Title: Life With the Dead
Author: random shoes
Disclaimer: "Good writers borrow from other writers. Great writers steal from them outright." - Aaron Sorkin
"Mediocre writers borrow; great writers steal." - T.S. Eliot
I no more wish to insult Joss than (I imagine) Aaron wished to insult Mr. Eliot. We do it out of love.
Spoilers: Um...no? If you haven't watched all of Buffy, then I honestly don't know what you're doing reading my writing. GO WATCH IT NOW. As for Bones, vague spoilers for "The Parts in the Sum of the Whole," as usual.
Author's Note: Finally, finally got this finished and edited. On the bright side, it's a bit longer than usual. To all those who've been reviewing: you are all very sweet, and it gives me a little jolt of smiley every time you write me. To all those who haven't been reviewing: if you have any comments, particularly of the specific, constructive kind, please do take a moment to send them to me. I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing. Also, if anyone has any questions about the story, or just wants to nerd out about Joss or whatever, feel free to PM me. I very much enjoy talking to humans.

Five Words

"Giles?"

"Buffy."

There was an awkward pause while Buffy tried to figure out what to say next. She shifted on the bed, making the springs creak a little. Rona and Vi had the news on too loud in the next room. Finally, Giles spoke.

"It's going well over there?"

"Umm...that's why I called you."

"Is everyone all right?" The worry in Giles' voice was utterly dad-like. I'll take insta-guilt with a side of warm and fuzzy, thank you.

"Yes! Everything's fine. Well, everybody, anyway. It's just been...weird here, and I wanted to run some stuff by you."

"Oh. Run away."

Buffy laughed. After a moment, Giles laughed too.

"Okay, so...I've had a few, um, collisions with the FBI."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. I sorta got arrested last night."

"For what?"

"Breaking into that FBI building, the one you always see on TV?"

"The Hoover Building?" Giles sounded amused.

"Yeah, that one."

"Why, exactly...?"

"I thought they'd brought these bodies there—turns out I was wrong, they were at the Jeffersonian—but anyways I was worried one of them had been turned."

"So you were arrested?"

"Had to call Riley."

"And how is Mr. Finn these days?"

"Very helpful. You know Sam's pregnant, right?"

"I had heard that."

"It's gonna be a girl. Crazy, huh? Riley being all married-with-kids?"

"I do believe that is the normal state of affairs for someone his age."

"Yes but...never mind. So he did some sort of Riley magic, and then I went to the Jeffersonian—"

"How did you know the bodies were at the museum?"

Buffy tensed. "This agent told me. Whoever Riley called must've told him to help me. So I go there and I was right, the vamps turned one of them, only..."

"What?"

"Someone else got there first."

"Got there first?"

"Dusted her already."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

She could practically hear his mind starting to work. "I'll see if I can find out who else might be in town. I assume you've checked with the other slayers?"

"It's only Vi, Rona and Beth besides me. Beth's partner's still in the hospital. Anyway I told them I would take care of it, and Beth was the one who suggested I to go the Hoover Building. She said she thought there was a morgue in the basement. I'm gonna ask her to check with her contacts, see if there's anyone new in town but...who dusts vampires besides slayers?"

"Well, there are mercenary demon hunters, and I have heard of humans who go on vendettas, although they usually don't last too long."

"If you find anything..."

"I'll call."

"And Giles?"

"Mm-hm?"

"There was something el—"

Vi threw open the door.

"Buffy! You have to see this now!" She grabbed the remote control.

The TV lit up. A woman was mouthing excited, inaudible words to the camera.

"Where's the stupid mute button?" Vi looked like she was about to break the remote in half.

"Uh, can I call you later?"

Buffy hung up, just as Vi found the elusive button.

"...tor's whereabouts. We have just received a video, apparently from the kidnappers..."

The ride to Senator Morgan's office was painfully quiet. Brennan had run out of questions by the time they got to the car, which was fine: Booth had run out of answers before they exited the building. Outside of work, they had nothing to say to each other. It wasn't scientific, but the silence between them seemed to give her real physical pain. Her heart was just a muscle, but it felt cramped, exhausted.

It all used to be so easy, so comfortable. Whatever happened in her life, whatever terrible, absurd, chaotic events found her, he had always been solid. They were always solid. Then he'd ruined everything, by saying...by asking...well, what could he expect her to do? He'd asked for something she couldn't give. He should have known that about her. Couldn't he just forget it all? She needed things back to the way they were before. Her world was tilting on its axis and she couldn't find her center of gravity.

Brennan glanced at Booth, and thought again of Angel. She had no idea what to do with her memories of last night, with the things she'd seen, the things she'd heard. What did one do with the knowledge that vampires were real?

Well: she would most likely recognize a vampire victim, but then what? She'd be unable to explain the circumstances to any one else. If what Angel had said about vampire strength was accurate, she certainly couldn't go after one alone. Her only option would be to call Angel. On her own she would be helpless—no. That was unacceptable. She was not helpless. She had the most powerful weapon in the world: knowledge. Dr. Temperance Brennan was a genius; she could handle vampires. First order of business: get a stake.

And then she realized: Booth. His case was going to lead him right into the jaws of some vampire, maybe more than one, and he had no idea. He would get himself killed. Unless...unless she kept his focus firmly on the missing senator. That could work. And in the meantime Temperance would do something about whatever had bitten those six people.

At first glance, the crime scene didn't tell Booth much. The "signs of a struggle" amounted to a few fallen papers and a tipped chair. The office was what you'd expect: heavy wooden desk, pristine sofa, thick law books and amber lighting. Behind the desk an Arizona flag and the stars and stripes drooped from their stands.

Hodgins' head popped out from behind the desk, causing Booth to jump a bit.

"Oops, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Found this next to the chair." He was holding up something small and brown with those tweezer-things he always had.

"And that is...?"

"Piece of a leaf. Probably from the senator's shoe, nothing special, but who knows? We might get lucky." He carefully dropped the leaf into an evidence bag.

"Hey, Dr. Brennan."

"Dr. Hodgins. Discover anything else?"

"Not yet."

"Keep looking. We'll go talk to his staff," Booth decided. They started to leave the room.

"It's nice to see you two working together again."

Neither partner responded.

Outside the office stood several distraught-looking people and an unnecessary number of cops. When they caught sight of Bones and Booth they all started talking at once.

"Did you find any—"

"Was he kidnap—"

"Can you tell me—"

Booth straightened to his full height and bellowed into the din, "Which one of you people were the last to see the senator?"

Everyone continued to talk over each other.

"Excuse me," said a terrifying voice from beside him.

Silence reigned.

Booth glance at Bones, smiled a little, then turned back and repeated his question.

A young man stepped forward.

"Okay. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

The man led them into a small meeting room. A television chattered softly in the background.

Booth pulled out his notebook. "What's your name?"

"Hale. Evan—Evan Hale. I'm—I'm Senator Morgan's executive assistant." The man couldn't stand still, eyes shifting constantly to the TV set behind them.

Booth snapped his fingers. "Hey! Calm down. Focus."

"It's just if something happens, I want to know..." his eyes back on the newscast.

"We're here to find your boss. If you want to help find him—"

"—then we need you to answer some questions." His partner's voice was unusually gentle. Hale brought his eyes to her face.

"Okay, sorry, sorry. You're right."

"So, last night...?"

"The senator was working late last night, which means I was, too—"

"You left before him?" Booth drew the man's eyes to his.

"Uh-huh."

"What time?"

"Um, ten-thirty?"

"And did you see anyone around on your way out?"

"Just the janitor and a few staffers. Nobody out of place, that I can remember."

"And—"

Bones' phone jingled. "Excuse me," she moved off into a corner of the room, shooting him an apologetic look.

"And did the senator have any particular enemies?"

"Andrew," Bones muttered, into her phone. Booth's blood pressure jumped to dangerous levels.

"Enemies? Don't the kidnappers just want money? I mean, they wouldn't have to be his enemies would they, if they just wanted the money?"

Booth was having a lot of trouble focusing on Hale's words. She was whispering. Whispering was kind of intimate, right?

"Uh, agent?"

"Yeah, sorry. We—uh, we don't know this is a kidnapping. In fact, we have no reason at all to suppose—"

Hale's eyes had wandered again. "Something's happening!"

Booth turned around.

A shaky video filled the screen. A man sat, tied firmly to the chair back, grey hair disheveled and dirty, eyes red.

"It's him!" Hale announced, unnecessarily. He was already turning up the sound.

"Th—they want me to read" an incoherent noise came from somewhere off-camera. "Oh—don't—I'm reading it." The senator began to read something on his lap. "My kidnappers do not want money. I will not be—not be saved by the police. They do not want me. They want," he looked up at the camera, confused. "They say they want the—the slayers? I don't know what that..." his eyes widened in fear "uh—if the slayers do not come they will...kill me." he swallowed. "It says...from—from beneath you it devours."

The video cut to black.

The newscaster came back on, but Booth wasn't listening anymore. Slayers. He knew that word.

The three women stared at the television in horror.

"Did he just say what I think he just said?" Vi's voice was sixteen again.

"Yep," answered Rona, "He said the magic words."

Buffy retrieved the phone, dialed.

"Giles. So, um...things just got much, much worse."

They were silent, again, on the ride back to the FBI building. She hoped Booth was absorbed in the case, although at the moment there wasn't much to go on. None of the staffers had told them anything useful, and that video had only made things murkier. All that nonsense about "slayers" and "devouring" was a baffling mystery. But Brennan had bigger worries. Booth could deal with a few mentally unbalanced kidnappers; Temperance had some less human fish to fry.

He dropped her off at the FBI parking lot, with a vague comment about an "errand," and drove off, too fast.

She made her way to her car, planning the conversation ahead. She had to be persuasive; Booth's safety depended on it.

Settled in the driver's seat, she dug out her wallet. The white card was tucked in the back, behind her CPR certification.

Breathing. Buttons.

It seemed to ring a long time. So long, she was sure it would go to voicemail. It didn't.

"Yeah?" It was not Angel's voice.

"Oh, uh, I believe I have the wrong number."

"Right."

She hung up, stared at the card for a moment. Try again.

"Yeah?" a little annoyed this time.

"Oh, I—"

"Don't think y'uv got the wrong number, lady."

"What?"

"Spit it out, love. Who're you callin' for?"

Brennan swallowed. She felt unaccountably nervous, as if she'd been caught in some embarrassing action.

"A—Angel."

"Peaches is in the shower. Can I take a message?"

"I—Peaches?"

"Yeah. He's in the shower. Been a while since we 'ad one a those. Well, likely not in the shower anymore, 'cause I can't hear the water. Probably doin'...whatever it is he does to his hair to make it all stupid and spiky and—"

Brennan felt it was time to interject. "—yes, as a matter of fact I would like to leave a message. Can you tell him Dr. Brennan called, and—who am I speaking to?"

"Spike."

This gave her pause. "Spike?"

"Got a problem with my name? S'better than Angel."

She couldn't help but smile. "I suppose it is. Are you...a friend of his?"

He laughed, hard, like he was really enjoying it. "Well, I wouldn't say that, exactly...more like colleagues. Sorta family. Somethin' that communicates a lack of choice in the matter. So Doc, you need Peaches for something?"

"Yes, I need some help with tracking down some...some people."

"People, eh? Right. This the number he can call you back at?"

"What?"

"Number you're calling from. Phone logged it. Might have to write it down, big guy's not great with technology, but—"

Temperance felt suddenly nervous, as if she'd just realized he could see her.

"Yes. This number's fine. But could you—could you see if—"

A familiar voice stopped her. "What are you doing with my phone?"

"It rang." Spike's voice was distant, he was probably holding the phone away from his face.

"And you picked it up because...?"

"Didn't think you knew how to check your messages."

"I'm not an idiot, Spike. Give me the phone."

Brennan relaxed a little.

"Just tryin' to be helpful. Next time I won't bother." There was a slight rustling.

"Hello?"

"Angel?" she felt an absurd amount of relief. "It's Temperance Brennan."

"Dr. Brennan. Everything all right?"

"Yes—that is...I need your help. With some vampires."

In the background came Spike's voice: "Bloody marvelous! We haven't killed anything in ages!"

Booth pulled up to the hotel, apprehensive.

It wasn't exactly crappy, but it wasn't nice either. It surprised him; from what he'd seen so far of Buffy, she had expensive taste in clothing and a not inconsiderable sense of entitlement.

Room 27 was lit up, but oddly silent. His hand went automatically to his gun. However little he knew about what was happening to his city, he did know this woman was a central part of it, and that he was wading into dangerous, unknown waters. Waters filled with sharks...

He knocked.

The door opened immediately. A red-haired girl stood before him. No, not girl, woman? She looked very young, like she was barely out of high school, but something in her eyes, in the way she held herself...like Buffy, he realized.

"Hello. I'm Special Agent Booth. I'm looking for Buffy Summers...?"

The gap between the door and the frame narrowed by nearly a foot.

"Who?"

He took a stab. "Buffy. Your boss, I'm guessing."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She was a terrible liar.

"Look, I don't mean her any harm. I need her help."

This took her off-guard. "Wha—help?"

"Yes. Is she here?"

"I—I don't..."

Another woman's head came into view behind her. Her eyes held all the weariness of the red-head's, but none of her innocence.

"I'll take this, Vi." To him: "You're from the FBI?"

"Yes."

"What do you want?"

"Your help. I'm investigating the kidnapping of Senator Donald Morgan. Have you heard—"

"We've seen the news."

"Then you know why I need your help."

Her expression was cold. "I do?"

"They said they want the slayers."

Eyebrows up, mouth shut.

Fine. All the cards on the table. "So, considering the very likely possibility that a United States Senator has been kidnapped by vampires, I thought maybe the vampire slayers might, between tours of the Lincoln memorial, deign to offer their services. It is your job, isn't it?"

It was possible, just possible, that he'd affected her in some way. Her mouth seemed to move a millimeter or two. He'd never seen someone this young with such a hard face.

"Okay," she said, and shut the door in his face.

Fuck. What now?

He stared at the 27 on the door. The paint was chipping off at the bottom of the seven. He raised his hand to pound on it...

...and found himself looking down at Buffy Summers.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said.

He put his arm down. After a moment she let out a tired smile. "Your day going any better than mine?"

"Nope."

"Didn't think so." The door swung open. "Come on in."

He ventured into the room. The red-head and the black woman were giving him intense stares. One with fear and the other with hostility. Booth was gaining a healthy appreciation for Buffy's friendly confidence.

"That's Vi and Rona," she gestured at the women. "Fellow slayers."

Her casual tone seemed to relax Vi. Rona's glare was unaffected.

Buffy sat down on one of the beds. Vi eased into the desk chair. Booth settled on the other bed, across from Buffy. Rona stood, unmoving, in the corner. Comfortable, Booth thought.

"Do you know—"

"Nope."

"—why they asked for the slayers?"

"No."

Vi spoke. "They said—"

A look from Rona stopped her. Huh.

Buffy continued as if Vi hadn't spoken. "At the moment we're about as informed as you. But, obviously, the senator's kidnapping is a supernatural matter. So, I'm gonna ask you to let us take the lead—"

Booth opened his mouth. Buffy stopped him with a look.

"—I don't expect you to like it. I do expect you to protect yourself, your partner, and all the people who work for you. FBI training isn't going to cut it. Stay away from the kidnappers. If you get any leads, call me first. I don't care what I look like, I'm not new at this. We're in this now, and I need you to trust me."

The absolute authority in her voice astonished him into silence. Vi's face now displayed only confidence and strength. Even Rona appeared impressed.

Booth looked into the face of the small, sturdy woman before him, and thought of all the times Bones had disagreed with him, and been right, all the times she'd saved his life by ignoring his orders. He might be an old-fashioned guy, but he knew truth and power when he saw it.

"Okay. You're in charge. We work together. As long as I'm included in that we."

Buffy was getting really, really good at the hero speeches. They came naturally to her, like breathing, riding a bike, punning. She could tell it had worked on Vi, which was good; she'd been worried about her, what with the horrible-memory-inducing phrase they'd just heard. She'd also managed to talk her way onto the top of the food chain, so to speak, which meant there was a possibility Agent Not Angel would listen to her. He seemed to accept her as boss, at least for now. It was a heady experience, ordering FBI agents around. She could get used to this.

"My people are doing some research into the senator, his policies, and any connection with the underworld." Her "people" consisted of Giles, Dawn (who was on break from grad school) and Andrew, but Not Angel didn't need to know that. "In the meantime, Vi, Rona, and I, plus Beth, one of the local slayers—"

Booth started at this. "Local slayers?"

"Yep. There's two of them. Never had many problems here, otherwise we'd have more. Anyway, the four of us will be patrolling, checking out the local demon hangouts—"

"Demon hangouts?" His eyes got kinda big.

"Yeah, demon hangouts. I wouldn't worry too much about demons. They tend to have a rough time blending in. Most aren't too bad, really. Petty criminals and general scumbags. Some of them are perfectly friendly and harmless. Vamps are the ones you wanna watch out for. They'll take you by surprise. Anyway, what I need from you is forensics. If you can find these people for me, we can do the rest."

Booth blinked. He looked pretty overwhelmed. Eventually he nodded. "Forensics is taken care of. I've got the best team in the country. But this...patrolling...I want you to take me with you."

So not part of the plan. "What?"

"This is my city. I keep it safe. And now you're telling me there's a whole...underworld I didn't know existed. Well, I need to know. Long after you are gone, I'll still be here. Like you said, I need to protect my partner, my people. I can't do that if I don't know what's out there."

She thought for a moment. He was right, of course. He needed to know what he was up against. It was only that need for secrecy, hammered into her by the old council, that held her back. "All right. We'll start—"

His phone rang.

"Sorry. I have to—I'm AWOL from work, technically." He picked up.

"Booth...okay...can you give it to someone else? I'm kind bu—oh. Which hospital? George Washington? Okay. I'll be right there."

A feeling of dread settled firmly in Buffy's stomach. She recognized that name. "What is it?"

"A girl—a Madeline Fr—"

"We're coming with you."

••••••••••••

Maddy's throat had been slashed. A perfect, clean line. Nothing jagged, no defensive wounds. Only that effortless split in the skin, and blood dripping lazily down to her collar bone, pooling just above her breasts. She must have been asleep. Probably the pain meds did her in. Dulled her heightened senses. Lulled her into death. She never even opened her eyes. They were still closed, almost. Just the slightest break between lashes and cheek, enough for Buffy to glimpse a sliver of dull, shiny white.

Buffy felt very, very tired.

It was all so calm, so neat. The blood was drying in perfect circles and artistic splatters on her pillow, her hospital gown. Below, traced on her still tucked-in blanket in looping red scrawl, were five oh-so-familiar words.

"From beneath you it devours," read Rona.

Vi looked like she was about to cry. Buffy was pretty sure Vi hadn't cried since Sunnydale.

"I have to call Beth," Buffy realized abruptly. Mechanically, she reached for her cell phone.

As it rang, she made eye-contact with Booth. In his eyes she saw perfect understanding, not of those five words, or Vi and Rona's fear, or even the grief of death. What Booth understood was this call, the words she would have to say to Beth, the sickening duty of being, always, the bringer of bad news.

"Beth. It's Buffy. Something's happened."