New Fic: Frannie the Vampire Slayer (Prologue & Chapter 1)
This has been kicking around on my hard drive for over a month while I hammered out the plot-line -- maybe all the leading news stories this week about Hurricane Frances were what finally nudged my Muse into gear. *G*
Yes, it's a Buffy/Profiler cross-over. Yes, I'm spending a considerable amount of time and a potential butt-load o'chapters on a cross-over of two defunct shows. What's your point? ;)
Frannie the Vampire Slayer
Author: Robin Nance
Story Type: Cross-over drama, “Profiler” and “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”
Rating: PG-13 (language, violence)
Setting/Spoilers: I'm not sure that you can technically have spoilers for defunct shows, but just in case, this takes place in mid-Season 2 in the Profilerverse and in between Seasons 5 and 6 in the Buffyverse.
**Prologue**
Sunnydale, California
On a warm west coast night, unusually mild for April, backlit by stars and the soft glow of the fires burning far below her, Buffy Summers prepared to die.
It was funny, she thought. Well, not funny so much as strange, maybe - that old tale about how your whole life flashed in front of your eyes just before it ended. She always figured it would be a loud, raucous kind of thing, all bright lights and images careening through her mind in one last desperate mega-memory. Yet at this moment, what she felt was a distinct absence of the loud-and-crazy, a foreign sort of stillness that she hadn’t experienced in years. Probably not the most normal way for someone to feel while she was warming up for a swan-dive into a hell-portal, but then again, when was the last time she could be called normal? That word didn’t tend to apply to you when certain other words did, words like the One, the Slayer. When those words defined you, your version of normal was more a routine of waking up day after day after freaking day to save the world, again, since you were the only one who could.
Or so she’d been told, time and again -- only her One-ness, her Slayer-ness hadn’t been enough to save anyone who’d fought against Glory, had it? It hadn’t stopped Tara from morphing into one of the babbling, tormented remnants of Glory’s little games, and it hadn’t saved Dawn from being snatched up and left to bleed like some disposable object. It hadn’t even saved her mother from an average, everyday, no-demons-needed demise. She winced; that pain was still fresh and very raw.
The First Slayer had called death her “gift,” and it sure as hell kept on giving, shredding the lives of everyone around her. She spared a glance back at her sister’s tear-streaked face. She really wished Dawn didn’t have to witness this, it made for a real bitch of a last memory, especially coming so soon after Joyce. But it couldn’t be helped. And it was all part of the natural order of things, really - it was time. One Slayer died and another took her place, another poor clueless girl had her world turned upside down, she fought and she bled and she fought again until it was her turn to stand exhausted over one abyss or another and wonder who was about to replace her. She wouldn’t miss any of that, but God, how she was going to miss her Scooby family, Xander and Willow, Anya and sweet broken Tara and poor dear old Giles, who’d feel so responsible and guilty even though it wasn’t his fault that his Slayer’s time had run out.
But even in the middle of her grief there was a tiny kernel of happiness, relief in the knowledge that they’d go on without her, they’d pick up and get back to the fight. They’d look after each other and Dawn, same as always. Even Spike, pain in the ass that he could be, would make a hell of a guardian. It was hard to live in this world, sure, but they’d been good at the hard stuff for a long time now. Dawn would be fine - they all would. And, just maybe, that was her gift, too.
It occurred to Buffy that the calm, still feeling she was experiencing was one of peace. Good luck, newbie, whoever you are, she thought to the soon-to-be-Slayer. Try not to die too soon. A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she took a final deep breath and leaped into thin warm air.
*****
Atlanta, Georgia: Outside Club Lava
Tina Jerrard was having a good night.
For one thing, she looked hot. She knew it, the frat-boys at the bar knew it, and especially that bastard Scott knew it. So he wanted them to “broaden their horizons” and date other people before they committed to moving in together, did he? Well, fine - she’d seen him hanging in the background all night watching her, and if he wanted broadened horizons he was about to get an eyeful.
The timing had been perfect - the good-looking guy at the end of the bar was new in town, he’d found her just as hot as the frat-boys did, and he’d sent her a drink as soon as she sat down. He was a little bit older than the college guys, actually a bit older than she was usually comfortable with, but he had that exotic, dangerous Antonio-Banderas-type thing going, long legs and long black hair and sexy black clothes - he was practically the anti-Scott. So of course she accepted the drink, and she beckoned him over to join her. She’d made sure to snuggle really close to him, running her hands over his black leather coat and tugging playfully at his lapels. She’d grabbed his hand to lead him out to the dance floor, and she’d ground against him suggestively in time to the beat, all of it in full view of her ex. When he’d bent down to whisper in her ear about meeting him outside to get some fresh air, she knew it was nothing more than code for what he really wanted; she could almost see the excitement in his eyes, could’ve sworn there was a flash of something sexy and animalistic when she said yes. She watched him leave through a side door at the other end of the bar; she waited for the planned five minutes, then strolled deliberately in the same direction.
Once outside, she glanced around in consternation. She was in a narrow alley that was lined with dumpsters, obviously a side-entrance for deliveries to the club, and her handsome stranger was nowhere in sight. Surely she hadn’t gone through the wrong door….She turned around to go back inside, but found to her dismay that the door was locked.
“Shit,” she grumbled, then squealed in fright as a two large hands came down on her shoulders.
“Miss me, baby?” The voice was a little coarser than what she’d remembered inside the club, but she relaxed when she recognized the manicured nails and heavy gold ring on his right index finger.
“You could scare a girl to death,” she admonished, bringing her own hands up to squeeze his - was it her imagination, or did they feel colder than before? She tried to turn around in his arms, but he held her in place with her back against his chest. “You know, I like the hug, but I'd rather be face to face."
“Why the struggle, pretty?” His voice was definitely coarser, different. “It’s better this way. Makes things easier.”
Great, now he’d figured she was going to be easy fun for the night. “Hey, don’t get ideas, buddy - I want to talk for awhile before I decide about any other activities.”
His laugh was suddenly a lot less sexy and a lot more disturbing. “They always think of that too late. I’m not really a talker.” He ran one cold finger up the side of her throat, lingering to apply pressure to the pulse point.
Suddenly, the night wasn’t looking so good. With a little stab of panic, she began to strain harder against the strong grip. “Come on, I said let go. I’m not enjoying this - I want to go back inside now!”
She loosened his grip enough to twist her face toward him, in time to see his features morph into something long and ridged and not at all human. She stared at the long curved fangs at either side of his - its - mouth, and her own mouth opened in the beginnings of a scream just as the door banged open and Scott barreled out into the alley.
“Get your hands off my girlfriend, you son of a --” The words died on his lips as he stopped in shock, staring. Her captor growled something unintelligible, and two more creatures materialized from the shadows right behind Scott. From her frozen position she watched the anger and jealousy in his face change to dismay, to full-blown terror, then to nothing at all as his neck was broken as easily as an eggshell. From somewhere far away, she watched him fall, wondering hazily how it was that her mouth was open and she still hadn’t screamed.
Then she felt two sharp points break the skin against her throat, and Tina Jerrard’s good night ended along with the rest of her life.
**Chapter 1**
Atlanta, Georgia
“No, stop! Stop it, please don’t - shit!”
The curse coincided with a loud thump as a blanket-wrapped bundle hit the floor; Frances Malone had just had another nightmare from hell.
She sat up awkwardly, rubbing her left elbow with a grimace and thankful that her father had already left the house. His early morning meetings were saving them both a lot of grief this week - if he caught her in the midst of one of these scenes he’d throw a fit, probably think they were in need of family therapy ASAP, when the truth was that this was light-years away from any kind of flashback. Not that she hadn’t had her share of dreams about past badness, actually still did sometimes, but these images were something different altogether. How exactly did you describe a collection of disturbing, nonsensical scenarios that ended with waking up face-down on the floor for the past five mornings in a row? Hell, if she stopped too long to try to analyze it she’d be the one freaking out.
She untangled herself enough to crawl back onto the edge of the bed, then pushed dark tousled hair off her face in frustration. Each time, she remembered one or two additional details, not that they really helped her understand any better. The same person was always there, a young blonde woman about the same age as Frances herself, but no one she’d ever seen before. She was standing at the edge of a rickety platform, looking at something far below her that was glowing orange. Suddenly Frances found herself standing beside the stranger at the edge of the platform - never mind the implausibility of that, as she was always paralyzed with fear around heights. She realized the glow was from a fiery pit, and as she looked back up the stranger nodded, smiled and launched herself into the fire.
That was usually when she woke up, but today she seemed to recall a new part to the dream, a second scene where she was standing in a dark alley surrounded by high stone walls. Despite the change of scenery she was still begging the blonde not to jump, but now there was a new feeling too, a sense of dread that she was about to face something in that alley that was far worse than any fire. She turned around - and was suddenly back in her room nose-to-nose with the oak floorboards.
She shuddered involuntarily at the recollection of the new part of her dream, then yelped in surprise as the doorbell sounded. Glancing at her alarm clock, she groaned miserably - she was supposed to be on her way to class ten minutes ago.
Jenna Pierce jumped back at the sight that greeted her at the door. “Holy crap, Frannie, you look half-dead! You do realize we’re supposed to be in that meeting with Draper in, like, twenty minutes, right?”
Frances sighed. “Yeah, and I know this will just give her the millionth reason to hate me, but I’m not gonna make it. Jenna, could you just tell her that I had car troubles or a sick aunt or that I died or something? I’ll meet you in class at nine - if I don’t have a shower life will be over.”
Her friend nodded. “I think a shower is probably a good idea,” she allowed, surveying the damage in front of her. “But you do realize this isn’t going to get you out of coming with Russell and me to the Glow Club tonight, right? It’s going to be awesome.”
“I know, I know, awesome. And I fully intend to be there if Draper doesn’t kill me first. If she does you can prop my body at the bar, OK? Go on, go to your meeting.”
She closed the door behind Jenna, then stumbled toward the coffee-maker for her morning’s life-blood. Still half-asleep, she managed to stub her toe on the baseboard just as she crossed into the kitchen. It was definitely a good thing her father was at work - he probably wouldn’t approve of his daughter cursing like one of his fellow Marines.
“It’s too early for this day to suck this much!” She yelled to the empty house as she cradled her sore toe. For good measure, she smacked the drywall with her fist, then stared in dismay at the hole she’d just created. Apparently her father was right - the house was getting a little old and fragile.
“OK, I give up!” She announced to whatever Powers-that-Be were pissed off at her that day. “Draper thinks I’m an unredeemable felon, and now I’m an unredeemable felon who oversleeps. My dad will think I’m having issues with anger management. And I’ve had a week’s worth of bad-trip nightmares without the benefit of LSD. Will someone up there give me a break until I get a shower, please?”
She didn’t get an answer, but she was able to pour coffee without spilling it on herself or breaking her father’s favorite VCTF mug, so she took that as a good enough sign to make the trek from the kitchen to the bathroom. Like it or not, her day was about to begin.
Yes, it's a Buffy/Profiler cross-over. Yes, I'm spending a considerable amount of time and a potential butt-load o'chapters on a cross-over of two defunct shows. What's your point? ;)
Frannie the Vampire Slayer
Author: Robin Nance
Story Type: Cross-over drama, “Profiler” and “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”
Rating: PG-13 (language, violence)
Setting/Spoilers: I'm not sure that you can technically have spoilers for defunct shows, but just in case, this takes place in mid-Season 2 in the Profilerverse and in between Seasons 5 and 6 in the Buffyverse.
**Prologue**
Sunnydale, California
On a warm west coast night, unusually mild for April, backlit by stars and the soft glow of the fires burning far below her, Buffy Summers prepared to die.
It was funny, she thought. Well, not funny so much as strange, maybe - that old tale about how your whole life flashed in front of your eyes just before it ended. She always figured it would be a loud, raucous kind of thing, all bright lights and images careening through her mind in one last desperate mega-memory. Yet at this moment, what she felt was a distinct absence of the loud-and-crazy, a foreign sort of stillness that she hadn’t experienced in years. Probably not the most normal way for someone to feel while she was warming up for a swan-dive into a hell-portal, but then again, when was the last time she could be called normal? That word didn’t tend to apply to you when certain other words did, words like the One, the Slayer. When those words defined you, your version of normal was more a routine of waking up day after day after freaking day to save the world, again, since you were the only one who could.
Or so she’d been told, time and again -- only her One-ness, her Slayer-ness hadn’t been enough to save anyone who’d fought against Glory, had it? It hadn’t stopped Tara from morphing into one of the babbling, tormented remnants of Glory’s little games, and it hadn’t saved Dawn from being snatched up and left to bleed like some disposable object. It hadn’t even saved her mother from an average, everyday, no-demons-needed demise. She winced; that pain was still fresh and very raw.
The First Slayer had called death her “gift,” and it sure as hell kept on giving, shredding the lives of everyone around her. She spared a glance back at her sister’s tear-streaked face. She really wished Dawn didn’t have to witness this, it made for a real bitch of a last memory, especially coming so soon after Joyce. But it couldn’t be helped. And it was all part of the natural order of things, really - it was time. One Slayer died and another took her place, another poor clueless girl had her world turned upside down, she fought and she bled and she fought again until it was her turn to stand exhausted over one abyss or another and wonder who was about to replace her. She wouldn’t miss any of that, but God, how she was going to miss her Scooby family, Xander and Willow, Anya and sweet broken Tara and poor dear old Giles, who’d feel so responsible and guilty even though it wasn’t his fault that his Slayer’s time had run out.
But even in the middle of her grief there was a tiny kernel of happiness, relief in the knowledge that they’d go on without her, they’d pick up and get back to the fight. They’d look after each other and Dawn, same as always. Even Spike, pain in the ass that he could be, would make a hell of a guardian. It was hard to live in this world, sure, but they’d been good at the hard stuff for a long time now. Dawn would be fine - they all would. And, just maybe, that was her gift, too.
It occurred to Buffy that the calm, still feeling she was experiencing was one of peace. Good luck, newbie, whoever you are, she thought to the soon-to-be-Slayer. Try not to die too soon. A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she took a final deep breath and leaped into thin warm air.
*****
Atlanta, Georgia: Outside Club Lava
Tina Jerrard was having a good night.
For one thing, she looked hot. She knew it, the frat-boys at the bar knew it, and especially that bastard Scott knew it. So he wanted them to “broaden their horizons” and date other people before they committed to moving in together, did he? Well, fine - she’d seen him hanging in the background all night watching her, and if he wanted broadened horizons he was about to get an eyeful.
The timing had been perfect - the good-looking guy at the end of the bar was new in town, he’d found her just as hot as the frat-boys did, and he’d sent her a drink as soon as she sat down. He was a little bit older than the college guys, actually a bit older than she was usually comfortable with, but he had that exotic, dangerous Antonio-Banderas-type thing going, long legs and long black hair and sexy black clothes - he was practically the anti-Scott. So of course she accepted the drink, and she beckoned him over to join her. She’d made sure to snuggle really close to him, running her hands over his black leather coat and tugging playfully at his lapels. She’d grabbed his hand to lead him out to the dance floor, and she’d ground against him suggestively in time to the beat, all of it in full view of her ex. When he’d bent down to whisper in her ear about meeting him outside to get some fresh air, she knew it was nothing more than code for what he really wanted; she could almost see the excitement in his eyes, could’ve sworn there was a flash of something sexy and animalistic when she said yes. She watched him leave through a side door at the other end of the bar; she waited for the planned five minutes, then strolled deliberately in the same direction.
Once outside, she glanced around in consternation. She was in a narrow alley that was lined with dumpsters, obviously a side-entrance for deliveries to the club, and her handsome stranger was nowhere in sight. Surely she hadn’t gone through the wrong door….She turned around to go back inside, but found to her dismay that the door was locked.
“Shit,” she grumbled, then squealed in fright as a two large hands came down on her shoulders.
“Miss me, baby?” The voice was a little coarser than what she’d remembered inside the club, but she relaxed when she recognized the manicured nails and heavy gold ring on his right index finger.
“You could scare a girl to death,” she admonished, bringing her own hands up to squeeze his - was it her imagination, or did they feel colder than before? She tried to turn around in his arms, but he held her in place with her back against his chest. “You know, I like the hug, but I'd rather be face to face."
“Why the struggle, pretty?” His voice was definitely coarser, different. “It’s better this way. Makes things easier.”
Great, now he’d figured she was going to be easy fun for the night. “Hey, don’t get ideas, buddy - I want to talk for awhile before I decide about any other activities.”
His laugh was suddenly a lot less sexy and a lot more disturbing. “They always think of that too late. I’m not really a talker.” He ran one cold finger up the side of her throat, lingering to apply pressure to the pulse point.
Suddenly, the night wasn’t looking so good. With a little stab of panic, she began to strain harder against the strong grip. “Come on, I said let go. I’m not enjoying this - I want to go back inside now!”
She loosened his grip enough to twist her face toward him, in time to see his features morph into something long and ridged and not at all human. She stared at the long curved fangs at either side of his - its - mouth, and her own mouth opened in the beginnings of a scream just as the door banged open and Scott barreled out into the alley.
“Get your hands off my girlfriend, you son of a --” The words died on his lips as he stopped in shock, staring. Her captor growled something unintelligible, and two more creatures materialized from the shadows right behind Scott. From her frozen position she watched the anger and jealousy in his face change to dismay, to full-blown terror, then to nothing at all as his neck was broken as easily as an eggshell. From somewhere far away, she watched him fall, wondering hazily how it was that her mouth was open and she still hadn’t screamed.
Then she felt two sharp points break the skin against her throat, and Tina Jerrard’s good night ended along with the rest of her life.
**Chapter 1**
Atlanta, Georgia
“No, stop! Stop it, please don’t - shit!”
The curse coincided with a loud thump as a blanket-wrapped bundle hit the floor; Frances Malone had just had another nightmare from hell.
She sat up awkwardly, rubbing her left elbow with a grimace and thankful that her father had already left the house. His early morning meetings were saving them both a lot of grief this week - if he caught her in the midst of one of these scenes he’d throw a fit, probably think they were in need of family therapy ASAP, when the truth was that this was light-years away from any kind of flashback. Not that she hadn’t had her share of dreams about past badness, actually still did sometimes, but these images were something different altogether. How exactly did you describe a collection of disturbing, nonsensical scenarios that ended with waking up face-down on the floor for the past five mornings in a row? Hell, if she stopped too long to try to analyze it she’d be the one freaking out.
She untangled herself enough to crawl back onto the edge of the bed, then pushed dark tousled hair off her face in frustration. Each time, she remembered one or two additional details, not that they really helped her understand any better. The same person was always there, a young blonde woman about the same age as Frances herself, but no one she’d ever seen before. She was standing at the edge of a rickety platform, looking at something far below her that was glowing orange. Suddenly Frances found herself standing beside the stranger at the edge of the platform - never mind the implausibility of that, as she was always paralyzed with fear around heights. She realized the glow was from a fiery pit, and as she looked back up the stranger nodded, smiled and launched herself into the fire.
That was usually when she woke up, but today she seemed to recall a new part to the dream, a second scene where she was standing in a dark alley surrounded by high stone walls. Despite the change of scenery she was still begging the blonde not to jump, but now there was a new feeling too, a sense of dread that she was about to face something in that alley that was far worse than any fire. She turned around - and was suddenly back in her room nose-to-nose with the oak floorboards.
She shuddered involuntarily at the recollection of the new part of her dream, then yelped in surprise as the doorbell sounded. Glancing at her alarm clock, she groaned miserably - she was supposed to be on her way to class ten minutes ago.
Jenna Pierce jumped back at the sight that greeted her at the door. “Holy crap, Frannie, you look half-dead! You do realize we’re supposed to be in that meeting with Draper in, like, twenty minutes, right?”
Frances sighed. “Yeah, and I know this will just give her the millionth reason to hate me, but I’m not gonna make it. Jenna, could you just tell her that I had car troubles or a sick aunt or that I died or something? I’ll meet you in class at nine - if I don’t have a shower life will be over.”
Her friend nodded. “I think a shower is probably a good idea,” she allowed, surveying the damage in front of her. “But you do realize this isn’t going to get you out of coming with Russell and me to the Glow Club tonight, right? It’s going to be awesome.”
“I know, I know, awesome. And I fully intend to be there if Draper doesn’t kill me first. If she does you can prop my body at the bar, OK? Go on, go to your meeting.”
She closed the door behind Jenna, then stumbled toward the coffee-maker for her morning’s life-blood. Still half-asleep, she managed to stub her toe on the baseboard just as she crossed into the kitchen. It was definitely a good thing her father was at work - he probably wouldn’t approve of his daughter cursing like one of his fellow Marines.
“It’s too early for this day to suck this much!” She yelled to the empty house as she cradled her sore toe. For good measure, she smacked the drywall with her fist, then stared in dismay at the hole she’d just created. Apparently her father was right - the house was getting a little old and fragile.
“OK, I give up!” She announced to whatever Powers-that-Be were pissed off at her that day. “Draper thinks I’m an unredeemable felon, and now I’m an unredeemable felon who oversleeps. My dad will think I’m having issues with anger management. And I’ve had a week’s worth of bad-trip nightmares without the benefit of LSD. Will someone up there give me a break until I get a shower, please?”
She didn’t get an answer, but she was able to pour coffee without spilling it on herself or breaking her father’s favorite VCTF mug, so she took that as a good enough sign to make the trek from the kitchen to the bathroom. Like it or not, her day was about to begin.