2

It worked out nicely that he had remarkably shitty hours. Or at least it seemed to for Kier.

Because he had a tendency to work all night and stumble home blearily in the mid-morning or afternoons, he had a blind and heavy curtains covering both windows in his apartment (the narrow one in his bathroom was made of frosted plastic, so light wasn’t a major issue there) so he could sleep. The California sun seemed particularly merciless when you were trying to keep vampire hours, as if the people with their boombastic stereos on the street below weren’t bad enough. So there was no problem in having his vampire boyfriend sleep over, as his place was naturally dark.

Okay, he wasn’t his boyfriend; he wasn’t sure what Kier was. The guy he was using until he talked. Now there was something he could be proud of! Brendan Chambers - he love you long time … until you spill your guts, you manipulative rat bastard! He was going to slap that on his resume.

So far they’d been together for a week, and Kier hadn’t spilled his guts yet. He was very in character, though. Bren had learned a lot about the behind the scenes making of a t.v. series, as well as trivia tidbits he had no idea what he’d do with (Gillian Anderson was more prone to giggles than you would think). Kier seemed to sincerely miss acting, and it was weird to think that his desire for revenge for never getting a shot at a two picture deal with Paramount might have drove him to wipe out everyone behind Silver Sun Productions, but he’d heard of weirder reasons for revenge. Barely.

After he came out of the shower, he looked at Kier still in bed in his darkened living room, and he looked like he was dead. Well, he was, so that made sense, but he was always so still it was kind of creepy.

He quietly pulled a clean t-shirt out of his drawer and shrugged it on as he went to his kitchenette and put a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. He didn’t have a lot of time for breakfast - or was it technically lunch now? - but he had enough time to have a little comfort food before he went off to the office. He reached into the cupboard and took down the little devil shaped salt shaker he picked up in a thrift store (how could he pass it up?), which was full of his own special mixture of cinnamon and sugar, so he never had to bother measuring it out.

He got a mocha frappuchino out of the fridge and wondered again if he had the slightest idea what he was doing, other than being a professional jerk. He was no longer sure. Kier seemed genuinely lonely, which only meant he fit the bill as a patsy, if it didn’t mean he was one of the greatest actors never to reach the big screen.

Toast done, he smeared butter pats taken from various restaurants (almost all his condiments were from restaurants) on them, then sprinkled on the cinnamon sugar mixture. It was all so terribly Freudian why this was such a comforting food to him; this was the first food he learned to make for himself. He could remember being so pleased with himself, eating it at the breakfast table which was littered with smelly beer bottles and partially damp with spilled booze. His mother was passed out on the couch, while a strange man he’d never seen before was passed out in a bean bag chair. (He never saw the guy again, so he never did learn who he was.)

He’d put the shaker away and was about to bite into his first piece of toast when he saw Kier up on his side, staring at him with those sky blue eyes, and the shock of his obvious awareness made Bren jump. He hadn’t even heard him roll over. What a freaky vampire thing to do.

Kier grinned at him, the sheets pooled near his waist, showing off two thirds of a bare torso. And what a nice torso it was. “You know, that actually smells pretty good. I don’t suppose you have a slice for me.”

“Since when do vampires eat toast?”

He shrugged casually, propping himself up on his elbow, making the sheet slide even lower. The way he was smiling lazily seemed to suggest that he knew what he was doing, and he knew he looked good. The hell of it was, he did. The guy was smoking hot, even hotter than Matt, and that was saying something. He was also one hell of a kisser. He was trying hard not to think about it. “As far as I know, they don’t. But the cinnamon smells good.”

Bren bit into his toast, wondering if he should feel more guilty for using him. But he suspected they were using each other, so why feel bad at all? “There’s more in the cupboard. Feel free to help yourself.”

That made his smile a bit more sly. “No room service for me, huh?”

“I’m in a hurry. I slept in too late.”

“Oh yes, the office,” he sighed, sitting up. “Am I ever gonna meet the parents, or am I still your dirty secret?”

Kier’s desire to meet everyone struck him as damn suspicious. Somehow he’d gone from being afraid of meeting Angel to basically dying to meet him. It wasn’t a subject he could dance around forever. But would they understand that he was playing him in order to figure out who he was working for?

He was not looking forward to that conversation.

*****

It really wasn’t something a man wanted to deal with in the morning, no matter how late it was.

“Seriously, do they look okay? Or do I look like I just hitched in from the Greyhound station?”

Logan suppressed a sigh as he looked across the room at Faith, modeling the latest pair of black jeans she’d put on. Normally Faith didn’t give a shit about clothes - that was one of the things he loved about her - but technically she was going to a job interview, and not with any old guy either. So that made her nervous. “They make your ass look fabulous,” he replied, digging his chopsticks into his take out box of chow mein.

She checked her butt in the mirror inside her closet door, then shot him a slightly taunting look. “Are you saying my ass doesn’t always look fabulous?”

She was teasing, but that was the kind of thing that could make a man sorry he ever opened his mouth. “I meant to say fabulous - er, but I’m pretty sure that’s not a word.”

“Slick.” She turned back to the closet and started pawing through her shirts with an almost desperate hysteria. After tossing all the men’s shirts on the bed, she didn’t have a lot. Which was probably why she was wearing just the jeans and a black lace bra, which was impossibly sexy on her. But everything and nothing was incredibly sexy on her; she was gifted like that.

While he was unconscious and recovering from his stint of being Bob (he was unconscious for almost two days, but at least he spent it here in her apartment), Faith and Marc had talked a lot, and they got on like a house afire (no surprise there). She’d mentioned her uncertain employment situation, and Marc said he thought he knew someone who might need someone with her uniquely brutal skill set. A couple days later, he called her and set up a meeting between her and Tony Tagawa for today, in a building he owned near Century City.

Ehud was still on the job, but considering what a dangerous world it was, Tony was thinking of expanding his private security roster. Logan had told Faith this was just a formality, and the fact that Marc had recommended her to him pretty much meant that she already had the job; this was just a vetting, a meeting to make sure he liked her. If he liked her, she had the job, simple as that. Faith didn’t seem to believe it was quite that easy, but she hadn’t met him yet.

Faith looked at herself once more in the mirror, frowning at what she saw. She must have been delusional. "Would a skirt be better? I'm pretty sure I have one around here. Only it's black leather."

"It's an interview for bodyguard, not arm candy. Jeans are fine."

She stared at him, raising her eyebrow in a rather cool manner, but he saw her brief anger turn to mirth. "Arm candy, huh? Think that spot's open?"

He almost choked on his cold chow mein noodles. "I'm sure it is, but you'd be a beard only. Tony's gay."

Her look was dubious at best. "No fucking way. You're just saying that."

He snorted a laugh. "Darlin', I've known him for quite a while now. I know which way he swings."

"But I've never seen him on the cover of the Advocate. You'd think they'd be all over a multi-millionaire."

"Billionaire."

She shrugged. "He in the closet?"

"Not as such. He's just very ... discreet. You have to understand he came of age in a different time, and in a different culture. Any kind of thing that would set him outside the mainstream would make him a pariah. He got so used to living below the radar that he still does it."

She thought about that, then nodded in agreement and started going through the shirts still hanging in her closet. "No wonder he's a friend of yours, huh? All you discreet old guys."

He was taking a swig of beer at the time, and it nearly went up his nose. He coughed and hit his chest until he could breathe again. "Discreet? Me? Or are you talking to someone else?"

She flashed him a quick, sharp grin. "Oh yeah, you go around loudly announcing you're older than Dick Clark, and a mutant as well. Come on."

"Well, I don't have to announce that last bit. People generally figure it out."

"Before or after they shoot you?"

"After, usually."

"Ah." She took out a handful of shirts and tossed them all on the bed. "How come I only own t-shirts? I swear I used to own good shirts." She paused, a troubled look on her face. "I think."

"A t-shirt's fine, hon. He ain't gonna judge you on your wardrobe. If he did, he'd have never let Marc bring me in on some jobs." He hadn't told her that there had been a rough patch between him and Tony after the Hong Kong fiasco. Tony had apologized and seemed genuinely contrite, so he didn't hate the guy - he was one of the rare good ones, for the most part, especially for a rich old bastard - but he knew better than to completely trust him. He'd warned Faith, as gently as possible, to never forget the guy got where he was because he had a ruthless streak, and he may have been "an old queen" (Marc's term), but he was one of the shrewdest men you'd ever meet in your life. His weapon was knowledge, and fuck if he didn't know how to use it.

But he had no doubt he'd treat Faith well. He usually treated his salaried employees like family members he liked.

Faith didn't acknowledge his comment, just dug through the dregs of her closet, tossing out more men's shirts (none of them his - did he really want to know? ) before pulling out a black long sleeved blouse. She looked pleased, but as soon as she held it up to herself, it was immediately apparent it was see through. She threw it on the bed and started searching anew.

He felt weird; he woke up feeling weird. Even taking a shower hadn't helped. He wasn't honestly sure if he was out of sorts or maybe depressed; there was a point where such distinctions became irrelevant. The PTBs hadn't done anything to him yet (as far as he could tell such things), but he hoped they changed their mind and didn't. Having Bob's power was bad enough, but at least now it was back in dormancy, so he couldn't just access it without thought or a damn good reason. It was like having the safety on an automatic weapon, and it made him feel better.

Faith pulled out a blue velvet long sleeved blouse, and he said automatically, "Perfect."

She looked at him, surprised and hopeful. "You think so?"

"Absolutely. Blue's his favorite color." That was actually a guess, based on the dominant colors of most of Tony's interiors; he had no idea what Tony's favorite color was. He just wanted Faith to stop obsessing.

She put the shirt on, and buttoned it up. Even completely fastened, it had a plunging neckline that showed off a goodly amount of cleavage. A bit on the sexy side, but very tame compared to that see through shirt. She fluffed out her hair and stared at herself experimentally, still frowning. "You're sure it isn't too ..?"

He didn't wait for her to say it. "No, it's perfect. You just may make him straight."

She scowled at him and gave him the finger, but she closed the closet door. Eureka! Obsession was over.

"He's not a vegan, is he?"

That was an odd question. "I don't think so. Why?"

"All I have is a leather jacket."

Before he could tell her he really didn't think that would matter, there was a knock on the door. He glanced at her clock, and wondered if Marc would really show up this early. He was usually prompt to the millisecond. Even Faith gave him a suspicious look. "Expecting company?"

"No, never. But I usually get it anyways."

She went to the door, and he sniffed experimentally, to see if he could catch a scent. Faith looked back at him, as if awaiting his judgment. "Someone we know?"

"Yeah, it's familiar." He did know it, but placing the smell was a momentary trouble.

"Good or bad?"

"Uh ... good, I think. It's that guy Giles' knows."

Although she frowned at his vagueness, the name Giles was enough to make her unlock and open the door.

"Hola mi amiga," the guy said with forced cheer, and finally Logan placed the name: Xander. Right; the annoying guy. "Hope you didn't mind me stopping by."

“If I did, would you go?" she replied, but she still left the door ajar as she walked away, a tacit invitation for him to come inside. He was just a regular Human; he was no threat.

He walked in with a slightly humorous scoff. “Well, that’s grat -” he froze as soon as he was inside and his hazel eyes locked on Logan, sitting shirtless behind her kitchen counter, eating his cold Chinese take out breakfast. He couldn’t see him from the waist down because he was behind the counter, but he did have his jeans on; he just hadn’t been able to find his shirt. Faith had probably thrown it on top of the bookshelf, as she had before. Xander’s numb shock seem to ripple across his face as he adjusted. “You.”

Logan looked at him with a raised eyebrow, wondering if he still had a little something for Faith, or maybe just didn’t like him. “Me. Gotta problem with that?”

Although the answer in his eyes was clearly “Yes”, he turned his attention towards Faith. “This guy? Faith, seriously - screaming bloody death claw guy? You could do better.”

She shrugged on her jacket and smirked. “Actually, no I can’t. He’s great in bed.”

Logan swallowed a laugh as she tossed him a wink, and Xander looked vaguely horrified, which was surely the reaction she wanted. He looked like he dropped by on his way to work, or maybe he came here from work, hard to say. He wore worn jeans that were rather frayed in spots, scuffed work boots that probably had steel toes, and a blue chambray shirt open at the neck, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was wearing a pendant around his neck, but he couldn’t see what it was. “Gee, thanks for sharing. Next time you get the urge, don’t.”

“Hey, my place, my rules. So why’re you here? Nostalgia nookie?” She was clearly enjoying horrifying him.

Xander looked briefly aghast, but he caught on to her game quickly and settled on giving her an evil look. “No. I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“I’ve got a boyfriend now.”

“Would you please stop that? I’m serious.” He shot Logan a suspicious look, and then leaned towards her, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Can we discuss this in private?”

She shook her head. “If you can say it to me, you can say it to him.”

He groaned in disbelief, and seemed to give her a pleading look, a “don’t make me do this” kind of expression, but it had no effect on Faith, who was generally immune to all types of begging. Finally he sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat, and said, “Fine. Look, I just wanted to ask you if you could pass on a message to Angel for me.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

“’Cause I hate him?”

“You can’t hate him that much if you wanna talk to him,” Logan interjected.

That earned him a dirty look from Xander. His glass eye looked really good, so much so it was easy to believe he had two, except when you noticed that only one of them actually moved. “Stay out of this, fuzzy.”

Faith slapped Xander’s arm lightly, regaining his attention. “He’s just sayin’ what I was about to say. Go talk to Angel yourself, Xan, you’re an adult. Act like one.”

“What, and start now?” The joke fell so flat Logan could just about hear the thud. Xander must have realized that, because he moved on quickly. “Faith, he ain’t gonna do this for me. For you, yeah, but not me.”

“Do what?” she wondered.

He scratched his head nervously, wiped sweat off his upper lip. He really didn’t want to say this, or even be here; Logan could smell the desperation on him like a bad aftershave. “One of my work crew’s gone missing, and I can’t go to the police.”

Faith cocked her head curiously. “He a demon?”

“No … not to my knowledge. He’s just … uh …”

“Illegal?” Logan guessed.

The glance he shot him, furtive and guilty, seemed to confirm that. “Not exactly. Okay, look, Berto told me a couple months ago that he was using his brother’s work visa. His brother came to L.A. to work so he could send the money home to his mother back in Oaxaca, who has enormous medical bills. His brother died in a car accident shortly after coming here, so Berto came to take his place. He was working on getting his own visa under his real name, but in the meantime he was working under his brother’s. He’s a good guy, a real hard worker, and I don’t want to get him in trouble with immigration. But …”

“What’s happened to him?” Logan asked, and suddenly wondered why he cared. But he knew, didn’t he? Immigrants had a tendency to fall through the cracks; even if he did go to the cops, they probably wouldn’t give a damn. Logan felt a kind of solidarity with everyone who fell between the cracks and disappeared, much like he had. He didn’t like hearing about it happening to anyone else.

Xander seemed both surprised and annoyed that he’d asked, but he answered the question anyways. “I don’t know. He’s missing.”

Faith shrugged, deciding to play devil’s advocate. “He could have gone home. Maybe there was an emergency, maybe he didn’t have time to tell you.”

Xander shook his head vehemently, making strands of his black hair flop around on his forehead. “No. Berto wouldn’t have done that. This guy’s so responsible his nickname is Padre.”

Faith’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Priest?”

“Father,” Logan said.

“He leaves me a note if he’s running off to In ’N’ Out Burger for lunch. And he wouldn’t leave Paco behind, but he did; Mrs. Hernandez says she’s been watching him since Saturday, when she found him scratching at her door and whining for food.”

“Paco?” she asked.

“His dog,” he clarified. “Some small and annoying thing that just seems to shake and pee, but he loved that damn dog. And yet he seemed to have abandoned it on Friday, and no one’s seen him since.”

“So you were by his house?” Logan asked, although it was hardly a question. If he knew about the dog’s abandonment - Mrs. Hernandez must have been a neighbor - he had been.

He nodded. “The mail was crammed in his box. He didn’t bother to get it Friday, which makes me wonder if he even made it home after work.”

“You checked his mail?” Faith sounded surprised, almost impressed.

Xander looked slightly wounded. “Hey, I might have been the member of the Scooby gang who always needed rescuing, but I wasn’t totally useless. Not completely … most of the time.”

It was Logan’s turn to be puzzled. “Scooby gang?”

Faith grimaced and waved her hand dismissively. “It’s what Buffy’s friends used to call their little group.”

“Little? Tell him the truth - we were a fierce fighting force. “ At Faith’s withering glance, he grinned anemically. “Oh, like you’ve never lied.”

“This is a real thin case,” Logan said, deciding to ignore this nostalgic aside. “It’s only Tuesday. If he had to be careful about his mode of transport, he might just be now reaching Oaxaca.”

Xander shook his head slowly and firmly through his statement. “No. He’d never just drop everything and go with no warning; he wouldn’t have abandoned that damned dog. And … something was up with him. He was starting to get jumpy, nervous, and when I asked him about it, he said he didn’t want to get me involved. I think someone was after him, and I think they got him. And I don’t mean the INS.”

Faith looked at him, and in that moment Logan knew they were thinking the same thing. This was anxiety and paranoia, but not a case for evil doings, and certainly not supernatural ones, which Angel generally handled. They felt bad for him, but they weren’t sure how they could help. She looked at him, and began gently, “Xander -”

But her tone of voice warned him what was coming, and he threw his hands up in exasperation. “No, don’t dismiss me,” he snapped. “I know I’m not anything special, I’m not a Watcher or a vampire or anything but a schlub with the worst fucking luck in the world, but my gut’s telling me something bad happened to Berto. If I didn’t learn to trust my gut I’d have been dead a long time ago. If I can help him, I’m gonna find a way. So are you gonna help me or not?“ He meant it too; Logan could smell the anger tinge his sweat, which was already acidic with anxiety and fear.

Faith must have been convinced, because she frowned slightly and ran a hand through her hair, glancing at the carpet. Her posture straightened as she seemed to have an idea, and looked straight at Logan. Oh no. “I’ll make you a deal, Xan. Take Logan’s to Berto’s house. If he says it’s worth investigating, we’ll do it. But if he says it isn’t, you drop it or turn it over to cops. Okay?”

It was hard to tell who hated this idea more: him or Xander. “Me? Why?”

“Him? Why?”

Faith ignored Xander. “Because you can pick up things other people miss, Logan,” she explained patiently. He knew she was referring cryptically to his sense of smell. “If you find nothing unusual there, there’s nothing unusual to find.”

Also she had a job interview, and she wasn’t going to waste her time checking out a man’s house. He gave her an evil look, even though he knew it’d do him no good whatsoever. “I’m not doing it.”

“You are, and you know why.”

If he ever wanted to get laid again was the implied threat. It was a good threat too, and she knew it. He narrowed his eyes and scowled, but that wasn’t going to do any good either. This was the problem with dating pushy women; too bad they were just so damn sexy.

Xander gestured at him but didn’t look at him. “Him? Faith, c’mon, I don’t need someone julienned - I want to find him in one piece, not have his arms ripped off. “

“He can do a hell of a lot more than that,” she insisted, giving him a look that suggested he better not push her or bad mouth her boyfriend anymore.

Logan shoved his carton aside and stood up. “Can I stab him if he annoys me? More than usual.”

Faith made a show of thinking about it. “Only a flesh wound, and only with one claw.”

“Hey!” Xander protested, but what could he honestly say? He was getting what he wanted.

Logan just hoped that Faith knew that she had to humor some of his boneheaded friends sometime. That was what a relationship was all about.

3

Xander’s car smelled of stale beer, fast food wrappers, and just a hint of cat. “You have a cat,” Logan said, as he got in the front seat. He had a ‘05 model Chevrolet Cobalt , dark blue (but not exactly cobalt) with some minor dents on the right rear side. It wasn’t the type of car he would have ascribed to a construction foreman, but then again, he never would have guessed Xander as a construction foreman either.

He put on his seatbelt and gave him a sidelong glance in the rearview mirror. “Yeah. How do you know that?”

“It was in the car recently. Vet appointment?”

Now he openly stared at him. “You enjoy being freaky, don’t you?”

He shrugged, glancing out the passenger side window. “Just makin’ conversation.”

He started the car - sounded like the flywheel was getting worn - and continued staring at him. “So this super smelling thing you got going on - that ever pay off for you?”

“Sometimes. “

“Are you gonna put on your seat belt?”

“Don’t need to.”

He sighed in exasperation, as if he was already tired of humoring him. “Whatever.”

They drove down towards East L.A. in semi-awkward silence. Berto was named Alberto (although that was actually his late brother’s name - Berto’s real first name was Rodrigo) Soto, he was thirty one (Alberto was only two years older), and Xander had brought a picture that was obviously taken at a construction site; he was a solidly built man, about five eight, nearly two hundred pounds, but most of that was muscles as opposed to fat. He didn’t look like a weightlifter, but someone who came by his strength naturally from lots of hard physical work. His black hair was very short - almost a Caesar cut - and his face was round, chin soft, eyes shadowy beneath a heavy brow. He wasn’t an overly handsome man, but he wasn’t ugly; he was just somewhere in the middle area, where most people were. He’d never be able to pick his face out of a crowd, but his body type he might; there really weren’t that many men in the general population with that kind of build.

Berto lived in an urban neighborhood that was trying to be suburban and failing miserably. Gangbangers stood on nearly every corner, watching everything and everyone as they smoked and took surreptitious hits from brown bags, and yet Logan knew that if the cops ever bothered to come down here, those guys would amazingly have seen absolutely nothing at all.

Berto had a small pre-fab home on the left side of the street, in a line of similar looking homes, with a postage stamp sized lawn burned to brown straw in the sun, protected by a waist high chain link fence that couldn’t have protected shit. It was painted a white that was yellowed and peeling, with brown trim that looked like mud, and a concrete walk that led straight up to a brown door that looked newer than the rest of the house, suggesting it had been kicked in or broken down at some point. Xander parked next to the curb in front of his house, and as they got out the gangbangers on the nearest corner stared at them, but said nothing. Fine with him; they were all under twenty, and he hated kicking kid’s asses, no matter how obnoxious or asking for it they were.

Xander led the way to the front door, the unlocked gate creaking like it had never seen an oil can in its life, and he said, “The door’s locked, which I considered a good sign, although maybe not. How do you tell?”

“When were you here?” Logan wondered.

“Monday night, I became worried when he didn’t show up for work and never picked up the phone when I called.”

Logan could smell old dog shit, baking earth, cigarette smoke from the gangbangers on the corner, but nothing helpful. Xander stepped aside and gestured at the door. “So how do we do this? Do you need to walk around the house or something?”

“No.” He went right up to the door and took a deep breath, figuring that this whole thing was a total bust and a waste of his morning, but as he parsed the scents, something hit him. Oh shit.

“Do you know what kinda locks he’s got on this door?” he asked, making sure the gangbangers couldn’t see him from this angle.

“Uh, no. Why?” Xander stepped back as Logan popped a single one of his claws and slid it through the crack of the door. “Whoa. We breaking in?”

“Have to.” Berto had a standard doorknob lock and a deadbolt. Both were easy for him to manage.

Xander was alarmed now, he could smell it, and he approached him warily, lowering his voice. “What, did you actually get something? What do you smell?”

Should he tell him? It might upset him. But he started this, and if Logan was right, he was going to see for himself the moment he opened the door. So Logan told him. “Blood.”