TITLE: Turning Point 1/2
AUTHOR: tanith
RATING: PG-13 - Violence and one naughty word.
SUMMARY: Tabula Rasa-Verse AU origin story. The death and rebirth of Randy Giles.
ARCHIVE: It's all yours, just let me know.
FEEDBACK: How do I say, "yes, pleeeeease!" without looking desperate? Oh. Too late. akirgo@yahoo.com
SPOILERS: Tabula Rasa, obviously. Otherwise AU-y.
DISCLAIMER: Can't I have them? They're not even the real versions of the characters. C'mon, Joss!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I started writing this about a week after Tabula Rasa aired, and it's taken me this long to finish it. This ought to give you an idea of how...slow...I...really...am. Hope it's still fun, all these months later.
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"I am *so* not in the mood for this tonight," Joan whined.
The sun was sliding down past the horizon, and for Joan and her gang, that meant only one thing: slay time. Only tonight, the gang seemed to have other plans. And Joan, still recovering from a previous slay-related injury and a geometry test, was not in a temperament that made her eager to go patrolling alone.
"I'm so sorry, Joan," her friend Willow said. "But Alex has got a huge chem test tomorrow, and if I don't help him study..."
"...I'll flunk back to junior high," Alex finished.
Joan sighed. "I know. I'm sorry you guys, I know it's not really your job. I'm just in bad need of company tonight. Or at the very least, someone to complain at."
"I could come, if you like."
Three heads turned to look over Joan's Watcher's son, who was currently emulating his father by burying his nose in a large, dusty book. Randy looked up when he felt their eyes on him. "What? It's not like I've never patrolled before."
"Yes," Joan said patiently, "but you *hate* patrolling."
Randy rolled his eyes. "Oh, and you're just so keen on it."
"Well, if you want to come, I'd appreciate it. But no lectures on ancient Sumerian texts, okay?"
Randy got to his feet, gesturing at himself in mock surprise. "Moi?"
"That means me?' in French, Joan," Willow said wryly.
"Thanks for clearing that up. You coming, Randy?"
"Just a sec." He fiddled with his bootlace. "Alex, you'll tell my dad where I'm at?"
"Sure thing. But hurry back. After I'm done with Willow, I need help with English lit."
Randy's eyes traveled skyward again. "And I thought I was out of high school."
*************
"So he comes into class looking *disturbingly perky* and says, Class, today I'm going to tell you about the oldest profession on earth,' and launches into a forty minute lecture on prostitution...Why are you looking at me like that?"
Randy chuckled. "School has become a lot more interesting in the last four years, it seems." Then he halted. "Wait, is this the same Mr. Noble who said that thing to you about how you can do anything you want up there, as long as you don't take off your clothes' wink wink?" She nodded. "That's it, he's dead."
Laughing, she grabbed his arm as he started to turn away and spun him back around to face her. "Hang on just a minute, Watcher boy. We've got bigger nasties to slay."
He relented at her smile and they started walking again. "Just promise me one thing, okay?" he added after a minute. "If he ever gets attacked by some big ugly, you'll come down with a sudden case of apathy."
Joan grinned. "I'll definitely let it have a nibble."
"Good," Randy said, attempting to slide his hands into his pockets in a leisurely manner. Instead, he found himself reaching for a stake. "No, bad!"
A pair of vampires was advancing upon them, grinning wide enough to make their fangs targets for glinty moonlight. "Slayer..." one of them hissed.
Randy and Joan looked like entrants in the synchronized eye roll competition. "You know, there are other greetings in this world," Randy advised. "Ever thought of how are you doing?' or my, don't you look nice tonight'? A little compliment could go a long way."
"Yes, that way Randy would kill you instead of me."
Disturbingly, the vampires burst into laughter.
Randy looked to Joan. "Are they insulting my fighting prowess or my tendency towards being overprotective?"
"Definitely fighting prowess."
"Oh." He considered this. "Which one were you insulting?"
Randy never got to find out, as the two vampires wisely took advantage of their opponents' momentary distraction and jumped them. Joan knocked her attacker back in less than a second, but Randy found himself sprawled on his butt on the grass and reduced to warding off the vampire with his elbows.
"Think you're funny now, boy?" the vampire snarled.
"I'm not the one who looks like that," Randy pointed out, before the vampire exploded into dust at the business end of Joan's stake.
She helped him to his feet.
"And *this* is why I hate patrolling," he said, brushing off the back of his suit. "I mean, these grass stains are never going to come out." He shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "Plus, I rather...suck."
Joan gave him a friendly pat. "You're not that bad. At least you've got the witty banter side down. And may I say? Wicked sharp elbows."
Randy made a show of inspecting said body part. "These old things? Why...bugger."
"We're certainly popular tonight," Joan remarked, as four more vampires appeared out of the trees.
More fangs flashed in the darkness. One of the vamps, probably the leader, took a step forward. "Randy Giles?" he hissed.
Slayer and Watcher (trainee) exchanged a look. "Aren't you looking for her?" Randy asked.
The vamp grinned. "No," he said simply, and then they were surrounded.
Or rather, Randy was surrounded. The vampires advanced on him, completely ignoring Joan. And suddenly, there weren't just four of them, there were six, eight...all circling Randy and paying the Slayer no mind. Joan found herself fighting a group of completely apathetic and seemingly ever-growing vamps; when she got close, they simply swatted her away; when she staked one, another took its place. And all the while, their eyes remained locked on Randy.
*************
He could no longer see Joan. Terror gripped his chest at the thought; elbows, no matter how wicked, would not be enough to save him here. His brain was screaming out a constant chant of "Why me? Why me?" He swallowed it up before it could escape his lips.
"So, you guys friends of Mr. Noble?" he asked instead. They had formed a ring around him now, yet not one of them had attempted to touch him. He could hear Joan calling his name, faint over the sound of what he was sure was his heart beating its way out of his chest. I'm going to die, he thought. I don't want to die.
The vamp leader's fist connected with his face, swift and sudden, and he went down before the pain even had a chance to register.
*************
Joan felt like she was staking her way through a forest, or fighting a field of corn. She ploughed her way through, making a sea of dust in front of her, but the vampires were like a wall. Occasionally, one would react before her stake had a chance to connect, and she would earn a smack across the jaw or to her stomach for her trouble. Welts and bruises were forming, she knew, but the pain they caused was dulled by the sudden realization that she could no longer hear Randy.
She screamed his name again, momentarily lowering her stake, and in that second, a hand grabbed her. The big vampire, the leader, had her by the wrist. He squeezed and pulled, and she felt the bones in her arm crunch before she was tossed carelessly to the ground.
"Shouldn't we...?" she heard one of the vamps ask.
"No, leave her," the leader said. "We got what we came for. Our lady will be pleased."
She watched through half-swollen eyes as the remaining vampires carried their quarry away, his arms and legs dangling limply at his sides. Once they were gone, it took her several minutes before she could find the strength to get up, but the second she did, she was off and running as if all the denizens of Hell were hot on her heels.
*************
Randy came to lying on the cold cement floor, his mouth wet with his own blood. At least, he hoped it was his own blood. With a groan, he tried to push himself up and shuddered to a shivering, painful halt when he realized he couldn't move his legs. He looked down and saw that his left thigh bone had forced its way up through the skin. His legs were broken. And that's when he really started to panic.
Rough arms that must have noticed that he was awake latched onto him, and he found himself lifted off the floor. Pain shot through him; all he could think about was how dangerous it was to move an injured person. Not only did his captors seem to be oblivious in regards to this particular piece of knowledge, they also appeared to be taking great pleasure in knocking him up against as many corners as possible. Randy prayed that soon one of them would hit him hard enough to knock him out.
Yet he still clung to consciousness when the faceless bodies that were dragging him along drew to a halt and dropped him unceremoniously on the floor. There was the sound of movement - the swish of velvet over stone - and then the crack of knuckles against cheek. "Naughty, naughty," a voice half-cooed, half-hissed. There was a groan of pain from above him, and Randy watched as dark, crimson drops rained down on the stone by his face. "You hurt my boy."
Suddenly a coldness gripped him, and Randy realized it was the touch of fingers along his cheek. An icy cold caress. Through his blackened and bruised eyelids, he peered up into a thin, pale face. Recognition washed over him, and he knew that he was going to die. Acceptance of this as fact made him bold.
"You bitch," he croaked. "You can kill me, but Joan will find you. She'll track you down and she'll bloody annihilate you and everyone you with your twisted vamp mind think you care about. She'll..."
She silenced him with a kiss.
The fear hit Randy again like a freight train. Desperately, he tried to push her away, but she grabbed ahold of his weakened wrists and held fast. Her eyes bore into him, inspecting his every inch, claiming him.
"No," he whispered. "Please no."
She smiled. And when her face changed, the smile grew even broader.
*************
Joan knocked down the door with one swift kick, ignoring the sharp twinge of pain that raced up her carelessly bound arm. She ran forward into the darkened room, not waiting to see if her friends had caught up with her yet. She had to get to Randy. She had to find him, and stop this nightmare from happening before...
The scene in front of her stopped her dead in her tracks.
Randy was laid out atop a table, both arms and one leg hanging limply over the sides. His blood-covered suit was tattered and torn, but it looked in a state of good repair when compared to his neck. There was a jagged hole where the artery had been. It still seeped blood, half-heartedly, onto the floor.
None of this, however, was what made Joan freeze. The synapses in her brain continued to fire, practically begging her hand to move and reach for a stake, but she was frozen to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Drusilla holding her open vein against Randy's cold lips.
Then everything clicked back into motion as Rupert tore into the room, brandishing a crossbow. When he saw his son's limp body, he didn't pause; there was a click, and a crossbow bolt embedded itself in Drusilla's shoulder. She reared up in pain, hissing theatrically. Joan finally remembered that she had muscles and hoisted her stake, but then Drusilla's arms dropped to her sides, her game face melting away.
"This isn't how it's supposed to be," she said, her voice small and child-like. "He's supposed to be mine. He was always supposed to be mine..."
"He was never yours," Joan spat. "And he never will be."
She threw the stake, and Drusilla didn't move to stop it from striking her breast. Her dust coated her would-be lover's still and silent form.
Rupert's crossbow clattered to the floor, and he raced to where his son's body lay, Joan tight on his heels. Joan watched her Watcher's stoic face as he took up Randy's wrist, feeling for a pulse; she couldn't bear to look at the body. Rupert remained silent, and his expression didn't change, but after a long, pained moment, he took a step back, letting the wrist fall, and Joan knew. Her vision blurred, a haze falling over her eyes. Some small part of her realized that her mouth was open in a silent scream, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
Randy was dead.
There was a clamor from the passageway, and Joan knew that if it were Drusilla's minions, they'd most likely have no trouble finishing her off. Instead, the cavalry arrived, slightly bruised, and for once, too late.
Alex's cheeks were rosy from exertion. "Never fear, we have arrived," he announced proudly, "having triumphed over the scaredy-cat lackeys making a hasty retreat..." He suddenly became aware of his surroundings and trailed off. He swallowed a few times before regaining the ability to speak. "Is that...? He's okay, right?"
Joan looked up at him, vacantly, and Rupert, who had already begun to build his wall, just shook his head.
"Oh, God," Alex said, the stake slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. Finding no sign of reassurance in front of him, he turned around and looked to Willow, who was standing still as a statue behind him, as she had been for quite some time, being a bit quicker on the uptake than Alex.
"What do we do?" she asked after a moment. "I mean, we should get him out of here, right?"
Alex started nodding, but stopped when he noticed the icy silence that was coming from Rupert and Joan.
"He's been turned," Rupert said after a moment, no trace of feeling in his voice.
The pit of horror that had settled in Alex's stomach became and abyss. He knew exactly what this meant. It meant that once again, he was going to have to kill a friend.
No! he reminded himself. Not my friend. The thing that killed him.
"Perhaps the rest of you should leave," Rupert said, evenly. The only thing betraying the tempest that was brewing inside of him was the slight shaking of his hands. "This is something, I think, best left for me to do alone."
After a moment's hesitation, both Alex and Willow turned to go. They were stopped dead in their tracks by Joan's commanding voice:
"No."
Three heads turned to look at her. Her eyes were clear again; her lips set into a thin, firm line. On Willow, it could be called her resolve face. On Joan, it clearly stated, "I'm the Slayer. Don't fuck with me."
"No," Joan said again, her confidence growing. "We are not murdering him in cold blood." Rupert opened his mouth to protest, but Joan would not be silenced. Off his look, she said, "And that *is* what it would be. Murder. He hasn't done anything yet. He is still our friend. He is still your son. And maybe we can help him. Maybe a spell, or..." There was a hint of desperation in her voice now. "...Something. But we are not giving up on him yet."
Joan stopped talking and fixed Rupert with a pointed look. Both Willow and Alex stared at him, also, hope plain on their faces. Rupert wanted to feel it too: feel hope, believe that his son could still be saved. He wanted desperately to believe, even though everything in his training told him that such a belief would be foolhardy. His son was already dead. Only...
Rupert looked down at the body, noticing with fascination that the wounds had already begun to close and heal. Where Randy's neck had once been a bloody mess, now only two neat red puncture holes remained. The mark of his sire. Under normal circumstances, Rupert knew that the new vampire would wake into a world dominated by his sire; she would be everything to him: his creator, his teacher, maybe even his lover. But Randy's sire was dead. There was no one to teach him.
Rupert looked at his three young companions, at the expressions of hope masking their grief. Then he looked down at his son's cold, pale skin, which was never again to know warmth or color.
There was no one to teach him.
Except, of course, for them.
Rupert nodded as he came to his decision. "Alex," he instructed, "help me lift him. We need to get him home before the sun rises."
And if it doesn't work out, Rupert reflected as he hoisted his son's body up off the bloody slab, I know how it can be dealt with.
*************
TBC