Paul was tossing a baseball up in the air, laying flat on his bed. Somehow manages to use every bit of it's surface.
"So, what's your family like?"


Connor shrugged, putting down his book.
"Dunno... Insanely normal. Two parents, so proud it's disturbing... Bratty little sister, shiny happy big sister... That's about it. You?"


Paul kept tossing his baseball up in the air, not replying. Letting it go higher up with every throw, catching it every time it came back down.
Connor furrowed his brow. "Paul?"
Paul grabbed the baseball again in his... Connor blinked.
Why would he think Paul had a claw? Okay, that was enough Lovecraft for him....


"They're … demanding. They expect me to follow traditions and live like them, talk like them, eat like them... God I couldn't wait to get out of the hellhole you know..."


"Any brothers or sisters?" Connor asked.

Paul put down his baseball now. "Yeah. A few."

"What's a lot? Four? Five?"

"Sixteen."


Connor coughed. "Sixteen? Plus you? Oh man.... Your poor mom."


"Kind of normal in my family to have lots of spaw-- kids."

"I don't think I could deal with that."

"Oh I don't know, one of my sisters has 18 uh kids."

"She's older then?"

"Somewhat."
Connor doubted he really heard Paul say "By a millennia or so."
Nah, he probably misheard.


"Any of them live around here?"

"No.... Have a cousin in LA, though. Rest of the family is all over the universe." Paul got up, walking around a bit. He looked in the mirror. "Hmm... Have to dye my hair again."


Connor quirked an eyebrow. Paul's hair was about the dullest brown imaginable.
Connor kept lying on the bed, leaning over for a second to pick one of his comics that he'd stacked under there. When he looked up he stared at the mirrorimage of Paul. A mirror image with dark red eyes instead of brown.


Paul appeared in front of Connor, peering at the comic book cover. "Whatcha reading?"

Connor jumped. "Holy crap. You move fast."

Paul shrugged. "Guess so. So whatcha reading?"

"X-men..."

"Oh, man... I just *love* Nightcrawler."

"Who doesn't..."
and they went off again.

And all the time, Connor tried to forget that gutclenching feeling he got when Paul was near. He tried to ignore it, it wasn't real. Real life didn't have real monsters.
Even as his dreams shouted different.

*********

It couldn't be Spike. Spike was dead. Dust dead. Had to be the First. Even as his fist had hit the other's chin, even as blood came pouring out, he still kept thinking that. It had to be the First. Pretending to be spike because he was dead. Buffy had said so.

Only he was alive, living breathing alive.

"He gets that too?'

He started chuckling near hysterically as he backed off from Spike, Spike who was still muttering madly, staring at him with confused eyes that seemingly didn't even see him.

"Angel, what's going on?"

But he couldn't answer. Not now, not ever. Lorne tried to stop him, but he just left. His thoughts raging through his head. Not this too.

"Angel!!"

"He had a soul, before he died, Buffy said he'd gotten a soul."

Then he left the room, slamming the door closed behind him.