More Alive Not Breathing
Doyle had been looking out for her all through the past few nights, accepting no other option and taking her to the new house. It was spacious enough - but new was the premier word. All sorts of modern styling, nice and clean, wide-open areas. It seemed so sterile to Doyle - not hardly lived in.
Fiona had been a near-complete train wreck since Jordan and he had rescued her from the basement she'd been found chained up inside - she still cried when she thought he hadn't been looking. The dreams of her daysleep had been more and more disturbing, and she rarely spoke at all. She'd barely even been taking the blood Doyle had gathered off the deer in the area.
A bedroom had been basically given to her not long after they'd arrived, all manner of rich accoutrements and comforts made for a guest - it along with Doyle's own room were being kept sun-free while the basement was expanded.
The security personnel Doyle had on payroll kept watch throughout the day over the building, his driver on-call. Samantha even stopped in infrequently to check on Fiona when Doyle couldn't be around, usually just to bring in a new sixpack - stainless steel sealable bottles of deer's blood Not ideal, but handy enough.
The movers brought in mementos and knicknacks here and there, but, as he observed, it never seemed like they quite fit. Some were singed or burnt, others simply made for less modern environments. Fiona hadn't really been living in her space, however. Every time Doyle had been to the door, she'd just accept the new sixpack gracefully and shut herself away.
Doyle knocked at the door quietly again, resuming the routine with a new pack of bottles. "Fiona, you there?" He asked, sounding only a little tired. Leaving Mount Pleasant had left him feeling hollow, but bit by bit it was starting to leave.
The sound of rustling and the creak of the bed, and then a voice.
"Where da fuck else would I be?" She sounded tired, and cranky... but not exactly angry. Mostly, she sounded like she had given up.
"Can I come in?" He asked hesitantly, still standing outside. "I brought some more to drink if you want."
A brief silence, then he heard her sigh heavily. "Aye. I expected you." He almost didn't even hear her approach the door until she opened it. Pinkish smears ran down her face, the deep, savagely torn gashes on her wrists are still healing. Doyle willed his eyes not to wander a little as he noticed her standing naked aside from her long white shirt. Fiona popped the door open, turning around and walking back into the very dark room.
Doyle's senses flared up a bit, compensating for the dark as he followed her. "I wanted to talk, if you're up for it." he said, setting the blood down at the endtable near the bed. "I know...Jordan told me a couple things about how he found you. What happened?" He tried not to let himself appear unsettled by the appearance of the room.
Fiona had hardly touched anything there aside from the bed. Her clothes laid in a neat little pile near the head of the bed on the floor; her boots next to it, all covered in blood, most of it her own, her scent all over the encrusted stains. She had been living in this same outfit for a month, all the clothing covered in blood, mud, sweat and various other things.
Fiona herself sat on the bed, her legs hanging over one side and almost touching the floor, her back curved heavily under the weight of what she's been through. She sighed again, but doesn't say anything. She absently reached a hand out for a bottle of blood and uncaps it. Doyle can see for one horrible instant how badly damaged her wrists are... the shackles that had been there having cut so deeply that her bones almost showed through in places. Fiona took a deep sip from the fresh bottle, her eyes fixed firmly to the floor in front of her.
"Fiona..." he'd seen her in the state when she'd first arrived thanks to Jordan. It didn't make seeing her like this much easier, but he knew it was the way of things. "I sent some people to get new clothes taken care of. Have you heard from Ronan, is he out of there?"
She finished her gulp, pulling the bottle away from her mouth and mumbling quietly. "Aye. He's on his way down here for a bit... assuming a'course dat dat's okay wit you?" She looked in his direction but not at him.
"That's fine." Doyle said with a nod. "Got a lot of room. This place needs people in it." He walked over, pulling up a chair to sit across from her. "What happened, Fiona?"
She finished the bottle, setting it down near the carrier. "I don't rightly know." Grabbing another bottle and uncapping it, Fiona's eyes remained haunted. Doyle's gaze saw her aura begin to flicker...she didn't seem to be lying per se, but leaving something out.
"I know it was you that crashed the car." He finally said, concern in his eyes. "You took off running on foot and headed for a house." He pauses a moment. "I almost killed someone securing a way to get you back, Fiona. I think I deserve an answer or two."
She paused mid-gulp. Just for a split second, Doyle noticed the surprise in her reaction. She pulled the bottle away from her mouth again. "Sounds like you got all da answers already. Believe me when I say ye don't want to know da truth." She continued drinking.
"It is sweet," she muttered, "that you'd kill someone to try to save me."
"I thought it was Isaac." Doyle responded sadly. "That the timing was too perfect, that he was taking you out to make me vulnerable, or just as a bargaining chip. I thought you were dead, or blood bound to him. So I did what I had to, and thankfully I didn't have to finish the job."
"Hm" She thoughtfully toyed with the bottle, a brief silence passing. "Thanks. It wasn't Isaac, but thanks anyhow."
"So what happened, Fiona? You're talking to someone who's seen a lot of bad things. What was in that house?"
"Jonathan Starke. And me family. Demons dat will always haunt me. Put da two together and you have dis..." she waved a hand around the room, indicating not only her pile of clothing, but the two of them as well.
"He came to court looking for you. I sent him on a goose chase with Vandenburg, Jordan got to you as soon as he could....I would've gone myself. I wanted to." He felt a bit of a sick feeling in his guts, finally forcing words out. "I'm sorry, Fiona."
She looked to him, mildly annoyed for a moment. "Did you do dis? Den what the fuck are you sorry for?"
A flash of anger. Doyle glared at her suddenly, his eyes flickering in the light from the doorway. "You were gone for a damn month. It wouldn't have killed me to do something to see how you were. So take a fucking apology and concentrate on the fact that the man you want dead is on his way to it."
She looked startled for a moment, glancing up at him as if to see whether he was mad at her or just mad. Doyle saw the concern pass across her face, the nearly hollow gaze uncertain. "Okay. You're forgiven. You set on killing him? Is dat what all dis is about?" She glanced around the room again, seeming to see it with fresh eyes.
"He's going to be dealt with. What I want is for you to be able to let this go." He stood, turning and starting to open the opaque slider that ran the length of the floor-to-ceiling window. It was enough to keep the sun out, but it wouldn't be much until further reinforcement could be done. "One of us should have some kind of closure."
She let her breath out in a noisy huff. "Ha. 'Let dis go...' Doyle, don't you see dat I can't do dat? He murdered the man dat I love... sorry, loved." A loud sniffle. Crying again, Fiona wiped her eyes on her sleeves - the clean white slowly turning pink. "Dere's no closure for dat. I can't ever tell Sergei dat I'm sorry I failed him, or dat I loved him more den anything, or... or dat I was pregnant. He's gone, and I died with him. Dis ain't living."
"I know that." he snapped. "I know it all. I'm not expecting you to abandon it all, I just want to help you finish it." He fixed her with an angry gaze, his inner fury barely restrained as he remembered the sight of his burning childhood home, the home he had shared with his family, that he'd shown to Fiona, gone now thanks to Lorna. "Have you even wondered why we're not at my house, Fiona?"
Fiona visibly flinched, her resolve cracking further. "I know...I'm a real shite." Her back arched furiously as she buried her face in her arms and cried. Doyle frowned as he watched. He'd never heard noises like it from her; like a caged and wounded animal giving its last try to escape. Every muscle in her body seemed to tense, like she was trying to pull in on herself.
Doyle took a breath and pushed the Beast aside. "Hey. Hey!" At her side, he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up to force her to look him in the eyes. "Stop it."
He frowned, wiping away some of the bloody tears. "We've been through some tough shit in the past few days, and more besides. It's hitting us hard. But the way we lose - the way it all goes to hell - is if we let the Beast fuck us. I've been there. I know what it feels like, I know how good it can feel and how horrible it can make everything, a knife twisting in your guts harder than anything someone could really do to you."
His hands drifted down to her wrists, gently taking them as he looked them over. "You're fighting it, putting yourself through things Gangrel have trouble dealing with." He smiled, just slightly. "If anything you're about the only Ventrue I've ever liked. And you earned that clout."
Fiona calmed down only slightly, not fighting his touch, not even seeming to feel pain when he held her wounded wrists. She gave a brief sniffle. "Dat doesn't make me any less of a shite. Here I am, bellyaching over what's done and I don't even consider dat some of that bad happened to you, too. Ah. I'm sorry. I hate meself for what I've become, especially a Ventrue. Don't know why you like me so damn much since I'm such a royal pain in your arse. And here you are, bringing me blood and treating me like some kind of equal..."
"Fiona, you're the only person in that city that never once betrayed me or sold me out." Doyle smiled, the statement ringing bitterly true in his thoughts. "And I'm not too fond of most Gangrel, if you didn't notice before now."
A bit of a playful smirk graced his expression as he looked her up and down. "...And it could be that you're a hot Irish woman who kicks an absurd amount of ass."
Fiona fixed him with a frown, as if trying to decide if she thought he was teasing her. "Am I here because you want to get closure through me, vicariously? Because of Lorna?"
Doyle's smile faded. "No. You're here because I don't want you to deal with some big bull's eye on my account with Isaac. Because I wasn't going to let you have to worry about feeding in the state you've been in. And because I'm trying to move past how things have been in Mount Pleasant, and move on from all the ghosts I left behind here." A beat. "Figurative and otherwise." he quickly added. His thoughts shifted, going to the lessons the past had taught him.
"My great grandsire told me about all this - the goal, the point of it all, is to live more than you did when you were alive. Sometimes we've got it easy, sometimes not so much."
"Ain't nothing easy about the lot I've been handed!" She held her wrists in front of his face. "I don't fucking call dis easy, nor do I call da manner in which I was assimilated into dis society. Da Sanctified ain't easy, being Herald ain't easy, and wanting da things we can never have ain't easy either. Me life is gone... dere's nothing here for me to live for!"
Her tone continued to be angry and exasperated. "What does figurative mean?"
Doyle's expression was sad as his hands dropped to his sides. "You picked the Sanctum. You pushed to stay as Herald. You fought for it. And..." A flash of burning timbers and screaming ghosts in his thoughts. "my old life's gone too. A lot moreso, now. The house got burned to the ground, a week ago. I haven't seen my mother's ghost since then." He started to head over towards the door, looking back to her. "Haven't you gained anything?"
Fiona looked stricken, as if Doyle had slapped her. "Doyle..." her voice was almost a whisper, speaking in low tones, throaty and strained. "I care, I just... I'm not worth it. You're me friend. And some friend, I didn't even know about da house. I'm sorry. And... and thank you, for dis. But, please don't leave now. I'm..." She hesitated, her hands twisted in her lap, her gaze locked on them, almost embarrassed. "I'm afraid to be alone right now. It's stupid, I know. I'm so stupid..."
Doyle nodded, walking back over to her. "Fiona, you're not stupid. Stop beating yourself up and live, for chrissakes. You don't have the life you had, all you can do is make the life you do have that little bit better."
"But I don't know how!" she shouted with a shudder. "I've spent all me time trying to be better, stronger, so dat I can never be taken advantage of again... and in da process, I've been taken advantage of." Doyle's odd, caring frown held as she continued.
"I've been tricked and held hostage and betrayed. I don't know how to make it better den dis. I'm afraid to be alone anymore, because all I see is his face when I close me eyes. I hear his cruel laughter and I'm never gonna be able to escape him. I don't know how to live anymore. It's all gone. I'm all gone. I don't even know who I am anymore, so how da hell can anyone else know me?" She looked up, looking him square in the eye. "Doyle, you don't even know da real me. You wouldn't like me."
Doyle shook his head lightly. "Fi, you don't have anything to prove to me. I've seen monsters and I've seen people turn into them, and none of them make me think of you. I walked into Praxis, knowing it wasn't going to do anything but screw me. I took the job because Spiral needed more time and the Carthians were driving the city into the dirt too fast. I've been used and manipulated, by too many people. But I've still lived. I don't have a six-figure income to go cut myself in my basement."
"Ah, you don't understand. You don't come from where I came from and 'make do.' You make it yours and dominate, or you lose and become dominated over. Dat's me reality, Doyle, dat's the world I live in. It's sink or swim here and I'm fucking sinking... like a goddamn stone. Dere isn't a whole lot keeping me head above water as is..." Scarlet drops began working their way down her face anew. Fiona didn't even bother to wipe them away. "What da fuck is happening to me?"
"What's happening is the same thing that everybody young like us goes through...being fresh off the embrace makes a lot of us crazy with all the crap there is that changes." Doyle bunched up the sleeve of his shirt, wiping her face clean again. "And as far as the world you're in, you're trying too hard. You'll kill yourself faster than anybody can kill you."
Fiona looked down at her lap again, speaking quietly. "Maybe dat's what I want. I'm very, very tired."
Doyle's jaw set, and he sat down before her, looking up to her face. "Did they die so you could give up?"
Fiona's puzzled expression was an easy read. "Who?"
"Your family. Sergei. Ronan. Did they all die, to see you roll over and give up?"
She shrugged, looking back down at her lap. "Ronan'll do fine. I gave him what he wanted, I gave him a choice. Me family is gone, and I don't know what dey'd want. Sergei... he would want to be wit me. And I want to be wit him. I can't do dis anymore. I need a reason. If Jonathan Starke dies, I'm out of reasons. I need a reason."
"Fi, Ronan busted into Elysium on the off-hand chance that you might still be around. He cares about you. From the sound of things, there's some new Russians in Mount Pleasant that might've even known Sergei." He paused momentarily. Do I do this again, the thought ran through his mind. Do I risk it? Deliberation ruled in his mind for a split second.
No, he thought. I become better.
"And if I'm not some kind of reason, I don't really know what else to say."
She glanced up at him. "You called me Fi. You never call me Fi."
"I told you, I did a lot to keep up appearances. I don't have to do that now, and I don't have to do that here." His smile came back, just a little. "And I thought you liked Fi?"
"Da only people who've ever called me Fi are Sergei and Anna Mae... I'm... I'm very fond of it, in fact." She swallowed, wiping her face with her hands. "I'm... just so tired and very, very confused. I'm not sure what's happening to me, and I'm not sure dat it's something dat every newbie goes through. I think me Ventrue heritage is catching up wit me. I'm losing me bleedin mind."
"Fi, the only crazy you have to worry about is the Malkavia. And I can get you a cure." His tone was insistent, but soothing.
"Dat's not true. And you've already said you'd do dat. I'm still waiting. And... I wish I could say dat you are a reason, but... I don't want to get hurt again. And I don't know what I am to you, and dat intimidates me. I'm tired of being used and thrown away like rubbish; I don't think I could stand dat, when you do dat to me." She rubbed her eyes hard, resuming her silence.
"I don't want to get hurt again either. I've done that dance, worse I've done it with other kindred. I do care about you, Fi." He frowned. "And I don't know how I can go into all that again. It's a little scarier than your average relationship."
Her face sank. "Ha. I told you I'm not worth it." A heavy sigh, and she curled up on the bed on her side, scrunching up as small as she could get. "Please. Don't leave. I just..." She buried her face in the pillow, clutching it hard, pressing into it. Doyle could see a web of scars, criss-crossing all the way up both of her legs... scars that look like she was carved into with a knife. They weren't recent, as far as he could tell, but they were many. After a bit, she pushed the pillow away from her face, speaking softly. "Are you afraid of me or just what I'll do to you?"
"I'm not going anywhere, Fi." he replied quietly, going to the opaque slider and closing it again, sealing it so no light could get in. "And I'm not afraid of you." Walking back over to the bed, he sat down at the foot. "Just of wanting too much."
"I don't even know what dat's supposed to mean! And I thought men were supposed to speak plain and women in riddles..."
"Fi, I can give you worse scratches than those." A gesture towards the scars on her legs. "And that's not when I'm angry."
He took a breath, holding trust a bit further out. "The disease scares me. Not you. My head scares me, what I might want. The last time I was with someone I wound up drinking from them. It was the first and last time I have ever, willingly, drank from someone. And I still can't get that feeling out of my head."
"Ah. Thank you for staying. I don't know what else to say to you. I won't bring it up anymore, if dat's what you want." She looked very sad at the thought, playing with her hands in her lap again.
Frustration briefly flared across his features, Doyle taking another breath. "Fi, what do you want? Ignore the politics, ignore the covenants, ignore the whole kindred thing." He sat a bit distant from her, his expression frank and his tone honest. "What do you, Fiona Kelly, want from me, Doyle Calligan? I don't care what it is, I don't care if you think it's possible or not, I just want to know."
"I won't be a twat and ask you da same thing, though I'm tempted to." Doyle saw the ghost of a smile on her lips, if only for a second. "To be frank? I just want you kiss me again. I haven't felt like that since... since I was alive. Like someone legitimately cared about me, about me future, whether I was alive or dead. I desperately want you to care about dat..."
A hint of hunger was in his eyes, as he moved to her side. "I do care about that, Fi." he said a moment before leaning in close, his skin warm as their lips touched. Fiona's surprise only lasted a moment before her arms encircled him.
Fiona had been a near-complete train wreck since Jordan and he had rescued her from the basement she'd been found chained up inside - she still cried when she thought he hadn't been looking. The dreams of her daysleep had been more and more disturbing, and she rarely spoke at all. She'd barely even been taking the blood Doyle had gathered off the deer in the area.
A bedroom had been basically given to her not long after they'd arrived, all manner of rich accoutrements and comforts made for a guest - it along with Doyle's own room were being kept sun-free while the basement was expanded.
The security personnel Doyle had on payroll kept watch throughout the day over the building, his driver on-call. Samantha even stopped in infrequently to check on Fiona when Doyle couldn't be around, usually just to bring in a new sixpack - stainless steel sealable bottles of deer's blood Not ideal, but handy enough.
The movers brought in mementos and knicknacks here and there, but, as he observed, it never seemed like they quite fit. Some were singed or burnt, others simply made for less modern environments. Fiona hadn't really been living in her space, however. Every time Doyle had been to the door, she'd just accept the new sixpack gracefully and shut herself away.
Doyle knocked at the door quietly again, resuming the routine with a new pack of bottles. "Fiona, you there?" He asked, sounding only a little tired. Leaving Mount Pleasant had left him feeling hollow, but bit by bit it was starting to leave.
The sound of rustling and the creak of the bed, and then a voice.
"Where da fuck else would I be?" She sounded tired, and cranky... but not exactly angry. Mostly, she sounded like she had given up.
"Can I come in?" He asked hesitantly, still standing outside. "I brought some more to drink if you want."
A brief silence, then he heard her sigh heavily. "Aye. I expected you." He almost didn't even hear her approach the door until she opened it. Pinkish smears ran down her face, the deep, savagely torn gashes on her wrists are still healing. Doyle willed his eyes not to wander a little as he noticed her standing naked aside from her long white shirt. Fiona popped the door open, turning around and walking back into the very dark room.
Doyle's senses flared up a bit, compensating for the dark as he followed her. "I wanted to talk, if you're up for it." he said, setting the blood down at the endtable near the bed. "I know...Jordan told me a couple things about how he found you. What happened?" He tried not to let himself appear unsettled by the appearance of the room.
Fiona had hardly touched anything there aside from the bed. Her clothes laid in a neat little pile near the head of the bed on the floor; her boots next to it, all covered in blood, most of it her own, her scent all over the encrusted stains. She had been living in this same outfit for a month, all the clothing covered in blood, mud, sweat and various other things.
Fiona herself sat on the bed, her legs hanging over one side and almost touching the floor, her back curved heavily under the weight of what she's been through. She sighed again, but doesn't say anything. She absently reached a hand out for a bottle of blood and uncaps it. Doyle can see for one horrible instant how badly damaged her wrists are... the shackles that had been there having cut so deeply that her bones almost showed through in places. Fiona took a deep sip from the fresh bottle, her eyes fixed firmly to the floor in front of her.
"Fiona..." he'd seen her in the state when she'd first arrived thanks to Jordan. It didn't make seeing her like this much easier, but he knew it was the way of things. "I sent some people to get new clothes taken care of. Have you heard from Ronan, is he out of there?"
She finished her gulp, pulling the bottle away from her mouth and mumbling quietly. "Aye. He's on his way down here for a bit... assuming a'course dat dat's okay wit you?" She looked in his direction but not at him.
"That's fine." Doyle said with a nod. "Got a lot of room. This place needs people in it." He walked over, pulling up a chair to sit across from her. "What happened, Fiona?"
She finished the bottle, setting it down near the carrier. "I don't rightly know." Grabbing another bottle and uncapping it, Fiona's eyes remained haunted. Doyle's gaze saw her aura begin to flicker...she didn't seem to be lying per se, but leaving something out.
"I know it was you that crashed the car." He finally said, concern in his eyes. "You took off running on foot and headed for a house." He pauses a moment. "I almost killed someone securing a way to get you back, Fiona. I think I deserve an answer or two."
She paused mid-gulp. Just for a split second, Doyle noticed the surprise in her reaction. She pulled the bottle away from her mouth again. "Sounds like you got all da answers already. Believe me when I say ye don't want to know da truth." She continued drinking.
"It is sweet," she muttered, "that you'd kill someone to try to save me."
"I thought it was Isaac." Doyle responded sadly. "That the timing was too perfect, that he was taking you out to make me vulnerable, or just as a bargaining chip. I thought you were dead, or blood bound to him. So I did what I had to, and thankfully I didn't have to finish the job."
"Hm" She thoughtfully toyed with the bottle, a brief silence passing. "Thanks. It wasn't Isaac, but thanks anyhow."
"So what happened, Fiona? You're talking to someone who's seen a lot of bad things. What was in that house?"
"Jonathan Starke. And me family. Demons dat will always haunt me. Put da two together and you have dis..." she waved a hand around the room, indicating not only her pile of clothing, but the two of them as well.
"He came to court looking for you. I sent him on a goose chase with Vandenburg, Jordan got to you as soon as he could....I would've gone myself. I wanted to." He felt a bit of a sick feeling in his guts, finally forcing words out. "I'm sorry, Fiona."
She looked to him, mildly annoyed for a moment. "Did you do dis? Den what the fuck are you sorry for?"
A flash of anger. Doyle glared at her suddenly, his eyes flickering in the light from the doorway. "You were gone for a damn month. It wouldn't have killed me to do something to see how you were. So take a fucking apology and concentrate on the fact that the man you want dead is on his way to it."
She looked startled for a moment, glancing up at him as if to see whether he was mad at her or just mad. Doyle saw the concern pass across her face, the nearly hollow gaze uncertain. "Okay. You're forgiven. You set on killing him? Is dat what all dis is about?" She glanced around the room again, seeming to see it with fresh eyes.
"He's going to be dealt with. What I want is for you to be able to let this go." He stood, turning and starting to open the opaque slider that ran the length of the floor-to-ceiling window. It was enough to keep the sun out, but it wouldn't be much until further reinforcement could be done. "One of us should have some kind of closure."
She let her breath out in a noisy huff. "Ha. 'Let dis go...' Doyle, don't you see dat I can't do dat? He murdered the man dat I love... sorry, loved." A loud sniffle. Crying again, Fiona wiped her eyes on her sleeves - the clean white slowly turning pink. "Dere's no closure for dat. I can't ever tell Sergei dat I'm sorry I failed him, or dat I loved him more den anything, or... or dat I was pregnant. He's gone, and I died with him. Dis ain't living."
"I know that." he snapped. "I know it all. I'm not expecting you to abandon it all, I just want to help you finish it." He fixed her with an angry gaze, his inner fury barely restrained as he remembered the sight of his burning childhood home, the home he had shared with his family, that he'd shown to Fiona, gone now thanks to Lorna. "Have you even wondered why we're not at my house, Fiona?"
Fiona visibly flinched, her resolve cracking further. "I know...I'm a real shite." Her back arched furiously as she buried her face in her arms and cried. Doyle frowned as he watched. He'd never heard noises like it from her; like a caged and wounded animal giving its last try to escape. Every muscle in her body seemed to tense, like she was trying to pull in on herself.
Doyle took a breath and pushed the Beast aside. "Hey. Hey!" At her side, he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up to force her to look him in the eyes. "Stop it."
He frowned, wiping away some of the bloody tears. "We've been through some tough shit in the past few days, and more besides. It's hitting us hard. But the way we lose - the way it all goes to hell - is if we let the Beast fuck us. I've been there. I know what it feels like, I know how good it can feel and how horrible it can make everything, a knife twisting in your guts harder than anything someone could really do to you."
His hands drifted down to her wrists, gently taking them as he looked them over. "You're fighting it, putting yourself through things Gangrel have trouble dealing with." He smiled, just slightly. "If anything you're about the only Ventrue I've ever liked. And you earned that clout."
Fiona calmed down only slightly, not fighting his touch, not even seeming to feel pain when he held her wounded wrists. She gave a brief sniffle. "Dat doesn't make me any less of a shite. Here I am, bellyaching over what's done and I don't even consider dat some of that bad happened to you, too. Ah. I'm sorry. I hate meself for what I've become, especially a Ventrue. Don't know why you like me so damn much since I'm such a royal pain in your arse. And here you are, bringing me blood and treating me like some kind of equal..."
"Fiona, you're the only person in that city that never once betrayed me or sold me out." Doyle smiled, the statement ringing bitterly true in his thoughts. "And I'm not too fond of most Gangrel, if you didn't notice before now."
A bit of a playful smirk graced his expression as he looked her up and down. "...And it could be that you're a hot Irish woman who kicks an absurd amount of ass."
Fiona fixed him with a frown, as if trying to decide if she thought he was teasing her. "Am I here because you want to get closure through me, vicariously? Because of Lorna?"
Doyle's smile faded. "No. You're here because I don't want you to deal with some big bull's eye on my account with Isaac. Because I wasn't going to let you have to worry about feeding in the state you've been in. And because I'm trying to move past how things have been in Mount Pleasant, and move on from all the ghosts I left behind here." A beat. "Figurative and otherwise." he quickly added. His thoughts shifted, going to the lessons the past had taught him.
"My great grandsire told me about all this - the goal, the point of it all, is to live more than you did when you were alive. Sometimes we've got it easy, sometimes not so much."
"Ain't nothing easy about the lot I've been handed!" She held her wrists in front of his face. "I don't fucking call dis easy, nor do I call da manner in which I was assimilated into dis society. Da Sanctified ain't easy, being Herald ain't easy, and wanting da things we can never have ain't easy either. Me life is gone... dere's nothing here for me to live for!"
Her tone continued to be angry and exasperated. "What does figurative mean?"
Doyle's expression was sad as his hands dropped to his sides. "You picked the Sanctum. You pushed to stay as Herald. You fought for it. And..." A flash of burning timbers and screaming ghosts in his thoughts. "my old life's gone too. A lot moreso, now. The house got burned to the ground, a week ago. I haven't seen my mother's ghost since then." He started to head over towards the door, looking back to her. "Haven't you gained anything?"
Fiona looked stricken, as if Doyle had slapped her. "Doyle..." her voice was almost a whisper, speaking in low tones, throaty and strained. "I care, I just... I'm not worth it. You're me friend. And some friend, I didn't even know about da house. I'm sorry. And... and thank you, for dis. But, please don't leave now. I'm..." She hesitated, her hands twisted in her lap, her gaze locked on them, almost embarrassed. "I'm afraid to be alone right now. It's stupid, I know. I'm so stupid..."
Doyle nodded, walking back over to her. "Fiona, you're not stupid. Stop beating yourself up and live, for chrissakes. You don't have the life you had, all you can do is make the life you do have that little bit better."
"But I don't know how!" she shouted with a shudder. "I've spent all me time trying to be better, stronger, so dat I can never be taken advantage of again... and in da process, I've been taken advantage of." Doyle's odd, caring frown held as she continued.
"I've been tricked and held hostage and betrayed. I don't know how to make it better den dis. I'm afraid to be alone anymore, because all I see is his face when I close me eyes. I hear his cruel laughter and I'm never gonna be able to escape him. I don't know how to live anymore. It's all gone. I'm all gone. I don't even know who I am anymore, so how da hell can anyone else know me?" She looked up, looking him square in the eye. "Doyle, you don't even know da real me. You wouldn't like me."
Doyle shook his head lightly. "Fi, you don't have anything to prove to me. I've seen monsters and I've seen people turn into them, and none of them make me think of you. I walked into Praxis, knowing it wasn't going to do anything but screw me. I took the job because Spiral needed more time and the Carthians were driving the city into the dirt too fast. I've been used and manipulated, by too many people. But I've still lived. I don't have a six-figure income to go cut myself in my basement."
"Ah, you don't understand. You don't come from where I came from and 'make do.' You make it yours and dominate, or you lose and become dominated over. Dat's me reality, Doyle, dat's the world I live in. It's sink or swim here and I'm fucking sinking... like a goddamn stone. Dere isn't a whole lot keeping me head above water as is..." Scarlet drops began working their way down her face anew. Fiona didn't even bother to wipe them away. "What da fuck is happening to me?"
"What's happening is the same thing that everybody young like us goes through...being fresh off the embrace makes a lot of us crazy with all the crap there is that changes." Doyle bunched up the sleeve of his shirt, wiping her face clean again. "And as far as the world you're in, you're trying too hard. You'll kill yourself faster than anybody can kill you."
Fiona looked down at her lap again, speaking quietly. "Maybe dat's what I want. I'm very, very tired."
Doyle's jaw set, and he sat down before her, looking up to her face. "Did they die so you could give up?"
Fiona's puzzled expression was an easy read. "Who?"
"Your family. Sergei. Ronan. Did they all die, to see you roll over and give up?"
She shrugged, looking back down at her lap. "Ronan'll do fine. I gave him what he wanted, I gave him a choice. Me family is gone, and I don't know what dey'd want. Sergei... he would want to be wit me. And I want to be wit him. I can't do dis anymore. I need a reason. If Jonathan Starke dies, I'm out of reasons. I need a reason."
"Fi, Ronan busted into Elysium on the off-hand chance that you might still be around. He cares about you. From the sound of things, there's some new Russians in Mount Pleasant that might've even known Sergei." He paused momentarily. Do I do this again, the thought ran through his mind. Do I risk it? Deliberation ruled in his mind for a split second.
No, he thought. I become better.
"And if I'm not some kind of reason, I don't really know what else to say."
She glanced up at him. "You called me Fi. You never call me Fi."
"I told you, I did a lot to keep up appearances. I don't have to do that now, and I don't have to do that here." His smile came back, just a little. "And I thought you liked Fi?"
"Da only people who've ever called me Fi are Sergei and Anna Mae... I'm... I'm very fond of it, in fact." She swallowed, wiping her face with her hands. "I'm... just so tired and very, very confused. I'm not sure what's happening to me, and I'm not sure dat it's something dat every newbie goes through. I think me Ventrue heritage is catching up wit me. I'm losing me bleedin mind."
"Fi, the only crazy you have to worry about is the Malkavia. And I can get you a cure." His tone was insistent, but soothing.
"Dat's not true. And you've already said you'd do dat. I'm still waiting. And... I wish I could say dat you are a reason, but... I don't want to get hurt again. And I don't know what I am to you, and dat intimidates me. I'm tired of being used and thrown away like rubbish; I don't think I could stand dat, when you do dat to me." She rubbed her eyes hard, resuming her silence.
"I don't want to get hurt again either. I've done that dance, worse I've done it with other kindred. I do care about you, Fi." He frowned. "And I don't know how I can go into all that again. It's a little scarier than your average relationship."
Her face sank. "Ha. I told you I'm not worth it." A heavy sigh, and she curled up on the bed on her side, scrunching up as small as she could get. "Please. Don't leave. I just..." She buried her face in the pillow, clutching it hard, pressing into it. Doyle could see a web of scars, criss-crossing all the way up both of her legs... scars that look like she was carved into with a knife. They weren't recent, as far as he could tell, but they were many. After a bit, she pushed the pillow away from her face, speaking softly. "Are you afraid of me or just what I'll do to you?"
"I'm not going anywhere, Fi." he replied quietly, going to the opaque slider and closing it again, sealing it so no light could get in. "And I'm not afraid of you." Walking back over to the bed, he sat down at the foot. "Just of wanting too much."
"I don't even know what dat's supposed to mean! And I thought men were supposed to speak plain and women in riddles..."
"Fi, I can give you worse scratches than those." A gesture towards the scars on her legs. "And that's not when I'm angry."
He took a breath, holding trust a bit further out. "The disease scares me. Not you. My head scares me, what I might want. The last time I was with someone I wound up drinking from them. It was the first and last time I have ever, willingly, drank from someone. And I still can't get that feeling out of my head."
"Ah. Thank you for staying. I don't know what else to say to you. I won't bring it up anymore, if dat's what you want." She looked very sad at the thought, playing with her hands in her lap again.
Frustration briefly flared across his features, Doyle taking another breath. "Fi, what do you want? Ignore the politics, ignore the covenants, ignore the whole kindred thing." He sat a bit distant from her, his expression frank and his tone honest. "What do you, Fiona Kelly, want from me, Doyle Calligan? I don't care what it is, I don't care if you think it's possible or not, I just want to know."
"I won't be a twat and ask you da same thing, though I'm tempted to." Doyle saw the ghost of a smile on her lips, if only for a second. "To be frank? I just want you kiss me again. I haven't felt like that since... since I was alive. Like someone legitimately cared about me, about me future, whether I was alive or dead. I desperately want you to care about dat..."
A hint of hunger was in his eyes, as he moved to her side. "I do care about that, Fi." he said a moment before leaning in close, his skin warm as their lips touched. Fiona's surprise only lasted a moment before her arms encircled him.