FIC: Female of the Species(Part 3)

["Pat Kelly" <bandits@xxxxxxxxx>]

Hey.

Leslie McKenna's email: McKenna@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Now, Part 3 -

PART THREE

Like Xander, Buffy also experienced disturbing dreams that night. Tossing and turning in bed, she was plunged into a netherworld of demons. In her dream, Buffy couldn't see the demons - they were shrouded in shadow - but she knew what they were well enough. She sensed them, scented them, and readied herself for a fight. But instead of attacking her, the demons seemed to welcome her presence.

"Welcome Slayer," came a voice from the shadows. A female voice, honey-sweet yet with a bitter undertone.

Buffy looked around her, trying to discern the speaker, but although she could see a vague feminine shape, she could see nothing else. Tensed herself more, thinking this welcome was false. That as soon as she dropped her guard, they'd attack.

"We wish you no harm, Slayer," the voice continued sincerely. "We have nothing against you and your kind."

"You're demons," Buffy snarled, whirling around, trying to stay aware of any activity around her. "It's my Sacred Duty to wipe you all off the face of the earth and send you back to Hell."

"Not all demons," the voice cajoled. "We will bring humans into a glorious new age where violence, war, and heartbreak will be consigned to history. Will you fight against that?"

This was a new concept for Buffy. Sure, she knew it was a dream, and quite often dreams meant other than they appeared, but she'd never heard of demons promising a new age for man. Not a good age, anyway. Usually it was all fire and brimstone and painful death. Confused, she didn't answer.

"You can be glorious too, Buffy. You and your Sorceress. Power and love combined. Forever and ever."

Ah, the voice of temptation. When they weren't attacking, demons loved to tempt. Buffy understood now. Everything that had been said was a lie. But the voice was seductive, wasn't it? Although Buffy knew it was evil, a part of her couldn't help being intrigued. Couldn't help but be attracted.

"Who are you?" she asked. But she heard laughter whispering around her which became increasingly distant, until finally it ceased.

"You'll find out." The voice, disembodied now, promised.

And then Buffy woke.

Daylight streamed in through the windows of the apartment she and Willow shared. Early morning sunshine on Willow's hair, spread out across the pillows beside Buffy, made it appear fiery. Perhaps waking because Buffy had awoken, Willow opened her eyes, smiled.

"Hey," she murmured.

"Hey," Buffy responded. Leaned over, planted a small kiss on Willow's mouth. "I hope I didn't disturb you."

"No big deal. You can disturb me whenever you like." Willow turned to look at the clock. "Besides, it's almost time to get up anyway." As though on cue, the alarm beeped, and they both laughed, although Buffy knew her laugh was kind of false and strained. "Something happened, Buffy?"

Well, of course Willow knew something had happened. No secrets between Buffy and Willow. Secrets were pretty much impossible with the soul-bond they shared. So Buffy shrugged, smiled, feeling both concerned and foolish at the same time.

"Had a dream about demons," she mumbled.

"Oooh. Nasty demons." Willow sympathised, but Buffy shook her head.

"Nasty demons I can deal with. These demons. I don't know, Will. They seemed almost. Actually, I was kinda drawn to them." She went on to tell Willow the details, such as they were, of the dream.

Willow frowned.

"That doesn't sound too good. Doesn't sound too accurate either. You've never felt that way before." Then Willow flushed as she remembered. "Oh, well, unless you count Angel of course."

"I can't discount him, can I, Will? He was a big part of my life. Apart from you, the biggest. Till he went bad - even then, I guess, because of the things he did before we killed him, because I was still obsessed. This is gonna sound paranoid, but. D'you think a part of me is attracted to the dark side?"

Willow laughed.

"You're right, it does sound paranoid. One relationship with a souled vampire and a weird uncharacteristic dream doesn't mean you're attracted to the dark side, Buffy. You've spent all your Slayer life fighting it. I think you just had a bad shock yesterday, what with Pete's death and all, and your mind's gone haywire and started to produce odd stuff."

"Maybe, but the dream felt prophetic, Will."

"If you're worried, you could get Giles to check it out," Willow suggested. Buffy shrugged, then frowned.

"Not much for him to go on, is it? I didn't even see what they looked like."

"You said the voice was female," Willow pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. But you know what demons are like. They can disguise themselves, can't they?" Buffy sighed. "I'll mention it to Giles though, next time we see him."

"Which is tonight," Willow said. Buffy gave her a blank look. "Remember - he and your mom have invited us to dinner?"

"Oh yeah. I forgot. Okay, then." Buffy looked at the time, which had edged forward twenty minutes. "We gotta get up, Will, or we'll both be out of a job." She wrinkled her nose. "Gotta start going through Pete's stuff today. Don't much fancy that. Kinda wish I'd never joined the FBI."

Willow kissed Buffy, drew back and smiled.

"You didn't like being a Slayer at first, but now you know you were born for it. You'll be fine. I have faith."

Buffy jumped out of bed.

"And I have faith I'm gonna get my ass chewed off if I don't get moving," she replied with a wry smile, and went to get ready to face the coming day.

An hour later, Buffy was once more in the Assistant Director's office.

"How do you want me to approach this, sir?" she asked, trying to summon up some enthusiasm for a job she didn't relish. Marshall eyed her critically.

"You remember your training at Quantico?" he asked. Buffy nodded. She remembered those four months all too well. Intensive training in law enforcement, intensive instruction in the handling of firearms, intensive physical exercise. Learning to think like an investigator.

Of course, the firearms and the physical training bit hadn't been too difficult; easy, in fact. As Slayer, Buffy was well used to strenuous activity, excelled at it, showed up most of her male colleagues, much to their disgust at being bested by a small, slim female. But the logical thinking bit, the law enforcement bit, had taxed her brain, even though she'd obtained a good grade from college. Probably she found it difficult because it was so intensive. Worst thing was, she hadn't even had Willow for company. Training was in-house, as it were, and the new recruits had been allowed no contact with the outside world.

But now Buffy had to apply her new-found knowledge to the outside world, without the partner who had nursed her along this far. Worse, she had to apply all her knowledge to that partner. Not for the first time, she wished Marshall had assigned someone else to investigate Pete's death. But Buffy had known him well, could apply her psychology to his.

"I want you to think carefully, Agent Summers. What would be the first step in an investigation of this kind, do you think?" At least Marshall was helping her along. Kind of. Taking time to ensure she didn't go in the wrong direction.

"Find out the results of the post-mortem?" she said hopefully. "If the post-mortem's been performed, that is."

"Very good. And if that suggests suicide, what then?"

"Well." Buffy hedged. What she wanted to say was that they should leave poor dead Pete Madison and his relatives in peace, but she knew it wouldn't be enough. "I guess we should investigate why," she finished.

"Quite right. We take this kind of thing very seriously, Agent Summers. If an agent is stressed, depressed, whatever, we need to know, and obviously, we would have take a certain responsibility. Perhaps we failed with Agent Madison. Not that it makes it better for anyone who feels his loss, but it gives us better insight into agents' psychology. Psychological profiles are all very well, but if Agent Madison did commit suicide, there may be something our evaluations missed. So, once you have seen the results of the post-mortem - better yet, observe it if possible - I want you to talk to relatives, friends. And the woman you said he was supposed to meet, if you can find her. Any questions?"

Buffy thought, but the only questions she had weren't pertinent here. Slowly she shook her head.

"No sir," she said. Marshall nodded.

"Very well. I want a properly presented report when you're convinced that you've concluded your investigation satisfactorily."

"Yes sir." Buffy stood, guessed that the briefing was at an end.

"Good luck, Agent Summers," Marshall said, his eyes kind again. "I know this is difficult for you, and I know you may think me. unkind to put this case on you. But I think you're capable." A faint smile. "You seem to be a very capable young woman. I think you could go far with us. Very far. Now, you may go."

"Thank you, sir."

Buffy left the office, truly surprised at Marshall's last words. Truth was, she'd believed she wasn't doing so well, and the praise, such as it was, boosted her. Made her vow to do a proper investigation into Pete's death. Not that she would ever have skimped on the job, but the fact that Marshall obviously believed her proficient made it better. More worthwhile.

Fifteen minutes later she was down in the morgue, enquiring if Agent Madison had been post-mortemed yet. Was disappointed and a little distressed to find he hadn't been.

"I. uh. AD Marshall instructed that I should attend the post-mortem if possible," she said. Mike Roberts, the coroner, a man in his forties with a supercilious expression, looked her over coolly.

"Then I suppose you'd better come through," he said. "We were just about to start."

"Oh," Buffy said; she hadn't expected to have to attend right now. Had hoped for a little time to get used to the idea. Apparently not.

"You're not about to faint on us, are you, Agent Summers?" Roberts enquired, leading the way into the autopsy room. "I know some of you rookies got weak stomachs."

Buffy bit back a retort that she'd seen things that would turn the strongest of stomachs. No good antagonising this man. Instead she just smiled sweetly and shook her head. Once thing about her choice of career; she was having to learn tact, tact and more tact.

"No, sir. It's just that Agent Madison was a friend of mine, as well as my partner."

Roberts gave her another appraising glance, then nodded.

"Okay, I understand it might be hard on you. It's just that having inexperienced personnel around can be a liability at times. If you should feel unwell, or unable to cope with it, just go quietly, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

The autopsy room was white tiled, with a large table in the centre that reminded Buffy of an operating theatre table. Except the table had gullies down the sides to drain off body fluid and blood. Above the table, an overhead light facilitated clear observation. By the side of the table, a covered tray of dissecting instruments.

Of course, Buffy had observed an post-mortem before; part of her training in Quantico had been to attend an autopsy. Buffy hadn't much enjoyed it - somehow the clinical dissection of a human being seemed somehow worse than some of the things she had seen as a Slayer. Probably because in the heat of action, she was so hyped up, she didn't have time to get upset. Only after, when the fighting was over, did she dwell on things. But an autopsy was so cold, so inhuman, and somehow an intrusion. A necessary intrusion, Buffy knew, but a big part of her believed that the dead should be left alone.

Two assistants were rolling a covered trolley into the autopsy room. Buffy knew this was Pete Madison's body, and as she had in the apartment yesterday morning, Buffy felt she shouldn't be here to see him butchered. But she told herself she couldn't be affected, had to remain as detached as possible. Determined to see this through, for Pete's sake as much as her own, Buffy watched as the body was put on the table. Roberts handed her a face mask, which she put on. Not for Pete's benefit, of course, as it would have been in surgery, but for her own. To protect against the stench and contagion of death.

Roberts uncovered the body. Buffy stared into Pete's dead eyes again, and the third eye made by the bullet hole. For a second, looking at the pallid face with its blue lips, Buffy did feel a little faint. She took a huge breath through her face mask, which did little to protect against the dead smell, saw Roberts look at her enquiringly.

" 'S okay," she muttered. "I'm fine."

Roberts began an examination of Pete Madison's body, speaking into a mouthpiece so his observations could be recorded. General details, such as height, body weight, general appearance of subject, were given. When he had finished his overall evaluation, which was of a Caucasian male in prime physical condition prior to death, Roberts began on the more specific details.

"Bullet wound in head is consistent with very close range," he said, running his gloved finger around the entry wound, which was abraded and slightly sooty round the edges. "If this had been from longer range, there would be little abrasion, no soot, and the fact that it's close range indicates one of two things - suicide or execution."

"Execution?" Buffy whispered.

"You know among certain criminal agencies execution by single shot to the head is the preferred method of death."

"Yeah," Buffy said. "But I don't think this was execution, sir, because his hand was gripped round the gun and."

"I know about that, and forensics have ascertained that Agent Madison's skin was in fact impregnated with the appropriate chemicals, which indicates that he did pull the trigger. However, we can't rule out execution entirely."

"Why not?"

"Some of these said criminals like to force the victim to pull the trigger and kill themselves. It's considered fitting punishment for their perceived crimes. You found his body, Agent Summers?"

"Yeah. There was no sign of a struggle or anything to indicate there'd been any fight or resistance on Agent Madison's part."

"But you found him naked?"

"Yeah."

Roger nodded thoughtfully.

"People very rarely commit suicide while naked, Agent Summers. Usually they want to get it over with, or are in such a distressed state that they wouldn't think to strip themselves beforehand. Getting naked is not a priority. Plus, I read from your initial report that the door was ajar upon your arrival at the scene. These two things, while apparently minor, do indicate that someone else was involved, despite how the surroundings appeared."

"Oh." Buffy wasn't quite sure what to say. What she had assumed was clear cut seemed, on reflection, not so clear cut after all. Assistant Director Marshall, she decided, had been right to insist on a thorough investigation.

"I shall now proceed to dissect the body, Agent Summers. Just to ascertain that there are no internal injuries. Sometimes, very clever assailants can cause injury internally without leaving a mark on the exterior of the body. And then I shall take samples of stomach contents, liver biopsy and so forth to send off for toxicology. To see if any drugs had been ingested or injected."

Silently Buffy watched as Roberts went about his grim task. There were no other indications to suggest that Pete Madison had suffered physical injury prior to his death, and they'd have to wait a day or so before the toxicology results were sent back.

"As far you knew, did Agent Madison have a drug habit?"

"No way," Buffy said, on certain ground here. "He loathed drugs. Had a brother who O.D'd on heroin. If you find anything in those samples, he wouldn't have taken it willingly."

"Well, there are no needle tracks, no obvious tell-tale marks."

Roberts finished off the autopsy, then called for his assistant to come and clean up the body.

Back in his office, Buffy accepted a cup of coffee, which did nothing to take away the taste of chemicals and dead bodies.

"So what's your verdict?" she enquired, resisting the urge to gag.

"Well, like I said, I can't give a conclusive verdict either way. I would say it's certainly a self-inflicted death, but that's not always the same as suicide, as I explained before. We'll await the result of the drug tests. In the meantime, I suggest you go ahead and treat this as an open verdict."

Buffy stood; she couldn't wait to get out of this place.

"Thank you for your help," she said.

"No problem, Agent Summers. I'll get back to you."

Buffy left. As she went out the door, she saw Roberts reach for his sandwich box and open it. How could he eat, Buffy wondered, doing the job he did? But Buffy knew from personal experience that a person could get used to anything, given enough time.

She wandered back up to the office she'd shared with Pete Madison. Spent the afternoon going through all his stuff, but found nothing of any help. Wrote a report on the day's activities and gave it to AD Marshall's secretary to pass on. Two things left to do, she decided, but there wasn't time to do any more today. Tomorrow, she decided, she would go to Pete's apartment. Start going through his private stuff. And then, if there were still no clues, she would have to talk to his grieving relatives. Something she didn't relish, not at all.

Trailing home, Buffy felt a vague depression settle over her. She wasn't sure she could face her mom and Giles later, certainly didn't fancy eating dinner with them, because she still held the vision of Pete's poor dissected body in her haunted mind. She guessed they'd say there, at least until this was cleared up. Still, she decided she couldn't let it upset her whole life. And besides, she wanted to talk to Giles about her dream. Although its influence had more or less disappeared over the day.

Willow was already home.

"Hey, Buffy. You look beat."

"Oh thanks, Will. That makes me feel a whole lot better."

Willow's face took on a sympathetic aspect.

"Bad day?" she asked, going to Buffy, holding her. Sitting with Willow on the couch, accepting a much needed large glass of red wine, Buffy told Willow everything.

"Looks like it could've been murder," she said, sipping her wine. "And if it is, then finding the killer will be so hard. I mean, in our line of work, could be anyone, right? I don't know what's worse - being killed because of your work, or killing yourself because of it."

Buffy didn't need to add that as Slayer, she had seen both sides of that particular coin. Willow knew all too well what Buffy went through; had been through it herself too many times, almost lost her own life on a few very memorable occasions. And as for suicide - hadn't Buffy been suicidal at times, when her life as the Slayer became almost intolerable? Yeah, Willow understood. Willow understood Buffy better than anyone on earth. Somehow, that was comforting, and Buffy felt some of her tension drain away.

"Guess I'll take a shower before we go to my mom's," Buffy said, forcing herself out of Willow's arms. Lurched a little because the strong red wine, drunk on an empty stomach, had gone straight to her head. Willow giggled, and Buffy felt the last of her stress fade away.

"What would I do without you?" she said. Willow giggled again.

"Become a lush?" she suggested.

Buffy smirked and went to get ready.


"I have misplaced my pants." (Homer J. Simpson)

"You know what the secret of life is?"
"Your finger?"
"One thing. Just one thing."
"That's great, but what's the one thing?"
"That's what you gotta figure out."
(Jack Palance, Billy Crystal, City Slickers)

"I heard your heartbeat." (Buffy Summers, to Angel, ANGEL)