A/N: And this is it. Thanks for all the reviews- you guys are awesome.

The Words We Should Have Said

She stayed all night, sitting up with Connor, going through that box. There was a story for every picture, even one for the little knife thrown haphazardly among all the other knickknacks. The knife story brought out the happy, boyish Connor ("The Glashkul tried to rip apart some virgins, but Gunn and I chased him down to the sewers, and man, it was so cool when he just disintegrated," he'd gushed, his voice excited like it was all a movie he had seen), but the picture stories had been different- he had been a little boy retelling the death of his soul. His voice was devoid of feeling at those times, and it was like he was as dead as his father was. But he kept talking; Nina guessed that he needed it as much as she did.

It was vindicating, knowing she wasn't the only one who remembered this crazy world. Knowing she wasn't the only one stuck in it.

At the bottom of the box, there was a small velvet box, and Connor took it out and opened it with careful fingers. A small gold cross rested inside, and he shook his head. "I don't know whose it was."

"It's beautiful."

He stared down at it, then looked back at her. "Do you want it?"

"Are you sure?"

"I'll never wear it, anyway." He smirked. "Not my style."

She took it, running the chain through her fingers, and then slipped it on. "Thank you."

She didn't just mean for the cross and he knew it. His startling blue eyes locked with hers. "I grew up in a hell dimension. Don't really remember much of it. But I remember the pain. Angel… My dad, he lived, and died, to stop people from feeling that pain. I get it now. And I guess I love him." He scoffed, shook his head. "I never told him that. I wish I could have."

Nina felt the tears start to come again. "So do I."

"I'm tired of regrets," Connor said, then blinked away his own tears. He peered into the box. "It's empty."

She heard what he left unsaid. It was empty; there was no reason to stay anymore. "It's almost dawn." It was Tuesday. On Tuesdays, she had ceramics class, but she doubted she would go. "I should get going."

She gathered up the small stack of things that Connor had given her- a picture of Angel, Wesley, and Gunn, a half full sketchbook, a rumpled bow tie that smelled so strongly of Angel, and a few other little things. She got to her feet slowly, taking her time memorizing the room, the boy in front of her. It was really over, and when she turned around there was no going back. "Goodbye, Connor."

She turned to go. And then stopped when Connor's voice rang out from behind her. "Wait." She faced him again. "Tonight's the full moon."

She knew that it was, fever and hunger creeping into her bones. "Yes."

"Angel… He told me. About you." She didn't say anything, and so he continued. "Wolfram and Hart… You can't go there."

"Oh." Of course, he was right. She knew that she couldn't go there, but she hadn't thought of it.

"There's a cage. Downstairs. It's solid. I could come back."

She fingered the cross around her neck, and took one last deep breath in. Her scent mingled with Angel's, one fresh, one stale, both completely devoid hope of any sort of future. She could smell it still- despair was strong, like fear. He had been right in the end. He hadn't had a future.

"I'll be here at six," Nina replied. He nodded, and she turned away again.

She smiled before walking out of the door. Maybe she would make it, losses aside. After all, Angel had died to save the world. The least she could do would be to live in it.