whedonist

Shadow of the Dead

She stands at the stove, sliding the last piece of bread on to a serving dish. There’s a part of me that wants to pinch myself and make sure I’m not dreaming. I’m sitting here in the morning with Alex, in her kitchen. She’s making breakfast. I need to ask her when she learned to cook or how.

She turns from the stove, plates in hand and comes over to the breakfast nook where I’m sitting. A soft smile curves her lips and heat spreads from the center of my chest outwards as I watch her watch me.

"Alex," I say, rising to help her with the plates, “you really didn't need to go through all of this."

Taking a seat across from me, she says, "No, Olivia, I didn't, but I wanted to."

I shake my head and fork another piece of bread onto my plate. Looking up, I comment on the decoration of the apartment. It’s got more of an ‘Alex’ feel. I grin and ask, "This place is a bit different than your last penthouse."

She appraises the olive green walls, dark wood cabinets and granite counter tops then shrugs. "It's....more me I think." She takes a sip of orange juice and then says, "In the program I couldn't do anything with my rentals. When I came back...I didn't want to do anything with my rentals."

I study her for a moment trying to gauge how much I can dig. There’s a lot I want to know, but I’m not sure how much she’s willing to share. I go for simple and ask, "What changed?"

Her head tilts to the right and hair falls in front of her face. I reach over and tuck it behind her ear for her. My hand lingers for a second, her skin feeling smooth and warm under my calloused hand. Surprising me, her hand covers mine and she takes it, entwining our fingers before answering, "Pulling your head out of your ass does wonders, Liv."

I flush, from the touch and the admission. I want to be careful with Alex. I don’t want her being scared and run her off. I want to take my time and relearn her from the inside out, but the woman is making it impossible for slow to happen. I suck in a breath and whisper, “What?”

Alex slides around on the bench seat, never letting go of my hand. Finally, she’s next to me. One arm pulling me to her, the other still hanging on to my left hand. “What, Liv?”

My lips purse as I gather my thoughts. Finally deciding on what to say, I start up, “What are we doing Alex?” I see the hurt flash on her face and then the walls start to go up. Quickly, I add, “I’m not saying this isn’t something I don’t want. It’s just there’s so much history. Can we even get past that?”

I watch her intently as she considers my words. Her lips press together in that way and I resist the urge to smile. A second later, she states her case, “I thought I was trying to win you back to the dark side. I promised you I’d be better and I’m going to be. Olivia, I know there’s a lot to get past. Years of hurt that I caused you. Hell, I did a number on myself, but I want an us.”

She releases my hand and cradles my chin. “That never changed. After Connors, after I came back and left again.” She releases my chin and moves her hand to the back of my neck to play with my hair. She smirks and says, “So do me a favor. Don’t over think it; I’ve done that enough for the both of us. Let me woo you. Let me treat you like I feel you should be treated.”

The words slip past my parted lips before I have time to stop them, “What if the wooing is too slow?”

A grin creeps up her face and she says playfully, “We can woo quicker. Cabots are known for their ability to adapt to more rigorous demands.” She winks at me and I can’t help but laugh. Her hand stops playing with my hair and she looks at me.

A soft vibrating stops the words on my lips and I reach into my jeans pocket. I read the text message from Elliot and curse.

“And I think,” Alex says into my ear, “that we’re going to have to wait on the wooing for today.”

“It’s just El giving me an update on some information.” I slip my phone back in my pocket and ask, “Alex, how much do you know about Willow?”

“Why?” she asks as an eyebrow rises.

“How much have you gotten to know her?” I ask a different way.

“We’ve had some lunches a few dinners.” Taking the necklace that I wear, she plays with the pendant and says, “We mainly talked about the charity, but I did get to know her a little. We both never really talked about our jobs. Seemed too boring, but she did talk about Buffy. Never mentioned what Buffy did and being in that boat I can see why. I know that she and Buffy are to be married on the first of May. I know they have a roommate, Jimmy.”

“She ever talk about where she’s from?” I ask, hoping I’m not asking for too much. I don’t want to betray any confidences, but some information I need.

Alex shakes her head. “Olivia, as much as playing twenty questions with you is something I’ve missed. What are you looking for?”

I lick my lips and decide that being honest is the best thing to do right now, “Alex, there’s some stuff about Buffy and her partner that aren’t making sense. Willow’s involved.”

“Illegal?”

“I don’t know. If you can get her to open up to you. Any information can help.” I’m not really happy about going this route, but I can’t trust Buffy to tell me the truth. I can trust Alex.

She reaches for her coffee and drinks before answering me. “I’ll dig some, but Liv, knowing what I know about her, there’s stuff in her past she’s not going to want to talk about. You have to see it in her. I did. I saw it in Buffy to.”

“Maybe,” I concede, “but, I’m also working a case with them and they’re playing games.”

She nods as my phone rings. Silently I curse. I really just wanted the morning for us. She asked me to come over for breakfast, knowing that I was going to be in the precinct all day. Sighing, I scowl when Jimmy’s name appears on the display. “Benson,” I answer.

“Hey, Raph I need you down at the corner of First Avenue and East One-Hundred-Fourteenth. Jefferson Park. We got some problems,” he sounds tired as he rattles off the address.

Curious, I ask, “Raph?”

“Yeah, seems you make my partner think of that crazy ass turtle, ya know the one that does ninja and shit. Raphael.” He chuckles in my ear and I shake my head.

I’ve been around enough kids to know who he’s talking about, but I don’t get the nick name. Instead of arguing, I say, “Alright, I’m near the Upper West Side. I can cut the through the park and be there in forty on foot.”

“Call me once you get to Eighty-First and Second. I’ll have a Uni come and pick you up. It’ll be a lot quicker. There was a monumental accident on Fifth and a Hundred ‘n’ Sixth. Bastards got it backed up to Garvey Park.”

“Alright, see you in twenty.” I end the call and turn to Alex an apology written all over my face.

“It’s okay, Liv.” She shoos me out, off my chair and walks me to the door. Helping me into my coat, she spins me around and secures the scarf around my neck. Pulling me to her, she wraps me up in a hug. Whispering into my neck, I hear, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Detective Benson.”

I pull back from her and smile. Her lips are a few centimeters from mine, so I close the distance and chastely press our lips together.

I close my hand around the hot cup of coffee Elliot handed me. Thankful that it’s warm and slowly thawing out my hands. Dumb, pissed off Buffy forgot her gloves this morning and the extra pair I keep in the squad car dropped into a puddle of city winter sludge.

Scowling, I look around the one-six and realize that whoever designed our precinct must have designed this one too. It’s like scary similar.

I shake off the thoughts as Elliot pulls up the freshly loaded crime scene photos. Jimmy and I look at each other, exchanging thoughts. Neither of us pleased with the turn of events.

I need to find this vamp. Quickly.

I sigh and watch Olivia come from one of the interrogation rooms. She looks at me, striding in our direction. She looks like she’s on the damn war path.

Idly, I can’t help but wonder if I look the same when I’m focused.

“Summers, Michael is asking for you. Won’t finish with the sketch artist until he sees you,” Olivia says this and I shake my head. She’s pissed about it. It’s written all over her face, but I just don’t know why.

Maybe I could care less on the why. The fact is some fucked up vamp with a serious need to treat kids as Snack Pacs is running around my city. Ya know, it’d be okay if it was just the adults. I mean there’d still be major suckage, but it would be manageable.

Instead, they pick on families and kids. My jaw clenches and I follow Olivia into the room. As I walk in, I see the little boy’s tear and blood stained face. The kid’s got his father’s eyes.

My chest tightens as I think about his entire family, mom, dad, one sister and a brother gone. Probably killed right in front of him. Why was he left?

A question for later. I have a job to do right now.

I look him in the eyes and my tummy clenches at the look on his face. I look away and shake my head. I’ve seen that look on adults too often. It’s the walking dead. They live, breathe, they have souls, but no one’s home.

Quietly, he asks, “Are you Buffy?”

“I am. Nice to meet you, Michael.” I sit across from him and wait.

I watch as he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. It looks way close to the paper that was found on the McCannon’s. “I was told to give this to you.” His hand shakes as he passes the paper to me.

Well, at least I’m saved from my earlier rumination. Mystery solved.

He’s Hermes.

I reach for it, not caring that I should probably be wearing gloves. It’s folded in to fourths. Thick and waxy just like the last ones. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Olivia standing there a look of shock on her face. Maybe it’s disbelief. Not really sure the adjective matters right now.

I don’t unfold it yet, instead I look at Michael and gently ask, “You think you can help us out now and talk to Kira?” I turn to the precinct sketch artist and motion for her to sit. I can’t help but smile a little as I look at the young artist. She isn’t much younger than me, but she’s got way more innocence.

Tons more than I ever did. At least until after I was chosen.

She sits down with the kid and they build a quick rapport. He asks her about her hair and why it’s dyed different colors. She answers his question with honesty and affection. Quickly, she begins pulling from him details. Small things to help put the sketch together.

Silently, I pray, well…okay not so much pray as hope really hard that he doesn’t describe the same face that Alison ended up describing. Sure, it was a great picture of a vampire, even down to the bumps and the eyes, but Olivia and Elliot weren’t impressed. They tossed the thing.

I touch my jacket where the sketch that was supposed to be thrown away now hides. What can I say, it was a good sketch and it’ll help me track this bitch down.

A few minutes and Kira is holding up the drawing for Michael to approve. The fear on his face as she shows him her work is enough for me. I touch her shoulder and ask, “Can I see it please?”

She turns it around as Olivia moves to Michael’s side glancing at the sketch and then immediately comforting the boy.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The same face as the one in my jacket, fangs and all stare back at me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Thanks,” I manage. She knows when she’s done and slips the paper from her board, resting it face down on the table. I don’t watch her leave the room. Instead, I finger the edge of the paper in my hands. The wax leaving a slight film where I’ve rubbed it.

I take a few minutes and watch Olivia with the boy. She’s so easy and open with kids. It’s pretty neat to watch. She’s got a touch, kinda like my mom used to have. Even the neighborhood kids I used to play with all ended up at my house while my mom cleaned up the usual scrapes and cuts kids usually get.

They trusted my mom, like this kid trusts Olivia.

She quiets him down enough and he looks at me. Eying me. Olivia is doing the same, but she has a different look on her face. It’s one that’s way curious. Her eyes dart to the paper in my hands and silently I acknowledge the request.

I unfold the paper and read the neatly scripted print.

“The death of one is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic.”

A low growl escapes me as I resist the urge to ball the stupid thing up and throw it in the trash.

Just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

I push back from the table and toss the paper on to it. Without a word, I’m out of my seat and out the door, rushing towards the outside.

I need air. I needed to get out of that room. I come out on a second floor landing, an alley below me. I grab the cold railing and launch myself over the side. Not really caring if anyone sees me or not. The thick layer of frozen snow cushions my impact with the alley floor.

I should be freezing. I should be worried about frostbite. None of it registers. Stalking towards the back, I stop at the end of the alley. Not sure where to go or what to do, I spin around and punch the side of the building. I feel it shudder. Small chunks of brick fly at me. I punch it again. More brick flies. I pull back, steadying my shaking fist for a third strike when a hand closes around my wrist.

“I don’t think,” the usually gruff voice, now soft and soothing says, “Cupcake, that the building did much for you to beat the tar out of it.”

My jaw clenches. I’m ready to bite back, but he’s right. The fight leaves me and I slump back against his solid form.

“C’mon, kiddo, let’s get your hand washed off.” He guides me back to the middle of the alley. A side door is propped open and he leads me through it. “Red’ll be mad if I don’t take care of that hand.”

The mention of Will’s nickname causes more pain. My non-bloody mangled hand reaches into my pocket to finger the small red box. I was supposed to give her the Valentine’s Day gift this morning, but she left me with only a peck on the cheek as I feigned sleep. I doubt she knows what today is.

I'm sure there are a dozen reasons why I dislike hospitals. Working with S.V.U., I know, is the primary. Yet, here I am, dropping off the last check to the hospital director. Despite, some of the remodeling the hospital's gone through to make it appear less like a hospital and more like someplace you would like to be, it's still a hospital.

Snaking my way around a cart, I hang a left at the end of the hall and head for the main nurses station in the E.R. One of the hospital workers smiles up at me as I approach and I ask, “Is Dr. Rosenberg on today?”

“She is. Would you like me to page her?” She reaches for the phone as I nod. I watch as she presses a few buttons and then replaces the receiver. “She should be here in a minute.” She motions behind me to a set of orange plastic chairs and says, “Have a seat and we’ll get you when she swings in.”

“Thank you,” I say and turn to sit in the chairs. It isn’t more than three minutes later when I watch Willow stride up to the nurses’ station.

“What can I do for you, Connie?” Willow asks. She sounds a little tired. If she really works the hours that she says she does, I would be to.

“You have a visitor,” Connie says, pointing over Willow’s shoulder to me.

Willow spins around and recognition causes a small smile to tug at her lips. “Alex.”

“Hi.” I stand and join her at the station. “Sorry to drop in. I was just dropping off that last check.”

“Good. Hey, I wanted to…” she stops and chews on her bottom lip before picking back up, “Well, I just wanted to say thanks for the chance to help. It was fun.”

Smiling, I nod. “It was.” I look at the dark circles under her eyes, the way that she’s pulled her hair back haphazardly and I realize she must have been here for a while. Rethinking my original intent to come see her, I say, “I was going to see if you had time to grab a bite to eat, but…”

“I would actually love to,” she says relieved. “My shift ended an hour ago and I’ve been here since four this morning.” She removes the stethoscope from around her neck and shoves it in a lab coat pocket. “Come on,” she says, motioning to follow her.

We weave our way down a few hallways and I follow her into a room. I look around the empty lounge and she says, “Thank you, again.” She turns to a bank of lockers and puts in a combination to open hers. “You gave me an excuse to get out of here.”

I smirk. At least I can be a little bit of help. “Glad to be of service.” I catch the inside door of her locker. There are a few pictures up. One of her and Buffy cuddled up on the couch together asleep. Another of Buffy and a tall, large man in dress blues. The other shows a family, the father has an eye patch over his right eye, the mother is smirking in the photo, but her you can tell she’s at least happy as she holds a giggling little girl. I come up behind her and touch the picture, “Cute family.”

She looks at me, eyebrow raised. “God, don’t ever let Faith here you say that.” She shakes her head and laughs.

“Faith?” I ask.

She points to the smirking mom. Ah.

She points to the man and says, “That’s Xander. Next to Buffy, he’s my oldest friend.” Her finger moves to the little girl, “And this is Izzy.”

“Izzy?” I ask. Funny name for a pretty little girl.

“Short for Isabella.” She hangs her lab coat and puts on a winter one.

Before I can stop myself, I ask, “Are they from Sunnydale, to?”

She bristles momentarily and then nods. “Been doing some reading?”

“Actually,” I say apologetically, “no. Olivia and Elliot have.”

She looks around the locker room and seems relieved that no one is around to hear our conversation. “Let’s get out of here. This isn’t -” She doesn’t finish the sentence and just leaves me standing there.

I do my best to catch up with her. We stride down the hallways and out the double set of doors. She hails a cab and motions for me to get inside. Politely, she tells the cab driver an address on the Upper West Side.

I look at her with an upturned eyebrow. She shrugs and says, “Home is better. We can call and get some delivery from the Red Dragon.”

I simply nod and wait as the driver takes us south on Amsterdam. He hangs a left at One-Hundredth and pulls up next to an apartment building. Willow hands him the fare, before following me out of the cab and into he building.

The lobby’s all gold and silver platting, mirrors and open airy spaces. I can see why Olivia and Elliot’s suspicions were raised a little. Even if you combine salaries, I know what a place in a place like this costs per month.

We ride the elevator in silence and it stops on the fourteenth floor. We exit and head left to the last door on the right. She allows me to enter first and smiles a little. There are still some moving boxes lying around, but the place is nice. Comfortable. I’m assuming they haven’t been here that long, but it feels like a home.

“I’m going to go change. There’s a phone on the coffee table. The menu to Pe King’s in the drawer on the end table. Go ahead and order. I’ll take a number seven.” She tosses her coat on top of a box and turns right, closing a door to one of the bedrooms.

I look around a bit more, the living room and dining room is all one space and the kitchen is a passageway off to the right of the door. The furniture is a soft brown leather set of couches and one recliner. The T.V is mounted on the far wall, while the wall above the couch holds pictures of what I can assume to be family and friends.

I move to the only end table and pull out the drawer discreetly tucked away underneath. I smirk at the treasure trove of take out menus they have stored. It’s really only something I’ve seen New Yorkers do. We do love our take out. I sink into the soft leather as I pick up the phone and place the order.

As I set the phone down, Willow comes out looking a little more refreshed and comfortable in beige cargo pants and an N.Y.P.D t-shirt. She smiles and plops down in the recliner, groaning in appreciation.

“Food will be here in twenty minutes,” I say.

She nods and asks, “Do you want something to drink?”

“I’ll wait until the food gets here.” I scoot back into the couch and she looks at me.

“So, what do you know about Sunnydale?” she asks, her tone mildly suspicious.

I would like to curse Olivia for asking this. I’m afraid I’ve lost the connection with Willow that I’d built. The few times that we’ve gotten together had been fun, light. I couldn’t help but think that if I’d had a friend like her in the program it would have been a lot easier.

Deciding on a course of action, I go for blunt, “Truthfully, not a whole lot. That’s really not why I asked.”

She shifts in her chair and I try to affect an air of casualty as I continue, “To be honest, Willow, I was asked to see how much information you were willing to share.”

“And if the answer’s not a whole bunch?” She’s tense and defensive.

Exactly how I don’t want her to be.

“Then that’s fine.” I lock eyes with her, trying to express the sincerity, “I know a thing or two about wanting to keep secrets, but I will say this, your fiancé and her partner are working with my friends. I would hope that if they have information that is pertinent to the investigation that they would share.”

Willow thankfully relaxes as she sees the truth in my words. She deflates and looks younger than she actually is. “Alex, it’s complicated, but I can tell you that it’s not a factor. If they aren’t sharing information they’re doing it because they have to. Not because they want to.”

“Bull. Do you know that four more bodies turned up today? A family of five. One little boy was spared. A family, Willow.” I sit up and drive my point home, “Ira and Joyce Steinman parents of Bethany, age twelve, Joel, age fifteen and Michael, who lived, age nine.”

Her face falls as the names roll off my tongue.

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