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.
Banner by BmblBee
Spike checked his watch and decided that although it was only
2 in the afternoon he had reached his daily quota of weird.
"Come on, Xander. I'll take you back to your work and drop you
off. I need to be getting back to the station house and meet with my
partner. She's going to think I dropped off the map."
Xander nodded his agreement. He was just as glad to be getting out.
The sorrow and anger still trapped there was starting to overwhelm
The small apartment was still charged with the simmering, negative
energy that suffused it. The imprint of a violent occurrence of this
type never really goes away, but does, over time, ease up, fade
slightly and become more a memory than the living charged thing that
it is when it's this fresh.
As they stepped outside they realized it had started to rain. A cold
rare drizzle, the type only seen in the late part of October in the usually
sunny state of California. Spike flipped his coat collar up to shield the
back of his neck.
Following Spike back out to the car, they got in silently and buckled up.
Pulling carefully away from the curb, Spike never took his eyes off the
road, but felt compelled to talk.
"What is the answer, Xander? If you know so much about this
world, and the next, you must know. What is the big secret that all
the rest of us are searching for."
Xander was surprised. It was probably the last thing he would have
expected the hard nosed, by the book, homicide detective to ask.
Xander snorted and, gazing out the rain splattered, foggy, side window,
he very slightly shook his head.
"If you are asking me the big "what is the meaning of life" question, hell
I don't know. I'm as much in the dark as every one else. I do know
something though. I know that the instant a baby is born it already has
a certain number of days stamped on it. It is an hour glass of sand that
cannot be added to or subtracted from. Have you ever wondered how
one person can survive a crash that kills a dozen others? Or why someone
can die from the same common flu bug that will give another person no
more than a sniffle? It's because it is their time and nothing can change
your predestined time. But knowing that our time is predestined isn't
the secret. That isn't the part that matters at all.
What is important is what we do with those days. They are a precious,
divine gift that we are given. Do we share that gift with others and do our
best to make their time, and the living world around us a better place or
do we selfishly waste them? Do we keep those days to ourselves and
hoard them? That's the true unforgivable sin you know.
That is what we are judged on, Spike. In the end, when we pass over
through the doorway, that is how we are finally judged."
Spike considered this and like everything else about the boy, took it as truth.
It felt right. It was an understanding that seemed so simple and correct
that Spike could find no doubt. He had just one more question.
"Who judges us? When we die and we stand at the crossroads, whose
standards must we meet?'
Xander turned and looked out the window. They had just arrived back at
the Divine Creations Furniture Shop and Xander was unbuckling his
Opening the door he stepped out and just as Spike was beginning to
think he would not answer, Xander turned, crouched down and spoke
"We face the harshest judge there is. We are shown all the sins, crimes,
and misdemeanors of our life and we are judged by the most critical being
there is. We judge ourselves."
With that, Xander turned and walked away.
Spike watched long after the boy had gone inside listening to
the rain as it fell against the roof of the expensive sports car and then
before driving away, Spike quietly whispered,
"I forgive you Da, and I love you too."
With tears stinging his eyes, he then drove off, back in the direction
of hard reality.
Spike felt as though his understanding of the world around him was being
shaken to the core. It was as if he were suddenly waking up and
realizing there was a whole universe around him that he had never noticed
before. It was a concept that, along with the conciever, he wanted
to spend more time getting to know.
When this was over. When he had time.
Slipping around to the rear booking entrance, Spike found an open
spot and parked. It was a locked, secure area where cruisers could
pull directly up and unload a prisoner waiting to be printed and charged.
It was an area inaccessible to the general public.
Spike entered the station house, hoping to avoid the press he spotted
camped out in vans and cars at the front steps. He prayed their morbid
interest was in the death of one innocent girl and not that they had put
two and two together and come up with Serial Killer.
Fact was, he was pretty sure if they hadn't already, they would soon.
This was not the type of thing that could be concealed for long.
Any amateur detective doing some basic fact checking could figure
it out easily.
Taking the service elevator, the one used to deliver the prisoners from
their holding cells to the transport vans in the rear carport, Spike snuck
upstairs and ducked into the homicide dept. He headed directly for the
second office on the left, hoping Faith was still there.
"Spike! Hey, how's that investigation going? You got any leads?"
Spike froze at the sound of the voice. It was absolutely the last person
he wanted to see today.
"Angel. Case is going fine. Gathering facts, analyzing evidence, following
up with witnesses. Funny you should ask. Giles tells me you wanted to
take the case away from Faith and me. That right?"
Angel had the decency to briefly look ashamed before trying for affronted,
as his face then screwed up in an attempt at shocked indignation.
"What? No! What? Come on Spike, you know I wouldn't do that to
you. I just told him that since I had successfully solved my latest case,
the one with the homeless guy, that I had some free time and maybe I
could give you a hand."
Spike leaned his butt back against an interview desk in the center of the
main room and crossed his arms.
"Was that the case where the guys flat mate was sitting beside the body
with a bloody knife in his hand screaming "I did it. I did it?"
Angel shrugged. "Well, yeah, but I still had to interview him, collect the
knife and turn over the body. But that's not the point is it?"
Angel stepped close, just inches from the end of Spike's nose and spoke
low and suggestively.
"Come on, Baby. You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Not
unless you ask me real nice."
Spike shuddered. If nothing else he knew one thing for sure. The case
of the shaggable Angel was now closed. It could be filed, stuck on a
back shelf and sealed, never to be opened again.
"Step back Angel. Until Giles takes us off this case, it belongs to Faith
and I and we are the one's who are going to solve it."
Angel's eyes lit up and curiosity filled his voice.
"You find a witness? Come up with a new lead? Tell you what, why don't
you come over tonight and I'll fix us something to eat. Sometimes it helps to
discuss these things with another ear. You know, kick ideas around a bit?
Maybe afterwards I'll let you take your frustrations out on me. I'll even let
you use the handcuffs. You always liked that."
As if a curtain was raised behind his eyes, Spike got a really good look
at what he had been doing with his life and surprisingly he was more
disgusted with himself than with the slimy man he had been sharing
Immediately the thought of 'what would Xander think' popped into his
mind and he was more than a little ashamed.