Werewolves Don't Wear Cowboy Boots

Chapter 16: The perils of pursuing a girl with protective male figures

O'Neill found Bridget outside, leaning against the outside wall of the house with her arms crossed over her chest as she looked up at the sky.

"The Yank just suggested we all drink holy water before we leave," he said as he claimed his own bit of wall to lean against next to her. "Does he not know anything at all?"

She merely snorted in response and tilted her face away from him, and he thought he detected the sight of tears.

"It'll be alright, Bridget," he said in his most gentle voice, and hated himself a little for saying it, knowing that it wasn't a promise he had any right to make.

"I am not crying over my eejit brother," she said roughly, then wiped her eyes with her sleeve, which only seemed to make the problem worse.

"Bridget..." He wound his arms around her and stroked her hair. "I'll do everything I can to make it right, you know that."

She was quiet for a long time, but clutched at his shirt as he kept his arms around her. "And if you can't? If ..." She didn't finish the sentence, and he was a little relieved.

After a heavy pause, he said, "Then ... you're not alone, darlin'. You have Rory and myself and all the rest of us. You even have your stupid American friend."

"It isn't the same at all," she said, sniffling pathetically. "If I'm horrible to you lot, you can just tell me to feck off and leave me. You aren't family. You don't have to love me."

"You think anyone can help loving you?" he said, pulling back and putting his hands on her shoulders as he looked at her. Her eyes welled up all over again, and he gave a shake of the head. "Alright. None of that, now. If I'd known I was only going to make it worse, I would have sent Rory out for you to yell at."

"You probably shouldn't have left him alone with James." She wiped at her eyes, then gave a desperate little laugh when O'Neill smiled roguishly and said, "Should I not?"

A glimmer on the horizon caught her eye, and they both turned to the east to look at the lightening horizon. "Do you really think it will help?" Bridget asked.

"If we're lucky ..." He clapped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "And if we're not, then we're still perfectly capable. They've only got supernatural powers and holy water allergies. We've got a cowboy, a trained hunter, a member of one of the most wise and ancient of the fey races, and you, our brave girl."

"Interesting talk for someone who didn't want me to go." She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and sent him a cool look. "And don't patronize me. I'm not five years old anymore."

He smiled at her fondly. "Sorry. I forget."

"I hope you've both finished with your heart-to-heart," Rory said as he came out the door with a duffle bag, James following close behind with another. "Because the Yank and I have everything packed and ready to go."

"Can you maybe not call me a Yank?" James said as he handed over the second bag to Rory and watched him load it. "I have a name."

Rory turned to him with an annoyed expression. "And what's wrong with 'Yank'?"

"I'm from Oklahoma."

Rory looked at him blankly. "Your point?"

James glanced at the other two for help, but seeing none, sighed and shook his head. "Alright. Fine."

He moved toward Bridget, but O'Neill cut him off, tossing an arm around his shoulder and redirecting him toward his own truck. "This way, then. You're with me, lad."

"But-" James looked over his shoulder at Bridget, who was eyeing Rory with an expression somewhat akin to that of a feral cat who has just been cornered. Rory himself didn't look entirely thrilled either, so James took some comfort in knowing at least he wasn't the only person unhappy with the arrangements.

It was an awkward drive once they set out, with James darting nervous glances at a silent O'Neill. "Do you really think we can take down a bunch of vampires?" he asked, finally.

Grey eyes sized him up – though he felt they'd been doing that all night – before the older man replied, "I wouldn't allow any of you to go if I didn't. I don't need the blood of teenagers on my hands. And yourself? Have you really killed two vampires?"

A flush started to rise up James' neck, and he shifted his grip on the steering wheel. "I mean ... kind of?"

O'Neill missed nothing, and he shot a sharp look to the driver's seat. "Bridget told me about the second. So what happened with the first?"

He shifted in his seat, then cleared his throat. "I was ... um ... I was on a date. Sort of. There was this really pretty girl from a party, right? At least she was pretty right up until, well, she grew these-" he took a hang from the wheel to mimic fangs, and O'Neill raised an eyebrow at him.

"Mhmm. That's impressive, isn't it? Killing a vampire when you didn't even know they existed and only thought you were out on a date."

James said nothing until he broke under O'Neill's gaze and finally blurted out, "It was an accident. I didn't actually mean to kill her. I was just trying to get away. We were out at one of the old homesteads and there was this old farm tool with a wooden handle, and it just sort of ... happened."

"Right ... well, a kill is a kill. At least you're not entirely useless."

"... Thanks?" James said, glancing briefly at O'Neill before looking back to the road.

O'Neill kept his gaze on him for a while, until he thought the boy looked uncomfortable enough, and then said, "And while we're on our own... God knows Bridget doesn't need me fighting her battles for me, but if you hurt her, I will gladly finish wherever she leaves off."

James tapped a finger against the steering wheel, then took a breath. "OK, so ... are you done threatening me now?"

"I doubt that very much," O'Neill replied with a wicked grin. "But for now? Maybe. At least until we've finished the business at hand."

"Right." James continued to tap at the steering wheel for a moment, then glanced at O'Neill and said, a little stiffly, "But for the record? I'm going off to fight vampires with you all. If I was just after a piece of tail, do you think I'd take it that far? Give me some credit, will you? Anyway, I don't think she likes me much."

O'Neill snorted in a way that meant, "Oh, she likes you alright," though he didn't translate that meaning to his travel companion. Instead, he pointed to a road ahead. "There. That's where we stop first."

*****

Note: That's all until next week.