Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Disclaimers, etc. in chapter 45.

Chapter Forty-Six (A)

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


“Home?” Riley asked weakly, suddenly on his back.

The Princess gave him the lightest of kisses, brushing
his lips ever so lightly – teasingly so.

With every second she grew stronger – or maybe it was
that he was growing weaker; not that he’d exactly been
a towering pillar of strength this whole time. Now,
though, she was everywhere – her hands running up
underneath his shirt, fingers cool on his skin. Her
body held him in place; her lips grazed his forehead,
his eyes as they fluttered shut...

“Finn,” he heard Sam say.

No. This wasn’t Sam. The Princess. He heard the
Princess say. He heard the Princess – whose hands
were sending chills down his spine – say.

“Finn – this is real. This is it. After this you
don’t get to go back.”

God, how it sounded like Sam – the way she used to get
so completely pissed off at, well, at whatever.
Sometimes at him, sometimes at Graham. At something
the General said or at something her mom did. And
when she was pissed off...

“You don’t get to go back.”

Would that be so bad, not going back? Not having to
feel this ache again? Not having her voice tempt and
tease him again?

Not dreaming another one of these Goddamned dreams
that brought him to his knees so fucking hard he could
feel every vessel burst as the tremors tore through
his body and ruptured his heart.

“Ever.”

The dreams didn’t seem to want to stop, though. They
just kept coming...

She would wait until after the kids were in bed, as
sound asleep as kids could possibly be, and would
start to pace back and forth in front of the bed,
muttering the whole time. Into the bathroom and out
again, waving the toothbrush as she talked, making
some point that he had no intention of disagreeing
with.

“You don’t get to have Buffy again. That was kind of
unexpected, wasn’t it? Funny how life turns out.”

Back into the bathroom to deposit the toothbrush, her
voice becoming more muffled as she exited through the
closet – the more clothes he could see flying through
the crack in the door, the angrier he knew she was.
Emerging from the closet with a t-shirt or a nightgown
or sometimes – if she were particularly unhappy – in
black lace. He knew he was in trouble then.

“Graham must have loved that. Oh, how I would have
liked to see his reaction.”

She’d come over to the bed – a playful smile on her
face – and climb in, climb right up on top of him and
push him on his back, chattering away even as she shed
her clothes.

“You know what sucks, though? What just completely
sucks? You don’t get to be a fly on the wall; you
don’t get to choose what you see.”

And he would reach his hand up to pull her down
slowly, smiling as the hair fell across her shoulder,
closing his eyes as she grew still and quiet. So
quiet that he couldn’t breathe, afraid he’d miss the
whisper as it drifted away.

“You won’t get to see them grow up, Finn.”

She would never cry, though. No matter how much she
hurt, she would never cry. Her voice would never
betray even a hint of a tear.

“Kate and Annie and Li-”

She wouldn’t choke up, wouldn’t need to force herself
to breathe.

“...and Liam and Jack.”

He almost wished she would because then he could have
kissed it all away. He could have reached up and
wiped the tears from her cheeks and dried them with
his lips. He would have taken her in his arms and run
his hands through her hair...

“You won’t get to see them grow up.”

No, that wasn’t what Sam wanted – if he had learned
anything from Buffy, it was to give the woman what she
wanted. If crying out was preferable to crying it
out? No worries. He could do that, too.

The quiet, of course, never lasted for too long. She
was never still for more than a moment, never really
at rest.

She would start with his wrist, turning his hand over
and laying his palm against her cheek, kissing her way
up his arms, first one, then the other. If she were
only mildly irritated, she’d take her time working on
the slow burn – reaching his shoulders and then
heading down his chest, with a detour to his hip;
knowing that by the time she hit below the belt he’d
be putty in her hands.

Sometimes, though – when the word ‘irate’ didn’t quite
cover it – she’d just head straight for the scars.
She’d nuzzle or lick or bite for as long as he could
stand it – and then she’d let the animal go. She’d
let it go and she’d tame it.

She’d unleash her rage and harness the beast. Use it
for good. Or at least that’s what she would say when
she would roll off of him or out from under him,
smiling as she gasped for breath. Smiling because of
what she’d done to him – reducing him to a quivering
mass of nerves, whose only reason for existence was to
feel her touch.

“I know what you’re thinking, Finn.”

You never needed the scars for that, Sam. You did
that to me every day. Every damn day.

“You’re thinking that’s me you’re feeling; that it’s
me you’re kissing.”

Nope. That’s where she was wrong. He knew it wasn’t
her – knew this was all just the next phase of
whatever this spell was. The problem was, he just
didn’t care. Not anymore.

“You think Buffy was mad to find you in some vampire’s
arms?”

It was already too late. He was too far gone. The
mutiny of his body had been complete. If the Princess
hadn’t pushed his shirt off his shoulders and
effectively pinned his arms back, well, her tank top
would have been history.

“Imagine what it will be like to spend all of eternity
with me if you actually let this go all the way. You
think the true love thing is intense? Trust me. You
have no concept of what true anger can be.”

He supposed he could try a little harder – try and get
out from under her – except that squirming was
definitely not the way to go at the moment. Not with
her hips pretty much attached to his. So not the way
to go.

“Finn, honey – don’t do this. Riley...”

Sam’s voice was fading away. No wonder – it was
probably getting hard to compete with the thundering
of his heart in his head.

Good. Good riddance. Because he couldn’t take it.
Whatever this game was he wanted it to be over. If
that meant conceding to the Princess, so be it. There
were worse ways to lose. Having some crazy warrior
princess fumble with the button on his pants? He
wasn’t exactly in the mood to argue.

“Oh, God... Ri...”

As long as she shut up. He wanted her to stop playing
with Sam’s voice. Look like Sam all you want – hell,
it just made the medicine that much easier to go down.
Don’t sound like her, though. Not jokey Sam, not
angry Sam, and most definitely not desperate Sam.

Anyway, Sam didn’t get desperate.

“Finn – just... Just think about this.”

Why was she bothering? His arms were all twisted up
in his shirt, his legs were effectively immobile
thanks to the way she’d positioned herself – it wasn’t
like he could stop her if she tried. You know what?
He wasn’t even going to try. At this point he was
ready to just enjoy the ride.

The words were still coming, though, tumbling out in a
rush. They just wouldn’t stop.

“Do this and it means... It means you never get to
put another band-aid on Katie’s knee or braid Annie’s
hair. And – Liam... Those gorgeous eyes are going to
break so many hearts... You need to be there for him;
teach him how to be...”

Please just let them fucking stop.

“He’s going to be you, Ri. Oh – how I wanted to see
that. And... Baby Jack... That soft, wispy hair...
His tiny, little hands... That tiny, little body that
just disappears into your arms.”

“Nice,” Riley gasped, startling the Princess enough
that she looked up from what she was doing. Which, at
the moment, was running her tongue along the scar that
spanned his waist. Without her quite so connected to
his skin, he could actually speak. “That was a good
touch. I almost believed you were crying – the way
your voice caught at the end?”

She cocked her head, puzzled; a little unsure.

Since she seemed to need clarification, he added,
“Talking about Ja-?”

And there was the tongue again. So much for speech.
Especially when her hands joined in on the action, the
tips of her fingers slipping past his waistband and
skimming the line of his hipbone.

“Damn it, Finn. Would you stop thinking with your
dick for a minute and pay attention?”

Yes. She definitely had the angry Sam voice down.

“Do you actually think she’s the one talking? When
her mouth is...”

Her mouth wasn’t really doing anything. Not yet at
least. She was just edging kind of close to his
now-unbuttoned pants.

And, o.k. – interesting point about the talking versus
the ‘mouth doing’ thing. One he hadn’t really
considered.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Hold that thought. Men. I
swear.”

Muttering? She was muttering?

He looked down as the Princess tensed, pulling away
quickly and putting her hands to her face.

“Riley Dylan Finn, listen to me. I can slow her down,
but I can’t control her. This has to be you. You
have to decide – understand?”

Um – yes, ma’am? What the hell...?

The Princess dropped her hands to his waist, looking
up at him and saying, “Don’t you want her?”

We’re back to that again? Hadn’t they already covered
that? Yes, he wanted Sam. He was here, wasn’t he?
As long as she was asking – he wanted Buffy, too.
Hell, just throw the Princess into the mix and we’ve
got ourselves the trifecta.

She slid her body up his, making sure to hit all the
key points. “I can give you...”

“Goddamnit, Finn – do you want me to tell you what
it’s like to-”

This was getting to be somewhat confusing. Their
voices – Sam’s voice – invaded his head. Coming at
him in twos and threes, echoing all around him.

“...what you want.” The Princess’ breath warmed his
skin and everything seemed to become more urgent. Her
hands were flat on his chest...on his shoulder... “I
can give you...”

“-die? What it’s like to know that it’s over? So
much was broken. I couldn’t fix it; I couldn’t-”

As the Princess spoke, she pressed herself against
him, showing him how easy it would be to just let this
end. “...Sam. All you need to do is let go. No more
guilt...” She was pushing the shirt down the length
of his arms. Not fast enough, though; not fast
enough. He wanted – no, he needed – to put out this
fire.

“-fight it. You can fight this, though. You need-”

He could feel his shirt being pulled all the way off,
and he did nothing to stop it. Did nothing at all to
stop the Princess from pulling his arms back and
wrapping them around her, as she murmured, “...No more
pain.” There was an edge of panic in her voice; one
she tried to hide by putting her hand to the back of
his neck and pulling his face right up to hers.

“-to fight this. They need a father. I’m even
willing to throw in a stepmother. Just don’t...”

“Just make this be over.” The Princess leaned
forward, and his hands went to her hair as she kissed
him – so achingly tender that he almost cried for
whatever it was that could hurt her that much.

“...Don’t leave them alone, Finn. The only thing that
made the dying o.k.? Knowing you would be there for
them. You need to be there. It’s all up to you.
It’s your choi-”

The kiss consumed him – a wall of water drowning him,
overtaking all of his senses. He couldn’t hear Sam
anymore, couldn’t feel her body surrounding him.
Couldn’t open his eyes to see Sam’s face, couldn’t
taste the lip gloss she wore, and couldn’t smell the
scent of her hair. Hell, he couldn’t even breathe.

Everything started to slip away as the water receded –
vision came back, but only a faint outline of her
face; above him and yet so far below.

And he suddenly knew: this was how it happened. This
was how they died.

He could feel every heartbeat, could feel the blood
flow out of his veins, his body floating away without
his heavy heart to weigh it down.

Would you die for her. Not of a broken heart, but of
a healed one. This is what Joe meant. Would you give
up your body – your life on this earth – to be joined
with her, to be part of her forever.

Would you give up your children for your wife. Could
you possibly choose her over them.

Was this the choice? The one she kept talking about?

Yes, he wanted her – he always would. Until the end of
time itself. And seeing her like that – so close, so
alive... Oh, God, how that hurt. He thought death
might actually be preferable to living like this.

But if he had to make a choice?

Joe had asked the wrong thing: true love – if it could
happen more than once, much less twice.

Sam and Buffy? Hell, yes. Any questions Riley had
had watching Buffy across the campfire, mulling over
what Joe had asked... That night put them all to
rest. Riley was a believer. Hands down.

Pure love, though. That was an entirely different
thing. The life you create – not once, not even
twice. Four times.

Annie and Kate and Liam and Jack.

When who they are is what you become. When you
discover ‘heartbreak’ is a literal term. When you cry
their tears and breathe their breaths.

When your little girl clutches your hand and you
realize that watching that balloon disappear into the
sky was the saddest thing you’d ever seen. When
hearing your baby boy laugh for the first time was the
happiest.

You know, Sam? All those years ago? With the grief
so fresh, and every day a struggle to breathe enough
to stay alive? He might have taken the wrong road
then. He might have given it all up just to hold her
again. Might have actually forsaken his kids,
forsaken their future. Not now, though. Not now.

He missed her so much. He would have given almost
anything to have her with him again. But it was o.k.
– she didn’t need to keep being strong. He finally
understood what she was saying. He couldn’t give them
up. He didn’t want to.

There was a faint touch against his cheek, as though
she were caressing him. This time he didn’t hear the
words – he felt them: I know, Finn. I know.

And suddenly he found himself back in the bed, lying
on his back with his hands covering his face. There
was still a body draped over his – the Princess was
clinging to him as though she were afraid she’d die if
she let go. He’d actually saved enough damsels in
distress to know what that felt like. Usually,
however, he wasn’t half naked when he did it; tears
falling on to the bare skin of his chest was a unique
sensation. Not one he was really interested in
repeating as it turned out.

Riley closed his eyes. Only for a second, though;
there wasn’t any time to think about how that hadn’t
been more of the Princess’ head games – it had
actually been Sam speaking to him. There wasn’t any
time to fully comprehend what he’d just let go, nor
how much it would hurt when it hit him. At the moment
there was just enough time to take one last gulp of
air as he realized what was about to happen – that the
Princess formerly known as not-Sam was about to cut
off the airway formerly known as unconstricted.

Fuck. Why couldn’t he hang out with non-super-powered
women once in a while?

“Why did you come here?” she asked angrily, her eyes
wild despite the tears. “What do you want from me?”

She let up on the pressure just enough for him to
gasp, “I...? Want from...you?”

O.k. Now that just made him mad. He may not be able
to beat her, but he was tired of taking it lying down.
Um, as it were.

Whatever power she’d had over him seemed to be gone –
the choice he’d made had broken the spell. And damn
if he hadn’t remembered a trick or two in the last few
weeks of sparring with Buffy. The element of surprise
didn’t hurt much either.

She hadn’t expected any resistance – hadn’t even
pinned his hands down where they rested above his
head. He took a handful of her hair and yanked on it.
Though it may be a cheap shot, it was a good one –
one of Sam’s favorites. If you’re gonna fight the
girls, then learn how to fight like one, she used to
say. Get in close to the roots, twist it all up in
your fingers and pull. Hard. It’ll get her
attention.

The Princess was no exception. She was startled
enough for him to be able to breathe again; enough for
him to jerk his elbow up and connect with something
solid. Enough for him to get out from underneath her
and be ready to block the next blow when it came. He
grabbed her wrist as it came at his head.

Lying on his side, still somewhat tangled up in her
body while holding off her somewhat more powerful arm
was not exactly a position of strength, however. “I
don’t want anything from you.” She relaxed a little
under his grip. Not quite enough, though. He added
hurriedly, “I didn’t choose to come here.”

O.k. Good, princess. Just back down nice and easy.
He let go of her arm. “You saw my dreams. You know
where I’d rather be.”

That seemed to do the trick. She nodded and pulled
away completely, making no move to stop him when he
stood up and walked a few steps away.

He kept his eyes on her as she sat up. An uneasy
truce, but a truce all the same. “Could I have my
shirt?”

She tossed it to him and looked away as he put it back
on yet another time – if he never in his life had to
button up this shirt again it would be too soon.
This, at least, was the first time he’d had to button
up his pants – except for the time he’d gotten dressed
after waking up naked. That one didn’t count, though.


It was hard to take his eyes off of her, wondering how
the spell had worked. There wasn’t a chance in hell
that he’d just mistakenly thought she was Sam – the
two women looked nothing alike.

He’d actually noticed that the second he’d come out of
that...dream. It would have been hard to miss – Sam
was softer, her body curved in all the places it
should. The Princess was more angles and edges –
still more girl than woman; more Kate than Sam, which,
given the circumstances and the position he’d just
found himself in, was incredibly disturbing. Perhaps
even more so than anything else about this situation
if that was even possible.

Well, as he was now – thankfully – seeing, not so much
Kate as Buffy, the first time around. Nineteen, maybe
twenty. Or, make that at least three hundred and
nineteen or twenty. He wasn’t exactly sure how to
count the millions of years before that.

Shit. How the hell was he going to tell Buffy about
all of this? The chances of that conversation going
well were about as good as his being able to walk out
of here without a fight. So much for the happy
ending.

That, however, had to be put on the list of things to
think about later. Don’t think about how
life-shatteringly unpleasant it had been to be cut
down by a twenty-year-old Slayer; there was still a
twenty-year-old warrior princess to deal with. One
who could kick his ass into another dimension; she
didn’t need any spell to do that.

She was looking up at him suspiciously through eyes
that were big and brown; they sparkled in a way that
could only be achieved by the light reflecting off her
tears. That or anime. Another trick? He didn’t
think so.

The clothes she wore had gone out of style several
hundred years ago. They were clean though somewhat
faded, not having aged as well as she had, a fact
highlighted by the way the fabric fell against her
golden skin, skin that looked a lot more like a
college kid’s than it did like a who-knows-how-old
mummy.

Riley looked down at the floor, feeling a sudden
wrench in his gut. If Sam were still here, she’d have
had something to say about that. Something about how
if she were Xena the Warrior Princess she wouldn’t
have any wrinkles, either. Or maybe that would have
been Buffy’s line. Actually, it didn’t matter who
would have said it; it still hurt to just think about.

The Princess, Riley. Just deal with the Princess.

Her hair was so black it put the night sky to shame –
the real night sky, the one he’d grown up with deep in
the Heartland. When the moon was nowhere to be found
and the stars were all hidden away. When you could
hold your hand up in front of your face and not see a
damn thing. It didn’t happen often, but when it did,
you took advantage. You drove your pick-up into the
fields and spread a sleeping bag out in the truck’s
bed and just lay there, thinking that it was possible
you could be the only person on earth. Sometimes
wishing that you were. Or sometimes – if you’d
brought the right girl out with you – being grateful
that you weren’t.

Which brought him right back to those items not to
think about. Because ‘right girl’ meant first Sam,
and then Buffy. His prospects weren’t looking too
good in either respect.

God – just get past it. No more Sam and no more
Buffy. Not now. Not when the ‘get out of jail free’
card is still hidden somewhere deep in the deck.

Looking at the Princess – looking at her looking
warily at him – he realized she didn’t seem angry
anymore. Just tired. And sad.

He felt strangely awkward given the intimacy of what
they’d shared. No, idiot – because of it. And he’d
never been quite this intimate with someone whose name
he didn’t know. That, at least, was correctable.
“What’s your name?”

“Kaseniiosta,” she answered after a pause. Quietly.
Apprehensively.

Just when he thought things couldn’t get any more
confusing...

A minute ago, she’d been close to killing him. A
minute before that she’d been, well, close. Now,
however, she’d moved past tired and was closing in on
scared. Could this possibly make any less sense?

When in doubt...



TBC in 46B






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

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