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Hilary
While Fiona Gavin stayed in Sunnydale, she continued to listen to Buffy when she needed to talk, going on patrol with her while Spike trailed them, watching their backs. During that time, Buffy came to the realization that Riley might not come back, taking her pictures of him from her mirror. It would be after Christmas and New Year’s had passed before Fiona allowed the still-hurting Slayer to patrol alone, making Spike promise he would let her stand on her own.
Fiona would regret letting her. As Xander told the story later, the morning after Buffy spoke of her discussion with a young nun after dusting a vampire in a local cloister. That frightened the young Irishwoman slightly, but she knew she was simply reacting to the breakup.
She needs more time, was all she could think.
“What d’ y’ mean, y’ gotta go t’ England?” Fiona asked Rupert Giles, her “Brit big brother”, in her brogue. “What’s in England?”
“The Watchers’ Council,” Giles replied, putting more shirts in his valise. “Glory’s origins have completely eluded us. The Council’s library is much more extensive than my own. It’s the only other place we can possibly find anything at all about her.”
“I don’t know ’bout this, Rupert,” the strawberry-blond Irishwoman said, sitting on the bed beside the case. “I mean, these’re the same people who fired y’ after y’ kept Buffy from gettin’ killed. Y’ really think they’re just gonna give y’ somethin’ ’bout Glory if y’ show up in person?”
“I expect next to nothing, frankly,” he replied. “What I almost expect is to be run out on a rail. But,” he zipped the case closed; “we don’t really have any choice in the matter. We have to find something, or else the Hellmouth may never be the same. In the meantime, please keep an eye on things for me while I’m gone.”
Fiona smiled. “Y’ know I always do. Just—please take care, Rupert.”
He caught her up in a hug, smiling. “I always do,” he echoed her.
Fiona walked into The Bronze to see a scene from a disaster movie. Her second sight hadn’t told her why she had to be there this night, three days after Giles had left, only that she had to be. The catwalk had collapsed, people had different kinds of serious injuries, and a blonde woman was moving fallen scaffolding from yet another victim.
“Buffy?” Fiona called.
Buffy’s pigtails fluttered as she turned her head. “Fiona!” She motioned for her to come closer.
Fiona knelt by the young man that had been pinned beneath the structure. “What the fock happ’ned here?”
“A very big bad caused the damage. Xander’s gone after it.”
Fiona’s amber eyes widened as fear stabbed her in the belly. In the month she had been in Sunnydale, she had come to like Xander enough to be afraid for him. “If it caused this much damage, he won’t be able t’ take it alone. Go on after it; I’ll take care o’ thin’s here.”
Buffy smile. “Thanks.”
“Sure. Go, now.”
Buffy and Tara ran out, the door slamming behind them.
Fiona heard more scaffolding being moved, looking up to identify where it was coming from. She was surprised to see Spike lifting it away and depositing it on the bar. He knelt to inspect the person underneath it.
She called 911 (after asking her broken-leg patient what the American equivalent of 999 was) and sent an unhurt person out to meet the ambulances she’d requested. She called one of the walking wounded over to stay with her patient, telling her to keep him awake and talking. She picked over the crowd of bodies on the floor, seeing what she could do for anyone else.
She found Spike dabbing at a nasty gash on a Polynesian girl’s forehead. “You’ll be alright, luv,” he reassured her.
Fiona was surprised at the gentleness in Spike’s voice. From the first time they’d met and fought in her native Galway, she’d never seen him as anything other than a badass, smart-mouthed vampire. One case of Buffy being held hostage by Glory the month before had changed her perception of him considerably.
Moving carefully, she joined him and his makeshift patient on the floor. “How is she?”
Spike shook his head; at her or the injury, she couldn’t tell. “It’s better ’n it looks.” He moved the cloth away and pressed a second, cleaner bar towel to the girl’s head, moving her hand to hold it in place. “I’m gonna go fer a while. Keep it there.”
The girl nodded mutely, somewhat in shock.
Spike got to his feet, Fiona following suit. “When did y’ ever do medical work?” she asked him as they moved among the wounded.
“Caused enough damage t’ know how t’ do it in reverse,” he retorted.
The Irish girl admitted she trusted Spike as far as she could throw him; so she felt compelled to ask the question. “Y’ didn’t try t’ sample the bleeders, did y’?”
Spike whirled around to face her, storm clouds gathering behind his eyes. “No, I didn’t! Ya think even Buffy’d gimme that much credit.” He gently and quickly prodded another boy’s body to see if bones had been broken.
Fiona shook her head and went to investigate other casualties even as the ambulances came wailing up. EMTs were soon all over the place, taking over from Fiona and Spike as they listed the various complaints and injuries.
A half-hour and a dozen ambulances later, Spike and Fiona walked to the Magic Box. “So, what ’r who exactly wrecked the place?” Fiona asked.
“A troll,” Spike replied.
Fiona gave him a look. “I was under the impression that trolls were three feet tall. The one who wrecked the place was six foot, ’cordin’ to the ones who were awake.”
“Special case.” His mouth twisted into a smile. “He was human when Anya turned ’im int’ a troll.”
“Anya? Xander’s girlfriend?”
“She wasn’t always Xander’s girl.” Spike explained about Anya’s past as a vengeance demon. “Olaf—the troll—was Anya’s boyfriend at the time. He cheated on her, she turned him, an’ hello Anyanka.”
“Okay. What was all that about Buffy no’ givin’ y’ credit?”
Spike paused, walking in silence. He’d danced around the subject of Buffy with the strawberry-blonde for the past month. He didn’t like the affection he felt for Fiona, let alone her knowledge of his crush on the Slayer. He finally admitted what he’d said.
Fiona moaned, putting a hand to her head. “William, y’re no’ such an idjit; why’re y’ actin’ like one? Y’ should’ve just told ’er y’ were makin’ ’er comf’table an’ left it at that. Don’t go fishin’ fer praise ’r compliments from this girl, ’cause y’ won’t get it.”
They found themselves outside the Magic Box before long. The interior looked as if it was in worse shaped than The Bronze. Anya, Xander, Tara, Willow, and Buffy were standing there, having made Olaf disappear moments before.
“William, y’ve done enough t’night. I’ll help ’em clean up.”
Spike looked at Fiona, then glanced inside. He wanted to stay, watch Buffy a bit longer, but decided against it. “See ya ’bout, Fee.”
She watched him disappear into the night, when walked in. She noticed that Xander was holding his wrist, which hung at a strange angle. “Ev’ryone all right, then?” she asked.
“Aside from a broken arm, sure,” Xander quipped.
“Don’t joke about that,” Anya told him, her voice worried, gently hugging him.
Taking two short pieces of wood from the broken display case and strips from her shirt, Fiona splint Xander’s wrist. “Y’ should get t’ hospital an’ have some proper plaster put on it.”
Spike lay back on his bed, staring up at his crypt’s ceiling, a slight breeze dancing across his bare torso. In his mind, he pictured the women in his unlife, and four in particular: Cecily, Drusilla, Buffy, Fiona. Three of them had ripped out his heart. There were times when was starved for affection, craving any kind of contact. Even Harmony had dulled the loneliness for a while. Still, it came down to him loving the Slayer, and having similar feelings for the Irish witch.
His ears caught the opening of his door, someone coming in. He grabbed the stake he’d taken to keeping by his bed.
His eyes caught the flash of red and gold, hands going up. “Gettin’ a bit jumpy, aren’t y’, William?”
He put the stake back at the familiar voice. “Well, ya never know. One of me former friends might’ve found me and tried t’ do me. What’re ya doin’ here, Fiona?”
“Y’ looked a bit lost when y’ walked away. Thought y’ might need a bit o’ comp’ny.” Fiona sat on the bed beside him, fingers gently trailing his cheek.
Spike closed his eyes at her touch, his hand softly closing around hers. “Stay with me?” he begged, hating how pitiful he sounded.
Her brows shot up at the request. Giles wasn’t due back for another three or four days. And the vampire looked so vulnerable it was almost painful. “Try t’ take m’ clothes off, an’ I’ll break a bottle o’ holy water over yer head,” she warned.
“No problem,” he agreed.
She untied and kicked off her sneakers, pulling the comforter back to lie beside him. As she drew it up, she let him pull her into his arms, noting gratefully that he didn’t sleep completely au natural. Before long, he was purring in his sleep. She put her cheek to the cold, chiseled marble of his chest, feeling the vibrations of his body.
She’d never realized how lonely the solitary predator could be. Spike had once told her that vampires were actually a very social type. Now, he didn’t even have Harmony; she’d taken off a few weeks ago. Fiona wouldn’t be surprised at this point if he became suicidal again from lack of that contact. She almost wanted to cry for him, imagining this as the worst kind of torture or sensory deprivation.
C’mon, William, she thought. Y’ve got too much potential t’ lose yerself. She wasn’t sure, even in her own mind, what that potential could be directed toward.
She held him close, trying to give him as much physical assurance as she could. His purrs slowly lulled her to sleep as well, nestled in his arms.