Fiction 37b37- The Getaway

Series Title: 37 By 37

Story Title: The Getaway

Author: Restive Nature

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to BtVS or to Alias. They belong respectively to Whedon & Mutant Enemy and to Abrams & Bad Robot. No infringement is intended and this fiction is for private enjoyment only.

Rating: PG-13 (for language)

Genre: Crossover

Type:Humor

Pairing: None

Summary: He always loved a spot of violence before bedtime.

Spoilers/ Time line: Early Season 4 of BtVS, well after Spike goes after the Ring of Amara in L.A., but those events are referenced. Season 2 "The Getaway" of Alias.

Feedback: Always welcome!

Distribution: Ask first please.

A/N: I watched "The Getaway" recently, after just having watched some BtVS. And as I watched, I could almost hear Spike commentating in my head. So I had to try and have a little fun with it.

The Getaway

'Well well now,” Spike thought to himself as he entered the air conditioned theater that was the only matinée playing that afternoon. It wasn't much for way of entertainment, but Spike had been forced to break for the theater by threat of sun and burning up when his ride had run out of gas. He'd almost been to the bloody underground hidey hole he had when he'd caught wind of that sod that worked for Angel-kins. He'd had to divert and had been moving from shadow to shadow all morning, trying to find someplace to ride out the day. He'd found the theater and figured that as long as he was there, he may as well take in the showing. Because as miserable as his life was at the moment, he still wasn't that far gone that he was going to let something as miserable as the sun or his grand-sire end his possible good times.

It had been some time since he had escaped the bloody Initiative headquarters and sort of threw himself upon the mercy of the Slayers and her pals. Little band of bloody no-good-doers. At least in his opinion. How they managed to foil his plots and plans had to be the secret to the world's biggest store of lucky rabbits foots. Because Spike couldn't figure it out otherwise.

He's come to LA on business and was at this time, smart enough to keep his head down. Wouldn't do to attract the poofter's attention. They'd already done that go around and Spike had been humiliated enough and frustrated enough that he'd sworn not to come back. Unless he was invited to a bonfire featuring his former grand-sire roasting on the coals, or an emergency.

And the emergency had been that he'd gotten a line on a possible way to get rid of the damnable chip in his head. Of course, with his lack of rabbit feet, or luck, or what have you, it had been a bust. And now he was forced to take refuge in this low rate dump purveying pornos and calling it art. There was a bright side though. It was dark in the theater, with no sun glaring down at him. He had buttered popcorn... and the scent of free flowing blood in his nostrils.

He liked the dark. He liked the popcorn.

But to a starving Vampire that had been artificially programed to feel immense pain when he harmed a human, he loved the blood. With easy grace that belied his starving belly, Spike eased his way down the aisle and took a seat right behind the body! Feeling saliva pooling in his mouth, his fangs lowering, he fought to control himself, reminding his traitorous belly that Angel-kins, that menace and once a thorn in his side would probably catch wind of this and not knowing that this little treat was waiting for him, Spike had made no move to disguise himself out in the lobby. Therefore, were he to jump in and glut himself as he wished to do, it would scare the locals. And screaming populace always brought guards and guns. That wouldn't do. No, Spike just had to control himself until he could either a) ease into the seat and embrace the man in what would look like a lover's tryst, or b) wait until the theater emptied out. Option A was looking so good right then. After all, why not give the pervo's a little live action show that might even feed some fetishes and not just Spike's belly.

But before he could even begin to move, another person had entered the theater. And this one definitely did not belong. For all that he looked like a suit, there was an air of danger around him. Spike craned his neck to see what his senses were warning him about. The guy, older, probably mid fifties, straight hair cut, designer suit definitely not bought off the rack, slick shined shoes and Spike realized with a stifled groan exactly what he was looking at. A fed. An officer. He sank down slightly, trying to recall if this was one of those yahoos from the Initiative. But if it was, how the hell had they tracked him down here?

When the blighter sat down in the row between his body and himself, Spike was now contemplating some new plans. Unfortunately, not one of them included giving up that tasty morsel in the row ahead of him. He found, as he watched the fed lean forward, that perhaps some luck was with him as he heard the bloke whispering something about information. He growled slightly at another person touching what he had already branded as his meal, just as the officer realized that the guy he was talking to was dead.

And then, well, to Spike's delight, all hell broke loose.

*****

Jack Bristow entered the theater quietly, knowing that there would be some slight protest as he had entered the movie after it had already begun. But this was the quickest way to get to his contact to give him the details of the information that he needed to clear him of suspicion in this witch hunt that Ariana Kane had begun.

He counted the rows down automatically and slowed when he came to the one he needed. He slipped into the seat behind his contact, hearing a soft growl from behind him. He didn't care that he had probably cut off someone's view of the screen. He wasn't that large of a man and the person behind him could move.

Leaning forward to speak to his contact, whispering as softly as he could, he told the man, “I have five names of Alliance partners. I need their where abouts and phone records for the dates listed.” He paused as he reached into his breast pocket for the paper. “I've included dead drop instructions. Assume the usual protocols have been compromised,” he warned. But as he removed the list and stealthily moved it over his contact's shoulder, the man's head lolled to the side and Jack realized that the information was pointless.

His contact was dead and reflexively, he slid the paper with the information he needed, back into his pocket. Realizing that Arvin had betrayed him, for Kane to have people in place already, Jack knew he needed escape. He rose quietly from his seat and caught movement in the corner of his eye coming from the right. The agent was on him before he could get away, hissing a warning at him. But as usual, they always underestimated Jack Bristow. Knowing that there was no recourse for the panic that would ensue, but it was his life on the line, Jack's arm came up, his hand muffling the other agent's mouth as he reached for the gun that was pressing into his chest. Twisting it deftly, he shot Kane's man, gratified that there at least was a silencer on the pistol. But as it was with close quarters, either someone recognized the muffled pop, or was close enough to see the disturbance and a woman yelped.

It mattered little really, either way as people began to rise themselves and make for the exits. But Jack, as he made his way out of the row, could swear he heard a man laughing.

“Another one!” the voice, with a discernibly Cockney British accent called out. “Thank ye' kindly good sir.”

Grimacing at the sound of glee, Jack's attention shifted instantly to the new person entering from the lower exit under the movie screen. He spun instantly, going back the way he came. He saw as he moved the blond male that he had passed on his way in, jumping over the chairs before him and worried that he had two agents after him, Jack fretted over having to divide his attention while navigating the narrow aisles between theater rows.

The agent that had come in from the Exit, used the seats to clamber up to where Jack was, jumping and catching him around the torso. But it seemed that the Brit wasn't a partner after all.

“Oi!” he shouted out. “Leave the bloke alone. Decent human bein', an' all that!”

Grimacing still at the strangeness of the blond's commentary when a normal person would have been running for safety, Jack concentrated on fighting the second of Kane's agents off.

“Oh nice hit!” the Brit crowed. “That's right, old man. Don't go down without a fight!”

Figuring the man must be simpleminded in some way and not a threat, Jack strove to block out his taunting. But it was difficult when he caught a glimpse of the blond sitting beside the body that had once been his contact, one arm around the dead body's shoulders, the other buried in a bucket of popcorn.

All attention had to be put on his fight when the second agent pulled his weapon. Jack's movements were born of his desire to stay alive and also to keep his opponent off balance. Even as the blond continued to laugh and crow and talk about nonsensical things.

“A gun! How depressingly predictable. Just like that bloody Slayer and her pals. You know,” he shouted conversationally, “that's just what I oughta. You gonna take those with mate?” There was some laughter and then a handful of popcorn showered down on them, but Jack ignored it to take out the immediate threat.

After the agent was down, Jack's gaze went immediately to the blond. The male was grinning and pulled his hands to his front to applaud as Jack's mouth twisted into a disgusted grimace.

“Now that was entertainin' mate. But I suggest you run, Forrest. Run like the bleedin' wind!”

Realizing that the freak was right, Jack spun around, heading for the exit under the screen, hoping that the Brit wasn't going to follow. He had to formulate a plan to get the hell out of there.

“Well now,” Spike sighed happily as he watched the modern day John Wayne disappear out the door. All of the other movie goers obligingly had exited the other way, leaving him alone with the dead body next to him, another one that had been heart shot and judging by the slowing beats, had about bled out into his chest cavity, and another unconscious person. Figuring the sirens would be starting up soon, Spike turned to the dead body. “That was right obligin' of that fella, wouldn't you say chum?” He chuckled delightedly as he regarded the bullet wound in the man's temple. “O' course you ain't sayin' much at all. Which is just the way I like it!” And with that, Spike attacked the neck of the dead body with a ferocity that surprised him not at all.

And thanks to one man trying to save his own life for whatever reasons, he had saved Spike as well. For at least as long as the blood flowed.


37b37- Those Damn Bristows