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Vince tried his best not to fidget. it was hard. His brain was moving so fast and his body wanted to join in. He'd never been any good at standing still but had become an expert at appearing still and untouchable while on the job. His persona here was of ice and isolation. He was Vince Noir, the Lonely Angel, and nothing melted his mask. That was the story anyway.

He'd learnt a lot in his two years as a model and standing still while having a fitting had been one of the first lessons. Being jabbed by pins wasn't pleasant. Now it was second nature. Except for today.

"Ow!" he squawked and received a glare from the young man adjusting the leg seam on one of Vince's own creations. Being glared at by someone with a mouth full of pins was quite unnerving and made Vince think of some of the monsters he'd faced when he lived with Howard. He never met monsters anymore, which he supposed was a good thing. He just hoped that the same could be said for Howard, who could never manage to look after himself and would just stand there sobbing and begging "please don't kill me, I've got so much to give!" Vince suppressed a chuckle at the memory but received another dark look from the man wielding the pins so tried to stand still.

He hoped the monsters were leaving Howard alone, especially now. Now that Howard was looking after his daughter.

His daughter.

It sent a shiver down Vince's spine but he managed to stop it before he got another jab in the leg. He was desperate to see her, to hold her, get to know her, to love her. He'd never thought he'd fall in love with anyone, especially someone he hadn't even met yet, but he knew that he was falling in love with Blanche, his daughter, even though his only information about her had come from over the phone from an emotionally charged Howard.

The thought of Howard holding Blanche in his lap while she slept brought a tiny smile to his face. His best mate and his little girl. His little family and, if his PA, Ami, had done her job properly, that little family would be on their way to him right now. He'd told her to pull out all the stops: a car to take them to St Pancras' International, tickets for the Eurostar, and a car waiting for them on their arrival in Paris. They would get in at seven in the evening, which worried Vince a little. He'd most likely still be here at the studio, working out the final details for the show, proving to Jean Claude, and all of the design team, that he really could do this. That he wasn't just a beach ball: empty inside with a pretty exterior. This was what he wanted after all. But he also wanted, desperately, was to be there are the station when Howard arrived with Blanche. To run up to them and hug them and kiss them both.

No, wait. Kiss Blanche, hug Howard. Yeah, that's what he wanted to do. He wanted to be there, anyway, to bring them back to his apartment and spend a lazy evening catching up with his best mate and getting to know his daughter. He wouldn't get to do that, he knew, but he'd make it up to them somehow. He just needed a plan.

As the ornate double doors at the far end of the studio clattered open Vince let his smile drop and schooled his features into a blank but beautiful mask. It was his model face and it was the expression which had got him the Jaquettie contract in the first place. It was his signature. It didn't do for Vince Noir to show emotion.

"Noir!" Jaquettie spread his arms wide and strode toward Vince like an indulgent uncle. He began to speak to Vince in French and Vince nodded along, translating in his head.

"I have been dying to see this particular creation. It is magnificent. A work of art! Even on you."

His entourage nodded and murmured agreement and Vince thought his cold mask might just melt with the praise. Genuine compliments were quite rare in this industry and he had always craved praise and adoration. It was more important to him than food but a lot harder to come by these days.

"It is just so bright," Jaquettie continued, circling around Vince under the wrapped attention of his underlings. "So colourful and full of sunshine, yes?" They all nodded again but Vince was starting to feel uncomfortable. This little performance was leading somewhere, he could feel it, and he'd known the designer long enough to know that he was often his most complimentary before dealing his most cutting insults.

"Yes, so full of sunshine, your designs, Noir. But that is the problem, isn't it?"

Vince tried not to furrow his brow in confusion. Wrinkles were the last thing he needed.

"Is it?"

"Yes, Noir. You are my ice maiden. My cold and mysterious demigod. The perfect face for Unicorn Tears. But the face of sunshine? Vince Noir? I don't think so."

Vince was stunned. What was Jaquettie getting at? These were his designs. His, what was the word Howard had used? They were his intellectual property. Jaquettie couldn't just take his designs and claim them for his own, could he?

His mind went, against his will, back to the time he had thought he was going to become an actual, recognised author, only to have Bainbridge try to claim credit for his Charlie Books. Charlie had sorted that problem out well enough but the horrible feeling he'd experienced when he realised he'd been taken for a fool, used and cast aside, that feeling had nearly made him sick. He couldn't let it happen again, couldn't be humiliated and cast aside, not when he'd worked this hard.

"They're my designs. Jean Claude," he told the man in a quiet but certain voice. He wouldn't show his fear to these people.

"But of course, Noir, of course they are yours and everyone will know that they are but I think perhaps you should not wear them. Give this one to another model to wear."

"But-"

"Noir, you have the makings of an excellent designer but your persona and your creations, they are incongruous. They do not suit you. You must see that, surely?"

Vince looked down at the shimmering outfit he had on. He'd based it on his adventure in the Jungle Room all those years ago. There was the red and yellow of the fire that had tried to listen in on their conversation with Tommy and grey fur (Fake of course. Vince could talk to animals, there was no way he'd actually wear their fur or skin.) for the mod wolves they'd met. It was a work of beauty, even for those who had no idea of its significance. And it was the memories that made it important to Vince, that made him want to be the one to wear it. He pulled himself out of his thoughts, aware that Jaquettie was still speaking.

"You'll make it in this business eventually, Noir, with designs like this, but right now you are just a face, an image. There's nothing behind the face. You have no past, no controversy. Even when you party you do not get into fights. You are not seen in the tabloids with young women, or men, in compromising positions. You are stunning Noir, but you are boring. You have no adventure about you, no sunshine. Until you do, you will be just a face who makes some pretty clothes."
The words stung. All the more so because they were delivered with false sympathy and heard by no less than twenty people. Vince could feel a blush rising in his cheeks. He felt humiliated. Worse than that, he felt like he was a complete stranger to these people he had worked with for two years. They didn't know that he had once been known as the sunshine kid. They had no clue of his many adventures. He'd been too thorough in his deception and now it was coming back to ruin him. It wasn't fair and suddenly he'd had enough.

"I'm wearing this outfit, Jaquettie," he said, trying not to betray his emotions. The other man smiled, actually let out a short laugh.

"Finally some colour in your face, Noir. It's the first I've seen, I think. The ice, it was getting a little old."

There was a titter from the little crowd that surrounded them which stung Vince as if he'd been struck by a whip. He fought down the urge to stamp his foot, he would not have his anger passed off as a diva fit. He would maintain his dignity and he would win.

"I'm wearing this outfit, Jean Claude, and I'm leaving now. Don't think that you know me. You don't."

Vince took a moment to study Jaquettie's face. The man was furious and Vince knew that he was crossing a dangerous line. Jaquettie could ruin him but he was just too tired of the bullying to care right now.
He turned and walked as calmly as he was able to the back of the studio where his street clothes were folded neatly behind a curtain. He dressed quickly, careful to arrange the nearly-finished fire suit on its hanger, before reemerging. Jaquettie was still there. Everyone was still there, waiting to see what would happen next, enjoying the show and not thinking how much their presence was hurting him.

"Where are you going, Noir?" Jaquettie asked, a sneer now entering his voice.

"Going home to your empty apartment, to sulk? Perhaps you have no sunshine because you have no one to warm your bed."

The laughter was louder this time. Vince knew the rumors about him. Most people in Paris thought he was frigid, or just too damn picky. He'd never brought a date to an event. Had never left a party with someone on his arm. He was Vince Noir, the lonely angel. They didn't know the half of it.

"No," he said, sounding a lot stronger than he felt. "No, Jean Claude. I'm not going home to an empty apartment."

Here he smiled, reveling in the awe on the faces of people who had rarely seen the full force of a Vince Noir smile.

"Then where are you going?"

"I'm going to see my daughter."

He took a moment to enjoy the bug-eyed look of shock on Jaquettie's face at that statement before turning on his heel and sweeping out of the room.

God that had felt good!

And he still had time to make it down to the Eurostar for that hug.