"Guilt"
Summary: Ever wonder what was in Spike's eyes at the Bronze, during "Crush"? Here's one take.
Time context/notes: Takes place during the Angel ep "The Thin Dead Line" in my "Angel" detour.
Rating: PG
Fiona Gavin felt as though she had been caught in a local train wreck. It had been bad enough to simply deal with Angel on a nightly basis for three weeks straight. But to see Wesley lying in that hospital bed tonight, pale and drawn from blood loss, was enough to drain her. She pulled the elastic band from her hair, letting it fall in red-gold ringlets around her head. She noted with relief that she had finally arrived at Cordelia's apartment building, where the lady herself had been gracious enough to let her stay. She stood there on the walkway for a moment, running her fingers through her hair, as if the motion would give her some kind of clue as to how to proceed with the consistently stubborn vampire.
"Ya look good with yer hair like that, Fiona."
Fiona froze at the familiar voice; a voice she hadn't heard since she had left Sunnydale several weeks before. The voice that had once maligned her and more recently comforted her; the voice of the man she had fallen in love with. Not that he would ever know that.
And not that he was a man, per se, either.
She turned to see him step out of the shadow of the building. He wore his usual all-black ensemble with the black duster. His hair was almost white in the harsh light of the streetlamp, his mouth smiling softly with affection. She felt her breath catch in her throat, then her own mouth split into a grin.
"William!" she said delightedly. In all the time she had made his dubious acquaintance, she had never once called the vampire "Spike" as he was more commonly known. To her, he would always be William the Bloody. She came up to him without fear as he met her halfway. "What're y' doin' here?" She caught something in his eyes, something serious. The first stirrings of panic began to spiral inside her. "What's wrong? Rupert? Buffy? The others? Are they—?"
"They're all right, Fee," Spike reassured her quickly in his cockney drawl. "Everyone's all right."
Fiona sighed in relief. "Good. Don't scare me like that!" she chided, swatting his arm gently.
He couldn't help but smile. He could almost swear the Irish witch's personality was contagious. The smile quickly faded as he reminded himself why he had been standing there, waiting for her. "I need t' talk t' ya."
Her brows knitted at the seriousness, back in full-force. "All right." She motioned him to the building's front steps, knowing Cordelia would not like it if Spike actually came inside.
"Why didn't ya tell me Dru was one of the vamps Angel torched?" he asked quietly.
She sighed as she sat beside him, admitting, "I didn't know, William. I just knew they were vampires. I didn't know 'bout Drusilla an' Darla 'til after I got here." She tiled her head to regard him curiously. "How'd you know?"
"Dru came back t' Sunnydale couple days ago." He outlined the previous night to her, right down to himself and Buffy against Harmony and Drusilla as an accidental tag team.
Fiona bowed her head, stifling a groan. She thought it was sweet (in a twisted Spike sort of way) that he had offered to stake Drusilla for the Slayer. And unless Buffy was in complete vampire denial, she had been as straight with him as he had been with her. It took a certain kind of courage to put your heart on the line like that. And to have him toss Drusilla aside just so she wouldn't kill the Slayer, well . . . wasn't that a testament in itself?
"That's actually not the only thing I need t' talk t' ya 'bout," he now said.
Her head came up to lock eyes on him. Almost afraid, she asked, "What?"
"Dru knew 'bout the chip. We went t' The Bronze, and she snapped a girl's neck so I could feed without pain." He looked down at his hands. "I stood there, holdin' her while Dru went after her boy of the moment. An'—" he paused, swallowed. "I felt something I haven't felt in over a century."
"What?" Fiona asked again.
Spike brought his dark blue eyes up to her, taking an unnecessary breath before speaking again. "Guilt. Pure, honest, gut-wrenchin' guilt."
She was silent in the wake of this announcement; then her expression darkened. "William, I know y' like playin' mind games, but I won't be yer opponent."
"No, Fiona. No game, no joke." He took her hand. "I still feel it. A dull ache in m' gut." He closed his eyes as if to try and shut it out. "Dru was lookin' at me, expectin' me t' do somethin'. The girl was so warm. I tried t' reason it away. 'Hey, she's dead now, she won't need it.' But Dru'd killed her. I was so hungry . . ." He trailed off with a swallow, unable to continue.
"Y' drank from her?" Fiona's voice was quiet, her tone warring between outrage and compassion. He sounded as if he really was feeling guilt.
He nodded. "Buffy uninvited me from her house. She thinks that, 'cause I don't have a soul, I can't love like Angel can." He opened his eyes to look at her again. "I need t' ask ya somethin'. It might be outside what ya know, but I gotta ask."
She smiled gently, squeezing his hand. "Y' know y' c'n ask me almost anythin'." She nodded for him to go on.
His question came out uneasily as he faltered slightly. "If y' could, would ya be able t'—t' restore m' soul?"
Her amber eyes widened as she froze in shock. Spike, William the Bloody, was actually asking for his soul back? "Wait a minute, William," she protested. "I thought y' liked bein' soulless, the 'Big Bad' an' all that."
"What's the use o' bein' the Big Bad if I can't even kill?" he returned. "I cannot keep goin' like this. This'll drive me right outta my head, Fee. Maybe then she wouldn't worry 'bout me an' this bleedin' chip."
"Listen, William, there's a reason Angel was cursed wi' a soul. The guilt y' have now; what y're feelin'? If I manage t' do what y're askin', that guilt'll be multiplied by a hundred an' twenty years." Her concern was evident on her face, in her voice, in her fingers as she squeezed his hand again. "It could very well cripple y' emotionally. An' even if y' could handle the guilt, if I can't alter anything like Angel's curse, y' wouldn't be able t' make love t' Buffy like y' might want t'."
Spike closed his eyes again, looking like he might break down into tears.
Her hand still holding his, she got to her feet, smiling gently again. "C'mere," she whispered.
He stood, letting her gently tug him closer. Her arms snaked under his coat and around his chest, hugging him. His arms closed around her as he felt her concern and care for him radiating from her. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his lips near her pulse, not even feeling the temptation to drink. He was surprised that he could take such comfort from her.
She had to suppress a shiver as his cool skin touched hers, not helping the goose bumps along her arms. With effort, she dragged her mind back to the matter that had brought him all the way to Los Angeles in the first place. "William, I need t' ask y' a favor."
"Name it," he murmured.
"Go back t' Sunnydale."
Spike pulled back, surprise and near-betrayal in his eyes. It reminded her of a similar look so long ago, when he'd realized she knew about his crush on the blonde Slayer.
"Hear me out, please," she continued, keeping him quiet for the moment. "Just lay low fer a bit, an' think seriously 'bout this; ev'rythin' y' could lose an' gain if y' get yer soul. If y' do that, I'll see what I c'n come up with." One hand came up to touch his cheek. "Don't rush int' this, William. Make sure that it's what y' really want. Okay?"
As much as he hated to admit it, he saw the sense in her argument. He nodded. "Okay, Fee, you win," he said with a tiny smile.
"Good." She squeezed him again before dropping her arms and stepping back. "Cordelia'll be back soon, an' I don't think she'll like seein' y' hangin' about."
Spike nodded, remembering the ex-cheerleader's famous temper vividly. Echoing her earlier move, he gently touched her cheek. "Take care o' yerself, Fiona."
She turned her head to kiss his palm. "You, too, William. I'll contact y' soon."
They stood there a moment longer before Spike reluctantly pulled away and disappeared into the night again. Fiona quickly stifled a sob as she turned to go inside. Part of it was exhaustion, part heartbreak. She had the feeling that, no matter what Spike did for love of Buffy, the Slayer wouldn't return the affection. She'd been burned one time too many to go through it again, especially with another, different vampire.
And Spike would never see what was before his eyes. How much Fiona herself cared about him. She had to reluctantly resign herself to quiet desire, even if it seemed wrong.