Buffybot in Tabula Rasa
PAIRING: None
RATING: PG-13
FEEDBACK: Very welcome, to [email protected]
BETA: Miss Murchison - thanks!
SETTING: This fic is set during the events of 'Tabula Rasa' in BtVS Series 6, when the Scoobies temporarily lose their memories. I've twiddled with the time sequence in the episode a tiny bit, but just call it artistic licence.
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Joss. I’m borrowing, and I promise to put them all back in reasonably good condition, and only slightly used.
NOTE: This story is a sequel to Buffybot Behind Bars!, but it can perfectly well be read as a stand-alone.
SCENE: A house in Sunnydale
Chapter One
Buffybot blinked, puzzled. Her internal clock said it was 5.30 pm - so why was it dark? And why was she lying down? She blinked some more, and stared up at the ceiling above her, rolled her eyes from side to side, then ran a diagnostic.
How strange. Her operating system was on, but all her biomechanics were disengaged. She ‘tsked’ to herself - well, that was just silly. If her arms and legs were switched off, how could she fight, and slay? How could she save the brave people of Sunnydale from Evil? There was no point having a swishy shiny sword, and a wicked cool crossbow if she was stuck on her back, having to be trundled about the cemeteries of Sunnydale on a stretcher.
She engaged her emergency backup self-repair function. Her right hand twitched uncertainly into action, moved to the back of her neck in slow uneven jerks, fumbled stiffly at the panel on the back of her neck, and finally depressed the relevant switch. Buffybot watched in satisfaction as the reams of biofeedback data scrolled across her visual field - except, wait! Where had her left leg gone? She stared down at her feet - foot. There was only one foot there. She considered the implications. Perhaps Willow had carried her leg off for repair and maintenance somewhere? But if Willow had done that, why didn’t she remember it?
She quickly reviewed the events of the past month. Oooh! She’d sustained major structural damage from some wicked bad demons, and then ... she faltered. She didn’t remember what had happened then. She flexed her hands experimentally. Her arms were working fine, and there were no nasty dents or dings, so clearly someone had been fixing her up. But perhaps they couldn’t find my leg, she thought. Or maybe it got run over by a motorbike or something. Poor leg.
At that moment the door opened. And a figure stepped through.
“Hi there!” said Buffybot.
There was a scream, and clatter of metal and plastic. Buffybot tilted her head down so she could see the person. Strange, nothing was there. She tilted her head down a little more - oh there! It was a little person. Pressed up against the door with his hand on his chest. She quickly scanned her database. Jonathan Levinson, Sunnydale native, Sunnydale High School alumnus, nerd, suicide risk and fantasist. Buffybot frowned - he did seem very nervous.
The little person was panting, rapidly, and covered in nervous sweat. Oh no! Perhaps he had taken a lethal dose of pills? If so, it was clearly her duty to get over there and induce vomiting. She lurched unsteadily to her one foot. Jonathan screamed again, and turned to scrabble at the door.
Buffybot hopped across to him - hey, hopping was easy! Who knew? - and laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.
“Can I be of assistance, unstable little Sunnydale native called Jonathan?” she said, in what she hoped was a soothing voice.
“Don’t kill me!” said Jonathan frantically. “It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it. It was someone else, someone bigger - yes, someone bigger. Look at me - I’m tiny! Couldn’t have been me.”
But Buffybot had been distracted by what Jonathan had dropped on the floor.
“Ooh!” she said excitedly. “It’s my leg.” She tilted her head and looked at it again. “Except ...”
“It’s another right leg, I know,” said Jonathan, relaxing marginally as the threat of immediate robotic violence began to fade. “Warren had back-up parts for pretty much everything.” He fumbled in his pocket and produced a Buffy right hand and waved it vaguely. “But there was only a right leg in the spares kit - and unfortunately it’s your left leg that I couldn’t find.”
Buffybot stared at the leg, her head on one side. She could install it with the foot facing backwards - but then her knee would be facing backwards too - and that was bound to lead to confusion - not to mention a tendency to do the splits when running. Still, first things first. She needed Willow. She fixed Jonathan with a dazzling smile, causing him to squeak, and take a step backward.
“Where’s Willow?” she said, “I need servicing.”
“Ah,” said Jonathan. “Um ... how come you’re awake?” he burst out suddenly, “I thought you were switched off? I swear I checked ...”
“I switched myself on,” said Buffybot proudly, “using my emergency backup self repair function.” She tapped her shiny blonde head. “Willow installed it after I had a teeny bit of trouble in Sunnydale Women’s Penitentiary a while ago.”
Jonathan blinked.
Buffybot smiled at him, “I knew it would come in useful! It has its own teeny tiny cute little mobile phone battery - isn’t that neat? Willow is so smart! She’ll work out what to do about my leg in no time.” Buffybot peered past Jonathan at the door. “Where is she?”
Jonathan moved sharply between Buffybot and the door, looking shifty. “She’s gone away,” he said. “Big emergency - in England. Everyone’s gone away. Well, everyone you know. Willow, Tara, Buffy, Dawn, Giles, Xander, Anya, Spike ... all out of the country on a major Saving-The-World mission.” He looked at her sideways, “So I’m in charge of you now,” he said rather tentatively.
“Oh dear!” Buffybot’s mouth made a big ‘o’ of shock. “Well, gee, I guess it’s down to us to keep the streets of Sunnydale safe for decent people!” She squared her shoulders. It was a tough job, but she was the Bot to do it - and she was sure her new little friend would help. She regarded her leg again. She had an idea.
... ... ....
“So,” said Jonathan, as he applied the weld, “When Willow and everyone realised they had to leave straightaway to battle the Vindaloo Monster in Oxford, they left me to finish getting you repaired, and to co-ordinate the, um, the fight against Bad Stuff.” He looked at Buffybot nervously, trying to tell if she was swallowing his story. “So I’m in charge, right? I mean you are my robot slave - right? And if I were to tell you to - oh, say, switch yourself off again for a while, so I can ... make you even faster and stronger than you already are. You’d obey me?”
Buffybot patted him on the head. “I’m not a slave - I’m an American,” she explained kindly. “Slavery was abolished in 1865. And I have an inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness! Mr Jefferson said so! And what makes me happiest of all is Slaying evil creatures.”
I hunt and I slay!
Hip hip hip hurray!”
Buffybot sang the last part to a merry little tune she had made up her very own self.
Jonathan looked away; the chance to switch her off must come his way at some point ... and then it was back to the drawing board. Programming couldn’t be all that hard, surely, if morons like Andrew could do it?”
“I see you’ve been learning history,” he said.
“Yes!” said Buffybot proudly. “Tara showed me how to download things from the internet. I’ve got the complete Grolier’s Encyclopaedia in a handy little sub-directory - with graphics! I know loads of things. Ask me a question! Go on - I bet I know the answer.” She waited eagerly for Jonathan to try and boggle her with an obscure reference to the Star Wars Trilogy, or Red Dwarf. Luckily she had “The Complete Nerd’s Guide to all Science Fiction Ever Screened or Published, Ever” (Subtitle: “Even in Weird Places like Russia Where They don’t Speak English”), safely on her hard-drive, as well as the Grolier.
But apparently Jonathan didn’t want to play. Perhaps he was worried about the heavy responsibility that lay upon his small but well formed shoulders? Buffybot nodded to herself. She must remember to try and keep his spirits up. Clearly he was prone to Despair and needed careful handling. She wrinkled her perfect brow, trying to think of some devices to raise his morale. Campfire songs perhaps? Or some kind of music hall show, where he could dress up in drag without aspersions being cast on his masculinity?
Meanwhile, it seemed her leg was done. She regarded it with a satisfied smile. Good thing she had that Practical Robotics textbook in her database! Extracting and reversing the ball and socket at the top of the leg and re-wiring all the circuits crosswise had been challenging, but perfectly do-able. She stomped the leg on the floor experimentally. There! Perfectly sound. Of course, it was little inconvenient having two right feet - she was going to need two right shoes for a start - and they wouldn’t match, which was a pity. Buffybot faltered for a moment, imagining the shame of going out with uncoordinated footwear. But still, in the fight against Evil, Sacrifices had to be made. And if that meant she had to wear her Manolo Blahnicks with her Gucci tasselled loafers, so be it!
“Right,” she said brightly, patting Jonathan’s shoulder in a supportive fashion. “Let’s go and get some lethal weapons, and make sure the streets are safe for decent people to walk!” She walked resolutely to the door. There! She was absolutely fine.
Jonathan stared after the Buffybot despairingly as she lurched towards the door, seemingly swaying in the breeze with every step. How on earth could he stop her before she ran into the Scooby Gang, and his Evil Plot was revealed? Bullets? Bazookas? It was a pity he had neither a gun nor a rocket launcher to hand. Instead, with a particularly vulgar Klingon curse, he grabbed his jacket and ran after her, out of his parents’ house and into the Sunnydale suburbs. Buffybot was making great progress, lurching rapidly along the sidewalk, exchanging cheery greetings with his parents’ neighbours as she went. Jonathan panted after her, cursing the day he had imagined that a Buffybot of his own would be a really, really cool idea.
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