Unable To Stay
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Hilary
“Noooo!”
The unholy howl roused Spike from a sound sleep. He blinked several times in confusion before finally recognizing the voice.
Fiona.
In the past few days, the two had developed a strange bedding arrangement. Fully clothed and briefs had graduated to fully clothed for him and a knee-length nightgown for her. In the night and into the day, they did nothing more than hold each other as they had slept, taking a strange comfort in each other’s company. They seemed to alternate between curling against each other and spooning.
They also seemed to have grown closer, but Fiona had written that off to their mutual concern for Buffy. He had even told her how he had really gotten his nickname “William the Bloody.”
Now, she sat bolt upright in the bed they had been sharing, trembling. Spike sat up next, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Fee?”
“Fire . . . darkness . . . pain,” she whispered, almost to herself, tears streaming from her tightly shut eyes. “Such pain.”
He’d only seen Drusilla like this once or twice before, in the throes of a vision. To see Fiona, a human fey, act the same way gave him a scare. “Fiona! Come on back, luv,” he called, shaking her gently.
Red fire mixed with strands of gold (for that’s how the bad poet in him sometimes thought of her shoulder-length hair) moved as she turned to face him, her amber eyes wide, wild and unfocused with fright. “W-William,” she stammered, then bit her lip, breaking down into quiet sobs.
He pulled her to his chest, holding her as she cried, hot tears quickly soaking the cotton of his T-shirt. He combed his fingers through her hair, the motion that so often had reassured Dru that he was still there. He felt her heart pounding against his ribs, her breath shakily going in and out of her lungs.
Fiona, meanwhile, tried to fight back the nightmarish images in her mind, to make sense of what they meant. She held onto Spike as though he were a lifeline, even as the pictures in her head attempted to drown her.
“C’mon, Fee,” he said again, probing gently, still stroking her hair. “Talk t’ me. What’d ya see?”
She paused for a long time, trying to bring her ragged breathing under control and make sense of the images. “I—” She paused again to keep her voice from cracking. “I saw a man, pale. Dark hair and eyes.” She shivered again, looking at him. “M’ God, William, those eyes! They were like ice; cold, dead.”
Spike could tell there was more. “What else?”
She swallowed back more tears before continuing. “He burned a couple o’ vampires wi’ a lit cigarette an’ petrol on the ground. There was such a darkness ’round him.”
“Ya said his eyes were dead. Ya couldn’t see a soul?”
“Or a demon.” She tried to explain as she saw his bemused expression. “When I look in yer eyes, William, I see at least a spark o’ life. A joie de vivre, if y’ like.” She shook her head. “Not in those eyes.”
“Anythin’ else, ’bout how he looked?”
“Handsome, almost beautiful. An’, I don’t know how I know this—”
“What?”
“But he had a tattoo, back o’ his right shoulder. A winged creature.”
Spike felt more and more uneasy at her description, the familiarity of it. “Was the tattoo of a bird, or a bat?” He hoped she’d say yes.
He would be disappointed.
Fiona shook her head again. “’Twas a seraph. From one o’ those Renaissance pictures, y’ know?”
“Angel.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “I thought that’s what I said, only I said—”
“No, luv. The guy ya saw is Angel.”
Her eyes widened again. “The vampire with a soul? That Angel?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Couldn’t’ve been him. That’s no’ the way he was described t’ me.” She gasped as a realization hit her. “Somethin’ must’ve happened t’ him. His soul must be so dark that I couldn’t see it.”
He pulled her back into an embrace, holding her as she continued to shiver, wishing in vain he had the body heat to warm her. He wrapped her in the comforter again.
“William?”
“Hmm?”
“Remember the weird feelin’ I’ve had the last day ’r so? That I should be leavin’ soon?”
“Yeah.” He suddenly didn’t like the direction this conversation was going.
“I think—this dream was some time comin’. That I know where t’ go next, an’ why.”
Spike pushed her back, holding her upper arms to look at her. “What’re ya sayin’, Fiona?” he asked with a sense of dread.
“I’m sayin’ I should find Angel, bring his soul out o’ the darkness.” She pulled away from him, disentangling herself from the blanket, moving to get dressed.
He watched with appreciation as she pulled her jeans over her hips, then bending down to get her socks and shoes. “Luv, what you’re tellin’ me isn’t makin’ much sense.” He averted his eyes as she pulled the nightgown over her head. “I mean, ya couldn’t see anythin’ in his eyes. So what? There were times when Peaches’d just sink so far int’ his own guilt, it took a while t’ dig him out again.”
“Peaches?” He could feel her questioning eyes on him.
He chuckled in spite of himself. “One o’ the nicknames I have for my poof of a sire. Ya should—” He was cut off by her gasp. He looked up to see her fully dressed now, her hands pressed to her head, her eyes tightly shut again. “Fiona?”
She spoke, but the words weren’t her own, her brogue altered ever so slightly. “The good fight, yeah? Y’ never know until y’ve been tested. I get that now.” Then: “Too bad we’ll never know if this’s a face y’ could learn t’ love.” She was silent for a moment, then she lowered her hands, shaking her head to clear it. “Damn,” she muttered, her voice and accent her own again. “There’re times when I hate the sight.”
“Another flash?”
She turned to look at him, nodded. “This made even less sense ’n m’ dream. I saw Angel, an’ a brunette girl wi’ a tan.”
Spike smiled. “Ah. That would be Cordelia Chase. Ex-cheerleader,” he added, answering her questioning look. “One o’ the Scooby Gang once. Moved t’ LA, started workin’ with Angel over a year ago.” He leaned forward. “Fee, those words . . .”
“Came out o’ someone else’s mouth. An Irishman, connected t’ Angel.”
Wait a minute. “Black hair, blue eyes, pale?”
“That’s him!” Fiona said in surprise. “How’d y’ know?”
“Ran int’ him when I went lookin’ for the Gem of Amara. Giles tell ya ’bout that?”
“Just that the Gem was real, an’ y’d gone after it.”
“He has a backbone, that’s for sure.” He chuckled again. “I wanted t’ break it, but he pulled a gun. Yeah, some backbone.”
“He had a backbone,” she corrected quietly.
He glanced at her. “Had?”
“He’s dead. Been dead fer over a year, after y’ saw him. Those words were the last things he said t’ Angel an’ Cordelia.” She sat beside him. “Y’ ever hear o’ somethin’ called the Scourge?”
Spike swallowed in horror. Fiona could almost swear that he paled (if he weren’t already pale from lack of sunlight). “Bloody hell! Those bastards did ’im in?”
“William?” she asked curiously. In all the time she’d known him, she’d never seen him so afraid.
“Be lucky ya never had t’ deal with them, luv.” His fists clenched in anger as he saw all the friends he’d lost to the Scourge. “The ultimate Nazis. Full-blooded, military demons who wanna wipe out all half-breeds.” His dark blue eyes came up to lock with hers. “They think of us as half-breeds, too.”
She saw such pain and loss in his eyes. “The Irishman was a half-breed. He was Angel’s friend. His death is part o’ the pain in m’ dream.”
“You’re sure? I mean you’re sure ya hafta go?”
She smiled slightly, her fingertips brushing his cheek. The concern and worry now in his eyes touched her. “William, I do ’preciate what y’re sayin’. But I have t’ at least try.”
Spike sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to talk her out of it. “When would ya leave?”
“A day ’r two, I think. That’ll gimme some time t’ get ev’rythin’ together, say g’bye.”
He closed his fingers around hers, holding them to his face. “If there’s somethin’ I c’n do, tell me. I’ll see what I c’n do.”
“I will.” She swallowed around the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “I’d better go tell Rupert what I saw. Start preparin’.”
“Make ’im promise not t’ tell Buffy. She’s been through enough lately. This’ll just make it worse.”
“I will,” she said again.
He turned his face into her hand and gently kissed her palm. “Go on, luv. I’ll see ya later.”
She nodded again, pulling her hand away. “Later,” she whispered. She opened the door of the crypt, stepping out into the late-morning sun. She didn’t allow the tears to come until she was out of his sharp vampiric hearing range. She also felt something that had slowly developed over the last few weeks, which she felt sharply now that she knew she had to leave.
She was falling in love with Spike.
“Rupert?” Fiona called as she entered Giles’s home. “Y’ here?”
“Ah, hello, Fiona,” the Englishman greeted her from the kitchen. It seemed he was brewing yet another pot of tea, Earl Grey, from the smell of it.
“Y’ haven’t put t’gether a pot o’ Irish tea in weeks,” she commented, needling him good-naturedly.
“Yes, well, you haven’t exactly complained yet.”
“True, but that’s ’cause y’ make it the way it should be made: ‘black as night—’”
“‘Sweet as love—’” Giles continued.
“‘And hot as hell!’” they finished together, grinning.
Fiona’s grin was short-lived as she realized how haggard her “Brit big brother” looked. “Y’ all right, Rupert? Y’ look like y’ did a short stint in hell.”
“I feel the same way, believe me.” He recounted for her what had happened in England with the Watcher’s Council, as he had done with Buffy and Joyce the night before. “And then to come back to that mess in the shop—”
“Tha’ wasn’t their fault!” she protested. “I didn’t see the troll m’self, but they couldn’t help the damage.”
“I’m not saying they could.” He set out cups for them both. “But enough about our problems for the moment. Where have you been? What’s going on?”
She toyed with a spoon, wondering how to phrase what she had seen only an hour ago. “Um, Rupert, y’ wouldn’t happen t’ have Angel’s address, would y’?”
Giles responded by nearly spilling hot water on himself. “Why would you wish to know that?”
Slowly, she told him everything in her dream.
“Dear God,” he murmured as she finished her narrative. “You really believe Angel’s in danger, don’t you.”
Fiona nodded. “Buffy mustn’t know, Rupert. Y’ve all got enough on yer plates wi’out worryin’ ’bout him. An’ havin’ the love o’ his unlife around could hurt more ’n help. Y’ gotta promise y’ won’t tell her.”
Giles could only nod, finally getting tea in the cups.
“I’ll tell ’em I’m goin’, but I won’t say where ’r who ’tis I’m helpin’,” she went on. “It’s best they don’t know.”
“Well, I don’t have Angel’s new address at the moment, but I do have Cordelia Chase’s. She works with Angel. She could be your go-between.”
“Good enough.” She kept the fact that she already knew about Cordelia to herself, knowing Giles wouldn’t approve of her source of information.
They sat beside each other, a plate of cookies before them. “I wish you wouldn’t go, Fiona,” he said at last. “You’d been my first breath of home in a long time.”
“Oh, so now y’re lumpin’ me in wi’ yer Brit friends, are y’?” she teased.
He chuckled, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “You know very well what I mean. I’ll miss you.”
She returned the hug, briefly thinking of another Brit she’d miss. “I’ll miss y’, too, Rupert. No matter what anyone else says, y’re part o’ my family.”
“Lumping me with the Rebels, are you?” he teased in return, making her smile.
“So, you’re not leaving ’cause I’ve been such a pain?” Dawn asked.
They were gathered in the Magic Box, Fiona having told them of a dark soul that needed to be dragged, kicking and screaming, back into the light.
“Oh, no, Dawn!” Fiona protested, giving the younger Summers girl a quick hug. “It’s nothin’ t’ do wi’ you; or anyone else here, fer that matter. But, I know that I have t’ do somethin’. He won’t, ’r can’t, come out o’ the darkness on his own. I have t’ try, at least.”
“But why does it have to be you?” Buffy asked. “Why can’t this guy get his friends to bring him out of it?”
Fiona smiled gently. “Why did you have t’ be the Slayer?”
Buffy blinked in surprise. “Well, I didn’t exactly have a lot of choice.”
“Neither do I. I can’t just stay here, knowin’ what I know, an’ do nothin’ ’bout it.”
Everyone was silent in the wake of her insight, each knowing they would do the same if they had the second sight as Fiona had.
Dawn silently got up and hugged the strawberry-blonde. “Who’m I gonna complain to?” she murmured.
Fiona let out a laugh. “Y’ll find someone,” she replied.
A day and a half later, everyone was at the train station to see the young Irishwoman off.
“Friendly hug, Anya.” With that, Fiona threw her arms around Xander, mindful of his broken wrist, still in a sling. “Y’re a good friend t’ them, Xander. Don’t stop.”
“Never intend to,” he replied, returning the hug with his good arm.
She pulled away and turned to Anya. “Y’re doin’ well. Don’t stop learnin’ what it means t’ be human.”
“I won’t.” Anya gave her a hug, too.
Fiona pulled in Willow and Tara. “Y’re both strong in yer powers, an’ getting’ stronger. Y’re doin’ great.”
“Thanks, Fiona,” Willow replied.
“If a-anyone can bring him back, y-you can,” Tara added.
Fiona closed Dawn in her arms one more time. “Take care o’ yer sister fer me?”
Dawn nodded. “Sure. It’s not like she needs it, though.”
“Don’t be too sure.” Fiona nudged her face up to look at her. “Y’re a special one, kid. Don’t let anyone tell y’ diff’rent.”
She grinned in response. “I won’t.”
Buffy glanced at Giles nervously. Did Fiona know that Dawn was the Key that Glory was looking for? She felt her insides jump slightly as Fiona touched her arm.
“Don’t be afraid t’ feel,” Fiona whispered as they hugged. “Talk t’ yer friends, ev’ryone who’s family.” Buffy nodded in understanding, knowing that she didn’t just mean her mom and sister.
Everyone backed away as Giles tightly embraced his “little Irish sister.” “Fiona, please be careful. Take care of yourself.”
“You, too, Rupert. An’ take care o’ them. They need y’. Don’t the Council push y’ about.”
Giles gave her another squeeze before letting go, trying to swallow back tears. “Come back soon. And in one piece.”
“Oh, I intend to.” They smiled at each other. As Giles turned to leave with the Scoobies, Fiona picked up her suitcase and carryon, walking to the platform. Disappointment gripped her chest that she wouldn’t see him before she left.
She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes still.
She suddenly smiled as she sensed someone behind her. “I was beginnin’ t’ think y’d forgotten ’bout me.”
“Fiona, even if I live t’ see another century, I’d never be able t’ forget you,” the cockney accent drawled.
She turned to see the pale, blonde vampire standing there, smiling. “Let me rephrase, then.” She came to within an arm’s length of him. “I was beginnin’ t’ think y’ wouldn’t come say g’bye t’ me.”
“Don’t think I would if I could,” Spike replied. He decided to try one last time. “If I begged ya not t’ go, would it make a difference?”
“No’ really.” She reached out to close her warm hand over his cold one. “William, I’ve seen y’ in a lot o’ diff’rent situations. But, I don’t think I’ve ever seen y’ so scared.” Mentioning the Scourge doesn’t count, she thought.
Spike gently squeezed her fingers. “Fee, listen. I’ve known both sides of Angel, the soul an’ the demon. If he’s tryin’ t’ mix the two, gotten as dark as ya say, that makes ’im twice as dangerous as before. I just . . .” He trailed off, an almost helpless look on his face.
“Y’re worried ’bout me.” She was almost surprised, but faintly pleased.
“Damn straight!” he exploded. “Peaches’ soul isn’t playin’ by the rules, not now. I’m afraid ya might get hurt.” He pulled her in, crushing her body to him, trying to hide the tears forming in his eyes. Fiona could do nothing but return the hug in all its desperation. “Please, be careful.”
“You, too. I don’t wanna come back t’ find a pile o’ dust where yer body was.” She pulled back to look at him, still locked in his arms. “Can y’ take one more bit o’ advice?”
“Won’t promise I’ll follow it.” He smirked, causing her to smile.
“Well, here ’tis, fer what it’s worth: Try bein’ a friend, an ally to her, before y’ even consider offerin’ yerself as a lover. Okay?”
Their eyes locked, dark blue to amber. Her hand pulled his face to hers until their lips met softly, gently.
Sadly.
Don’t cry, she thought, even as tears began to well behind her closed lids. Don’t cry.
C’mon, mate, don’t lose it, he thought. Not now.
They separated at last when the announcement was made for her train to LA. She began, “I have t’—”
“I know,” he whispered. He brushed away the tears that had escaped in spite of her control, giving her another tender smile. “Good luck, Fee.”
“’Bye, William.” She picked up her case, walking toward the train, now unable to hold back. Tears flowed as if a tap had been turned on inside her head.
Seated by a window, Fiona saw him still standing on the platform. To her surprise, a tear sparkled as it slid down his face. He saw her, blew a kiss, raising the hand in farewell.
She smiled, kissing her fingers and pressing them against the window in return.
“Must be hard.”
Fiona’s head whipped around to the seat across from her, and its occupant.
She was a young woman about Fiona’s age, with dark-chocolate skin and eyes, night-black hair with a streak of blond an inch wide. She wore a violet tank top and tie-dyed jeans, topped with short jacket.
“’Scuse me?”
“I said it must be hard.” She gestured out the window. “To leave behind such a cutie.”
Fiona continued to smile at Spike even as the train pulled away. “’Tis,” she replied.
Spike stood at the platform for long minutes after Fiona’s train disappeared. He really didn’t like that she insisted on going alone. He’d meant what he said about Angel. From what Fiona had told him, the owner of the soul she intended to help was neither Angel nor Angelus.
William the Bloody had to wonder, then, about his sire’s sanity. About how dark he had really become.
He prayed Fiona could handle the darkness she was going to face.