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Hilary
“Oh, bloody hell!” The demon’s fist impacted with the vampire’s jaw, causing stars to explode behind his eyes.
This was not turning out to be his best night. And he had precious few of those left as it was.
With a snarl, he threw himself back into the fight, trading vicious punches and kicks. After a few minutes of this, the vampire finally got enough of an opening to reach out and snap the demon’s neck, dropping it to the ground.
William the Bloody, more commonly known around Sunnydale as Spike, shook himself out, still feeling the adrenaline surging in his body.
“Damn,” he muttered. He had hoped a bit of trouble would help to dispel the picture from his mind. It hadn’t worked; he still saw Buffy’s face, full of pain and betrayal after seeing her Soldier-Boy willingly feed a female vampire. Not even detailing the demon’s various mistakes in their encounter could get the sight out of his mind.
He went back to his crypt for a lie-down.
The morning of the next day, Anya looked over the receipts of the previous 24 hours, making sure no one had bought any more dangerous combinations of magickal ingredients. She had yet to wear out the fact that Giles had sold the ingredients to the powerful blonde known as Glory.
Anya looked up at the sound of the Magic Box’s door chime, plastering on a smile. She saw a young woman in her mid-twenties come in, gazing around with interest. She was dressed in black jeans and a blue T-shirt. The sunlight from the front window brought out the gold highlights in her shoulder-length red hair. “Hi!” Anya said cheerfully. “Look around. Buy stuff. Pay my salary.”
The young woman turned toward her and came closer, a genuine smile on her own face. “I would, but I’m lookin’ fer someone, no’ somethin’,” she replied in a rich brogue. “Rupert Giles. He here?”
“Yeah. Want me to call him?”
“Don’t bother yerself. I got it.” Then the redhead called as loud as she could, “Rupert, ya sod, get out here!”
Giles was among his stacks of books, trying to find something more on Glory. Then he heard the loud Irish accent emanating from the store. He knew that voice, the last one he ever expected to hear outside of Ireland or his own native England. He walked out to see the strawberry-blonde leaning against the counter, grinning like a Cheshire cat, her amber eyes glittering.
“Fiona? It can’t be,” he said, shock clearly registering on his face.
The grin got wider. “Ah, but ’tis, me old son, ’tis.” She strolled toward him until they were inches from each other. “Well?” she asked expectantly. “Are ya gonna stand there like Wellington, ’r are ya gonna gimme a hug?”
Giles finally grinned himself, chuckling, and closed her in a strong embrace as Anya looked on in surprise. “As irreverent as ever,” he commented. “You look wonderful.”
“Well, at least a sight better ’n the last time ya saw me.” Fiona pulled away to look up at the bespectacled face. “And you look pretty good yerself.”
“I’ve just found that voyeurism isn’t my thing,” Anya commented audibly.
“Thank God for that,” Giles muttered.
Fiona managed to stifle a very Irish giggle and broke away, heading to the counter again and putting out a friendly hand. “Rupert fergets his manners sometimes. Fiona Gavin.”
The blonde took the hand cautiously. “Anya.”
“Pleasure.” Fiona took a moment to look around the store a second time. “This ’s a nice place.” Her gaze fell on Giles again. “Y’ must’ve been bored silly after the school went—” She made a cheesy exploding sound, her hands forming a “mushroom cloud”.
“Well, there were a few things to keep me busy,” he protested. It had been hard enough admitting to Buffy that he had been reduced to watching “Passions” with Spike of all vampires.
“I imagine she’s quite the handful, too, if yer letters’re any kinda clue.”
“Giles, you have a new girlfriend?” Anya asked in surprise. After all, she thought, he didn’t talk about Olivia since her last visit. On the other hand, that was when the Gentlemen were in town—
“No, Anya,” Giles replied pointedly, derailing her train of thought. “She’s talking about Buffy.”
“She knows?! I thought that was supposed to be in the group,” she whined, dragging out the last syllable into two.
“Technic’ly, I am part o’ the ‘group’,” Fiona replied. “Y’ see, Rupert’s family ’n’ mine’ve been friends ’n’ allies for a few generations, after one o’ my ancestors saved his from a vampire. We know each other’s little secrets, as well as one ’r two big ones.” Her eyes cast around quickly before she leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “The Vampire Slayer’s one of ’em. Which reminds me, will I be meetin’ herself while I’m here?”
“How long are you here?” Giles asked.
The reddish-gold head cocked to the side in thought. “Well, I’m officially out o’ school, m’ degree in hand. I’m on an unofficial American tour . . .” Another grin lit her face. “Until I wear out m’ welcome?”
Giles grinned again, then became somber. “I’m not entirely certain Buffy will be up to meeting anyone for a while. She’s had several upheavals in the last few weeks.”
“And right now, she’s officially AWOL.” The trio turned to see the dark-haired owner of the new voice. He turned his equally dark eyes on Fiona, casting a questioning look at Giles.
The Englishman took the unspoken cue and introduced them, adding, “You can speak openly with her. Xander, what’s happened?”
Xander outlined his talk with Buffy the night before, talking her into running after Riley. “I visited her place this morning, and she’s not there.”
“Was that the thing you had to take care of, before you came home?” Anya asked. His words of love still rang in her mind, making her feel warm and melty.
Xander nodded.
“Have y’ tried any o’ her other friends?” Fiona piped up.
“I called Willow and Tara, they didn’t see her. Riley’s phone just keeps ringing.” He shrugged helplessly.
“I hate to bring this up, but have you checked with Spike?” Giles asked, wincing.
“Wait a minute, wait,” Fiona interrupted again. “Spike?! As in William the Bloody? He’s here?!”
“Has a nice little crypt nearby,” Anya replied. She still vastly preferred the apartment she and Xander now shared, but to each his own.
“How do you know him?” Giles asked.
“Had t’ fight off himself an’ one ’r two of his minions a few years ago back home. Had no idea he was in America.” She pulled a small stake from her pocket, sheer menace in her eyes. “Where is he?”
Xander quickly grabbed the stake away from her. “You can’t dust him. It’d be like cruelty to animals.”
“Cruelty?!” she asked incredulously. “He’s a bleedin’ vampire!”
“A vampire that’s been rendered harmless,” Giles put in. “A government organization called the Initiative captured Spike and put a chip in his brain.”
“Every time he’s goes after anything other than demons or other vamps, he gets a migraine special with a heavy side of pain,” Xander finished the explanation. He held up the stake. “Promise you’ll use this on vamps other than Spike.”
Fiona smothered a smile, seeing the jest in Xander’s eyes, then breathed an exaggerated sigh. “Promise.” She took the stake back, putting it in her pocket again. “Rupert, y’re busy right now”—she glanced up at the banner proclaiming the December holidays—“so I’ll meet ya fer dinner? I’d like t’ explore a bit while I can.”
Giles nodded. “Of course. You have my address?”
“’Course.” She grinned again. “I’ll see y’ then.”
That evening, Giles regaled the young woman, his “little Irish sister”, with different tales of adventures on the Hellmouth. Fiona, in her explorations hours earlier, wondered how such a nice place could have so many horrific things hidden in it.
Spike wandered the darkness of one of Sunnydale’s many graveyards. According to Xander the nancy-boy, Buffy hadn’t been seen since the night before. He wouldn’t admit it, least of all to himself, but this worried him. He reacted the only way he knew how: find something and pick a fight. With the damned Initiative chip in his head, he fervently hoped for some newly risen vampire or aggressive demon.
What he got was far more annoying.
He saw a woman with her back to him, her reddish-gold ponytail draped down the center of her back. Spike looked over her figure appreciatively. Hey, he may have been dead, but not that dead. He noted with surprise that she held a stake in her hand, almost as a “just-in-case” gesture.
“Bit dangerous t’ be out on yer own, isn’it, beautiful?” he drawled, stamping the last of his cigarette into the ground.
Surprising him again, she laughed. “I was wonderin’ when y’d come out ’n’ say hello t’ me, William,” a brogue greeted him.
That voice, his given name . . . “No, can’t be.”
The woman turned, her amber eyes shining in the dark as she smiled—no, grinned at him.
“Bloody hell!” he moaned in recognition, closing his eyes, hoping for strength.
Fiona tucked the stake into her pocket. “Is that yer way of greetin’ an old opponent, then?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.
His eyes snapped open to glare at her. “Since I can’t even put up a bloody fight with you, yeah.”
She nodded, near-sympathy on her face. “Rupert ’n’ Xander told me. Sorry.”
“They what?!” he burst out angrily. He added Giles and Xander’s names to his mental list under the title of “People to kill once I’m able”.
“Hey, when I heard y’ were here, I was all for stakin’ yer sorry arse,” she retorted. She reined in her temper, remembering why she was out tonight. “Did y’ happen t’ see the Slayer hereabouts?”
He snorted, suddenly uncomfortable at the mention of the missing blonde. “No. Why? Ya gonna start invadin’ my dreams, too, in case I’m lyin’?”
She furrowed her brows in confusion as she slowly approached him. “I’m fey, William, not a dream-walker,” she reminded him.
He snarled. “Don’t bleedin’ call me that!”
She grinned again, clearly enjoying his aggravation. She’d been one of the only people, living or undead, to call him by his old name and get away with it. The grin got wider as she realized what he’d said. “So, special someone invadin’ yer thoughts, then?” she teased.
Spike closed his eyes again, wishing he had kept his big mouth shut. He considered himself lucky that Harmony had been asleep in the aftermath of his first dream. “Bugger off, Fee.” He opened his eyes and began to stalk away.
“If y’ see her, tell ’er ev’ryone’s worried ’bout her!” Fiona called after him.
He raised an arm in acknowledgment. Not bloody likely.
Fiona shook her head, knowing how unreliable any soulless vampire can be, and continued her own search for the wayward Slayer.
Meanwhile, Giles’ tale of Buffy’s disappearance two years ago roiled in her brain. Sending her ensouled-vampire boyfriend into Hell had triggered that sojourn; Fiona worried that history might be repeating itself. Only this time, the boyfriend in question, Riley, had a chance of coming back. An’ all because she’s too used t’ internalizin’ what’s happenin’ in her life. She shook her head again. An’ what’s wi’ him payin’ vamps t’ bite ’im, anyway? Thought she wanted more monster in her man? He should’ve known that she saw Angel as a man in spite o’ the monster.
The flash in her mind interrupted her thoughts. Being fey, an Irish witch, had its occasional drawbacks; disconcerting flashes from the second sight at the damnedest moments was one of them. But the insight was invaluable this time. She knew where Buffy was.
Fiona was rewarded when she heard the familiar sounds of battle. Rounding a corner, she found a slight woman with pinned-back blond hair fighting off three vampires. She wore a short jacket with jeans underneath. Fiona couldn’t help but admire the cat-like grace with which she moved. She’s good.
As the blonde finished the third vamp, facing away to catch her breath, Fiona approached to speak to her. Then she saw a fourth vampire beginning to creep up behind her, attempting to take advantage of her momentary state.
Fiona’s legs pumped, the stake in her hand, a warrior’s cry escaping her lips. “No!” The wood stabbed through the back, finding the vampire’s heart as the Irish girl jumped on him.
Buffy pivoted as the cry registered, ready to fight again.
Fiona landed on her feet as the vamp crumbled beneath her, catching her own breath from the dead run. She grinned at the blonde, whom she now recognized from Giles’ photos and her own flash of insight. “Nasty buggers aren’t they.” Her eyes widened as she realized Buffy hadn’t put her weapon away. Fiona quickly dropped her own stake and put her hands up. “Hey, I’m on yer side!”
“Prove it!” Buffy demanded, her green eyes flashing.
“M’ name’s Fiona Gavin. I know yer Watcher, Rupert Giles. Called Ripper at university.” She said all this in a rush, giving herself ten seconds to convince the Slayer that she wasn’t a threat.
Meanwhile, Buffy’s own eyes widened in surprise. Not many people knew about Giles’ wild past as a teenager. “Wow, you do know him.”
Fiona smiled again, nodding at her hand. “Y’ gonna use that?”
Buffy looked at her stake, still poised to strike, and tucked it away with her own smile. “Staking people isn’t my thing.”
“Okay if I pick up mine, then?”
Buffy nodded, and Fiona put her stake away. “What you doing out now, if you know Giles so well?”
“Actually, I was hopin’ t’ find you.”
“Me?”
Fiona nodded. “Y’ got a big family that’s worried about y’. An’ I’m no’ just talkin’ ’bout yer mum an’ kid sister.”
This worried the Slayer. “Dawn, and my mom. They’re okay?”
“They’re fine,” Fiona reassured her. “’Tis you ev’ryone’s worried about.” She paused a moment before the next words came out, in her most gentle tone. “Y’ didn’t catch Riley, did y’?”
Fiona saw a transformation take place before her eyes. In a moment, Buffy’s eyes emptied of concern to be replaced with tears of pain and anguish. “I—I was too late,” she heard the whispered reply. “He didn’t even look back to see if I showed up.”
The Irishwoman approached the blonde and gently tugged on her arm. “C’mon.”
Teary green eyes locked with clear amber. “Where?”
“We’re gonna go to the best all-night café, an’ I’m gonna buy y’ a large, double-chocolate mocha.”
Buffy looked at her in confusion.
“Y’ need a drink, an’ y’ need a friend,” Fiona explained. She smiled softly. “An’ I’m fillin’ in both. C’mon.”
The two young women walked out of the cemetery, other vampires staying down for one more night.
They had settled into a booth at the Espresso Pump, Fiona listening as Buffy poured out her frustrations.
“The worst part is,” Buffy added, nursing her mocha, “now Riley must think I hate him.”
Fiona shook her head. “Not a chance,” she said confidently.
“And I do love him.” Buffy continued as if her new friend hadn’t spoken. “It’s just so—” She trailed off, words failing her.
“Love wasn’t the problem,” Fiona said. “Not really.”
Buffy gave her a strange look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s not a matter o’ lovin’ too little, but lovin’ too much. Y’ loved him so that y’ wanted t’ protect ’im from ev’rythin’, even himself if it came down t’ it. I think Riley wanted t’ be yer protector, but y’ wouldn’t let ’im.”
“But I’m supposed to be—”
“Y’re the Slayer,” Fiona interrupted, “but y’re not inhuman. It doesn’t make y’ immune t’ yer own feelin’s, or others around y’ immune t’ the evil y’ fight.”
Buffy shuddered at the truth in her words.
“But, by the same token, Riley gave in t’ his insecurities, those little voices inside o’ him that kept tellin’ him he wasn’t good enough fer y’. I don’t think there was anyway y’ could’ve stopped ’im.”
“He told me where he’d be,” Buffy protested. “He wanted me to stop him.”
“He needed an excuse. By givin’ y’ that ultimatum,” Fiona said the word as if it were a curse, “he wanted t’ get y’ mad enough t’ let ’im go.”
Buffy covered her eyes with a hand. The last thing she’d wanted to do was speculate on Riley’s state of mind.
Fiona touched her other hand, resting on the coffee cup. “Were y’ lookin’ fer love?”
Buffy lowered her hand to give another strange look.
“There’s an old sayin’ y’ should cotton t’ right now: ‘If y’ love someone, let them go. If they come back, then it’s meant t’ happen.’ Riley c’n still come back t’ y’. Don’t look fer anyone else; don’t try t’ move on. If y’ still love ’im, if yer feelin’s fer ’im haven’t changed, then let ’im come back int’ yer heart.”
Buffy stared at the strawberry-blonde sitting across from her. Is she my age? She sounds like she could be at least a decade older. She also thought over the insight that had poured out. Before Angel had left after graduation, she had requested a break in their relationship, not a break-up. She hadn’t wanted Angel out of her life, but she needed to get a piece of herself back. Was this the same thing with Riley?
Fiona sipped her own cup, patiently waiting as Buffy processed her words. She could practically see the gears moving under the blond hair.
The two sat in silence until both their cups were empty. “Y’ okay?” Fiona asked softly.
“No.” Buffy smiled minutely. “But I’m getting there.”
The next day, Saturday, everyone was up with the sun, even Xander and Anya. They assembled in the Magic Box; word had spread that Fiona had gone searching for Buffy the night before.
Anya busied herself with more purchase receipts, seemingly unconcerned. Willow and Tara looked through several spell-books, looking for protective charms and glyphs. Dawn, although she still had homework to finish, fidgeted anxiously, worrying about her sister. Giles and Xander searched the Watcher’s library, continuing the search for references to Glory, anything to give them a lead.
Everyone jumped at the door chime, indicating that someone had entered. “Hey!” Fiona’s brogue sang out cheerily. “Look who I found last night.”
All heads whipped around to see the two young women come into the shop. Buffy offered a weak smile and waved. “Hi.”
“Buffy!” Dawn shot up from her chair, sending it crashing to the floor, and rammed into her sister, wrapping her arms around her. “Are you okay? Riley didn’t hurt you?”
Buffy looked down at her brown-haired sister and smiled affectionately, returning the hug. “I’m okay, Dawn.”
Xander approached, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Buff?”
The look in her eyes answered his incomplete question. Even though his crush on the Slayer had evolved into one of his most cherished friendships, any hurt she endured sliced into his heart. And, despite what she had said to reassure Dawn, he saw otherwise.
Buffy caught the sorrow in his eyes, watching him bite his lip to keep silent. She smiled at him, nodding slightly.
“Hey, Dawn, my turn.” The younger Summers sister was replaced by Willow, hugging her friend. “Y’ wanna talk later?” she whispered.
“Yeah. Thanks, Willow.”
Buffy next looked into the face of her Watcher, which was drawn with concern. Giles saw his charge at what had to be her most vulnerable since Angel. “We were truly worried about you,” he said, his gentle tone superseding the sterner one he wanted.
“I know. Fiona told me. I’m sorry.”
Giles shot a glance at Fiona, who had withdrawn to lean against the counter. She’d silently watched Buffy’s family give her their support and love, a ghost of a smile flitting across her mouth.
“I’m worried about her, Rupert,” Fiona commented.
Giles looked up from the brewing pot of tea. Fiona was sitting on a stool on the other side of the wall fencing the kitchen from his small living room. There was still an hour sunlight left before Buffy went out on patrol. “You mean, as concerns Riley’s departure.”
“That, an’ the fact that she’ll be distracted fer a while.” She leaned against the counter. “She shouldn’t patrol alone t’night. Hell, she shouldn’t’ve been patrollin’ last night, either. I think I should go wi’ her.”
“Fiona, you’ve fought off Spike,” he set out two cups, “and that’s commendable. But,” he poured a measure of dark tea into each cup, “that does not make you a full-time demon hunter.”
“That’s what you think.” She poured milk and sugar into her cup. “I haven’t just been explorin’ America. I’ve actually hunted down an’ killed some o’ the buggers ’at don’t come ’round here.” She paused to take a sip, noting that the combination was perfect. “I’ve even made friends an’ contacts wi’ some o’ the nicer species.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” he asked in surprise, coming out of the kitchen to sit beside her.
“An’ have y’ worried sick over me when y’ve got yer own problems here? That would’ve been unfair t’ you, an’ t’ her. She’s gonna have backup t’night, an’ I won’t let anyone argue wi’ me.”
“I’m not necessarily arguing with you,” he protested. “But, at the very least, you’ll need something more than your one stake.”
She grinned, which made him worry. This grin made her most resemble a dangerous leprechaun. “Ah, but I do, Rupert.” She closed her hand around an invisible handle. “I do.”
“Nice piece of hardware.”
Fiona grinned at the compliment Buffy had given the sword hanging at her waist. “Thanks. ’Twas a gift from m’ gran’da’.”
“I guess fighting runs in the family, huh?”
“When yer great-gran’da’ supported Michael Collins in the 1920s, yeah, y’ could say that.”
They continued their almost-casual patrol of the cemetery. Half of Buffy’s mind was occupied by her mother, still in the hospital until the next day, and Riley, who was God-knows-where by now. Meanwhile, part of Fiona’s own mind observed Buffy, figuring out other ways to help her though the emotional turmoil churning inside her.
“Y’ notice,” Fiona began, breaking the silence, “there don’t seem t’ be a lot o’ them lurkin’ about t’night?”
“Actually, I did. I don’t know whether to be scared or relieved.”
“You should be very afraid, Slayer.”
The two jumped as the owner of the new voice emerged from the shadows. She was a teenage blonde, dressed in a black, Chinese-style silk dress with red trim.
“Glory,” Buffy said through gritted teeth.
The second blonde grinned. “Too bad I don’t know your name, Slayer. We might be friends if I didn’t have to kill you.”
Fiona, her sword already drawn, took up a defensive stance. If this “Glory” wanted Buffy dead, it was just one more reason she shouldn’t patrol alone.
Glory glanced at Fiona, seeing her for the first time. “Oh, you brought a friend. Well, I brought some friends, too.” With that signal, three demons with magenta scales, Lisrax, jumped out of hiding and circled the fey.
“Great,” the Irishwoman muttered. “I look fer vamps, I get demons, an’ vice versa. Well?” she asked them, even as she heard Buffy fight her own opponent. “Let’s get on wi’ it, then.”
She ducked as the demon behind her lunged over her head, crashing into its fellows. The magenta scales darkened in rage. Good, she thought. I c’n use it against ’em.
Especially since she’d seen and fought this species before. She remembered the Lisrax were a particularly volatile kind of demon, much more quick-tempered than others.
The Lisrax circled her again. Fiona lashed out with a kick, feeling it connect. She pivoted on her other foot to cut her blade into a second, and landed a punch on the third.
One down, two t’ go.
Alternating between kicks, punches, and slashes, she didn’t stop until there were three very dead Lisrax on the ground. She stopped to catch her breath and listen to Buffy’s own battle.
There was only silence.
Fiona whirled around, eyes searching for pale hair, ears straining for a telltale sign.
Nothing.
“Buffy?” Her voice echoed eerily against the headstones. “Damn.” Sheathing her sword again, she picked over the place where she had seen them last.
Then she saw them: drag marks in the soft earth. Buffy must’ve been knocked out an’ dragged off! With this horrific thought, Fiona’s eyes followed the marks as her body ran at top speed. I won’t let ’er go. I won’t!
Fiona was so intent on the trail, she never saw the black-clad obstacle in her path, running into it at full tilt. “What th’ fock—?” escaped her lips. A similar protest of surprise came from the wall as they sprawled to the ground in a tangle.
The air rushed out of her lungs, leaving her gasping as she pulled the scabbard and sword toward her, ready to defend herself. From the tangle, a pale face looked up at her with dark-blue eyes and a cocky smile. “What’s yer hurry, Red?” Spike drawled.
Fiona growled low in her throat when she regained her breath. “Buffy’s m’ hurry.” She pulled herself to her feet as he followed suit. “Some woman called Glory dragged ’er off.”
“The Slayer’s in trouble, then?” The vampire smirked in a way that made her want to knock it off his face, violently.
“I’m goin’ after ’em.”
He looked at the Irishwoman with widened eyes. “You’re not a Slayer, Fee. You’ll get yerself killed.”
“What d’ you care?” she shot back venomously. “Y’re still a demon in human’s clothin’. Y’ don’t give a damn ’bout me, her, or anyone other than yerself. Now get the hell outta m’ way.”
Spike stepped aside, his face neutral as she darted off again, her legs a blur. He closed his eyes a moment, cursing his decision, and ran after her, catching up easily.
Fiona glanced at him as he came up beside her. “What d’ y’ think y’re doin’?”
“This Glory chit’s caused me one ’r two problems,” he lied effortlessly. “Be a good way t’ get ’er back fer ’em.”
“Whatever y’ say.” Fiona knew instinctively he wasn’t being honest with her, but didn’t care. At this point, she was just grateful to have any help at all, even if it did come from William the Bloody.
They skidded to a stop as the drag marks disappeared into solid concrete. Fiona wanted to roar in frustration. “Now what?”
Spike held up a finger, closing his eyes in concentration, and breathed in. He easily picked the Slayer’s scent from the air. Opening his eyes, he pointed at the manhole a few feet away. “They went underground.”
“Can y’ track ’em down there?”
He nodded.
“Let’s go, then!” The strawberry-blonde pried the cover open and climbed down the metal rungs as fast as she could.
For a spilt second, she reminded Spike of a red-haired Buffy. He shook his head to banish the thought and followed her.
After several painstaking minutes, Spike caught the scent again, racing after it like a bloodhound, Fiona trailing not far behind. They stopped dead, or undead, in their tracks as the high-pitched screech echoed through the sewer tunnels. “What is it with you, Slayer?” the female voice demanded. “You just can’t leave it alone, can you? I want the Key, but you keep getting in my way.”
Human and vampire exchanged a glance. Glory.
A moan of pain echoed next, sending fear shooting through them like lightning, prompting them to follow the sounds.
“Here’s my theory,” Glory said in a conversational tone. “You’re not involved just because of me. I think the Key’s actually hidden close by. Close to you. So we test the theory like this.” Another moan erupted, spurring the two hunters faster. “I torture you until you tell me what I want to know. And I know there’s a limit to how durable even a Slayer can be.”
In an abandoned storage room, Glory stood only inches from Buffy, who was chained to the wall, slumping forward. In the time between her capture and now, Glory had very effectively bruised and battered her.
Spike felt his temper boil up, tasting adrenaline in his mouth. The object of his reluctant affection was bleeding, almost exuding an aura of defeat. She’d been hurt enough in the last few days, and he’d gladly go to Hell before he let her be hurt any further.
His demon emerged easily and, with a feral roar, he lunged at Glory, attacking and dragging her away from Buffy. Theirs quickly became a battle of vengeance.
Not what I had in mind for a plan, but good enough, Fiona thought as she ran to the Slayer. “Buffy, can y’ hear me? C’mon, look up.”
The blonde head came up slowly, bleeding cuts, bruises, and abrasions on her face. Surprise flickered in her eyes as she opened her mouth to say something.
Fiona quickly shook her own head. “Later,” she cautioned. “Lemme get y’ down.” The sword slid out of the scabbard, Spike and Glory’s battle still raging with screeches and moans. A few chops at each thick chain later, Buffy dropped into Fiona’s arms. “C’n y’ stand?”
“Think so,” Buffy rasped, gingerly putting a hand to her side, where Glory had no doubt cracked one or two ribs.
“Let’s go.” Fiona returned the sword to its home at her waist, then draped Buffy’s arm across her shoulders. Slowly, they followed the tunnel to the nearest manhole, leaving the sounds of the ongoing fight behind them.
“C’n y’ climb?” Fiona asked as they reached the ladder leading up.
Buffy looked up at the manhole and nodded. “I can make it.”
“Good.” Fiona took the arm and guided the hand to a rung. “Wait up top. I’m goin’ back.”
Buffy’s eyes widened. “For what?!”
“Not what, who.”
“Why’re you going back for Spike?!”
“If it weren’t fer him, we wouldn’t’ve found y’.” Fiona danced out of reach before Buffy could grab hold of her. “Go on. I won’t be a moment.” She ran back before the Slayer could protest.
They were still fighting each other and landing blows everywhere. “We’re in the clear, y’ sod!” she called. “C’mon!”
Spike, hearing this, grinned and vaulted over Glory’s head, landing behind her, ready to leave.
“This isn’t OVER!” Glory shrieked. Spike groaned at the sudden pain lancing through his back and chest.
Fiona turned to see the iron rod Glory had thrown like a javelin, impaling Spike’s useless right lung. Glory was coming closer, ready to finish her handiwork. “No!” Fiona howled, and rammed her blade through Glory’s breastbone. “Get away from ’im, y’ witch!” With a violent kick, she knocked a dazed Glory off the blade to the far side of the room. She knelt beside Spike, putting an arm around his waist. “On yer feet, William, now,” she ordered under her breath.
Spike grunted in pain as he put an arm around her shoulders. She straightened, dragging them both up, and supported his weight as they made their way to the manhole.
“Give us a hand!” Fiona called up to Buffy.
When the two were clear of the opening, Buffy saw the vampire’s injury. “What happened?” she asked.
Spike covered his delight in her momentary compassion with another cocky smile. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m already dead,” he replied. “Or this would’ve killed me.”
“Buffy, are y’ okay t’ get t’ Rupert’s place on yer own?” Fiona piped up.
Buffy put her hand to her ribs again, still tender, but healing fast, the pain gone. She nodded. “Why?”
“I think I’d better get William t’ his place an’ take care o’ that.” She nodded to the iron shaft. “Don’t think the other vamps won’t take a crack at ’im when he’s like this.”
“Okay.” Buffy hesitated slightly when she realized that Spike’s other name had come from Fiona’s mouth. She took a moment to look in his pain-filled eyes and murmur, “Thank you.”
Again, Spike covered up with his overactive mouth. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go t’ yer head, Slayer,” he joked semiseriously.
“Enough, already, William,” Fiona interrupted. “C’mon, let’s get y’ patched. I’ll be ’round later, Buffy.”
The Slayer nodded, watching for a few moments as vampire and huntress limped away, then turned to get to her Watcher.
By the time Glory had regained her senses, she huffed in her Valley-Girl way, surprised that a normal human and a vampire had come to the Slayer’s aid. Then she grinned as she realized something: she knew the Slayer’s name now.
All she had to do now was find her.