New Fanfic Continued
Oct. 21st, 2005 10:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dexfarkin"Once Upon A Night in Sunnydale…"(2/2)
By Paradoqz and Dex
All recognizable "Buffy The Vampire Slayer" TM and © (or copyright) Fox Television and Mutant Enemy/Joss Whedon and its related entities; I am using them without permission but mean no harm and am making no profit. The plot and original characters, however belong to myself and Paradoqz. Any and all feedback is appreciated at dexf@sympatico.ca and paradoqz@hotmail.com. Redistribution of this tale for profit is illegal. Please do not archive this story without contacting me first to obtain my permission.
Many thanks to Rossi, CJ and Heatherly for betaing over the last couple of years. Story takes place during the events in season 5 of BtVS.
My shirt was hanging off of him like a burial shroud, making him look like a scarecrow after a bad night on the town.
Which wasn’t that far off the mark now that I thought about it. It didn’t take long for the war-hero to revert to type either. I was beginning to come to the conclusion that nothing short of a thorough decapitation would shut the kid up.
The cache of goodwill that he had built up with me was beginning to run thin. I sighed and scratched my head. Wasn’t the kid’s fault, I knew that. The uneasy feeling that settled in the back of my head after the non-conversation with Sam was tugging at me in a not good kind of way.
Fuck.
I was too old to deal with quasi-paternal urges. And she was a big girl.
…
Fuck, I needed a drink.
“Frank?”
“Yeah?” I felt I deserved a lot of credit for not barking at the guy. Nobody appreciates my sensitivity, I tell you what.
“Why are stopping here?”
“I told you.” I said parked the truck. “Lunch.”
“At the cemetery?”
“It’s very quiet this time of night. Scenic.” I didn’t bother with the lowjack. For good or ill the criminal element in Sunnydale is kinda thin. And remarkably few of the other kind try to carjack a UPS carrier. I expect that to change when the word about the ‘improvements’ gets around.
Besides, against the ‘other’ kind that jack would do exactly shit.
I did put ‘Frank’s car’ sticker in the window though.
It’s good to have a reputation.
“Man, this is creepy.” Alec’s eyes kept darting around, as if he expected a werewolf jump out at him any second from a bush or something.
Filled my heart with hope for the younger generation.
“I can’t believe you eat lunch – which is more like late supper by the way – here. That can’t be good for your chi.”
My chi? My CHI?!
“Listen, slick…”
“Clem, is that yo- Oh, hey, Frank.”
Well, shit.
Alec stopped behind me and by the sound of it was making like a fish out of water again. Don’t know if it’s fair to blame him at that. Not exactly the picture I was expecting, my own self.
“G’evening, Mrs. Summers.”
The lady sitting on the blanket, spread in front of crypt smiled back at me, seemingly unaware of the sheer wrongness of the whole picture. And I am not even talking about the company she was in.
This fucking town, I swear to God.
“Hi, Frank.” I always liked her smile. Reminded me of my niece.
“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Joyce. Who’s your friend?”
“Alec Whitaker, ma’m. He’s my new partner.”
No sounds from behind me, so I discreetly reminded him of his manners with a well placed elbow.
“Ow. I mean, hi. I’m Alec. Alec Whitaker.”
I turned and glared. The kid got bonus points for getting the hint almost immediately and grabbing his hat off his head. Joyce grinned into her hand and shook her head.
“Nice to meet you, Alec.”
I like the lady and all, but I still needed a couple of seconds to swallow my plans.
Spike, the pale undead bastard, smirked at me, the fucker, knowing that with Joyce here my hope for a discreet dip into his booze just went up in smoke. I sneered back, since if I had to bet I'd put money on the fact that he was in the same boat. His answering glower was enough to brighten up my dreary days.
Malik remained expressionless as he usually did.
Malik in all probability was the main reason for Alec’s first reaction. Although the Billy Idol wannabe over there might have had something to do with it too. Who can tell.
“Guys, meet Alec. Alec – the guys.”
“Um… hi.”
Spike and Malik nodded, assessing the kid each in their own way.
“Who decorated his face?” Malik asked softly and shifted. I nodded my thanks and sit down, grunting. Sucks to get old.
“We just came from Willy’s.”
“Oh.”
“Eddie and Shirl should wake up by noon, I am guessing.” I established my partner’s reputation without sounding defensive or proud. Much.
Malik looked impressed and Spike glanced at me, his eyebrow raised fractionally. I nodded.
“Monday?”
“I’ll put you down.”
“Brilliant.”
Joyce shook her head again, looking at us both admonishingly.
Spike looked somewhat abashed.
I shrugged.
Thankfully the kid picked this moment to re-enter conversation.
“So, “ He wetted his lips carefully, glancing at Malik sidelong. “How do you know Frank?”
“Oh, everybody knows Frank.” Spike drawled out, half mockingly.
I scowled. Joyce just looked tired.
Malik didn’t say anything. He usually didn’t.
In his profession that's what you’d call a bonus.
Malik Abrafo was not always a mild-mannered groundskeeper of the Restfield cemetery.
He used to run with the Black Panthers when, in his own words, he was young and impressionable. He also told me once that Abrafo means executioner.
Yeah, that’s what I said too. Not aloud, of course.
See, he’s Order of Taraka. Retired. Not sure why, but I gathered there was an embarrassing situation of some sort, involving a daughter of a Kerchak demon-khan, a family castle and some sort of fire.
I didn’t go looking for extra details. Call me squeamish.
Anyway, apparently there was some sort of epiphany and Malik discovered the joys of pacifism.
Rumor is that he’d sworn not to raise his hand in anger ever again. Even in self-defense.
Not that anybody’s been dumb enough to test that theory, as far as I know.
Anyway he’s been the groundskeeper here for the last eight years. When he’s not busy cleaning me out of my poker money, that is.
Says it’s a good job. Restful and conducive to contemplation.
Apparently conversations with the undead gave him a whole new perspective on the metaphysical nature of enlightenment.
He and Joyce met at her gallery one day and hit it off. From what I understand the first time Spike saw them sitting in front of his crypt with a picnic basket he went on a three day bender.
I gathered he had this image of having the Talk about Joyce with Malik. After he found out that they were Just Friends he disappeared into Willy’s for another week to drown himself into grateful oblivion.
I love this town.
Where else, for example, can you sit on a blanket in the middle of the cemetery and listen to a nice lady gallery owner, a retired professional shit-disturber and an undead punk discuss primitive art of sub-Equatorial Africa and the Shang Dynasty China.
So I sat on the blanket and ate my sandwiches.
What would you do?
I almost choked on my bologna when the kid jumped into the conversation and was able to hold his own.
Apparently his pop’s been stationed in Africa a bunch.
“Alec, you seem like a very bright young man,” Joyce said finally and fixed him with a steely Mom-stare. “Why aren’t you in college?”
“Oh. Um…” The little snot grinned sheepishly, hastily swallowing the food. “I was gonna go, but I figured this is the time to take some time off. See the world. Discover myself, y’know?”
Behind him Spike rolled his eyes in almost audible disgust and I had to admit he had a point.
Joyce too, looked somewhat skeptical about swallowing the semi-Kerouakian line of bullshit of finding oneself through employment at UPS.
As she sighed and began to dismantle my new partner’s sense of self-worth with admiration-inducing efficiency, I squinted meaningfully at Spike.
He got the hint immediately.
Making strategic retreat to the crypt we proceeded to examine what the vampire’s wine cellar had to offer.
Now there was still a bottle of vodka in my truck, but I am not yet senile enough to get plastered on hard liquor during a Sunnydale night shift.
Although given how this night has been going….
In any case, the beer was more of an excuse than anything else, since with every passing hour that never quite forgotten feeling that there was a sniper rifle pointing at the back of my head had been steadily growing stronger and stronger.
“Anything going down tonight, Spike, that I should know about?”
He was suddenly looking arrogant and shifty at the same time. Right. Must be Slayer business.
“Spike…”
He sighed and scratched his nose, apparently deeming me trustworthy enough. The privilege of it all almost made my heart stop, I tell you what.
“There’s a new Big Bad in town.” He glanced toward the door, as if to make sure Joyce was well out of the earshot. Judging from the sounds he needn’t have worried. Malik seemed to have her well entertained.
“Who?”
“Goes by the name of Glory.”
I spat and scowled at him. “Fuck, boy. I knew that a week back.”
He sneered. “Oh, yeah? Did you know about those Watcher tossers that traipsed through here a bit ago?”
I didn’t. The bad feeling in the pit of my stomach grew.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. They left.”
“Spike, get to the point.”
“Glory’s a hellgod, it looks like.”
Well. That was a whole and exciting level of unpleasant.
“What’s she want?”
The vampire finished his beer and, casually crushing the can, fished out a pack of cigarettes. I wasn’t offered any. Hint seemed pretty clear. He told me as much as he was gonna.
Not that he really needed to. There was a backpack in the corner of the crypt with a bunch of CDs half spilt out. And unless Spike’s tastes have changed drastically in the last week and have come to encompass the modern American pop music, I could form a fairly educated guess as to the owner.
Which lent a lot of weight to the rumor that the Slayer dropped Joyce and her sister here a few days back for safe-keeping.
This fucking town.
Still. If the Slayer was in the thick of it, chances were it was going to get handled above the level of us simple folk. One way or another.
UPS doesn’t fight HellGods. It’s in the contract.
…. well apart from that one time in the ’80s. But FedEx started it!
I finished my beer and thought longingly about just leaving quietly, getting in my beautiful truck and just driving. Until I hit Mexico. Start a whole new life.
“You got my stuff, by the way?”
… less than a day, I could hit the border. Less than a day.
“Well?”
“Here. ‘Give ‘Em Enough Rope’, original vinyl sighed by the band. And a bootleg of the last Passions season on DVD.”
Before he could revel in his new possessions, however, a blood-curdling shriek split the peaceful night of Sunnyd- yeah, I can’t even finish that with a straight face.
He beat me outside, of course. But not by much.
It was Alec of course. But frankly, it was hard to blame him this time.
“Frank! My eye! It’s saying things to me!”
It was too. Some of them were even printable.
Joyce was blinking rapidly and rooting through her handbag. If she was going to come up with some remedy against mutant eyes, I was planning on being extremely impressed.
Malik was just sitting there, head cocked curiously to the side.
“Oh.” Spike said suddenly.
“What?”
“WHAT?!”
He ignored Alec and cocked the scarred eyebrow at me. “What month is it, Frank?”
What month? What the hell did that….
Oh hell.
Spike’s lips twitched. “Shirley is in mating season, mate.”
This fucking town.
“I think I have some visine in here.” Joyce said, ignored by everyone.
“Anyone speak Dzhaybee?” I knew enough of it to puzzle out a warcry and barter for what would no doubt be an insanely exhausting evening of degenerate lust. But what had been a split eyebrow was now rimmed with nubby teeth and was spitting out a rapidfire mixture of curses, obscenities and, for all we knew, a major breakthrough in Dzhaybee cooking techniques.
“Got a bit. Back in Thailand.” Spike shrugged. “Dzhaybee have a thing for ginger. San Francisco is lousy with them. Can’t get decent takeaway without one inviting himself over.”
“What’s it saying?” Alec was whimpering and trying to cover it with his hands, which only led to it biting at his fingers and snarling. Malik was prying Alec’s hands back from it, which was about the only thing stopping the kid from taking his lunchbox to it.
“Omens, curses… apparently it knows your mum well, Frank.”
“Not funny.” I scrubbed my hands through my hair. “So, what we have is a Dzhaybee demon slowly growing out of Alec’ face?”
“Sounds like.”
“Get it off! Get it off!” Alec screamed.
“Calm down, kid.” I’ll admit, the drooling and the little tongue that lashed out from his eyebrow was not something that was going to help settle my digestion after lunch. Spike cursed when it bit him, and was searching for a part to punch that wasn’t my partner.
Malik reached into the open picnic basket and pulled out an opened bottle of wine. He pulled the cork from the neck, and with great care, plugged it into the center of the snarling maw. It bit at the cork and tried to shriek at us around the plug. Alec was whimpering and near hysterical, trashing about. Joyce held his head while I wound a bandage across his forehead, hiding the nasty thing underneath it.
“Spike, how do we get rid of it?”
“What do I look like, Frank? The bloody demon doctor?”
I lobbed over my thermos at him. “AB negative, with just a hint of brandy.” Spike’s eyebrows went up. “However, if you don’t give me a straight answer about this, you won’t get to enjoy it. On account of the fact that I will beat you to death with the thermos.”
“It’s a minor possession.” Spike said with a theatrical sigh. “Dzhaybee don’t have reproductive organs. They carry their genetic material in their teeth. When they bite you, they transfer it over, and the possession spreads out, like a disease. Two, three days tops, and you’re a brand new baby Dzhaybee.”
“Fuck.”
“That makes more sense to me too. But you never can tell with demons.”
“How do we get rid of it? Our insurance doesn’t cover possession.” Despite a strike threat, the bastards still won’t increase our coverage to add demonic elements.
“Exorcism, I guess. Not really my thing.”
“This is ridiculous. Frank, get him to your truck. I’ll call Mister Giles to handle it.” Joyce said, in a no nonsense tone. “We can wait for him at my house.”
“Joyce, you know that’s not safe.” Spike said.
“I am not going to sit here and let this young man change into some… thing. Malik, can you call the Magic Box for me?”
“Of course.” He shifted a bit. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?”
“I’m sure Frank can handle it. But thanks.” She smiled, and I think the man actually blushed a bit. Joyce was one of the classic ladies; made everyone feel good about themselves. Maybe being the Slayer’s mother came with powers of its own. “Now, let’s get him out of here.”
“Sure.” Alec trashed weakly, half in a faint from the shock. I hauled him up over my shoulder. Joyce walked beside, carrying our lunchboxes as I dragged him out of the cemetery and tossed him in the back of the truck. Hell, the pile of express mail was as soft as a featherbed back there.
“Frank?”
“Yeah, Joyce?” I gunned the motor, and pulled out on to the street.
“Have you ever wondered why just when you can’t imagine anything could get any stranger in this town, it always does?”
“Our own damn fault for living here.”
“I chose Sunnydale after the divorce because it seemed so quiet.” She smiled ruefully. “Wholesome, compared to LA.”
“After my divorce, I chose it because I didn’t believe anything could be worse than my marriage.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’m still right too.” She laughed as we pulled up to her house. We talked a few times about her ex at the gallery. After the first explosion, FedEx refused to do any more deliveries there. Wimps. So, we’d get to talking between shipments. A lady that made me wish I was ten years younger most of the time.
“You’re horrible, Frank.”
“Goes with the job. I’ll get the kid.”
“Sure. Just put him on the couch.” She went on ahead to open the door, while I grabbed Sleeping Beauty out of the back. The eyebrow was making a solid attempt to chew its way through the cork, and I didn’t have much faith in it lasting long. Hopefully that Giles got himself over here quickly. There was a kid in that house who didn’t need a sudden and intense tutorial in Dzhaybee curses.
Joyce walked over to the couch while the kid lay there. She touched the bandage and jerked away as it moved under her touch.
“This town. Who knew?”
“I know the feeling. Giles on his way?”
“I assume so. He’s got to come from the Magic Box.”
“He’s the one that bought it? Is he insane?”
“I don’t think so.” Joyce grinned. “He was the librarian at the high school before that.”
“Yeah, I remember. I just didn’t make the connection when I heard someone was crazed enough to buy that deathtrap again.” Some people had the mindfuck to volunteer for all of the shit duties.
“Shush.” Joyce admonished, moving back to the kitchen to make tea. After what seemed like an eternity, she reappeared with a tray of teacups. “Tea alright?”
“Sure.” I would have killed for a coffee at this point, but it was pointless to argue. Considering how late we were running at this point, Mildred was going to have my head for dinner.
It’s funny what things trigger your average epiphany. Mildred with a fireaxe did it for me and I froze with a teacup half-way to my lips as the pieces of what had been nagging at me for the last couple of hours suddenly clicked together into a very obvious and extremely ugly conclusion.
“Joyce...”
She just smiled and took my cup away from me. “You apologize but you urgently need to step out and yes, Frank, it’s perfectly all right for Alec to stay here until you’ll come back from your study session with Willow.”
I blinked.
She grinned, suddenly looking much too young to have two kids. “You had the same look my darling eldest used to get just before she’d feed me some cockamamie story and dash out only to come back with suspicious stains on her sweater.”
“Uhh…”
“Just be careful.” She waved me off. “Go.”
I went.
The drive was spent mostly by thinking of the ways I was going to kill Sam. The list was long, and refining and adding to it filled with deep, dark satisfaction I hadn’t known since I slugged my wife’s divorce lawyer.
It took a while to find them. Longer than I thought it would. Longer than I hoped.
In the end all I had to do was follow the sirens.
By the time I got there things already got to that stage just past fucked up and well into the screaming and bleeding part.
Reminded me of Thanksgivings at my in-laws.
First thing I saw was Eli, his left arm bent at an unnatural angle, blasting away from behind his car. The poor Toyota was looking like it just had a minor disagreement with Godzilla. Now a lot of Sunnydale's finest still run around with 38’s. Mostly the fat and dumb brigade that make sure to answer any distress call with deliberate speed that will bring them there long after the sunrise appears and the perps make like a tree.
Like most of the brighter ones Eli carried a modified M1911 pistol and I happened to know that in the back of his car there’s a highly illegal H&K G36c Compact Carbine. A fine piece of Kraut engineering and as accessible at the moment as your average nuke silo. Sam was crouching next to the kid and doing what she did best with the gun that gave her the nickname.
Neither of them was doing any noticeable damage to what looked like a fairly pissed off Suvolte.
Mike, his faithful shotgun bent into a pretzel and abandoned on a sidewalk, was screaming something in bad Gaelic and going toe to toe with what looked like a mutated gorilla and unless I was very much mistaken was a Nheoot. Mike was coming up second best but didn’t look like he was quitting.
Malik was looking to be on the verge of breaking his non-violence vow. Standing as he was between a terrified huddle of kids and an ugly-ass snake the size of a small bulldozer I saw few options.
We were all way too fucking late, I thought absently as I drove my beautiful truck straight into the beastie, right past Spike, who was rather phlegmatically observing the chaos, from a safe vantage point behind a burning Volvo.
The snake crunched and screamed in a woman’s voice and then things got a little hazy for a while.
I vaguely remember a moment of clear lucidity as I smashed the remnants of my empty shotgun over the head of the goddamn snake that just wouldn’t die.
The fire was glinting metallically off the disheveled brown hair of a coltish girl who reminded me of someone… and then Spike was cursing quietly and bitterly with an almost savagely self-mocking air in his voice, his eyes glinting with something strange and wild – and then he leapt and threw the girl aside, as he went for Nheoot’s throat, above Malik’s crumpled form.
Which would amount to exactly shit, I knew. Because we were all too fucking late.
Suvolte toppled over suddenly, ridden with bullets and Sam’s knife sticking out of his eye and the real low part of my day stepped out into the light.
All those kids. We all should have seen it sooner.
But we didn’t and they raised him.
St. Vigeous.
The Vampire Saint.
I gave the snake bitch one last kick and scrambled under the truck, fervently hoping that Sam knew what she was doing as she reached for our ace in the hole.
The mummy hand worked like a charm.
Escobeda was late but he arrived in style.
The main street was going to need serious remodeling.
The tall, hook-nosed warlock stepped carefully over the various twitching body parts and gave us all a long, slightly disgusted look, ignoring Vigeous with the indifference of someone either insanely powerful or just insane. I wasn’t taking bets.
The vamp was just standing there and smiling. Didn’t even turn to at look how his Nheoot was doing, the creepy fuck. And then suddenly he was moving and holy fuck did he move. Spike went flying like he was a paper-mache doll, smacking into the wall with an unpleasantly wet sound.
He growled something and was back on his feet in less than a second, shaky and sans duster, bleeding like a stuck pig.
Vigeous just smiled tiredly and put a little more strength into his next punch.
But that slowed him just enough for Escobeda’s beady eyes to finally settle on Sam and he squinted at her, extending his right arm. The one that ended in a stump.
She just stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open in a shocked ‘o.’
“Sam,” I screamed from under the truck, uneasily aware of the faint edge of hysteria entering my voice as Spike dented the stonework. “Give the nice warlock his fucking mummy hand!”
She did.
We didn’t stay for the rest of the dance. Call me a spoilsport but I collected conscious and unconscious bodies and lit the fuck out of there.
It was going to be a stone cold bitch explaining to Mildred about the blood on the mail and the broken headlight.
***
“So.”
“Look, Frank--”
“You got the mummy hand because police regulations in Sunnydale strictly prohibit the use of any magical means in law enforcement and Eli couldn’t get it delivered to the station. Then you and he head on down to Main Street because a dozen grade nine students who have read way too much White Wolf books with a hard on decide to raise the fucking Saint of Vampires back into the world, and you figure that as long as you bring in a thousand year old Aztec warlock, he’ll act as the equalizer.” Yeah, I was being an asshole, but I was pissed.
“Something like that.”
“But the part I’m having trouble with is that, other than the utterly retarded plan, was that both of you lied to me about it.”
It was late, I was tired, and felt at least ten years older. After a few years in this town, you’ve gone through enough to make you a believer or a madman. Less than an hour ago, I was beating a snake-woman-demon to death with the butt of my shotgun and it was part of my normal job description.
I’d also seen Sunnydale General more times than I ever wanted to. Eli had gone into surgery about twenty minutes ago. Mike was standing in the corner, messily making his way through an O’Henry and sweeping aside the occasional intern that assumed a face like a giant bruise meant you needed medical attention.
“We weren’t sure. Eli’s readings figured that he and Mike could stop it. The hand was strictly backup.” Sam said, and abruptly burst into tears. I’ve watched that woman shrug off three broken fingers with a shrug, but here she was crying.
I hate being old.
“I’m sorry, kid.” I muttered, stupidly. Sam sniffed, rubbed her face angrily.
“It’s just frustrating, Frank. We didn’t tell you because, hell, Eli knew you’d come barreling in. This town, the cops are useless, protecting people involves severed hands, and the best hope is a twenty year old in bitch heels and a thing for the Gap.” Sam sat down miserably, and goddamn, I didn’t have anything to say. She was right.
“Miss Barrett?” A young intern turned up, brown haired and earnest.
“How’s Eli?”
“He’ll be fine. The broken ribs caused some internal bleeding, but we got it under control pretty quickly. He’s got enough pins in his arm to set off LAX’s metal detector from here, but he’ll be fine in a few months.” He smiled gently, and it turned into horror as he was engulfed into a massive hug from Mike.
“That’s good… good.” Sam said, and shit, I knew where this was going. At least I could be nice and save the kid from Mike’s Luca Brasi style embrace.
“Hey doc.”
“Ben.” He tugged an arm free to offer his hand and tried to extradite himself.
“Appreciate it. Look, don’t let Sam spend the next week sleeping here, alright?”
“Sure. Um, could you…?”
“Mike, down. Let the man breathe.” Kelly finally let go, tears in the big oaf's eyes. I was almost ready to get all sentimental. So I cut that off at the knees and made for the door.
“Yo, Frank.” The nurse at the reception desk waved at me behind a small pile of paperwork.
“Hey, Erin.”
“Haven’t see you around in a bit.”
“Yeah, it’s been a good couple of months.” I squinted, pained. “Er. No offence.”
She grinned. “I gotcha. It’s cool. All you brave macho men get this same panicky look at your eyes when you get a whiff of the Hospital food. Pussies.”
I grunted noncommittally. I hate hospitals and I was too fucking exhausted to argue the principle of the thing.
She grinned again, flipped her braid over her shoulder and after a minute’s frown plucked a post-it from somewhere and waved it at me with a triumphant air about her. “Aha!”
Erin squinted at the slip of paper, having apparently yet again forgotten her glasses at home. One of these days the cops were going to unwrap her pickup from a tree, I swear to God.
“Alec. Alec Whitaker.” She finally pronounced. “That name mean anything to you?”
“Yeah.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Early retirement.”
“He’s Frank’s new protégé.” Williams winked at me, as he pushed by me to the coffee machine.
“Don’t use them big words, doctor. You know I get confused.” I turned back to Erin. “Where is he?”
“1242.” She looked torn for a second, medical ethic warring with medical salary.
“Could I get in on Monday?” She finally asked hesitantly.
I looked at her for a long moment and then shrugged. What the hell.
“Hey, Frank.”
Speak of the devil, I thought and turned to take in the damage.
Well, he seemed to be all right. Looked like shit.
“You look like shit, boy.”
“Yeah, well…” He shrugged and pulled on a tweed jacket that’s seen better decades. “Genetics are a bitch and they don’t do plastic surgery here.”
Erin giggled behind me.
Williams patted me on the shoulder consolingly as he moved past, stopping before Alec and giving him an appraising look. “Thinks he has a sense of humor, huh?”
“He tries.” I admitted. “Can I take his butt out of here or is he going to pass out like a little girl on me again?”
“Hey!” Alec protested. I ignored him.
Things were settling into a nice routine between us.
Williams scratched the two-day stubble. “Well, he’s got six stitches in his eyebrow.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Gonna have to ride around with a Spike wannabe.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Williams shrugged. “If you can try and get him not to tear the thing open any more than necessary, I’d be extremely grateful. But no, I don’t see any urgent reason to prolong our relationship, as scintillating a conversationalist Mr. Whitaker is. Apart from Erin’s severe need for a romantic life.”
“Hey!” Erin protested, blushing.
Williams ignored her.
Something about the way the man ran his hospital appealed to me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Thanks, Doc. Hope I won’t see you soon.”
“Same, Frank.” He gave me a mock salute, and pulling the glasses off the red-rimmed eyes, disappeared into the bowels of the Hospital.
I nodded to Erin and made for the exit, the kid in tow.
“Where did you get that ugly piece of sartorial abortion?”
I know a couple of big words. Had word-a-day Playboy calendar once. Pamela Anderson was sartorial.
“What, the jacket?” He preened, buckling the belt. An impressive feat in and of itself. “I think it looks kinda good, actually. Mr. Giles let me keep it. Oh!” Alec slapped himself on the forehead and immediately yowled like a castrated cat. “Ow! Fucking hell. Shit! Ow!”
I suddenly felt very tired.
“Let me see.”
“Fuck. Ow!”
“Get your hands away, you idiot.”
I thumbed the ceiling-light on and grabbed his head to steady it.
“OW!”
“You said that already.”
I squinted. Didn’t see any blood. “Looks ok. Doesn’t seem like you pulled any stitches loose.”
“It hurts like a son of a bitch, Frank!”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
He batted my hands away angrily.
There was suddenly a tense air in the car. He was staring at me and breathing heavily.
Well, fuck. Took him long enough.
“Clowns, huh, Frank?” He asked heavily.
I shrugged and turned on the engine, flicking the lamp off. Hell if I was going to let him turn this in some manly staring match.
“You’re either ready for the truth, Alec or you aren’t.”
“And I wasn’t, is that it?”
“No.” I said and pulled out of the parking lot. “You weren’t.”
“And now?’ His voice was strange.
“The jury’s still out.” I told him.
He fell silent, the shadows making his face looking gaunt and tired.
Hell.
I’m getting old.
After a second I added. “But the signs are hopeful.”
His smile was brilliant in the darkness of the car.
“Giles said to tell you he was sorry he couldn’t stick around, by the way.” He added, still grinning.
Made him look like a complete idiot.
I told him as much.
He didn’t argue so we rode in blissful silence for a while.
“So.” He said after a short pause. “What are the rules on newbies getting in on their own pot?”
His decision not to comment on the sudden swerve of the car made me think highly of his instinct of self-preservation.
“Well.” He asked instead. “Where to next?”
***
“I fucking knew this was going to happen one day.” Frank muttered and flicked his cigarette into the abyss.
Mildred shrugged. “Yeah.”
The crater that used to be the town of Sunnydale stretched for miles. Somewhere at the bottom was the depot, Frank’s house, and most importantly, his beautiful truck.
Insurance had better cover this.
“So.” Alec asked. “What now?”
Frank glanced at him and then realized that Mildred too seemed to expect him to make the decision.
Visibly swallowing a cutting remark, or perhaps his perennial promise to retire, he rubbed his forehead again and spat, tugging the brown shorts upwards.
“I hear there are openings in Cleveland.”
***
Jacob stared down into the depth of the crater, his grey stormy eyes unreadable, the gnarled hands still at his sides.
“Fuck if I am cleaning this up.”
FIN
By Paradoqz and Dex
All recognizable "Buffy The Vampire Slayer" TM and © (or copyright) Fox Television and Mutant Enemy/Joss Whedon and its related entities; I am using them without permission but mean no harm and am making no profit. The plot and original characters, however belong to myself and Paradoqz. Any and all feedback is appreciated at dexf@sympatico.ca and paradoqz@hotmail.com. Redistribution of this tale for profit is illegal. Please do not archive this story without contacting me first to obtain my permission.
Many thanks to Rossi, CJ and Heatherly for betaing over the last couple of years. Story takes place during the events in season 5 of BtVS.
My shirt was hanging off of him like a burial shroud, making him look like a scarecrow after a bad night on the town.
Which wasn’t that far off the mark now that I thought about it. It didn’t take long for the war-hero to revert to type either. I was beginning to come to the conclusion that nothing short of a thorough decapitation would shut the kid up.
The cache of goodwill that he had built up with me was beginning to run thin. I sighed and scratched my head. Wasn’t the kid’s fault, I knew that. The uneasy feeling that settled in the back of my head after the non-conversation with Sam was tugging at me in a not good kind of way.
Fuck.
I was too old to deal with quasi-paternal urges. And she was a big girl.
…
Fuck, I needed a drink.
“Frank?”
“Yeah?” I felt I deserved a lot of credit for not barking at the guy. Nobody appreciates my sensitivity, I tell you what.
“Why are stopping here?”
“I told you.” I said parked the truck. “Lunch.”
“At the cemetery?”
“It’s very quiet this time of night. Scenic.” I didn’t bother with the lowjack. For good or ill the criminal element in Sunnydale is kinda thin. And remarkably few of the other kind try to carjack a UPS carrier. I expect that to change when the word about the ‘improvements’ gets around.
Besides, against the ‘other’ kind that jack would do exactly shit.
I did put ‘Frank’s car’ sticker in the window though.
It’s good to have a reputation.
“Man, this is creepy.” Alec’s eyes kept darting around, as if he expected a werewolf jump out at him any second from a bush or something.
Filled my heart with hope for the younger generation.
“I can’t believe you eat lunch – which is more like late supper by the way – here. That can’t be good for your chi.”
My chi? My CHI?!
“Listen, slick…”
“Clem, is that yo- Oh, hey, Frank.”
Well, shit.
Alec stopped behind me and by the sound of it was making like a fish out of water again. Don’t know if it’s fair to blame him at that. Not exactly the picture I was expecting, my own self.
“G’evening, Mrs. Summers.”
The lady sitting on the blanket, spread in front of crypt smiled back at me, seemingly unaware of the sheer wrongness of the whole picture. And I am not even talking about the company she was in.
This fucking town, I swear to God.
“Hi, Frank.” I always liked her smile. Reminded me of my niece.
“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Joyce. Who’s your friend?”
“Alec Whitaker, ma’m. He’s my new partner.”
No sounds from behind me, so I discreetly reminded him of his manners with a well placed elbow.
“Ow. I mean, hi. I’m Alec. Alec Whitaker.”
I turned and glared. The kid got bonus points for getting the hint almost immediately and grabbing his hat off his head. Joyce grinned into her hand and shook her head.
“Nice to meet you, Alec.”
I like the lady and all, but I still needed a couple of seconds to swallow my plans.
Spike, the pale undead bastard, smirked at me, the fucker, knowing that with Joyce here my hope for a discreet dip into his booze just went up in smoke. I sneered back, since if I had to bet I'd put money on the fact that he was in the same boat. His answering glower was enough to brighten up my dreary days.
Malik remained expressionless as he usually did.
Malik in all probability was the main reason for Alec’s first reaction. Although the Billy Idol wannabe over there might have had something to do with it too. Who can tell.
“Guys, meet Alec. Alec – the guys.”
“Um… hi.”
Spike and Malik nodded, assessing the kid each in their own way.
“Who decorated his face?” Malik asked softly and shifted. I nodded my thanks and sit down, grunting. Sucks to get old.
“We just came from Willy’s.”
“Oh.”
“Eddie and Shirl should wake up by noon, I am guessing.” I established my partner’s reputation without sounding defensive or proud. Much.
Malik looked impressed and Spike glanced at me, his eyebrow raised fractionally. I nodded.
“Monday?”
“I’ll put you down.”
“Brilliant.”
Joyce shook her head again, looking at us both admonishingly.
Spike looked somewhat abashed.
I shrugged.
Thankfully the kid picked this moment to re-enter conversation.
“So, “ He wetted his lips carefully, glancing at Malik sidelong. “How do you know Frank?”
“Oh, everybody knows Frank.” Spike drawled out, half mockingly.
I scowled. Joyce just looked tired.
Malik didn’t say anything. He usually didn’t.
In his profession that's what you’d call a bonus.
Malik Abrafo was not always a mild-mannered groundskeeper of the Restfield cemetery.
He used to run with the Black Panthers when, in his own words, he was young and impressionable. He also told me once that Abrafo means executioner.
Yeah, that’s what I said too. Not aloud, of course.
See, he’s Order of Taraka. Retired. Not sure why, but I gathered there was an embarrassing situation of some sort, involving a daughter of a Kerchak demon-khan, a family castle and some sort of fire.
I didn’t go looking for extra details. Call me squeamish.
Anyway, apparently there was some sort of epiphany and Malik discovered the joys of pacifism.
Rumor is that he’d sworn not to raise his hand in anger ever again. Even in self-defense.
Not that anybody’s been dumb enough to test that theory, as far as I know.
Anyway he’s been the groundskeeper here for the last eight years. When he’s not busy cleaning me out of my poker money, that is.
Says it’s a good job. Restful and conducive to contemplation.
Apparently conversations with the undead gave him a whole new perspective on the metaphysical nature of enlightenment.
He and Joyce met at her gallery one day and hit it off. From what I understand the first time Spike saw them sitting in front of his crypt with a picnic basket he went on a three day bender.
I gathered he had this image of having the Talk about Joyce with Malik. After he found out that they were Just Friends he disappeared into Willy’s for another week to drown himself into grateful oblivion.
I love this town.
Where else, for example, can you sit on a blanket in the middle of the cemetery and listen to a nice lady gallery owner, a retired professional shit-disturber and an undead punk discuss primitive art of sub-Equatorial Africa and the Shang Dynasty China.
So I sat on the blanket and ate my sandwiches.
What would you do?
I almost choked on my bologna when the kid jumped into the conversation and was able to hold his own.
Apparently his pop’s been stationed in Africa a bunch.
“Alec, you seem like a very bright young man,” Joyce said finally and fixed him with a steely Mom-stare. “Why aren’t you in college?”
“Oh. Um…” The little snot grinned sheepishly, hastily swallowing the food. “I was gonna go, but I figured this is the time to take some time off. See the world. Discover myself, y’know?”
Behind him Spike rolled his eyes in almost audible disgust and I had to admit he had a point.
Joyce too, looked somewhat skeptical about swallowing the semi-Kerouakian line of bullshit of finding oneself through employment at UPS.
As she sighed and began to dismantle my new partner’s sense of self-worth with admiration-inducing efficiency, I squinted meaningfully at Spike.
He got the hint immediately.
Making strategic retreat to the crypt we proceeded to examine what the vampire’s wine cellar had to offer.
Now there was still a bottle of vodka in my truck, but I am not yet senile enough to get plastered on hard liquor during a Sunnydale night shift.
Although given how this night has been going….
In any case, the beer was more of an excuse than anything else, since with every passing hour that never quite forgotten feeling that there was a sniper rifle pointing at the back of my head had been steadily growing stronger and stronger.
“Anything going down tonight, Spike, that I should know about?”
He was suddenly looking arrogant and shifty at the same time. Right. Must be Slayer business.
“Spike…”
He sighed and scratched his nose, apparently deeming me trustworthy enough. The privilege of it all almost made my heart stop, I tell you what.
“There’s a new Big Bad in town.” He glanced toward the door, as if to make sure Joyce was well out of the earshot. Judging from the sounds he needn’t have worried. Malik seemed to have her well entertained.
“Who?”
“Goes by the name of Glory.”
I spat and scowled at him. “Fuck, boy. I knew that a week back.”
He sneered. “Oh, yeah? Did you know about those Watcher tossers that traipsed through here a bit ago?”
I didn’t. The bad feeling in the pit of my stomach grew.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. They left.”
“Spike, get to the point.”
“Glory’s a hellgod, it looks like.”
Well. That was a whole and exciting level of unpleasant.
“What’s she want?”
The vampire finished his beer and, casually crushing the can, fished out a pack of cigarettes. I wasn’t offered any. Hint seemed pretty clear. He told me as much as he was gonna.
Not that he really needed to. There was a backpack in the corner of the crypt with a bunch of CDs half spilt out. And unless Spike’s tastes have changed drastically in the last week and have come to encompass the modern American pop music, I could form a fairly educated guess as to the owner.
Which lent a lot of weight to the rumor that the Slayer dropped Joyce and her sister here a few days back for safe-keeping.
This fucking town.
Still. If the Slayer was in the thick of it, chances were it was going to get handled above the level of us simple folk. One way or another.
UPS doesn’t fight HellGods. It’s in the contract.
…. well apart from that one time in the ’80s. But FedEx started it!
I finished my beer and thought longingly about just leaving quietly, getting in my beautiful truck and just driving. Until I hit Mexico. Start a whole new life.
“You got my stuff, by the way?”
… less than a day, I could hit the border. Less than a day.
“Well?”
“Here. ‘Give ‘Em Enough Rope’, original vinyl sighed by the band. And a bootleg of the last Passions season on DVD.”
Before he could revel in his new possessions, however, a blood-curdling shriek split the peaceful night of Sunnyd- yeah, I can’t even finish that with a straight face.
He beat me outside, of course. But not by much.
It was Alec of course. But frankly, it was hard to blame him this time.
“Frank! My eye! It’s saying things to me!”
It was too. Some of them were even printable.
Joyce was blinking rapidly and rooting through her handbag. If she was going to come up with some remedy against mutant eyes, I was planning on being extremely impressed.
Malik was just sitting there, head cocked curiously to the side.
“Oh.” Spike said suddenly.
“What?”
“WHAT?!”
He ignored Alec and cocked the scarred eyebrow at me. “What month is it, Frank?”
What month? What the hell did that….
Oh hell.
Spike’s lips twitched. “Shirley is in mating season, mate.”
This fucking town.
“I think I have some visine in here.” Joyce said, ignored by everyone.
“Anyone speak Dzhaybee?” I knew enough of it to puzzle out a warcry and barter for what would no doubt be an insanely exhausting evening of degenerate lust. But what had been a split eyebrow was now rimmed with nubby teeth and was spitting out a rapidfire mixture of curses, obscenities and, for all we knew, a major breakthrough in Dzhaybee cooking techniques.
“Got a bit. Back in Thailand.” Spike shrugged. “Dzhaybee have a thing for ginger. San Francisco is lousy with them. Can’t get decent takeaway without one inviting himself over.”
“What’s it saying?” Alec was whimpering and trying to cover it with his hands, which only led to it biting at his fingers and snarling. Malik was prying Alec’s hands back from it, which was about the only thing stopping the kid from taking his lunchbox to it.
“Omens, curses… apparently it knows your mum well, Frank.”
“Not funny.” I scrubbed my hands through my hair. “So, what we have is a Dzhaybee demon slowly growing out of Alec’ face?”
“Sounds like.”
“Get it off! Get it off!” Alec screamed.
“Calm down, kid.” I’ll admit, the drooling and the little tongue that lashed out from his eyebrow was not something that was going to help settle my digestion after lunch. Spike cursed when it bit him, and was searching for a part to punch that wasn’t my partner.
Malik reached into the open picnic basket and pulled out an opened bottle of wine. He pulled the cork from the neck, and with great care, plugged it into the center of the snarling maw. It bit at the cork and tried to shriek at us around the plug. Alec was whimpering and near hysterical, trashing about. Joyce held his head while I wound a bandage across his forehead, hiding the nasty thing underneath it.
“Spike, how do we get rid of it?”
“What do I look like, Frank? The bloody demon doctor?”
I lobbed over my thermos at him. “AB negative, with just a hint of brandy.” Spike’s eyebrows went up. “However, if you don’t give me a straight answer about this, you won’t get to enjoy it. On account of the fact that I will beat you to death with the thermos.”
“It’s a minor possession.” Spike said with a theatrical sigh. “Dzhaybee don’t have reproductive organs. They carry their genetic material in their teeth. When they bite you, they transfer it over, and the possession spreads out, like a disease. Two, three days tops, and you’re a brand new baby Dzhaybee.”
“Fuck.”
“That makes more sense to me too. But you never can tell with demons.”
“How do we get rid of it? Our insurance doesn’t cover possession.” Despite a strike threat, the bastards still won’t increase our coverage to add demonic elements.
“Exorcism, I guess. Not really my thing.”
“This is ridiculous. Frank, get him to your truck. I’ll call Mister Giles to handle it.” Joyce said, in a no nonsense tone. “We can wait for him at my house.”
“Joyce, you know that’s not safe.” Spike said.
“I am not going to sit here and let this young man change into some… thing. Malik, can you call the Magic Box for me?”
“Of course.” He shifted a bit. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?”
“I’m sure Frank can handle it. But thanks.” She smiled, and I think the man actually blushed a bit. Joyce was one of the classic ladies; made everyone feel good about themselves. Maybe being the Slayer’s mother came with powers of its own. “Now, let’s get him out of here.”
“Sure.” Alec trashed weakly, half in a faint from the shock. I hauled him up over my shoulder. Joyce walked beside, carrying our lunchboxes as I dragged him out of the cemetery and tossed him in the back of the truck. Hell, the pile of express mail was as soft as a featherbed back there.
“Frank?”
“Yeah, Joyce?” I gunned the motor, and pulled out on to the street.
“Have you ever wondered why just when you can’t imagine anything could get any stranger in this town, it always does?”
“Our own damn fault for living here.”
“I chose Sunnydale after the divorce because it seemed so quiet.” She smiled ruefully. “Wholesome, compared to LA.”
“After my divorce, I chose it because I didn’t believe anything could be worse than my marriage.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’m still right too.” She laughed as we pulled up to her house. We talked a few times about her ex at the gallery. After the first explosion, FedEx refused to do any more deliveries there. Wimps. So, we’d get to talking between shipments. A lady that made me wish I was ten years younger most of the time.
“You’re horrible, Frank.”
“Goes with the job. I’ll get the kid.”
“Sure. Just put him on the couch.” She went on ahead to open the door, while I grabbed Sleeping Beauty out of the back. The eyebrow was making a solid attempt to chew its way through the cork, and I didn’t have much faith in it lasting long. Hopefully that Giles got himself over here quickly. There was a kid in that house who didn’t need a sudden and intense tutorial in Dzhaybee curses.
Joyce walked over to the couch while the kid lay there. She touched the bandage and jerked away as it moved under her touch.
“This town. Who knew?”
“I know the feeling. Giles on his way?”
“I assume so. He’s got to come from the Magic Box.”
“He’s the one that bought it? Is he insane?”
“I don’t think so.” Joyce grinned. “He was the librarian at the high school before that.”
“Yeah, I remember. I just didn’t make the connection when I heard someone was crazed enough to buy that deathtrap again.” Some people had the mindfuck to volunteer for all of the shit duties.
“Shush.” Joyce admonished, moving back to the kitchen to make tea. After what seemed like an eternity, she reappeared with a tray of teacups. “Tea alright?”
“Sure.” I would have killed for a coffee at this point, but it was pointless to argue. Considering how late we were running at this point, Mildred was going to have my head for dinner.
It’s funny what things trigger your average epiphany. Mildred with a fireaxe did it for me and I froze with a teacup half-way to my lips as the pieces of what had been nagging at me for the last couple of hours suddenly clicked together into a very obvious and extremely ugly conclusion.
“Joyce...”
She just smiled and took my cup away from me. “You apologize but you urgently need to step out and yes, Frank, it’s perfectly all right for Alec to stay here until you’ll come back from your study session with Willow.”
I blinked.
She grinned, suddenly looking much too young to have two kids. “You had the same look my darling eldest used to get just before she’d feed me some cockamamie story and dash out only to come back with suspicious stains on her sweater.”
“Uhh…”
“Just be careful.” She waved me off. “Go.”
I went.
The drive was spent mostly by thinking of the ways I was going to kill Sam. The list was long, and refining and adding to it filled with deep, dark satisfaction I hadn’t known since I slugged my wife’s divorce lawyer.
It took a while to find them. Longer than I thought it would. Longer than I hoped.
In the end all I had to do was follow the sirens.
By the time I got there things already got to that stage just past fucked up and well into the screaming and bleeding part.
Reminded me of Thanksgivings at my in-laws.
First thing I saw was Eli, his left arm bent at an unnatural angle, blasting away from behind his car. The poor Toyota was looking like it just had a minor disagreement with Godzilla. Now a lot of Sunnydale's finest still run around with 38’s. Mostly the fat and dumb brigade that make sure to answer any distress call with deliberate speed that will bring them there long after the sunrise appears and the perps make like a tree.
Like most of the brighter ones Eli carried a modified M1911 pistol and I happened to know that in the back of his car there’s a highly illegal H&K G36c Compact Carbine. A fine piece of Kraut engineering and as accessible at the moment as your average nuke silo. Sam was crouching next to the kid and doing what she did best with the gun that gave her the nickname.
Neither of them was doing any noticeable damage to what looked like a fairly pissed off Suvolte.
Mike, his faithful shotgun bent into a pretzel and abandoned on a sidewalk, was screaming something in bad Gaelic and going toe to toe with what looked like a mutated gorilla and unless I was very much mistaken was a Nheoot. Mike was coming up second best but didn’t look like he was quitting.
Malik was looking to be on the verge of breaking his non-violence vow. Standing as he was between a terrified huddle of kids and an ugly-ass snake the size of a small bulldozer I saw few options.
We were all way too fucking late, I thought absently as I drove my beautiful truck straight into the beastie, right past Spike, who was rather phlegmatically observing the chaos, from a safe vantage point behind a burning Volvo.
The snake crunched and screamed in a woman’s voice and then things got a little hazy for a while.
I vaguely remember a moment of clear lucidity as I smashed the remnants of my empty shotgun over the head of the goddamn snake that just wouldn’t die.
The fire was glinting metallically off the disheveled brown hair of a coltish girl who reminded me of someone… and then Spike was cursing quietly and bitterly with an almost savagely self-mocking air in his voice, his eyes glinting with something strange and wild – and then he leapt and threw the girl aside, as he went for Nheoot’s throat, above Malik’s crumpled form.
Which would amount to exactly shit, I knew. Because we were all too fucking late.
Suvolte toppled over suddenly, ridden with bullets and Sam’s knife sticking out of his eye and the real low part of my day stepped out into the light.
All those kids. We all should have seen it sooner.
But we didn’t and they raised him.
St. Vigeous.
The Vampire Saint.
I gave the snake bitch one last kick and scrambled under the truck, fervently hoping that Sam knew what she was doing as she reached for our ace in the hole.
The mummy hand worked like a charm.
Escobeda was late but he arrived in style.
The main street was going to need serious remodeling.
The tall, hook-nosed warlock stepped carefully over the various twitching body parts and gave us all a long, slightly disgusted look, ignoring Vigeous with the indifference of someone either insanely powerful or just insane. I wasn’t taking bets.
The vamp was just standing there and smiling. Didn’t even turn to at look how his Nheoot was doing, the creepy fuck. And then suddenly he was moving and holy fuck did he move. Spike went flying like he was a paper-mache doll, smacking into the wall with an unpleasantly wet sound.
He growled something and was back on his feet in less than a second, shaky and sans duster, bleeding like a stuck pig.
Vigeous just smiled tiredly and put a little more strength into his next punch.
But that slowed him just enough for Escobeda’s beady eyes to finally settle on Sam and he squinted at her, extending his right arm. The one that ended in a stump.
She just stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open in a shocked ‘o.’
“Sam,” I screamed from under the truck, uneasily aware of the faint edge of hysteria entering my voice as Spike dented the stonework. “Give the nice warlock his fucking mummy hand!”
She did.
We didn’t stay for the rest of the dance. Call me a spoilsport but I collected conscious and unconscious bodies and lit the fuck out of there.
It was going to be a stone cold bitch explaining to Mildred about the blood on the mail and the broken headlight.
***
“So.”
“Look, Frank--”
“You got the mummy hand because police regulations in Sunnydale strictly prohibit the use of any magical means in law enforcement and Eli couldn’t get it delivered to the station. Then you and he head on down to Main Street because a dozen grade nine students who have read way too much White Wolf books with a hard on decide to raise the fucking Saint of Vampires back into the world, and you figure that as long as you bring in a thousand year old Aztec warlock, he’ll act as the equalizer.” Yeah, I was being an asshole, but I was pissed.
“Something like that.”
“But the part I’m having trouble with is that, other than the utterly retarded plan, was that both of you lied to me about it.”
It was late, I was tired, and felt at least ten years older. After a few years in this town, you’ve gone through enough to make you a believer or a madman. Less than an hour ago, I was beating a snake-woman-demon to death with the butt of my shotgun and it was part of my normal job description.
I’d also seen Sunnydale General more times than I ever wanted to. Eli had gone into surgery about twenty minutes ago. Mike was standing in the corner, messily making his way through an O’Henry and sweeping aside the occasional intern that assumed a face like a giant bruise meant you needed medical attention.
“We weren’t sure. Eli’s readings figured that he and Mike could stop it. The hand was strictly backup.” Sam said, and abruptly burst into tears. I’ve watched that woman shrug off three broken fingers with a shrug, but here she was crying.
I hate being old.
“I’m sorry, kid.” I muttered, stupidly. Sam sniffed, rubbed her face angrily.
“It’s just frustrating, Frank. We didn’t tell you because, hell, Eli knew you’d come barreling in. This town, the cops are useless, protecting people involves severed hands, and the best hope is a twenty year old in bitch heels and a thing for the Gap.” Sam sat down miserably, and goddamn, I didn’t have anything to say. She was right.
“Miss Barrett?” A young intern turned up, brown haired and earnest.
“How’s Eli?”
“He’ll be fine. The broken ribs caused some internal bleeding, but we got it under control pretty quickly. He’s got enough pins in his arm to set off LAX’s metal detector from here, but he’ll be fine in a few months.” He smiled gently, and it turned into horror as he was engulfed into a massive hug from Mike.
“That’s good… good.” Sam said, and shit, I knew where this was going. At least I could be nice and save the kid from Mike’s Luca Brasi style embrace.
“Hey doc.”
“Ben.” He tugged an arm free to offer his hand and tried to extradite himself.
“Appreciate it. Look, don’t let Sam spend the next week sleeping here, alright?”
“Sure. Um, could you…?”
“Mike, down. Let the man breathe.” Kelly finally let go, tears in the big oaf's eyes. I was almost ready to get all sentimental. So I cut that off at the knees and made for the door.
“Yo, Frank.” The nurse at the reception desk waved at me behind a small pile of paperwork.
“Hey, Erin.”
“Haven’t see you around in a bit.”
“Yeah, it’s been a good couple of months.” I squinted, pained. “Er. No offence.”
She grinned. “I gotcha. It’s cool. All you brave macho men get this same panicky look at your eyes when you get a whiff of the Hospital food. Pussies.”
I grunted noncommittally. I hate hospitals and I was too fucking exhausted to argue the principle of the thing.
She grinned again, flipped her braid over her shoulder and after a minute’s frown plucked a post-it from somewhere and waved it at me with a triumphant air about her. “Aha!”
Erin squinted at the slip of paper, having apparently yet again forgotten her glasses at home. One of these days the cops were going to unwrap her pickup from a tree, I swear to God.
“Alec. Alec Whitaker.” She finally pronounced. “That name mean anything to you?”
“Yeah.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Early retirement.”
“He’s Frank’s new protégé.” Williams winked at me, as he pushed by me to the coffee machine.
“Don’t use them big words, doctor. You know I get confused.” I turned back to Erin. “Where is he?”
“1242.” She looked torn for a second, medical ethic warring with medical salary.
“Could I get in on Monday?” She finally asked hesitantly.
I looked at her for a long moment and then shrugged. What the hell.
“Hey, Frank.”
Speak of the devil, I thought and turned to take in the damage.
Well, he seemed to be all right. Looked like shit.
“You look like shit, boy.”
“Yeah, well…” He shrugged and pulled on a tweed jacket that’s seen better decades. “Genetics are a bitch and they don’t do plastic surgery here.”
Erin giggled behind me.
Williams patted me on the shoulder consolingly as he moved past, stopping before Alec and giving him an appraising look. “Thinks he has a sense of humor, huh?”
“He tries.” I admitted. “Can I take his butt out of here or is he going to pass out like a little girl on me again?”
“Hey!” Alec protested. I ignored him.
Things were settling into a nice routine between us.
Williams scratched the two-day stubble. “Well, he’s got six stitches in his eyebrow.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Gonna have to ride around with a Spike wannabe.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Williams shrugged. “If you can try and get him not to tear the thing open any more than necessary, I’d be extremely grateful. But no, I don’t see any urgent reason to prolong our relationship, as scintillating a conversationalist Mr. Whitaker is. Apart from Erin’s severe need for a romantic life.”
“Hey!” Erin protested, blushing.
Williams ignored her.
Something about the way the man ran his hospital appealed to me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Thanks, Doc. Hope I won’t see you soon.”
“Same, Frank.” He gave me a mock salute, and pulling the glasses off the red-rimmed eyes, disappeared into the bowels of the Hospital.
I nodded to Erin and made for the exit, the kid in tow.
“Where did you get that ugly piece of sartorial abortion?”
I know a couple of big words. Had word-a-day Playboy calendar once. Pamela Anderson was sartorial.
“What, the jacket?” He preened, buckling the belt. An impressive feat in and of itself. “I think it looks kinda good, actually. Mr. Giles let me keep it. Oh!” Alec slapped himself on the forehead and immediately yowled like a castrated cat. “Ow! Fucking hell. Shit! Ow!”
I suddenly felt very tired.
“Let me see.”
“Fuck. Ow!”
“Get your hands away, you idiot.”
I thumbed the ceiling-light on and grabbed his head to steady it.
“OW!”
“You said that already.”
I squinted. Didn’t see any blood. “Looks ok. Doesn’t seem like you pulled any stitches loose.”
“It hurts like a son of a bitch, Frank!”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
He batted my hands away angrily.
There was suddenly a tense air in the car. He was staring at me and breathing heavily.
Well, fuck. Took him long enough.
“Clowns, huh, Frank?” He asked heavily.
I shrugged and turned on the engine, flicking the lamp off. Hell if I was going to let him turn this in some manly staring match.
“You’re either ready for the truth, Alec or you aren’t.”
“And I wasn’t, is that it?”
“No.” I said and pulled out of the parking lot. “You weren’t.”
“And now?’ His voice was strange.
“The jury’s still out.” I told him.
He fell silent, the shadows making his face looking gaunt and tired.
Hell.
I’m getting old.
After a second I added. “But the signs are hopeful.”
His smile was brilliant in the darkness of the car.
“Giles said to tell you he was sorry he couldn’t stick around, by the way.” He added, still grinning.
Made him look like a complete idiot.
I told him as much.
He didn’t argue so we rode in blissful silence for a while.
“So.” He said after a short pause. “What are the rules on newbies getting in on their own pot?”
His decision not to comment on the sudden swerve of the car made me think highly of his instinct of self-preservation.
“Well.” He asked instead. “Where to next?”
***
“I fucking knew this was going to happen one day.” Frank muttered and flicked his cigarette into the abyss.
Mildred shrugged. “Yeah.”
The crater that used to be the town of Sunnydale stretched for miles. Somewhere at the bottom was the depot, Frank’s house, and most importantly, his beautiful truck.
Insurance had better cover this.
“So.” Alec asked. “What now?”
Frank glanced at him and then realized that Mildred too seemed to expect him to make the decision.
Visibly swallowing a cutting remark, or perhaps his perennial promise to retire, he rubbed his forehead again and spat, tugging the brown shorts upwards.
“I hear there are openings in Cleveland.”
***
Jacob stared down into the depth of the crater, his grey stormy eyes unreadable, the gnarled hands still at his sides.
“Fuck if I am cleaning this up.”
FIN
