Author's Note: Please, y'all, if you're reading this story and you're enjoying it, please let me know by leaving a review. This is a blast to write, and I'm having so much fun trying to merge both of these worlds together.
"Oh, bloody hell!"
Spike howled in pain when the stake pinning him to the pavement was extracted from his chest, and the vampire rolled onto his side as his hands clutched the wound. In a lot of ways, being staked like that was worse, and the bullet hole in his side wasn't helping matters. Sure, it was healing, but it still hurt like hell.
With a glance skyward, Spike rolled his eyes and sucked in his cheeks. William Bracken was examining the stake, pulling a white handkerchief out of his suit and wiping the blood off of the weapon.
By the time Spike got back to his feet, Bracken pocketed the stake.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?' The Senator quipped.
"Leave my mum out of this, mate." Spike sucked in a ragged breath he didn't really need, his hand now on his side to cover the bullet hole. Blood trickled onto his fingers, and under different circumstances, it was a sensation he would relish. "Who was that bint?"
"That was Kate Beckett," Bracken explained. "Homicide detective, vampire slayer, all-around potential pain in my ass."
"And why's that?" Spike managed to fish a cigarette from the mashed-up pack in his coat, removing his hand from the still-healing bullet wound so he could light it. His lighter flipped closed and the vampire took a long drag. "What, you cut the NYPD's budget or something?"
"I've spent the last seventy years preparing for my Ascension," Bracken said, pacing around Spike and unbuttoning the jacket of his suit. His tie was still done up in a perfect knot and the American flag pin was still on full display. "Every milestone, every ritual…without fail, I have done what was needed to be done."
Spike glanced over his shoulder before shrugging. "Get to the point."
"If Detective Beckett were to learn the truth about me…well, let's just say she might hold a grudge."
"So it'd be personal." The vampire smirked and shook his head. "I like personal. But why not just kill her, mate?"
"That's where you come in." Bracken approached Spike and placed a hand on the vampire's shoulder, flashing the best camera-ready smile he had. "I've racked up enough of a body count in my time. Besides, I made a deal."
Spike quirked a brow. "A deal."
"She doesn't come after me, I don't go after her." Bracken shrugged. "But there's nothing in that deal saying someone else can't do it."
"I like her," Spike decided. "Just the right combination of strong and damaged. I'll do her for you, Bracken. And the only thing I want in return is the story."
Bracken arched a brow. "The story."
"Yeah." Spike puffed on what was left of his cigarette before flicking the spent butt to the side. The bullet hole was almost completely healed up by now, and the vampire had an easier time moving as a result. "I wanna know what you did that turned that girl into a crusader."
January 9, 1999…
Johanna Beckett had heard all of the stories, knew all of the reasons one should never wander alone in an alley at night. But she was already running late; she was supposed to meet her husband and daughter for dinner almost an hour and a half ago. It was a dinner she'd been looking forward to all week, their last get-together as a family before Katie had to return to California to start her spring semester at Stanford.
Johanna still couldn't get over the fact that her only daughter had decided to move cross-country to go to college. Not that Stanford was a terrible choice for someone who had aspirations of going to law school, but the fact that it was so far away from the family's native New York was still unsettling to her.
Walking as quickly as her heels would allow, Johanna went to fish her cell phone out of her purse. It was a clunky thing that she hated to use, but it was issued to her by the firm and she found it helpful when she was running late.
Like now.
Her meeting with Detective Montgomery had gone longer than she had hoped; the original plan had been to drop off evidence she had acquired on behalf of her client, a mafia enforcer named Joe Pulgatti who she believed had been wrongly accused of killing an undercover federal agent. But as soon as she saw the picture of Montgomery's wife and young daughter on his desk, they got to talking and now she was likely on her way to see an annoyed daughter and a frustrated husband.
Johanna cursed under her breath when the phone slipped out of her hand and broke upon hitting the damp pavement. She dropped to a knee to pick up the device, shaking her head when she saw that part of the casing had broken off. Yeah, that was definitely coming out of her next paycheck. Good thing Katie was on scholarship.
By the time she gathered the remnants of her phone and placed them in her purse, cursing the fact that she could no longer call Jim ahead of time to tell him she was on her way, Johanna heard footsteps behind her. She stopped in her tracks, turning to glance over her shoulder in time to see a man three inches or so shorter than her, wearing all black and approaching with a knife in his hand.
More than that, though, Johanna saw his face. The harsh ridges on his forehead, the yellow eyes that were like staring at a wild animal, the way the man snarled and revealed a pair of fangs. Johanna clutched her bag to her chest, taking several steps backward.
"Drop the bag," the man snarled, and as he closed the distance, Johanna caught one of the foulest smells she had ever experienced. It made her gag, and she wound up dropping the bag as she reached up to cover her mouth and nose.
Johanna had expected her attacker to go straight for the bag, so she couldn't react when he closed the distance between them – far quicker than she anticipated – wrapping a hand around her neck and pushing her up against the wall. Johanna opened her mouth to scream, but the burning pain of the blade twisting into her gut rendered her stunned into silence.
The blade withdrew, and Johanna gasped in terror as her body slumped down along the wall. She wound up curled up against a pile of garbage, unable to do anything as the knife pierced her back once, and then twice, and then a third time. Each stab was precise and swift, and were it not for the pain of the original wound overwhelming her system, Johanna probably would've felt all of the others.
But even that pain didn't last – because by the time the blade dug into the side of her neck, Johanna was dead. Her eyes were frozen wide and in fear, her body limp resting against the trash and the brick wall.
The monster pulled the knife out of Johanna's neck with a snarl, examining the blood coating the blade before bringing the weapon to his nose. A low growl escaped his throat when he caught a whiff of Johanna's blood, and then the vampire ran his tongue along the blade. Once the taste registered, though, the vampire glared at the dead woman at his feet, cocking his head to the side.
Only when he heard sirens in the distance did the vampire turn to leave the alley.
The Twelfth…
"So," Buffy Summers said as she followed Detective Beckett into the break room and watched her pour herself a mug of something; the cop called it coffee, but Buffy wasn't convinced. "You and Angel."
Kate shrugged. "Not lately."
"He didn't go evil on you, did he?"
Kate huffed a laugh and ducked her head, brushing her fingers over her short, red-tinged locks. "No, we, uh…it's complicated."
Buffy arched a brow. "Did you stab him with a sword and send him to a hell dimension?"
Kate frowned and blinked in confusion, taking a sip. "Um…no?"
"Then it's not as complicated as me and him."
Part of Kate wanted that story. The rest of her was content in the bliss of ignorance. Angel hadn't given her much in the way of details when it came to Buffy, but he'd talked about her often enough – and the look in his eyes whenever he said her name – that Kate knew she was beyond important to him in some way.
She also had a fairly decent idea of just how horribly wrong they'd gone. Between Buffy and Cordelia, Angel was the poster child for love tragically gone wrong. By comparison, her fallout with the vampire was nothing.
"We were really good for a while," Kate admitted with a shrug. "He can brood and mope all he wants, but Angel can be really sweet and really sensitive. But it just…he has a hard time letting things go."
Buffy scoffed with a smirk. "Tell me about it."
"You walk in his office, and there's this giant picture of a woman behind his desk," Kate shook her head. "I mean, I get it, Cordelia was important to him and what happened to her was terrible, but that's just…awkward. And that's not even the worst part."
One year ago…
Sneaking into Angel's office wasn't anything new for Kate; she often did it whenever she had a late night at the precinct and didn't feel like going all the way back to her apartment. Not that she'd sleep no matter where she was, but at least swinging by Angel's office – and his underground apartment – afforded her company outside of unfunny late-night hosts and infomercials.
Even though they had broken up, it was an amicable split – by far the most amicable she'd ever had. They were still able to consult with each other on cases, he was still able to help her cope with being a Slayer, and overall they still got along.
Angel's office was empty, which Kate had expected. There was a mechanical lift on the far left side of his office that would take her down to his apartment, a place that was as cozy as an underground living space with medieval weaponry hanging from the walls could be.
Turning in that direction, and letting herself steal a glance at the photographs on the wall that chronicled Angel's life in Los Angeles, Kate stopped when something to her right caught her eye. She glanced at the flatscreen monitor in the corner, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the screen was on.
In the center of the screen was a head shot of her late mother. Other images surrounded that picture: crime scene photos, head shots of other people potentially involved in the case. Kate shook as she stepped closer to the monitor, her jaw clenching. She felt the anger rising like bile in her throat, her hands curling into fists so tight her nails dug into her palms.
Laid out in front of her was everything they had on the murder of Johanna Beckett.
The sound of footsteps behind her drew Kate's attention, and on instinct her hand rested on her gun. The steps grew louder, and the detective made sure to unclench her jaw, even as her nerves were on fire. The creak of a door was the final straw, and Kate whirled around on the balls of her feet, drawing her weapon and cradling it in both hands.
"NYPD, put your hands in the—" Kate's eyes widened when she saw Angel standing in front of her, hands raised to his head. The shock eventually wore off, only to be replaced with the anger that had been bubbling up since she found the monitor, and Kate kept her weapon trained on the vampire.
"Kate," Angel said with a smirk. "You can, uh, you can put that away now."
"What's this?" she asked, keeping the weapon steady in her grasp. She realized how ridiculous it was to be holding Angel at gunpoint, but it was more easily accessible than her stake and frankly, her police training was second-nature. Slayer training was still somewhat a work in progress.
"What's what?"
The scowl on Kate's face deepened as she nodded in the direction of the monitor. Angel's eyes followed and then, as if it were possible, his face paled even more. His hands lowered ever so slightly before the vampire took a step forward, a scowl of his own now etched into his forehead. "Kate, I—"
"What did I ask you?" Kate demanded, willing the tears building in her eyes not to fall. "That night we decided it was over, what did I ask you to do?"
Angel opened his mouth, but no words came.
"Answer me!"
Angel sighed and lowered his hands, averting his gaze. "You told me to stop looking into your mother's case."
"So tell me what that's doing on your screen," she ordered, taking a step toward Angel.
Angel didn't have an answer. Well, he did, but there was nothing he could say that would make her calm down. Nor should she; he knew he'd gone against her word and betrayed her trust. And if they weren't already over before this, he was certain they would've been now. He stared at the monitor – anything to keep from looking at the hurt in her eyes or the way the barrel of the gun twitched in her grasp.
Truth be told, Angel knew this day would come. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep this a secret forever; his only hope was that by the time Kate found out he was still investigating, he would be able to lead her to the man responsible.
But he was no closer to that now than he was when they broke up.
"You went behind my back and did the one thing I specifically asked you not to do," Kate shook her head and holstered her gun before turning to the monitor and folding her arms over her chest. "How can I even trust you after this? How do I know anything you say from now on is the truth?"
The words fell out of Angel's mouth before he could stop himself. "Because I love you."
Kate turned around to glance at Angel, her arms still folded over her chest as a crease built onto her forehead. She cocked her head to the side and her eyes narrowed, as if she were mulling over Angel's confession. Then, with another glance back to the monitor, she shook her head.
"No, you don't," she said. "If you did, you would've respected my wishes."
"Kate—"
"No, Angel." Kate pushed her ex-boyfriend aside, making her way toward the door leading into his office. "You don't get to go behind my back and do things pertaining to my life without clearing them with me first."
"But—"
"My life, Angel. Mine." Kate grit her teeth and turned the doorknob. "It's not your place, and it's not your call."
Before Angel could say anything, the door to his office slammed shut, leaving him alone. He sighed and chewed on his lower lip, staring at the monitor. All of that information on display, practically taunting him. No new leads in the almost year and a half he had been investigating; in a lot of ways, he was hitting all of the same dead ends the police had.
He kept waiting for that big break, the one discovery that would unravel the entire ball of yarn and lead him directly to those responsible. He had planned to go to Kate with that information once he had it, hoping excitement over the break would outweigh the anger she'd feel over him going behind her back, but as was typical for him, no such luck.
Kate was right, of course. He'd known even as he was digging that he shouldn't have been, and yet Angel couldn't help himself. At least in L.A., whenever he had a bonehead idea like this, Angel had a group of friends who could talk him back from the proverbial ledge. He didn't have that here – a fact of which he was reminded every time he saw that picture of Cordelia behind his desk.
With a sigh, Angel turned off the monitor before summoning the lift again. It whined and groaned as the machine worked its magic, and by the time Angel opened the lift and pushed the button to lower it, he was in full-on brood mode again.
Something told him things with Kate were beyond repair. And yet, he still couldn't help but wonder: who killed Johanna Beckett?