Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this fiction, blah blah. Don't sue.

A.N.: Thanks for reviewing but if I don't get more I might just store away the story. . .never to be seen again. . . *stares off into the distance*

Chapter 4. . . enjoy

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I woke up screaming. The second I opened my eyes I forgot most of the graphic images of my nightmare. I was sweaty and the change of scenery didn't help. I was in another room of my Dad's 'penthouse'. The view was great but after two nights I still wasn't accustomed to the scene. I didn't go back to college. I tried but couldn't stand it. Normal people living normal lives. Angel offered to take me back, remove my memory again but I cant live a lie. I'm tired of living lies. I need the truth, so I sat in my room thinking, waiting for the answer or for someone to just hand me an easier way even though I knew I couldn't get it without the lies so I just waited.

I headed to my bathroom, it was 3 o'clock in the morning but I didn't feel like I could go back to sleep. I decided it was best that I just wander around.

After I showered and dressed I strolled through Wolfram and Hart for about an hour.

"Can't sleep, can you?" a British accent came from behind me. I didn't know the whole history but I couldn't hear or smell him when he was near. Even if he could walk through me I don't trust anyone who can sneak up on me. I turn to face him.

"Not really."

"Neither could your father."

"What?"

"The poof heard you and stood around not wanting to go. Afraid of how you'd react in my opinion." Angel had to have heard my distress in my sleep but it didn't even cross my mind at the time, but that's not what I meant. Plus I didn't want to think about his comment.

"I didn't mean the dream. How did you know that Angel was my father?"

"I was trying out the whole ghost thing and over heard. He's gone soft."

"You would know, right?"

"'Course, he's my grandsire, guess that makes you my uncle."

I sighed. I hated to think I had any connection to any vampire but I knew it was true.

"You should talk to him? My insults don't even faze him anymore. He's all mopey."

"So I should talk to my father so you can insult him?"

"Well it's better than me telling you about my father and my poetry. Don't really need 'em."  He whispered the last bit. I sensed a grudge and it was good to know that I wasn't the only one with father problems but poetry. I had to smile at that but it was just faint.

"You? And poetry?"

"What? Don't look like the type?"

"Not really."

"You just haven't heard any from me, but if you did. . .total amazement." He waved a hand at me.

"Right." I could feel my faint smile turn into a grin, but I turned and continued with my walk not really in the mood for a conversation, then I realized in that moment what I was going to do about my father. That moment of distraction had given me the answer. Deeply hidden but it was there. Just as I turned the corner I said:

"Thanks. I think I will talk to him." And continued. I wasn't really sure why he would even care I talked to him or not and I doubt it was just to make fun of him but it was appreciated nonetheless. Eventually I found my way back to my room and fell on my bed surprisingly tired.

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Not much left now. Please review.