A/N: Still rather AU, but takes place at the end of 'The Dead' - minus the Axeman. [don't hate me; I actually adore that scene with them!]

"Come to me
Just in a dream.
Come on and rescue me.
Yes I know, I can be wrong,
Maybe I'm too headstrong.
Our love is
Madness" - 'Madness' by Muse

2013 - part 3

Fiona's stomach emptied its contents once again. Bent at the waist with both hands on the wall, she was balanced rather gracefully above the toilet for such a revolting act. A shuddering hand pressed the lever to clean the bowl and the other slammed the lid down before she stumbled to the sink to wash her hands and rinse her mouth with water from her cupped hands. The first time she retched was several minutes after witnessing the flames encompass Myrtle into their raging embrace. Fiona had stalked away to seclude herself from the others, giving the impression of utter boredom; that she couldn't be bothered with watching the entire ordeal. Hiding behind a few large trees she had felt the bile rise in her throat, and took great pains to make sure her shoes weren't caught in the crossfire. Being honest with herself, she couldn't bear to watch her Myrtle suffer such a fate, especially without knowing for certain how the rest of this scenario would play out for them. The very thought had made her sick to her stomach, and continued to do so several times over the last few days. Merely recalling the unnerving shrieking was enough to send Fiona dashing into the bathroom.

Drying her face with a clean plush hand towel, Fiona then gripped the edge of the sink, leaning forward. She couldn't tell if the first onslaught of the chemotherapy drugs were starting to wreak havoc on her body or if it was purely psychosomatic. It could very well be a combination of both. The emotions Fiona had been feeling over the last few days were unnatural. She actually felt guilty. The feelings of failure and helplessness were up there, too. Falling to her knees slowly, Fiona pressed her forehead against the tops of her hands that still gripped the sink. Her shoulders began to shake, sobs muffled into her hands as she cried.

Cordelia didn't seem to want her pity, help, or care. And Myrtle was gone. The oft quoted line that you didn't know what you had until it was gone never rang so true for Fiona as it did now. The feelings she had for Myrtle were not easily categorized, but the hollow emptiness of her insides supported that she felt something for the woman. It had been difficult for Fiona to wrestle with the fact that she was not immortal and that her death was imminent with no thanks to her failed blood cells. Death had a funny way of making people think about what truly mattered, and who truly mattered. Myrtle mattered to her. The pale, slender, wild-haired redhead with a unique sense of style and a fiery attitude mattered to Fiona. She cursed between her quiet sobs, regretting the lost opportunity and the possible incorrect decisions she had made thus far in her life. What if the plan didn't even work and Myrtle was not meant to be brought back? So much bitterness and misdiagnosed suspicion between the two didn't seem worth it after all. As the sobs ceased into sniffles, Fiona wiped her face once more with the towel, and pulled herself to her feet. If she couldn't bring Myrtle back, then she would at least get to the bottom of this puzzle with her daughter's attack and the missing funds. She knew just the person to enlist in her endeavor.

Tightening the silky black robe's sash around her waist, Fiona left her bedroom to make her way through the silent hallways of the academy. It was silent as it could be for the middle of the night. As she passed by Cordelia's room, she paused briefly, contemplating a quick peek through the doorway to check on her daughter. Knowing it was safe since Hank was no longer welcome there, much to her great relief, she twisted the door knob as quietly as she could manage. The room was pitch black, and she heard Cordelia's even breathing indicating she was at least resting peacefully. A slight smile crossed Fiona's lips and she shut the door. Despite Cordelia rejecting her mother's attempt at reconciling while she was awake, Fiona felt oddly triumphant that she could steal these small moments with her daughter oblivious in her slumber.

Her mission resumed, and Fiona soon stopped at the door leading to the attic. It was a place she considered off limits, and very much beneath her status as Supreme. But she was determined to succeed with her plan, and appearances took a backseat to her end result. The door was unlocked, which she found unusually trusting of Spalding. Climbing the steps, she was overcome with a rancid smell half-masked by an antibacterial spray that made her gag. Fiona clamped her palm over her nose and mouth as she ascended the rest of the staircase of the dimly lit attic. It had been decades since she was in this part of the house, and it looked the same with the exception of the collection of dolls that lined the walls. Spalding had always been quite an outsider, so it didn't bother Fiona in the least. The smell, however, was offensive and gave her the urge to retch yet again. She managed to keep it together somehow, and reached Spalding's bed where she saw his frame resting.

Closer inspection showed that he was not exactly sleeping. Something resembling a knife protruded from his chest with blood starting to clot in a sticky mess. A swollen tongue was gruesomely propped upon his lips. Momentarily taken aback at the sight, Fiona started to turn away, but then stopped when she saw a bloodied piece of paper clutched loosely in his hand. She noted that his other hand was bound to his bed with narrow ties. The other set of ties looked frayed. With one hand still covering her nose and mouth, she used her free hand to pull the paper free and read the haphazard scrawled writing.

"The weakling is not so weak. Before stabbing me Zoe made me speak the truth but not all truths. Fiona I loved you so many years ago. But you did not love me. I accepted it and always felt the smallest hope even when you brought different men home. It meant I still had a chance as a man. When I came across you and Myrtle Snow in her bed and heard you told her you were falling in love with her...I no longer had a chance. I hated her for that. For having what I could never have. I cut out my tongue for you and devoted my life to you and you repay me by wrongfully lusting after a damn woman. I took the money first to try and destroy what you two had. It didn't work so I took more so I could desert this coven and live a peaceful life. No one would ever hire a mute. Finally you and I were successful in making her hate you and I thought I'd have a chance again but then she came back to question you about Madison and I could tell by the way you stared at each other that those feelings were still there. It was easy to convince you that she blinded Cordelia after I figured out where she was staying. Myrtle Snow deserved to burn and I'm glad for my part..."

The letter abruptly ended with the letter 't' trailing across the bottom of the page. Fiona drew in sharp breaths as she read the long-winded letter, her brow knit together with concentration as she tried to make sense of everything. Spalding had done all of this to her? It didn't make sense. She re-read the letter once again, scowling. Her anger was increasing with each sloppy word that she read on the paper. He had done this. Breathing heavily into her hand, the other hand dropped to her side, crumbling the paper into her fist. No longer concerned about the repulsive smell, she gripped the handle that stuck out of Spalding's chest and wrenched it in further. Sick squelching noises met her ears. "You sick...son of a bitch... You goddamn monster! I hope you burn for all of eternity!" The anger inside was not satisfied. Fiona pulled the knife from his chest and brought it back down to stab the rigid body several times, letting out angry shouts. "You bastard!" Weakened from exhaustion, she plunged the knife into his throat with finality, and sunk to her knees on the floor.

"How could I have been so blind? So stupid?!" Sticky blood coated her fingers, which smeared over her forehead as she pushed her hands into her hair, covering her eyes with her palms. A few tears spilled out of the corner of her eyes and she wiped them away angrily. The stench of blood and whatever else was lurking in the room became too much for her, and she rose to her feet with the crumpled paper in her hand. A sneer was directed at the body. "You're lucky that little witch girl got you first. You would have suffered more than any poor soul on the planet if I had found out what you did to me..." Fiona craved more release for her anger, but her body protested. She needed to rest.

Quiet footsteps carried her down the steps from the attic and she had to focus to shut the door without her hands, lest she leave bloody hand prints everywhere. Back in the safety of her own room, Fiona filled her tub with warm water and eased her weary body into the soothing liquid to wash away the blood and her guilt. The water turned a muted red, but the guilt hung over her like a guillotine. Myrtle was right; she wasn't going to get her way in the end and it was all because of Spalding's twisted sense of what love could and should be, and because of her own inability to see the truth of his betrayal and her feelings for Myrtle. Those feelings were not unnatural nor were they wrong. Being with Myrtle had always felt right; more right than any of the slobbering uncouth men she had bedded in the past. Myrtle was honest and giving, and incredibly alluring in her own way. Fiona sighed deeply, wishing she had realized her love for the woman all those years ago instead of allowing it to be twisted into jealousy and suspicion based on Spalding's treachery.

Sinking below the water, dangerously close to pulling her head under, Fiona closed her eyes to keep the tears back. She was done crying for today, she decided. "Oh, Myrtle," she whispered the name like a reverent prayer, dropping her head back against the tub. Her chest felt hollow and yet it still pained her to breathe. Fiona wrapped her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly as she marinated in the bath of guilt and sorrow.