Animal - Ch. 7
Aug. 31st, 2010 10:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whedonistI double park the sedan and scramble out of the car. It’s colder than shit. The streets are slick and my partner’s out for blood. The building’s as nondescript as they come. It seems to be the way it goes. Since knowing about demons, I’ve been to more bars, clubs and places that they call hang outs then I think I have human. They’re all the types of places everyone walks past.
I sure the fuck have enough times.
Buffy swings the door open even as the guy on the inside tries to stop her. Her hand goes to his chest and she just flicks her wrist. Poor guy’s body slams against the left wall and he’s down for the count. I sorta feel bad for him.
Dutifully I follow her. I mean I can’t do much more except watch her back and plant my fist in anything’s face that tries to sneak up on her. As we step through the second doorway, a few heads turn, but the rest pretty much keep to themselves.
This particular bar we’ve been to before. In fact, it’s the one place that anyone new in the city will usually hit up at least once. Buffy’s got the owner under her thumb which is good. She’s stopped a few bad things from settin’ up residence here. It’s not like New York ain’t got enough of ‘em.
The real kicker about this place is that I think the owner used the set of Cheers as inspiration. It’s set up so much like it that the theme song starts up in my head. Unconsciously, I start to hum, “Sometimes you want to go, where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came. You wanna be where you can see…”
I stand off to the left of Cupcake casually taking an interest in the increasingly loud conversation. Her voice growls a few choice words I think she picked up from me. I flinch knowing where this is gonna go. To say my partner’s “on one” would be putting it mildly, she’s not only on one but she’s riding it so hard something’s gonna get punctured.
I swing my head around as a pair of shoes goes sailing across my eyesight. The bartender’s airborne. He flips in the air upside down, slamming against a large mirror that hangs on the wall closest to us. It shatters on impact and there’s this moment where it all hangs. Time just kinda seems to stand still. It don’t last. He drops head first on to the floor as Buffy grabs my arm and pulls me out of the bar.
She calls out over her shoulder, “I’ll be back.”
I cap the snort. She may not look like Arnie, but I know she could take him.
I know the bartender and every other thing in here thinks so too.
We’re out the door and Buffy’s in the car before I even make it to the street. Sighing, I brace myself for the impending conversation. I slip into the driver’s seat, turn the car over and crank the heat a minute. A quick glance to my right and decide I should keep my eyes forward.
I pull out into traffic and head for home.
“Were you humming?” she asks from her side of the car.
I shrug.
The only other thing I get from her for the rest of the car ride is a grunt.
I think it’s worse than I thought.
It takes a good thirty minutes for us to get home. It started snowing making the trek up Amsterdam about as dangerous as gettin’ dumped in a prison with ‘kiddie diddler’ tattooed across your forehead and ass.
After parking in the garage, we make our way into the lobby and into the elevator. She’s still quiet. Broody. This should be fun.
We make it into the apartment and Red’s sittin’ in the living room reading a book. There’s a stack on the end table. The two soda cans and stained coffee mug tell me she’s been here for a while. She looks up and gives us a half-hearted attempt at a smile.
Right there with ya kiddo.
I take Buffy’s jacket and remove mine. They go in the closet and I go back to the living room. I sit in the recliner opposite the couch. And wait.
Ya know, even when the ex-wife and I were at our worst I don’t think we were ever like this. I know things haven’t been great between my two girls, but I’m not sure when it got to this point. Will’s hours? Buffy’s attitude?
I mop my face with my hands and try to kick things off, “By the looks of it Red, you got the news?”
She nods and says, “I’ve been on the phone with Xander, Dawn and Giles since Alex left.” She marks her place in the book on her lap and sets it on the coffee table.
“Alex?” Buffy asks. “You mean the A.D.A. Alex.”
Willow moves away from Buffy. Pressing herself against the arm of the couch, her arms wrap around her as she nods, again. “She was at the hospital. We were going to get lunch, but she started asking about Sunnydale.”
Buffy’s still all glares as her wife continues, “So we came back here instead. I kept it vague.”
Great. I undo the tie around my neck and pop a button on my shirt. The tie goes on the back of the recliner as I tug at my shirt and untuck it from my slacks. It’s way after quitting time. A quick glance at my watch confirms that one a.m. is way past my bedtime too.
My partner’s thin lipped and I know she ain’t gonna offer much in the way of info. Might as well give Willow the down and dirty. “A family of five. Except one. Little boy.”
“I know,” Willow whispers. “Alex gave me some information. The who on the victims.”
“What else did she tell you?” Buffy asks.
“Just that. She also said that Olivia and Eliott are curious about all of us.” Willow shrugs. “If I were them, I’d be curious about us too. I sorta just went with our canned response. She seemed to accept it.”
Buffy’s head drops back against the couch and her eyes slip shut. I can barely hear her as she says, “The little boy, Michael, talked to a sketch artist. He described the same face as the little girl.”
“We can assume this is a Slayer thing,” I say. “We’re gonna hafta duck and dodge some of the obvious questions.”
Willow looks over at Buffy then back at me, “I’ve been trying to match up the M.O. with any vamps on record. Any of the major ones. I’ve got the Council on it too.”
Buffy pulls a scrap of paper out of her pocket and reads, “The death of one is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic.” Disgusted, she tosses the scrap on the coffee table and looks at Red. “That mean anything to you?”
Willow’s brow furrows as she reaches for the paper. “I…it sounds familiar.” Her hands run through her hair as she thinks it over. An eyebrow lifts as she gets up from the couch. I watch her disappear around the corner.
I’ll give it a few before I go after her.
It doesn’t take long and suprises of all suprises, she comes back with a book. Sitting back down on the couch, she opens it up where her finger was utilized as a place marker. “The actual quote says, “The death of one man is a tradegy. The death of millions is a statistic.” It’s by Joseph Stalin.”
Buffy’s head lifts from the back of the couch as she asks, “The dicator guy?”
“He was the leader of the Communist Party for the U.S.S.R.,” Willow corrects.
Buffy rolls her eyes. “Like I said the dictator dude.”
I bite my lip and cap the snicker. Willow sighs and decides to just let it ride.
“Significance?” I ask.
Both of the girls shake their heads.
“There was the drawings,” Buffy supplies.
Red’s eyes grow large and she snips, “What drawings?”
“A lion and a star, Red.” I kick my shoes off and toe them under the coffee table.
She sits up at the new information and says, “First of all, why am I now just hearing about this and two, I need to see those drawings.”
I watch Cupcake’s nostrils flare as she prepares to say some shit she’s gonna regret later. I reach out and lay a hand on her arm. Her daggers shoot my way as I fill in, “You ain’t been home to fill in.” I see Willow wince and try to take the sting from my words, “We ain’t been here much either. There really hasn’t been time, Red.”
Her mouth drops open and words die on her lips as her phone starts buzzing across the coffee table. Quickly, she snatches it up and looks at the display.
“Dr. Rosenberg,” she answers as calmly as possible. She nods a few times and says, “I’ll be in as soon as I can.” She ends the call and looks between the two of us.
Wishing I could take away the pain that’s etched in her features, I shake my head. Can’t do much about it. God this sucks.
Buffy and I watch as she slips on her shoes, gathers her things and reaches for her coat on the back of couch. “That was Presby. They’re short and there was an accident on the highway.” She don’t say much else as she makes her way out the door.
Buffy’s head is already resting on the back of the couch. She misses the look of remorse Willow shoots her before closing the door. I don’t miss the tears on my partner’s cheek.
I trudge up the sidewalk to the entrance of the precinct. Looking up I see Jimmy and Buffy coming towards me while Liv helps Cabot out the back of a Taxi. Looks like we’re all early this morning.
I wait for everyone at the base of the steps and smile in greeting. Out of the five of us, Olivia and Alex are the only ones that look like they got even a little bit of sleep. Buffy’s just this side of grey and Jimmy looks almost as bad.
“Morning, everyone!” I say as we all climb the steps and head up to S.V.U.
Jimmy and Buffy grumble a greeting. Olivia smiles at me, but Alex’s manners take over. “Good morning, Eliott,” she says as she passes through the door I’m holding open.
We hit the bullpen and hang our coats. Alex looks over to see if Munch is at his desk and sighs when he’s not there.
She rests against a desk and asks, “Does anyone know when Munch and Fin are getting in?”
My mouth turns down and I shake my head. I sit down and flip my computer on. Olivia’s making the coffee while Buffy and Jimmy have taken over an unused set of desks to my left. They split the stack of files and begin flipping though them.
Looking up I see Huang come out of Cragen’s office and Don files out behind him. He goes to the computer board and I know what’s coming as he loads up the facts of our current cluster fuck of a case.
The rest of the team looks up and heads over. We all know what’s happening. It’s time to show and tell to see if anyone can think of something to break this puppy open.
The only problem with that is that there isn’t much to go on. Forensics isn’t pulling much. The kids aren’t a lot of help and of course there are no eye witnesses. I push back and stand next to Olivia.
“Alright people listen up. Detective Summers and Detective McAllister, you guys are going to be working out of the one-six until we get this thing wrapped up. Captain Johnson’s got a Uni bringing over your cases and we can set you up at those two empty desks by Olivia and Eliott.” He stops and unbuttons his sleeves and rolls the cuffs up.
Looking at Buffy and Jimmy while pointing at George, he says, “For you two, this is Doctor George Huang. He’s a profiler for the F.B.I. and our consultant that I’ve asked him to weigh in on this case.”
“Detective Summers, Detective McAllister.” Huang’s all smiles as he shakes their hands.
“Buffy,” the blonde says as she releases his hand.
“Jimmy,” her partner offers. I study the two a moment. I still can’t figure out how it works. For as much info as I dig up on them, it’s never anything concrete. And to look at them, I lean towards probably one of the most mismatched pair of partners I’ve ever seen.
Buffy’s five-foot-two, maybe three. Tiny, slip of a girl. Her partner’s not small. There’s not a whole lot of small about him. At six-foot-three, he’s sort of big. He’s soft around the middle, but not horribly so. With green eyes and light brown hair, the man takes up some space.
I zone back in on the conversation as Huang starts on the info we’ve got.
“There were some profiles that the childrens’ left for our sketch artists.” He taps a key and scans of the artist’s sketches appear on the screen. We pitched the originals but the artist is required to turn in the carbon copy. I’m not sure what good it’s gonna do.
Not only are the scans not gonna help, but the drawings are just a bit disturbing.
“I find it interesting that the children only drew the female attacker. I’ve looked over the autopsy reports and I have to say that I conclude with Dr. Warner, there has to be two killers.” George brings up photos of the vics and says, “The artist’s rendering is telling of the emotional trauma the kids suffered during their attack. We shouldn’t rule out the idea that the attackers are wearing masks.”
“What if they’re just deformed,” Jimmy snorts. For that Buffy elbows him in the ribs and he coughs.
“Under the masks, I can’t say –“
I interrupt him and ask, “Wouldn’t the kids have realized that they were wearing masks?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. These kids have been through a major traumatic experience, especially if their families were killed right in front of them.” He turns to look at everyone and says, “We have to be careful and realize that these images are most definitely distorted. On top of that, we are looking for two killers. A pair, male and female, who view themselves as monsters. You are going to be looking for a couple who are suffering from some family issues. They may have a family of their own or it may be a direct result of one or both of them being abused in the past.” He folds his arms across his chest and continues, “They left a child on the first one and Michael Steinman alive as well. They need someone to deliver their message.”
I watch Buffy remove her phone from her back pocket. She reads the display and looks up at George. Her phone slips back into its space and she walks to the bank of computers.
Interrupting Huang, she pulls up the lion, the star and the quote. “Sorry, doc, but this might help you.” She points to the lion and the star first. “These two drawings, the lion and,” she fishes her phone back out then points to the star, “this is the morning star. Will says that those are traditional Babylonian symbols for Ishtar. She was their goddess of Love and War.”
“Morning Star as in Satan?” I ask.
“There may be a small correlation,” Huang answers. “The only reason there would be is that when the Church began converting the masses from Paganism to Christianity, they tried to make it easier for the Pagans to convert. In doing so, they absorbed traditional Pagan holidays and built Christian ones with similar meaning around the same time. They also used some Pagan symbols and fitted them into their religion.”
“So Satan’s not the Morning Star?” Jimmy asks.
“He is,” Olivia says, “But I think what George is saying is that, He was given the symbol of, or name, because it was convenient for the Christian Church to give him that name. It’s unrelated.”
“Oh.” Jimmy goes back to studying the screens and Buffy.
“We still have a few leads that need to be followed up on,” Buffy says, taking center stage. “I’d like to split those up between the four of us and see if we can find an eye witness. There’s also the paper the drawings and quotes were left on and the lipstick that was found on our vics’ necks we need to follow up on.”
I sigh. The paper’s going to be a problem and the lipstick just raises a few more questions than it answers.
“The paper was old, like really old. Andre puts the paper at around the mid Seventeen-Hundreds. It’s an artist paper that was used then. The lipstick is from a French manufacturer.” She pauses and checks her phone for details again. “What we know is that it’s old. Probably turn of the century old. We can’t track down the manufacturer, but due to the ingredients, Andre says French.” She pushes the phone back in her pocket and starts back up again, “We need to see if we can find any more information on the leads we have. I say we break up and then meet back here after lunch.”
Man, she’s…the girl can be bossier than Alex and Liv combined. To show my annoyance at being bossed around by a kid that’s only slightly older than my daughter, I shoot a look to Liv who just shakes her head.
Huang and Cragen just give their nod of approval. Cragen goes back to his office and Huang heads out.
I look over at Alex and she’s following Munch up to a room. Olivia’s already got our coats and she says, “Looks like we’ve got orders to follow.”
She smirks. I scowl. She tisks. “Now El, she outranks us.” There’s this tone in her voice that just barely masks her irritation.
“Maybe, but I’m still old enough to be her father.” I turn to Liv and grin. “You’re also old enough to be her mom.” I duck as she tosses a pencil in my direction.
Maybe she didn’t want reminded of that.
We get down to our car and I toss her the keys. I really don’t feel like putting up with traffic today. Hitting the surface streets, she makes a left and heads towards the Parkway.
Guess we’re gonna see if we can find any eye witnesses.
“So,” she says, “I got Alex to talk to Willow.”
And?
“A lot of the stuff that happened to them in Sunnydale can be traced back to the group Buffy’s sister works for. Apparently, the high school librarian, Rupert Giles, worked for this council. He became close with Willow, Buffy and some guy named, Xander. The three of them along with Rupert, became the branch for the group in Sunnydale.”
“But this Watcher’s Council, on paper, deals in antiquities.” At least that’s all I could find out.
“Yeah they do, but Willow also says that they have a few subsidiaries that do charity, consult with governments on various endeavors and they even run schools for girls; they’re up in China, Scotland, Africa, South America and here in the states.”
“So the money and the appointment?”
“My guess is that since this Rupert guy was named as C.E.O. of a billion dollar organization, he made sure that he took care of the people that he was closest too.” She shrugs and taps her fingers against the steering wheel. “There isn’t harm in that.”
I lean against the door and look at her. “Are you sayin’ you think that these girls were just at the right place at the right time?”
She nods. “I know that we usually suspect the worst, El. I just…I don’t get that feel from them. They’re hiding things, definitely. I don’t think it’s malicious.”
“Alright.” I shift back and stare out of the windshield. “We drop it and trust them for now.”
She smiles over at me and I laugh. I think this is going to be a bit more interesting than what she’s anticipating.
I close my eyes for the bazillionth time tonight and try to let the sounds of the city lull me to sleep. I wait for sleep to happen.
And wait.
Yep, not gonna happen. I’ve been laying here for what feels like years and no such luck. It’s way late or early depending on how you look at it. In my book, the next day doesn’t start until I actually wake up. Let’s just say my internal schedule’s completely screwed. I haven’t slept since Friday night. That was two nights ago.
Sighing, I sit and rub at my eyes. A quick glance at the clock tells me that I need to be up in two hours and Will still isn’t home. She hasn’t been home since Saturday night. Throwing the covers off, I pad to the window seat. The rooms nearly black, but seeing isn’t too much of an issue. I part the curtains and stare up at the sky.
It looks like a black slate was slapped on top of New York. Figures the weather matches the mood. Of course, the mood’s been decidedly sour for a few months. We came back from Miami. Will and I were so strong, but then she took that job at the hospital. I don’t know what happened.
I pick at an exposed thread with one hand and wipe at my eyes with the other. All I know is that it all feels out of control. We don’t see each other lots. I mean we’ve never had tons of time for just us, but the time we did have was enough for us to be okay. Now it’s like the time we did get went poof.
Then with this case and everything else.
My head snaps up as I hear the front door swing open and feel Will come into the apartment. The question is do I get in bed and feign sleep or do I talk to her when she comes in.
I think of the last few days, hell the last few months and I get pissed all over again. I don’t have time to get completely ramped as she eases the door open and tries to sneak in. She should know by now that unless she teleported in and floated around the room, she’s gonna wake me up.
“Turn the light on, Will,” I say from my perch across the room.
She sighs and flicks the light on. I shut my eyes against the glare and give them a moment to adjust to the light. I hear her move around. A closet door opens and clothes are shed. Gathering the little bit of strength I have, I open my eyes and look her way.
Her back’s to me but her bra and underwear go into the hamper and I take a brief moment to admire her. She starts to pull on a robe and turns around to me, asking, “Why are you awake?”
I only have a brief moment to be pissed about the question on top of being pissed about Valentine’s Day before I see her face. There’s a small set of stitches on her right cheek. The skin surrounding it is scraped and a gross purple, blue color. I’m off the bench and at her side before she knows it. Hell, before I know it.
I reach up and gently trail my fingers over the laceration. There are spots of dried blood on her jaw and neck. Some in her hair and on her ear. What the fuck happened?
She answers the unasked, “There was a guy in the E.R. he was all hyped up. Meth I think. Anyhow, he got a hold of a steel tray and decided to play basketball with my face.”
Basketball? Eh? Oh… “You mean baseball?”
She laughs nervously and shrugs. “I was going for the sport with the bat…that baseball?”
I nod and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. I’m still pissed, but the worried’s more than the pissed which is suprising. “This needs to stop,” I say.
She looks at me confused. “What needs to stop?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask. I wanna make sure she’s not gonna pass out on me before I rip into her.
“I’ve got a mild concussion, like those are anything new, and four stitches in my cheek. I’ve had worse.” She smiles.
Under normal circumstances, I’d soften at the smile. Tonight’s not ‘under normal’ cicumstances. “Good. And the what Will is this.” I wave a hand in the direction of her face then at the clock and then between her and me. “I’m tired of it. I’m tired of not seeing you. Of you not being home. Of this insane schedule you have that even I can’t seem to keep up with.”
I turn away from her and look at my bedside table. There’s a picture of the two of us from her graduation. It seems like forever ago. I hear her start to talk, but I cut in, “You wanna know what I’m really sick of?” I wait a second. Gotta get the effect in. “I’m sick of feeling like the runner up in your life.”
I turn to her and hold in the wince. Her eyes are large and the tears there are about ready to over spill. And what do I do about it? I push.
“You took the job at the hospital and all of a sudden it’s like you don’t even care anymore,” I hiss.
Yep, I’m that stupid. Stupider still, I continue, “Do you know what Saturday was? When was the last time you called to actually talk to me? Hell, Willow, when was the last time we actualy had a conversation where other people weren’t there to act as a buffer?”
That does it, the tears cascade down.
“I can’t take this anymore.” I fold my arms across my chest and demand, “Something’s gotta give.”
I look at her and an image of Willow right after Oz broke up with her resurrects itself. Comparing the two, I decide she looks worse now.
God, I’m such a bitch, but…it’s like I can’t care. Not right now. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after feeling like I’ve felt the last few months.
She sniffs and drags the sleeve of her robe across her face, flinching as she catches the stitches. My hand twitches as I prevent it from reaching up to comfort her.
Her mouth sets as she goes back to hugging herself. “I know,” she whispers. Slowly she makes her way to the bed as I stand and track her movements. She sits back and rests her head against the headboard. Drawing her legs up, she hugs her knees and rests the uninjured cheek there.
I can barely hear her as she speaks. “I was going to wait to tell you. I guess now’s as good a time as any.” She sighs and looks up at me. “I gave my notice today.”
Wait…what?
She must see the confusion because she clarifies, “I gave my boss my resignation today.”
Oh.
“The Medical Examiners office called last week. I’m supposed to be at an interview in,” she looks at the clock, “three hours. I didn’t want to say anything until it was a sure thing, but…”
She trails off and I feel like a tool. A great big, useless, mean, stupid tool.
I walk to the edge of her side of the bed and stand there unsure of what to do. She reaches for my hand and automatically our fingers lace together as she caresses the still puffy knuckles.
“I’ve felt it too, Buff. I’ve been just as miserable. I’m sorry.” She schooches over and pulls me down next to her. She relaxes a bit and I lay my head on her shoulder. “I just didn’t know what to do about it,” she confesses. “We seemed okay when we got back from Miami, but we aren’t now. I don’t know why. I know I love you. I’d do anything for you.”
She sniffles a bit more and continues, “So I quit. Even if I don’t get the job at the M.E.’s office, I’ll figure something else out. I’ll start a private practice or join one where the hours aren’t insane.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She snorts and I feel her shake. “I don’t think you have much to be sorry for. It’s my fault. Everything just kinda went all kablowy and I’m an idiot.” She moves to get up sighing and groaning all at once. “I promise it’ll get better, Buffy.”
I watch as she shuffles towards our bathroom. She opens the door and flicks on the light. Turning back to me, she offers a small smile and says, “I know what Saturday was. Your gift’s in the top drawer of our dresser.” She turns back and disappears behind the bathroom door.
I shake my head and get up, curious to see what it is. I walk up to our dresser and open her underwear drawer. Lying on top of her panties is a small card and a blue square box. I put the card on top of the dresser and pick up the box. Pulling the top off, a classic, princess cut, platinum engagement ring shines up at me.
I…wow.
I set the box on top of the dresser and pick up the card that was on top it. Why’s it shaking? Oh…I set it back down and shake my hands out. Drawing in a breath, I feel confident enough and pick the card up to read the inside.
Willow
I lay the card on the top of the dresser and pick up the box again. The tips of my fingers slide over the cool surface of the diamond as I turn towards the bathroom. I don’t bother knocking. Will and I don’t really bother with manners like that anymore. I just go straight for the handle and push the door open.
I step into a steamy mess and by-pass taking off my clothes. Pulling open the shower door I step inside, clutching the ring box. I stop cold as I see Willow sitting on the floor. Her forehead’s resting on knees that are drawn up to her chest. Her arms hug her legs and the water’s just running over her head and back.
I drop to my knees and manage to wriggle a finger under her chin. Tilting her head up, I whisper, “You need to put this on me.”
A little light comes into her eyes and she accepts the box. Taking it out of its nest of crushed velvet, she grabs my left hand and slips the ring on my finger. I can’t really tell if it’s her or me that’s shaking. Guess it really doesn’t matter. She brings her lips forward and kisses the ring. She then turns my hand over and places an equally soft kiss on my palm.
