bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

Rosebud Murders

Title: The Rosebud Murders 22/45

Author: BmblBee
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
Paring: S/X
Summary: HAU
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.

"Here they come! Here they come! Get the fucking camera ready and
remember the shot of the perp falling to the ground twitching as the
heartless cop tasers him repeatedly is the money shot."

Buffy was perched in the van. One hand on her microphone and the
other on the door handle. As soon as Officer Pratt slammed the cuffed
suspect against his unmarked car she would be right there, demanding
an on tape explanation. Buffy checked her mirror one more time
for split ends or a wayward booger in her nose.
That would NEVER happen again.

The news crew watched the two men leave the brick warehouse.
Both smiled and appeared to be chatting easily. They waited while
Detective Pratt pressed the larger man against the Corvette and leaned
in whispering in his ear.

Buffy frowned in confusion when there was no rubber bullets or signs
of police brutality. She couldn't imagine what the detective would have
to say that would require him to nuzzle that close or run his hands
up and down the dark haired man's arms.

Max was clearly traveling down the more perceptive side of the street.
Detective Pratt was gay! Not only gay, but gay with a gay boyfriend.
The possibilities were stunning.

Outing the lead detective on an active homicide investigation would
be a huge story. They could rush over right now and catch them in
the act. It would be the lead story on tonight's news and make Buffy
the star she always wanted to be.

He glanced over and watched her adjust her tiny boobs in an attempt
to create a little cleavage.
Decision made.

"That don't look like a suspect to me. I think they are just friends. Come on,
Buffy let's go. There isn't any story here and if we hurry we can still get the
hemp drama on tape and into the engineer's booth before the noon news filing."

Buffy frowned as she watched the two men cuddle and kiss before getting into
the small sports car and drive away.
"Shit. Yeah, o.k. Damn. Coulda been a hell of a story. Let's go."

She tossed her microphone in the back seat and pouted as Max started the van
and pulled out onto the street in the direction of the fishermen and their nets.

The stop off at Spike's was quick. Just long enough to shower and change
As much as both wanted an encore it was agreed to take care of business
first. After a quick call to check in with Faith, they were on their way.

Back in the car and speeding across town, Spike glanced over at Xander
wondering about the young man and his feelings for him.

"So how do we do this? What do you need me to do?"

Xander watched out the window, clearing his thoughts and trying to put his
relationship with the Detective into the back of his mind. He also tried to
ignore the huge smile on the face of the old man clinging and fading in
and out behind Spike.

"When we get there don't tell me anything. Nothing about the crime, the
victim or the killer. Just let me talk and you take notes. Write down
everything. Even things that don't seem important then we can go over it after."

15 minutes later and they arrived at the scene. Still empty, Spike
secured the key from the manager and they stepped inside.
Immediately, Xander flinched. He paused, taking several deep breaths
before his body seemed to take on a separate personality.
Smaller, delicate, hesitant.

"First I'm going to speak from the victim. I'm young, female, small.
I live alone but I'm not afraid, I'm happy. My life is good. I have
friends and family who love me."
He walked to the closed front door and pressed his hands against it.
Spike began writing.

"Someone is at the door. I'm surprised because it is so late, but I'm up
so it doesn't matter. I look through the peep hole and it is safe. I don't
know him but it is safe."

Xander steps back and turns toward the interior of the apartment.
"I ask him in. I'm confused. I'm safe."

Xander walked toward the kitchen then jerks to a stop.
"NO! No. He has grabbed me from behind. Scared, surprised,
confused, stupid, I feel so stupid for trusting him. He grabs me
from behind.
Fast. It happens so fast. Choking! I can't breath!"

Spike watched Xander struggle to breath as he clutched at his throat.
He wanted to go to the boy, help him, but the detective in him knew
better. Xander was exact. Everything he described was right on.
Spike's pen flew across the paper.

Xander's face started to turn blue as he fought to breath. Collapsing
to his knees he then tumbled to the floor and lay still. Just as Spike
was beginning to become genuinely concerned, Xander moved.
He rolled to his stomach and spread his arms straight out to his sides.
Spike was flabbergasted.

Slowly then Xander pulled himself to his feet. The expression on his
face and the posture of his body shifted drastically. He took on a hard,
angry, evil expression that sent chills down Spike's spine.

"Are you the killer? Can you feel him?"

Xander never answered. Instead he returned to the front door and placed
his hands in the same spot they were before.

"She's in there." He sneered, his voice a deep growl.
"I can smell the bitch right behind the door. Smile, smile and show her
what she needs to see to let me in. LET ME IN!"
He slapped the palms of his hands against the wooden door.

Xander visibly relaxed as he rolled his head from side to side and
stepped back toward the kitchen.

"Look at her, fuckin' bitch. Close. Now. Now."

Xander's hands went up and tensioned into straining fists as his whole body
shook with the force used on his victim. Then, just as suddenly, he went limp
and stared down at the floor. Panting and sweating, Xander's face went blank.

He dropped down and began a flurry of invisible hand activity, mumbling.
"It's all their fault. They're so fuckin' smart, they should stop me. Smart enough
to fuck all over me, they should be able to catch me."

Suddenly Xander sat back on his butt with a look of blind fury on his face.
He pointed directly at Spike and screamed.

Spike threw down his pen and paper and rushed to Xander's side. He
dropped to his knees, scooped the crazed, hysterical man up in his arms
and pulled him close, fighting to still the struggling man. Spike was shocked
that the normally over heated body was now cold as ice.

"Shhh. Xander. Xander. It's me. It's o.k. It's Spike. Come on, Love,
wake up, wake up."

Spike continued to rock and hold the psychic as he slowly calmed down
and returned to himself. The tears and sweat soaked his face and dripped
onto the shoulder of Spike's suit. When he began to realized what was
happening, Xander threw his arms around Spike and clung to him,
desperately gasping for air.

Finally when the shaking had eased, Xander drew back and wiped his
face with the back of his hand.

"He's evil, Spike. I've never felt anything like that. He aches to kill again
and he's doing it for you. It's all about you and your partner. He's so
mad, but he wants you to catch him so he can tell the world why he did it.
Everything you need to know is left at the scene. It's all about the crime."

Spike was more confused than ever. He had felt all along that they were
missing something but he didn't know what. It made him sick to think
that this could even remotely be their fault. They know him? Who was it?

"Come on, Love, let's get out of here. We'll go get something to eat and
when you're up to it we can talk about this."

Xander nodded weakly and allowed Spike to pull him to his feet.
Just as they were leaving, Xander stopped. He lifted his face and
inhaled deeply.

"Wait. Wait a minute, Spike. I noticed it in the other victims place but
I didn't think it was important. Now it's here too."

Spike sniffed but couldn't detect anything past the stuffy smell of a sealed
up crime scene.
"What, Pet? What is it?"

Xander looked the detective in the eye with an expression of uncertainty.
"Roses. I smell roses."

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