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Seven Nights Down Under	By : SilverSpider Category: +G through L > Gargoyles Views: 1717 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Gargoyles, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
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Author's Note: Okay so for those of you reading my fanfics else where (ie my LJ, fanfiction.net etc) this one is different from the others. First, it's not within the same continuity as my other Bad Guys one-shots. It'll be a limited multi-parter, and if I had to put it in a continuity, it would probably take palace sometime before the episode “Walkabout”. On the one hand, yeah, it's AU, but on the other if you stretch things, it could have happened. Two, this is kind of a dark fic. Whether or not you think it deserves an NC-17 or just a hard R rating, it's certainly darker than most things I've written. Sex is a big part of it for many reasons and in may ways, none of them particularly romantic (though 100% consensual). So if it's not your cup of tea, turn back now. Otherwise, enjoy!

Seven Nights Down Under
By: Silver Spider

Night 1
Heat

January 1996; Sydney, Australia,

It figured that the year he returned home, Australia would suffer one of the worst heat waves since 1939. Temperatures in Sydney hovered steadily in the upper thirties even into the midnight hours, and of course he had to pick the bar with nothing more than a slowly rotating fan on the ceiling. At least the beer was cold. Everything else, Dingo would live with.

He rested his elbows on the bar and called for another beer. He'd thought he would feel better once he was back in his home country. He was still not even sure what had disturbed him so much. There were so many things to pick from. It was not as if Dingo was a stranger to blood and violence and death. The statute of limitation on how long a mercenary could stay naive was only so long. One either learned to put up with it or got out of the business. Anything else meant a real short lie expectancy.
He raised the bottle to his lips and scanned the bar for perhaps the fifth time that evening. It was relatively clean, or as clean as bars came in that part of the city. At one point, it might have even been a pleasant restaurant, but the decades had caught up to it. The wooden tables were scratched, seats and pool table cover worn. That was really the worst of it though. And the beer was good.

“So what's the story here, Harry?” if there was anyone in the would he could be on a first name basis with it was the portly if not a little nosy bartender. “Sick of the States already?”

He shrugged and took another swig of his drink. “Yeah, turned out a little too wild for my liking. Came back down for a sanity check.”

“Wild, huh?” the man across the counter eyed him, wiping a freshly washed glass with a formally white dish rag. “As opposed to here?”

“Sydney ain't exactly the outback.”

“Are you sayin' you're actually stayin' in Sydney?”

Fair point, and that was where the conversation got a little too personal for his taste. The air in the bar was beginning to feel stuffy again, and in the last punch line, the fan stopped spinning.

And then she walked in. It was not one of those cheesy romance movie moments or even a noir detective thriller one. Anyone could tell at a glance that she was no damsel. This woman, with her ivory skin, platinum hair, and eyes the color of Arctic pools, stood in the still-open door silently surveying the place. Theoretically, the open door should have been letting the heat from outside in. Instead, it felt like the woman had come on the heels of some icy northern wind.

As she continued to look the place over, her face not revealing a single hint of her thoughts, Dingo – as well as most of the males in the bar past puberty – watched her. Tall, athletic build, and there was something about her that practically screamed that she did not belong here despite her plain khaki shorts, white shirt, and simple flat sands. She did not have to open her mouth for Dingo to know she was not native.

Apparently satisfied enough, she took a seat one space away from corner of the long end of the open rectangular shaped counter that surrounded the bar. That was only a handful of seats away from where he say at the short end near the exit. Not being a man to complain when a good thing came along, Dingo quietly enjoyed the view. The woman gestured the bartend over to her with a wave, and the man was only too happy to comply.

“What'll it be, Miss?”

She pressed her scarlet lips together thoughtfully, one short hard nail tapping against the table surface.

“I'll drink Scotch, like a good little Canmore.”

Her surname – at least that was what Dingo guessed it was – gave him nothing, but her brogue was telling. He had been right; obviously a foreigner, and he had heard that accent before. Not American or British. Irish? No, that was not it. Her drink gave it away. Scottish. The old gargoyle in Manhattan had a Scottish accent. That was where he had heard it before.

“Straight up or on the rocks?”

“Straight, if you please.”

Dingo raised a brow.

“Comin' right up,” the bartender placed a napkin and empty glass in front of the woman and went to the shelf of liquor bottles behind him. She nodded and ran a long slender finger along the rim of the glass while she waited for her drink.

Suddenly her back straightened and expression changed from quiet contemplation to something unreadable. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a cell phone that must have been on vibrate because he did not hear it ring. Whoever it was, she was obviously not pleased to hear from the person because she hit the red end button hard with her thumb and replaced the phone. Her drink arrived then, and she emptied half the glass in a single gulp.

* * * * * * * * * *

She had come to Australia because it was the most remote place she could think of where people still spoke some semblance of English, and Sydney was her stop because while Robyn had wanted to get away, she had no desire to abandon civilization completely. She had never been to Australia before and figured no one would think to look for her here.

It had become a ritual of sorts for her as soon as she felt Jonny was old enough to be left alone for any prolonged period of time. Every year, Robyn Canmore would disappear for a week. No hunts, no brothers, no history. Nothing but quiet time alone in a place where her name would have no meaning. One week out of the year she could be just any other completely unimportant woman. Jason and Jon knew better than to bother her then.

Sydney was much like she had expected, except for the heat. That part of Australia was known for its moderate climate in both summer and winter, so the relentless humid heat came as an unpleasant surprise. She finally ventured out late in the evening and after walking around for a short while, decided on the first bar that looked moderately well maintained. The inside was not too bad either, and despite the fact that she could practically feel several men staring, after a glance around at the patrons, Robyn decided that there was no one there she could not take in a fight if it came to that. She was slightly appalled with herself when the thought that maybe a fight was exactly what she needed flashed through her mind.

Robyn was in a black mood and ordered the strongest drink she could stomach. It was probably not a good idea to get drunk alone in a place she did not know, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. Her cell vibrated, and her mood grew even darker when she saw Jason's number flash on the display. No way. Come hell or high water, she would have her space. She hit the end button with unnecessary force and was glad when at that moment her Scotch arrived. Not bad, Robyn thought after a gulp. Maybe her night was looking up after all. She took another look around the bar.

There was little in the way of an actual dining area. The few tables that were there served as the centers for clusters of people, more likely than nor groups of friends out for a lat night drink. Some men were gathered around the old pool table and it looked like they were halfway through with a game. Then her attention was diverted by something else. There was a man in the corner of the bar she had not noticed before, but now she realized why he had suddenly caught her eye; unlike everyone else, he was the only person in the place aside herself who was drinking alone.

Some details were hard to make out in the dim lighting, but the man was tan and very well built, like someone who spent long hours doing hard work outdoors. His attire was casual and even managed to make the mohawk look half-descent. The most interesting thing about him, she found when they both happened to glance in one another's direction, were his clear blue eyes. Such a contrast against the backdrop of his tan features.

The man raised his bottle of beer in acknowledgment, and she returned the gesture with her glass of Scotch. It was not that the stranger was strikingly handsome, but he emitted a kind of aura of primal masculinity that made the already sweltering night feel several degrees warmer. She looked away, carefully hiding a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance for letting her hormones go to her brain.

Any other thoughts about the stranger were instantly interrupted when he phone in her pocket began to vibrate again. That was it! She slid off the barstool and stalked to the back exit, pushing the door open but at the last minute remembering to wedge it with her foot in case it was locked from the outside. Standing on the top step that lead down to the ally behind the bar, Robyn was determined to give her big brother a piece of her mind and then shove the cell phone in the nearest dumpster. Then he could lecture the rats to his heart's content.

“You better be calling because one or both of you are in a hospital,” she hissed into the receiver through gritted teeth, “because if it's not, so help me God, Jason, I'll put you there myself when I get back.”

There was a long pause on the other end followed by a tentative, “Robyn?”

“Jonny?” some of her anger subsided, replaced by confusion. If her little brother was calling maybe something had happened. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah... umm...,” why did he sound so nervous? “Jason asked me to tell you...”

“'Jason asked'?” her ire was back in an instance. “Put him on.”

“But...”

“Now, Jonny!”

Muffled argument followed on the other end. She was ready to end the call on her end when her other brother picked up the receiver. Robyn did not let him start.

“That was low, Jason. You don't use Jonny to pass on your messages.”

“How else am I supposed to tell you anything when you don't pick up when I call?” his tone was defensive rather than angry, probably because he knew he was the one in the wrong.

“I don't pick up because I know whatever it is can wait.”

“Now, listen...”

“No, you listen: you're not going to bully me into thinking that I don't earn one week out of fifty-two to myself. You're both big boys now. You can survive without me. If it's not a matter of life and death, I don't want to hear about it,” the pause told her he was trying to come up with an angle that would make whatever it was sound like life and death. “Good-bye, Jason.”

She ended the call before he could scream that there was no vacation for any Hunter until the Demon was dead. Neither of her brothers really understood how important this week was for her. Robyn honestly thought that if she did not get this time to herself, she would go crazy. Her fabled discipline and work ethic could only hold out for so long before she needed to release some tension. Her annoyance had subsided enough not to trash the phone. Instead Robyn turned it off completely and headed back into the bar.

The man who had been sitting near th exit swiveled on his stool away from the bar to face her as she reentered.

“Kids not givin' you space?” he asked, his native accent clearly present.

She should have been annoyed that the stranger had apparently been listening in on her conversation, but for some reason she was not. It was what you did at bars, after all; strike up conversations with strangers you would never see again. Combined with alcohol, it was cheaper than therapy. Probably more affective too.

“They're only my kids part-time,” she returned to her glass. The man raised a questioning brow. “My brothers.”

“Ah,” he nodded in understanding. “Don't take this the wrong way, but you're quite a long way from home for just wantin' to get away.”

“I'd go to Antarctica, but sadly there's a shortage of alcohol.”

“That bad?”

“Probably worse, but I try not to dwell on it.”

They fell into silence, both nursing their respective drinks. Finally the man finished off his beer and slid the empty bottle to the far side of the table for pickup.

“No offense to Pete over here,” he jabbing a thumb in the direction of the bartender who was busy with a new batch of arrivals, “but I know a better place than this. Food's not that great, but the drinks are descent and the music's not bad. Plus it's got central air.”

“Is that an invitation?” Robyn raised an elegant brow.

“If you want it to be.”

She tapped the side of her now nearly empty glass. It was not like her to get up and go somewhere with a man she had just met, but she was on vacation and she'd be damned if she did not take a chance to have a little fun.

“What's your name?”

“Harry.”

“Well, Harry, I don't have a habit of going out on the town with strange men in foreign countries,” she informed him. “Unless, of course, they're good guys. So I suppose the question is are you a good guy?”

He chuckled a little as if the inquiry was somehow funny and flashed her a lopsided grin. “Only recently.”

She returned the smile, a little mysterious and seductive, then picked up the remainder of her drink and finished it in one shot. “Lucky me. Lead the way.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The other place was actually a club a few blocks away with several bar and sitting areas all surrounding an enormous dance floor. Heart-pounding techno music blasted from countless speakers situated all around the place including the beams of the high ceiling. Streams of different colored neon lights scanned the floor, illuminating various dancers for a few seconds at a time before moving on.

If he were truthful, Dingo would have admitted it was not really his scene, but his companion for the evening – he learned during their short walk that her name was Robyn – seemed to appreciate the atmosphere. She absently nodded her head to the music as she looked around and followed him to one of the bars. When he glanced over his shoulder, noting the slight crease in her brows when she saw how crowed the bar area was.

“I'll get the drinks if you wanna head over to the dance floor,” he offered.

“What about you?”

“Maybe later. Don't think I've had quite enough alcohol yet for dancin' ,” he was not about to admit that could not put two steps together to save his life. “Another Scotch?”

She nodded and thanked him before heading down to where the crowds of people were moving to the music. Dingo waited for a good ten minutes and when the two glasses finally arrived, he walked over to the railing overseeing the dance floor. He debated whether he should attempt to bring her the drink or wait until she had her fill of dancing, not at all certain he could even find her if he tried.

Finally he did pick her out of the multitudes of moving bodies, though Dingo was not at all sure how he had managed it. Maybe it was because among all the painted faces and flashy clothes, she was the most natural, her movements rhythmic and hypnotic as she swayed to the music. There was no telling just how long he had watched her except that the ice in his glass had begun to melt. The more he watched her, the more Dingo thought that the central air in the place was not nearly enough. He emptied his glass in two gulps, letting the liquor burn down his throat, and started for the dance floor.

Fuck inhibition.

The crowd smelled like sweat and adrenaline and alcohol as he weaved his way through it. He was behind her in less than a minute, but she did not seem to have noticed, lost in the music. Or maybe she had noticed and was waiting for him to take action. Not one to disappoint a lady, matched her movements and ran a few callused fingers in a feather-light touch along her arm before splaying his palm against the flat of her stomach where her shirt had ridden up slightly. Her skin was cool and soft, and he was pleased when she responded by moving her right hand to his arm that encircled her waist and the other bent at an angle and touched the back of his neck. This kind of dancing he could definitely get used to.

She turned her head slightly, blue eyes a bit clouded, studying him. Whatever she wanted to see, she must have seen it, because Robyn lifted her face to his and kissed him, a full open mouthed kiss that let him taste the Scotch that still lingered on her tongue. The effect was fast and potent, as his blood rushed south, making his jeans feel far too tight. Unabashed, he let her know just what her mouth was doing to him. Instead of moving away or breaking the kiss, she simply smiled against his lips and pressed her hips deeper against his.

Suddenly Dingo realized that any further dancing was likely to get real uncomfortable.

“How 'bout we get outta here?” he whispered horsely, nuzzling the hair just above her ear.

How they actually made it to his hotel room, he was never sure. The only thing Dingo knew was that as soon as the door slammed shut behind them, their lips locked again and clothes were being torn off in a big hurry. He was both surprised and pleased at how aggressive and passionate she was, this strange beautiful foreign woman, and would have liked more time to enjoy the view of her slender body naked on top of the covers, but patience was not something either of them had in reserve.

Foreplay was not really necessary as most of it had taken place on the club's dance floor, and they both seemed eager to get to the finish line. Still, being a gentleman, he dipped two fingers in between her folds. Robyn moaned appreciatively, confirming what he had already discovered; she was more than ready for him. If that was not proof enough, she grasped his upper arm, pulling him further up the bed, guiding him within her. Dingo needed no more encouraging. He was inside her in one strong smooth thrust.

They both gasped at the sudden rush of pleasure, but quickly found a rhythm, hard and fast. He felt her fingers lightly touch the place they were so intimately joined and had to force himself to pry her hand away, pinning her wrists in a cross above her head. Robyn struggled for a moment, displeased at having lost the ability to touch him. The only thing she could do was thrust her hips forward, and it was all he could do not to come right then and there.

“Don't,” he breathed. “Jus' let me...”

Thankfully she did not torture him for much longer. Her back arched, perfect round breasts pressing against the solid wall of his chest, and she fell over the edge. His pride satisfied, Dingo finally allowed his body to follow.
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Seven Nights Down Under