Title: Where We Belong

Authors: angelspike69 and anamcara420

Pairing: Angel/Spike

Rating: Adult. This story contains M/M sex. If that isn't your cup of tea then go away now and don't read any farther.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Angel and Spike don't belong to us. If they did, they'd be following up all their fighting and snarking with each other with lots of manly shagging.

Spoilers: None, unless you haven't seen Angel the Series at all. This story goes totally AU after the screen darkened in "Not Fade Away" and Angel utters those immortal words: "Let's go to work."

Feedback: AngelSpike69 (marinersgal69@msn.com) and Anamcara420 (ldelrossi@excite.com)

Notes: Would like to extend our sincere thanks to <lj user="makd"> for her beta of the story. You are the best sweetie!!!!!

Summary: What became of our two souled vamps. Did they die, did they survive to carry on the fight another day, or did one of them shanshu?

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Chapter 1

"Let's get to work."

Angel, Spike and Illyria strode toward the demon hordes, brandishing their swords. Gunn's wounds, like Wesley's, were mortal and he fell after a few moments. When Illyria turned to him, the dragon swooped up past Angel and flew down to the ancient god and bit her in two. Angel spun around and pierced the dragon's neck, its only vulnerable area. It shuddered and its wings fluttered ever more slowly until it careened over the fence behind Angel and Spike. It crashed to the ground in a burst of flames and disintegrated. The alley was suddenly silent. Angel quickly turned back around. The remaining demons stood unmoving for a long moment and then a deafening keening erupted. A lightning strike brightened the alley for a minute and then everything went dark.

The vampires felt a hovering presence but could see nothing clearly, despite their vampiric eyesight. A cold fog enveloped them and they collapsed in a heap, unconscious.

*************************

Two years later:

"We're gonna miss the sodding plane, Kat!"

"God Will, I can't find the tickets!"

"Bloody hell luv, they're in my pocket. Now come on!"

Kat and William hurried into the hall clutching their carry-on bags. The concierge had taken their large suitcases down earlier. As they exited the elevator into the lobby, the bellman, Nate, motioned to them. He had a taxi waiting with their luggage already loaded.

William handed him an envelope. "Not sure when we'll be back. Keep an eye, OK?

Nate ginned. "Sure thing, sir. Can't wait to see your book up on the big screen."

Will shook his head. "May never get there at the rate the studio is moving!"

Kat shouted from inside the cab. "Come on Will!"

Will nodded his thanks and hopped into the cab.

*************************

Kat and William settled into their first-class seats. She immediately put on her headphones, a sleeping mask and zoned-out. He closed his eyes but his thoughts tumbled wildly in his mind. Two directors had already quit the film. Will didn't recognize the story after the guy they brought in to "fine tune" the script was finished. His lawyer – Matt – had flown out and made lawyerly waves. A new director, a guy named Whedon, had requested a meeting in San Francisco, not Los Angeles. Apparently Whedon's good friend was a professor at a film school, the Academy of Arts University. He still wasn't sure what that was about, but Matt assured him that Joss Whedon was excited about making the movie and seemed to understand exactly what Will was trying to do with his character in the book. The graduate film students were full of creative ideas. He sighed. He knew vampire movies were considered schlock horror fests, but his book was about a vampire that straddled the demon and human worlds. His character – Angel – had a soul for God's sake! He was kind of like Blade, but not as angry or violent.

He liked the idea of getting out of New York. Christmas on the West Coast meant that he could beg off the huge multi-generational house party at Kat's grandfather's estate in the Hamptons. It would be a quiet holiday in a somewhat warmer climate.

*************************

Will's family was dead and when he awoke in a hospital in Los Angeles two years ago, he wasn't sure what he was doing in California. He was brought into the hospital unconscious. The only thing he had left from his previous life was a black leather duster, which had numerous tears that matched the stab wounds in his body. He knew his name was William Tennyson, he was English and he liked to scribble, but what he had done for work was a total blank. His doctor wanted him to put his picture on television to see if someone could identify him, but he refused. He kind of liked the idea of starting fresh.

Dr. Adams had a friend, a lawyer, who gave him a job in his office and advanced him two weeks' salary so he could find a room to live in temporarily. He enjoyed working in the law office. There were lots of interesting people that gave him ideas for characters in his stories; although they usually wound up as various kinds of demons since fantasy was his favorite genre.

A few months after beginning his job at the law office, William rented a small furnished apartment. As he unpacked his meager belongings he found the leather duster in the bottom of a box. On a whim he tried it on. Suddenly a kaleidoscope of scenes invaded his mind. He was in the past, the Victorian London of his novel. He was sneaking through the streets with another man who was tall and dark. He followed a young woman into an alley and pressed her against the stone wall. She struggled but he held his hand over her mouth and kissed her neck. When he let her go she fell into a heap on the pavement. He turned to smile at the other man and his lips were smeared with blood. He was a vampire! When he removed the coat, the vision stopped. Briefly shaken, he forced his mind to rationalize what happened. He was certain the images were percolating ideas for his next vampire novel, but he quickly return the coat to the box and thrust it far back into the closet.

He began submitting stories to magazines and several were accepted. He realized that New York City was the publishing capital in the U.S., so that's where he moved after he accumulated a bit of savings. His former boss gave him Matt's name and the young lawyer invited him to stay with him till he got on his feet. He would be eternally grateful to all of those who helped him start his new life. He dedicated his first novel to Dr. Adams, Bill Knightly – the senior partner in the law firm, Matt, and Matt's sister - Mary – who got him a job in the publishing company where she worked.

William caught the eye of Katherine Porter – Kat - the granddaughter of the publisher and they began to date. He continued to write on his own. He let Kat read the first few chapters of his novel. She secretly made a copy and brought it to her grandfather. The novel was published and soon became a best-seller.

One evening William was walking alone on the streets of New York when a window display stopped him. A mannequin was modeling a beautiful black leather duster. Intrigued he went into the store. He tried on the coat; the feel of the buttery soft black leather compelled him to buy it – along with encouragement by the handsome, obviously gay salesman. He felt he could "take on the world" when he wore it. Kat didn't like the coat, so he only wore it when he was out without her. When he wore it out one night with his work friends, several of the other young women told him he looked sexy. Kat said he looked either effeminate or criminal in it.

*************************

William sighed at the barrage of thoughts intruding on his peace. He should be thinking of the future. He was returning to California because his book had been optioned for a movie and Matt promised that he would like the young and enthusiastic new director.

He looked over at Kat sleeping in the seat next to him. He owed her a lot. He knew that it was due to her that his novel was published. He also knew she was in love with him. Although he liked her very much and they had a satisfactory sex life, William felt something was missing, although he wasn't sure what.

The limo was waiting when they deplaned and Will and Kat arrived at the Fairmount Hotel around noon California time. After they settled into their suite, Kat ordered room service but Will had been cooped up for too long. He left the room and went up to the rooftop bar. It had an outside veranda with a beautiful view of the city. He sat at a table in the far corner, ordered a glass of red wine and felt his frenetic East Coast persona evaporating a bit.

*************************

"Thanks Mr. Martin, I hope Mrs. Martin likes it." Liam smiled at the old man. Patrick had told him that the man came into the gallery twice a year and almost always bought a painting, usually landscapes. Liam sometimes painted beachscapes – a beach, rocky cliffs, a lighthouse – but portraits were his passion.

Over the past few weeks, Mr. Martin had come into the gallery several times to stand in front of a particular portrait. It was a sketch of two young men, one tall, dark and muscular; the other slight and light-haired. They were dressed in Victorian era clothing – ruffled shirts and dark cloaks - and standing in an alley. He had used shades of gray, black, and streaks of purple over the black pencil sketch to give a feeling of a gloomy, foggy night. The images had come to Liam in a strange dream. He had no idea from where although they seemed to be familiar, which was impossible. Their skin tone was very pale, almost as if they were lit with a hidden light. He had not seen their faces clearly in his dream and he left them indistinct. Mr. Martin said that his wife loved to read books set in the past, especially murder mysteries and stories about vampires, whom she thought were tragic romantic characters. He knew the painting would appeal to her.

Vampires?! When he had first shown his mentor and the gallery owner – Patrick Fitzgerald – the sketches, the man told him they were scenes from London. Liam was shocked. He had never been to England and certainly not London in the nineteenth century. He checked some books in the library and it was eerie how accurately he rendered the scenes and the clothing.

*************************

Two years ago, he had awakened in a hospital in Los Angeles. He knew his name – Liam McKenna – but he didn't know why he was in Southern California. He searched the newspapers and the police stations, but no one had reported a young man missing. The police contacted their counterparts in Boston and Chicago – cities with large Irish populations – to no avail. He refused to put his picture on television as the head nurse had suggested. If there were any friends or family, they would have been looking for him and would have filed a missing persons report.

He decided to go north to San Francisco and begin his life again, sort of starting over fresh. For a while, he lived in a shelter and drew portraits of passersby while he sold sketches from the sidewalk. Patrick walked by one day and Liam sketched his likeness. The man was impressed. He came back to Liam's space for the next few days, standing in the background watching him work. Liam saw him but the gallery owner just smiled and nodded. Finally he approached Liam and offered him a job.

When he learned where Liam lived, he immediately offered him the use of the apartment and studio above the shop. Patrick confided that his previous tenant, a young artist that he had sponsored, had recently died of AIDS before he could achieve much success. Liam was overwhelmed and immediately agreed to the job, but hesitated about the apartment. He made it very clear to the gay man that he was heterosexual.

Liam talked to several of his fellow artists. Most knew of Patrick and were envious that he had chosen Liam.

"He's rich and a frustrated artist. He chooses someone he thinks has promise and becomes their patron. You know, like they did in medieval times." Torah told him.

"Will he...um..." Liam stammered.

Torah laughed. "You told him you weren't gay. He'll accept that. Besides he always has these wealthy boyfriends. Go for it Liam. From what I hear, he's fair and generous, sort of like one of those fictional guardian angel types."

Liam found Cairdeas Gallery and went inside. Patrick was talking to a customer so Liam walked around the room. The gallery was eclectic – paintings, sculptures, woodcarvings, woven rugs and wall hangings.

They agreed on terms – the percentage that the gallery owner would take from the sale of Liam's paintings and the rent for the apartment and studio. Patrick took his new protégé upstairs. Liam stood with his mouth open. It was beautiful!

"It's a bit bare now, but you'll make it yours quickly. Let's go up to the studio." Patrick said smiling at Liam's stunned expression. Again the young artist was speechless. The studio took up the entire third floor – two walls and half the ceiling were glass. There were canvases, easels, cabinets, counters and a sink – everything an artist would need.

"This...this is unbelievable Patrick. Did I die? Is this heaven?" Liam said looking over at his benefactor.

Patrick smiled. "Liam, you have a gift. Your pencil sketches are excellent and the few watercolors I've seen hold great promise. The one in the darker colors is...it's riveting. We will both benefit from this arrangement."

Liam had carried his meager belongings in a backpack and an old canvas bag held his sketchbooks, pencils and paints. He left a few things in the studio, dropped his backpack in the apartment and followed Patrick downstairs to the gallery. The older man was explaining his responsibilities and duties when the shop door opened. A young woman he had sketched while he was on the street had showed his drawing to her father. He located Liam at Patrick's gallery and commissioned a portrait of his daughter, Norah. Patrick handled the financial arrangements and the man signed a contract, left his card and asked Liam to call his wife and daughter for an appointment. They shook hands and the man left.

Patrick put his hands on Liam's shoulders and looked into the artist's deep brown eyes. "See. This is the beginning. That man is Lawrence Scanlon. He owns a huge real estate company. There will be many more commissions Liam, once his friends see your work."

Liam couldn't say a word. He couldn't believe his life had changed so drastically so quickly. It pushed any niggling thoughts of his forgotten past far into the recesses of his mind.

Patrick was right. Liam received several more commissions and Norah brought friends into the gallery. She came in alone one day and asked him to be her date for a charity ball and they had been dating for almost a year.

Liam was happy in his new apartment and studio. He worked well in the large and bright space. The rent was a fraction of what a similar space would be elsewhere in San Francisco. It was convenient most times but sometimes it was hell when Patrick was around too much. Thank God Patrick had a new boyfriend, an older, extremely wealthy lawyer with homes around the world. Hopefully Patrick and Henry would travel a lot and he could run the gallery without interference.

Liam glanced over at the now empty space on the wall and thought of the six sketches he had done of the young men from his dream. Four of them had sold very quickly. One of the remaining two embarrassed him. He had drawn the men, trousers down, as they thrust into half naked women against an alley wall. He had never done anything so erotic. He covered the painting and hid it in the back room. Patrick discovered it and immediately phoned one of his wealthy gay friends who willingly paid an exorbitant price for it. Liam was furious. It was not the first time Patrick had sold one of his paintings without his permission.

The gallery owner had found a somewhat provocative sketch of Norah lying partially undressed on a sofa and sold it before Liam could tell him it wasn't for sale. Liam begged the buyer to sell it back to him, but the man refused. Liam was terrified that Norah's father would see it, but the man promised that it would remain in his bedroom, not prominently displayed.

Even though he knew Patrick wanted to help him become a successful artist, he and his patron had fought bitterly over Norah's portrait and the young painter threatened to fire him as his representative. The older man placated him, gave him a generous advance on his next sale, and stayed away from the gallery for a few days. From then on, Liam was careful to hide the paintings he didn't want Patrick to sell.

Norah had been furious with him because of the painting. She hadn't posed half undressed. Liam had sketched her as she slept in his apartment. They had almost broken up over it, but Patrick somehow smoothed things over with her. Still, Liam felt his now fractured relationship with her was poorly healed.

A few months after Patrick had sold the suggestive painting of the young men, the buyer called to speak with Liam; he had what he hoped would be received as good news. He had referred him for a movie commission. His partner had seen Liam's painting and he believed that Liam could create the perfect drawings for the sets of a movie. The man was a professor at the Academy of Arts University.

He wanted to have his senior students involved in a film as part of their thesis projects. Fortunately an L.A. director would be spending two semesters at the college as a visiting professor. The students would be working with the director on a vampire movie based on a best-selling novel. All of the students were familiar with the book; they read it enthusiastically. Apparently the author was unhappy with what the L.A. directors were doing to his book and somehow his lawyer got it away from the studio that had the rights. The new director, Joss Whedon, had worked in television and film, frequently in the "otherworldly" genre.

Liam read the book then did quite a few sketches to show the author when he came in from the East Coast. He enjoyed the book; the main character was intriguing, a sort of hero-anti-hero vampire. Oddly, Liam thought that he had known someone like that in his past; not a vampire surely, but someone who had been heroic. The empty spaces in his memories were often unsettling; the strange twinges of familiarity were more frightening. The phone rang, interrupting his reverie.

"Cairdeas Gallery. Hi Patrick. Yes, the sketches are ready. Tomorrow at the school. Right. I'll be there. I'm not nervous. OK, yes I am. This is new for me and I really don't think they're what he wants. Patrick, I said I'd be there. Oh, and you are buying me dinner after this at Chez Panisse."

Liam hung up the phone and went upstairs to his apartment. He walked over to his dresser and opened the drawer. He reached way in the back for the small plastic bag he had placed in there. The nurses told him he had been wearing a silver ring when he was brought into the hospital. They took it off his hand and saved it for him. He knew somehow that it was a Claddagh ring from Ireland. He didn't wear it but kept it wrapped in his few belongings and had forgotten about it until now.

He opened the bag and dropped the ring into his hand. Images crashed into his mind. Two beautiful blonde women. One was standing in an alley dressed in old- fashioned clothes - a bouffant gown with a very low décolletage. The other woman wore modern clothes and looked much younger – a small and fragile teenager. She was sitting, leaning against a tombstone, holding hands with a dark-haired man who was turned slightly to face her. When the young man turned around and rested his head against the stone Liam gasped. He was the man! He felt a little anxious by the sudden visions and he put the ring back into the bag and returned it to the drawer.

He was confused by what he felt were memories of some sort. He opened a bottle of wine, filled a glass and took it out onto his small balcony, thoughts of the women haunting him. The clothing of the first woman was similar to that of the two men in his dream. Perhaps the other young woman had been his girlfriend before he was hurt. But then why had she not searched for him? The images increased his already anxious state.

He was worried about his sketches for the film. He had no background or training in set design. He was not used to sketching images from his dreams. When he painted portraits, the face had to be recognizable as the client. He might sometimes be creative with the setting or the background, but the face had to be the person. He had heard about difficult, demanding writers and filmmakers. He wasn't certain his rather fragile ego could stand too much criticism. Without noticing, he drank the entire bottle of wine. Suddenly the alcohol flooded his head. He staggered into the apartment, fell onto the bed fully clothed and fell asleep without setting his alarm.

*************************

William's cell phone rang startling his peace. It was Kat demanding dinner. He stood up and went to the room to freshen up before they went down into the sumptuous dining room of the hotel. He stood in the bathroom staring into the mirror. Matt had told him that the professor who was working with the director had found an artist whose drawings for the sets would be perfect. He snorted. An artist from sunny California who could capture the foggy, dangerous streets of Victorian London and the night stalkers who preyed on the unwary? Not bloody likely! Probably a blonde surfer dude whose vocabulary consisted of terms like far out and wasted!

*************************

Liam woke up with a start disoriented from another strange dream. He had gotten off an elevator and met two men in the lobby of a sleekly modern building. One man was tall and coffee-colored; the other was thin and white, wearing gold wire rimmed glasses. He strode through the lobby and opened both doors of an office. A small young woman was perched on a huge desk holding an apple out to him. Rousing himself, he heard loud pounding and someone calling his name. He looked at the clock. He had overslept and was already late for his meeting with the author. Cursing he jumped out of bed and hurried to open the door. Patrick was standing there, his anger etched in red on his face.

"What happened? You're already late! Are you trying to sabotage yourself?"

"I'm sorry Patrick. I drank too much wine last night because I was nervous and fell asleep without setting the alarm. Let me clean up and change and we can go." Liam was already unbuttoning his shirt and walking into the bathroom as he was speaking to his boss.

"This does not bode well Liam. The author is already in high dudgeon because the other studio really fucked up his book and my friend told me he's not thrilled that the new director is using graduate students instead of professionals." Patrick shouted through the door.

A few minutes later, Patrick drove Liam to the school since his own old car wasn't currently running. Patrick dropped him off and went to visit a friend in Berkeley. Liam would be more than two hours late. When he entered the large amphitheatre-like classroom where the meeting was being held, all eyes swiveled toward him.

Liam blushed furiously and spoke quietly. "I'm really sorry. I...I was ill this morning."

A light-haired young man dressed all in black looked up and his face paled. He stood and walked toward the artist. Liam gasped. The man was slightly built and had a thin face and sharp cheekbones – just like one of the men in his dream.

*************************

William turned to face the young man when he entered the room. He started when he looked at him. He looked so familiar – God – he looked so much like the man in the images he saw when he had put on his old torn duster. He stood up and strode toward the man who stared at him in confusion.

Holding out his hand, he smiled. "Hi, my name is William Tennyson. Restless Soul is my novel. Your sketches are exactly what I had in mind."

Flustered at first, Liam just nodded and swallowed. He pulled himself together and spoke. "Mr. Tennyson, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've read your book. It is a different sort of vampire story. The audience will be surprised at the character."

The man stared intently at the gorgeous man before him. "Have you ever acted?"

"Huh? Uh no, never." Liam stammered. The author's sincere smile relaxed the nervous young man a little bit and he returned the smile tentatively as a flush crept up his neck.

William felt warmth suffuse through his body as he stared at the young man. He would have made a perfect Angel – brooding brow above deep-set brown eyes; softly curling dark hair framing a beautiful face. Liam returned William's penetrating glance and the two men stood lost in each other's eyes.

"Ahem."

William and Liam were still clutching hands. They dropped them quickly. The artist's blush deepened.

A small man dressed rather carelessly walked toward them offered his hand. "Hi, I'm Joss. The sketches I've seen hold promise and William is quite determined to use them."

"I've...I've brought several more sketches for you to study." Liam answered softly.

"If they're anything like the painting Jeremy showed me, the drawings will be perfect." William smiled again at the embarrassed young artist. "After we're finished here, could we meet privately over dinner – to talk about my vision for the character?"

Liam visibly stiffened. "Um...I'm...I'm sorry. I have a charity thing tonight. It's been planned for months. A few of my sketches and watercolors are being auctioned and I promised to meet with the buyers."

"That's OK. We'll meet another time." William smiled and he and Joss turned to walk back over to the others. Liam followed; worried that everyone could see him trembling.

After he was introduced, he found a seat off by himself as the meeting went on. It was obvious by the conversations that the director's set design team was not thrilled to have him around. They kept showing William other sketches; talking about their ideas. The author was adamant. He liked Liam's drawings.

William was getting annoyed. "Look, Liam's sketches are perfect. He caught the combination of power and loneliness that I wanted in Angel."

He knew he was being a prima donna, but Liam's sketches grabbed him and the man himself drew him in. He felt some strange connection with the artist and he wanted to explore it further.

TBC