Title: A Picture's Worth (4/6)

Series: Much that once was, is lost

Timeline: After Akallabeth; after Angel looses his soul.

Summary: Angelus can't seem to get her out of his mind.

Only the scratching of charcoal broke the silence in the room. Angelus ignored the other sounds of the factory drifting through to him, solely concentrated on his drawing. He frowned slightly, carefully applying a stroke here and there. The desk beside him was littered with other drawings, all of them of the same person, only varying in minute details and changes of pose. A few drawings littered the floor, these showing a different figure – a small, blonde teenager in various positions, most of them with an expression of pain on her pretty face.

He scowled in thought as he paused for a while. The fact that he couldn't figure out his sudden fascination of drawing a person he was sure as hell he had never seen was driving him to distraction. The mysterious figure had become his new obsession, easily blocking all thoughts of the golden Slayer aside. He fought against the sadness he felt every time he looked upon the mournful form in his drawings.

He was the Scourge of Europe; he did not feel sadness and most certainly not affection for anyone, let alone images on paper. Still, something inside him insisted he had known her. He growled, a low grumbling sound that permeated the room. He blamed the fucking soul.

Something inside him had been awakening when the soul had been blissfully ripped from him, leaving small remnants of strange thoughts and feelings. Fleeting glimpses and moments of awareness that had nothing to do with his demon and everything to do with something he had been even before Liam. Something that had his demon roaring in defiance and fear, a deep sated terror of an age long ago.

Angelus growled in outrage when the door to his room opened, causing him to loose his concentration and smear the page. He looked up into the fearful eyes of one of his minions.

"GET OUT!" he snarled. The minion hurriedly closed the door. Angelus turned back towards his drawing, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment. This time, he started the drawing with a tear running down that delicate cheek. She was always crying in his drawings…my tear maiden, he thought.

Fin