Geez...the world must be coming to an end! Here's the next chapter of
and you all didn't have to wait until hell froze over!! :-o
 
Enjoy!
 
Fox
 
***
 
Title: Acrylic Dreams (10/?)
Author: Foxhunt2blue
Summary: Written for the FG Anniversary
Edition Challenge #30. AU Universe where
Angel is a reclusive artist and William is a young writer
determined to write a book about an artist who should
be older than he appears.
Rating: NC-17 (all over rating)
Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angel/William
Disclaimer: Our wonderful Joss created them I had
nothing to do with it—wish I had. Frankly, the boys
would be a lot happier with me as their mama! *web
Feedback: Please feed the baby slash ho' cause she can
be quite pathetic. She cries all night if she doesn't get
her daily dose of feedback. *giggle
E-mail: foxhunter2blue@peoplepc.com
 
You can find previous chapters at the following link on
my LJ:
 
http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=angelstart&keyword=Acrylic+Dreams+Series&filter=all
 
***
 
Paris, France
1953
 
Angel stood staring out the window of his hotel suite,
the shimmer of lights along the Champs-Elyss
mesmerizing him. He knew it was dangerous returning
to Europe, but William had convinced him to do what
he loved and painting was his passion. It had been the
passion that had alienated him from his father in the
beginning. He could almost hear the old man's voice
now, brusque and dismissive, in his head.
 
Painting, he'd been told, was not an appropriate career
for a man. It was nothing, but a past time for layabouts
who wished not to soil their hands with true work.
 
He was shocked from his sad memories by slender arms
encircling his waist, and a pair of pale hands folding
over the black satin of his cummerbund. "What are you
thinkin' about, luv."
 
He chuckled softly as he folded his hands over the ones
at his waist. "I'm thinkin' I was a fool to do this. I'm
thinkin' that he'll find us finally and end this peace
we've found." Angel turned around in the slim arms,
his dark eyes focusing on his lover's beautiful face.
"I'm thinkin' I'll lose you...me beautiful boy."
 
William smiled up at Angel, his cobalt eyes twinkling
with mischief. "I'm thinkin' that if ol' bat-face was
gonna come for us, he would have bloody well done it
by now."
 
A frown creased Angel's brow as he studied his childe
with a critical gaze. "What did you do to your hair,
Will?"
 
Reaching into his jacket pocket William snorted. "Told
ya, pet...name's Spike now. 'Sides I needed a new look
for the new name. Don't think it's so bad." He ran one
hand over his hair as he pulled his smokes out with the
other.
 
"It's...well it's...black." A faint shudder ran through
Angel as he reached up to touch William's sleek hair.
 
"Well...yeah it is, you wanker."
 
Angel pruned his face. "It's too damn dark, Will. And
your beautiful curls..." a soft sadness flickered across
his dark eyes, "...they're all gone."
 
***
 
The group sat around the roaring fire in the parlor, their
eyes, as well as their minds not quite believing.
 
Angel or Liam, as Doyle preferred to call him, sat in a
huge old Victorian wing backed chair upholstered in a
deep forest green. His dark gaze was focused on the
flickering flames that licked in curls around the
blackening logs lost in thought to the casual eye.
 
Of course, Doyle knew better.
 
He watched with narrowed eyes as Angel's slender
fingers caressed through William Danridge's tousled
curls as he sat at Angel's feet, his knees drawn up, and
a contented expression on his seemingly innocent face.
It was something he'd only seen once in his life, this
contented bliss. His parents had possessed it in their
casual moments and it was a beautiful thing to witness
in a world filled with such malice and hate.
 
Love.
 
There was so little of it, he thought, as he lit another
cigarette, inhaling deeply. It saddened him to think that
these two people, one who the world would consider a
monster, possessed something so few humans did.
 
"So it's true---now is it?" Doyle spoke softly. "I'd
thought you quite daft when you even suggested it
before. Of course when you told me you were a
vampire I thought the same."
 
A soft chuckle escaped Angel as his dark gaze shifted
from the fire to Doyle's thoughtful expression. "Aye,
that you did. Thought you'd pissed your pants when I
finally showed you me game face."
 
"So you've know all these years that he was a vampire?
And when were you thinking you might share this
information, Irish?" Harris still paced, unable to relax
despite the calm acceptance of the others. "After all
we've been friends since high school and 'Hey, sheriff
here'."
 
Doyle exhaled staring up into the shadows that clung to
the high ceiling, watching as the wisps of smoke
dissipated. "I wasn't, boyo. I made Liam here a promise
and I was raised to keep me promises."
 
Inhaling with a harsh hiss Harris moved to Doyle's
side, his dark eyes flashing with fury. "Even though we
have three dead bodies sitting in the county morgue that
scream 'vampire attack' you didn't think to share?
That's just fucking fantastic dip-shit!"
 
"Three bodies?" Angel's gaze shifted to the furious
sheriff, then back to Doyle. "What the hell is he talking
about?"
 
Advancing on Angel, Harris growled. "Yeah, three
innocent victims, drained of blood. So, Mr. 'I'm a big,
broody, vampire' care to explain that one?"
 
William stood getting between the two men as Angel's
eyes flickered with gold. "Look Harris it wasn't him."
 
"Oh, really." Harris snorted as his eyes focused on the
healing wound in William's throat.
 
"This..." William's fingers caressed the wound,
"...was mutual you bleedin' wanker!"
 
Harris gritted his teeth. "You sure about that?"
 
Growling Angel moved closer to William, one hand
curling protectively around his shoulders.
 
"As damned sure as I am that if you don't soddin' well
back off you're going to get me foot in your arse!"
 
"Is that a fact?!"
 
"Damn straight!"
 
"STOP!"
 
The four men turned at the angry outburst expecting
Willow, but found Tara standing, her eyes flashing with
a hint of her power. All four took a step back, including
Angel who wasn't easily cowed.
 
Willow stood from her seat and wrapped her arms
around Tara's waist, her chin resting on her shoulder,
and her green eyes sparkling. "I suggest you do what
my girl said or you might not like what happens. She
might be quiet, even shy, but she doesn't much like all
the fussing over nothing at all."
 
"Nothing..." Harris started.
 
Doyle grabbed his arm and hissed softly. "I'd do as the
lass asks Alexander."
 
A few seconds ticked by as Harris contemplated letting
it go. Doyle held his breath feeling like he was in the
midst of the showdown at the O.K. Corral---mystic
style. Finally, Harris' shoulders slumped as he ran his
hand through his damp hair.
 
"Fine. So if it's not him," he glared at Angel, "...then
who the hell is it?"
 
***
 
Darla was on her third glass of wine when the buzzer at
the front door went off. Glancing up at the clock above
the mantle piece, she frowned. It couldn't be Travers,
she thought, as she stood sitting the book she'd been
reading to the side. They'd only spoken twenty minutes
before and he'd have notified her if he'd landed yet.
 
Moving into the front hall cautiously, she flicked on the
overhead light. Beyond the lace curtains, that covered
the window in the front door, she could see the move-
ment of two figures on the porch. Customers, she
reasoned, as she headed to the door. After all the storm
was quite furious and it wasn't unheard of for travelers
to seek shelter, it had happened often enough over the
last four years.
 
With a put upon sigh Darla flicked on the overhead
porch light and unlocked the door, opening it. Outside
an older man stood, his glasses misted with rain, and a
younger man stood behind him, hefting two large bags.
 
"Yes? Can I help you?"
 
Rupert Giles met Darla's gaze and for a moment said
nothing, then found his tongue. "Ummm...yes. I do
apologize for the late hour, but my son and I were
caught in the storm. Do you perhaps have a room
available?"
 
Raising a brow at the expression she'd seen flicker
through the strangers eyes, she smiled. "Yes, we do."
She stepped aside allowing the two men to come in
from the storm. "You're lucky we have one vacancy."
Closing the door she slid the lock and stepped around
the men. "A young couple and their daughter were
unable to make it in because of the storm. It's a two-
room suite connected by a bathroom. One bedroom is
smaller than the other is of course. I hope you don't
mind."
 
"No...no, of course not Miss...?"
 
"Mackenzie. Darla Mackenzie, I'm the proprietor here.
And you are?" She pursed her lips as she moved around
the front desk.
 
"Rupert...Rupert Wainscot and this is my son..."
 
"Wesley."
 
Darla met the younger man's sharp sapphire gaze and a
chill coursed through her. That gaze reminded her of
someone else, William. Her darling boy's whore of a
lover all those years ago, but there was something else
there as well---anger.
 
"Well..." she cleared her throat shaking her thoughts
away, "...it's nice to meet you Rupert. The suite is two
hundred a night---I hope that's okay?"
 
"Excellent Ms. Mackenzie." Rupert glanced up from
cleaning his glasses and slipped them on. Reaching into
a side pocket of the traveling bag over his shoulder he
withdrew his wallet and counted out two hundred in
fifties. "We really do appreciate this." He held out the
cash with a small smile.
 
As their fingers grazed an electric shock moved
between them and Darla suddenly knew for sure what
she had suspected since opening the door. These men
were not who they presented themselves to be a simple
father and son, they both reeked of magic, especially
the older one.
 
Handing over the keys to the suite Darla smiled. "I'm
sorry, but my helper is gone for the night. I hope you
don't mind carrying your own luggage."
 
"Not at all." Rupert smiled back, the smile not quite
reaching his eyes.
 
"Good then. The suite is straight up the stairs and down
the hall to your left. It's called the French Suite."
"Very good. Shall we go Wesley?" Rupert turned to the
silent younger man.
 
Flashing a quick glance at Darla, he nodded. "Of
course, father."
 
***
 
Darla watched with narrowed eyes as the two men
disappeared up the staircase, then turned away heading
into the office. Going towards the safe, she was startled
by a flicker of movement to her right.
 
"Sweet Jesus!" She yelped as she steadied herself on
the desk. "What the hell are you doing down here?"
 
Stepping from the shadows, Drusilla gazed at Darla
with golden eyes, her tongue flicking out across her
lips. A small frown was apparent on her face despite the
bony ridges along her forehead. "They taste of star
dust." Her voice was soft. "Grand-mummy, do you
suppose I could have a taste?"
 
"Not yet Dru dear. I need to talk to Travers first." She
retrieved the phone and flipped it open.
 
"Oh, goody..." Drusilla clapped her hands like a
delighted child, "...is Uncle Quentin coming for a visit?
I do so like him. He smells of bittersweet and darkness.
He promised Dolly and I that we could have daddy
back if we played nice."
 
Hitting speed dial Darla's gaze never left Drusilla as
she wandered to the office door. Her long skirt swished
along the floor as she danced and swayed to an aria
only she could hear.
 
"Watcher...watcher...who has the watcher." Dru sang
softly, her voice edged with laughter. "Tell Uncle
Quentin that my prince's daddy has come. He tastes of
star dust." She paused, her face shifting back to its
human appearance as she turned to Darla, clapping
again. "Oh, it's so exciting! He's brought my prince his
little brother."
 
Frowning Darla listened as the line was picked up.
Before Travers could reply, she spoke. "We have two
more problems by the name of Rupert and Wesley."
 
***
 
Upstairs in the French Suite Wesley dropped the bags
on the hardwood floor with a grunt. "That was---bizarre
to say the least. Was that who I think it..."
 
Rupert silenced Wes with a wave of his hand as he sat
his own bag on the end of the bed. Watching with a
curious expression Wes lay his coat over the back of a
chair. A few moments later Rupert pulled out an odd
looking crystal talisman and he nodded thoughtfully as
he wandered back to the suite door. Hanging the
talisman on the coat hook mounted on the door Rupert
reached inside his coat pocket and removed a vial of
oil.
 
Moistening his fingertips with the oil he began with a
smear to the crystal then began walking clockwise
around the perimeter of the room. Every few seconds
he'd place a smear of oil on the wall and mutter
something softly until he'd walked the entire room and
was back at the talisman. Another quick smear of oil to
the stone and a soft whispered word, then a ripple of
energy washed through the room sending the hairs
along Wesley's arms dancing upward.
 
"What the hell was that may I ask?" His wide blue eyes
focused on Rupert's amused expression.
 
"A Rathbonai security spell. It keeps everything and I
do mean everything outside this ring from
eavesdropping. That includes any type of electronic
surveillance, or any preternatural senses. What we say
here, stays here."
 
"Ahhh...well then may I ask..."
 
"Yes, that was Darla." Rupert answered before the
question was finished. "Though I'm not sure exactly
how it could be. After all Angelus destroyed her well
over a hundred years ago. Plus the fact that she is very
human."
 
Wes pulled off his damp sweater tossing it over his coat
and walked to the fireplace, kneeling down and
beginning a fire. "So if it is her as you assume, and
she's human, who would have the kind of power it
would take to raise her?"
 
"Good question. There is something else to consider
also. Whatever would possess someone to raise her?
Angelus might have well been the Scourge of Europe,
but she was his creator. He learned his brutality at her
knee as a good vampire childe does." Giles began to
unpack his bag. "There must be a purpose, but to what
end?"
 
As the fire caught, Wes stared into the growing flames
his hands rubbing together for warmth. "She was his
lover---correct? His lover for how long? One hundred
years or so? Perhaps the person in question believes
they can use Darla to manipulate Angelus."
 
"But that is absurd. Angelus murdered Darla over the
ensoulment of his childe William. How would returning
her help to manipulate him?"
 
Standing Wes turned his eyes cold. "The more ammuni-
tion the better---perhaps? Angelus has a soul now and
he did not when he killed Darla. Perhaps they believe
he will feel remorse for killing his sire. Perhaps pre-
senting her to him as a human is a way of distracting
him from William?"
 
Rupert frowned. "I am still not seeing Angelus turning
against William. I may not like the idea that my son is
his reincarnated lover, but I do know that Spike's death
almost destroyed Angelus. It took the Council nearly a
decade to find him. The passion he feels for his childe--
-his former childe---runs deep. They were soul mates of
the highest order. The Calderash magic only reinforced
that bond." Tears glimmered in his eyes as his thoughts
drifted to Jenny.
 
Pacing in front of the growing fire Wes chewed his lip
thoughtfully. There had to be a logical reason for the
insanity of resurrecting a former vampire. The idea of
ammunition was correct, he knew that, but in what
capacity?
 
"Full circle." He finally whispered.
 
"Full circle?" Rupert walked to the bar across the room,
retrieving a bottle of scotch and two glasses. "Whatever
are you talking about?"
 
"Just think about this. Angelus killed the Master. The
Council has a full account of what happened in 1953.It
was witnessed by Robert Laclede, the watcher assigned
to Bethany the slayer who rose in Paris in 1949. Angel-
us blamed the Master for everything, even Darla's
ultimate death at his hands. Laclede actually wrote
that..."
 
Giles eyes widened. "...in my professional opinion if
Angelus were to be given a chance to save Darla from
the Master he most definitely would do so. He cared
deeply for Darla, but her own demonic nature event-
ually tore them apart. Having been a courtesan in her
human life Darla had never had a companion of her
own. Thus when she created Angelus she was
unprepared to share him with anyone---even his own
childer."
 
"Exactly." Wes' accepted the glass of scotch Rupert
handed him. "So what better way to confuse the issue
than by resurrecting Darla, whom Angelus did care for,
then threaten to take her human life?"
 
"Change her?" Rupert took a sip of thoughtfully. "That
would definitely be a twisted piece of work."
 
"Then you give him a choice." Wes answered, taking a
deep swallow of scotch.
 
"A choice?" Rupert raised one brow.
 
Slamming his glass down on the mantle Wes turned to
look Rupert in the eye. "Save Darla or..."
 
"William." Rupert shuddered.
 
***
Angel turned his back walking to the window and
staring out at the darkness. "Another vampire?" He
whispered softly as William wrapped his arms around
his waist. "Why would another vampire be here?"
 
"I'm guessing here, but perhaps to turn William."
Willow sighed softly. "After all what better weapon to
have than a slayer's child turned?"
 
His grip tightening around Angel's waist, William felt
his lover's body go tense. The idea of being turned
wasn't that bad, he thought. In fact now that he'd
realized who he was, he desired it, but only if it were
Angel.
 
"No." Angel turned in William's arms, one hand lifting
to stroke through his tousled curls. "I won't allow that. I
will not lose him now that I've finally found him
again."
 
"You might not have a choice, boyo." Doyle spoke up
from his place in front of the fire. "From what the lasses
here have told me, the Council wants William, and
they're willing to do anything to get him."
 
"Well they can sod off!" William snapped. "I'm not
some toy to be played with."
 
"That might be true, Will, but they don't give a damn
one way or another." Willow ran a hand through her
hair in frustration. "Why do you think your dad kept
you as far as he could away from him? He knew there
were people on the Council who would use you.
They're convinced that you have power and a great deal
of it."
 
William snorted. "I'm a bleedin' romance novelist for
God's sake. I write that's what I do and if it weren't for
Faith's insistence that I needed to 'spread my wings' I
wouldn't have been here in the first soddin' place."
 
"Faith? She wanted you to come here?" Tara piped up,
her voice trembling. "Why?"
 
Leaning closer into Angel, he smiled. "Thought she had
a right lovely idea for a book. The perfect, true life
romance---mysterious painter, Paris, and a traumatic
fire that sent him into hiding. Don't know if she'd been
so hyped about sending me if she'd known said painter
and I would've end up in bed together."
 
"How'd she come up with the idea?" Doyle asked as he
moved away from the fire. "I mean Angel hadn't been
in the spotlight for over fifty years. His paintings are
rarely seen and what few folks are aware of him are
more of the underground type. He'd not been in the
spotlight, but a couple of years when the whole Paris
thing blew up in his face."
 
William shook his head in amusement. "Some friend of
a friend she met over the holidays at a party. He said
that he remembered his mum and dad taking him to see
Angel's work when he was small. Said he tried to get
his hands on one of his pieces, but it was impossible.
The few that survived the fire in 1953 were owned by
collectors that had no desire to part with them."
  
Crossing her arms over her chest Willow shivered as
she tried not to think what she was. Faith was her friend
as well as Will's and she had no doubt she would never
betray them. Of course, Faith was a hard ass when it
came to making money, and getting her way. If what
Will said was true this fiasco had been in the making
for months, possibly years.
 
"Do you remember this man's name?" She asked Will
softly.
 
"Ummm...not sure. Started with a 'T' was an English-
man she said. Quite the gentleman from what she said. I
think it was Triver or Triser..."
 
"Travers?" Tara questioned.
 
William glanced up with sparkling eyes. "Yeah, that's
right, pet. Travers was his name." He glanced up at
Angel as his body stiffened once more. "What is it,
luv?"
 
"Quentin Travers." Angel hissed. "That rotten son of a
bitch..."
 
Taking a step back, William frowned looking into
Angel's dark eyes. "You know this bloke? Who the hell
is he?"
 
"He's a watcher...one of the group who rose up against
the old order. They thought that the Council was
outdated in their way of dealing with the 'monsters'."
 
"So you've met Travers?" Tara raised a brow glancing
at Willow from the corner of her eye.
 
Angel growled low in his throat. "Yes...I did. In 1968,
in Vienna. He approached me about joining forces with
a group called the Initiative."
 
"The Initiative?" Harris chewed his lip, lost in thought.
"Aren't they part of the Special Forces or something?"
 
"Or something is more like it." Angel looked up at the
young man. "They were created right before WWII by
the State Department. Apparently during WWI it came
to the attention of certain officers that what would
become know as the Axis forces were using magicks
and other 'preternatural' things as possible weapons to
take down the United States." He sighed as he began to
pace the room. "They are an organized, deadly, military
based operation that the President isn't even aware of."
 
"Geez...can the shit get any deeper?" Harris moaned.
"Now we've got the monster squad after us?"
 
"If Travers has linked up with the Initiative we're in
more than deep shit. We're fucked royally." Angel
gritted his teeth, his eyes flashing gold.
 
Outside a sudden roar passed over the house at Angel's
words. The group glanced at each other, then followed
Angel as he ran to the front door, flinging it open. He
ran across the porch and out into the storm as the wind
kicked up, wet leaves swirling in the night air.
 
Above them a black heli-carrier swooped through the
storm, followed by two smaller choppers. There were
no lights or markings on the outside to identify them as
they swept over the tree line and disappeared into the
darkness. A flash of lightening lit up the sky as Angel
turned to find William behind him, standing in the
pouring rain, and four pairs of eyes staring from the
steps.
 
"What the bloody hell was that?" William yelled over
the rising wind, his eyes wide with fear.
 
"That was the bastards who think that you belong to
them." Angel hissed. "And they have another think
coming." Turning Angel stormed back into the house
grumbling beneath his breath. "They want a war, then
it's a damn war they'll have."
 
TBC 
 
 
 

 
Once I had the rarest rose
That ever deigned to bloom.
Cruel winter chilled the bud
And stole my flower too soon.
 
Annie Lennox
Love Song For A Vampire     
(from "Bram Stoker's Dracula" Soundtrack)
 

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