Eight months, two weeks, four days and three hours after Darla dusted herself to birth their son, Connor unsteadily teetered on two feet, before charging across the room to the waiting arms of his father.
Angel could still recall the excited gurgling of his young son, his tiny feet pattering across the floor, arms outstretched as he barrelled across the linoleum of the Hyperion.
Everyone was there to watch the tiny human move towards his father, Fred running to grab the camera, Gunn cheering from the sidelines, while Wes and Cordelia watched on, bickering even at a time like this. Angel only had eyes for Connor.
He son took his final, faltering steps, and launched into his father's arms. Angel swept him up and pressed his son close to his chest, hoping that Connor's first steps away from him were still a long way off.