Work Text:
TURNABOUT
(March Challenge Response)
By
Pheebee
Part One
The Old House--early Julia era
The vampire--soon to be former vampire?--lay still while the female doctor completed her examination. Her hands were warm and gentle as she went about her business, pressing here, poking there, listening intently to the sounds of his heart and lungs.
He hadn't believed her when she first told him she could cure him. Change his "cellular structure" (whatever that was--she had explained, allowed him to look at fluid drawn from his veins under a microscope, but still, he found it difficult to discern the "bodies" she was examining let alone the changes she insisted were occurring in them). In fact, he'd hardly believed that she could be a physician. A female physician? And yet, she had shown him diplomas, certificates, papers, documents, and journal articles all bearing her name. One article--this one in a popular science magazine--had contained a picture. It was she, no doubt whatsoever. She was indeed a physician and researcher, and according to what he'd read, a highly accomplished and respected one. But it wasn't until that first examination, when she asked him to remove his suit jacket and dress shirt that he'd truly comprehended that she wasn't, as David would have said, "kidding." He'd been uncomfortable, awkward, wishing her in Hades but all she'd done was stand there in the cobweb-strewn basement of the Old House, arms folded across her chest, waiting, her no nonsense expression compelling him to comply.
The gentle but businesslike way in which she touched him had confirmed her claims--even as a vampire, his senses altered, he could tell that she knew what she was doing, that she was seeking specific points on his anatomy, comparing them to what she called "norms." And finding him lacking…He'd seen it in her face, in the way she held her lips, the way her nose rose, seeming to sniff something unusual, if not altogether unpleasant. Still, she hadn't recoiled at the chill of his flesh or the absence of pulse and heartbeat, merely noted them carefully. Oddly, he hadn't found her touch intrusive or overly familiar. Rather, he'd accepted it as necessary to his future. And as time had passed, he'd come to welcome and then yearn for her fingers at his wrist and throat, her hand on his shoulder while she pressed her stethoscope to his chest.
"Mr. Collins…Barnabas?"
He started. Drawn from his reverie by her voice, he turned his head to study her face. It was her eyes that were the most striking, he thought. He'd assumed they were brown but now that the changes she'd promised were beginning to take place he could see that they were far more unusual, a dark, dark green, he thought. Green and exotic, he added to himself.
"You can sit up now."
He did as she instructed, his eyes seeking hers once more. She was smiling at him, her normally austere features soft for a change. She chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "You were a million miles away for a few moments there." Hands businesslike, she took his arm, secured the tourniquet around it, felt for the vein, then gently inserting the tip of her hypodermic needle into it, pressed the plunger home.
He winced, then smiled despite the momentary discomfort the serum caused. "Indeed. I suppose I was."
Her eyes moved to the notebook she'd placed on the nearby table and her expression resumed its usual stern cast. "I imagine you have been noting the changes in your physiology."
"I have," he assented.
"As I told you, this was the final injection. It will take another week or so, maybe ten days, but by the end of the month you should be able to walk in the sun like any other human being."
*Like any other human being,* he thought. *Like any other human male…*
"Are you happy?" she inquired.
Gazing into her green eyes, he imagined asking her out for a meal, dancing perhaps. The dances were different now, but that didn't mean he couldn't learn them. Not the fast ones but the ones where the man held the woman close. Kissing her…Aloud, he said, "Oh, yes. You have no idea how happy…"
* * *
Part Two
The Old House--Tom Jennings era
"Willie! Willieee!" Barnabas called, his burden forcing him to work to be heard through the long corridors of the Old House.
"I'm here, Barnabas. I'm comin'--" he halted at the sight of Barnabas easing the unconscious--or nearly so--Doctor Hoffman onto the small settee in the drawing room. "Geeze, Barnabas, what happen'd to her? Aww--no--was it--"
"It was as we suspected, Willie. The vampire got to her. She--she is alive, but barely. I--I don't know what to do for her. I would take her to the hospital, but--
"No," Doctor Hoffman groaned. "No hospital." She allowed her feet to slip to the floor, pushed herself feebly to a sitting position.
"But Ju--" he broke off; Doctor Hoffman didn't like him to call her by her first name. She insisted on a professional relationship. "Doctor, you need help. You need blood. A--" He searched for the term. "A transfusion. Neither Willie nor I can give you one…" He didn't know how, did know that tests had to be done to ascertain the blood type of both donor and recipient.
"Upstairs. Need to be warm. Fluids. Water, tea, broth. Whatever you have. With rest and fluids, my body will be able to heal itself."
Her voice was husky, her skin like parchment. Her hands, he noted, were shaking. Uncontrollably. And he knew she was unable to stand, let alone walk. "And what about when night falls, Doctor? Will you be able to keep yourself from going to him? Will you be able to prevent him from coming to you?" Barnabas demanded, but the question went unheard as she'd once again lapsed into unconsciousness. Sighing, wanting to do everything he could to protect her but knowing how uneven the odds were, Barnabas Collins once again cradled the senseless woman against his chest, and stepping carefully, carried her up the stairs to Josette's room.
* * *
"Barnabas, we gotta keep her safe 'til we can put an end to the vampire. You know that. We can't just leave her there--" Willie gestured toward the ornate bed in Josette's room, "like--like bait for some wild animal we're tryin' to trap. I mean--I mean, y're actin' almost like you don't care f'r her a bit an' I know better 'an that. Remember, I'm the one who watches ya sittin' there starin' inta th' fire at night an' moonin' like a teenager wit' a bad case of puppy love."
Barnabas ceased his pacing before the fireplace to study his young servant. Willie was uneducated and a former petty thief, but his moral compass was reliable in many ways. Unfortunately, he'd brought up a subject Barnabas wasn't comfortable discussing. Still--Barnabas turned, looked at the crosses they'd pinned to curtains, the garlic cloves dangling from the rods. He spoke softly, hoping the woman in the bed was truly asleep, not merely dozing or worse, floating in that place near sleep where sounds were amplified. "Willie, you know I care for Ju--Doctor Hoffman. But she has rebuffed me, explained that my feelings are simply the result of her curing my, ah--" Even though he knew they were alone in the house, Barnabas couldn't resist the urge to peer around, ascertain that it was indeed safe. "My affliction," he said, then added, "She said that it is not an uncommon occurrence."
The younger man lowered his voice as well. "I s'pose it c'n happen. I mean, it happens on TV all the time in soap operas. But what y're feelin'--" Willie paused, sighed. "Well, I don' think what y're feelin' is anythin' like that. An' b'sides, it don't matter if she loves ya or even likes ya. The thing is that ya love her an' ya gotta keep her safe." Willie ran nervous fingers through his already disheveled hair. "I mean, who else, Barnabas, who else knows the stuff you do about vampires?"
Agitatedly, Barnabas rubbed one hand over the back of the other. They were warm now, his hands, though they became chilled rapidly. He had her to thank for that. Even if she didn't care for him in that way, would never care for him in that way…Exhaling heavily, he said, "Very well, Willie. Come daybreak, I shall go out and slay a vampire..."
* * *
"Barnabas--" Doctor Hoffman woke from her uneasy sleep. Struggling with the layers of blankets Willie had placed atop her, she fought to sit upright. "He was here--where did he go?"
Willie hurried to her side. "Hey, now, Doc. Ya gotta take it easy. Wait a minute, 'kay--lemme help you." He lifted the coverings enough that she could sit up and slide weakly toward the head of the bed. "'Ere ya go, just lean back against those pillows, 'kay? Listen, I got plen'y o' stuff here for you t'drink. Lemme see, I got some chicken noodle soup--it's only th' kind that comes in a box, but it's pretty good. An' I got hot water for tea, coffee, whatever, some o' that Gatorade stuff. An' a bottle o' Coke. Just lemme know which one ya want an--" He wished there was more he could do for her--her cheeks were like the marble angel's on one of the graves in the Collins cemetery, her eyes enormous in her drawn face.
"Willie, be quiet and tell me where Barnabas has gone," she demanded, her voice carrying more determination than he'd have expected from looking at her.
"He, uh, he--"
Wrapping her arms around herself as though she were chilled, she turned and looked at the rapidly darkening sky outside the garlic-and-crucifix-hung window. "He went--he went to try to kill the vampire, didn't he? Dear God--he's the last one who should be out there."
Willie hastened to pull the blankets higher. "Aw, Doc, he's the one who knows where a vampire would hide out. Who else could be better at findin'--"
"He is also the most susceptible to a bite, Willie, and it's nearing sundown."
Willie stared at her hard. "Damn! I didn' know that." More softly, he muttered a single word. "Shit…" He thought hard. "Look, Doc, he had a cross on a chain, he was wearin' it 'round his neck. I made sure o' that. An' he had another one in his pocket."
"That's good," she said. She repeated it, "that's good…"
Feeling as though he had to keep talking, Willie added, "He wouldn't take no garlic, said the garlic thing is a lot o' hooey. Well, that wasn' his word for it but that's what he meant."
"Damn," she responded. "Help me up, Willie."
"I don' know, Doc. I mean, you don' look too good, ya know. Seems t' me, y're better off stayin' right where ya are."
She ignored him, forcing herself to wobbly feet and tottering toward the window. "Hey! Doc, ya gotta come away from 'ere. If *he's* out there--"
"If *he* is out there, Barnabas is lost," she responded in mournful tones.
"Come on." Willie took her arm gently, draped an ugly afghan around her (where did Barnabas ever find the things?!) shoulders and led her to one of the upholstered chairs near the fireplace. "Sit over here and get warm, 'kay? I'll get ya some tea or--"
Somewhere below a door slammed and Willie jumped. His skin crawled at the thought of who--what?--might have entered the ancient house. "Here--" he shoved a silver crucifix into Doctor Hoffman's hands. "Whatever ya do, hang onta this." He moved soundlessly toward the doorway, the fingers of one hand clutching at the smaller cross he wore around his throat. With his other hand, he drew a small caliber pistol from the back of his waistband.
The door swung inward and a figure was silhouetted by the candles burning in the hallway. It took a heart stopping moment before he recognized Barnabas standing there, his face drawn, the breast of his caped coat streaked with blood.
"It is done," Barnabas told them as he dropped wearily into the other chair. "Tom Jennings is dead, Doctor. He will never bother you again…"
Doctor Hoffman sighed shakily, then hiding her face in her hands, murmured a tearful "Thank you."
* * *
Part Three
The Old House and Wyndecliffe Sanitorium--Vampire Angelique era
Doctor Hoffman studied the angry sores on Barnabas Collins' neck, surprised at how easily he'd allowed her access. But then, it was daylight, noontime, the sun high over the ancient house in which they sheltered. Thinking back, suppressing a jolt of nausea, she recalled her own lethargy during the daylight hours. Barnabas' submission was more the result of apathy and exhaustion than an indication of any concern for his personal welfare. Still, it was easier to deal with than the frantic excesses of emotion, the affecting pleas for release with which he had bombarded her and Willie during the hours before the sun rose.
Whoever the vampire was--it was a woman, she knew that much--she had been gentle, almost loving, not tearing the skin as--no, she wouldn't think the name, wouldn't see his face in her mind's eye. She drew a breath, drew her thoughts back to the present. Simply put, where vampire bites were concerned, she'd seen worse. The punctures were clean, no sign of infection. That was the good news.
The bad news was Barnabas' apathy. He showed no desire to resist the vampire, no urge to fight. He lay, unmoving, on the cot in the tiny basement cell. Occasionally, he licked his dry lips but made no request for something to drink, shivered, but asked for no additional blanket.
As though of their own volition, her fingers moved to his sunken cheek, his pale brow, smoothed those ridiculous bangs. His skin was soft, so soft, despite the stubble marking his normally clean-shaven cheeks. She would have Willie bring a razor--no--she knew how volatile a vampire's victim could be. Barnabas would have to remain unshaven for the time.
She stroked his cheek again, ever so lightly, her fingers reveling in the touch. She longed to bend down, press a kiss upon those gaunt cheeks, those thin lips, but--
You are a professional, his *physician,* she reminded herself fiercely. His health, mental and physical, is your only concern.
He moaned and his fingers caught at hers, his grip stronger than she would have expected. His eyes opened slightly. "It…would be…safer for you…if you were to let me…go to her," he murmured. "Come sundown--"
"We will find her, Barnabas. I will find her and I will put an end to her. Until then, Willie and I will keep you safe. I promise." She repeated it, more emphatically, "I promise…"
His head moved slightly in negation, but she refused to see it. She would see the vampire dead and she would see Barnabas again walk in the light of day, unfettered by fears of his past. There was no alternative. It would be done. It *would* be done.
* * *
A muffled sob, its vehemence filtered by wood and plaster or perhaps exhaustion and sorrow, caught at Willie's attention as he transferred the hospital tray to his left hand, holding it carefully so it remained level. With his other hand, he tapped lightly on the locked door. "Doc? It's me. Willie. Lemme in."
A key turned on the other side and the door swung cautiously open. A weak moan from the bed had the doctor taking a quick glance at him and his tray then she was hurrying back to her patient.
Willie put the tray down on the rolling table and set about fixing the coffee the way he knew she liked it. Keeping his eyes on what he was doing, he asked, "How's he doin'? Is there any improvement?"
"A little. Perhaps." Doctor Hoffman's voice was scratchy, Willie noted. Well, maybe that was from bein' so tired, too. Or maybe it was because she was cryin'. Again. He'd made it a point not to notice, not to say anything about her tears, but…"Ya know, it might help if ya'd just tell him how ya feel about him."
Now she did turn, her reddened, tear-filled eyes daring him to go on. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Willie." Her voice was cool, bland, in defiance of her expression.
"Hell, it ain't no secret. Even that nurse--you know, the skinny one with the big--" He noted the baleful glint in her eye and dropped the description where it was. "Well, anyway, even she says it's gotta be someone you love in this room. She says no one on the staff has ever seen you spend so much time with one patient. An' what's more, they're talkin' about you not even lettin' the nurses or cleanin' people in here unless you're in the room…"
"Willie--"
"Doc--" He'd had it with this whole charade. Barnabas moping around, her givin' him the cold shoulder an' then starin' at him like she was tryin' to see into his soul…Willie drew a breath, drew upon every ounce of courage--or maybe it was just stupidity--he'd ever possessed. "Julia--" He waited to see if she would pounce upon his use of her first name. When she just stared at him, he went on, "Ya know ya care about him more than y're willin' to admit. If ya'd just come out and say it, forget about all this 'actin' professional' business--"
She'd turned back to the man in the bed, lifted his wrist to check his pulse, or perhaps simply to give herself an excuse for touching him. "What would you have me say, Willie? That I love him?" She brushed Barnabas' bangs away from his face before once again facing Willie. "Very well, then. I do love him. I don't know when I first realized it but I suppose I've loved him for a long time now. He's been such a large part of my life for so long but--"
"Hey, don' tell me--" He pointed back toward the bed. "Tell him."
She turned. Her voice came out as a squeak. "Barnabas!"
Barnabas' eyes were open and shining despite the pallor of his skin and the sharp jutting angles of his cheeks and nose. "Is it true, Do--" He paused, corrected himself. "Is it true, Julia? Do you love me? I had begun to hope, but…"
"Oh, Barnabas--" She dropped down onto the edge of the bed, only taking care at the last moment not to disturb the IVs running into his arm. "You're awake. You're--"
"Safe," he answered, then raising a shaky hand to her face, studying her eyes, added, "and loved."
"Safe," she repeated then, taking his hand in hers and pressing it to her own cheek, affirmed, "And loved."
Willie shook his head, then deciding that tryin' t' leave the room would cause too much noise, unlocking the door, etc, etc, etc, so he dropped silently into an upholstered chair in a far corner of the room and prepared to act like a fly on the wall. Hell, it wasn't like he hadn' been watchin' the two o' them moonin' over each other just about forever. Watchin' 'em finally *do* somethin' about it, now that seemed a hell of a lot more enjoyable.
THE END