DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dexter, Buffy or any of the other characters that are not mine. Jimmy's mine and I have enough of a soft spot for him so
Fox, Showtime, Joss Whedon, Jeff Lindsay and other people that make way more than me, own the main characters. For fun, really not here for the money (and the benefits package leaves a bit to be desired too).
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A few things need to be discussed before any of you begin reading. We can also me being home ill today for the early posting. First this story is the second piece of fiction set in the One Last Shot Universe. While I tried my best for yinz guys to not have to read One Last Shot, I think it would help. There's back story there and not all of it is explained here. So you will see some femslash (Buffy/Willow). If you don't like it, really you can close the browser window or tab now. It'll save you lots of grief and me the headache of wanting to beat people about the facial area with a dead fish. Second For the crossover elements in the story, the Miami that Dexter lives in and Dexter himself (along with his family and co-workers) are an amalgamation of the series that airs on Showtime and the characters as they were written by Jeff Lindsay (for those of you that don't know, Dexter is based off of a novel the first book is called Darkly Dreaming Dexter, there are three other books that follow). Side note. Italics are internal dialogue i.e. telepathy between characters. Thank you Didge and Valyssia, I'm sure there are others it's uber early and I can't remember all of them right now. Oh, and thank you to Powerman 5000 for helping out with some musical inspiration while writing this. The chapter titles are lyrics from Heroes and Villains.
FEEDBACKGood, bad, I usually take it all leave it here or drop me a line: email@example.com
SPOILERS: All of Buffy and Dexter, both the books and the show as it is a bit of a mashing of the two mediums.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Chapter 7 More Villains Than Heroes
Gotta hand it to the people in Little Havana they know how to make music to dance to. If it wasn't for the fact that Will and I have been walking around this place for the past three hours trying to find our demon, I would so totally have stopped to enjoy the sounds. Instead, we've been going from place to place looking for a needle in a haystack.
Who would do that anyhow? Put a needle in a haystack. Just seems like badness to me. And finding? So not fun.
We pass another set of old men playing dominoes and Will points across the street to the next place on our list. Local two-forty-three of the Veterans of Foreign Wars. Decidedly not the place I expected to house demons, but I've seen stranger I think.
She takes my hand as we cross the car deserted street. Seems like the locals like to drive as much as I do. Barely any traffic at this hour. It's only eleven, but it seems everyone's busy inside, drinking, dancing and partying. Better for us I guess.
We come to a small stucco building painted in garish colors. There's the other thing. Do people not realize that turquoise isn't a color to be used to paint a building? It's a theme. Cultural maybe? I'm not totally sure, but seriously, Ty Pennington should have a look. Does Extreme Home Makeover do whole neighborhoods?
"Buffy, door." I look up to Will and notice her holding the door open. It's not that I wasn't paying attention; it's just that lime green isn't supposed be the color of a V.F.W.
Stepping up behind me, I feel her hand slip into mine once again. Trying for casual, we go to the bar and take a seat. This place, not what I had expected. Its bar like, but more uhm, dated than that. There're plaques, flags and I squint, staring at the back wall of the actual bar. Between the two shelving units holding the liquor, there's a stuffed alligator head.
I cast a quick look to Willow. She shrugs and spins around on the bar stool.
So I'm the only one that thinks a stuffed alligator's head is freaky?
I follow her action and look out over the sparse crowd. Not much in the way of business. A few older guys and two couples pock mark the place. All of them human. I lean in and whisper, "You getting anything?"
I watch her lips purse and she scans the area before nodding. Cool. Guess she's got something. It's the something I'd like to know about. She doesn't clue me in. Instead she hops off the bar stool and grabs my hand, leading us towards the back of the building. We pass the bar, the lame excuse for a karaoke machine and the bathrooms. I'm about ready to stop her when it looks like a dead end, but don't. Her hand waves in front of a wall and a door shimmers into view.
Uh, hmm, not expected. Not gonna complain. At least this isn't a total bust. She pushes open the door and the first thing we're hit with is sound. A heavy Latin beat assaults my ears and then cigar smoke hits my nose. Normally the smoking doesn't bother me so much, but cigar smoke is different. It makes me kinda pukey. I swipe at my nose as we move farther into the club. Demons are spread throughout. Dancing, like actual dancing, to the smooth beat of the drums and acoustic guitar.
I try not to stare as I watch a three-horned Kinold demon gyrate, virtually humping, on the backside of the she-wookie looking demon that's dancing with him. I mean if Chewbacca had a sister, this, uh, girl, yep, girl, would so totally be his sister. Well, except for the tail. Her tail snakes up the demon's leg and begins massaging his growing cr uh, moving along, now - going quickly even. I hurriedly catch up to Will. Tails aren't supposed to do that. That was check, please?
Willow smirks at the shocked expression I know I'm wearing. I shouldn't be shocked, but this place has a totally different feel. It's way more uhm, modern than any place I've been to. Demons mingle here and half of them are even up to date in the style department. The décor is that of a new night club. It's smaller in scale but the lighting fixtures and bar area all look new. Maybe the place just got rebuilt.
Will motions to the back and mouths 'restroom.' I nod and turn my attention to the human bartender. Smiling, I order two rum and cokes and slip him a fifty. My hand stays on the bill as he tries to grab it. Placing my other hand over his, I motion him closer. As his ear nears my mouth, I apply a bit of pressure to my grip on his arm and ask sweetly, "I'm hoping you could help me out. I'm looking for a demon. Species is Naumbraug. You know anything?"
I pull back and notice the wince as he shakes his head 'no.' I lean back in and apply more pressure. "I'm sure you know what a slayer is. Do I have to tell you what I can do to do this place?" He shakes his head and I continue, "'Kay, so let's try again. I'm looking for a demon. Been kinda active lately. I'm sure you've seen the papers. This thing might be causing it. I just want to talk."
I feel Will put a hand on the small of my back as the bartender says through clenched teeth, "'S, a guy. Older looking guy. Off to your right."
I release his hand and he tumbles back grabbing at the fifty on the counter. I nod, taking a sip from my drink. Handing Willow hers, I scan the crowd casually. My eyes track back to a shadowed area of the club. There's a line of booths and I zero in on the only human looking guy in the third booth back. He looks to be in his mid fifties. Dark skinned and bald. He's laughing at something sitting across from him.
I look away before he notices he's being watched. Motioning in his direction, I direct Will's gaze that way. She gives a slight nod and I set my drink down.
I saunter over to a row of pool tables by the booths. Taking a stance in front of the first one, I pull the short sword I've been carrying free from under the back of my shirt. Did Versace know that light, puffy jackets were not only the height of summer fashion but also excellent for concealing medium sized weapons? I might just have to send them a card.
I keep the sword close to my side as the music in the club stops. Will takes a position off to the far left and nods. I cough loudly and gather the crowd's attention. 'Kay so it might be the short blonde girl wielding a sword in a demon bar that's attention worthy. Not like I wouldn't normally do this not now anyhow, but I'm tired of going from place to place. If this demon's our demon, I'll know soon enough.
I smile brightly at the annoyed faces of varying species of demon before me. "Hi, I'm Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Would any of you happen to know where I could find a Naumbraug demon?"
The club is dead silent. All of the eyes are trained on me. Slight movement to my left grabs my attention. One of the patrons comes up to me and snarls, "Get the fuck outta here, puta mugrienta!"
Alright so I'm white. But I'm also from southern California. I know enough Spanish to realize he called me a name. And really now, can I get something better than filthy whore? Is originality too much to ask for in an insult?
He cocks his fist back to swing. The spray of blood catches the side of my face and I cringe, clamping my mouth shut. His arm falls to the floor and he screams.
Will moves from her position and runs past me. I leave the wailing demon and the stunned audience behind as I try to catch up to my witch.
He runs. Of course he runs. Not running would have been stupid. But now that I think about it, him running just pointed to the guilty party. Silly demon. I take off after seeing him bolt from the booth. Down a hallway and out a side door to my left. Buffy's following. I feel her getting closer.
The exit door slams against the stucco building and I look right, towards the street. He didn't go that way. I look left and see a shoe round the corner. Okay. Left it is.
Why do they have to run? Can't they just stay still for a few minutes? I suck in a breath and round the corner. He's trapped.
Ha! Serves you right Mr. Hawaiian shirt wearing demon!
Fear radiates off him. With the fear comes defensiveness. He should be scared. Buffy comes up behind me and moves herself between the demon and me. He looks normal. Khaki shorts, knee socks with sandals really knee socks with sandals? Buffy's gonna slay him for that alone.
His hands go up as he stammers, "W-w-what did I do?"
Buffy rests her sword on her right shoulder, looking him up and down. Her hip cocks to the side and she chirps, "I just wanted to talk. You ran. We followed."
His dark olive skin blanches a little as he realizes his mistake. As he lightens just a shade, horns and spikes grow on his skin. The shirt and pants he's wearing shred as his form morphs to its truer image. Moving closer to Buffy, I watch him double over and pull the tattered remains of the garish shirt off.
He stands upright, tall and ready to attack. It's there on his stomach, a mark that proves we've found the right demon. Unadorned with spikes is a clear patch of molten brown skin. It's marked with the symbol that was carved into the bodies.
Buffy notices as well and takes on a better stance to attack. I know this is wrong. I mean I shouldn't, but seeing her fight, it's poetry really. I've always kinda thought so. She's so graceful. Fluid in her movements and I don't get to see her slay much. While I like the non-nightly slayage, I love seeing her fight too. Something's wrong with me. I just know it.
"Slayer!" he bellows.
Didn't we already establish this? I'm sure she made the announcement.
"I am," she says, bringing the sword from her shoulder to twirl it in the air. "Anyway I'm going to get out of this with this outfit intact?"
For some reason that pisses him off. I step to the side and watch her meet him half way. It's not something I've ever seen. His spikes take the hits from the sword. Almost like armor, but not. Small chunks of them fly in the air as she parry's then feints with the sword to land a high kick to the demon's neck.
I lean against the side of one of the buildings to my right and watch the dance. She toys with him. Going left then right. He tries to sweep her feet but she jumps, bringing her fist down on his nose. Black blood spurts out and I hear, "Eww gross."
The blow doesn't stop him. Before her feet touch the ground, he swings, landing a punch to her exposed left side. I hear, more than see, the damage the blow causes. The sound of fabric ripping, a rib snapping and her grunting fill the air.
She drops to her feet and rolls right, protecting her now injured side. Springing to her feet, she blocks a succession of blows to her face and midsection with her forearms and sword. I watch her back up towards a corner of the alley.
He lands one blow to her upper arm and another to her temple. I hate it when she does this. But there's a point. He swings dropping his left shoulder and she takes the opportunity. The small sword slashes through the air, hitting its intended target.
Mildly grossed out, I watch his head tumble through the air. The blood from his severed neck spurts up and arcs out following the body part. It's another weird thing. Just one of those immutable laws of the Universe I guess. But it never seems to matter how often you see things get beheaded or dismembered, there's this single moment of ickyness that just can't be ignored.
The ick factor here is sorta high. The blood finally falls and lands close to my feet. The head it well it does something that it just shouldn't. It doesn't roll. It tumbles in the air and then makes this splatty sound, landing with the neck down, against the concrete.
I've seen lots beheaded. I've managed to do one or two of them myself, but never, in the past twelve years, have I ever seen a severed head land like this. My tummy rolls before I can clamp down on the queasy. I look right and the body thumps to the ground. More ick. Yay, us ?
Buffy looks smugly down at the headless corpse and nudges it with her foot. "Serves you right. I mean killing the girls, so totally worth a good beheading, but I'm not sure there's a death suitable for your choice of foot attire. Socks with sandals! Will, can you make it come back so I can kill it again?"
I raise my eyebrow at her and say nothing.
She smiles sheepishly and shrugs. "Well, can you blame me?"
A small smile graces the corners of my mouth and I shake my head. No, I really can't.
I walk up to her and examine her side. It's not bad really. The rib's broken. I mumble a few words and press my hand against the injured side. Warmth spreads out from my palm into her skin. Not healed. But coaxed well enough along that it should be good by the time we get back to the hotel.
She places a peck on my cheek in thanks and I beam back. Our lives are weird, but good. No complaints from the Willow camp.
"So, body. Body that doesn't poof," she says, looking at the corpse.
"Yep, no poof. We could leave it?" I suggest. Although I know we won't. If her exaggerated eye roll didn't tell me the sigh would have. "Well, if you pick up the head and place it with the body, I could burn it?"
She beams. "Sounds like a plan." She walks over to the head and picks it up by a single spike. The spike's pinched between her thumb and pointer finger as she carries it over to the body. A look of utter disgust is on her features as she drops the head on to the demon's stomach.
"My job's done. Get to burnin' witch." She winks and I sigh wearily, shaking my head. That joke. So not funny. She knows talking about The Burning Times makes me cranky.
I shove her back and wave a hand over the body. It flashes for an instant, burning bright. Concentrating, I put a little more 'umph' into the spell and the body sorta does this imploding thing. Opposite of what you would expect, it folds in on itself till there's nothing left but a charred black mass.
Satisfied with the outcome, I take her hand and lead her out of the alley. She's still carrying that short sword in her left hand. I cough, nodding towards the sword and she gets the picture. Making sure the blade's clean she tucks it behind her back, concealing it in the scabbard under her clothes.
"So Will, we have some time left on our vacation. What's say we vacation properly?" Her grin's lecherous and it sends a shiver down my spine. Nifty.
My response to her offer is a grin of similar ilk. Vacation here we come.
There's a cool ice that runs through me on nights like this. I become more. I become calmer, more focused. It could be labeled as an addiction. I need to do this just as much as I need to breathe. 'Degenerate Dexter' is out tonight and will take care of not one, but two creatures that have called to him to me. It was only a matter of time. Their time ran out.
I take one last look over the room that I've prepared. This isn't how I would usually set up for one of my kills, but these two, Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenberg, are an unusual case. Instead of making them disappear, I'm going to leave them to be found. This creates a certain set of problems that I don't usually have to prepare for and deal with.
Instead of lining my work area with soft, clear plastic to prevent blood spatter, contamination and above all else, make it easier to clean up when I'm done working, there is nothing covering the walls, my work area, which will end up being the bed or any other surface in their suite bedroom.
My biggest challenge will be to recreate the crimes they themselves perpetrated. The biggest difference is that the good doctor will take the fall. She'll become the patsy as the evidence I supply tonight will support her turning a blade to her lover and then to herself. If I can, a nice little note left on an open laptop will provide a sweet, bitter goodbye. The only issue that I foresee lay in the way these two interact. Given the evident affection both of them share for one another, it will be hard to accept. I will have to pull from 'Deceptive Dexter's' font of fake emotions to write something believable.
I pick up the knife that I found this afternoon in their room. The knife that'll be used to cut up their own bodies the same way they cut up the three other women. It was a rather productive day. I begged off work a little early and informed Rita that I would be fishing and not home until late tonight. This freed me up to snoop one last time in Buffy and Willow's room. It was today that I found everything that I need to meet Harry's Code.
Not only did I find the knife, but fax copies of all of Metro Dade's files on these crimes. Also in my persistent pursuit of culpability, I uncovered stacks of information on demons and other occult paraphernalia. I mean really, demons, vampires and other things that go bump in the night? Of all the inane things I've come across in the boudoirs of my intended victims, I've never once seen as much silly literature. The only things in the night that normal people should reasonably fear are the demons that live within people like me and them.
I check my gear one last time. My attire is designed to severely minimize cross contamination. I entered with double layered latex gloves and my hair neatly tucked away in a hair cap. One funny thing that most criminals don't realize is that latex can transfer prints. If you sweat enough, the oil will cause markings through the latex and transfer on to objects. Double layering almost always prevents this from happening. My shoes are covered in disposable booties that I use at other crime scenes to prevent tracking. Green hospital scrubs and a rubber smock complete my outfit. Things are going to get messy and I'd rather not track anything away from this place once I'm finished.
I walk into the bathroom and unplug my stun gun. It's one of the two methods I will use tonight to incapacitate Buffy and Willow. Willow will get the shot of Dihydroetorphine and Buffy will get stunned. I've been through this plan a dozen times tonight, filling in the holes and streamlining the sequence of events. Buffy will go first. She has to. As a cop, she'll be skilled enough to try and break free.
The scene will mirror their crimes. It'll keep the police looking for the same killer and stop them all at the same time. I'm sure that the families of these ladies will mourn. The N.Y.P.D. will more than likely celebrate Buffy's service, but in the end it will be for the better. Two less monsters roaming the night. Two more to add to my collection. Debra will take it kind of hard seeing as how she's cultivated some type of relationship with these two women. Perhaps one day I'll explain to her what I did. For now, I find it best to keep her in the dark.
The back of my right arm swipes at my brow, soaking up the sheen of sweat. It's not too warm, but the only air coming in the room is from the cracked balcony door and I'm covered from head to toe. Checking the hypodermic one last time, I pocket both the gun and the needle and continue to wait. It's a little after eleven and I'm hoping that they will be back soon.
I move out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to wait. The way the hotel room is set up the kitchen counter will hide my crouched form as they enter the suite. From there, it's about timing. I slide down the counter side and face the hallway wall. The adrenaline coursing through me heightens everything, making it difficult to wait for my prey. But I have to. I sit and wait, occasionally glancing down at my watch as the minutes tick by in a slow, steady trickle.
It's nearly an hour later when I hear movement in the hallway. A muffled moan and graceless fumbling accompany the sound of a card slipping into its slot in the door. My being flushes, coming to life. And we are off. I watch the glass of a painting on the wall opposite me. It reflects their forms nearly perfect. They paw at each other. In a very graceful display, Buffy's leg stretches behind her and she shuts the door while managing to rid her lover of her top. A part of me is impressed with these two. They seem very much in sync with each other.
As the door slams shut, Willow tugs Buffy backwards, nearly to the hall. I crouch waiting, licking the small sheen of sweat that's built on my upper lip. In five, four, three, two, one they make it to the entry of the hallway, blind, unaware of my presence. Willow's foot slides in front of me and I stand. Without hesitation one hand plunges the needle into the redhead's neck while my other hand jams the crackling gun into the exposed side of the good detective. Willow crumples and Buffy turns to me shocked.
It takes a few seconds more than I anticipated, but finally Buffy falls to the floor twitching. Interesting. I shut the gun off as the officer falls into unconsciousness. The air fills with a smell of singed hair and flesh. My nose crinkles in distaste and I place the stun gun and needle back into my pockets.
Time for the fun to begin.
I pick Willow up by the wrists and drag her back to the bedroom. I lift her up and into the chair I have set aside for her. Securing her with nylon rope, I make one last quick check to ensure the strength of her bindings. I turn back to the doorway and head to the hallway. Buffy is still unconscious and I hoist her smaller frame up, carrying her back to the bedroom.
Laying her down on the right side of the bed, I pull her arms above her head and tie them down with the bondage straps I've bought for tonight. They were a specialty item in an adult store that I found. Since I couldn't use my usual plastic wrap, I had to figure out a different way to immobilize my victims. These ties go under the mattress and are held snug by the weight of the bed and the people lying on it. My hands work deftly with the straps and I quickly move to her feet. Securing them, I right myself and wait for them to come to.
Chapter 8 Blackest of Night
Pain radiates from my left side, spreading over my stomach and spidering down the rest of my body. My body feels heavy, but at least I'm flat on my back. I resist the urge to open my eyes, for now. Now's the time to take stock. The trick is to not alert anyone else that I'm sorta, kinda conscious.
The facts: I'm strapped down to the bed or what feels like a bed. My tongue is thick and my throat burns. Will's alive and somewhere to my left. There's someone else in the room. They aren't moving much, but I can hear a third heartbeat. Finally, we come to my most startling revelation for the evening: Buffy's not only being held captive, again, but is also down to her underwear.
Isn't there some law of averages that I'm breaking? I mean the last time this happened it ended uhm, poorly. Yep, poorly.
It smells like our hotel room. So it's a good bet that's where we are. But what the fuck happened? I was getting ready to enjoy Wiccan flesh and then pain. Stupid brain, it feels like it was fried. Fried? Aha! There was someone in the hotel room waiting on us, they stuck Willow with something and then ah the stun gun. Can I say ouch?
'Willow?' I reflect to her, trying to bridge our connection.
Nothing. I push more, harder, 'Willow!'
It takes effort, but I maintain the connection. Nearly sighing when I hear an internal groan. 'Will, don't move.'
'Eh?' Willow's groggy voice fills my head. It's weird. She sounds like she does in the morning.
'Me. You. Being tied up. Don't move. Don't open your eyes,' I try for firm, but I'm never sure how I come across via telepathy. Can I take a moment to say that my life still borders on an episode of the X-Files most days?
'Is that why I feel like I have a bad hang over?'
'They, whoever they are, drugged you. When we get out of this remind me to punch them. Hard.'
'They? More than one?' she asks confusion clear in her thoughts er, uh, question.
'I think there's only one. I'm not being gender specific.'
Suppressing a small laugh, I ask, 'Are you okay enough to magick your way out of the binds?'
'Yeah, my head feels huge, but I should be okay. Plan?'
'I'm gonna keep them occupied. You get out of it, keep them still and get me out of mine.'
'Tell me when.' The connection dulls for a moment then flares back, 'Buffy, don't be careful, please?'
Her concern warms me and I quell the small bit of fear I feel in her, 'I'll be fine. Love you.'
'Love you too.' I break the connection on my end and crack my eyes open.
The room is lit by the two bedside lamps and a man has his back to us. I squint, looking harder at the top of the head. Hey! I know that head.
What? Huh? And How?
The confusion slices through and I look around the room. On the dresser to my right, there are pictures of the three victims from the Naumbrag demon. Why?
I cough, getting his attention. I go to speak but he silences me with an upturned hand and fills the silence, "Good to see you're awake. Talking's not really necessary."
He slides up to the bed holding the knife Dawn had couriered over. I meet his eyes and press back into the bed. Ice washes down my spine. I should be used to looking into humans like him, but it never seems to stick. They're cold, empty almost. The grin I see him wear would chill other normal people. I'm not normal and fear isn't something I feel very often.
I'm not scared. More annoyed. He's going to have to explain what the hell is going on.
I smile up and meet his grin. Sweetly, I reply, "I'm always being told to not talk." I pause, watching the scowl cross his face then continue, "I really could care less what others tell me to do. It's a thing."
A small laugh rumbles through his body as he shrugs and says, "I didn't expect you to. But I will gag you if you get too loud."
My eyes flick to Will. She's shrugging off the ropes while Dexter's undivided attention is on me. My focus goes back to the C.S.U. man. He doesn't need to know he's about to get his ass handed to him.
I'm about to offer another sarcastic comment when he pitches back, up, off his feet and into the wall to his right. He flails and his body crumples. I watch a little wide eyed as he shoots back up and slams into the wall again. This time he stays there. Spread eagle, pinned and wide eyed. I don't think he's used to feeling fear. It's there though, reflecting in his features.
"Willow, uh, untie me?" Her chest is heaving and she's staring at him. Their eyes are locked on each other. She's pissed. I know. She hates being tied up just as much as I do. Considering the last time this happened, she's gonna be pretty pissed off. Well not gonna, more like is. Definite present tense here.
My words finally sink through and she snaps her attention to me. Her features, they soften instantly and she waves another hand over the restraints holding me down, snapping them off.
Uh. I forget. Her like this is sorta scary. I don't fear things very often. Willow always manages to ping my wig meter for some reason.
"You okay?" she asks softly, seeming to calm just a little.
I nod and swing my feet over the bed. OW! Damn it. That stun gun hurt. I glance down at my side and see the fading bruises and the pinkish, puffy skin. I scowl as I meet Dexter's gaze. I send him a sour look and reach for the robe Willow's handing me. She's already put hers on.
"Are you okay?" I ask pointedly. She smiles brightly and nods.
I secure the sash and grab for Willow's hand. Her touch calms some of my frayed nerves. Turning my attention to the pinned man on my wall, I demand, "Explain. Now."
He sputters, coughs, and tries to speak. He manages a wheeze.
"Words help. Try again." I squeeze Will's hand a little and his face gets less red.
"Hh-I how?" he sputters. Words this time. Not an explanation.
I let go of Will's hand and step up to him, tugging his body down so that we're eye level. Growling low, I say, "This isn't your chance to ask 'how.' What the hell are you doing here?"
"T-to sttoop yyouu," he chokes out.
Stop me? I'm full of sense of the not variety. Turning my attention back to Willow, her eyebrows raise at my questioning look. I read that look as 'what do you want me to do about it.'
"No, I don't need the 'exasperated Willow'."
She relents, folding her arms across her chest. "Minion?" It's sort of a hopeful question. Honestly, it's the best of we've got.
I spin around and bury my hand an inch from his right ear. Plaster plumes out of the hole as I snarl, "Which demon do you work for?"
His eyes are huge. Frightened and huge. "I don't demon? I don't work for a demon."
His pulse races, I can see the rapid beat of it reflected in a vein pulsing in his neck. And for some reason, the way he asked about a demon. I don't think he does. What's going on? My head starts in on a dull ache.
Willow comes up behind me and pulls my hand from the wall. She looks over my hand; dropping it when she's satisfied I didn't damage it. This should hurt. It doesn't. Punching things stops hurting after the hundred or so pieces of concrete you've busted through. It's one of those things.
Willow turns her gaze to Dexter. I flinch a little and a small drop of sympathy ripples through me. That look could freeze fire.
"If you don't know any demons, then what are you stopping us from?" Her voice is downright chilly.
He swallows thickly answering, "Stop you from killing anymore people."
And my cup runneth over with 'huh?'
Kill what? My head's still sort of fuzzy and I swear that he just said that he was going to stop us from killing anymore people?
"What?" Buffy cuts into my thoughts mirroring the words on the tip of my tongue.
I rub at the puncture on my neck and try to piece together what's been said. I he thought we were killing those girls. "What?"
"You two are aren't you the ones that have been killing the girls in the hotel rooms?" His voice loses a bit of conviction and simmers to slightly confused with an undercurrent of fear.
"No," Buffy scoffs at the absurdity of his question. I would scoff too, but right now, I'm too preoccupied with keeping him still and filling in the gaps. I turn slowly and look around the room. The ropes, the restraints and finally, to the pictures of the victims on the dresser.
I turn back around and his mouth is hanging open. I put up my hand to stop the words on his lips. "You thought we were killing these," I point to the pictures, "women. You were going to stop us. Stop us how?" The other pieces click into place and the true intent of his actions it it
He was going to kill us!
I clench my jaw and cap the anger. Anger is not good right now. Anger will lead to badness. I'm done with badness for tonight.
"Why do you think it was us?" I manage to get out. I need more.
"Your convenient appearances at the crime scenes. The information you had here. The knife. The papers. These killings started when you two arrived." He manages to get all of that out despite the force I'm exerting on his neck.
Well when you put it like that, it all sorta does add up to guiltiness. But we're not guilty. We just stopped the thing that was. He doesn't know that. And he obviously doesn't believe in demons.
But he was still going to kill us!
I circle back around to that thought and the room starts a spinny thing that makes me think I should sit down. Buffy notices and is at my side instantly.
I offer a weak smile and move to sit down on the bed. "I'm good. Dandy even. Just my head's all blustery." I sit down on the edge of the bed and rub at my temples. "You were going to kill us."
He blanches a little as I state his true intent. He was being skirty on the issue. This is no time to skirt.
Buffy turns to him shocked. Didn't she figure that out?
"You were going to WHAT!?" she screeches the last part and it reminds me of Dawn for some reason. Monks or no monks. Those two share a scary amount of similarities.
"Buffy, screaming? Not good." I try to calm her down. Truthfully, if I screamed, I would probably do the same thing.
She spins to me and motions back at Dexter.
Dexter! I knew I didn't like him! Darn it!
"Will, he was going to kill us! Kill you, me. I think, given the circumstances, I'm being too damn calm right now."
She sorta has a point. I'm not letting her know that.
I send her a sour look. "We are still in a hotel. I'm not sure how thick these walls are. Do you want to explain this to anyone else?" Her jaw relaxes as she realizes the truth to my statement.
Her cheeks puff and then deflate as she sits next to me on the bed. She reaches for my hand automatically and I lace our fingers together. She's tense. I'm tense. It's a tense situation.
Dexter is tense. The big ole' meany.
I look sideways at Buffy and try to figure out what to do. There're more questions than answers at this point, but we need to know. He needs to know.
'Will?' her voice softly presses into my thoughts.
'Uh, what now?' she asks as her thumb runs circles over the palm of my hand.
I lean my head on her shoulder and answer, 'I don't know.'
She chuckles softly into my robe. 'Great.'
'Uh-huh. He was going to kill us. He should at least know that we've stopped the killer. Do you want to tell him what the killer was?'
She tenses as my hand runs lazily over her lower back. Yeah I know, more people in the know about demons. Just what we need.
The real kicker is that if he was going to kill us, this probably wasn't the first time he's done this. How many people has he actually killed? Does he only kill people that kill other people? And what's the point of that anyhow?
Kill people that kill people to show that killing people is wrong? May have been on a bumper sticker somewhere, but it's true. Where's the sense? There is no sense. It's non-sensey and the questions keep piling up and I'm getting nowhere.
Focus Willow. Solution. Not the problem.
I feel Buffy shift beside me and stand. I watch as she begins a tight pace in front of me. Great. Now she's pacing. I shake my head. If it's a sure sign of 'agitated Buffy,' it's when she paces. She gets uber-tense and snippy. I'm not fond of the snippy.
'Will, if he was gonna kill us, I'd bet money on this not being his first time,' her voice echoes crisp in my mind. Well at least she's thinking again. The shocks worn off.
'That's what I was thinking. Ideas?'
She stops and looks at Dexter. Really looks at him. The seconds lapse and I swear it's a good two minutes before she sighs and turns back to face me.
Her hands settle on her hips and I flash back to the million and five times I've seen her strike that particular pose. From the first day I met her, to now, over a decade later sharing a bed, that pose normally spells trouble. Most of it she gets us out of with only a few scars.
On the very rare occasion, it's her being just plain old Buffy and wanting to be mischiefy. There was one day during my Integrated Clinical Medicine class, she comes in, hands a sheet of paper to the shocked doctor and turns to me. Pushing her jacket aside to show off her shield, her hands move to her hips, her right hand resting behind her gun, pushing it forward while her left rests casually on the side jutted out. Her smile was playful as the doctor called my name and told me I was dismissed.
The big to do was nothing more than her getting off work early. We had been too 'two ships in the night' like over that month and she was up to, as usual, no good. We took the weekend and went to this hotel in Connecticut.
I wish I could say that her like that now would lead to snuggles and breakfast in bed. It won't. She's planning something.
'Will, when I tell you to, drop him,' her voice fills my mind and I look at her like she's grown a face full of fangy, bumpy badness.
She rolls her eyes and persists, 'I want to tie him up. I need to talk to you without him being a worry. Drop him when I tell you and I'll tie him up.'
She walks up and grabs him by the back of the neck. He winces as her grip tightens and she nods in my direction. I release him, ending the spell that holds him to the wall and his feet nearly go out from under him. Buffy catches him and drags him sputtering over to the chair that I was tied up in. Planting him down, she quickly lashes a piece of rope around him and has him tied before he can try to escape.
I would feel bad for him if he hadn't tried to be killy. Unfortunately, he did and I'm not. She checks to make sure that he's secure. Satisfied, she rights herself, turns to me and motions to step out into the hall.
Yep, plan. I just know it's not going to involve Twinkies and kisses. Well, crud.
I follow her out the door anyhow.
I'm left abandoned and alone. Sweat beads and trickles down my back and face. It's cold. The two just left. I would say that's what I meant by alone, but it's not. I've never been without the feeling of having my other self with me. I've always been - I suppose the feeling would be warmed by the presence of my Dark Passenger.
It seemed that the moment Willow met my eyes as I was pinned to the wall; he tucked his tail between his legs and scampered off. I don't know where to nor do I appreciate the abandonment. One moment I was in control, he, we were in control. And then her. I'm tossed around the room by unseen hands and trapped underneath phantoms that nearly squeeze the life out of me.
Were the books about demon and magick actually fact? What have I gotten myself into and how can I get myself out of it?
Fear, frigid, foreign and formidable settles into my gut and I'm unsure of how to handle it. The predator becomes the prey in an odd cosmic twist and Dexter feels as if he's slipped into some nightmare, drowning in dark dreams. The fact that I'm considering accepting the existence of demons, vampires and magick from the presence of one small doctor causes my head to spin.
Could it have been the truth? More over can it be the truth?
I've never been wrong about my selection of victims. Of course the thought that I've never run into into a witch, seems to never have happened to me before either. The thought rolls through me, a witch. Like the Wicked Witch or no, like something entirely different than what the story books have reported.
And what of the detective? No woman her size and weight should be able to put her fist through a wall, let alone pick me up like I weigh next to nothing and shove me in a chair. But she did. And I think I know that if I was heavier or even if there were two of me, she'd still be okay with the weight.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I swallow. Sweating is a usual thing here in Miami, but I've never been this cold while sweating at the same time. It's so bad that I'm shaking. It's a simple cause, for the first time that I can remember, the entwined path's of 'Dear Dexter' and 'Dreadful Dexter' do not lay in the hands of each other. Instead it lay in the hands of two would be victims of my Dark Passenger. Two women who are currently in a heated debate in the hallway.
What are they going to do? Kill me? Turn me in?
More sweating is brought out by more of this foreign concept of fear. It worms and burrows through me. I need to come out of this situation alive and intact. These two can go if I can. It seems only fair at this point. I don't want to be Dearly Departed Dexter. I like breathing 'Dynamic Dexter' just the way he is.
I look up as the door swings open, Buffy enters first. The look on her face is not one that's pleased. And given the situation the three of us find ourselves in I can certainly see why. She doesn't move by the open door and I wonder where Willow is.
My curiosity is answered immediately. She enters quietly passing a silent look to her lover. I take in the two very upset faces and I think maybe I can get out of this intact. Maybe a little worse for the wear, but I won't complain. Maybe my future isn't in their hands after all.
More silent communication and Willow turns to me. Striding up to me, her thumb presses against my lips as she says, "Fides and Veritas, I invoke thee. I invoke thee to banish Apate and Dolos. Remove all trickery and deceit from these mortal lips. Grant him strength of veracity and sincerity. As I will it, so shall it be."
As she speaks, a hard tug pulls out from the center of my chest and my head spins. Willow steps back and I shake my head trying to clear the cobwebs her touch caused.
What just happened? Was that a spell? The spinning comes to a rest and I blink, clearing my vision. Willow's sitting on the edge of the bed and Buffy's pacing the length of the room as my vision comes back into focus.
"Ready?" Buffy asks. Willow's nod causes Buffy to turn a cold gaze in my direction. "What's your name?"
What kind "Dexter Morgan," I answer. What just happened?
"Why were you here tonight?" Buffy asks as soon as I answer my name.
"To kill you and Willow." Okay, this isn't
"Why?" Her hands go to her hips as she stops pacing.
I try not to answer, but the words come anyhow, "Because I found evidence that links you two to the killings. The police reports, the knife and other things. You two showed up a day after the first body was found. You've found two out of the three. Because I need to."
"Was this going to be the first time you've killed someone?" Willow asks this question as she fidgets on the bed.
"No," I say against my better judgment. Why can't I shut up?
"How many people have you killed?" Buffy asks.
They falter at my answer and if I could smirk, I would. For some reason the feeling that I've sealed my fate causes the good natured levity about death that I possess to fly out the window.
My future is definitely not in my hands.
"Why?" It seems that 'why?' is Buffy's favorite question.
How do I answer that? "They met Harry's Code. They were rapists, murders, child molesters. They needed to die. I enjoyed it and I killed them." I guess I just answered my own question.
"All of them?" Willow croaks.
"What's the Harry Code?" Buffy's curiosity peaks.
I swallow thickly then answer, "A set of guidelines laid out by my foster father Harry Morgan."
"Guidelines?" both of them ask at the same time.
I've caught on to the fact that I can't not answer their questions and as the words tumble from my mouth, I cringe. "They're rules that Harry gave me to live by. Make sure that the people I kill are criminals. Make sure I don't get caught. Don't kill for personal reasons."
Buffy's eyebrow is in her hairline and she stammers unable to ask any more questions. Willow's nearly picked a hole in the sheet.
"What did you do to me?" I ask the question this time. Might as well give it a shot.
Willow's head shoots up and she looks me in the eyes. "It's a truth spell," she answers blandly.
A what? "A spell? Like hocus pocus? Mumbo-jumbo?"
An annoyed look passes over her as she says, "A spell, yes. And it's not mumbo jumbo-y or well, I guess it's hocus-pocus-y, but not in the lame way."
Huh? "So the things I found today in your room are you telling me that's all real?" I can't believe I just asked that. It's not like there are many more options. I just knew that undergrad philosophy course was going to come back to bite me in the ass one day. If Misuca was here, he'd say, 'Fuckin' Occam's Razor, Dex. Occam's fuckin' Razor.' And I'd be forced am forced to agree. The simplest solution for 'Disbelieving Dexter' is to take the information they have and the events of tonight as evidence of magick, demons, vampires and other things that go bump in the night.
"Yes," Buffy finds her voice. The answer leaves no room for argument.
Willow's voice is soft as she asks, "Why do you kill?"
My head snaps in her direction and I answer. "Because I have to. It's who I am." It's as simple an answer as I can give. It's a cold, hard truth. I can't stop killing people anymore than I can stop breathing and continue to live. There have been very few times where I've wished it weren't the case, but overall, I like the person that I am. Evil or not. Damned or not.
Our eyes are locked and I know now that my fate's sealed. 'Devilish Dexter's' as damned as damned could be.
And for some reason the only other thing that I can think is that Deb won't be pleased.
Chapter 9 Heroes & Villains
I shrug off the fatigue and annoyance of the last few hours to check the restraints one more time. I still can't believe I'm doing this. I don't know why I agreed.
It's sheer insanity. Buffy's brain needs checked that much is obvious.
I give the ropes one final hard tug to make sure nothing's lose and for some reason I flash back to what feels like forever ago. Instead of Dexter's mildly frightened features, I see Spike sitting smugly in the tub. I see the peroxide bleached hair slicked back and the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. I smell the microwaved cow's blood. I shake off the annoying vision to refocus on Dexter's wide eyed look of disbelief.
Maybe if I was him I'd be just as skeptical. I know I'm trying to figure out why we can't turn him in, call his sister or do something besides feel trapped in a loselose situation.
I try for reassuring and say, "We'd offer you a more comfy spot, but " I trail off at his look Right that helped. What the hell was I thinking?
And we're right back to screwy brained Buffy.
He smiles tightly, nodding his acceptance of the situation. I shrug. Least he's smart enough to accept what's going on.
Shoving a pillow behind his back I cover him up with the blanket. Not the best solution for stowing away a captive, but it'll do for now. Leaving the small light above the sink on, I turn the main light out. I crack the door to the bathroom and make my way over to the bed.
Well, at least something's are consistent. I can still keep someone against their will with the best of them. Nice to know I haven't lost all my skills.
Willow's still huffing around. She's removed the restraints from the chair and the bed. They're in a pile over by the trash can.
I blink and clear my vision as the exhaustion returns full force. The headboard creaks slightly as I slump against it. I watch her pace the length of the room, snatching the few pictures of the dead girls off the dresser and regret slithers its way into my gut.
I've spent time, lots and lots of time wishing that things were different that I'd acted faster or done something different, but held off because of the sheer wackiness that revolves around my existence. What was my biggest regret moves around agitated at the situation we've found ourselves in.
And that's the other thing, this thing. I shouldn't have waited. She's beautiful, she loves me and like an idiot I didn't do what I intended to because
Because I'm a moron.
I sit up straighter and reach for my duffle bag at the foot of the bed.
There's this point in your life where you either clue up or you end up with a permanently useless stubbed toe. I think I'm clueing up. I'm tired of waiting until things get better. The long of the short is that they don't.
It's one thing after another. A tug at the corners of my mouth causes me to smile as I watch my Will move through our room annoyed and not just a little bit shaken. I get it. Reaching in, I remove the small box from its hiding place and slip it under my pillow.
Waiting for the right moments just don't come. There's never a right moment. You just gotta do it. I waited to tell her how I felt about her and that cost me years of happiness. It cost her lots too. I waited to propose to her and look where that got me.
It got me here watching her agitation mount into a full on Wiccan wig. I rally my strength and get off the bed. Crossing the room in a few long strides, I stop her from moving anymore. I look up into tired green eyes and try for the half smile thingy that I know she likes.
"Will, I think we've done what we can for tonight," I whisper softly. I don't need Dexter overhearing any of this. "Come to bed with me?"
Her face loses some of the tension and she nods, grabbing my hand. We quickly disrobe and slide under the covers. Switching off the bedside lamp, I turn and slip my arms around her in an embrace that I've mastered over the years. I spoon with her. My front to her back as my right arm strokes the smooth skin of her tummy.
My ministrations have the desired effect and soon she's melted into me. I suppress my ego and instead kiss my way up her neck. Her purr of approval spurs me along. Stroking up her side, I let my hand wander and play with the bits of flesh it touches.
"Hey, Will?" I whisper into her ear. Her response is a throaty moan as her bottom presses harder into me. I stifle my own moan and muster up resolve. "I, well, we " lamely, I trail off Christ, Summers pull it together.
I had words for this. I had this planned out. Now it's shot to hell and I'm losing any nerve I found.
I know she feels the tension spike and she turns in my arms pressing against me now front to front. Her eyes search mine as she smiles encouragingly.
I gaze back and find the backbone I lost. I trace the side of her face and lazily make my way down her jaw line. "What I was trying to say, is just I've been there have been thoughts. Good thoughts. And part of this vacation was to tell you about those thoughts."
She smiles warmly at my less than stellar attempt at articulation. Mustering up more of the backbone that's not, I continue, "We've known each other a while Will. We've been together for a while too. And with what I do. What I am. I don't - waiting isn't a good. It's bad. And when I've waited, ya know, not made with the seizing, I've regretted it."
Shifting slightly, I reach under my pillow and grab the box. I resist the urge to just thrust the damn thing into her hands. Instead I look to her and meet her curious gaze. "The night we found the first body, I had something planned. It got ruined and now after tonight, after coming as close as we did to losing our lives, again. I'm done. Perfect moments probably don't exist unless you make'em. So I'm making mine."
Revealing the box in my hand, I lift the lid and expose the ring inside. As cheesy goes, I figure I'm safe. I haven't told her she's the wind beneath my wings, started crying or any of the other lame things I've seen people do when they propose. "I know it's not really legal-legal, to ask you to be my wife, but I'll take life partner. Then when legal is legal for us to do the wife bit, I'd like to so uhm, will you?"
Her smile lights up the darkened room and I can see the unshed tears pool in her eyes. All I need is the slight nod she gives me and I'm tearing the ring out of the box. I take her hand and kiss the knuckle before slipping it on.
How does she do that? How can she surprise me so much after knowing her for so long? I glance down at the ring adorning my left hand. Its silver with a square cut diamond nestled between two teardrop sapphires. I tear my gaze away from the thing I didn't think I'd ever get. Not that I didn't think about it. It's just well, with what we do marriage is, it's not something I thought any of us would do or get to do.
But here it is and here Buffy is asking me for a major commitmenty type thing. I meet her slightly awed hazel eyes. I knew when she stopped me and asked me to come to bed that the argument we had in the hallway was forgotten, forgiven even.
But I didn't expect this.
I dip my head down and place a soft, loving kiss on supple lips. It deepens as I put my answer and my heart into the embrace. I slide my hands down her small form and cup her bottom pushing us closer together.
The tension from the conversation in the hallway dissipates and I melt. Glad that we decided on minimal clothing, I shift our positions and straddle her thighs. Not breaking the kiss I fumble for her shorts and manage to slip them down her legs to the bottom of the bed. I break off and motion her up to slip off her tank top.
She glances down at the panties I'm wearing and smirks. Her two index fingers hook to the sides and she tugs. The seams give way and before I know it she's tossing them on the floor. I liked those. I'm about to form a protest but stop as I look at her.
I smile instead and shrug. Deciding that they can be easily replaced and I've more important things to concern myself with. Namely the blonde beneath me and intense tinglies.
The little bit of ambient light shadows her, but I don't need much to see the look on her face. My eyes travel over her body. It's something I don't think I'll ever tire of looking at. She's not perfect, she's not Hollywood or what most consider to be the perfect female form, but she's mine. That's the important part. I'll take my imperfect beauty over any of the images Hollywood has to offer.
I allow fingertips to slightly graze over sensitive skin, cupping a breast and toying with the erect nub. Her small gasps let me know my attentions are having the desired effect. I move slowly, not wanting to rush any of this. I shift my weight and straddle her thigh, spreading myself open on her tensed muscle. Pressing my self down and using my right thigh to press into her center, I lean down to capture her lips.
I seal my lips to hers and she flexes her thigh bringing it up to meet my short downward thrust
Wha ? My eyes flutter open as I respond to Buffy calling my name softly. I'm nestled in the crook of her arm and we're kinda sticky. I blink and look up at her. She's smirking down at me while she plays with a strand of my hair.
"Welcome back," she whispers.
I blush slightly and mumble, "I was here. Right here, missy."
"Uh-huh," she placates me, sounding totally unconvinced and way too sure of herself. I'd be to if I were her.
Instead of dignifying her sarcasm with a response, I decide to play and close my lips around the closest nipple, flicking it with my tongue. She groans lightly and I smile around the bit of flesh in triumph.
She pulls me up and kisses me lightly before saying, "Gotta say, Will, if you wanna answer my questions with a yes like that at any other point in the future, I'm so totally up for it."
"I'll make a note." I grin and move so that we're now on our sides facing each other. I pull her free hand to my chest and kiss the knuckles. "Buff, I are you sure?"
I want to smack myself in the forehead as soon as the words leave my mouth. Of course she's sure. Buffy doesn't do things like this all willy nilly. Of course I'm not sure she's ever proposed before, but still. This is huge. For her it's monumentous. I should know better and by the mildly hurt look that crosses her features I know I upset her a bit.
Trying to recover, I scramble, "I mean, well, I know that we have our lives pretty meshy now. It's just that you and the " I watch her start to shut down and I know I'm losing her. Great Rosenberg. I need to learn to keep quiet sometimes.
She tries to pull away, but I stop her. "Don't Buffy. My answer's a yes, A great, big, loud type yes. It's just that I don't know."
She comes around slightly at my emphatic yes, but it's the plaintive 'I just stuck my foot in my mouth' look that swings her around fully. As I ready myself to launch into another tizzy, she places her finger against my lips to silence me.
"Will, I get it." She takes the finger from against my lips to only replace it with a thumb that slides across them in a gentle caress. "I've thought about this lots. It's pretty clear to me that you and I are a done deal. And I just want you to know that I know and I want others to know too."
She twists around and rummages around in her duffle bag on the floor. Popping back up, she has a manila file folder in her hands. She scooches up in the bed and lays the folder on her outstretched legs to open it. I can't see much of it in the dark, but I know official legally type papers when I see them. I look up at her slightly confused.
Sensing my unasked questions, she supplies, "I had these drawn up at the beginning of the year. It's a bunch of legal stuff that pretty much says you get everything I have when I die. All decisions are left in your hands if anything were to happen to me."
"I know it's a lot, but with the way things are, I just don't want to leave it to chance. What if I get hurt and you can't get into see me. I know that you would somehow, but I don't wanna take that chance. I don't want something to happen to me and you get left in the cold because people are stupid and think that we shouldn't be together."
Her voice hitches at the last part. I smile sadly at her and nod. I get it. I just I didn't think she would have put this much effort into everything. I nod at her to continue and take her hand.
"Jimmy helped with some of it. He got some of the documents that I needed. There's insurance stuff here to." She sobers slightly and meets my eyes, continuing, "Will, I know it's huge, but I've thought this through. So no second guessing me. 'Kay?"
"Okay." I reach for the file folder and thumb through the documents. I can't see much, but the headings are clear.
"I " she stops and tentatively starts again, "I was hedging my bets and had similar paperwork drawn up for you. I've signed everything there, you just need to and then it goes to Jimmy's lawyer to finalize."
Closing the file, I reach around and place it on the nightstand on my side of the bed. "I'll sign them in the morning and we can Fed-Ex them to him tomorrow."
She let's out a breath I didn't know she was holding. Her smile's wide and her eyes shimmer in the darkness. I see one tear begin to make it's way down her cheek and I catch it with a finger. Caressing the cheek with my thumb, I say, "Does this mean we get to hyphenate our names? 'Cause that's gonna make for an awful long name."
My joke has the desired effect and she laughs, breaking some of the tension.
"Honestly, I hadn't thought that far ahead."
"We'll work on it, but this does mean you're going to have to convert. And just so you know Torah classes are boring."
She rolls her eyes and I snuggle into her, resting my head on her shoulder.
"Will," she whispers, "about Dexter and what I said in the hallway I'm sorry. I didn't mean "
"Don't." I stop her. There's no need to rehash what was said in the heat of an argument. Instead I say, "I know it's not the best solution, but "
"What else are we gonna do," she finishes. "We can't turn him in. No evidence. We can't kill him because he's human. We can't just let him go 'cause he's killing people. I get that. I just do you think giving him the chance is going to work?"
I look up at her and my mouth pinches in thought. I answer honestly, "I don't know. I know that he deserves a shot and maybe we can turn him around."
"Will, he's a sociopath. Sure a cuddly one, but he's still a killer."
"And so am I. You didn't give up on me. You didn't give up on Angel, Spike or Faith. It's not fair to give up on him." My words are soft, intended to prove a point not dredge up bad memories from the past.
"Yeah, but those were different. I just don't know if pairing him up with a slayer is going to help. I deal with people like him all the time. They don't change. I don't think they can."
I understand. I've read the research. I just don't see any other way out of this. "I think maybe if we can give him a different direction, it may just work. He gets the protection of a slayer and gets to kill things. Things that should be killed."
She purses her lips and I prepare for another round of arguing. She surprises me by shrugging. Her features soften and she nods. "Maybe. This is it sucks."
My agreement is given as I nod slightly. It does suck, but I can't think of another solution. I'm glad she's on board. Now all we have to do is convince Dexter to stop killing people and start killing demons. This is going to end well, I just know it.
I'm surprised when I feel the ropes loosen around my body as I slowly become conscious. A small part of my brain wonders why I found the bath tub so comfortable. At this point I really don't think it matters. 'Dreaming Dexter' becomes conscious and Buffy's hands assuredly pull me from my porcelain bed.
I know they came to some type of resolution last night, but I don't know what it will be. I can only guess. Turning me in will probably be the best course of action.
If it were me, I'd feed me to a demon and be done with it. I watch wearily as Buffy leads me from the bathroom to the bedroom and out to the living room. Willow sits stoically on the couch. Perched next to her is a girl, no more than eighteen maybe nineteen. My gaze locks with the girl and her eyes belie her age. What should be young innocent eyes staring back at me are not. They're older than I could have guessed. The eyes of a victim.
Well, no not a victim. But the eyes of someone that grew up too quickly and with not near enough fun. Buffy and Willow have that look to them. I'm sure that I do too if you can look closely enough.
"Sit," Buffy commands. I dutifully take a seat in the designated chair and await my sentencing. She begins a tight pace across the length of the room. I can see her building up steam to something.
I can only wait.
"You know Dexter, doing what I do. Having done what I did. I thought, I at least hoped, that I had seen all the different types of monsters I was going to. I thought that hell, I thought I could just - not." She turns to me, placing her hands on her hips. Her look is - there's this sea of resignation and regret in her hazel eyes and I can't help but wonder what she's going to say.
How I thought this was going to go seems to not be going that way. 'Disquisitive Dexter' takes the reigns and my Dark Passenger; he perks up from the backseat.
She breaks eye contact and begins softly, "Last night I was reminded that, everyone, no matter who or what they are deserve the chance. They should be given the chance to redeem themselves. Being me. Being a cop, I forgot that somewhere along the way."
Her voice picks up steam as she passes a glance to Willow. Rounding on me she meets my gaze and it takes everything I have to not shrink into my seat. "So here's the sitch, this is Siobhan, she's like me. A slayer. You two are going to work together."
What? My mind reels. A slayer? What the fuck?
"Buffy, you're uhm," Willow's voice jumps in and she looks back and forth between Buffy, Siobhan and me.
She blushes slightly and stammers, "Right, back story. Will, you wanna take the Watcher speech?"
Willow rolls her eyes and then turns to me, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm gonna keep this short, kay?"
I giver her a slight nod, urging her to continue.
"The world is older than you know. Before humans, this place was full of demons, hell beasts. At some point the humans banded together and created a slayer. The slayer was a girl forced to accept the strength, speed and other attributes of a demon. She was also forced to help fight them. To protect Earth and the humans that resided here from them."
She looks at me to see if I'm following along. Truthfully, I'm on the edge of my seat. I'm eating this up.
My slight nod allows her to continue, "For a very long time, there was only one slayer. Things changed and then there were two. Now, there are lots more, over a thousand helping to control the demon population. Siobhan is one of the thousand and Buffy was the last of the one."
I nod trying to understand. "So Siobhan is part of the thousands and Buffy " I trail off looking at her. The one? What kind of Matrix bullshit are they trying to pull? "Like Neo?" I ask, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth.
I get a triple eye roll and shrink back in my seat.
"No, I'm not Keanu Reeves. I was the last of the singular slayers. My death sophomore year in high school caused a split in the slayer line. It's been down hill since there," she says's the last part wirily, a small smile creeping at the corners of her mouth.
I nod and purse my lips. Oh. "So what does this mean?" My curiosity getting the best of me.
"It means," Siobhan speaks for the first time. Her accent there but barely, "That you and I are working together." My guess Irish.
My eyebrows go up at this. "What?"
Buffy runs her hands through her hair and leans into me meeting my startled gaze. "It means that I'm giving you the chance to be less of a monster and to do some real good in this world. You work with our slayer to help take out demons and we don't have to take you out. We clear?"
I swallow the lump in my throat. They're gonna let me go? I manage to bypass the frog in my throat and say, "You're letting me go?"
"No and yes," Willow says. "We're giving you a chance to be, to do some real good. You can't just go around killing humans. It's not for you to judge them as you see fit. Demons are different. They thrive on true pain and misery. This is a chance for you to be more than what you are. If you're willing to help."
The last piece is said with an edge. The threat in the unsaid is clear. I'm not left with much of a choice here. Does the Dark Defender take a partner and go after true live monsters or do I decline and become Dexter the Dead?
It's really not so much of a choice. My dark passenger is howling at the opportunity to go up against something far more formidable than a human. Having a partner might not be too bad. I flash quickly back to Biney and something tightens in my chest.
I think this may be something we can work with.
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