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 Thirteen
“Who’s we?” said Jonathan, sparing Buffy an absent glance as he carefully measured out olive oil into a dessert spoon.
Buffy turned to see what had happened to Spike - and was knocked flying as he and Pussy rolled into the room, their hands about one another’s throats, a blur of vampiric violence. Her head banged into a fishtank with a loud thud.
“Ow!” she cried.
Dr Teeth looked up, oregano in fin. “Hey, cutie - mind the fish tanks!” he yelled.
“Ow, ow,” cried Spike, as he rolled about the cellar floor, locked in a desperate embrace with the larger vampire, “the big cheat just gouged me in the eye! No fair!”
Buffy dragged herself to her feet, the world spinning around her, just as Pussy threw Spike bodily across the room, where he landed on the shark’s kitchen work surface, right on top of the butter dish.
“Don’t squash the butter,” yelled Jonathan. “We need it!”
Buffy punched Pussy hard in the face, with a lightning fast right-left combination, and stuck her sword neatly right through him. But as she tried to lever it out again, he leaned down, and clouted her with a huge vampire fist. She flew across the room, and crashed into another tank.
“Mind the goddammed fish tanks, you bozos!” shouted the shark, “how many times do I have to say?”
“You fight like a girl! Both of ya!” shouted Pussy derisively, standing tall in the middle of the room with Buffy’s sword sticking out of his chest. He reached down and drew the sword half way out, then went down again as Spike tackled him from behind, a wooden spoon clasped in his hand.
Buffy prised herself away from the now cracked glass tank, as Spike tossed her the wooden spoon. A moment later he disappeared as Pussy rolled over, squashing him beneath his superior bulk. There was an ominous cracking sound as Buffy’s sword was caught between two hard vampire chests.
“My sword!” shouted Buffy, outraged. She snapped the wooden spoon in two with a practised gesture, just as Spike propelled his opponent backwards towards the kitchen range. Buffy threw the broken spoon like a dagger, hitting Pussy squarely in the chest as he flew backwards. Vampire dust pattered down over the ingredients on the work surface, and sprinkled the open fish tank beside it. The remaining salmon there rose eagerly to the surface.
“Got him!” Buffy cried.
“What a team!” said Spike.
They grinned at each other like idiots.
Dr Teeth gave a howl of pain. “My recipe!” he cried.
“Ruined!” said Jonathan bitterly, ripping off his apron, throwing it to the floor, and stamping on it.
...............
Giles and Anya meanwhile were walking along Revello Drive, Giles striding in the lead, a sword in his hand, and Anya trailing sulkily beside him, absently re-buttoning her blouse, while trying to keep the small shiny throwing axe tucked under one arm, and the Magic Box till drawer under the other.
“I still don’t see,” she said in tone of one who said the same thing many times before, “why we couldn’t stay and make out, I mean hang out, in the Magic Box.”
“Well, mainly,” said Giles, between clenched teeth, “because of the imminent danger of death should we have done so.”
“We’re meant to be guarding the trapdoor, remember?” said Anya.
Giles closed his eyes, for a moment, praying for patience. “Yes, well, that proved to be rather more difficult than we expected, didn’t it, darling?”
His mind went back to the scene in the Magic Box basement. His reason blinded by passion, he had carried Anya to the basement and, only slightly out of breath, had proceeded to remove her blouse and skirt, and his own jacket and trousers. Just as his hand had gone to remove Anya’s camiknickers, six tentacled demons had leapt through the trapdoor entrance, covered in filth and stinking like smouldering rubber tyres. He had jumped to his feet to defend his lady - and been trampled underfoot in a stampede of tentacles and demon slime, as the creatures had made a beeline for the Magic Box front door, smashed it from its hinges and then run down the street, bellowing threats in Fyarl.
Anya made a dismissive noise. “Really, Rupey, we only needed to find the right spell in one of those magic books, and block the trapdoor entrance. Then we could have turned our attention to more enjoyable things.”
Giles hunched his shoulders. Clearly Anya had forgotten just what sort of chaos they had caused the last time they had read from the books. He wondered, not for the first time, just what his and Anya’s domestic life must be like.
“And now the door is smashed, there could be looters!” said Anya, her imagination filled with ugly scenes of Sunnydalers with pantyhose pulled over their heads, rushing through the shop and emptying it of unicorn statues, dried newt eyes, and Tarot packs.
“I rather think the presence of an electrical goods store - with a smashed window - in the same street, may prove a superior attraction,” muttered Giles. He sped up as, guided by Buffybot’s admirably clear instructions, they approached the front door of the Summers house.
Behind him, Anya frowned, unconvinced. Clearly there was no arguing with him - but how anyone might prefer a microwave or a mini fridge to a Yeti hair fetish was beyond her. In her view, pillage was almost inevitable. She regarded Giles’ back sulkily, as he pressed the bell of the front door. How on earth did she put up with him?
.............
Dr Teeth stared aghast at the ash-spattered remains of recipe no. 828 for a moment more, and then with a howl of rage he ran towards Buffy and Spike, cleaver upraised.
Spike ducked sinuously, and as the cleaver whistled past, he grabbed Dr Teeth by his apron strings, and smacked him head first through the glass wall of the nearest fish tank. Water poured in a torrent over the unconscious demon loan shark, until the sole occupant swirled out of the tank, bumped Dr Teeth between the eyes, and then flopped onto the floor.
Buffy leant down and picked up the large, uncannily fat salmon. It gazed glassily up at her, flapping feebly in her hands.
“Ugh!” she said.
“Ooh!” said Spike at the same moment. He grabbed the salmon from her and bit its head off.
“Gross!” said Buffy.
“Yuck!” said Jonathan.
“‘Ish jusht sushi,” said Spike indistinctly, through a mouthful of salmon.
Buffy shuddered, and strode across the basement to grab Jonathan. “Right, you wannabe Emeril,” she said, “consider yourself rescued.” She looked around the crazy fish-filled basement with disfavour. “Now let’s get moving, before we get attacked by a troupe of angry lobster sous chefs.”
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