I got this idea from the movie Groundhog Day. God, I love Frankie x Alison. It's such a shame they both end tragically in the movie.

EDIT: I edited this chapter. Plus, an additional note: In this fic, Alison was transformed at nighttime and her execution happened just the morning afterwards.

Frankie Dalton felt that tug when he witnessed her drench in sunlight. It was as if time had slowed down – a fraction of her slowly began to shrivel under the sun – and then the heat took its toll and her pale skin began to burn black; and then there was that horrible, high-pitched scream.

He closed his eyes at the fiery blaze that was her. The scream was still in full tune – the exact same notes she had cried out when he heartlessly bit his fangs into her. That young, beautiful girl – now ashes and shackles ablaze under the sun.

Vampires shouldn't feel anything. Frankie was beginning to see how wrong it actually was. Something had to be wrong when a father could have the gall to burn his own daughter alive.

Slowly, Frankie turned away, away from those horrible laughter of the vampire soldiers that he was once a part of. Silently, secretly, he wished nothing but to go back.

And gently, the watch just hidden under the folds of his sleeves began to tick backwards.

"You shouldn't be afraid of me."

The words had slipped out of his lips before he knew it and he blinked. The young girl just opposite him blinked as well, her previous ferocity vanishing in a while as they both stared at each other – like two figures back from the dead. Frankie saw her die in front of his eyes. Judging by his memory, she was no longer human – she was reduced to a beast struggling even for words. But then she was here, unscathed, human, alive.

"What the hell-?" she murmured, her young brown eyes swiveling around – craving for answers. Frankie himself could get none. Why the hell was he back in the holding cell – his arm in a sling – this girl back alive – his adrenaline pumping as it had when he saw her pretty white neck the first time?

They both stared back at each other, bewildered; both wanting to question the other but afraid to take the first move. They were enemies – he had killed her once and she didn't trust him. Nor could he stand being around her without wanting to scar that skin and let her blood sate his thirst.

She was the first to react. Pouncing, as wild and desperate as her first attempt was, she knocked him back against the metal doors with a cry, and it jolted Frankie awake. He reacted as quickly as his senses had come to realization to the blood pumping in her veins – silly her for jumping on him like that. Did she think she could outdo him even after her failed first attempt?

Feral, uncontrolled, he snarled and knocked back into her, latching his now outstretched canines deep into her neck as she writhed and screamed. Frankie felt her warm blood gush into his throat, the taste an exciting mixture of iron and sweetness – he found himself not caring about her anymore; she could scream all her want, rake her hands over his shoulders all she wanted – she was just a little weak human girl whose blood brought him the utmost satisfaction.

But she kept screaming – her voice high-pitched and screeching in his ears – and Frankie suddenly remembered the very same girl, undead and beastly, disintegrate into black ashes under the sun. He released her, gasping.

She dropped down to the floor all the same, just as the first time. He hadn't taken as much as he had before, but he could still see that she was in pain. This time, though, she still mustered the strength to bore holes into his head with her sharp glares. Frankie was used to subsider attacks, angry mobs of vampires, everything – but her gaze actually made his insides squirm with guilt.

He backed off all the same, though, leaving her bloody and pained on the floor – feeling his back lean against the cold metal walls of the cell. His eyes scanned her and tried to take in the whole situation nervously. He certainly did not believe in déjà vu, but in this case, the term seemed likely to be the exact thing happening to him. He tried to convince himself that this was some kind of insane, lucid dream he was going to wake up from, but that blood still dripping off the corners of his mouth could not be fake – its pungency, the sharp taste of iron, the hints of sweetness and salty excitement; Frankie knew it was pure human blood. A hundred percent real.

So why the hell was he back here, with her, when he had obviously bit her once?

Frankie swallowed involuntarily and backed off, exiting the room hastily. He felt like he was being trapped in a slow nightmare.

He paid no real attention to his activities later that night. He saw her pushed out into the sunlight again that morning, her twisted face screaming in anger as the heat charred her, pushed her entire remains onto the ground. Frankie shut his eyes and looked away, his head stinging from the heat. It felt worse than it had felt when he watched her die the first time – this time because he knew he could save her and yet didn't. The roaring laughter and cheering howls of vampires filled his ears like bumbling bees. He felt his entire being swirling with bile.


The sound was pure, almost like a spoon clinking against glass.


Frankie's eyelids jolted open in reflex. He looked around and realized that everyone was no longer moving – they were statues frozen in space, like a still from a movie. He gripped his gun tightly, slow fear rising in his chest.

Tick Tick Tick Tick—

He felt himself lurch backwards, yelling in the process as the sound grew rapid in his ears – blinding his senses, banging its rhythmic beat in his ear drums—

"You shouldn't be afraid of me."

He blinked as the words escaped his tongue and looked onwards. There, standing in front of him, was Alison – perfectly unscathed and human.

This has to be a fucking joke.