Xander set down the handwriting analysis disgustedly and stretched his arms. “This report was a waste of time. ‘Upon careful examination of these samples, we have concluded that both specimens were written by the same person,'” he quoted derisively. “Yeah, tell us something we didn't already know.”
“We've gone through all your mother's correspondences and found nothing that matches the handwriting on the letters,” Willow added, sighing despondently as she pushed away the box of gallery notes and Christmas cards. She'd never realized just how much paperwork was involved in running an art gallery.
“Same thing for your father's business contacts,” Anya chimed in, gravely flipping through business letters and meeting notes. “None of their handwriting looks anything like this guy's.”
“Are you sure it's a good idea for Dawn to be traveling?” Buffy inquired for the fifth time in three hours. She'd had a brief conversation with her younger sister before the teen was to leave the city with Spike's parents. Despite the nagging feeling that something was wrong, she'd made no open complaints about the sudden change of plans.
Spike rolled his eyes and patted Buffy's hand. “Don't worry, she'll be safer out there than she was in the city,” he assured her. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he mentally kicked himself. He was supposed to be relieving some stress for Buffy, not adding to it.
Buffy's eyes narrowed as she absorbed his words. “Safer? Does that mean she wasn't safe in the city? What happened?”
“I was going to tell you earlier, but you were so relaxed after last night that I didn't want to ruin the mood and worry you again –” Spike began to defend himself.
“What happened?” Buffy repeated forcefully.
“Dawn got a letter from the killer,” Spike responded hesitantly, watching Buffy for her reaction.
The blond agent's face paled and her jaw dropped. “She what? And you didn't see fit to tell me until just now? Oh God, we've got to get her out of there –” she ran a shaky hand through her hair and began pacing the length of the living room.
Spike stood in the middle of Buffy's circuit and put his hands on her shoulders. “He's not there. The letter came from here. For all we know, it could have just been a lucky guess. That's why she's going to the country for a few days. I've called in a little extra security. She'll be fine,” he spoke firmly.
“What did the note say?” Xander spoke up; oblivious to the glares he was receiving from the agents around him.
“I don't think this is something Buffy needs to hear,” Tara intervened, sensing the rage rolling off Spike in waves.
“Tell me,” Buffy's stomach was churning painfully. Part of her didn't want to hear what the bastard had said to her sister; but another larger part knew she needed to know to better protect the other girl.
Spike exhaled loudly before speaking. “All it said was, ‘do you think you're safe there?'”
The others could only stand by in shocked silence and watch as Buffy raced out of the house, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She stood in the middle of Spike's front yard; head thrown back and arms open wide. “Come and get me, you coward! Let's get this over with. Kill me already!” she taunted loudly in a desperate, angry voice.
Before anyone could react, a shot rang out and a bullet whizzed past Buffy's head, lodging itself in the house just behind her. Spurred into action by her frightened gasp, Spike rushed forward and pushed her to the ground covering her body with his. Instantly, the four remaining agents had their weapons drawn and were searching for the attacker. After scanning the immediate vicinity, they returned to the lawn where Spike was still lying on top of Buffy.
“You bloody –” he broke off, growling angrily. “What were you thinking?! Has the bleach finally penetrated that dense skull of yours? Do you have a death wish, woman?” He would have continued his tirade if not for a pair of arms lifting him off the petite blonde.
“Let's get back inside before he decides to come back,” Tara suggested wisely. She helped Buffy off the ground and wrapped a comforting arm around the other woman's shoulders.
Willow paused to examine the bullet imbedded in the red brick. “Remington 7mm Express, bronze point. Probably from a Remington 700 Titanium. Odd that he didn't go for a higher caliber.”
Anya was already in the house hovering over Spike's answering machine. “Well of course he wouldn't use a higher one if he wasn't trying to kill her,” she informed the group assuredly.
“What gives you that idea?” Willow asked, curious. With as many twists and turns as this case was taking, it was hard to be certain of any details.
“This,” she said as she pressed the play button on the machine. There was a second of static before a gravelly, and very obviously digitally altered voice filled the silent room. “Just who do you think you're dealing with, Slayer? That was a warning. You can't protect your sister if you're dead.”
Fortunately Spike was in place to catch Buffy as soon as she started swaying. Wrapping his strong arms around her tiny form, he carried her to the couch. He sat with her nestled on his lap, her head on his shoulder. Closely inspecting his friend, he noticed a thin trickle of blood along her right temple. “It's just a scratch,” he sighed in relief after cleaning the wound with a damp towel.
Buffy nodded numbly, vaguely hearing the discussion around her. It was all too much: her family's murder, the investigation, confronting Drusilla, the note on Xander's windshield, the crime scene, protecting Dawn, and now this. As if he could follow her train of thought, Spike tightened his hold on her and pressed a soft kiss on her injured temple.
“That sure was ballsy, attacking us in the middle of the morning in a residential area. He knows this area well and he's keeping an eye on the house,” Xander observed.
“Odds are the house is bugged,” Anya added then scowled as she realized the implications of her statement.
“This afternoon we'll take the answering machine and the bullet to the lab and see what they can come up with,” Tara said, unplugging the machine and rolling up the cord. “We'll have Jack get a crew in here to find the devices.”
“He altered his voice so there's no chance of us recognizing who it is,” Willow frowned still fixated on the answering machine recording. “Hopefully there will be some background noise for them to pick up.”
”Slayer,” Buffy murmured, her voice muffled by the dark cotton of Spike's t-shirt.
“What was that, pet?” Spike urged gently.
“He called me Slayer,” she repeated a little louder. Spike nodded and graced her with an indulgent smile. “I didn't realize it until just now, but you're right.”
Xander glanced at the others before turning to Spike. “You want to clear that up for those of us not using telepathy?”
“O-oh, I think I've got it!” Tara waved her hands excitedly. “He called her ‘Slayer,' not ‘Buffy'. Slayer's a nickname of some sort, isn't it?”
Spike then related the story of the first day he'd met Buffy at the FBI Academy. She'd reminded him of a comic book superhero: small, dainty, and feminine one minute; fiery, powerful, and generally kick-ass the next. Although she'd protested at the nickname, it'd followed her throughout her career.
FBI ACADEMY – QUANTICO, VIRGINIA, 4 YEARS EARLIER
“Devereaux, you're up with-“ the gruff instructor glanced down at his clipboard before continuing, “Summers.”
Spike stepped onto the mat, rolling his neck and loosening his muscles. He snorted in disbelief when a diminutive blonde moved forward ‘This'll be over in two seconds,' he scoffed silently. Buffy rolled her eyes at her opponent's murmured “Hello cutie.”
The whistle was blown and the two opponents squared off. Spike made the first move, kicking out to sweep Buffy's feet out from underneath her. She smoothly jumped over the leg and one small fist shot out at his face. Spike caught the hand before it could reach its mark then twisted Buffy's arm behind her back. The hold was easily broken and they were back to squaring off.
The fight continued for several minutes. Instructors and recruits were lined up around the mat, deeply engrossed in the intense match. Spike grinned despite the pain in his left side and his right knee. She was meeting him move for move. He'd never had such an equally matched sparring partner. Distracted by his wandering thoughts, he missed a blow to his knees and landed face first on the mat. The whistle was blown and Spike rolled over onto his back.
Buffy stood over him, flushed and panting from the exertion with blonde hair disheveled and limp. He'd never seen such a beautiful sight. She stuck out a hand to help him up.
“Good match, Slayer,” Spike conceded, a bit surprised at the new nickname, but he shook it off; it suited her, after all. He pictured her on the cover of one of his old comic books: delicate and demure by day, feisty and formidable by night.
Buffy smiled and nodded in agreement. “Very good.” She futilely tried to release herself from Spike's grip. His touch was giving her a tingling feeling she had no business feeling from a fellow recruit.
“I'd like a rematch sometime,” he spoke softly in her ear.
Once her hand was free, she stepped back and tried to regain her composure. “Why? So I can kick your ass again? What makes you think you can beat me?”
“All I need is one good day,” Spike grinned cheekily and moved to the other side of the mat, leaving Buffy with wide eyes and a racing mind..
“How many people know about the nickname? If we can narrow it down to one group, that'd be great,” Willow inquired after Spike finished his tale.
Buffy reflected on that for a moment. “No one outside of work knew about it,” she replied with certainty. “I never told my parents or Dawn. Spike's the only one who ever uses it with any regularity.”
Tara picked up the laptop and began looking through the list of case files Willow had created. “So we're looking for someone you've worked with one some point. All these cases should have a list of the agents involved.”
“You think it's someone from the bureau?” Xander couldn't believe this new turn. It was bad enough that someone was twisted enough to murder an innocent six-year-old and threaten a teenager, but to think that this had been done by one of their own? “That's impossible,” he finished his thoughts aloud.
Buffy slid off Spike's lap and joined Tara on the couch. “After the Academy, it was mostly just Spike and me for the first two years. After… after he left, there was no one there to keep using the nickname.”
“Alright, good, that really narrows it down then. Plus it leaves most of us off the suspect list. Xander and Anya were the only ones in Baltimore during that time. Tara, look for cases they both worked on during that two year period,” Willow instructed the other agent. If this really was the work of someone familiar with investigations, they'd have to work twice as hard to stay one step ahead. “Buffy and Spike, you two need to start making a list of people you can remember having any problems with while working on a case. Xander and Anya can take the bullet and the answering machine to the lab guys and see what they come up with.”
Anya and Xander collected the evidence and took it to the field office, promising to return with a team to sweep the house for listening devices. Willow and Tara moved to the office so they could sort through the case file list. Buffy left the couch to stand by the window. Spike stood behind her, his arm around her waist. Buffy picked up one of his hands and held it between two of her own.
“You're shaking,” she observed thoughtfully. Spike's skin was cold to the touch.
He rested his head against the cool glass of the window and took a deep breath. “You don't leave this house without me, understand?” his voice was low and lethal, but she detected a faint trace of fear behind it. “Scratch that, you don't leave my bloody sight until this is over with.”
Buffy opened her mouth to protest then quickly changed her mind. “I'm all right,” she assured her friend, gently tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips.
He straightened slightly and turned his head in her direction. Buffy was shocked by the trepidation and anxiety in his blue eyes. “A fraction of an inch, pet, just a fraction of an inch and there'd have been another Summers body in the morgue.”
“But I'm fi - “ she broke off when she noticed a single tear sliding down the smooth planes of her former partner's face. “You're right. We'll do this your way.” She brushed away the tear and leaned her forehead against his. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, their gaze conveying more than any words could.
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