Rating: M for Mature language and m/m sex
Also warning for violence.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters
or products named in this story
Spike is a Homicide detective trying
to stop a serial killer before he strikes
again. Xander is a psychic who offers
to help him.
Thanks to the talented Petxnd for the banner and preread.
Spike stood behind his desk and checked the time on his
watch impatiently. Whoever Betty was sending up to him
had about three minutes before Spike planned on
unceremoniously dismissing him and getting on with his
He had a million things to do today and sadly, no idea where
'Unless, Oh God, could there possibly have been a witness?
Someone who saw something? Someone who could give
a description, a name, a license number? Any fuckin' thing
that would give a direction in which to go.'
No, Spike checked those hopeful thoughts. He was not that
lucky. His cases were solved by hard work. Clues collected,
analyzed and court cases skillfully fought.
Street informants were good for drug or burgulary cases
but they seldom helped in murders.
Nope, this couldn't be anything but an interruption to his list
of morning chores.
His first planned stop would be the basement to pick up
the latest addition to his flower collection. He wanted to make
sure he personally received and bagged it for delivery to the
crime lab. If there was any evidence at all to be collected
from it he was not about to let a silly fuck up like a break in the
chain of evidence compromise it. Although the others had
yielded nothing, he still had hope. DNA - something.
Spike was startled out of his mental musings to look up into
the clear sparkling eyes of a handsome young man standing at
his desk, hand out stretched.
Dark hair, dark eyes, strong straight firm body.
Spike was extremely proud of himself for not whimpering.
It took all the internal strength he had not to allow his eyes to
slide down the boy's body, search the crotch of the faded
worn jeans for a nice bulge and then roam back up to the
chest clad in a white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned
just the right number of buttons to show off a smooth tan chest.
Spike leaned over the desk that separated them and shook his
hand. The feel of his warm, firm grip sent a small thrill through
Spike's body and he dropped the handshake quickly.
'Business.' He reminded himself. 'Strictly business.'
"What? Oh, yes, you must be the witness Dispatch sent up.
I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
The young man's handsome face crinkled into a relaxed,
knowing smile that made Spike exceedingly uncomfortable.
Almost as if responding to a private, personal joke Spike
had just told him.
"Alexander Harris at you service."
Xander tipped his head in an oddly old fashioned small bow,
the smile never wavering.
"Actually I'm not really a witness, per se. But I do have some
information that may help in your investigation of the murders of
the four young women."
Instinct and the restraints of time told Spike that this was a dead end.
However, he knew that as a tax paying citizen, Mr. Harris could not
be simply tasered and kicked out the front door so Spike again
subtly checked his watch, gave his visitor three minutes, and began
'One one thousand.....two one thousand....three...'.
"I know you're busy, detective, but if I could just have a bit more that
three minutes and you could listen with an open mind I think it may be
just the shove that could get your investigation going again."
Startled, Spike wondered if he had said that out loud, then dismissed
the thought as ridiculous. Three minutes was the standard snub and if
this boy was a chronic confesser he had probably been booted several
"Of course. Please."
Pointing to the chair on the other side of his desk, both men sat and Spike
pulled out his note pad and pen. This interview would be handled professionally
"Fine. So, Mr. Harris. What do you have for us?"
"Xander. Call me Xander. Mr. Harris is my father."
Spike nodded his agreement and Xander took a deep breath and continued.
He always hated this part. The initial introduction of himself and his talents.
9 times out of 10 it didn't go well.
"To begin with, detective Pratt, I'm a clairvoyant and an empath. I receive
messages, images, from souls that have passed. While the mental pictures
are not always clear, the emotions are. I am able to feel what the victim
felt at the time the spirit is released from the body. Lately, I have been
receiving strong input from what I believe to be two of the victims of
the serial killer you are searching for. I think if you allow me to work with
you I can help you find some answers to the questions you have."
Spike sat, totally slack faced for the designated three minutes before
his brain could kick back into gear and he could respond.
When that happened, despite himself, he broke into a huge grin and
chuckled, closing his note pad and stuffing it back in his pocket.
"Good one. Good one. Did Faith put you up to this? Hell, you almost
had me there for a minute. Damn. O.k. then, tell her you got me
good and I'll get her back for this. Now if you'll excuse me I really need
to be going."
Xander sighed, but never budged from his seat. Actually, of all the ways
this usually went this was by far NOT the worst, and his ass still had the
boot prints to prove it.
"This is not a joke detective. I know how it must sound to you but I
promise it is absolutely real."
Xander reached in to his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card.
Slowly rising to his feet he handed it over to the scowling officer,
waving it in an encouragement.
Reluctantly, Spike took the card from Xander's hand, jumping from the
static shock when their finger tips met. The spark elicited an entirely different
response from the young psychic and his smile returned.
"On the back of the card I have written the name of a Police Chief in a small
town in Ohio that I have helped a few times. Give him a call, what could it hurt?
Then you can reach me at that address and number."
Xander turned to go but stopped at the last minute. His piercing gaze
went through Spike's body in a heated rush.
"You know, detective Pratt, some secrets always have a way of coming
out. You really should consider that. Coming out.... would make your life
a whole lot easier."
With that he laughed, not unkindly, and walked away.
Spike stood frozen, his blood turned to ice and every hair on his body
rose, his arm remained outstretched and his fingers still clutched the small
square of paper he had been handed.