NOTE: This chapter is rated FR15

Chapter Five

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

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So, Halloween was great. Then I had a hard time figuring out how I wanted the story to go. I finally got a rough outline when my muse ran off, and then I got sick. I was gonna wait to update until I had more chapters, but I decided that that would be mean. Incidentally, I am going away for Thanksgiving, and I won’t have internet access. But I am taking my laptop, so maybe I’ll get ahead chapter-wise.

To all the wonderful people who read and review—Happy Thanksgiving!!

The change in rating is just to be safe.

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Chapter 5



Gunn stepped back as his last vampire turned to dust in front of him, careful not to inhale. There was nothing grosser than vamp dust in the mouth. He could deal with the slime, and the general foulness of the demons, but inhaled vamp dust lingered for weeks, making everything taste, and smell, rotten. He looked up to find Buffy a few dozen yards away from him, taking on five vamps at once. She gracefully fought them off, not even pausing when she lost her last stake. Smoothly she unsheathed her sword and sliced through the necks of the last two vamps. She paused a moment, eyes closed, sending her senses searching out around her. When she didn’t feel anything she stood up, opening her eyes and carefully sliding her sword back into the sheath, pulling her hair out of the way; she didn’t want to slice her hair again.

Finally she skipped back to Gunn. “Good work there. I see the suit hasn’t made you lose your ‘gangsta style,’” Buffy drawled, flicking some vamp dust off his shoulder.

“You either shorty. Retirement hasn’t slowed you down,” Gunn arched a brow at Buffy, smirking. “Anymore nasties tonight?”

“Nah,” Buffy waved her hand, “this was pretty big for this town—seven vamps? Definitely out of the ordinary.”

“Really? I’d think that in a city as big as New York you’d get more than that.”

Buffy shrugged, “Angel said that it had to do with the constant noise, fledglings can’t deal, it drives them crazy so they leave soon after they rise. It’s why you don’t find a lot of them in Vegas either. There are a lot of other demons, and older vamps though. They fit in easier in these places, ‘cause of the craziness of the general population.”

“That makes sense I guess,” Gunn sighed. Buffy eyed him thoughtfully, then turned, gesturing him ahead of her.

“Let’s head back to my place, you looked tired.”

Gunn nodded, and rubbed his eyes. “Jet-lag, plus I didn’t get much sleep the last couple of nights.”

“Busy times at Evil, Incorporated?”

“You wouldn’t believe it. Trying to figure out which clients are genuinely evil, and what to do about them, it ain’t easy.”

“I’m sure.” They walked silently back to Buffy’s apartment building; Gunn trying to stay awake as the adrenaline rush disappeared, and Buffy just keeping one eye on Gunn and the other out for potential trouble. By the time they reached Buffy’s apartment, Gunn was stumbling over his own feet, leaning on Buffy. She struggled to keep him upright, her Slayer strength doing little to help as his height threw them off-balance. Buffy finally managed to lean him up against the wall as she fished her key out from where she pinned it inside her pocket. Shoving her door open, she caught Gunn as he started sliding to the side, having lost the battle to stay awake.

“Come on Charlie-boy,” she muttered as she hefted him over her shoulder, and inside the apartment, kicking the door shut with her foot. She took him past the living room and kitchen, opening the door across from her bedroom. Plopping him down on the guest bed, she straightened, rolling her neck. Buffy stared at Gunn, dead to the world and in a completely uncomfortable position on the bed. “The things I do for friends.” She unbuttoned his shirt and jeans, stripping him down to his white undershirt, and blue striped boxers. “Oh, I’m gonna be teasing you about these, buddy.” Buffy snickered, standing back to look at her handiwork. Gunn started snoring, and Buffy rolled her eyes. Figures, first time in over a year that I’ve taken a guy’s clothes off, and he’s not even awake to enjoy it. Buffy tipped Gunn onto his side, pulling the covers down. She finally got him under the quilt, and tucked him in. He muttered something, smacked his lips and resumed snoring. Buffy snorted, left the room, and returned moments later carrying his suitcase. She set it down inside the door, and shut the door behind her, leaving Charles to sleep off his jet-lag.

Standing in the hallway, she tapped her foot, arms crossed. Still too hyped up to sleep. Buffy snapped her fingers, remembering a club she wanted to check out, Onyx, and went to her room to change into clubbing clothes. Moments later she was out the door, tight leather pants concealing her stake, the red satin halter tied around her neck, covering the scars that were still visible on her skin.



*~*~*



The music inside Onyx was loud and pulsing, just the way she liked it. As soon as she was inside, she could feel it pumping through her. Buffy let her body move to the music, blanking out her thoughts until it seemed like she only existed inside the sound. She danced like that until sweat covered her skin, tendrils of hair sticking to her neck and cheeks. Exhaling, she moved over to the bar, ignoring the guys that tried to catch her eye—with the mood she was in, none of them even vaguely interested her, too young, and too desperate. She was too in touch with the Slayer, and she’d only accept an Alpha male, and there weren’t any of those here.

She signaled the bartender for a bottle of water, unwilling to deal with the fuzziness of alcohol. With her senses heightened, it could only lead to badness of monumental proportions. As she sipped the water, peering around the dance floor, keeping an eye out for danger, she could feel the numerous eyes on her. As she ignored the gazes, she could feel them drop away, one by one; only one gaze remained, and it didn’t give up. Buffy turned around, irritated that this guy wasn't getting a clue. She met a pair of dark eyes and heard her inner-Slayer purr.



Mike Logan was bellied up to a bar in the new club Onyx. He figured that he could kill two birds with one stone here, get a drink, and get away from Falacci, his new partner. She was way too possessive, and she wanted to know everything about him. He sighed moodily, Why couldn’t I get a normal partner, like Eames. She isn’t crazy. He snorted, wanting one of his old partners back, Barek, or even Wheeler. They were crazy, but at least they didn’t ask so many questions. He downed his drink, and pushed away from the bar, ready to leave, when he noticed a commotion on the dance floor. A short blonde in skin-tight black leather pants and a shiny red top was dancing in the midst of a crowd. She wasn’t just dancing though, she seemed to be feeling the music in a way that was totally sensual and erotic. As he watched, she stopped and turned, the sweat on her skin gleaming under the shifting lights on the dance floor. She stalked off the floor, toward to bar, brushing off the men that tried to catch her attention.

Logan leaned back against the bar, and arched a brow as she ordered water and twisted the top off. Interesting choice. He looked around the bar and saw the guys staring at her hopefully, but when she didn’t acknowledge any of them, they looked away disappointed. He kept his gaze on her, absently ordering another beer, wondering what color her eyes were. Then she turned, looking straight at him. They were green.



*~*~*



The next morning, Bobby was sitting at his desk, looking at the notes he had made the previous day.

“Detectives.”

At the summons, Eames and Goren turned to look at Captain Ross. He motioned them inside his office, and sat down behind his desk. When his detectives entered, he sighed and folded his hands in front of him.

“Sir, we still haven’t heard anything about Pulsifer, and there is absolutely no evidence he was involved in drugs before his disappearance. We had hoped that there would be more information this morning, but so far: nothing.” Eames reported, frustration clear in her voice.

“It doesn’t matter.” When Goren opened his mouth, Ross lifted a hand. “Elaine Pulsifer just called to inform me that her son isn't missing after all, he merely took a trip to the Riviera without notifying her first.”

“What? When did she discover this?” Alex was shocked.

“Apparently he called her earlier this morning, just to ‘check in.’” Ross’s voice was wry as he quoted what the society matron had told him. “So, close the case, and get to work on a real crime.” Ross waved them out of his office. Goren and Eames stood still, puzzled by this information. Eventually Eames shrugged, and went to her desk and sat, opening up a new file on her computer. Goren followed slowly, putting this new piece with the others in the puzzle. There was still the Summers girl.



*~*~*



Nearby, in a small apartment building, one with dingy halls, and small rooms, sunlight spread across a bed. Buffy stretched as she woke up, humming to herself. She felt more relaxed than she had in years. She opened her eyes, and stared at the ceiling perplexed. That’s not my ceiling. she sat up. This isn’t my room! She heard a masculine groan next to her, and very male arm tightened around her waist. She twisted and met Mike Logan's gaze.


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Duh-dun-duh! Cliffhanger! Muhahaha.

Just so you know, if you recognize anything from sevangel’s “My Daughter the What?” or “My Daughter the What?. . . Flipped” that’s because I borrowed some ideas. Mostly about the lack of fledglings in New York. I had the idea of Buffy and Mike meeting at the club before I reread sevangel’s marvelous stories.