Disclaimer: As always, I don’t own any recognizable characters or places, especially those from Buffy or from Law and Order: Criminal Intent.
Just so you know, the updates may be slow, but I am working on this regularly. Check out my Harry/Ginny drabbles on fanfiction, under SassyFrassKerr.
This was originally the first half of chapter 8, but the second half is being especially slow. I think I need to watch some more episodes. Anyway, look for that half as chapter 9.
Buffy wiped the condensation off the mirror. Studying her face as she dried her hair, she thought back over the night before, and the morning she’d just had. Mike was an interesting and attractive guy, but she still wasn’t sure why her inner Slayer liked him so much.
She started slathering lotion on her body, and she thought back to that moment of electricity when they’d shaken hands. The memories that had flashed through her head replayed again, slower this time. That electricity had startled her, partly because it had seemed so familiar. Buffy studied her memories from the night before, starting from when she’d first locked gazes with Mike at the bar.
He’d followed her out to the dance floor, and they’d both started moving to the music. Buffy had felt the Slayer rise up in response and had stretched out toward Mike in an unfamiliar way. He’d run his hands up her back, and rested one between her shoulder blades, the other just below. Buffy felt a burning heat start to spread from there. She rested her own hands on his chest, feeling his muscles flex under his shirt. Mike shivered under her hands and their eyes met. The blonde’s hands heated up, and she could feel them scorching the man she was dancing with. His eyes darkened, and his pupils widened. The Slayer stretched out farther, and Buffy felt a rumble deep in her chest, that slid up her throat and escaped in a throaty word. Mine.
Mike whispered the word back to her, and Buffy jolted as a sharp bolt of electricity arced through her from his hands on her back, and from her hands into his chest.
Buffy jerked out of her thoughts, spun around, facing away from the mirror. Looking over her shoulder, she gasped. There, on her back, was the clear outline of two hands. She simply stood for a moment, staring at the beautiful marks. The outlines were thin white lines that stood out against the honey gold of her skin. Looking closer she could see that there were more marks of white inside the hands, a strange pattern that looked almost like writing of some kind.
Finally she snapped out of her wondering daze, and dressed quickly. She needed to find out what was going on. Charging out of the bathroom, she called for Gunn, hoping he was still here. At the very least, he could take pictures of the marks. Then maybe she could send them to some contacts and find out what they meant, and if it really was writing.
“Charles!” She yelled out into the hallway, heading toward the kitchen. It was morning, so it was likely he was there, with the coffee maker.
“In the kitchen.”
Buffy sped up a bit, a little anxious about showing the marks on her back to Gunn. There was a little niggling worry in her head that she couldn’t quite understand or, failing that, quiet. It’s probably something about some apocalypse.
When Buffy entered the kitchen, she saw Gunn sitting at the table, rather calmly drinking a cup of coffee.
“What’s up, Buffy?” Gunn looked at her curiously.
“Something happened last night, and I need you to look at my back.”
“I can sew up some injuries, but if it’s really bad, you’ll need to go to the hospital.” Charles warned.
Buffy shook her head. “It’s not an injury I need you to check. I got some kind of tattoo.”
Gunn laughed. “If you got drunk and got a tattoo, I’m going to laugh. Especially after all your comments about my
“No,” Buffy snorted. “I was at a club last night, and something weird happened. Now I have these marks on my back.” Buffy spun to show him the strange marks between her shoulder blades, and he whistled.
“I’m guessing this is a Watcher thing, shortie.”
Buffy nodded in agreement. “I thought that you could take some pictures, and I’d email it to Wes and Giles.”
Buffy went to find her digital camera, digging through the pile of stuff in her linen closet. “Finally.” She turned back to the guy in her apartment. “I swear, that stuff breeds. Do you think it’s some sort of closet demon?” She smiled at Gunn when he laughed, almost choking on the coffee. “Oh, am I going to have to go into the police station today?”
“No, turns out our plans aren't necessary.” Gunn took the camera, and motioned for her to turn around. Buffy heard the camera charge, and Charles took a picture, the flash making a quick shadow against the wall.
“What the huh?”
Charles explained the conversation he’d had with Fred that morning, while he took a series of pictures of her back, making sure to get every angle.
“How strange. Do we know who made the call?”
“Fred isn’t sure. She’s trying to trace it back to the source, but she isn’t having much luck.”
“Hmm. I might have to get Willow to help.” Buffy frowned at the thought. She was still having a hard time connecting to her old friends, especially since they had never apologized for kicking her out of her own house.
Gunn nodded noncommittally, aware of Buffy’s reluctance towards approaching the original Scoobies.
“I think I have enough photos that Wes can get a good start on figuring this out.”
“Thanks. Here’s hoping it doesn’t mean the end of the world. Again.”