Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Other disclaimers, etc. in chapter 41.

Chapter Forty-Two

========================



Buffy could barely see straight and she had to force
herself to remember that Harry was human, that she
could actually be about to commit murder. And yet
that didn’t seem to make her want to hurt him any
less.

“I can help you find him,” Harry hurriedly offered.
He gasped as Buffy pushed her arm against his neck.
“Just tell me... Whatever I need to...” His words
came in short bursts as she cut off his air supply.
“I can...”

Human. He’s human. Do not kill. Maim, maybe...

“Buffy...” Though Willow’s voice was deliberately
calm and soothing, the strength with which she gripped
Buffy’s shoulder was enough to get Buffy’s attention.


Not that Willow left it to chance, quietly murmuring,
“Don’t do this, Sweetie. Because then you’ll be Evil
Buffy and you’ll have to go spend a summer being taken
care of by Giles, like they did with me, which would
be fine if it didn’t mean you also had to hang out
with his wife who you know drives you crazy.” She
nodded her head towards the three soldiers who had
accompanied them here. “Plus the commandos will have
to shoot you and then what will we tell Riley when we
get him back? That you...”

Willow’s voice faded away as the fire flared out of
control, and Buffy tried to get her focus back, tried
to use Willow’s hand on her shoulder as the focal
point – Willow’s touch rather than the way Harry was
gasping for air.

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, telling herself to
concentrate. Get back to the center. Beat back the
rage.

She opened her eyes again, registering the soldiers at
her six-, seven- and eight-o’clock, their weapons
cocked as Harry started to turn a little blue. His
gaze was becoming unfocused.

Do not kill him, Buffy told herself. You can’t kill
him. At least not before he tells you what he knows.

Releasing her grip, she stepped back and let him slide
down the wall, his hands going to his throat as he
gulped in air. Looking up at her, his eyes were full
of terror.

Good.

Or maybe not.

Her adrenaline was surging, and she was getting
dangerously close to Psycho Faith territory, to that
really dark place where everything – every cross she’d
ever had to bear, every loss she’d suffered through,
every ‘ever after’ she’d been cheated out of – became
Harry’s fault, and Buffy was a little frightened at
how much she didn’t want to let him go, at how much
she wanted to make him feel every ounce of her pain,
make him pay back every one of the tears she’d shed
with a drop of his blood. Wielding her power this way
was not something she was used to – Wesley usually
played the interrogator role. It was an odd and
alarming thing, a treacherous path that she had seen
traveled badly too many times.

She forced herself to regroup, forced the fire back
down. There was no doubt as to whether Harry was
innocent or not – his reaction had already sealed his
fate. Plus there was that fully packed bag peeking
out from under his desk, one of those dead giveaway
kind of things.

There were probably better ways to do this, however.

Reaching down and grabbing him by his shirt, she
pulled him up and shoved him into his chair. “Sit,”
she hissed.

Close enough to him that she could smell his fear,
Buffy tried to keep her voice from trembling with
anger. “Harry, I need to tell you a little story.”

Sitting back against the desk, she forced herself to
breathe. An eerie calm overtook her, and ice began to
flow through her veins, putting out the fire and
leaving in its place cold, hard steel. “Once upon a
time, there was a princess, who, incidentally, spent a
good portion of her life getting knocked around.” She
reached for a letter opener lying on the desk.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong...” She ran her finger along
the sharp edge. “...She did a fair amount of
pummeling herself.”

Her rage shaped itself into a smile – a menacing, evil
smile that she knew was directly responsible for Harry
turning even whiter than he’d been before. Shrugging,
she added, “O.k. – to be perfectly honest...” She
leaned in close, her mouth right at his ear, her
breath hot on his skin. She could feel him flinch
when she whispered, “...That part was kind of fun.”

The soldiers were getting jumpy behind her, and she
could sense their agitation – never a good sign with
people who had guns, even if they were on your side.
She pulled back, deliberately lightening her tone.

“So as I was saying, this princess led a life that
didn’t allow for princes; not in a ‘happily ever
after’ way at least.” As Buffy spoke, she began
playing with the letter opener again, flipping it back
and forth, letting the blade come closer and closer to
Harry’s face. “But time passes; her life changes, and
‘happily ever after’ actually starts to look like it
could work. Except for the part where she’d already
used up her quota of princes.”

She threw the letter opener up in the air and watched
Harry’s eyes follow it to the ceiling and then down
again as she picked it out of the air, her hand
closing around the blade so tightly that it drew
blood. Not that she could feel it – she was beyond
pain now. She opened her hand and let the blood drip
to the floor.

Harry got the point. His breathing had become shallow
and his knuckles were stark white as his hands gripped
the armrests of his chair.

“And then one day,” she continued, her voice full of
wonder, “defying all rhyme and reason, the princess
found him.” Even the Slayer’s steel couldn’t protect
her from that, and a blush rose to her cheeks – tears
sprang to her eyes – as she could feel Riley’s warmth
surrounding her, could see the smile in his eyes.

Leaning forward again, she put her hand on Harry’s
knee, speaking as though he were a girlfriend she was
sharing a secret with, and ignoring that the soldiers
all tightened their grips on their blasters as she
moved. “Can you believe it?” She shook her head.
“Neither could I.” She almost laughed as she
repeated, “Neither could I.” Because – honestly? –
it still seemed a bit unreal, almost like a dream.
Almost.

Letting her hands remain still, Buffy looked Harry in
the eye, her gaze so cold she could practically see
the icicles hanging between them. “You can imagine
how unhappy the princess was when her prince got taken
away.”

Her fingers grasped the tip of the blade and then let
go, whipping the letter opener so close to Harry’s
head that when it lodged itself in the wall behind
him, it took a few strands of his hair with it. “No –
not just taken away. Given away. To someone else.”

She reached past Harry to extract the blade from the
wall. “Ever hear the expression, ‘Hell hath no
fury?’” As she pulled back, she drew the edge of the
opener along Harry’s jaw. “Honey – you don’t want to
be around to see this woman scorned.”

Abruptly standing up, she pushed Harry’s chair
backwards. “Why am I telling you this?” The soldiers
backed away as she did, giving her some breathing
room. She walked around to the other side of the desk
and sat down next to Willow in one of the chairs
conveniently placed for visitors. “Because I want you
to be very clear on how important it is that you tell
us what we want to know.” She looked at Willow.
“Tell him what we want to know.”

Willow’s eyes widened in surprise as Buffy said that
last part, but – bless her – she barely hesitated for
a second before leaning forward and saying, “Show me
your spell.”

“I...” Harry’s voice cracked and he had to start
again. “There wasn’t any-” He stopped speaking as
soon as he noticed Buffy shift.

“Do you understand how many ways I can hurt you?” she
asked.

After a moment of hesitation, Harry bent down, nearly
disappearing from sight. His hands shot up in the air
when – as one – the three soldiers were suddenly on
top of him, the tips of their blasters, only inches
from his face.

That was cool, Buffy thought. It was like being on
t.v.; she could get used to this kind of backup. In
her sternest voice, she said, “Go ahead. Slowly. Or
else these guys might actually kill you before I do.”


Harry nodded and carefully reached into the bag that
was sitting on the floor, his eyes on the guns as they
followed him down and then up again, a small black
notebook in his grasp. He flipped it open, and handed
it to Willow.

As Willow read, Harry said to Buffy, his words full of
spite, “She couldn’t have taken Finn if he didn’t want
to go. He wanted his wife back; he wanted Sam.”

Buffy didn’t ask how Harry knew about Sam. Unlike
Joe, Harry had an inside track, working closely enough
with Jessica that he could probably have found out
anything he needed to know. Plus, he’d spent the week
with Brady – Brady, who wasn’t exactly known for his
discretion. She decided it was unnecessary to dignify
Harry’s comment with a response, choosing to scan the
pictures on the office wall instead.

Harry was undeterred, his voice gaining strength as he
spoke into the silence. “You know, he didn’t even
stay with you the day you almost died. If he truly
loved you-”

“You mean the day you almost got me killed?” Buffy
laughed. “Are you serious?” Even now as, well, a
more mature woman than she’d been sixteen years ago,
she had a lot of insecurities when it came to men.
Riley’s being away from her while she was unconscious
was not even close to stoking one of them. He was
there when she woke up – that was all she needed to
know. Oh, and that he had saved her life. That was
called Coming Up Big.

The Sam thing was another matter.

Luckily, Willow seemed ready for her own questions,
asking, “You’ve been using this spell since the
beginning?”

Reluctantly, Harry answered, “There may have been a
bit of experimentation.”

Willow didn’t take her eyes away from the notebook.
“Where’s the translation from? It’s different than
what I’ve been getting off the bodies.”

It actually looked like Harry wasn’t going to answer.
Buffy moved forward slightly, her glare leaving no
doubt that she would happily tear him apart, starting
finger by finger, twisting off his wrist, yanking the
arm out of its–

He shrugged uncomfortably but still managed to smile
smugly. “I’m gifted.”

That made Willow look up. She smiled right back,
unimpressed. “Me, too. And yet I ask.”

Buffy looked back at the wall, her brain a few minutes
late in registering what she had just seen. “Will...”


Standing up, Buffy crossed the room and pulled down
one of the pictures. A newspaper article, actually,
framed like a picture. She handed it over; there was
no need to direct Willow’s attention to the headline,
“Local Boy Does Good.” The accompanying picture – of
a ten-year-old Harry, smiling and pointing to a rock
on which was carved suspiciously familiar markings –
told them all they needed to know.

A newspaper article, by the way, that would have been
kind of key in the whole gathering information phase
of this mission. “How did we miss that?” Buffy asked
despite realizing that she probably wasn’t being very
tactful since Willow had been the one doing the
research.

“The technology back then wouldn’t have picked up the
photo and with such a non-descript headline...”
Willow shook her head.

The article was short and almost completely
uninformative, the reporter clearly coming from the
perspective of disbelief, the word “hoax” being all
but actually mentioned in the article. Buffy glanced
up at Harry. “You spent most of your life proving
this reporter wrong.” He’d probably been working on
the translation that whole time. No wonder he’d
figured it out.

“The reporter was an idiot,” Harry spat out. “He
could have actually earned himself a Pulitzer.”

“What – and instead he created a monster? I hope you
have a better excuse than that.” Buffy turned her
attention back to the text, seeing the words as she
heard Willow murmur sadly –

“He does, Buffy. He does.”

Yes, sadly, because the reporter – despite the snarky
tone throughout most of the article – had added two
final lines: “Services for the late Emily Ashton
Dunne, will be held this afternoon at 4:00 p.m. at St.
Theresa’s. Mrs. Dunne was killed in a car crash this
past Sunday; on behalf of his father, Harry would like
to thank the citizens of Atikokan for their support
during this difficult time.”

“On behalf of your father?” Being part of the club,
Buffy didn’t have any qualms over asking him about the
details surrounding his mother’s death; or about his
father’s reaction to it, which, as she was beginning
to realize, was more to the point. Though her own
father had been less than brokenhearted in similar
circumstances, she’d seen enough of Riley’s grief to
understand what Harry’s experience could have been.
“He couldn’t thank them himself?”

“No.” Harry’s voice was tight. “He couldn’t.”

Unh-uh, Harry. Killing fourteen men didn’t let you
get off that easy. “He was incapable of it, wasn’t
he?” She could actually hear the clicks as all the
pieces fell into place. “He’d lost the love of his
life. He couldn’t go on.” She held up the article.
“And no one – not even your father – gave a damn that
you’d just made the discovery of your life.” She
wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of
acknowledging the impact such a discovery would have
had in circles far bigger than Atikokan.

She stood up and walked across the room, hanging the
article back on the wall. Maybe she should have felt
more sympathy for him; maybe she should have tried to
be a little more understanding. But she couldn’t – it
wasn’t in her, not with Annie and Kate and Liam and
Jack on her brain. “Boy, that must have sucked to be
you.” Nope. No sympathy.

Harry didn’t seem to care. His bitterness had nothing
to do with her. “My father was as good as dead that
day. His body was still with us. They told me I
should have been grateful for that.”

Well, alright. Maybe a teensy, eensy little grain of
sympathy. It might have been more if he hadn’t taken
Riley away. She turned to face him. “I’m guessing
he’s not six feet tall, two hundred pounds. Otherwise
you would have sent him away, too. Like you did with
the other men.”

Shaking his head angrily, Harry countered, “I sent
each of those men home. Where they wanted to be. Ask
her.” He nodded at Willow. “The spell doesn’t lie.
I don’t choose the destination. They do; they do what
their hearts tell them. They get to choose.”

Buffy looked at Willow, not at all happy that Willow
wouldn’t meet her eyes. Fine. She’d look at Harry
then. “I refuse to believe that.” Or at least,
that’s what she was going to tell herself: Riley
wouldn’t leave her that easily. He most certainly
wouldn’t leave his kids. “I think this is a little
more twisted. I think that’s the way you justify
this.”

She could feel the tightness in her throat. Those
insecurities that Harry hadn’t quite pinned down
before? He’d just nailed them. Keep talking, Buffy,
and go on the offensive because the alternative is,
well... “You get a thrill out of helping her, don’t
you? You think this Princess is actually grateful to
you.”

Harry leapt to his feet, and, his hands on the desk,
he nearly threw himself forward, getting right in
Buffy’s face. “I know she is. She tells me. And you
know what she had to say about Riley? He was perfect.
He was made for her. Even Sam-”

“No,” Buffy spat back. “You tried to do the spell the
day of the bear, but you failed. Riley was too–”
Whoa, girl, she thought, closing her eyes. Don’t get
into this argument. Do not even finish that thought.


She may have wanted to think that Harry had
miscalculated, that Riley’s “home” that day had been
just as much Buffy as it had been Sam, but even if
Harry really had tried the spell that day – of which
she had no confirmation – she had no idea if her
theory was actually true or if it had just been Joe’s
magic providing interference. She refused to back
down, though, even as she ran on fumes, completely
unsure of everything she was saying.

Ignoring the heat that flushed her skin, the ring as
it began to burn, she let the words tumble out of her
mouth without any reasoning behind them – this was
pure lashing out now, just trying to get on solid
ground again. Although, as she heard the words out
loud, they sounded more solid than they had before,
ringing of truth. Or maybe it was just the conviction
with which she spoke them, inflicting as much pain as
she possibly could: “The Maymaygwayshi. They’re
playing with you the way you’ve played with all these
lives. The Princess doesn’t give a damn about you
either.”

“You saw it yourself,” Harry answered, shaking his
head angrily as he pointed out his office door to what
she assumed was the exhibit with the porcelain bowls.
“You saw Riley’s sunrise. It’s the same one you saw
that morning, isn’t it?” His voice turned cold – he
could see he was getting to her, could see it in her
eyes. He was flinging the pain right back at her,
meanly snapping, “Would you like it as a keepsake?
You could always sell it. That one was the best of
the lot. With black market prices, it’ll easily go
for ten, eleven mil. With that much money, you could
buy another pr-”

Buffy didn’t even realize she had raised her hand to
strike him until she felt the soldier’s arms go around
her, pulling her back. He was issuing orders to the
other two men, telling them to take Harry away,
assuring her that Harry would be taken care of.

“Ma’am,” he said as Harry was led out of the room.
“Colonel Miller would like a word.”

“I...” She blinked. “Colonel Miller?”

The soldier – she wished she had thought to ask their
names – took off his com-cam and handed it to her. Of
course Graham would have been watching that whole
thing. She looked at the com-cam and then at Willow;
she wasn’t sure she could talk to Graham right now.

Willow seemed to sense Buffy’s reluctance, and, in a
very Willow way, gently and yet forcefully took the
com-cam from the soldier’s hand and started saying
things that didn’t make any sense, or at least not to
Buffy. There was too much anger and hurt and
frustration and –

“Good work, ma’am,” the soldier said before he left
the room. He actually saluted her. That made her
laugh. And, as she bowed her head, almost cry. God,
how she wanted Riley back.

She pounded her fist on Harry’s desk, sending papers
flying. Deep breaths; deep cleansing breaths. A
punching bag would come in very handily right now. As
would Brady.

A few more minutes of forcing herself to breathe and
she was able to get control again, able to tune in to
what Willow was saying to Graham: “... more complex
than I originally thought. It’s a combination – part
love, part locator spell. It goes back to that whole
‘souls entwined’ thing.” She frowned as she listened
to something Graham said. “Of course I can do it.”

There was another pause, and Willow shook her head,
then glanced up guiltily at Buffy before answering,
“No, Harry wasn’t wrong. The exact phrase is...”
Looking down at the notebook, Willow read, “...‘Lead
me home.’”

Buffy closed her eyes, feeling a rush of hot air. She
couldn’t take Riley away from Sam. Not like that.
Couldn’t just reach in and –

She felt Willow’s hand cover hers and looked up as she
heard Willow excitedly say, “But I don’t think it’s
that simple. This goes further than just using Sam’s
voice, it actually...”

Willow let go of Buffy’s hand and looked back down at
the notebook. “It actually requires Sam’s soul. It’s
not just Riley who has to choose; Sam has to want him
to stay.” She bit her lip. “If I’m remembering
Kate’s dream right, I think Sam may be just as unhappy
about this as, well, Buffy is.”

Riley’s ring suddenly began to vibrate, practically
jumping inside of Buffy’s shirt.

No way, Buffy thought, pulling the chain off and
almost throwing it on the desk. Sam? It was suddenly
very odd to have that piece of metal hanging between
her breasts.

“Is that a good thing?” Buffy asked.

“Yes,” Willow said, bending down to grab the car keys
out of her bag. “I think it is.” A smile lit up her
face as she hugged Buffy and actually kissed her on
the cheek before rushing out the door. “I really
think it is.”




TBC...


=====
Writing as Alexandra Huxley
http://home.mindspring.com/~jenkel/fanfic/index.html

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