Disclaimer: CSI: Miami does not belong to me, Buffy does not belong to me.
Notes: Inspired by a quote I stumbled upon on quote-book this afternoon.
Warning: Depressing character death.”No matter how much you think you love somebody,
you’ll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.”
- Chuck Palahniuk
This was supposed to be a vacation, the first in years. There was supposed to be a beach. There was supposed to be shopping. There was not supposed to be two gunshot victims in broad daylight on a Wednesday afternoon.
How many demons had she killed? How many times had she stopped the world from ending? How many sleepless nights had she spent killing just how many vampires?
And it all ended in a second. One second, that was all it took for one of the greatest superheroes to ever walk the earth to die. It took three bullets, two hits, and one second.
And just like that it was over.
The busy street was stunned into silence. Not one person spoke or moved a single muscle. The sounds of the world faded into a dim buzzing and time seemed to stop.
And then there was screaming. Dawn was screaming and crying and running after someone until an arm attached to a vest reading MDPD swung out and grabbed her. And then she fell to her knees and sobbed in his arms.
In that moment, only two things penetrated his senses. The first was the agonized piercing screams of Dawn Summers. The second was that the man in the middle of the street surrounded by armed police officers winked at him before giving a visible shudder and then falling to his knees, his gun clattering on the pavement.
His world was still moving slower than usual. Everything went hazy and he barely noticed the EMTs making their way to the body.
Maybe if he hadn’t been on the other side of the street when it happened, he could have saved her. Maybe if she didn’t walk so damn fast they would have crossed at the same time. Maybe if they hadn’t gone shopping today, maybe if Willow had decided to come, maybe if
“Ma’am. Ma’am, you can’t go over there. Ma’am, we need to have you looked at. Ma’am, this is a crime scene!”
That did it.
The woman with a bullet in her left arm froze at those words. Just moments before, she had been pushing paramedics and police officers out of the way to get to the still figure on the ground, blood dripping down her side and her wild hair whipping in the wind. Crime scene.
And now she was still. Without a sound she walked up to the policeman guarding the body and stood in front of him. And he faltered, because the woman staring him down was a strong woman, he could tell. She had been shot and she was still standing. She was telling him to move so she could get past, begging with big eyes and silent tears.
She cast a deliberate glare at the redheaded man who had ordered her not to enter the crime scene and walked purposefully to the body being covered with a white sheet.
She crouched by the still form of the strongest woman she had ever known and bent by her ear.
But she never said anything. At least, not with her words. She crouched there for what seemed like an eternity, searching the air for any sign of a life force, even though she had seen it extinguish with her own eyes, felt her die in her own heart.
She cast her eyes at the pool of blood growing steadily as it seeped from the two perfectly placed bullet holes and almost touched her. She pushed herself up and away from it. She jerked away from the bloody hand the paramedic was offering to her.
Instead, she grabbed the first clean instrument she saw on the tray and dug it into her own arm. With a pained grunt, she wrenched out the third bullet and slammed it into his hand.
“Ma’am, I understand that you are in pain. I’m afraid that you need to give a statement and we would very much like to look at your arm.” That infuriating redhead removed his sunglasses to look directly into her eyes, to try and convey his own sympathy to her.
She shook her head slowly.
She said something and he craned in to hear. She cleared her throat twice and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“No autopsy. Don’t you dare cut her open. This is not a criminal investigation. Don’t you dare cut her open. She hated hospitals, hated doctors, and she hated being vulnerable. That girl” Here she broke off for a second so brief, that any man that was not Horatio Caine would not have noticed. “saved the world. A lot.”
And then Faith was gone, pushing over more people and wrenching Dawn out of the Hispanic policeman’s grasp.
“Excuse me, sir.”
And Xander stopped him there.
“No autopsy. And we’re not pressing charges.”
“Sir, Victor Crane shot two women in broad daylight with hundreds of witnesses. One of our victims just walked away and the other is going to the morgue. I’m afraid that I
will press charges and I
will see justice done for that woman.”
He replaced his sunglasses and handed Xander a card. “It would be advisable for you to cooperate.”
Xander surprised the detective by ripping it up. “Buffy Summers. Loving daughter, loving sister, loving friend. In roughly fifteen minutes, a very angry redhead will burst into your offices demanding her body. And you’ll give it to her, because she will be holding orders from all of your superiors as well as the President of the United States.”
And then Alexander Harris straightened himself up and walked away to tell his best friend that Buffy was dead, because some poor possessed lunatic had shot her on the boardwalk.
Will not turn into a series/full story. Thanks to all who reviewed with their opinions.