"You know what, I think this place might be even more impressive at night, or, technically, 6:47 in the evening," she amended as her gaze flicked over her watch. "If these walls could talk, just think of all the stories! Movie stars and dancers and politicians and musicians and...ooh, maybe a mob boss. What do you reckon? Do you think any mobsters stayed here?" she asked Angel, mentally cursing herself for her avid curiosity: she didn't want him to think she was obsessed with crime or anything, yet at the same time...

"Oh, most definitely," Angel remarked off-handedly, a smile dancing about the corners of his mouth. "I'm sure the Hyperion saw a lot of action in it's day, not all of it legal."

"Cool," Buffy breathed, a little in awe. "What made you pick this as your base of operations? It must have cost a pretty penny to do up," she thought aloud.

Angel took the bag from her hand. She'd almost forgotten it's presence dangling from her fingers.

"The last one got blown up, I like places with history, and as for finances...well, let's just say I know a guy who likes working his magic when it comes to money."

Buffy retrieved her bag back from him. "Sounds intriguing. And I can carry my own bag," she huffed. "Besides, I doubt you give your other guests such personal treatment."

"True, but I thought it would make up for the lack of pillow mints."

"I was only joking about those," she whispered with a wicked grin.

Angel feigned relief. "Thank God. This thing," he indicated her bag, "is all yours, then. What have you got in there, a hairdryer?" he asked incredulously.

"Only a mini one," she admitted rather sheepishly. "As an Officer, you never know what state your hair's gonna be in by the end of the day. One time, I spent nearly three hours in a sewer, up to my knees in unmentionable crud, trying to track down a suspect for one of the detectives, only to have said suspect rammed into me from behind. Suffice to say, I learnt that 'Drowned Sewer Rat' is not a look to save in the Buffy hair catalogue. Semper hair care routine."

"Thank you for enlightening me," Angel smirked.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Jerk." She was just about to ask about where she'd be staying, exactly, when they caught sight of Sam, arms piled high with junk food and snacks, balancing a tub of ice cream under her chin.

She blushed deeply. "Hi?" she offered, careful not to drop any of her unhealthy goods.

"Hi, I'm Buffy," she introduced herself. "It's nice to finally meet you, Sam. I can see you're a sister in sugary solidarity."

"It's nice to meet you, too. Angel talks very highly of you."

Buffy turned to Angel, a saccharine sweet smile on her face. "Does he know," she drawled.

Angel rubbed the back of his neck, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"I'm glad you're working my mom's case," Sam told her quietly. "I really appreciate everything you're doing. The both of you."

"It's my job," the two of them replied at the same time. Sam laughed softly. "I was gonna watch a movie. If you're staying, you're welcome to join me," she invited Buffy.

That sounded nice. Really nice. But..."That's real sweet, but I promised Mrs Fletcher here we'd work on the case. But knowing him and his old age, he'll probably fall asleep before I can open my mouth, so maybe save me a seat?"

Sam smiled. "Sure. Don't work too hard," she cautioned and walked off.

Angel stood beside her for a moment, hands buried so deep into his pockets she thought he'd have to hire a rescue team to get them out. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way."

Her room was beautiful. Decorated in bright, jewel tone course and accented with gold, it had an art deco feel she truly admired. After putting her few things in one of the heavy cherry-wood dressers, she simply sank onto the mattress, admiring all the details and the incredible view the floor-to-ceiling windows offered her, as well as the balcony. Who had a balcony these days?

"I should get sent ominous flowers more often," she mumbled to herself. Feeling a little more at ease now that she was out of the clothes she'd searched Wilcox's apartment in, Buffy was just about to take that shower she'd retuned to the precinct for in the first place when she heard a knock on the door. Dragging herself from the comfort of the bed, she padded over to the source of the sound, glad she'd put on a fluffy dressing gown over her T-shirt.

Buffy opened the door. "Hi," she greeted the tall, dark and lurkesome figure.

"I come bearing blankets, since this floor gets pretty cold and I suspect the ones in the closet are not living a moth-free life."

"Thanks, that was really thoughtful of you. Do you want to go over the case?" she got right to it as she took the outstretched blankets, folding them under an arm.

Angel shook his head. "It's getting late, and you're probably tired and-"

"Angel."

He looked up at her commanding tone.

"I'm a grown woman, I know my limits, and the concern is appreciated, but I'll be working on this tonight, with or without you. And if you're so worried, at least if you do it with me you can stop me from falling asleep into my coffee. Deal?"

"Deal," he agreed, albeit begrudgingly.

She flashed him a smile. "Excellent. Have you got all your files handy?"

"They're downstairs."

"Go grab them. It's time we started putting everything together."

Whilst Angel went downstairs, Buffy took the opportunity to change into a comfortable pajama top and leggings, brush her teeth and comb out her hair. It wasn't a hot shower, but it would do for now.

Angel returned while the coffee maker finished it's bleeping, carrying the files, a stack of legal pads, lots of pens in varying colours and a...whiteboard? On wheels?

"I thought, since there's so much information, it might help to visualize it all, and this way we won't lose anything," he explained to her, twiddling a pen.

"And it looks cool," Buffy guessed, pouring herself a mug, then one for Angel.

"And it looks cool," he acknowledged, taking the mug from her hands.

Buffy shuffled the files into order. "When you came and saw me...earlier, you were there for a reason. What was it?"

"The coroner's report. I wanted to know if they'd identified the murder weapon or gotten anything else off of...Mrs Blackwell." He didn't say the body or the victim, and she totally understood why: it felt disrespectful, cruel, especially with Miranda's daughter only on the floor below them.

"Hold that thought." Making a dive for her bag, Buffy pulled out yet another file, this one thinner than the rest, staple peeking out at one corner. "Remember when I said I had to sign out of my shift? I was actually getting this. As it turns out, Stevens wanted me to go down to the morgue anyway, but I had it sent over to the precinct cause that place gives me...the wiggins. She's all yours." In truth, Buffy didn't like the morgue because it reminded her too much of Celia, of how the police had taken her body from the alley, the sound of the body bag zipping closed haunting her nightmares forever after. But she wasn't going to tell him that.

"I don't get it...why lie?"

Buffy shrugged. "Because I didn't know if you really wanted to work the case with me, or if you only said that so I wouldn't just go home."

"Glad to know you think so highly of me," he said sarcastically.

Angel scanned the file, brown eyes narrowed, forehead tense with concentration, taking a sip of his coffee. It was kind of cute, the whole mental picture.

She really had to pull herself together.

"It's not all that different from the initial report. No traces of drugs or alcohol, no unusual fibres in any of the wounds or foreign DNA of any kind. They suspect the murder weapon to be something with a sharp edge, and a hilt, based on the wound patterns and the bruising, the force behind the angles." Angel paused. "Not only that, they also found a receipt for Kenny's Laundromat within her personal affects along with some other business cards and what looked like a club token, dated two days before she died."

"So we weren't the only ones who figured that out, then: Miranda did too." At least they knew they were on the right track.

"I guess." Angel let the paper drop from his hand, staring at the kitchen table they'd set up at. "But why didn't she say anything to me about it? This receipt's old, and I was already working her daughter's case. If she had information, why didn't she come to me?" There was guilt shining there, and self-doubt, and Buffy wanted nothing more than to wipe any and all traces of it away, but she couldn't. For about a million different reasons, she couldn't.

So she merely said, "I don't know, Angel. Maybe she thought she could handle it herself, or maybe she genuinely didn't know what was going on there. Hell, we don't know what's really going on there. All we saw was that guy, McArthur -if that's even his real name- going from Wilcox's place to there looking suspect. When we questioned him, all he said was that it wasn't a crime to clean laundry, that we were barking up the wrong tumbler dryer and to let him go before he pressed charges, remember? You can't save everybody." God, did she want it to be true, but Buffy knew it wasn't. Even if she made Detective one day, she knew even then that she wouldn't be able to save everybody, that hunting down killers would not erase what had happened to Celia, nor bring her back. That wasn't why she'd joined the force: she'd done it to honour her cousin, because Buffy had survived and she hadn't, and that she wasn't going to waste her second chance when it could have so easily been her that had died that night.

No, you could not save everyone in this life, but you had to try, and even if you failed, even if you only saved one person, then that's one more person out there making the world a better place.

Buffy placed the coroner's report on the whiteboard, holding it in place with a magnet. She then put up the surveillance photos Angel had taken, then her own notes on the case so far, feeling his eyes on her all the while. She didn't know what to make of it so she let it slide. Plucking a red whiteboard marker from the table, she drew a horizontal line across the bottom, marking it with the date Miranda had died.

"We need to establish a timeline of events, what she did that last day, who she saw, what places she went, anything that could point us in a clearer direction. We know that Jo's likely our guy, but we can't rule anything out for sure yet. Where was she working?" Buffy asked, unable to remember it off the top of her head.

Angel hunted through their dead tree stack, pulling one out triumphantly. "Sam gave me a list with all her details when I took the case, as well as her mom's if something happened and I needed to get in touch with her."

"You mean if Wilcox found her."

He nodded grimly. "She was living downtown, near the warehouse district. And she was working at a specialty antiques store, one of those fancy ones where everything's either glass or china and you don't want to even breathe in fear of breaking something and forking out $900 for an ugly glass duck."

Buffy barked a laugh. "How oddly specific. One of us should probably go down there, see what we can shake loose, if anything."

"I'll do it," he offered. "Since you're an officer, who shouldn't even be working this case, it won't look good for your career if word got back to your superiors," Angel explained off her frown.

"I don't care about that. I care about this," she stated emphatically, get sure taking in the board, all their notes. "But you're right. What about phone records? If Jo was after Sam, it makes sense that he would have gone to her trying to find her, especially if he knew how close they were."

"I could probably get them, but not in an exactly legal way," Angel admitted hesitantly. Buffy didn't doubt him.

"I'll work on that, then."

She spun the whiteboard around to the fresh side, holding out two pens to Angel, one green, the other blue. "Pick one?"

"Black is fine."

"No it's not," she insisted. "Pick. One."

Angel picked the green one, leaving Buffy with the blue. Writing 'Buffy List,' then, 'Angel List,' she put 'Obtain phone records' under hers and 'Go to antiques shop, without breaking anything' under his. At the sight of it, Angel let out a low laugh. "Thanks for the reminder."

Tapping the pen against her chin, Buffy thought over all she'd learnt about police investigation, about procedure and clue branches and the steps, how they all interlocked. Murder weapon, suspect, motive, witnesses...

"What about the diner guy?"

"The diner guy? The one that found her?"

Buffy nodded, discarding her pen. "Right. We didn't look into him, didn't check his story or anything. One of the other officers took their statement, but they didn't know that Miranda's daughter was in trouble, they wouldn't have known what questions to ask, what to look out for. We need to make sure what he said was the truth, otherwise we'll be operating in false information. If he didn't find the body..."

"She could have been killed somewhere else."

Buffy slumped into a chair, not even caring she was sitting on a pad of paper. "Or he could have been planted there just so we'd find her."

It was gone ten when the two decided to call it quits for the night, each having agreed to their respective tasks, hers now including having a talk with the officer who had taken the man's statement that night. It was one of the ones Buffy didn't know very well, a transfer from another precinct who had been an officer longer than she had an was always at the bottom of the list when it came to a promotion. But the officer -James Sinclair- had always been amiable enough to her, so she wasn't stressing too much.

Buffy got two, maybe three hours sleep before she woke up gasping, struggling to breathe, top clinging her to her with sweat, hair tangling across her face. Another nightmare. She'd been having them often, these past two weeks, dreams about strange creatures, dreams full of blood and horror and people who's face she couldn't see beyond shapeless blobs. It was unsettling.

Knowing sleep would now be a lost cause, Buffy changed into less icky clothes, which was unfortunately the shirt she'd had on under her uniform before she'd left for Wilcox's but it wasn't like she was going to be entering a contest for 'World's Cleanest Shirt' in the next hour, so she didn't fuss, draping one of the blankets Angel had brought up around her, trailing behind her like a superhero cape. Making her way into the elevator, she entertained the thought of taking up Sam on her earlier offer, then banished it, rationalizing that she was likely asleep and it wouldn't be fair to bother her. So she rode the elevator to the lobby, hoping to find some coffee that was at least drinkable.

But she only found Cordelia Chase.

Her arms were folded, and she was leaning against the reception desk as if she'd been waiting there for Buffy all along. But she wasn't in the mood, and didn't even spare her a glance as she continued her quest for a caffeinated beverage.

"Not even a 'hello'? And here I thought you were a civilized person, or at least pretended to be," Cordelia drawled, lazily examining her nails for some flaw.

Buffy was once again conscious of the fact that she hadn't showered since the previous day, her shirt was likely visibly stained and that she wasn't even wearing any lipgloss, whereas it was nearly one in the morning and Cordelia looked primped and perfect in her suede flats, designer jeans and camisole top. She was a creepy Gremlins toy compared to Cordelia's dream-like Barbie doll.

She tightened the blanket more firmly around herself.

"Hello, Cordelia. I didn't realize anyone else was up."

Cordelia pulled her gaze away from her cuticles, eyes raking over Buffy. She frowned at whatever she saw, or didn't see. "It's just us," she replied. The words were innocent enough, yet there was something about the way she said them that made Buffy uneasy, her cop Spider Sense tingling just the slightest bit.

Discreetly, she shifted her legs into a defensive stance, balancing her weight more evenly as she'd been taught. None of this bouncing on your heels nonsense, no, that only put you off balance and gave them a greater advantage over you.

"Yes, I guess it's just us."

"Do you want some coffee?"

Buffy smirked. "Coffee would be great, thank you."

Cordelia set about making some, her back to Buffy all the while. So she didn't think she'd try anything, then. Interesting.

Buffy asked, "Why are you up so late? Angel doesn't seem like the kinda boss who works people to the bone."

Cordelia set a mug down with a hard clink, so hard Buffy wouldn't be surprised if the ceramic chipped. "He's not," she said tonelessly. "But I drew the short straw for a...side project, of you will. I'm looking into some things for him." Things I'm not gonna tell you about, she didn't add but it hung in the air regardless.

"Do you want some company while you're doing...whatever it is that you're doing?"

If Buffy hadn't known better, she could have sworn the other woman smiled.

"Why not?"

Once again, Cordelia got the short straw and was banished to the collection of magic-related books Angel and Wesley had amassed, trying to find out anything useful. She'd heard the elevator and assumed it was either Angel or Sam, so she'd been surprised to come face-to-face with the source of so many of her current worries. While her and Buffy had never gotten along, exactly, she'd always respected her. After that wish she'd made to Anya, even more so: Cordelia would be dead without her, likely dozens of times over. In the early days, every time she'd looked at Buffy, she'd seen herself, or what she might have been if she'd had true friends, if she'd grown up with love and care instead of piles of hard cash and harsher expectations. She'd been jealous, even more so when she saw the way Xander looked at her, even when he was making out with her in broom closets, even when they were dating. But who could blame him?

A girl like Buffy, she was the whole package: pretty and strong and brave and resourceful and funny and exciting. Cordelia was as dull as dishwater compared to the spectacularness of the Slayer. And yet...she kinda missed her. She'd never lorded her talents over her, certainly not the way Cordelia had, to her and anyone she came across. Because Buffy had had real heart, and stood up for what she believed in and would not take any crap from anyone. Because, yes, she'd been this almighty Slayer, but she'd also just been a regular teenage girl like herself, trying to find her place in the world.

And she'd had really good taste in shoes.

So seeing her here, seeing her with Angel especially...it was hard. Most of all because Cordelia wanted to say sorry, apologize for how she'd treated her, but she didn't even remember them ever being in a room for two minutes, let alone three years of high school. So she evaded, was cold and distant wherever possible.

Cordelia should've know that wouldn't be enough to stop her though, in hindsight. This was Buffy, after all.

The TV she'd brought down buzzed, the jingle of some commercial filling the quiet space she'd set up at for the night, hoping the noise and the glare might keep her awake. She had some trash-TV to catch up on, anyway. But if course, she had to hear the elevator go, had to find Buffy in the lobby, slight circles under her eyes, wrapped up in one of Angel's blankets. She looked small, and delicate, and it was enough to make her uneasy. It was enough to scare her.

As was her way, she turned those feelings into barbed jabs, hoping she'd get the memo and just leave; she certainly didn't want her to see her night's reading material. But she wouldn't quit. Figuring she might hurty her up with some coffee, she offered to get her some and wasn't surprised when she readily accepted. It occupied her, gave her time to come up with a plan, some way to get rid of her...Buffy was persistent though, and Cordelia reckoned she might make herself more suspicious-looking if she refused. That was how she found herself in a side-office, sharing a cup of coffee with the Slayer, hoping she'd hidden the books that had formerly occupied the small table well enough behind one of the hotel's potted plants. They sat in silence for a moment, Buffy likely trying to figure out what Cordelia was playing at. Yet she couldn't exactly tell her 'You looked like absolute hell and I figured you'd need some coffee and honestly, I'm getting this vibe that you're kinda lonely and I know what that's like,' could she?

Buffy set down her cup. "You don't like me," she noted. "You don't know me, but you don't like me."

"I never said that," Cordelia protested, but the other girl ignored her. Instead of asking why, instead of launching into a big speech about it, to Cordelia's infinite surprise she only asked, "What can I do to fix that?"

Cordelia arched a perfectly groomed brow, suddenly wary. Why was she asking this if she didn't remember her? "What's it to you, Baby Spice? You don't exactly seem like the kinda person who let's others' opinion affect her all that much." She was proud of the Spice Girls remark, glad she could still amuse even herself at one in the morning.

Buffy drawled, questioning her coldly, "You got some experience in that department, Cordy?"

"Perhaps," she replied easily. "And don't call me Cordy: I'm not a bell-pull and..."

"Only Angel usually calls you that," Buffy finished with an airy wave of her hand. "I noticed."

Cordelia mock-gasped. "Oh my, you've got claws; I never would have guessed," she said sarcastically.

In front of them, the TV blared. At the sudden noise, both their heads turned, expecting to see nothing of particular important. But instead...it was an advert for Dawson's Creek, in particular the Saturday detention episode. As in, the Breakfast Club rip-off, but that didn't make it any less great.

"God, I love that episode," they both said at the same time.

And just like that, all the tension fell away, removed in an instant. They were once again normal teenagers, excited over a TV show, feeling seen and appreciated by watching teenagers go through realistic and relatable struggles.

Cordelia decided to be the one to extend the olive branch. "Do you want to watch it? It's on in five."

Buffy's smile was brighter than any the two had ever had before. "Of course. But only if we get Sam. And popcorn."

Sometimes, it was remarkably easy to forget that Angel was in fact a vampire. He was a figure of motion, pacing the length of the lobby or running down streets, diving in and out of his car or breaking through windows and such. And yet, moments like these, when Wesley simply observed him standing in the doorway, chest moving with nary a breath, he was forcefully reminded of it. That stillness, it was of the predatory kind, the vampire kind, although he was doing nothing but watching Buffy and Cordelia and Sam as they laughed at the TV, all packed on one of the couches that usually occupied the lobby -they must have dragged it in here. He wondered if Angel even noticed it, if it was odd, even to himself, to be that still, or if he'd become accustomed to it after nearly two hundred and fifty years of it. Wesley knew if that was himself, he'd still find such a sight jarring.

"Dawson and Jen were never gonna work out," Sam observed, handing a bowl of popcorn to Buffy. "It was obvious, right from the start."

"Really?" Cordelia chimed in. "I thought they made a cute couple."

"Maybe. But Dawson was always gonna have a thing for Miss Katie Holmes over there, even with the whole Pacey thing."

Sam smiled. "That was unexpected."

"You think? I don't know, I thought it was always kinda meant to be. Pacey understood her better than Dawson, they had more of an emotional connection. Sure, she'd grown up with Dawson and he was her first crush and he had great hair, but Pacey and her just clicked. And he made her laugh. Humourous tendencies are always a plus."

Lord, this was hitting far too close to home, even for him. Deciding that he needed to get Angel out of there, Wesley was trying to formulate some acceptable excuse when Angel turned to him. And he smiled. He could see it in his friend's eyes that what Buffy had said had resonated with him, him and his former relationship with her, but there was no evident pain at such a thought. Leaving the girls to their chatter, Angel went over to him, not even mentioning his eavesdropping.

"It's nice," was all Angel said. "It's nice to hear her laugh. Her, and Cordy, and Sam, too. They need more of that."

Wesley couldn't agree more.

If someone had said to Buffy that's she'd start her day watching Dawson's Creek with Cordelia, she would not have believed them in the slightest, not even in a parallel or alternate universe or whatever. Yet she had. The three of them had been wide awake when the credits rolled, so they'd surfed for a while, landing on some documentary about penguins. The penguins were cute so they watched it, yet they ended up falling asleep not even halfway through, the bowl of popcorn still in Cordelia's lap.

Of course, Buffy had to be woken by the sound of her walkie, linked to her police radio for when she wasn't in her car. She'd forgotten she'd even picked it up before leaving her room, it was so ingrained into her even though she'd only been out of the academy for a few months. Buffy stole a glance at the clock: it wasn't even four. This could not be good.

Dread started to beat within her, drumming in time with her thunderous heart. Without even consciously realizing it, she called out Angel's name, and within seconds the sound of his pounding footsteps reached her ears.

Buffy picked up the blaring piece of plastic and metal.

"Officer Summers, this is Dispatch calling. I repeat, Officer Summers, your presence is requested at," the woman rattled off some address, one she just about recognized in her panic. "This is Dispatch, please pick up, Officer. Over."

"Dispatch, this is Officer Summers. I'll be right there. Over."

Behind her, Angel called out her name but she didn't turn around.

"Roger that. Officer Summers, be advised you may want to bring a change of clothes, over."

Buffy gave Angel a look she hoped he clearly interpreted as, 'You see what I mean?' but any and all laughter soon sputtered out in her at the next words to come over the line.

"Report to Stevens immediately upon your arrival. His case just got a second victim, and this time they've left a note. Over and out."

Author's Note: Hello, everyone. I decided to post this chapter earlier: I was going to do it tomorrow, but figured I should just do it when my tablet was actually working okay for once. Did you enjoy? Was it too crime-investigation orientated for you? Did you like the Dawson's Creek mention? Leave a review and let me know!

I hope you're all having a lovely day, and continue to do so.

Until we meet again!

All my love, Temperance Cain