Werewolves Don't Wear Cowboy Boots

Chapter 13: Travel by pixies is always a last resort

"Finally." Rory crossed his arms and looked across the dingy office as O'Neill walked inside with a stormy expression. "How long does it take to follow up leads?"

He moved to the closet in the back of the office, pushing Rory's feet off from where he had them propped on the corner of the desk. Rory nearly fell out of the chair and shot him an annoyed look, but thought better of saying anything about it when he read O'Neill's expression. Whatever had happened, he was clearly not in any mood to be trifled with.

Rory realized, belatedly, that his news would not go over very well, but there was no getting around that. Moving toward the office door while O'Neill rummaged in the closet, Rory said in his most casual voice, "You might want to call Bridget. She was looking for you."

There was a brief silence as O'Neill stopped what he was doing and then slowly stuck his head round the closet door, eyebrows knit together in an expression of badly guarded worry. "What did she say?"

Rory shook his head and stood, moving out of reach and toward the door. "That's not a grenade I was willing to jump on, now was it? You should probably call her back. I have work to do."

"Rory-"

The boy was out the office door before he could say anything else, and O'Neill slammed the closet door with a series of curses. He'd been at a loss for what to do ever since Colum's call. The boy hadn't answered his phone since then, and he didn't like to think of what could have happened to him. His hope was maybe he'd managed to slip away from them. He couldn't bring himself to warn Bridget out of fear she'd do something foolish. Not to mention the painful admission on his part that he'd gotten it all wrong and he was to blame for all this. If she were calling now, it was clear he'd waited too long, and he was certain he'd pay for that.

He paced the room for a few moments, then sat in the chair and stared at the phone until he felt calm enough to speak to Bridget without betraying his own sense of unease. 'It will be alright, Bridget,' he'd tell her. 'I'm on my way.' It all sounded so simple in his head, though his stomach did a little flip flop at the thought of how it would actually play out. Conversations with Bridget were never that simple, and the truth was, he didn't know it would be alright.

He took a breath and prepared himself to make the call, and then the phone rang and Bridget's name popped up on the screen. He allowed himself one curse, threw a single pleading look to the heavens, and swiped across the screen to answer. "Bridget? Rory said you called."

"Uh ...." The male voice on the other end of the line was certainly not Bridget. "Are you ... Bran?"

The name threw him almost as much as the boy's slight drawl. Only one person called him that, and that certainly wasn't her voice. "O'Neill," he replied coolly. "And who is this?"

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line, and he could just hear the faint sound of the boy asking someone, "Who's O'Neill?" before coming back on the line and saying, "Right. Sorry, Mr. O'Neill. This is James Barlean. I'm a friend of Bridget's, and she asked me to call you?"

His heart fluttered in panic and he forced himself to breathe evenly as he said, in a voice weaker than he intended, "Has something happened? Is she alright?"

There was another pause – long enough for him to imagine every bad thing that could have happened and to curse himself for every decision he'd made to put those children in harm's way – before James finally said, "I mean ... she's .... well .... You know, maybe you should just talk to her-"

He had no time to finish the sentence before O'Neill heard an outburst in the background, and Bridget's voice came through loud and clear. "I do not fecking want to talk to Brandon fecking O'Neill. You can tell him."

She'd used his full name, as if she were his mother reprimanding him for something. 'Shit, shit, shit,' he thought to himself, wishing this American friend of hers would just spit it out and explain what was going on.

James drew a breath. "Right ... She's ... she's alright." Somehow, he managed to sound entirely unconvincing, though she must have been well enough if she had it in her to give someone such a spirited telling off. "That's not the problem. The vampires have Colum, and they want Bridget to turn herself over to them." O'Neill closed his eyes and was quiet for long enough that the boy asked, "Are you still there?" 

"I'm here," he said, though he felt as if the earth were about to open up under his feet and swallow him. It was better than it could have been, but still bad enough. "Can you give the phone to Bridget?"

There was a pause on the other end, and then James said hesitantly, "Um ... I don't really think ..."

"Never mind. Just tell her I'll be there soon. And don't let her do anything until I'm there, do you understand? I don't care if you have to tie her up in a closet somewhere, just don't let her do anything foolish." He put a threatening note in his voice, nodding his satisfaction when James answered with a polite, "Yes, sir."

Minutes later, O'Neill walked out of the office with two duffel bags, one of which he tossed into the arms of a very startled Rory. "Weapons," he said simply. "You're coming."

Rory looked at the bag, then to O'Neill. "The car isn't ready."

"The car is too slow anyway."

Rory paused long enough to grab his pack of cigarettes, earning an impatient look from O'Neill, and in return he motioned to the bags. "I don't know how you plan to get these through security."

"A jet is too slow," O'Neill said again. "It will have to be the fairy circle. Gilla has it all arranged."

Rory groaned. "Not the fecking pixies, O'Neill." He almost immediately regretted the words as O'Neill's silver eyes pierced him with a cold sort of fury.

"Yes, the pixies. Unless you know a faster way to cross half the country, you'll deal with the pixies. You'll dance a jig for them if that's what they want. The vampires we overlooked have Colum," he said, with a venom partially directed at himself. "We need to get him back before they decide to turn him into a rug."

O'Neill's eyes didn't meet his as they walked, but Rory looked away for a moment, then gave a shake of his head and said, "And before Bridget decides to take on an entire coven of vampires with her bare hands?"

O'Neill glanced at him and then said, with just a touch of humor, "That as well, aye." 

*****

Note: Edited this chapter, because I'm a dork and completely spaced out on what was going on with things. Yay me.