RE: FIC: Female of the Species(Part 5)

[CAClarke2@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx]

NEED MORE! Junk here, need more story. It is awesome.

-----Original Message-----
From: Pat Kelly [mailto:bandits@xxxxxxxxx]
Sent: Friday, March 03, 2000 2:44 PM
To: buffyloveswillow@xxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [buffyloveswillow] FIC: Female of the Species(Part 5)


From: "Pat Kelly" <bandits@xxxxxxxxx>


Hey.

Leslie McKenna's email: mckenna@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
<mailto:mckenna@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>

Enjoy....

PART FIVE

Ducking under the yellow "Incident" tapes that had been placed across the
entrance to Pete Madison's apartment, Buffy pushed open the door and
hesitated on the threshold for a few seconds.

She was reluctant to enter the apartment. Somehow, going inside for the
express purpose of rifling through Pete's private stuff seemed like another
violation of the man who had become her friend during the three short months
she'd been part of the New York branch of the Bureau. Also, she didn't much
like the idea of going into his bedroom, as she knew she had to. Because she
knew she'd find it spooky.

Buffy sighed and forced herself to step into the cool hallway. This was a
job, same as any other, and she had to act in a professional manner. Did she
shy away from entering a nest of vampires or a den of demons because it
might be "spooky"? Had she refused to face Angelus at the final closing of
the Hellmouth because she felt uncomfortable about fighting to the death
with a former lover? No, she hadn't. That battle had been one of the worst
she'd ever fought - once upon a time she'd thought of souled Angel as the
love of her life - but she'd seen it through to the nauseating end. Had done
her duty as a Slayer then, and had to do her duty as an FBI agent now. Not
investigating Pete's death would be doing him an injustice.

Still, it was weird, walking down the silent corridor. Unnerving.
Imagination though it might be, Buffy felt sure she could still "feel"
Pete's presence, urging her on. Telling her that she must find out the
truth, because he couldn't rest otherwise.

"Pull yourself together, Buffy," she said aloud into the gloom of the
hallway. "You're just tired and over-imaginative after last night."

Well, that was certainly true. After last night's encounter with the
Goddess, neither Buffy nor Willow had slept much, if at all. In fact, Willow
had almost looked sick with exhaustion that morning, so much so that Buffy
had suggested that maybe she should take the day off work. But Willow,
always stoic under pressure, had decided that working was better than
staying at home and brooding. Besides, she couldn't go taking time off work;
her bosses didn't look kindly on that sort of thing.

Buffy couldn't help but worry about Willow now, because she knew that Willow
was carrying an unnecessary weight of guilt. She had helped precipitate
events, the Goddess had said, and Willow, always willing to take on other
peoples' guilt, accepted her own like an addict accepts free heroin.

But, Buffy thought, wondering what room to go through first, the Goddess had
also said that Buffy's own investigation would shed some light on the
affair, so she'd better get on with it.

Easiest thing first, she decided, and went into the tiny bathroom. She very
much doubted there would be anything of any interest in there, but she had
to look. You never knew where clues might be found. She and Pete had been
known to find the unlikeliest stuff in the unlikeliest places.

Buffy went through the bathroom thoroughly, found nothing much other than
the usual bathroom stuff, including a pack of three unused condoms in his
bathroom cabinet. So Pete had obviously been living in hope of having a
relationship. But of course, Buffy had no idea of how long the pack had been
in the cabinet, couldn't tell if it was a re-stocked item or if it had been
there for ages. So no clues there.

The kitchen was equally bare of clues. One thing about Pete - for a single
guy, he'd been almost unnaturally neat. Pots and pans were scrubbed clean
and stacked carefully on a shelf, glasses were sparkly, and the work
surfaces were all wiped down. He would've made someone a great husband,
Buffy thought, swallowing a sudden sense of loss and its accompanying tears.
Sense of humour, even-tempered, well-paid, not bad looking - quite
attractive, really - and a great housekeeper. Apart from the dangerous job
he'd done and its attendant unsociable hours, what more could any woman want
from a man?

Someone who'd definitely come home at night after the day's hard grind,
Buffy supposed. Someone who didn't risk their life every time they stepped
outside the door. Someone who didn't associate with drug barons, white
slavers and the other forms of human scum that slithered around the city.

Just like me, Buffy thought. Guess I'm not such a great catch either, from
that point of view. I know Will still worries, despite everything, despite
that we've always come out alive. But we're scarred, I guess... But at least
I am still alive. Not like poor Pete...

God, what a waste of a good life... Why had Pete killed himself? What
possible reason would a guy with everything going for him have to turn a gun
on himself and blow his brains out? But hadn't Buffy herself felt exactly
the same way on more than one occasion? Who knew, if she hadn't had the
support of loyal friends, she might well not be here now, looking into the
death of someone who maybe had been lacking in that support.

Yeah, Buffy thought, remembering the coroner's words about execution again,
but maybe - just maybe - he was forced into it. And I'm beginning to think
more and more that he was. Pete just wasn't the suicidal type.

Into the small lounge now. More in here, not quite so neat. Two seater sofa,
a couple of comfortable chairs, a small dining table with chairs at either
end, and a fairly large cabinet/bookcase. No television or computer, which
Buffy had always found a little strange. But Pete had preferred to read or
listen to the radio, and most of the time, he was out anyway.

Methodically Buffy examined the furniture. The police had performed a
cursory examination of the place before Pete's case was handed over to the
Bureau; now Buffy had to be ultra-thorough.

One by one, she took all the cushions off the chairs, searched beneath them,
felt down between the sides, but only uncovered the few obligatory coins
that always seemed to find their way inside furniture, no matter how
rigorous a person might be about keeping it tidy. Moving the furniture
around revealed nothing more than a little dust.

So resignedly, Buffy moved toward the cabinet/bookcase. Studied the books on
the shelves. Never knew when a person's choice of reading material might be
useful knowledge.

Not too surprisingly perhaps, there were a lot of books on the FBI, its
history, its function, and many handbooks on ethics, the law, procedure,
some of which Buffy also owned. There were crime novels (didn't Pete ever
get sick of crime? Buffy wondered), and quite a few books on the history of
rock music, one of Pete's passions. On the top shelf, there were photographs
of Pete himself, both alone, and with other people that Buffy assumed were
family members. How must they be feeling, Buffy wondered, at the death of
their loved one? Not even able to bury him and say goodbye properly because
his death was suspicious and under investigation. Having lost people she
loved or had been friends with - Pete included - Buffy's grieving heart went
out to them.

Looking in the first of the two drawers in the bottom of the cabinet, Buffy
found two telephone directories and a phone book. The phone book was full of
numbers, and Buffy knew she'd have to go through every single one of them,
checking them out, asking when the person had last seen Pete, how well
they'd known him, etc, etc. A few numbers she recognised, including her own,
but not many.

Then she began flipping through the directories.

The White Pages directory was unmarked, as far as Buffy could see. At first,
upon flipping through them, the Yellow Pages seemed unmarked too, but then
Buffy found an advertisement ringed around in red ink.

"LONELY?" the advertisement began. "TIRED OF LIVING WITHOUT LOVE? BEGINNING
TO WONDER IF YOU'LL EVER FIND HAPPINESS? AT DREAMS FULFILLED, WE CAN PUT YOU
ON THE PATH TO FINDING THE PERFECT PARTNER."

There followed a telephone number, somewhere in Manhattan, Buffy saw from
the code.

Frowning, Buffy put down the directory. Pete had ringed round an
advertisement for a dating agency? She found that almost impossible to
believe.

Biting her lip, she looked at the year the directory had been published. The
very latest one, she noted. Only sent out last month. So it was obviously
new, which meant that Pete had indeed felt lonely (desperate?) enough to
explore any avenue to try and find a girlfriend.

Buffy couldn't quite figure that out. True, there wasn't much time for a
social life in the FBI, what with work taking up a lot of their lives, but
they did have some time off. Time in which they could socialise and live
relatively normal lives. Unlike being the Slayer, which was a full-time
occupation with no paid leave.

Still, Buffy knew that a lot of professional people nowadays were engaging
the services of such agencies. The theory was that it saved them a lot of
unnecessary time trawling round bars and clubs in the hope of meeting
someone. You simply handed over your details to the agency, they put you on
file, matched you with similar-minded people and sent out the phone numbers
of where they could be reached. All the client had to do, if they liked the
sound of a prospective date, was call to arrange a meeting. All very easy,
very civilised. And the agencies made a small fortune from other peoples'
loneliness. Theoretically, everyone was happy.

Personally, Buffy had always thought the concept rather sad. Whatever
happened to spontaneity? That wonderful feeling of looking at someone and
feeling that flip in your heart, and needing - just needing - to know them?
But maybe that happened on arranged dates too, sometimes.

Whether it happened or not, Buffy knew she'd have to go along to the agency
and ask questions. That of course might be difficult, because these places
prided themselves on confidentiality, but Buffy would just have to get
official permission from AD Marshall, and pull her badge.

First things first though. Go through the rest of Pete's stuff and find out
if there were any details of any women he'd been out with, either through
DREAMS FULFILLED, or any he'd met in other, less contrived circumstances.

Further searching of the lounge brought nothing else to light. Only one
place to search now. Pete's bedroom. Sighing, Buffy moved toward it.

I don't wanna go in here, she thought. I don't wanna look at the floor, and
the walls... Don't wanna be reminded...

But "don't wanna" wasn't doing her job. "Don't wanna" was self-indulgent and
cowardly. "Don't wanna" was a saying for spoilt children, and Buffy was a
proper grown-up now and couldn't let "don't wanna" play a major part in her
grown-up life. So she stepped into the bedroom.

All at once she was overwhelmed with deja-vu and she closed her eyes,
letting the images sweep through her mind. Pete, laying there in undignified
nakedness, sightless eyes staring upward at the ceiling. Bloody bullet hole
punched into his forehead. Blood pooled around him, soaking into the carpet.
Behind him, on the bedroom wall, splotches of grey matter and slivers of
bone...

"Oh Jesus..." Buffy muttered, seeing it clearly, smelling it, almost tasting
the blood and brain tissue in her mouth. Firmly shaking her head, she forced
the images, the sensations, away. Couldn't let herself remember too much,
just like she couldn't let herself remember other, equally terrible things
in too much detail. Buffy fully intended to hang on to her sanity.

Opening her eyes, she saw that the apartment had been cleaned up. Well, of
course it had. Once samples of evidence had been taken from the room, the
gore wasn't going to be allowed to sit there and fester.

But no matter how well it had been cleaned, the carpet still bore faint
witness to the blood that had been spilled on it, and the wall still carried
the ghost of a stain. The landlord would have to redecorate in here, Buffy
guessed, before he'd be able to let it again. Although personally, she
wouldn't entertain the thought of renting an apartment where a suicide had
occurred. Such a place was almost bound to be haunted by the memory, if not
by the ghost of the deceased previous tenant.

"Okay, Pete, let's see if you've left me anything useful," Buffy said,
hoping that hearing the sound of her own voice might make her feel a little
better. And it did, a little.

Since the police had had their jurisdiction over the case revoked, they'd
only taken the barest essential evidence after Buffy had discovered Pete's
body. Things like diaries, letters, other personal items wouldn't have been
touched yet, unless they'd been in clear view. Had Pete been the type of guy
to keep a diary? Usually, diaries were girl things, although Buffy had never
seen the sense of writing down innermost thoughts that people might get
their hands - and eyes - on.

But she had to search, and so she began the laborious process of going
through drawers, cupboards, even looking beneath the mattress.

Finally, in another address book, tucked inside Pete's underwear drawer, she
came across a DREAMS FULFILLED business card. The card was small, made from
black card, which Buffy found a little odd. Black certainly did little to
promote the concept of romance. Death, maybe, but not love or passion. But
certainly, with the red and gold calligraphic printing superimposed onto it,
the effect was stunning. Eye catching, which was of course what the agency
wanted. Eye catching brought in more prospective clients.

On the back - difficult to see on the black background - a woman's name had
been scrawled. Eden Adams. Despite her sadness over Pete's death, Buffy
found herself smiling. Eden. What man could resist finding out what a woman
called Eden looked like? The Garden of Earthly Delights brought to life in a
human body. Was this the woman that Pete had had a date with the night
before he committed suicide (was executed...)?

No phone number accompanied Eden Adams' name. Buffy wondered how Pete had
gotten in touch with her. Then thought that maybe some women, shy of giving
their home or work numbers, might prefer to be contacted through the dating
agency. And given the increasing number of crazies out wandering the
streets, Buffy supposed it was a sensible way for a single woman to act.

Made it harder though, because Buffy couldn't contact Eden directly now.
Couldn't even be certain until she went to the agency that Eden Adams was
the woman she needed to find.

After a little more searching, Buffy decided that she'd seen all she needed
to see in Pete's apartment. She felt a certain regret that Pete had been
such a tidy guy - an untidy person might have left more clues for her to go
on. As it was, all she had was one little card and a couple of address
books. Not much of a start. Buffy hoped it would be enough.

Back in her office, Buffy filled out the appropriate paperwork, and then
applied for permission to go to DREAMS FULFILLED for the purpose of asking
questions. By then it was almost six in the evening, and Buffy was
exhausted. There being no more that she could do now, she decided to go
home. She needed a bath and clean clothes, and then maybe she could relax.
Maybe.

I'll call Giles when I get back, she thought, driving through the crowded
New York streets, feeling a little hemmed in by the traffic, which seemed to
get worse every day. Noisy, dirty and smelly, that was New York. And the New
Yorkers - brusque, sometimes to the point of rudeness. She found herself a
little homesick for Sunnydale and the laid-back Californian attitude. But
she was getting used to it here, little by little. Under their veneer of
abruptness, New Yorkers, once they took you to their heart, were as
warm-hearted as any other people she'd ever met.

Inside their apartment, Buffy was met with the scent of food cooking, and
she realised she was hungry, not having stopped to eat all day. Willow was
pottering around in the small kitchen and came out to greet her when she
came in.

"How'd it go?" Willow asked. "Did you find anything?"

"Not much. Only a business card of a dating agency with a woman's name on
the back. I'm gonna look into it tomorrow, when I get the necessary forms
giving me permission to investigate them."

"Oh." Willow smiled. "Good luck, then." Buffy thought that Willow looked
pale, and somehow, she felt pale too. Obviously still tired and feeling bad
about last night.

"You okay, Will?" she asked.

"Sure I am," Willow said, way too brightly, which made Buffy even more sure
that she wouldn't. And didn't Willow know that she couldn't lie to Buffy
anymore? A little upset that Willow felt it necessary to deliberately
conceal her feelings, Buffy sighed.

"Will, don't hide from me. We're part of each other and it hurts that you're
trying to shut me out."

Willow shrugged.

"I don't mean to shut you out. But it's not a nice feeling, knowing that I'm
a part of whatever's going on. And the Goddess... She was so... cold to me.
She was never cold to me before, and I don't really understand what I did
that made her go that way. I feel like I've unwittingly joined the side of
the bad guys or something."

Buffy drew Willow to her, kissed her red, fragrant hair.

"You couldn't ever be bad," she whispered. "Not even on purpose. You don't
have a bad bone in your body."

"Yeah, well, I feel bad. And I don't wanna feel that way."

Don't wanna, Buffy thought. That little phrase was back again, this time
spoken aloud by Willow, who was anything but a spoiled child. Still, Buffy
supposed don't wanna was justified in this case.

"Look, it'll work its way out, Will," Buffy said, kissing her again. "These
things always do. So what if evil threatens us? We'll just chase it off,
like we always do, and send it packing back down to Hell."

"I'm tired of Hell," Willow said. "I thought after the Hellmouth we'd be
free of it, but we never will be, will we?"

"No," Buffy said, feeling a sense of fatalism seep through her whole body.
"I guess we never will."


"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)
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