at me and swore; - "Dad, this could be the best day of my life - I ´ve been dreaming day and night about the fun we´ll have -

The words ´dad this could be the best day of my life´ repeated in his head and a feeling he didn´t recognized filled him. I never had that - I´ll never have that... he thought sadly.

- Just me and you doing what I always wanted to - I´m the luckiest boy alive - This is the best day of my life" -

He tried to place himself in the boy´s vision that the lyrics brought forth in his mind but he couldn´t - not really, and it infuriated him. What was more puzzling, it was not Holtz´ face he saw as the image of his father in that vision.

He knew that Angel - dad a voice whispered in his head - loved him, he believed that now, he wasn´t responsible to Holtz´ death, but too much had happened:

- His fifteenth birthday rolled around - Classic cars were his thing - When I pulled in the drive with that old Vet - I thought that boy would go insane -

Feeling a sharp pain shoot through his palm he looked down and saw the metal of the object had pierced his skin. He had held too tight and small trails of blood was running down the side of his hand. Opening his hand, he took a hold of it and peeled it off, his eyes blurring just from the pain he assured himself.

- When you´re in your teens your dreams revolved around four spinning wheels - We worked nights on end till it was new again - And as he sat behind the wheel - He said, "Dad this could be the best day of my life - I ´ve been dreaming day and night about the fun we´ll have -

I´ll never had that...Why?

- Just me and you doing what I always wanted to - I´m the luckiest boy alive - This is the best day of my life" -

He tried to push the voice out of his mind but it refused to go. Lingering and slithering around in his troubled mind.

- Standing in a little room - Back with the church with our tuxes on - Looking at him I say, "I can´t believe son that you´re grown" -

Father...Dad. He didn´t know who he was referring too but an almost relieved sigh escaped him as a well-known feeling took its place in him and had him in it´s hold once again.

- He said, "Dad this could be the best day of my life - I ´ve been dreaming day and night of being like you

That´s me and her - Watching you and momma I´ve learned - I´m the luckiest man alive this is the best day of my life - I´m the luckiest man alive thi-

He eyes light up in rage as he swept everything towards the floor. Breathing heavily he swivelled around and took a hold of the radio.

Picking it up he threw it against the wall with all his might roaring, eyes blazing as it shattered into countless useless bits cutting the singer off in mid word.

Throwing his head back he yelled into the echoing stillness of the warehouse, "I HATE YOU!" a myriad of emotion bursting through in that one sentence.

If asked he couldn´t for the life of him tell you who he meant. His real father? For not being there for him during all those years, for failing him? For the man that during those years had been as his father? For stealing away his only opportunity to feel the love Angel had offered? For making him hate him? For the Watcher for betraying Angel and thus making this whole vicious circle happen? He didn´t know. HE DIDN´T KNOW!

Stumbling and staggering a few steps back his eyes filled with tears and with a choked off sob he sank to his knees. Curling into himself, pulling his knees up, he wrapped his arms around them gripping them tight as he burrowed into the corner. He rested his head against his arms. The wound in his hand had already closed up.

He whispered the words, repeating them over and over, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you..."

And as the stillness sank over the warehouse once again it was only interrupted from time to time by the boy´s strangled cries as he huddled in the corner, shaking with no one to comfort him, just as it had always been.

"I´m so sorry...so sorry..." felt brokenly form his lips and the only witness to the boy´s distress where the eyes of the ever indifferent powers.

The End.

AN: This is the very first Conner story I have ever written so if you could R&R and tell me how I did, I would be ever grateful. What do you thing of it? Good? Bad? Constructive Criticism always welcome.