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
Buffy shuffled around her pretentiously over decorated apartment.
She was already in her soft flannel, no man tonight, pajamas
despite the fact that it was only 10:22. She picked up her warm
cup and snapped off the overhead chandelier.
Drawing back the drapes, she stood by the large bay window in the
small breakfast nook and gazed out of the window that overlooked
the city below.
The lights twinkled and shined in a glorious way that made her ever
so grateful that she was separated from the lowlifes and trailer trash
that could barely afford to pay their electric bills and keep those
She knew she was put on this earth for better things. Her perfect
complexion, straight white teeth and blond (almost) hair had been
a gift nature had bestowed upon her and Lord knows, Buffy was
never one to turn her back on a gift.
She was on the fast track to the big time and nothing could get in
When this story broke......when it is her face cutting in on people's
regularly scheduled programming with the explosive story of a serial
killer that had been caught, she would finally be famous.
No more stories about fishermen's nets No more interviewing 102
year old men with no teeth and sagging balls. No more standing like
an idiot while the Thanksgiving parade marched behind her.
She would finally get the respect due her. Fame, fortune, awards and
adoration, all just around the corner. Handed to her on a platter by
the other thing she needed to complete her successful image.
Liam, Angel, O'Connor. Buffy snickered smugly. Yeah, she still had it.
She remembered the day he had finally come to her after, no doubt,
worshipping her from afar. No longer able to control his craving for
her he had put himself, and his position, on the line just to impress her.
He had even grudgingly bedded and fucked her cameraman in front of her,
several times, just to prove what lengths he was willing to go to win her over.
Oh, yes, Detective O'Connor was a keeper. Especially when he earned
his promotion and gained the political influence the job carried.
Buffy sipped her cocoa and walked silently toward the great room,
the only sound that could be heard was the woosh woosh of her bunny
slippers as they slid across the expensive tile and hardwood floors.
He had explained it all to her in terms of scratching backs and washing
hands, but she finally understood what he was trying to spell out. She
was not stupid like everyone thought. It was a simple you get your's,
I get mine deal.
Setting her cup down she again checked the clock on the fireplace mantle
"Speaking of Detective Hard Cock" she muttered, "where the hell is he?"
He had promised to call her and keep her updated. She had more than
once cursed him and considered dumping him like a fucking hot potato
when this was all over if she wasn't certain he would cause even Barbara
Walters to dampen her panties when he showed up at Buffy's award
ceremony in a tux.
Hustling through the den into her office, Buffy flipped on the police
scanner she kept there. Immediately the usual nerve chewing, aggravating
static and chatter filled the room. She hated it and found the codes and
signals they used annoying and confusing.
It was almost like a personal affront. Designed to keep her from
tracking their activities. She resolved to insist that when Angel had
achieved his position and power she would demand that dispatch
be forced to spell out, in plain English, exactly what was going on.
"Starcom to car D7. Come in D7. Do you read Cooper?
"Starcom to Cooper. Come in Cooper"
"Starcom to car D1. Are you enroute to Cooper's location?"
"D1 to Starcom. We are enroute to that location on Market.
Car D2 is also responding. Have you raised any response?"
"Negative D1. Officer Cooper does not respond."
Buffy scowled. She recognized the one voice as that stuck up
snotty brit accented William Pratt. She had flirted with him once or
twice and he had always crinkled his nose up at her.
"Well, Mr.English fish and chips guy, We'll see how uppity you are
when Liam O'Connor tops your ass. I'll just bet you never saw that
Buffy's smugness, however was short lived when she picked up on the
address the dispatcher was giving. 'Market st? Market st? Why the
fuck does that sound familiar?'
The question had no more than gelled in her brain when the answer
knocked her straight out of her fluffy bunnies. She remembered
her sister, despite her attempts to discourage, had taken a small
apartment down there.
"Dawn! Oh fuck. Dawn moved into that dingy depressing little
apartment down on Market. Shit, why the fuck didn't she stay in
the valley with Mom? Trust her to find trouble."
Buffy dashed to her bedroom, jerking off her pajamas and tugging on
a sweater and pair of slacks, changing only once in consideration of
the lighting of the cameras this time of night.
She booted aside her slippers and slid her feet into the beige
stilettos that always rubbed a blister on her pinky toe but made her
legs just look so fucking good she couldn't resist them.
Rushing into the bathroom she brushed her hair, bent at the waist
and fluffed it upside down for maximum lift at the roots and then
sprayed a half can of Aussie Freeze.
She brushed, flossed and rinsed her mouth and, on her way to the door,
grabbed her cell phone off the charger, proud of herself that she had
responded to the crisis so swiftly.
With her keys in her hand, she dialed the phone and teetered unsteadily
down the front steps toward her designated parking space.
"Max. It's me. Meet me at Market st. I think there is something big going on
down there and my sister may be caught in the middle of it. I'm on my way
now. Hurry up! Oh, and Max, don't forget the camera. Call the station and
tell them we may be going live with this."
"Jesus, Buffy. Have you tried to call your sister? Is she all right? Is she in
"Huh? Oh, no, I guess I didn't think of calling, but really I'll be there in just
a mo so..........look, no more conversation. Get the van and just GET THERE!"
Buffy hopped into her stylish Mazda Miata and, slamming her pointy little
open toed number down on the gas pedal, tore off into the night.