gillo
in
still_grrr
Prompt 161 - fic
Title: A Funny Thing Happened
Author: gillo
Rating:PG 13 for rude language.
Word Count: 1600
Prompt: 161, Oscar Winners 1950-1979.
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, 1966
Characters/Pairing (if any) Spike/Buffy, Dawn
A/N: Using some elements of S8, but ignoring some of the sillier bits. The grotto is real, in the heart of the Forum complex.
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum
It bloody well was a dark night. And stormy. Pissing down in fact. Rome in November always was like that of course, but back in the day he and Dru hadn’t cared as long as there were enough loners in the dark streets to keep them fed and enough dark corners to spend the days in, safe from the feeble sun of late autumn. Funny, he seemed to notice things more now - higher standards perhaps, or the soul digging its knife in and twisting again.
Spike was in a particularly foul mood that night. It had taken him six months to get to Rome after the mess at the Hyperion was over. Gunn and Percy gone, Angel badly injured, Blue comprehending less than ever why she couldn’t just keep on doing violence, it had all been up to William, and he’d risen to the occasion, to his own surprise almost as much as to Angel’s. After they’d left the Hyperion - and how ironic was that as a name for a vampire’s lair - he’d set them up in a couple of apartments, called in a few favours, even got wolf-girl in to give Angel some TLC.
Then he’d had the journey. Airplanes might have felt unnatural, but without the Wolfram and Hart executive jet it had been back to cargo holds and bulk carriers. Boring as hell. And then, the news when he arrived. Scotland! Of all the god-forsaken places to hide out. Some showy castle no doubt - Victorian Baronial, fakery designed to impress bleeding Yanks, full of stone walls, dodgy plumbing and draughts. And Buffy.
He shook his head to drive away the pictures forming too readily in his mind. Buffy in a fantasy castle, a Disney Princess playing with toy soldiers. Buffy snogging someone else. Not the Immortal, thank the Powers, but someone not him. Why in hell was he still in Rome anyway? City of eternal tourists, wankers to a man, woman and child, and none of them the girl he’d spent so much time nerving himself up to see. Bloody rain, ridiculous prices, even for what was definitely not O Neg, whatever the tout had claimed. He was totally alone, in a city that now reminded him of humiliations past and present, chances forever missed. The sorriest vamp in the whole of Europe.
Hands thrust deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched, he stamped through puddles and glared at the reflected light on the cobbles. Around him the traffic swirled insanely, just managing to avoid him, ignoring his presence as much as he ignored the vehicles. Horns blared, brakes screeched and he trudged on, oblivious to everything except the rain trickling down inside his collar. And the sudden scream to his left.
Spike’s head jerked up and he turned, his muscles taut and ready, a hint of gold in his eyes.
Another scream. And another. He pinpointed the source - in that mass of ruins sprawling across a valley and up a hill. Bugger. Plenty of places for any nasty to hide out there.
He vaulted the turnstile and launched himself down the cobbled alleyway. Now in full vamp face, he found his hearing sharpened and he could trace the direction of the noise with ease. He raced down the paths, twisting round corners, leaping easily over stumps of pillars, mounds of masonry, potholes.
In the rain even his vampire vision was impaired a little, but it didn’t matter. The broad outline of the place had been drummed into him well before he ever met Drusilla, or even Cecily for that matter - the map, “In Foro Romano”, that he’d been such a slow study on at school and which now, bizarrely, told him exactly where he was going and what ruins lay to each side. Over there old Caesar had his chips - up there you could see the arch boasting victory over the Jews.
And straight on, beneath that cliff, was a grotto, filled with dark water and echoing now with cries of utter terror. He splashed through the channel of water protecting the entrance and paused.
The screams paused too. Shit. That probably meant he’d been detected. Time for Plan B then. Not as if there’d ever been much of a Plan A in any case. Shoulders back, head tilted just a little, hands loosely by his sides but ready for action, he strolled inside.
The tableau would have been amusing even a decade ago. Four or five plonkers - hard to tell in that gloom - wore robes and cowls. He must have caught them mid-chant. Across the pool a slender figure lay at the foot of some god or other. Some bloody stupid bint playing the victim again. And up to old Spikey to rescue her no doubt.
The girl turned her head, taking a deep breath to scream again. And choked, biting back the cry. He nearly yelled out for her. That face was familiar. So was the flawless long hair for that matter.
“Dawn?” He stepped forward. “What in the name of all that’s unholy?”
“Spike? Is that really you? “
“Not quite the time for a chat now, pet. Are these tossers bothering you?” Without waiting for a reply he launched into action. Two heads were slammed into each other, their owners collapsed into a heap in the shallow water. His fist gripping a throat firmly, he backed against the dank stone and shook his victim even more firmly. “What in hell are you doing with my girl?”
The captive could barely squeak. Taller and wider than Spike, with the clothing and tattoos which suggested he shouldn’t be fooled with, he seemed shrunken in the vampire’s grasp. No problem at all really.
A soft footfall shivered the water closeby and Spikes instincts took over. A punch to the face dealt with the villain of the moment, while his boot lashed out at knee level, then slid viciously upwards, catching the thug who had been creeping up on him. He wouldn’t be much of a problem for a while.
The cavern had gone suddenly quiet. Outside the rain seemed at last to be tailing off, and there was even some watery moonglow. In the entrance to the huge cavern was a silhouette, hair shimmering and backlit, lithe body poised to wreak damage, of a sort he knew all to well. Glorious damage.
“I think you’re a bit late lo..” he began. Just as the figure stalked out of his dreams, across the pond and punched him in the face.
“Bloody hell, Slayer!” he yelped. “Why is it always the nose? And why now? In case you hadn’t noticed, I just saved your little sis’s LIFE here.”
“And wrecked three months of planning.” Absently, she kicked out at the demon who had been trying to creep past her to the exit. “Not so fast, mister.”
“Three what?”
“Plans, lamebrain. We do make them sometimes, you know. This bunch was trying to carry out a ritual for us. Well, they didn’t exactly know it was for us, they thought it was for a K’lgstroth demon, but same diff. Dawn to be ritual sacrifice, stopped by yours truly, proper fear of Slayers instilled, and a group of scared minions handed over to my deputy who operates here.” She glared at him, then switched her gaze to the bedraggled figure sitting up under the huge statue. “OK, Dawn. It’s over. Consider yourself rescued.”
Spike shook his head, his features smoothing in inverse proportion to the degree of confusion taking over his head. Buffy here? Plotting? It made no sense at all. Hitting him on the nose now - that made a sort of sense. Dawn looking sulky, even more so.
“I don’t understand. What in Glory’s name have you been doing? And why in the middle of the night in the middle of a tourist trap?”
“Ancient places work best for these things. We needed a group of insiders to help us work against a bigger menace. Oh well. You’ll have to do.” Buffy turned and strode briskly away, splashing as she went.
Spike followed her, head still whirling. Dawn trailed behind, leaving the unconscious thugs to their own devices.
Outside the sky had cleared suddenly, the moon shone down, glancing off ancient marble and still waters. Buffy stood, weight on one leg, hand on hip, staring at him. “So. You’re here at last. We have some talking to do, buddy.”
Yes, they had some talking to do. Like why had he never contacted her. Or why hadn’t she got in touch with him. And what was she doing here, really. And had she meant the last things she’d said to him?
Dawn gave him a little push. “Go on, silly. That’s your cue. I’ll wait here for the cleanup gang. Xander’s over there behind that arch I think. Move it - now”
The push turned into a shove. Bewildered, but a little hope creeping, despite his best efforts, into his heart, he started to jog. His Slayer, pissed off with him as usual, wanted to talk. And, love’s bitch or not, he was very ready to oblige her.
Once he’d gone Dawn turned back to the cave. “OK guys, you can come out now! Xander has your money for you - cash, as agreed.” As the bedraggled men staggered into the moonlight, she smiled to herself. One or both of them might work it out eventually, but so far her uber-plan had succeeded beyond her hopes. Spike and Buffy were together, with time to talk. She gave a little hop of pleasure and prepared to follow them. At a very good distance.
Author: gillo
Rating:PG 13 for rude language.
Word Count: 1600
Prompt: 161, Oscar Winners 1950-1979.
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, 1966
Characters/Pairing (if any) Spike/Buffy, Dawn
A/N: Using some elements of S8, but ignoring some of the sillier bits. The grotto is real, in the heart of the Forum complex.
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum
It bloody well was a dark night. And stormy. Pissing down in fact. Rome in November always was like that of course, but back in the day he and Dru hadn’t cared as long as there were enough loners in the dark streets to keep them fed and enough dark corners to spend the days in, safe from the feeble sun of late autumn. Funny, he seemed to notice things more now - higher standards perhaps, or the soul digging its knife in and twisting again.
Spike was in a particularly foul mood that night. It had taken him six months to get to Rome after the mess at the Hyperion was over. Gunn and Percy gone, Angel badly injured, Blue comprehending less than ever why she couldn’t just keep on doing violence, it had all been up to William, and he’d risen to the occasion, to his own surprise almost as much as to Angel’s. After they’d left the Hyperion - and how ironic was that as a name for a vampire’s lair - he’d set them up in a couple of apartments, called in a few favours, even got wolf-girl in to give Angel some TLC.
Then he’d had the journey. Airplanes might have felt unnatural, but without the Wolfram and Hart executive jet it had been back to cargo holds and bulk carriers. Boring as hell. And then, the news when he arrived. Scotland! Of all the god-forsaken places to hide out. Some showy castle no doubt - Victorian Baronial, fakery designed to impress bleeding Yanks, full of stone walls, dodgy plumbing and draughts. And Buffy.
He shook his head to drive away the pictures forming too readily in his mind. Buffy in a fantasy castle, a Disney Princess playing with toy soldiers. Buffy snogging someone else. Not the Immortal, thank the Powers, but someone not him. Why in hell was he still in Rome anyway? City of eternal tourists, wankers to a man, woman and child, and none of them the girl he’d spent so much time nerving himself up to see. Bloody rain, ridiculous prices, even for what was definitely not O Neg, whatever the tout had claimed. He was totally alone, in a city that now reminded him of humiliations past and present, chances forever missed. The sorriest vamp in the whole of Europe.
Hands thrust deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched, he stamped through puddles and glared at the reflected light on the cobbles. Around him the traffic swirled insanely, just managing to avoid him, ignoring his presence as much as he ignored the vehicles. Horns blared, brakes screeched and he trudged on, oblivious to everything except the rain trickling down inside his collar. And the sudden scream to his left.
Spike’s head jerked up and he turned, his muscles taut and ready, a hint of gold in his eyes.
Another scream. And another. He pinpointed the source - in that mass of ruins sprawling across a valley and up a hill. Bugger. Plenty of places for any nasty to hide out there.
He vaulted the turnstile and launched himself down the cobbled alleyway. Now in full vamp face, he found his hearing sharpened and he could trace the direction of the noise with ease. He raced down the paths, twisting round corners, leaping easily over stumps of pillars, mounds of masonry, potholes.
In the rain even his vampire vision was impaired a little, but it didn’t matter. The broad outline of the place had been drummed into him well before he ever met Drusilla, or even Cecily for that matter - the map, “In Foro Romano”, that he’d been such a slow study on at school and which now, bizarrely, told him exactly where he was going and what ruins lay to each side. Over there old Caesar had his chips - up there you could see the arch boasting victory over the Jews.
And straight on, beneath that cliff, was a grotto, filled with dark water and echoing now with cries of utter terror. He splashed through the channel of water protecting the entrance and paused.
The screams paused too. Shit. That probably meant he’d been detected. Time for Plan B then. Not as if there’d ever been much of a Plan A in any case. Shoulders back, head tilted just a little, hands loosely by his sides but ready for action, he strolled inside.
The tableau would have been amusing even a decade ago. Four or five plonkers - hard to tell in that gloom - wore robes and cowls. He must have caught them mid-chant. Across the pool a slender figure lay at the foot of some god or other. Some bloody stupid bint playing the victim again. And up to old Spikey to rescue her no doubt.
The girl turned her head, taking a deep breath to scream again. And choked, biting back the cry. He nearly yelled out for her. That face was familiar. So was the flawless long hair for that matter.
“Dawn?” He stepped forward. “What in the name of all that’s unholy?”
“Spike? Is that really you? “
“Not quite the time for a chat now, pet. Are these tossers bothering you?” Without waiting for a reply he launched into action. Two heads were slammed into each other, their owners collapsed into a heap in the shallow water. His fist gripping a throat firmly, he backed against the dank stone and shook his victim even more firmly. “What in hell are you doing with my girl?”
The captive could barely squeak. Taller and wider than Spike, with the clothing and tattoos which suggested he shouldn’t be fooled with, he seemed shrunken in the vampire’s grasp. No problem at all really.
A soft footfall shivered the water closeby and Spikes instincts took over. A punch to the face dealt with the villain of the moment, while his boot lashed out at knee level, then slid viciously upwards, catching the thug who had been creeping up on him. He wouldn’t be much of a problem for a while.
The cavern had gone suddenly quiet. Outside the rain seemed at last to be tailing off, and there was even some watery moonglow. In the entrance to the huge cavern was a silhouette, hair shimmering and backlit, lithe body poised to wreak damage, of a sort he knew all to well. Glorious damage.
“I think you’re a bit late lo..” he began. Just as the figure stalked out of his dreams, across the pond and punched him in the face.
“Bloody hell, Slayer!” he yelped. “Why is it always the nose? And why now? In case you hadn’t noticed, I just saved your little sis’s LIFE here.”
“And wrecked three months of planning.” Absently, she kicked out at the demon who had been trying to creep past her to the exit. “Not so fast, mister.”
“Three what?”
“Plans, lamebrain. We do make them sometimes, you know. This bunch was trying to carry out a ritual for us. Well, they didn’t exactly know it was for us, they thought it was for a K’lgstroth demon, but same diff. Dawn to be ritual sacrifice, stopped by yours truly, proper fear of Slayers instilled, and a group of scared minions handed over to my deputy who operates here.” She glared at him, then switched her gaze to the bedraggled figure sitting up under the huge statue. “OK, Dawn. It’s over. Consider yourself rescued.”
Spike shook his head, his features smoothing in inverse proportion to the degree of confusion taking over his head. Buffy here? Plotting? It made no sense at all. Hitting him on the nose now - that made a sort of sense. Dawn looking sulky, even more so.
“I don’t understand. What in Glory’s name have you been doing? And why in the middle of the night in the middle of a tourist trap?”
“Ancient places work best for these things. We needed a group of insiders to help us work against a bigger menace. Oh well. You’ll have to do.” Buffy turned and strode briskly away, splashing as she went.
Spike followed her, head still whirling. Dawn trailed behind, leaving the unconscious thugs to their own devices.
Outside the sky had cleared suddenly, the moon shone down, glancing off ancient marble and still waters. Buffy stood, weight on one leg, hand on hip, staring at him. “So. You’re here at last. We have some talking to do, buddy.”
Yes, they had some talking to do. Like why had he never contacted her. Or why hadn’t she got in touch with him. And what was she doing here, really. And had she meant the last things she’d said to him?
Dawn gave him a little push. “Go on, silly. That’s your cue. I’ll wait here for the cleanup gang. Xander’s over there behind that arch I think. Move it - now”
The push turned into a shove. Bewildered, but a little hope creeping, despite his best efforts, into his heart, he started to jog. His Slayer, pissed off with him as usual, wanted to talk. And, love’s bitch or not, he was very ready to oblige her.
Once he’d gone Dawn turned back to the cave. “OK guys, you can come out now! Xander has your money for you - cash, as agreed.” As the bedraggled men staggered into the moonlight, she smiled to herself. One or both of them might work it out eventually, but so far her uber-plan had succeeded beyond her hopes. Spike and Buffy were together, with time to talk. She gave a little hop of pleasure and prepared to follow them. At a very good distance.