Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from either Buffy or Jurassic Park. I don't earn any money from this fic.
Keelin’s awareness came back to her one sense at a time. Which was strange as she had no recollection of losing her awareness in the first place. One second she was in the kitchen at the London HQ making herself a nutella and mango chutney sandwich (snack food of kings) and then it was like she had blinked and was horizontal and obviously just regaining consciousness.
The first thing she was aware of was the plethora of scents invading her nostrils. There was the heavy, burnt sugar scent of tarmac that was being baked under strong sunlight. There was also the loamy, rotten smells that were indicative of heavy vegetation. And then the contradictory, acrid smell of metal and oil.
So she was in a factory in the middle of deep forest?
Then hearing kicked in and even more information was downloaded into her brain. The hyper senses of a slayer: at all times both blessing and curse. Blessing when she needed to figure out where she was without giving away she was awake. Curse when anyone else in the building she currently resided brought company home. Honestly, she could have lived the rest of her life quite happily without knowing what Giles and that Rayne twat had been getting up to with the cuffs, banana yoghurt and the plunger.
Pushing that particular mental trauma to the side once more, she focused on the sounds assaulting her ears. She wasn’t alone, from the sounds of the heartbeat and rhythm of their breathing there was someone else lying unconscious about two feet to her left. No threat there for the moment, so moving on. There was the muffled sound of something mechanical, the hum of electrical appliances of some kind, hidden behind some barrier or other. Which made her think there was some kind of building off to her right. Further out still there was the rustling of foliage in the breeze and the scurrying of small to medium sized animals moving about. Birds and monkeys shrieked their presence into the air.
So jungle not forest, now she was getting somewhere.
And then touch came back. She felt like she had been rode hard and put away wet. She wasn’t sore per say. More achy. She felt like she was waking up after a couple of days of very energetic sex. Or she would if it weren’t for the fact that she didn’t actually ache in an area that that kind of sex would definitely leave aching. Pulling her mind away from that particular train of thought before it was completely derailed she decided now was as good a time as any to open her eyes.
Then promptly discovered that it was in fact not such a good time and had to screw her lids shut tightly in defence against the painfully bright light. Much ow! Making a muffled sound of protest Keelin shakily turned her head so her nose was now pressed into the porous, presumably tarmac or similar, surface she was lying on and cracked her eyes open a sliver, then blinking them gradually wider in an attempt to adjust. Which worked, sort of, leaving her squinting in the bright sunlight. Of course all she could see lying like this was the grey, cracked surface of her resting place. Which was a road judging from the stripe of yellow paint, faded with age presumably.
So the next course of action was to get vertical . Suiting deed to action she pushed herself up. With a lot more effort than she was used to. Her joints and limbs watery and shaky. Damn but she didn’t ever remember feeling this weak, even from before she was called five years back. Or the times she went through the Cruciamentum Mark II. That particular practice had made her even less popular with most of the core Scoobies.
She and the Boss had come up with the idea a couple months after they started their sojourn in Africa. Searching out Slayers and training them while dodging the various wars and foiling the seemingly constant demon uprisings endemic to the continent. It was simple really, the Slayers all took turns taking the Cruciamentum drug effectively suppressing all their powers down to human level. They would then take part in two months of intense physical and combat training. The theory behind it all being that didn’t matter how Chosen a girl was, the power meant nothing if there wasn’t any real muscle
Elder Summers and her pet sychophant Rosenburg had screeched and whined for the better part of a year about it. Mr Giles hadn’t been too impressed with the idea either until he had seen the results. The Anya Jenkins Relief Consortium, the Council’s cover business in Africa, produced Slayers with the highest kill count and lowest casualty and mortality rates. And then he had quietly, firmly, and in much prettier words, told the Bitches Two to shut the hell up and leave them alone. Which saved on migraines all round. Keelin was never happier than when there was at least one ocean between herself and that pair!
But back to the now. With a grunt and a shaky stagger she was on her feet and peering at her surroundings. She had been lying on the landing strip of what appeared to be a small airport. Judging from the dense foliage surrounding them and the heavy weight of the sun, plus the humidity in the air, all led her to the thought that she was somewhere in ….. ok all she figured was it was somewhere jungle-like. Which her limited geographical, or topographical, whatever-ical made her think South America. And lying in a heap at her feet was one Dawn Summers.
Reaching down she grabbed the unconscious girl and heaved her up over her shoulder. Muttering curses under her breath she strode towards the single story glass building that she figured was some kind of waiting room or office. Either way it was some kind of shelter they could take advantage of till Dawn regained consciousness.