Not Quite Home by LJ

From the window in his room, eighteen-year-old Connor O'Day could see a set of car taillights winding down the hillside. Beyond that, in the far, far distance, in the dark of night, there was a shadow, a haze of light and smog. Los Angeles.

"Do you feel ready?" asked his father. Donald stepped into the room, winding his way around furniture and bags.

Connor turned away from the window to face his father. "I think so," he said. "A little nervous..."

"It's to be expected," said Donald. He sat down on the bed and turned toward his son. "Con, you know we're very proud of you. And this will be a good experience for you, I think. It's not like you're signing your life away: it's just an internship."

"Yeah. An internship," said Connor. He sighed. "You know, being normal, like I am, it's a curse sometimes. If I were like you, and Mom, and Aunt Jane, and Claire, then I'd know what I was going to do with my life. It would be so much easier."

Donald nodded. "Maybe. But would you have been happy with that life? I mean, it's not as if we're out every night, fighting evil, but there's only so much we can do with the talents we have. And people will always think strange things about us because of it. But you...You have a marvelous opportunity, son: an opportunity to really make something of yourself, something completely on your own."

"I know," said Connor.

Donald stood. "You can still do good in the world, Connor. I believe in you, we all do." He moved to the door. "Good night, son."

"Night, Dad."

A few minutes later, Connor crawled into bed. This is going to be a good summer, he told himself. Three months interning at Wolfram and Hart. And then, in August, two weeks in San Francisco to see his cousins. He couldn’t wait to see how much little Wyatt had grown.