SCREEN NAME: Wagman_version_1

AGE:27

LOCATION:UK

FAVE CHARACTER:Apart from Riley, Anya,

FAVE EPISODE:Selfless

WATCH "ANGEL"?: Yes

FAVE CHARACTER FROM "ANGEL":Lindsey, Lilah and Ilyria

FAVE EPISODE FROM "ANGEL":A Hole in the World / Shells

FEELINGS OR THOUGHTS ON RILEY:I think that by getting
shut of him, Joss gave in to the die hard Buffy/Angel
fans.

I also think his vampire addiction made for a better
addiction metaphor than the willow magic one.

Finally, he's hot and shirtless a lot (yes I'm
shallow)




___________________________________________________________
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SCREEN NAME: dre14_krunk
AGE: 18
LOCATION: Vancouver
FAVE CHARACTER: Riley
FAVE EPISODE: Buffy vs. Dracula
WATCH "ANGEL"?: Yes
if so FAVE CHARACTER FROM "ANGEL": Lindsay
if so FAVE EPISODE FROM "ANGEL": Five by Five 
FEELINGS OR THOUGHTS ON RILEY: cried when he left Sunnydale

__________________________________________________
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Looks like this will be released Sept 28th, any news if Marc's
scenes will be included?

--- In RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com, "tv chiquita" <pdagnolo@h...>
wrote:
> Hello ladies and gents,
>
> I'm pleased to report that a LOT of Alamo fans are disappointed by
Marc's
> role in it being cut, judging from a few forums I've checked out
at
> <http://www.thealamofilm.com>.
>
> Much to my delight, a Mr. Craig McGinnes has taken it upon himself
to start
> a petition to get Marc's footage back in a DVD extended director's
cut
> version.  Here's his website:
>
> http://www.RememberBonham.com
>
> I encourage Marc's fans everywhere to go sign it; maybe  we won't
make a
> difference, but maybe we will.  Even the mighty oceans, after all,
were made
> one drop of water at a time....
>
> Paola
>
> _________________________________________________________________
> Free yourself from those irritating pop-up ads with MSn Premium.
Get 2months
> FREE*
> http://join.msn.com/?pgmarket=en-
ca&page=byoa/prem&xAPID=1994&DI=1034&SU=http://hotmail.com/enca&HL=Ma
rket_MSNIS_Taglines

Going through my mail, I'm always so behind & just wanted to say Hi
*waves*

ta denyce

--- In RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com, "Lisa Parkinson"
<lisa.parkinson12@n...> wrote:
> SCREEN NAME: LISAAS2002
> AGE:34
> LOCATION: Aberdeen
> FAVE CHARACTER: Buffy,Angel,Giles and Spike and willow and xander
and anya.
> FAVE EPISODE: Bad beer.
> WATCH ANGEL?: yes.
> IF SO FAVE CHARACTER FROM ANGEL:angel,cordelia,doyle,gunn,harmony
and spike.
> IF SO FAVE EPISODE FROM ANGEL: City of angels.
> FEELINGS OR THOUGHTD ON RILEY: well i like riley in season4 of
Buffy the Vampire Slayer and was in a relationship with the main
character Buffy.
> yahoo messager: lisaas2002
>
>
> Lisa

Hello ladies and gents,

I'm pleased to report that a LOT of Alamo fans are disappointed by Marc's
role in it being cut, judging from a few forums I've checked out at
<http://www.thealamofilm.com>.

Much to my delight, a Mr. Craig McGinnes has taken it upon himself to start
a petition to get Marc's footage back in a DVD extended director's cut
version.  Here's his website:

http://www.RememberBonham.com

I encourage Marc's fans everywhere to go sign it; maybe  we won't make a
difference, but maybe we will.  Even the mighty oceans, after all, were made
one drop of water at a time....

Paola

_________________________________________________________________
Free yourself from those irritating pop-up ads with MSn Premium. Get 2months
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http://groups.yahoo.com/group/angel_buffy_charmed_forever

Hi,

Just wanted to let you all know that Butterfly Ops is
now posted on my website.  You can find it at:
http://home.mindspring.com/~jenkel/fanfic/butterfly_home.html

:) Jen



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

__________________________________
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Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Disclaimers, etc. in chapter 51.

Special Author's Note:  Thank you to everyone for
being so wonderful over the past six months.  This has
been an amazing journey for me, though one which was
at times difficult to travel, thanks to real life
butting in.  And I realize that I owe a bunch of you
personal notes, but I wanted to take this opportunity
to thank a few people who have been particularly
awesome.  First and foremost: Diana - you know how
much you mean to me and that I owe this, um, BOOK to
you, but I couldn't possibly do a thank you list
without including you at the top of the list.  Cynthia
and Moe - the best betas ever.  Amy - if it weren't
for the Starcrossed Summer '02 Challenge, this story
would never have been written.  Chris and Remy - every
single posting, your wonderful feedback is there.  You
are truly amazing.  Mandy - for pimping me on LJ.  I
was incredibly honored.  Cheryl, Joy, Carole G.,
Paola, Sharon C., Jessica, Lisa, Kait - maybe not
every single posting, but at least a few of you were
there every week (*cough*when I was posting
weekly*cough*), getting me through.  And finally, last
but certainly not least - every single one of you who
has ever sent me feedback on Butterfly Ops.  I wish I
could name you all.  (And if you haven't gotten a
personal thanks from me yet, now that BO is over, you
will. :) )  Riley may not have had the hugest number
of fans, but if you ask me, Finnatics are, without
doubt, the greatest!

Now back to our programming...




========================
Chapter 52: Epilogue
========================


“I thought she said to turn left and go down the
hill,” Anya said, looking at the map in her hands.

“No, it said up.”  Xander made the turn slowly, for
the billionth time regretting that he’d insisted on
personally bringing Buffy’s stuff east rather than
having her just fly it all out as she’d intended in
the first place.  U-Haul trailer + Ford 350 pickup
complete with crew cab + two kids and one ex-demon
non-wife still high from their three-day Hershey’s
bender = nothing but trouble on narrow, winding Boston
streets.

“I swear it said down.” Anya turned the map upside
down.

“’Cause you ate too much chocolate,” Xander muttered,
still feeling vaguely sick himself.

Anya groaned.  “Don’t mention that word ever again.”

Xander whipped his head around as a blur of color flew
past the window, heading down the hill at what seemed
like a hundred miles an hour.  “What the…?  Was that
Dawn?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Anya answered distractedly as she
read the numbers on the houses.  “Why would Dawn be
skateboarding down a steep hill while clutching the
hands of tall children?”

“Yeah, but…”  Xander stared after...  Dawn.  That was
definitely Dawn on that skateboard.  With, yes – three
tall children, the girl and the boy being particularly
so.  And that older boy...  “Do we know that kid?  He
looks familiar.”

Anya didn’t respond to the question, instead, saying,
“Number eighteen should be the next one.  Here’s a
spot.  Park now.”

Sure – if you were driving a Mini-Cooper.  That was
Ahn, though – not loving the details.  Unless they
involved money or demons, of course.

Xander pulled to a stop a little further up the
street, driving past Buffy’s house to the tune of
“Auntie B! Auntie B!” coming from the back seat.

The kids craned their necks and banged on the windows,
trying to get Buffy’s attention and prompting Xander
to shout, “Stay in your seats until the car stops!”

“Oh, honey – that’s so sweet.”  Anya grabbed his hand
and brought it to her lips.  “Statistically, though,
it’s much more likely that they’ll be eviscerated by a
Wornstruck demon than thrown from the car before you
park.”

“Anya...” Xander warned.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know – no demon talk in
front of the children.”

Before Xander could respond, Grace piped up with,
“Mommy – why is Auntie B kissing the gardener?”

Anya reached down to get her bag off the floor.
“Auntie B doesn’t have a gardener.”

Grace was not deterred.  “But she’s kissing the man
who was cutting the roses off her front door.  Eeew.
He’s all sweaty and dirty.”

Xander had to smile as Anya murmured, “Sweaty and
dirty aren’t always a bad thing.”

Michael, obviously deciding that his mother’s answer
wasn’t sufficient, gave an exaggerated sigh.  “Gracie
– she’s kissing him because he’s her man to love.  You
know that.”

“‘Her man to love’?” Xander raised his eyebrows and
looked at Anya.  “Is this what you’re teaching them?”

The look she gave him screamed, Oh, Honey – it could
be so much worse.  She didn’t say anything in
response, however, instead leaning into the back so
she could see out the window.  “Where’s this gardener,
Gracie?  Oh, my.” Her voice perked up.  “Well, yes –
I’d kiss him, too.”

Oh.  So not acceptable.

“His arms are very nicely formed.  Shapely back...”
Anya said, mostly under her breath.

Xander looked out his window.  “Geez, Ahn – too bad
you can’t actually see his face.”  Gardener, my ass.
Wasn’t so good with keeping up with the roses.  “Or
maybe I should just ask him to drop trou?  Then you
could check out his...  Um...”

Anya somehow managed to tear her eyes away and pull
herself back into the front seat – probably just to
gloat that she wasn’t the one about to use words
highly inappropriate for a four- and six-year-old.
“Oh, Xander,” she sighed.  “It’s not like we’re
married, you know.”

“Good thing,” Xander muttered, “because we’d probably
be divorced by now.”

He craned his head again, just in time to see Mr. Hot
and Sweaty disappear into the house, the guy’s hand
lingering on Buffy’s waist in a much too familiar way
for non-approved green thumb types.  For non-approved
green thumb types that Buffy couldn’t possibly know
that well, having been in Boston for less than two
months.

Getting out of the truck, Xander opened the back door,
waiting for Anya to do the same.  As they helped the
kids climb out he said, “Since when does Buffy hire a
gardener?  She likes to do that stuff.”

Anya shook her head.  “Except for the bees.  I’ve
never known a Slayer that was so bothered by-”

She was cut off by a yelp coming from Buffy’s front
door.  Buffy had obviously been so involved in her
kissing that she hadn’t noticed a huge, black truck
towing a bright orange U-Haul driving up her street
until now.

“Gracie!  Michael!” Buffy yelled as she flew down the
steps.  Reaching the kids, she dropped to her knees
and threw her arms around them.  “Just wait until you
hear what we’ve got planned for you – we’re taking you
sailing and to Fenway Park.  And tomorrow we’ll have a
picnic – we can play football and baseball and Annie
said she’ll teach us soccer.”

Xander looked at her oddly.  “Since when do you play
sports?”

Anya hit his arm.  She could clearly care much less
about sports, asking instead, “Since when do you kiss
the gardener?”

“The gardener?”  Buffy stood up straight and reached
out to give Xander and Anya hugs.  She looked puzzled.
  “I don’t have a...”

“Where did he go?” Xander said, looking up the steps.


“Xander’s feeling jealous and protective,” Anya
helpfully added.  “He thinks we should meet him.
Now.”

“Oh.”  Buffy smiled and looked up at the door.  “Well,
technically, you’ve already met him.  Spent a fair
amount of time with him, in fact.”

That meant, like, three guys in the whole history of
Buffy.  One was dead; another was, well, also dead,
but currently broodily residing in L.A.; the other…

Aw, man...  “Buffy, I swear – if you and Spike…”

Anya hit him again.  “Daylight, honey.  Even Spike
couldn’t do that.”

Oh, right.  “Then...”

Buffy picked up Grace and took Michael’s hand.  “Let’s
go up.”

Now that was just being mean.

She led them up the stairs to the house, opening the
front door, and saying, “I meant to tell you earlier.
I really did.  It’s just...”  She shrugged.  “Things
have been a little crazy.”

They walked through a screened-in porch, and into a
mostly bare living room.  “This is nice, Buff,” Xander
said.  “A little vacant maybe...”

His voice trailed off as they entered the dining room.
  There were voices coming from the kitchen, one
sounding a hell of a lot like Willow’s.

No one said anything about Willow meeting up with them
in Boston.

It was definitely her, though, laughing and saying,
“Kate – tell your dad how good I’m being.”

The Kate person, or at least that’s who Xander assumed
it was, answered, “Dad – I swear.  She said no magic.
Just the brush and ink.  Really.”

“Well she works pretty damn fast,” came the muttered
response.  And then more loudly, though not at all
unhappily – “O.k.  She can do it on both wrists –
that’s all though.  Understand?”

Xander looked up sharply at Buffy – at Buffy who was
practically glowing as she leaned back against the
wall.

Whoa.  That’s like...

That’s like...

“That’s impossible,” he said.

Buffy got a little teary – but in a happy way – as she
put Grace down and smiled.  “You have no idea.”

Just then Riley...  Let’s just take a moment here:
Riley Finn.  A very
no-longer-missing-in-action-and-presumed-dead Riley
fucking Finn – came through the doorway with a beer in
his hand, his eyes still on what was happening in the
kitchen.  As his head turned, he started to ask Buffy
where her bottle opener was.  Stopping mid-sentence,
he grinned.  “Xander, Anya – hi.”

Anya stepped forward immediately, her eyes a little
too focused on Riley’s arms.  She actually reached her
hand out, her fingers moving forward as if to caress
his well-defined – as Anya was no doubt thinking –
bicep.

“Anya!”  Come on.  Really.

She turned to glare at Xander.  “I’m not going to
sleep with him,” she snapped.  Turning back to Riley,
she did her awkward and – lucky for her – endearing
shoulder clap while saying, “You look robust and
virile.  I’m sure Buffy is pleased.”

Riley just smiled easily, not even glancing at Buffy.
“Uh, thanks, I guess.”

He didn’t say anything else – he was too busy jumping
out of Grace and Michael’s way as they noticed Willow
appear in the doorway behind him.  They rushed at her,
and there were a few moments of kids screaming over
the bonus Willow appearance.

Anya’s eyes narrowed as she focused on Willow.  “You
spelled us into Hershey Park so they could have sex
for three days.”

“Anya!”

Xander couldn’t even count the number of people who
had just said that.

Well, o.k. – it was only three: him, Buffy and Willow,
all glancing at various children as they did so.
Xander was sure Riley was thinking it too, however,
seeing as he’d given up on the bottle opener and
abruptly headed back into the kitchen.  There was the
sound of a bottle cap being hit against a kitchen
counter; then another.

He came back into the dining room and wordlessly
handed the second bottle to Xander just in time to
hear the tail end of Buffy’s, “Trust me.  I wish
that’s what we were doing.”

Kate – also now in the doorway and sporting an almost
done Willow-henna-special on her wrist – scrunched her
face up.  “Dad – make her stop!”

Buffy looked apologetically at Riley, mumbling,
“Sorry.”  She had clearly been taking lessons at the
Anya school of What (Not) To Say In Front Of The Kids.

Xander decided it was high time to pick his mouth up
off the floor and contribute.  He reached out to shake
Riley’s hand, then thought better of it.  Because –
fuck it.  If any situation deserved a big manly bear
hug – beer bottles and all – this one seemed to be it.

This was great.  This was someone who actually liked
playing poker.  This was someone who knew what Airwolf
was.  This was-

“Mommy?” Grace asked Anya.  “Does Daddy get to have
man-love, too?”

Xander let go of Riley.  Hug over.  Hug so over.

Sighing, Xander muttered, “My life.  This is my life.”

Thankfully, Buffy stepped in and said, “Gracie,
Michael – this is my friend, Riley.”

Leaning forward, Michael solemnly shook Riley’s hand,
saying – in a voice that was much too mature for any
Harris child – “I’m asking people to call me Mike.”

Equally solemnly, Riley answered, “It’s good to meet
you, Mike.”  He nodded to the girl standing next to
him.  “This is Kate.  Her sister and brothers should
be back soon.”

Kate mumbled, “Hi,” and waved, instantly becoming the
kids’ new best friend when she let them look at what
Willow had drawn on her wrist.

Well, that explained why those kids with Dawn had
looked so familiar. Of course, it did beg the
question: where was the missus?

Xander’s eyes automatically went to Riley’s hand.  No
ring.

Riley obviously noticed.  He dropped his hand from
Kate’s shoulder, his thumb subconsciously going to
where the ring would have been.

“Long, involved story,” he mumbled.

I’ll bet.

Xander nodded.  He’d get the details from Willow.  And
right now, there was gloating to be had.

Turning to Buffy, Xander grinned, not bothering to
hide the glee in his voice.  “Wish I could have been
there when you told Angel.”

Almost too quickly, Buffy answered, “Angel’s fine with
it.   He’s even met Riley’s mom.  Cooked with her in
fact.”

That seemed to come as a surprise to Riley.  “Angel
was cooking with my mom?  At my house?”

Buffy nodded.  “While you were dead.  We told you that
– didn’t we?”

“No.”  Riley looked from Buffy to Kate.  “I would have
distinctly remembered that.”

Hold on a minute here.  Rewind, please.  “While Riley
was dead?”  So was he, or wasn’t he?

“Haven’t been dead at all yet.”  Riley nodded towards
Kate and Buffy.  Maybe Willow, too.  “They just
thought I was.”

“We’re hoping to keep it that way,” Buffy said,
smiling.  “The not being dead part, I mean.”  She
seemed so badly to want to reach out and touch Riley.
Let her hands do the walking.  She kept them to
herself, though, clasping them behind her back.

“I’m in total agreement with you there,” Riley
answered.  He put his half-finished bottle of beer
down on a folding table, the lone item of furniture in
the dining room.  “If no one minds, I think I’ll take
a quick shower.”

“God, Dad.”  Kate scrunched up her nose.  “Please do.”


Ignoring Kate, Riley turned to Xander and Anya, “Sorry
to be so rude – hadn’t planned on being roped into
cutting roses.  I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”
To Kate, he added, “One on each wrist.  That’s all.”

Kate rolled her eyes and stomped back into the
kitchen.  Grace and Michael followed, begging Willow
for tattoos of their own as they pulled her behind
them.

Riley headed for the stairs, stopping as Buffy grabbed
his hand.  She pulled him back and drew his head down,
giving him the kind of kiss that heated up a room.
When they pulled apart reluctantly – purely for
decency’s sake – they looked at each other the way
they used to.

No.  Take that back.  They way Riley used to; the way
Buffy should have.

No.  Take that back, too.  The way she and Angel had,
except, well, not really.

Nah.  That wasn’t it, either.  It was more like...

Aw, forget it.  Never was much with the wordage.

It was want.  It was need.  It was raw, and it was
right.  All laid out on the Buffy/Riley table.

In a no emotions barred kind of way.

How do you like them mighty fine apples?

Buffy finally let Riley go, watching as he disappeared
into the living room and up the stairs.  She turned
around and leaned back against the wall, a huge smile
on her face as she looked at Xander and Anya.

Xander couldn’t help but grin.  “About time you
listened to me – even if it did take you, like,
fifteen years.”

“She did listen to you back then,” Anya corrected, in
her ever so tactful Anya way, “she just didn’t run
fast enough.”

Glaring at Anya, Buffy pushed off the wall.  She
snapped, “I’d like to see how fast you could run after
single-handedly dusting-”

“So, Buffy.”  Xander put his arm around her shoulders
as he guided her towards the kitchen.  “Did I mention
we brought chocolate?”


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


Buffy knew it was time to clean up after dinner – she
didn’t even want to think about what kind of bugs had
made their way to what might otherwise have been the
leftovers; it was too nice of a night, however, not to
take advantage of the stars and the moon.  And sitting
here with everyone on the patio – in her newly
reclaimed patio furniture, no less, thanks to all the
helpful U-Haul unpackers – she couldn’t help but think
that the night was just about perfect.

It was hard to believe that a month ago, this house
had been empty – a vacant set of rooms serving only to
support a hermit’s hideaway.  No laughter, no life.
Just Dawn and Eddie making their case to come out for
one night – just this one night; come see the lights.


Impossible, Xander had said.  And yet...

What a night.  What a wonderful night.

She leaned back in the lounge chair – well, to be more
specific, against Riley in the lounge chair – causing
him to shift beneath her.

“Geez, Buffy…”  Xander leaned forward and put his
drink on the ground between his and Anya’s chairs.
“Give the guy a break.  He looks like he’s gonna
hurl.”

Whirling around, Buffy saw that, indeed, Riley looked
not so well.  “Are you o.k.?  What’s wrong?”

Despite the pained look on his face, Riley smiled.
“Nothing’s wrong.”  He put his hands to her waist and
readjusted her on his lap.  “I just ate a little too
much.”

Xander reached for Anya’s hand.  “Told you she could
cook,” he said to Riley.

“I believed you,” Riley protested with perhaps a
little too much emphasis.

Buffy turned around again and hit him in the arm.
“You so didn’t.”

He grimaced and grabbed her waist, easing her back
slowly as he muttered, “Gentle.  Please.”

“Buffy’s never cooked for you?” Anya asked, sounding
more than a trifle irritated.  “How does she get out
of those kinds of things?”

Eddie – Buffy’s favorite choice as a future
brother-in-law – came to Buffy’s defense.  “They were
in the woods for a while.”

Willow, lying on her back on the ground and looking up
at the sky, added, “Then he was dead for most of this
week.”

To Buffy’s surprise, Riley didn’t respond to that.  At
some point during the last few hours, he’d finally
given up on correcting everyone that he hadn’t been
dead.  He did however, say, “And almost from the
beginning-”

He stopped abruptly, and Buffy could hear the smile in
his voice as his hands tightened around her waist.
She smiled, too; the word ‘beginning’ had taken on a
new meaning since the night before last.

“Almost from the beginning,” he continued, “we were
training 24/7.   There wasn’t much time for cooking.”

Exactly.  Very good points.  Thank you Eddie, Willow,
and Riley.

“Plus,” Dawn said, “she couldn’t cook for shit when
she was in college.”

Buffy glared down to where Dawn sat at the base of
Eddie’s chair.  “Gee, Dawn.  Supportive, much?”

Dawn was not at all apologetic.  “Well, it’s true.”

“Not true,” Buffy shot back.  “Not at all true.”

“See?” Xander said over their voices.  “This is why we
had to have kids after Dawn moved out here.  It just
got way too quiet.  Had to create our own sibling
bickering.”

“Yes, Dawn.”  Anya bent down for her glass of wine.
“Whatever were you thinking?  Things just weren’t the
same after that.”

“Hand,” Willow said to Xander, waiting for him to help
pull her up.  Once she was sitting, she drew her legs
up to her chest.  “This does kind of bring back the
memories – doesn’t it?”  She rested her chin on her
knees.  “Remember how we used to set up a table in the
backyard and just sit out there for hours?”

Laughing, Dawn said, “And Spike would complain we were
trying to kill him because the sun would be rising
soon.”

“Wait,” Xander answered.  “You mean that wasn’t what
we were doing?”

Eddie asked Dawn, “Was that when you were in high
school?”

She shook her head.  “In college.  When I’d come home
for break.  Before we sold Mom’s house and Buffy moved
to L.A.”

“Before Willow moved to Chicago,” Xander added.

A lifetime ago.  “Before we grew up,” Buffy said
quietly.

Willow turned her head towards Buffy.  “You say that
like it’s a bad thing.”

Leaning back against Riley’s shoulder, Buffy closed
her eyes as his arms went around her.  If she’d known
growing up was this good, she would have done it a lot
sooner.  She ran her hand down Riley’s arm and found
his hand.  Lacing her fingers through his, she
murmured, “Not a bad thing.  Definitely not a bad
thing.”

Right about then, the lights went on in the living
room, and a girl’s plaintive voice called, “Dad?” from
just inside the screen door.

Xander sighed and stretched his arms.  To Riley, he
said, “That was mine wasn’t it?”

Riley nodded.  “Definitely more four than fourteen.”

“Movie must be over.”  Xander stood up.  “We should
probably get them to bed.  Buffy – where are we
sleeping?”

“You guys get the two guest rooms off the kitchen.”
Willow got to her feet and tucked her hand into
Xander’s arm.  “Let me just get my stuff out of
there.”

Anya got up, too, asking, “Where will you go?”  She
began gathering dishes from the table.

“Buffy’s room.  We’re having a slumber party – just
like old times,” Willow said, her voice fading as the
three of them walked into the house.

Dawn prodded Eddie to stand up and used his
outstretched hand to pull herself to her feet.  “No.”
She put her hand out to stop Buffy and Riley from
standing up.  “You guys stay.  We can take care of
this.”

Normally, Buffy would have completely disregarded that
statement – it was her house, she shouldn’t be hiding
out in the dark while everyone else cleaned up and
showed her guests to their rooms.  But it was hitting
her that Riley had to leave soon, and she found that
she was having a much harder time with that than she’d
thought she would.

It was just for the night.  Not even for that many
hours, really, given that he’d be back the next
morning to help Xander out in the basement.  Still,
they hadn’t been apart since the moment they’d left
Quetico, and Buffy wasn’t quite ready to say good-bye.

She turned over – carefully, this time – and snuggled
against him, closing her eyes as his hand ran down the
length of her back and he kissed the top of her head.


“You really have to go home?” she asked, even though
she knew full well what the answer was.  She played
with the button on his shirt.  “It’s a big bed.
Willow doesn’t take up much extra room.”

Riley laughed.  “I’m sure Willow would love that.”

Willow, actually, had offered to sleep on the couch.
Or at Graham and Sarah’s.  Or even back at Riley’s.
Buffy had declined the offer, albeit somewhat
reluctantly.  She was a big girl.  She could make it
through the night without him.  Could tell herself
that he wasn’t going to die on her again; not for a
third time.

Well, o.k. – obviously he would die for a third and
most likely permanent time.  Everybody did eventually.
  It was just that Buffy was pretty certain it wouldn’t
be anytime soon.  Not after what had happened the
other night.  That had been more than just a message –
it had been a promise.

Not just of a clean slate, but of a future.  A silent
voice saying: this is my word; this is what I can give
you.  This is just the beginning – and, baby, it’s
gonna be beautiful.

So, then, why the industrial-strength cling?  When,
Buffy, did you turn into the biggest sap, ever?

Three minutes ago, apparently.  She hugged him tightly
and whispered, “I miss you already.”

Tilting up her chin, Riley pulled her to him.  His
mouth closed over hers and she found herself inching
up along his body, needing to feel his heart beat,
needing to feel his warm skin.

She forced herself to remember that they were not
alone in his room, that there was no license to do
whatever she wanted as long as she did it quietly.
That she was not allowed to tear his shirt off even
though his hand was now running down her front in a
slow, suggestive way not at all in line with the
family-friendly nature of the evening.

Shifting, she let her knee press against him in a way
that prompted him to gasp; shifted again – well, o.k.,
so maybe she added some hand action of her own – and
got a groaned, “Buffy...”

His hand was suddenly clutching her hair.  She could
practically hear him clench his jaw as he pulled her
head to his shoulder.

“You by any chance doing anything around three a.m.?”
His voice was gravelly and kind of rushed.  She
probably wasn’t helping any by leaving her hand
exactly where it was.  “I mean,” he continued, “I’ll
probably be up.  Maybe go for a drive.  Maybe end up
in your neighborhood.”

“Maybe end up taking a walk down to the river?”  She
smiled broadly and let her tongue swirl around one of
the scars on his neck.  Hell, yes.  “It’s a date.”

He grinned and nodded, pulling her back into a heated
kiss, one she eagerly returned.  Until, that is, there
was a disgusted, “Dad!”  She looked up to see Jack
come to a sudden stop above them.

Buffy wasn’t sure if she’d ever moved quite so
quickly, pulling away fast enough that she may have
generated actual wind.  Not, of course, fast enough.
She straightened out her shirt as she sat up.

“Couldn’t you do that in private?” Kate asked from
behind Jack.

“Oddly enough,” Riley muttered, “it did start out that
way.”

Buffy could see the commander slip in to place as he
sat up.  That was the only possible explanation behind
him being able to casually sit up, his legs going to
either side of the lounge chair, without losing a
shred of dignity.  Despite having just been caught
feeling up his girlfriend in front of his four kids.
By his four kids.

Man, she was going to have to learn how he did that.
The best she could do was just ease on down so she was
perching on the end of the lounge chair, sitting on
her hands, her feet flat on the ground.  Miss
I-Am-Not-Touching-Any-Part-Of-Your-Father.

Annie either didn’t notice any of this or had just
decided to completely ignore the exchange, pushing
past Kate and saying, “Dad, do we really need to be
here by eight tomorrow?  Isn’t that kind of early?”

“Eight?  You guys are starting at eight?  With power
tools?” Buffy asked sharply, earning an
eyebrows-raised look from Riley that obviously meant,
Shut up.  He was too polite to say it, of course.  “I
mean,” – she put on her best encouraging face –
“Great.  I’m so glad Xander has you starting bright
and early.  Go, team.”

After the blankest look ever, Riley turned back to
Annie and innocently offered, “You know, if it’s too
early Xander and I can come get you guys on our way
back from Home Depot.”

Almost too innocently. because it took Buffy a few
seconds to realize that Riley and Xander had
absolutely no plans to go anywhere in the morning.

Jack asked, “Would we still get to help knock down the
basement wall?”

Riley glanced over at Buffy.  He still didn’t seem to
believe that she had no problem with his kids learning
the constructive arts, as Xander called it, on the
walls of her basement – as in, on the foundation of
her house.  She figured – hey, if the house got
condemned, she’d just go live at their place.  She was
sure Kate wouldn’t mind.  “Um, yeah,” she said,
answering his unasked question.  “No worries.”

“O.k., then.”  Riley looked up at the kids.  “I
promise – no demolition until all parties are
present.”

That seemed to placate them.  They turned to go back
into the house, only to stop when Riley called out,
“Sure, Dad – we’d be happy to help clear the table.
We’ll even wash the dishes before we leave.”

There were several groans and a fair amount of eye
rolling, but they turned around and came back to the
table, loading their arms with the remaining dishes.
Jack even smiled at Buffy and said, “Dinner was
awesome.  My dad is so wrong about you not being able
to cook.”

Excuse me?  Buffy reached out and whacked Riley’s
knee.  “Did you take out a newspaper ad?”

He grabbed her hand.  “That she doesn’t cook,” Riley
corrected loudly as the kids walked towards the house.
  “Not can’t – doesn’t.”

Annie pushed Jack forward, her voice fading as she got
further away.  “You shouldn’t say things like that.
Especially on their anniversary.”

The second the screen door slammed shut, Buffy glared
at Riley.

“Um, hey...”  He let go of her hand, pretending that
he wasn’t in any trouble whatsoever.  “Happy
anniversary.  You know, give or take a day.”

“Technically, it’s our monthiversary.”  For lack of
anything better to do, she whacked his knee again.

He held up his hands, grinning.  “I am so completely
an innocent party here.”

Trying not to smile, she said, “There’s no doubt in my
mind that you have a good explanation for totally
dissing my culinary skills.”  She folded her arms
across her chest.  “I’m just trying to figure out what
it is.”

He obviously realized that he wasn’t going to get
anywhere without a proper response.  After rolling his
eyes, he launched into, “There I am – minding my own
business and holding up my end of the couch – when
Jack asks me what we’re doing for dinner.  I tell him
that – as we speak – you’re in the kitchen cooking.”

Riley leaned forward and grabbed her by the waist,
pulling her towards him.  “‘Buffy’s cooking, Daddy?’
‘Sure is,’ I tell him.  ‘Buffy can cook, Daddy?’  ‘I’m
sure she can,’ I answer.”  He put his arms around her
and played with her hair as he spoke.  “Then Xander
helps out by saying, ‘She sure can, Ri.  Didn’t you
ever-’?”

“O.k.!” Buffy said, laughing as she put her arms
around him.  “You’re forgiven.”

“You sure now?”  His hand crept up under her shirt,
his thumb edging under the elastic of her bra.
“Wouldn’t want you to think-”

“Shut up,” she murmured, pulling his head down so his
mouth went to her neck.

Well – nobody ever said that she was polite, just that
he was.

She closed her eyes as he kissed his way up her neck,
past her jaw.  Right up to her mouth, where he stopped
suddenly and pulled back.

“You know what just occurred to me?” he asked, his
breath warm on her face.

“What?”  She ran her tongue along her lips, noticing
that he was close enough for her lick his lips as
well.  Yummy.

He leaned forward a bit, tilting his head down, almost
kissing her.  “When you spend your first, uh,
monthiversary traveling to an alternate dimension and
back; and while you were there you hung out with a
mystical warrior princess, a woman who’s been dead for
eight years and, very possibly, God...”

“Mmmm...”  Reaching her hands up to his face, she ran
them up through his hair.  “I’m listening.”

Pulling away, he asked, “Well – what do you do for
your second?”

“I don’t know...”  She drew him back down, having only
one thing left to say before they got on with the
kissing.  “But I bet it will be good.”



~~~~~~THE END~~~~~~

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

__________________________________
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Title: Butterfly Ops
Author: Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Pairing: B/R
Spoilers: General spoilers through Bring On the Night
(BtVS, 7th season).
Disclaimer: Story and original characters are mine,
everything else belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
and a lot of other people who aren't me.
Distribution: The answer's probably yes, but please
ask.
Author's notes: This is a sequel to Celestial Light.
(CL is available at
http://home.mindspring.com/~jenkel/fanfic/index.html
If you didn't read that, then you'll probably wonder
how we got to this place.) Thanks to Cynthia, Moe and
Jess for beta-ing.  And it is impossible to adequately
convey my thanks to Diana for her C&C.  But (sorry D,
I couldn't help it) I will try.
Summary:  Fifteen years after "As You Were," Buffy and
Riley are working together again.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated!  Send to
alexandrahuxley@...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley


Chapter Fifty-One

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


This was why he’d come back.  This was what it was all
about.

Riley leaned back against the kitchen counter and took
a huge gulp of coffee – scalding hot, extra cream,
extra sugar; just the way he liked it.  He watched the
scene play out around him: his parents happily
bustling around the kitchen while the kids sat at the
table with Buffy, discussing the exact constitution of
a perfect ice cream sundae.

Jack was arguing for volume – the more stuff, the
better.

Annie shook her head.  “It’s the ratio.  The perfect
amount of hot fudge to the perfect amount of ice
cream.”

“Unh-uh,” Buffy countered, easily slipping into the
family dynamics regardless of what she’d said earlier.
  “It’s all about the unexpected.  The extra touch.”

“Like what?” Ah, Kate – ever the skeptic.

“Like…”  Buffy hesitated a minute.  Then she reached
into…

Well, Riley had no idea where she reached into –
wherever it was that she stowed things; somewhere in
the almost nonexistent folds of her
much-too-nicely-fitted-for-him-to-being-paying-attention-to-at-the-moment
shirt.  When her hand reappeared, she was holding a
roll of wintergreen LifeSavers.

Taking two out, she placed them on the table and
grabbed a spoon, using it to crush them into dust.
Jack, of course, thought the sparks were the coolest
things ever, and his attempts to do some crushing of
his own were sad enough that his sisters took pity on
him, showing him he could just bite down hard for the
same effect.

They were so busy doing all this that they didn’t seem
to notice it was next to impossible to crush
LifeSavers into particles smaller than sand with your
hands and a spoon.  Unless, that is, you happened to
be born with preternatural strength.

That was good at least.  Though it was clear from the
whole Kate being prophetic thing that one of his kids
– at a minimum – knew far more than Riley was
comfortable with, he had no interest in them finding
out that Buffy also went by the name, ‘Slayer.’

Once the whole sparks excitement died down, Buffy
sprinkled the dust over the whipped cream and pushed
the sundae towards the center of the table.  “See?”

Jack was the first to take a spoonful.  He reluctantly
said, “Yeah, o.k.  That’s pretty good.  But I bet it
would be better if you had six times that amount of
ice cream.”

“Well, duh,” Buffy agreed, leaning over and ruffling
Jack’s hair, in the most natural way ever.  As she sat
back in her chair, she looked up and grinned at Riley,
obviously realizing that her whole ‘outsider’ argument
was taking on water by the second and sinking fast.

Riley knew the smile he gave her back was pretty damn
big.  He couldn’t help it.  Although at no point
during the last four days did Riley ever think he was
dead, he had to admit that he felt more alive right
now than he had in years.  Eight and a half years to
be exact.  Eight and a half years of sleepwalking
through life, giving most of what he had to his kids,
saving the rest for work.

Part of the rejuvenation was thanks to Buffy – there
was no denying that.  Part of it, maybe, but not all;
not the part that had to do with this unfamiliar
feeling of freedom.  An unfamiliar feeling called
closure.

It was having the chance to say: I never should have
let you leave like that.  I never should have let you
go.

It was telling Sam he loved her and kissing her
good-bye.

Without that, he probably wouldn’t be feeling the way
he did at the moment, surrounded by the people he
loved more than anyone else in this world: his kids,
his parents.  Buffy.

Standing here, at this moment?  It was like the sun
had broken through on a foggy day.  Nothing but blue
skies ahead.

Even the fact that Kasey’s drawings didn’t seem to
want to come off – despite the five minutes Riley had
just spent in the bathroom going at them with just
about everything he could think of – did nothing to
dampen this feeling.  His entire forearm was rubbed
raw, unfortunately, but – this incredible feeling?
Still there.

Not that there wouldn’t be clouds up ahead.  There was
absolutely no doubt in Riley’s mind that life from
here on in wasn’t going to be as rosy as it currently
appeared.  At the very least, there would be blinding
moments of panic.  The sudden lack of air.
Nightmares, too.

And Riley was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one who’d
have his moments – it was obvious in the prolonged
looks coming from across the room where his mom stood;
and from the way his dad hadn’t moved much further
than arm’s reach in the twenty minutes that they’d
been standing here.  Even Buffy – the epitome of
non-clinginess – kept finding reasons to make her way
over to where Riley stood by the fridge, reasons to
let her hand linger on his arm.

The kids?  Once they’d gotten beyond the tearful
greetings, they seemed to be just fine, completely
over the fact that they’d been orphaned, if only for a
few days.  They were all happily eating their ice
cream, chattering away.

The question, of course, was whether it would last.
Riley was thinking probably not.  He had a feeling
Jack would be having an even harder time with
good-byes; Annie would probably become too much of the
caretaker.

Liam was harder to peg down.  In the looks department,
it was clearly like father/like son.  Riley was hoping
that wouldn’t be the case on the emotional front; that
Liam wouldn’t go with the crash and burn option that
Riley seemed to have excelled at.

Then there was Kate.

Kate would take it to the other extreme, exuding
attitude like there was no tomorrow.  She’d already
started in with a few snarky comments about the
markings peeking out from under Riley’s – now rolled
down – sleeves.

‘Why exactly am I not allowed to get henna tattoos,
but you come home with them all over your arms?’

Never mind that Kasey’s drawings were not henna
tattoos by any means, or that Riley was nowhere close
to conceding that he’d denied her the chance in the
first place.

Riley wasn’t going to rise to the bait, however; he
wasn’t going to let it bother him.  This was the time
to be grateful for the good things – like making it
back from the dead.  Like making it back from the dead
after making a pretty high placed friend, at least if
Buffy were to be believed.

He took another sip of coffee.  Right now, he wanted
to get back to the bliss.  Back to the sheer
perfection of this moment.  Back to the absolute-

“What?” he asked sharply, hoping he didn’t just hear
his mother say what he thought he’d heard her say.
Hoping desperately that if he really had just heard
the words ‘Angel’ and ‘Christmas’ in the same sentence
it was because his mom was deciding that it was never
too early to think about getting a new gauzy doll-like
thing for the top of the tree.

“I said,” she repeated, “we’ll have to let Angel know
that the invitation for Christmas still stands.”

No, unfortunately.  She had actually said what Riley
thought she’d just said.  He only just barely managed
not to choke on his coffee.

Buffy wasn’t so fortunate.  The napkin she delicately
put to her lips did nothing to hide the fact that
she’d just spewed whipped cream.  “Christmas?” she
said weakly.  “Angel?”

Or, Riley thought, more to the point – “You invited
Angel for Christmas when you were planning my
funeral?”

Mom’s ‘I wasn’t put on this earth to suffer fools’
look which, when combined with her ‘did I not teach
you to be hospitable?’ look, did nothing to make Riley
any happier.

She glared pointedly at him.  “Forgive me for wanting
to dwell on the family we had left rather than who
we’d be missing.”

“On the fam-?”  Riley shut his mouth almost as soon as
he opened it. Smiling, he said, “You mean Buffy?”  He
looked at Buffy to see if she’d heard what his mother
just said.

She had.  She seemed kind of stunned despite him
already telling her as much.  There was a great smile
on her face, though – such a great smile.  One that
just shouted out the warm and happy.

Actually, he was mostly feeling the same way himself,
even if it did mean enforced quality time with Angel.
And, since this was the kind of bubble that burst
fairly quickly, Riley was just going to go with it.

Good thing, because it lasted exactly 3.7 seconds,
ending in a huge splat on the proverbial pavement when
Jack finished whatever it was he’d just been saying
about Angel with, “…so we’d have to have our snowball
fight at night – o.k., Grandma?”

Riley looked up quickly to see Kate knock the side of
Jack’s head, something she would normally have gotten
into trouble for.

Normally.

“What did you just say?” Riley asked.  He was not at
all pleased to see Jack turning bright red while the
three other kids looked at Buffy, somewhat pleadingly.


Why were they looking at Buffy?

Buffy didn’t seem to be surprised by this.  In fact,
there was an interesting dynamic occurring at the
kitchen table – the kids sinking back in their chairs
while Buffy leaned a bit forward, the mother hen.

Riley put his cup down on the counter behind him.

Benefit of the doubt.  Let’s start with that.  Riley
said to Jack, “What was that about the snowball
fight?”  He couldn’t help but turn to Buffy.  “Why
exactly does it have to happen at night?”

Jack made a not so good attempt at backpedaling.
“Angel, um…  He, um…  He can’t-”

“He likes to sleep late,” Kate cut in.  She got to her
feet and started gathering up ice cream dishes –
clanking them together loudly enough that it was hard
to hear her mumble, “He’s not a morning person.”

Did Kate honestly think that professing knowledge of
Angel’s sleeping habits would help?

There was a sudden flurry of activity as – at once –
Annie, Liam, and Jack stood, following Kate’s lead of
clearing off the table.  Since when did any of them
care about doing their own dishes?

Mom and Dad were in on it, too, busily cleaning up the
kitchen – the kitchen, by the way, that was nearly
immaculate given Mom’s penchant for cleaning when she
was upset.

This, of course, had nothing to do with ‘upset’
cleaning.  This was
make-as-much-noise-as-possible-because-it’s-way-too-late-to-be-having-this-discu\
ssion
cleaning.

So what if it was late.  This was much too important
to let go.

Did his kids seriously know that vampires existed?
That Angel was one?  Riley looked over to Buffy, the
only person in the room who was going about things in
a calm, matter-of-fact kind of way.

She was standing slowly, watching him as she brought
her dish to the sink and handed it to Riley’s dad.
There was a guarded look on her face – the kind of
look that Riley knew all too well from wearing it
himself on countless occasions.  Mostly it was the
mask you wore when gauging how much to tell the
hapless person standing in front of you something that
was about to rock their world.

“I am not hapless,” Riley snapped as Buffy came over.

She put her arms around him and smiled, completely
ignoring his annoyance – which was exactly what Riley
would do in the same situation.  Had done, in fact,
time and time again, telling civilians things they
really didn’t want to hear.  This wasn’t really much
different.  Except for the arms around them part, of
course.  Oh – and that he was on the complete wrong
end of this conversation.

With those notable exceptions, however, this was
standard operating procedure.  Diffuse the situation,
let the other guy think he had some control over what
was happening, and ignore any personal considerations
that might cloud things up.  Buffy was doing a stand
up job, especially given that Riley was absolutely
sure she was just as unhappy with the
Angel/Christmas/Here scenario as Riley was.

Although, if Mom invited Angel then that probably also
meant – “You’ll be here for Christmas?” Riley asked, a
grin finding its way to his face as he looked down.

Buffy shrugged in a carefree, content kind of way.  “I
was thinking yes.  I mean, if that’s o.k. with you.”

Was she crazy?  “Of course it’s o.k. with me.  As long
as you don’t mind the whole Iowa contingent.”  As in
brothers, wives, kids.  Lots of them.

“Kind of Norman Rockwell-ish?” she said.

When Riley nodded, her eyes filled with tears and she
looked away, saying, “No.  I don’t mind.  I don’t mind
at all.”

Riley caught himself just before he bent down to kiss
her.  He reminded himself that he was standing in the
middle of his kitchen.  Surrounded by his kids and
parents, in fact, all of whom – though actively
pretending otherwise – were completely focused on him
and Buffy.  So – probably not a good time for a lip
lock.

Plus, he was in the middle of being supremely
irritated.  And no one had answered any of his
questions yet.  Like – how would his kids possibly
know anything about the fact that Angel and daylight
didn’t go together?  Or, more importantly, when in the
fucking hell did they meet Angel in the first place?

Breathe.  Just breathe.  Just calmly look down at
Buffy and say, “Angel was here?”  In this house?
“Being…”  What was the word Buffy had used back at the
Base?  “…Intense?”

Buffy looked uncomfortable.  Her arms dropped and she
pulled away.

Highly aware of the attention still on them, as evenly
as possible he said, “So that thing you were
mentioning earlier?”  As in that almost getting
horizontal with Angel thing, which Riley was fairly
certain he didn’t have to clarify.  “That was here?”

Not that he even had a right to ask, considering.

As Buffy wasted no time in reminding him.  She walked
towards the sink and snapped, “Remember that leg you
didn’t have to stand on in Quetico?  I haven’t exactly
seen any miraculous regeneration.”

Right.  Back to the kids then, who immediately
returned to whatever it was they were doing – putting
ice cream away, wiping the table, sweeping the floor,
for God’s sake – as soon as he looked up at them.

O.k.  Fine.  Riley wasn’t above interrogating his
family.  With a glance at Buffy, Riley said to them,
“So... Angel.”

Free association.  Go.

Folding his arms across his chest, Riley leaned back
against the counter, trying to distinguish the
individual words as almost everyone spoke at once.

Dad: “That man certainly likes black.”
Annie: “Are you wearing his clothes, Daddy?”
Liam: “He was kind of cool.”
Mom: “Such a sweet boy.”

Decidedly ignoring the ‘kind of cool’ and ‘sweet boy,’
Riley focused on the remaining two comments, the ones
that stood out instead: Jack’s “I swear I don’t know
how to read your email” and Kate’s “At least Buffy was
honest with us.”  Both of which made it clear that
Riley had not been imagining that his kids knew more
than they let on.

Turning to the refrigerator, Riley opened the door.
Forget coffee; he needed a beer.  Grabbing one, he
took his time opening it.  This was an unusual
situation to say the least.  His entire family – Mom
and Dad included – were eyeing him with complete
apprehension.  At the same time, they seemed to be
looking to Buffy as their leader, as the one who would
speak for them; who would stand up to their oppressor
– i.e., Riley – and fight him to the death if need be.

Riley took a long swig of beer.

All right.  That was obviously taking it to the
extreme.  However – that whole thing about wanting
Buffy to be a part of his family?  This was not at all
what he’d meant.

Buffy didn’t play around.  She knew as well as he did
that they’d moved well past the
put-her-arms-around-him-and-bat-her-eyelashes stage,
and were smack dab in the middle of the
Riley-your-kids-aren’t-quite-as-innocent-as-you-thought-they-were
one.

Taking another drink, Riley looked at his parents.
“You, too?”

Dad’s arms went around Mom’s shoulders as he said,
“We’ve picked up a thing or two over the years.”

Great.

Turning to Kate, Riley asked, “Josh and Mitch?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Of course.”

Fucking fantastic.

As if he really needed one more thing to think about.
It was hard to keep from slamming his bottle on the
counter as he put it down.

There were enough things for them to occupy their
minds with; he hadn’t wanted them to worry about the –
sometimes literal – monsters hiding in their closet.
Even way back before he’d even contemplated having
kids of his own, he’d wondered how Joyce had done it;
how she’d reconciled her hardwired parental instincts
– the fundamental truth that it was your job to
protect your kids – with the fact that her daughter
was the-

Riley’s head jerked up, his eyes drawn directly to
Annie and Kate.

No.  He would have known if they were slayers-to-be.
There would have been signs by now.  Still, he had to
look over at Buffy and say, “They’re not...?”

“No,” she responded, knowing exactly what he was
thinking.

Thank God.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, God.  Or
Joe.  Whatever.

And he supposed there was another positive note – this
did put an end to the question of when to begin
teaching the kids about the harsher realities of life,
something he’d been dreading more and more as they
grew older.

Well, hell.  Buffy and Willow and Xander had learned
at fifteen.

Riley said, “They start training tomorrow.”

Buffy smiled and gave him a mock salute.  “Yes, sir.”

Damn straight.

If it weren’t four in the morning, Riley would already
be on the phone to Pete telling him to get the gym
ready for a bunch of kids and two senior citizens.
Now, however, it was time for bed.  They all looked
exhausted, and Riley was too emotionally spent to
handle anything more.  Like, for example, what exactly
Jack had meant about reading Riley’s email or the
particular circumstances of Angel’s visit.  Those
would be dealt with later.

After hugs and kisses all around, Riley watched them –
kids, parents – file out of the kitchen.  Only Annie
and Kate lingered; Kate remaining in the doorway while
Annie came back to Riley for a second hug, one that
involved a fair amount of tears; tears, however, that
were gone fairly quickly.

Pulling away, she wiped her eyes.  She smiled, though,
and said, “Don’t worry about us.  We’re not scared.
We know you and Uncle Graham won’t let anything happen
to us.”  With a sly glance at Buffy, she added, “Just
the way we won’t let anything happen to you.”

Right, Riley thought, looking at Buffy and wondering
what it was that had so obviously gone on between her
and them.  Given everything that had been said, it
wasn’t too hard to figure out that it at least
involved Kate’s dreams.  Dreams which had led to a
conversation with Buffy, one substantial enough to
explain Kate’s statement that ‘at least Buffy was
honest’ with them.

A sullen, surly statement, by the way, which, when
deconstructed, had almost too many layers to count.
Take the first three words for example.  ‘Buffy’ =
‘the woman you’ve chosen to take Mom’s place and
therefore upset the balance of my whole universe.’
‘At least’ = ‘said woman had the balls to tell us the
truth, a truth you thought we were too young to
handle.  Instead, you chose to lie to us our entire
lives.  Not to mention that you never taught us how to
protect ourselves from all the bogeymen who are out
there in the night.’

Except for that little bit at the end, maybe.  That
was probably his guilt talking.

Riley’s eyes went to where Kate stood.  He sighed
inwardly, thinking that this was only the beginning.
Hell, he’d heard the stories of Sam back in the day.

No.  Put that differently: He’d heard the hellish
stories of Sam back in the day.

He didn’t need hints from up on high that Kate was
going to be trouble.  Her grin did nothing to convince
him otherwise, though he couldn’t help but return it.
Riley felt for his ring, twisting it with his thumb.
It did not escape him that some of the things he had
loved most about Sam – like, for example, her total
contempt for rules and authority – were the exact
things that were going to make the next few years with
Kate go down in the Teenager Hall of Fame.

“Good night, Daddy,” Annie gave Riley a quick kiss on
the cheek.  “I love you.”  On her way out of the
kitchen, she made sure to stop and give Buffy a hug,
saying, “We decided that you get to pick what we have
for breakfast – pancakes or French toast.”

“I...”  Buffy looked up at Riley guiltily; a little
flustered.  “I wasn’t, um...”

“It’s o.k.,” Kate said as Annie joined her in the
doorway.  “I’m sure my dad has his own supply of
condoms.  No worries.”

Kate smiled and ducked as Annie hit her on the
shoulder, Annie looking back at Buffy apologetically.
With that, the two of them ran down the hallway and
clomped up the stairs.

Riley closed his eyes and finished the beer.  Damn if
he didn’t need another one already.  He supposed he
should at least be grateful that the conversation
hadn’t been detailed enough that they knew condoms
were no longer the birth control method of choice.  By
the time he opened his eyes, the blush had faded from
Buffy’s face.  He wasn’t sure he could say the same
for himself.

Walking past Buffy to the sink, he rinsed the bottle
and asked over his shoulder, “Was there anything you
didn’t cover?  Did you and Willow decide to teach them
all about magic, too?”

He tried to keep from sounding harsh.  He didn’t quite
manage, though – apparently he was wound a little
tighter than he’d thought.

Buffy seemed to be in a generous mood, however. “They
came to me.”  She was clearly cutting him some slack,
coming to him and wrapping her arms around his waist
from behind, leaning her head against his back.
“Besides, it was your daughter who had the dreams.”

Turning to face her, he said, “Dreams you are going to
tell me about, right?”

She grinned as she looked up at him.  “You wish.”

Why was he not surprised by that answer?

Actually, he kind of liked that she didn’t tell him.
In the long run, that would probably bode well for her
and Kate.

Kissing his neck, she murmured, “You shouldn’t be
surprised if they ask about Sam, though.”

“Sam?” Riley asked, straightening up.  He took a few
steps past her and leaned against the island,
unconsciously glancing at the doorway where Kate had
just been standing.  Thank you for following Kate’s
dreams, Sam had said.  “She came to them?  That was
Kate’s dream?”

Buffy didn’t answer.  Instead, she gave him a long
look and said, “It’s just going to take a while to get
used to it.”

“It will not take a while to get used to it,” he
snapped, for no earthly reason other than he’d just
had a major ‘kitteny’ flashback.

Of course this would take a while to get used to.  How
could it not?

Apart from finding out that Kate was in touch with her
mother through her prophetic dreams?  Gee.  Let’s see.

In the last twenty-four hours he’d found out that his
kids had not only met Angel but they knew he was a
vampire.  Knew, in fact, that vampires existed, which
of course led Riley to wonder what else they weren’t
telling him.

They’d apparently had some kind of interaction with
Buffy that had the majority of his family lining up
behind her.  And let’s just throw in the fact that
some fundamental beliefs he’d had for, oh, forty
years, had essentially been shot to hell when he’d
held his dead wife in his arms in front of someone who
may or may not have been God.

Perhaps the most disturbing of all – a mere three
weeks after meeting her for the first time, Kate had
just given Buffy her blessing albeit in an obnoxious,
fourteen-year-old kind of way.

“Sorry,” Riley said quietly.  “It’s just a bit of an
adjustment.”

It looked like there were a million things running
through Buffy’s head – one of them very possibly
being, Yes, that’s what I just said, Doofus.  All she
actually verbalized, though, was, “That sleeping thing
you don’t have going on?  It probably isn’t going to
get much better.”

Considering he hadn’t even been back for a full day,
he wasn’t sure he could say with any certainty, but,
“No,” he replied.  “Probably not.”

There were a few moments of silence.  When she finally
spoke, it was with a smile in her voice.  “Then maybe
we should get busy with the not sleeping.”  Quietly,
she added, “I mean, if you want…”

Well that was a ridiculous statement.  Even at
completely inappropriate times, like, for example,
when he realized he might not actually be able to
choose between his new/old girlfriend and his
newly-returned-from-the-dead wife – his living,
breathing non-dead wife...  Even at completely
inappropriate times there was no question.

He reached out for Buffy’s hand and pulled her flush
against him, gruffly answering, “Yes, I want.”

All the tension?  All the things fighting for
attention in his head?

Gone.  Completely faded away the second he held her in
his arms.  She was the one thing he was sure of right
now.  The only thing in his life that didn’t have a
warning flag attached to it.  Kind of ironic
considering it had been pretty much the complete
opposite for most of the last sixteen years.

She smiled and looked up at him, ran her hands up
underneath his – or Angel’s, rather – sweater; kissed
him as her fingers trailed up his chest.

As enticing as this was, he pulled her hands away,
stopping her.  “Wait.”  He didn’t want to do this in
the kitchen.  He wanted to make love to her properly –
in his bed.  He wanted to wake up next to her and do
it all over again.  “Upstairs.”

Her eyes went to the doorway.  “I...”  She pulled
back.  “That’s o.k.?”

Why did she keep asking him things like that?

Riley nodded his head.  Damn right it was o.k.  Hell,
if his kids could handle the whole vampire thing with
such obvious aplomb, they could certainly manage the
fact that he and Buffy were sleeping together; which,
incidentally, they’d obviously figured out anyway.
Besides, that breakfast thing hadn’t just been tossed
out lightly – there was a good twenty to thirty minute
discussion behind Annie’s statement.

Buffy seemed to accept that as an answer.  At least
she didn’t hesitate when he held his hand out and led
her into the hall and up the stairs.  When they got to
his room, he closed the door and locked it behind them
– his kids were past the barging in stage, but he
wasn’t taking any chances.

He turned to see Buffy look around the room
with…trepidation?  Her eyes came to a rest on the open
closet door and her face fell.  She wrapped her arms
around herself as though she’d suddenly gotten very
cold, then briskly turned her back and walked over to
the window.

Kind of an odd reaction to a closet.  Riley looked
through the open doorway to see a couple of t-shirts
on the floor, a sweatshirt rolled up in the corner –
things he hadn’t left there.  Things he knew without
doubt that he hadn’t left there, given his practice of
not ever leaving anything out when he was away on a
trip.  That was the kind of detail you were sure
about.  Especially after not entering your bedroom for
the four months following your wife’s death because
you couldn’t bear to see the things she’d left strewn
about.

Walking over to the closet, he closed the door.  Not
just for Buffy’s sake, he had to admit.  He had no
idea where she and Angel hadn’t done whatever it was
they hadn’t done, but the huge closet was as likely a
place as any and Riley had no interest in thinking
about that right now.

Riley turned around to see Buffy still staring out the
window looking contemplative.  Not in a good way.  She
bent down to turn on the lamp that rested by the bed.

He couldn’t exactly blame her.  It did feel kind of
strange to be here with Buffy in his and Sam’s room.
“Is it just me, or is it weird to have you standing by
the bed I shared with Sam while I’m standing here in
Angel’s clothes?”

Buffy grinned.  “Don’t forget the part about you being
covered in Miss Butterfly Queen’s drawings.”  The
smile left her eyes quickly, though, replaced by an
intense gaze – one much too intense for comfort.  Kind
of like she was reading his mind.

Except that reading his mind wasn’t really necessary.
She’d been there; she didn’t need the recap.

Her eyes went to the floor.  “You kissed Sam.”

Case in point.

Now, see, Ri?  That’s what happens when you turn down
kitchen sex.  It was kind of like waking a sleeping
baby: just plain dumb.

He leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling very
tired.  Not helped at all by the whole guilt thing
that was going on.

Forget the part about not being honest with the kids,
although, this finally explained why they humored him
when he would harp about never – ever – inviting
anyone in unless they had the o.k. from him first.
He’d always wondered why they didn’t give him more
shit about that.  But anyway, the Buffy/Sam guilt
continuum?  Don't even go there.

The one thing over which he didn’t feel guilt,
however?  The one Goddamned, fucking thing he refused
– absolutely refused – to feel badly about?  Those
moments with Sam.  He would never regret that.  Ever.

“It was good-bye,” he answered evenly.  “Something I
didn’t get a chance to say before.  Please don’t ask
me to apologize for that.”

Buffy seemed irritated by his response.  “Of course
you don’t have to apologize.  That’s not what I
meant.”

Um...  O.k. then.  Uh – never mind?  “Then what’s the
problem?”

“I’ve...”  Everything about her seemed to deflate, and
she sank to the bed, her hand tracing circles on the
blanket.  “I’ve been there,” she answered sadly;
softly.  “I’ve said good-bye.”  Looking up as though
to drive home the point, she continued, “I lost three
months because of it.”  Her voice cracked a little bit
at the end there.

When she died?  She had time to say-?

No.  Not then. She had to be talking about something
totally different.  Angel?  As far as Riley knew, that
was the only other time she’d lost actual months.

So, yeah - Angel.  Who, as far as Riley was concerned,
didn’t really have much place in the current
conversation.  Sure there was that whole undefined
Angel-being-here thing, and of course – as always –
the fact that Angel was, if indirectly, the reason
they’d fallen apart in the first place, but…

Damn it, Riley, you idiot: the reason they’d fallen
apart in the first place.  Because when she’d said
good-bye to Angel, she’d left the world behind.

It wasn’t even so much about what she had lost, it was
about what she had found: a place she didn’t ever want
to go to again.  A place where she’d have to put
herself on the line again; where she’d actually have
to invest in something.

That moment broke more than just her heart – it
tainted how she dealt with every one and every thing;
it tainted her whole being.

Maybe he was reading too much into this.  Maybe she
was just trying to be sympathetic.

But maybe – just maybe – she was thinking that if it
had taken her years to recover from her own good-bye,
years in which Riley wasn’t the only one who had come
and gone...  Well, it might just be that she was
sitting over there wondering exactly how long he was
going to need to process this.  How long it would take
him to get to where he could get past Sam and think
about the future again.  How long before he’d be able
to even think about putting himself out there again –
with her.

It was probably inconceivable to her that the last
thing he wanted to do right now was run; that, in
fact, all he wanted to do was hunker down and keep her
close, keep her right where he could find her when the
inevitable nightmares returned.

After all, she never had been so good on the whole
concept of getting through things together.  It had
never been her way.

It almost got you again, Ri: you always fall for the
Slayer’s act; you always forget about the woman
underneath.

Riley walked across to the bed and sat down next to
her.

She looked up at him.  “You just saw Sam,” she said,
her eyes filling with tears, which, despite
understanding where it came from, still boggled
Riley’s mind.  “How could you possibly want to be
with-?”

‘Be with me,’ she was about to say.  Except that he
didn’t give her the chance.  He pulled her to him and
cut her off with a kiss.  The better question was: how
could he possibly not want to?

She pulled back a little, saying, “Riley...”  She was
shaking her head.  “You-”

“I don’t do this like you do, Buffy.  I don’t want to
be alone.”  He brushed a strand of hair off her face.
“I’m sorry I ever made you doubt how much I love you.”

The words hung in the air, and, for a moment, she
didn’t respond.  Then something that sounded
suspiciously like a sob escaped her throat.  She
ducked her head as the tears spilled over.  When she
looked back up, though, she was smiling.  “Likewise,”
she whispered.

In a blur of motion, she was suddenly in his lap – her
arms thrown around his neck, her face buried in his
chest, murmuring, “If you ever leave me again, I think
I might have to hurt you.”

Or, at least that’s what he thought she said – the
words were muffled by virtue of being spoken directly
into the sweater he was wearing.

Riley put his arms around her and held on, glad that
something finally felt right, glad that he could
finally breathe.

Not that he really wanted to be breathing at the
moment.  There’d be time for that later.  First he
just wanted to kiss her – gently, tenderly; he wanted
to just get lost in the sweetness of her lips.

She pulled back and looked up at him, a smile
appearing in her eyes.  “I don’t think I want you to
be in Angel’s clothes anymore.”

Frankly, Riley didn’t want to be in Angel’s clothes
anymore either.  For several reasons, actually.  There
was only one he was willing to dwell on right now,
however: how much he wanted to be naked.  “That makes
two of us.”  He reached over with the intention of
switching off the light.

“Riley – wait,” she said sharply, her hand going to
his waist.

His sweater had pulled up a little, baring his skin.
He couldn’t see what she was looking at, though.  Not
from the way he was sitting.

“What?” he asked warily, really hoping that whatever
images Kasey had used to depict his dreams weren’t
nearly as, um, descriptive as the dreams themselves.
That would be really fun to explain to the kids.  No,
Kate – that’s not Buffy and me having sex on the
beach, that’s the one where we were in the shower.

God, he hoped he could figure out a way to get these
things off.

She was pushing aside the sweater, scrutinizing his
skin in a way that could only be described as, well,
scrutinizing.  Then she lifted his sweater up over his
head.

Damn.

The markings were gone.  No ‘beginning’ symbol, no
end; nothing in between.  Not a trace of ink to be
seen on his arms or his chest; or at least, not a
trace that hadn’t been there before he’d gotten to
Kasey’s lair.

Not that he missed them or anything – hell no; it was
just that it seemed weird given their presence less
than an hour ago; or, to be more exact, given that
he’d tried to scrub them off without any luck less
than an hour ago.  Riley didn’t like things that
didn’t make sense.  He’d never asked a lot of
questions, as Buffy well knew.  It was just that there
needed to be some logic going on; an order of sorts.
Markings disappearing at the exact moment he and Buffy
were about to, um, reconnect just didn’t feel right.

On the other hand, Buffy – who considered it a
fundamental responsibility to ensure that no query was
left unturned – didn’t seem to care.  She smiled in a
wicked kind of way.  “Good.  Now you’re my canvas.  A
clean slate all for me.”  She leaned forward, letting
her fingers trace their own designs on his chest.
“I’d rather tell my own story.”

Fuck logic, he thought, lying back on the bed as she
did exactly that, the tip of her tongue telling some
of the better tales he’d heard in recent memory.  That
was a damn good one, that one right there, heading
south along his abs; and – hell, yeah – not a bad
follow-up, skimming along his waist, tugging at the
button on his-

“Hey,” he said, her mouth having suddenly broken its
contact with his skin.  “I was thinking that was
heading towards a good ending.”

Actually, never mind.  The way she was sitting right
now, straddling his waist?  That was just fine by him.
  She had a way of applying pressure in all the right
places.  And as she straightened up, she certainly
knew what she was doing, arching her back in a very
deliberate way and pulling the top over her head.

Now that was the kind of beauty you just had to sit
back – lie back – and appreciate for a minute.

No – better yet – the kind of beauty you had to take
an active part in, sitting yourself up and pulling her
close.  You had to lean in and run your mouth over the
top of her shoulder – not even kissing her; just
feeling how smooth her skin felt as you brushed it
with your lips.

You had to take your hand and let it trace the curve
of her neck; let it travel down the length of the
chain she wore and play with the cross getting caught
up in the lace of her bra.  The cross and the ring,
rather.

Riley pulled back.

The cross and a ring that looked a hell of a lot like
his own.  He instinctively felt for his ring with his
thumb.  Not there.

Trailing kisses along his jaw, Buffy murmured,
“Where’d you go?”  He could hear the pout in her voice
as she reached for his hand.  Then her lips curved
into what he was almost positive was a smirk.  “What –
now that you’ve been in the presence of God you’re not
feeling too happy with the cross between my-”

She cut off abruptly and straightened up, her hand
going to her chest as her eyes went down.

Exactly.

He reached out for the chain.  The one she’d forcibly
yanked off her neck while making her case to, uh,
whomever.  “Didn’t you break this?”

She said, “You mean, right before I put your ring back
on your finger?”  Watching as he turned the cross and
ring over in his hand, she nodded.  “That’s how I
remember it.”

O.k.  Markings disappearing – that was one thing.
Maybe they were on a time delay of some sort.  Maybe
after, well, however many hours it had been since
they’d left wherever exactly it was, Kasey’s dye hit
non-colorscape air and evaporated into nothingness.

A chain being put back together and re-hung around her
neck?  With the ring that had been on his finger as
recently as ten minutes ago?  Without either of them
noticing until now?  There was definitely something
more going on.

Remembering the words she’d used when making her case
to Joe, Riley asked, “What did you mean when you said
you got the ring from Sam?”

Buffy’s eyes went blank, as though she were
deliberately choosing not to respond to that question,
which, in itself, made absolutely no sense.  At this
point he couldn’t imagine why she wouldn’t elaborate –
Sam played an obvious role in all this; it wasn’t like
her name couldn’t be mentioned.  So, unless there was
some as of yet undiscovered reason Buffy was
protecting Sa-

No.  Not Sam.  Kate.

“Kate’s dream.”  Well, at least some things were
beginning to fall into place, if in a twisted kind of
way.  “Sam told Kate about the ring.”  The ring that
had been found on the body that wasn’t Riley’s.  “That
you needed to get it back to me.”

There was a moment of hesitation before she said,
“Close enough.”  She reached behind her head and
unclasped the chain, letting go so that the ends fell
to Riley’s lap as he still held the cross and ring in
his hands.  She mumbled, “There you go.  Back where it
belongs.”

No.  Unh-uh.  No fucking way in hell.  Even if it
meant not ever knowing why the markings were gone, or
why the chain was unbroken, or why he wasn’t wearing
his wedding ring – so be it.  This cycle ended now;
they were simply not going there again.

Leaning over, he put the chain and all its
accompaniments on the bedside table.  He straightened
back up and held out his hands.  “See?  No ring, no
markings.  Like you said – a clean slate.  Just you
and me.”

“A clean slate,” she repeated, her eyes narrowing.
After a moment’s hesitation, she reached for his right
hand, holding it in a way that indicated she was
either about to demonstrate her prowess at arm
wrestling or – the option he preferred – about to
guide his hand somewhere along her body.  “A new
beginning.”

Riley was all set to wholeheartedly agree except that
his attention was drawn to their hands. Actually, his
attention was drawn to the image that had suddenly
appeared there, splayed across their fingers.  A
symbol, really.  ‘In the beginning,’ if memory served.


The mark didn’t seem to want to stay where it was, it
wanted to move around: flashing on the back of his
hand, flitting halfway down her arm.  No – it really
wanted to move around: skipping along the curve of her
shoulder, up to her wrist.  Disappearing from her
hand, reappearing a moment later on Riley’s arm.

One symbol became five, then ten, flickering on then
off Riley’s palm, swirling in and around Buffy’s hair.
  Twenty, thirty, fifty – a shotgun blast.

Buffy put her hand to Riley’s chest.  For an instant,
the markings vanished, only to be replaced almost
immediately by a series of new symbols.  The tiny,
intricate images radiated outward from the tips of her
fingers and consumed every inch of their skin.  A tide
of text rolling in.  Data scrolling by as fast as the
eye could see.

Almost as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

“What was that?” Buffy asked.  She pulled her hand
away and held it up in front of her face, examining it
for traces of ink.

Now that was a good question.  But he was thinking he
might have the answer.

The markings that tethered him to the life he’d had
before.  Angel’s cross and Sam’s ring.  All whisked
away by an unseen hand.  An unseen hand that could pen
thousands of symbols in the blink of an eye, starting
with the most basic – ‘in the beginning.’

“A message,” Riley said, having no doubt of its
translation, albeit not the actual details.  A record
of their history.  The stories yet to come.  “And I’m
hearing it loud and clear.”

Reaching past her to turn out the light, he felt her
shift as she lay back on the bed.  She sighed and
closed her eyes when he started to kiss her.  Started
at the beginning – every inch of her yet to be mapped,
every ounce of her yet to be savored.

As he moved over her, she reached out to stop him.
“Um, Riley?” she whispered, breathing in sharply when
his teeth grazed the hollow of her neck.

“Mmm?” he answered distractedly.

“There’s…um…”  Her hand clutched the back of his neck.
  “…One more…thing.”

Her words came haltingly, since, at the moment, he
also happened to be cupping her breast.  Put that
together with the kissing her neck thing and, well,
that was one of her preferred combinations.

“I’m listening.”  Although he wasn’t really; not when
he was concentrating on undoing the button of her
pants.

She seemed to be concentrating on it, too, lifting her
hips as he eased the fabric away.  Her breath caught
when he brought his hand up along the inside of her
thigh.  It made her that much harder to hear when she
– kind of gaspingly – said, “It turns out…your kids
can hear…a lot of what goes on around…here.”

He stopped abruptly and pulled his hand away.  Without
even realizing it, he glanced back over his shoulder,
even though he knew they were all in another part of
the house entirely.  “They can…?”

No – you know what?  Fuck it.  There was really only
so much you could do.

Putting his mouth back to her neck, he let his hand
fall back into place.  “Then don’t scream.”



End Chapter 51

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

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SCREEN NAME: Lindis_83 and/or Honey_buzz
AGE: 20
LOCATION: Sweden
FAVE CHARACTER: Riley and Xander... and willow and...
FAVE EPISODE: Conversation with dead people
WATCH "ANGEL"?: Oooooh yeah... I need it... I crave it
if so FAVE CHARACTER FROM "ANGEL": Lorne
if so FAVE EPISODE FROM "ANGEL":I will remember you
FEELINGS OR THOUGHTS ON RILEY: Riley is the dreamguy
that every girl needs and probably always overlooks...
I've dated a guy just like him.. and frankly I got
bored... but I sometimes wished that I didn't becouse
being THAT loved that is what life is all about
ICQ:66751382
MSN:da_girl_79@...
Yahoo: lindis_83@...

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Just wondering what you were doing tonight?  No I am not trying to
pick you up but I am trying to get Tarzan picked up, for a whole
season that is.

Tarzan airs Sundays 9/8 central on the WB.  It is a terrific show
with newcomer Travis Fimmel as Tarzan.  Travis is a former CK model
and was chosen for his terrific figure but he has remarkable talent
as well.  Lucy Lawless plays Tarzan's aunt Kathleen and is amazing in
this role.  I was a Xena fan so it is great to see Lucy again.  Also
of interest is Mitch Pileggi as Richard Clayton, Tarzan's evil uncle,
some of you might remember Mitch from the X-files.

Knowing that a former CK model, Lucy and Mitch were going to be in it
were a few of the reasons I started watching Tarzan but what got me
hooked was the unique story and great performance by all the actors.
These guys say so much without saying anything and that is hard to
so.  In various scenes Tarzan remains silent but you see the raw
primitive emotion in is face.  When Tarzan rejects his uncle, you see
the pain on Richard's face then you see him strike back and turn on
Tarzan.  I don't want to give to much away but the show is amazing.

I just wanted to encourage everyone to check it out.  Here is a link
to find the WB station in your area:
http://www.thewb.com/Stations/Index/0,8112,,00.html .  In Canada it
airs on Global:
http://canada.com/entertainment/tvlistings/index.asp .  Here is the
description of tonight's episode "Surrender" from
www.tvguidelive.com : "Richard forces the only witness (Tim Guinee)
to Michael's death to accuse Tarzan and Jane; Kathleen considers
exchanging her shares in Greystoke Industries for Tarzan's safety."

So please get the show a chance tonight you might just fall in love
with it as well!!

Thanks,

Gypsy

PS:  For those who already love Tarzan or after tonight love it, I
have a group you might like to join: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WB-
Tarzan

Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Disclaimers, etc. in chapter 49A.

Chapter Fifty

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


Riley’s conversation with his mother lasted all of two
minutes.  Actually, ‘conversation’ wasn’t even the
right word; it was more of Riley listening as Mary
woke up the kids, and then his trying to be heard over
their screams – ones that Buffy assumed were happy
this time.

He was cut off by the appearance of the two
helicopters, swooping down past the tops of the trees
– one to take Ana, Sprague, and Brady back to Quetico
to help Brooks pack everything up; the other to get
Riley home.  Buffy figured that Brooks had kept them
on standby, using the com-cam as the tracking signal
the second Ana got it up and running again.

Looking up, Riley said into the com-cam, “Get some
sleep.  I’ll wake you up when I get home.”

“You o.k.?”  Buffy asked as he relinquished the
earpiece to Graham.

Riley didn’t answer at first, taking a long look
around.  “You know, there’s something about this
place.  It’s kind of weird to be leaving.”

Speak for yourself, she thought.  Personally, she
couldn’t wait to get out of here.

She didn’t say that, of course.  No matter what had
happened, Quetico would always be important to him; it
would always be the place where he’d said good-bye to
Sam.

“You could always come back,” Joe said, coming up
behind them.  “There’s a whole lot of park you never
got to see.  I hear kids like it, too.”

Standing up, Riley smiled.  “You sure you haven’t had
enough of my family?”

Since Buffy knew that all four Finn children were in
their house thousands of miles away and that Joe had
never had any contact with them, it was clear Riley
was talking about Sam.

Buffy stood more slowly, a bit unsettled.  For the
first time in three weeks, she was thinking of Sam as
a part of that family unit – as a living, breathing,
non-dead part of that unit.  The part of that unit
that Joe probably knew better than Buffy did,
considering he’d practically spent an entire day with
her.  Or, at least, with Riley’s dreams of her – with
Riley’s vivid, intense dreams of his wife.

Not that Buffy had been thinking that there’d been an
opening which no longer needed to be filled; it was
just that her definition of Riley’s ‘family’ was his
kids and his parents.  The last twenty-four hours put
a new – not entirely desirable – spin on things.

She realized Riley had just turned to her and asked
her something.  “What?”

Though Riley didn’t miss a beat, Buffy could tell he
was paying particular attention everything she did.
Not really in a suspicious way, as he had when he
first saw her not even an hour ago; more as though he
were gauging her reactions, trying to figure out where
the landmines were.

“I said,” he repeated in the most innocuous way
possible, “what do you think about that?  Next summer
– bringing the kids out here.”

Whoa.  Speaking of family units...

Bringing the kids?  Him and her bringing children
somewhere?  The way parents do?

That sent her reeling for completely different
reasons.  In the beginning, after the whole ‘play for
keeps’ talk, Buffy had blithely used the word
‘stepmother.’   Now that she was a little deeper in,
she realized it had all been in abstract; that she’d
never really considered herself as part of Riley’s
domestic picture.  What he had just said sounded so
odd to her.  Much, much too grown-up; laden with an
entirely different kind of responsibility than the
kind she was used to.

Of course, if she stopped to think about it, it would
probably be kind of fun to see Liam speed through the
rapids and catch some air – better than he could with
any skateboard.  And she and Jack could trade stories
over the campfire – she’d take the vampires; he could
cover the ghosts.  Not to mention that Buffy was
absolutely positive that she and Kate would kill Annie
and Riley in a canoe race.

She could feel a grin coming on.  “Next summer?”  It
certainly didn’t hurt that Riley’s asking also meant
that despite his own ups and downs – despite having
just held the woman he’d buried eight years before –
he was still thinking long-term.  He was thinking they
could get past the warrior princesses and ethereal
wives and just somehow be normal.  Together.  “I think
I could be up for that.”

“Yeah?”  A slow smile broke over his face.  He had
obviously seen the panic in her eyes; seen it change
into something...grown-up.  Turning back to Joe, he
said, “Next summer then.  Count on it.”

The two men shook hands.  For once, Joe didn’t look
amused; he just looked happy.

So, Buffy, don’t blow the mood by crying when you
reach for his arm and say, “Thank you.”

Given the magnitude of what she owed him, the words
sounded so completely inadequate.  If it weren’t for
Joe, she wouldn’t be standing here right now.  Nor,
probably, would Riley. And the guy hadn’t even gotten
his own com-cam out of it.  She’d have to figure out
an appropriate substitute.

The Joe she knew came back, laughter shining bright in
his eyes.  As though he’d heard her thoughts – which
she wouldn’t put past him given that almost everyone
in these parts seemed to be able to – he answered,
“I’d like to visit Boston someday, maybe Cape Cod.  I
hear they have some nice sunsets there.”

She couldn’t help but look up at Riley as she grabbed
at his hand, remembering the things he’d promised her
the day of the bear.  “So I’ve been told.”   That was
a vacation they’d be taking alone.  No kids.
Grown-ups only.  Turning attention back to Joe, she
added, “Come visit any time.  I have plenty of room.”

Joe nodded and started to turn away.  He hesitated for
a minute and then turned back, gazing directly into
Buffy’s eyes.  “A Saturday in October.  That would be
a good day.”

A Saturday?  In October?  Huh?  “A good day for what?”
  For visiting?

“Invite Ro, too.”   Joe smiled.  “He likes that song.”


Against all possible odds, she heard Bette Midler’s
voice carried by the wind as Joe walked away.

No way, she thought, the smile dawning on her face.
That was what you call proof.  She only barely
resisted doing a Snoopy dance.  Turning to Riley, she
asked, “Do you hear that?”

Riley looked at her as though she were absolutely
batty.  “Hear what?”

Buffy put her arms around Riley’s neck, deciding not
to notice the delay in his hands going to her waist.
She was on a high right now; she’d concentrate on his
grin instead.  “Wind beneath my wings, Baby.  Wind
beneath my wings.”

Riley didn’t even try to pretend that he had any idea
of what she was talking about.  “Am I supposed to get
that?”

“You will.”   She nuzzled his neck and started to work
her way up his jaw.  “But that is so not important
right now.”   Reaching his ear, she murmured, “What is
important, is that the only way Joe could possibly
have known that is if he had a direct link to...”  She
pulled back and pointed up at the sky, laughing when
Riley rolled his eyes.

Forget the Snoopy dance.  Clasping her hands above her
head, she gave Riley a dance all of his own, singing,
“I told you so, I told you so...”

He grinned, obviously not minding her moving against
him.  Before he had a chance to concede, though –
which she was sure he would have, given the evidence –
Graham yelled, “People – could we get the hell out of
here?”   Unhappily, he added, “And could someone
please tell me why I have bad eighties music running
through my head?”

Bad?  Since when was Graham the arbiter of taste?

Riley held out his hand, gesturing towards the
helicopter.  “After you.”

Don’t mind if I do.


*********


“Home, sweet home!” the pilot cheerily called out.

Buffy opened her eyes, surprised to see that they had
already touched down.  Had she really slept for almost
the entire trip?  She felt all out of sorts, which was
probably why it seemed to her that Riley’s voice was
just a little too hearty when he answered, “Yeah.
Thanks for the ride.”  He unbuckled himself and jumped
out of his seat, walking ahead with the pilots and
being way too sociable for someone who had just been
through, well, whatever he’d been through.

Buffy took a deep breath and forced herself to move.
Riley’s job meant he had to schmooze all the time;
this was just normal.

She was sure she just imagining it.  At the moment,
Graham certainly wasn’t acting like anything was
wrong.  He was laughing at Willow’s attempt to jump
out of the helicopter without falling on her face
while Willow muttered something about flattening the
darn helicopter and showing it who really had the
power.

Still, Buffy kept her eyes on Riley the whole way
across the tarmac and through the parking lot.  He
seemed so tired as he leaned against Graham’s car,
tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

As they neared, he said, “Hear that?”

Um...  Buffy looked at Graham and Willow.  They just
shrugged.  “No.”

He opened his eyes and grinned.  “Me, neither.  Sounds
good, doesn’t it?”

Now that was more like it.  Buffy’s voices were mostly
quiet, too.  She smiled.  “Yes.  It does.”

Graham let his backpack fall from his shoulder and
reached in to get his keys.  “You two are weird.”
Stepping forward, he clasped Riley’s shoulder and
shook his head.  “Man, this is...  This is kind of
unreal.”

He pulled back and grinned at Buffy, leaning down and
giving her a kiss on the cheek.  “Nice to have you on
the team.”   Just when she was feeling all warm and
fuzzy, he looked at his watch and added, “The
debriefing’s in about eight hours.  Drink a lot of
coffee.  I have a feeling it’s gonna be a long one.”
Turning to Willow, he asked, “Ready?”

To Buffy’s surprise, Willow nodded. There had clearly
been a previous discussion about Graham taking her
home.

Willow gave Riley a long, hard hug, saying, “Make sure
you wear your seatbelt.  After all this, it would
really suck if you became a casualty of Buffy’s
driving.”

“Gee, Will, thanks,” Buffy said.  Nothing like having
your best friend be behind you one hundred percent.

The hug Buffy got was much quicker, but no less
intense.  Willow took a step back and smiled as she
looked at Buffy and Riley.  “This is nice,” she said.
“I like this.”   Turning to Graham, she pulled at his
arm.  “Come on.  Sarah said there’d be cake.”

Riley watched the two of them get into Graham’s car.
“When did that happen?”

Following his gaze, Buffy asked, “When did what
happen?”

“Them being all buddy-buddy.”   Riley said.  He waved
as they drove off.  “And how does Willow know Sarah?”

Buffy shrugged in a way that she hoped came off as
nonchalant. “It’s been kind of intense around here.”

His hand dropping to his side, Riley glanced down at
the ground.  “Yeah, intense.  That’s a good way to put
it.”

Nice way to open the can of worms, Buff.  And yet...
“Will you tell me about it?”

Stepping close, Riley put his hand through her hair.
“Whatever you want to know.  Just...”  He seemed to
notice something on his arm.  “Not tonight, o.k.?”

She nodded.  That worked just fine with her timetable.

He pulled his hand away, looking uncomfortable.  “I
don’t suppose there’s any chance you carry spare
clothes around with you?”  He tried to smile.  “I’m
kind of sick of this shirt.”

Of course she had spares – didn’t everyone?  Nothing
was worse than running into a Steesprug demon – the
ones who spewed mucous and spit as soon as you got
within a few feet of them – on your way to the movies
and having nothing to change into.  Easy question.

Well, mostly easy; they were Angel’s clothes after
all.  She supposed it was lucky they were even still
in the car, though she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t sent
them back to L.A. yet; maybe because she hadn’t quite
been willing to admit that she was really living on
the other side of the country now.  Until a few weeks
ago, she hadn’t really been sure she wanted to stay.

Walking around to the back of her car, she pulled the
key out from under the bumper and unlocked the trunk,
reaching in and pulling out a gym bag.

Riley obviously wasn’t at all surprised that the
clothes inside it weren’t hers; he hadn’t been asking
because he was just dying to wear her fuzzy pink
sweater.

She closed the trunk and leaned back against it as
Riley looked around, probably trying to find a better
place to change. Given that they were one of only a
few cars in a fairly large parking lot at the edge of
a huge expanse of tarmac in the middle of the night,
he came to the conclusion that this was as good a
place as any.  Still, he hesitated before beginning to
undress.

There was no one around, and it wasn’t as though he’d
be showing her anything she hadn’t already seen.  So
why was he-?

No.  Don’t look for problems.  “You know, your clothes
don’t really look like you’ve been wearing them for
four days, so if you don’t want to change...”

Her words kind of trailed off towards the end because
she began to wonder why, exactly, his clothes didn’t
look more worn.  A little battered, maybe; a tear or
two from the fight.  Not, however, worn.  “You
were...”   There was a sinking feeling in her stomach.
  “You were wearing clothes that whole time, weren’t
you?”

Geez, Buffy.  Jealous shrew much?  So maybe not so
fine with the Kasey having her hands all over him
thing.

However, whatever it was that was so unsettling to
him, that clearly wasn’t it.

“Pretty much,” he answered.

‘Pretty much?’  Not the unequivocal ‘yes’ she’d been
hoping for.  From the way he smiled, though, it was
clear he wasn’t trying to hide anything from her.  Not
in that sense at least.  O.k., so then why was he
still just standing there?

Of course, she realized.  The markings.  The ones that
were about to make clear just exactly how close he and
Kasey had gotten.

Buffy folded her arms across her chest and looked
down.  “I’m gonna find out sooner or later.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, sounding like he was gearing
up to tell someone something really sad, in a ‘your
puppy’s been hit by a car’ kind of way.

She looked up to see him staring at her.  Standing up,
she started to move away.  “If you’d rather I-”

“No,” he replied.  “I just...”  He shook his head and
then, resigned, he pulled his shirt off, quickly
reaching for Angel’s sweater.

“Wait.”  Buffy took a deep breath, reminding herself
that in any other situation, she’d find this
fascinating, this direct connection to a legendary
princess from ancient times.  The key words, of
course, were ‘any,’ ‘other,’ and ‘situation.’

Even in the poorly lit parking lot, she could see that
the markings covered his arms and most of his chest;
that they dipped below his waistband.

File that one in the folder marked, ‘Ouch.’

She asked quietly, “How far?”

“I don’t actually know,” he answered, his voice
tightly controlled.

Fine.  No time like the present to find out.  She
nodded at him to continue, stepping forward as he
unbuttoned his pants.  “The stripping part is usually
a lot more fun,” she muttered.

He wisely didn’t respond, nor did he make any attempt
to touch her as she reached her hand out.  He flinched
– he actually flinched – when her thumb brushed his
skin, tugging a little at his boxers, her hand
lingering despite her head telling her that she was
fooling herself if she thought she’d ever have him.
That chance was lost to her a long time ago.

That Kasey hadn’t gotten much further brought only a
little bit of relief.  Buffy wasn’t interested in
sharing, no matter what the circumstance.  And
somehow, with Riley, there was always a circumstance.
So much for trust.  “You let her.”

He spat her words back at her, each one punctuated by
sharp, tight movements as he pulled Angel’s sweater
over his head, pushed his arms through the sleeves.
“I didn’t let her do anything.”  The ‘let’ was
particularly clipped.

Had she really thought she’d get the ‘happy ever
after’ ending?  Seeing Riley in Angel’s sweater was a
slap in the face.  A pop-up window saying: Did you
really think you could have it all?  Buffy looked
away.  “Was this before or after you knew she wasn’t
Sam?”

Something flashed over his face.  Anger?  Pain?  All
he said, though, was, “Before.”

It didn’t matter.  He didn’t need to say more.  That
one word told Buffy all she needed to know.  “Because
you would have let Sam do whatever she wanted.”

Exasperated, he said, “Well, yeah.  Probably.”

Set yourself up for that one, didn’t you, Buff?
Ironic, that whole role reversal thing.

This would be that point in the conversation where you
took a minute to tell yourself that this was just the
stress talking, calling up the echo of your former
self.  That you’re not even sure if you believe what
you’re saying but it’s so much a part of you – of you
and him – that you can’t quite let it go.  That you
most definitely needed to step back and regroup before
saying something really stupid, like, “Does this count
as ‘evening the score’?”

“Evening what score?”  It took Riley a second to catch
on.  “You mean with Dracula?  And...?”  He looked down
at the sweater he was wearing, obviously realizing she
was talking about Angel.  Forget exasperated.  Now he
was downright pissed.  “Are you serious?  This is so
entirely not about that.  This wasn’t even about us.
It was about-”

“Yes, I know,” Buffy snapped, with a lot more
bitterness than she had any right to have.  “Sam.
Because everything is.”  She was ‘home.’  She pretty
much always would be.

“Buffy...”   There was obvious pain in his voice now.
Anguish, almost.

Too bad.  You make your bed and you lie in it.  You
choose to share it with someone else.

Biting her lip, Buffy turned quickly, before he could
see the tears in her eyes.  “Let’s get you...”   She
choked on the word, ‘home.’  She couldn’t quite say
that out loud.  Without looking back, she walked to
the front of the car and got in.

A few minutes later – much longer than seemed
necessary to change into new clothes – she could hear
and feel the trunk as he slammed it down.  She didn’t
turn when he got into the car.  She just sat back and
closed her eyes.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t believe I said
that.”

“Yeah, well…”  Riley fiddled with something on the car
door as he spoke.  “Considering I screwed up my entire
life when confronted with a similar situation, I think
you can be forgiven.”

Her head still back against the seat, Buffy turned to
look at him.  Though he may not have chosen the best
way to end things, he wouldn’t have gotten Sam
otherwise, wouldn’t have gotten his children.

Buffy’s smile was sad, thinking of the way things
might have been; what he’d managed to find while she
meandered – mostly aimlessly – through life.  “You
made a nice recovery.”

Riley swallowed hard before gruffly answering, “Yeah,
I did.”

Not sure what else to say, Buffy leaned forward to
start the car.  She was startled when he spoke.

“I kind of wish you were right.”  He looked out the
window.  “I kind of wish it were all about Sam because
then I’d have no reason to feel so Goddamned guilty
over how glad I am to be back home.”

Right, Buffy thought.  Back home.  She could take a
hint.  “I know.  You want to see your kids.”  She
started to turn the key.

He unexpectedly grabbed her hand and pulled it away
from the ignition.  Bending her arm gently, he kissed
the inside of her wrist.  “Do you honestly think I’d
feel guilty if I were only talking about my kids?”

Her heart lodged in her throat as she felt the tears
spring to her eyes.

“The markings?” he said.  “The ones she painted all
over me?”  Though he let their hands fall away from
his mouth, he didn’t let go.  “They tell my dreams.
What she saw through me.”

Buffy shifted so that she could see him.  She knew
what he was about to say – but God, how she needed to
hear him say it.

He grinned.  “Apparently, you figure quite
prominently.”

If it weren’t so dark, she had a feeling she’d be
seeing him turn a bright shade of pink.  A beautiful
Northern Lights-evoking bright shade of pink.
“Prominently?”

Although he wouldn’t meet her eyes, his smile
broadened.  “Possibly graphically.”

Buffy pulled her hand free of his grasp and let it
fall to his leg.  “How graphically?”

He tried to shrug nonchalantly.  That he couldn’t pull
it off was emphasized by his voice cracking as he
answered, “Very.”  Although that might have had
something to do with the way she was trailing her
fingers up the inside of his thigh.

Buffy bit her lip.  She knew he wanted to get home –
she wanted to get him home – and yet she couldn’t help
but lean forward and kiss him.   And she might not
have been able to stop if he hadn’t done it for her,
pulling back and saying, “Buffy…”

“I know.”  She quickly turned back to the steering
wheel.  “That’s the last thing you’re thinking about.”

“Actually, no,” he answered with a smile in his voice.
  “Not the last thing.  It just happens to be taking a
backseat to the realization of why, exactly, you don’t
hear much about getting busy in the front seat of a
Mercedes convertible.”  As he shifted uncomfortably,
he muttered, “Now, a Chevy pickup.  That’s the kind of
car you can write songs about.”

Grinning, she turned back to him, and tilted her head
up as he bent down, brushing her lips.  It was a full
minute before he pulled away again, saying, “O.k.  Now
we can go.”

Understood.

By the time she pulled onto the highway, he was fast
asleep.  He stayed that way the entire ride in to the
city, until the moment she pulled up in front of his
house.

Sitting up straight as the car rolled to a stop, Riley
reached for the door handle, hesitating a second
before taking a deep breath and opening it.  He
stepped out and slammed the door shut behind him,
walking quickly to the front steps.

Um, o.k., she thought.  She’d at least expected a
good-bye.  But, hey, it had been a long few days.  He
needed to see his family.  She wasn’t going to stand
in his way.

She shifted the car into gear.  “Call me tomorrow,”
she said, waving to him as he turned to look at her.
“Let me know when you’re-”

“Where are you going?” he asked, looking completely
perplexed.

“Home,” she answered as he came over.

He crouched down outside her window.  “You’re not
coming in?”

Glancing at the front door, she shook her head.  “Your
family needs to see you.  This isn’t the time for
outsiders to barge in.”

“Yes.”  He stood and opened her car door, looking at
her pointedly.  “I know.”

She took a few seconds to think about what he'd just
said. “Are you sure?” she asked.  “I mean…”
Shrugging, she pointed to the sign that was directly
in front of her car.  The one that basically
threatened to take away your firstborn if you even
dared to park beneath it.  Just to give him an out if
he was only doing this out of obligation.

Riley looked up at the sign and then back at her.  “I
actually have some pull in government circles.  I
could probably get your ticket taken care of.”  His
smile came easily as he answered her original
question.  “Yes, I’m sure.”

She looked up at the front door again, thinking that
the rest of the household might not feel the same way.
  Still, she smiled.  “O.k.”

Turning the key, she pulled it out of the ignition and
followed him as he walked up the steps.  She was so
focused on convincing herself that, Yes, she belonged
here, that it took her a minute or two to notice that
they were standing there, not making any move to go
in.  She turned to look at him and almost broke down
when she saw his face.

All traces of happiness were gone; he was obviously
fighting for composure.  Noticing Buffy’s glance, he
looked away.  “Sam would always... She always forgot
her keys when she was away on a trip.  I always
figured she did it deliberately just so she could wake
everyone up at two in the morning and have an excuse
to eat ice cream.  The kids...”  His voice caught.
“They loved it.”

Without a second thought, Buffy’s hand went to his
arm.

“I hated it,” he continued.  “I was always thinking
that one day it wouldn’t be her ringing the doorbell.
It would be someone else, telling me she wasn’t coming
back.”  He closed his eyes.  “Funny that the thing you
dread never happens quite the way you expect it to.
You never expect it to happen in the middle of a
normal day...”

“Riley...”   Buffy put her arms around him and leaned
her head against his chest, hugging him tightly as he
struggled to breathe, probably being slammed by the
fact that he’d essentially been widowed all over
again.  This was mourning, pure and simple; when every
little thing reminded you of how wrong things had
gone.

She looked up at him, and smiled sadly.  “You have no
idea where your keys are, do you?”

Laughing through his tears, Riley shook his head.  “No
fucking clue.”

Come to think of it, she didn’t either.  Graham
probably had all Riley’s stuff.  Or Brooks, maybe,
back in Quetico.  “I think this once you’d be forgiven
for ringing the doorbell.”

“Yeah.”  He pulled away from her and pressed the heels
of his hands against his eyes.  After a deep breath,
he leaned forward and rang the bell.

Within seconds, the door swung open, and he
disappeared into a sea of bodies, into a sea of
yelling, screaming bodies, pulling him in.

After a moment’s hesitation, Buffy followed them in,
closing the door behind her.

It was like walking into a Norman Rockwell painting.
No, not like walking into it.  That implied being part
of it.  So maybe more like walking into a museum and
seeing the painting come to life in front of your
eyes.

‘Coming Home,’ the picture would be called – the four
beautiful children surrounding their father as he
clung to each of them in turn; as he gathered them
around him and didn’t let go – not for a good, long
time.

Not until Mary pushed her way through, unable to
resist any longer.  Even Gavin, who didn’t seem like
an overly demonstrative man, finally got into it,
clinging to his son for several minutes before
mumbling something about promising to call Riley’s
brothers the second Riley stepped foot in the door.
From where Buffy stood, she watched Gavin walk slowly
down the hall, making it almost all the way to the
kitchen before stopping to lean against the wall,
trembling.  He put his hand to his mouth and bowed his
head briefly before continuing on.

Buffy leaned against the door, obviously the outsider,
regardless of what Riley had said.  She had to admit,
there was a part of her that thought about
unobtrusively slipping away.  She looked behind her
for the door handle, just to make sure she knew where
it was.

When she turned back, though, she realized Annie was
standing in front of her.

The girl reached out tentatively, tearfully saying,
“This is...”  She shook her head, smiling despite her
tears.  “You brought him back.  You really did it.”

Buffy looked down.  “It wasn’t just-”

Annie’s arms were suddenly around her.  Buffy returned
the hug awkwardly, still feeling very much the
interloper, the intruder in this perfectly contained
cocoon.

Until she felt Liam’s arms go around her, then Jack’s.
  And it began to occur to her that she was holding
them as tightly as they held her.

No, not just that she was holding them, but that it
felt as though she was meant to.  That it felt as
though she’d come home.

It seemed almost too soon when Mary’s voice rang out
loudly.  “Two scoops each – no more, no less.  Annie’s
in charge of hot fudge, Kate takes care of whipped
cream.  And I decide how many cherries everyone gets.”
  Her voice faded as she disappeared into the kitchen.
“Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up
with the management.”

It was like a tornado came through, taking Annie, Liam
and Jack with it as it left.  The three kids followed
Mary down the hall in a whirlwind of energy and
laughter, leaving a contented silence in their wake.

Buffy looked up at Riley, unable to keep the smile off
her face.  Even seeing the way Kate possessively held
on to Riley couldn’t dampen her mood, although – to be
honest – if Kate told her to go, Buffy wouldn’t fight
it.  Not tonight.  No matter what Riley said.

Except that Kate did nothing of the sort.  Instead she
stepped forward and grinned.  “If you become my
stepmother?  This might never happen again.  But…”
She threw her arms around Buffy, mumbling something
that sounded suspiciously like, “Thank you.”

Buffy  was so stunned that it was an effort to keep
her mouth from dropping open.  It didn’t help that
when she looked over Kate’s head – well, o.k., around
Kate’s head; the girl was already several inches
taller than Buffy – anyway, it didn’t help that when
she looked past Kate at Riley, he raised his arms
above his head and did a pitiful imitation of her ‘I
told you so’ dance as he worked his way down the hall.

A second later, Kate was gone, running after him,
leaving Buffy standing all by herself in the front
hallway.  All by herself and yet not alone.

Annie stepped out into the hallway, asking Buffy what
kind of ice cream she wanted.

Buffy smiled and walked down the hall.

Not alone.



TBC...





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

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Exclusive Video Premiere - Britney Spears
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Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Disclaimers, etc. in chapter 49A.

Chapter Forty-Nine (B)

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



The second she and Riley pulled apart, Graham dropped
to his knees.  He threw his arms around Riley in one
of those hugs that guys only allowed each other when
they’d just won some big game.  Or when their best
friend came back from the dead.

Graham grabbed on tight and shook his head, his voice
thick with emotion as he murmured, “You’re an asshole.
  A fucking asshole.  Next time I tell you to stand
down…”

Buffy let go of Riley’s hand only at the last possible
moment, just as Brady and Sprague flew past her,
tackling Riley and Graham.  Riley disappeared from
sight, catching her eye and grinning as he went down.


“And they say women are emotional.”  Ana’s voice came
from just over Buffy’s shoulder.

Turning, Buffy saw Ana and Willow approaching, Willow
making a beeline to Buffy, asking, “Are you o.k.?”

“Yes,” Buffy answered, thinking it was mostly the
truth.  She had a feeling it wasn’t quite that simple,
that true ‘normal’ wasn’t quite so easy to restore.
The alternative – the without Riley option – was pure
suckiness, however.

Willow wasn’t fooled by the easy answer, though, and
Buffy lost a few minutes encircled by Willlow’s arms –
trembling as she realized how much she’d nearly just
lost.  Flat out shaking as the emotions of the last
twenty-four hours reared their heads: anger, concern,
worry; the almost overbearing responsibility to
Riley’s kids.  A virtual panoply of stress.

She didn’t snap out of it until she felt Willow tense
and murmur, “Oh…  Buffy.”

Every Slayer instinct sprung to life as Buffy pulled
back to see what new threat had brought about that
reaction.

Except that no one else seemed to be on high alert:
Ana, Sprague, and Brady were already making their way
back up the slope of the beach, laughing and joking as
they walked.  Joe was sitting at the campfire smoking.
  And Graham and Riley were standing behind her, Graham
telling Riley that Ana thought she could have a
working com-cam in another ten minutes or so.

Buffy turned back to Willow, about to ask what was
wrong when she realized Willow was staring at Riley,
hand over her mouth and eyes wide, looking like she’d
seen a ghost.

It took Buffy a few seconds to realize that, in a way,
she had.  It had been fifteen years since Willow had
seen Riley.  Sure, there had been that videoconference
thing a couple weeks before, but seeing someone on a
TV screen wasn’t really the same as seeing them
standing a few feet away from you.

Willow reached her hand out, saying, “Riley,” in the
most reserved, tenured-professor kind of way.

Good restraint, Will.  Especially when Buffy knew that
inside Willow was practically jumping up and down.

O.k., nope.  Never mind the inside part.

A yelp escaped Willow’s mouth and she clapped her
hands and giggled.  She poked Buffy in the shoulder.
“That’s Riley!”  As Riley looked up and grinned,
Willow walked over and threw her arms around him.
“You’re actually Riley.  Xander is going to freak.
And Giles...”  Willow shook her head as she pulled
back.  “My God.”

Yes.  Speaking of which...  Buffy looked up toward the
campfire to where Joe sat with the others.  Turning on
her heel, she very deliberately strode up towards the
others, hearing Riley playfully call from behind her,
“Is not!”  He was obviously still under the mistaken
impression that Joe had just been playing some random
celestial being.

“Is too,” she replied, smiling.  It was so much better
to be disagreeing about something unimportant – like
whether or not they’d actually been in the presence of
God.  Which they had been, by the way.  As she was
about to prove.  “Joe,” she snapped.

“Buffy.”  Joe looked up warily, his eyes going from
Buffy to Riley, Graham, and Willow as they came up
behind her.

“We have a bit of a score to settle.”  She crouched
down so that she was at his eye level.  “What was the
deal back there – the real thing, or just an angel?”

He threw his cigarette into the fire.  “What real
thing?  Back where?”

The problem with someone who always seemed like he was
laughing was that when he was actually serious, it was
even harder to believe him.  “You know what I’m
talking about.  When we were back...”  She waved her
hand in the air.  “...There.  You, Riley, Kasey, me.
What was-?”

“Kasey?” Graham asked.  “Who’s Kasey?”

Not now, Graham.  Offhandedly, she answered, “The
Princess.”  Back to Joe, she said, “So what-?”

“The Princess?”  Sprague sat forward.  “You guys
really met the Princess?”

“Better yet,” Brady added.  “You called her Kasey?
You called a trillions’ old legend ‘Kasey’?  How’d
that come up?  Was she just like, ‘Call me-’”

“Yes, actually,” Riley answered curtly.

He obviously had no more interest in discussing it
than Buffy did in hearing it in front of all these
people.  “So, Joe-”

“You spoke to her?” Joe said with awe in his voice.
“You spoke to Kaseniiosta?”

Oh, for Heaven’s sake.  Sam’s sainthood was one thing,
but now Buffy had to hear about the holier than thou
Kasey?  “You spoke to her, too.  Or did you forget?”

“What...?”  Joe glanced at Graham.  “I didn’t...”

Buffy looked back at Riley, noticing Graham’s face as
she did so.

Graham shook his head.  “Joe was with us the whole
time.  And I’m a hundred percent positive that we
didn’t run into any princesses.”

Well, o.k., not really a setback.  In fact, it made
even more sense.  Why bother stepping into someone’s
body when you could just create the body all over
again?

Standing up, Buffy hit Riley’s shoulder.  “Ha!”

Riley answered with a grin.  “It doesn’t prove a damn
thing.”

“Want to let us in on the secret?” Graham asked.

“No,” both Buffy and Riley answered simultaneously.

Graham looked at them both suspiciously, although he
clearly decided to let it go.  Unfortunately, he moved
on to a more delicate subject.  “Sam?  Was she
involved?”

“Yes,” Buffy said at the same time Riley replied,
“No.”

Letting that go, too, Graham said, “The Maymaygwayshi?
  All those guys we were fighting?  It’s why they
didn’t really die?”

Relieved at the easy one, Buffy got to it before Riley
did.  “Yes.”

The smile returned to Joe’s face.  “So the
Princess...”

“Is in the clear,” Buffy said.  “You were right.  The
whole time.”

“And you doubted me.” Joe poked at the fire with a
stick as he started to laugh.

It was infectious.  And Buffy was in a good mood, the
Riley-being-here thing hitting her in its totality.
She couldn’t help but grin.  “Never.”

Brady said to Riley, “Did you get the tattoos, too?”

Tattoos?  As in the markings?

As in the markings that the Princess painted all over
the men’s bodies, showing exactly how well she’d
gotten to know them?

No big.

Buffy was perfectly fine with the thought of Kasey
using Riley’s body as her canvas.  Of Kasey drawing
intricate markings all over his skin.

Absolutely fine.  A-o.k.

Trust, faith, and true love.  Right?

Buffy made damn sure there was a bright smile on her
face when Riley looked up at her as he answered,
“Yes.”

Still, she was glad that Ana got the com-cam working
right at that moment, giving everyone a thumbs up as
she said, “Hearing you loud and clear, Brooks.  Do we
have an ETA on our ride home?”

Riley sank down and sat next to Ana; he suddenly
seemed very tired – and a little overwhelmed.

Honestly?  If the roles were reversed and Buffy had
just been through what he’d been through?  The last
thing she’d want was her new girlfriend being all
clingy right about now.  But there was no way in hell
she was going to let him just sit there as the reality
of what had happened started to hit him.  She wasn’t
going to fail him again.  She would be there for him,
really be there this time.  Not in a
your-whole-world-fell-apart-but-you’d-better-be-over-it-by-the-end-of-the-summer\
-‘cause-I’ll-be-on-to-my-own-thing-by-then
kind of way; no – in a long-term way.

Buffy sat down and rested her hand on his knee, leaned
her head against his shoulder.  She had to close her
eyes, though.  The reality was hitting her, too, and
she had a feeling that this sudden need to touch him –
to hang on tight and not ever let go – was only going
to get worse.  Luckily, if the way he pulled her close
against him was any indication, he didn’t seem to
mind.

“No,” Ana was saying.  “He’s sitting right here.  Not
even close to being dead.”

Buffy could feel Riley tense.  His warmth was suddenly
gone as he lurched forward and grabbed Ana, unhappily
asking, “Dead?  What do you mean ‘dead’?”

Graham gave Buffy a sideways glance before answering
Riley.  “Your funeral’s the day after tomorrow.  That
didn’t cross your mind?”

“My kids...” Riley urged Ana, agitated.  “Tell Brooks
I need to talk to my kids.”   His knuckles whitened as
his hand tightened on Ana’s arm.

With a glance at Graham, Ana nodded and relayed the
message to Brooks.  Though she looked uncomfortable,
she didn’t pull away.  Buffy reached for his hand and
pried his fingers off.  “Riley...”

He glared at her.  “You told my kids I was dead?”

His reaction surprised her – hadn’t he expected
something like this?  What did he think they’d all
been doing for the last few days?

“I didn’t-”  Buffy forced herself to take a deep
breath and not take his reaction personally.  He was
probably barely maintaining sanity right now.  A
little lashing out was hardly unexpected.

And, thinking back to the first thing he’d asked – the
‘How long have I been here’ question – she was
belatedly realizing that he’d asked with absolutely no
idea of what her answer would be, that he’d had no
awareness that four full days had passed.

Actually, that wasn’t the part she was just realizing.
  It was more the implication that as far as he knew,
there was no reason for his kids to even have been
aware that he was gone.

“Maybe you could have started with ‘missing’?”  He
yanked his hand away.  “Give them at least a little
something to hold on to?”

Barely maintaining sanity.  Just lashing out.

“Oh, and ‘missing’ is going to make it all better?”
she snapped.  O.k.  Hadn’t meant to jump on him like
that.  She mumbled, “Trust me.  It’s just as bad.”

That didn’t seem to lessen his concern.  There was
practically fire coming out of his mouth as he hissed,
“They’ve already lost-”

“We found a body, Ri,” Graham said softly, crouching
down in front of Riley.  “Your funeral’s the day after
tomorrow.”

“My...”  Riley seemed completely dumbfounded.  “My
what?”

Graham looked at his watch.  “It was supposed to be
about eight hours ago.  And, yes, I feel like shit for
making your mom and dad wait the extra two days.”  He
sat down.  “I was hoping the end result would be worth
it.”

Buffy wasn’t sure if Riley even heard what Graham had
just said.  He was still reacting to the first part,
looking at her and asking, “They found a body?”

She nodded, her hand instinctively going to where her
chain would have been if she hadn’t yanked it off and
lost it back in the rainbow.  “With your ring.”

Riley looked down at his clenched fist; his ring stood
out in stark relief.  The anger seemed to fade as he
considered what Graham had just said.  His eyes
narrowed a bit.  “On making my parents wait?”  There
was a definite emphasis on the word, ‘parents.’  He
had clearly noticed that Graham hadn’t expressed a
similar concern about his kids.

Graham’s entire being radiated, ‘Oh, shit.’

His eyes going from Graham to Buffy to Graham again,
Riley continued, “What happened?”  He turned back to
Buffy.  “What did Kate dream?”

Graham fixed his gaze on Buffy.  He didn’t look at all
happy.

What – were the words ‘blame me’ printed on her
forehead?

Not that she hadn’t intended on mentioning it to Riley
at some point; it just hadn’t seemed the time to break
the news that his kids were quite familiar with the
family business.  It was easier to answer Graham than
Riley.  “Sam mentioned it.”

“Sam?”  Sighing, Graham ran his hand through his hair.
  “This is going to be one hell of a debriefing.”

“Kate’s dream?” Riley repeated.  He seemed resigned to
that fact that he wasn’t going to like the answer.

As apologetically as she could, Buffy smiled.  “Do you
want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Buffy...”  Riley was obviously not at all in the mood
for stalling, not even when it came to prettily
batting eyelashes.

Buffy looked up at Willow, who was absolutely no help.
  The others all just shrugged and conveniently found
other things to occupy their attention.

O.k.  Fine.  “The good news is that your kids seem to
have complete confidence that we’ll be bringing you
home.”

Hmmm.  The way Riley was folding his arms across his
chest and looking at her in a somewhat annoyed fashion
wasn’t a good sign.  Nor was the way he asked, “That’s
the good news?”  He obviously would have been on
Dawn’s side of the ‘you-told-them-you’d-do-what?’
camp.

Yeah, well, if it were up to him and Dawn...

So – anyway, “The bad news is that Kate seems to have
a bit of a prophetic streak in her.”

Yes.  He seemed to agree that that was the worse of
the two evils, closing his eyes and muttering
something that contained a lot of words that weren’t
really mentionable.

Luckily, he was spared further consideration of the
fact when Ana held out the com-cam.  “Sir.  Brooks has
your mother on the line.”

Riley just looked at the com-cam, hesitating before
taking it from Ana’s outstretched hand.  That was
understandable.  Though the object was obviously to
let Mary know that her son was alive, the goal would
hopefully be achieved without giving her a heart
attack when she heard Riley’s voice.

Closing his eyes, Riley ducked his head.  He adjusted
the earpiece and listened to something Brooks was
saying.  Nodding, he replied, “Yeah.  O.k.  Now’s as
good a time as any, I guess.”

Buffy started to get up, intending to follow the
others as they moved away to give Riley some privacy.
He blindly reached for her hand, though, and pulled
her back down as he softly spoke.  Not even bothering
with a greeting of any kind, his voice calmly lapsed
into a soothing storytelling mode, somehow not
betraying the tension Buffy could feel throughout his
entire body.

“You remember when I was ten and you were driving me
to a game?” he said into the com-cam.  “There was this
truck in front of us – it flattened a squirrel.  I
mean, totally flattened it.”   He gripped Buffy’s
hand, but didn’t stop speaking.  “And then the
squirrel just got up and ran away.  As if nothing had
ever happened.”

Turning so that she could see his face, Buffy wrapped
her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

He glanced down at her, his tension slowly dissipating
as he continued talking to his mom.  “You turned to
look at me and I was so sure you were going to try and
explain it away, the way moms always do.”  There was a
touch of laughter – a kind of emotional laughter – as
he added, “Except all you said was that sometimes
things just don’t make sense.”

Threading his fingers through Buffy’s hair, he pulled
her to him and rested his forehead against hers.
“Well, Mom, this might seem as if it doesn’t make
sense.”  There were a few beats of silence before
Riley gruffly spoke again.  “Yeah.  I’m coming home.”



TBC





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

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Exclusive Video Premiere - Britney Spears
http://launch.yahoo.com/promos/britneyspears/

Title: Butterfly Ops
Author: Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Pairing: B/R
Spoilers: General spoilers through Bring On the Night
(BtVS, 7th season).
Disclaimer: Story and original characters are mine,
everything else belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
and a lot of other people who aren't me.
Distribution: The answer's probably yes, but please
ask.
Author's notes: This is a sequel to Celestial Light.
(CL is available at
http://home.mindspring.com/~jenkel/fanfic/index.html
If you didn't read that, then you'll probably wonder
how we got to this place.) Thanks to Cynthia, Moe and
Jess for beta-ing.  And it is impossible to adequately
convey my thanks to Diana for her C&C.  But (sorry D,
I couldn't help it) I will try.
Summary:  Fifteen years after "As You Were," Buffy and
Riley are working together again.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated!  Send to
alexandrahuxley@...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley


Chapter Forty-Nine (A)

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



As Buffy regained consciousness, two things slowly
became clear – number one, that from the knees down
she was soaking wet, and, number two, she was still
kissing Riley.  Quite passionately, in fact – one hand
on his waist, the other running through his hair.

Despite the “From Here to Eternity” pose they found
themselves in however, she could tell he wasn’t quite
into it – not at all a reaction she was used to.
Breaking away, she saw that she hadn’t been imagining
it – the uneasiness in his eyes was hard to miss, and
it seemed clear that the last place he wanted to be
right now was in her arms.  Though Buffy would have
liked to explain it away by attributing it to the fact
that he was partly submerged in water given that he
was the one who had ended up on his back, she had a
feeling that wasn’t the case.

She supposed she couldn’t really blame him.  It was
one of the dumber things she’d done in recent memory –
pulling him down into that kiss only moments after he
held Sam.

O.k., then.

She was unusually hesitant as she pulled her head back
slowly.  Still...  “I declare that the official
Buffy-recommended way of traveling between
dimensions.”

He tried to cover it with a quick grin and a lightly
stated, “It certainly beats the butterflies.”   He
wasn’t very successful at it, though.

Well, Buffy – the deal was that you got to take him
home.  No one said anything about you getting to stay
there with him.

As gracefully as possible, she climbed off of him,
allowing him to sit up.  She tried to be encouraged by
the fact that he didn’t actually stand up and walk
away, but instead merely scooted back a bit so that he
was no longer sitting in the water.  He was
standoffish enough, however, that she didn’t even have
the impulse to sit right next to him.

She moved herself to a dry spot just out of arm’s
reach and sat down.  Oh, how tired she was of having
this conversation with him.  At least this would be
the last time.

He didn’t seem to be looking forward to it too much,
either, seeing that he was completely silent as he
found something incredibly interesting on the
otherwise unremarkable horizon.

Well, fine, she may as well start it off.  “The last
time I hung out with God, I swear He looked absolutely
nothing like Joe.”

Or stalling.  Stalling was always good.

Though Riley smiled, he wouldn’t meet her eyes.  At
least not until he turned and looked at her kind of as
if he thought she was completely off her rocker.  “You
really think that was God?”

“Don’t you?” she asked, surprised.  Who else did he
think that could have been?

His answer came as a genuine laugh.  “No.”

Well, what exactly did he know anyway?  “Then who do
you think it was?”

Riley stretched his legs out in front of him and
leaned back on his hands, somehow managing to shrug at
the same time.  “I don’t know.  Does God have
minions?”

“I think they’re known as angels.”  She faltered on
that last word, although – hey, why not just bring
vampire ex-boyfriends into this loaded situation?  It
didn’t matter that she hadn’t actually been talking
about Angel-angel.  Just mentioning the word was
enough.  Hell, maybe she could just go for the gold
and figure out a way to bring up railroad ties and
throw Spike in there, too.  Then they could get into
Riley’s whole thing for vampires, and, to make it
really fun, they could surely figure out a way to work
Faith in.  It would be a ball.

“I guess so,” Riley mumbled.

His eyes were too expressive, too full of things like
pain and grief and guilt.  Buffy looked away.  This
was going well.  “So...”

“Yeah.”  Riley laughed to himself in a bitter kind of
way.  “So.”

O.k.  New topic.  “How are you?”  The question sounded
so lame, and yet she couldn’t not ask it.  He looked
beyond beaten up; he looked like the soul had been
forcibly yanked from his body.

“Been better.”   He gave her a nice smile, one that
seemed to acknowledge the irony of the situation.
“You?”

Given that she’d spent the last day irrevocably
proving the depth and strength of their love, her
answer should have been something much more optimistic
than, “Kind of the same.”

His gaze focused on something behind her and his face
brightened.  “Is that Willow?”  His smile faded.  “She
didn’t bring a shovel, did she?”

Looking over her shoulder, Buffy saw the entire team
further up the beach, all alive and well.  Not that
she had been concerned – God had told her as much.
Yes – the Holy One and the same, regardless of what
Riley believed.

Sprague was sitting helping Brady build a campfire
while Ana fiddled with a com-cam.  Joe was back, too,
smoking a cigarette as his friends got into their
canoes and paddled away.  And Graham, well...  Graham
was pacing back and forth somewhat urgently, waving
his arms in a tightly controlled way.  He was
obviously not at all happy with Willow, Willow who had
planted her body between Graham and where Buffy and
Riley sat.

Thanks, Will.  It was obvious that the only reason
Buffy was getting these moments alone with Riley was
due to that.  Of course, given what she figured was
about to happen, maybe it wasn’t such a good thing.

Buffy sighed.  No.  Get it over with.  Get back into
the conversation, back to what Riley had just said.
Which, by the way – huh? – it made exactly zero sense.
  “Why would Willow bring a shovel?  We didn’t need to
dig you out of anything.”

He didn’t answer her question.  Just putting off the
inevitable?  “Buffy...”

“Say it, Riley.  Whatever it is, please just be done
with it.  Just…”  At least she wasn’t crying.  Yay.
“Just do it fast.”

He stared at her for a few seconds.  Did he remember
the night when he’d said those words to her?  The
night he was so sure she’d chosen Angel over him?

Well, if he didn’t remember, he at least got the gist
of what she was saying.

“Sometimes I just don’t get you,” he muttered, shaking
his head and turning away.  “With the power you’ve
always held over me…”  He seemed exasperated when he
turned back.  “Why do you keep thinking I’m about to
break up with you?”

Um, hello?  “Belize.  When we left for Quetico.  After
the bear.”  She ticked each item off on her fingers.

He leaned towards her, angry almost.  “Belize doesn’t
count.  That’s just way too shades-of-gray to even
think about right now.  Quetico was…”  He paused.  “I
don’t know.  I just thought…”

Buffy tried not to notice how close he’d gotten.  He
was much closer than arm’s reach; he was more like
bend-your-head-just-a-little-bit-and-you-could-kiss-him
reach.

So don’t bend your head, Buffy.  Wait for him to
finish.

Or not, she thought, when it was clear he wasn’t
planning on adding anything.

Fine.

Belize – yes.  Much bigger story.  Quetico?  O.k.
That had been a misunderstanding.

Folding her arms across her chest, she asked, “After
the bear?”

At least he had the decency to look chastened, clearly
having no legitimate excuse.  And he obviously saw the
look on her face, saying urgently, “I know that made
no sense.  Except…”

“Except?”  This should be interesting.

He took a deep breath.  “I was just, you know…”

No, she didn’t know.  “What?”

Riley seemed tentative, as though he hadn’t quite
decided what his explanation would be and was just
sending this out as a test balloon.  “When I was
fighting with Kasey, I was thinking about why I never
really tried to leave before then, and...”  He let the
rest of the words come out in a rush.  “What would you
say if I told you I thought it might be part of a
spell?  A binding kind of thing.  To...”  He looked
away.  “To Sam.”

As in ‘souls entwined’?

Instinctively, Buffy glanced up the beach at Willow.
Part love, part locator spell, she’d said.  Nothing
about binding.  Still, it didn’t seem completely
outrageous.  In fact, it kind of made sense.

Buffy sat back; er, kind of back.  Not far enough that
she’d be out of Riley’s reach should he decide that he
could still manage to touch her after being so bound.


It had already been established that Harry had made a
try for Riley on bear-day; and when she’d been under
the spell herself the feelings for Angel had been so
strong that if Riley had been around, she couldn’t
swear that she wouldn’t have said something equally
stupid.

O.k., so what?  It didn’t answer the question, “Why
are you breaking up with me this time?”

He was obviously annoyed, saying loudly and clearly,
“I’m not breaking up with you.”

Oh.  “So then why aren’t you kissing me right now?”
She let her hand fall to the ground halfway between
them, not quite believing him enough to actually reach
out to him.  If he wanted to, though, she wouldn’t
object.

Riley looked down at her hand – looked so badly like
he wanted to take it.  And yet he managed to resist.
That wasn’t exactly a good sign.

Put hand back in lap.  Pretend you never put it out
there in the first place.

“Then what is this all about?” she asked quietly.
Because if it wasn’t about breaking up, it was
obviously about something pretty serious.

He sat forward, picking a rock up off the beach and
throwing it, watching it skip through the water.  Rip
through the water, rather – he threw it pretty hard.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t about breaking up.  I just
said it wasn’t about me breaking up with you.”

No.  Not a good sign at all.  Because, given the
circumstances – and their whole history together – it
wasn’t too hard to come up with the right answer.  It
wasn’t too hard to figure out what he’d done that made
him expect such a strong reaction from her.

Well, it wasn’t as though this was coming as a shock.
The only question was who it had been with.  Buffy
wasn’t sure which one would be worse.  May as well
start with, “Sam.”

“Nothing happened with Sam,” he answered almost too
quickly, whipping another rock across the water’s
surface.

Though she knew that wasn’t technically true, she
couldn’t blame him for that one, no matter how much it
hurt.

So, then: Kasey.  Obviously.

She could feel her heart break; her happy, True Love,
trusting heart break.

Damn it, Riley.

  “You fought well together.”  Buffy was surprised she
managed to get that out without choking over the
words.

“Yeah, we did,” he answered.  Of all the things she’d
said to him, she didn’t understand why that brought a
grin to his face.  He knew exactly why that would hurt
so much.

She wasn’t sure what reaction she’d expected.  That,
however, definitely wasn’t it.

He seemed to notice and, for the first time, actually
relaxed a bit, finding his way to surer ground.  “She
fought like you used to.  I just kept telling myself I
was back in Sunnydale.  With you.”

Really?

That was where the intimacy came from?  Because of
her?  Not because of four days of, well, quality time
with the Princess.

Of course, the happy didn’t really last.  He pretty
much killed it when he quietly said, “I knew it wasn’t
Sam.”

She was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about the
fighting.

His elbows rested on his knees, his eyes going down to
his hands. “It didn’t seem to matter, though.  It
just...”  He didn’t finish the thought.  The way he’d
sounded bitter before?  It was nothing compared to the
acid in his voice now, all of it directed inward.
“Somehow I keep doing this to you, don’t I?”

A part of her wanted to say, Define ‘this.’  She
stayed quiet, though, since another part of her really
didn’t want to know.  She’d rather concentrate on
adjusting to this new perspective, to the realization
that his earlier resistance had had nothing to do with
him not wanting her – it was all about how she’d
respond to what he what he’d done in that place.

Deep breath, Buffy.  As convincingly as she could, she
said, “It was a spell.  One that was hard to resist.”

Maybe too convincingly.  And her credibility certainly
wasn’t enhanced by her turning bright pink.  Because,
let’s be honest, she wasn’t completely innocent here.

Riley clearly hadn’t lost any brain cells during his
stay in Kasey-land.  He could put two and two
together.  “Angel?”

She nodded.

This time he didn’t even bother with finding the right
rock to skip; he just picked up the biggest one he
could find and lobbed it as far as he could.  Which
was pretty far.  “I know I don’t really have a leg to
stand on, here, but did you...?”

“No, we didn’t,” she answered, biting her lip.

For a minute, the only sound that could be heard was
the water lapping against the shore.  Well, and the
crickets chirping, an owl or two.  Maybe Graham’s
footsteps – back and forth, back and forth.  That had
to be imagined, though; he was way too far away for
her to actually hear.

“Kind of ironic, don’t you think?”  Riley sounded as
though he’d already given up.  “Sixteen years and
we’re right back in the same place.”

Yes.

Except, well, no.  Not in the same place.  So much
older; so much wiser.  So much more aware of how much
it sucked not to be with him.

He continued, “I don’t know what to say to make this-”

“Don’t say anything,” she said, thinking that she
wasn’t ready to have this discussion.  Not right now.
“Maybe it doesn’t need to be better.  Maybe we can
just...”  Just what, Buffy?  Forget it all happened?
Pretend that this whole four day interlude had never
occurred?  Pretend it wasn’t occurring to her that
once again couldn’t quite manage to keep him
interested?

Oh, stop it.  It was a spell.  A powerful,
overwhelming spell that had practically had her doing
it with Angel on Mary’s kitchen floor, only hours
after Riley’s death.

“So maybe I should have slept with Angel,” she
muttered.  “Then we could have at least traded stories
and had a grand old time.”

There was a pause, and then Riley went back to
skipping stones.  “That’s not actually the story.”

Buffy’s head jerked up.  “No?”

“No,” he answered.  “At least I can say that much.”

From the harsh tone of his voice, she could tell that
if she wanted to punish him in any way, she’d have to
get in line.  He was doing a heck of a job all by
himself.

She looked down at the ground, wishing she could say
it didn’t matter.  That she wanted him back so badly
that she didn’t care what he had done; that she just
wanted to hold him again.

Well, what was wrong with that exactly?  Why did it
have to be all or nothing?  Why couldn’t she lean
forward – just like that – and reach her hand out?
Why couldn’t she let it trail slowly down his arm, and
just remind herself of how much she needed his warmth?

Pulling back, he said, “But it wasn’t nothing.”

Buffy let her hand fall away from his skin.  “How much
was it?”

He looked at her for a minute and then looked away.
“That night in Sunnydale?  When you and Spike walked
into that room?”  With every word he retreated further
into himself.  “This was…  It was more than that.”

She thought about that for a minute.  Then she thought
about how much it hurt not to be touching him.  She
put her hand back, feeling his arm shake as he took a
ragged breath.

Think about this, Buffy.  Think about the last time
and how you always wondered what would have happened
if you’d had just one more day; if you’d truly
understood that good-bye was a permanent thing – that
he’d disappear into the night, that you’d lose him to
his new wife.  That if it hadn’t have been for the
oddest of circumstances, you would have lost him
forever.

Remembering what Kasey had said, Buffy asked, “You
dreamed about me?”

He didn’t bother to ask how she knew, just answered
simply, “Yes.”

“And the day of the bear,” she said, watching the tips
of her fingers as they took their own path over the
back of his hand.  “You dreamed about me then, too.”

He grasped her hand, struggling to keep his voice even
as he again replied, “Yes.”

This was nothing like what had happened all those
years ago.  This was magic, not free will.  Not to
mention all the years of experience and perspective
she had gained since then, or the realization that
after showing him all the grays in the palette of
their world, that once upon a time she’d made it about
black and white, right and wrong.  She’d forced him
into that hole, forced him to fly away.  Was she ready
to do that one more time?  Let him disappear out of
her life?  Actually choose to let him go?

She looked up at Riley, hearing Joe’s voice say, Trust
in this, Buffy.  Have faith.  Haven’t you learned
anything today?  Quit being Miss Melodrama and kiss
him already.

“Hey,” she said sharply, raising her eyes to the sky.
No fair.  “You don’t get to pick sides.”  When she
looked back down she realized Riley’s face was only a
few inches away.

He smiled despite his obvious sadness.  “Whose side
did he pick?”

Buffy closed her eyes and breathed him in, holding his
hand tightly as she got to her knees.  “Yours,” she
whispered, leaning in.  She brought her hands up to
his face.  “I…”  Her voice got hung up on the lump in
her throat.  “I missed you so much.”

His lips were warm and just the right amount of wet.
His hand went to the back of her neck and tightened as
the other found her waist.  She trailed her fingers
down his neck to his chest, resting them where his
heart beat against his shirt.  It felt good – God, so
good – to be kissing him again.  To have him kissing
her – wholeheartedly, hungrily, and lots of other
descriptive words that she would have come up with if
she’d had a few more minutes.

She didn’t, though.  Kissing time was over.  Someone
was standing over them – quite impatiently, in fact.
Graham, muttering, “About fucking time.”


TBC in Chapter 49(B)










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

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
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Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Disclaimers, etc. in chapter 47.

Chapter Forty-Eight

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


“Hey,” Joe replied.  “How’s it going?”

That was...weird.

‘Man, that was a tough fight,’ would have been an
appropriate response.  Or maybe, ‘Did you happen to
see the rest of the team?  I lost track while we were
giving the mystical warriors a good run for their
money.’

‘How’s it going,’ however?

Buffy took a step back, practically attaching herself
to Riley’s body, her instinct being to keep herself
between him and, well, just about anything.
Especially since a quick look around showed that
Graham and Co. were nowhere to be seen and Buffy
wasn’t quite as confident in Kasey as Riley seemed to
be.

Definitely weird.  And a little too reminiscent of
that day on the bluff.  “It would be going better if
you didn’t keep sneaking up on me like that.”

“Believe it or not,” Joe replied, the ever-present
grin on his face, “that one wasn’t me.  That was all
Joe.  Some shape-shifting thing.  That’s not really my
department.”

Huh?

‘That was all Joe’?  Then who exactly was this guy?
And if it wasn’t Joe, then how would he have even
known what she was talking about?

Buffy tightened her grip on the knife and could feel
Riley tense behind her as all the men in the circle
dropped to their knees and bowed their heads.  She
glanced back to see that Kasey had done the same.

“You feel kinda like we didn’t get the memo?” Buffy
whispered to Riley.

Riley answered, “Told you things didn’t make sense
here.”

Yes.  She was beginning to get that.  To Joe – or to
whomever it was occupying his body – Buffy asked,
“What happened to my friends?”   None of this felt
good; it would feel a lot better, however, if she knew
where everyone else was.

Joe just looked at her for a minute or two; then he
shrugged.  “They’re gone.”

“Gone?”  All of them?  No.  No way everyone she came
with was gone. They couldn’t possibly be.  They were
doing fine last time she saw them. She stepped
forward, almost jumping when all forty of the guards
leapt to their feet and raised their weapons again.
Protecting quasi-Joe?  “Where did they go?”

He seemed completely unconcerned with the urgency in
her tone. “Not ‘dead’ gone,” Joe responded.  “Just
‘gone’ gone.  As in gone home.”  His gaze went to
something behind her and he distractedly said,
“They’re fine.  Would you excuse me?”

Um, o.k.?

Curiouser and curiouser, she thought as he gestured
for Kasey to stand and come forward.  Then one of the
guards detached himself from the circle and joined
them.  The three stepped away, moving out of hearing
range, though it was obvious that a heated discussion
was taking place.  Joe did not seem at all happy.

Buffy glanced at Riley several times to see if this
made any more sense to him than it did to her – he’d
been the one hanging out here.

No.  He didn’t seem to understand this, either.

After a few minutes, the conversation became much more
one-sided, with Kasey and the other man keeping their
eyes lowered as Joe spoke to them.  His manner was
calm but his eyes were flashing.  Occasionally all
three would turn to look at Riley and Buffy before
turning away again.  Finally, the guard knelt and
looked at the ground.  Kasey’s eyes went wide as Joe
spoke harshly.  The guard next to her disappeared;
within seconds, the other guards were gone as well.
Bye-bye circle.

Joe turned his attention to Kasey.  Buffy watched as
the other woman nodded her head and began to speak,
her eyes coming alive as she got further into whatever
she was saying.  At a certain point, she seemed to
turn inward, her arms going around her body as she
hugged herself tightly.  Even from this distance Buffy
could tell she was blushing uncomfortably.

It wasn’t exactly surprising when Buffy turned and saw
that Riley’s face was on the flushed side, as well.
Unsurprising and yet not at all what Buffy had been
hoping to see.

After giving her another one of those soul-searching
looks – trying to see if she’d noticed? – Riley turned
away.

Great.  Buffy bit her lip, willing herself to ignore
the sudden tightening in her chest.  Deal with it
later.  Right now just focus on Joe and Kasey.

Something important seemed to be happening because
Kasey’s hand had just flown to her mouth and tears
were streaming down her face.  She seemed shocked as
she looked back at Riley.

Riley just seemed puzzled, glancing down at Buffy with
an expression giving no doubt that – this time – he
had no idea what was going on.  When he looked up
again, he took a step back, clearly surprised.

As was Buffy.  Somehow – in all of two seconds – Kasey
and Joe had crossed the twenty or so feet and were now
standing right in front of her and Riley.

Kasey grabbed Riley’s hand.  Though she was still
crying, a huge smile came over her face.  “I get
to...”  She shook her head and let go of Riley’s hand,
choosing instead to throw her arms around his neck.

Oh, honey, you are so pushing it right now...

Buffy was happy to at least see that Riley didn’t seem
comfortable – not in the way you would if you’d been
spending a lot of time hugging someone, or, well,
doing other things with them.

After a few seconds, Riley responded with a hug that
was more brotherly than anything else.  Though he
looked questioningly at Joe, he asked Kasey, “You get
to do what?”

Kasey pulled away from him, putting her hand to his
cheek in what was not at all a sisterly way.

Not Faith, not some vampire, Buffy reminded herself,
clenching her fists and making sure to keep her mouth
shut.  Weird, alternate dimension with mind-bending
spells.  Later, Buffy.  Do not focus on it right now.
Do not focus on the obvious intimacy that existed
between Riley and this stunningly gorgeous, not to
mention young and way too perky – in a physical kind
of way – woman.

Apart from the hand to cheek thing, though, Kasey
wasn’t making any further attempt at encroachment,
which was a damn good thing because – despite her
cautionary thoughts, Buffy was not above a catfight.
In fact, she was surprised that all Kasey ended up
saying to Riley was, “Thank you,” albeit in a
gut-wrenching, incredibly emotional kind of way.

Getting a little tired of being the only one in the
dark, Buffy turned to Joe, ready to take it out on
him.  Which, o.k., maybe not so mature, but better
than letting it fly with Riley at the moment.  There
was way too much history to even attempt to bring up
right now.

She had actually started to say Joe’s name when she
heard a new voice say, “See, Finn?  You really do have
a way with the ladies.”

Buffy whipped her head around.

Hadn’t this been what she expected all along?  Could
she actually say she was surprised?

And yet it was a total shock to see Sam standing no
more than a few feet away, right in front of Riley,
her hand going to his face much in the same way
Kasey’s had only moments earlier.  Except that this
time the hand actually had every right to be there and
it was Buffy who had absolutely no ground to stand on
– which might be why she felt like she was suddenly
falling and crashing into a million little pieces;
pieces that spelled out the words: ‘You should have
known this wouldn’t work, Buffy.  You should have
known.’

Yes, o.k. – that was an incredibly selfish reaction to
a truly monumental occurrence.  Still...  As she had
already reminded herself in the not too recent past:
with head versus heart, heart wins every time.

Oddly enough, Riley didn’t look ecstatic or grateful,
or even, for that matter, shocked.  Instead he yanked
Sam’s hand from his face and spat at Joe, “I don’t
care who you are.  Make this-”

“Stop,” Sam said, finishing his sentence for him,
though her meaning was obviously entirely different.
“I don’t think I have much time.”  She glanced up at
Joe, closing her eyes when he nodded.  “I just needed
to...”

Taking a few steps back, Buffy was wishing there were
some shadows to slink back into.  There were so many
things running through her head that she couldn’t keep
them straight, and the predominant feeling at the
moment was that she shouldn’t be here.

Sam noticed the movement and, for the first time,
seemed to register that Buffy was there, too.  It was
clear she was only barely staving off complete
breakdown; Buffy could see it in the way Sam clutched
Riley’s hand, could hear it in Sam’s trembling voice.


Yet Sam obviously had something to say to Buffy; and
she managed to flash a smile that was sincere.  “This
isn’t exactly how I envisioned meeting you again.”

“I...”  No.  Buffy couldn’t finish the thought.
Didn’t actually have a thought to finish.  It was hard
to be thinking anything right now; anything other than
the way Riley was looking at Sam, unable to see
anything but her.

His wife, Buffy.  She’s his wife.  His dead wife who’s
now standing right in front of him, holding his hand.
Get over it.

Sam wasn’t stupid.  Dead people rarely were.
“Awkward, though.  I guess these things always are.”

“I guess.”  Buffy looked up to see Riley watching her
now.  He appeared to be as uncomfortable as Buffy
felt; torn, in a way.  Completely ripped apart.

Join the club.

Glancing at Riley and then back to Buffy, Sam clearly
caught the look passing between the two.  She made an
unsuccessful attempt at another smile, looking down as
she said, “Thank you for...believing...  For following
Kate’s dreams.”

Riley’s head jerked up.  “What does Kate-?”

Sam silenced him with a finger over his lips, her hand
cupping his chin and turning his head so that he
couldn’t see Buffy.

Actually, that was fine with Buffy.  She didn’t really
want to see him, either.  Not right now at least.
Even this was too much.

She ducked her head down as she saw Riley’s hand go to
Sam’s shoulder, pulling his wife to him and burying
his head in her hair.  He murmured something Buffy
couldn’t hear – didn’t want to hear.  Sam’s response,
though – “I know, Finn.  I know.  I do, too.  I always
will.” – was loud and clear.

Not that there was even a question of what he’d just
said to her.  And not that there was a question that a
kiss would follow – a tender, aching, agonizing kiss;
the kind that stayed with you forever.

“Why are you even watching this?” Joe asked, startling
her.  “What makes it worse – watching Riley with
another woman – with his wife?  Or remembering how
hard it was to send Angel-”

Buffy’s knife was at Joe’s throat before he had a
chance to finish the question.  “You have about ten
seconds to tell me who you are and how you’re going to
get us out of here.”

Other than turning her back on them, she didn’t have a
lot of control over anything Riley-and-Sam related;
Joe’s not-so-cute heckling shtick however?  That was
going to end.

Or not, apparently.

Joe laughed as he put his hand around the blade – just
wrapped it around the razor-sharp edges – and pulled
it out of her hand.  “You know – I really don’t
usually get involved in things at this level, but I
like you.”  He looked over her shoulder.  “I’m growing
kind of fond of him, too.  Go figure.”

Before Buffy could turn around, Riley brushed past
her, his entire being radiating anger.  He, too, went
for Joe’s throat – or, rather, the material of Joe’s
shirt, grabbing it tightly and using it to pull Joe to
him.  “What happened to Sam?”

“Do you really need to ask?” Joe replied lightly.  His
eyes went a little dark, though; menacing, almost.
“I’ll give you some leeway; this has all been fairly
difficult.  I’ve got a bit of a rep to keep, however.
I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”  The smile
came back into his voice.  “Besides, how can I tell
you about Sam if you’re cutting off my air?”

Buffy had a feeling that Joe didn’t really need the
air.  She was actually starting to get a feeling that
this wasn’t someone she or Riley should be testing.
She reached out and put her hand on Riley’s arm.

Though he tensed at her touch, he let go and stepped
back, seething.  “Where is she?”

“The Great Reward.”  Joe rolled his eyes.  “Oh, come
on.  Give me a harder one.”

Buffy stepped in before Riley clocked Joe.  “Kasey?”

Joe actually seemed remorseful.  “That was a mistake.
She shouldn’t have been here that long.  I lost...”
This time his smile was a sad one.  “See what happens
when I get too involved?  I’m so much better with the
big picture.”  He shook his head, ridding himself of
the melancholy, and looked at Riley.  “I can assure
you, she is quite content.”

Riley took a few more steps back, stunned.  Clearly
that little speech had brought his understanding to
where Buffy’s was – that Joe was acting quite
paternal, in an Our Father kind of way.  The Creator
himself.  He, who had locked Kaseniiosta in her
prison.

Joe held out Buffy’s knife.  It clearly wasn’t going
to do a damn bit of good in this situation.  She took
it and put it away, asking, “Why free her now?”

“Plays nice.  Works well with others.”  Joe – she
couldn’t possibly call him by his real name – gave
Riley a pointed look.  “Thinks creatively.  Takes
risks.  What?” he asked, seeing the disbelief on
Buffy’s face.  “You’re not buying it?”

Buffy shook her head.  Not that she needed to; she was
sure he – or, He, rather – could read her mind.

“I told you.  I made a mistake.”  Joe’s eyes went
cold.  “Trust me.  You don’t want to make me admit
that again.”

“How’d you know?” Riley asked, folding his arms across
his chest.

Joe turned to Riley, incredulous.  “What?”

Riley didn’t seem to see the ‘Danger – Thin Ice’ sign.
  Either didn’t see it, or didn’t care.  Could anyone
really blame him?

Despite the angry look that came over Joe’s face,
Riley stood his ground.  “Something made you remember
she was there.  What was it?”

Dumb.  Really, really dumb.  And yet utterly cool.
Go, Riley.  Take it to him.  Um, Him.

Buffy waited for the lid to blow – for lightning to
strike, the ground to open up and swallow them whole,
or some such biblically proportioned reaction.  She
was not quite ready for the smile to come back to
Joe’s face.

“Uncle,” Joe said, holding up his hands.  “You want to
hear me say it out loud?”  He was smiling again,
almost laughing as he looked at Riley.  “For someone
who hasn’t been around that long, your wife has
learned how to work the system.  She can
be...tenacious.”

O.k.  It was bad enough to watch Riley kiss his wife,
not to mention knowing that something had obviously
happened between him and Kasey.  But to stand around
and be part of the Sam Finn Admiration Society?  With
Riley and, well, hell – might as well say it
regardless of it sounding more ridiculous than the
whole attack of the butterflies thing – God?  No way.
No freakin’ way.  Buffy snapped, “How do we get home?”

Joe raised his eyebrows.  “You still want to take him
home?  After seeing him with Sam?  And I’m sure you
know what happened with-”

“Home,” Buffy repeated coldly.  She didn’t want the
details.

“You sure I can’t keep him?” Joe asked, grinning
despite the obvious displeasure radiating from both
Buffy and Riley.  He didn’t push it much further,
though, holding his hands up and saying, “Fine, fine.
Let’s discuss.”

“Discuss?”  There was only one option as far as Buffy
was concerned.  “What’s there to discuss?”

“Well, here’s the thing...”  Joe looked around.
“Don’t you wish there were some pre-positioned chairs?
  Don’t you just get tired of standing sometimes?”

Was he serious?  Buffy asked, “Could we-?”

“Right.  Sorry.”  Joe gave Riley a sympathetic look.
“When you move on?  There will be a special place in
Heaven for you.”  He shook his head.  “First Sam, then
Buffy...  And I have to warn you – your daughters are
going to take after their mother.  You’re going to
earn your rest the hard-”

Buffy resisted the impulse to remind everyone that it
had been Buffy first, not Sam.  “‘The thing.’  Could
we get back to ‘the thing’?”

A total look of innocence came over Joe’s face, as
though he couldn’t imagine what she was making such a
big deal about. “Sure.  Why not?”  He shrugged.  “It
turns out there’s a bit of a technicality.”

A technicality?  “You aren’t seriously going to tell
me that we can’t get back.”

“Not you,” Joe answered, indicating Buffy.  “You’re no
problem.  Your friend left the door open.  You can go
back at any time.  Just click your heels and all
that.”

Buffy shook her head.  He couldn’t possibly be saying
that she couldn’t take Riley with her.  “I’m sure
Willow left the door open wide enough for Riley to
come, too.”

Joe smiled – could she just mention how sick she was
of that smile?  He said, “That’s not how it works.
You’re just visiting.”  He nodded towards Riley.  “He
was sent here to stay.  This is just a pit stop on the
way to...  Well, the train doesn’t really have that
many destinations.  Let’s just put it that way.  And
once you get here, there’s not usually a way back.”

Absolutely not.  That was a ridiculous answer.  “Of
all people, you should be able to break the rules.”

“Sorry.”  Joe looked genuinely apologetic.  “That
one’s not up to me.  Some of the wheels just turn all
by themselves.  Once they start going, even I can’t
stop them.”

Buffy took a deep breath.  There had to be a loophole.
  After all, there was that whole thing about – “True
love,” she said triumphantly.  “That was how we got
here; it’s how we’re going to get back.”

“True love,” Joe mused.  “You people are really hung
up on that, aren’t you?”

Assuming that the ‘you people’ thing meant peoplekind,
rather than just her and Riley, Buffy decided to treat
that as a rhetorical question.

“Nah,” Joe continued.  “True love’s pretty much a dime
a dozen.  I mean, don’t get me wrong – it’s a good
thing.  But, well, it’s been done.”  He shrugged.
“Nice try, though.”

“Wait!” Buffy cried as Joe held his hand out,
beckoning to Riley.  She yanked the chain from her
neck, thinking – hoping – that maybe the ring meant
more than just a way for Sam to communicate.  Maybe
Kate’s insistence about bringing Riley back his ring
had a greater meaning.

“See?” she said, grabbing Riley’s hand and ignoring
the question in his eyes as she slipped the ring on
his finger.  “I have the ring.  From Sam.”  Kind of.
She turned back to Joe.  “Is that enough?”

Joe started laughing as he shook his head.  “No.”

“No?”  She couldn’t quite keep the desperation from
her voice.  “Then, what?”

Joe got very serious very quickly, and Buffy actually
took a step back.  The games were over.  This was the
big time.  Joe no longer seemed amused.

Was it too late to take back that thing about being
sick of his smile?

“Well, I do kind of have a discretionary fund.  It
comes with a price, though.”  Though his words were
light, they were delivered with a chill that Buffy
could feel in her bones.

That was o.k.  She didn’t really mind the cold.  “Tell
me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Joe replied, “Here’s the
deal.  It’s all about trust; a leap of faith, if you
will.”

Buffy got a sinking feeling in her gut.  Please don’t
make it be about that.  Please don’t make this all
depend on what she was feeling at the moment, because
she couldn’t honestly say that she was trusting
anything right now, least of all how she and Riley fit
together.

“You guessed it,” Joe said, even though she knew full
well she hadn’t said anything out loud.

No.  This shouldn’t be up to her.  Buffy glanced
uneasily at Riley; he looked up briefly before
glancing away, obviously seeing her doubt.  This
shouldn’t be up to her, especially after that all too
visible reminder of exactly how badly Riley could hurt
her, of exactly why she had spent years building up
the walls around her heart.

“Mmmm,” Joe responded with complete boredom.
“Whatever.”  He snapped his fingers.  “So what will it
be?  Door number one means you get to go home – no
harm, no foul...”  Joe nodded at Riley.  “...Except he
stays with me.  Door number two means your fate is
tied to his.  Or, rather, his to yours.”

Buffy bristled as Joe came to stand directly in front
of her.  She could hear the whispers clinging to the
wind: You saw the way he looked at Sam.  You know how
much he loves her.  Did you really think he could love
you, too?

She pushed the voices aside.  The deal may suck, but
it was obviously the only shot she had of getting
Riley home.  “What exactly is it that I need to do?”

“That’s kind of obvious, don’t you think?” Joe asked
“You need to prove that this is worth my time.  That
you’re not just going to give up every time the going
gets rough.”

He was giving couples counseling?  Truly?  And using
bad clichés to do it?

She saw Joe’s eyebrows go up.  She’d forgotten that
reading her mind thing.  Damn, she hated that.

If it wasn’t the ring, and it wasn’t true love, then,
“How?”  She didn’t bother to keep the exasperation
from her voice.

“I told you already,” Joe snapped.  “Trust.  Faith.”

Yes, well, she’d trusted Riley once and he’d had a
little Faith.

Stop it.  Did you happen to forget that you were
practically children then?  Did you happen to forget
the last few weeks?

She found herself falling to her knees, pushed to the
ground by an unseen hand.  Oh, so not good.  Buffy,
why can’t you ever just shut up?  “This is going to
hurt, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”  Joe smiled again as he stood over her,
lowering his hand.  “For some reason, these things
always do.”

Her hands flew to her chest, and she grabbed on to
Joe’s wrist, attempting to hold him off.  He was too
strong, though; much too powerful.  He reached inside
– breaking bone, tearing muscle – and took hold of her
heart; crushing it, probing it, picking it apart.

This was the ‘how’?  Would it have been a little less
excruciating if she’d kept herself from thinking
those, um, blasphemous thoughts?

Joe’s voice rang in her head: “Make me see it, Buffy.
Make me believe.”

Why couldn’t he see it like normal people?  Better
than normal people.  Wouldn’t his vision be at least
twenty/twenty?

A great comeback –  a quip about Tinkerbell – was just
sitting there, right on the edge of her tongue; but
when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a
gasp of pain.  She tried to focus on the warmth as
Riley’s arms were suddenly around her, trying to
protect her, on his voice calling out her name.

The hand disappeared, replaced by an ice-cold dagger
plunging into the raw, open wound; twisting and
turning and exploding into thousands of tiny jagged
pinpoints, coursing through her veins.  Tearing at her
from the inside; trailing down her arms and legs, like
a swarm of tiny ants speeding about, under her skin.
Turning from ice to fire, rushing up to her head,
pressure building and building, burning from within.

And here she thought she’d been wearing her heart on
her sleeve, sharing more of herself with Riley than
she ever had before.  Apparently not.  Apparently it
was still buried deep – deep enough that it was
necessary to do major excavation to find it.  It was
there, though – she was sure it was.  Somewhere...

She had never felt pain like this, had never before
felt physical pain so intense that it obliterated
thoughts of everything else.  Pain so intense that it
alone could kill her.  So intense that she actually
wanted it to.

When the explosion came – as she knew it would – she
could feel her mind leave her body.  A violent
separation accompanied by a thundering sound and an
overbearing light, both disappearing as quickly as
they came, leaving nothing but emptiness in their
place.  A dark, empty, silent void into which she saw
her life slipping away.

And then slowly, gradually, the color crept back,
seeping into a series of images playing in her mind.
Visions.  Not of warriors and weapons this time, but
of kids – Riley’s kids – clamoring around her,
laughing and crying, a tangle of arms and legs…  Of a
ring, its glittery facets shining as Riley held it in
his hand…  Of a dress, long and flowing and surrounded
by thousands of white daisies…  Of a house, tiny and
neat, nestled into the shadow of an ice-capped
mountain…

Of another child.  Two…  Of children growing up and
having children of their own…  Of graying hair and
aging friends…

Her eyes flew open and she looked up to see Joe
watching her.

What was that?  What the hell had she just seen?

Was it prophecy or was it dreams?

Joe smiled and shook his head, as though in response
to her questions.  Or, rather, as though he was
choosing not to respond.

She heard more words; watched his eyes as he spoke to
her without uttering a sound.

‘You are a pleasure to me,’ he said.   ‘Like
Kaseniiosta.  I will enjoy watching you.  I await the
day you sit with me again.’

Before Buffy could say anything in response, he was
gone.  She turned to Riley.

“Buffy...”

He looked like he was about to break, like he couldn’t
possibly handle one more thing.

Wordlessly drawing his face to hers, she kissed him.
She lost herself in his mouth and his hands, closing
her eyes to the world spinning around her.  Dizzy and
weak, she crawled inside of him, oblivious to the
flames rising up around them, the heat building
beneath them and above.  Overwhelming them completely
as they faded into the dust.




TBC...







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

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
The New Yahoo! Shopping - with improved product search
http://shopping.yahoo.com

Title: Butterfly Ops
Author: Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Pairing: B/R
Spoilers: General spoilers through Bring On the Night
(BtVS, 7th season).
Disclaimer: Story and original characters are mine,
everything else belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
and a lot of other people who aren't me.
Distribution: The answer's probably yes, but please
ask.
Author's notes: This is a sequel to Celestial Light.
(CL is available at
http://home.mindspring.com/~jenkel/fanfic/index.html
If you didn't read that, then you'll probably wonder
how we got to this place.) Thanks to Cynthia, Moe and
Jess for beta-ing.  And it is impossible to adequately
convey my thanks to Diana for her C&C.  But (sorry D,
I couldn't help it) I will try.
Summary:  Fifteen years after "As You Were," Buffy and
Riley are working together again.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated!  Send to
alexandrahuxley@...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley


Chapter Forty-Seven

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



Before she was even fully conscious, Buffy was tearing
the oxygen mask off her head – which ended up being a
good thing, because otherwise it would have been
incredibly uncomfortable when her jaw dropped open.

They’d landed in the middle of a dust-storm – a
magical, Technicolor, fairy-dust storm, with colors
swirling, whipped up by a whistling wind; scarlet and
rose and marigold and coral – a virtual color palette
come to life.  As the wind died and the stardust
settled, instead of fading, the colors grew more
intense, forming hazy plumes spiraling up towards the
sky.

“That must have been some hell of a ‘moment,’” Brady
murmured from over her left shoulder.

As impressive as the colorscape was, however, it was
hard not to notice that the plumes were actually
almost entirely made up of flames.  Flames made up of
the most brilliant colors ever, but flames
nonetheless.

“Great,” Sprague muttered.  “What now?”

Buffy looked at Graham, his eyes wary as he scanned
the ring of fire, his clothes covered in dead
butterfl-

Ick, she thought, glancing down and noticing that her
clothes were covered as well.  In her hair, too?  Oh,
that was so gross.  She brushed herself off.

Anyway, she knew exactly what Graham was thinking:
they needed to know what was on the other side; needed
to know if it was worth walking through fire to get
it.

She looked up to see that he had already walked
forward.  Before she had a chance to say,
‘supernatural healing powers,’ he reached his hand out
and stuck it into the flame.

Buffy wasn’t close enough to grab him back.
“Graham...”

“Not hot,” he said, surprised – and obviously relieved
– as he leaned further in.  “Not even really all that
warm.”  He glanced over his shoulder.  “Let’s go.”

O.k., then.  With only a second’s hesitation – walking
into a bonfire, no matter how not-hot it was, just
wasn’t a thing you’d normally do – she followed.  The
others weren’t too far behind.

Actually, weren’t far behind at all – Sprague almost
ran into her when she stopped short as she emerged on
the other side and saw the welcoming party – or
welcoming regiment, rather – at the
not-so-comfortable-distance of fifty feet away at the
moment.  The only reason that they hadn’t noticed the
team – only partially obscured by the thick fog of
color – was that they were marching in the other
direction.

There were a lot of them – that much was obvious, even
though the front lines weren’t visible through the
haze.  And, if she had to commit, Buffy was confident
enough to say they came from the same gene pool as the
men she’d fought on the bluff.  At the very least,
they all seemed to shop at Tomahawks-‘R-Us. Her hand
instinctively went to her knife – or, actually, Shadow
Riley’s knife – making sure it was where it needed to
be, should it be required.

A hint of a smile appeared on Graham’s face as he
whispered, “Let’s split them up – you take the hundred
on the left, we’ll take the hundred on the right.
Anyone still standing after that can deal with the
rest.”

At least he had a sense of humor about it.  “Oh,
Graham,” she sighed.  “Don’t exaggerate.  There’s
only, like, seventy-five on the left side.”

In his – as usual – unhelpful way, Brady asked,
“Anyone want to take bets on what they’re heading
towards?”

She could only shake her head no – that wasn’t
something she could joke about.  Bets weren’t
necessary.  She had absolutely no doubt what was on
the other side: Riley.  Her feet propelled her
forward.

“Buffy – wait.”  As if the words themselves weren’t
enough, Graham’s voice betrayed his concern.  His
attention was focused on the regiment; he was
obviously calculating the odds as he spoke.  “Do you
actually have a plan here?”

Of course she did.  Turning to him, she waved her
knife in the direction of the guards.  “We stop them.
We find Riley.  We take him...home.”

Could have come out a little stronger on that last
word there, Buff.

Graham’s eyes wandered to Joe and the men from the
tribe; Buffy had no doubt that he was concerned about
his own team, as well.  He was probably used to more
back-up; either that, or sides that were a bit more
even.

Honestly?  She was, too.  But numbers didn’t really
matter in this case; Willow’s power was enough to
annihilate the army with a wave of her hand.

Not that Willow would do that, even if it were the
only way to save Riley’s life.  Not to save anyone’s
life, in fact; controlling the magic was one thing;
dealing with the darker side another entirely.  Buffy
couldn’t think of anything – including, possibly,
Xander – that would make Willow ever again use magic
to hurt, much less kill, anyone or anything.  Even
shadowy spirit guys who vanished into thin air instead
of crumpling in a heap on the ground.

What Willow would do, however, was make it a fair
fight, holding back the masses and only letting
through the amount the team could handle.  “Will...”

Willow nodded and handed the taser she was holding
over to Ana.  “Just say when.”

Giving one last look to Graham, Buffy raised her
eyebrows and smiled.  “When.”

Without a care as to whether anyone was following her,
she strode over to one of the guards who happened to
have the misfortune of being in the last line.  She
tapped him on the shoulder.  “Where are we going?  Can
I come?”  As soon as he turned, she gave him a punch
that sent him flying.

That got their attention.  As one, ten men whirled
around and came at her.

Ten?

Five was a good number.  Five was probably the number
she’d have chosen.  Ten, however?  Gee, thanks, Will.

It seemed to be the right amount, though.  Apparently,
Willow had been through enough of the
messing-with-Buffy-boyfriends things to know that in
this situation, ten was a good call.

Buffy was sure the rest of the team would have helped
if they hadn’t had their own concerns.  Like, for
example, that the tasers didn’t work.  Modern weapons
didn’t seem to have an effect in this odd little
Wonderland.  The only way to kill these guys – or make
them disappear at least – was through good old sweat
equity.  The weapons that worked were the ones
propelled by muscle.  It wasn’t a problem for Buffy –
though she liked the toys, she’d never depended on
them.  Her Lady Guinevere dagger had been the weapon
of choice for the last few years; today she was liking
the knife she’d gotten from Riley on the bluff.  Plus
there were always her own two hands.

Two hands she was making good use of.  Like, for
example, by flattening some guy’s face with her fist.
That one was dedicated to Kate – it was hard enough at
that age to swallow your pride and ask for help, but
when it’s your father’s new girlfriend that you have
to go to?  Yes.  Kate definitely deserved a punch or
two in her honor.

Annie, too – whose sweet, kind eyes should never have
had to cry for the loss of one parent, much less two.
Annie, sweetie, this one’s for you.  Buffy brought her
elbow up and demolished another guy’s chin.

And, of course, she couldn’t leave Liam and Jack out
of the fun.  She kicked straight at someone’s gut,
taking that guy out and the one behind him.

Despite focusing on her own targets, Buffy was highly
aware of the others fighting around her.  Joe and his
friends had been trained well; Graham and his guys –
now that they’d fully accepted the dimension’s
no-taser policy – even better.  Everyone was more than
holding their own; they didn’t need her.

She went into Slayer blur status – high-speed,
slow-motion, pure destruction mode, working her way
into the thick of things.  Out of sight of everyone
she’d come with, all she registered now was blood and
bones – her hands giveth, her hands taketh away.  Or
at least, someone taketh away – these were definitely
the same guys from the bluff, the same spirits who
vanished into thin air upon receiving the mortal blow.


That part wasn’t exactly breaking news; not nearly as
disturbing as the realization that she wasn’t getting
the rush she usually did.  As the enemy’s ranks grew
thinner, there was a vague, unsettled blah-ness, one
that was highly unusual for her, especially in the
heat of battle. She was beginning to feel apprehensive
– nervous, actually, of how Riley would react when he
saw her; so much so that she actually began to pull
some punches now that she was nearing the front lines.


She preferred to have a challenge to focus on instead;
it was almost a disappointment that these guys weren’t
fighting harder.  They seemed to know they didn’t
really stand a chance, despite their numbers.  They
seemed to know they were just –

“You have my knife.”

Buffy whirled around to see a familiar face – though
not the one she’d been hoping for, apprehensively or
not – staring back at her.  The Princess herself, live
and in person.  Live and particularly gorgeous in
person.  Oh, and holding a fairly large, fairly
imposing knife, by the way.  So much for the not being
evil thing.

“You have my boyfriend,” Buffy said, knocking the
knife out of the Princess’ hand and throwing a punch
that should have sent her sprawling.

It didn’t, though.  Instead, the other woman merely
looked amused as she took a step back and rubbed her
jaw.  Her eyes crinkled as she cocked her head.  “I
didn’t expect you to be this soft.  You’re so strong
in his dreams.”

“I...”  Buffy’s arm stopped in mid-air at an awkward
angle, still drawn back to strike.  “What?”  Soft?
Who the hell did this chick think she was?

The Princess reached out to touch Buffy’s hair, which,
though a little unsettling, didn’t seem to be at all
threatening, especially when accompanied by a
murmured, “He loves you very much.”

Dropping her hand to her side, Buffy decided not to
ask the majority of the questions running through her
head at the moment, a key one being: How could you
possibly know that?

There was only one question worth asking right now.
“Where is-?”

“Kasey!” came Riley’s voice from somewhere within a
sea of men.  “A little help?”

Tears sprang to Buffy’s eyes as she turned.  Thank
God.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, God.

And, um... Kasey?  He called her Kasey?  Like, as in,
‘we know each other well enough to have cute little
nicknames and, no, she’s not evil’ Kasey?

“Excuse me,” the Princess said, heading in the
direction of Riley’s voice.  Over her shoulder, she
called to Buffy, “You should come, too.  He’s nice to
watch.”

Yes, thank you.  I was actually aware of that.  Did
you catch the ‘my boyfriend’ part?

Since when did My Little Princess have any right to be
the one inviting Buffy to come along, much less be
saying anything that sounded even slightly
proprietary?

Bitch.

Sigh.

Be nice, Buffy.  Especially since this odd development
called into question the ‘evil’ determination.

Unfortunately, however, it also helped bring the
apprehension rushing back, and Buffy found that her
feet were dragging as she followed Kaseniios... –
o.k., it really was a mouthful – through the tinted
mist.  She just wasn’t sure about how this was going
to go.  She’d tried not to dwell too much on that over
the course of the day, focusing instead on just
getting to him.  But this was going to be it.  She
figured she’d have an idea as soon as she saw him, or,
rather, as soon as he saw her.  She’d see it in his
eyes.  What ‘it’ was was the big question.  And she
wasn’t entirely sure she actually wanted to know the
answer.

Thankfully, some of the spirit men noticed her and
detached themselves from the clump Kasenii – that
princess really needed to get a more easily
pronouncable name – had waded into.  A few more
seconds of relief.  Actually, a few more minutes – the
closer she got to Riley the more intense the fighting
became.  The Maymaygwayshi had apparently sent the
elite team up to the front.  The others were merely
easily beatable cannon fodder compared to these guys.

Still, it didn’t take long before she’d disposed of
enough men for her to see Kasen...  Fine.  Whatever.
... Kasey kicking up a storm.  The Princess was good;
had to give her that.  Good, and, it seemed, very
protective of Riley; as he was of her. So, maybe, not
so good.  Buffy didn’t even need to physically see him
to know that he and Kasey had settled into a rhythm,
working in tandem; it was clear from the way the
bodies were flying.

The whole fighting thing was like a dance – except
that the object was to kill, not to tango.  There was
an intimacy to it, though; something almost sensual.
Knowing how the other person moved; anticipating how
his body would react and respond.  Recognizing the
patterns his hands made, the thrust of his weapon.

Once you’d done it long enough, you started to see the
threads fit into the tapestry.  You could look at the
way a demon’s throat had been slashed and know that
the knife had been wielded by Angel rather than Spike;
you could see a body respond to a punch and know
whether it had been Wesley or Gunn who had delivered
the blow.

You could watch the Princess smile and know that it
was because Riley had just sent someone her way,
giving her the kill – the kind of thing Riley would
only do if he had absolutely no doubt that Kasey knew
the dance.

That in itself was almost a knife in Buffy’s gut, one
that she decided to use as motivation.  Giving in to
that sudden feeling of defeat would do no one any
good.  She had to just do her job and fight the fight
and cross the Riley/Kasey bridge when she came to it.
Which, apparently, was right about now, because, as
the last of her men evaporated, she could see Kasey
reach over for the collar of a guy who was standing in
front of what Buffy assumed to be Riley, now no more
than ten, maybe fifteen feet away.

Close enough, at least, for Buffy to see Kasey grin as
she pulled the guy away and say something about
a...did she say ‘sex friend’?  No.  She couldn’t
possibly have...

Well, she definitely said something to that effect,
because Buffy’s first impression of Riley was that he
looked damn cute when he blushed.  The bruise on his
cheek and the blood trailing down his jaw did nothing
to diminish that fact.

She didn’t have much time for a second impression,
however, because as she watched, he looked up in the
direction that Kasey was pointing and saw Buffy.  He
closed his eyes for a second and then opened them
again, almost as though he couldn’t quite believe it.
The weapon he was holding – the incredibly cool
weapon, by the way – dropped to his side, and it was
only thanks to Kasey’s quick reaction that he didn’t
become the fifteenth dead man right then and there,
due to a spear coming at his head.

Kasey grabbed it out of the air right before it hit
him.  She shook her head and smiled indulgently – not
at all the reaction Buffy would have expected, given
the circumstances – before saying, “Go.”

Buffy stood rooted in place – glad, for once, that
there was no one left for her to kill – completely
unable to move as she watched him make his way to her.
  He hadn’t smiled, hadn’t given any indication that he
was happy she was here.

She wasn’t going to concentrate on that, nor would she
think about the two times he had already almost broken
up with her in their first few weeks together, or
about the time long before that when he’d left her –
literally – in the helicopter’s dust.  Instead she’d
just appreciate the beauty of the man as he raised his
blade to dispatch of the spirit guy who had just
stepped into his path, and as he barely flinched when
another guy suddenly emerged from the fog beside him.

That one he didn’t even bother to look at.  He just
flipped his weapon and yanked it back, sending the
dagger end into the guy’s chest.

Was it sick that she found that incredibly appealing?

Probably.

It was a nice thing to dwell on, though.  Much nicer
than all the possible opening lines that were running
through her head, like, for example, ‘Nice kill.  And
speaking of dead things – I don’t suppose Sam is
lurking somewhere nearby?’  Or, ‘Does the fact that
you’re out here mean that someone mentioned to you the
whole thing about you getting to choose if you’re
coming back?  Because I’m not sure I’m above using the
Guilt card and mentioning how devastated your kids
will be if I don’t bring you home.’

No.  Neither of those things would work.  ‘I make a
mean veggie lasagna and wait ‘til you see what I can
serve up for dessert’ wasn’t any better.  Since he was
now only a couple steps away from her, she decided to
just go with, “Hi.”

Apparently, she’d made the right choice, because even
that seemed to overwhelm him.  He looked down and
turned his head away, quietly asking, “How long have I
been here?”

Easy question to start out with.  Good – she’d rather
take some time to gradually work her way up to the
hard stuff.  “Four days.”

His whole body seemed to relax, although his voice did
still catch when he said, “So my kids...?”

So much for gradually.  A mumbled, “O.k.,” was about
the best she could do with that one.  Despite the
questionable motivation, she debated adding that that
wouldn’t be the case if Riley decided not to come back
with her.  She finally decided not to.  He was far
from clueless; the thought had probably occurred to
him.

He was looking at her with what could only be
described as trepidation.  Because he knew she was
here to take him back and he didn’t want to go?
Because he was trying to figure out how to tell her
that Sam was waiting for him somewhere in the middle
of this rainbow, and that he couldn’t bear to leave
his wife?  Because he couldn’t even bring himself to
touch Buffy, couldn’t even hug her good-bye – again?

“I did notice that, you know,” Buffy blurted out, only
barely managing to keep the suddenly threatening tears
from escaping.  “That you hugged Dawn good-bye and not
me.”

O.k., so yes, maybe someone listening might think that
was kind of out of the blue; might have even gone so
far as to be confused, as Riley clearly was.  No
problem.  She could be more direct.  “Don’t I at least
get a good-bye kiss?  I mean, these last few weeks
were...”

Damn it, Buffy.  Since when did you become a sniveling
idiot?

She briskly wiped her eyes.  This was so not the right
path to go down; so not the point.  Especially when he
was just staring at her, completely unmoved.

Fine.  If that’s the way it was going to be...  There
were other ways to get the job done.

Pretend it’s not Riley; pretend it’s just some guy who
you’ve been sent in to save.  Deal with the emotion
later.

In a calmer – and much more impersonal – voice, she
said, “Riley – you need to know what this means.  I
don’t know what Kasey told you, but if you stay here,
you don’t get to come back.  Your kids...”

Buffy clamped her mouth shut as soon as she saw the
look of pain flash over his face.  If he’d already
made his choice, she wasn’t going to make it harder
for him; wasn’t going to make him pay for the guilt
she felt for not protecting him well enough in the
first place.

No, Buffy.  That’s the whole point – to make it harder
for him.  To make him understand that magic had
brought him here; that there were reasons to come
back.

“Damn it, Riley – they need you.  They can’t...  I
can’t...”  So much for keeping the emotion at bay.
“It was all a spell.  It’s not real...”

Her voice trailed off as she realized he didn’t seem
to be paying attention.  Instead, his eyes were
riveted to something behind her.

Buffy whipped her head around to see that the lavender
mist had begun to settle, slowly revealing a ring of
forty men, encircling them.  Make that forty heavily
armed men, whose weapons – bows and arrows, tomahawks,
spears, clubs – were all aimed high enough to take off
the head of a six-foot tall man.

Turning her back to Riley, Buffy realized she was kind
of glad.  She’d rather be fighting – even to the death
– than laying her emotions out and coming up empty.
She’d much prefer to be thinking about how to protect
him if all these men decided to fire – throw, zing,
whatever – at once.

“A little breathing room goes a long way,” she heard
Riley mutter unhappily.

She swiveled her head just enough to see that Kasey
had done the same thing she had, instinctively falling
back to protect Riley.  Buffy supposed she should be
grateful to have, or rather, for Riley to have the
help; at the moment, however, the only thing that made
her even close to happy was that he didn’t seem to
want Kasey covering his back any more than he wanted
Buffy to be doing it.  At least he wasn’t playing
favorites.

“So she’s really not evil?” Buffy kept her back to
Riley.  It was easier to talk to him that way.  If he
didn’t want to discuss anything personal, he could at
the very least clear up a thing or two.

“Apparently not,” he answered.

He might have said more if not for Kasey chiming in
with, “I’m standing right here, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” both Buffy and Riley mumbled at the
same time, in the same disgruntled tone, though for
entirely different reasons.

She glanced back to see him watching her.  For the
first time since she’d seen him, he smiled.  He said,
“So, I see you two have met.”

Buffy took a couple steps forward, giving Riley a
little more room even though – as he well knew – if
the arrows started flying, she’d be on top of him in
all of two seconds.  Her primary motivation was still
to protect him, but she needed to get out of sensory
range.  It was hard to stand that close and not be
able to touch him

“Was meeting the Princess everything you’d...
expected?”  She caught herself right before she said
‘dreamed’; given the circumstances of this entire
situation, that would have been a very poor choice of
words.

“That’s a much longer conversation than I think we
have the time for,” Riley replied.  Though he was
clearly still smiling, she could hear the sadness in
his voice.

She was determined to keep her tone light.  “Maybe we
could all go out for coffee sometime.”  Her eyes swept
the circle of men.  “I’d love to hear all about it.”

That was apparently the complete wrong thing to say.
There was such a stillness coming from behind her that
she could actually feel it.  It didn’t help that she
caught the loaded glance they exchanged.  Loaded with
what, she wasn’t sure.

Kasey was the one who answered, albeit not by
addressing what Buffy had brought up.  “Do you two
always talk this much?  Don’t you think you should be
concentrating on other things?  I mean, our odds don’t
seem to be getting any better.”

Yeah?  Well...  Listen up, Miss Princess, because if
you get to have Riley, then I at least get to speak my
mind.

Or, at least, that’s what Buffy would have said if she
hadn’t been trying to concentrate on whatever it was
that Riley had started muttering about doors slamming
and bears attacking and head games and...

“And what?” Buffy asked.  She hadn’t come all this way
just to hear him have a conversation with himself.

Oh, she thought, as his arm slipped around her waist
and he pulled her to him the way the bad guys in the
movies always grabbed their human-body-shield
hostages.

Except the bad guys didn’t usually kiss her neck –
well, kiss the human-body-shields’ necks – in a way
that could be described as spine-tingling.

O.k.  So maybe melting into his arms wouldn’t be the
worst thing.  She could still hold on to her knife;
could still keep an eye on all the...

She closed her eyes as his hand made contact with the
exposed skin just above her waistband.

Well, really – who said battle dress needed to be
unfashionable?

Her eyes flew open.  Battle dress, Buffy.  As in, ‘the
heat of.’

“Um, Riley...” she said reluctantly.  “I’m not sure if
this is the place...”

“No,” Riley answered, somehow spinning her around so
that she was facing him.  “This is exactly the place.”
  Though he hadn’t let go of his weapon, he didn’t seem
to be concerned about all the arrows aimed at his
head.  “This is a weird kind of place.  Things don’t
work the way they should.”  He glanced around, his
eyes taking in the men encircling them.  “They’re not
here to kill us.  If they were, they would have done
it already.”

Interesting point.  Still, Buffy noticed that Riley
was far from complacent, highly aware of everything
going on – how she was reacting to what he was saying;
how she was responding to what he was doing, i.e.,
tentatively running his hand through her hair; how
many weapons the opposing team had; and exactly what
he would do if they did, in fact, decide to use them.
The only thing he didn’t seem to be noticing at the
moment was Kasey standing directly behind him.  Her,
he seemed to trust implicitly.

More so than he seemed to be trusting Buffy at the
moment.  That obviously had to change.  “Riley...”

He didn’t speak, didn’t respond in any way except to
look into her eyes, in a deep, probing kind of way.
Probing for what, specifically, she had no idea.

Reaching his hand out to her chin, he tilted her head
up.  “Are you part of all this, too?  Just part of the
game?”

Did he know there had been a spell?  He obviously knew
something had been going on.  And the ‘too’ seemed to
indicate that he’d already been played once – by Sam,
was the connotation.  Buffy supposed it shouldn’t come
as a shock that he wasn’t sure where she came into it.


It seemed as though she needed to set him straight.
“Riley – though I may not have been the best
girlfriend in the world, I have never played games
with you.”  She placed her hand – the one that wasn’t
holding the knife, of course – over his and brought it
to her mouth.  Grinning, she added, “At least not ones
that were non-consensual.”

That at least got a bit of a reaction – a narrowing of
his eyes as he considered what she said; a touch of a
smile as he decided that it sounded like truth.

He leaned down and brushed her lips with the most
gentle of touches.  Buffy grabbed his collar and
pulled him closer.  She couldn’t help it.  This had
been too long in coming to let him take his time.

Well, o.k.  Only four days in coming.  But a really
long four days.

She could feel his lips broaden into a smile of his
own as he took a step closer, mumbling, “Hi,” into her
lips.  He put his hand to the back of her neck and
deepened the kiss.  Much better.  Much, much better.

So what if they were on a battlefield being watched by
forty armed men and one highly decorated princess?
This was a really nice kiss.  This was...

“Exceptional.”

Knife in hand, Buffy whirled around to face the body
attached to the voice that had just spoken over her
shoulder.  She faltered a bit when she realized who it
was.  “Joe?”





TBC in Chapter 48



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

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Hi, I run a Riley fanfiction writers' resource and I'm in serious
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sorts submissions are appreciated.

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

Chapter Forty-Six (B)

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


He stuck out his hand.  “I’m Riley.  Riley Finn.”

She looked at him for a minute as though he were
crazy.  Then she reached out slowly and shook his
hand.

Well, hey – what else were you supposed to do with a
millions-year-old warrior princess that you had almost
slept with on the way to joining your dead wife in
Forever?  Shaking hands was as good as anything else
he could think of at the moment.  In a strange kind of
way, it made him feel at least a little bit better.

Not her apparently.  She pulled her knees up to her
chest and hunched her shoulders.  “So what happens
now?”

“What happens now?”  She was asking him?  Seriously?

“Have I done my penance?” She seemed relieved, as
though she just wanted to get this over with.  And
annoyed.  Defiant despite the defeat in her words.
“Did they send you here to end it?”  She held her
hands out to him the way a prisoner would, expecting
to be chained.  The defeat seemed to be winning,
though, deflating her as she pleaded softly, “Will you
please just end it?”

O.k.  Huh?

Riley pulled the chair a couple of feet away from the
bed and sat down, not having any clue as to what she
was talking about.  “I’m not quite-”

“It’s because of what I did, right?”  She leapt to her
feet, making Riley tense.  Except that she wasn’t
attacking, she was pacing, a bundle of unexpendable
energy.  Kind of like Buffy.

Don’t think about Buffy.

“I know,” she was saying.  “It was dumb.”

“Dumb?”  She’d killed fourteen men and she thought it
was ‘dumb’?  “That’s not exactly how I’d put it.”

“I just...”   She sat down heavily on the bed and
leaned forward, her eyes begging for understanding.
“I watched him die.  I watched it eat him away.  There
was nothing I could...”  Her voice faded away and she
looked down.

Alright.  That one he knew: Didier Longer.  Death by
smallpox.  A horrible death under any circumstances,
but for a Slayer-type who was used to kicking the ass
of the Big Bads?  He’d seen Buffy spin out of control
when her mom got sick.  If he’d been a little less
screwed up at the time...

Oh – don’t even think about going there.  Not now.
Especially not when extra-strength warrior princess
was grabbing his hands with renewed resolve, saying,
“Do you understand what it’s like?  To love someone so
much that you can’t just let go?”

Well, actually...  No.  Don’t answer.  He was happy to
play the role of confessor, not of confessee.  Riley
tried to pull his hands away.  It only made her hold
on tighter.

“And you know he just needs you to tell him it’s o.k.
That he can go.”  She was crying now.  “Except that
you can’t.  You can’t imagine life without him.
You’re too weak to pray for him to die; you can only
pray for him to live.”

She had to know his answer was yes.    That he’d spent
two days doing nothing but that, making every kind of
deal with God that he could think of.  Pleading - no,
begging – Let her live, please just let her live.  No
matter how broken, how scarred.  It was Sam – she
could make it through.  She could make it through
anything.

He’d known, though, that it wasn’t true.  Somehow –
deep down in his gut – he’d known she wasn’t coming
back.

If he’d actually seen her suffer?  Seen her dying in
front of him?  Could he honestly say he’d have been
strong enough to give her that?  Strong enough to let
her go?  He hoped so.  And yet...

No.  He was glad he hadn’t had to relive those days,
glad Kaseniiosta hadn’t taken him there.

Riley looked up to see her staring at him, the tears
streaming down her face.  So maybe she didn’t realize
he knew exactly what she was talking about – she’d
only taken him to the good times.  For her sake as
much as his.

Except none of that mattered.  This was all
irrelevant.  May as well just be blunt.  “You killed
fourteen men.”

“I...?”  She dropped his hands and sat back.  “What?”

Riley nodded at the bed she sat on.  “Fourteen men.”

“I...”  Her hands fell to her sides and she shook her
head.  “No.”

“No?”  He stood up and walked away from her.  “That
wasn’t what you were talking about?  The thing that
was ‘dumb’?”

She looked at the bed.  “No – they were already dead.
I mean...”  She looked down at herself and then back
up at him.  “I mean we.  We’re already dead.”

Oh, how he hoped not.  And seeing as how everything in
his body seemed to be working o.k., he felt
comfortable tabling that discussion.  Leaning against
the wall, he folded his arms across his chest.  “Then
what were you talking about?  What did you do that
made you come here?”

She looked away, embarrassed, saying something that
Riley couldn’t make out.

“Say that again?” he asked, leaning forward.

Turning back to him, she set her shoulders, quietly
indignant, in the way Buffy had been with her
not-basking avowal.  “I wrote poetry.”

“What?”  He actually had to force himself not to
laugh.  “Poetry?”

She shrugged with an exaggerated nonchalance.  “Not
very good poetry.”

No.  Absolutely do not laugh.  This was anything but
funny.  “You wrote bad poetry?”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” she snapped.  “Just not
very good.”

He gave her a non-committal, “Oh.”  And then, “Like
what?”  He couldn’t help it.

She shrugged again, mumbling words he could barely
hear.  Something about wind dancing and stars singing.
  Or maybe the other way around.  Something
‘devouring’?  ‘Consuming’?

Though she was turning pink, her voice grew stronger.
“‘When daylight comes...’”  The same pink as the light
seeping into the room.  “‘...we will be one.’”

Riley followed her gaze to the darkened doorway.  The
one that wasn’t quite so dark, actually, with the sun
doing its rising thing.  He looked back at her,
remembering the way she’d stopped, stunned, when she
saw the light start to turn, murmuring, ‘Daylight is
coming.’

Well, what do you know?  This was starting to make a
little sense.  The markings on the rock.  Joe asking
Buffy about ‘true love.’  That whole becoming ‘one’
thing that they’d almost just done.  Riley sank down
to the floor, his back to the wall.  “It was your
spell.”  Resting his wrists on his knees, he held his
hands together loosely.  “Except you didn’t cast it.
You’ve been living it.”

“Before we-”  Riley gestured at the bed with his hand,
somewhat comforted to see that she looked as
uncomfortable as he felt.  “Before.  When I asked
about my ring.  You said something about me coming to
you.”

She nodded, somewhat apprehensively.  The tears seemed
to be dissipating, though.

“How?” he asked.  “Did I just appear?  Naked in your
bed?”

A shy smile appeared on her face.  It looked nice on
her.  “Except for the naked part.  Yes.”

Damn.  He really needed to learn how not to blush.
That should be part of Basic Training.  “And the naked
part was because...?”

“You were covered with dead butterflies.  I had to
wash them out of your...”   She laughed as he shifted
self-consciously.  “...Clothes.  What did you think I
was going to say?”

No comment.  Back to his original train of thought.
“You had nothing to do with bringing anyone here,” he
stated, realizing that it was true.

A touch of fire flared in her eyes.  “Anyone I brought
here wouldn’t have looked like-”  She snapped her
mouth shut as her gaze swept Riley’s body.  “He would
have been short and fat; he would have had no hair and
beady little eyes.”  As she turned away, her voice
caught.  “And I would have loved him.  I would never
have let him leave.”

Six feet tall; two hundred pounds.  Hello, Victim
Profile.  Except – did the spell work the same way for
her?  If she wasn’t appearing as Sam, shouldn’t he not
be appearing as Didier?  “Do I still look like him to
you?”

“Yes,” she whispered.  The flames died down and he
could actually feel her pain.  “You always did.”

He shook his head.  “The others...”  His voice trailed
off as the meaning of what she’d just said fully hit
him.  With the exception of his build, he bore no
resemblance to the other men who had disappeared.

Riley got to his feet slowly.  She’d told him that he
looked like Didier – so what?  His mother insisted
that he looked like Jon Stewart, which was obviously
not true.  It was something people said.  He hadn’t
taken it literally, more concerned about keeping
himself from throwing her on the ground and-

Um, more concerned about not throwing her on the
ground.  He’d just leave it at that.

But he’d been right before – she didn’t want this any
more than he did.  She didn’t want to be seeing him or
touching him or, probably even talking to him.  It was
the same reason he never could have loved Sam if she’d
looked anything like Buffy; the same reason having it
be Buffy back in his life again was easier because she
looked nothing like Sam.  It just hurt too damn much.

Seeing Sam’s eyes, seeing her smile...  Knowing that
this couldn’t possibly be her and yet wanting so
desperately to be wrong.

God, how Kaseniiosta must have hated him.  If he
thought what he’d felt was anger when he’d woken up
this last time, what she’d probably felt was ten times
worse.  Or make that fourteen times – she’d probably
felt that way with every one of those men.
Experiencing it once had been more than enough for
him.  “You haven’t stopped looking, have you?”   Riley
looked down.  “Every time a man appeared here, a part
of you thought it might be him.”  When he’d appeared,
actually looking like Didier...

Did she think he’d been provoking her?  She had said
he was different.  He’d thought that was Sam, saying
that he’d changed in the years since she’d died.  He’d
been wrong, though; it was Kaseniiosta telling him he
was different than the other men, than the ones who
had come before.  Not just because what he looked
like, either.

Seeing her reactions with the benefit of a much
clearer hindsight, he was guessing that he’d been the
only one to make it as far as getting dressed, much
less have an actual meal with her, have a
conversation.   She may even have thought he’d been
the one who sent every one of those men that preceded
him, teasing her, playing upon her raw emotions,
making her hope just one more time.  “It’s why you
read the dreams.  You kept hoping to find yourself
there.”

With him it had gone one step further – she’d actually
believed, if only for a moment.  The way she’d kissed
him after the Okinawa flashback hadn’t been the
focused here’s-what-today’s-dreams-will-be-about kind
of kiss, but rather one you might find yourself lost
in thinking this might just be your long lost love.
Even knowing it wasn’t Didier – she’d actually said it
wasn’t right – it was hard not to want it to be, hard
not to just let it overtake you.  What he’d been
struggling with since the moment he got here.

And then this last time – all the things she’d been
saying – being bound, being entranced, wanting
‘him’/'her' out of her skin.

“The other men.”  Riley walked back to the chair and
turned it so that its back was to his front as he sat
down and leaned forward against it.  “You said you’d
give me what I wanted.  You said you’d send me home.
If we had...”  Damn if he wasn’t blushing again.
“What would have happened to me?”

She gave him one of Buffy’s
do-you-really-need-me-to-answer-that looks.  “I expect
you would have finished, um...enjoying yourself.”

Well, good.  At least she was having a little bit of a
hard time with this, too.  “That’s not what I meant.”

She raised her eyebrows in an innocent kind of way as
she bit her lip.

He shifted uncomfortably.  Fine.  “Would I have just
disappeared?  Into some...”  - what? -  “...Blinding
flash of light?”

Now she was just grinning evilly, looking like she was
trying to decide whether to let him go on for a while,
or whether to just be nice.  Thankfully, she went with
nice.  “Yes, actually.”  Her grin turned into a low,
engaging laugh.  “The ‘souls entwining’ thing seems to
be the best part.”

Riley couldn’t help but smile back.  “Your poem?”

There was a twinkle in her eye.  “I was young.”

He had to admit – as deaths go, this probably would
have been one of the better ones.  Except – “Seems to
be?”

Her laughter disappeared and she looked away.  “I’m
not usually there for that part.  That part’s just for
them.”

“For...?”  Riley found he couldn’t breathe.  For them.
  For the man and his wife. It hadn’t just been Sam’s
voice – it had been her.  Sam had been the one
Kaseniiosta needed to get out of her skin – literally.


Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  If he had known that...

Riley bowed his head and pressed his palms against his
eyes.  Damn it.  God, how he wished he had known that
– there were so many things he would have told her.
So many things he had left to say.  For example, I’m
sorry – so Goddamned sorry – that the last words I
ever said to you weren’t that I loved you.  Fuck.

He quietly said, “They possessed you.”

She bit her lip again.  This time it wasn’t laughter
she was trying to hold in.

Well, hell.  Join the club.  “Was Sam here this whole
time?  Was she...?”  He looked at the bed.

“No.”  Now it was Kaseniiosta’s turn to stand up and
walk away, going over to the table.  “She wanted you
so much.  I almost couldn’t...”  She sat down hard and
her hand went to the hem of her skirt.  “It hurt.  I
think too much.”

She looked up.  “Sam wasn’t like the others.  She was
always fighting me.  She came and went.”
Kaseniiosta’s eyes were full of apology.  “She left.
I don’t know where...  I’m sorry.”

And that, Riley, is called a ton of bricks crashing
down on your head.  ‘I already knew she was strong,’
Kaseniiosta had said when he’d confronted her about
the fight on the bluff.  He’d thought she was talking
about Buffy; except when he mentioned Buffy’s name,
Kaseniiosta was surprised - because Sam had been the
one fighting her all along.

From early on Sam had known this was wrong.  It had
been her voice, prodding him.  Something else had to
be going on, too, otherwise she wouldn’t have let it
get as far as it did.  Maybe she hadn’t known the
whole story; maybe it took her a while to figure out
how to stay outside of Kaseniiosta’s body for any
sustained period of time.  Or maybe she had just gone
visiting.  Who knew?  Whatever she had been doing
seemed to have had its results.

He smiled, which seemed to confuse Kaseniiosta.  “Sam
didn’t leave,” Riley said softly.  “She was still
here.”  He wasn’t going to dwell on that, though.
Couldn’t.  Instead he said, “So, if she was gone...”

The Princess didn’t look confused anymore.  Judging by
the dark shade of red she had become, it was clear she
understood what he was saying, which was basically –
what was your excuse?

“I...”  Her hands dropped from her skirt.  She looked
up at him, her defiance back in full form.  “I thought
it was my turn.  That you had come for me.”  She added
softly, “That it was my turn to go home.”  She stood
up and started pacing again.  “You’re all...”

All what? he thought, watching her; waiting for her to
continue.  Who all?  Him and Sam?  Buffy, too?

“Your women are different.  Strong.  Not that the
others were weak, they just didn’t seem to-”  She
stopped moving.  “Riley?  Are you listening to me?”

What?  Oh.  “Yeah.  Sorry.”  He’d just been thinking
how he wouldn’t really put it that way.  ‘His’ women.
Right.  Speaking of which.  “Kasenii-”

“Could you not call me that?  Didier was the on-”  She
snapped her mouth shut.  “Kasey would be better,” she
mumbled.

Whatever.  “Kasey...”  He looked past her to the
darkened opening in the wall. “What’s out there?”

Her eyes slowly took in the darkened entry; then she
looked back at him, not at all interested.  “Another
room.  Why?”

“Why?”  He stood up and walked towards it.  “Because
that’s how we get out of here.  That’s why.”

She looked stunned.  Guilty, too.  As though there was
this huge thing that she’d completely forgotten to
mention.  Like, for example, a huge flashing ‘Exit’
sign.

Moving past her, he stuck his head thru the opening.
Yep.  Another room.  With a lot of those bowls in it –
every size and color imaginable.  She hadn’t been
kidding.  Interesting.  And kind of weird.

There was more flickering on the walls in here, and
another entryway.  Looks like there’d be only one way
to go.  Well, that at least meant the plan was pretty
simple.

He turned back to her.  “What’s on the other side of
that door?”

She still looked surprised that he’d even ask the
question.  Honestly?  He was surprised himself.
Except in his case it was because he couldn’t believe
he hadn’t actually done it before.  Only when he’d
first woken up had he even wondered what was beyond
this room.  Was that all part of the spell?  Penning
him in?  Making it so that the only thing he could
possibly see was Sam?

Shaking her head, Kasey drew inward a little.
“Nothing.  We can’t....”  She hugged herself tightly.
“It won’t work.”

Riley came back to her.  How many times had he heard
that before?  Sure, sometimes it was true.  Not
always, though.  “You said I was different.  That Sam
and Buffy were different.”  He put his hands on her
shoulders, stopping her from backing away.  “We have a
choice, Kasey.  Sam gave it to us.  We can make it be
a different ending.”

“I don’t...”  There was a vacant look in her eyes.
The kind of look he had seen once before on Buffy’s
face what seemed like a billion years before.  One of
complete defection to the uninterested side.  It
didn’t fit Buffy back then, and it didn’t fit
Kaseniiosta now.

“Kasey...”  He said it sharply enough to pull her back
to him, her eyes finally getting some of the spark
back.  “I don’t want to be here anymore.  You said
you’d send me home, right?”  He pointed to the
entryway.  “That’s the only road I see.”

It didn’t seem to be getting through her defenses.
Her detachment had been too long in coming.

He supposed he didn't need her to come with him; that
he could just leave her here.  That didn’t seem to
have done anyone much good so far, though.  And his
chances were probably a little better with someone
who’d been in this world for a lot longer than he had.
  A lot better when that someone was a warrior princess
with supernatural strength.  He wasn’t quite ready to
give up.

“Do you want me to tell you about my kids?  How Kate
cried for Sam every night?  How Jack still...”  Damn.
The problem with playing the emotion card – you
weren’t immune from it yourself.  Thinking about
Jack’s wide, scared eyes the day they’d left for
Quetico...  The way he’d looked at that helicopter
waiting on the tarmac...

Tactics, Ri.  Just take a deep breath.  There was a
reason she hadn’t let him dream the bad parts – it was
because she didn’t want to know.  Just another
weakness to take advantage of; the way you’ve survived
the last twenty years.  This might be the only way to
get back.  “How Jack still hates it when I fly?”

Kasey pulled out of his grasp, turned her back and
walked a few steps away.

Riley didn’t let up, following her.  “You know what he
wants to do when I get back?  He wants to ride the
train – get on at North Station and head all the way
up to B.C.  He likes to watch the people.  He makes up
stories about them – the greatest stories.  I just sit
there and watch his eyes come alive.”

Kasey had her hands over her ears.  She was shaking
her head.

Riley put his hand on her shoulder and turned her back
to him.  “I promised him, Kasey.  I promised him I’d
be coming back.  I-”

“O.k. - stop!” she finally snapped.  She briskly wiped
her eyes, a hard thing to do while she was glaring at
him.  She managed, though.  “I’d rather hear about
Buffy.”

“Really?”  That was enough of a surprise that Riley
found himself smiling.  He thought he could manage
that.  “What do you want to know?”

A slow grin came over Kasey’s face.  “What she’s
planning to do with my knife.”

Riley clamped his mouth shut as the heat rose in his
cheeks.  He had absolutely no idea how to respond to
that, especially because she had turned and headed
back to the bed.  That wasn’t good.  “Um...”

Her eyes became playful.  “Don’t worry – you can keep
your pants on.”

Nope.  No response whatsoever, except for that
redundant yet handy, “Um...”

It was soon clear, however, that she wasn’t going to
the bed for the reason he thought; instead, she knelt
on the floor and reached under it.  When she pulled
her hands out, a trunk came with them.  A trunk very
much like the one Buffy used to keep under her bed.

O.k., he thought with more than a little bit of
relief.  That was more like it.  Riley walked over.

“You have weapons?” Riley asked as she opened it up.
Well, damn.  Talk about well stocked.  “They sent you
here with weapons?”

He looked around, his eyes taking in the bleak, black
room that had imprisoned her for hundreds of years.
Complete desolation; nothing but utter despair.  Oh,
how he’d been there.  Day in and day out, thinking
about how Sam had died.

If he had been locked up here for that long?  With
weapons?  Hell, he had had his kids to live for, the
daily grind to keep him occupied, and he still
couldn’t say the thought of ending it all hadn’t
occurred to him.  Even now – when the nightmares would
come – it was hard to keep that hopelessness at bay.
Or, at least it had been, until about a week ago.
Still...  “Weren’t they afraid that you’d-?”

She pulled the knife from the trunk – one that looked
almost exactly like the one he’d thrown Buffy on that
bluff – and drew the tip up her forearm, tearing into
the veins.  On pure instinct, Riley fell to his knees,
grabbing her wrist despite knowing that was the kind
of cut you couldn’t heal.

“Kasey...”  He looked up at her, only to find her
staring back – no fear of an imminent death, no
indication of pain.

She smiled.  “You think I didn’t try it?”

He followed her gaze back down.  For some reason, he
wasn’t entirely surprised to see that there was no
cut, no blood.  He turned her arm in his hands, even
though it seemed pretty obvious that there wouldn’t be
any blood there either.  It was just...weird.   He’d
never seen anything like that before.

“Didier called it a birthmark,” she said.

Huh?  “He called that a birthmark?”  Birthright,
maybe, not birthma-

“The butterfly.”  She pulled her sleeve back a bit,
fully revealing the black mark that had been peeking
out just above the crook of her elbow.  A black mark
looking like a butterfly spreading its wings, about to
take flight.  “That’s what you were looking at, isn’t
it?”

“No,” he answered, distracted.  Hello, Butterfly
Queen.  How she got her name.

“Oh,” she went on, realizing what he’d meant.  “The no
blood thing.”  She shook her head.  “See?  I told you
I was already dead.”  She held the knife out to him.
“Want to try?”

This time he wasn’t at all distracted.  “No.  I really
don’t.”

Her smile broadened.  “Because you think you’re not
already dead.”  She said it as though she were
indulging him.

Sorry.  He refused to believe it.  Shaking his head,
he asserted, “I know I’m not.”

Kasey took his hand and placed the knife in it.  “If I
take you out there, you won’t be able to say that for
much longer.”

So she had been through those doors once upon a time.
He closed his hand over the knife.  “Who do we have to
fight?”

“Guards.  Too many to count.”  She turned back to the
trunk and started grabbing weapons, giving some to
him, keeping some to herself.  It was hard not to
think about Buffy as he watched her stow the knives in
her clothes, strap them on to her arms, her legs.

Actually the ones on her legs he didn’t watch.  He was
already in far too much trouble.

With a grin, she looked at him.  “We don’t stand a
chance.  You realize that, don’t you?”

Riley did some stowing and strapping of his own –
mostly knives.  There was a cool mace-type thing.
He’d give that a try.  “That’s never stopped me
before.”  He stood up.

“Wait...”  There was one last thing she wanted from
the trunk.  She pulled it out and unwrapped the
blanket that protected it.  A weapon – a three-foot
pole with a dagger strapped on one end, two circular
blades on the other.  She held it out to him.  “This
was Didier’s,” she said.  “I don’t think he’d mind you
using it.”

Riley took it, testing its strength, pulling at the
bindings that held the blades.  Yep.  That would do.
That would definitely do.  “Thanks.”  He looked over
to see her staring at him.  “What?”

“Do you think she’s out there?  Coming for you?”
Kasey nodded toward the door.  “The one you...”  She
blushed and looked away.  “Buffy?”

Gee.  And he’d actually forgotten for a minute that
she’d witnessed all that.  Experienced it.

He looked at the doorway.  Was Buffy looking for him?
Would she be out there?  Or, more to the point, would
she ever speak to him again?

No.  Go back to that second to last question.  “Yes.
I think so.”  Actually, no: he knew so.  He wasn't
sure how, but he just knew.

Standing up, Kasey said, “Good.  I think we might need
her.  She was good.”  A sly smile appeared on her
face.  “Not as good as I once was, but I think she’ll
do.”  She started to head for the door and then
paused.  “Riley Finn.”  She spoke his name as though
she were trying it out on her lips, seeing how it
felt.  “You intrigue me.  I hope you don’t die.”  Her
smile came back.  “If you’re right about not already
being dead, that is.”

Yeah, well, he hoped he wouldn’t die, too.  Riley
squared his shoulders, his eye on the doorway as he
wondered what they’d find out there.  Wondered eagerly
as it turned out.

Raising her weapon to the ready, she laughed.  Of
course, she had no reason not to - for her this was
all just an exercise.  She couldn’t get hurt.  Still,
it was much more light-heartedly than he would have
expected, given her hesitancy of only moments ago.
“Ready?”

Smiling, he nodded.  “Ready.”  He supposed he
shouldn’t be surprised – after all, she was
essentially a Slayer.  Give her a weapon – or seven –
and she was happy.

He followed her through the second room, not even
getting the chance to approach the second doorway
cautiously, because she was already out.  And, since
he felt some responsibility for talking her into this,
he wasn’t about to let her face it alone.

The moment he was out the door, though, he had to
stop; he was completely unprepared.  ‘A world of
darkness and flame.’  He’d seen the darkness; this
was...  Damn.  This was the flame.  Living and
breathing flame everywhere he looked; a landscape
ablaze with color, the sunrise itself.

He reached out tentatively, seeing if he could touch
the shimmering ribbons of red and purple and orange
and pink, bands of color as far as the eye could see.
  His hand sliced through it, grabbing hold of nothing
more solid than a heavy fog.  He followed slowly
behind Kasey, wading through the waves of gold.

The scenery was so fantastic that he got caught up in
it – stupid rookie mistake.  He almost ran into Kasey
when she stopped.

She tipped her chin and raised her knife as what
seemed like a hundred armed men fell into place in a
line advancing towards them.  “Riley, I hope you fight
as well as you kiss.”

Her grin was as surprising as the words behind it; it
reminded him of Buffy.  Of how much he wanted to see
Buffy.

That was about all the time he had to think – he took
out the first three men on pure Buffy buzz.  The
adrenaline took over from there – fueled by the
frustration he’d felt the entire week in the woods,
just waiting to be picked off and by the anger of
spending these last, well, however long it had been,
as a caged animal.

And then there was Sam.  He couldn’t think about what
he had just given up – he didn’t dare let that enter
his brain right now - but there was no way in hell he
was going to waste that chance just to die anyway.

“Did I just hear you laugh?” Kasey called over to him,
smiling as she sliced her knife through, well, through
some guy’s neck.

He swung the blade she’d given him and felt an
incredible rush as the blur of men just kept coming.
Yeah, he probably had just laughed.  Because – this
felt good.  This felt damn good.  He was going home.




End of Chapter 46






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

__________________________________
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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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Title: Butterfly Ops
Author: Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Pairing: B/R
Spoilers: General spoilers through Bring On the Night
(BtVS, 7th season).
Disclaimer: Story and original characters are mine,
everything else belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
and a lot of other people who aren't me.
Distribution: The answer's probably yes, but please
ask.
Author's notes: This is a sequel to Celestial Light.
(CL is available at
http://home.mindspring.com/~jenkel/fanfic/index.html
If you didn't read that, then you'll probably wonder
how we got to this place.) Thanks to Cynthia, Moe and
Jess for beta-ing.  And it is impossible to adequately
convey my thanks to Diana for her C&C.  But (sorry D,
I couldn't help it) I will try.
Summary:  Fifteen years after "As You Were," Buffy and
Riley are working together again.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated!  Send to
alexandrahuxley@...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley


Chapter Forty-Five

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



Buffy looked out the window of the helicopter, down to
the beach below.  She’d expected it to look a little
less untouched, a little more affected by the storm
even though it had been several days before.

The sun was just disappearing below the trees off to
Buffy’s right – the thick forest they’d emerged from
that last day.  She looked at the cliffs overlooking
the water.  The dancing girl – the one who Riley and
Brooks had seemed so enamored of – was still.

Satiated?  Oh, how Buffy hoped not.

She felt Willow’s elbow nudge her arm.  Turning her
head in the direction Willow pointed, it took Buffy a
minute to pick apart the shadows the trees cast on the
lake; when she finally did, she realized that there
were men in among them – men sitting in canoes.  No,
make that Joe and five of his closest friends sitting
in canoes.

Graham noticed them at the same time, and you didn’t
need to be wearing a com-cam to hear the string of
profanities coming out of his mouth.  He jumped out of
the helicopter as it landed on the beach, clearing the
blades in seconds and yelling, “No fucking way!”

Though there was a certain appeal to jumping out of
large flying things, Buffy waited the minute it took
for them to be fully on the ground before getting out
herself.  She watched Joe pull his canoe up to the
shore and climb out.  He just stood there placidly,
the familiar amused look on his face.

By the time Buffy got to them, they were in a heated
discussion.  Well, Graham was in a heated discussion.
Joe was just standing there, smiling serenely,
completely unperturbed.

“Canoes, Joe.”  Graham was seething.  “I said canoes.”

“I brought canoes,” Joe responded calmly.  “They just
happen to have men in them.”

Graham didn’t even look in the direction of the group.
  “Absolutely not.”  He shook his head.  “They’re not
coming.”  Glaring pointedly at Joe, he added, “You’re
not coming.”

The smiled disappeared from Joe’s face.  “What makes
you think that’s your choice?”

Buffy had to admit – she was kind of on Joe’s side.
However, this did not seem the time to debate who had
the authority here.  Nor was it time to babysit.  She
stepped forward and, with a nod towards the team
coming up behind her, she said, “We don’t have the
manpower to watch your backs.  If you come, you’re on
your own.”

One glance at Graham showed he was about as happy with
her after she made that comment as he was with Joe.
He closed his eyes for a second – obviously wondering
what exactly he’d done to deserve this turn of events
– and then looked back at Joe, saying, “This morning
the Chief told Buffy there was no one for her to
fight.  Now you tell me you have a squad ready to take
down our resident princess?”

Joe angrily countered, “Not take her down.  Help free
her.  She’s as much a pris-”

“Right,” Graham answered skeptically.  “The
Maymaygwayshi.  Whatever.”

Graham seemed to have missed a key shift in opinion.
Buffy asked, “You got the Chief and Ro to back the
Princess?”  When they’d been at Joe’s village it had
been pretty obvious he was the only one willing to
speak for the Princess.  She didn’t think there’d be
even this many men if the Chief and Ro hadn’t given
their blessing.

Joe’s nod confirmed it.  “This isn’t her doing.”

Buffy wasn’t at the point yet of completely absolving
the princess of all blame, despite her earlier
conversation with Harry.  And though she might be
coming around, there were still things that didn’t sit
right.  “There are fourteen dead men, Joe.  Men who
have a lot in common with-”

“So you finally visited the museum,” Joe answered
before Buffy could finish.

For some reason, she felt none of the anger she’d felt
towards Harry.  It was more disappointment – mostly at
herself.  “You knew Riley looked like Didier?”  Of
course Joe would know.  How could he not?

Which he only confirmed by letting out a laugh and
saying, “All of Atikokan knew.  It was pretty
obvious.”

Joe’s statement clearly did nothing to ease Graham’s
unhappiness.  He folded his arms across his chest.
“This would have been helpful to know before now.”

“Yes.”  Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out his
pack of cigarettes.  “It would have been. I’m sorry.”
He looked up at Buffy.  “I should have trusted you.”

Buffy had to look away.  Yes, he should have.  With
whatever it was.  As Brady was in the process of
finding out, asking, “Trusted her with what?”

Joe looked like he couldn’t believe he was answering
the question.  He did, though, after taking out a
cigarette and lighting it up.  “With what the guides
said.”

“The guides?”  Buffy looked over at the men from Joe’s
village, sitting patiently in their canoes.  She’d met
two of them that first night in Atikokan – they’d been
the guides for Ana and Sprague’s teams.  “Richard and
Dale?”

“No.”  Willow answered instead of Joe, locking her
eyes on him as she spoke.  “You mean spirit guides,
don’t you?  What did they say?”

After a few seconds of hesitation, Joe responded,
“That the Trader had to go, and that the Princess had
to follow.  Only then could she be set free.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Brady said with
exasperation.  “If the Princess can follow the trader,
then what does she need to be set free from?  You’re
sure you got the message right?”

“Yes.”  A look of annoyance crossed Joe’s face.  “Same
message, every single night.  No more, no less.  Trust
me – I got it right.”

Every night.  “That’s where you kept disappearing to,”
Buffy murmured.  Checking in with his guides, trying
to figure out what they meant.

Stupid cryptic spirits.  Wasting valuable time.  Why
couldn’t they ever just come out and say what they
mean?  And Joe – if he had just told her, she would
have helped him; after twenty years, she’d gotten good
at deciphering.  “Two different princesses.”  Darn
spirits never could get the pronoun thing down.  “You
saw me fight the bear and realized I was the one you
were supposed to follow.  In order to set the other
one free.”

Joe nodded.  Unsurprisingly.

Buffy realized that her fists had clenched themselves,
something that wasn’t exactly a good thing since there
was nothing here to hit.  Although, clenched fists
were better than useless tears, which were also
threatening at the moment.

Deep breaths, Buffy.  Deep, cleansing breaths.

Riley’s dreams about Sam had probably just added to
Joe’s confusion – he had asked Riley if Sam was a
‘fighter,’ too.  The ‘would you die for her’ and ‘true
love – not once but twice’ – that was just Joe working
things out.  He hadn’t known anything for sure, hadn’t
even know which side Buffy was on, going so far as to
ask her why she’d brought Riley here – here to
Quetico, where Joe knew he wouldn’t meet a good end.

Joe had probably doubted her up until the storm
itself, the storm she almost didn’t make it through.
Maybe it had even taken until this morning, when it
became clear that she didn’t believe Riley was dead,
that her intention was to get him – to ‘follow the
Trader.’  “What convinced the Chief?”

Oops.  She probably shouldn’t have snapped that.
Well, Joe should consider himself lucky.  She liked
him a lot better than she liked Harry.  And, of
course, there was that whole Joe being innocent thing.

Being Joe, however, the man didn’t even blink at her
sharp tone.  Instead, he smiled.  “Ro.  The fight on
the bluff.  He said if this were the Princess’ doing,
she wouldn’t have sent foot soldiers; she would have
fought you herself.”

Sprague moved a few feet forward, putting himself in
the conversation.  “Say you’re right – there are still
all these men who she has to answer for.”

Adamantly, Joe shook his head.  “She’s been imprisoned
for hundreds of years – why would she start taking men
now?  And why men who-?”

Graham held his hand up as he looked from Joe to
Brady.  “I’m not interested in debating this right
now.  It’s irrelevant.  We fight who we fight when we
get there.”  He turned back to Joe.  “Why did the
guides pick you to talk to and not Ro?”

Joe took something else out of his pocket – something
he seemed to use as a portable ashtray, grinding his
cigarette into it and closing it up so as not to leave
any stray ashes lying around.  “You don’t have to be a
shaman to be chosen for the spirit conduit.”  A slow
smile came over his face.  “Or a Slayer.”

“You...?”  Buffy didn’t care so much that he knew who
she was, just that it hadn’t been enough for him to
trust her.  “And you didn’t tell me about what the
guides said?”

Joe’s smile was replaced by regret.  “I didn’t realize
who you were until I got home, after everything
happened.  I didn’t even realize someone like you
existed.”  He attempted to shrug casually; not
entirely successfully, though – he looked quite
unsettled.  He recovered, though, the laughter
sneaking back into his voice.  “I didn’t used to hear
voices. I’m kind of new at this.”

Been there.  Buffy sometimes wished she could start
her own program: Hi, my name’s Buffy.  I’m the Slayer.
  I haven’t had a normal life since I was fifteen.  I’d
like to introduce our newest member, Joe.  He appears
to have the thankless job of speaking up for a
princess everyone else thinks is evil.

Before they got too caught up in a meeting of Destiny
Anonymous, however, Graham brought the conversation
back to reality, saying, “To get back to my original
concern, none of this makes me think that it’s a good
idea for you and your friends to join us on our trip
to Ever After.”

Joe spoke tersely, his lips set in a line.  He was
obviously annoyed that he had to justify himself.
“We’ve been training.”

Graham pointedly looked at his watch.  “For what –
eight whole hours?”

The smile eased back on to Joe’s face.  “You’d be
surprised what Ro can get done in eight hours.”

Buffy had a feeling that one of the things Ro could
‘get done’ was to stretch those eight hours into a
hell of a lot longer – Ro was that kind of guy.  That
could change things.  These guys might actually be
useful.

Her thoughts were apparently written all over her
face.  She turned to see Graham looking at her as if
she had three heads.

His voice was, to put it nicely, clipped.  “Are you
kidding?”  Graham pointed to the men on the water.
“Even if they can fight.  They’re not prepared for-”
He stopped abruptly, obviously realizing that he had
no idea how to end that sentence.  It seemed to take
the air out of his sails.  His hand dropped to his
side as he somewhat lamely offered, “We don’t have
enough equipment.”

Joe answered, “We can-”

“I don’t want your blood on my hands, t-”  Graham
snapped his mouth shut, looking surprised that those
were the words he had just spoken.  He shook his head
as his eyes went to the ground.

Buffy recognized the all too familiar daze – one that
she’d managed to keep at bay for most of today.  It
was still waiting in the wings, though, and it took
some effort to keep it from striking – that horrible,
evil voice creeping into her head: What if I never see
him again – never touch him again, never feel his arms
around me.  And that one was preferable to the
shrieking, ‘this is all your fault’ voice.

Actually, sometimes the voices weren’t so bad.  At
least they kept her from considering the nightmare of
walking back into Riley’s house – of facing his kids
again – without him with her.

So just don’t go there, Graham, because even the
whisper of guilt – even one shred of doubt – might be
enough to send her careening off the tightrope,
crashing down to the ground below.

Now, presumably, Graham’s voice wasn’t saying anything
about never feeling Riley’s arms around him; however,
she was sure the guilt one was there and that it was
just as brutal.  The only thing to do was to snap out
of it.  She looked at Graham.  “We need to go.”

Of course, all that guilt and remorse didn’t do
anything to dampen the exasperated,
pissed-off-commando look from appearing when Graham
practically sputtered, “We need to go?”

Ooo, yes.  He was really mad, reduced to merely
repeating her words in a ‘who made you in charge’ kind
of way.

Hmph.  She wasn’t sure why they always seemed so
surprised.

He gestured for her to go first – more in a resolved
let’s-just-get-on-with-this way than a nice,
gentlemanly ‘ladies first’ one. “Fine.  After you.”

Which was perfectly acceptable to Buffy.  Whatever
kept them moving.

She took hold of Joe’s canoe, ready to push it back
into the water.  “You and me, Joe.”

Joe smiled and waved for the five other canoes to come
up on shore and collect Willow, Graham and the others.


When Graham muttered something about scrounging up
more oxygen tanks, Joe shook his head.  “Ro covered
all the bases.  We’ll be fine.”

After shrugging her shoulders in what she hoped was a
somewhat sympathetic way, Buffy was happy to see
Graham finally climb into one of the canoes.

Paddling out into open water ended up being harder –
much harder – than Buffy had expected.  She hadn’t
realized how much Riley had had to compensate for her
strength.  Joe, even with his undisputed expertise,
was struggling to keep up with her, and it took them a
few agonizingly long minutes to settle into enough of
a rhythm to get them heading straight.

Though she wanted to apologize to Joe for making him
work so hard at something that should be so simple,
she found she couldn’t speak over the lump in her
throat.  Every stroke of the paddle took her breath
away – reminding her of Riley, of how easy it had been
to settle into that rhythm with him.  And she wasn’t
just talking about the canoe.

These last few weeks had been so good, so right.  He
fit her in a way she would never have expected.  All
the edges that had been too rough the first time
around – or maybe not rough enough – had evened out;
no – had fused together.  It was impossible not to
wonder if that was about to change, not to think about
whether he’d be coming home.

She was glad when Brady broke the silence.  “Willow –
can we just confirm?  We’re not doing the interlocking
souls thing, right?  I mean, Riley’s a great guy and
all-”

“No,” Willow answered.  “No interlocking of any kind.”
  Buffy didn’t need to look up to know the faint
sadness in her voice was an apology of sorts.

Buffy shook her head.  She wasn’t looking for any
mystical connection.  She wanted Riley to come back
because he wanted to, not because some spell dictated
it.  This needed to be on his own terms.

Brady still had questions, though.  He glanced from
Willow to Buffy and then back again.  “Shouldn’t you
be telling Buffy to think about Riley?  Declaring her
love and all that?  If that’s what-”

“I’m good,” Willow said, cutting him off again.  “It’s
nothing that needs to be said.”

Again, Buffy could feel Willow’s eyes on her.  This
time, though, she did look up, feeling a rush of
warmth as she saw the look on Willow’s face – complete
love and trust; no doubt whatsoever.

God, Will.  Thank you.  Buffy hadn’t realized how much
she needed that.  She had to close her eyes.  This was
not the time for emotion.  It was the time for...

Well, apparently, it was the time for Brady to ask
another question: “Did anyone happen to think about
how we’re going to get whoever it is to believe that
we’re a six-foot tall, two hundred pound widower
traveling alone?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Brady.”  Brooks’ voice came in
over the com-cams.  “Will you just shut up?  Of course
Willow considered it.  She’s not exactly an amateur.”

Buffy could practically feel the wind shift as
everyone’s heads swiveled towards Willow – Willow, who
was trying hard not to roll her eyes as she nodded.

The whole exchange brought a smile to Graham’s face,
something Buffy was glad to see.  He had to be
wondering about this was all going to play out, too.
And she certainly hadn’t done anything to help by
pushing Joe on him.  He seemed to be back in command,
though, saying, “Weapons at ready.”  He nodded.  “O.k.
  Willow – do your thing.”

Willow went into trance mode.  “Form of a six-foot
tall widower.  Shape of…”  She opened her eyes and
smiled at everyone looking at her.  “Just making sure
you were all paying attention.”  She started
whispering in the language Buffy assumed to be
Anishnaabe.

As Willow spoke, Buffy could feel her skin start to
tingle – pins and needles, she remembered Riley
saying.  Well, kind of like pins and needles.  It was
more pervasive, more of a buzz, coming from within.
Then the buzz changed suddenly, flaring up into a
burn, an electric, angry current coursing through her
body.

“Buffy...”

Brooks.  Through the com-cam.  Saying, “Buffy – I need
you back.”

Buffy forced herself to breathe through the fire.  She
opened her eyes – when had she closed them? – to see
the others staring at her.  Without realizing it,
she’d pulled the paddle in off the water and bent
over.  Shaking it off and putting her paddle back
where it was supposed to be, she said, “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Brooks answered, “because you’ve got
thunderclouds ahead.  Bearing down quickly.”

She instinctively looked in the direction from which
the storm had come the first time.  As with before,
the skies were perfectly clear.  This time, though,
she knew where to look – on the water.

And there it was, skimming across the surface – the
shockwave that brought with it the wind and the waves.
  Not nearly as violent as it had been before, however;
that was clear even from this distance.  Actually, it
was clear even further away, as evidenced by Brooks
muttering, “That’s it?  You guys are getting off
easy.”

That wasn’t quite true, as it turned out.  Fighting
for survival had served as a distraction; now the only
choice was to listen to the hum as it grew louder, to
see the darkness at it approached.  “Now might be a
good time to put on those masks,” she heard Graham
say.

Yes, she thought, pulling it over her head.  Most
definitely.

Except that it didn’t do too much to help that
crushing feeling in her chest as if the air were being
squeezed out of her lungs; and it did nothing at all
to hide the butterflies.  Without the raging wind and
the driving rain, she could actually see them rise
from the surface, detaching from the water one by one
as they formed a carpet rising up over the edges of
the canoes.

Brady reached his hand out, smiling as he watched it
disappear into the cloak of wings.  The com-cams were
already dead, but she could see him mouth the words,
‘It tickles.’  For all of his complaining, he actually
looked like he was enjoying this.

Buffy was not.  She was wishing that she’d had some of
Ro’s meditation training, because Joe and the other
men from the village – with their eyes closed and
their heads bowed – weren’t seeing anything.  She, on
the other hand, was seeing the butterflies creep
around her and close in; helplessly watching the boats
around her slowly disappear.

Clawing out of a grave tended to stay with a  girl,
and she had to remind herself that she wasn’t being
buried alive, wasn’t being crushed by the weight of
the ground on top of her.  She had to fight the urge
to resist as she felt the air vibrate in the wake of
millions of fluttering wings.  It wasn’t going to make
a difference.

Breathe into the mask.  Breathe out and then in.  Let
the wings make contact, let them creep along your arms
and legs, crawl up under your skin.  Let them take
hold and fly you away; let them fly you home.





TBC in Chapter 46








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

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SCREEN NAME:  Rose Carter
AGE:  23
LOCATION:  NY
FAVE CHARACTER:  from Buffy? ever? yikes...um, probably a tie between Buffy,
Riley, Willow and Tara
FAVE EPISODE:  Hush, just plain rocked
WATCH "ANGEL"?:  yes
if so FAVE CHARACTER FROM "ANGEL":  Angel, Gunn, Lindsey McDonald
if so FAVE EPISODE FROM "ANGEL":  Blind Date
FEELINGS OR THOUGHTS ON RILEY:  he was SUCH a great guy in the show, I wanted so
much not to like him in the beginning of the 4th season, because I totally
thought Buffy and Angel belonged together and it ticked me off to no end, them
giving her a new love interest....but after he decked Parker? lol.  It became
impossible to dislike him, and before I knew it, full-blown crush on him. :)
ICQ or AIM, etc.:  none of the above currently working
---
"Rose" a.k.a "Knick" a.k.a "Liz Parker" a.k.a. "RoseCarter"
"Can't imagine a life without your love,and even forever don't seem like long
enough"-Backstreet Boys "Drowning"
Farscape forever:
"Frell me dead." Aeryn - Suns & Lovers
Chiana: "You're really not cleansed?"
Crichton: "No, my thoughts are as dirty as ever."
ACN
Crichton: "Damn, I gotta stop pointing guns at people."
***Crichton: "Damn Smokey, you can't argue with a woman!"-Meltdown***
Proud SACC Member # 12880:
Keeper of John's Three Stooges Impression
Keeper of John's "Eh...what's up, D'Argo?"
DMB Member:  #9 3/4:
Keeper/Applier of John's Sunscreen
Roswell forever...
Liz-"Max,who else knows this?"
Max-"No one."
Liz-"What about your parents?"
Max-"We don't tell anyone. We sorta think our lives depend on it."
Liz-"So when you healed me you risked all of this getting out,didn't you?"
Max-"Yeah."
Liz-"Why?"
Max-"It was you."
"You are not alone when someone cares."-Justincase, "Don't Cry For Us"

"When they asked me what I liked best...I'll tell them...it was you."-Meg Ryan,
"City of Angels"
"I would rather have had one breath of her hair, one kiss of her mouth, one
brush of her hand than an eternity without it.  One."
-Nicholas Cage, "City of Angels"



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Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Disclaimers, etc. in chapter 43.

Chapter Forty-Four (B)

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


Wrong.  She wasn’t sighing; she was crying.  Her lips
weren’t brushing his chest in a kissing kind of way;
it was that her head had collapsed against him and she
was mumbling into his shirt.

“You even...”  She burrowed against him, seemingly
losing her strength.  Her voice quietly broke.  “You
even talk like him, your words always smile; your eyes
always laugh.  Always...”

He was barely hearing her words, concentrating instead
on not giving in to this need that was becoming
overwhelming in its intensity.  A need to have her, no
matter what the consequences.  A desperate urge to
taste and touch her, every single part of her.

By sheer force of will, he released her hand and
pushed her aside so he could move away.  He tried to
focus on what she had just said: ‘like him’?  He was
like Didier?

She fell into the wall, clearly fighting the urge to
cry as she trembled.  As if to prove to herself that
she wasn’t about to lose all composure, she spun
around and spat out, “And you don’t listen to me.”

Riley resisted the impulse to go to her as she lost
her battle, tears streaming down her face.  He made
himself walk to the table and turn his back on her as
she cried, feeling like an asshole every step of the
way.  He couldn’t touch her again, though.  Mustn’t.

“He never listened to me.  I could have kept him safe.
  I could have...”  Her words trailed off as she shook
her head.

He sank down in the chair, completely shaken.  Not
because of her thinking he was Didier, but because of
how close he’d just come to losing control.

And because now, with his back to her – without seeing
Sam – all he could hear was Buffy.  The Buffy he had
just come dangerously close to casting away.   The new
one who tried to balance the fierce protector with the
woman she’d become.  The one who he could tell was
desperately trying not to fall back into old patterns
of seeing him as yet another thing to take care of, as
someone to cage in.  The one whose frustration and
fear had been obvious as she fought to keep harm at
bay.

The same frustration that he was hearing from the
woman behind him – laced with pain; voicing the words
that made him smile bitterly as he was reminded of the
legend that formed the skeleton of his own life: the
Princess and the Trader.  The woman with war coursing
through her ancient bloodlines; the man with, well,
nothing but blood.  Woundable, mortal blood.  No way
in hell for a happy ending.  Just plain old doomed.

No, Goddamnit.  Riley leaned forward, resting his
elbows on his knees as he ran his hands over his face.
  This wasn’t going to be that ending.  Not again.

He was willing to concede the loss of Buffy back in
Sunnydale – a colossal fuck-up for which he had no one
to blame but himself.  He could even accept Sam’s
death.  Well, mostly at least.

Sure it had taken a while.  He’d come to terms with
it, though.  They’d had almost eight years together –
eight years in which they’d treasured each other, in
which they’d made every moment count.  Even the fights
had been passionate – and resolutely forgiven.  Except
for the one at the very beginning of the marriage and
the one at the end, her angry words still resonating
every time he heard the slam of a door.

He’d stopped hating God, however, coming to the
conclusion that Sam had been a gift; an angel that
he’d only been allowed to borrow.  An angel who had
left him with four sparkling lights, shining bright
whenever he thought he might slip into the darkness.

Now, though?  Now that he’d gotten past that?  Now
that he’d been given something new to cherish?  Could
Fate really hand him a taste of that brilliant
happiness without giving him the chance for a
different ending? The universe couldn’t possibly be
that cruel.

Actually, that wasn’t true.  The personification of
tragedy was standing right behind him.  He turned to
face her – the Princess who had very possibly spent
several hundred years in this very room, sent here by
the Creator, by God Himself.

Was what she had done really worth that punishment?
What was it Graham had said – she’d gone crazy,
‘wreaked havoc’?  After watching her lover die a
particularly agonizing death?

A lover, by the way, that she’d waited – literally –
eons for.  For whom she’d dropped out of Heaven.
Wasn’t she allowed?

There but for the grace of God...

Well, and his kids.  Graham and Sarah, too – at least
when Sarah hadn’t been busy trying to fix him up with
every single woman she knew.  And Pete.  Couldn’t
forget Pete.  Not when he’d offered a legitimate
outlet for the rage.  It had been a fine line, though,
and Riley couldn’t say with certainty that his odds of
survival had been good even with all those things in
the ‘don’t make it worse’ column.

This woman...

No.  Better not to look at her – because she wasn’t
just Sam anymore.  She was Buffy, too.  A
nineteen-year-old Buffy with the weight of the world
on her shoulders, with yet another apocalypse nipping
at her feet.

Riley tried to shake it off.  This wasn’t the universe
being cruel; it was him screwing up, all by himself.
He was starting to feel for her, starting to feel too
much of a connection, too much like someone who had
been there.  Truly – in the history of the world, how
many couples were there made up of one warrior
princess and one mortal man?  Riley couldn’t imagine
it was much more than two.

And of those four people, how many had shared this
prison – a prison she’d been in for going on several
hundred years now – its dark walls made up of
ungraspable memories, flickering shadows that were
always out of reach...

Was there an actual possibility that she wasn’t at
fault in this?

Was there an actual possibility that Joe was right?
That this had all been nothing more than the
Maymaygwayshi, tricksters pulling at the raw, painful,
trailing threads of lives that were coming undone;
pulling the puppet strings and putting themselves
where they didn’t belong?  Casting spells so that
everyone could join in on the not-fun?

No.  He turned back to her.  Each of those dead men
had been in this room.  He needed to at least ask the
question: “What happened to the other men?”

She was obviously taken by surprise.  Enough so that
she was able to get back a semblance of control.  “The
others?”  She shook her head, confused.  “Nothing.  I
sent them home.”

“Home?”  Not the right answer.  “Is that what you call
it?”

She leaned back against the wall, her hand playing
with the hem of her top.  “What I call what?  I gave
them what they wanted.”

She was annoyed at him again, which - honestly? - he
preferred.  Although he did have to admit that the
crying helped him remember that this wasn’t Sam,
wasn’t Buffy – that was becoming more and more key.
“What they wanted?  They wanted to die?”

A flush came to her cheeks as she lowered her eyes.
“No one...”  Her head jerked up as she seemed to
suddenly realize what Riley was implying.  “Die?  I
didn’t...”  Her eyes grew defiant.  “They were fine
when they-”  Her mouth snapped shut; she shrugged
uncomfortably.  “...Left.”

Riley jumped to his feet, any sympathy that he’d felt
gone.  She wasn’t a prisoner here – she was the
gatekeeper, the one with the key.  A key that he
needed if he wanted to get out.  “When they left?
They just got up and walked out of here?”

Realizing that he was suddenly within arm’s reach of
her again, he stopped, feeling the sparks skim along
his skin.

That was going to make things difficult.  How exactly
was he going to get this key from her if he couldn’t
actually come near her without wanting to-

“No,” she said quietly, her head down.  “I sent them.”

“You sent them?”  Something in the way she spoke
helped his brain get back into focus.  “How did
you...?”

She looked up again, the defiance back, though
combined with...shame?  “I...”  Another uncomfortable
shrug and her cheeks turned bright pink.  Before his
eyes, she transformed from the strong and unstoppable
warrior princess to the young woman she’d been
underneath the armor of her calling.

Only for a second, though.  Only for one short second
before the Princess was back, suddenly regaining her
strength as she clearly began to realize that she
still held all the power.

Shit.

Her eyes turned to ice and the stare she gave him made
his blood run cold.  “You think I don’t understand?”
she asked. She took a step closer to him and pointed
to herself.  “What it’s like to see the woman you
love?  To have her appear in front of you, speak to
you even though you know this couldn’t possibly be
true?”

Riley took a step back, thinking that this was not a
good turn of events.  No.  Most definitely not good.

And yet...so damn fucking good, even just by her
grabbing his hand and pulling it to her cheek.  Oh,
God, was this an itch he did not want scratched.  Not
by her.  His breath caught as she guided his hand down
her neck, over her breast; her eyes closed and her
head fell back.

Think about Buffy.  About the last time you did this
to Buffy.  And you didn’t even do this back then.  He
felt behind him for the table with his free hand – for
anything to keep himself steady.

“To feel her cry for you?”  The Princess’ voice was
coming from somewhere deep in the back of her throat,
her throat that was now fitting perfectly under his
chin as she took a step closer, her tongue grazing the
side of his neck.

Feel Sam cry?  Not... Oh, God, that felt good.
...possible.

“To feel how much she wants you?”  She guided his hand
down to her waist, around to the small of her back
where she held it in place, pulling the tank top away,
shifting so that his fingers slipped under her
waistband.  He could feel the last shreds of
resistance melt away as the heat of her body crept
through his skin.  “To feel how much she wants to
taste you?”

He closed his eyes, willing his hands to push her
away.  All they seemed able to do, though, was find
the smoothness of her back, the silkiness of her hair
as she sank down to her knees.  Her own hands were
firmly holding him in place, grasping the backs of his
thighs as her mouth closed over the bulge in his
pants.

Air became a serious issue, and he almost cried out
when her lips began to move, when she spoke without
pulling away her head.  “To feel how much she aches
for you...”  She turned so that it was her cheek
pressing against him as she looked up from under her
eyelashes.  “How much she needs to feel you just one
last time.  She says she doesn’t want to, but...”  She
turned so that her mouth was on him again.  “...She
hasn’t set me free.”

His lips tried to form the word ‘no,’ but no air came
out.  He was glad that his hands were already in her
hair because it made the struggle a little easier when
a splinter of reason broke through the surface,
helping him push her head away.  Finally able to
speak, he gasped, “Is this... how you kill... all the
boys?”  His voice gained a little more strength with
each word.  “Or do I just rate...  the extra special
treatment...”

That seemed to make her falter.  Her eyes grew sad as
she stood up.  There were about three seconds in which
he could breathe and then her hands were on him again
and her voice oozed with hate.  “You want so
desperately for it to stop hurting, so desperately to
pull away.”  She reached out and ran her hand down his
jaw, down underneath his shirt. “Yet you ache to touch
her,” she whispered.  She leaned forward and kissed
his chest.  “You still see her in me.”

When she pulled her lips away he feared his heart
would stop beating.  In fact, he almost wished it
would.  Oh, God, Riley – do not do this.

She looked up and caressed his cheek.  “You still hold
out hope – that somehow this might be real.”

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.  A spell;
it’s a spell.  Her power is nothing more than words.
Just move away.  She doesn’t want to be here either.
That’s real pain in her voice.  Regret.  You don’t
really want this.  You don’t... real...

“You think I don’t understand?”  Her arm snaked around
his neck, entrapping him again, and her grip tightened
as she pulled his head to hers; so close that he could
feel her eyelashes tickle his skin when she blinked
slowly, that he could feel her lips curve as she
smiled.  “What it’s like to be bound to him?  To be
entranced?”

“To him?” Riley asked, breathless as his voice found
an opening, as his hands – unfortunately – found her
hair again.  “Don’t you mean her?”

Bad move, because the tears that formed in the
Princess’ eyes only seemed to make her angrier; in an
eerily calm, life-threatening kind of way.

She began to walk him backwards, continuing on,
completely ignoring that Riley had spoken.  “And
there’s only one moment of freedom, only one way to
breathe.”  The tears began streaming down her face,
and her voice took on an edge of desperation.  “Only
one way to get him – to get her – out of my skin.”
Seeing as she was pushing Riley backwards toward the
bed, he had a pretty good idea of what that way was.

He tried to tell his feet to stop moving; tried to
keep his fingers from skipping down her back.  Tried
to keep his hands from finding their way to her face
and lifting it up to his mouth.  Tried to keep himself
from breathing her into his soul.

He said, “There must be...”  Her lips teased his,
making his heart pound so hard that he thought it
would explode.  “...another...”

This had reached an entirely new level, a level
infinitely higher than the one with those
put-him-to-sleep kisses in it; what she was doing had
some serious teeth.  “...way.”  Teeth that were
skimming his jawline, getting dangerously close to-

Fuck.  Not the scars.  Not... playing... fair.

The bed hit his knees, and she pushed him down, her
arms controlling his fall, her legs pinning him in
place, not stopping her own movement until their
bodies were flush.

“I can release you,” she murmured, placing her hand
over his heart.  “I can give you her.  I can give you
Sam.”  Her lips went to his mouth.  “I can send you
home.”




TBC...










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

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Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Disclaimers, etc. in chapter 43.

Chapter Forty-Four (A)

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


Riley shifted, feeling the brush tickling his skin as
he woke up, more alert than he could remember being
in, well, since he’d been here.  Angry, too.

No.  Make that furious.

He opened his eyes, unsurprised to find her at the
side of his bed.  Nor was he surprised that she didn’t
try to hide what she was busily doing, wielding the
brush along his skin.  The markings now covered all of
both arms and from his waist to his chest.

“You’re not Sam.”  Not in any way except shape and
form – and even those, he now realized, were suspect.

“Be quiet,” she said, tears falling as she worked.

Grabbing her hands roughly, he stopped her from
drawing anything else.  When he sat up suddenly, he
didn’t care that the bowls and paints crashed to the
floor, or that she nearly toppled over after them.
She was tough, she could handle the fall.  At the
moment, she was lucky that was all he was doing: every
cell in his body wanted to hurt her.  Given the
intensity of his anger, he might even possibly be able
to do it, regardless of her pre-Slayer strength.

She’d taken him away from his kids, from Buffy.  And
she’d used Sam to do it.

The worst part, though?  There was a part of him that
just didn’t care.  Despite knowing what she’d done –
despite his absolute knowledge that this wasn’t Sam –
he craved her.  He ached for her touch.  That was just
downright disturbing.

He made himself let go of her hands and reached past
her for his shirt, laid out neatly at the end of the
bed.  “I guess I don’t need to tell you how I figured
it all out, right?”  Forcing himself to ignore the
heat radiating from her skin, he pulled on his shirt.
“Because you saw it happen; you can see my dreams.”

Dreams, which, this time hadn’t been about the events
in his life or the people that populated it; instead
they were the pieces of a puzzle laid out in front of
him – all he had to do was put them together.

“That’s why you thought it was Sam I was dreaming
about this whole time.”  Why she’d assumed it was Sam
in the bed, ‘warmed by the sun’; Sam under ‘Aurora’s
lights.’  “You didn’t know it was Buffy.”

That had made no sense at first – if she could see the
dreams, couldn’t she see the difference between Sam
and Buffy?  Even to a blind person the two looked
nothing alike.  That question had had him stumped for
a while.

Until he realized that wasn’t how dreams worked, no
matter how vivid they were – and these dreams were
most certainly that.  They were tactile; touchable.
But that was the whole point: the richness was in the
sensations, the feelings – the intense rush of being
invaded through and through.

It was nearly impossible to pin anything down,
however; nearly impossible to actually envision
something no matter how desperate you were for the
image to appear.  If anyone knew that, Riley did –
what he would have given to see Sam smile one last
time, even in a dream.  The harder he tried, the more
elusive she was.  He could never capture her, could
never quite connect the dots.  Why would this be any
different?

If he couldn’t paint the picture, though, how could
this woman take on Sam’s appearance, right down to the
midnight blue tank top with the colorful stitching
along its hem?  How could he wake up to her looking
like Sam if the dreams hadn’t even begun yet?

That, too, had an explanation: whatever power she was
harnessing had as much to do with him as it did with
her.  The last thing he’d heard was Sam’s voice – when
he woke up, she was what he wanted to see, what he had
expected.  Thinking back on Joe’s whole ‘true love’
thing, was it really any surprise that she appeared to
Riley the way he remembered her from that day in
Okinawa?  The day his love for her transformed into
something he hadn’t known was possible, hadn’t even
felt with Buffy.

Not until recently at least.  Very recently.  Thus the
fury.  He’d been happy, truly happy – for the first
time in almost nine years.  Nine fucking years.

That craving thing he’d just been thinking about?
Scratch that.

Riley stood up angrily and walked across the room,
keeping his back to her.  He needed to be away, needed
to be out of arm’s reach.  He’d never wanted to lash
out so much as he did at this very moment – not even
with Spike, and that was saying something.  He wanted
to make her suffer, wanted to make her understand what
it was like to have your breath taken away – stolen
away – just when you were finally figuring out how to
get the air back in.

She had done this to him – had made him think she was
Sam, had made him want her so much that he could hear
Sam’s voice, that he could taste the lip gloss she
wore.  Even worse than that – she’d played off the
guilt he’d felt since that first kiss with Buffy;
she’d made him think that he’d betrayed Sam – betrayed
Sam by dreaming about Buffy.  No – not just dreaming
about Buffy – feeling her; feeling every inch of her,
feeling her open her heart up and drink him in.

Feeling the knife slice through his gut when he’d
woken up after that incredible night – woken up and
seen that sunrise. He’d actually laughed, thinking,
Now?  Now you’re coming?  Now, after he’d gotten five,
maybe six whole hours of knowing what it felt like to
be loved by Buffy – truly, wholeheartedly loved by
Buffy in a way he hadn’t even imagined possible all
those years ago?

He could hear the woman behind him push the chair
aside as she knelt to the floor.

Why couldn’t she have felt that?  Why hadn’t he
dreamed it – dreamed the awful moment of clarity in
which he’d realized that he might never touch Buffy
again, that he was about to lose her for the second
time in his life?

And that was just a drop in the bucket compared to the
thought of losing his kids – of never again watching
Annie drown her ice cream in hot fudge, or of never
again seeing Liam fly through the air on his
skateboard.  Of never again seeing them smile.  Of
them never smiling again.

No, he thought, turning back to face the bed – to face
the woman who looked so much like Sam that he almost
couldn’t bear it now that he knew who she truly was.
“Are my kids alive?  My parents?”

This had to be an alternate dimension of some type.
He understood enough about such things to know that
time passed strangely in them, that a minute could be
a year – or ten.  That in the literal blink of his eye
Kate could age into a full-blown Sam; Jack could
become an old man and die.

Riley couldn’t even let those thoughts stay in his
head as he waited for her answer.  He had to move on
to something less painful, albeit only slightly.  “Is
Buffy?”

For Buffy it might not even take a full-fledged blink;
she was living on borrowed time already.  Did she even
make it through the storm?  She obviously wasn’t here.
  She was stronger than he was; if she were here, he
would have seen her by now.  Had that been it?  Was
she gone?

No.  She’d been on that bluff fighting those men.
That meant she was fine – or at least had been when
the fight happened.  Which, of course, brought him
back to the question, “How long have I been here?”

The woman didn’t respond, her attention instead being
very deliberately focused on the brushes and bowls he
had knocked over.

Fine.  He’d figure it out himself.

He felt like it was a lifetime; which, in a sense, it
was, seeing as he’d relived every moment of his kids’
lives – plus a good deal of his relationship with Sam
– since he’d been here.

Except, for some reason, the bad parts – the ones
without a silver lining.  Like the whole thing about
Sam dying, followed by him almost destroying himself
with grief.  He wasn’t sure why he’d been spared that;
for that, at least, he was grateful.

However, despite reliving the last – what?  sixteen? –
years of his life, it felt like almost no time had
passed.  By his calculation, he’d only been fully
conscious for an hour, maybe two.  He wasn’t hungry
anymore; there was no need for another chamber pot.
Hell, he didn’t even need to shave.

So, great – he’d narrowed the time frame down to
somewhere between an hour and sixteen years.
Wonderful.

Other things were a bit easier, like how she’d managed
to get Sam’s voice down so perfectly: magic.  A love
spell?  One of truth?  Some weird combination that
played off of his memories?  It didn’t really matter
how she’d done it, just that she’d pulled off the
illusion, yanked the rabbit out of a hat that had been
empty only moments before.

She’d set up the scenario he so desperately wanted to
believe, manipulating him enough that he’d even done
some of the work for her, trying to convince himself
that some part of this was real, that Sam was somehow
really here – touching him, tasting him.

This wasn’t just magic for magic’s sake, though –
there was a purpose to it.  The dreams had been
crafted by her; he’d been guided to them, his mind a
maze of corridors locked up tight until she provided
the key.  The power of suggestion to the nth degree.

‘Tell me about our children.’ Children she knew
existed because it had been the first thing he’d said
when he’d initially woken up.  Children whose names
she hadn’t even known until his memories had provided
the words.

Riley fought the urge to cross back to where she knelt
and grab her by the shoulders – shake her until she
answered his questions. “You read my dreams, didn’t
you?”

He sat down at the table, a safe distance away.  It
wasn’t as though he actually needed a response; he
knew he was right.  He was even confident enough to
take it a step further.  “You needed the kisses to do
it.  The connection.”

The kisses were like a drug – lulling him into some
alternate state of consciousness.  Or at least he
thought so.  Maybe it was the way she controlled it,
pushing his dreams along the path she wanted to
follow.  Sometimes it got away from her, though, her
spell so strong that even just the way she’d been
sitting on the bed was enough to bring him back to
that night after Sunnydale; enough to flash forward to
the hospital in Japan.

A pretty powerful combination: the power to read the
dreams, the power to induce them.

Not all the power, however.  He’d managed to make it
at least a little difficult – getting out of the bed,
finding his clothes...  That had gotten to her, as had
the time when he’d woken up first, finding her asleep
in his arms – the time she’d sat up quickly, bringing
on the whole Sunnydale/Okinawa flashback.  She’d been
as caught off guard as he was.  More so, perhaps,
since she was used to being in control.  Good.  That
made him happy.

So did the part about where he’d been dreaming about
Buffy – and not for the obvious reasons.  Reasons that
he actually didn’t want to think about at the moment
because just the thought of those nights with Buffy
was in itself enough to make his heart start racing.
He was having a hard enough time controlling that at
the moment.  Thinking about Buffy was certainly not
going to help that.  Thinking about screwing up the
Princess’ plans on the other hand...

Riley was fairly certain that hadn’t been at all what
the Princess intended when she’d hovered above his
body, giving him the direction: ‘I have somewhere I
need to take you.’

No way she could have known that Buffy had said almost
that exact same thing in very similar – albeit more
naked – circumstances.

Had she had any clue that he’d been dreaming about
someone other than Sam?  That there was someone other
than his wife, the woman she was imitating?  Maybe she
still didn’t know.  How could she?  He didn’t think
she’d been watching him; and outward appearances, i.e.
his wedding ring – which seemed to have disappeared
for the moment – indicated that there was still only
one woman in his life.  The one who had died years
ago.

“Where is it by the way?”  He stretched his legs out
in front of him, and rested his elbow on the table.
Maybe if he acted relaxed, he might actually fool
himself into thinking he was, might actually be able
to ignore the signals his body was sending.  “My
wedding ring?  Kate will kill me if I don’t bring it
back.”

He almost fell out of the chair when not-Sam actually
answered him.  “What ring?”

What ring?  Was she delusional?  There were only two
people here as far as he could tell, and one of them
had been unconscious for the majority of the time.  He
straightened up; so much for pretending to be relaxed.
  “The one I was wearing when you brought me here.”

She looked puzzled – genuinely so.  Laughing almost,
at the ridiculousness of what he’d just said.  “You
came to me.  How would I call you here?”

Her hands were covered with the paint that had spilled
and she wiped them on her pants.  Midnight blue, by
the way, just like the tank top.  With the same
colorful stitches along the hems that graced her
ankles.

Was he actually looking at her legs?  Was he really
that crazy?  If reminding himself of this woman’s real
identity wasn’t enough, then think about Buffy.  She
might forgive him for kissing Sam, 'might' being the
incredibly iffy operative word – but for thinking the
kinds of thoughts that were creeping into his mind?
About a woman he knew wasn’t his wife?  Buffy would
kill him.  And that was the best-case scenario.

You’re not some sex-starved teenager.  Look away, Ri.
Just look away.

Besides he wouldn’t be surprised if this was all part
of the deal, another trick up her sleeve.  This kind
of need just wasn’t natural.  He’d felt it only once
before – in a poltergeist-infested frat house.  It was
pretty clear she could mess with his head; messing
with his body wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.
Unfortunately, realizing that didn’t seem to do a damn
bit of good.  He still wanted her.  Intensely.

Push it aside.  This is no different than dealing with
pain.  Mind over matter.  Just keep working it out.
She gave you the tools.  Use them...

Use the words from before that last kiss, the words
that got you this far: ‘This time, think about me.’

Which he did.  Think about, or, rather, dream about
how it was that she was so much like Sam and yet not
at all like his wife.  Think about how she hadn’t
known about Faith, how she’d mistakenly thought it had
been her under the Northern Lights.  And, more
importantly, think about how it was that she’d jumped
up, startled when he had the dreams about Buffy.

That had been another point in his column, the point
where he may actually have gotten the upper hand,
although completely unbeknownst to him at the time.
He’d attributed her reaction to him talking in his
sleep, to his saying Buffy’s name instead of Sam’s.

His attention was drawn back to her as she stood up,
and he shifted, again trying to disregard the way his
body was reacting; again telling himself that this
wasn’t Sam, no matter how strong the resemblance.  For
some reason, that message didn’t seem to be getting
through.

You just think you feel her here, see her.  It’s part
of the illusion.  Don’t let her fool you.  She can be
fooled, too.  Remind her of that.

“You messed up,” he said.  “You didn’t realize there
were two different women.”

She appeared to lose interest in cleaning up the mess,
kicking at and scattering various pieces of pottery as
she spoke.  “Buffy’s a stupid thing to call someone.”
She glared at him.  “I thought it was just her special
sex name.”

“Her...what?” Riley asked weakly.  He wasn’t sure why
his skin insisted on blushing.  This woman now knew
him more intimately than either Buffy or Sam – she’d
actually been in his head, thinking his thoughts; in
his body, feeling what he’d felt.  All of which was
incredibly unsettling.  Yet he still could only
mumble, “So I did say Buffy’s name.”

The woman...

No – the Princess.  The warrior princess who is not
only stronger than you, but is also still quite
dangerous given this odd power she has over you.  The
Princess came over to the table and he watched warily
as she sat down with a thump.

Warily for a good reason as it turned out, because she
surprised him by letting a shy smile come over her
face; she started to blush.  Neither of those things
did anything to diminish the wicked, playful look in
her eye as she said, “Moaned it, in fact.  Several
times.”

Yes.  That was almost pure Buffy.

Don’t grin, don’t smile.  Don’t respond to the
huskiness in her voice.  Don’t think about how that’s
Buffy’s twinkle in her eye, Buffy’s smile on her face.

Don’t even entertain the thought.  Don’t give her the
satisfaction.  Upper hand – remember?

He turned a bit, so that there was no chance his legs
would come in contact with hers under the table –
actual physical contact might just break the camel’s
back.  There was far too much to lose to even take
that risk.  Just keep putting the pieces together.
Figure it out, what it was that had bothered her so
much.

Think about how she’d fled the room, so unsettled when
he woke up, mumbling...  What was it – ‘who’?

No – ‘how.’  She’d asked ‘how.’  It wasn’t who he’d
been dreaming, it was what he’d been dreaming about.
The light bulb almost blinded him as it went off in
his head.  “You saw the fight, didn’t you?”

Yes.  The answer was clear even though she didn’t
actually say it.  The way she sat back in her chair
with her arms folded across her chest was good enough
for Riley.  And of course – being an earlier version
of a Slayer, she would have recognized Buffy’s power.


The rush of heat he felt was not at all welcome.
Still, he found himself smiling.  “You saw how good
she is.  Made you nervous, didn’t it?”  Well, alright.
  Score one for Buffy.

That seemed to annoy her – her eyes flashed and for
the first time he saw the true Princess.  Just for an
instant as her anger flared.  She practically hissed,
“I already knew she was strong.”

“Already knew...?”  How would she know Buffy was
strong?  From his memories of the sparring sessions in
Boston during training?  It had to be.  He didn’t
remember dreaming about Sunnydale.  The Princess
hadn’t taken him that far back.  There was a hint of
completely unearned pride in his voice when he said,
“That wasn’t even Buffy at her-”

“Buffy?”  The Princess jumped on his words, her face
registering surprise.  “That one was Buffy?”

She looked down at her hands, turning them back to
front as though the movement would give her the answer
she sought.  What the question was, Riley had no idea.

“Yes,” he said, trying to figure out why that was so
disconcerting for her.  “That was Buffy.”

She actually seemed almost as unsettled as she had
when he’d dreamed the dream in the first place.
Because he had fought, too?  Because he’d...?

Riley leaned forward.  “That was your knife – the one
I threw to Buffy.  You gave it to me.”

She wouldn’t look at him, just drew her hands back and
pulled herself inward as a tear rolled down her cheek
and she shook her head.  Her unexpected little girl
vulnerability encased in Sam’s skin reminded him so
much of Kate that he wanted to just take her into his
arms and hold her until she could see the light shine
again.

Stop it.  This isn’t Kate needing everything to be
made better.  She’s making you think that there’s
warmth under that steel.  She’s ramping up the emotion
because the physical isn’t getting it done.

Except that it kind of was seeing that Riley’s hand
was moving across the table, flying completely under
the radar of his brain.  He stopped himself only
inches from her skin.

She looked down at his hand suspiciously and then back
up, somehow sending Sam’s voice into his head without
speaking a word: “Don’t do this, Finn.  Don’t let me
feel you.  I’m not sure I can die all over again.  I’m
not sure I can let you leave.”

That stopped him in his tracks and he pulled his hand
back as he looked across the table.  How did she do
that?  How could his barriers be so easily broken?
How could she still be Sam when he knew this was the
Princess?  And why on earth would she even bring up
the subject of him leaving?  Unless...

Riley drummed his fingers on the table, thinking that
if he kept his hands occupied, they’d stay on this
side of the table.  “You’re stuck here, too.”  It
wasn’t that she’d seen the fight, it wasn’t that Buffy
had scared her.  She had actually been helping – maybe
even hoping he’d escape, hoping he could somehow take
her with him.

He looked around the room, its blackness tempered only
by a faint, tantalizing hint of dawn and the
flickering shadows on the wall; her prison of
‘darkness and flame’ as the legend put it.  “Those men
on the bluff – they keep you here.”

Her nod, though almost imperceptible, was there.  Her
arms went around her chest as she hugged herself.  She
actually looked frightened – of him – as she
whispered, “How did you go there?”

“No fucking idea,” unfortunately.  No fucking idea.
He smiled grimly.

Damn it.  She was getting under his skin, making him
actually want to like her.

It’s called Stockholm Syndrome, idiot.  Identifying
with your captor.  Don’t forget she holds your life in
her hands, that everything you have left to live for
is slowly slipping through her fingers.  Don’t forget
that fourteen men are already past the point of no
return.  Fourteen men who never even stood a chance.

They’d never been exposed to the things Riley had
seen; weren’t even aware such things existed.  They
had no knowledge of the men who had come before, no
knowledge of the Princess and her Trader.  They’d
probably woken up to see their wives staring back at
them and hadn’t even questioned it; would have skipped
right past ‘impossible’ and moved straight on to
‘Heaven.’  Why would they question a kiss that sent
them reeling?

Hell, even Riley had almost stopped right there.  He’d
wanted so much for this to be true that he’d even
imagined he could feel Sam’s presence, could feel her
watching his back like she’d done so many times
before.  He’d thought he heard her speaking to him for
God’s sake – only minutes ago, when he was way beyond
believing that she was here.

That was actually an improvement, though, as opposed
to the other times he’d woken up and heard her voice
despite being the only person in the room, heard her
voice ringing in his ears.

No.  That’s what he’d tried to convince himself of –
that he’d heard her voice.  That it wasn’t just him
thinking her into his head as had happened almost
every single day since she’d died.

He should have known better.  Unlike the others, he
had no excuse.

The others, Ri.  The fourteen others.  Fourteen other
men who left families behind.  Countless other lives
that had been irrevocably changed.  How about them?
How about doing the job you were hired to do?  And if
you’re too damn weak to resist whatever she’s doing –
too weak to get past the curve of Sam’s mouth, or the
lock of hair that’s falling to her cheek – then pick
your ass up off this chair and walk away.  Walk at
least far enough away that you can’t smell the jasmine
in her hair.

Good.  Glad to see you could manage that much.  Could
we maybe try and capitalize?

He turned to her and lifted his arm.  Pulled back the
sleeve to show her that he’d figured out the drawings,
the ones she put there, painting as he’d slept.
Symbols that – as he could still picture Willow
pointing out on that huge video screen – were
sometimes repeated, but appeared in patterns unique to
each body, individual letters forming different words.
  “I’m here, too, aren’t I?  My life is here, what you
see in my dreams.  And when you’re done-”

“This is all your fault, you know,” she snapped.

“My fault?” Riley asked incredulously, watching as she
leapt to her feet and came towards him.  He took a
step back.  “How exactly?”

All traces of tears were gone, and there was an odd
juxtaposition of Buffy’s fire flashing in Sam’s eyes
as she said, “You’re the one who’s different.  You’re
the one who fooled me.”

“I...?”  Excuse me?  She was actually angry at him?
“Are you kidding?”

She was only inches away from him now, backing him up
into the wall, jabbing his chest as she spoke and
using just a little too much force as she did so.
“You look like him.  You’re strong like-”

“Ouch,” he muttered, grabbing her hand as his back hit
the wall.

And there it was.  The water roaring through the
floodgates.  He had to close his eyes; couldn’t look
at her face – Sam’s face.  Not when his wrist fell
alongside the curve of her breast, not when she was
clutching his hand.  Not when his breath caught and he
could hear her quietly sigh – whimper almost – as her
lips brushed his chest.



TBC in Chapter 44B








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

__________________________________
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Title: Butterfly Ops
Author: Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Pairing: B/R
Spoilers: General spoilers through Bring On the Night
(BtVS, 7th season).
Disclaimer: Story and original characters are mine,
everything else belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
and a lot of other people who aren't me.
Distribution: The answer's probably yes, but please
ask.
Author's notes: This is a sequel to Celestial Light.
(CL is available at
http://home.mindspring.com/~jenkel/fanfic/index.html
If you didn't read that, then you'll probably wonder
how we got to this place.) Thanks to Cynthia, Moe and
Jess for beta-ing.  And it is impossible to adequately
convey my thanks to Diana for her C&C.  But (sorry D,
I couldn't help it) I will try.
Summary:  Fifteen years after "As You Were," Buffy and
Riley are working together again.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated!  Send to
alexandrahuxley@...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley


Chapter Forty-Three

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


Willow was quiet as she drove back to the motel.  That
was o.k. – she always got that way when she was
concentrating on a spell.  And Buffy was all for the
concentrating.

Anyway, she had her own thoughts to keep her occupied.
  For the first half of the ride – all three minutes of
it, this was Atikokan after all – she fought the sense
of futility: there was no way this could end well.
Even if they did find Riley, she couldn’t imagine he’d
want to leave Sam behind – how could he?  She was his
wife, the mother of his children.  The love of his
life.  Home.

She spent the next three minutes, however, telling
herself – so what?  She was just going to give up?
That was it?  Forget her promises to him, to his kids?
  Come up against an actual roadblock and decide to
just turn around and head back?

Unh-uh.  No way in hell.  Riley deserved more than
that.  His family deserved more.  So did she.

By the time they reached the motel, Buffy had worked
herself up into enough of a state that she didn’t care
what was going on with the DNA tests, she was going
into those woods and wasn’t coming out until she had
found Riley and offered him the chance to come home.
If that wasn’t the path he wanted to take, well, she’d
deal with that then.

She jumped out of the car before Willow brought it to
a full stop.  By the time the engine was off, Buffy
had thrown open the door to the motel room.  “Graham,
I’m going-”

She snapped her mouth shut.  Everyone was already in
motion – Ana and Brady were zipping up their vests;
Sprague was lacing his boots.  Brooks was sitting down
at the makeshift command center and putting on a
headset; he slid his chair over, flicking switches as
he moved.

Graham, the phone cradled against his shoulder,
acknowledged Buffy with a nod of his head, but quickly
turned his attention back to whoever was on the other
end of the phone.  He did not sound at all happy.

“No.  That’s unacceptable.”  There was a pause and
then he shook his head angrily, tightly saying, “We’ll
be at Headquarters in twenty minutes; I want permits
ready and special permission for a chopper to drop us
in.  And Jessica?”  Graham’s voice turned cold as he
leaned forward in his chair.  “If this gets screwed
up, I will devote the rest of my life to making you
understand what ‘misery’ means.”  He smiled as he
listened to Jessica’s response, answering, “Not a
threat.  That’s what they call a promise.”  He nodded.
  “Twenty minutes.”

Buffy could feel Willow come in behind her as she
stepped further into the room.  The test results must
have come back, indisputably identifying the body as
someone other than Riley.  “Who was it?”  Her almost
desperate urgency transformed into a bolt of energy as
she caught the taser Ana threw her.

“Dan Swanson, Leslie Willett’s fiancé,” Graham
answered distractedly.  He was looking at a printout
Brooks had just handed him.

Buffy actually had to sit down on the bed, overwhelmed
by the rush of relief.  There were even a few tears.
It surprised her, given how certain she’d been since
seeing the body.  She felt a hand on her shoulder and
looked up to see Willow smiling at her.

Brady pulled a chair over and sat down across from
Buffy.  “Not to break up the party or anything, but
are we actually any closer to knowing what we’re
dealing with?”  He gestured at the monitors as he
said, “All we’ve got are some fancy sunrise bowls and
Harry saying Sam’s in on this with the Princess.”

“She’s not,” Brooks snapped, turning around to face
the room.  He looked straight at Buffy.  “I don’t care
how much she wants Riley back, she wouldn’t do that to
her kids.  Not the Sam I...”  His voice faltered
before he finished with, “Knew.”

Everyone turned to her and Buffy could feel the heat
rise to her cheeks.  They seemed to be looking to her
for confirmation of some sort, for her to speak for
Riley with the same authority.  In other
circumstances, that would have been just fine with
her.  Now, though, all it did was force her to
acknowledge her own uncertainty.

It didn’t matter how much he loved her – how in love
he was with his kids – she wasn’t sure that would be
enough.  She’d been under the spell; she’d felt its
effects.  Rational thought had flown right out the
window.  Every ounce of her strength went to keeping
herself from Angel – and that was after being apart
for less than two months.  After a very non-romantic
stretch of years to begin with.

Factor in the eight-plus years of mourning a wife
Riley was obviously still in love with?  Plus the fact
that Riley – being the object of the spell – was
getting the full-blown version...

Could Buffy honestly say he could get beyond all that?
  Would he want to?

Her hand went to the ring on her chain – the chain
she’d put back on, despite being a little weirded out
by having Sam quite so close.  The ring – Sam – had
unhelpfully chosen now to be quiet.  Buffy turned to
Graham – who was also in the mute camp, very
noticeably so given his closeness to Riley; to Riley
and Sam.  “What do you think?  Where does Sam come
in?”

After a minute of very heavy silence, Graham finally
admitted, “I don’t know.”  He threw an apologetic look
at Brooks.  “I have no doubts as to how much she loved
her kids.  I just...”  This time the apology was
directed at Buffy as he said, “She and Riley had
something...”  Clearly uncomfortable, Graham shrugged.
  “I’m not sure how much they’d resist something like
this.  I don’t know how much anyone could.”

Buffy found herself annoyed to a degree that was
completely uncalled for, especially since his words
were merely echoing her own thoughts.  It was just the
way he put it.

So, fine.  If they had such a perfect love... “Would
Sam share him?  I mean...”  Buffy looked around the
room.  “The Princess is still part of this somehow,
isn’t she?”

Graham seemed to relax a bit, obviously feeling on
much surer ground.  “We’ve definitely got something
odd going on,” he said.  “At that last crime scene you
guys visited, Riley wanted some stones analyzed.
Mostly, I think, on a whim.”  He held up the piece of
paper in his hand.  “They’re undatable.”

“Undatable?”  Was that a word?  Why not just call it
like you see it?  “You mean really, really old?”

“Actually, no,” Graham answered, with a shake of his
head.  “I mean undatable.  There’s no trace of
pollution, no trace of anything that a rock should
have picked up in its, oh, billions of years on
earth.”  He put the paper down.  “Other than that,
though, the components, the composition – they’re
exactly the same as the other samples from the area.”


That was enough confirmation for Buffy.  She stood up.
  “Then what are we waiting for?  Let’s go.”  No one
else moved.  “What?”

The soldiers’ heads all turned to Graham, and it
occurred to Buffy that he hadn’t actually given the go
ahead yet. That though he’d told Jessica to be ready
for the team – told the team itself to suit up – he
himself had no weapons.  He hadn’t even gotten out of
his chair.

Was he overcompensating, thinking that he’d been too
eager to get them back up here?  Or was it because he
still didn’t trust her?

Willow had said the spell was a combination: part
love, part locator.  The love part was already
defined: an overwhelming physical need, like what she
had felt for Angel.  The locator part, though – that
was where Graham’s hesitation came in.

The yellow brick road to Riley was emblazoned with the
words ‘True Love.’  ‘They do what their hearts tell
them,’ Harry had said.  He’d sent them ‘home.’ Riley’s
‘home’ in this case had clearly been Sam.

Graham, having sixteen years of not-very-positive
feelings about Buffy, was obviously concerned about
Riley being the same for Buffy.  If what she felt
wasn’t strong enough then there was no telling where
the team would end up – or if they’d be able to make
it back.

Seeing that Graham was just watching her without
saying a word, this was all of course just conjecture
on Buffy’s part. Was he planning on doing that whole
interrogation thing again?  Great.

There was a moment in which she thought he was about
to speak – he leaned forward and tilted his head.  The
words didn’t come from him, though.  Apparently Brady
had been deputized – silently, imperceptibly, and yet
without question as he slowly leaned forward and
rested his elbows on his knees, glancing down at the
floor and then back up at Buffy.  “Your mom did teach
you the difference between sex and love, right?”

“I...”  Buffy could feel her skin flush.  That had
been much more blunt than she’d expected.  “What is
that supposed to mean?” she asked sharply.

He refused to back down, clasping his hands together
and echoing what she’d just been thinking. “The theme
around here seems to be true love.  If I’m remembering
correctly, at Joe’s village you said that if Sam’s
voice could lead Riley away, yours could lead him
back.  I’m guessing that’s on the condition that the
tie between you and Riley is as strong as what he had
with Sam.”   Brady fixed his eyes on hers.  “Is it?”

A quick scan of the room showed that no one was about
to leap to her defense.  Except for Willow, whose
expression clearly indicated that she was willing to
take them all out if Buffy only said the word.  Which
Buffy wouldn’t do, of course, because, well, this
seemed to be the condition.  Graham’s decision would
be based on her answer.  And it only seemed fair to
answer the question in everyone else’s eyes.  They’d
follow their leader to the bitter end, but they’d
prefer to at least know what the odds might be going
in.

God.  This was like the nightmare where you had to
stand up in front of everyone in your underwear.  At
least she knew she looked damn good in black lace.

Brady, as had already been well proven, was of the
‘speak your mind’ upbringing and had no qualms about
pushing.  “I mean, it’s only been – what? – three
weeks?  You’re the first woman he’s even dated since
Sam died.  How would you-?”

She took a step toward him – a very assured step that
positioned her close enough to look in his eye with
absolute confidence, that allowed Graham to see her
face without obstruction.

“Yes,” she said, cutting Brady off.  There was no
question in her mind.  Not now at least.  Not after
that last night, when she’d thought she was seeing an
apocalyptic sky, when the inner beast unsurprisingly
reared its head.

What had been surprising, was the fusion of her two
halves – mind and matter.  Well, mature mind and
Slayer matter.  Had that ever happened?  Had the
Slayer’s wants and needs ever coalesced with those of
the girl within?

She’d loved Angel with an incredible passion; Spike
with an unbridled fury.  Never, though, had she
entrusted so much – heart, mind, and soul.  Never had
she been so trusted in return.

She wasn’t sure what had happened to bring them to
that point – the ‘true love’ talk?  Maybe, because as
much as she’d enjoyed Riley’s reaction to the
striptease, the lightning hadn’t struck yet, the
connection hadn’t been made.  She’d seen it in his
eyes – or, rather, not seen it – at his most unguarded
moment.  Maybe he’d been missing it, too – maybe the
Slayer hadn’t yet bought in to what Buffy’s heart
craved; maybe her voice had been lacking the
conviction of her words.

Not that there wasn’t anything there – she had no
doubt that Riley loved her and she was sure he knew
the same.  This, however, was another level entirely;
a transformation so powerful she couldn’t believe she
hadn’t noticed its absence until it was suddenly
there: the way the air crackled as his hand approached
her skin, the way his fingers left a trail of flames.
The way his voice soothed her soul.

At that moment he became part of her.  She gave
herself to him; took what he gave in return.  And what
he gave her was everything – because he’d seen her
eyes when her heart was closed and he knew that he was
seeing something different, that he was seeing all of
her.

That wasn’t the kind of thing that happened in three
weeks; nor in a year, or even sixteen.  It happened in
an instant.  When that instant – that connection –
occurred was of little consequence.

Was their love true enough to pave the yellow brick
road?  Yes.  Without question.

Was it strong enough to help Riley transcend the
spell?  To bring him home?  Well...  That wasn’t what
Brady had asked.

Her voice strong and steady so that there was no
question of how certain she was, Buffy looked at
Graham and said, “It is.”

“You’re sure.”  His voice was cold and harsh, the
voice of the man who’d helped Riley rebuild his life,
not once but twice.  The voice of the man wondering
what he’d be taking Riley away from, what he’d be
handing back in return.

She responded to the other Graham, the one who had
seen with his own eyes – who had told her – how happy
Riley had been during these last few weeks.  “I’m
sure.”

Unable to move as he considered her words, she almost
collapsed in relief when he nodded his head and turned
to Willow, saying, “O.k.  Tell me how this works.”

Willow leaned over to hand Graham Harry’s notebook.
“The spell depends on sending the man ‘home’; to where
his heart belongs.”

“You mean to where he chooses,” Sprague added.

“No,” Brooks corrected, his face the study of
concentration.  “To where he’s guided.”  He looked at
Graham and then Buffy.  “Sam’s voice – in the storm.
It was like a beacon, drawing him in.”

“Alright alrea-”  Buffy started to snap, except it was
kind of.  Alright, that is.  Because that was an
explanation she could live with quite happily.  Or, at
least an explanation she could live with.

“So what’s our ‘beacon’?” Brady asked Willow.

Buffy began to pace.  She could see from Willow’s
reaction – which was very deliberately nonexistent –
that this could get even more personal than it already
was.  Buffy searched her memory, trying to figure out
what it was Willow wasn’t saying.

After a minute, it came to her and she stopped
walking.  Sitting back against the room’s dresser, she
murmured, “ For that moment.”   ‘For that moment, the
stars smiled,’ to use Willow’s words from the night
before.  “The moment in which they fell in love.”

Willow shook her head, mumbling her correction.  “The
moment in which it became more than that.  When it
crossed into ‘True’ territory.”

“That whole ‘souls entwining’ thing?” Brady asked.
Incredulously, he continued, “You meant that
literally?”

“Yes,” Willow said.  “I did.”

Buffy could feel everyone’s eyes on her.  Hadn’t she
just answered this question?

Wait a minute...  She straightened up, eyes wide as
she looked at Willow.  “I actually have to say the
moment?”  Was she serious?

Shrugging apologetically, Willow answered, “It would
help.”

It would help?  “You can’t honestly be saying that
Harry knew the exact moment that every one of these
men...”

“No,” Willow said, cutting Buffy off.  “But Harry only
needed to send one guy to one girl.  I have to send
all of you...”  – her arm swept the room – “...into a
very specific place.  Otherwise it might not be enough
to pull Riley away.”

“Whoa...”  Brady leapt to his feet.  “You mean you’re
sending us into their...” – he scrunched up his face
unhappily – “...moment?”

Buffy glared at him.  It’s not like she wanted him
there either.  “I’m not really into threesomes,” she
muttered.  Or any-more-somes, considering it was also
Ana and Sprague and Graham and Willow.

Willow rolled her eyes.  “Not into the throes or
anything.  Just...”  She looked at Buffy.  “There has
to be one.”

“A threesome?” Buffy asked, turning what she knew was
a very unattractive shade of red.

“No,” Willow answered, exasperated.  “A moment.”  And
then meekly – “Was there one?  I mean, you can tell me
in priv-”

Oh, for heaven’s sake.  “Yes.  O.k.?”  Buffy threw up
her hands, giving in.  They were all adults here.
“That last night.  The Northern Lights.”  She whirled
around to face Brady.  “And don’t even dare ask me if
Riley felt the same way.”  She turned back to face
Willow.  “Please tell me that’s all you need to know.”
  Because she really had no interest in discussing
details; like, as in knives.

Thankfully, Willow nodded.  “That’s enough.”

And – doubly thankfully – Ana diverted the attention
away from Buffy by asking Willow, “Why can’t you just
reverse Harry’s spell?  Just unentwine Riley and Sam?”

“Souls,” Buffy stressed adamantly.  “Riley and Sam’s
souls.”  That was what was entwined.  Let’s just get
that straight.

Willow shook her head.  “They’re too connected.
Harry’s spell...”  Willow paused for a minute,
searching for the right words.  “It kind of locks the
two souls together – locks their fates together.
Where they stay unless...”  She snuck a glance at
Buffy.  “Unless they mutually decide to break apart.”

Buffy sank back against the dresser.  This just kept
getting better and better.  Harry was damned lucky to
be in the custody of many armed men.  Actually, even
that might not save him given the way she was feeling
at the moment.

“So this all depends on Riley...”  Sprague leaned
against the wall, at least having the grace to look
guiltily at Buffy before continuing, “...Coming
together with Sam?  As in, um...?”

“Not in the biblical sense,” Willow said.
“Interlocking souls.  That’s all.”

Why was no one getting that part?

Brady – who just didn’t know when to shut up – asked,
“You mean to tell us that all these dead guys are
actually living the ‘happy ever after’ forever?  We’re
going in there to take Riley away from that?”

Buffy felt like crying out of sheer frustration.
Wasn’t the whole point to go find him and at least
give him the option?  Riley was a big boy.  He could
make his own decisions.  What did she have to say to
convince these guys?

And how much more could she keep convincing herself?

Brooks chose that moment to speak up, the quietness of
his voice not betraying his assuredness.  “No.”

Considering she was hanging on to the wispy threads at
the end of a not very long rope, Buffy needed to hear
this, needed someone else’s affirmation.  Because this
was the part she was really shaky on; the part that
made her question her motives – and she hated that
feeling.  She looked at Brooks, willing him to go on.
Please.

Brooks continued, “These other guys – they have – had,
I mean – no concept of any of this.  They’re dead; in
Heaven as far as they’re concerned.”  He shook his
head.  “With Sam and Riley, though, it’s different.
They know too much – that they’re being played with.”

“Do they?”  Sprague asked, looking at Brooks and then
Graham, completely avoiding Buffy.  “If I were Riley,
I can’t honestly say I’d be questioning anything if
Sam suddenly appeared in my arms.”

“Of course they do,” Buffy said much more assuredly
than she actually felt as she tried to keep from
envisioning that very scenario.  “Sam’s appearing in
Kate’s dreams for God’s sake.  Would she do that if
she were taking this all lying down?”

Not to mention sending messages through the ring,
which Buffy hadn’t, in fact, mentioned.  This would be
the perfect time to do so if only Sam would say
something.  Unfortunately, she seemed to be choosing
now to be completely silent, no ‘damn right!’
vibrations or ‘pay attention to me’ burning.  Was it
because they’d gotten it all wrong, or was Sam off
somewhere, ‘connecting’ with Riley?

Either way, Buffy didn’t think she wanted to know.
She just wanted this to be over.  And anyway, who
cared if Sam wasn’t speaking to her at the moment.  If
need be, Buffy would bare her – sports-bra clad, of
course – chest to show them the mark the ring had
made.

Need didn’t be, though, as the dream thing seemed to
mollify Brady and Sprague.  That and Brooks saying, “I
think Sam’s already most of the way there.  She
wouldn’t be talking to Kate otherwise.”

Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed that Riley
wasn’t sending any such signals, which, as Buffy
thought more about it was increasingly worrisome.  If
Sam could figure out a way to communicate
interdimensionally, why couldn’t Riley?  Did he not
want to?

Buffy began pacing again, unable to keep still.

No.  It wasn’t because he didn’t want to, it was
because he wasn’t dead.  Normal, alive people didn’t
have the same access to mystical lines of
communication.  Right.  That was-

Looking up, Buffy realized that everyone was staring
at her.  “Um...”

Ana smiled and stepped in.  Unfortunately her words
didn’t exactly have a calming effect.  “I hope Sam’s
not spending all her time trying to communicate with
Kate because it seems as though she and Riley need to
do some communicating, too.”  She looked at Willow.
“I mean, you are saying that there needs to be a
mutual decision of, um, non-permanent-entwining.  Even
if Sam’s already decided, she still needs to make sure
Riley does the same.  Right?”

Graham, who had been quiet this whole time, finally
spoke, his eyes moving from Buffy to Willow and then
Ana.  “That’s not our concern right now.  That doesn’t
matter until we get there.  If I’m understanding
Willow right, we just need the trail of breadcrumbs
from Buffy to Riley.”  He turned to Willow; she
nodded.

Buffy only barely managed not to throw her arms around
his neck and kiss him.  Full speed ahead.  Graham was
on board.

“O.k.” Graham said.  He nodded at Sprague and waited
for the other man to pull a box out from under one of
the tables and hand it over.  Opening it, Graham took
out a small canister – which Buffy assumed was full of
oxygen, considering it was attached to an oxygen mask.
  “As you may recall, Buffy wasn’t exactly in the
greatest of shape when we pulled her off the beach.
Willow thinks that was due to the spell – side effects
of the entwining thing – and not the storm; she tells
me she can tweak it.”

“Tweak it?”  Brady’s eyes widened.  “She thinks?”

Graham ignored him.  “What we have no idea about
though, is what happens after the butterflies – where
we’ll go, what we’ll find when we get there.  And
anyway, Buffy’s account of being in the thick of it is
not something I have any interest in experiencing.”

Nor, Buffy thought, did she.  Yay, commando supply
chests.

Holding up the canister, Graham said, “Wear these.  It
gives you an hour’s worth of air.”

“And after that?” Ana asked, though the answer seemed
pretty clear.

“After that it could get interesting.”  Graham grinned
and stood up.  “We’re done discussing.  As I’ve said
before, this mission is purely voluntary.  Anyone want
to stay and keep Brooks company?”

Buffy looked at Brady, the representative of the
naysayer camp.  He stared back for what seemed like an
interminable amount of time.  “Hell,” he finally said.
  “I always figured this job would get me killed
someday.  May as well give it a chance to be in the
name of...”  He paused before dramatically saying,
“‘True Love.’”  He grinned and headed for the door.

It took all of two seconds for the others to follow
him out.  Buffy watched them all go, slightly in shock
that they were actually moving.

“Buffy...”  Brooks reached his arm out to her, his
eyes full of what seemed to be concern.  “Brady will
be behind you a hundred percent.  He’s just...  ”  He
shrugged.  “Well, he just does that.  Don’t let him
get to you.”   Smiling, he added, “I won’t mention how
glad I am that Brady wasn’t around when Sam was busy
picking Riley over me.”

Buffy nodded, not quite trusting her voice now that
she felt as though she’d been thoroughly put through
the wringer.  And that was after defending something
she was utterly sure of – that she loved Riley.  If
Graham had asked what the odds were of Riley actually
coming back; if Brady had pushed the Sam thing...

As though reading her thoughts, Brooks said, “You’ve
always been a part of him.  Sam knew it...” – another
grin – “...She used to say that she was damn lucky you
didn’t know what you had.”

Et tu, Brooks?  Was this what he called helping?
“Could we get to the ‘pep’ part of the talk?”

Brooks laughed – not exactly the reaction she was
going for

Then his expression turned serious.  “Even I can tell
that things between you are different now.  He knows
it, too.  I’d say that’s something worth coming back
for.”  Brooks let his hand drop from her arm.  “Don’t
ever doubt that you can be his light.  You’re as much
‘home’ to him as Sam ever was.”

Goodness.  That was almost enough to make a girl cry.
She bent down and gave him a quick hug.  “O.k.  That
was good pep.”

Swiveling his chair so that his back was turned to
her, Brooks readjusted his headset and smiled sadly.
“If you see Sam, tell her I said hi.”




TBC in Chapter 44






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

__________________________________
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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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