Title: It’s a Pig’s Life
Length: 1100 – so y’know, short.
Rating: FRT. It's harmless.
Setting: Buffy/Giles. Post season 7 AU crossover with Blandings novels of P.G. Wodehouse.
Written for a gileswench prompt.
(Apology: I will never be as funny as P.G.Wodehouse.)
It's a Pig's Life
It was a beautiful evening as Buffy and Giles walked arm in arm around the great lake and took the terrace back to the main house.
“This is such a magical house and grounds, Giles. It was sweet of Lord Emsworth to invite us for the weekend party. I didn’t know you had such connections. Did you spend much time here as a boy?”
“Not if I could help it,” he admitted. “The family can be a somewhat eccentric.”
“Well I think it’s lovely.” She stopped and looked longingly at him. “Do you know what I want, right now?”
Giles held her close.
“How many guesses do I get?”
She nuzzled his neck and said, “I want coffee.”
He looked down at her smile and let his hand slip to the small of her back. “That wasn't going to be one of my guesses.”
She broke free and giggled. “In our room. I like the way you make it.”
Giles sighed. “You only want me for my coffee.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she teased and took his hand to enter the suite they’d been given at ground level. Inside, Giles kicked the French doors closed and tried to pull her back to his arms, but again she wriggled free and, with eyes full of promise, she darted to the bathroom.
Giles sat on the bed and smiled his good fortune. He untied his shoelaces – she always laughed at his fastidious in that – and removed his shoes. He’d undone his belt and was about to drop his trousers when he heard an odd shriek and Buffy came out and slammed the door with her back against it.
“Giles,” she said slowly. “There is a pig in our bathroom.”
“Mr Gordo? Your stuffed pig you mean?”
“No. A Pig. There is an actual pig in our bathroom.”
“Ha, ha. Nice try, but I’m not falling for that.” He reached over her shoulder and pushed the door open. A very large black pig was indeed in residence. Giles pulled the door quickly and stood back-to-back with Buffy. “Good gracious,” he exclaimed. “There is a pig in our bathroom.”
“What's it doing in there?” she hissed.
He wasn’t quite sure he understood the question. “Well, not a lot to be fair. Pig stuff. You know.”
“Hang on, there’s a note on the bed.” He swooped to pull open the envelope. “It's from my uncle Galahad.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes. “The nutty one?”
Giles read aloud. “’Rupert, my boy and the delectable Buffy. Please keep the Empress on ice till the deal is done’. Oh this must be Lord Emsworth’s pig, the Empress of Blandings.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes to mere slits. Having a fancy title and belonging to a peer of the realm didn't make a pig any more appealing as a showering companion.
“He says ‘The Duke of Fairhall expressed an interest in nobbling the old girl before the next County show, but he thought without the quick witted intervention of yours truly. By the b's Fairhall's daughter is sweet on young Rob Harding, curate of Never Wold, so please keep the old girl on ice, until the deal is done and the banns are read’. Ah. Right,” concluded Giles, nodding his head.
“Ah, right? Giles, that may pass for exposition in a P.G.Wodehouse novel, but I still need an explanation.”
He considered whether it was worth attempting the full history of pig napping in the home counties by titled gentlemen seeking to altruistically assist young lovers. Instead he opted for the condensed version.
“My uncle is nuts?”
“From his soup upwards,” she agreed and sat on the bed. The Empress squealed playfully in the bathroom. “Is it hereditary?”
“Oh, no. Well, He's not my real uncle, he's my godfather. Now you know why I don't come here very often. There are drawbacks.”
At that moment, the main door to their suite flew open and the chief drawback, a dapper man of uncertain age and dyed hair, flew in.
“Rupert my boy, there’s a slight change of plan.”
Giles buckled the belt on his trousers hastily as Buffy exclaimed, “Thank god you’re here, uncle Gally.”
Galahad beamed at her genially and turned himself to Giles. “Yes, now shake a leg and fetch your car to the french doors here and then lend a hand to shoo the old darling in.” He bent and passed Giles his shoes.
“What?” Giles spluttered.
“Fairhall has forbade the engagement. He thinks Curate Rob is the Red Rev of Rotherham and possibly a cat burglar to boot, so it's time for drastic measures. It’s time for men of action to stand up and be counted. Are you with me?” Giles made to protest “Or do you want your adorable fiancée to be forced to share her bathroom with the empress all night?”
Buffy saw her opening. “Man up Giles. Your Uncle makes an excellent point.”
“But hang it all, why my car?”
“It’s a warm night. I'm thinking of you my boy, it's the only sports car in the garage. She needs to feel the wind in her trotters. A closed roof on a night like this wouldn't be good for either of you.”
“Bravo. Stout fellow. It's only 20 miles to the farm I've got lined up as a safe house. Well, safe sty I suppose we should call it.” Galahad snorted at his own joke.
“I'm driving the pig?”
Uncle Gally eyed him for a moment as he would a favourite, but regrettably slow, child. “She can't very well drive herself. Come on my boy.”
Somehow with Buffy clutching Mr Gordo and watching incredulously, the two men succeeded in loading the pig to the back seat where she seemed content enough though would not be persuaded to wear her seat belt. Buffy sensed the Empress was probably used to a lot of car journeys in this part of the world and took them all in her stride.
Galahad jumped beside Giles into the passenger seat.
“Right. Off we jolly well go. You'll have to sing to her while we drive. Don't want her getting nervous. You had a lovely voice as a choir boy. I remember thinking, that boys got a voice ‘to soothe the savage breast , to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak’.”
“Did you really?” Giles voice was somewhat knotted oak itself.
Buffy pulled her shoulder wrap about herself.
“Will you be bringing him back before dawn, uncle Gally?” she asked.
“Oh, almost certainly,” he replied airily. “Now one small point, Rupert. We will need to avoid Sgt Hobbes at the main gate. He seems to have laid something of a road block. But I'm told the drive through the woods is simply charming this time of night. You’ll just need to switch off your lights and away we go.”
Giles shot a despairing look to Buffy who was struggling not to laugh too openly. She pinched Mr Gordo and waved a tiny pink paw back at her fiancé.
“Don't worry, Giles. I'll make my own coffee.”