whedonist

Chapter 6 – Do-gooder Knights

I turn my wrist up and look at the read out on my watch, 8:15. ‘Kay, so, it’s only been 3 minutes. I can’t pace. So instead, I throw my head back against the seat of the car we rented for tonight. I hate stakeouts. A fiery passion could be used to describe my hate if it were said with stronger language.

I turn my head right and look at Willow who is happily reading a book with a pen light. I know I shouldn’t, but I do anyhow. “Will, I’m bored,” I whine.

Her head slowly turns to meet my gaze. Her left eyebrow is elevated and the smirk on her lips is infuriating.

“No, no eyebrow. No…” I wiggle my pointer finger at her lips, “none of that either.”

Her features soften and she puts the book on the dashboard. “Buffy, we’ve been sitting here for maybe an hour. That jerk from last night said something was going on here tonight. We have to see.”

“Do we have to see in the car? I thought maybe we’d just use it to get around and cart demons bits in. I didn’t know when you suggested this that it would involve me sitting here for hours. Besides, how are we gonna catch the demon if we’re stationary?” Ah! Logic. She can’t refute that one.

She scratches her nose and her face scrunches. Did I miss something in my very logical argument of not sitting here? Great.

“Buffy,” she says, using a tone that is laced with forced patience, “I know you’re not good with the waiting, but…ya know, never mind.” She folds her arms across her chest, leans back against the passenger side door and smiles. I swallow. That smile. It’s all smuggy and evil – evil in that Willow’s gonna let Buffy have it way. “We have the room number; the research and the autopsy reports indicate that we have another two hours…maybe. We can either rent a room next door to it, we can wait in the room or we can wait in the car. In the car, where there’s at least some music and we can make some noise. What do you want to do?”

Fuck. Wilting into my seat, I prop my arm on the door, rest my head against my hand and watch traffic whiz by. After a reasonable amount of time, I sneak a peek at her and she’s already gone back to her book. Wonder if she’ll be up for a make out session in the back seat. We’ve never done anything in the backseat of a car. Could be fun.

My right hand stretches and I begin a slow caress of her neck with the tips of my fingers. I trace the outline of her ear and smile when she shudders. Her lower lip gets sandwiched between her teeth; maybe the hotel room wasn’t such a bad idea. A few hours to kill anyhow.

Leaning in, I pull her closer to me. Her face turns to meet mine and the look she’s giving me causes me to stop. Right, so no kissing for Buffy. I’ll just be over here on my side of the car then.

I go back to resting my head on the seat and close my eyes. Resting my eyes won’t hurt. We’ve got time.

“Buffy!” I hear my name and…what? Ow! I grab the finger that’s trying to bore a hole in my side and sit up.

“What?” I growl. Where are we? I look around and notice the hotel.

Oh, stakeout, right. Uhm…

Swiping at my mouth, I ask sheepishly, “How long was I asleep?”

“Two hours. It’s getting late and I haven’t seen anything,” her voice is anxious. Automatically, I grab her hand. Willow anxious? Not good. All the times she’s been, bad has happened.

“Why did you let me sleep?” I ask. My brain starts to kick in. Looking at my watch, I cuss, “Damn. 10:30. No one’s showed?”

She shakes her head gnawing her lower lip. I meet her worried gaze. Right, so Buffy gets to move. I snatch the keys from the ignition and step out of the car.

Stretching, I wait for her. When her hand slips into mine, we dart across the street. “What was the room number again?” I ask scanning the U shaped building. This hotel is vastly different than ours. It’s set up more like a Motel 6. The doors to the rooms are outside. The only lobby is the office where you check in and out. It’s off to my right and I scan inside looking for a desk clerk. I don’t see one and move forward.

“243,” she answers and slips her hand free. I reach for the gun at the small of my back. Better safe than demon snacks. I slip the safety off bringing it flush with my thigh to conceal my firearm. All we need is for someone to see a short blonde woman with a gun. Explaining this would be fun.

We make our way up the steps slowly, the sound echoes off the concrete of the building. Ya know, for a hotel, this place is way too quiet. As we reach the top of the stairs, I look at the map of the hotel. It directs us left.

Oh-kay, here we go. Three doors down on the left, I stop. Edging to the side of the door, I press my ear against the cold wood. The only thing I hear is the hum of the air conditioning and running water. Not sure from where. Helpful of the not variety.

I try the projecty thingy that Will taught me ages ago, “You remember what Jimmy and I taught you?”

“Yep,” she answers.

“Good. Stay behind me. And get something ready in case I need back up.”

When I see the nod, I step away from the wall. Squaring my shoulders, I lean back and kick for all I’m worth. The door splinters, freeing itself of the lock. Not waiting for it to swing all the way open I dart through, my gun raised in front of me. I know it won’t do anything but slow the demons down. I don’t care. Slower is better and me less deader in my book. I’ll use it.

My eyes adjust to the darkened room. I feel Will at my back and she flicks on the light. Dropping my gun, I look at the un-messy room. A room that doesn’t look like it’s being prepared for a ritual sacrifice.

What the fuck? Did I miss something?

“What the fuck?” I hear my lover hiss behind me.

“Uh, huh. Do you get the feeling we were duped?” I grumble.

I sweep the room. Looking under the bed and in the bathroom. Nothing. I holster my gun and rest my hands on my hips. Looking around, I wait for Will to catch up. She’s still wearing fish face. It’s cute, but I need her to catch up.

Her head shakes and she says, “He lied to us! Why that little, creepy…ya know, I was feelin’ bad that I let him think he wasn’t gonna die. Now, I wanna do it all over again.” She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts.

Still cute, just not what we need right now. “Will, uhm, ideas? This thing’s attacking tonight. I need answers.”

“Uh, well, uhm…” Her hands drop to her sides and then she begins to fidget.

I run my hand through my hair and look around. Moving to the nightstand that’s between the two beds, I pull the drawer open rifling through the contents. Phone book? Not needed. Bible? So, unnecessary. Oh, hmm, this might be of use. I wonder?

“Will, do you really need herbs for spells?” I ask pulling the local map out of the drawer.

“Depends. The herbs are mainly used for focus. Why?” she queries as she rests her chin on my shoulder and peers down at what I have in my hand.

“You think you could?” I hold the map up for her to see clearly.

I feel her shrug and she reaches for it. “Worth a shot.” She moves to the center of the floor and sits down Indian style. “Is there any…uhm, I need something to mark the map with.”

I look around and see something that might work. I snatch the bottle off the dresser and bring her my find filled with multi-colored sand. Instead of being a glorified dust collector, it’ll help stop a demon.

She looks at me slightly confused. “Hey, we’re working with limited supplies,” I defend my choice of markings.

Shrugging, she takes the offered bottle and dumps some sand out into her hand.

I grab for the first solid thing I find. My head spins. The contents of my stomach start a protest. I swallow down the urge to fulfill their request. No, they can’t come up. Buffy’s arm encircles my waist steadying me.

“Will?” Funny. Her voice sounds far away. “Baby, sit down.” I feel something hit my bottom and the weight’s taken off my feet. Oh. That’s good.

Right, when your perpetually impatient girlfriend asks you to do an impromptu teleportation spell, tell her no. I’m hoping we got the right place. At some point, when I can see properly I’ll know.

I try blinking and my vision slowly clears. That hurt. Lots. More than it’s supposed to. I breathe in a fresh lungful of air. Breathing helps. Apparently I forgot to...oops.

The air brings with it the smell. My stomach starts rolling again. This is not good. Nope. Non-good. Non-helpful too. I clamp down and bite the inside of my cheek. The small bit of pain focuses my mind.

Go me. I got the right place. At least I’m pretty sure. It smells God-awful. Like bile, blood, and poop.

Knowing I shouldn’t, I look up and wish to un-look. No, siree bob shouldn’t have done that. I close my eyes, begging to un-see the seeing that they saw.

“Willow,” Buffy’s concerned tone makes it through the sound of blood rushing through my ears. “Talk to me.”

Her hand grabs for mine and I close around it hungrily. “Good,” I manage. “Just give me a second that was a lot.”

Her finger’s trail over my face. Her cool hand comes to rest on the back of my clammy neck. I find my center then. Focus on that. I regulate my heart rate, slowing my system to a normal pace.

Hesitantly, I crack one eye open. Buffy’s hazel eyes stare at me concerned. I smile weakly and nod. “I’m good. Just don’t ask me for any more spells anytime soon.”

I close my eye again. Just need a few more seconds. I feel her lips press into mine. She mumbles, “You did good.”

I know that. I just don’t wanna look again.

Right, gotta open my eyes sometime. Might as well be now.

I return the kiss first. She’s still right there. I don’t need to see for that. I pull back from the peck and open my eyes.

The room looks like the last one. More blood though. Lots more. The body’s on the bed. Its face up this time. Gutted. Intestines are spread out on the bed. The mattress underneath the body is soaked in blood.

I walk over. Not sure why, but I think I need to see. The girl’s face is stuck in terror. Her last moments on this earth expressed clearly on her face. Her abdomen has been sliced open. I look into the hollow cavity. Yep, no stomach.

Well, stomach’s more work to remove. Once you slice open the thoracic cavity, to detach the stomach you have to remove it from the lower intestines…it’s, uh, fun?

Buffy’s behind me. I feel her press into my back.

“We need to leave,” she commands. Her voice is clipped. She’s pissed. Really, really, uber, all sortsa pissed. She takes my hand and leads me out of the room.

Luckily, this hotel is set up like the one we came from. The night air feels just as oppressive. It’s warm and stifling as we step out of the hotel. I look around for any indication as to where we are. I can’t see the name of the hotel. Drats.

I follow Buffy. She leads us around the corner of the building towards the sound of traffic. We pass a pool with several young people splashing about. It always seems surreal. Life, happy go lucky life, carries on when upstairs…well, there’s just not life and its most certainly not happy go lucky.

The sign for the hotel comes into view, The Palms. As we hit the sidewalk in front, Buffy wraps me in a hug.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks her eyes searching mine.

“Yeah, good now.” I smile and rest my forehead against hers. I mumble, “Just that teleportation spell took a bit out of me. Think maybe the distance was a stretch.”

She nods then steps back to pace. I practically hear her thoughts. The blame she’s placing on herself is all too apparent. I stop her and force her to meet my gaze.

“Don’t even think it. We thought we knew. We didn’t. We tried. Let’s focus on what needs to be focused on.” I set my features and continue, “What next? Do you want to call Debra and have her come out here?”

She looks lost for a second deciding.

This is going to be hard to explain. I’m not sure how we will. ‘Oh, yeah, ya know we were just in the area and happened to stop by this hotel. Pure coincidence that we stumble on another gutted corpse.’

I can see the handcuffs now. Not the good kind either. These one’s go behind my back and hurt.

“We have to, Will. We’ll explain that we got a tip. Didn’t want to bug her if it was a bad one,” her tone decisive as I watch her transform before me.

It’s always a bit of a shock. She wears these hats and they’re so interchangeable. She goes from concerned lover, to cop, to slayer, to Buffy, to decisive so fluidly. It’s unnerving occasionally.

Her phone comes out and she’s speaking while I look around the area. Our car’s two miles up the road. Someone’s gonna need to go get it. Maybe I can while she waits for the police.

Buffy comes over slipping her phone into her jeans. “She’s on her way. ‘We are not to leave,’” she mocks scrunching her face up.

I nod, “I figured as much. Is she pissed?”

“Define pissed?” she jokes back.

“Cranky, cussy, crabby?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s about the it.”

There’s a bench by the front of the hotel. I grab her hand and lead her to it, pulling her down next to me, we sit and wait.

“Buff?” I speak quietly as I rub my thumb over the palm of her hand.

She squeezes back and bumps my shoulder. “Yeah, Will?”

I bring her hand to my lips and kiss the knuckles. “The next time we do a vacation; can we go to like a deserted island? Or find someplace demon free?”

She laughs and nods. “There’s always the moon. I don’t think there are any up there.”

“We’ll have to research locations.” I scooch closer and rest my head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” her voice pensive as she apologizes.

I look up at her and fish, “For what?” There was something to be sorry for?

“Demons. Death. Mayhem. I was really going for a special, relaxing vacationy experience.” Her arm encircles my shoulder and she squeezes.

Firming up to the reason for the apology, I ask, “Did you plan the demon interruption?”

“No,” she pouts, “but it’s here anyhow.”

“No one could have known. We’ll…” My voice trails off as I see an unmarked come careening into the parking lot. On top of the roof, a small red light twirls in its plastic globe. Nifty, she’s got a Kojak light like Jimmy and Buffy do.

The car slams forward then stops. She’s out before the engine’s even off. “Goddamn, sunuvafuckinbitch. What the fuck do you two think you’re playing at?” Deb demands.

Buffy removes her arm and reaches Deb before she can get to the bench. Standing toe to toe with the irate detective, my slayer snarls, “Trying to help.” She poses, daring Debra to say something else.

I flash back to a thing I saw on the Discovery channel where two pack wolves circle each other, challenging each other silently with only body posture and looks. Buffy and Debra may not make with the circling, but the posture and the looks are dead on. I wonder if Deb knows she’s gonna lose the staring match?

I stifle the urge to giggle as Deb deflates a little. “Why didn’t you call me?” she snips dropping her hands from her waist.

“I didn’t…we didn’t know. I thought it was a bunk lead, but worth the check out. I was wrong. It’s in room one-thirty-five,” Buffy explains, relaxing as I put my hand on the small of her back.

“You two touch anything?” She marches back to the car and pulls out a small bag. Throwing it on the hood of the car, she pulls out a pair of rubber gloves and jams them in her pocket.

“No. Nothing.” Buffy walks over and snatches a pair from the bag.

“Wait, Buffy, what about the chair?” I don’t want questions being raised about our prints on that chair.

“Oh, yeah, one chair that was in the corner of the room that should have my prints. The corner of the dresser next to the chair should have Will’s. She got dizzy.”

Debra nods and snaps the gloves on. She eye’s Buffy as my lover does the same. “I don’t think so New York. No way am I letting you back up there.”

Buffy arcs her eyebrow and smirks. “Too bad. I’m involved. Deal.” She turns and marches towards the room we just came from.

It’s going to be a very long night.

“In the wake of a devastating earthquake in Southern California, a small group of residents were able to make it out relatively unharmed from a small inland town that was literally swallowed by the Earth.

Rupert Giles, Robin Wood, Buffy and Dawn Summers, Alexander Harris, Willow Rosenberg, and a handful of girls drove out of the collapsing town on a local high school’s bus. When asked to comment, Mr. Giles’ reply was ‘no comment.’ In fact it seems that’s all that’s coming from this lucky group of survivors.

The U.S. & California Geologic Association are coordinating to understand how such a disaster could have happened and what could have been done to help prevent it. Some private interest groups are also assisting the government, most notably a group from London, England, The Watchers Council Ltd.

Colonel Riley Finn of the U.S. Army is heading up the team and when asked about the concern for other towns in the area, he replied, “We are doing everything we can to ensure the safety of all of the residents in California. We’ve gotten some helpful information from some of our partners.”

COL. Finn was tight lipped in regards to their “partners”, but word from inside the camp says that the small group of survivors is actually a part of this endeavor. Rupert Giles was named C.E.O. of The Watchers Council Ltd. recently after their main headquarters in London was bombed during a terrorist attack…”

I scroll through the rest of the article mildly interested and wanting to know more about what exactly this “Council” was. Typing in my query, I wait for the search engine to kick back results.

Several come up. More on the organizations tie in with the disaster in Sunnydale, financial statements, some other reports given to the Companies House in England and the most recent article naming one Dawn Summers the newest C.E.O. as successor to Rupert Giles who took a position heading the Scotland branch. I skim the article and come up with nothing much. I nearly scowl at my computer.

I, Dexter Morgan, researcher extraordinaire, Mr. Impossible to Hide From, is having trouble digging up information on my newest prey. How is that possible? I strum my fingers lightly across the keyboard. There must be something. I type in ‘Buffy Summers’ once again and await a response.

As the page is loading, my cell phone begins vibrating across my desk. I look at the display and my face lights up. Maybe dear old Deb will have something helpful with which to soothe my savage beast.

“Hello sister dear.” I smile into the phone.

“Where are you?” she growls. Honestly I should be used to this. I’m not and that’s disconcerting, but never-no-mind. Something’s afoot. Deb only gets like this when she’s at a scene.

“Who died?” I ask flippantly.

“I don’t know, but I need you down at the Palms off Collins.” I tilt my head trying to hear her clearer. If I didn’t know any better I would say that Deb is “freaked out” and it takes quite a bit to get my sister into such a state. “Dex?”

“Yeah, Deb?” I soften my tone. It sounds as if she needs it.

“I need you here. Soon?” the last bit coming out more like a plea.

“I’m leaving now.” I stand and look briefly at the search that gives me little to no new information. I sigh. No time for Dexter’s extracurricular activities. I shut the laptop and grab my keys and wallet. I try for soothing, “I’ll be there as fast as I can drive.”

“Well break some fucking laws. If anyone tries to pull you over, just have them follow you here.”

“Will do. See you in jiff, Deb.” The line goes dead. I close the phone staring at it briefly wondering what’s going on. Slipping the phone into my right front pocket, my wallet in my left hip, I clutch my keys and make my way out of the den.

Easing Rita’s bedroom door open, I notice she’s in bed. I walk up to the bed and nudge her awake. I place a light kiss on her forehead and whisper, “Work. I’ll be back later.”

She mumbles and rolls over. So much for spousal concern. I make my way to the living room and am nearly to the door when Astor’s soft voice interrupts my progress.

“Dexter, where are you going?” I turn and see both my young protégé’s standing there in their p.j.’s slightly tousled from sleep.

I walk back to them and escort them to their beds. “Work called. I need to go take care of some things.”

Astor eye’s me suspiciously, “You aren’t going out to do…to…”

“To hurt things?” Cody finishes. I look sharply at him. Three words and such a direct question. I should be shocked. I think I might be. I hope it’s not showing on my face.

“No, I am not. I’m going to help find someone that does.” I make sure to put Astor in her bed first then set my sights on Cody who appears to not want to go back to bed at all. This is proving quite a challenge.

“I wanna go with you,” he demands. I try not to show my shock further as he continues, “you promised us, Dexter. I wanna know. I’m not going back to bed.”

I try to count the words strung together, but am completely flummoxed by the back bone shown by Cody. Never in the time that I have been with him has he talked so much nor been so demanding.

A small seedling of…pride wells up in me and I must wonder if this is what fatherhood is like? Is this a defining moment of ‘Daddy Dexter’? Insane things like this is a school night spring to mind. They should be in bed. Even little monsters need their rest. For a well rested monster is a mindful one. And all monster’s no matter their size need to be well rested.

I also glance down at my watch. I need to get moving. Does he know he’s making my sister crankier by the moment as I try to explain to him that this is work and not play?

I stand there between their beds, glancing between two small expectant faces. True, I have not yet begun teaching them anything. They are after all very young. Not only are they young, but things, other things, like the wedding, the plumber, and now Buffy and Willow have been taking up my time. I think perhaps these excuses only work in my head.

“I want to learn. You were supposed to teach us,” Cody nearly whines.

“I will. I am, but not tonight. Tonight is really about work. Someone’s been hurt and I need to go help,” I try for logic and the truth once again. Hoping for a payoff.

Cody tilts his head to the side mulling over my words, gauging their sincerity. He does this all standing in his p.j.’s, clutching the teddy bear I bought him a year ago. The contrast he presents causes me to feel slightly flustered and I idly wonder if Harry ever felt these things with me.

From my perch on the edge of his bed, he comes up to me. Looking me directly in the eyes. This too is out of character for Cody. He rarely meets anyone’s gaze. Tonight he does and tonight he bargains, “Fine, but soon?”

I nod and pick him up placing him under the covers. “Soon, very soon. Sleep now though?”

He yawns and nods while I look to Astor for confirmation, she too is heavy lidded. She gives me a small smile in acceptance of the terms. Satisfied that ‘Dark Papa Dexter’ has won this round, I kiss Cody’s forehead and tuck him in securely. Turning around, I do the same for Astor. Backing out of the door, I whisper, “Sleep now, I’ll be back in a bit.”

I shut the door to their room and try to remember what it was that I was doing. Their interruption of my departure has left me rather confused. The wooly feelings of frustration and pride rage war inside me.

I look to the couch and notice my C.S.U. bag. Right. Deb and a new murder. Slightly dazed, I make my way out the door.

By the time I arrive, Deb’s already called me twice. Perhaps she thinks cussing at me will get me to move faster? As it was I broke a dozen traffic violations on my way here. Luckily, Miami’s Best has other things to do besides hound a lowly analyst of the Miami Dade Metro Division.

I make my way through the yellow police tape and find Debra outside a room pacing. My sister, the foul mouthed pacer. I look around for Angel and can’t seem to find him.

“It’s about damn time. What the hell took so fucking long?” She glares at me. Usually I would give her trouble for her impatience, but the way her body sets. The tension’s nearly tangible as I move closer to her. Her eyes set to slits as she asks, “You were coming from Rita’s, your new place?”

“Astor and Cody woke up. I’m sorry.” And truth, I nearly am. I could have lived without the little talk I had with my two children-to-be.

More surprising than Cody’s sudden need to talk is Deb’s quiet acceptance of my excuse. She nods and places her hands on her head lacing and locking her fingers together. I turn and am nearly to the door when she stops me. “Dexter, wait!”

I turn back, my eyebrows lifted. I’m used to Deb and her neediness. There is something different here though. Something’s off. Something I’m not familiar with. She motions me over and I oblige.

Taking me to a secluded corner, she begins to explain, “There’s something different with these killings, Dex. I need your help. Anything that you can find. Any little special “feeling” that you get. I need to know about.”

“Of course, would I leave me favorite sister high and dry?”

She rolls her eyes and says, “I’m your only sister. Also if there are prints in there that belong to Buffy or Willow, squash them. They would be around the chair and the dresser if there were.”

Huh? Why would there be and why is my sister, one of the most ethical cops, trying to cover up potential prints? Other questions fill my head and I ask the only one that’s blinking in neon lights, “Why would their prints be here?”

She bites her lower lip and says, “They’re the ones that found the body. I sent them back to the hotel before back-up got here. I told Angel and everyone else it was an anonymous tip.”

I’m sure my jaw is on the concrete some five and a half feet down. She’s covering up for two women she barely knows? Two women who have found not one but two of the bodies, two women who have been gathering reports about these cases, why? The only thing I can manage is a curt nod. I turn around to the suite door, clench my jaw and make my way inside.

More Villains Than Heroes