Fic for merfilly

[icarus_chained]

Because she wanted BtVS's 'Ripper' Giles to meet Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewert. This probably nothing like what she had in mind, but here goes anyway.

Title:  Help
Rating:  PG-13
Fandoms:  Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Doctor Who (classic)
Characters:  Giles, the Brigadier, cameo (unnamed) by Yates, an OC, and a hoard of vampires
Summary:  A young Ripper Giles, just after the incident with Eyghon and Ethan, meets a certain Brigadier in the middle of a vampire swarm.
Wordcount:  2242
Warnings:  Far more language than I'm used to, and some gore, but not much. Also, I probably got Giles very, very wrong.

 

Help

He'd just managed to persuade Lizzie Jones to follow him round behind the cinema (using some of his best lines on her, to boot), and things had just started getting nice and interesting when Rupert 'Ripper' Giles caught the unmistakable odor of vampire. Vampires. Lots of them, and fresh outta the fucking grave too, by the stench. And following on the heels of that realisation, he caught the equally unmistakable sound of marching feet. Bloody cops, or army, or some other useless bloody bunch.

Cursing, ignoring the silly bitch's shrill complaints, Ripper grabbed her by the arm and tugged her through the emergency exit into the cinema itself, immediately letting her go and heading for a store room in search of something long, wooden and pointy. Stupid fucking vampires. He'd swear the bloody things existed to make his life miserable, to drive him back to his father and his precious 'destiny'. Well, they could sing for it! Ripper Giles wasn't doing anything he didn't fucking want to, and that was that!

No proper stakes handy, of course, but there was a nice bit of old bar-rail, and no shortage of splintered shards from repairs to the cinema. Shoddy place that it was. He'd just gathered up a couple of likely looking pieces when he heard a scream from the back passage, and remembered that he'd left the silly bint there. Right where any stray undead were likely to find her. Stupid, Ripper. Stupid!

He took off at a dead run, swinging out of the storeroom, and there was Lizzie, screaming her pretty little head off, bangled arms straining against the door from the inside while a freshly made vampire rammed itself against the outside. Ripper took a moment to be briefly impressed that she was still alive, before coming forward at a run, hurling her behind him deeper into the building, and lunging stake-first at the vampire as the door fell in under it.

There was something deeply satisfying about the explosions they made when they disintegrated.

Toeing the dust idly, he scanned the area to make sure there were no more strays. There weren't, not in his alley, but, blinking in the alley darkness, head turning warily from side to side, ears and nose instinctively on high alert, he caught the sound of gunfire in the high street, around the front of the building. Pretty heavy-duty gunfire too, from the sounds of it, accompanied by a lot of military-sounding yells. Somebody'd gone and called in the cavalry. The wrong fucking one. Guns hadn't a hope against vampires.

He dithered for a second, listening to Lizzie sobbing hysterically inside. He'd never been all that fond of the authorities. Any authorities, and the army was just one more fascist institution like the Watcher's Council that was determined to ruin his life. And Lizzie was inside, and in her state she might find some good, old-fashioned comfort just the thing she needed.

But ...

Cursing soundly, he shoved the splinters into his jacket, and set off for the high street and the action. Not conscience. Never that. He just wanted a piece of the action, that's all. That was only ever fucking all.

He remembered caution before skidding around the corner, brain catching up with feet long enough to suggest that diving into a brawl between army and vampire possibly wasn't the best idea, and he wedged himself between a drainpipe and some bins instead, blinking in the sudden light from the streetlamps. The remaining streetlamps, anyway. Taking a deep breath, wishing he'd remembered to bring his fags with him, he took a peep around the corner.

The street was in pandemonium, vampires crawling all over the place. A bloody plague of them, all freshly made, and how the hell had that happened, anyway? No civilians, thankfully. Messed everything up, civilians in a brawl. The soldiers were down the far end, tight together, using the bullets to knock down whatever came close while they retreated steadily. No panic at all, despite the fact that the things they thought they were killing kept getting right back up. That was ... impressive.

And then, as some smart bastard turned up the car lights behind the soldiers, blinding the vampires temporarily while the men could still keep a perfect eye on them, he saw why they weren't panicking. Standing in the middle of the ranks was what was obviously their commanding officer, a calm, mustached man with assessing eyes. Watching as a vampire broke through right in front of him, watching him pull a pistol and shoot it right between the eyes with the sort of sangfroid warlocks would kill for, Ripper felt something a little close to awe.

Which didn't stop him cursing their stupidity, mind. Awesome calm or no, they were going to be bloody massacred it they kept on like this. Fifteen vampires versus twenty men with guns. They hadn't a fucking hope.

Now what was he going to do about it?

Well, that was bloody obvious! It was suicide going out there, and not much better staying here. It was their own bloody fault for jumping in without a fucking clue what was waiting. He'd seen ... he'd seen enough death. Enough for a lifetime, and he didn't care to stay around and see this latest addition.

However ... this was his town, now, and he knew it back to front. If he nipped back around behind the cinema, ran up Church street and down Ringer's lane, he could come out behind them. Away from the vamps. Then all he'd have to do was tell the bastards how to kill the damn things, and he could bugger off, pick up Lizzie and have a proper night of it. If they'd listen to him, that was, and how likely was that? No-one ever listened to him. No-one in charge, anyway. And army? Probably fifty times worse.

One of the soldiers screamed, a vamp attached to his arm by the fangs, and even after his mate bashed the thing's face in with his rifle butt, it took lumps out of the man's arm before falling back. Probably lost a fang in the process, but fresh out of the grave, these things were too hungry to care.

Damnit! He had to do something, didn't he? Stupid bloody conscience ... Fuck!

He ran. Took Church Street in record time, clipped his shoulder on the corner to Ringer's Lane, and almost got a bullet in the face bursting out into the light behind them. Rear sentry, idiot, he snarled at himself, panting, while the commander held up a hand and thankfully kept him from some interesting new piercings.

"Easy lads," the man said, calm as if he were sitting down with a pint. "As you can see, young man, this isn't the best place for you to be right now." Somebody yelled behind him as two of the vamps tried jumping over things for the first time. The man barely twitched. "You should be safe if you leave now, but I'd advise staying to the north of the town for the time being. Indoors, for preference."

And that was nicely condescending, but Giles had got his voice back, and blurted it out before he lost his nerve. "Wood," he managed. "Stake 'em through the heart, and they stay down!" The man raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't immediately scoff.

"What, like a vampire?" the man at his side asked incredulously, and Ripper groaned. "You've got to be kidding me." And Rupert was just too tired of being fucking ignored. He knew this. He bloody knew it, and he'd fucking show 'em!

He lunged past them, ignoring the disbeliever's startled yell, and the commander's shout to his men to watch out, and then he was through, bullet-less for the time being, and there was a vampire, grinning right in front of him, and hell but he hated these bastards ...

The vamp exploded just as an hand closed like a vice around his arm, and he lashed out on instinct, his wrist caught and deflected, the hand tugging him backwards with all the inexorability of a tide. He turned, fumbling for another stake with his numb wrist, and recognised the commander with a start. He stopped fighting, and blinked as the man shouted briskly for his men to fall back, to find wood and start staking, still pulling Giles back through the lines, gun out and angled to shield them both if one of the vamps came at them.

And then they were through the lines, and men were falling back all around him, doors splintering as they scavenged weapons, and he was in a car, the commander beside him, yelling to a driver, and an engine started, and they were away.

Giles blinked, and blinked again, his head catching up with what had just happened, and more specifically what he'd just done, and just as his hands started to shake in reaction, a cool and ever-so-slightly amused voice sounded beside him.

"You know, you could have just waited a minute until we had time to assimilate the information." And it was admonishing, but not condescendingly so, and when Rupert looked up, there was just that faint amusement, layered over worry, in the soldier's eyes. He blinked a bit, unused to the idea of concern, and ducked his head.

"Sorry, sir," he muttered, mostly on instinct, and was stunned when the man suddenly chuckled. Anger springing back instantly, he glared. "Something funny!" The soldier shook his head, expression torn between amused and sad, though it was hard to tell behind the calm facade, and then ... he offered Giles his hand. Staring, bewildered, Rupert took it.

"Not at all. Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, at your service." And for some reason, that didn't sound like a platitude to Giles' ears.

"Rip ... ah, Rupert Giles," he answered, confused, and the Brigadier smiled.

"Well, Mr Giles," he began, that wry twitch of a smile appearing once again. "It seems we may owe you a debt of gratitude for your help, even if your means of giving it leave a lot to be desired." And not knowing what to do with the thanks, Giles answered that seeming accusation first.

"Well, I wasn't going to watch people die waiting for you to listen to me!" he spat. "Vampires aren't anything like what you deal with, and nobody listens in time! None of you bastards ever listen!"

A shadow of something flitted over the Brigadier's face following that little outburst, and he turned one of the most serious gazes Giles had ever been subjected to on him. He shifted uneasily. "You'd be surprised what we deal with," he warned. "And regardless, Mr Giles. It is our duty to risk our lives to protect you, not the other way around! If I had the slightest inkling that you intended to rush one of those things to prove your point, I would have had you arrested on the spot, and removed from the area!" He paused, taking in Giles stunned expression, and gentled his voice some. "It's not your job to risk your life, Mr Giles." And it was so truly and honestly said, that it broke something inside of Giles.

Because it was his job, wasn't it. A Watcher's job, to look after and prepare a slayer to protect all of them from these ... these abominations. And after Eyghon, after Randall ... he'd know that job was his. In the back of his mind, in the bottom of his heart, no matter what else he thought. All his dreams, his defiant denials ... they were false. He was born to be a Watcher. He was born to stand between these people and the vampires, the demons. Not because of his father. Not because of his destiny. But because there were men like this, men who had no idea what they were facing, who still thought it was their duty to stand against the creatures of the night, to protect young idiots like him.

"You're wrong, sir," he said, quiet and grim, and the Brigadier watched him silently as he raised his eyes to glare defiantly. "I know what these things are. I know what they do. And I know how to stop them." He paused for a second, smiling bitterly, remembering the past few years and all that he had done, seen, allowed to happen. And then he finished. "And I think, sir, that that makes it my job. I really do." And for a second, as the man watched him, he expected, almost hoped, to be refuted. But the Brigadier apparently wasn't that kind of man.

"I've seen a lot of things," the soldier said quietly, eyes fixed on Giles' face, measuring him. "Things almost impossible to kill, things that defy all reason. And I've fought them. I've had help, people who know what to do to defeat these things. Without that help, I'd probably be dead some time ago." He paused, eyes boring into Rupert's. "Without that kind of help, you won't get far. Can you get it, Mr Giles?"

And Giles thought of the Watcher's Council, of the centuries' worth of books and knowledge, of the training and experience of the members. He thought of that, and thought about the slayers, fighting blind, driven by instinct, needing what this man had, that help, that knowledge, so they could do what he did, and stand between humanity and the darkness. He thought of all that, and raised his head, meeting the soldier's eyes with pride.

"No, sir," he answered. "But I think ... I can become it."