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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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-One

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



Buffy paced back and forth, her arms tightly hugging
her chest as she made a special effort not to bump
into one of the far too many people crowded into the
motel room.

“Buffy!” Graham snapped.  “Can’t you find something
else to do?”

She resisted killing him.

“No,” she said evenly, displaying incredible
restraint.  It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried – not
the killing him, of course, just the finding something
else to do.

For example, she now knew that there were 742 tiny
orange and brown diamonds on the room’s 1970s-style
curtains.  She knew that it took seventy-three steps
to walk from where she was standing, into the
adjoining room, out that room’s door into the parking
lot and then back again; eighty-two if you detoured to
the soda machine to get a Diet Coke.

There were fourteen cars in the parking lot, all with
Canadian license plates, the numbers of which were...
Well, there was no need to go into them at the moment.
  Suffice it to say there was – literally – nothing
else she could find to do.

She walked over to where Graham sat and looked over
his shoulder at the computer.  “How much longer do we
have to wait?”

Without taking his eyes off the screen, Graham
answered, “Three minutes less than the last time you
asked.”

Very funny.  She glared at the back of his head.

“We could deal you in,” Brooks offered, his feet
resting on the bed as he played Rummy 10,000 with
Brady.  At least, that’s what it seemed like their
score was up to.  They’d apparently begun playing
early in the morning; they hadn’t put the cards down
in the three hours since Buffy had been back from
Joe’s village.

“Or I could hurt somebody,” she said under her breath.


Or at least she thought it was under her breath until
Brady motioned towards the soldier sitting at a
monitor next to Graham.  “You’re scaring Private
Vega.”

Private John Anthony Luis Vega, who, by the way, had
been adopted as an infant along with his three older
sisters, Kerry, Jamie, and Abigail Louise.  Buffy
could also name all of the pets that he’d had since
the age of six as well as the name and description of
every teacher he’d had from kindergarten on up.

This had been the longest three hours ever.

“Graham,” she said, poking the back of his shoulder.
“Let’s just go.  Who’s really going to know if you
don’t have a permit?  There’s, like, a million miles
of territory in Quetico.  The rangers aren’t going to
know we’re in there.”

Graham finally turned to her.  “Right.  ‘Cause they
won’t happen to notice a chopper flying over their
heads.  Is Willow going to do some ‘make them become
idiots’ spell?”

Buffy’s eyes wandered to the window out of which
Willow and Ana could be seen sitting in rusty metal
chairs on the motel’s dock.  Willow had her laptop out
as she tried to make sense of the markings – Ro and
the Chief had given her some help, but even they
couldn’t translate all the symbols.  Ana was finishing
up the sweater that she had knit over the past few
days, having nothing else to do other than hang out
with Sprague, Vega and the other two guys that were
rotating watching-the-body duty.  Though Ana had
offered to teach Buffy, it had been the general
consensus that a pair of sharp needles was the last
thing Buffy needed.

“Besides,” Graham was saying with what Buffy felt was
an uncalled for amount of exasperation, “what are you
going to do when you get there?  Sit in the middle of
the lake and call for the Princess to come down and
fight you?”

“Riley would do it for you,” Buffy muttered,
regretting it the second the words were out of her
mouth.

It didn’t help that Brady yelled out: “Dem’s fightin’
words!”

“Yes.”  Graham folded his arms across his chest,
obviously annoyed. “That’s probably why he’s my boss,”
he snapped. “Anything else you want to get into?
Because I could probably come up with a thing or-”

The screen door slammed shut behind Willow, her eyes
on the computer she was carrying in. “I think I need
to-”  She stopped speaking and looked up, her eyes
widening as she looked from Buffy to Graham and then
back again, clearly noticing that neither one was very
happy.  “What happened? Did the test come back?”  A
shadow passed over her face.  In a horrified whisper,
she asked, “They didn’t...  It wasn’t Riley, was it?”

Buffy shook her head.  Rather angrily, in fact, which
had nothing to do with Willow.

Buffy had to admit she could see Graham’s point,
namely, without the results from the DNA test, General
Cutting couldn’t back this effort.  Without General
Cutting’s backing, they wouldn’t get the full support
needed.  No full support meant that the super speedy
government helicopter wouldn’t be available, and that
meant at least three days for paddling out to the lake
– three days they couldn’t afford.

Plus, the fact that Graham was actually sitting here,
his career completely on the line, should be given
proper weight.  He may not have the benefit of a
year’s worth of Scooby-style demon-hunting under his
belt as Riley did – but Graham was bucking about a
billion rules to be here; she supposed she should give
him a break.  Still, it didn’t mean that she was
beyond a lashing out or two.

“No.”  Buffy tried not to sound too irritated. “No
test results yet.”

Willow nodded, immediately and obviously disinterested
in whatever subtext was between Buffy and Graham.  She
snapped her laptop shut.  “It doesn’t matter anyway.
The spell’s not...”  She shook her head distractedly.
“I’m not ready.  I think I’m going to have to-”

“Not ready?”  Buffy couldn’t keep the desperation from
her voice.  Did no one else feel the urgency here?
Did they not see that it was important to be moving?
With a groan she sat heavily on the bed and put her
head in her hands.

Riley was alive.  Of that Buffy was absolutely sure.

She’d had plenty of time to think about that over the
past few hours – much too much time – and she was
certain.  Certain enough, even, to call Riley’s kids
and assure them that they were right, that Riley
wasn’t dead.  She’d resisted, however, because she had
no idea of how to answer what was most certain to be
their next question: Where was he?

Or, more specifically, what alternate dimension was he
in, and how could she get there?

Buffy put her hand to her chest; not to the ring this
time, but to the burn it had left on her skin.  An
actual burn – an angry red mark branding her,
convincing her that this was not rationalization
talking; that someone – possibly even Riley – was
trying to communicate with her; that somehow he had
been with her, fighting those men in that circle.  How
he had gotten there – and why he had disappeared again
– were not answers she could give.

She couldn’t give any answers at the moment, in fact,
because – despite all those hours of thinking – not
one good idea had come to her about how to get Riley
home.  There weren’t any ideas, period.

It had been a long time since she’d been so
emotionally involved in – to use the military term –
an op.  For some reason, she didn’t remember it being
quite this hard, quite this tangible.  And this part
had nothing to do with any spell.  This was just her
future self talking.  The part of her that wanted to
sit on her balcony, curled up in Riley’s lap as they
watched the sun set, that wanted to wake up in his
arms and feel his warmth surrounding her.  The part
that wanted to prove to him there really was a
difference between the way she felt back in college
and the way she felt now, something she wasn’t
entirely sure he believed yet.

None of which she could do without him here.  Thus the
need for Willow’s spell.

“What’s taking so long, Will?”  This process usually
seemed to go much faster.  “When will you be ready?”

Willow was not in the least bit offended by Buffy’s
aggravated impatience, probably due to the twenty
years’ worth of experience in dealing with it.  “I’m
almost there.  I just need to-”  She was again
interrupted, this time by Graham’s cell phone ringing.


Graham answered, “Hey, Wesley,” and Buffy’s heart
sank. Were the tests ever going to come back?  Though
no longer anxious about the results, she wanted to get
this train moving.

After a few ‘uh-huh’s and a ‘sure’ or two, he snapped
the phone shut and looked at Buffy.  “The stuff Joe
gave you – Wes said it’s a dye, probably what was used
for the markings on the bodies.”

Buffy nodded.  It’s not like that was a surprise.
There was more, though.  “And?”

Somewhat reluctantly, Graham said, “It’s in the same
class as hallucinogens.”

“Thus the name, ‘dream maker,’” Willow murmured,
perching on a chair squeezed in between the wall and
the bed.

“Except that it doesn’t make the dreams.”  Though
Graham seemed relieved to be focusing on someone other
than Buffy, he glanced back at her as he added, “It
enhances them.”

“What kind of analysis tells you that?” Brady asked,
not bothering to hide his disbelief.

With a hint of a grin and a shake of his head, Graham
said, “He tried some.  Just went ahead and painted it
on.”

Brady’s disbelief transformed into incredulity – a
kind of ‘you people are all crazy’ look – as he turned
to Buffy and Willow.  “Riley spent a year with you
guys?  I think I’m beginning to understand him a
little better.”

Still stuck on what Graham had said, Buffy was barely
paying any attention.  Standing up quickly, she began
to pace again, oblivious to Graham’s eyes following
her, his expression having transformed from irritated
to concerned.

Enhances them?  Enhances the dreams?  As if they
hadn’t been vivid enough, which Buffy knew all too
well having experienced them first-hand, without the
benefit of any extra special boost.  And knowing how
hard it had been to feel Angel like that, to have him
so close...

No, better not to dwell.

“So where does Sam fit in?”  O.k.  So she couldn’t
help it.

Graham shrugged.  “She was the decoy?  Give him a
reason to go willingly?”

“Not exactly willingly,” Brooks said, shaking his head
and lifting the arm that was still in a sling.  “And
Sam would never do that.”  He seemed to realize that
statement sounded odd given the fact that Sam was
dead, and mumbled, “No matter what the circumstance.”

Buffy decided she was done with that topic of
conversation, even though she was the one who had
brought it up.  If Sam really were somehow behind this
Buffy didn’t think she stood a chance.  And if it was
Miss Princess/Butterfly Queen playing the role of Sam,
well, then she wasn’t playing fair.

Trying to get across how vital it was for her to not
be here right now, to not be waiting, Buffy turned to
Graham.  “I need to do something.  Anything.  I can’t
just sit here.”

Willow stood up and put her laptop into its bag.
“There’s a museum around here, right?”

Buffy and Graham nodded.

Stowing her bag against the wall, Willow said, “I
think they’ll have what I need.  I’m heading over for
a little while.”  She pulled Buffy towards the door.
“Come with me.”

“I don’t want to go to a museum,” Buffy said, looking
back at the room as Willow opened the door.  “I want
to be killing things.”

With a concerned look at Private Vega – who, Buffy had
to admit, really did seem kind of scared – Willow
offered, “It’s a museum.  It has lots of dead things.
Almost as good.”  Willow caught the car keys that
Graham threw her and smiled her thanks. “Come.  It
will be fun.” She pushed Buffy out the door and
slammed it behind them.


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


As Buffy got out of the car, she specifically didn’t
ask Willow what they’d be looking for, even though the
question was just sitting there on the tip of her
lips.  Knowing Willow better than she sometimes knew
herself, Buffy could practically hear what Willow’s
answer would be: we’ll know it when we see it.  And
that answer just wasn’t what Buffy was looking for
today.

Willow knew Buffy just as well, though, and she
obviously wasn’t fooled, saying, “We’ll get him back,
Buffy.”  Her voice was unquestionably reassuring, the
determination of one of the world’s two most powerful
women talking to the world’s other most powerful
woman.   Her eyes were full of empathy.  “You’re not
alone in this.”

Buffy just nodded her head.  There’d been too much
tension during the last few hours – too much grief
over the last few days – to trust her voice right now.
  It took all her concentration to stop her body from
trembling.  She briskly turned and walked towards the
museum’s entrance.

They climbed the steps leading to the glass atrium
that spanned the front of the building.  The structure
itself was much bigger than Buffy had expected, at
least three stories tall and a couple hundred yards
wide – easily the biggest building she’d seen in
Atikokan.  They paid and walked through the turnstile.

Willow nudged Buffy’s elbow as they passed a sign
pointing the way to the administrative offices.
“What’s that guy’s name?” Willow asked.  “Harry?
Should we get the guided tour?”

Buffy shook her head.  She wanted to get the lay of
the land first.  “Let’s just walk around.”

They were half way through the first floor when a
display caught Willow’s attention.  “Buffy…” she said,
nodding at it.

Even if it hadn’t been blatantly labeled as an exhibit
on the Princess and the Trader, Buffy would have known
from the portrait that was the centerpiece: an almost
abnormally beautiful girl with – of course – long, jet
black hair setting off her bronze skin.  She looked no
more than eighteen years old, though it may just have
been the smile in her eyes, a smile that somehow shone
through despite the several-hundred-years old
painting.

The girl, however, wasn’t what held Buffy’s attention.
  It was the man the girl stood behind, a man who
looked so much like Riley that they could be brothers
– from the shape of his mouth to the shade of his hair
to his long, sinewy arms and legs.  Despite his being
seated in a chair, his head came up to the girl’s
chest, and Buffy had no doubt of where he fit on the
height and weight scale: six feet tall, two hundred
pounds.  Victim profile meet Didier Longère.

Buffy closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe.
She should have come here that first day in Atikokan;
if she’d come here that day, none of this would have
happened.  She would have dragged Riley to this museum
and made him look at this picture and not let him
leave until he admitted that he was walking straight
into a trap.

Even Riley couldn’t have ignored the uncanny
resemblance, a resemblance that none of the other men
had shared. Was this a good thing?  Would it somehow
help Riley?  Throw the Princess for enough of a loop
that she’d want to keep him around a little longer?
Or was it just –

“That’s kind of freaky,” Willow murmured.

Her eyes connecting with Willow’s, Buffy couldn’t deny
that she had a visceral reaction to seeing this man
with this woman – an unmistakable stirring in her gut
that had everything to do with the basest of
instincts, with an age old hurt and an uncalled for
jealousy.

“Didier Longère and his princess, Kaseniiosta,” said
the docent who appeared behind Buffy.  “It’s our own
local fairy tale come true.”

Fairy tale?  Please.  “Except for the tragic ending
part,” Buffy added in what some might call a petulant
tone.  Well, really – Disney at least had the sense to
end with ‘they lived happily ever after.’  They never
told you that Cinderella’s prince died of smallpox
before they reached their ten-year anniversary.  Not
that Buffy had any inside information to Prince
Charming’s fate, but wasn’t that the point?

Though taken aback, the woman smiled.  “You’re
familiar with the legend?”

Buffy muttered, “Intimately.”   Unfortunately.

“When was this painted?” Willow asked, effectively
drawing the docent’s attention away from Buffy.

Vaguely registering the woman’s answer – “Circa 1740”
– Buffy wasn’t sure if she was happy to have a few
more minutes to look at the portrait.  Immediately
drawn to Longère’s eyes – eyes with so much of Riley
in them, she could practically hear Riley’s voice
whispering her name, could feel his hands grazing her
skin.

She shook it off.  That would get her nowhere fast.

Nor would focusing on the way the Miss Princess
clasped his shoulder, her hand taking possession of
his body and soul, claiming him as hers.  That was
probably a lot to read into one hand on one shoulder,
and yet Buffy had no doubt of the ferocity with which
this woman would protect what she saw as hers.

Was that what she wanted from Riley?  Was that what
she’d wanted from the other men?  Did she kill them
when they didn’t play the part?

Buffy decided maybe it was time to tune back in to
what the docent was saying: “... came to the area in
1732 at the age of seventeen, quickly earning the
respect of both the other traders and the Native
Americans he dealt with.  He died of smallpox in
1748.”

Sixteen years, Buffy thought.  Odd, given that was
exactly how long ago Riley had left her to go to
Belize.

It’s called a coincidence, Buffy.  And none of the
other numbers match up.  Except for the height and
weight thing.   Still, it probably wouldn’t hurt to
know more about Monsieur Longère.  “Do you have
anything else on him?”

The guide turned and gestured to a case in the corner.
  “We have several of his journals, thanks to a very
generous donor.  Some of his personal items as well.”

They followed her across the room.  In addition to a
small book open to pages filled with almost illegible
writing, there were a couple of knives, a leather
pouch, and a plain gold band.

Buffy could feel Willow’s intake of breath as her own
hand went to her chain: Riley’s ring.  What Willow
needed to complete the spell: the link that bound all
of them together – Buffy, Riley, and Sam; the Princess
and her Trader.

“Is it possible to see more of the journal?” Willow
asked.

Though anxious to get back to the motel room, Buffy
remained where she was.  Willow wouldn’t be asking if
it weren’t important for some reason.  The ring hadn’t
been enough.

The guide shook her head.  “Not without the Curator’s
permission.”  She didn’t offer to find him.

Willow, however, wasn’t ready to take ‘no’ for an
answer.  “We can wait.”

Despite her frown, the docent nodded her head and went
to find Harry.

“Buffy,” Willow said as soon as the other woman was
out of hearing distance.  “There’s something here.
It’s not just the ring.  It’s ...”

“I know,” Buffy answered.  “I feel it, too.”

What ‘it’ was, she couldn’t articulate – the air
buzzing, her skin tingling, the hair on the back of
her neck standing straight up on edge.  She wasn’t
even sure what had set it all off, just that it had
started as they crossed to this part of the room.
With her back to the wall, Buffy scanned the exhibit.


Her hand shot out and she grabbed Willow’s arm.
“There,” she whispered, nodding to a series of pottery
bowls, the clay so thin they looked like porcelain.
They’d been tucked away into a back corner, their
brilliant colors showing through despite the poor
lighting.

At Willow’s questioning look, Buffy explained, “The
colors.  They’re like the sunrise – Riley’s sunrise.”
She didn’t believe anything could have captured the
spectacular colors of that day, but these bowls had.

“Will...”  It was suddenly occurring to Buffy that
though Jessica had been the one pushing for Riley to
go into the woods, she hadn’t been alone that day –
she’d been accompanied by Harry.  Harry, who had to
have been aware of the striking resemblance between
Riley and the man in the portrait; Harry, who had been
more than close enough to plant the gum that had
attracted the bear.  Harry, who could easily have
played upon Jessica’s hatred of Graham and manipulated
her into choosing Riley for this mission.

“Buffy – what a pleasant surprise.”

Buffy jumped, having completely forgotten that they’d
summoned him via the docent.  She looked up at him
slowly, the air around her virtually sizzling as fire
filled her eyes; every tear she had shed became a
pinprick of rage and she was actually seeing red.

Of course, that may just have been Willow’s hair
settling into place as she leapt in front of Buffy,
obviously in hopes of sparing Harry’s life – not
because Willow would be feeling any affinity for Harry
at the moment, but because it would probably be
traumatic for the little kids viewing the exhibit to
see a man’s limbs torn from his body right in front of
their eyes.

Harry somehow seemed oblivious.  Denial, maybe?
Whatever it was, he continued on as though he hadn’t a
care in the world.  “I wish you had told me you were
back in town.  I would have provided a much more
appropriate welcome.”

Incapable of speech, Buffy barely registered Willow
stepping forward and introducing herself, babbling on
about how the trip hadn’t really been planned and this
had been an unexpected block of free time.  Her hand
on Buffy’s elbow, Willow guided them out into the
hallway, chattering with Harry the entire time.

Within seconds, Buffy found herself out in the parking
lot, being pushed into the car by a smiling Willow.  A
smiling Willow who, as she happily waved good-bye to
Harry, murmured under her breath, “Not yet, Buffy.
You can’t kill him yet.”

Willow was getting in the car now and starting to pull
away.  Buffy leaned forward and shook her head,
finally finding her voice again.  “We can’t leave,
Will.  I have to-”

She stopped abruptly as she realized Willow had pulled
out her cell phone and was dialing a number as she
drove away.

“Graham,” Willow said, “when Buffy and Riley first
started dating – back at Sunnydale?  There was this
guy named Ethan Rayne.  Your guys locked him away. ...
  Yes, that’s the one.  Any chance you’ve still got
those fancy top secret facilities in Nevada?  I think
we might be needing them.”


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


The man sat back in his chair.  God, that was close.
Much too close.

He was sweating.  He was actually sweating.

Had Buffy seen it?  Seen the portrait?  Seen the
bowls, the sunrise?

Of course she had.  She wasn’t an idiot.  Her friend
might be a little ditzy, but not Buffy.  Definitely
not Buffy.

And she had been too quiet, not even speaking a word
to him.

He reached for the phone.  No – there wasn’t even time
to make arrangements.  Thank God he had planned for
this, packed a bag in case he needed to make a quick
escape.

That was o.k.  This had been a good run.  It had been
profitable.  Profitable enough for his own private
island in the Maldives, in fact.  Damn good thing, he
thought, standing up and reaching under his desk for
the bag he had stowed there.  Because—

The door to his office swung open, and before he could
even think about making a break for the window, Buffy
was in his face, pushing him against the wall.

“Harry,” she said, with a very unpleasant look on her
face.  “I think we need to talk.”



TBC in Chapter 42




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

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
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Thanks Ann !

I just read the fic THE DEAL and I recommand it to any B/R lover !

And to all members : if you read other B/R as interesting, pleasssse
post it !

Bye

Natasha


--- In RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com, "Katerine Finn" <katerinefinn@y...>
wrote:
> hey,
> there´s the last chapter... after this the end there´s a lovely
part thast you´d love to read... just let me find it and I´ll send it
to you ok?
> :-)
> Kate.
>   ----- Original Message -----
>   From: Ann Koehler
>   To: RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com
>   Sent: Sunday, August 24, 2003 11:48 PM
>   Subject: Re: [Riley Finn] Re: Need some Buffy/Riley FanFic!!
Help!!
>
>
>   I just checked the site and it goes to chapter 12 and at the end
it says
>   THE END.  Is there more after Chapter 12?  If so, I'd love to
read it.
>
>   Thanks.
>
>   *******
>
>   ~Ann
>
>   "Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart."  (Confucius, 551 BC-
479)
>
>
>   -----Original Message-----
>   From: "Katerine Finn" <katerinefinn@y...>
>   To: <RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com>
>   Date: Sun, 24 Aug 2003 22:36:26 -0300
>   Subject: Re: [Riley Finn] Re: Need some Buffy/Riley FanFic!!
Help!!
>
>   > Hello!
>   > There it is, The Deal
>   > http://destructo-girl.com./reads/fanfiction/br/thedeal01.htm
>   > It´s a great fic, but it´s missing the last chapter... so when
you
>   > finish it, tell me and I send you the last part ok?
>   > And in this same site, there´s another Buffy/Riley fic, One
moment!
>   > it´s not as good as the deal, but it´s so entertaining
>   > have fun!!
>   > Kate.
>   >   ----- Original Message -----
>   >   From: natasha_faucher
>   >   To: RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com
>   >   Sent: Friday, August 22, 2003 10:48 PM
>   >   Subject: [Riley Finn] Re: Need some Buffy/Riley FanFic!!
Help!!
>   >
>   >
>   >   Can you tell me where I can find the fic the deal ?
>   >
>   >   Thanks !
>   >
>   >
>   >
>   >   --- In RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com, "Ann Koehler" <annmk@i...>
wrote:
>   >   > I've been searching the net for some good Buffy/Riley
fanfic.  I
>   >   think
>   >   > I've read most of the ones that are out there...at least
that's how
>   >   it
>   >   > feels.  If you know of some good stories where Riley is
portrayed
>   >   in a
>   >   > good light and he and Buffy are together, please send me
the
>   >   links.  I've
>   >   > already read Heartbeat (which I love), The Song Remembers
When
>   >   (keep it
>   >   > coming, girls), and most of the ones at Finnatics.com.  I
also just
>   >   found
>   >   > The Deal where Riley and Buffy make a deal and get
married.  That
>   >   one was
>   >   > really good.
>   >   >
>   >   > Please help me...I need a Riley fix!!
>   >   >
>   >   >
>   >   > ~Ann
>   >   >
>   >   > *********
>   >   >
>   >   > I wasn't all the things I tried to make believe I was
>   >   > And I wouldn't be the one to kneel before the dreams I
wanted
>   >   > And all the talk and all the lies
>   >   > Were all the empty things disguised as me
>   >   > ~Sympathy (GOO GOO DOLLS)
>   >
>   >
>   >         Yahoo! Groups Sponsor
>   >               ADVERTISEMENT
>   >
>   >
>   >
>   >
>   >   Looking for Riley fics?  pictures?  miss an episode?  Check
this out:
>   > http://www.finnatics.com/
>   >
>   >   To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:
>   >   RileyFinn-unsubscribe@onelist.com
>   >
>   >
>   >
>   >
>   >
>   >   Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of
Service.
>   >
>   >
>
>
>         Yahoo! Groups Sponsor
>               ADVERTISEMENT
>
>
>
>
>   Looking for Riley fics?  pictures?  miss an episode?  Check this
out:  http://www.finnatics.com/
>
>   To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:
>   RileyFinn-unsubscribe@onelist.com
>
>
>
>
>
>   Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of
Service.

----- Original Message -----

From: Ann Koehler

To: RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com

Sent: Sunday, August 24, 2003 11:48 PM

Subject: Re: [Riley Finn] Re: Need some Buffy/Riley FanFic!! Help!!

I just checked the site and it goes to chapter 12 and at the end it says
THE END.  Is there more after Chapter 12?  If so, I'd love to read it.

Thanks.

*******

~Ann

"Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart."  (Confucius, 551 BC-479)


-----Original Message-----
From: "Katerine Finn" <katerinefinn@...>
To: <RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com>
Date: Sun, 24 Aug 2003 22:36:26 -0300
Subject: Re: [Riley Finn] Re: Need some Buffy/Riley FanFic!!  Help!!

> Hello!
> There it is, The Deal
> http://destructo-girl.com./reads/fanfiction/br/thedeal01.htm
> It´s a great fic, but it´s missing the last chapter... so when you
> finish it, tell me and I send you the last part ok?
> And in this same site, there´s another Buffy/Riley fic, One  moment!
> it´s not as good as the deal, but it´s so entertaining
> have fun!!
> Kate.
>   ----- Original Message -----
>   From: natasha_faucher
>   To: RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com
>   Sent: Friday, August 22, 2003 10:48 PM
>   Subject: [Riley Finn] Re: Need some Buffy/Riley FanFic!! Help!!
>
>
>   Can you tell me where I can find the fic the deal ?
>
>   Thanks !
>
>
>
>   --- In RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com, "Ann Koehler" <annmk@i...> wrote:
>   > I've been searching the net for some good Buffy/Riley fanfic.  I
>   think
>   > I've read most of the ones that are out there...at least that's how
>   it
>   > feels.  If you know of some good stories where Riley is portrayed
>   in a
>   > good light and he and Buffy are together, please send me the
>   links.  I've
>   > already read Heartbeat (which I love), The Song Remembers When
>   (keep it
>   > coming, girls), and most of the ones at Finnatics.com.  I also just
>   found
>   > The Deal where Riley and Buffy make a deal and get married.  That
>   one was
>   > really good.
>   >
>   > Please help me...I need a Riley fix!!
>   >
>   >
>   > ~Ann
>   >
>   > *********
>   >
>   > I wasn't all the things I tried to make believe I was
>   > And I wouldn't be the one to kneel before the dreams I wanted
>   > And all the talk and all the lies
>   > Were all the empty things disguised as me
>   > ~Sympathy (GOO GOO DOLLS)
>
>
>         Yahoo! Groups Sponsor
>               ADVERTISEMENT
>             
>       
>       
>
>   Looking for Riley fics?  pictures?  miss an episode?  Check this out:
> http://www.finnatics.com/
>
>   To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:
>   RileyFinn-unsubscribe@onelist.com
>
>
>
>
>
>   Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of Service.
>
>



Looking for Riley fics?  pictures?  miss an episode?  Check this out:  http://www.finnatics.com/

To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:
RileyFinn-unsubscribe@onelist.com





Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of Service.

I just checked the site and it goes to chapter 12 and at the end it says
THE END.  Is there more after Chapter 12?  If so, I'd love to read it.

Thanks.

*******

~Ann

"Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart."  (Confucius, 551 BC-479)


-----Original Message-----
From: "Katerine Finn" <katerinefinn@...>
To: <RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com>
Date: Sun, 24 Aug 2003 22:36:26 -0300
Subject: Re: [Riley Finn] Re: Need some Buffy/Riley FanFic!!  Help!!

> Hello!
> There it is, The Deal
> http://destructo-girl.com./reads/fanfiction/br/thedeal01.htm
> It´s a great fic, but it´s missing the last chapter... so when you
> finish it, tell me and I send you the last part ok?
> And in this same site, there´s another Buffy/Riley fic, One  moment!
> it´s not as good as the deal, but it´s so entertaining
> have fun!!
> Kate.
>   ----- Original Message -----
>   From: natasha_faucher
>   To: RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com
>   Sent: Friday, August 22, 2003 10:48 PM
>   Subject: [Riley Finn] Re: Need some Buffy/Riley FanFic!! Help!!
>
>
>   Can you tell me where I can find the fic the deal ?
>
>   Thanks !
>
>
>
>   --- In RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com, "Ann Koehler" <annmk@i...> wrote:
>   > I've been searching the net for some good Buffy/Riley fanfic.  I
>   think
>   > I've read most of the ones that are out there...at least that's how
>   it
>   > feels.  If you know of some good stories where Riley is portrayed
>   in a
>   > good light and he and Buffy are together, please send me the
>   links.  I've
>   > already read Heartbeat (which I love), The Song Remembers When
>   (keep it
>   > coming, girls), and most of the ones at Finnatics.com.  I also just
>   found
>   > The Deal where Riley and Buffy make a deal and get married.  That
>   one was
>   > really good.
>   >
>   > Please help me...I need a Riley fix!!
>   >
>   >
>   > ~Ann
>   >
>   > *********
>   >
>   > I wasn't all the things I tried to make believe I was
>   > And I wouldn't be the one to kneel before the dreams I wanted
>   > And all the talk and all the lies
>   > Were all the empty things disguised as me
>   > ~Sympathy (GOO GOO DOLLS)
>
>
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>
>
>   Looking for Riley fics?  pictures?  miss an episode?  Check this out:
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>
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----- Original Message -----

From: natasha_faucher

To: RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com

Sent: Friday, August 22, 2003 10:48 PM

Subject: [Riley Finn] Re: Need some Buffy/Riley FanFic!! Help!!

Can you tell me where I can find the fic the deal ?

Thanks !



--- In RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com, "Ann Koehler" <annmk@i...> wrote:
> I've been searching the net for some good Buffy/Riley fanfic.  I
think
> I've read most of the ones that are out there...at least that's how
it
> feels.  If you know of some good stories where Riley is portrayed
in a
> good light and he and Buffy are together, please send me the
links.  I've
> already read Heartbeat (which I love), The Song Remembers When
(keep it
> coming, girls), and most of the ones at Finnatics.com.  I also just
found
> The Deal where Riley and Buffy make a deal and get married.  That
one was
> really good.
>
> Please help me...I need a Riley fix!!
>
>
> ~Ann
>
> *********
>
> I wasn't all the things I tried to make believe I was
> And I wouldn't be the one to kneel before the dreams I wanted
> And all the talk and all the lies
> Were all the empty things disguised as me
> ~Sympathy (GOO GOO DOLLS)



Looking for Riley fics?  pictures?  miss an episode?  Check this out:  http://www.finnatics.com/

To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:
RileyFinn-unsubscribe@onelist.com





Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of Service.

Can you tell me where I can find the fic the deal ?

Thanks !



--- In RileyFinn@yahoogroups.com, "Ann Koehler" <annmk@i...> wrote:
> I've been searching the net for some good Buffy/Riley fanfic.  I
think
> I've read most of the ones that are out there...at least that's how
it
> feels.  If you know of some good stories where Riley is portrayed
in a
> good light and he and Buffy are together, please send me the
links.  I've
> already read Heartbeat (which I love), The Song Remembers When
(keep it
> coming, girls), and most of the ones at Finnatics.com.  I also just
found
> The Deal where Riley and Buffy make a deal and get married.  That
one was
> really good.
>
> Please help me...I need a Riley fix!!
>
>
> ~Ann
>
> *********
>
> I wasn't all the things I tried to make believe I was
> And I wouldn't be the one to kneel before the dreams I wanted
> And all the talk and all the lies
> Were all the empty things disguised as me
> ~Sympathy (GOO GOO DOLLS)

Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Other disclaimers, etc. in chapter 39A.

Chapter Forty

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



Well, Buffy thought grimly, the moment of truth.

She stood just outside the circle of stones, her eyes
fixed on the body under the blanket.  Nodding as Ro
looked at her, she listened to him begin to chant.
She glanced up at the sky – she may have gotten used
to having everything she saw and heard be shared with
the rest of the team, but it was odd to know that she
was actually being watched.  She was tempted to wave
despite having no idea where the satellites were.

And she could only imagine what Brady was going to say
about the outfit she was wearing – some ceremonial
thing.  At least as a ‘warrior,’ as they kept calling
her, she rated the tunic and pants rather than the
dress.  They’d also insisted she go barefoot and that
she take off the com-cam and all her jewelry.

Except for the chain with the cross and Riley’s ring,
which wasn’t going anywhere, thank you very much,
she’d done what they said.  They were smart enough to
realize that compromise was the best policy.

Closing her eyes, she put her hand to her chest and
laced the chain through her fingers.  She held the
ring in her palm, feeling it warm against her skin.
Please let him be out there somewhere.  Please don’t
let this body be his.

There was a light touch on her shoulder, one she took
as a signal to step inside the circle.  Opening her
eyes, she let go of the ring and moved forward
cautiously.

Though she had expected to feel something as she
crossed the line – shimmery air or maybe everything
around her breaking into pieces again – there wasn’t
anything…  Nothing except the very faint sound of
laughter.  Almost too faint for her to hear, barely
even audible above the sound of the machete slicing
through the air, flying at her head.

Oh, really now.  Again?

She ducked and spun around.  It was only Ro and Willow
standing there, both looking stunned.  Willow’s eyes
suddenly went wide as she focused on something over
Buffy’s shoulder.  Buffy whirled back around,
registering a man with dark hair running at her,
holding something very sharp in his hands.

Damn it, she thought as more men appeared in native
dress, all with one weapon or another.  What is it
with these guys and the multiplying thing?  So many
that all she was managing at the moment was defense.
If she could just get one of their weapons…

She could feel a burning sensation, like her heart was
on fire – was this whole thing on instant replay?  She
half expected to have a vision of Ro standing in front
of her, but a quick glance back showed that Ro was
still standing next to Willow, obviously just as
surprised as he watched Buffy fend off the attackers.
This time, though, the fire seemed more external than
internal; the ring itself was hot – scorching,
actually, searing her skin.  Odd and yet irrelevant;
for now, at least.

Turning back, she focused her attention on the battle
at hand.  She was making headway slowly – of the ten
men that had originally appeared, two had vanished.
She had no idea if she had actually killed them; they
were just gone.  Maybe it was like paintball – once
you hit the target, he was out.  If the target hit
her, however, she had a feeling the consequences would
be a bit more serious than just being tossed out of
the circle.  What she could really use was one of
their…

Her chest was on fire again, and a blinding flash made
her turn.  On pure instinct, her hand flew up,
catching a knife before she had even registered that
it had been thrown at her.  No – to her, not at.  And
just like that, the light was gone.

It was replaced, however, by a strange shadow, and she
assumed it was just one more thing that she’d have to
fight.  Except it seemed to take her attackers by
surprise, too: they faltered before quickly regrouping
and dividing themselves equally – some staying to
fight Buffy, the others splitting off to take it up
with, well, the other thing.

She put aside any questions as to what it was or how
it could be so, put aside the vague sense of
familiarity as she fought side by side with it,
focusing instead on taking her guys out which, now
that she had a weapon, took only a few minutes.

Looking over at the other group, she tapped one of the
two remaining men on the shoulder.  He turned and she
punched him in the gut, then struck his head with the
hilt of the knife.  As he disappeared, the remaining
man vanished as well, courtesy of Dark Shadow.  She
reached out, trying to touch where the presence had
been.  Too late, though – it was already gone.

Well, thanks.

Slightly out of breath, she looked at Ro.  “Are there
more?”

“I have no idea.”  Ro shook his head.  “I don’t know
where they came from.”

“Buffy,” Willow said.  “The body.  Before they come
back.”

Buffy nodded reluctantly.  She would so much rather be
fighting phantom Butterfly Queen foot soldiers than
looking at this body.  Not because of the shape it was
in, which, according to all who had seen it was not
good at all, but because of what it meant; because it
could be Riley.

Because, despite convincing herself that Riley was
alive, there was the very plausible possibility that
she’d been wrong and that she was about to find that
out in the most awful of ways.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward, tucking
her knife into her waistband – or, waist-tie, rather,
since warrior pants apparently didn’t come with
elastic.  Another deep breath and she removed the
blanket.

Yuck.

Though she had seen plenty of dead bodies before, they
were usually freshly dead; she rarely had to deal with
the issue of decomposition – except for the mummy or
zombie kind of way, which, for some reason, was
completely different.  And preferable.  She’d rather
avoid flesh – or what used to be flesh – that had
served as the main meal source for maggots and flies.
At least, that’s what she figured it was, considering
the kind of damage they’d done: the face was gone, but
there weren’t chunks taken out of it, as you’d expect
from an animal – it was more flattened, the layers of
skin and muscle being stripped away, only holes where
the eyes, nose and mouth had been.  They stopped
before exposing bone, though, leaving a horrific mask
of red.

It did occur to her that there seemed to be quite a
bit of damage considering the short amount of time the
body had actually been exposed.  Although – did the
forcefield keep out maggots and flies, too?  Or was it
one of those insects-will-rule-the-earth deals, kind
of like the way there were always cockroaches or ants
or beetles around, even when everything else knew that
it was high time to flee.

She and Anya and Xander had had a very interesting
discussion about that, actually, late one night.
Xander had this whole theory about...

Oh, for heaven’s sake, Buffy.  Stop procrastinating.
Just do this.  Get it over with.

Alright.  One arm gone – that was much more up her
alley.  Missing limbs and blood and guts – that was
stuff she didn’t mind quite so much.  Except that in
this case, the missing arm was the one that would have
had the tattoo.  So, no help there.  And the face,
being obliterated, was the definition of inconclusive.
  Not exactly the ringing ‘not Riley’ endorsement she
had hoped for.  She was ignoring the fact that the
body itself – in terms of height and weight – seemed
to fit him exactly.

O.k., she thought, blinking back tears.  They wouldn’t
have an answer right away.  They’d need to rely on the
DNA test, which she’d better get moving on, no matter
how distasteful it was.  This part was so much more up
Willow’s alley.

The hair had mostly burned away.  And the skin on the
front of the body was, well, gross.  According to Joe,
the body had been lying face down on the smoldering
ground.  No open flame, but on top of a fire that had
been traveling mostly underground – through roots and
tree trunks.  She had expected for the whole body to
be charred, finding instead that it had, in essence,
been grilled – the roots creating the criss-cross
effect rather than the metal bars.

Hoping that the back had fared better than the front,
she turned the body over.  It was somewhat of a relief
to see that, with the exception of the markings, the
skin there appeared relatively unharmed.  So, time to
do the job she’d come to do.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t scratched off skin
before.  Not too long ago in fact, she thought,
closing her eyes as they began to fill and spill over
with tears.  In her head she saw Riley grinning as he
pulled his shirt away from the scratches she’d given
him the day of the rapids.  She aimlessly ran her hand
lightly across skin, imagining that she was feeling
the roughness of where his shoulder was still healing.


Imagining being the key word, she realized as her eyes
flew open and she leaned in close to look.  Under the
markings, it was perfectly smooth – no scratches.  Not
like there had been the last time she held him, in the
early morning before he disappeared; no more than
eighteen hours before this body was found.  No
scratches and, come to think of it, no scars either.
The killer’s canvas had been unblemished skin.

Dizziness prevailed as a rush of air suddenly filled
her lungs for the first time in days.  She was so
elated that if it weren’t for Willow’s yelling, “The
samples!” Buffy wouldn’t have remembered to run her
fingernails down the length of the man’s back –
something that had been completely distasteful before,
but that she barely registered doing now.  Nor did she
remember the knife, which she could have used instead,
or the scraper and plastic bags that they hadn’t
allowed her to take her into the circle, much to her
irritation at the time.

The tears started flowing freely as she carefully
shifted the body back into its original position and
replaced the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to whoever this was, tears
of relief streaming down her face, “but I’m so glad
you’re not Riley.”

Walking out of the circle slowly, she knelt down on
the plastic Willow had laid out, holding her hand
steady as Willow scraped away the skin and put it in
small plastic bags.

As Willow collected the samples, Buffy couldn’t stop
crying.  “It’s not him,” she murmured over and over
again.  “It’s not him.”


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


Riley woke with a start.  That dream had been
different.

He sat up slowly – with difficulty, in fact – already
feeling the effects of the fight.

The other dreams he’d been having were all incredibly
vivid – vibrant, really, like the clearest home movies
he’d ever seen.   There was a difference, though,
between watching and doing.

In this one, he had definitely been doing.

Even if he hadn’t known it in his gut – which he did –
the fact that he was out of breath and the soreness in
his muscles would have been enough to convince him.

“I…”  Sam knocked over her chair as she jumped to her
feet and backed away from him.  “How…?”  She ran out
of the room.

There was a part of him that wanted to go after her –
this was a little different than the last time she’d
made a hurried exit, which was – when?  Yesterday?  An
hour ago?  He had no idea – time passed strangely
here.

He couldn’t do that, though; couldn’t go after her.
There was nothing he could say.

Falling back to the bed, he closed his eyes again, not
sure how to deal with what had just happened: he had
just been fighting side by side with Buffy.

It didn’t matter that it was physically impossible –
why should that matter, after all? This whole
situation defied any concept of reality.  However,
despite the fact that he was lying in a bed in this
odd place – a room he hadn’t even ventured outside of
yet – he had just been on a bluff overlooking a
beautiful lake, playing a very un-PC game of Cowboys
and Indians.  With Buffy.

And, although he didn’t know this part for sure, he
had a very strong feeling that somehow Sam knew it,
too; somehow knew where he had just been, that he’d
just been with Buffy.  Was it any surprise that she
wasn’t happy about it?

He had no clue how, exactly, she had known, just that
she did.  What else could have caused that look on her
face, the same one he’d seen that night, after
Sunnydale?  That how-could-you-to-that-to-me look he’d
only seen once, right before he came close to killing
their marriage.

Had he been talking in his sleep?  Had he said Buffy’s
name?

Or worse?

Opening his eyes and sitting up again it was clear
that no, thank God, it hadn’t been worse.  That, as
realistic as those dreams were, they hadn’t been of
the wet variety.  Which, in itself was unusual,
because, well, he hadn’t just been dreaming about that
fight.  That had just been the dream that woke him up.
  The one that probably mattered the least to Sam.

Was it possible to feel more like shit than he did at
the moment?  No, probably not.

He took a deep breath and let the air out slowly.  He
truly had intended to tell her everything – if it
weren’t for that damn falling asleep thing he would
have done so already, no matter how hard it was for
him to say or for her to hear.  In fact, that would
have been infinitely preferable to what she had
probably just heard.  But no, Sam had just had a front
row seat to the Buffy Summers show.  Because this
time, that’s what the dreams had been about.  No
matter how guilty it made him feel, dreaming about
Buffy – dreaming those kinds of dreams about Buffy –
when Sam was sitting right next to him...

Well, yeah.  ‘Guilt’ didn’t even begin to cover it.

Those dreams had been something else.  Not even
dreams, really; it was more like reliving each day –
each and every day they’d had together – moment by
moment.  Feeling Buffy’s body beneath him, on top.
Her smooth skin and soft hair.  Her lips as he traced
them with his finger, her waist as he held her in his
hands.

The other things were there, too: Buffy and Dad
talking baseball in the living room.  Her making
blueberry cobbler with Liam.  High-fives with Kate
after a touchdown in Graham’s backyard.  An evil smile
as she refastened her bra under the watchful eye of a
policeman.  The stunned look as she backed away from
him, unable to believe what she saw, there in your
typical candy aisle of a drugstore.

Everything.  Every single thing.

God.  What exactly had he said?

Riley ran his hands over his face.  It must have been
something, otherwise, why would Sam have run out of
the room like that?  Even if there was something wrong
– something different – with this Sam, that look was
hard to take.  Harder, when he knew he was the one
responsible for it.  Again.

As though on cue, she came back into the room, and –
for some completely inexplicable reason – was acting
as though nothing odd had happened.  The same way
she’d done the other day.  Or earlier.  Whatever.

What was out there – Valium?

“I brought you some water,” she said, as she righted
the chair and sat back down next to the bed.

“Sam...”   He took the glass she handed to him,
because – yes, Sam.  Of course a glass of water was
the exact thing he needed at this very moment in time.
  That was going to solve everything.  If only he’d
thought of it earlier all of this would have made
perfect sense.

Right.

He leaned down to put the glass on the floor,
wondering what in the world he was supposed to say in
this kind of a situation.  May as well go with the
universal favorite: “We need to talk.”

She shook her head.  “You need to rest.”

He took her hand, stopping her before she pushed him
back down to the bed.  This was idiotic.  “I can rest
later.  We haven’t talked at all.  And…” – biggest
understatement of all time – “…we have a lot to talk
about.”

With a resigned sigh, she stood up and went over to
the wall.  “Put this on, then.”   She came back with
his shirt.  “You’ll get cold.”

Fucking brilliant, Ri.  You didn’t happen to notice
you weren’t wearing a shirt?

What the hell was wrong with him?  What the hell was
wrong with this place?

As he started putting it on, she said, “Besides,
you’ve told me so much since you got here.”

Yeah.  Exactly.  “I’ve told you mostly about the kids.
  I want to hear about you.  Where you’ve…”  He
answered her with only half his attention, belatedly
noticing that the markings that had only covered his
right arm the last time he looked, had now made it as
far up as his shoulder, and halfway up the other arm.


Sam obviously noticed what he was looking at – it’s
not like he’d been trying to hide it, unlike her
apparently – and leaned forward hastily, pulling down
his sleeve.

As if that were going to make him forget that the
markings were there.  He wasn’t an infant.  He did
understand the concept of object permanence.

What he didn’t understand – and what he didn’t want to
believe – was why she was the one painting these
symbols on his skin; the symbols that led to nothing
good.  “Sam – what is this?  Where are we?  What
happened to those other men?”

“Other men?”  She laughed it off, moving closer to
him, and putting her mouth to his neck.

No.  She was not going to do this again.  He pulled
away and started to roll up his sleeve.  “Why are you
doing this?  Talk to me.  Please.”

O.k.  So maybe that had been a little closer to
begging than he would have liked, but he couldn’t keep
doing this.  He was going crazy – kissing her and
feeling her and not understanding how it was her and
yet it wasn’t.  Even though he knew it was, well,
let’s not say impossible.  Improbable.  Highly
improbable.  “Sam…”

“Mmm...”  She put her hand over his and leaned
forward.  “I’d rather talk about our nice, big
shower…”  – she kissed his throat – “…the bed by the
window, warmed by the sun…” – she nibbled his ear –
“…underneath Aurora’s lights.”

Riley pulled back and looked at her questioningly.
Aurora’s lights?

The shower most definitely.  The bed by the window?
Warmed by the sun?  He couldn’t say that had never
happened, although it sounded suspiciously like the
hotel in Toronto, just a few short weeks ago.

Aurora’s lights, though – that was the kicker.  They’d
never known anyone named Aurora, and had most
certainly never done anything beneath her lights.  The
only Aurora he was even familiar with was Aurora
Borealis – a.k.a. the Northern Lights.  And he had
never seen those in his life before that night with
Buffy.  Not with Sam, with Buffy.

“Sam…”

She pushed him back down and leaned forward, kissing
him.  “No more talk…” she whispered.  “This time,
think about me.”


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


As the motorboat neared the landing, Buffy could see
Graham pacing up and down the dock.  Further up on
shore, a second helicopter had joined the first and
the blades of both were already whirring, ready to
take off as soon as Buffy and Willow were back at the
airstrip.

“You’re sure?” Graham asked, grasping Buffy’s arm the
second her foot hit solid ground.

She nodded happily, smiling despite the tears.  It
wasn’t him.

Buffy had been like a broken fountain since the moment
she left that circle – crying off and on, without any
control.  Happy tears, mostly: they’d been right – the
body wasn’t his.  Of course, no one needed to remind
her that, just because it wasn’t Riley lying there, it
still didn’t prove he wasn’t dead.  Or, if he were
alive, that she’d be able to find him.

The same thoughts were clearly running through
Graham’s head – his nod was cautious and his eyes
guarded as he took the samples from Willow’s hands.

“Wait,” Buffy said.  “This, too.” She held out a vial
of liquid that Joe had passed to her right before she
left the village.

“What is it?”  Graham asked as a soldier came running
down the dock to meet them, carrying a box that looked
to be a forensics kit.

All she knew was that they hadn’t made her drink it,
which was somewhat of a relief.  “Joe called it the
‘dream maker.’”

Graham raised his eyebrows, but didn’t ask any further
questions.  After a moment’s hesitation, he instructed
the soldier to pour the liquid into two plastic jars.
Then he said a bunch of things that – other than
seeming like a bunch of names and places – made
absolutely no sense to Buffy.

“Yes, sir.”  The soldier closed up his kit and stood
up straight, saluting before running back to one of
the two waiting helicopters.  Within seconds, it took
off.

Buffy glanced at Willow – who also obviously had no
clue – before asking, “Where’s he going?”

Waving as the chopper turned in the direction that
Buffy was pretty sure was south, Graham answered,
“There’s an Air Force base in Illinois.   He’ll stop
there on his way to D.C. and drop off the second jar.
Someone will bring it to your people in L.A.  From
what Angel told us about Wesley, I have a feeling he
might be able to identify whatever that was.”

Well, yes.  That was exactly what Buffy would have
suggested if she’d had the presence of mind to be
thinking right now.  Now, though, all she wanted to do
was find Riley.  Willow was already headed towards the
remaining helicopter; Buffy started to follow,
stopping only when Graham grabbed her arm.

“How, Buffy?”  His eyes begged for reassurance.

“What?”  For some reason, she hadn’t expected him to
want to know details.  Which was absolutely stupid,
because if she’d been on his end, she’d be demanding
whatever proof existed, as thin as it may be.

There was desperation in Graham’s voice. “How are you
sure?”  This wasn’t the commander speaking; this was
the man – the man who was trying desperately to
believe that his friend was still alive.  “That it’s
not him,” Graham added quietly.  “Sprague said from
the visual that there was no way to tell.”

“Oh.”  Watching Willow climb into the helicopter,
Buffy wished that was where she was at the moment.
She wasn’t exactly eager to tell Graham how she’d
known.  “I don’t suppose you’ll settle for ‘trust
me’?”

Graham’s hand tightened on her arm.  “Buffy…”

God, Buffy.  This is cruel.  It’s not as if it’s never
occurred to him that you’ve seen Riley naked.  Still,
she hesitated for a minute before saying, “There were
scratches on his back, on his shoulder.  Kind of, um,
deep.  They weren’t on the body.”

Graham’s face fell.  “Scratches?”  He gave her a look
of disbelief as his hand dropped away.  A crushing
look of disbelief.  “Sounds pretty weak.”

“I know him, Graham.  I know his body.”  She ignored
the heat rising to her cheeks.  She may not have many
qualms in the bedroom, but it wasn’t something she
particularly wanted to talk about, most especially not
with Riley’s best friend.  These were not normal
circumstances, however, and, damn it, if she could
kill Evil Winnie the Pooh with her bare hands, she
could at the very least assure Graham of what she knew
to be true.

“I know where the scars are,” she said softly.  “They
weren’t there.”  She put her hand on Graham’s shoulder
and looked him in the eye.  “I’m sure.”

He nodded, closing his eyes in relief.  When he opened
them, Buffy could see they were filled.  Although he
did manage a grin as he said, “You gave him the
scratches?”

She shrugged with what she hoped was perfect
innocence, even though she could feel the blush that
was giving her away.

“O.k.”  Graham cleared his throat.  “Let’s get back to
Atikokan.  Let’s get this done.




TBC





=====
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 39A.

Chapter Thirty-Nine (B)

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




Ro hadn’t stopped chanting, hadn’t at all acknowledged
Buffy’s words, and at first Buffy thought he was
somehow probing her for the requisite break-the-circle
qualifications.  Not much of a test, she thought.
She’d do this one again any time.

Then she started to feel it.

Ro’s voice grew louder, and something stirred inside
of her – embers flaring and the heat building, a fire
starting somewhere in her soul.  The air around her
shimmered and the room fell away, breaking into little
pieces, receding into nothingness, and darkness was
interspersed with a series of images.

No – images indicated something static; a picture.
These were 3-D.  Fully formed, corporeal...things.  A
shadowy figure darting out at her – she pulled back.
A flash of metal coming at her head – she ducked.  A
flame flickering in front of her, reaching out and
singeing her fingers.

Everything appeared and then disappeared again,
leaving her waiting for the next break in the curtain
of blackness that surrounded her, the next strike from
the void.

She had no idea where she was; there was still a sense
of kneeling in the Chief’s cabin, a slight pressure
against her forehead as Ro raised his hand to her
head.  And yet she wasn’t in that room; wasn’t in any
room at all.  She was just standing in a black hole,
standing – it did seem – on something that was solid.
Solid enough, at least, to hold her when she jumped up
and landed hard a second later, avoiding the knife
that had just come from out of the same nowhere that
everything else seemed to be coming from.

Another knife, this one connecting in a burst of
piercing pain.  She cried out and Ro’s chanting, which
had faded to pure background noise, transformed into
something totally different.  Something moving and
breathing and invading her very being.  All that
interference made it very difficult to concentrate –
probably the point, since concentration could very
well be the only thing keeping her alive at the
moment, her entire defense strategy being dependent on
instinct at the moment.

And defense was definitely a must, what with the
blades coming at her head, and wooden sticks batting
at her legs.  She leapt in the air, jumping over a leg
kicking out at her; whirled around in mid-air and
caught the arrow coming at her head.  Lobbed it back
and heard the dull sound as it connected with its
target.

She flipped backwards, avoiding a stream of arrows –
no, make that avoiding most of the stream of arrows,
not all, unfortunately – and then sprung off her hands
and flipped forward again, a satisfied smile as her
feet hit solid mass and something – things? – crashed
to the ground.

Something else lumbering towards her – big and black.
Another bear.  She smiled.  This time she was ready.

Flying at it, she aimed at its head, knowing the body
was just too massive to get a hold on.  She whirled
from side to side, arms and legs lashing out,
battering it – so much easier when she was wearing
boots.  It didn’t have a chance to do anything more
than raise its paws to its head, taking cover.

More arrows; spears, too.  She knocked them out of the
air as she cartwheeled across the floor.  Almost in
slow motion, she could feel herself jumping and
kicking at what appeared as thin air, but still had
substance to it.  It was trickier now, with things
coming at her from all directions, from above and
below.  There wasn’t even time to think: she just
blocked weapons that came at her, plucked them out of
the air, and flung them back.

She’d finally gotten into a rhythm when everything
stopped abruptly and a rush of cool air came over her
as she fell to the floor, out of breath.  She looked
over to see Ro’s prone figure lying on the floor
across from her.  The pieces of the Chief’s living
room reassembled themselves, leaving everything as it
had appeared before.

“Buffy!” Willow cried, dropping down and gathering
Buffy into her arms.  “You’re bleeding.”

In a daze, Buffy looked down at her arms and legs –
there were pinpricks of blood where the arrows had hit
her; a gash down her arm where a spear had made its
mark.  Sitting up slowly, she reached her hand out to
Ro.  As she stood up, she pulled him up with her.

He smiled and nodded at her.  To the Chief, he said,
“She is acceptable.”

“Acceptable?” Buffy cried out.  “I waled on those guys
– did you see what I did to the bear?  And those
invisible guys?  I mean – talk about ‘may the force be
with you’…”

“Buffy,” Willow said softly, shaking her head.

The Chief looked at Buffy.  It was obvious she had –
finally – passed the test.  He smiled.  “Is there
anything else before you see the body?”

She shook her head.

“No, wait,” she said a second later, grinning at Ro.
“That was fun.  Very John Woo.  Let me know if you
ever want to do it again.”

He shook his head.  “You’re an odd woman.”

She preferred the term ‘peculiar,’ but…  She smiled.
“So I’ve been told.”




TBC in Chapter 40




=====
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 Thirty-Nine (A)

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





After dropping Brooks and Brady off at the motel in
Atikokan, the helicopter headed to an airstrip on Lac
La Croix where Graham had arranged for Joe to meet
them.  Buffy had been annoyed at first, thinking that
the detour would waste precious time.  When it came
down to it, though, she’d needed the extra hour to
talk herself down, to remind herself that there were
two very big steps she needed to take before they
could even come up with a plan to find Riley: get the
Tribe’s permission to see the body and, once that was
accomplished, prove for sure that it wasn’t him.

If it really was his body lying there?  Well, she just
refused to think about that.  Because that’s when
breathing became an issue and she had to remind
herself how to do it.  In.  Out.  No big.  In...  Ou–

She felt Willow’s hand on her knee; Willow, who was
officially coming along to serve as the team’s
otherworldly representative.  There was another
purpose, too, though.  Buffy was almost positive that
she’d missed a late-night Willow/Angel
make-sure-Buffy’s-o.k. conversation.  Just in case the
body was, actually, Riley’s.

In.  Out.  In.  Out.  Positive thoughts.  There would
be plenty of time to lose it if the day didn’t go as
she hoped.

She took it as a good sign that Joe was waiting where
he said he’d be.  Thanks to her being all completely –
o.k., almost completely – calm now, she didn’t bombard
him with questions right away.  Take it at their pace,
Buffy.  Go the local custom route.  If Joe et al
decided to do things the hard way, she could always
beat them up then.

Another thing that boded well was that Joe had a
motorboat waiting for them.  Though she’d been ready
for the canoe ride, she was happy not to have to
supply any power.  And the faster they could get this
over with, the better.  The first – and she hoped only
– bad news of the day was that Graham wasn’t invited.

“Why?” Graham asked angrily.

Joe shrugged.  “The Tribe needs to work closely with
the Quetico people.  They said that you weren’t
welcome in the Park.  The Chief didn’t want to stir up
any trouble.”

“Unbelievable,” Graham muttered, obviously pissed as
he looked at Buffy.

“It’s o.k.,” Buffy reassured him.  Failure was not on
her agenda today, and she had no problem working alone
if that’s what it took.  “I can get this done.”

Of course, Scooby companionship was always
appreciated.  She turned to Joe.  “What about Willow?”

Joe gave Willow an appraising glance.  Though the
widening of his eyes indicated he sensed some of her
power, he didn’t seem threatened by it.  The smile
that appeared on his face indicated just the opposite,
in fact.  “Sure.  Why not?”

Graham grabbed Buffy’s hand as she started walking
away.  He gave her a com-cam.  “If you can.”

Her inclination was to refuse it – though she hadn’t
minded the toy on the original trip, this was Slayer
time, and she preferred to work unimpeded.  However,
if she were the one who’d just been told that she’d
have to sit here on an airstrip for who knew how long,
ruminating about whether this really was the body of
her best friend of twenty years...

Being Buffy wasn’t the greatest right now – she’d had
better weeks.  But being Graham?  She nodded and
slipped it on her ear.  Though at some point they’d
probably make her take it off, she’d keep it on until
they told her otherwise.

As they climbed into the boat, Buffy asked, “Why
didn’t we just use the motorboats in the first place?”

Joe answered, “Too loud.”  The smile still in his
eyes, he leaned down and turned the key, the roar of
the engine effectively cutting off any further
conversation.  He pulled away from the dock, heading
for open water.

Fine, she thought.  Even in just the few – albeit long
and endless – days she’d been away from here, she’d
forgotten how Joe always seemed to be laughing at
something.  Not in a mean way, it was just that
impression he gave – that life amused him.  She
supposed she was glad it was amusing someone at the
moment.

Forty minutes later, they reached the Tribe’s land,
attracting curious glances as Joe helped Buffy and
Willow out of the boat.

“Unless you’re a guide,” Joe explained, “there’s not
much contact with the outside world.  We don’t exactly
get many visitors here.”

Buffy wasn’t too concerned – being on the receiving
end of odd looks was the story of her life.  She
turned to Joe.  “Did Graham tell you why we came?”

Joe gave her a look of his own, one that clearly
conveyed the question: do you think I’m an idiot?  “I
assume you want to see the body.”

She noticed that he used the word ‘the’ rather than
‘Riley’s.’  All her hopes jumped up and started
dancing around, deciding that was an even better sign
than the ones before.  Get back down there, she
thought.  Cautious, remember?  Still, it was hard not
to focus on those little things.  “Are we going to be
able to?”

The laughter left his eyes.  “It’s not up to me.”  He
gestured toward a cabin that sat overlooking the lake.
  “The Chief’s eager to meet you.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” she asked.  “Take me
to your leader.”

Buffy and Willow followed Joe up the hill.  They
entered the cabin to find two men sitting at a low
table, smoking.  One of them – the Chief, according to
Joe’s introduction – seemed old enough to have been
around during Angel’s pre-vampire era.  Despite his
long, white hair and his wrinkled skin, he seemed
strong; robust.

The other man, introduced as Rowente – “‘‘Ro’ to my
friends” – looked even older.  Unlike the Chief, he
was small and frail – a little kid sitting in an
oversized chair, except that his body showed the
ravages of time.  So, yes – either really, really old,
or just way too much sun.   He smiled the way Joe did,
though – with the light dancing in his eyes – and it
made him come alive.

Leaning back, he took a drag on his...  Well, Buffy
had no clue what he was taking a drag on – she’d
always relied on Spike for the identification of all
things smoking, especially when it came to the unusual
things.  Anyway, he took a drag, and looked from
Willow to Buffy then back again.  Addressing Willow,
he spoke in a language that Buffy couldn’t understand.
  She wasn’t entirely surprised when Willow replied in
kind, nodding her head.

The man then spoke to Joe in English, most likely for
Buffy’s benefit since she seemed to be the only one
who couldn’t speak Anishnaabe.  “Did you know your
warrior would be bringing a witch along?”

Joe shook his head.  “Not until they got on the boat.”

That didn’t surprise Buffy either.  She figured that
someone she’d be meeting today would be of the Shaman
variety; that he would recognize Willow’s power wasn’t
exactly a shock.  That Joe had it in his blood, too,
came with the territory.

“Please sit.  Drink with us.”  The Chief words seemed
more like an order than a request.

Joe retrieved two wooden chairs from against the wall
and placed them across from the men; then went back to
the wall and stood, leaning against it.  Buffy took
her seat next to Willow and leaned forward to accept
the drink the Chief handed to her.  Ro said what
appeared to be a blessing.

Willow translated, “‘May your heart find the light of
a thousand stars.’”

My heart’s just looking for one thing at the moment.
Buffy raised her cup and – unlike Willow, who showed
more caution – followed the Chief’s lead of
essentially slamming it back as a shot.  Despite the
alarms going off in her head as the liquid seared its
way down her throat, she managed not to choke on what
may have been the most potent drink she’d ever had,
all the while thinking, Thank you, Spike.  He may not
have taught her much about smoking; drinking,
however...

The Chief put his glass down and laughed as he nodded
at her.  A moment later his smile was replaced by what
appeared to be an honest expression of empathy and
regret.  “You’ve come a long way.  I’m sorry to say
that your trip has been a waste of time.”

Darn it.  She’d thought the drinking of pure grain
alcohol – or its Anishnaabe equivalent – was the test.
  Apparently she wasn’t there yet.

She concentrated on appearing relaxed, trying to
ignore that every cell in her body was screaming, Let
me see him!  Her smile portrayed a serenity she did
not at all feel.  “I doubt that.”

After a few minutes of studied silence, he spoke,
lobbing the ball back to her court.  “That thing you
wear on your ear – what is it?”

The com-cam had been so quiet, that Buffy wasn’t even
sure it was turned on; until now, at least, when she
heard Sprague groan in response to the question.

And Graham: “A million two, Buffy.  That’s what it
costs.  Just keep that in mind.”

She resisted saying that that was quite a bit higher
than a ‘little more than’ the twenty thousand she had
asked Graham about that first night in Atitkokan.  He
couldn’t really be that mad, though; not if this was
what it took to get Riley back.

Taking it off, she showed the Chief.  “It’s called a
com-cam; a communications camera.  I can hear what
they tell me here.”  She pointed to the earphone, then
to the microphone.  “I talk into here.  This,” she
said, showing the tiny camera lens, “records
everything visually.”

The Chief examined it and put it over his ear.
“Someone’s on the other end?  Like a phone?”

Buffy smiled as he jumped.  Clearly, someone had said
hello.

“They asked to talk to you again.”  He handed it back
to her, laughing.

She nodded and put it back on, hearing Graham say,
“One point two million.  You heard that, right?”

Ignoring Graham, she said to the Chief, “Was there a
reason you asked?”

He smiled.  “It would be an interesting thing to have
around.”

That drift was hard not to catch.  “If I gave it to
you, they’d most likely disconnect it.  You wouldn’t
be able to do anything with it.”

“Still…  It’s been a while since we’ve added to our
collection.”  The Chief gestured to a shelf hanging
over the front door.

Buffy looked over her shoulder at the shrine to modern
Western civilization.  It held, among other things, a
fireman’s hat, a replica of the Empire State building,
and, against all laws of nature and good taste, a
stuffed, purple dinosaur.

The Butterfly Queen and Barney.  An actual bona fide
connection.

There was no need to look at Willow – the ‘A-ha!’
radiated off of her.  There was also an unmistakable,
“You’re fucking kidding me,” muttered by Graham after
Sprague described what had just been displayed on the
monitor in Atikokan.

Though it seemed fairly obvious, Buffy had to ask,
“They are the same – aren’t they?  The Butterfly Queen
is the warrior princess from the legend.”  She was
sitting next to an academic after all.  Willow liked
to have her proof.

“You’ve seen us on television?”  The Chief seemed
excited at the Tribe’s, or their legend’s, brush with
fame – among the toddler set at least.  “The
television people thought ‘Queen’ sounded better –
some of the tribal members feel that way as well.  To
me she has always been the Princess.”

In Buffy’s book, that was worth a com-cam.  All 1.2
million dollars of it.  “How rude of me.”   She
blocked out Graham’s response as he realized what she
was doing.  “I’d be honored if you would accept our
gift.”   She handed it over.

The Chief placed it on the table in front of him,
bowing his head in thanks.  “And I, in turn, would be
honored to answer your questions about Kaseniiosta.”

“Kaseniiosta?” Buffy asked, more weakly than she would
have liked.  “The Princess?”

She had a name?  Buffy wasn’t sure why that made
things seem worse, but it did.  If it wasn’t bad
enough that she had to wrestle with the whole Sam
issue, now Miss Warrior Barbie #2 was revealed to have
a beautiful and poetic long, flowing name, which was
probably accompanied by beautifully poetic long,
flowing hair and beautifully poetic long, flowing leg—


‘And to top it all off, she was the Creator’s
favorite.’

Huh?   Buffy looked up suddenly to see Ro watching
her, a smirk in his eyes, his voice in her head.

Willow belatedly nudged Buffy with her elbow.

Yes, Buffy thought.  I’m getting the
medicine-man-as-telepath thing.  Great.

Well, who cared?  She had nothing to hide.

The com-cam started vibrating violently, shaking its
way off the edge of the table.  Buffy looked at the
Chief, waiting for his nod before she leaned forward
to grab it; she put it back on.

Graham, whose agitated voice clearly betrayed his
impatience.  “The day of the bear,” he urged.  “Start
with the day of the bear.”

I’m on it, she resisted snapping.  It’s not like she
was painting her nails or anything – she was getting
acclimated.  Except for that one teeny green-eyed
monster moment.

“The day of the bear.”  Buffy said aloud, turning to
Joe.

Joe’s eyes went hard and she could practically feel
the air in the room turn about thirty degrees colder
as he asked, “What about that day?”

“You tell me.”  Just because she and Graham had
decided that was the place to start, didn’t mean they
had any clue as to why.  In fact, despite their
theories about magical interference, the bear could
have just decided it didn’t like the way Buffy looked
without blood all over her.

Reaching into his pocket, Joe pulled out a pack of
cigarettes, offering it to everyone before shaking one
out.

That was interesting, Buffy thought.  It hadn’t been
meant as a trick question.  Joe, however, was
obviously stalling, letting the cigarette hang loosely
from the corner of his mouth while he searched his
pockets for a lighter.  Even if Buffy hadn’t had the
benefit of seeing Spike use that technique for years,
Joe was moving so slowly that it was a dead giveaway.


After a full minute, Joe finally decided to answer, “I
thought it was a test.”

“A test?”  Buffy knew her surprise was clearly written
on her face.  “For who?”  And, possibly just as
important – “By who?”

Joe took another few puffs on his cigarette.  “For me.
  By you.  Riley.”  He shrugged.  “Maybe Sam.”

Graham’s exclaimed, “Sam?!?!” was so loud that Buffy
was sure everyone in the room could hear it through
her earpiece.  That was probably fine, though, since
her own mouth had dropped open and refused to budge
from the position.

Willow picked up the slack.  “What do you know about
Sam?”

Several more minutes of silence passed during which
Joe seemed to be considering how far to take this now
that he had opened the door.  He let out an angry
snort, as though he’d been commanded to tell by some
unseen parent.  “What Riley dreamed.”

Managing to get her mouth working, Buffy repeated,
“What Riley dreamed?  When?”

The ghost of a smile returned to Joe’s face and he
seemed to relax a bit.  “The day of the bear.”  Each
word was drawn out as though he were slowly leading
them to what he knew to be the obvious conclusion.

“You’re a dreamwalker,” Willow murmured, earning a nod
from Joe.  Turning to Buffy, she explained, “It’s a
form of astral projection.  He can-”

“Walk in people’s dreams.  Yeah – I get that.”  Buffy
hadn’t meant to bite Willow’s head off.  It was just
the whole Sam thing was getting a bit much.  Willow
would forgive her; Joe, however, might not.  Forcing
the irritation away, Buffy repeated yet again, “The
day of the bear?”  As far as she knew, Riley had been
fairly well occupied that day.

Of course, he had told her he’d been asleep on the
beach, abruptly awakened by Joe running out of the
trees with bear-meat-Buffy.  Could Joe be running and
walking – albeit dreamwalking – at the same time?
“When exactly?” she asked.   “And why would you think
it was a test?”

Oh, come on, she thought when Joe raised the cigarette
to his mouth again.  It took everything not to reach
across the table and yank it out of his hand.  She
almost cried in gratitude when Ro leaned over and did
it for her.

Thank you, she thought.

De nada, she heard.  Then out loud, Ro stated quietly,
“Joe.”  Apparently Ro was the parental figure.

Joe’s eyes crinkled into a smile.  He appeared neither
upset nor surprised at Ro’s command.  Grounding out
his cigarette in an ashtray on the table, he answered,
“I thought it was a counterspell.  I thought you were
taking advantage of my defenses being down.”

O.k.  Huh?  “A counterspell?”  Countering what?

Joe offered no resistance this time.  “While we were
burying the bear.”

“You used magic to bury the bear?”  Buffy asked, as it
all started to make a little more sense.

Shrugging, Joe said, “It was a big bear.”

So not important, she thought to herself.  She
honestly couldn’t care less about those kinds of
technicalities.  “How would we be taking advantage?”
There was a slight hesitation before the ‘we’; she
didn’t want to give the impression that there had been
any conspiring on anyone’s part.

Obviously unsure of whether to answer, Joe looked
first at Ro.  Upon the older man’s nod, he turned back
to Buffy.  “His dreams were unusual.  Too...”  He
couldn’t seem to find the word at first.  “...Vivid;
too much.  It was like living his life; living his
grief.”  Joe looked down and softly said, “I’ve never
experienced a dream in quite that way before.”

Living his grief.  Feeling it all over again.  Going
back to the past, reliving those key moments.

Buffy sat back, thinking about the dreams – the vivid,
crazy dreams – she’d had over the past few days.
“It’s the spell,” she said, quietly at first, trying
the words out to see how her brain would react.  “The
spell,” she repeated more loudly, an undercurrent of
excitement in her voice.  “She tried to take him
before.  This wasn’t the first time.”

Think.  Did that really matter?  That the Princess had
failed once?  And why would it have failed – because
the spell was about Sam, but Riley’s morning had been,
um, infused – sure, that was a good word – with Buffy?
  So, then, “What did Riley dream about Sam?  And why
is it important?”

There were another few minutes of silence before Joe
responded, “It just seems to me that we’ve got
ourselves one trader and a whole lot of princesses.
That, I would think, is key.”

Buffy resisted expressing her annoyance at being
grouped together in the ‘whole lot of princesses’
statement.  She was not used to being grouped,
especially when – of the three people in the group –
she seemed to be the only one without a piece of Riley
at the moment.

Get over it, Buffy.  Neither here nor there.  Get in
to see the body.  Prove it’s not him.  The whole
reason you’re here.  Not to find out what Riley
dreamed about, and most certainly not to debate the
importance she held in his life with Joe of all
people.  There were other things she needed to know.
Much more important things.

“‘Would you die for her,’” Buffy said, repeating the
phrase Joe had uttered to Riley not so long ago.  “You
meant Sam, didn’t you?”  That wasn’t earth-shattering;
that was just confirmation of something they’d already
figured out.  Unlike the next question.  “Why?  How
does that fit?”

She stopped abruptly, another phrase coming back to
her – one Joe had spoken to her this time.  ‘What some
people never find once, much less twice.’
Understanding began to descend and she couldn’t
believe that she hadn’t seen it sooner.

Leaning forward, her eyes locked on Joe’s.  “Riley
dreamed about me, too,” she stated, no question in her
voice, this time sensing Joe’s nod before he even
shifted.  Trying to keep her excitement in check, she
continued, “Sam’s voice was what led him away.  My
voice can lead him back.”

Joe laughed at Buffy’s assured tone.  “You think it’s
that simple?”

She confidently shook her head.  “I know it is.”

The laughter went away, leaving Joe’s eyes dark and
unreadable.  “Ah...”  His gaze didn’t waver.  “But
it’s not what’s in your head is it?  It’s what in your
heart.  What’s in his.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Graham snapped over
the airwaves when Buffy didn’t respond.

True love, Buffy thought.  “His love for Sam – it’s
how he could hear her.”  The unspoken part of that was
that in order to hear Buffy’s voice – whether
figuratively or literally – his love for her needed to
be just as strong.  And vice versa.  “Why would the
Princess do this?  What does she have to gain?”

Joe shook his head wearily, as though he was tired of
repeating himself yet again.  “It’s not the Princess.
It’s the-”

“Right,” she remembered.  “The Maytag dishwasher
people,” she added, even though she knew full well
what they were called.

“Maymaygwayshi,” he corrected, showing amusement
rather than irritation.

Willow interrupted, “Then why did all the guides the
police interviewed say her name when they saw the
pictures of the bodies?”

Joe leaned back, obviously unwilling to answer,
especially given the slight undertone of hostility in
Willow’s voice.

Buffy jumped into the silence before the subtle anger
became outright; it wasn’t as though Buffy didn’t
agree – fourteen men were dead and the guides’ lack of
cooperation had been a contributing factor.  However,
Buffy’s biggest concern at the moment was that the
number didn’t jump to fifteen.  Challenging this group
about the silence issue wasn’t going to get her
anywhere.  “What do the markings mean?  Why did the
guides refuse to tell anyone?”

She leaned forward, taking advantage of whatever
connection she and Joe had built up over the last
week; of the connection he’d had with Riley.  “Help me
get him back, Joe,” she pleaded.  “You can help me do
this.”

The Chief spoke before Joe could answer.  “He’s done
enough to help you.”  Standing, he said, “I’m sorry.
There’s nothing else we can do.”

“Wait!”  Buffy jumped to her feet.  “Whatever you
want.  I’ll do it.  Just let me see the body.”  She
knew she was practically begging; she didn’t see
another choice.  “Let me see if it’s really him.”

“You have his ring.  I let Joe take it,” the Chief
answered, unmoved.  “Isn’t that enough?”

“No.”  Buffy fingered the metal band that lay against
her chest, clinking gently against the cross she
always wore.  “It’s not.”

Ro, who had been sitting quietly as he watched, said,
“We have our customs.  They may seem unusual to you,
but-”

“That’s not a custom; it’s a ritual.”  Willow leaned
forward and gently placed her mug down.  She stayed
seated, her eyes locked on Ro’s, and Buffy could sense
the shift of power in the room.  For this moment, she
and the Chief were rendered useless, standing there
futilely as the mystics settled the score.

Willow’s voice remained soft yet strong; the traces of
hostility were gone, replaced by unmistakable
authority.  “It’s a ritual that you’re desperately
hoping will work but you have no idea.”

Buffy looked at Ro, unsure as to how he’d react.  She
was surprised when he smiled and shrugged.  “We don’t
know what she wants.  Nothing else has stopped her.
Maybe this will.”

Beating back her frustration, Buffy didn’t even
bothering mentioning that “this” could very possibly
be Riley’s body.  That didn’t seem to concern them,
or, if it did, not enough for them to break their
circle.  And apparently the Chief and Ro didn’t share
Joe’s belief that the Princess was innocent, that the
Maymaygwayshi were doing this just because they could.
  To be perfectly honest, Buffy didn’t either.

She dropped back down, perching on the edge of her
chair to emphasize she wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for
an answer.  She wasn’t going anywhere yet.  “I can
stop her,” she stressed to Ro.  “I can.”

The Chief also sat back down.  His demeanor had
changed; his resistance was gone and he seemed to have
given up on trying to send her away.  Good.  Although,
now he was just showing his doubts openly.  “She’s in
another realm.  You can’t just get into the boat and
paddle up to her door.”

“Why not?  That’s how she comes for these men,” was
Buffy’s retort.  “Why can’t we just call her to come
for us?”

Ro shook his head emphatically.  “Impossible.  It
can’t be done.”

Buffy turned back to him.  She didn’t believe in the
word ‘impossible.’  “As far as you know, she has no
idea the circle is even meant for her.  Let me break
it.  Make her pay attention.”

“It’s not that easy.”  Despite Ro’s words – despite
the fact that he was most likely the one who put the
body there – he leaned forward, conspiring, “Even if
we allowed you to, the circle is already there.  It
can’t just be broken.”

And again – “Why not?”  What were rules for if not to
be broken?

“It was built for Kaseniiosta, for a warrior.  For
just anyone to cross that circle…”  Ro threw his hands
up dismissively.  “There would be consequences.”

Buffy sat back and smiled.  Of course there would be
consequences – that was the whole point.  “I’m not
just anyone.”

“No,” the Chief murmured, exchanging a glance with Ro.
  This appeared to have been a topic of discussion –
possibly a heated one given the disbelief on the
Chief’s face contrasting with the acceptance on Ro’s.
“We know about the bear.”

Then what was the problem here? Buffy thought.  This
conversation had gone on long enough.  And she and
Willow hadn’t been kicked out yet, which meant there
was only one question left to ask, “What do I need to
do?”

When neither the Chief nor Ro responded, she
continued, “Drink more of that stuff?  Fight your best
men?  Whatever you want.”

The men laughed.

“Our best men?” the Chief asked, still smiling.  “We
tend not to lose our battles.  But it’s been a very
long time since anyone in this tribe fought for
anything more than the biggest pick from the day’s
fishing.  I don’t think so.”

“Then what?” Buffy asked impatiently.  They obviously
had something up their sleeves.

After a moment’s hesitation, the Chief nodded to Ro.

Ro stood up slowly, showing much more height and bulk
than she had expected, given how frail he appeared.
“Kneel down.”

That wasn’t exactly the response Buffy had expected.
“What?” she asked, glancing at Willow.

Willow shrugged uneasily.

“I don’t like this, Buffy,” Graham said, his voice
putting to words what Willow was obviously thinking.
He didn’t actually go so far as to say not to do it,
though.

Ro was waiting, unperturbed by the others’ distrust.
“Kneel.  Please.”

She’d never been very good with orders, and it wasn’t
exactly in her nature to meekly comply; on the other
hand, this was more a challenge than an order.  And
those she had no problem with.  She knelt on the
floor.

“Buffy…” both Willow and Graham said as Ro walked
around the table to stand over Buffy.  He began
chanting and held his hand out, hovering over her
heart.

“Just don’t go all Temple of Doom on me,” Buffy
muttered.  “This heart’s caused a lot of pain, but I’m
still kind of fond of having it.”  She shut up as she
saw the Chief’s glare.


TBC in Chapter 39B

=====
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 37.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

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



The next time Riley woke up, the pain had receded to a
distant ache – nothing he couldn’t handle; and the fog
that had completely taken over his brain last time he
was awake seemed to have lifted.  The fact that he’d
been able to sleep soundly – not a dream to be had –
probably hadn’t hurt.

He leaned forward, instinctively brushing Buffy’s hair
away and kissing the curve of her shoulder, just as
he’d done almost every morning for the past week or
so.  Except, as he was realizing, her hair was much
darker than he’d expected it to be.

He jerked his head back.  This was most definitely not
Buffy.

Unwrapping his arms from around the body next to him,
he was thinking it had been a very long time since
he’d woken up next to a woman without any recollection
of how he’d gotten there.  A very long time.  Not
since those first few months after he’d left Buffy.

O.k.  Scratch that.  The fog may be gone, but clearly,
memory was still an issue.

Sitting up, he tried to remember where he was and how
he’d gotten here, feeling a vague sense that he had
already considered these questions once before.

He glanced around the room, looked down at the clothes
he was wearing, the markings on his arm, and it all
began to come back to him: the butterflies, the
warrior princess, Buffy, and...

He looked down at the woman lying in the bed.

Sam.

Right.  That was a big enough thing that he should
have remembered.

His hand operated independently of his brain, reaching
out and tracing a line past her shoulder, down her
arm; jumping to her waist, to her hip...

She sighed and rolled over, smiling in her sleep as
her arm went around his waist and she snuggled her
head against his thigh.

This was inconceivable, absolutely inconceivable.  And
yet it was Sam’s chest rising and falling with each
breath; Sam’s heart he could hear pounding.  Or was
that his?

Every inch of him screamed for her, and he wanted more
than anything to gather her up into his arms and never
let go.  Something held him back, though.  A tiny
sliver of doubt that resonated in his head, screaming:
she’s dead.  Dead and buried.  You’ve held your
children tightly as they cried themselves to sleep,
missing her so badly; you’ve done it yourself, sitting
by her gravestone more times than you can count.

Buffy was dead, though, and Buffy came back.  Why
couldn’t Sam?

Riley chased that voice out of his head.  Logic – or
the lack thereof – didn’t matter.  And, anyway, right
now, the only voice he wanted to hear was hers.  He
wanted her to talk to him, to convince him that she
really was his wife, because this...

This was amazing.

“Hey.”  He gently shook her, not minding that he was
waking her up.  It wasn’t as though that had ever
bothered her before.

She mumbled something and turned her head away; jerked
it back when he said, “Sam.”

Sitting up quickly, she looked around the room, her
eyes wide.  “You’re awake.”  She did not sound at all
happy about it.

“Sorry.”  Riley pulled his hand away as his doubts
re-announced themselves, front and center.  “I
shouldn’t have woken you.  I just …”   He paused,
realizing that his voice wasn’t coming close to
placating her.  Just the opposite in fact.

She seemed bewildered, and a little frightened.  Also
defiant, though, as she asked, “Don’t you want her?”

Her?  Want her?  Want Sam?  Is that what she meant?
“Of cou-”

Damn it, he thought, his head starting to cloud again
with what seemed like an inordinate amount of
pounding.  Not now.  Do not zone out now.

Riley turned his back to Sam and swung his feet to the
floor, standing up as he tried to stop the fog from
rolling back in, to no avail.  It was intent on
coming, intent on taking over his head.

Go away.

He put his hands to his head in hopes of blocking it
out.  Too late, though: the scene around him had
already changed and he found himself in the middle of
a memory, sitting on a bed in an Officers’ Barracks
somewhere in southern California, only hours after
they’d left Sunnydale.

He sat on the rock-hard mattress – gotta love those
military accommodations – and, after what seemed like
forever, put his watch on the bedside table, very
aware that Sam had not acknowledged his presence since
they’d gotten back from the debriefing.

She had walked in the room, kicked off her shoes, and
disappeared into the bathroom, emerging five minutes
later in an oversized t-shirt, her hair wrapped in a
towel and her skin scrubbed clean.  Grabbing a
magazine off the dresser, she’d brought it to the bed,
where she had now been sitting – staring at it without
turning a page – for the last ten minutes or so.

What exactly were you thinking? he thought.  Bringing
her to Sunnydale.  Idiotic move.

Sure, she’d put up a good front – had even had him
fooled for a while there, laughing and joking as she
said good-bye to Xander and Willow...  Until the
chopper touched down at the Base and he saw something
he’d never seen in her eyes before – vulnerability.
And hurt.  A whole lot of hurt.

The worst part of it was that he had no clue what to
say to her.  There was absolutely nothing he could say
that would make this better.  Which was why it had
taken a good five minutes for him to take off his
watch and set it down.  God, Ri.  Just say something.
Anything.

She beat him to it, softly asking, “You couldn’t quite
bring yourself to hug her, could you?”  She tried to
pass it off lightly, almost as a joke, but the tears
gave her away.

Tears?

He didn’t think he’d ever made a woman cry before, not
like that; didn’t even know he was capable of it.
Didn’t know Sam was capable of it.  “Sam...”  He
couldn’t tear his eyes from her face.

“You wanted to, though, didn’t you?”  She didn’t look
up at him.  “You wanted her.”

It was the only time Sam had ever spoken to him like
that, a mix of anger tinged with hurt, disgust
tempered by insecurity.  He reached out to touch her
only to have her recoil.

“Don’t,” she whispered in what would have been a hiss
if she hadn’t been crying.  She stretched herself on
the bed and lay down, her back to him as she turned
off the light.  “I don’t want you here tonight.”

Flash forward to a military hospital in Okinawa: Sam
sitting on the bed as the doctor left the room.

“Twins?” Riley asked weakly, sinking back against the
wall.  “But we barely even...”

“That night you got me drunk.”  Sam smiled the way she
used to.  Before Sunnydale.  Confident and cocky; not
a care in the world.  “You took advantage.”

He could feel his face flush as he looked up quickly,
distinctly remembering asking her about a billion
times if she was sure she wanted to be with him that
night - to the point where she'd finally slammed her
gun on the bedside table, threatening to shoot him if
he said another word. “I didn’t-”

“No.”  She looked him in the eye for the first time in
what seemed like months.  In what was, actually,
months.  “Not of me.”  She grinned.  “Of the
situation.  Of me forgetting that I wasn’t talking to
you.”

Despite her smile, a tear rolled down her cheek as she
held her hand out to him.  Forgiving him.  Letting him
in again.

“Sam...”  His voice was so full of emotion that he
could barely speak.

“Get over here, Finn.”  She didn’t bother to try and
keep it in; she was crying openly.  Because of the
hormones, he could hear her say, laughing as she bowed
her head and wiped her eyes, murmuring, “I’m thinking
life’s about to get really complicated.”  The laughter
was gone and her voice was strong when she added, “And
I want my husband back.”

Riley didn’t need to be told twice.  There was no
memory of crossing the room or gathering him into his
arms.  He was suddenly just holding her; just
breathing her in.  “Sam – I’m so sor-”

“Don’t.”  She pulled back and put her finger to his
lips.  “This isn’t about her any more.  Buffy is what
you were.  Now you’re about me.”  Looking down, she
put her hands flat against her stomach.  “And them.”

When she looked up again, her eyes were hard; and yet,
at the same time, soft.  Warm.  “I understand how much
you loved her and that a part of you always will.
Someday you’ll love me like that, too.”  Her hand went
to the back of his neck and she drew him close.
“Someday starts now.”

He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his
eyes, realizing she was right; knowing that he’d never
loved anyone as deeply as he did at this very moment.

“I’ve missed you so-”  Her voice broke and she shook
her head, burrowing her face into his chest, her whole
body trembling.

“Sam...”  He tipped her chin up and leaned in.  He had
already tasted the salty tears on her lips when she
pulled back.

“I can’t,” she whispered.  “This isn’t right.”

It isn’t right? he wanted to shout.  Of course it’s
right.  You were right.  We made it, Sam.  We made it
through Buffy, through Annie and Kate.  Liam, Jack.
We got all the way to-

And that was where he came up short.  That was where
he opened his eyes and realized that he wasn’t in that
room in Okinawa; he hadn’t just spent the last few
months in the mountains of Nepal.  That had all
happened a long time ago.  A very long time ago.  And
he had no doubt that they would have made it.

Except that Sam had died.

Sam was dead.

Sam couldn’t be sitting here on this bed because she
was dead and buried, ashes and dust.  Her hand
couldn’t be running down his shirt, her eyes couldn’t
be looking so sad, so heart-breakingly sad...

He wanted to believe it, though; wanted to believe
that Sam was here so much that he didn’t resist when
she hooked her fingers around his waistband and pulled
him down to the bed; when her hands went to his waist
and her mouth to his neck.  Not until her tongue
neared the scars did he have the presence of mind to
finally pull away.

For a minute, everything stopped.  Sam sat completely
still, her hands frozen in place, her breath hot on
his neck.  Then she let go and the connection snapped
when she severed all contact.

She looked at him intently, the spark completely gone
from her eyes.  Abruptly swinging her feet to the
floor, she asked, “What do you want?”

He was speechless.  Completely unable to answer her
question at first, not at all sure what had just
happened.  She repeated herself and his body stepped
up to the plate, stomach growling as he realized he
could very possibly be on the verge of collapsing from
hunger.  “Food would be good.”  And, come to think of
it, “A bathroom wouldn’t hurt.”

She looked puzzled, then a look of comprehension came
over her face and she nodded as she stood.  Turning,
she began to walk across the room, coming to a sudden
halt only a few feet from the bed.  “Daylight is
coming.”  Her voice was full of wonder.

“Yeah.”  The room did seem a bit lighter.  It didn’t
seem like such a big deal to him, but, hey – he was
standing here having a conversation with his dead
wife.  Who was he to bring logic into this situation?
“Looks like the sun’s coming up.”  That fact seemed to
make her uneasy.  “Are you o-”

“You’re hungry,” she said.  “I’ll be right back.”  She
glanced over her shoulder at him.  “Stay here.”

Sure, he thought, watching her leave.  No problem.

“Nice, Ri,” he muttered, falling back on the bed.
“You always did have a way with the ladies.”

More than you thought, Finn, he heard Sam say.  More
than you thought.

What was the problem here? he thought angrily, sitting
up.  What exactly was going on?  Was she the one
playing the head games, or was he doing it to himself?


Reliving those moments, hearing her voice, and now,
feeling her so strongly – so incredibly strongly – in
a way he hadn’t felt in ages.  Not since those early
years, in fact: a strong and confident silent presence
as she covered his back.  He used to feel an
attachment so fierce that he could tell when she
entered a room, moments before he could see or even
hear her.  He had no idea, though, why her presence
was so much stronger when she wasn’t actually in the
room with him, almost as though the physical
embodiment of her was merely a figment of his
imagination.

He got up from the bed gingerly, happy to see that he
was, actually, stronger.  That, at least, hadn’t been
imagined.  If it weren’t for the tricks his mind was
playing, he’d even venture to say he felt back to
normal, all parts of his body working the way they
should.  Although, he thought, stretching out some
kinks, maybe a bit stiffer than usual.

Time to get the brain working on something that might
actually helpful.  Like where he was at the moment
rather than where he’d been and what he’d been doing
fifteen years ago.

His eyes slowly scanned the room.  Now that dawn was
approaching, he could see that the space he was in was
maybe thirty feet long, fifteen feet wide.  The bed
was tucked back in the corner, opposite what seemed to
be the doorway, or at least an opening in the wall,
which, for reasons he couldn’t understand, he had no
interest in exploring at the moment; instead he walked
over to the table across from it.

There were three small clay bowls sitting on the
table, each filled with dark liquid.  He lifted one to
his nose – inhaled the sweet smell.  He was about to
dip his finger in to taste it, when Sam re-entered the
room and snapped, “Don’t touch that.”

Surprised by the harshness of her voice, he turned.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.”  She was carrying a
dish, which she set down on the table, and a large
bowl, which she placed in the far corner of the room
while giving him a pointed look.

He looked at it, wondering what it was for.  Oh.  Duh.
   “Seems too pretty for a pot to piss in.”

She shrugged.  “I have more.”

Alrighty, then.  And anyway, as chamber pots went,
this one certainly was up there.  He walked over to it
and turned his back to her, all the while feeling
incredibly uncomfortable as he could feel her eyes
boring into his back; uncomfortable enough that he was
relieved when she left the room again.

It wasn’t as though he’d never done this in front of
her before – working together in some of the globe’s
finest hellholes tended to rid you of those kinds of
hang-ups fairly quickly.    In fact, you got to know
people pretty well – their quirks, their habits; the
things that bugged them and the things that made them
tick.  Plus, when you were married to someone for
seven years, it was hard not to come to the obvious
conclusion: this wasn’t Sam.  Or, at least, not the
version of her that he remembered.

It looked like her and sounded like her, but there was
definitely something off.  Flashing red light number
one was the fact that his wife was dead – had been for
eight and a half years.

He zipped his fly and turned back to see her re-enter
the room, carrying another bowl, this one filled with
water.  She handed him powdered soap and a towel when
he came back to the table.  As he washed his hands, he
heard her go over to the pot he had just filled.
Realizing what she was doing, he called out, “Sam, you
don’t have to...”  But it was too late, she’d already
taken it out of the room.

Flashing red light number two: this was some weird
geisha-type behavior that Sam would never have gone
for.  Her normal response would have been more along
the lines of, Who the hell do you think I am?  You’re
a big boy, Finn.  Clean up after yourself.

Not to mention that if this were really Sam, and she
really had spent the last eight years here – she would
never settle for using chamber pots on a regular
basis.  Even if there were no such thing as indoor
plumbing here, she’d have constructed a system that
put the ancient Romans to shame.

He sat down at the table, in front of the plate that
contained a substantial portion of what looked like
incredibly unappetizing soggy straw.  Picking up the
spoon, he tentatively took a bite, not expecting it to
be at all palatable.  Surprised when it actually
tasted good, he took a few more bites.

And possibly the biggest flashing red light of them
all – Sam couldn’t cook worth a damn.  She’d always
said that she had far too many other things to do with
her time.  Why on earth would God have invented the
phone if it weren’t for ordering take-out?

Looking up, he examined her face as she came back into
the room and sat down across from him.  Well, let’s
just get the obvious out of the way first.  “You’re
not Faith by any chance, are you?”

“Faith?”  She looked completely puzzled.

No, he thought.  Definitely not Sam.

Sam knew all about Faith.  He’d told her that one
early on – back when he’d wanted nothing to do with
her – thinking it would scare her off: You want to
know what you’re getting into?  You think the vampire
thing is messed up?  Nah.  I can even screw up the
good things.  I can look a woman in the eye and tell
her that I love her and have absolutely no clue that
it’s not even her.  If that’s the kind of man you want
in your bed, then you’re even more twisted than I am.

‘Don’t you worry,’ Sam had said, peering at him over
her bottle of beer.  ‘When you tell me you love me?’
A slow, knowing smile had come over her face as a
twinkle appeared in her eye.  ‘Which you will, by the
way, I guarantee that.’  She’d tipped back the bottle,
knowing he couldn’t take his eyes off the curve of her
neck as she finished off her beer.  ‘Honey – you’re
gonna know it’s me you’re talking to.’

O.k.  That one, he knew, was all memory.  Mem-or-y.
Not some weird insert yourself into a moment from the
past kind of deal.  No – that had been a flashback of
the regular kind.  What he also knew, however, was
that she’d been right; he wouldn’t be making that
mistake twice.

He forced himself to concentrate on the woman in front
of him rather than the one in his head.  This woman –
this Sam – was watching him watch her.  She pointed to
the dish and asked, “Your  meal – it’s not right?”

“Oh.”  He’d gotten caught up in the
what-was-going-on-here thing and had completely
forgotten that he was starving.  He picked up the
wooden spoon lying next to the dish.  “Sorry.”

Famished as he was, it took him all of a minute to
wolf down what she’d given him.  She smiled, looking
truly happy for the first time since they’d woken up,
maybe even for the first time since he’d gotten here.
“It was the way you like it?”

“It was good.”  Surprisingly so.  “Thank you.”

The smile lit up her face, and he had to close his
eyes for a minute; had to just put that image on
instant replay.

Things here were not as they seemed – that was
undeniable.  But that smile...  It had been so long
since he’d seen that smile break.  Cameras had never
captured it, and he wasn’t going to let that one get
away again.

He opened his eyes to see her watching him again,
intently.  The smile was gone and her eyes had become
guarded; distant.  “You’re different,” she said.

Yeah? he thought, unable to keep a laugh from
escaping.  No shit.  “So are you.”  Of course, she had
the excuse of being dead for eight years.

Unlike him, who had no excuse whatsoever.  Being in
the business of preternatural things – especially now
that his head was clearing up – he could even come up
with about a dozen explanations of how this could be
happening.  And that was without cracking a single
book.

Yet he had this need to touch her; his body wanted so
badly what his mind knew couldn’t be.  And right now,
his body seemed to be winning.  He leaned forward and
reached across the table, taking her hand.

This was dangerous – so dangerous.  There was no
telling what could happen if he let his guard down.
Once he had her hand, it would be so easy to run his
fingers up her arm, and over her shoulder...  It did
not at all help that the tank top she wore was the one
she’d been wearing that day in Okinawa.  The day he’d
handed over his heart.

A drop of water fell to his skin, and he looked up to
see tears rolling down her face as she stared at their
hands.  She shook her head and yanked her arm away,
standing up quickly.  “I need to…”  She backed away
from him, almost stumbling as she left the room.

Leaning back in his chair, Riley ran his hand through
his hair.

With another woman, he might have followed her, he
would have made sure she was o.k.  Not with Sam,
though.  His wife had never been the dramatic exit
type – if she left the room like that, it was because
she wanted to leave the room.  Alone.  She didn’t want
anyone to come with her, especially him.

God – who was this woman?  So much about her was Sam,
so much beyond her appearance: the way she smiled, the
way her eyes sparkled, the way she looked at him,
always on the verge of a grin even when she was so
angry that she couldn’t speak.  Almost always at
least; with that one three-month exception.

Was it a different incarnation?  Did Joe’s warrior
princess have something to do with this?  The
Butterfly Queen?  Corrupting Sam’s spirit, capturing
her soul?  It was almost as if she’d been brainwashed
of everything except a few key details – the lip
gloss, the tank top; the things that he’d never told
anyone else, things that only Sam would know.

Or maybe it was the other way around; maybe they’d
only taken certain things from her, things like
knowing who Faith was.  Things like, well, o.k., that
was the only one he could think of at the moment,
though he was sure there were more.

Which made this even worse: it wasn’t her, and yet it
was.  A shadow of the woman he had loved.  Parts of
her that he never thought he’d get back, yet somehow
still a stranger.  Would his kids care?  Would they
want her back, even if it were just this shell of who
Sam had been?

Could he love her – the way he had loved Sam?  Could
he sacrifice all the ground he had gained and convince
himself she was his wife?  For Kate, who had felt
Sam’s loss most acutely; for Jack, who had never known
her...

And he was drawn to her; he couldn’t deny that.

Riley leaned forward and buried his head in his hands,
thinking about the one major humongous factor that
hadn’t even come up yet: Buffy.  God, Buffy.  How
could he do that to her?   How could he betray her yet
again?

Sorry, Buff – I know I said I play for keeps, but I
didn’t factor in the Sam returning from the dead
thing.  I’m sure you understand.

Talk about an impossible choice: a few weeks with
Buffy versus years with Sam...  A college romance with
unexpected new life versus a marriage, four kids, a
history...  A moment versus a life...

The voice came back – Sam’s voice, ringing loudly in
his head: You’re gonna have to do it, Finn.  The
choice has to be made.  It’s the only way.

Riley pushed back from the table, hoping the sudden
movement would shake her from his head.  He didn’t
want to choose.  Things weren’t that simple.  Buffy
wasn’t just his past; this wasn’t just some random
fling.  There was a future there, something strong and
promising.  Something he wanted more of.  Not
something he was sure he was willing to give up.

But to have Sam back...  To give that back to his
kids...

He closed his eyes, unwilling to concede that the
voice was right; that a choice would actually have to
be made.  By him.

He’d felt so much guilt that night on the rooftop –
talking about Sam, but kissing Buffy; and it wasn’t as
though the guilt was completely gone.  Even as it had
receded, there was still that nagging feeling that
every step he took that got him closer to Buffy was a
step he took away from Sam.

Now?  It was unfathomable.  There was simply no other
word for it.

A choice, he thought, shaking his head.  Weren’t
choices supposed to be a good thing?

Despite the absolute knowledge that there was
something very wrong with this picture, that this
wasn’t Sam, his need for her – to touch her skin, to
hold her in his arms – was almost unbearable in its
intensity.  And now that he was awake and fully
functional, he was afraid that need would only grow;
that the physical desire would overtake rational
thought.  That his mind might start playing tricks on
him again, working to convince himself that there was
a way to have her, that this really was Sam.

His body seemed more than willing to buy into that.
The ache for her was overwhelming, something he was
having a hard time pushing aside, despite knowing this
was all a lie.

A month ago, there wouldn’t have been a moment’s
hesitation.  This would have been bliss.  A gift from
above that he would have accepted gratefully and
without pause, even with the knowledge that there was
something fundamentally wrong.  He had no doubt that
he would have happily spent as long as she wanted in
that bed.

If that actually happened?  Well, forget the choosing.
  As difficult as it may seem at the moment, at least
there was a choice.  If he let himself give in?  He
and Buffy wouldn’t survive that.  She wouldn’t forgive
him.  Not again.  Even if it were with Sam.

There was too much at stake.  He wasn’t ready to let
Buffy go.  If a choice had to be made, he couldn’t
honestly say that it would be Sam.  Especially this
one.

Riley looked up guiltily as he heard her come back
into the room, smiling as though nothing had happened
earlier; as though she hadn’t practically run from him
in her haste to leave the room.

“Are you still hungry?” she asked.  “Would you like
more?”

He ignored her.  “What is this, Sam?  Where are we?”

She smiled.  “So many questions...”  She took his hand
and pulled him up, leading him back to the bed.  His
body was on autopilot, perfectly happy to follow her
there without any concern for the consequences he had
just moments ago been considering.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he forced himself
to keep his arms to his sides and his hands away from
her skin; he closed his eyes, though, as she ran her
fingers through his hair.  “Justified, I’d say,” he
said.  “I mean, this isn’t your average turn of
events.”  He grabbed her wrist and stopped her just
before she lifted up his shirt, leaning down for what
he knew would be another kiss.

He didn’t want to kiss her, didn’t want to get lost
again – because he had no doubt he would; she was
home.  It didn’t matter that this wasn’t Sam – when
whatever it was looked like her and felt like her and
tasted like her...

The lip-gloss was peppermint this time, and her scent
was intoxicating as her hair brushed his face.  “Sam,”
he mumbled into her lips, already feeling drowsy.  “We
need to talk about this.  We need to...”  Stay awake.
Do not even think about falling asleep again.  “We
need to get out...”

She pouted, although, unlike before, it seemed more
flirty than angry, especially when accompanied by a
hand slipping up under his shirt.  “Why are you in
such a hurry to leave?  Isn’t it enough just to be
with me?”

He pulled back as she leaned in to kiss him again.
“Sam…”

“Hush,” she said, putting a finger to his lips and
straddling his waist as she pushed him back on the
bed.  “I never meant to leave you alone.  But I’m here
now.  With you.”  She eased down on top of him,
covering his body with hers, and gave him a wicked
smile. “And I have somewhere I need to take you.”




TBC...



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

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
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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 Thirty-Seven

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


Buffy took the stairs to her bedroom two at a time,
annoyed that she’d left her cell phone sitting on her
desk as she’d discovered in the car when she’d tried
to find it, her intention being to call Angel
immediately.  She threw her keys on her desk and
dialed the phone as she sat down.

Not bothering with ‘hello,’ she barely even waited for
Angel to finish saying his name before launching into,
“That night in Riley’s kitchen – what were you
thinking?”

Angel was quiet, and she could picture the look on his
face, a cross between concern, especially given the
circumstances under which he had left Boston, and
reticence, not wanting to verbalize what he had been
feeling since, it was far beyond the boundaries of
appropriate mourning behavior; especially if it were
anything like what she’d been thinking.

Still, it was important that she know; she needed it
as confirmation that whatever was going on was
magic-assisted.  “Angel...”

He finally – reluctantly – said, “You really want to
know?”

“Yes,” she assured him.   “I really do.”

Sighing, he gave in, though sounding very
uncomfortable.  “I was thinking it would probably be a
really bad idea for me to throw you down on the floor
and tear your clothes off right about then.”

An incredibly bad idea, she thought.  “There was kind
of a pull, wasn’t there?”

Angel muttered, “A very persistent one.  Yes.”

Now we’re getting somewhere, she thought, though there
was still a little further she needed to go.  She
asked, “Why did you come?”

If she’d been sitting in the same room with him, she
knew she’d be seeing him shrug – an attempt to avoid
showing how unsettling it had been to be brought back
to those years, so easily reminded of that
inflammable, unsustainable, and, as often as not,
miserable intensity.

“I don’t know,” he answered.  “I just felt it.”

She sat back in her chair, satisfied.  Exactly.  “Like
there was a voice in your head, telling you to?  The
same way that voice was telling you to, um…”

“Ravage you?” Angel said dryly.  “Yeah.  Kind of.”

Buffy tried to keep from getting her hopes up.  Just
because it was a spell didn’t mean she was any closer
to finding Riley.  Still, it was hard to keep the
excitement out of her voice.  “Doesn’t that seem
strange?  I mean, a while ago – yes, that’s the way
things were.  But that’s not how we are now.”

He didn’t contradict her.  “So what are you saying?”

She took a deep breath.  He might think it was quite a
leap to go from that to: “I think maybe Riley’s not
dead.”

“O.k.” Angel answered, without a shred of emotion, and
in the most matter-of-fact tone ever.

“O.k.?  That’s all?”  She’d expected a pause at least,
maybe even some debate.  “You’re not going to try and
talk me out of it?”

He asked, “Why should I talk you out of it?”

No – that was the most matter-of-fact tone ever.  With
a little exasperation thrown in.  “Because,” she said,
“that night in the kitchen.  You said he was dead.”

“I…?  What?”  He sounded surprised.  And emphatic.  As
if the emotionless tone from a minute ago had been
very deliberately achieved and maintained – so well,
in fact, that she hadn’t noticed.  “No, I didn’t.”

Now it was her turn to be exasperated.  “It was in the
way you looked at me.  The way you held me.”

“The way I…?”  He laughed.  “This was right before I
didn’t ravage you?”  His voice got all gravelly at the
end there, and she was glad he was sitting on the
exact other end of the country.  She felt a sudden
flush in her cheeks as the room seemed to grow warmer.
  The spell still seemed to be having a bit of an
effect.

Reaching behind her to turn the air conditioner up,
she almost dropped the phone, catching it just in time
to hear Angel say, “Honestly?  I wasn’t really
thinking about Riley right around then.”

“You weren’t?”  So, bad in one sort of way, but good
in another.  “Does that mean you think he’s alive?”

“How would I know?” he answered tersely.  Probably
because of that whole unreleased sexual tension thing.


She snapped, “Well, you’re dead.  Can’t you tell if
other people are?”

“It’s not like they send out a daily memo,” he shot
back.

Very funny.  She was quiet for a minute – escalation
wouldn’t do anyone a bit of good.

This had to be hard for him – though he may have
always wanted her to have the kind of life Riley could
give her, she knew it stung that he couldn’t be the
one to provide it; and there would always be a part of
her that would regret that, too.  She quietly said,
“I’m going back for him.”

“Yeah,” he responded, so softly she could barely hear
him.  “I figured as much.”  It clearly wasn’t a
surprise.  “You’re sure about this.”

Buffy played with the phone cord.  “Completely.”

He shifted into business mode.  “You were out cold for
almost an entire day after this happened – how do you
get around that?”

She’d been paying enough attention to Willow’s and
Graham’s conversation in the car that she was able to
answer, “Willow thinks the translation of the markings
was used to make up a spell.  She said she can tweak
it.”  Leaning forward in her chair, she was beginning
to feel the buzz she always got when they sat in his
office, going through the plan.

“Will there be back-up?” Angel asked.

Buffy nodded, forgetting that she wasn’t actually
sitting across from him.  “Graham put a team together.
  Him, Brady, Ana and Sprague.  Brooks will be the home
base guy.”

Angel didn’t respond.  Buffy knew what he was
thinking: it was pretty risky for four
non-superpowered human types to confront something
that had taken a Slayer down for a full twenty-four
hours, especially when they were still essentially
dealing with a complete unknown.  He’d done more than
enough that could be considered equally risky, though,
as had every member of his own mostly human team on
countless occasions.

“What about Willow?” he finally asked.

Speaking of redheads who had just walked into Buffy’s
room...  “Willow said it’s been a long time since she
got her hands dirty.  She managed to convince Graham
to let her come with us.”

Buffy could hear Angel smiling as he asked, “Any magic
in that?”

“Very possibly.”  She still wasn’t sure exactly how
Willow had managed to get Graham to concede.  Even he
had seemed surprised.

Angel said something muffled, presumably to someone
else, before coming back on the line.  “Gunn says
he’ll come out there if you need him.  Even if it
means spending a week in the middle of fucking
nowhere.”  He paused.  “That last part was a direct
quote.”

She laughed.  “No.  Tell him thanks for the offer,
though.”

Angel seemed about to hang up, saying at the last
possible minute, “Buffy, if it weren’t for the whole
outdoors thing…”

“I know,” she said quietly, knowing how much it meant
for him to offer.  “Thank you.  But L.A. needs you.
And I need you to stay safe.  I couldn’t handle losing
you, too.”

While they were saying their goodbyes, the doorbell
rang.  A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was
well past ten p.m.  Buffy wasn’t surprised that it was
Dawn who appeared behind Willow.

Dawn wasted no time getting to her point, snapping,
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Um, hi, Dawn.”  Buffy looked over at the answering
machine that was blinking furiously, probably, as she
was now realizing, due to messages from Dawn.  “I’m
guessing you talked to-”

“How could you do that to them?”  Dawn’s eyes were
flashing.  “How could you get their hopes up like
that?”

Riley’s kids?  Get their hopes up?  Taken aback at
Dawn’s anger, Buffy mumbled, “It was kind of the other
way…”

Dawn whirled around to Willow.  “And you of all people
– how could you possibly be supportive of this?  Do
you guys even remember?  When Mom died?”  She glared
at Buffy.  “When you did?”

“This is different,” Buffy said sharply.

“To them it’s not,” Dawn spat out.  “They think you’re
going to bring their daddy back to them.”

Every muscle in Buffy’s body tensed.  “That’s what I’m
planning to do.”

“Why, Buffy?” Dawn asked, advancing into the room.
“Do you feel it?  Feel in your heart that he’s alive?”
  Each word was spoken more harshly than the one
before.  “Or do you think that might just be the guilt
talking – guilt about what you did to him way back
when?”

Buffy jumped out of her chair and came around the
desk.  “What I did to him?”

Dawn didn’t back down.  “You weren’t exactly an
innocent-”

“O.k.”  Willow was trying to be the peacekeeper,
stepping between them with her hands held out.  “Down,
girls.”

“I hope you’re sure about this,” Dawn said, her voice
overflowing with anger.  “Because there are a lot more
hearts that stand to be broken this time around.  It’s
not just you that’s going to get hurt.  It’s never
just you.”

Buffy walked forward, stopping only when she was close
enough that Dawn was forced to take a step back.
“What is this really about, Dawnie?”  She used the
childhood nickname deliberately.  “Are you worried
about them?  Or are you still angry at me?”  She
folded her arms across her chest.  “And if that’s what
this is?  Get over it.”

“For your whole life you’ve just rushed right in, not
caring who else it affected.”  Though Dawn’s anger was
still there, it was tempered by pain.  “Well, you’re a
grown-up now, and whether you like it or not, those
kids are looking up to you, and you had better damn
well come through for them.”

Dawn started to leave, turning back as she said,
“They’ve lost everything, Buffy.  I really hope you
have a good reason for going back again, a good chance
of finding him.  If this is all because you can’t
stand to let him go...”  She paused before practically
snarling, “Again.”

As Dawn shook her head, the anger seemed to slip away,
leaving in its place sadness; an unbearable,
overwhelming sadness.  “No one deserves that.”  She
turned and left the room; they could hear her run down
the stairs.

Willow started after her, calling out, “Dawn!”  Her
voice wavered between reprimand and empathy.

“No.”  Buffy closed her eyes against what promised to
be another watershed of tears with an extra special
dose of guilt and doubt on the side.  It wasn’t as
though Dawn’s reaction was unjustified.  “Let her go.”
  Buffy flinched when she heard the door slam.

Willow came back into the room and perched on the edge
of Buffy’s bed.  “Do I detect a little repressed
anger?”

“Not exactly repressed, was it?”  Buffy sighed,
finally opening her eyes.  “Do you think she’s right?”

Willow didn’t hesitate.  “About screwing up his kids
if you’re wrong?  Probably.”

Buffy groaned and leaned back against the desk.
Please don’t do this to me, Will, she thought.  I need
you on my side.

“About him still being alive, though?”  Willow kicked
off her shoes and curled her legs underneath her.
“There’s something weird going on up there.  I think
you’ve got a shot.  A small one, maybe.  Still…”

Buffy came over to Willow and collapsed onto the bed
next to her.  “I didn’t ask for them to trust me.  And
even if I had come up with this on my own, I never
would have said anything to them without being sure.”

“I know.”  Willow’s hand traced a pattern on Buffy’s
quilt.  “Dawn probably knows that, too.  She’s just…
I don’t know.”  Willow shrugged.  “Ain’t motherhood a
bitch?”





TBC in Chapter 38

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

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Yahoo! SiteBuilder - Free, easy-to-use web site design software
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Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Other disclaimers, etc. in chapter thirty-four.

Chapter Thirty-Six

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



“Sam…” Riley said.

The pain was back, and with it came an overwhelming
need for sleep.  He devoted every iota of willpower to
staying awake.  He’d spent far too long without her;
he wasn’t about to let his body rest right now.
Especially when there was so much he wanted to tell
her, so much to ask.  All he could manage, though,
was, “The kids…”

Sam smiled and leaned her head against his chest, her
cheek so cool against his skin.  “Tell me about our
children,” she questioned softly.

About our children?  Where could he possibly begin?
Especially since he was having a hard time processing
any thought beyond, Sam is here.

His kids.  God – what was he going to say to his kids?

He watched as Sam got up and walked across the room,
coming back moments later and sitting down next to
him.

Pushing aside the pain, Riley turned his head as Sam
took his hand.  He tried to lift it to see.  “What are
you…?”

Whatever she was doing to his arm tickled, which, yes,
was preferable to the my-skin-is-on-fire feeling of
moments earlier.  Still, he thought it was worth the
shock to his system to pull himself up and see what
she was doing.  As soon as he shifted, though, she
leaned over and kissed him.

Her lips covered his mouth and everything else fell
away.  She tasted exactly as he remembered – sweet and
warm, with the faintest hint of raspberry thanks to
the lip gloss she always wore.  Inspired by Kate and
Annie’s collection, she used to say.

“Kate,” she whispered.

What?  “Kate?”

“You were saying…”  Leaving a slow trail of kisses
down his arm, she said, “Kate...  And Annie…”

He’d been saying?  He’d said that out loud?

Even as a sliver of his brain registered those
thoughts, the rest of it was being overtaken by a
series of images – vivid dreams of Kate diving for a
goal, of Annie eating her hot fudge sundaes.  Of Liam
skateboarding down the hallway and of Jack sitting at
the kitchen table, playing the ever present Gameboy.

Going backwards in time: Kate’s broken arm from skiing
when she was ten, Jack’s first t-ball game, Liam
learning to swim, the twins’ first steps.

From finding out Sam was pregnant for the first time,
fifteen years ago, to the Red Sox game with Liam only
weeks earlier.  And everything in between.

It seemed like days had passed – years even – by the
time Riley woke up again, alone.  He sat up slowly,
glad that the pain had faded away, although it seemed
to have been replaced by a thick fog, making all
attempts at focusing nearly impossible.

Clothes.  He wanted to find his clothes.

Though thinking seemed unusually difficult, movement
had become much better; or so he thought until he took
his first stab at walking and nearly collapsed onto
the floor beside the bed.  It was pure instinct to put
a hand out as he fell; dumb luck that he connected
with something solid, something to lean against as he
tried to stop his head from swimming.

He had no idea how long it took for his mind to clear.
  In fact, all sense of time was gone.  It was dark
out, which he assumed meant that it was still
nighttime – whether the same night as when he had
first woken up and seen Sam, or an entirely different
one, Riley had no idea.  The fire was flickering
again, and he was reminded that the whole point was to
get out of this room.  Maybe if he could figure out
where the fire was coming from...

He decided to try getting to the doorway, making
painfully slow progress as he inched his way along the
wall, spending what seemed to be more time resting
than actually gaining any ground.  Some progress was
made, however, and he was nearly overcome with joy
when he realized he had come across his clothes
hanging from a peg on the wall.

They looked as though they’d been cleaned, although
they did smell a bit musty.  Still, he’d never been
partial to parading around naked, even when Sam had
been...

Riley closed his eyes.  Sam.  She was here.  Had he
really just forgotten?  Was that possible?

God – what was wrong with him?  And why was it
impossible to actually have a thought and carry it
through?  For example, he was holding his shirt in his
hand.  He had no idea why, although it was highly
likely he’d intended to put it on.

So do it, Finn.  Get on with it.

He looked at the shirt for a few minutes, trying to
remember what he was supposed to do first.

Think.

O.k.  Pull it over his head, then put an arm through
each sleeve.  Head.  Arm.  Other arm.

As he stretched his arm out, it seemed to be moving in
ultra-slow motion, hovering just within the range of
his vision, looking unusually dark, even in this room
without light.  He brought it closer to his face.

Well, shit.

Very few things were clear right now.  Hell – even
remembering that his name was Riley Finn seemed an
impressive feat at the moment.  One thing he knew with
the utmost of certainty, however, was that those
markings were not good.  Not good at all.

He pulled on the rest of his clothes with what seemed
to be lightning speed in relation to everything else
he’d done so far.  His mind was preoccupied with the
symbols that covered his arm, symbols that he knew
were important, though he couldn’t figure out why if
his life depended on it.

Laughing grimly, it occurred to him that maybe it did.

There was a sound from across the room, and he looked
up to see Sam.

Sam?

Right.  Idiot.  Sam was here.

Why was Sam here and why did she look so upset when
she glanced at the bed?

She took a few steps into the room, coming to a stop
only inches away, although she clearly hadn’t noticed
him.  “Where-?”

He reached his arm out, amazed that it actually worked
the way it was supposed to.

Well, not entirely.  It did kind of clumsily knock her
shoulder, making her jump.  “Sam…”

Her eyes were wild – angry – as she turned to him.
“How...?”   She snapped her mouth shut and seemed to
be making a concerted effort to smile.  “You scared
me.  You shouldn’t be out of bed – you’re not strong
enough yet.”

Tell me about it.  “Sam...”  He looked down at his arm
and saw the markings again.  Not good, Ri.  Remember –
not good.  “Sam – we need to get out of here.  This
place isn’t safe.”

“Oh, Honey.”  The smile reached her eyes and she put
her arms around him.  “I’ve been here a long time.
Trust me – there’s nothing out there you need to worry
about.”

“But-”

She silenced him with a kiss – bubblegum this time.
“Don’t worry, o.k.?”

No.  She didn’t understand.  “We need to...”

Riley couldn’t finish the thought – the effort of
walking across the room had taken too much out of him.
  And he’d actually spoken two whole sentences in a row
just a few seconds ago, which, apparently was his
allotment for now.

He leaned against Sam, not sure how she managed to get
them both back to the bed.  Despite collapsing
gratefully, he made one more attempt.  “Sam…”

“Shhh.”  She brushed her fingers through his hair.
Leaning down to kiss him one more time, she said,
“Rest.  I'll see you when you wake up.”




TBC next week...



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

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Yahoo! SiteBuilder - Free, easy-to-use web site design software
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Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Other disclaimers, etc. in chapter thirty-four.

Chapter Thirty-Five

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



Buffy looked out the car window, barely registering
the conversation in the front seat, and very
specifically not noticing Graham’s periodic glances at
her in the rear view mirror.

He hadn’t said more than two words after Brooks’
revelation, and Buffy figured it had, by now, occurred
to him that Joe’s ‘would you die for her’ hadn’t meant
what they’d originally thought, i.e., do you love her
enough that you would sacrifice yourself to save her?
Instead, Joe had meant: would you give up this life to
be with her?

And yes, Graham had been right – Joe had been talking
about Sam, not about Buffy.

Buffy could feel Graham’s eyes on her again, and she
finally looked up, her eyes daring him to say
something.  He was probably thinking that if this
really were Sam, then they should just let Riley be;
that as much as Graham wanted his friend back, there
was no way he was taking Riley away from Sam.  A
similar thought may have flitted through Buffy’s head,
but she wasn’t going to mention it.  She was a Slayer,
not a saint.

Graham pulled to a stop alongside Buffy’s car.  She
almost didn’t respond when she heard him say her name
as she got out.  Looking up reluctantly, she could see
the conflict written all over his face, and she was
certain he was going to tell her that he’d decided to
call the whole Riley retrieval thing off.

So what?  She could do it herself.  And she was about
to tell him that in a heated voice when he surprised
her by saying to meet at the Air Force base at four
the next morning, and if Willow was serious about
coming, they could probably pick up some gear at a
place on Comm Ave.

Willow was coming?  Buffy looked at Willow.  When had
that decision been made?

Willow shrugged innocently, giving Buffy a wide-eyed,
Who me? look.

Buffy had already begun to close the car door when she
heard Graham quietly add, “I’m not honestly sure that
what we’re doing is the right thing.”

Looking down quickly, Buffy thought, Maybe not.
However, she really wasn’t willing to consider other
options.  If that did mean a showdown with Sam, then a
showdown with Sam was what would be.

Which was what she was about to say when Graham
continued, “But if this really is Sam?  She’s gonna
know we’re coming for him.”  He grinned in the way
that only demon-hunters and people with really sick
senses of humor tended to grin.  “This could get
interesting.”

A smile came over Buffy’s face.  She hadn’t been ready
for that.  “Thanks.”

He nodded as he pulled away.

No, she certainly hadn’t been ready for that.  Not
from Graham.

On the other hand, the person whose support Buffy had
expected - i.e., Willow - didn’t seem quite as
gung-ho.  Very possibly because of her own experiences
with the Beyond, especially the big Buffy one.

Buffy’s defenses came back in full force.  Or,
actually, probably more than full force, given that
Willow also intimately knew every insecurity Buffy had
ever had when it came to men, something that
unfortunately tied in here quite strongly.

Unlocking the car, Buffy got in.  She slammed the door
shut. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Willow seemed to have no interest in pushing.  “Didn’t
say a word.”  She reached for her seatbelt.

Good, Buffy thought.  End of story.  Except it
probably wouldn’t hurt to mention, “The odds that Sam
is truly somehow behind all of this are, well, not
much.”

She pulled into traffic, totally oblivious to the car
horns blaring at her until she noticed Willow squeeze
her eyes shut.  “That’s how they drive in Boston.
When in Rome…”

Willow clutched the door handle.  “Still not talking.”

A few minutes later, minutes during which Buffy had to
admit a few snarky Sam thoughts crossed her mind, she
added, “I mean, why would she start with all the
others?  If she just wanted Riley, why not just take
him?  Talk to him through Kate or something.  Lord
knows, Kate would have been happy to-”

“Buffy!”  Willow grabbed onto the dashboard as the car
came to a sudden stop.

“I saw him.  Just wanted to scare him a little.”
Buffy shouted out the window, “It’s called a
crosswalk!  The thing with big, white lines!  It’s
there for a reason!”  The tires squealed as she
started driving again.

“Jerk,” she muttered before continuing, “even if it
were Sam, what kind of life could he possibly have
with her?  She’s dead.  And not the kind of dead where
you can go to the movies and have dinner and things.
Really dead.  Can’t even take her out in public dead.”

“Mm-hmm,” Willow mumbled.

“And – honestly?” Buffy said, her eyes on the road.
“When you’re up in Heaven?  You’re not really thinking
about things like that.”

“Really.”

“You don’t really think at all.  It’s more like a
state of being.  Total contentment.  Not – ‘I can’t
wait for my husband to come join me and why don’t I
just hurry him along.’”  Oops.  There goes that snarky
thing again.

Buffy sped through a yellow light.  “Of course, if
it’s not Sam, it’s someone who’s apparently doing a
pretty good job impersonating her.  Brooks said it was
her voice dead on.  How would whatever this thing is
know how to do that?”

Willow offered, “Well, it could be-”

“Magic.”  Buffy rolled her eyes.  “Of course it’s
magic – some special Warrior Princess kind of magic.
If she can kill men without leaving a mark on them and
make them disappear into a sea of butterflies, then
impersonating Sam would be absolutely no problem.”

“No, prob-”

“But does Riley know that?  Do you think he knows that
it’s not really her?  After all this time...”  Buffy
couldn’t speak for a minute.  She’d been away from
Angel for less than a month – after spending nearly
every day in and day out with him for eight years –
and the pull to, um, have him had been beyond
incredible.

How could Riley not feel that for Sam?  And even if it
were someone who just looked like Sam, would he know
the difference?  Would he want to?

No, she tried to tell herself.  He wouldn’t fall for
it.  He would know something was wrong – how could he
not?  Unlike Buffy and Angel, one half of the Riley
and Sam equation was dead, which should be a pretty a
big indicator.

Well, o.k.  One half of the Buffy/Angel equation was
also dead if you wanted to be technical about it.
And, considering the other half had spent a summer
behind the Pearly Gates...

Buffy gripped the steering wheel in an attempt to keep
herself from crying yet another time today.  So much
for that line of thinking.  Especially since she could
now easily see that even if Riley knew something was
off, he’d just figure it was the
Sam’s-supposed-to-be-dead thing and wouldn’t bother to
look for another explanation.

Why should he?  After all, making love to the wife
you’d mourned for most of the last decade was pretty
much a have-your-guilt-free-cake-and-eat-it-too
situation.  Could he really be blamed for giving in?

And yet it would hurt.  God, how it would hurt.

“I’m not...”  Buffy’s eyes filled with tears as she
looked at Willow.  “I’m not sure I can do this again
with him.”

“Oh, Sweetie.”  Willow reached her hand out and laid
it gently on Buffy’s arm.

“Will...”  Buffy concentrated very hard on the cars in
front of her, so much so that she almost missed the
blaring sign saying, ‘Get your hiking gear here!’  Or
something to that effect.  She pulled into a parking
spot.

Because of course there was the one question that was
pretty much unspeakable.  Not that that stopped her
from turning to Willow and quietly asking, “What if it
really is her?”

There were very few things that Buffy had qualms about
fighting.  Riley’s dead wife – the mother of his
possibly newly-orphaned children – was one of them.

Willow waited for Buffy to turn off the engine before
saying, “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s
Sam.”

“You don’t?”  Buffy was surprised at how much of a
relief it was to hear Willow say the words out loud.

Willow shrugged.  “It’s like you said – it doesn’t
make sense.  Especially when you factor in all the
others, including the ones who weren’t widowers.”  She
opened her door and stepped out of the car.

Buffy joined Willow on the sidewalk.  “There were ones
who weren’t widowers?”

“Do you ever read your email?”  Willow sighed as they
walked into the store, ignoring the annoyed glances of
the salespeople who were obviously ready to close up.


With a death glare towards anyone who dared approach
them before the fifteen minutes until closing time
were up, Buffy began looking through a rack, almost
jumping when Willow said, “Nine out of fourteen were
widowed.  Remember?”

“Oh.”  Buffy pulled a shirt off the rack and held it
up against Willow.  “Right.  I was kind of focused on
the whole widower thing…”

Willow nodded sympathetically.  “That’s perfectly
understandable.”

Buffy smiled her thanks.  “I think I’m done needing
perfect friend for the moment.  Now I just need
perfect friend’s brain.”

“O.k.”  Willow leaned forward, all business.
“Remember how back at that briefing I asked Graham to
find out if the other victims had lost someone close?”

Buffy nodded.

“Well, they did,” Willow continued.  “All of them – a
fiancée, a high school sweetheart.  And what better
way to lure your victim, than speaking to him in the
voice of someone he’s just lost?”

“Luring wasn’t exactly what I’d call it.”  That made
it sound too peaceful.  “It was more the making them
disappear into thin air thing.  Or, rather, into air
filled with millions of butterflies.”

“Fine.  Whatever.”  Willow was not deterred.  “So
maybe there’s another purpose for the voice.  But I’d
bet you anything that every one of those men heard the
voice of the person they lost.  And I’m highly
doubting that they all lost Sam.”

“Then why couldn’t I hear it?  Or Morris?” Buffy
asked.  “And if it was only meant for Riley, why did
Brooks hear it, too?”

Willow adamantly shook her head.  “I don’t think he
was supposed to.  Doesn’t this thing usually strike
when these guys are alone?”

Yes.  Even if it did, though, “That still doesn’t
answer why Morris and I didn’t hear it.”

Willow took her time looking through a pile of
t-shirts.  She finally said, “Back in front of the
office you said they were close.  How close?”

Buffy’s voice was quiet.  “I think he was in love with
her.  Maybe still is a little bit.”

“So,” Willow asked, “what are the odds that two men,
who were in love with the same woman, would both be
willingly heading into the butterfly storm?”

Buffy pulled a vest off a hanger and tried it on.
“Someone screwed up.  They didn’t know about Brooks –
didn’t know that he’d hear the voice, too.”  Her eyes
connected with Willow’s in the mirror.  “Riley really
was targeted – someone tagged him as the one to take.
It wasn’t a random act of nature that our boats got
separated; someone did that on purpose.”

“I think there’s probably more than one someone,”
Willow added.

Buffy nodded.  She didn’t say anything else until they
had paid for their clothes and were out on the street
again.  As she got into the car, she looked at Willow.
  “If it’s not Sam, then it has to be magic of some
kind – right?  It has to be a spell.”

Willow pulled her door shut.  “If it walks like a
duck, and talks like a duck...  I’m thinking things
are about to start quacking.”

Starting up the car, Buffy hesitated for a minute and
then said, “The other night – with Angel.”  She turned
to Willow.  “I kept thinking that it was like the way
things were back in high school.  That we got
transported back in time.”

“‘For that moment,’” Willow said, echoing the phrase
she had just recently translated.  She raised her
eyebrows.  “Although I'm not sure I'd call you and
Angel a ‘moment.’”

“It depends on your perspective,” Buffy answered,
shaking her head.  “Say you’re a princess who’s lived
for millions of years and you just want to get back to
that moment – to those years – you spent with the man
who could very well be your soul mate.”

Willow turned to Buffy.  “You and Angel got caught up
in the Riley and Sam spell.  You weren’t supposed to
be in the boat any more than Brooks was supposed to be
there to hear Sam’s voice.”  She nodded slowly.  “Good
show, Watson.”

Buffy pulled out into the line of cars streaming by,
much less recklessly this time.  She tried not to
sound too eager.  “It could happen, right?”

There was a moment of silence before Willow asked,
“Did you talk to Angel?”

Talking had been the last thing on her mind. Buffy
could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.  “No.”

“Well, maybe you should,” Willow said, very tactfully
avoided mentioning Buffy’s blush.

Yes, Buffy thought.  Maybe I should.



TBC in Chapter 36




=====
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 Thirty-Four

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


Buffy looked around as they got out of the car in
front of O’Hara’s.  “This is the coffee break?”

She could see now why Graham insisted on driving
rather than having her follow him – a Mercedes
convertible would have lasted about two seconds in
this neighborhood. “I was kind of hoping for a cheese
danish,” she mumbled.  “A doughnut would have worked,
too...”

Graham checked to make sure his car was locked.
“You’ll have to settle for a keg of McCaffrey’s.  I’ll
bet you just about anything that Pete’s got one set up
in the back.”

The buzz that had been missing back at the office was
alive here, though it had gone to the other extreme.
Buffy recognized all too well their need to lash out.
Luckily, punching bags and free weights were
replaceable.  She turned as an old man approached
them.

Looking around, Pete said, “It’s been like this since
we heard.  They don’t like losing one of their own.”

“One of their own?”  Graham smiled sadly as his eyes
scanned the room.  “Riley would be happy to hear
that.”  He introduced Buffy and Willow.

Pete nodded and looked at Buffy, clearly having a
sense of who she was.  “Too sad a story for such a
pretty young thing.”

Damn it.  With these new developments, she’d actually
thought that crying was a thing of the past.  No such
luck.

As Willow’s arm went around her, she heard Pete
gruffly say to Graham, “I set up the back for you.
Take as long as you need.”

Buffy took a deep breath and followed them all to the
back room.

As promised, there was a keg sitting in the corner.
Most of the team was already there, telling stories
about Riley and laughing as they drank their beer from
red plastic cups.  They looked up and then guiltily
away from Buffy as she walked in with Willow and
Graham.

“Don’t stop.”  Buffy tried to smile as Brady pulled
out a folding chair for her.  “Please – I...”  Three
weeks and one long ago year just weren’t enough to
populate her memories.  “It’s nice to hear.”

She spent most of the next couple of hours laughing
through her tears, listening to the things Riley had
done over the years and telling herself that this
wasn’t the end, that there would be more stories to
come.  She was actually thinking that this hadn’t been
as bad as she’d expected when they started talking
about how angry – “fucking batshit crazy” as one of
the men called it – Riley had been at some
bureaucratic screw-up years ago.  No one escaped
Riley’s wrath that day – Why the hell hadn’t anyone
told him about the letters?

He’d found out from his mother who, upon returning
home after four weeks away, had found a letter waiting
for her – one she had dreaded receiving for years –
telling her that Riley was missing in action and
presumed dead.

Except that she knew he wasn’t, having just spent the
month with her very alive son and his family helping
out with the new baby.  She’d dismissed it at first,
but had called him early one morning a week later with
the sudden realization that other families may have
received the same letter.  Which they had.  Without
exception.

After numerous phone calls, Riley had finally gotten
to the bottom of it: the general in charge of the
division had decided that deep undercover wasn’t
enough and that the team should become a shadow unit
that would cease to exist in any official context.
Without discussing it with anyone, the general had had
an aide send out letters to each family saying their
son or daughter was missing in action and presumed
dead.

As it turned out, there were other things he’d done
without discussing with anyone, including declaring
war on the Republic of Romania, and it wasn’t long
before he was no longer in charge of the division,
much less anything else.

The deed had already been done, however, and after a
quick damage control trip to Bucharest, Riley was
determined to personally call the family of every
member of the squad with profuse apologies and
assurances that it would never happen again.

“I started working for him right around then,” Wendy
said, smiling.  “I almost quit on the spot when I
found out about how angry he’d gotten.  Then I decided
that someone who’d take the time to make all those
phone calls couldn’t be all bad.”

It had been a while later when Riley found out it
wasn’t only the next of kin who had gotten the letter
– someone’s uncle had gotten one; another guy’s tenth
grade English teacher.  Anyone who had been noted in
someone’s file for whatever reason – references,
background checks – anything.  Riley was still working
his way through the red tape, trying to get the
complete list of names from D.C. when Sam died.

Buffy was glad she hadn’t eaten anything in almost two
days because she was suddenly feeling quite ill.  And,
given that she’d recently spent a fair amount of
flashing back to the day she received that very
letter, well...

She abruptly stood up, movement being the only thing
she could think of that would ward off a complete
breakdown.  She strode out of the room and headed
right towards the boxing ring, looking for a fight.

Brady followed her out, which turned out to be a good
thing because – young and strapping as these guys
were, they stood no chance against an unhappy Slayer.
Brady at least had a sense of what he was in for and
could mostly give it back.  Plus he kept a running
commentary that left little room for aimless angsty
mind-wandering and even, occasionally, made her smile.

After about twenty minutes, Brady fell back against
the ropes and yelled, “Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!” grinning
all the while.

By the time they returned to the back room, the mood
had turned somber and Graham decided it was time to
move on to the reason they were really here.  With a
glance at Buffy, he said, “So here’s the deal – I’m
not entirely convinced Riley’s dead.”

That got their attention.  Though there was a little
skepticism in response to Graham’s words, it wasn’t as
much as she’d expected.  Everyone here had seen enough
to know that things weren’t always what they seemed.

Graham continued, “I’m fully aware that this may be an
extreme case of denial talking and if anyone feels
strongly the other way, I’m all ears.”  He waited for
responses.  When none came, he said, “O.k.  Then we
need a plan.”

Brady leaned back and folded his arms across his
chest.  “Permission to-”

“No permission necessary.”  Graham’s answer was
directed at everyone in the room.  “This is about as
unofficial as we get.  Anything you want to say gets
put on the table.”

“O.k., then,” Brady replied.  “How’s the General feel
about this one?”

Graham seemed to have been expecting that.  “Good
question.”

And?  “Is there a good answer?” Buffy asked.

Turning to her, Graham said, “There’s an answer.  Not
that good.”  He looked back at the others.  “I’ve
already been asked to be Division Director.  Sprague
would be promoted into my job.  If he weren’t still in
Quetico, he’d already be moved into Riley’s office.
The General isn’t sure why we haven’t already moved
on.”

Brooks asked, “Moved on?”

Graham nodded curtly.  “He wants us to start working
on other cases – the Canadian government is having
second thoughts about using us on this.  Jessica said
they weren’t too confident in our abilities to keep
the public safe if we couldn’t protect our lead man in
the field.”

“Jessica?”  Buffy could feel her blood boil, although
it shouldn’t have surprised her in the least given
that Jessica had fired Angel Investigations by the
time Buffy returned to her house from Riley’s that
first night back in Boston.

“The one who set us up?”  She was seething as she
looked at Graham.  “Jessica’s got to be involved.
She’s the one who had Riley go in; who practically had
your General order him to go.”

“And there’s the root of the problem,” Graham said to
the rest of the group.  “It’s highly likely that once
the General catches wind of anything we’re discussing
here, there will be a direct order to leave it alone.
Disobeying that order will have serious consequences.
You all need to know that straight out.”

Brady murmured, “Thus the ‘coffee break.’”

A-ha, Buffy thought.  Codespeak for ‘get the hell out
of Dodge while Big Brother’s listening.’  “None of you
can do this with me?”

“I didn’t say that.”  Graham put his drink down on the
floor.  “I just want the people going to know what
they’re getting into.  And I want everyone else to
know why these ‘people’ are limited to Brooks, Brady,
Sprague and Lourdes.”  Over everyone’s protests, he
continued, “I need the rest of you on active cases –
Wendy will give you your assignments.”

Morris leaned forward. “Sir, we can…”

“No.”  Graham shook his head.  “You can’t.  Riley put
a lot into getting this division back on track.
There’s a very good chance we could lose our most
experienced people either to court martials or, well,
whatever this thing is.  I’m counting on you guys to
pick up the slack.”

He was clearly uninterested in any further discussion
on the matter as he turned to Buffy.  “O.k.  So what
happened out there?”

With a quick look at Brooks and Morris, Buffy
described how the shockwave had moved across the lake,
taking only a minute to reach them, whipping up the
waves and-

“Before that,” Brady cut in.  “What happened to Riley?
  It sounded like he blacked out.”

Of course, Buffy thought, remembering how she’d heard
Brooks ask Riley if he was o.k., how she’d turned to
see him already doubled over.  “I don’t know.  I
didn’t see it happen.”  She looked at Brooks.

“He said he felt something – like a shock; then he
said it was more like pins and needles.”  Brooks
smiled a bit ruefully and glanced at Morris.  “I was
about to tell him I was getting kind of a tingly
feeling myself, but when I turned to him he...”
Brooks paused.  “It looked as if he got the wind
knocked out of him; like he’d been hit.  I asked how
he was.  That’s when Buffy turned around, and then the
storm came.  I didn’t get a chance to ask anything
else.”

Buffy asked Graham, “Do you think it was the Princess?
  Claiming her prize?”

Graham tipped his chair back and thought for a minute.
  “Yeah.  I guess I do.  You?”

“Maybe.”  Buffy nodded.  “Probably.  Her and about a
billion butterflies.”

“Butterflies?”  As if to emphasize his annoyance, the
front of Graham’s chair made a sharp noise as he
leaned forward again.   “There really were
butterflies?  You didn’t think that was important to
mention?”

Didn't think...?  Of all the...  “Well, maybe if I
hadn’t been figuring out how to convince you that
Riley wasn’t dead when it turned out you’d already
decided that and just hadn’t actually-”

Willow cleared her throat loudly, interrupting what
could easily become a full-force blowout.

Obviously aware that Buffy wasn’t the only one being
reprimanded, Graham seemed to make an effort to calmly
ask, “How many?”

“Millions wouldn’t be an exaggeration,” Buffy said,
barely containing her huff.  “Think drowning.
Butterfly kisses of the invasive kind.”

“Sounds fun,” Brady muttered.  “In a horrific kind of
way.”

Graham turned to Brady.  “Did you see any?”  When
Brady shook his head, Graham switched his gaze to
Brooks and Morris, the same question in his eyes.

Brooks shook his head as well.  “We were concentrating
on not hitting the rocks.”

“Nice job,” Brady said, earning himself a deathly look
from the very battered Brooks.  Everyone else pretty
much ignored him.

“Well, at the very least, it sounds like we’re in the
right nightmare.”  Graham looked at Willow.  “Moving
on.  The Butterfly Princess – where are we with that?
Did you get any further?”

“Kind of,” Willow replied, suddenly reticent.  “There
was something.”

Graham couldn’t entirely hide his impatience.  “And?”

Willow hesitated.  “It wasn’t exactly from the most
academic of sources.”

“This isn’t for publication, Will.”  Unlike Graham,
Buffy didn’t even try to mask the irritation in her
voice.  “What’s the source?”

Willow offered what could only be construed as an
apologetic look.  “Barney.”

“Barney?” Graham asked as if he hadn’t heard her right
the first time.  “As in big, purple dinosaur Barney?
As in
the-only-people-who-can-stand-me-are-three-year-olds
Barney?”

“See what I mean?” Willow said.  “I found it on the
Web – in some transcript from the show.  From almost
fifteen years ago.  The only actual mention of
‘Butterfly Queen’ anywhere.  And it did seem
relevant.”

“O.k.”  Graham sighed as he asked Willow, “What did it
say?”

“That she’ll dance for eternity,” she replied,
deliberately not looking at Buffy.

“And that’s relevant because…?” Brooks asked.

Willow took a sip from her cup before answering,
“Because she dances for her lost love, and will until
she finds him again.”

“The ‘true love’ thing?” Brady asked.  “’Would you die
for her’?  What Joe said the other day?”

Buffy sat back in her chair.  She’d been so focused on
the widower thing – on Riley fitting the profile –
that it hadn’t really occurred to her why it was
important.

Or maybe it was that she didn’t want to think about
it.  There’d actually been a moment when she’d
wondered about where the wives fit in; she’d even
wondered if that whole ‘butterflies equals souls’
thing meant the wives were coming back for their
husbands.

She hadn’t said anything to Riley, though, because
that wasn’t a conversation she’d been ready to have,
especially so soon after that whole stupid
breaking-up-with-her thing that he almost did.  It was
one thing to have him be intrigued by this phantom
princess; it was a whole other story entirely to even
think about competing with a back from the dead Sam,
the one woman in the history of the world that Buffy
had no chance against.

Buffy looked up to see Graham watching her.  But
instead of bringing that topic to its logical
conclusion, he turned back to Willow.  “The markings
on the rock – did you figure them out?”

Willow didn’t seem at all eager to move on to the next
subject, which didn’t seem to Buffy to be a very good
sign, especially given how reluctantly Willow had
approached this part of the conversation.

“Some of the symbols are identical to the ones on the
bodies.  I’m sure that doesn’t surprise anyone.”  As
Willow spoke, she reached into her bag and pulled out
a notepad and a Palm.  “Here’s what I’m pretty sure
about – some things about spirits, some things about
being lost, all of which ties in to what I sent you
last week about the butterfly myths.”

Yes, Buffy thought, watching Willow closely.  There
was definitely more, definitely something important,
and most likely something Buffy would not like,
otherwise Willow wouldn’t have stopped talking.  She
fixed her stare on Willow.  “Keep going.”

Willow’s gaze was just as unyielding, focused on Buffy
as though there were no one else in the room.  “The
rest of this is just a guess.  You need to keep that
in mind.”

“Willow...” Buffy warned.

“Well there’s the ‘in the beginning’ symbol, the one
that shows up just about everywhere – the one I told
you about at the briefing.”  Willow reached into her
bag a second time, this time pulling out a pair of
glasses that Buffy was pretty sure she didn’t need.

No, make that absolutely sure.  And that glasses
stalling device was such a Giles rip-off that Willow
should be embarrassed to be using it.  Buffy glared at
Willow.

“Fine,” Willow muttered.

Buffy sat back as Willow finally began reading her
notes, saying things like ‘an eternal search’ and ‘you
are a part of me’ and ‘your blood runs through me.’
There was also a mumbled ‘devour’ and ‘consume’ that
Willow tried to slip in under her breath.

A little dramatic, no?  Cheesy, too.  This princess
was way too full of herself.

Willow paused and looked at Buffy over the rim of her
glasses.

Buffy shrugged her shoulders as nonchalantly as
possible.  Go ahead.  I can take it.

Looking back down, Willow finished, “‘For that moment
the stars smiled.  The wind sang; the sky danced.
They will sing and dance again.  When daylight comes,
we will be one.’”

Will be one?  As in, um, one? Buffy thought, her heart
sinking.  She folded her arms in front of her chest,
very specifically trying not to react.

The silence in the room was broken by Brady.  “That’s
pretty specific for a guess.”

Buffy kept her eyes on Willow.  “Willow’s ‘guesses’
tend to be pretty solid.”  Oh, this princess was
toast.  Of the toastiest kind.

Brady crumpled up his cup and tossed it into the trash
can.  “So where does that leave us?”

That was a dumb question.  Buffy gave him a scorching
look.  “Where it leaves us is that Riley was targeted
and that we have to figure out a way to get him back.”

Brady raised his eyebrows.  “That’s all well and good,
but where do you propose we start?”

“With Joe,” she replied.  “There’s more to this and he
knows it.”  She turned to Graham.  “Besides, Joe’s
tribe has a body-”

“Riley’s body,” Brady cut in.

Did the man not understand that he was treading on
thin ice?  Had she not beaten him up enough already?
“A body...” – emphasis on the very
non-identity-specific ‘A,’ thank you very much –
“...sitting in a circle of magic stones as an offering
of some type.”

“I say we try and identify the body.”  Brady finally
seemed to sense that his life was in serious danger.
He held his hands up to Buffy and hurriedly added,
“Not that I want them to be right about him being
dead, I just think we should make sure he’s not before
we go off on some fruitless rescue mission.”

Graham looked at Brady and then at Buffy.  “I say we
do both.  Buffy, Brady, and Brooks – we leave first
thing tomorrow.  Ana and Sprague are already up at
Quetico – they’ve been holding the fort in case
anything came up.  We’ll drop off Brady and Brooks,
then head down to Lac La Croix.  Pay a visit to the
Tribe.”  He looked around the room.  “Does anyone have
anything else to add?”

“Sir,” Brooks said quietly.  “I kind of do.”

Buffy turned to see him staring at her.   His eyes
seemed so sad.  That didn’t bode well.

“O-kay,” Graham said slowly.  When Brooks didn’t
continue, Graham prodded, “Go ahead.”

Brooks looked down at the ground and spoke softly.
“That day on the lake...  I thought I heard something.
  The last few days I just assumed I was imagining
things, but after hearing everything Willow just said…
  Well, now I’m not so sure.”

Buffy was getting restless.  She wanted to get home,
pack; anything that would make tomorrow come faster so
they could get Riley out of there before, well,
daylight.  “What was it?” she asked impatiently.
“What did you hear?”

She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised – not
after everything that Willow had said.  And she had to
admit, she even had an inkling it was coming.

Still, it was as though Brooks had punched her – just
rammed his fist into her gut and taken the air right
out – when he looked Buffy in the eye and said, “Sam.”




TBC in Chapter 35







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

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Yahoo! SiteBuilder - Free, easy-to-use web site design software
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Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Other disclaimers, etc. in chapter thirty.

Chapter Thirty-Three

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




Riley woke up gasping for air.  His lungs were on fire
and every breath he took hurt like hell, but it sure
beat not breathing.

He opened his eyes, shifting his head to look around
him.  Even just that one slight movement sent tremors
of pain throughout his entire body.  Anything more
than blinking clearly seemed to be out of the
question.

Nothing seemed to be permanently damaged or even
broken, however, so just give it a few minutes.  Be
patient.

He let his eyes shut, and focused on drawing the air
in and out.  In.  Out.

When breathing could actually happen without the
bombs-going-off-in-his-chest feeling, Riley decided to
give the looking around thing another try.

The result was hardly worth the effort – the room he
was lying in – yes, lying, he could figure that much
out – was pitch dark.  Not a window or a door or a
lamp to be seen.  That eliminated the whole visual cue
thing.  Moving on then.

Other than his still labored breaths, slience seemed
to be the prevailing sound.  Excellent.  0 for 2.

Smell?  Dank and musty; nothing really helpful there.
And he wasn’t about to start tasting things – not
before he could see them at least.  That left touch.
Touch he could do.

He seemed to be lying on something fairly soft, if a
little scratchy.  A blanket?  On a bed?  A scratchy
wool blanket that was not at all comfortable against
his bare skin?

Bare skin.  Because he wasn’t wearing any clothes.
That was disconcerting.  Dealing with that should
probably be the first order of business.

Unfortunately, however, sitting up took a lot longer
than it should have.  A good five minutes with his
muscles screaming every inch of the way.  And not just
the normal aches and pains of a forty-year-old man; no
– this was an extra special kind of hurt that ranked
about 18 on a scale of 1 to 10.  The more awake he
felt, the more pain he realized there was.

Fuck.  It felt like his body had been torn apart and
carelessly sewn back together again, with the added
effect of nothing working the way it should; his brain
was sending signals out but the messages were getting
lost along the way.

He was still pretty sure, though, that nothing had
been broken.  He didn’t even seem to be unusually
bruised or scratched up.

O.k., he thought.  Pain inventory not helping.  The
pain is happening to someone else.  Just concentrate
on the motor skills.  Left leg over, right leg over,
feet on the floor.  Let’s go.

Easier said than done, however, and words alone could
not describe the sensation of every muscle being
shredded, pulled apart thread by thread, or of every
nerve ending being exposed and dragged back and forth
across a bed of hot coals studded with glass.  Words
simply could not describe...

He fought the temptation to collapse back on the bed –
having come this far, he was not about to cede one bit
of territory.  Hey – give him a day or two and he
might actually be able to walk across the room.

Lovely.  Absolutely fucking lovely.

With a great deal of concentration – and a fair amount
of tears stinging his eyes at every spasm of pain –
Riley raised his head.

Well, check that out.  He had actually discovered
something.  There on the far wall was a faint flicker
of orange light.  A flame?  Meaning somewhere outside
of this room there was someone else alive and moving
around?  He hoped that was a good thing.

Think, Ri, think.  The where, what and how.  Start
with how did he get here and what was the last thing
he could remember.

Butterflies.  Being overtaken by a swarm of
butterflies.

Reaching his arms out, trying to move forward.  Trying
to get to...

Buffy.

How could he have forgotten about Buffy?  How was that
humanly possible?  Although now that he was thinking
of her, it was almost too overwhelming – a flood of
sensation colliding with nerves that were already raw.

Mind over matter.  Disassociate the body and mind;
move away from the feelings, even if they did happen
to be about Buffy.  Right now the key is to-

Damn.  Unless he was delusional, he was pretty sure
someone had just come into the room – it looked like a
shadow had fallen across the wall with the flickering
light, and there was the faint feeling of the air
shifting as someone walked around.

Buffy?  God, he hoped so.  If it wasn’t her, he was
pretty much screwed.  At this point the only advantage
he had was that whoever was with him didn’t seem to
know he was awake.

He made every effort not to make a sound, holding his
breath even, as he sat perfectly still, tracking the
figure moving about as his eyes were slowly adjusting
to the darkness.

A woman – taller than Buffy.  Gathering supplies of
some sort and heading back over to him.  Well, that
was no good.    If this was the Princess chick, he
wasn’t exactly in a state where he could ward off
unwanted advances.  And given his state of undress...

“You’re up,” she said as she approached, somehow
bringing the light with her.  “Good.  I’ve been
waiting.”

Her voice registered at the same moment she emerged
from the darkness, and he suddenly understood what it
must feel like to be hit by a truck.  The only part of
his body that seemed to be working seamlessly at the
moment was his mouth as it dropped open.

This wasn’t possible.

He was so stunned that he barely felt it as she pushed
him onto his back, her cool hands caressing his chest,
lifting his hand to her lips.

She smiled.  “I’ve been waiting for so long.”  Her
hair brushed his face and fell across his shoulder as
she leaned down.

There was no way this could be real.  It was a
hallucination.  It had to be.  Except he didn’t think
you could feel a hallucination.

He looked up at her fingers entwined with his, resting
on her lips.  He wasn’t sure if he hadn’t pulled away
yet because he couldn’t or because he didn’t want to.

“Don’t be scared.”  She brought his hand up to her
cheek and leaned into it.  Easing her body down so
that she was lying next to him, she looked up with her
big, wide eyes.  “Please – say something.”

He shifted his head and raised himself to his elbow,
forgetting that only seconds before he hadn’t been
able to move.  Looking at the silhouette of her body
in wonder, he brushed his fingers through her hair,
almost crying as the silky tendrils fell to the bed.
There was only one thing he could think of to say: her
name.

“Sam?”




TBC...




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

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Yahoo! SiteBuilder - Free, easy-to-use web site design software
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Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Other disclaimers, etc. in chapter thirty.

Chapter Thirty-Two

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




They approached the building slowly.  Buffy had never
been here without Riley or Graham and she had no idea
if the elevator scanny things were going to bring a
team of armed men to greet her.  She had to admit, she
was a bit apprehensive.

A flash of movement caught her eye, and she turned her
head.  Was that Brooks?

He was nearly unrecognizable – a huge gash across his
forehead, a black eye, and a nose that had obviously
been broken.  As he leaned against the back of a
bench, he one-handedly – his other arm being in a
sling – swung his cane like a golf club, hitting
pebbles into the empty lot across the street with what
seemed like an unnecessary amount of force.

Well, given that she might have taken her own ceiling
down if it hadn’t been for the steel beam, Buffy could
understand the motivation.

He didn’t acknowledge Buffy or Willow at first,
smiling only after Buffy said, “Careful there – hit
those too far and you could break a few win...”  She
couldn’t quite choke out that last word, remembering
she’d said almost exactly the same thing to Riley, the
day after the fireworks.

Brooks didn’t seem to notice.  He swung the cane a few
more times before looking at the ground.  “Buffy, I’m
so sorry.  I know how much he meant to you.  I’m sorry
I couldn’t…”  His voice cracked and he angrily hit the
cane against bench, muttering, “Fuck.  This just
sucks.”

By now, the sensation of sudden tears was so
commonplace that Buffy barely noticed it.  “Yeah,” she
mumbled.  It truly did.

He swung the cane a few more times.  “I keep thinking
I should stop by the house to pay my respects in
person.  I’m just not sure I can look into Sam’s-”  He
stopped abruptly to correct himself.  “Kate.  Kate’s
eyes.”

Buffy looked down.  So understood.  Except Liam was
the one that really got to Buffy.  She squeezed her
eyes shut for a second, trying to find the optimism
she’d felt back at her house.  Riley is not dead, she
told herself.  Not dead.

She looked up to see Willow’s intent gaze.  Buffy
decided to ignore the skepticism contained within.
“Will, this is Brooks.  He was at the video briefing
you did before we left for Quetico.  Brooks, this is-”


“Willow the witch,” Brooks finished for her.

With an amused glance at Buffy, Willow said,
“Something I distinctly remember not mentioning.”

“That one I’ve known for years.”  Brooks grinned.
“Sam actually told me about you.”

Willow turned back to Brooks in surprise.  “Sam?  Sam
told you about me?”

“Brooks and Sam were...”  Buffy thought this probably
wasn’t the best time to go into the whole
Brooks-Sam-Riley thing.  “...Close.”

“She said she hoped you’d make it,” he told Willow as
he looked around for another rock to swat at.  “Looks
like you did.”

Buffy thought she heard a trace of bitterness in that
last statement – presumably not because Willow had
made it, but because Sam hadn’t.  And despite Willow
having come to terms with her dark phase, Buffy
thought she probably had no interest in discussing it.
  Changing to a bright and cheery new subject, Buffy
asked Brooks, “You escaped the Boston hospital, too?”

“Barely – they transferred me there last night,”
Brooks answered.  “Brady talked them into releasing
me.”  He shrugged.  “It looks worse than it is.”

“The cane and the sling are just for show?” Buffy
said, eyebrows raised.

There was a hint of a smile in his eyes.  “Maybe I’ve
got my own healing thing going on.”

Buffy decided not to respond to that.  She’d done
enough avoiding of the subject.  Quietly, she asked,
“What happened?”

Brooks paused for a minute before responding. “Morris
tells me we got thrown against the rocks – I don’t
actually remember.  They said I drowned.  I’d be dead
if it weren’t for Joe dragging me out of the water and
doing the whole CPR thing.”

Vaguely remembering Graham mentioning it, Buffy said,
“Joe?  Didn’t we send him away?”

“He decided to follow us.”  Brooks gave her a crooked
smile.  “Lucky for me, I guess.”

Yes.  ‘Lucky’ was probably the word.  Hopefully it
wasn’t mistakenly being used in place of ‘deliberately
kept the team in sight in order to view his
handiwork.’  “Has anyone talked to Joe since then?”

Brooks winced as he tried to hold up his bad arm.
“Kinda unconscious at the time.”

Of course, Buffy thought.  Nice way with the
sensitive.  However, now that he’d mentioned it...
“Should you be here right now?  Don’t you Army guys
get workers’ comp?”

“Graham did mention something about staying home for
the next few days, but...  I just can’t.”  He gave her
a sad smile.  “I thought it would be better to be
around everyone.  Until I got here that is.”  He
started swinging his cane again.  “Did they call you
in for a debriefing?”

“No, I...”  Buffy stopped.  Now that she’d jumped on
the ‘Riley’s not dead’ train, the ‘you stupid idiot –
of course he is’ voice had begun taking prominence.
“Something’s come up.  I needed to talk to Graham.”

Brooks stopped the cane in mid-air, giving Buffy a
shrewd look.  “Something’s come up?”

She shrugged.  It was going to be hard enough to talk
to Graham about this; she wasn’t about to verbalize it
before then.

Obviously intrigued, he straightened up.  “That’s
worth a trip inside.”

“Wait,” Buffy said as Brooks started to walk – well,
limp – forward.  “The elevator.  Riley said…”

“Oh, right.”  Brooks smiled knowingly.  “The bites.”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to be surprised – more because
of the part about Sam knowing about it than the one
about her mentioning it to Brooks.  “Riley told Sam
about all that?”

She’d always assumed that it was just too shameful for
him to talk about the bites; that that’s why he had
kept it from her, coming clean only because he had no
choice.  It had never occurred to her that he would
have shared it with Sam – with Sam and not Buffy.

This should not come as a shock, Buffy told herself.
Sam was his wife.  If he’d been honest with her about
why he’d left Sunnydale, of course he would tell her
the reason he’d taken to such a nasty little habit.
Still...

Stop it, Buffy.  This does not matter.  Not one bit.
Not any more.  Riley loves you.  Present tense.

She suddenly noticed that both Brooks and Willow were
staring at her – Brooks seeming a bit confused; Willow
not at all so.  Buffy did her best to erase any doubt
that might be lingering on her face.  She looked at
the front doors, asking Brooks, “Can you get us
inside?”

Brooks looked from Buffy to Willow, and then back
again.  Confused maybe; not, however, stupid.  He
clearly decided to let it go, nodding towards an alley
that ran alongside the building.  “Follow me.”

They walked down the alley, stopping when they came to
one of the nastiest looking dumpsters Buffy could ever
recall seeing – and that was saying something.  Brooks
slid the panel door open, reaching in and pulling out
a couple of trash bags.

Buffy watched him stick his hand in again and feel
around for something.  Blech.  She was not at all
happy when he gave up, saying, “A little help?”

With a bit of reluctance, she nodded.  “What do I have
to do?”

Brooks said, “There should be a keypad somewhere in
there.  I’m not sure where, though.  I’ve never
actually seen this in use.”

“‘This’?” Willow asked, scrunching her nose up.  “It’s
not really a dumpster?”

Shaking his head, Brooks answered, “Riley had it put
in when the unit took over the building – I guess he
didn’t totally trust the guys in D.C.  It’s
self-contained; all the data from the scanners
bypasses Security and goes directly to him and
Graham.”

Buffy was deliberately trying not to react to the
odor.  She was a Slayer – those things weren’t
supposed to bother her.  “I thought you said you never
used this.  How do you know so much about it?”  She
held up her hand as Brooks started to explain.  “No,
don’t even say it.  Sam told you.  Was there anything
she kept a secret?”

Brooks smiled and ignored that last question, stepping
aside so that Buffy could pull herself into the
dumpster and root around.  She could hear him telling
Willow that the keypad should also open up another
entryway, one that would allow Willow to avoid the
whole garbage thing.

Lovely, Buffy thought, looking down at whatever
disgusting mushy thing she had just put her hand into.
  The whole Chosen One thing really sucked at times.

After a few minutes of kicking around trash bags, she
was beginning to think that being confronted with
fully armed Security people wasn’t sounding so bad
after all.  Come on, Riley – where would you put this
top secret keypad?  “Brooks, I can’t-”

Wait a minute.  She looked up.  Being six feet tall,
it made more sense for Riley to go up, not down.  And,
yep – there it was, right along the lip of the
dumpster’s wall.  She could tell only because it was a
slightly different color; if she hadn’t been looking
for it, she never would have noticed it was there.

Pushing a couple of trash bags over, she climbed up
and called out, “Please tell me you know the code to
get in.”

Brooks’ head appeared in the dumpster’s opening and he
rattled off some numbers.

“You’re sure about that, right?” Buffy asked, the
whole point being to avoid Security.  “There’s no
chance you’re off by a number or two.”

“No chance,” Brooks said.  When she hesitated, he
added, “It’s Sam’s birthday.”

Buffy tried not to pout.  Of course it would have
something to do with Sam.  She supposed she should be
grateful it wasn’t any more personal, like Sam’s
measurements.

Punching in the code, Buffy muttered, “Doesn’t he know
you’re not supposed to use things like that for
passwords?”

She put her hand against the wall as the trash bags
shifted aside, a trapdoor appearing in the floor.  At
the same time, the whole back end of the dumpster slid
open and a path was cleared.  As Willow walked in, the
trapdoor dropped, revealing a staircase leading down,
presumably into the building.

Brooks’ face lit up like a little kid’s.  “Cool.”

Buffy couldn’t deny she thought so, too.  She wiped
her hands off on her jeans.  “Let’s go.”  She started
down the stairs and then turned back when she realized
Brooks hadn’t followed.  “You’re not coming with us?”

Lifting his cane, he said, “I think I’ll stick with
the elevator.  I’m not sure I’m up for climbing six
flights of stairs.”

A few minutes later, he met them as they emerged from
the staircase.  As grimy as she now was, the trash had
actually been a good thing, taking Buffy’s mind off of
the real reason they were here.  Now that they were
walking through the halls, however, the ‘Riley is
dead’ mantra began running through her head again.

This was clearly a place of mourning, with people
going about their business grimly, all of them
subdued; a heavy silence replaced the normal buzz of
activity that Buffy associated with the place.  Even
the phones seemed to have stopped ringing.

Some of the men from the team were there, and they
approached slowly, giving her awkward hugs.  Most
looked at Willow with recognition, but Buffy didn’t
offer any official introductions, re- or otherwise.
They’d remember her face from last week’s briefing if
they didn’t already, and right now, Buffy was just
busy trying to breathe.

The whispered mantra had become a proclamation – an
unending loop blaring in her brain; as though everyone
else knew the truth, and they were crowding around her
reciting – no screaming – the words over and over
again: Riley is dead, Riley is dead, Riley is dead;
each utterance louder than the one before.  The hope
she’d felt when talking to Riley’s kids seemed to be
fading, having a hard time standing up to the brick
wall of reality that threatened to come crashing down
on her head.

Let him rest in peace, Buffy, the voices were saying.
Bury him once and for all and let him rest in peace.

“Buffy – are you coming?” Willow asked.

“Huh?”  Buffy looked up.  She had completely zoned
out, and hadn’t realized that Brooks and Willow had
begun walking again.  “Yes.”

Riley’s office was on the way to Graham’s, and Buffy
couldn’t help but look in as they walked by.  She
stopped suddenly and her heart leapt as she saw a
small, yellow ball fly up in the air.  Riley?  Could
it possibly-?  The surge of relief was so strong that
she couldn’t move for a second, couldn’t speak.

Recovering, she pushed the door open and saw the ball
fall to the ground.  Her heart crashed right along
with it when she realized it was Graham, not Riley,
who was bending down to pick it up; it was Graham who
didn’t straighten up entirely, whose elbows were
resting on his knees as his hand went to his eyes and
his shoulders started shaking.

“Graham…”   She didn’t realize she was crying herself
until she opened her mouth and tasted the salty tears.


Graham looked up slowly.  “I thought I’d deal with
this better,” he said, softly.  “But every time I come
in here…”  He shook his head.  “Sarah said I should
have someone else do this.”

Buffy looked around the room.  There was an empty box
on the floor, a few more stacked against the wall.
“Isn’t this kind of soon?” Buffy asked.  Three days.
Riley had only been gone for three days.

“Buffy,” Graham said, speaking to her as though she
were a child who had just said the stupidest thing
ever, “when most people die, they don’t come back.”

She bit back the retort that came to her lips, keeping
it to herself as she thought, You know what, Graham?
In case you hadn’t noticed, Slayers can hurt, too.

Damn it.  Walking over to the window, she angrily
wiped her eyes.  This was already not going well, and
she hadn’t even gotten to the hard part.  It certainly
wouldn’t help to become a blubbering mess.  Especially
because the ‘Riley is dead’ theme had begun playing
again.

No, he’s not, she told herself, fighting the rising
doubt.  Is.  Not.

Regaining control, she turned back just as Graham saw
Willow and Brooks standing in the doorway.  He gave
Brooks a hard stare. “God – you look like shit.  I
thought I told you to stay home.”

Brooks looked down.  “Too quiet there.”

“Yeah,” Graham answered dully, “well, it’s not much
better here.”  He turned to Buffy.  “So, what’s up?”

Graham sounded completely and utterly defeated.  And
with the voices raging in her own head, Buffy did not
feel at all able to persuade him otherwise.  “What
makes you think something’s up?”

He leaned back in the chair.  “You haven’t returned
any of my calls or emails which gives me the distinct
impression you’ve been avoiding me.  Then you suddenly
appear in my doorway?”

Now he was just sounding angry.  Great – this was
getting better and better.

“Riley’s doorway,” she corrected.

“Riley’s doorway,” Graham repeated.  “So, again I ask
– what’s up?”

Right.  Of course he would – the man had a point.  If
she could just get rid of the chorus in her brain,
maybe she could think clearly enough to make a
coherent argument.

Buffy glanced around the room.  Willow looked slightly
skeptical, but she smiled encouragingly.  Next to her,
Brooks looked tired, leaning against the doorjamb.
And Graham…  Graham’s eyes defined the word ‘wary.’

Did you not promise Riley that you wouldn’t let him
go? she chastised herself.  What could Graham possibly
say that would make this any worse than it already
was?  Just do this, Buffy.  For heaven’s sake, just do
it.

As if to emphasize the point, the picture of Riley’s
kids came into view as Graham shifted.  With renewed
resolve, she said to Graham, “I want to see him.”

Exasperated, Graham snapped, “Buffy – I already told
you…”

Now that it was out there, she was undeterred.  “I
know.  I don’t care.  I want to-”

“He’s dead,” Graham said flatly.  “The body’s been
identified.”

Buffy leaned forward.  “Take away the ring and what do
you have?  A body that you said was unrecognizable; a
body conveniently found in the middle of a forest
fire.  On some protected burial ground, no less, so
there’s no way of actually running a simple DNA test.
Don’t you think that’s all just a little too perfect?”
  And considering they could turn a dumpster into a
full-fledged invisible entrance...  “Don’t you have
some hi-tech way of telling for sure?  With all those
chips you guys have, I’d think that-”

“The chips are unreadable,” Graham said, cutting her
off.  A veil came over Graham’s eyes and he leaned
back slowly in the chair.

Buffy had the feeling there was something he wanted to
say, but was holding back.  She could feel the fire
rise up as it occurred to her, “You don’t trust me, do
you?  You still don’t trust me.”

Graham’s eyes grew cold.  “Why would you think that?”

She stood up straight and started pacing.  “Because I
didn’t save him.  I didn’t back in Sunnydale and I
didn’t up in Quetico.  Because I let him down.”  The
Buffy and Riley story, in its short and not-so-sweet
condensed form.

No, she thought angrily.  This was not going to happen
again.  She stopped in front of Graham, all of the
doubts beaten back into submission.

Though she spoke quietly, her tone clearly conveyed
how strongly she felt.  “I love him, Graham.  I didn’t
know it was possible to feel this way after such a
short time.”  She glared at him, daring him to say
anything about how it wouldn’t have been such a short
time if she’d handled things differently in Sunnydale.
  That was neither here nor there at the moment.  “I
want him back.”

Graham didn’t say anything.  He just sat there with
his arms folded against his chest and looked at her.

She asked, “Is this because I didn’t call you back
right away?  Or because…  Because of Ang-?”

“Buffy,” Brooks said, his voice stopping her cold.

She turned, startled.  She’d completely forgotten he
and Willow were there.

Brooks nodded his head at Graham who had turned away
from Buffy and was turning on the computer.  “You had
him at hello.”

Her mouth dropped open as she looked at Graham.  “Was
that an interrogation?”  No wonder Sarah hadn’t fallen
for the silent treatment thing.  Oldest trick in the
book.  Geez.  He really was good at that.

Graham looked at her, a smile in his eyes as he waited
for the computer to boot up.  “The kids got to you,
didn’t they?”

Buffy glanced at Willow.  No help there.  “I… uh… No.
I just…”  Nice with the unequivocal denial there.

Graham answered his own question.  ““Yeah, me too.
Made me think that maybe I wasn’t just looking for
excuses because I didn’t want to believe he was really
gone.  Of course, basing this on the dreams of a
fourteen-year-old girl doesn’t exactly qualify as the
best reason...”  He turned back to the computer,
shrugging and saying, “Rationalization isn’t always a
bad thing.”

At Buffy’s surprised look, he added, “Sarah overheard
Josh and Mitch talking.”

Buffy was having a very hard time switching gears.
“But…”  Was this the same Graham of two minutes ago?
The same one who had been nearly overcome by grief as
she’d walked into the room?  The same one who had been
very clear that there was no chance of Riley being
alive?

Well, o.k. – that grief thing had nothing to do with
logic.  After all, Buffy had spent most of the last
hour and a half believing that Riley was still alive
and yet she could probably still fill a bucket with
the tears she’d managed to shed.  And, come to think
of it, Graham had only been throwing statements at her
– the way she might have done if she’d been playing
devil’s advocate and wanted to make sure that everyone
was truly behind her.

Which was kind of what he was muttering as he clicked
on various icons as the desktop came up: “I watched
Sam die with my own two eyes and I still couldn’t
believe she was actually gone.  You think I’m going to
believe the load of crap they fed us?  About my best
friend?  Sacred burial ground, my ass.”  He moved
aside so that Buffy could see the image on the
monitor.

She came to the desk and leaned in, a smile coming
over her face.  They were going to do it.  They were
going to get him back.

The monitor showed an image of a shrine of some kind.
The body, or what Buffy assumed to be a body – the
blanket draped over it made it hard to tell for sure –
was laid out on a large flat rock overlooking a lake.
There was a ring of small stones surrounding the rock;
the stones, in turn, were encircled by a grove of
trees.

“A satellite?” Willow asked as she and Brooks joined
Graham and Buffy at the monitor.  “You have your own
satellite?”

“Several.  We have a healthy budget,” Graham said,
nodding as he zoomed in on the image.  “I’ve got two
men whose only job is to watch this around the clock.
If anything happens – if they move the body, remove
the shroud; hell, if anyone even comes near it, I’ll
know.  No one’s gone in or out of that circle since
we’ve been watching.”

“Aren’t they worried about animals?” Buffy asked.  If
a bear could come after her because of a piece of gum,
actual flesh would probably seem like an all you can
eat buffet.

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?”  Graham pointed to one of
the smaller rocks.  “Last night two wolves sat right
there for about three hours.  Howled like crazy and
paced around a bit, but they didn’t even make a move
to touch the body.”

Willow shook her head.  “They can’t.”  She pointed to
the stones.  “The circle is like a force field.  The
animals won’t cross it.”

“So that’s why we couldn’t read the chips,” Graham
murmured, looking at Brooks.  “Too much interference.
We couldn’t do dental or skeletal scans either.”

“Can people get in?”  Buffy couldn’t quite keep the
excitement out of her voice.  This was how things were
supposed to work.  Scoobies and Slayers and, heck,
throw in as many soldiers as you can and we’ll have
ourselves a party.

Willow nodded.  “Probably.  Not without permission
from the tribe’s spiritual leader, however.”

“So we get permission,” Graham countered in the tone
of someone used to getting his way.  “What’s the big
deal?”

“I don’t think it will be quite that easy,” Willow
answered.  “This is all part of some ritual, an
offering of sorts.  They’re not just going to break
the circle because you asked nicely.”

Buffy pulled away from the computer and began pacing
again.  “Then what will it take?”

Willow turned to Buffy.  “There would be a test of
some kind.  You’d have to prove you’re worthy of
disrupting the spell.”

“A test?”  Whatever it was, Buffy could do it.  She
had no doubt.  “What kind of test?”

Willow shrugged.  “Whatever they decide.”

“Give me a hint, here, Will,” Buffy said.  “Are we
talking baking cookies?  Or fighting an army of those
Maymaygwayshi guys?”  Honestly?  With the energy
surging through her right now, she was hoping it was
the army.

Another shrug from Willow.

No matter – Buffy’s eyes were still gleaming as she
looked at Graham.  “So you really believe it?  That
Riley’s alive?”

Graham looked down at the floor.  “I have to.  I’m not
sure I can…”  He didn’t finish the sentence.  Glancing
up at the others, the shadow left his face almost as
quickly as it had appeared.  He had clearly come to a
decision.  Reaching for the phone, he picked it up and
said, “Wendy – can you schedule a coffee break?
Anyone who can come.  At Pete’s in two hours.”

Buffy looked at Graham quizzically.  “A coffee break?
Is this really the time?”

Graham smiled.  “We need a plan.”





TBC in Chapter 33





=====
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 thirty.

Chapter Thirty-One

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




Stuffing Willow and four kids into the convertible was
not exactly the easiest thing to do – Buffy had not
bought this car with a family in mind.  And it was
almost more nerve-wracking to be driving Riley’s kids
around in Boston traffic than it had been to face down
any demon she’d ever come across.  At least with the
demons she’d known what she was doing.

It was a relief to finally pull up in front of Riley’s
house, and yet – at the same time – she was sorry to
say good-bye.  She had actually enjoyed their company.
  Each one of them reminded her of the Riley she fell
in love with back in the day – his spark, his
innocence; the unrelenting optimism even in the face
of the slimmest of odds.

Buffy got out of the car and pushed the seat forward
as, one by one, they piled out of the backseat: Jack
jumping up – a bundle of barely contained energy;
Liam, much smoother as he eased out, dropping his
skateboard to the ground and rolling away with an easy
grin that was – damn it – too much like Riley’s for
her to be able to take.

Annie followed Liam, giving Buffy a huge smile and a
hug to match, while tactfully ignoring the tears
running down Buffy’s face.  Kate did no such thing,
openly staring as Buffy wiped her eyes.

She sighed inwardly, and steeled herself for whatever
snitty thing that was about to come out of the girl’s
mouth.  Buffy was completely caught off guard when
Kate quietly said, “I used to think my dad didn’t know
that he wasn’t supposed to look sad when he smiled.”
She looked down.  “Thank you for helping him be happy
again.”  She turned and walked inside the house,
leaving Buffy speechless on the sidewalk.

Buffy looked at Willow as she got back in the car and
pulled onto the street.  “Well, what do you know?”

That Willow smiled guardedly and looked away did not
go unnoticed.  Buffy said, “You think this is a
mistake.”

Willow smiled ruefully.  “I feel uniquely unqualified
to respond to that.”

No, probably not.  Willow didn’t have such a good
track record when it came to dealing with grief.

A few minutes later, Buffy pulled into a spot and shut
off the ignition.  There was a heavy silence that had
nothing to do with the lack of noise from the engine.
And Willow was very purposefully not getting out of
the car.

“What?” Buffy asked, wishing she hadn’t said anything.


Willow’s eyes had become very watery, and she took a
minute before saying, “Sometimes you don’t even get
the three weeks.”  Before Buffy could even reach her
hand out, Willow continued, “I’m just saying that you
should be sure you know where this is coming from.”

Buffy looked down.  She wasn’t actually entirely sure.
  How were you supposed to tell the difference?  Was it
just guilt?  Denial?  Was it something she wanted so
badly to be true that she’d pick up on the slimmest of
hopes?  Or was it something that she’d known all along
and just hadn’t been able to process until now?
Either way...

“I have to try, Will.  I let him go – twice.  This
time I’m not saying good-bye until I know he’s gone.
Until I see it for myself.”  Xander may have been
wrong about the once in a lifetime thing, but three
times in a lifetime might be asking a bit-

Damn it!  Buffy slammed her hands against the steering
wheel.

Willow was clearly thinking the same thing.  She
sighed.  “Xander.  You never told him about Riley.”
Pointedly she added, “Despite promising me you would
when you got back to Boston.”

“Well...”  Buffy shrugged her shoulders
apologetically, remembering the phone call from Willow
at the hotel in Toronto.  “They’re supposed to be here
in two days.  I’m not...”  Don’t cry.  Do not cry.
“What do I say?”

Willow looked at Buffy for what seemed like a very
long time before a sly grin came over her face.  “I
can probably buy you a day or two.”  She thought for a
minute.  “How would you feel about your car breaking
down outside of Hershey, P.A.?  Close enough for the
kids to smell the chocolate?”

Buffy replied, “Now that is truly evil.  Remind me
never to cross you.”

Willow grinned as she opened her car door.  “Come on.
Let’s go find Graham.”





TBC in Chapter 32






=====
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@...

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

SPECIAL AUTHOR'S NOTE: I will be without email access
next week and will therefore be unable to post any
updates so I'll be posting four chapters tonight.

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



Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley


Chapter Thirty

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



Buffy hammered away at the punching bag, not missing a
beat as she glanced up to make sure it was still
attached to her bedroom ceiling.  It was a good thing
she’d had someone reinforce the beams before she’d
moved in – she hadn’t exactly expected to need Rocky
therapy so soon after moving into the house.  And she
certainly hadn’t expected to need it quite so
intensely for quite so long; for, say, almost an
entire day running.  Almost all of Day Three, in fact.

“You’re bleeding,” Willow said from across the room.

Buffy glanced at her hands.  The tape on her knuckles
was soaked through with blood.  “So I am.”  End of
conversation.

Three days.  It had only been three days that Riley
had been gone, and she wasn’t sure how she’d make it
to Day Four.

Well, she supposed she’d do it the same way she’d
gotten this far – hitting the bag as hard and as fast
as she could, while at the same time reciting over and
over again in her head: Riley is dead.  Riley is dead.
  Riley is dead.  Riley is not dead.

No, Buffy – is.  Is dead.  Riley is dead.  The ‘not’
doesn’t belong.

She figured that if she could keep telling herself
that – if she could keep saying the words enough
times, really concentrating on the whole concept, then
maybe she might actually comprehend it.  Then these
agonizing sensations would finally stop and she
wouldn’t keep feeling his fingers grazing his skin, or
his voice whispering in her ear.

The mantra, if done in combination with continual
movement, seemed to be the only way to avoid complete
meltdown.  Of course, there was still that nagging
voice lurking in her subconscious – the one that kept
saying that she hadn’t done enough, that she had
failed Riley, in nearly every possible way.

Well, it was true, wasn’t it?  It was her fault that
his children would never see their father again, that
his parents would never see their son; her fault he
was dead.

Riley is dead.  Riley is dead.  Riley is...

Buffy stopped punching for a minute and steadied the
bag.  Looking past it, she saw Willow watching her
from the chair next to the bed.  As soon as their eyes
connected, Willow looked down at her book.

Had she been watching this whole time?  Had she been
reading Buffy’s thoughts?  Though it was absolutely
possible – completely within Willow’s capabilities –
Buffy didn’t think so, not right now.  Willow didn’t
abuse her powers, she wouldn’t invade Buffy’s privacy
like that.

Plus, if she had, Buffy had no doubt that there would
have been at least a slight reaction when the thought
about whether Riley’s death would be considered
unnatural or not crossed Buffy’s mind.  Because, even
given her – let’s just say ‘difficult’ – experience,
there was a part of Buffy that wanted to throw herself
to the ground in front of Willow and beg her to do
that spell, the one she’d done to bring Buffy back all
those years ago.

Buffy had even found herself thinking that it wouldn’t
be that hard to leave Heaven after only a few days, it
had only been because she’d been there for months...

God, was that the wrong path to go down.  Let the man
rest in peace.

Buffy closed her eyes and concentrated as she got the
punches going again: Riley is dead.  Riley is dead.
Riley is dead.

And, speaking of wrong – this thing with Angel was,
well, ridiculous.  Not just the actual thing, which
was just plain inappropriate – it went further than
that.  It was as though an echo of their former selves
had reached them after harmlessly bouncing about for
years; bouncing about through the eight years of
living together and finally making its way back at the
worst possible moment, there at Riley’s house.

Without glancing at Willow, Buffy said, “I almost
kissed Angel.”

Willow’s mouth dropped open and her book fell to her
lap.  “You...  What?  Now?”

Letting the punching bag come to a rest, Buffy looked
down at her hands.  “Doesn’t that sound weird?”

“Thus yesterday’s early morning departure,” Willow
murmured.

Buffy nodded.  It hadn’t mattered that she’d made
Angel stay downstairs after returning from Riley’s
house – his presence had invaded her dreams as if he
were physically beside her.  It had been misery of the
worst kind, intensified by knowing that he was on the
floor below, that all she needed to do was open her
bedroom door and he’d be there, his body ready and
willing to quell her ache.

Unable to sleep, she’d come down to the kitchen with
the intention of eating her entire inventory of ice
cream.  She walked in to find Angel sitting at the
table.  He hadn’t turned to her, hadn’t even indicated
that he knew she was standing there, except to say, ‘I
have no idea what this is; I just know it has nothing
to do with us.’  He had picked his bag up off the
floor and stood up; walked out the door without even a
glance back.

Ordinarily, that would have just seemed overly
dramatic, but she had been grateful.  It had taken
everything she had not to follow him.  As it was,
she’d been drawn to the window, her hand going to the
glass as the taillights of the taxi faded away.

If their eyes had actually connected – if he had
actually hugged her good-bye...

Buffy looked up guiltily as Willow said, “Grief makes
you do strange things.”

Although Willow was obviously trying to be supportive,
Buffy shook her head.  That sounded too simple and not
at all right.  She had no idea why, though, nor did
she think she’d be figuring it out anytime soon; not
when even just these few minutes of rest brought about
a new flood of tears.

What did it really matter anyway? Buffy thought as she
briskly wiped her eyes and started hitting again.  It
wasn’t going to bring Riley back.

Riley is dead.  Riley is dead.  Riley is dead.

Riley is not dead.

Is dead.  Riley is dead.

She punched harder, her eyes stinging with tears, as
she tried to force the niggling voice out of her head.
  It was just the guilt talking, guilt and denial
taking over as the grief faded from all-consuming to
merely overwhelming.

Riley is not dead.  You failed him.

No.  Go away.  Go away, go away, go away, go –

“Buffy.”

Opening her eyes to see Willow standing over her, she
suddenly realized she was on her knees, her hands over
her ears as she tried to shut out the voices battling
in her head.  “Willow...”

Willow dropped to the ground, her arms encircling
Buffy’s shaking body, all the while murmuring, “I
know, Sweetie, I know.”

Of course Willow would know.  It was the only reason
Buffy hadn’t minded her constant company – she seemed
to instinctively be there exactly when Buffy couldn’t
bear to be alone, and disappear when it was impossible
to be in another person’s presence.  Had this been
what she had gone through?  Had it been this physical?
  Had she been able to feel Tara’s hands, her lips...

Buffy looked up, pleading, “When does it stop?”

Willow just shook her head and hugged Buffy tightly.

Her touch was soothing, and Buffy could feel the tears
coming under control as the voices faded.  Still, she
pulled away as quickly as she could, unaccustomed to
having her raw emotions on display, even with her best
friend of twenty years.

Being the most wonderful best friend ever, Willow
didn’t seem to mind in the least.  She just sat back
on her heels.  “That summer in England?  Every once in
a while, a cup of tea would somehow appear at my side,
just when I really needed it.  It was the most amazing
thing.”

Buffy managed a smile.  “Guess that’s one of the
benefits of being around all those witches.”

Her eyes sparkling, Willow nodded.  “Peppermint?”

“Yes, please,” Buffy answered quietly.

Standing up, Willow said, “I’ll do it the
old-fashioned way.”  She ignored the bedroom’s
kitchenette and headed downstairs, allowing Buffy the
minutes she needed to compose herself.

Before emotion could overtake her again, Buffy began
pummeling the bag with renewed energy.  Thank goodness
Willow was a college professor with the rest of the
summer off; Buffy had a feeling Willow’s presence
might be needed for some time to come.

That point was reinforced by the surge of strength
Buffy felt when Willow reappeared, placing the cup of
tea on Buffy’s desk before returning to her chair next
to the bed.

“Thanks,” Buffy said, returning to her mantra and
routine.

Neither of them spoke another word until half an hour
later, when Willow looked up and asked, “Was that the
doorbell?”

God, Buffy hoped not.  She had no interest in
entertaining visitors at the moment.  She didn’t break
her stride.  “I didn’t…hear…anything.”

“There it is again,” Willow said, getting up from her
chair.

Buffy stopped punching and yelled out to Willow’s
retreating back.  “I don’t want to see anyone.” With
the possible exception of Dawn.  The only other people
she knew in Boston were Riley’s friends and family,
and she couldn’t imagine any of them wanting to talk
to her, much less actually be in her presence.

How could they?  God, she thought as she could feel
the remaining pieces of unbroken skin on her knuckles
start to crack.  How could they ever?

She heard several pairs of footsteps coming up the
stairs – it must be Dawn and Eddie, she thought,
because Willow would have turned away anyone else.

“I told you,” she said, speaking to all of them and
punching the bag again as she heard them come in
behind her.  “I don’t…want… to talk-”

“Buffy, stop.” Willow said.  No – commanded, rather.

Not normally one to do what she was told, Buffy
stopped, surprised by Willow’s tone.  She turned to
see Annie and Kate staring at her, Liam and Jack
filing into the room behind them.  It took Buffy quite
some effort to keep her mouth from dropping open.

Annie looked at her sister.  “Told you,” she said, in
the smuggest of tones.

To which Kate immediately replied, “Shut up.”

Well, this was ... interesting.  Buffy raised her
eyebrows at Willow and steadied the bag.

Annie said, “My dad has one of those in the basement.
When he’s really missing Mom he goes downstairs and
comes back up looking like that.”  She pointed to the
tape on Buffy’s hands.  Looking down, she mumbled, “It
doesn’t happen as much as it used to.”

Buffy couldn’t help but notice the very unhappy look
on Kate’s face.  Because she thought Annie was saying
Riley didn’t miss Sam enough?  Because Kate had been
dragged here to Buffy’s house?  Or just the whole
losing her father thing?  That would probably do it.

Riley is not dead.

Buffy frowned, pushing the voice out of her head.
This was definitely not the time for the guilt to come
back in surround sound – it was hard enough to be
standing here with Riley’s children.  With Riley’s
orphaned children.

Feeling a desperate need to obliterate something,
Buffy clenched her fists, opening her eyes as Jack
stated, “Kate said if you really loved my dad you
would have called Grandma back already.  Grandma and
Annie said you needed time to be alone.”  There was a
hint of challenge in his voice, and he seemed to be
searching Buffy’s face for an answer of some kind.

Buffy looked away, unable to meet his gaze.  Mary had
left a message yesterday morning: she’d meant every
word she said and Buffy was welcome in their home at
any time.  Buffy hadn’t yet been able to return the
call.  Every time she even thought about picking up
the phone she started sobbing.  And, gee – surprise –
she could feel the tears threatening again now.

Yep.  There they went, rolling down her cheeks.

“Would you rather be alone now?” Liam asked, with an
uncomfortable glance at his sisters.

“No, that’s o.k.”  Buffy peeled the tape off her hands
– anything to give her something to do as she fought
to keep the tears at a manageable flow.  Losing it was
hard enough in front of Willow; it would simply be
unbearable right now.  New subject.  “Do your
grandparents know you’re here?”

Annie shook her head, her own eyes beginning to fill.
“They’re at the funeral home.  We said we didn’t want
to go.”

Buffy couldn’t really blame them.  Funeral homes
weren’t that much fun unless they were filled with
vampires.

No.  When your dad had just died, they weren’t any
fun, period.  “How did you get here?”

“Taxi,” Jack answered.  “I wanted to take the T, but
Kate said it would take too long.”

His tone was upbeat – too much so, Buffy thought,
considering the circumstances.

Riley is not dead.

Buffy just barely stopped herself from stomping her
foot and hissing.  Though she did think, Get out of my
head.  Very loudly.

Focus, Buffy.  On the kids.  “How did you know…?”

“Your address was on Daddy’s desk.”  Annie smiled
sadly.  Unlike her brother, she seemed to have a sense
of the bigger picture.  “The phone number next to
yours was the florist’s.  I think he probably would
have sent you daisies.  He really liked the Gerber
ones.”

Oh, God, Buffy thought, as she suddenly couldn't
breathe.  Punishment of the cruel and unusual kind.
She took a step back, feeling as though she’d been
sucker punched right in the gut.

“Is anyone hungry?” Willow asked quickly, stepping
further into the room.  “I’m sure we can scrounge up
something.  Here...”  She moved the chair and ottoman
so that they faced where Buffy stood by the desk.
“Sit down.”

Willow bent down to grab the box that fell off the
bedside table as she moved the chair.  “Please.”  She
gestured to the chair, box still in hand.

Buffy could feel the blood rush to her face as she
realized what Willow had just picked up.  There was
nothing to say though.  Absolutely nothing to say that
could make this less awkward.  Even that tiny little
voice could only chime in with, Oh, Honey – you have
got to put those things away when you’re done.

“Told you they were talking about having a baby,” Kate
said, mimicking Annie’s tone from earlier.

Liam’s voice contained the utter disdain that could
only be expressed between brothers and sisters.  “You
don’t use condoms if you want to have a baby.  Didn’t
your boyfriend mention that?”

Kate hit Liam on the shoulder as she snapped, “Ben is
not my boyfriend.”

At the same time, Annie was trying to cover Jack’s
ears as Jack batted her hands away.  With complete
disgust, he said to Buffy, “You and my dad…?”

Buffy could practically see him think the word,
‘Cooties!’

Oh, God.

“Why do you think Dad was always driving her home?”
Kate asked, older sister superiority back in place.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.  Please just take me now.

Willow looked at Buffy helplessly, stashing the box
between the bed and the table as she sat down heavily;
the damage had already been done.

Well, Buffy thought, willing the blush to recede, on
the upside, it had been almost three whole minutes
since she’d last cried and nary a punch had been
thrown.  “Was there something…?”

Jack seemed to have overcome his revulsion as he
looked around the room.  “Is Angel still here?”

“He can’t be here,” Liam answered, nodding up at the
skylights.  “The sunlight would kill him.”

Buffy’s mouth dropped open, the words ‘he left
yesterday’ completely forgotten.  As was her question
about why they were here.  She may even have squeaked.

“He could just be downstairs somewhere,” Kate said in
the most matter-of-fact voice possible.  “The basement
probably doesn’t have any windows.”

“Does he sleep in a coffin?” Jack asked, his bright
eyes locking with Buffy’s.

“He… Um…  Huh?” Buffy sputtered.

“It’s o.k.,” Annie said.  “We know he’s a vampire.
There are mirrors all over our house – the no
reflection thing was a dead giveaway.  No pun
intended.”  She actually giggled.

Annie, too?  It was occurring to Buffy that not one of
them was acting as a child who’d just lost his or her
father.

Don’t even say it! she warned the voice.  She simply
could not deal with the ‘Riley is not dead’ thing when
being confronted with the ‘Angel is dead’ one.  And
anyway – hadn’t Riley said his kids had no clue about
what his job really was?  “But…  Your dad…”

Liam perched himself on the edge of the bed.  “He
thinks we don’t know.  It’s an old house, though – we
can hear pretty much everything he and Uncle Graham
talk about.”

Kate, on the other hand, had positioned herself as far
away from the bed as possible, glaring at Buffy as she
sat instead on the counter of the kitchenette.

We did it there, too, Sweetie.

Buffy was immediately ashamed of her nastiness, even
though she hadn’t said anything aloud.  The kid is
fourteen.  If you were her, you’d hate you, too.

Luckily, Kate didn’t seem to notice Buffy’s internal
monologue.  She looked proudly at her baby brother.
“Yeah, and sometimes Jack hacks into Dad’s computer.”

“Do not!” Jack said.

“Do too,” Annie replied, ruffling his hair.

“We know about the money, too,” Liam added.

“And the house,” said Kate.

It was Buffy’s turn to look helplessly at Willow, who,
by the way, wasn’t at all disturbed by this in the
least.  She just smiled and shrugged.  “We were
fifteen.”

Yes, Buffy thought, wanting to shout, But these aren’t
your children!  You have the luxury of being the
indulgent auntie.  You’re not the one who has to –

She sank down into her desk chair.  Neither, Buffy,
are you.  In case you hadn’t noticed, they’re not
exactly yours.

Sighing, she ran her hand through her hair.  How did
Riley do this every day?  It was exhausting.  But –
hey – going on minute five without the crying.
Imagine the happy.  “Was there a reason that you came?
  Not that I mind,” she added hurriedly.  “You’re
welcome here any time.  Any time at all.”

The kids were suddenly uncharacteristically quiet as
they looked at each other and – kind of sheepishly –
at her.

Buffy looked right back.  This was their show – she
was just along for the ride.  Plus her mind was
already drained to the point of pure mush.  Four kids.
  And they hadn’t even been here for that long.

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he said, “Angel’s really a
vampire, isn’t he?”

What was this – the full immersion course in
stepmothering?  How to have that awkward sex talk!
How to answer the questions you really don’t want them
to ask!  And if you sign up now, we’ll throw in the
sullen fourteen-year-old who’s an exact replica of
your lover’s dead wife!

Well, damn it, these may not be the best of
circumstances, but they were probably going to find
out some time.  Buffy half expected a lightning bolt –
courtesy of Riley or Sam – to crash through the
ceiling as she answered, “Yes.”

There was a moment of the loudest silence ever – even
the voices in Buffy’s head were quiet, anxiously
awaiting Jack’s response.  Buffy breathed a sigh of
relief when he broke out into a smile.  “Cool!”
Turning to the others, he said, “I told you she
wouldn’t lie.  I think we should trust her.”

“I... Huh?”  That was so not the response she’d
expected.  “Trust me with what?”  She almost didn’t
want to ask.

Liam stared at Kate.  “Tell her.”

Riley is not dead. Riley is not dead.  Riley is not...

“Tell me what?” Buffy asked, pushing the voice aside
and dreading what they were about to say – what she
knew they were about to say.  The end of the world was
preferable to even contemplating the thought of
looking into these four sets of eyes and having to
tell them she’d failed them again.

On the other hand, she could already feel them
energizing her, launching her out of this prison of
grief and guilt, giving her the permission she needed
to make all the wrongs right again.

Kate hesitated.

Leaning forward – propelled forward – as she could
feel herself come alive again, Buffy said, “Kate, it’s
o.k.  Whatever it is.  You can tell me.”

Seemingly embarrassed, Kate looked down.

Buffy fought every urge to push.  She reached for the
phone.  “If you’d rather tell Graham, I underst-”

“No!” Kate said, jumping off the counter and reaching
out her hand.  She pleaded, “Don’t tell Uncle Graham.
Don’t tell him any of this – please?”

Annie stepped forward so that she was standing next to
Kate.  “He can’t know.  Because then he’d figure out
Josh and Mitch know and that would totally freak him
out.  Especially right now because then he’ll feel
guilty, too, and he’s already feeling bad for us.”
She just barely kept the urgency in her voice
contained.

“But…”  Not tell Graham?  Shouldn’t at least one
person of parental status be aware that this very big
cat had just leapt out of its bag?  “You need to tell
someone.  That you know.”

“Why?”  Liam stood up and walked over to join his
sisters.

“Well…  Because.”  She glared in the direction of the
bed as she saw Willow roll her eyes at Buffy’s weak
answer.

Kate ever so helpfully pointed out, “You know.”

“Well, yes, I guess so.”  No wonder Slayers tended to
avoid having children – it was hard to maintain the
whole superhero deal when these walking bundles of
attitude could cut you down without lifting a finger.
“O.k.  I won’t tell Graham.  Unless it’s absolutely
necessary.”

For whatever reason, the kids seemed to think that was
acceptable.  They looked at Kate; Kate looked at Buffy
and said, “My dad’s still alive.”

Hallelujiah!

Oh, Miss Stupid Voice – Shut! Up!

Buffy sat back in her chair, aware that all eyes were
on her.  On the one hand, she wanted more than
anything to believe that the voice had nothing to do
with guilt, nothing to do with wishful thinking; that
it actually came from a place she could trust instead
of a place like her heart, which had never been even
the least bit dependable.  On the other hand, there
was actual evidence this time around, and if Buffy was
wrong – if it was just denial coming to call – then
this could get even more awful than it already was.

Tread carefully.  “Kate, I know how hard this is-”

Kate sneered at Annie, looking as though she were
about to turn on her heel and bolt out the door.  “I
knew she wouldn’t believe us.”

Annie ignored her sister and took a step closer to
Buffy.  Her words came out in a rush.  “Kate has
dreams.  She sees things.  I know how weird it sounds,
but you need to hear us out.”

If only you knew how weird it doesn’t sound, which, in
itself, was part of the problem – the weirder things
sounded, the more inclined Buffy was to believe them.
A prophetic dream was almost too cliché.  Been there,
done that about a million times already.

“I don’t think it sounds weird to her,” Liam said.
“Her boss is a vampire.”

Willow sighed and stood up.  “I’m ordering some pizza.
  Does pepperoni offend anyone?”

Buffy watched as Willow left the room – she’d
obviously heard enough to know that this might take
some time.  The kids – sensing some kind of acceptance
– surged forward.  Buffy very deliberately took a pen
and tapped it slowly against the desk, stopping when
she realized that she was denting the surface.

Kate rolled her eyes as her siblings glared at her.
Sleeping with the enemy, she was clearly thinking.
Or, hopefully, something without any sexual
connotations.

“Uncle Graham would just say I’m having these dreams
because I want to think Dad’s o.k.”  Kate adamantly
added, “I know the difference.”

Trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice, Buffy
asked, “What do you see?  Do you see your dad?”

Kate shook her head.  “It’s my mom and she’s really
pissed.  She said they took his ring away, and he’s
not done with it.  He needs it back.”

That was what this was about? Buffy thought as the
hope drained out of her.  What was it with Kate and
this ring?  Angrily, Buffy said, “Why?”

Graham must have mentioned Buffy had the ring and
whether consciously or not, this was how Kate was
lashing out.  If she wanted the damn thing, she could
have just asked for it.  Riley and Sam’s wedding ring
wasn’t exactly the keepsake Buffy wanted to remember
him by.

Taking the ring out of her desk drawer, Buffy placed –
or maybe more like slammed – it in front of Kate.
“Why, Kate?  Why does he need it back?”

Buffy was instantly sorry when it was clear Kate’s
shock was not an act.  The girl’s mouth dropped open,
and she took a step back.  Her eyes filled with tears
as she reached for the ring.

“I don’t know why.  I just know it’s important,” Kate
said, staring at it.  She handed it back, insisting,
“You need to keep it.  You need to get it to him.”

Buffy’s heart went completely and totally out to Kate.
  So it wasn’t about the ring.  That in itself would
have been enough to convince her.  Then Liam added,
“No one who knows him ever really identified his body
– Uncle Graham only had a few seconds to look.  They
just thought it was him because of the ring.”

“And the body they found was all messed up because of
the fires,” Annie said.  “They couldn’t have known it
was him without doing tests, which no one can do
because they can’t get the body back.”

They were all looking at Buffy expectantly, as though
waiting impatiently for her to catch up with their
reasoning.  It wasn’t the reasoning she was have a
problem with at the moment, it was how they’d gotten
to the reasoning part in the first place.  “How…?”

Four pairs of eyes immediately looked down at the
floor.  Jack had the added benefit of turning bright
red, having clearly inherited his father’s tendency to
blush.  “Jack…”

“Please don’t tell,” Jack blurted out.  “He doesn’t
even let me watch PG-13 movies.  I’d get in so much
trouble if he found out I could read his email.”

The boy clearly believed wholeheartedly that his
father was alive – he hadn’t done anything that
indicated he was at all upset; the merest suggestion
of his father finding this out, however, had him
practically trembling.

Buffy was more stunned than anything else, though Jack
clearly thought she didn’t believe him as she asked,
“You can…?”

He walked over to the computer, bringing his hands to
the keyboard before stopping suddenly and saying, “I’m
sorry.  May I?”

Buffy had to grin as she nodded.  No question about
it, this was Riley’s son.  Already a gentleman.  She
rolled her chair back a few inches so he had plenty of
room.

In silence, she watched as Jack blew by several
firewalls, smiling proudly as he got into Riley’s
email.  Well, she supposed she shouldn’t be quite so
surprised given the kinds of things Willow used to do.
  Of course, Willow had been in high school at the
time.

Jack typed as he talked.  “They haven’t shut down his
account yet.  He’s still on all the distribution
lists.  I read Uncle Graham’s report.”

“But you… You’re nine.”  Buffy looked at him
suspiciously.  “Were you really playing computer games
all those times?”

Jack shrugged.  “Computer games are o.k.”  He shrugged
and grinned, his eyes lighting up.  “This is a lot
more fun.”

She smiled back.  For a minute there, she’d actually
forgotten how much crying she’d done over the past few
days.  She was also realizing how much she liked
Riley’s kids.  Even if Riley were...

No, Buffy.  There isn’t time for that kind of
thinking.  Read what Graham wrote, figure out what is
going on, and get Riley back.

“Can you print me out that report?”  She couldn’t
believe she was enlisting a nine-year-old.  Nothing
like starting them early.

And, um, thank God she hadn’t sent Riley any X-rated
emails.  She’d thought there was a possibility his
account was monitored given the whole government ops
thing; it had never, however, occurred to her that
Jack might be the one watching.

Jack nodded.  “Do you want me to send you copies of
everything my dad gets?”

“You can do that?”  She put her hand up as he started
to type.  “No, wait.”  For one thing that would be
really weird in a voyeuristic kind of way.  The other
thing was that there was no reason – Graham probably
would have sent it to her without a second thought; he
may even have already done so.  He’d left her three
messages between yesterday and today; there was a
strong possibility that he’d emailed her, too.
Another person she couldn’t bear to speak to yet.
“I’ll let you know.”

She looked up as Willow came back into the room.
There was a moment of thinking that she should be more
cautious, that there was no way this could go well.
That was followed, though, by an overwhelming sense of
relief, as if she’d known all along that this would be
her course of action and she could finally get to it.

She turned back to the kids.  “O.k., I’ll talk to
Graham.”  As they started to protest, she added, “No.
I won’t tell him you guys brought this to me.  I’ll
see if I can get him to go back up there, if we can at
least see the body.”

There was the whole disclaimers thing to do, though.
“But you need to understand something – just because
no one ever properly identified the body doesn’t mean
it isn’t him,” she said, saying the words for her own
sake as much as for theirs.  He could be just as dead
somewhere else.  She turned to Kate.  “And your mom
might be sending you messages because she’s mad that
I’m the one who has the ring.”

Kate grinned.  “Or it could just be that she doesn’t
like you very much.”

Twerp, Buffy thought, though her own smile was
forming.  “Yes, that could be it.”

She stood up, feeling a need for one more note of
caution before she left the room.  “I want him to be
alive, too.”  God, so much so that it was too painful
to even speak his name aloud.  “And I will do
everything I can to get him back – I promise you that.
  It just...”  She had to stop for a second to get the
tremble out of her voice.  “It may not be enough and
you need to be ready for that.  Understood?”

They nodded solemnly.

“Jack – can you show Willow how you just did all that?
  She’s a bit of a whiz herself.” Buffy headed to the
door.  “I’m going to take a shower – the pizza should
be here by the time I’m done.”



TBC in Chapter 31





=====
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 Twenty-Seven.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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


That had been...different.  Exhilarating even.  The
man had almost been caught several times, but that
only added to the excitement.  He’d been right – this
had been the most difficult by far, but oh, had it
been worth it.

Everything had clearly worked.  God, yes.  Quite
dramatically, in fact – the man hadn’t even been in
the thick of it and he’d been able to tell.  He almost
wished...  No.  Just serving the Queen was enough.
And, of course, the rewards.

So, the man thought, sitting back and admiring his
prize.  Obviously he had been right about Finn, too.

He held the object up to the light.  It was unlike
anything he’d ever seen.  Truly magnificent – its
craftsmanship absolutely flawless, its colors so
brilliant, its design so vibrant.  Almost as though he
was holding the sunrise in his hand.

Well, he supposed that the Queen had to have figured
out something to do with her time.  Arts and crafts
were as good as the next thing.  And if she felt that
the service the man was performing was worth rewards
such as this – if she thought Finn was worth this –
the man certainly wasn’t going to argue.

Although, he had to admit he was still surprised she
had known so quickly.  Within an hour of Finn’s
disappearance, the object had appeared.  Could she
read Finn’s mind?  His soul?  All the things that made
him different than the others?

The man knew the answer to that question, but how
could she?  It wasn’t as though he’d clapped Finn on
the back, handed him a dossier entitled ‘military
hero’ and said, Here – give this to her when you get
there.  She’ll need it to make sure you’re the one
she’s looking for – mind, body, and soul.

Maybe it had something to do with the intensity of the
spell.  The man hadn’t quite known what to do when it
hadn’t worked the first time.  At first he’d assumed
Buffy had blocked him – that she’d somehow done it
after the bear had attacked.  As soon as he saw her,
though, he knew she couldn’t have.  Those injuries
hadn’t been faked.

Had there been too many people around?  Had Finn been
too focused on Buffy?  Had the man himself been too
rushed?  He still wasn’t sure what exactly had gone
wrong that day, which is why he’d boosted the spell
the second time around – intensified the potions, done
the spell twice even – once in the morning and once
right before the storm.  Anything that could possibly
override whatever it was that allowed Finn to escape
the first time; to compensate for the fact that Finn
wasn’t alone, that Buffy was so close...

He’d tried, of course, to separate the two.  The bear
obviously hadn’t worked.  The man had known Buffy was
strong – not that strong, however.  Not that he’d
intended for the bear to kill her.  He’d expected to
be closer when it happened, close enough to, if not
prevent the attack, at least help her defend herself.

He’d planted the gum several days before the bear
finally found it – usually bears were a lot quicker
than that.  It had occurred to the man that whatever
protected Finn that day had also protected Buffy.
That something had interfered with all of his magic.
He had to admit, the Maymaygwayshi had come to mind;
they tended to make a mess of things.

For that very reason, his other attempt to remove
Buffy from the scene had been completely without
potions or spells.  Just a gun.  A good, ole’
long-range, high-powered rifle – the kind that gun
control people loved to hate.   He wouldn’t have
killed her – he’d planned on hitting her shoulder, the
one that had still been healing from the bear’s attack
the day before.  It would have come off fine – damn
poachers, never could keep themselves from these
pristine woods – except that he hadn’t accounted for
his own desire, for the stirrings of jealousy even
though he knew Finn’s days were numbered.

The man had raised his rifle; he’d had Buffy in his
sights, her blonde hair whipping around her face in
the wind, her head perfectly framed in the crosshairs.
  Then came the moment of hesitation, getting caught up
in her smile, imagining – even if only for a minute –
that it was for him.

No.  Definitely hadn’t counted on that; hadn’t counted
on there being something about the woman...  It wasn’t
typical of him, not at all; it had been a long time
since he’d felt such longing.

He’d lowered the gun, following the curve of her neck,
the perfect slope of her shoulder – just the one shot
was all he’d need.  His finger already tugging gently
on the trigger, he’d stopped suddenly as she pulled
her shirt over her head.  He watched Finn gently
remove the bandage wrapping her chest.  Finn checked
the wound and reached into the first aid kit.

The man’s mouth had gone dry when Buffy grabbed Finn’s
hand and placed it on her waist, pulling his head down
to her breast, leaning back and smiling as he looked
up.  Finn had been hesitant, obviously concerned about
hurting her – it had only been a day since the bear
had attacked, only hours since she had woken up – but
she guided him, firmly holding Finn’s body against
her, playing with and teasing him until he relaxed.

Until that moment, the man had never understood the
allure of watching someone else do that; certainly not
his idea of a good time.  But he couldn’t pull his
eyes away, and he watched as they made love, his own
heart racing; breathless as she came.

It made him sick to think about it; it disgusted him
that even now he thought seeing her face at that
moment was possibly one of the most erotic experiences
of his life.

He’d dropped the rifle, using the excuse that there
wasn’t any way to get an accurate shot – and killing
either one of them at this stage of the game would
certainly not get him anywhere.  But the reality was
that he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her.  Not such
a beautiful creature.  Not directly at least.

Yes, well...  It was probably a good thing he hadn’t
gone through with it because it would have definitely
aborted the mission, something the man hadn’t realized
until the moment the ring was deposited into Miller’s
hand; when he’d seen the look on the soldier’s face,
overheard him say how he should have insisted that
they call everything off and go home, how he couldn’t
believe he’d let them talk him out of it after the
bear.

Thank God for that ring.  The man had had no idea why
it had appeared next to the prize, not until hours
after the storm had happened, hours in which they’d
found everyone but Finn, and Miller refused to leave.
Chaotic, frantic hours in which the man had been able
to move in and among them all without them caring.

That the new body had appeared when it did, and that
it had been so perfectly placed among the fire
fighters, on the edge of the sacred ground, no less –
had to have been the work of the Queen.  She would
know that the body would be immediately turned over to
the Tribe – one less thing for the fire fighters to
deal with – and that the Tribe would never let it go.


Yes, the Queen must have had a hand in that.  He
couldn’t help but think that someone had – the same
someone who’d had the forethought to throw Finn’s ring
back into the same circle that contained the man’s
prize in the first place.  Before he was even
cognizant of what he was doing, he’d jumped into his
canoe knowing that he had to get the ring on the body
before it was discovered.  It was only because he was
known to the Elders that he was able to get the ring
where it needed to be.

It had been close, ever so close – the soldiers on his
heels almost every step of the way.  Here it was
almost two days later and his heart was still racing.

He placed the object back on the shelf.

The only bad thing about all this was that Buffy was
gone.  They’d whisked her away as soon as the body had
been identified as one Lt. Colonel Riley Finn.

He hoped she was doing o.k.  He’d had no idea what
would happen to her – if she’d be taken along with
Finn, if she’d be killed outright...

Thankfully, she’d survived the day.  Now, well, maybe
it was worth a trip to Boston – he could easily
manufacture an excuse to be there.  At the very least,
it would be interesting to see the effects of the
spell firsthand.

And if she needed someone to take care of her?  If she
needed someone to comfort her now that Finn was gone?
Well, that was just a big, fat bonus.




TBC...



=====
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 Twenty-Seven.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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


“Buffy...”

Was this just another dream?  His familiar voice
speaking her name, his arms going around her...

Everything was all turned around – the things that
seemed to be dreams were making sense while the things
that seemed to be real weren’t.  A dream is a dream is
a...

“Buffy, I’m so sorry.”

Nonsense.  No sense.  Insensical.  Was that a word?

He murmured, “I don’t know what to-”

Nothing.  Don’t say anything.  Don’t say anything
because that might make it all real and this had to be
a dream.  Had to be.  Because only the most desperate
of circumstances would bring Angel here to where Buffy
was; here in Riley’s house.  And she didn’t think she
could bear it if these circumstances were real.

Her finger went to Angel’s lips only seconds before
her mouth did, her brain catching up to her body just
in time.  The tears began again – had they ever
actually stopped? – as she haltingly said, “I just
keep...seeing him.  It’s...  I can’t breathe.”

“I know,” Angel said, leaning his forehead against
hers, his hand going through her hair.  Then again,
more softly, “I know.”

She leaned her head against his chest and cried until,
gradually, her sobs became quieter and her body
stopped shaking.  She could feel the dreams coming
back again, even though she didn’t want them, not any
more.  They were too perfect.  They hurt too much.

And yet she had no choice but to go to sleep.


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


Buffy shifted.  Someone was in the room with her.  She
opened her eyes and looked up to see a strange woman
here with her in this strange room.  A strange woman
muttering something about how – like Hell she wouldn’t
check on Buffy, and there was definitely no need to
have anyone protect her from...

Sarah, Buffy thought, as her mind slowly woke up.
Graham’s wife.  Not a stranger.

Riley’s walk-in closet – off his bedroom.  Riley’s
house.

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” Sarah said.  “I didn’t mean to
wake you.  I just wanted to bring up a blanket.”

“Blanket?”  For the first time in – o.k., absolutely
no clue – Buffy felt like her brain was working.  For
example, she was absolutely sure that a) this was not
a dream, and that b) there was no blanket.

Sarah looked down at her empty hands.  “I guess it
would have been helpful if I’d remembered to bring one
up.”

Sarah looked so sad – much too sad for a forgotten
blanket.  Buffy sat up and reached her hand out to
Sarah’s arm.  “That’s o.k.  It’s only a...”  Her voice
trailed off as she picked up the t-shirt she’d been
using as a pillow.  Riley’s t-shirt.  She looked up,
dumbstruck.

“Oh, Buffy,” Sarah said.  “I am so sorry.  I can’t
even imagine...”

Sorry?  Did that mean that Riley really was dead?
That this wasn’t all some awful nightmare?  No.  That
couldn’t be true.  Couldn’t possibly be true.

But it was, wasn’t it?  That’s why she was sitting
here on the floor of this closet of all places,
because Graham had brought her here to Riley’s house,
brought her here because he couldn’t bear to tell…
“Is Graham...?”

Sarah shrugged, her eyes filling with tears as her
voice wavered.  “Right now he’s mostly worried about
you and the kids.  He’ll be o.k. until after the...”

Funeral?  Oh, God.  Was that what she was going to
say?  Buffy could feel the tears threatening again.

“Do you want to sleep some more?” Sarah asked,
regaining control of her voice.  “Angel said you
seemed really tired.”

Buffy looked down self-consciously.  “Angel?”  So that
hadn’t been a dream.  She really had almost kissed
him.  He really was here.

As strange as that sounded, though, she wasn’t
surprised.  Of course he’d come.  She’d somehow known
that wherever she was, that’s where he would be.

Sarah nodded.  “He got here this morning – a few hours
after you did.  He’s been sitting with you all day.”

“All day?  In here?”  That was...odd.  Angel sitting
here, with her in Riley’s bedroom.  Well, bedroom
closet.  Still...  “Where is he?”

Sarah answered, “Helping Mary with dinner.”

Dinner?  It was already dinner?  Did that mean it had
already been a full day, a full day since...this...had
happened?

She couldn’t remember ever sleeping this much or being
quite so out of it.

No, that wasn’t true.  When Mom had died...  If it
hadn’t been for Dawn, Buffy probably would have slept
for days.  And nothing had made sense then either.
Everything had seemed wrong.  Everything had –

Wait.  “I’m sorry, did you just say Angel is cooking
with Riley’s mom?”

Yes.  Sarah was actually nodding her head ‘yes.’

That was more than odd.  That was just kind of
twisted.  In a way that very few people would
understand; only, really, Angel and Ril...

O.k.  Don’t lose it.  Do not lose...

Nope, too late.

Sarah dropped to her knees and gathered Buffy into her
arms, waiting until the tears died down before saying,
“Would you like anything?  I can bring you up some
food.”  She smiled, mumbling something about being
Italian and having a grandmother who said food helped
everything.

“No.”  Buffy wiped her eyes and managed to smile back.
  “I’ll come down.”  If Mary could cook right now, the
least Buffy could do was show her face.  “But, first,
I need to, um...”  She looked up at the door to
Riley’s bathroom.

“Oh,” Sarah said, following Buffy’s gaze.  “Of
course.”  She got up.  “We’ll be downstairs.”

Buffy nodded and took a deep breath.  Maybe if she
stopped crying and started moving none of this would
hurt quite so much.

Right.  “I’ll be down soon.”


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


Buffy almost made it to the kitchen without crying
again, but had to stop, pausing outside the doorway,
remembering the night just weeks before when she had
slipped into the kitchen, face still flushed from the
warmth of Riley’s arms around her, her body still on
fire from what Riley had just done to her; her eyes
bright with the future she had only been starting to
glimpse.  Now the only sparkling in her eyes was from
the light reflecting off her tears.

Take a deep breath...

O.k.  Big mistake.  Or, rather, the mistake had been
putting on one of Riley’s t-shirts – a t-shirt that
smelled like Riley, thereby reminding her of him with
every breath – after the quick shower she had taken.
A shower which, incidentally, had also been a colossal
error of judgment given that the last time she’d been
in it, she had been very much with Riley.

Well, the good thing about having a complete mental
breakdown while showering was that the effects weren’t
quite so obvious.  However, if she stayed out here in
the hallway thinking about Riley, she would just lose
it all over again.

Squaring her shoulders, she put on a brave face as she
walked into the kitchen.  She stopped suddenly, not
prepared for the sight even though she knew Angel was
here.

“Three cups,” Mary said to Angel, whose black clothes
were protected by a frilly apron emblazoned with the
words, ‘Bake-Off Queen.  Iowa State Fair, 1999.’  “No,
four.  I think.  Wait…”

“Mary.  Sweetheart,” Gavin said.  Buffy watched as he
gently took the measuring cup from Mary and placed it
in Angel’s outstretched hand.  “No one’s expecting a
full meal tonight.”

“The children need to eat,” Mary said briskly.
“Someone needs to...”

“Then let Sarah,” Gavin replied.  “Or Angel...”

Mary pushed him away.  “These children need us to be
strong right now.  They need to know their lives won’t
just fall apart because Riley’s...”  Her voice broke
as she said his name.  “Because Riley’s...”

“Mary,” Gavin said, gathering her into his arms.
“They need to know it’s o.k. to mourn their father.
It’s o.k. to mourn your son.”

“Oh, Gavin.”  For the first time since Buffy had met
her, Mary seemed to lose control, collapsing against
her husband as she said, “He can’t be...  Not Riley.”

Buffy bit her lip and closed her eyes, forcing herself
to stand her ground and not bolt from the room.

Everything about this was wrong: Angel shouldn’t be
here, she certainly should never have come so close to
kissing him, and Riley couldn’t possibly be dead.

Her breath caught.  Riley was dead.

How could she have let that happen?  How was it
possible that she could save the world but not this
one man?  A man she had promised she would never let
go.

Stupid, Buffy, not to have taken the death thing into
account, because – unless he wasn’t actually dead...

Her eyes flew open.  Could that be possible?  Was
there even a slight chance...?

No, she thought, looking down at the ring in her hand.
  Proof.  He wouldn’t have taken this off, not
willingly at least.

Dead, she told herself.  He’s dead.  This isn’t the
Land of Wishful Thinking.  It’s Riley’s house, Riley’s
kitchen.  And his mother is just barely hanging onto
sanity at the moment.  The last thing she needs is to
have her dead son’s girlfriend of three whole weeks to
walk in and raise the most hopeless of hopes.

Buffy wiped her eyes and stepped into the room.  “Mrs.
Finn.  Mary...”

“Buffy,” Mary said.  She freed herself from her
husband as she turned and held her arms out.  Wrapping
them around Buffy’s shoulders, she said, “I’m so glad
he found you again, even if it was only for such a
short time.”

Buffy looked up, guiltily catching Angel’s eye before
he turned away.  “Mary – thank you for...”  For what?
Her hospitality?  For letting me sleep on the floor of
Riley’s closet while my vampire ex-boyfriend sat over
me?  “Angel and I should go.  Your family...”  Riley’s
family... “...should be alone right now.”

Mary released Buffy from her grasp.  “I understand if
you’d rather not be here right now, or if it’s
difficult to be around us, but I have no doubt you
would have been part of this family one day and as far
as I’m concerned, you already are.”  She wiped her
eyes.  “Enough.  Graham and Dawn will be back soon and
the kids haven’t eaten anything all day.  I’m sure
they’re hungry.”  Mary turned back to the counter.

“Graham and Dawn?” Buffy asked.  “Where are they?”

Sarah said, “They went to the airport.  To pick up
your friend.  Willow, is it?”

“Willow, too?” Buffy said, looking at Angel.

He shrugged.  “I can only stay for a couple of days.
We thought you might need the company. And I...”   He
looked away.  “I just needed to come.”

She leaned into him, trying not to cry as his arms
went around her.  The last time she’d been told Riley
was dead, Angel had been the one to give her hope.
But now…  She could tell from the way he looked at her
– from the way he held her – that he believed Riley
was dead.

He hugged her tightly as she lost the battle, her
tears flowing freely again.  She hadn’t known it was
possible to cry this much.  Wasn’t the human body made
up of, like, eighty percent water?  Well, she’d
probably turn to dust soon if she kept up this pace.

For the billionth time that day, she wiped away her
tears.  Looking up at Angel, she –

Was that...?  Was that hunger in his eyes?  She pushed
away from him as she very uncomfortably realized that
she was feeling the same – she was actually lusting
for Angel, here in Riley’s kitchen amidst his mourning
family and friends.

As she mourned.  As she could feel her heart slowly
dying from his loss.

Although she supposed it wasn’t entirely without
precedent.  Angel had always been that for her – home.
  Still...

She shook her head and mumbled, “This is wrong.”

Angel looked just as unsettled as Buffy felt, just as
puzzled.  And clearly just as awful.  His voice was
pained as he said, “Buffy...”

She cut him off, deciding to completely ignore that,
um, incident.  If for no other reason then that it was
the one thing she could ignore at the moment.  With a
gesture that took in the kitchen, Buffy whispered, “Is
this too weird for you?”

There was a moment in which she thought he’d say
something about whatever it was that had just
happened.  He seemed to be on board with the ignoring
thing, though, as he said, “I can deal.”  He grinned
and nodded towards Mary.  “That woman is scary.  But
in a good way.”

She looked over to see Mary stirring something on the
stove.  Smiling sadly, Buffy said, “Yeah.  She is.”

“Buffy,” he said, grabbing her shoulder as she started
to move away.  “I really am sorry.  You deserved
more.”  He looked around the kitchen.  “You deserved
this.”

She looked down quickly, but not before the tears
started falling again.  Ignoring them, she helped
Sarah set the table and was mostly composed by the
time Dawn and Graham arrived with Willow.  Until
Willow and Dawn pulled her into a hug and she lost it
all over again.

Sam jumped out of Graham’s arms and somehow knew not
to ask where Riley was, though she ran to Sarah and
clung to her until dinner was ready.  When the kids
came down from the third floor where they’d apparently
been all day, Buffy wasn’t quite sure what to say to
any of them, nor did they seem to know what to say to
her.  Only Annie approached, dissolving into tears and
hugging Buffy tightly before taking a seat at the
table.

Even Mary couldn’t keep the conversation going, and it
was a relief to everyone that the phone barely stopped
ringing – members of the squad, offering condolences;
Riley’s brothers, making arrangements to bring their
families to Boston for the service.  Even Pete O’Hara,
calling to say that a collection had been taken up at
the gym for Riley’s kids – he knew they didn’t need
the money, it was just that no one was sure what else
to do.

Part of Buffy never wanted to leave; part of her
couldn’t wait to escape.

Graham seemed to feel the same way, and it was Gavin
who finally said, “Mary – you need to go to bed, and
kids,” he said, referring to Buffy, Graham and the
others since the younger generation had retired before
the plates were cleared.  “You need to go home.
Tomorrow’s coming whether we want it to or not, and I,
for one, would like some rest before I deal with it.”

Dawn drove Buffy, Angel and Willow to Buffy’s house.
“Don’t you want me to stay?” she asked when Buffy got
out of the car before the engine had been turned off.

Buffy shook her head.  “Honestly?  I just want to go
to bed.”

If Willow and Angel hadn’t traveled so far to be with
her, she’d have probably sent them away, too.
Everything was getting blurry again and she was so
tired she could barely stand.  Had she really felt
like this after Mom died?  Wanting to sleep, wanting
to shut everything out – yes.  Being this physically
exhausted, though?  That she didn’t remember.

She could, however, remember how she’d been drawn to
Angel earlier that day, and how badly she’d needed his
touch all those years ago beside her mother’s grave.

As she pointed out the guestrooms, she stopped Angel
before he even thought about following her upstairs,
telling him, “I can’t do this again with you.  I need
to be alone tonight.”  And she had no intention of
discussing what had happened in Riley’s kitchen.  Not
now.

Ignoring the concerned look that passed between Angel
and Willow, she went up to her room, closing the door
behind her and leaning against it, letting the tears
fall once again.  She kicked off her shoes and
collapsed on the bed, stripping her clothes off as she
pulled the covers over her; chilly, even though the
night was warm.

Summoning enough energy to lean down to the floor, she
grabbed Riley’s t-shirt, the one she had put on after
her shower, now thinking that it hadn’t been such a
bad idea after all.  Hugging it to her and inhaling
his scent, she cried herself to sleep.



TBC in Chapter 29






=====
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 Twenty-Seven

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


As Buffy woke up, she could hear voices coming from
somewhere above her, voices that sounded distorted,
like they were coming from underwater.  A man and a
woman.

Or maybe she was the one underwater, because
everything seemed really warbly.  Kind of...bubbly.
Not in a good way.

The woman asked, “How long do we have to keep her in
those things?”

“The Colonel said until she’s awake,” the man
answered.

“It just seems cruel.”

The man laughed nervously.  “Speak for yourself – did
you hear what she did to that bear?  And then she
almost...”

Buffy wasn’t sure if she had blacked out or if they
just stopped talking for a while.  It was probably the
first thing because she could feel that someone was
standing over her, even though she hadn’t heard any
footsteps.

“How is she?  Has anything changed?”

Graham?  Was that Graham?  Who was he talking to?
Were those other people still here?

Buffy’s eyes didn’t seem to want to open.  Well,
tough.  She forced her eyelids up, letting them fall
closed again when her head screamed in protest at the
light that had suddenly been allowed in.

“Did she just...?  Buffy...?”

Pain is good.  Absence of pain equals absence of life.


She opened her eyes again.  Everything was blurry, and
there was an entire team of construction workers
playing with power tools in her brain, but yes, that
was definitely Graham.  And Brady behind him, perched
against a table.  “Graham...”

She turned her head to see a blaster pointed at her.
Pure instinct made her surge up, battle ready.
Something a lot stronger than she seemed to be at the
moment kept her from getting more than a couple of
inches off the bed.

Things started to come a little more into focus: that
the blaster was attached to a man wearing a uniform.
That there was a woman standing a few feet to the left
of him.  That steel restraints seemed to be attached
to her own body.

Steel restraints?   She looked back at Graham.

He stood watching her, his arms folded against his
chest.  After what seemed like a very long time –
although she may have just blacked out again – he
nodded to a second man, one in the same black uniform
as the guy with the blaster.

The man hesitated, “Sir – you said...”

Graham’s voice was cold.  “Do you really expect me to
say it again?”

“No, sir.”  The man moved forward and undid the steel
restraints, all the time watching Buffy carefully.
The blaster didn’t waver.

Everything was very strange, very…disconnected.  She
could see them taking the things off her wrists, just
couldn’t feel it.  She sat up through sheer force of
will.  “Where’s Riley?”

Graham looked at her very oddly.  Probably because she
hadn’t been speaking too clearly.  Enunciate, Buffy.

“Where’s Riley?” she said again, concentrating on
pronouncing each syllable.  “And Brooks?  Morris?”

There was a moment in which time seemed to stop, a
moment of complete silence and total absence of
movement.  Graham broke it by pulling a chair up to
the bed.  He glanced back at Brady.

Brady?  When did Brady get there?

Hello, Buffy.  Brady had been there the whole time.
Goodness.  Had she not just been looking at him for
the past few minutes?

At the moment, however, it seemed that he was very
specifically not looking at her.  He straightened up
and said to the others in the room, “We’re out of
here, guys.”  As the woman started to protest, he cut
her off, saying, “You can check her out in a few
minutes.”

When the guards hesitated, Graham barely even looked
at them.  “Out.”  He sat down in the chair and ran his
hand through his hair.  For the first time, Buffy
noticed that his eyes were rimmed with red.

That didn’t look good.  That looked so not good.

“Graham – what happened?” she asked with dread,
feeling sick to her stomach.  “Where’s Riley?  Where
are Brooks and Morris?”

There was a moment of hesitation before Graham said in
a detached voice, “Joe pulled Brooks out of the water
about ten minutes after we lost contact with you.
He’s at a hospital near Lac La Croix.  As far as we
can tell, he’s going to be o.k.  Morris is with him
there.”

O.k., fine.  That was Brooks and Morris, but what
about...

No.

“Graham...”  She grabbed his hand.  This wasn’t
happening. Was.  Not.  Happening.  “Where...?”

“Buffy...”  Graham looked away.  His voice trembled as
he said, “I’m sorry.”

No.  He had it all wrong.  Joe wasn’t there.  Hadn’t
been there.  He couldn’t have pulled Brooks out.  And
if Graham was wrong about Joe...

“Graham – no.  It was the-”   She stopped abruptly,
unable to actually say that killer butterflies had, in
fact, attacked.  “We need to-”

Graham spoke as though he knew exactly what she was
about to say.  “Buffy – they already found the body.
He’s dead.”

“No.”  They’d done this to her once before and she was
not going to fall for it again.  Riley was not dead.
Most certainly not.  “Prove it to me.  Let me see him.
  I want to see the body.”

Looking down, Graham said, “No, I don’t think you do.”
  He was battling for composure.  It took him a minute
or two before he said,  “I saw him before they took
him away.  His body…  It’s pretty much
unrecognizable.”

Trying to shake the confusion out of her head, she
said, “Took him...?”  She could feel her eyes fill,
although she refused to cry.  If she actually cried,
it might mean she believed what Graham was telling her
and there was no way this could be true.  Absolutely
no way.  “Who...?  I don’t –”

“His body was found on some sacred piece of land by a
fire fighter.”  Graham spoke quickly, as though he had
to get it all out before he lost it altogether.
“Joe’s tribe took the body.  The land belongs to them.
  They refused to release him.”

Blinking the tears away, Buffy protested, “If you
couldn’t...  If he was…  How do you know it was him?”
She could feel a panic rising within her.  No.  No,
no, no.  There had to be another explanation.  “We
weren’t anywhere near the forest fires.  This
doesn’t...”

“Yeah,” Graham mumbled.  He wasn’t rushing his words
any more, wasn’t fighting for control.  Now he just
sounded tired.  Tired and old.  Very old.  “I know.
I’m having a hard time with this myself.”  He reached
into his pocket and dropped something into her hand.
“This was a pretty big kick in the ass, though.  I
guess it’s what you might call proof.”

Her heart stuck in her throat as she looked at the
simple gold band.  Riley’s wedding ring.

She knew she’d begun to cry because she could see the
tiny drops of water fall, dropping and crashing over
the crest of the ring, rolling down its sides and
seeping into the palm of her hand; she couldn’t feel
it, though, because she was numb.  Utterly numb.
“I...  I don’t...”

“Joe managed to get it off the body.  He and Harry…
They thought the kids might want...”  Graham’s voice
broke.  He put his hand to his eyes for a few moments
before standing up and saying, “I’m sorry, Buffy.  I
know this doesn’t really help, but I can’t remember
ever seeing him as happy as he’s...  As he was these
past few weeks.”

Few weeks? she thought, watching Graham walk away.
Could it really have only been a few weeks?

She lay back down in the bed, closing her eyes and
holding the ring tightly in her hand, mostly unable to
breathe.

Was that it?  Was that really it?  One day you realize
you’ve fallen completely and utterly in love with
someone; the next day they tell you he’s gone.  Could
the universe truly be that cruel?  After the
sacrifices she’d made in her life, the sacrifices
Riley had made – they weren’t even allowed this one
thing?  Such a small, tiny thing.

When she opened her eyes again, it was clear time had
passed – how much, she had no idea; she just knew that
she wasn’t alone any more.  The guards were back,
weapons included.  Brady was back, too, watching the
guards.  And the woman – terrified, if her startled
jumps every time Buffy moved were any indication –
obviously had a job to do, otherwise, she’d probably
be clear across the...

“Where are we?” Buffy asked as it occurred to her she
had absolutely no clue.  This didn’t look like a
regular hospital room and it seemed very loud.  Much
louder than seemed normal.  Plus, things seemed to be
vibrating.

The woman glanced up at Brady.  When he nodded, she
began chattering – probably not Brady’s intention,
though he didn’t stop her.  Buffy couldn’t follow even
half of what the nurse – Buffy was assuming the woman
was a nurse given the way she was checking various
things – said.  Something about being on a military
transport and Colonel Miller wanting to get Buffy back
to Boston, to doctors who might know what to do with a
Slayer who’d been unconscious for going on fourteen
hours, and without Colonel Finn around –

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said.  “He was...”  She stopped
what she was doing and looked down at the floor.  “He
was a very nice...”

As the woman began to cry, Buffy just nodded and
turned away, unable to respond as she tried not to
completely break down.  She vaguely registered Brady
telling the nurse to take a break before he sat down
next to the bed.  There was a faint feeling of warmth
as he put his hand on her shoulder.

His touch seemed to open the floodgates, and Buffy was
glad she was lying down already, otherwise, the sudden
gush of memories would have toppled her, knocked her
right to the ground.  If it had just been the memories
themselves, maybe it would have been a bit more
bearable.  This, though...  This was almost too much,
too vivid: Riley’s voice in her ear, his hands running
down her back, his lips brushing her cheek, brushing
her mouth...

She felt it all, felt every single thing.  Every
single moment from the instant he’d appeared in front
of her the night of the fireworks to those last few
minutes, when she’d tried to fight her way back to him
only to find butterflies everywhere she turned.

No – it went back even further, back to Sunnydale.
Back to their first almost kiss.  How was it possible
that even now – that today of all days – she could
feel that moment as if it were happening all over
again: the way he’d put his hand in her hair, the way
he’d looked into her eyes, the way her heart had raced
and her throat had gone dry.

You’re gonna teach me.

How she’d watched him walk away.

She curled up into a ball, trying to stop her body
from shaking and to chase his voice away.  It was too
much to take.  Memories shouldn’t be this tangible.
Please, God, make this stop.  Just make this stop.

Right then, the nurse came back, subdued and quiet.
Buffy watched as the woman took Brady aside, saying
something into his ear.  He nodded and quietly said
something about Riley, something about Angel.

More visions came rushing at her, overwhelming her
senses – telling Riley about Angel, Angel about Riley;
the two men squaring off in her dorm room, both of
them ready to fight to the death if she’d asked it of
them.  Angel holding her the night she found out Riley
was missing...

“Buffy!” Graham said sharply.

Her eyes flew open.  Where...?  Oh, right.  Military
transport.  Back to Boston.  Without...

“Buffy.”  Graham’s voice was softer this time.  His
hand was on her shoulder and he was speaking slowly.
Or was it just that she was hearing him slowly?  Was
that possible?

“Buffy – we’ll be landing in about forty minutes.”  He
nodded his head towards the nurse standing to the side
of him.  “They tell me that all your readings are
normal and if you can walk on your own that you don’t
have to spend the rest of the day in the hospital.
Unless you’d like to...”

“No.”  She struggled to sit up, for the first time
realizing that she was actually attached to the tubes
and IV that the nurse had been checking before.
Which, of course, made sense.  Good, Buffy.  Not so
much with the superhuman noticing skills at the
moment.  “I can walk.”  Turning to the nurse, she
said, “Take these things off me.  And...” – having
also just noticed that she was wearing a hospital
gown, not exactly the latest in fashion – “...Clothes
would be good.”

The remaining time went mercifully quickly – if a bit
painfully, given the incredible pounding in her head
and the way every single muscle screamed at her.  Once
they landed, she even managed to walk the entire way
to Graham’s car.  It took a bit of concentration,
which was also merciful, because it did not escape her
consciousness that the day they’d parked here had also
been the day that the walls had come down, the day
she’d told Riley that she hadn’t just –

“I shouldn’t have let him leave that campsite,” Graham
said as he pulled his seatbelt on and started the car.

“What?” Buffy asked, realizing that he was waiting for
her to close her door before he could actually go
anywhere.  O.k.  Door closed, seatbelt on.  Lean back
and close your eyes so that everything doesn’t move so
much.

Graham’s voice was pained.  “I should have ordered you
all to stand down.  If you hadn’t been on the water-”

His voice thundered in her head as she turned to look
at him.  The morning sun felt like it was setting her
eyes on fire, and the ring that she had been clutching
since the moment Graham gave it to her was burning a
hole in her hand.

“Graham.”  She couldn’t have this conversation without
completely breaking apart – there was far too much
blame to go around, most of it sitting right on top of
her shoulders – and she didn’t want to do that in
front of Graham.  Plus there was an unusual amount of
difficulty in just stringing thoughts together at the
moment.  “Can we not do the guilt thing right now?  I
just can’t.”

“Yeah.”  Graham pulled the car out of the spot.

She closed her eyes again, by now realizing that she
couldn’t fight these visions – she just had to –

“You’re coming in, right?” Graham said all of what
seemed like two seconds later. Had any time passed at
all?  Didn’t it take at least half an hour to get back
into Boston from the Air Force base?

“We’re...?  Where...?” she asked.  She opened her
eyes, expecting to see her own front steps and her car
sitting in the driveway; confronted instead with the
brick townhouses and cobblestone streets of Beacon
Hill.

Riley’s house.

“Graham,” she said, shaking her head as she turned to
him.  “I can’t.  I shouldn’t be here.  Not now.”

Even he seemed surprised at where they’d ended up.  It
was a long time before he responded.  “Sorry I guess I
just...”  He made an unsuccessful attempt at a smile.
“I just need to get through this.  Please – I...”  His
voice broke.  “I can’t do this alone.”

She took a deep breath – forced the air into her lungs
– and nodded, getting out of the car as slowly as was
humanly possible, almost breaking down as Graham rang
the doorbell.  Not managing to hold it off as he
haltingly broke the news to Riley’s parents.

It wasn’t until Mary’s arms went around her that she
lost it completely, her whole body shaking as the
visions finally stopped, leaving this incredible,
horrible void – like a part of her had been extracted
and locked away, never to be freed again.  And the
worst part was that she had put it there.  She’d been
responsible for keeping it safe, keeping Riley safe.
Sure, Graham could have ordered them to stand down,
but she’d been there. She’d been two feet away from
him.  Yet she was here and Riley was...gone.  Just
gone.  How was that possible?

She pulled away from Mary and tried to catch her
breath, tried to stop crying.  It certainly didn’t
help when she realized that Riley’s parents weren’t
even the hard part, that his kids were right down the
hall and that they still had to be told.

There was absolutely no way she could follow Graham
into the kitchen where they were eating breakfast,
fighting over who got to finish the box of cereal,
completely unaware that their lives were about to
change.  Buffy wasn’t sure if the screams she heard
were actually happening or if it was a flashback to
that day when her mother died, Dawn collapsing onto
the floor in a hallway that would be imprinted on
Buffy’s mind for as long as she lived.

Buffy reached out for the wall, needing something to
steady herself as standing suddenly seemed to be an
issue.  Riley’s father came out of the kitchen right
then and spoke to her, saying something that sounded
incredibly kind and yet something she couldn’t even
come close to comprehending.  All she could see was
Riley’s eyes, Riley’s mouth.  The man Riley should
become thirty years later.

Except that he wouldn’t.  He wouldn’t age; they
wouldn’t have the chance to grow old together.

Trying to escape, she took a few steps backwards,
colliding with the banister and nearly falling up the
steps.  She stumbled up the stairs, drawn to Riley’s
room.  Not to the bed, which held no memories of him,
but instead to that huge walk-in closet, where she
sank to the floor, opening a drawer and pulling out a
t-shirt that still held his scent.  Bringing it to her
face, she sobbed into it, stopping only when she was
so exhausted that she fell asleep.




TBC in Chapter 28








=====
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 twenty-five.

Chapter Twenty-Six

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



Hell of a way to pass a few hours, Riley thought as
they came out of the last of the series of rapids,
grateful that that was the way the cards had fallen –
the course had been too intense to think about
anything other than getting to the end of it in one
piece.

This time, they’d decided to have the canoes travel
closely together, not sending one ahead as they’d
normally do: no one thought it was a good idea for
Riley and Buffy to be the first boat in, nor did
anyone think it was any better to have them wait as
Brooks and Morris went ahead.

It was all the same to Riley.  As long as he wasn’t
sitting and waiting for some hand to drop out of the
sky and pick him off, he was happy to let everyone
else decide.

He pulled his helmet off as they waited for the other
canoe to catch up.  Buffy had steered them into an
especially strong current – Riley wasn’t sure if that
had been intentional or not – so it would be a few
minutes.

She took her helmet off, turning around with an impish
smile on her face.

Graham’s voice came over the com-cam: “Buffy – don’t
even think about it.”

She frowned.  “Graham, that’s just too Big Brother for
words.”  The sparkle came back into her eyes as she
added, “And I have no idea what you mean by ‘it.’”

“I’m sure,” Graham muttered.  “O.k.,” he said more
loudly, “See that bend up ahead of you?  You’ll hit
the lake right after it straightens out.”

Riley looked up to where the river narrowed and snaked
through the woods – the trees were so thick and dark
that it was hard to believe there was open water just
beyond it, but Graham had pulled out all the stops and
was guiding them by satellite.  He’d been doing it all
day, which was probably why it had taken them four
hours to get through the rapids – stopping
periodically while Graham would give them a reading of
the next series of turns just to make sure they
wouldn’t be surprised by anything.

“Then lunch?” Brooks asked, as he and Morris pulled up
alongside Riley’s canoe.

Riley smiled and nodded.  Brooks had been acting the
medic all day, making sure everyone was hydrated and
fed so that when the battle came they’d be as
physically ready as possible.  Riley was surprised
there hadn’t been an enforced naptime.

“Good,” Morris said.  “And can we please take these
things off now?”  He tugged at the life jacket.

“Nope.”  Riley knew that none of them were happy with
the extra precautions he’d insisted on – even Brooks,
although he hadn’t said anything given his role.
Riley really didn’t care.  It was something they’d
been lax about, but something they should have been
doing since day one on this trip.

He’d let it go because, well, what could he say?  When
you played with fire every day – when the bigger
picture was an apocalypse or two – you tended to get
cocky, ignoring the mundane, day-to-day threats like,
say, drowning.

Today was different, though.  It was bad enough that
he’d put his own life at risk, basically because of
impatience.  Doing the same with the rest of the team,
though…  Well, even if they had no more interest in
sitting on the sidelines than he did, it was still his
decision ultimately, and he’d feel a lot more
comfortable if he knew the things they could control
were at least taken care of.

He put his helmet back on and picked up his paddle,
fixing his eyes on the trees.  “Let’s move.”

Though they’d only just cleared the rapids, he was
already feeling antsy.  He just wanted to keep moving
– every time they stopped, he felt like he was being
watched.  Which he was, he realized as they went
through the trees – by Brooks, Morris, and Buffy at
least.

Where did they think he was going to go?  They were
all within fifteen feet of him for God’s sake.  And he
had no intention of letting his own guard down – his
eyes were picking up every movement in the trees,
every shadow under the surface of the water.

The trees here were so close – the passage so narrow –
that the leaves and branches were tickling his arms,
the back of his neck. Maybe he’d be a sitting duck out
on the open water, but at least there he’d be able to
breathe a bit.  This was eerie, to say the least, and
given he was the last man in the line – Brooks and
Morris having pulled ahead as they went around the
bend – he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder.

Fifteen minutes later, the other canoe moved beyond
the trees and Riley saw the two men look up.  Morris
laughed uneasily in a way that did not sound at all
promising.

Emerging from under the canopy of leaves, it was clear
what had captured their attention: towering cliffs of
granite that dwarfed everything else in sight.  At the
top – at least several hundred feet up – there were a
series of images that, even from this distance, looked
huge.  Riley took out his binoculars.

“Are they like the pictographs, or like the markings?”
Buffy asked.

Brooks, having taken out his own binoculars, answered,
“The pictographs, I think.  Just…”  He looked at
Riley.  “…Bigger.”

Yes, to say the least.

The pictographs they’d seen so far had been a foot
tall at most, no more than eight, ten inches wide.
These were at least thirty feet tall, maybe forty –
without anything to compare them to it was hard to
tell.  And there was an odd, lifelike quality to them,
a vibrancy that the two-dimensional pictographs they’d
seen so far hadn’t had.

It was partly due to the shadows on the cliffs –
crevices and nooks that gave life to the markings in
the stone – and partly due to the way the sun hit
them, making it appear that they were actually moving,
dancing across the rocks.  Or it could have just been
the whispery cry that happened every time the breeze
blew by the cliffs.

“Let me see,” Buffy said, holding her hand out for the
binoculars.  She put them to her eyes and sniffed
somewhat contemptuously.  “If that’s the Princess,
then she’s kind of plain, don’t you think?  And much
too skinny for you.”

He assumed she was referring to the tallest of the
stick figures, the one that dominated the scene,
though there was nothing to indicate it was a woman.
Taking the binoculars back, he looked through them
again.  Was it dancing?  Had the artist done that
intentionally?  Or was it just an effect created by
the shadows and the sun?

“So what do we do?” Morris asked.

Riley put the binoculars away and picked up his
paddle.  “Nothing.  They’re pictures.”  Weird, freaky
pictures maybe, but pictures all the same.  “We keep
moving.”  No one else budged; they all just sat there
looking at him.  Fine.  “Then give me another option.”

Brooks and Morris glanced at each other; neither of
them said anything however.  Nor did Graham, who Riley
knew was hanging on every word.

Riley looked out at the lake.  There was a clearing
not too far from where they sat – just past the
cliffs, maybe ten minutes worth of paddling away.  And
after that, there was beach as far as they could see –
plenty of places to pull over if necessary.  It was
certainly better then heading back through the rapids
because, well, they were rapids – rushing in the wrong
direction.  And the forest was too dense to even bring
the boats in.  “Honestly.  Tell me what else to do.”

He knew that there was little chance of anyone
answering, the soldiers – even Brady – all shutting
down right now and waiting for their orders.  Graham,
and possibly Brooks, were the exceptions, most likely
thinking about waiting for Brady’s team to catch up
with Riley’s squad and escort them to the other side
of the lake.

That upped the chance of casualties, however, with no
discernible benefit – there wasn’t anything to fight.
Plus whatever this was could hit at any time – there
was no reason it would wait for Brady to even get
there; it would have plenty of time to do what it
wanted with Riley’s squad in the meantime.

Angel?  No clue, other than being not at all happy
that Buffy was here in the thick of it and he wasn’t.
He’d been surprisingly quiet this morning, especially
given the circumstances.  Probably because he was
wishing that he’d never taken on Jessica as a client,
that Buffy had never moved to Boston, and especially
that she’d never gone to the fireworks and ran into an
ex-boyfriend who had already almost gotten her killed
once in the past week.

Riley turned to look at Buffy, smiling for what seemed
like the first time in hours when he saw her eyes.
There was no fear, no doubt.  Just fire.  What was it
Angel had said the other day?  Pure, unadulterated
Slayer.

Well, good.  He had a feeling he was going to need
her, because – personally? – he wanted to quit this
dance.  Let’s get on with it, Princess.  Just come the
fuck out and play.

Buffy nodded, and, seeing the decision in his eyes,
faced forward.  Riley looked at Brooks and Morris.
Brooks smiled and put his paddle in the water as
Morris pumped his fist in the air.  “Yes, sir!”

Brady came over the com-cam.  “I take it that’s a go?”

“Affirmative.”  Riley could practically feel the
sparks flying off of Buffy’s skin as she began
paddling.  The canoe shook with every stroke, and they
were already pulling away from Brooks and Morris.
“Brady – where are you?  How long until we see you?”

“We’re…  Hold on a sec.”  Brady’s voice was muffled.
“Where are we people?  Where’s…  Aw, come on – where
the fuck is Harry?  …  I don’t give a good Goddamn if
he’s-”

Graham cut in.  “They’re about four miles from you.
They’ll probably hit the lake in twenty, twenty-five
minutes; they should be in sight within the hour.
Once they get moving again at least,” he added
pointedly.

Brady came back on the line, sounding irritated as
hell.  “Sorry, sir.  Just a pit stop.  We’ll be
heading out again in no time.”

Reaching forward to touch Buffy’s shoulder – slow her
down just a little bit so that they didn’t lose Brooks
and Morris entirely – Riley felt her energy pass
through him.  She turned her head and kissed his hand,
resting her cheek against him for a moment before
straightening up.

When she resumed paddling, it was with a little less
force.  Much better – he could actually keep up with
this pace and still be able to breathe.  Turning back,
he saw that the other boat was doing better, too.

Looking up at the cliffs behind them and giving the
pictures a final glance, he almost half expected the
figures to skip along the surface of the rocks and
follow the canoes across the lake.  When they stayed
in place, he couldn’t deny there was a feeling of
relief.

Just as they finally hit a groove again, he felt a
current of … something … pass through him.

“Did you feel that?” Riley said to Buffy.

Brooks and Morris looked over as Buffy replied, “The
wind?  Yeah.”

He shook his head.  Though the breeze had picked up a
bit, it wasn’t enough to be alarmed about.  “No, not
the wind.”

The sensation hit again.  “That.  It’s like a shock.
No,” he said as she turned back to look at him,
puzzled.  He looked over at Brooks and Morris in the
boat beside them.  They both lifted their shoulders
and shrugged.  “Like pins and needles.”  But no, that
wasn’t really it either.

He realized they’d all stopped paddling and were
looking at him.  Well, Brooks and Morris were looking
at him; Buffy was scanning the water, the shore, the
sky.  Riley did the same.  There was absolutely
nothing he could see.

God, how he hated this mystical stuff.  Monsters?
Vampires?  He’d take them any day over this kind of
thing.

O.k.  Maybe it was time to head in to-

What the fuck was that? Riley thought as the wind was
knocked out of him and he doubled over.  His lungs
felt like they were on fire and the air around him
started to hum.

Brooks’ voice came from somewhere off in the distance.
  “Ri – you o.k.?”

He felt Buffy whirl around rather than saw her.  He
vaguely registered her throwing off her helmet and
muttering something about Slayers not needing body
armor, just before realizing she was reaching for his
hands.  As their skin touched, there was a sudden
shock, bringing everything back into focus.

His eyes met hers as she said, “Stay with me, o.k.?  I
want you to see me kick her ass.”  Despite her strong
words and confident smile, he could see that she was
uneasy and – for the second time that day – possibly
even worried.

The little episode seemed to be over, however, which
was a good thing, because before Riley could even
think about what had just happened, Graham came over
the com-cams saying, “How close are you to shore?”

“Fifty feet, give or take,” Riley answered, ignoring
the pounding in his head as he glanced to his left.
“Why?”

“We’ve got a major storm on the radar.  Looks like
you’re heading into it.”

Riley looked up.  Nothing but clear skies.

But the rest of the signs couldn’t be any more
obvious: it was definitely time to get off the water.

Turning to Brooks and Morris, he was about to tell
them to swing port when he saw their mouths drop open.
  Following their gaze, he didn’t see why at first –
there was nothing in the sky, nothing on shore,
nothing in…

Oh.

Not in the water – on it.  Except that there was no
‘there’ there, to hijack a phrase.  It was like a
shock wave speeding across the surface of the water,
visible only by the water being churned up – in a
Perfect Storm kind of way – as it moved, half the lake
being perfectly calm, the other half, a complete
frenzy.  The trees fared no better, split between
utterly still and bending to the ground.  And the
sky’s pristine blue was slowly seeping away, leaving
nothing but gray as a dark shadow crept toward them.

All of it happened without a sound – no birds
screaming or winds howling – just utter silence with
one exception: a low rumble that could be heard off in
the distance.

Morris muttered, “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

Right now a Great White would be preferable, because –
how the hell were you supposed to fight…what?  The
wind?

Taking cover would be a good way to start.  Not that
he needed to give an order, everyone had already
turned to the shore – it was pure instinct to get out
of this thing’s way, or at least to not want to be out
on the water when it hit.

They should have made it – it was three boat lengths
for heaven’s sake; he could practically touch the
shore with his paddle.

No matter – it was as though the canoes had been
hooked from behind and dragged right back out into
open water.  The gentle breeze of a minute before
skipped right over brisk wind to full force gale, its
blustery gusts sending water slamming against the
canoes, threatening to spill over the sides as the
boats dipped and shifted from side to side.

“I’m guessing now’s not the time to tell you I get
seasick,” Morris said, or, shouted, rather as he
struggled to say in the boat.

“No worries,” Brooks yelled back.  “I’ve got some
Dramamine in my bag.  Always be prepared, I say.”

Buffy looked over at them.  “You’re not serious, are
you?”

Despite their fighting for control in a canoe that had
turned into a bucking bronco, both men looked over and
smiled.  Well, hell – if you’re going to go down, it’s
good at least to have a sense of humor about it.

Riley turned his attention away from them.  To say
things were not going as he had hoped was a bit of an
understatement.  “Buffy – how about putting that
helmet back on?”

As though to emphasize the point, there was another
blast of air, punctuated by Morris saying, “Damn it,”
as his paddle snapped.

Riley looked back over at the other canoe, stunned to
see that in seconds they had somehow drifted about a
hundred feet away.  How the hell had that happened?

Morris was reaching for the spare paddle that was
strapped to the side of the boat, while Brooks
struggled to keep the canoe on a straight line as the
wind pushed them sideways, sending them back towards
the cliffs.  Their smiles were gone.

Brooks looked up for a second, his eyes connecting
with Riley’s and he shook his head.  It was an
acknowledgment that the wind had taken them out of the
game.

That didn’t concern Riley at all – he only cared about
somehow getting to them before they were pushed back
against the cliffs.  He was not about to sit
helplessly as they smashed into pieces.  With Buffy’s
strength and this ferocious wind behind their backs,
they could make it in time.  “Buf-”

There was another burst of wind and – just like that –
they were turned around, headed in the other
direction.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Riley muttered, craning
his neck to see the other boat as the rain started to
fall.  Huge, fat drops that were falling with such
force they hurt as they hit the skin.

“Riley!” Buffy yelled.  “Where’d the shore go?”

Her voice came from in front of him, not through the
com-cam.  So much for state-of-the-art technology – it
couldn’t even handle getting a little wet?

And it wasn’t exactly a good sign that when he looked
to where the shore should have been, the beach had
turned into a sheet of gray, obscured by rain driven
horizontal by the wind.

Well, shit.  He turned back to look for the other boat
– it had completely disappeared.  “Brooks!”  He
couldn’t help but try, even though if the com-cans
weren’t working there was no hope of getting an
answer.  “Brooks!  Mor-”

He was knocked backwards as the canoe dropped and then
rose just as suddenly.  Buffy was still holding onto
her oar, leaning forward into the wind and paddling
furiously in the direction where the shore used to be,
to no avail.

“Buffy!” he shouted.  “On your knees!”  Lowering their
center of gravity might help a little.

Right.  That was some wishful thinking.  With these
winds there was a less than zero chance of a smooth
ride.

He was at an absolute loss.  A ghost princess was one
thing; Mother Nature another entirely.  Put the two
together?  Geez, talk about Hell hath no fury…  Right
now, all they could do was fight to keep the canoe
from dumping them into the raging water.

“Graham, I’m not sure if you can hear us…”  Though it
seemed just as futile as everything else at the
moment, Riley started reciting details into the
com-cam in case anyone could hear.  Maybe it was just
his audio that was affected and everything he said was
at least being recorded somewhere.  Plus – hadn’t
Graham said the storms were just a flash?   This
wouldn’t last forever.  If they could just keep-

He whirled around – had someone just been laughing?

Of course not.  Between the wind and the rain he could
barely hear his own thoughts, much less an actual
voice.  And who could possibly be laughing?  They were
in the middle of a friggin’ hurricane, on open water
with no other boats in sight and com-cams that didn’t
work.

But there was definitely someone laugh -

He nearly dropped his paddle in shock as he heard a
voice – a different voice – calling his name.

The wind playing tricks on him.  No doubt about it.
Or throwing Buffy’s voice so that it sounded like she
was calling him from behind when the sound was really
coming from up ahead.  Except it didn’t really sound
like Buffy.  Not like her at all – it must have been
distorted by the wind.  Had to be.

“Buffy…?” he shouted.

She glanced at him, offering a brief smile before
turning back, ducking as the rain hit her face head
on.  She seemed as unsure of what to do as he did,
leaning forward as she redoubled her efforts, even
though she probably didn’t have any better idea of
where the shore was then he did.

Well, that actually wasn’t true.  She probably had
some special Slayer radar that told her where to go.

Did it really matter?  Absolutely not.  Where she
goes, I follow.  If that was the only thing he could
figure out to do, then, damn it, he would do it with
gusto.

His muscles screamed as he dug his paddle in,
desperately trying to get enough leverage to help
propel them forward.  Coughing as he swallowed water –
not sure if it was rain or the waves that were washing
over the sides – he heard the low, rumbling noise grow
louder.

Heard it?  No, that wasn’t right – he could feel it.
He could feel it coming toward him.  Could feel it
advancing, bearing down, the air becoming charged as
it got closer.  What ‘it’ was, he had no idea – he
couldn’t see a damn thing.

Then – for just a moment – everything froze: the rain
hung suspended in the air and the wind ceased its
roaring.  Not good.

No, he thought, as everything started up again.  Not
good at all.

The rain became hail, pelting him with all of nature’s
force; the roaring wind became an unbearable
shrieking, screaming in his ears.  And as he looked
down, he could see a dark, pulsating mist bubbling up
from the surface of the lake, a watery carpet
stretched as far as the eye could see.

He tried to move forward, but the wind seemed to be
pressing down on him, keeping him in the canoe when
all of nature’s laws said that gravity should have
pulled him out by now.  It was pushing against his
chest, making it hard to breathe.

Dropping the paddle to the floor of the canoe, he
grasped its sides and hunched over as he forced oxygen
into his lungs.  Struggling to raise his head when he
heard his name called again, he was overcome by
dizziness.  As he finally lifted his head, he could
see Buffy bringing her hands to her face, protecting
herself from the black sheets of rain that were
bombarding her, attacking her arms.  She held up her
paddle, batting at the water.

Riley couldn’t figure out how that could possibly be
an effective way to keep the rain out when he realized
it wasn’t water overtaking her any more than it was a
mist rising up off the lake’s surface.  It was…

This had to be a fucking joke…

Butterflies.  Millions and millions of butterflies,
their wings rupturing the air, creating an
unbelievable noise as they slowly closed in.

Buffy disappeared from view and he fought his way
forward, trying to reach her, trying to battle this
most bizarre of forces and just get to her.  But it
was futile – their wings were fluttering against his
skin and beating him back…  Surrounding him, crawling
all over him, under his clothes, coating his skin…  A
piece of plastic, molding to his face, suffocating
him…  Keep away from small children and…  Fuck.






TBC







=====
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 appreciated.  Send to
alexandrahuxley@...

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



Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley


Chapter Twenty-Five

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


Buffy wasn’t sure what woke her up quite so early the
next morning – it wasn’t a cool, morning breeze
rustling through the trees, because it was utterly
still.  And it wasn’t the call of the early morning
birds, because there was absolute silence.  Nor was it
Riley’s easing his way out of the sleeping bag,
because the space beside her was cold.

All of this she knew before she was fully awake.

The moment she opened her eyes, she knew why.

As she sat up slowly, her mouth dropped open at the
sight through the tent’s open flap – the most
spectacular sunrise she’d ever seen: a million shades
of red, pink, orange and purple, the colors more
intense as they reflected off the water.  The sun was
a ball of fire, igniting the horizon as it rose above
the trees on the opposite shore.

Brooks had been on watch all night so she wasn’t
worried that something had happened to Riley without
her realizing it.  Still, she pulled her clothes on
quickly and was relieved to see him down by the shore.
  She made her way to where he was sitting, his knees
pulled up to his chest with his arms around them; the
com-cam dangling from his hand.

As she sat down next to him, he turned to her and
smiled grimly.  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”  He looked…not
scared, just solemn.

Until now, everything had been conjecture – a
collection of hints and theories that could easily
have meant absolutely nothing.  Now, though, with this
sunrise – this Technicolor sunrise that was too
fantastic for words, its colors so luscious, so
vibrant that they came alive in front of her eyes…

This was the day.  This was definitely the day.

The Slayer began to stir – her blood running a little
faster, her heart pounding a little louder – but she
pushed it aside for the moment so she could feel his
warmth, just hold him close.

She nodded, because – yes, it truly was beautiful –
and hooked her hands around his arm, leaning her head
against his shoulder, though careful to give him his
space.  This was preparation for battle – it wasn’t
time for talking or intruding.

If he was anything like her, he needed to concentrate
on the day ahead, not discuss strategy or deal with
anyone else’s concerns.  Right now he just needed to
be looking within himself, figuring out how he’d
approach the day, finding the strength he’d need to
make sure he survived it.

After a few minutes, Riley raised the com-cam to his
head, positioning it as he said, “Morning, Command.
Alpha Team checking in.”

Buffy put her earpiece on in time to hear Graham say,
“Hey, Ri.”

“Graham – didn’t expect you quite this early.”

“I woke up before dawn for some reason.  Couldn’t get
back to sleep.”

Riley looked at Buffy.  It was unusual for Graham to
be up this early; more unusual for him to have decided
to come in to work at dawn as though somewhere in his
subconscious, he knew that his presence was required.

Riley looked back at the water.  “Are you looking at
the monitor?”

“Yeah, why?” Graham asked.

“Try it in color.”  Riley didn’t bother to hide his
frustration.  Buffy figured it had something to do
with the, well, to put it in the words Graham had used
a few nights before they left Boston: brand-new
billion – a fucking billion – dollar communications
system couldn’t even show an image in color without
going batshit.

There was a second of interference as Graham switched
the image from black and white.  Silence then, before
Graham’s –

“Oh, shit.”

That was kind of what Buffy had been thinking.  Her
hands tightened around Riley’s arm as he asked, “Any
chance there’s a thunderstorm in the forecast?”

There was a tapping of keys as Graham pulled up the
weather report.  “Seventy-eight degrees and sunny.”

“Yeah.”  Riley sounded unsurprised. “That’s what I
thought.”

Though the conversation was about the most mundane of
details, Buffy could hear the words that weren’t
spoken, the things that would never be said, the main
one being: this friendship – this brotherhood – of
twenty years is not about to end today.

After a full minute’s pause, Graham said, “I’ll get
the team leaders on the line.  Angel, too.”

Several minutes later, everyone had checked in and
Graham brought them up to speed.

Brady was the first to speak.  “How ‘bout them
butterflies?”

Riley answered, “Haven’t seen any as of yet – we’ll
keep you posted.”

“Brady,” Graham said, “you’re about fifteen miles west
of Alpha Team.  What are you seeing?”

“Nothing unusual, sir.  Why?”

Graham’s voice crackled with tension.  “Because if
you’ve got the same sunrise as Riley then we chalk it
up to Mother Nature.  If not, it means that Riley’s
been tagged.”

“Understood,” Brady answered.  “Ri – you sure you’re
seeing something out of the ordinary?  This sunrise is
pretty and all, but nothing I haven’t seen.”

“Take off your headsets for a minute,” Graham said.
“Brady, hold your camera up.  Everyone – count to
fifteen then come back to me.”

Buffy wasted no time in following that order – she
knew the “going batshit” was a direct translation for
“deafening feedback” as soon as a second monitor was
turned on.  She’d been one of the unfortunate people
wearing her earpiece when they’d discovered the
problem.  Just to be safe, she gave it a few extra
seconds before putting it back on, coming back just as
Graham reported, “Definitely different.  This is not a
drill, folks.  So – options?”

Riley said, “I don’t think we have any.  We’re here to
stop this thing – we can’t do anything if we don’t go
in.”

As he spoke, he pulled away from Buffy, transforming
from the man she shared her bed with to the soldier of
twenty years.  Though she missed his warmth, her own
spidey senses were tingling.  Time to let the
birthright come out to play.

She stood up and walked a few feet closer to the
water, closer to the colorscape.  “Go in where?”  They
were still quite a distance away from McAree Lake –
‘No Man’s Land,’ as Riley had called it that night in
Atikokan, but maybe they didn’t actually have to go
that far to find something.

“I’m not saying we should hold back,” she added,
noticing Riley bristle as she turned back to face him.
  He’d misread her resistance as over-protectiveness.
“I just mean, we don’t really have anywhere to go.  If
we’re seeing the sunrise here, then this is the place.
  This is where the action is going to be.”

“I disagree,” Sprague said, chiming in for the first
time.  “Leslie Willett saw the sunrise from her
campsite, but she was fine.  The fiancé was lost when
he went out on his own.”

“So,” Ana said, “obviously, Riley shouldn’t go
anywhere by his lonesome.”

An edginess crept into Riley’s voice.  “No one
should.”

“Well, yeah,” Brady responded, “but with all due
respect, sir – you’re the one seeing the sunrise.  And
you do fit the profile.”

“Brady,” Riley said, clearly trying to take the focus
off him, “that’s the second time you’ve said ‘sir’ in
two minutes – you feeling o.k.?”

Buffy snapped, “Don’t try and change the subject.”  It
was one thing when something was coming for her, it
was another entirely when it was gunning for someone
she loved.

Riley looked at her, about to snap back when he seemed
to see something in her eyes.  Something that – if she
had to be honest – might possibly be defined as worry.
  His expression softened.

It turned hard just as quickly when Graham said, “I
think I’m with Buffy.  You’ve got some rough territory
to cover today.  Maybe you should just stay put.  Let
it come to you.”

Shaking his head angrily, Riley said, “I’m not sitting
here all day biding my time.  Let’s at least stick to
the original plan and keep moving.”

As he spoke, Buffy turned back to the water, her eyes
scanning everything in sight on the off chance that
she could identify where the attack would come from or
what form it would take.  On the surface, she was calm
– probably almost eerily so to anyone watching –
underneath her skin, though, everything was jumping;
she was completely wired.  Bring it on, Madame
Butterfly.  Bring it on.

It was clear she wasn’t the only one itching to get
this started.  She could practically feel it coursing
over the com-cams: adrenaline surging, threatening to
overtake the need to stay rational, to think things
through.  It would be easier for her and Riley, for
Brooks and Morris, because they were the ones that
would get to duke it out.  The others had it worse –
they’d be sitting on the sidelines unable to do
anything but listen.

That frustration was no doubt at least partly to blame
for Graham’s being particularly irritable as he
responded to what Riley had just said.  “The plan
includes some class four rapids followed by a lake
that will take you at least an hour to cross.  You’ll
either be too distracted or a sitting duck.”

Riley asked, “And the rapids will disappear tomorrow?
There won’t be any lake to cross?”

Despite the shortness of his tone, Buffy knew he
wasn’t angry with Graham, he was just lashing out.
She couldn’t blame him – the anticipation was always
worse than the fight.

“Maybe there won’t be a sunrise like that tomorrow,”
Graham responded, not at all convincingly.

In a calmer, much more honest voice, Riley said,  “I
can’t just sit here, Graham.  I can’t just wait for it
to come.”  There was a pause before he added,
“Besides, I’ll have Buffy, Brooks and Morris with me
the whole time.  It won’t do anything unless I’m
alone.”

“That’s a load of shit and you know it,” Graham said.
“Are you willing to risk their lives on it?”

Buffy heard Brooks quietly say, “Isn’t that why we’re
here?”

Morris added, “We came to play, sir.”

She turned to see them standing about fifteen feet
behind Riley, already flanking him.  They didn’t have
their weapons drawn, but they may as well have.  Their
stance just charged Buffy all the more.

After a few moments, Graham finally conceded.  “O.k.”


Riley nodded and stood up.  “Angel – I don’t suppose
you have anything to add?”

Angel paused before saying, “Sorry.”

Buffy figured Angel’s hesitation was due to an
internal debate as to whether or not he should say his
only idea was that Buffy should stay as far away from
Riley as possible for the rest of the day.

From the look on Riley’s face, it was clear he’d read
it the same way.  “Great,” he said, clearly meaning
just the opposite.  “O.k. then.  Brady – we’re
supposed to meet up with you on the other side of this
lake, right?  Let’s go ahead with that.  We can
reevaluate then.”

Graham’s voice was tight as he reiterated his earlier
objection.  “This just seems like a really bad idea.”

Buffy saw Riley’s eyes go cold as he threw down the
gauntlet.  “Are you ordering me to stand down?”

There was a tense silence as they waited for Graham to
respond, which he finally did with a quiet, “No.”  He
added, “But I don’t want Joe to be part of this.”

Riley seemed fine with that.  “Agreed.  Sprague – are
you guys still on track to meet us tomorrow?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Sprague said.  “Ana and I
each have one more place to hit; our squads will be
back together by dinner tonight.”

“Let’s just take this one day at a time, then,” Riley
said.  “Be extra alert and, Graham – open channel.”

The last two words were said with a glance at Buffy.
It took her a few seconds to realize why: because it
was acknowledging that there was a chance none of them
would make it out.  If something happened to the team,
the soldiers listening over com-cams would serve as
the witnesses to the squad’s final moments.

Riley continued, “We’ll hit the water at
oh-seven-hundred.  Have your teams sign on then.
Graham – I need a minute.”

Buffy could hear everyone as they signed off.  Brooks
and Morris headed back the short distance to the
tents.  Riley looked at Buffy; she figured he was
waiting for her to take off her earpiece, too.  When
she didn’t, he gave her a long, hard stare before
turning away and saying, “Graham?”

“Just you and me, Ri.”  Graham paused.  “Well, and
Buffy – I figure you know that, though.  What’s up?”

Though Riley’s voice was pure business, Buffy could
feel the tears spring to her eyes when he brusquely
said, “Wendy’s got all my papers on file.”  Riley
talked over Graham’s protest, “And there’s a key in
the top drawer of my desk at home.  It’s for a safety
deposit box.  There’s some stuff of Sam’s in there.
For the kids.  Sam’s parents have everything about the
trusts…”

Graham cut him off.  “I know the drill.  And I refuse
to discuss this further.  I’m out.”

Riley took his com-cam off and turned to face Buffy,
unapologetic, though clearly not sure what she’d say.

She looked away for a minute and waited until she
could speak without her voice betraying her.  “Do you
trust me?”

There was a moment of silence before a quick, broad
grin came over his face.  “After what you did last
night with that knife?  Do you really need to ask?”

Buffy smiled.  That had been…unusual – the Slayer
coming out to play in a way it rarely did.  Last
night, though, they’d been in a different zone, on a
different level entirely.  All the things she’d said
yesterday about how much he meant to her?  Last night
she’d felt it, experienced it in a way she hadn’t
known was possible.  And that had changed everything.

She reached her hand up to his face.  “Then know this:
I won’t let her take you away from me.  I have no
intention of giving you up.”

He looked into her eyes, seemingly liking what he saw
there, before leaning in to kiss her – the most
tender, the most gentle of kisses, and, at the same
time, a declaration: this…thing…they had between them
– it had been a long time in coming, and no one was
going to get in their way.

She hugged him fiercely, finally letting go when
Morris brought out the breakfast stuff.  Joe appeared
right around then and surprisingly, to Buffy at least,
had no problem being dismissed.

In a way, Buffy would have preferred to keep him in
sight – he knew more than he was telling them and she
wanted to know what it was.  It was the right thing to
do, however: this was not a day for the uninitiated.

After making arrangements to meet up with him again
the next day – in the remote event that today would go
smoothly – they bid him farewell, finished eating
breakfast, and, after packing everything up, set off.





TBC in Chapter 26




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

__________________________________
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Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: This chapter - NC-17
Other disclaimers, etc. in Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Four

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




Riley watched Buffy as he built the fire.  She was
sitting across from him, staring at the tower of
sticks he was constructing, without really seeing it.
She’d been like this for most of the day – preoccupied
and thoughtful; quiet.

That was fine with Riley.  His mind had been plenty
busy all by itself, contemplating the things Joe had
said, the things Buffy hadn’t.

True love.  What some people never find once, much
less twice.

Now personally – he’d have gone with the Princess
Bride reference rather than Grease.  After what seemed
like an entire summer of Annie and Kate watching that
movie every single night, he felt as though he were on
intimate terms with Wesley and Buttercup.  Of course
there was no way in hell he’d be mentioning the word
“princess” to Buffy again unless absolutely necessary.


Riley figured she was aware he’d heard her answer to
Joe, although he didn’t know if her ‘yes’ was in
response to the believing-in-true-love thing, or to
whether it could happen twice.  He had to be honest –
he wasn’t entirely sure where he stood on the issue
himself.

There was no denying Buffy had been the first woman
he’d ever loved – with an intensity and fervor that
was probably only possible with that first real love,
only possible when you didn’t have the scars that
accompanied the inevitable heartbreak; scars that
formed the basis of your defenses the second time
around.

Had that been true love?  To him, the phrase implied
that both parties had to be in agreement, and Buffy
certainly hadn’t been.  Not back then at least.

Sam?  Yes.  He thought so.  If, in fact, the concept
truly existed.  His love for her hadn’t come quite as
quickly, nor as feverishly.  It was strong, though –
stronger, eventually, than what he’d had with Buffy;
solid enough to build a life together, powerful enough
that a part of him would never recover from the loss.
And definitely reciprocated; of that he had no doubt.

Riley reached forward and prodded the fire with a
stick, glancing at the woman across from him.  Did he
have that with Buffy?  Much more so now, than it had
been back then – even after the little time they’d
been together, he was certain of that.  Did she feel
it that deeply?  Did it qualify as ‘true love’ on
either of their parts?

Who really knew?  Who got to decide?  All Riley knew
was that she was a part of him – as much as Sam had
been.  No – as much as Sam still was.  And that he
felt them both coursing through his veins in what was
probably – he laughed – a very unhealthy way.

“What’s so funny?” Buffy asked from where she sat.

“Nothing.”  He shook his head and smiled.  Nothing at
all.  “What have you been thinking about all day?”

She looked as though she were trying to decide what to
answer, before finally going with, “What do you think
the deal is with Joe?  Where do you think he goes to
every night?”

Riley didn’t think that was all she’d had on her mind,
but he had no interest in pushing.  If she decided to
tell him, she would.  There wasn’t much he could do to
convince her otherwise – he’d at least learned
something in the last fifteen years.  So he may as
well just take her at face value and answer her
question.

Despite his uneasiness from earlier that day, Riley
really didn’t think Joe was behind any of this –  and
he was pretty sure that had nothing to do with Angel’s
believing otherwise.  Mostly sure.

Riley shrugged.  “Maybe he’s got a hottie stashed
somewhere in the woods.”

Buffy smiled and scooted over to Riley.  Her
fingertips traced a line up his arm as she said
somewhat demurely, “So, I was also thinking that when
we’re done with this mission, maybe we could go away
some weekend – whitewater rafting, maybe do some
hiking…”

“Sounds fun, Buffy – can we come?”

“Oh.”  Buffy looked up guiltily.  She had clearly
forgotten the com-cams were still live, and that at
any minute Brooks or Morris could come on the line, as
Brooks had just done.

“Sorry,” she mouthed.

Riley grinned and shook his head.  They’d all been
through it – when you first started wearing the
earpiece, you were so hyper-aware that you barely said
anything.  After a little while, you got lulled into
complacency, forgetting it was on more often than not,
until you said something you really wished you hadn’t.
  Like happening to let it slip to your best friend
that your new wife had this particular little
mind-blowing trick…

It had taken quite a lot of groveling before Sam had
forgiven him – groveling, she later admitted, that
hadn’t been nearly as necessary as she’d made him
believe at the time, it was just that there had been
some benefits to be reaped.

Come to think of it, the idea of Buffy. . .

Whoa, boy.  Don’t go there.  Not when Brooks was
probably just checking in to say that dinner was on
the way and to make sure the fire was nice and hot
when it got there.  Nice and hot.  “What’s up,
Brooks?”

“How hungry are you?” Brooks asked.

“Why – the fish aren’t jumping?”  So maybe thinking
about Buffy groveling wasn’t totally out of the
question.  Riley couldn’t help but glance over at her,
nor, apparently, could he hide what he was thinking
because she gave him the most evil of smiles and
leaned back just enough to emphasize the curve of her
neck, the slope of her breast.

“Well,” Brooks responded.  “We kind of, um, caught
something else.”

Riley forced himself to turn his thoughts away from
Buffy.  “Another body?”  There were still at least
three unaccounted for.

“Uh, two actually. . .”  Brooks’ voice was muffled,
and Riley could hear Morris in the background –
“Brooksie – come *on*!”

“. . .About twenty-eight, twenty-nine,” Brooks
continued.  “A blonde and a brunette.  We thought
maybe you and Buffy wouldn’t mind too much.”

Fucking A, no Riley wouldn’t mind.  And if Buffy’s
expression meant what he thought it did, then she had
absolutely no issues with it either.

“How long do you think you’ll be?”  His voice cracked
as Buffy’s hand skimmed over the front of his –
suddenly much too tight – pants.

Brooks laughed.  “A couple of hours maybe?”

Fine.  Excellent.  “Have fun.”  Riley was actually
glad that Buffy’s hand had disappeared because it
meant he could actually speak without being quite so
obvious.  And since his next call was to someone who
wouldn’t be quite so forgiving. . .

Of course, Buffy had no intention of making it easy
for him – standing up incredibly slowly, rubbing
against him the whole way – so that all he was
actually able to manage was, “Um. . .”

Graham, being no fool, knew exactly what was going on,
and had heard enough of the conversation with Brooks
to mutter, “Et tu?”

Looking at Buffy as she took off her com-cam and
spread her sleeping bag on the ground, Riley said,
“Graham. . .”

Buffy’s eyes were sparkling as she straightened up and
noticed Riley watching her.  She smiled and waved to
Riley’s com-cam.  “Bye-bye, Graham.”

Riley’s throat went dry as Buffy started slowly
unbuttoning her shirt, looking up at him through her
eyelashes, playing out a fantasy that he’d had, oh,
let’s just say for a long time; a fantasy he’d only
mentioned once, a long time ago after far too many
beers with her and Xander and Anya on a hot summer
night.

They’d somehow gotten started on a game of Truth or
Dare.  He’d gotten Truth – what was his dirtiest
desire.  After a few minutes of taking their comments
about what constituted excitement in the Heartland –
since what he’d considered dirty barely tipped the
scales for them – he had been more than a little
surprised when Anya had followed it up by daring Buffy
to give Riley his wish; and what some might call
stunned when he realized Buffy was just drunk enough
to actually take her up on it.

Within about ten seconds, Anya was telling Buffy she
was doing it all wrong, and that she was supposed to
get up on the coffee table, which Anya then proceeded
to do, demonstrating how she thought it should be
done.  Buffy – not one to be upstaged – had followed
and the two began bickering as they each started to
undress.

There had actually been a brief moment when Riley
thought that it wasn’t the worst of ideas.  A very
brief moment, during which he’d realized that Xander
was having the same thought.  They’d looked at each
other for longer than Riley would like to admit,
before both getting up at exactly the same time and
pulling their girlfriends off the table, putting an
end to the night.

Buffy had fallen asleep in the car on the way home,
and Dracula had shown up a couple weeks later.  And
that was pretty much that.  Well, until now…

She’d reached the third button, and Riley decided that
he really needed to tear his eyes away, because,
despite how much he was aching to see this, he felt no
need to share it with Graham.  He cleared his throat
and said, “I think we’ll be signing off early-”

“You guys are unbelievable – all of you,” Graham cut
in.  “Who’s running this thing?”

“Technically, they’re off duty,” Riley replied,
thinking he should at least make an excuse for Brooks
and Morris, having absolutely nothing to say in his
own defense.  He tried to keep his voice steady as
Buffy’s shirt appeared on the ground beside him.  She
came up behind him and nuzzled the back of his neck.

“They?” Graham asked, obviously irritated.

Neck nuzzling had stopped which was – on the one hand
– too bad.  On the other hand, Graham was still on the
line and it would be nice if Riley could at least
finish the conversation.

“O.k.,” he said.  “We.”  Her bra landed on the ground
in front of him and he couldn’t help but glance down.


“Technically, this is a military operation, not the
Love Boat.  Don’t you-”  Graham stopped abruptly.
“Was that Buffy’s-?  Are you kidding me?  Don’t you
even want to know what Willow said about the
markings?”

Riley grinned, knowing that Graham wasn’t even close
to being as pissed as he sounded.

Well, maybe a little close.  It had been nearly nine
years, after all, since Graham was on the sidelines.
Usually it was the other way around, with Riley having
to make himself scarce whenever Sarah – who apparently
had a particular talent for phone sex – called.

Still behind him, Buffy slipped her hands under
Riley’s shirt, her fingers sliding around to the
button of his pants.

He had to admit – he didn’t have a lot of sympathy for
Graham.  He did, however, still have a job to do.
Grabbing Buffy’s hand, he stopped her from going any
further as he managed to squeak out, “What did Willow
say?”

Graham sounded almost disappointed that all he could
answer was, “She said she wouldn’t have anything until
tomorrow.”

Riley released Buffy’s hand, closing his eyes as he
felt her pull his zipper down.  “Good night, Graham.”

He took off his com-cam, wrapped it up in his shirt as
that came off too because – damn it – if Buffy was
going to do any more of a striptease, he was going to
sit back and enjoy, not wonder if maybe someone else
was watching.

He picked up her shirt and held it up.  “I don’t
suppose you want to put this back on and do that thing
with the buttons again. . .”

Her laugh sounded in his ear.  “I think I could
manage,” she said in a low, throaty voice.  She took
the shirt, and when she appeared in front of him,
sinking down to his lap, he saw she’d put it back on,
but hadn’t buttoned it, instead leaving it hanging
slightly open.

She placed his hands on her waist, then drew his head
to her neck, sighing as his lips brushed her skin.
She let his hands wander, shivering as he grazed and
teased, but stopping him as he began to take the shirt
off.  “That comes last,” she whispered and pulled
back, standing up and moving a few feet away.

O.k., he would have said if his voice could get past
the lump in his throat.  Your choice.  It’s all good.
Really, really good.

She gave him that evil smile again as her hands went
to her waist and she spent much more time than was
actually necessary unbuttoning her pants – cargo pants
by the way, which, for reasons Riley couldn’t explain
any better than the stripping thing, had been a
turn-on for him since the day he discovered, well,
turn-ons.

She eased her zipper open and peeled her pants down
over her legs, revealing the – yep, may as well just
lay him out right now – black lace underneath. Cargo
pants and black lace.  Yeah – an odd combination
maybe, but that was the way these things worked.  She
walked towards him, her hips right about at eye level.
  Another few steps forward and he had no choice but to
pull his head back, because otherwise his face would
be in her-

“You didn’t expect me to do all the work, did you?”
She looked down at him, knowing full well that in
order for him to look her in the eye, his gaze had to
take in the bronze, smooth skin stretching up to her
neck, and the shape of the cotton shirt as its hem
grazed his chin.

There was mischief in her eyes.  “I was considering
instituting a no hands rule right about now, but –
honestly? – I’m not in the mood to wait that long.”

Oh, he was so with her there.

He leaned forward and put his mouth to the lace and
kissed her, his hand running up the backs of her
thighs.  The lace was rough against his tongue as he
pressed into her, pushing harder when he heard her
intake of breath and felt her hands in his hair,
clutching him.

“Riley. . .” She pulled his head away yet kept him
close enough for his tongue to hit all the high points
– dipping into her navel, skimming over her breast,
tracing the contour of her neck – as she slid down.

Her hands went down his sides, thumbs hooking into his
waistband.  She grinded her hips into him, pressed her
chest against him, as she put her mouth to his neck
and whispered some fantasies of her own, most of which
would, unfortunately, have to wait until she had him
back in her bed with all its handy places to tie-

“Buffy,” he gasped through clenched teeth.  This
particular combination of things she’d put together
had brought him to the edge before she’d even touched
him.  Now?  With her actually being in quite
stimulating contact while she described in detail a
variety of activities that put to shame his concept of
dirty, even after taking into account his much broader
experience over the last sixteen years...

“We either need to get the rest of these clothes off,
or you need to stop talking,” he said.  Because
otherwise it was about to get very messy.

She grinned and stood up, reaching her hand out to
pull him up, too. She was beyond sexy – with her
tousled hair, her flushed skin, and her shirt still
hanging slightly open.  He stood and let her lead him
to the sleeping bag.

And then there was the black lace, he thought, as she
lay down and lifted her hips so he could pull it off
of her.  Couldn’t forget that.

He shed his own clothes and lowered himself to her.
She still wore the shirt, and he had to admit, there
was something about the way it fell across her body –
half on, half off – that he found incredibly erotic,
knowing that what lay underneath was his for the
taking.

O.k.  Forget the half on, half off thing.  He wanted
to take.

This time she let him push the shirt off her shoulders
and put his mouth to her breast, his hand going down
to her hip, as his tongue went to work.  Her knee was
making its way up his thigh, and she was shifting
underneath him, opening herself up and pulling him in,
completely dominating him despite having her back to
the ground.

Groaning as he felt her tighten around him, he closed
his eyes, concentrating on the way her body moved
against him, the way his body was responding –
pulsing, throbbing.  He was only barely hanging on to
control, forcing himself to last as long as humanly
possible because he was not at all ready for this to
come to an end.

She lifted her head up and put her lips to his.
“Riley. . .” she said into his mouth, her tongue
lingering as she drew out the word.

“Mmm?”  Her hands were at the small of his back and
her fingers fanned out, moving slowly to his thighs.
God. . .

She clearly had decided to make this all about him,
pleasuring him – a word he’d had no idea of what it
truly meant until this moment – ensuring his every
desire was attended to.  He clutched the sleeping bag,
desperate to find something to keep him grounded as
her hands went to work.  There were actually lights
exploding in his head.  Sweet fucking Je-

“Keep your eyes open.”

Her voice surprised him – he’d completely forgotten
she’d said something only seconds before, something
he’d even responded to, albeit in a half-hearted kind
of way.

There was a huskiness as she spoke, which made the
command that much more enticing.  “I want to see you
when I make you come.”

His eyes flew open as she thrust her hips upwards to
emphasize the point, sending a wave of heat rushing
through him.

Keep them open?  How about keeping them from rolling
back into his head?  Not that he could concentrate on
either one of those things – right about now he was
just barely managing to breathe.  Especially now that
she’d reached between them and was massaging his-

“Open,” she said again, her own voice somewhat
breathless, as his eyes fluttered closed.

Right.  Open.  If he’d been the begging type, right
about now he’d be on his hands and knees.  Which, come
to think of it, he kind of was.

Fuck it.  “Buffy...”  Oh...  God...  “Please...”

She was looking up at him, staring at him with an
intensity that didn’t waver, despite her quick, sudden
breaths.  His hand went to her hair, clenching as the
pressure built, as he felt himself start to tremble
and felt her pushing him over the edge.  She grabbed
at his hands and thrust into him, over and over, more
quickly as he gasped for breath, moaning her name.
Dying as she jacked up the friction, played up the
slick, slippery skin; as she twisted beneath him, her
eyes never leaving his despite her own obvious
struggle for control.

He was driving into her – harder as he heard her
grunt, as he saw her lose her focus for just a second,
just a split second before she forced herself to come
back to him.

Trembling became quaking, and an unbearable flash of
fire overtook him, bringing tears to his eyes.  She
smiled as he spilled into her, crying out and forcing
himself to keep from collapsing until her hands went
to his face and she pulled him down into a frenzied,
unfocused kiss, her body finally reacting, releasing;
not losing the connection with him until she became
still and let her hands slip away.

There were tears in her eyes when she looked back,
probably because her hair was threaded through his
fingers, tangled and pulled much too tight.  “Sorry.”
He would have said more, but at the moment, he wasn’t
too sure he was capable of it.  That had been intense,
to say the least.

“It wasn’t exactly fair of me,” she said as he
disentangled his hand.  “I kind of pulled out all the
stops.”

“Uh, yeah.”  Fuck yeah.  He shifted so that he was no
longer on top of her.  “I noticed.”

“Bet you didn’t think I remembered that.” She rolled
onto her side, her head even with his.  “By the way, I
am so much better at that than Anya ever was.”

“The, um, stripping?”  No complaints here, he thought
as she grinned, looking plenty pleased with herself.
Which she should; he was plenty pleased with her
himself.

He leaned over and kissed her.  “And that eye thing?”
Watching the warrior be tamed, watching her fight for
control.  “That was pretty hot.”

Her face got serious and she looked away.

O.k.  What the hell just happened?  “It was supposed
to be, wasn’t it?”  He put his hand to her chin and
gently turned her head back towards him.  “Buffy...?”

She hesitated, looking into his eyes as though she was
searching for something, as though she didn’t quite
trust him.  Given his track record, he couldn’t
entirely blame her.  “Buffy, I swear I will never try
and break up with you again.”

She smiled – the kind of smile that said, That’s
sweet, but not at all what I’m getting at here.
Turning away again, it was a few minutes before she
finally said, “We’re not just about the sex, right?”

Sitting up, she put her arms around her knees.  Her
hand fell to the sleeping bag and she began playing
with the zipper.  “I mean...  This thing we have going
– it’s different this time, right?”  Looking at him
again, her eyes practically pleading, she added,
“We’re so much more than what we were, aren’t we?”

So that’s what this was all about.  There had been
something more that she’d been thinking about all day.
  Sitting up, he murmured the phrase Joe had said to
her, “True love.”

Her gaze was solemn.  “At the risk of sounding overly
dramatic, I just...”  Her eyes returned to the
sleeping bag, again examining what seemed to be an
incredibly interesting zipper.  “I’ve never quite felt
this way before.  This...”  She shrugged.
“...Strong.”

He stared at her, a little bit in shock, knowing how
much it meant for her to think that, much less
actually say it.

There was no doubt in his mind that she loved him.  At
least not any more; not now, after everything that had
happened in the past few weeks, after she’d proven
more than once that it truly was different for her.

But true love?  In an Angel kind of way?  Really?

She was watching him, waiting for him to respond.
Looking quite apprehensive, in fact.

“Buffy...”  He was feeling kind of stunned.  Not quite
as much as when she’d said she had come after him that
night in Sunnydale.  Almost, though.  Almost.  “Yes.”
She visibly relaxed as he took her hand.  “This is
different.”  He could feel the heat rise to his face.
“And I’m not just saying this because, um...”  How to
put it exactly?

“Because that was the best sexual experience of your
life?” she finished for him, a wicked look in her eye.

Well, yes.  He grinned.  “Do you want to keep talking?
  Or would you rather I show my appreciation?”

Laying back and reaching out for him, she smiled and
said, “Appreciation, please.  I’m all about the
appreciation.”


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


“Buffy…”  Riley reached out and shook her shoulder
gently, trying to wake her up.

“Mmm?”  Her eyes were still closed as she turned to
Riley and burrowed into his chest.

“Buffy – wake up.  You need to see this.”

“See what?”  She reluctantly cocked open an eye.

He lifted his chin, indicating she should look out the
tent’s opening, up at the sky.

She turned her head, sitting up suddenly as she saw
the sky exploding into blue, green and purple.
Streaks of light flashed like dozens of shooting
stars.  “Riley…”  She scrambled for her clothes,
muttering something about Angel or Giles usually
giving her some warning when something like this was
about to happen.

Riley couldn’t deny he got a little caught up in the
moment – o.k., yes, instantly hard – as the Slayer
suddenly appeared next to him: her hair a little wild,
her eyes flashing.  And watching her strap her knife
to her thigh was, if possible, even more arousing.

“Riley,” she said sharply, kneeling over him as she
buttoned her shirt, clearly wondering why he hadn’t
gotten his butt out of bed yet, completely unaware of
the effect she was having on him.  She glanced out the
opening of the tent, her eyes sweeping the campsite,
taking not of Brooks and Morris’ tent about fifty feet
away.  “Come on.  We need to do something.”

“Do something?” he asked, trying to figure out if he’d
missed something while his mind had been otherwise
occupied.  He glanced outside and then back at her
before realizing what she was thinking.  Reaching out
to her, he smiled and said, “It’s not an end of the
world thing.”

“No?” she asked skeptically, her body still rigid and
tense, her eyes drawn to the sky.

He pulled her to him and shook his head.  “The
Northern Lights.  I’ve always wanted to see them.”

There was something in the air – whether it was the
lights themselves, an awesome, eerie reminder of the
power of nature, or the electricity emanating from
Buffy’s skin, her own power barely contained.

He could feel her relax, feel her body yield to his
arms as she lay back down against him.

“It’s like the sky is falling,” she said, obviously
still not entirely convinced this was a good thing;
still on alert, instinctively covering him, his
personal human shield.

Normally, that would irritate the hell out of him, set
off every stubborn ‘I can do it myself’ cell in his
body.  Now, though, with the lights flashing above
him, with this potent force of nature – in the form of
his girlfriend – on top of him, all he could feel was
the basest of instincts fiercely rising up.  He
hoarsely asked, “You think so?”

She turned to him, hearing the hunger in his voice.
“Don’t you?”

“No.”  It was just the opposite – the rise of Mother
Earth; the power of creation.  Everything that was
primal and primitive, fundamental and untamed.

“How would you describe it then?” she said, her own
voice on the raspy side as her lips curled into a
smile.

His body was on fire – the desire to possess her
battling with a need to be owned by her.  Despite the
flames burning within him, only one word came to mind:
“Heavenly.”  His hand went to her hair and he pulled
her to him, more roughly than he intended.

It seemed to excite her.  She leaned into him, her
whole body getting involved – from her knee pressing
into him, pushing down between his legs, to her tongue
at the hollow of his neck, lapping and licking, taking
his breath away.  “This isn’t anything like the Heaven
I remember.”

Probably not.  He wasn’t sure what kind of activities
they allowed in up there, but he had a feeling they
didn’t involve the hilt of her knife rubbing up
against the inside of his thigh, or her teeth skimming
his neck as her tongue swirled around, tracing his
scars.

He pulled at her hair, forcing her head back so that
she was looking up at him.  “Then I don’t want to go
there.”

Her smile was not at all nice as she disappeared from
view.  Her hair brushed his chest, his stomach, and he
closed his eyes in anticipation.  He could feel her
reach for something, heard her pull the knife out of
its sheath, and had a split second in which he thought
– no fucking way – before he felt the cold, flat side
of the blade being drawn up between his legs, followed
closely by her warm, wet mouth – pain and pleasure and
uneasiness and want all combining for the most
unbelievable of sensations.

God – talk about trust.  It was a damn good thing
they’d had that whole true love talk just a few hours
ago, otherwise, even with Buffy – especially with
Buffy...

“Too bad,” she said, pausing to take him into her
mouth and give him one long, slow stroke with her
tongue.  “Because that’s exactly where I’m taking
you.”





TBC...







=====
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 Twenty-Three

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




Riley stood in the clearing, watching as Brooks and
Morris went about collecting samples.  Last crime
scene, make it count.

Well, that at least sounded optimistic.  Riley had
absolutely no expectation of finding anything even
remotely promising here, just as they hadn’t found
anything useful at any one of the places they’d
meticulously examined since they’d gotten to Quetico
Park.

The only good thing – although “good” probably wasn’t
the best word to use considering the circumstances –
was that another body had been found not more than
five miles away from where Sprague’s team had spent
the night.

Graham had spent some long hours negotiating with
Jessica and the Minister’s office, but the end result
was that Sprague and his squad would be the lead
investigators at the site.  They’d have to wait until
two rangers got to the location, but once the Park
administration was represented, Sprague could take all
the samples he wanted.

Graham had set up the com-cams so that anything said
by someone on Sprague’s squad could be heard by
everyone.  It would create a lot of noise on the
lines, but Riley and Graham felt it was necessary.  Up
until now everything had been so vague; if one stray
comment sparked one good idea then it would be worth
it, and the more people listening, the more of a
chance that something would get said.

“Body looks the same,” Sprague said.  “Same markings
but otherwise no obvious trauma.”  Sprague’s voice
lapsed into a detached tone as he described the
location of the body, its positioning, and the
surrounding scene.

Riley sighed as he heard Sprague say the victim had
red hair.  He had been hoping it would be blond, which
would therefore mean it was Leslie Willett’s fiancé.
Because then, at least, she could start mourning; as
horrible as it would be, it still beat those awful
hours of not knowing if you should be planning a
funeral or praying for a miracle.  And despite the
reappearance of Buffy in his life, Riley didn’t have a
lot of faith in miracles.

Forty-six hours and twenty-three minutes was what it
had been for him, the time between the phone call
telling him the chopper had gone down and the time it
took for a rescue team to reach the wreckage.  The
longest two days of his life.  Leslie had been waiting
for weeks.

“What was that?” Riley asked, his subconscious picking
up on something Sprague had just said.

“Fourteen stones in a ring, probably for a campfire,”
Sprague answered.

“Bag it,” Riley said.  “Let’s do some analysis on the
stones.”

“For what?” Graham said, clearly wondering if Riley
had lost his mind.

Riley wasn’t entirely sure Graham was wrong.  “I don’t
know – ashes, organic material…  For something that
shouldn’t be there but is.  Or vice versa.  Sprague –
make sure to get some soil samples from inside the
ring and directly outside of it.”

One thing all the scenes they’d examined had in common
was a ring of stones.  Considering these were
campsites and a lot of people used campfires, that
wasn’t unusual.  But a few days back, Brooks had
noticed two sets of stones at one of the scenes, which
was odd because most hikers would use what was already
at a site – no need to reinvent the wheel, or re-lay
the stones as the case may be.  This was the first
scene where they were getting to it before unknown
numbers of hikers had a chance to contaminate the
evidence.  At the very least, it was worth a shot.

He turned his attention back to the scene his squad
was examining.  Their own ring of stones had clearly
been used recently for a fire – whether that was the
case on the day the body had been found here was
impossible to tell.  The pictures in the files hadn’t
been that extensive – basic shots of the scene taken
by park rangers who had very little experience in
crime scene investigation and probably even less
experience with dead bodies.  Or at least dead human
bodies.

“Buffy and Joe aren’t back yet?” Riley asked Brooks.

Brooks shook his head.  “Joe said the pictographs were
back in the woods a bit.  Said it would probably take
twenty-five, thirty minutes to reach them.”

Riley nodded and tried to tell himself that there was
no need for concern.  For God’s sake – if anyone could
handle herself, it was Buffy.  And since her run-in
with the bear, she had taken to carrying weapons with
her wherever she went – on her own she was brutal, but
with a ten-inch knife, a dagger, and a taser?  Lord
help the next thing that tried to attack her.

Of course, there was also the whole thing about
believing in Joe’s innocence, which Riley was really
pretty certain that he did.

Not that any of that meant a damn thing when the
vision of her body in Joe’s arms kept invading Riley’s
thoughts.  When her voice finally came over the
com-cam, he breathed a huge sigh of relief.


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


“You got it, Graham?” Buffy asked as her gaze slowly
swept over the pictures on the granite rock face.
She’d been careful not to talk at all on the walk out
here knowing Graham had enough to listen to right now,
but she figured that was worth a little noise.
Besides, Graham had probably set it up so that Riley
would hear whatever she was saying, too, and although
he hadn’t said anything, she was absolutely positive
that Riley wasn’t happy about her being out here alone
with Joe.

“Lots of wolves, caribou,” Graham was saying.  “Yep –
got it.”

“We’re heading back.  ETA twenty-five minutes.”  O.k.,
so ETA wasn’t technically a military term.  She hadn’t
quite gotten the lingo down, although lately she’d
found herself talking in acronyms on a much more
consistent basis.  Next thing you knew, she’d be
wearing camo.

Unsurprisingly, the pictographs Joe had led her to
looked a lot like everything else she’d seen over the
past couple of weeks: very pretty, kind of cool…
Ultimately inconsequential.

“Hey,” she said as Joe took a path that led further
into the woods.  She looked back over her shoulder.
“Shouldn’t we be going that way?”

That statement probably wasn’t going to make Riley any
more comfortable than he already wasn’t.  Anything
that veered from the pre-established path would most
likely get him going.  Heading into the woods when she
was supposed to be heading out of them, well…

She had to admit; she wasn’t entirely happy about it
herself.  She didn’t like it when she didn’t feel in
control, and here, in this unfamiliar setting, she
wasn’t exactly what you’d call in control.

Her hand went to the hilt of the dagger on her hip.
If the demon who sold it to her was to be believed, it
dated back to King Arthur’s court, handcrafted for the
lady-in-waiting whose job it was to protect Guinevere.
  Truth in advertising?  Buffy really didn’t care – the
reasons she bought it had much more to do with it
being old, being pretty, and having “Happy 3-0 to me”
written all over it.

The dagger – and the knife, and the taser – could
probably be considered as overkill since when it came
down to it, Buffy was pretty sure Joe hadn’t had
anything to do with the bear; she just didn’t get that
sense.  Unfortunately, though, mind-reading was not
among her powers.

Well, actually, it was kind of fortunate, considering
that little episode in high school.  On the other
hand, even though she could take Joe down in about two
seconds – ten seconds if he had some extra-special
powers up his sleeve – it probably wouldn’t hurt to
let everyone listening over the com-cams know
precisely where she was, just in case he really did
have something to do with this.

And if this whole Black Ops set-up came equipped with
some futuristic airplane that was almost invisible and
didn’t make a noise until it was almost on top of you,
honing in on some secret signal that the com-cam sent
up?  Well, just call me Neo and color me happy.  Would
that not be the coolest?

However, since neither Riley nor Graham had even
hinted at that kind of capability, she supposed she’d
just have to go the old-fashioned route.  “What a
beautiful…”  Um, what in the world kind of tree was
that?  “…big, tall white tree.  Is that an eagle’s
nest?”

So much for the stealthy Nancy Drew stuff – Joe seemed
to know exactly what Buffy was thinking.  There was
laughter in his eyes and voice as he said, “We’re in a
place called Otter Falls.”

“Oh,” she mumbled.  “Thanks.”  O.k. – so maybe he
wasn’t trying anything.

“Nice daisies,” she offered meekly as they passed a
clump of dozens of wildflowers.  “They get a bum rap,
but they’re my favorite flower.  Better than roses or
tulips or…”

Her voice trailed off as Graham came over the com-cam,
laughing at her attempt to apologize.  “They’re called
birch trees,” he said.  “That sign that says ‘Olson’s
Trail’ though?  That’s probably the thing I would have
mentioned.”

“You know, Graham,” she said, annoyed at having
forgotten the whole
com-cam-that-was-not-only-audio-but-video-too-thing,
not to mention missing the obvious directional sign.
Nice, Buffy.  “You’re really not that funny.”

“That’s what Annie and Kate tell me.”

She turned to Joe.  “O.k., so then where are we
going?”

Her attention was suddenly captured by the thundering
roar of water, and she wasn’t even sure if he answered
her.  Otter Falls, presumably, a spectacular waterfall
that appeared below them, seemingly out of nowhere as
they stepped out onto a ridge.  “Oh…”

She was still appreciating the scenery when Joe’s
voice cut through the din with the oddest of
questions: “Do you believe in true love?”

Turning to face him, she jumped back, taken completely
by surprise at how close he was standing to her.

Though mind-reading wasn’t one of her abilities,
space-reading was – part of the whole Slayer deal was
knowing precisely where she was in relation to
everything else, pretty much at all times; most
especially at times when there was very little between
her and the raging water swirling below, below enough
that the fall would probably kill her long before she
even got the chance to drown.  Given the particular
circumstances, the fact that Joe had been able to come
up behind her without her knowing set all of Buffy’s
senses tingling.

Ordinarily, she wouldn’t feel any need to share her
thoughts with him, but there was a challenge in his
voice, and she had a feeling that there was something
riding on what and how she decided to respond.

She stepped away from the brink and watched him
carefully as she considered the question, a somewhat
awkward one, by the way, given the radio audience.
“Like, as in a Danny Zuko – Sandra Dee kind of way?
Summer Lovin’?  ‘True love vows’ and all that?”
Despite her light tone, her hand went to her hip
again, ready to grab her weapon should it prove
necessary.

Joe gave her a look that – if it had come from Riley
would have been accompanied by a smile, albeit an
irritated one, and possibly a, ‘Could we come to the
point, please?’  Seeing as it was Joe, though, who she
really didn’t know too well – obviously didn’t know
too well given that she had no clue if he was plotting
to push her to her death or hoping to chat her up over
a cup of tea – it could just mean that he didn’t catch
the reference.

“Grease?” she clarified.  “John Travolta?  Rydell
High?”

Nope.  He caught the reference.  That was definitely
irritation.  Too bad since she certainly had no
intention of sidling up to him and kissing him in the
way she probably would have done with Riley.  Not that
Joe would have minded any more than Riley – she was a
damn good kisser after all.

“True love,” Joe stated in a tone that indicated he
was not at all joking.  “What some people never find
once, much less twice.”

Oh, yes.  Very awkward.  Besides, what, after all, was
‘true love’?  Crazy, intense,
I-might-die-if-I-can’t-touch-you-early-days-Angel
love?  Or, mature, adult,
I-think-I-might-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you-current-day-Riley
love?  And did it even count as true love if they kept
trying to break up with you?  Hmm.  Probably better
not to go there.

Plus there was always that whole don’t answer more
than you’re asked thing, so she decided to just be
safe and say, “Yes.”

Apparently, that was all Joe needed, and she relaxed
her grip when, after barely a moment’s hesitation, Joe
turned away from her and crouched down, his attention
clearly on something other than her.  He took out a
knife and began cutting some brush away from a rock
covered in moss.  The moss came away next; he then
brushed away the dirt and stood back.

She had no idea what he was doing; she couldn’t even
tell what she was supposed to be looking at until the
spray from the falls began to hit the newly exposed
granite, revealing the markings imprinted on the rock,
markings completely different from those on the
pictographs, yet incredibly familiar.  With an eye
still on Joe – and his knife – she dropped to her
knees and pulled out her water bottle, emptying it
over the rock and washing the soil away.

“Graham…”  She couldn’t keep the excitement from her
voice.

“I see it,” Graham answered.  “Wait – don’t move.”

It took every ounce of strength she had to force
herself to stay still as Graham made sure he got the
full picture.

“Is it the same?” she asked.  She couldn’t remember
the autopsy pictures well enough to know if the
symbols were identical, but it looked pretty darn
close.

“Definitely closer than anything else we’ve come
across,” Graham said.  “I’m emailing it to Willow
right now.  O.k. – you can move.”

She reached out to touch the rock – the markings
practically crackled under her hand.  As though no
time had elapsed between now and when Joe asked Riley
his question, Buffy whirled around to face the guide.
“Would he die for who, Joe?  What is it that you
know?”

In that incredibly maddening way he had, Joe merely
smiled, not at all offended by the accusation in
Buffy’s voice, although he did take note of where her
hand was in relation to her knife.

She stood and walked up to him, not backing off.  “Is
it the princess?”  At this point, though, she really
didn’t care whether it was the butterfly one or the
warrior one or if they were one and the same.  She
only cared about one thing: “What does she want with
Riley?”

Joe didn’t step back, didn’t seem at all intimidated
by her.  He didn’t respond to her questions, asking
another of his own instead.  “Why did you bring him
here?”

“Why did I…?”  She shook her had and pointed to the
rock behind her.  “That’s what brought us here.  She
did.  What does she want?” Buffy repeated.  “What does
it say?”

Joe’s eyes shut down.  He seemed unsure as to whether
he’d answer.  Buffy was surprised when he finally did.
  “I don’t know.”

Could we be any more anticlimactic?  Thanks a lot,
Joe, for the build-up.  “Then why bother showing it to
me?”

Again he hesitated.  When he spoke, his whole demeanor
changed.  He came alive in a way Buffy hadn’t seen
before.  “You feel it, don’t you?” he asked, looking
at the stone.  “There’s something…”

He shook his head, shook himself out of the place he
had just been.  Just like that, he was back to being
the amused, easy-going Joe that she’d become used to.
He shrugged.  “It seems important.  I thought you
should know.”

With that, he turned and headed back into the woods,
leaving Buffy no choice but to follow.






TBC in Chapter 24







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

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