Title: The Observer
Author: Jane McCartney
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.
Summary: As his health decreases and every trace of the man he used to be seems to be just a shade of an abandoned life, Xander finds out that he has to deal once again with the pain and quarrel of his past. B/A crossover.
***
Jack Carter had graduated from the L.A. police academy nearly three years ago, and gotten a transfer to Homicide a couple of months previously. So, by all standards, he was still pretty much the new kid on the block; or rather the rookie, as his boss liked to refer to him as.
The young bluesuit knocked on the door of his superior, and waited till he heard a "Come in," from the man inside.
Jack opened the rusted knob and left it open partway, putting half of his body inside the room. "Chief, there's a guy here who wants to see you," he stated to the older man's annoyed look of expectance.
"So? Get rid of him, I'm busy," William Sheppard, who was looking at some charts in his hand, replied without giving it a second thought - annoyed for being interrupted.
"It's that guy you met in the murdered girl's building," the young police officer muttered pointedly.
"Oh! OK, let him in," Sheppard replied with a wave of his hand, averting his eyes from the papers on the table.
A tall, dark-haired guy that seemed to be in his mid-twenties entered the room a little while later, closing the door behind him. He eyed a card in his hand, the very same one given to him the previous night by the detective, and then turned his gaze back to the gray-haired cop.
The former Slayerette said, in a composed but slightly tense voice, "Uh, hi, my name's Alexander Harris, I'm-"
"Harris, right - that former FBI collaborator," the 46-year-old man cut him off with what wasn't a question, but a statement.
His voice was husky and secure, and the detective had a certain smug smirk on his slightly aged face when he elucidated, "I checked up on you, hope you don't mind."
"Don't think I'd have any other choice," the younger man retorted, a hint of sarcasm accenting his words.
In his office, the gray-haired detective chuckled with some amusement. Either the kid seriously pissed him off, or he just liked the boy; Sheppard hadn't made up his mind about the matter yet. "You're right, you wouldn't."
William added without delay, "You're originally from Sunnydale, right? Don't even know why they keep a police department there. Nothing ever seems to happen..."
"Well, ya got me," the younger man replied, after a biting chuckle. Xander changed the subject with his next sentence, saying with a skeptical tone while tossing an envelope onto the detective's desk, "I received something yesterday. Thought it might interest you."
Sheppard looked up at him questioningly, in a meaningful silence.
"Seems they've gotten you entirely up to speed about my background, huh?" Xander's mouth twisted into a bitter, almost non-existent grin.
At William's somewhat startled or ashamed glance, the younger guy seemed amused, while letting his eyes travel along the detective's office. Xander mumbled casually, "Was I some kind of suspect or something?"
"You know the procedure, we've got to consider all the possibilities," Sheppard smirked cockily, and eyed the tossed envelope with a sharp look.
"It's the girl who was murdered," Xander confirmed his suspicions. "It's dated from yesterday, but the picture was taken about three days ago."
The gray-haired man opened the envelope with the utmost care, taking the picture out of its paper-y container. Analyzing the picture and thus not staring at Xander, Detective William Sheppard asked randomly, "Do you always take this long to open your mail?"
The dark-haired man shrugged. "Sometimes a day, sometimes a week."
"Marla Sheen, 25 years old, mostly a loner," the police officer absent- mindedly voiced his recollected knowledge about the victim. "So you think it's the same guy?" William then inquired.
"She was strangled with a piano string, like all the other victims," Xander replied pointedly, with a hint of tartness in his voice.
"But we haven't heard from him in more than a year now," the older man rationalized prudently.
The dark-haired guy snorted, with a bitter grin of incredulity - he seemed a little more agitated too. "Oh, for God's sake, of course it's him - her characteristics match perfectly with the others. And she lived in my freakin' building, remember?!"
Sheppard sighed. "You're probably right. I'll make a call to the agent in charge of that case and let him know. He's probably gonna want to make it here today..."
The gray-haired man opened the office's door and yelled, "Hey, rookie, get in here!"
Jack quickly appeared, stopping in front of William. "I need you to get a telephone number from the archives. Special Agent Anthony Phillips, Washington D.C. Violent Crimes section."
"You got it, chief," the young cop replied promptly, leaving the office and returning some minutes later, handing him the number.
During those fleeting instants while the detective was occupied with dialing the FBI agent's number, Xander's mind was recollecting his past once again.
~ Flashback ~
"Hey, Tony Boy - I think I've got something over here!" Xander yelled to the man in the other side of the large room, who came running in his direction.
"Call me that again, and I'll have to shoot you," the 29-year-old man joked, but the grin died on his lips as he glanced to where Xander was pointing.
"Holy shit," Phillips mumbled in awe.
A blonde woman ran to the spot too, reaching the two men a couple of seconds later. "Okay - this is definitely icky material," Buffy Summers said, her face frowning in a mix of disgust and amazement.
Xander silently looked back at Buffy, and then at Anthony; then he crouched and eyed closely the object responsible for their amazed reactions.
The doll was just about a foot tall, and her porcelain face was painted and marked with something that looked like blood. Her fake silky hair had been accurately dyed, and was combed in a way to purposely look like the last victim's hairstyle fashion.
Jennifer Gallagher, 22 years old; with long, straight brunette hair that reached down to the middle of her back - and like the previous four New Yorker and two Sunnydaler victims, a lonely girl, who had just recently moved to the small Californian town.
There was a little scarlet envelope attached to the doll by a silk string. Xander looked over his shoulder, to once more exchange silent glances with the two other persons on site.
The Slayer and the Special Agent looked at Xander with expressions that were silently telling him to go on, and so the dark-haired carpenter did. He opened the small envelope with great gentleness; and noticed with an inevitable chill, that as with the other cards, two words were written on it: [To Xander].
The glorified bricklayer and current FBI collaborator took a rectangular card out of the envelope and found, just like with the previous cards, the serial killer's pseudonym autograph.
Turning over the front of the card, in a stylized font, there was a sentence - a sentence that immediately made Xander feel the blood freezing in his veins.
[This one was for you, pal.]
~ End of Flashback ~
Detective Sheppard's husky voice brought Xander back to reality. "It's most likely they'll want to talk to you - according to what I've read about this case, and if what we've got here is in fact the same assassin, the odds are he'll probably keep trying to get in contact with you sooner or later."
Before any reply could come from Xander, Sheppard's call at last made the connection with its destination in Washington.
***
OK, I swear it'll start to make sense soon... But please, review me - I really need the motivation here... And by the way, thanks for all the previous reviews! You guys rocks!
Author: Jane McCartney
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.
Summary: As his health decreases and every trace of the man he used to be seems to be just a shade of an abandoned life, Xander finds out that he has to deal once again with the pain and quarrel of his past. B/A crossover.
***
Jack Carter had graduated from the L.A. police academy nearly three years ago, and gotten a transfer to Homicide a couple of months previously. So, by all standards, he was still pretty much the new kid on the block; or rather the rookie, as his boss liked to refer to him as.
The young bluesuit knocked on the door of his superior, and waited till he heard a "Come in," from the man inside.
Jack opened the rusted knob and left it open partway, putting half of his body inside the room. "Chief, there's a guy here who wants to see you," he stated to the older man's annoyed look of expectance.
"So? Get rid of him, I'm busy," William Sheppard, who was looking at some charts in his hand, replied without giving it a second thought - annoyed for being interrupted.
"It's that guy you met in the murdered girl's building," the young police officer muttered pointedly.
"Oh! OK, let him in," Sheppard replied with a wave of his hand, averting his eyes from the papers on the table.
A tall, dark-haired guy that seemed to be in his mid-twenties entered the room a little while later, closing the door behind him. He eyed a card in his hand, the very same one given to him the previous night by the detective, and then turned his gaze back to the gray-haired cop.
The former Slayerette said, in a composed but slightly tense voice, "Uh, hi, my name's Alexander Harris, I'm-"
"Harris, right - that former FBI collaborator," the 46-year-old man cut him off with what wasn't a question, but a statement.
His voice was husky and secure, and the detective had a certain smug smirk on his slightly aged face when he elucidated, "I checked up on you, hope you don't mind."
"Don't think I'd have any other choice," the younger man retorted, a hint of sarcasm accenting his words.
In his office, the gray-haired detective chuckled with some amusement. Either the kid seriously pissed him off, or he just liked the boy; Sheppard hadn't made up his mind about the matter yet. "You're right, you wouldn't."
William added without delay, "You're originally from Sunnydale, right? Don't even know why they keep a police department there. Nothing ever seems to happen..."
"Well, ya got me," the younger man replied, after a biting chuckle. Xander changed the subject with his next sentence, saying with a skeptical tone while tossing an envelope onto the detective's desk, "I received something yesterday. Thought it might interest you."
Sheppard looked up at him questioningly, in a meaningful silence.
"Seems they've gotten you entirely up to speed about my background, huh?" Xander's mouth twisted into a bitter, almost non-existent grin.
At William's somewhat startled or ashamed glance, the younger guy seemed amused, while letting his eyes travel along the detective's office. Xander mumbled casually, "Was I some kind of suspect or something?"
"You know the procedure, we've got to consider all the possibilities," Sheppard smirked cockily, and eyed the tossed envelope with a sharp look.
"It's the girl who was murdered," Xander confirmed his suspicions. "It's dated from yesterday, but the picture was taken about three days ago."
The gray-haired man opened the envelope with the utmost care, taking the picture out of its paper-y container. Analyzing the picture and thus not staring at Xander, Detective William Sheppard asked randomly, "Do you always take this long to open your mail?"
The dark-haired man shrugged. "Sometimes a day, sometimes a week."
"Marla Sheen, 25 years old, mostly a loner," the police officer absent- mindedly voiced his recollected knowledge about the victim. "So you think it's the same guy?" William then inquired.
"She was strangled with a piano string, like all the other victims," Xander replied pointedly, with a hint of tartness in his voice.
"But we haven't heard from him in more than a year now," the older man rationalized prudently.
The dark-haired guy snorted, with a bitter grin of incredulity - he seemed a little more agitated too. "Oh, for God's sake, of course it's him - her characteristics match perfectly with the others. And she lived in my freakin' building, remember?!"
Sheppard sighed. "You're probably right. I'll make a call to the agent in charge of that case and let him know. He's probably gonna want to make it here today..."
The gray-haired man opened the office's door and yelled, "Hey, rookie, get in here!"
Jack quickly appeared, stopping in front of William. "I need you to get a telephone number from the archives. Special Agent Anthony Phillips, Washington D.C. Violent Crimes section."
"You got it, chief," the young cop replied promptly, leaving the office and returning some minutes later, handing him the number.
During those fleeting instants while the detective was occupied with dialing the FBI agent's number, Xander's mind was recollecting his past once again.
~ Flashback ~
"Hey, Tony Boy - I think I've got something over here!" Xander yelled to the man in the other side of the large room, who came running in his direction.
"Call me that again, and I'll have to shoot you," the 29-year-old man joked, but the grin died on his lips as he glanced to where Xander was pointing.
"Holy shit," Phillips mumbled in awe.
A blonde woman ran to the spot too, reaching the two men a couple of seconds later. "Okay - this is definitely icky material," Buffy Summers said, her face frowning in a mix of disgust and amazement.
Xander silently looked back at Buffy, and then at Anthony; then he crouched and eyed closely the object responsible for their amazed reactions.
The doll was just about a foot tall, and her porcelain face was painted and marked with something that looked like blood. Her fake silky hair had been accurately dyed, and was combed in a way to purposely look like the last victim's hairstyle fashion.
Jennifer Gallagher, 22 years old; with long, straight brunette hair that reached down to the middle of her back - and like the previous four New Yorker and two Sunnydaler victims, a lonely girl, who had just recently moved to the small Californian town.
There was a little scarlet envelope attached to the doll by a silk string. Xander looked over his shoulder, to once more exchange silent glances with the two other persons on site.
The Slayer and the Special Agent looked at Xander with expressions that were silently telling him to go on, and so the dark-haired carpenter did. He opened the small envelope with great gentleness; and noticed with an inevitable chill, that as with the other cards, two words were written on it: [To Xander].
The glorified bricklayer and current FBI collaborator took a rectangular card out of the envelope and found, just like with the previous cards, the serial killer's pseudonym autograph.
Turning over the front of the card, in a stylized font, there was a sentence - a sentence that immediately made Xander feel the blood freezing in his veins.
[This one was for you, pal.]
~ End of Flashback ~
Detective Sheppard's husky voice brought Xander back to reality. "It's most likely they'll want to talk to you - according to what I've read about this case, and if what we've got here is in fact the same assassin, the odds are he'll probably keep trying to get in contact with you sooner or later."
Before any reply could come from Xander, Sheppard's call at last made the connection with its destination in Washington.
***
OK, I swear it'll start to make sense soon... But please, review me - I really need the motivation here... And by the way, thanks for all the previous reviews! You guys rocks!