Title: Life With the Dead
Author: random shoes
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own none of it, except my stupid title.
Timeline/Spoilers: April 2010, post "The Death of the Queen Bee" (don't even mention season 6 to me), so obviously post "Chosen" and "Not Fade Away." I'm ignoring the Buffy S8 comics for the most part (I have yet to finish them), but "After the Fall" did happen, although I doubt much will come up in the way of spoilers. Expect major "Part in the Sum of the Whole" spoilers.
Author's Note: My first fic! Please let me know how I'm doing!

The Doppelganger in the Suit

Buffy had blood on her hands. She hated how used to that she was. She'd wiped her hands on her jeans, but still it was there, a faint rusty smudge, and the smell. That smell was so many of her memories: graveyards and hospital beds, the breath of an enemy, a lover. She knew its taste too, mingled with fear, sex, and the way it slowly moved from persistent ooze to sticky mess to crusty coating, soaking through her clothes and turning them into brittle, flash-frozen versions of things she'd once loved. There wasn't one person she loved whose blood she hadn't felt drying between her fingers. Tonight the blood was that of a stranger, but really what did it matter? Some died because of her, some in spite of her, but they all left their bloody mark. Her hands smelled of monkey bars and recess. It had always been like this.

She wasn't usually this broody. Not anymore, anyway, it was only that tonight was one of those nights when they all died. Six of them, bodies thrown around the warehouse like dirty clothes. It bothered her, but she was grateful for that. She could still care. Buffy let herself feel it for a moment, then shook it off. It was a fine line between caring too much and too little, but she was an experienced tightrope walker.

Around the corner, onto another dark, depressing street. Before she died (permanently), would she know every creepy warehouse district from L.A. to Beijing? It seemed likely. Twenty-nine and she was already well on her way. Twenty-nine. And she'd never imagined she'd live past eighteen. Life's a bitch. And then you die. And then your friends bring you back to life. Twice. Buffy smiled a little. She no longer carried even a drop of resentment towards Willow and the others. She'd lost that a long time ago. But it was more than that: somehow, somewhere along the way, she'd learned to be grateful for her best friend's actions. Buffy was still here, and, unbelievably, she wanted to be.

But there were more pressing, if less happy-making things to think about. She was in D.C. because of a spike in vampire activity in the area. One of the two over-worked local slayers had nearly gotten herself killed and so Buffy had come down with Rona and Vi to help out and investigate. It was odd; Washington D.C. was usually pretty devoid of demon activity. New York, a much more popular destination, was relatively close, and Buffy suspected vampires weren't big fans of politicians. She thought she remembered Spike making a joke about their blood tasting funny...

There was someone following her. She didn't know how long the someone had been there, and she decided to give herself a stern mental lecture about over-confidence, just as soon as she dealt with this someone. Or this something. She hoped it was a something; if it was a something, she could stab the something and then go home to a nice warm shower. If it was a someone, then there'd be questions, talking, threats, and the possibility of prisoners and late night calls to Giles and research and...great. Only one way to find out.

Buffy turned a corner, sped up, and ducked into a narrow alley. A moment later, a man came around the corner. He stopped at the edge of a pool of light and glanced around, confused, alert. And then he was looking at her, and she saw his face clearly, and she tensed, relaxed, tensed again. She stepped out of the alley, into the light.

"God, Angel, why can't you just walk up to a girl and say 'hi' like everyone else?"

"What?" He looked rather adorably confused, mouth half open, face scrunched up—wait, were those wrinkles?

She was in front of him in under a second, without breathing or thinking, reaching up to touch his face...

He pushed her hand away, hard, and jumped backwards, reaching for his hip.

"Step back, miss. FBI." He pulled out his wallet, flashed a badge.

Buffy couldn't seem to make sense of anything. It was Angel but it—wasn't. It wasn't Angel. Not Angel. It couldn't be him; the hand she'd touched had been warm. She blinked, focusing her eyes on the man in front of her. He was wearing a suit, and his hair was...different, and, did that actually say "Cocky"? Not Angel. So, so not Angel. His hand was on his gun, she realized. She really hated guns.

"Um," she said stupidly, "FBI?"

"Yes. Special Agent Seeley Booth. I need to ask you a few questions."

She stared at him.

"Miss?"

Miss. It seemed weird, him calling her Miss. He sounded a little like Angel.

Snap out of it, Buffy! It's not him. For one, he would never wear that belt buckle.

"Right. Um, questions?" His hand was still on his gun. She wondered if she'd have to take it away from him.

"Yeah, questions. For starters, I'd like to know what you were doing in that warehouse."

Oops. How was she supposed to answer that one?

"Uh, I, I was trying to...I saw someone get dragged in there, I..." She couldn't come up with anything. It didn't help that he was looking at her, all suspicious, with those chocolatey, Angel-eyes.

"Right. Okay, I'm gonna need to take you in for questioning."

Buffy sighed. The last thing she needed right now was the freaking FBI on her back, but there was no way she was getting dragged into some government building for "questioning."

"Sorry, that doesn't really work for me."

His eyebrows went up. So did his gun. "I'm not asking. Either you come in willingly, or I arrest you on suspicion of murder."

Buffy had his gun in under two seconds. Not-Angel looked like he was trying to figure out what had just happened. Buffy examined the gun. The minute she looked away from him, Not-Angel darted towards her, but she dodged him easily.

"Does this thing even have, like, bullets? How do you get them...out?"

She looked up at him. His face was an odd combination of hostility, confusion, and the slightest bit of amusement.

"You wanna get the bullets out?" He was watching the gun, which she was pointing loosely in his direction, just to make sure he didn't try to jump her again.

"Well, yeah. I don't want anyone to get shot."

That shut him up for a moment, then, "What's your name?"

Buffy smiled, still focused on disarming the stupid thing.

"I don't mean to be rude, but if I tell you that I'll end up on some FBI wanted list or something, and that can only end in badness. God, I never thought I'd say this, but I wish I knew more about guns."

"You pull the round out from the bottom."

"Ah. Ha!" She held up the offending object in triumph, then slid it into her jacket pocket. Buffy looked uncertainly at the gun. "I really should watch more movies." She tossed the now useless weapon back to Not-Angel. He looked down at it, back at her, replaced it in its holster.

"See ya," she said. Neither of them moved. He looked so much like...

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Get the jump on me?"

She laughed. "What, macho FBI feelings upset by getting one-upped by a girl? Don't sweat it. I've got a few unfair advantages."

"What—"

"Sorry, not really in a sharing mood."

"Look, whatever your name is, if you didn't murder anyone—"

"I didn't murder anyone."

"...then you might be able to help me catch the people who did. Just tell me what you saw. If you're afraid of someone, I can protect you..."

Buffy giggled. "Protect me? That's sweet, but I don't need protection. And if I did, what makes you think you'd be any help? I took your gun, didn't I?" On the other hand, the protect-her thing? Very Angel.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. There was a siren in the distance. After a moment, Buffy realized where that siren was probably headed.

"Whoops, that's my cue to disappear." And she did.

••••••••••••••••••••

A few streets away, she slowed to a walk. Would she have to call Giles right away? It seemed too big a coincidence, meeting an Angel-look-alike, the fact that'd he'd been following her, the fact that it was her. But, she reflected, weirder things had happened to her. Much weirder. Shower first, she decided. Giles could wait.