Randy and His Dad
OKAY! So, I was chatting a while ago with my dear friend Ash and it occurred to me that the Buffy fandom is just utterly lacking in proper opportunities for incest.
*cough* Because... yeah, that would be, um, bad. Right.
Therein came this idea. The wrongest idea for a Spiles fic ever!! Spike/Giles during a somewhat extended "Tabula Rasa". BWA HA HA HA
This first part, however, is mostly Giles/Anya and other Tabula-Rasa pairings.
“Here it is! And here we are.” Alexander pointed at the street map they’d laid out on the table. “That’s not bad, actually. Walking distance. So I have a home to go to.” He turned to Willow. “Are, um, do you live with me?”
Willow shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean… I must have a dorm room.” She looked at Tara.
“Me too,” Tara said, stepping a little closer to Willow.
Randy paced the front of the store, hands in his pockets. “Would you all figure this out a little faster? The night’s nearly over and we don’t know if I’ll burst into flames if I’m not in a coffin or something.”
“I highly doubt that,” Rupert said from where he sat with Anya in his lap.
“Doubt? But you don’t know, do you?” Randy advanced on him, scowling. “Some father you are. Can really tell you care if your son burns to death! And after I saved all your sorry lives.”
“Hey, I was in on that,” Joan said.
“We all were!” Alexander added. “And why again do we have a vampire?”
Randy jerked the lapels of his tweed jacket straight. “To save your sorry arses. There’s clearly a bit of a vampire problem around here and we decided to fight fire with fire.”
“Unless you’re the fire we’re fighting,” Joan said.
“Oi! It’s bleeding obvious I’m a good guy! Wearing tweed, aren’t I?”
Joan shrugged. “Just saying. We don’t know why any of us were here, together.”
Anya snuggled her head against Rupert’s shoulder. “Can’t we go home now? I’m exhausted and this place still smells like rabbits.”
“Of course, dear.” Rupert stood, picking Anya up. She giggled and snuggled closer. “Alex, since you have a home address, you’ll be putting up Willow and Tara for the night. They can call the university in the morning and get their campus addresses.”
“What about me and Dawn?” Joan asked.
“The more the merrier,” Alex said. “Let’s just hope I don’t live in a one-room efficiency.”
“Wonderful. We’ll all get a good night’s sleep and meet here again in the morning.” Rupert shifted Anya’s weight in his arms - she was getting a bit heavy - and moved toward the door.
Randy got the door. Rupert smiled and thanked him. But then Randy was walking alongside him.
Rupert got a bad feeling about that. He cleared his throat. “And where will you be staying tonight, son?”
Randy looked at him like he was daft. “My coffin in some cemetery crypt. I’ll just look for the tombstone that says ‘unloved son’. Where do you think?”
Anya frowned at him. “You have to have your own place. You’re fully-grown. And dead.”
“And fully-grown sons don’t pop in when they’ve had a sudden downturn? Like death?”
Anya said, “Grown sons earn income. I’m pretty sure I care about that.”
“I bet you do.”
“Oh for…” Rupert set Anya down. “Assuming I have a couch, Randy, you are of course welcome to it. Now both of you stop squabbling and help me find my car.” He shook some keys out of his pocket and squinted at them, briefly. “I believe I have a… Mazda?”
A resentful silence accompanied the mercifully short search for the car, and despite muttering about mid-life crises, Randy slithered into the tiny backseat with enthusiasm (and surprising dexterity.)
“This is just the sort of car a man I would marry would buy,” Anya announced, bouncing a little on the passenger seat.
As soon as they got to Rupert’s home, which he was relieved to see was tasteful and spacious, Randy took off, opening doors and sticking his nose into everything.
“Well look - a couch,” Anya said, pulling Rupert across the room to the stairs. “Good night, Randy. I recommend you fall asleep quickly as we plan on making a lot of noise.”
Randy popped right up from inspecting a desk drawer, his eyebrows practically over his hairline. “Oi! You’re not married yet.”
Rupert felt his face heating up. “Now, dear…”
Anya hurried them up the stairs before another argument could start.
***
The next morning, feeling sore in every possible way and astounded at the vigor and athleticism of his gorgeous fiancé, Rupert took his time about waking up.
He was sad to find Anya wasn’t next to him, but somehow it felt right, waking up alone. He didn’t doubt she was an early riser and he a late one.
Pulling on his bathrobe, he went in search of the shower. Alas, the bathroom was not on the second floor.
He found Randy sitting on the sofa, scowling at a thick leather-bound book, shirt collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. He appeared to have slept in his clothes.
“Is Anya about?”
The scowl deepened. “The tart went for a walk to explore the neighborhood. Something about assuring your real estate investment was wise, or maybe not listening to me insult her anymore.”
“Please do not refer to my fiancé as ‘the tart’.” Rupert spied a kitchenette and went to it in hopes of caffeine. He’d gotten two cupboards opened and closed when he heard Randy behind him.
“Over the stove, right-hand side.”
Randy slouched inside the doorway to the kitchenette, hands in his pockets.
Sure enough, the tea things were over the stove. “You seem to have found your way around.”
Randy’s voice was husky. “Oh, was I supposed to be sleeping?”
Rupert was too shagged out to care and continued filling the teakettle.
“Anyway,” Randy sighed, “you were right. I don’t live here - there’s no other bedroom.”
Being pre-caffeine made Rupert irritable and the self-pitying note in Randy’s voice made him uncharitable. “It’s entirely possible you weren’t welcome here at all.”
“No, I can smell myself here.” He frowned at a door off to the right. “Mostly in the bathroom, oddly enough.”
“Wonderful. I have an adult son who comes home to shower.”
“And eat,” Randy nodded at the refrigerator. “You’ve got bags of blood in the freezer.” Softly, he added, “Suppose I’ve been a vampire for a long time?”
The poor lad sounded miserable. Rupert handed him a cup and saucer. “We of course have no way of knowing, just yet. Take that to the table, would you?”
Randy set the saucer down and then turned a chair backwards to sit in it with his arms folded on the back. “I found a couple books on vampires. Seems like you’re a bit of an expert on the subject.”
“Given your condition, I’m not surprised. What father wouldn’t try to learn all he could?”
Randy looked away, uncomfortable but smiling a little bit. “Yeah, well…” he coughed and looked at Rupert, serious and concerned. “They all say there’s no such thing as a good-guy vampire.”
Rupert set down the teapot. “Perhaps you’re the first.”
Randy sucked in his cheeks, nodding. “But we don’t really know that, do we? I could have been plotting to kill you all.”
Rupert scoffed. “Young man. With no memory at all, you were clearly moved to protect us, not kill us. Our actions define our character, not whatever it says in a many-decades out-of-print book.”
The small smile was back. “They are bloody ancient,” he said, “worse than your record collection.”
“I don’t know what’s in my record collection,” Rupert countered with amusement, “But if I did, I would tell you they are all certified classics and your young mind just isn’t prepared to appreciate them.”
***
When Anya returned from her reconnaissance of the neighborhood - which took a little longer than initially intended because there were shops nearby - she found Randy and Rupert sprawled on the floor in front of a bookshelf full of LP’s, cheerfully arguing the merits of various bands.
“Ut-oh,” Randy said. “The trophy wife’s home.”
Rupert scowled. “Stop calling her that.” He started to get up, but the combined effects of a vigorous night and sitting cross-legged on the floor for too long had him teetering. Anya rushed to help him. Rupert almost fell over the couch trying to extract himself from unwanted assistance. Randy stood off, looking embarrassed, and Rupert was quietly grateful for that sensible behavior.
Once he was standing clear, he straightened his robe and said, “Excuse me, I have to go salvage my dignity.”
“Toff,” Randy said.
“Hoodlum,” Rupert responded in the same half-fond voice.
Anya stepped over the piled albums to see Rupert to the stairs. “You two seem to have hit it off.”
Rupert blinked, rather surprised, himself, in hindsight. “Yes, I guess we have.”
“I’m glad.” Anya patted his hand where it rested on the stair-rail. “I’d hate to be marrying into an unhappy family. So, are you going up to the bedroom?” She bit her lower lip with an eager expression.
“Just to get a change of clothes so I can take a shower.”
“Oo. Shower.”
“Alone,” He added.
Anya frowned thoughtfully as Rupert ascended the stairs. “I’m worried there are drawbacks to a studly older man.”
With his attention on an album cover, Randy said, “It’s bad enough I have to listen to your horizontal mambo all night, could you please refrain from discussing your sex life in front of me?”
Anya shook her head. “I’m going to the shop. There’s money to be made there and it’s better than listening to you.”
“Yes, please kindly piss off.”
“What is your problem with me?” Anya stuck her hands on her hips.
Randy looked falsely confused. “I don’t know, could it be you’re way the hell too young for him? It’s embarrassing.”
“You were all over Joan, and for all we know, you’re a million years old.”
“Obviously my dad’s not old. Maybe I’d like you if you were smart instead of just a gold-digging harpy.”
“That’s it. As soon as I find out if you’re in Rupert’s will, I’m cutting you out of it.” She stomped out of the apartment, slamming the door as she left.
***
Rupert came out of the shower, feeling refreshed and definitely more dignified now that he had clothes on. He found Randy alone, stalking around the room, opening drawers and cupboards. A resigned annoyance settled on him like a familiar garment. “What are you looking for?”
“Photos of Mum.”
“Photos of…? Have you gone mental?”
Randy pointed at the front door. “SHE is not my mother.”
“It should be as perfectly obvious that Anya is not your mother as it is that you are not a child. Stop behaving like one.”
Rupert got a very childish scowl in response and Randy stomped up the stairs. Rupert groaned, feeling a pinching behind his eyes he was sure he’d felt time and again when dealing with Randy. Some things you just knew. With a heavy sigh, he followed his son up the stairs. “Randy! For god’s sake, leave my things alone. Think how you are behaving.”
Randy appeared in the door to Rupert’s room. “Aha!” he said, brandishing a photograph.
The photo was singed in one corner. It showed a brunette woman seated behind a computer, in a tan cardigan, one hand up to ward off the photographer, laughing as her picture was taken.
Rupert took the picture and stared at it, feeling a little uneasy. He didn’t remember this woman, but he wanted to. “Where did you get this?”
“In a special little box you were keeping under the bed.” Randy stepped back so Rupert could see the cardboard box. A few rose petals and a peach-colored scarf had fallen out of it.
“She’s dead,” Randy said, awkwardly breaking the silence as Rupert stared.
“How do you know that?” Rupert picked up the scarf and a few more dried rose petals fell from it. In the box he saw a yellowed newspaper clipping and a floppy disk.
“Aside from the smell of tears and whisky? There was an obituary on top of the pile of mementoes.” Randy sat down heavily on the bed. “I just found my mum and she’s dead.”
“Grow up,” Rupert said, but it came out quiet and confused. He wanted to sort through the contents of the box, but not with Randy hanging over his shoulder. He folded up the scarf and laid it reverently back in the box, feeling like he was packing a grave.
Randy stared fixedly. “It’s awful, neither one of us being able to remember her. No one should be forgotten like that.”
Rupert’s hands smoothed the cover on the box. “Yes,” he said, quietly, and then cleared his throat because the emotional weight of the moment was getting to be too much. “Which is precisely why we are going back to the magic shop to meet the others and get to the bottom of this memory-erasure.”
***
When Rupert and Randy arrived, an animated discussion halted, four pairs of eyes riveted on them. Randy smirked and adjusted the lay of his lapels. “Well, this should be good.”
Willow and Alexander exchanged glances. A distressed-looking Anya stood between them, wringing her hands. “Rupert? Um… apparently…”
“You stole my girlfriend,” Alexander finished for her, smiling lopsidedly.
Rupert’s eyebrows popped up. “Excuse me?”
Anya hurried forward. “Alexander found pictures of me in his apartment. Or rather, pictures of the both of us, together, and lots of wedding magazines with my name on them. Oh, and registration paperwork for our wedding, and underwear in my size, including some pretty kinky outfits, and…”
Alexander coughed loudly, cutting her off. “The point is, I think we made a mistake assuming you and Anya were a couple.”
Rupert felt an odd mixture of sadness and relief. “I… I see,” he said.
Anya put her hands on his chest. “I just want you to know, although it was an illicit affair we both have to disavow, I really did enjoy almost all of the time I thought I was your fiancé. Mostly the sex. It was really, really good sex.” She then glanced at Randy, “I won’t miss having a step-son, but I’m sure your grating personality grows charming with less exposure.”
Rupert didn’t hear most of what was said for some time after that. Could you pass out from blushing? He sat while the children reported excitedly on the fruits of their trip to Alexander’s apartment, which included an address for Joan and Dawn, or rather Buffy, as her name turned out to be. “I still feel more like a Joan,” she said.
“What kind of name is that? Like a feminine hygiene product.” Randy switched to a mocking falsetto, “’Trust Buffy for your most intimate odors.’”
“We can’t all have a cool name like Randy,” Buffy countered, eyes narrowed. She and Randy stood and stepped toward each other, a charge of violence filling the air. (And, Rupert suddenly worried, something else. Did he want his son dating this woman? What did he know about her?)
“Calm! Everyone, stay calm. I’ve been waiting to use this,” Alex said. He grinned wide and dropped a Polaroid on the table. “Read ‘em and weep, Randy!”
Randy took one look and fell back in his chair with a horrified expression. This woke Rupert from his reverie. He leaned forward to see what had been so traumatic.
Randy held up two fingers in the washed-out shot, scowling angrily in a loud Hawaiian shirt.
Alex grinned triumphantly. “It’s good to know vampires are snappy dressers, just like in the movies.”
Randy gave an inchoate roar and lunged at Alex. There was a brief scuffle as Buffy pushed Alex out of range and punched Randy soundly on the nose.
Rupert felt an almost visceral dread. Had it all been just a flimsy charade, the son instead of the monster?
But Randy just stood there, hand over his nose, and said, “Ow! You cow. What was that for?”
“You went all bumpy!” Buffy still had her fists raised.
Randy felt his own forehead, but the bumps had receded. He looked around at hostile and angry faces, lastly at Rupert, who was anxious, but relieved no blood had been shed. For some reason, that made Randy look even more betrayed. “Oh sure,” he said, tugging his collar up, “don’t trust the vampire.”
“Randy, sit down. We have work…”
But Rupert’s quiet words were too little, too late. He’d stormed out of the shop shockingly fast, leaving the bell over the front door jingling in his wake.
There was a moment of silence. “It’s sunny out,” Buffy said. “Is that a thing?”
“It is,” Rupert huffed, remembering the difficulty they’d had that morning. They’d made it three steps out the door, saying “Oh, I guess it IS a myth,” when Randy had started sizzling like a steak on the grill. A quick dash and a blanket had saved him, but it had felt like a near thing.
“Good lord,” Rupert said, realizing that Randy could easily be committing suicide, knowingly or not. He dashed out the door, blinking in the bright sun, panicked. “Randy?”
He heard a quiet sniffle. Randy was sitting against the wall of the shop, in a narrow sliver of shade, arms wrapped around his knees. “Can’t even storm off properly,” he said, dejectedly.
“Come inside, son. They’re thoughtless, scared children, that’s all. We’re all in this together. There’s no denying that you’re as much a part of the group as any of us.”
Randy spoke slowly, staring at a random point in the road, like he was afraid he’d start crying again if he expressed any emotion. “You were looking like me like you were afraid I’d eat them all.”
“That wasn’t it.”
Randy fixed a look on him that seemed to pierce right through his soul. Rupert sighed and sat down next to Randy on the sidewalk. “If I worry, it’s because I care what others think of you. You’re my son.”
Randy wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “You don’t think I’m some dark avenger doomed to a life of solitude because of my unnatural hunger?”
“Please. No son of mine would be so tacky.” Rupert put his hand on Randy’s shoulder. “You’ve proved yourself already. If you were really ruled by your hunger for blood, or evil in some way, you could have killed Anya and I last night in our sleep.”
“Ugh. And see my dad starkers?”
Rupert rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure my physique is an adequate deterrent for homicide.”
Randy gave him a long, quiet look. “You’re all right, Dad.”
“Thank you. So shall we go in? Or do you want time to dry your eyes?”
“Oi! Wasn’t cryin’.”
“Of course not. And I didn’t need help getting up off the floor.”
Randy’s ears colored as he ducked his head. “Sorry. Just… look like a total ponce, don’t I? Don’t even know what I am.” He shook his head. “You know, you’re a much better catch than that Alexander. I bet Anya’s wishing they never found that engagement announcement.”
Rupert felt grateful to hear that. “You fancy Joan, don’t you? Er, I mean… Buffy.” He grimaced a bit at the odd name.
“Thought we had a moment, after defeating those vamps.” Randy frowned thoughtfully.
Rupert realized that he really was a very handsome young man, quite stunning when he got that sad, serious expression. How could he have ever doubted their relationship? He patted him on the shoulder. “You know, we may find out that you and she are engaged as well.”
“Dad, she hates me. Near killed me for going after her precious Alexander. And I wasn’t even thinking of hurting him. I just wanted him to stop laughin’.” Randy gave him a pained expression. “Do I really wear Hawaiian shirts?”
“One photo isn’t clear evidence that it’s a habit,” Rupert said. He stood and held out his hand. “But I do think it’s very likely you anger Alexander regularly.”
Randy smiled. “Too right,” he said, and took his father’s hand. Together, they went back into the shop.
****
Continued -->
*cough* Because... yeah, that would be, um, bad. Right.
Therein came this idea. The wrongest idea for a Spiles fic ever!! Spike/Giles during a somewhat extended "Tabula Rasa". BWA HA HA HA
This first part, however, is mostly Giles/Anya and other Tabula-Rasa pairings.
“Here it is! And here we are.” Alexander pointed at the street map they’d laid out on the table. “That’s not bad, actually. Walking distance. So I have a home to go to.” He turned to Willow. “Are, um, do you live with me?”
Willow shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean… I must have a dorm room.” She looked at Tara.
“Me too,” Tara said, stepping a little closer to Willow.
Randy paced the front of the store, hands in his pockets. “Would you all figure this out a little faster? The night’s nearly over and we don’t know if I’ll burst into flames if I’m not in a coffin or something.”
“I highly doubt that,” Rupert said from where he sat with Anya in his lap.
“Doubt? But you don’t know, do you?” Randy advanced on him, scowling. “Some father you are. Can really tell you care if your son burns to death! And after I saved all your sorry lives.”
“Hey, I was in on that,” Joan said.
“We all were!” Alexander added. “And why again do we have a vampire?”
Randy jerked the lapels of his tweed jacket straight. “To save your sorry arses. There’s clearly a bit of a vampire problem around here and we decided to fight fire with fire.”
“Unless you’re the fire we’re fighting,” Joan said.
“Oi! It’s bleeding obvious I’m a good guy! Wearing tweed, aren’t I?”
Joan shrugged. “Just saying. We don’t know why any of us were here, together.”
Anya snuggled her head against Rupert’s shoulder. “Can’t we go home now? I’m exhausted and this place still smells like rabbits.”
“Of course, dear.” Rupert stood, picking Anya up. She giggled and snuggled closer. “Alex, since you have a home address, you’ll be putting up Willow and Tara for the night. They can call the university in the morning and get their campus addresses.”
“What about me and Dawn?” Joan asked.
“The more the merrier,” Alex said. “Let’s just hope I don’t live in a one-room efficiency.”
“Wonderful. We’ll all get a good night’s sleep and meet here again in the morning.” Rupert shifted Anya’s weight in his arms - she was getting a bit heavy - and moved toward the door.
Randy got the door. Rupert smiled and thanked him. But then Randy was walking alongside him.
Rupert got a bad feeling about that. He cleared his throat. “And where will you be staying tonight, son?”
Randy looked at him like he was daft. “My coffin in some cemetery crypt. I’ll just look for the tombstone that says ‘unloved son’. Where do you think?”
Anya frowned at him. “You have to have your own place. You’re fully-grown. And dead.”
“And fully-grown sons don’t pop in when they’ve had a sudden downturn? Like death?”
Anya said, “Grown sons earn income. I’m pretty sure I care about that.”
“I bet you do.”
“Oh for…” Rupert set Anya down. “Assuming I have a couch, Randy, you are of course welcome to it. Now both of you stop squabbling and help me find my car.” He shook some keys out of his pocket and squinted at them, briefly. “I believe I have a… Mazda?”
A resentful silence accompanied the mercifully short search for the car, and despite muttering about mid-life crises, Randy slithered into the tiny backseat with enthusiasm (and surprising dexterity.)
“This is just the sort of car a man I would marry would buy,” Anya announced, bouncing a little on the passenger seat.
As soon as they got to Rupert’s home, which he was relieved to see was tasteful and spacious, Randy took off, opening doors and sticking his nose into everything.
“Well look - a couch,” Anya said, pulling Rupert across the room to the stairs. “Good night, Randy. I recommend you fall asleep quickly as we plan on making a lot of noise.”
Randy popped right up from inspecting a desk drawer, his eyebrows practically over his hairline. “Oi! You’re not married yet.”
Rupert felt his face heating up. “Now, dear…”
Anya hurried them up the stairs before another argument could start.
***
The next morning, feeling sore in every possible way and astounded at the vigor and athleticism of his gorgeous fiancé, Rupert took his time about waking up.
He was sad to find Anya wasn’t next to him, but somehow it felt right, waking up alone. He didn’t doubt she was an early riser and he a late one.
Pulling on his bathrobe, he went in search of the shower. Alas, the bathroom was not on the second floor.
He found Randy sitting on the sofa, scowling at a thick leather-bound book, shirt collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. He appeared to have slept in his clothes.
“Is Anya about?”
The scowl deepened. “The tart went for a walk to explore the neighborhood. Something about assuring your real estate investment was wise, or maybe not listening to me insult her anymore.”
“Please do not refer to my fiancé as ‘the tart’.” Rupert spied a kitchenette and went to it in hopes of caffeine. He’d gotten two cupboards opened and closed when he heard Randy behind him.
“Over the stove, right-hand side.”
Randy slouched inside the doorway to the kitchenette, hands in his pockets.
Sure enough, the tea things were over the stove. “You seem to have found your way around.”
Randy’s voice was husky. “Oh, was I supposed to be sleeping?”
Rupert was too shagged out to care and continued filling the teakettle.
“Anyway,” Randy sighed, “you were right. I don’t live here - there’s no other bedroom.”
Being pre-caffeine made Rupert irritable and the self-pitying note in Randy’s voice made him uncharitable. “It’s entirely possible you weren’t welcome here at all.”
“No, I can smell myself here.” He frowned at a door off to the right. “Mostly in the bathroom, oddly enough.”
“Wonderful. I have an adult son who comes home to shower.”
“And eat,” Randy nodded at the refrigerator. “You’ve got bags of blood in the freezer.” Softly, he added, “Suppose I’ve been a vampire for a long time?”
The poor lad sounded miserable. Rupert handed him a cup and saucer. “We of course have no way of knowing, just yet. Take that to the table, would you?”
Randy set the saucer down and then turned a chair backwards to sit in it with his arms folded on the back. “I found a couple books on vampires. Seems like you’re a bit of an expert on the subject.”
“Given your condition, I’m not surprised. What father wouldn’t try to learn all he could?”
Randy looked away, uncomfortable but smiling a little bit. “Yeah, well…” he coughed and looked at Rupert, serious and concerned. “They all say there’s no such thing as a good-guy vampire.”
Rupert set down the teapot. “Perhaps you’re the first.”
Randy sucked in his cheeks, nodding. “But we don’t really know that, do we? I could have been plotting to kill you all.”
Rupert scoffed. “Young man. With no memory at all, you were clearly moved to protect us, not kill us. Our actions define our character, not whatever it says in a many-decades out-of-print book.”
The small smile was back. “They are bloody ancient,” he said, “worse than your record collection.”
“I don’t know what’s in my record collection,” Rupert countered with amusement, “But if I did, I would tell you they are all certified classics and your young mind just isn’t prepared to appreciate them.”
***
When Anya returned from her reconnaissance of the neighborhood - which took a little longer than initially intended because there were shops nearby - she found Randy and Rupert sprawled on the floor in front of a bookshelf full of LP’s, cheerfully arguing the merits of various bands.
“Ut-oh,” Randy said. “The trophy wife’s home.”
Rupert scowled. “Stop calling her that.” He started to get up, but the combined effects of a vigorous night and sitting cross-legged on the floor for too long had him teetering. Anya rushed to help him. Rupert almost fell over the couch trying to extract himself from unwanted assistance. Randy stood off, looking embarrassed, and Rupert was quietly grateful for that sensible behavior.
Once he was standing clear, he straightened his robe and said, “Excuse me, I have to go salvage my dignity.”
“Toff,” Randy said.
“Hoodlum,” Rupert responded in the same half-fond voice.
Anya stepped over the piled albums to see Rupert to the stairs. “You two seem to have hit it off.”
Rupert blinked, rather surprised, himself, in hindsight. “Yes, I guess we have.”
“I’m glad.” Anya patted his hand where it rested on the stair-rail. “I’d hate to be marrying into an unhappy family. So, are you going up to the bedroom?” She bit her lower lip with an eager expression.
“Just to get a change of clothes so I can take a shower.”
“Oo. Shower.”
“Alone,” He added.
Anya frowned thoughtfully as Rupert ascended the stairs. “I’m worried there are drawbacks to a studly older man.”
With his attention on an album cover, Randy said, “It’s bad enough I have to listen to your horizontal mambo all night, could you please refrain from discussing your sex life in front of me?”
Anya shook her head. “I’m going to the shop. There’s money to be made there and it’s better than listening to you.”
“Yes, please kindly piss off.”
“What is your problem with me?” Anya stuck her hands on her hips.
Randy looked falsely confused. “I don’t know, could it be you’re way the hell too young for him? It’s embarrassing.”
“You were all over Joan, and for all we know, you’re a million years old.”
“Obviously my dad’s not old. Maybe I’d like you if you were smart instead of just a gold-digging harpy.”
“That’s it. As soon as I find out if you’re in Rupert’s will, I’m cutting you out of it.” She stomped out of the apartment, slamming the door as she left.
***
Rupert came out of the shower, feeling refreshed and definitely more dignified now that he had clothes on. He found Randy alone, stalking around the room, opening drawers and cupboards. A resigned annoyance settled on him like a familiar garment. “What are you looking for?”
“Photos of Mum.”
“Photos of…? Have you gone mental?”
Randy pointed at the front door. “SHE is not my mother.”
“It should be as perfectly obvious that Anya is not your mother as it is that you are not a child. Stop behaving like one.”
Rupert got a very childish scowl in response and Randy stomped up the stairs. Rupert groaned, feeling a pinching behind his eyes he was sure he’d felt time and again when dealing with Randy. Some things you just knew. With a heavy sigh, he followed his son up the stairs. “Randy! For god’s sake, leave my things alone. Think how you are behaving.”
Randy appeared in the door to Rupert’s room. “Aha!” he said, brandishing a photograph.
The photo was singed in one corner. It showed a brunette woman seated behind a computer, in a tan cardigan, one hand up to ward off the photographer, laughing as her picture was taken.
Rupert took the picture and stared at it, feeling a little uneasy. He didn’t remember this woman, but he wanted to. “Where did you get this?”
“In a special little box you were keeping under the bed.” Randy stepped back so Rupert could see the cardboard box. A few rose petals and a peach-colored scarf had fallen out of it.
“She’s dead,” Randy said, awkwardly breaking the silence as Rupert stared.
“How do you know that?” Rupert picked up the scarf and a few more dried rose petals fell from it. In the box he saw a yellowed newspaper clipping and a floppy disk.
“Aside from the smell of tears and whisky? There was an obituary on top of the pile of mementoes.” Randy sat down heavily on the bed. “I just found my mum and she’s dead.”
“Grow up,” Rupert said, but it came out quiet and confused. He wanted to sort through the contents of the box, but not with Randy hanging over his shoulder. He folded up the scarf and laid it reverently back in the box, feeling like he was packing a grave.
Randy stared fixedly. “It’s awful, neither one of us being able to remember her. No one should be forgotten like that.”
Rupert’s hands smoothed the cover on the box. “Yes,” he said, quietly, and then cleared his throat because the emotional weight of the moment was getting to be too much. “Which is precisely why we are going back to the magic shop to meet the others and get to the bottom of this memory-erasure.”
***
When Rupert and Randy arrived, an animated discussion halted, four pairs of eyes riveted on them. Randy smirked and adjusted the lay of his lapels. “Well, this should be good.”
Willow and Alexander exchanged glances. A distressed-looking Anya stood between them, wringing her hands. “Rupert? Um… apparently…”
“You stole my girlfriend,” Alexander finished for her, smiling lopsidedly.
Rupert’s eyebrows popped up. “Excuse me?”
Anya hurried forward. “Alexander found pictures of me in his apartment. Or rather, pictures of the both of us, together, and lots of wedding magazines with my name on them. Oh, and registration paperwork for our wedding, and underwear in my size, including some pretty kinky outfits, and…”
Alexander coughed loudly, cutting her off. “The point is, I think we made a mistake assuming you and Anya were a couple.”
Rupert felt an odd mixture of sadness and relief. “I… I see,” he said.
Anya put her hands on his chest. “I just want you to know, although it was an illicit affair we both have to disavow, I really did enjoy almost all of the time I thought I was your fiancé. Mostly the sex. It was really, really good sex.” She then glanced at Randy, “I won’t miss having a step-son, but I’m sure your grating personality grows charming with less exposure.”
Rupert didn’t hear most of what was said for some time after that. Could you pass out from blushing? He sat while the children reported excitedly on the fruits of their trip to Alexander’s apartment, which included an address for Joan and Dawn, or rather Buffy, as her name turned out to be. “I still feel more like a Joan,” she said.
“What kind of name is that? Like a feminine hygiene product.” Randy switched to a mocking falsetto, “’Trust Buffy for your most intimate odors.’”
“We can’t all have a cool name like Randy,” Buffy countered, eyes narrowed. She and Randy stood and stepped toward each other, a charge of violence filling the air. (And, Rupert suddenly worried, something else. Did he want his son dating this woman? What did he know about her?)
“Calm! Everyone, stay calm. I’ve been waiting to use this,” Alex said. He grinned wide and dropped a Polaroid on the table. “Read ‘em and weep, Randy!”
Randy took one look and fell back in his chair with a horrified expression. This woke Rupert from his reverie. He leaned forward to see what had been so traumatic.
Randy held up two fingers in the washed-out shot, scowling angrily in a loud Hawaiian shirt.
Alex grinned triumphantly. “It’s good to know vampires are snappy dressers, just like in the movies.”
Randy gave an inchoate roar and lunged at Alex. There was a brief scuffle as Buffy pushed Alex out of range and punched Randy soundly on the nose.
Rupert felt an almost visceral dread. Had it all been just a flimsy charade, the son instead of the monster?
But Randy just stood there, hand over his nose, and said, “Ow! You cow. What was that for?”
“You went all bumpy!” Buffy still had her fists raised.
Randy felt his own forehead, but the bumps had receded. He looked around at hostile and angry faces, lastly at Rupert, who was anxious, but relieved no blood had been shed. For some reason, that made Randy look even more betrayed. “Oh sure,” he said, tugging his collar up, “don’t trust the vampire.”
“Randy, sit down. We have work…”
But Rupert’s quiet words were too little, too late. He’d stormed out of the shop shockingly fast, leaving the bell over the front door jingling in his wake.
There was a moment of silence. “It’s sunny out,” Buffy said. “Is that a thing?”
“It is,” Rupert huffed, remembering the difficulty they’d had that morning. They’d made it three steps out the door, saying “Oh, I guess it IS a myth,” when Randy had started sizzling like a steak on the grill. A quick dash and a blanket had saved him, but it had felt like a near thing.
“Good lord,” Rupert said, realizing that Randy could easily be committing suicide, knowingly or not. He dashed out the door, blinking in the bright sun, panicked. “Randy?”
He heard a quiet sniffle. Randy was sitting against the wall of the shop, in a narrow sliver of shade, arms wrapped around his knees. “Can’t even storm off properly,” he said, dejectedly.
“Come inside, son. They’re thoughtless, scared children, that’s all. We’re all in this together. There’s no denying that you’re as much a part of the group as any of us.”
Randy spoke slowly, staring at a random point in the road, like he was afraid he’d start crying again if he expressed any emotion. “You were looking like me like you were afraid I’d eat them all.”
“That wasn’t it.”
Randy fixed a look on him that seemed to pierce right through his soul. Rupert sighed and sat down next to Randy on the sidewalk. “If I worry, it’s because I care what others think of you. You’re my son.”
Randy wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “You don’t think I’m some dark avenger doomed to a life of solitude because of my unnatural hunger?”
“Please. No son of mine would be so tacky.” Rupert put his hand on Randy’s shoulder. “You’ve proved yourself already. If you were really ruled by your hunger for blood, or evil in some way, you could have killed Anya and I last night in our sleep.”
“Ugh. And see my dad starkers?”
Rupert rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure my physique is an adequate deterrent for homicide.”
Randy gave him a long, quiet look. “You’re all right, Dad.”
“Thank you. So shall we go in? Or do you want time to dry your eyes?”
“Oi! Wasn’t cryin’.”
“Of course not. And I didn’t need help getting up off the floor.”
Randy’s ears colored as he ducked his head. “Sorry. Just… look like a total ponce, don’t I? Don’t even know what I am.” He shook his head. “You know, you’re a much better catch than that Alexander. I bet Anya’s wishing they never found that engagement announcement.”
Rupert felt grateful to hear that. “You fancy Joan, don’t you? Er, I mean… Buffy.” He grimaced a bit at the odd name.
“Thought we had a moment, after defeating those vamps.” Randy frowned thoughtfully.
Rupert realized that he really was a very handsome young man, quite stunning when he got that sad, serious expression. How could he have ever doubted their relationship? He patted him on the shoulder. “You know, we may find out that you and she are engaged as well.”
“Dad, she hates me. Near killed me for going after her precious Alexander. And I wasn’t even thinking of hurting him. I just wanted him to stop laughin’.” Randy gave him a pained expression. “Do I really wear Hawaiian shirts?”
“One photo isn’t clear evidence that it’s a habit,” Rupert said. He stood and held out his hand. “But I do think it’s very likely you anger Alexander regularly.”
Randy smiled. “Too right,” he said, and took his father’s hand. Together, they went back into the shop.
****
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