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Riley woke up the next morning with an aching arm and shoulder thanks to spending the whole night holding Buffy's hand. The way the sleeping bags were positioned had made it more awkward than comfortable. It didn't matter, though - he didn't want to stop touching her.

With the exception of yesterday's fluky half hour away from the team, it was unlikely they'd have a chance for anything more than that for another couple of weeks, even though being with just Brooks, Morris, and the guide, Joe, made it a lot easier to get away with the little things. So if Riley had to put up with a sore arm because of holding hands with her all night, he could certainly manage.

Jesus - the walking wounded. Or rather, lying down wounded. He couldn't see how bad the scratches were, but he could certainly feel it.

Not that he had any overall problems with Buffy's digging her nails into his back - no problems with that at all. It would, however, be at least another day or two before the raw skin stopped stinging.

Life with Buffy, he thought, laughing to himself as he sat up. Not something for those with a low pain tolerance.

It was just past sunrise - the sun low enough in the sky that it could barely be seen through the trees. Brooks and Morris were still asleep, sleeping bags pulled over their heads to keep out the light. Buffy was nowhere to be seen - her sleeping bag was neatly rolled up and stashed next to her pack.

Another hour of sleep was perfectly justifiable. Not really attainable, though - once Riley was up he was up. It was in his blood. These away-from-civilization missions always made him feel his Iowan roots, back to a time when a day's work was dictated by the rising and setting sun, not an alarm clock and the Today Show on one end, primetime TV on the other.

He rolled up his sleeping bag and grabbed his pack. Careful not to wake the others, he walked down to the shore about fifty yards away and splashed water on his face. He was about to get out the com-cam to check in when he saw Buffy further down the beach. Her back was to him as she moved slowly, gracefully; outlined in shimmering gold thanks to the rising sun.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe. It wasn't so much that she was stunningly gorgeous - in a heart-stopping, poetry in motion kind of way. No, the beautiful thing wasn't really it - the blonde, silky hair and the big, wide eyes and the soft, dewy skin. All that was just gravy. The cherry on top.

What really got him were the things that weren't right there on the surface; the things that couldn't be seen by the naked, random eye. Like how soft that blonde, silky hair was when she bent down over him and let it fall across his face, or the way her big, wide eyes got bigger and wider every time she smiled, deep in the night; the way her soft, dewy skin yielded when he held her in his hands, only a hint of the steely muscle underneath.

It was one thing to know that she was beautiful - that fact was pretty much indisputable. It was another thing entirely to be overcome by her - to have his heart race and his breath catch and, yeah, his skin hum. God, she still did that. She still made his skin hum, made him come alive.

He walked towards her slowly, watching as she did her Tai Chi. Her eyes were closed and her focus was turned within. He sat down - just far away enough not to disturb her, just close enough to talk should she notice he was there. Which she did within seconds.

"I know," she answered smiling, not breaking her routine. "It's this whole back to nature thing. Messing with my biorhythms. It's really not like me." She brought her arms up over her head and arched her back. "Care to join me?"

"Um, no. I think I'll pass." He had tried yoga with Sam once. Hadn't even managed Downward Dog before collapsing on the floor, laughing at how ridiculous he looked.

"Oh, come on," she said with a mischievous smile. "Angel and I did this all the time."

Well, there was an image he'd rather not dwell on. Of course, there weren't really many images involving Angel that Riley had any particular interest in dwelling on.

"Really," he responded dryly. He shook his head as he stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands. "Not for me."

"What is for you?" She came over to him and, sinking down, swung her knee over his legs as she straddled his lap. "Oh," she said, pushing against him and smiling at his quick intake of breath. "So watching isn't so bad."

"Watching isn't my preference." He glanced towards the camp as her arms went around him and her mouth went to his neck.

It was beyond tempting - the tank top she was wearing didn't leave much to the imagination, and the loose-fitting pants were clearly designed for men, an open flap in a very convenient place.

No. He just couldn't do it. Not in broad daylight; not with Brooks and Morris in sight, even if just barely. Not without knowing when Joe would choose to show up or which direction he'd be coming from.

Absolutely not. Yesterday had been about as risqué as Riley got - he was still a little surprised he had actually taken it that far, but the high of coming off the rapids and the way she had smiled and pulled him down. Plus, there was no way any one of those boats could have made it down the river in anything less than twenty minutes.

He looked back at Brooks and Morris. They really were pretty far away. And Joe didn't really ever show up until later each morning, when they were all gearing up to leave.

So maybe not completely out of the realm of possibility. Maybe something on the subtle side. Maybe if he just eased his hand through that flap.

She gasped as his fingers brushed against her, began to play. "Riley?" she said in surprise. "I didn't think." Another gasp and her hands dropped to his waist; she leaned her head against his chest.

"Not.just.teas." Her voice trailed off as he nuzzled her neck, his fingers easing inside of her, moving ever so slowly. In. Out... "I would've happily." She turned her head and kissed him, her tongue invading his mouth.

He let her set the pace, going faster as her breathing became more rapid and her kisses less focused. She drifted away from his mouth and brought her hand up to the back of his neck, keeping his face close to hers.

Shifting forward and murmuring his name, she clutched him, clenching bunches of t-shirt instead of skin. He could feel her open up to him, and he spread his hand, flicking his thumb against her and smiling as her eyes flew open.

"Riley." she said in this incredible, throaty voice that almost made him forget about Brooks and Morris and Joe and the whole out in broad daylight thing.

Reaching down and grabbing his wrist, she stopped him. "That's not enough." She let go and traced her fingers down the back of his hand; looked up at him from under her eyelashes. "That's not the part of you I want right now."

His heart skipped a beat. Any control he'd had earlier was completely gone. She was driving now, and he was just along for the ride. Which was blatantly obvious, seeing as she now had possession of his hand and was leisurely dragging it up past her waist, over her stomach, and underneath her tank top until it was resting on her breast.

"Riley." she whispered, rubbing up against him. His breath quickened, and she leaned forward and spoke softly in his ear with laughter in her voice. "You know this top is coming off. Just let me know if it's here or in those trees over there." She cocked her head at the grove fifty feet away.

He looked again at the campsite - still no sign of life from Brooks or Morris. He looked back at her - all sex and sensuality, running her hands down his chest, hooking her finger into the waistband of his pants.

It could be argued that this was not one of his better ideas, but hell, as long as it wasn't in broad daylight, totally out in the open.

They barely made it ten feet in. His back was to a tree - the pain in his shoulder totally forgotten as she stripped out of her clothes and pushed his pants down. He lifted her up, ran his hands down her smooth skin. Opening up to him, she smiled at the look on his face as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in.

She was moving so slowly. Sinking down onto him and rolling her hips. Easing back up, never fully letting go.

Moving so damned slowly - her hands unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it back over his shoulders. Her fingers lazily playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

"Mmm?" she asked dreamily. "Faster?" She gave him an evil smile and said, "Only if you're good to me."

He grinned and bent down, happily putting his mouth to her breast - tasting her, feeling her; giving her the attention she deserved. She moaned and closed her eyes.

"O.k.," she said after a few minutes. She let her head fall back and ceded all control. "Faster it is."

His hands went to her waist and he drove into her, instinct taking over as she responded. He could feel her arms as they went around his neck and every part of her body as it melded into his. Her skin was everywhere - soft and warm. Her scent was entrancing - sweet and intoxicating. Her voice was.

Damn. Her voice was husky and hoarse and raspy and, at the moment, urging him to go deeper, go harder. Telling him not to stop. Telling him not to ever stop.

And especially not to stop right now, because right now she was ready to. Oh. Riley - yes. Right. now..

She shuddered and shouted out, clutching him so tightly he thought he'd break. Thought he'd break in two. Her body went limp, her head fell to his shoulder. For a few moments she was still - breathing heavily, deeply, her breath hot and moist, driving him crazy. So fucking crazy, the way she was just resting there, knowing full well that it was pretty much unbearable to have her trembling and quivering against him.

Agonizing, in fact, as she turned her head and her lips brushed his scar, her teeth skimmed his skin. She was grazing, biting gently. He had to fight to keep his knees from buckling; he reached his hand back to steady himself against the tree.

She was in motion again - riding him. Taking him in. Taking in every inch of him and making it hers. Possessing him; owning him. Forcing total surrender.

He buried his head in her hair. He was beyond rational thought, his body quaking at Buffy's every move. Her skin, her scent, her voice enveloping him. Her arms and legs encasing him. Wrapping him into her shroud, sheltering him. Containing the heat as the embers flared and the sparks flew. Absorbing the blast when it came.

It was a full minute before he was able to speak. Or, to be more specific, croak: "Well, that's not a bad way to start the day."

She gave him a good, long kiss before saying, "You think we have time for a dip in the lake?"

"As in a quick rinsing off dip?" he asked, highly aware that her bare chest was heaving against him.

Her face was the picture of innocence as she slid down his body. Very slowly. "What other kind is there?" She reached down to grab her clothes and began to dress.

He pulled his pants back up over his hips, zipped and buttoned them up. "I can't imagine."

With an impish smile she turned and ran back to where she'd left her toiletries kit on the beach and then rejoined him; they made their way through the trees, finding the water on the other side, stripped and jumped in.

No, Buffy thought, dunking her head underwater. Not a bad way to start the day at all.

She came up out of the water and focused on where Riley was standing on the rock ledge above her. It was almost too pretty of a picture to be real, this idyllic little cove that they had stumbled upon. Unlike on the other side of the trees, there was no beach here - just rocky ledges leading up to high cliffs surrounding a pool of deep, azure water.

"Don't I get a good-bye kiss?" she asked, swimming over to the ledge and resting against it, looking up at him as she watched him get dressed.

"No." He grinned and pulled his shirt on. "Every time I come into the water, it seems to take me a long time to get back out."

True. This was his third attempt to actually get his clothes back on. Didn't mean she had to accept it though. "Oh, come on. All I have left to do is wash my hair."

"That's what you said an hour ago." He buttoned up his shirt and then crouched down, reaching his hand out to her hair as he reluctantly said, "I have to go check in. The longer I wait, the more shit I'm gonna get from Graham."

Graham, schmam. She gave him a half-hearted pout. She would have turned up the wattage if it weren't for the fact that he really did need to go - even she was feeling a little guilty about how long they'd been here. At least two hours, maybe three. All she knew for sure was that he'd started to get really antsy about twenty minutes ago. He was on the clock after all.

Well, she supposed, so was she. She, however, was a consultant. Her clock had better hours. "How long do I have?"

Riley looked at his watch. "Those guys are probably just waking up. We don't need to leave for another hour or two. Take your time."

Buffy had always thought that military types woke up at the crack of dawn. Not so with Brooks and Morris - they'd probably sleep until ten, eleven o'clock every morning if Riley let them, as he'd done today. There was no rush - between all four teams, she knew they'd covered a lot more ground than Riley and Graham had expected in the first week. The next few days would be pretty easy.

With a playful smile, she said, "You know where I'll be if you change your mind." She blew him a kiss, watching as he disappeared into the trees and headed back to the campsite.

She wasn't planning on it being too long before she followed him. Bathing in a lake - no matter how pristine or beautiful it was - was not exactly her idea of fun, especially when park regulations required that soap and shampoo be used sparingly, the suggested practice being to get wet, jump out of the water to get soaped up and shampooed and use bottles or buckets to rinse off on land where the soap could harmlessly fall to the ground rather than pollute the lake waters.

Having Riley's company had made it a lot more appealing - it hadn't exactly been hard to convince him to help her soap up and rinse off. Nor had it been much of a surprise when one thing led to another, and, well. It had been a nice morning.

This time - seeing as she was all by her lonesome - wouldn't take too long. She was a bit extravagant, though, allowing herself one actual in-the-water shampoo, sending apologies to Mother Nature as she rinsed. Fresh and clean, she took a few minutes to bask in the morning's light, letting the water ripple over her, completely at peace.

This trip was turning out to be much more enjoyable than she had planned on. Maybe after getting back to Boston they could get away for a weekend and go whitewater rafting up in Maine, just the two of them.

Buffy almost laughed out loud at the thought - her thinking camping sounded like a good thing? Enticing even? Angel would most certainly get a kick out of that one. Not that she'd be mentioning the sex part.

Come to think of it, she wouldn't be mentioning any of it since Angel would probably figure out the sex thing in all of two seconds.

There was a rustling on the ledge behind her. She smiled as she turned and said, "Came back for a little more-?"

The words died in her throat as she realized that it wasn't Riley who had come to join her again, but instead a big, no make that huge, brown bear - rifling through her bag and making noises that did not sound at all friendly.

How irritating. This was most certainly not part of her plans. What was supposed to happen next involved something yummy to eat. Well, maybe not so yummy given the military-provided MREs. Eating, though - that was key. Sex first, then food. That was the natural order of things. Bears did not figure in.

If it weren't for the irregular shore jutting out in so many places - meaning she had no idea how far it would be - she could just try and swim back to the campsite. Of course there was also that whole being naked thing. She could just imagine walking up the beach without any clothes on - hi Brooks, hey Morris. Riley and I were talking about things like tactics and strategy. There was no nudity involved. By the way - could you hand me that towel?

Well, that was effective, she thought as the bear looked at her curiously before dismissing her as harmless and turning its attention back to the bag.

It wasn't as though she'd never come up against a bear before; she could do it if she had to. Then again, that time she'd had clothes and shoes on - the shoes being of more importance at the moment because kicking at it with her bare feet probably wouldn't be that effective, especially without a knife or something else with a little bite to it.

More importantly, she actually remembered the bear being one of the more difficult things to fight thanks to its being all lumbering and bulky. Unlike most demons there wasn't really anything to get a hold of. Now granted, that bear had been a supernatural one; still, it would be much nicer if this one would just go away.

After ten minutes of sitting and waiting, it became very clear that the bear wasn't planning on going anywhere. It had found something in Buffy's toiletries bag that was apparently quite tasty and it seemed to be settling in for a nice, leisurely meal.

Now she was really getting cold - it was one thing to take a quick bath in the lake, or even a longer one, she thought, still remembering the warmth of Riley's body. But sitting solo for half an hour when the temperature had barely hit seventy degrees was no picnic.

Had she really been here for half an hour? Or did it just seem like it? Regardless, why hadn't Riley come to find her yet? She had certainly been here longer than it took to wash her hair; she'd think that he'd be starting to get worried.

Of course, if he did come to get her, he'd probably come weaponless. Not a good thing to stumble upon a bear unprepared, especially if you didn't have weapons or superpowers.

A horrible thought struck her. What if it was the other way around? What if the bear had stumbled upon the campsite first? If Brooks and Morris were still asleep and Riley'd been preoccupied talking to Graham, none of them would have had a chance. What if they were lying there dead - no, at least try and think positively - wounded, waiting for her to come find them, get them help.

"Here's the deal," she said, slowly pulling herself out of the water and edging around towards her clothes, which were on the ground a few feet away from where the bear was sitting. "I'm going to just get my stuff while you stay right there." She got to her clothes and eased them out of reach of the bear, ignoring the low growl coming from the animal as she quickly put them on.

"Excellent. I'm glad we understand each other," she said, slowly backing away. "Now I'm just going to go check on my friends and make sure they're o.k." The trees weren't that far away. Once she made it there, she'd be fine - enough places to duck and cover if necessary. She was in no mood to fight this thing. A demon, maybe; a vampire, certainly. Winnie the Pooh, however? Not after the morning she'd just had. So not in the mood.

"Tell you what - keep the soap and shampoo. And um, the deodorant is tough enough for a man, but made for a woman. They don't say anything about bears, though." She glanced behind her to see she had only a few feet more to go. ".so consider this a warn-"

You wouldn't think something that big could move so fast, she thought, feeling the claws dig into her and she was suddenly picked up and slammed into the ground. She struggled to get on her feet, but there was bear everywhere. With a roar it picked her up and slammed her down again.

She grunted and tried to kick its feet out from under it to no avail. This time when it picked her up, it slammed her into a tree. No fair - unauthorized use of props. If she could only get free enough to.

Another slam and she was starting to see double. Well good, she thought. More things to aim at. And it gave her something to concentrate on, a distraction from that unfortunately familiar feeling of broken ribs.

Take that, she thought, thrusting the heel of her hand in the direction of the bear's face, smiling when she connected with something soft and the bear dropped her to the ground. Scrambling to get out of its reach, she was nearly on her feet when the bear grabbed her ankle and pulled her back, dragging her facedown along the cold, hard granite.

Nah. Didn't really need the skin on that side of my face. With her free foot, she kicked at the animal, forcing it to release her.

"You really want to do this?" she asked, leaping to her feet, mentally disassociating herself from her broken bones and shredded skin. They were irrelevant at the moment. "Fine. Let's do it."

She planted one foot on the ground and aimed the other at the bear's gut, sending it flying backwards.

Well, maybe not flying exactly, given that it was the size of a small car. Stumbling, though; definitely caught off guard. And if there was one thing she had learned in all these years, it was to never squander the element of surprise.

She ran at the bear, dodging its flailing arms and landing some punches of her own.

"You didn't think I had it in me, did you?" She blocked the bear's swing with one arm while using the other for a spot-on right hook. Oops. Made it mad.

Buffy ducked the claw that was suddenly in her face. Not before it slashed her forehead, though. Ear, too. No problem - she had another.

Raising her arm to her face, she used it to stem the flow of blood - something that wouldn't ordinarily be of much concern to her, except that this time it was going in her eyes, making it somewhat difficult to see.

The bear took advantage and lunged, its claw raking her neck and chest. Before Buffy had a chance to react, it pounced, pushing her to the ground and landing on top of her, hitting her with its full weight. Talk about getting the wind knocked out of you. As if that weren't enough, its sharp set of teeth had taken hold of her shoulder.

Why don't you just make a meal of it, she thought, wincing as the bear pulled its head back, taking along some of Buffy's skin and muscle as a souvenir.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Piece of cake, Buffy. Just get out from under the big, lumbering hunk o' bear and you're home free.

The bear, of course, had other ideas, such as hitting and punching her in the head and gut, claws catching at skin and drawing even more blood. Great.

She reached one hand out blindly, hoping to find something to use as a weapon; with the other hand, she tried to push the bear off of her, tried not to focus on how much everything hurt; tried not to be too concerned that that was even an issue.

Pain usually worked for her, doing all the things a good friend was supposed to do - motivate, inspire, offer the best kind of encouragement to keep going when it seemed like things just weren't getting any better. It was part of the birthright. Lemonade out of lemons and all that.

Rarely did it work against her, as was the case at the moment. That wasn't a good sign. Nor was the blurry vision. Or the whole general light-headedness thing.

Normally, she'd take this opportunity to remove herself from the situation. Fall back and recharge. Build up the strength needed to win the fight.

Having a thousand plus pounds of bear pinning her to the ground made that a bit difficult.

The bear seemed to sense it was getting the upper hand, scratching and hitting with frenzied abandon. Buffy shielded herself, giving back as much as she could. Which wasn't much at the moment.

That was a bit distressing. As was the fact that she was starting to get cold - very cold, the way you felt when your blood began to seep away, a feeling she'd felt often enough to be able to identify. And that general light-headedness? Not so general anymore.

Damn it. This was not about to happen. Not because of a bear. A god? Sure. Pure evil? Go for it. But there was no way in Hell a bear would be the thing to bring her down.

With renewed energy, she reached her hand out, ignoring the fact that it seemed to be disconnected from her arm. No, it was still connected. Otherwise that hot, fiery bolt wouldn't have just shot up to her shoulder - the one that was still intact - bringing tears to her eyes. Yay.

Ignoring the blinding pain, she closed her hand around a rock and mustered enough force to smash it into the bear's nose. Thank God for Slayer strength. And survival instincts. Coming through big at the moment.

The animal keened and its paws went to its face. Giving no mercy, Buffy raised her hand again and brought the rock down, harder this time as her adrenaline kicked in and took over. Again and again she struck, not able to get the animal off her, but knowing that this was the only chance she had.

The bear finally stopped struggling and Buffy stopped hitting. Panting as she lay beneath the animal, she waited a few minutes before trying to disentangle herself from the dead weight. The immediate threat over, she tried to catch her breath. It was a struggle, though, and there was an overwhelming desire to just go to sleep.

With the fight over, she was beginning to get a sense of how much damage there was. Everything was on fire - every scratch, every tear, every bruise. That was to be expected though. That was normal. After twenty years of doing this, she could write the book on how a body reacted to being torn apart. Well, her body at least. Other bodies didn't put themselves back together again.

What wasn't normal was that despite the inferno raging inside, she was still cold. Shuddering, shivering cold. There'd only been a couple of times she'd felt that way. The day Tara died was one. The time with Angel - the time he drained her blood - was another.

Both times she'd gotten to the hospital - or, make that, someone had gotten her to the hospital - before it got too bad, 'too bad' being defined as 'dead.' Blood transfusions were a wonderful thing. They gave her body the kick it needed to get the whole healing thing going.

The fact that the nearest hospital was at least sixty miles away - through completely untamed wilderness, by the way - wasn't a huge worry. Before the team had left Boston, Riley and Angel had had an incredibly long, incredibly tense - in a subtextual kind of way - discussion about the medical supplies that would be along for the ride. There were things like saline and plasma and IVs and some cool, gel-type thing that they used instead of stitches.

They even carried some massively powerful antibiotics that had been used time and again in the field for everything from getting slashed with rusty knives to having your guts halfway ripped out by a Greshor demon. Field tested and approved. Open, gaping wounds courtesy of a fight with a bear? No worries.

Angel, of course, hadn't been satisfied with an inventory - he'd quizzed Riley and Graham for hours about who actually knew how to use all the stuff that they were carrying. After listening to that conversation go on for way too long, Buffy had no doubt that some of the guys on the team had enough medical expertise to staff a small hospital. Sam had trained them well. Particularly Brooks.

So, no, Buffy wasn't really concerned with whether or not there were the right kind of supplies or the right amount of know-how to fix her up. It was all there at the campsite. She shifted, attempting to get out from underneath the bear. Yep - right there. Right there on the other side of those trees.

Time to get this thing off of her and get moving again. Get moving to the other side of the trees that she couldn't see at the moment because the bear was completely on top of her, obscuring her view. She pushed against the bear with her arm.

O.k. She'd just ignore that the thing hadn't budged, that she'd pretty much used all the strength she had left and it hadn't done a damn thing.

Yes. We'll just ignore that for the moment. And while we're at it, we'll ignore how much it had hurt to even make that attempt. In fact, we'll just ignore how much everything hurt and how appealing a nap seemed. We'll most definitely ignore how cold it seemed and how tempting it would be to just stay warm, lying here underneath Angel's body.

No, Buffy. Angel's body wasn't warm. Angel was not the one on top of her. She had not just offered her blood to a sick, dying Angel. The bear had made her bleed like this. The bear was the one on top of her. Focus.

Grimacing at the pain, she tried to push herself off the ground, tried to heave the animal's body off of her. No good. It was just too damn big. And she couldn't reach anything to use to pull herself out from under. Lovely, she thought. Not with a bang, but a whimper.

What good is winning the fight if you can't walk away from it? If she couldn't actually get out from under this animal before she bled to death?

No, she thought, refusing to acknowledge the sense of panic that had just flashed through her. Absolutely unacceptable. Life had taken a turn for the better over the last few weeks and she had really been looking forward to seeing where it could go, to seeing where Riley would take her.

If it weren't for being stuck under this bear - stuck in a prison made of matted and smelly fur - she could just get to those trees and get to Riley and everything would be fine. If it weren't for her own body being so broken at the moment, so unwilling to cooperate with what her mind was telling it, there wouldn't be any problem in kicking this carcass aside and breaking free.

Not sad. Slayers didn't get sad. Slayers fought until there was no fighting left to do. If all that she could manage was tensing her fist and pushing aside matted fur then, damn it, that's what she'd do. Every ounce of energy would be focused on that. Not on the pain or on the prison or on what was just beyond those trees. God, Riley.

Stop. Focus. On the bear. On getting the bear off of her. On shifting its body an inch, maybe two.

Wait - was that her imagination, or did the bear just move? Was she being delusional, or did someone just say her name? Was she hallucinating, or was that an actual set of hands she could feel -

Her sharp cry of pain had clearly been heard by whoever owned the hands that were under her arms, pulling at her. Big, strong hands that weren't nearly gentle enough, seeing as they were tugging at what was left of her shoulder. Strong, though, being the key word since the hands - or rather the person attached - had just managed to roll the bear enough off of her that she could move again.

Remember, Buffy. Pain is good. Pain means you're still alive. Pain means that you may actually make it to the other side of the trees.

She steeled herself for the next pull and did everything possible to help by bracing her legs against the bear's solid surface and pushing as hard as she could. Things didn't hurt quite as much from her waist down. She wasn't sure if that was good or not.

What was good, though, was that she was able to breath again now that she was finally out from under the bear. In fact, if it weren't for that searing pain she got every time she inhaled, she'd be doing more of it. Breathing, that is.

O.k. Let's try shallow breaths. Those were much easier. Didn't help much with the dizziness, unfortunately. Nor did opening her eyes. Not when everything was blurry. And in threes.

No big. Angel was here to take care of her. Thank you Angel, thank you Slayer strength, thank you little birds in the trees who were singing the sweetest song. She offered a faint smile.

Her eyes flitted open again. No. That wasn't Angel, it was Joe. Same broad shoulders and nice, ripply arms. Big, brown eyes. Such nice, dreamy eyes. That's why she'd been confused. Joe's hair was darker though. Longer, too. Nice tan. Angel didn't get tan. He couldn't.

She fought the urge to giggle. This wasn't a laughing matter. Not when Angel had blood all over him.

Didn't matter. Joe got the idea. He was scooping her up into his arms and cradling her head so it wouldn't hurt when he ran. That was nice of him. Made up for not being gentle earlier. Besides, things didn't hurt that much anymore.

This was not how Riley had expected the morning to go. Of course, he should have remembered - beware of the good times with Buffy because, more often than not, the bad times were right behind.

The past week had definitely been good. Correction. The past week had been great. The past two days? Phenomenal. He hadn't felt this way in, well, a long time. He felt just...happy.

After leaving her to her bath, he'd come back to where he'd left his pack on the beach, grabbed the com-cam - as he'd originally meant to do, back before he'd spotted Buffy doing Tai Chi - and checked in with Command. He'd endured Graham's good-natured teasing - the man was Riley's best friend; it didn't take too much speculation to figure out why Riley was over two hours late checking in - then put the com-cam aside, laid back on the beach, and, with his hands behind his head and the sun warming his face, had fallen asleep, thinking about Buffy.

That's why it had taken longer than usual to process what he was seeing as he woke up, Joe's voice cutting through the layers of consciousness. Make that Joe's panicked voice, shouting for help as he ran out from the trees, carrying Buffy's broken, bloody body in his arms.

Riley was up and running before he even realized it, half of his mind responding to what he saw in front of him, the other half stuck on the image of Buffy from an hour before - sun glistening off her bare shoulders as she came up out of the water; eyes sparkling as she teasingly asked him for a good-bye kiss. A kiss he had refused. In a good-natured kind of way, but refused nonetheless. Couldn't get much dumber than that. Especially since he'd spent the better part of a decade regretting that the last exchange he'd had with Sam was a terse set of words instead of that one last kiss, instead of that one last chance to hold her in his arms.

Stop it. Don't think that way. Do not even begin to think that way. Buffy wasn't dead. If she were dead, Joe wouldn't be running. Even if there were some tribal custom that prohibited him from leaving her body where he found it, he wouldn't be running and shouting for help.

Not dead. And Riley wasn't even going to consider the possibility of losing her.

He wasn't going to think about how much blood there was or how limp her body was or not ever feeling her touch again. He wasn't going to think at all, in fact. He was going to let twenty years of training and procedure and instinct take over.

Yep, instinct had definitely taken over, because he had somehow put the com-cam on and managed to do just that, while at the same time, remembering to grab his pack as he ran towards Joe.

He ignored Graham's muttered, "Fuck," as the image being broadcast sank in, and he focused instead on the commands Graham was now issuing: "... and radio silence except for Alpha Team. Unless we've got any questions?"

Riley didn't expect any questions, nor, he was sure, did Graham. Technology had advanced enough to recognize the words "medic" and "stat" as a high priority command that would automatically be broadcast to everyone on this channel, superceding every other conversation taking place. By now, every member of every team would already be on standby, awaiting instructions from Riley or Graham in case any assistance was needed. At the same time, the members of the immediate squad would be jumping into action, grabbing whatever they could and getting to where they were needed.

Riley skidded to a halt in front of Joe and Buffy, dropping to the ground as he grabbed the sterile mat out of his pack, thankful for the procedures that dictated every soldier carry a basic set of supplies - enough to get done what needed to get done in case the full packs weren't available. He pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, tore the plastic wrapping off the mat and laid it on the ground.

Procedure: The first man on the scene performs triage, doing whatever is deemed necessary until the designated Field Medical Technician arrives.

Riley glanced behind him at the campsite, reassured to see Brooks and Morris in the distance running towards him, emergency medical packs slung over their shoulders, just like they'd done hundreds of times before. Brooks would be here in two minutes. Riley just needed to keep her alive until then. Two minutes. No big deal.

In a much more deliberate, composed tone, Riley instructed Joe to get another pair of gloves out of the pack. It was obvious where the worst bleeding was and, as soon as Joe had the gloves on, Riley grabbed the guide's hand and thrust it into what used to be Buffy's shoulder, applying the right amount of pressure. "Don't let go until I tell you."

Not that Riley could personally remember seeing anything this bad that had had an acceptable outcome, but he was sure it had happened. It had to have happened.

Catastrophic injuries? Massive, traumatic blood loss? For Brooks it was a walk in the park: the man was probably the best medic Riley had ever seen. Gifted, Sam had said. Better, even, than Sam back in the day - and that was saying something because Sam had been damn good.

Just keep Buffy stable for another minute. One more minute and Brooks would be here. Everything was going to be fine. Or so Riley told himself as he went through the motions - Airway, Breathing, Circulation, and so on.

Graham's voice came over the com-cam: "Transport is on its way, ETA twenty-five minutes. Riley - we're getting Angel set up in L.A. Do you want him to have video?"

Riley honestly didn't give a damn about whether Angel had video or not. "Whatever he wants." Right now all Riley really cared about was that Buffy was breathing on her own, her pulse was steady although a bit slow, and everything was reacting the way it should. She wasn't out of the woods yet, but those were all good signs.

In another realm of consciousness, Riley heard someone saying his name. He looked up to see Brooks staring at him.

Riley pulled back, more than happy to turn things over. He was careful to move a few feet away because he had this overwhelming need to grab Buffy's hand, and he knew that would only put him in the way.

Just get out of their way; get out of their hair all together. He stood up and took off the gloves, throwing them to the ground as he turned his back on the others and walked away. Squeezing his eyes shut, he ran his hand through his hair.

If anyone could do this, it was Brooks. Sam had never been able to believe that the only medical training he'd had was what he'd learned on the job. She'd made it her business to teach him the rest.

A few months before she died, Sam thought he was ready; she had pushed for Brooks to be promoted. He started as the official medic on Riley's squad two weeks before the chopper crashed. Riley had always thought it an odd twist of fate, had always wondered if Brooks could have saved Sam that day.

Of course, if Brooks had been on the helicopter, he probably would have died, too. He probably wouldn't have been here, saving Buffy's life. Kind of ironic. In a way Riley really would rather not think about.

"Yeah," Riley said, knowing that Graham was about to tell him to get his head out of his ass and get back in the game. This wasn't the time to be going to that place. It wasn't the time to be thinking about the day Sam died or about whether this would be the day Buffy did. Brooks was doing his job; it was time for Riley to do the same. "I'm on it."

Riley turned back and looked at the scene in front of him. Deliberately not concentrating on the blood - God, there was so much blood - Riley focused instead on Joe. The guide was now sitting about ten feet back, where he'd moved after being relieved by Morris. His intense gaze shifted from Buffy to Brooks and then back again.

There was something about the way he stared at Buffy's face; something that Riley couldn't quite put his finger on. "Shock" didn't really seem the right word for it, although the same elements were there - surprise, disbelief, that general all-around daze that takes over when something monumental occurs.

The man didn't seem too distressed by the carnage; Riley figured that if you spent your life in this part of the world, you saw your share of blood and guts. Living in the woods was kind of like living on a farm - it was hard to get away from the cycle of life. You got used to blood - it came with the territory. As long as it didn't belong to someone you loved, at least.

Riley's gaze was drawn back to Buffy. Her face was as bad as the rest of her body - scratched raw in some places, bruised in others. As awful as it looked, though, that was just surface stuff; it didn't bother him too much. If she still healed the way she used to, all of that would be history in a day or two.

What did bother him was that she hadn't moved. Despite being poked and prodded and all around handled by Brooks, she was utterly still.

And on Joe. Not on Buffy, on Joe. On why Joe seemed so stunned. If it wasn't because of the injuries themselves, then maybe it was the fact that she was injured at all.

No, that didn't make sense. Joe didn't know anything about Buffy; there was no way he'd know that this was unusual. So maybe it was the other way around. Maybe he couldn't quite believe that she was still alive.

Riley walked over to the other man and crouched down next to him. "Joe," he said sharply. "What happened?"

"A bear?" Riley asked, somewhat surprised. Anyone else, that wouldn't have fazed him, but Buffy? "One bear?"

Right, Riley thought. Another thing Joe wouldn't know: unlike with most people, a bear wouldn't be enough. Shouldn't be at least. Not unless her powers had diminished with age, which, based on his experience with her on the mats back in Boston, he didn't think had happened. It wouldn't hurt to check though. Into the com-cam he asked, "Angel...?"

"No," he said curtly, answering the unasked question. "She'd have kicked its ass."

Of course she would have. Riley glanced back over at Buffy. Brooks and Morris seemed to have gotten the bleeding in her shoulder under control. Good. Riley turned back to Joe. "Where is it now?"

If Riley had been doing his job correctly, he would have asked these questions ten minutes ago: as the senior officer onsite, it was his responsibility to make sure that whatever caused the problem wasn't a threat to the rest of the team. Under normal circumstances, Riley would have already left Brooks and Morris here and gone to scope out the situation. So it was a good thing that Joe's response was "no," otherwise Graham would have had no choice but to cite Riley for dereliction of duty.

Graham's muttered, "Lucky man," meant he had obviously been considering the same thing.

'Lucky' wasn't exactly the way Riley was feeling right now. He had to force himself not to look at Buffy again. He asked Joe, "Where do you fit in?"

Joe's dark eyes got darker, most likely in response to the suspicion in Riley's tone. The man seemed to be taking his time, choosing his words carefully. "I was on the cliffs. I thought I'd wait until she was out of the water. By the time I got down to where she was it was already over."

It was possible that Joe was just holding back that he'd been waiting for Buffy to finish her bath. Riley thought it was much more likely, though, that Joe was specifically not mentioning that he'd seen a lot more than that. For example, some portion of what Riley and Buffy had been doing in the two hours before Riley left the cove.

Perfect. Just perfect. Because what was really needed right now was a muddying of already murky waters.

So, the question of the moment: was Joe keeping it in so he could hold something over Riley? Was he just being nice? Or was it something else entirely?

Riley figured it would be easy enough to push, especially given that, in the general scheme of things it wasn't important who knew or didn't know that he and Buffy had spent the morning together, in the Biblical sense of the word. "Tell me about the bear."

As Joe started to describe coming upon the bloody scene, Riley's eyes wandered back to Buffy. Only half listening to Joe, Riley watched as Brooks' movements became less urgent and he moved beyond the triage and into the treatment. Now that the blood flow had stopped, he'd be concentrating on building her supply back up, using Hespan or Albumin or one of the other various things they carried around in case of this very situation.

He hated that his hands were clenched so tightly they'd turned white; he hated that he had no idea when it was that Joe had stopped talking. He hated that the whole world stopped turning every time Buffy's name crossed his lips and he hated - absolutely beyond doubt hated - that unless she died today this wouldn't be the last time they'd be at this place. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Looking up to see Joe carrying Buffy's body out of the woods was easily one of the worst moments of his life, second only to sitting, several thousands of miles away, watching as large chunks of metal strewn about a crash site appeared on a monitor. Not that he'd actually seen much more than that; hadn't been able to stomach it. Not, for that matter, that he'd actually needed to see it - a split second was all it had taken. In that split second he'd known.

Jesus, Finn. You are on the Goddamned verge. Get it together before you completely lose your shit and you're no good to anyone. This isn't Sam, it's Buffy. Buffy, whose body defies everything considered normal. She could pull through this; she could actually pull through.

Turning back to Joe, Riley nodded for the guide to start talking again. He forced himself to listen to Joe's words, only peripherally hearing Brooks ask Graham for an update on the status of the medical transport; only vaguely registering Graham's response to stand by.

Part of his brain was working though, because it did occur to him that at this point the transport should be no more than a few minutes away. He couldn't think of any reason that Graham couldn't tell that on the radar and would for some reason just be standing by.

Riley had already held his hand out to stop Joe again when Graham said, "We've lost our transport. I repeat, there is no transport."

"Don't say that, Graham," Riley said, straightening up and moving closer to the others. "Check again."

There was a few seconds of silence before Graham said, "It's gone, Ri. I don't know-"

Riley cut him off, focusing on Brooks. "Do we need them?" It might not even matter. Unless there was a need for more supplies, if given a choice, Brooks usually preferred to handle things in the field, on his own.

Brooks tapped the bag attached to the IV and then checked Buffy's vitals. He seemed surprised at how well she was doing. Shaking his head, he said, "We're actually good. Her pulse is strong, blood pressure's up; I think we-"

"She'll bleed out. You won't be able to stop it," Angel answered, an edge to his voice that, if it were anyone else, Riley would have pegged as panic.

Brooks looked up at Riley, his eyes asking, Is this guy crazy? Out loud he said, "She's stable. She's responding. If we sedate her-"

Trust. That was a word Riley normally wouldn't associate with Angel. Not trust and not, for that matter, panic. Because, as tightly controlled as it was, that's definitely what it was. Riley was sure enough to turn to Brooks and say, "Cons."

He ignored Angel's audible sigh. The guy was a vampire - he didn't need to sigh. It was purely for effect.

Brooks, on the other side of the fence, seemed astounded that Riley was even considering Angel's request; but he responded to Riley's command. "Cons? The sedatives we have are too powerful; their effect is unpredictable." He glanced at Buffy. "Stable is a relative term. If we sedate her now her heart could stop altogether. Her breathing..."

He paused, and Riley could practically see his mind working. Running through all the things he could tell Riley that might possibly convince him that this was the most idiotic idea ever. His eyes hardening as he finally settled on: "You could kill her."

You, not we. Because when it came down to it, Riley was the one who had to choose.

There were very few times Riley could ever remember even considering taking someone else's word over Brooks', especially when the consequences were as dire as, oh, killing Buffy. This was going to be one of those times. "Angel?"

Angel spoke quietly and quickly. Urgently. "Everything her body does, it does ten times more than normal people. The Hespan is designed to expand blood volume. Her heart has already responded more quickly than your medic anticipated."

Riley looked up at Brooks. The medic hesitated for a second, but nodded. "Point?" Riley asked.

"You don't have the supplies on hand to meet what she's going to need," Angel answered. "Not to mention that you've just tapped into pure, unadulterated Slayer blood. Her body will react, and you won't be able to control it. She'll kill you." He let that sink in. "She'll kill you and then she'll bleed out."

"With all due respect," Brooks responded to Angel, clearly not meaning it, "how do you-?"

Riley cut Brooks off with a curt, "He knows." Riley figured that if there was one thing Angel knew intimately, it was the mechanics of blood, especially as it related to Buffy. And Angel knew exactly how much of everything they'd brought into the field after drilling them for hours about what they'd be carrying. Put those two things together with whatever Angel was able to see on the monitors and Riley had no doubt that Angel was right. He looked at Brooks. "Do it."

With an exasperated shake of his head, Brooks turned to the pack and pulled out a bottle of pills.

"Oh, and Riley?" Angel continued. "If her blood pressure's already up, I'd say you better do it fast - before she takes out your whole team. Messing with her blood tends to energize her." A smile appeared in his voice. "It can be a hell of a ride; it does, however, come with some drawbacks."

But Angel was right. After being out - for whatever reason - the body's instinct was often to protect itself. Riley had seen more men than he could count come up swinging as they regained consciousness. Even a normal guy could do some damage in the minute, minute and a half of disorientation. Buffy? A Slayer? There was no telling.

"Normally I'd say no more than half of one," Brooks said after a slight hesitation. It was obvious on his face and in his voice that he was not happy with the direction they were taking. "With Buffy, though? Your guess is as good as mine."

Although Riley had been hoping for something more along the lines of an informed medical opinion, he well understood the man's wariness; he well understood the underlying source of Brooks' irritation. Angel didn't give a damn who he offended; he only cared about one thing in this whole scenario: Buffy. Which, incidentally, was the only reason Riley was willing to trust him. "Angel?"

Lovely. Another not-very-helpful country heard from. Riley pulled the cap off the bottle and poured out three pills. No - two. That felt better.

He started to put the cap back on and then reconsidered, thinking that three may have been the right answer after all.

Not like there was any pressure or anything - one pill too few and she dies because her heart's working too hard; one too many and she dies because it stops altogether. Oh, and make the decision while at any moment she could come to and kill them all in the few minutes it took for her heart to pump all the blood out of her body.

Great. And now we're channeling Sam. Twisted, anyone? Hi, honey. It's been a while. Did you happen to notice I'm back with Buffy again? Yep. That's her over there with Brooks' hands all over her. Brooks, the same guy who was in love with you until the day you died, in case you'd forgotten.

Riley closed the bottle once and for all and looked down at his hand. Two. It's what it would have to be.

"O.k.," he said, resolved. With a little less confidence, he added, "If the sedatives don't work..." - i.e., if she beats me to a bloody pulp - "...I suggest you stay out of her way until she calms down." He looked at Brooks. "Don't suppose you'd like to do the honors?"

With a hint of a smile, Brooks replied, "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather you be the one she kill."

As Brooks moved away, he said, "They need to dissolve under her tongue in order to get the job done."

"Yeah." Riley kneeled down and reached to open Buffy's mouth. She was already beginning to stir and he wanted to do it before she was fully awake. Otherwise, this had the potential to really su-

Before Riley even had a chance to register that Buffy's eyes had flown open, he felt her fingers close around his throat. With one hand clutching the pills, his other instinctively grabbed onto hers, trying to loosen her grip as he gasped for breath.

"Told you," Riley heard Angel say. Bastard. Like hell Angel's would be the last voice he ever heard.

Not that he had much control over anything at the moment, given that - despite her injuries - Buffy had somehow pushed him onto his back and was on top of him, straddling his waist. She showed no sign of recognition, whatsoever. Or weakness, for that matter, despite the blood running down her arms.

Great, he thought, as he tried to suck in some air, painfully aware of how little time he had to do this. And, of course, that she could snap his neck at any minute. "Buffy..." he croaked.

O.k. Good sign. He was pretty sure she had registered that. At the very least, air was coming in again. Well, either that or he had already reached the delusional stage of oxygen deprivation. "Buffy."

Yes. There was definitely some air coming in because he was able to speak again. What the hell was he supposed to say exactly? He hadn't really considered that part. "Buffy. It's me. You know - the guy you moved across the country for. The reason you left all that riffraff behind in L.A." Not really true, but what the hell. And he couldn't help but grin at Angel's snort. "Boston has so much more to offer - don't you think?"

There was a hint of a smile lurking behind the hostility radiating from her eyes. Her grip relaxed a bit more. He said, "So there was this thing with a bear. You lost a lot of bl-"

Shit. So much for the air. And what happened to the smile hiding in her eyes? Apparently, she preferred the other topic of conversation. "Boston," he gasped. "I can talk...about Boston..." He gulped in some air as she let up again.

"Yeah. So, Boston," he continued. It was surprisingly hard to come up with innocuous things to say, even about a subject as big as Boston. Usually he was pretty good with that kind of thing, but looking at her face - at her almost unrecognizable face - it was kind of hard to think of anything other than the miracle that she was still alive. Or about her being a few seconds away from killing him.

Think Boston. Pretty places in Boston. Anything other than the Esplanade on the Fourth of July, or the Charles at sunrise. She'd already seen those things and he couldn't actually speak of them - think about them - without a voice in his head saying, It was all just a dream. Gone before you knew it was there. Too bad you didn't hold it close because you'll never be able to catch it again.

How about: "Have you ever been to Cape Cod?" That would work. "There's this town called Eastham, about halfway up. You hit First Encounter Beach at sunset? Absolutely beautiful. More colors in the sky than you can count. I'll take you there when we get back home."

Her fingers were still around his throat, but they were resting there lightly now. He could actually breathe again. He laced his fingers through hers carefully, allowing for the possibility that at any time she might resist.

May as well continue with the tour of his favorite places in New England. It was going well so far. "And there's this farmhouse in Vermont..."

He lifted his other hand slowly, as unthreateningly as possible as he raised it to her head. With his thumb he pushed back a strand of her hair, trying not to pay attention to the dried blood that matted it down, or the fact that her earlobe was torn in two.

Look into her eyes. Just focus on her eyes. "...At the base of Mount Mansfield; right there in the shadow of the mountain. I've had my eye on it for a while now; I'm this close to getting the guy to sell."

He could feel her tension slowly abate; could see her eyes begin to soften. Her icy cold hand drifted from his throat to his shoulder. He gently squeezed her fingers. "The guy who owns it now lives in New York. He wanted to tear the house down and build something crazy. Annie turned on the charm and convinced him to think it over. It'll cost a small fortune, but it's worth it. I think you'd like it."

She closed her eyes and then opened them again slowly, the Buffy he knew fully present. Fully present and feeling every agonizing shred of ripped open skin, every excruciating thread of torn apart muscle.

"I know." He fought to keep his voice from breaking as he heard the pain in her voice, saw it in her eyes.

It should have made it easier to put her back to sleep. Should have, but didn't.

Maybe two pills was too much. Maybe - since she hadn't gone on any rampage - it wasn't even necessary.

No. That may have bought a little time, but Angel was right - her heart was too strong. Its whole purpose was to keep the Slayer going; to keep her blood coursing through her body when there was no conceivable reason it should still be flowing. God - were two pills even enough?

It was Brooks this time whose voice came to Riley, courtesy of the com-cam, sounding much more confident than Riley knew he felt. "Just do it, Riley. Get it done. We'll figure it out."

Riley lifted his head just enough to brush her mouth with his lips, all the while forcing the words 'just in case' out of his brain. He held out the pills. "Under your tongue."

Do not lose it, Finn. Just tell her. "Put you to sleep," he said, not at all happy with his choice of words.

She took them from him, her gaze full of a trust he wasn't sure he deserved. "Will you be there when I wake up?"

A tear escaped her eye, rolling down her cheek, forging a trail through the blood. She put the pills in her mouth and grimaced at the bitter taste, waiting until they dissolved to swallow. When they were down, she leaned in close to Riley's face. "If I'm going to..."

She stopped herself from saying whatever it was she'd originally intended. Despite her obvious discomfort, she smiled, "I want this to be what I dream about."

Her kiss was different than the ones from earlier that day - not as deep, not as passionate; the end rather than the means when you came right down to it, but sweet all the same. Sweeter, in fact, in a pure and innocent kind of way. Riley resisted the instinct to put his arms around her, knowing that would only make things worse. Instead, he held her hands and focused on the way she felt against him, praying to as many gods as he could think of that this wouldn't be the last time he'd ever hold her.

Please make two be the right answer, he thought as he felt her collapse against him. Please just let it be two. Brooks and Morris were there almost instantaneously, gently rolling her onto another mat. Riley sat up slowly, only reluctantly releasing her hand.

Brooks felt for her pulse. He looked at Riley, fully understanding how important Buffy was, probably feeling the same Sam vibes that Riley had been getting. "So far so good."

Riley nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He knew there were no guarantees; the next few hours would be crucial.

He stood up - jumped up, practically, his body unleashing some of the pent-up tension; his voice doing the same, albeit directed at Angel. "Messing with her blood tends to energize her?!?"

Riley looked down as he spoke, or yelled, rather, suddenly realizing he was drenched in Buffy's blood - his clothes, his skin, his hair. He smelled it everywhere, tasted it. Gratefully finding a relatively dry spot of sleeve, he used it to wipe off his face, at the same time snapping, "Maybe you could have mentioned that sooner?"

Angel, probably needing his own release, threw it right back at Riley. "She's been with you all of three weeks. I thought you'd take..." He stopped before finishing the sentence.

Well, what do you know, Riley thought. Even Angel isn't perfect. I thought you'd take better care of her, he'd been about to say. As though either of them ever could. As though she'd ever let them.

In a quieter, although no less angry tone, Angel continued, "I didn't expect it to be a problem quite so soon."

Well, he may have his flaws, but the guy was still a bastard. He knew the thought had been lurking in the back of Riley's mind since Joe emerged from the woods. Knew it and capitalized. And he knew that there'd be no clever comeback because Riley basically agreed.

With an inward sigh, Riley turned. Wonderful, he thought as he saw the rangers step out of their canoe. Absolutely fucking wonderful. Chalk one up to the it-never-rains-it-pours theory.

Mentally switching gears back to CO, he let the names and details click into place as the men walked toward him - Jeff, the lead guy; the man with him was named Derek. That was all Riley needed to know at the moment. Oh, right - and that he really didn't like him.

As Jeff neared Riley, his glance took in the blood on Riley's clothes. "Do you need any assistance?"

Jeff looked past Riley to where Brooks and Morris were attending to Buffy. "We generally prefer that you call in a professional medical team."

Graham let out a string of curses over the com-cam, ending with, "Let me talk to him."

Unh-uh. Riley wanted to hear the explanation on this one, too. "Morris - your com."

"Yes, sir." Morris sprang up and handed his earpiece over to Jeff before hurrying back to help Brooks.

"I'd like to know myself," Graham answered. "I put out an SOS call for a medical transport half an hour ago."

Jeff's voice dripped with skepticism. "On the emergency channel? I didn't hear it." For emphasis, he tapped the radio hooked into his belt.

"I'm not sure what to tell you." Graham's response was as much to Riley as to Jeff. "I've got two men here who heard it and a man in L.A. who can back me up."

"But?" Riley asked. It wasn't that he didn't believe Graham - and he certainly didn't need Angel to cast the deciding vote or anything - he was just having a hard time understanding what went wrong.

"But," Graham replied, "Dispatch says they have no record of my call; that they never talked to me. They say they never would have promised support in anything under-"

"Four hours," Jeff finished for him. "They're all down in the Cities for some training thing. We're backing them up today."

"Right," Graham replied. "That's what they said. And that they could have an ambulance meet us at one of the Ranger stations. Which is still an option."

"By canoe?" Brooks shook his head. "Not a chance. I say we set up a tent right here. Do it our way."

Riley caught Brooks' eye. Are you sure? The question was clear enough; there was no reason to actually say it.

Brooks nodded. "I can do this." There wasn't a hint of doubt in his voice. Without waiting for Riley's consent, he directed Morris directions to set up a tent to shelter Buffy.

Turning back to Jeff, Riley tried to keep his voice neutral as he said, "Is this just a courtesy call, or is there something we can do for you?"

The only thing that surprised Riley about the question was that it hadn't been asked earlier. "A bear."

"A bear?" Jeff asked uneasily, his hand going to the tranquilizer gun at his hip as his eyes swept the area.

"It's dead," Riley said, noticing as Jeff's grip visibly relaxed. "I'm guessing you'd probably like to see for yourself. Me, too." A look passed between Jeff and his partner, probably because they wanted to see it alone. Oh well. "You guys coming?" He took the com-cam from Jeff and gave it back to Morris. As an afterthought, he said, "Joe?"

Nice, Finn. Riley realized that he hadn't paid a bit of attention to Joe since Buffy, well...in at least ten, maybe fifteen minutes. He was almost surprised that the guide was still sitting there. Still looking a bit dazed, come to think of it. "Joe!"

Joe reluctantly tore his gaze away from Buffy and stood up slowly. He nodded at the two rangers. "Jeff. Derek."

Exactly, Riley thought. The man had a point. Not that Riley was too keen on agreeing with anything the ranger had to say. Still... "Joe found her."

Another look passed between Jeff and Derek. For the first time, Derek spoke. "Show us."

With one last glance back at Buffy, Riley followed the other men through the trees, coming out onto the rocks surrounding the cove where he'd spent what, up until not very long ago, had been one of the better mornings in recent memory.

It looked like a massacre had taken place. There was blood on the rocks trailing down into the water; blood on the trees seeping into the bark. Buffy's toiletries bag was turned upside down, its contents spilling out onto the ground. It, too, was covered, spattered with dark brown spots. More blood. Mostly dried by this point.

And then there was the bear. Not nearly as big as Riley had expected it to be. Granted - all crumpled up it was almost the size of a VW Bug. Still...

Jeff and Derek didn't bother to mask their disbelief. "That tiny little thing?" Jeff said. "You think you finally found your warrior princess?"

Joe just smiled, not the least bit offended. "Believe what you want to. I know what I saw."

Not unkindly, Derek added, "Are you planning on playing the role of the trader? Paddling on down the river together, happily ever after?"

Riley adjusted his earpiece, only half listening to the banter between Joe and the rangers. The rest of his attention was focused on the com-cam.

"Princess and the Trader," Graham was saying. "It's a local legend, goes back to the mid-1700s. The trader was a guy named Didier Longère.... French ... The princess was... I don't know. Something about spending eons with the Creator; up in Heaven I guess."

The faint sound of tapping keys could be heard along with Graham's voice; he was clearly doing this on the fly. While still listening to Graham, Riley watched Jeff and Derek examine the scene, starting with the bag and moving around to the bear. They seemed to have forgotten that Riley was there, which was absolutely fine. Being unobtrusive wasn't a bad thing. It made it that much easier to hear Graham talk about the princess.

"She fell in love with the trader. The Creator let her go down and be with the Longère guy.... Lots of mushy stuff about 'flowers blooming in the dead of winter' and 'bears and wolves granting the does safe passage.'" Graham paused, "God, Sarah would love this story."

Riley bit down on his lip, forcing himself not to respond to the comment and smug tone he knew was entirely for his benefit.

"Really?" Graham asked, totally unaware of the history. It wasn't something Riley had ever cared to go into. "You go for that?"

"Sure," Angel replied, playing it up. "I'm a sucker for the once in a lifetime thing. Buffy, too. She gets all happy. She actually glows."

Oh, come on. Was this really necessary? Fuck staying unobtrusive. Riley walked over to Jeff and crouched down next to him. "You find anything?"

Jeff smiled. "Nothing to speak of yet. You have any idea what she was doing out here? By herself?"

Nice move, Riley thought, chastising himself. Because - honestly? - it was almost better to listen to Angel go on than for Riley to think about how he'd left her here to face that animal all by herself. Even knowing that there wasn't much he could have done didn't make him feel any better. "She wanted to take a bath."

Jeff let the statement hang there for a minute before saying, "This is pretty far from your camp. Farther than most people go for a bath."

"Right," Derek said, smirking. "You're telling me that's the reason she was out here."

"You're telling me the bear actually cared?" Right back at 'ya, smirk and all. New subject. "Why would a bear attack like that? Don't they generally stay away? We haven't seen any in the week we've been here."

Jeff took up where Derek left off. "Maybe it smelled something on her. You have any idea what it could be?"

Geez, Riley thought. If they'd just come out and ask he wouldn't have minded nearly as much. All this innuendo was really pissing him off, though. Which, in turn, made him want to behave in an immature, stubborn kind of way. He felt like he was in some kind of standoff, staring down the other two men like little kids on a playground. You're forty years old, Ri. Get it over with and just tell-

Riley turned to where Joe was standing, holding Buffy's bag in one hand, something small in the other.

"Well that would do it," Jeff said, walking over and taking the item out of Joe's hand.

"Gum?" Really? Riley looked at it more closely. Yep. That was definitely gum. "Buffy doesn't chew gum. She certainly doesn't carry it into the woods." Not when every piece of information they'd gotten on the park explicitly told them not to, gum being a top ten item on the "Things Bears Prefer Most" list.

"You know this for a fact," Jeff stated flatly. "And you know what was in her bag. As of when?"

Is it really any of your business? is what Riley really wanted to say. He couldn't, though, since it actually was. It was Jeff's job to find out why the bear had attacked and that question was directly related.

Oh, damn it to hell, Riley wished he could answer this question without turning six different shades of red. What was that he was thinking before? Just get it over with. "I needed a toothbrush."

Let's see - because as much as I love the taste of Buffy in my mouth, I'm not about to head back to work with her on my breath. I don't think so. That one really wasn't any of his business. The guy was just being a dick. "Pretty much just wanted to brush my teeth."

Jeff glared at Riley, not too happy with the way he had responded. "Don't you have a toothbrush of your own?"

O.k. No need for this to get out of hand. "I think it's pretty obvious that I was here with Buffy. If I had seen a bear around, I never would have left, and I can pretty much guarantee that there wasn't a piece of gum in her bag as of ninety minutes ago. Does that about cover it?"

Easy. "So far I've seen all three of you either pick up the bag or be within arm's reach. And anyone could have been here in the last half hour."

"Who would have been here?" Jeff challenged. "You're in the middle of the wilderness, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, I don't know," Riley said, exasperated. "You guys manage to keep popping up. Who knows how many more of you are lurking in the woods."

Jeff stared at Riley icily before turning to Derek. "I think I've seen all I need to see." He nodded curtly to Riley and Joe. "We'll be in touch."

I'm sure, Riley thought, although he resisted saying it. He'd gone too far with the lurking comment. God, this day couldn't be over soon enough. He watched the men disappear into the woods, then turned to Joe.

When it was clear the guide wasn't going to offer anything else, Riley said, "Well?" He waited for Joe to decide how much to tell him.

"They're tricksters," Angel explained over the com-cam. "Kind of like leprechauns. Pretty standard Native American lore."

Sending a mental thanks to Angel, Riley asked Joe, "Things 'like that'? Like pretending to answer a call for a medical chopper?"

"So they're not exactly the good guys," Riley continued. "Buffy could have died." If she were anyone else, she would have.

Shaking his head, Joe said, "Some things just happen. Your culture sees things as good or evil. Mine doesn't."

Not quite willing to let it go, Riley said, "The princess? Where does she fit in?"

"Not interested in talking about it?" Riley asked, even though the answer was obvious. No big deal. Graham would find out more soon enough.

There was a smile on Joe's face. "Are you interested in talking about how Buffy killed the bear?"

Nah, Riley thought, looking at Joe's face. I wouldn't have believed that lame-ass explanation either. No need to dwell on it though. He looked at the nine-hundred-pound mass lying on the ground in front of him. With more than a little bit of dread, he asked, "What exactly do you do with a dead bear?"

"That's it?" Angel asked with irritation. "How about pumping him for information?" Coldly, he added, "Since now we all know what he wasn't mentioning earlier."

Gee, Angel. Thanks for the reminder. Into the com-cam Riley said to Graham, "Define 'all.'"

Graham laughed. "We're down to Angel, Brooks, Morris, and me, as per procedure."

Procedure: Once the patient's medical status is no longer considered urgent, and the other squads have responded as needed, communications revert to immediate team and Command until the situation has been fully resolved.

Thank God for procedure. "How about no pumping for the moment?" Riley's brain had just about stopped working.

"Yeah," Morris said, laughter spilling over as he spoke, "I think you've done enough pumping for today."

See? Walked right into that one. "Morris - I may be past all rational thought, but the words 'five hundred push-ups' seem to be coming pretty easily."

It was hard to be too angry, though. First, because the teasing was certainly deserved - and if Morris was actually making cracks like that, then he and Brooks were pretty sure the worst had passed. Second, because even if everything else about it had sucked, that part of the day was definitely worth smiling about. And third, because anything that made Angel grumpy was a plus in Riley's book.

"Pulse is still strong and steady; breathing and BP are good," Brooks answered. "She's as responsive as I need her to be for now. I'd be happy if we could get a little more in the way of supplies, though."

"It's on its way," Graham replied. "Brady's team will be with you by nightfall. They've got enough in their packs to get you through. And before anyone asks, I've had Brady check in every five minutes so it's really truly on its way. Angel? I'm guessing you're planning on staying with us until she's awake?"

Riley nodded. For the moment at least. He repeated the question he'd asked earlier. "So what do we do with the bear?"

Yep. That was the answer he thought he'd get. Looking around at the solid rock they were standing on, Riley said, "Where?"

"I think we have some shovels..." His voice trailed off as he saw Joe's face. "Please don't shake your head. Please don't tell me we need to use our hands."

Riley stopped, suddenly needing to focus every effort on remaining standing as he flashed back to a day, eight and a half years ago to be precise, that he'd spent sitting on his office floor, his head in his hands as he listened to the reports coming in over the com-cam; minute-by-minute reports he'd demanded when he left the Sit Room, unable to watch any more images appear on the monitors.

Keep me posted. God, how he'd regretted uttering those words as a detached voice said into his ear, 'Sorry, Sir,' before moving on to the next body; a faceless voice that had haunted him nearly every night for two years afterwards. A voice he still dreamed about on more occasions than he cared to admit.

Keep me posted. It wasn't as though he hadn't said those words a million times since then, on almost every mission, on almost every day since she'd died without ever having that reaction. And it wasn't as though he hadn't grieved for Sam since then, he just hadn't felt her quite so close, hadn't felt it quite so physically. Not in a long time at least.

Then again, it wasn't as though he'd had as much at stake at any point since. It didn't matter that today's outcome promised to be much more favorable. It still struck him in his core - what had happened to Sam; what could still happen to Buffy.

He opened his eyes - hadn't even realized they'd been closed - to find Joe standing right in front of him, concern on his face, seemingly repeating something he'd already said. "Are you o.k.?"

Graham's voice was too calm, too quiet. The way he sounded when he was really worried. Riley tried to shrug it off. "Nothing. It's all good."

Sometimes it sucked to have your best friend monitoring everything you did. "Who else-?"

"No one," Graham snapped. "No one else is on the line right now. You really think I'd be involving anyone else in this conversation?"

"What exactly is this conversation?" Riley wasn't at all sure he wanted to hear this. He knew he should be grateful that Graham was concerned, not irritated. And yet...

"Strike three, Ri," Graham said. "By my count, you've almost lost it at least three times this morning - and I'm been generous. You haven't been this..." Graham stopped suddenly, trying to decide whether or not to finish the thought. When he finally did, the words spilled out. "You haven't been like this since Sam died."

Graham's voice showed strain as he continued softly, "You couldn't have saved her, Ri. There was nothing you could do, nothing anyone could do."

Yeah, Riley thought. Graham probably felt it, too. In his own way, maybe more so, being the only survivor of the crash. There was plenty of guilt going around. "Graham..."

"Honestly?" Graham said, cutting Riley off. "I have no idea how you held it together as much as you did. But you're on the edge; you need a break." A smile became evident in his voice. "I think a little physical labor should do the trick."

So much for the warm and fuzzy, Riley thought. "You're ordering me to bury the bear?"

"Nah," Graham said. "You would have done that anyway. I'm ordering you not to come back until you're done. Not to visit Buffy every hour and be all hang dog; not to overanalyze every minute detail that Brooks mentions on the com-cam. Bury the bear; pay your respects; and don't come back until you're ready to play."

About to protest, Riley was silenced by Graham's, "Don't worry. I'll give you reports on the half-hour and if anything - I stress, anything - changes, I'll let you know ASAP. Understood?"

Riley's inclination was to be pissed off. As soon as he opened his mouth, however, he knew that he wasn't going to fight it. "Yeah. Understood." Couldn't fight it. He was just too drained.

Graham didn't let him finish. "She'll be there when you get back. Be strong for her then. I'm out."

Damn it. Riley hated it when Graham did things like that; hated it more when Graham was right.

Riley looked down at the bear and then back up at Joe. "I don't have to chant, do I?"

Riley walked slowly, taking his time on the unfamiliar trail, glad that the moon was bright enough to light the way. He had refused Joe's offer to guide him back - he knew Joe preferred to spend his nights elsewhere.

Where 'elsewhere' was Riley had no idea other than that it was in the opposite direction of camp. And - he had to admit - it was kind of nice to have a few minutes alone, to at least try to process this taxing day.

To say that the last twelve hours had been unusual would be an understatement - an out-of-this-world daydream turning into an out-of-control nightmare turning into an odd and timeless sleepwalk of a day, with handfuls of dirt punctuating a series of images, a slow motion slideshow taking place in his brain.

Images in black and blue and white and red - a bone poking through where it shouldn't appear, a shoulder not there when it should be. Dig hard enough to force back the grief, deep enough to bury the guilt.

A bruise on a face that had been branded by metal, a gash across a breast, courtesy of a bear. Dig a little harder; dig a little deeper.

The gentle lapping of a hand skimming through the water's surface - dig harder. A harsh set of words and the slamming of a door - dig deeper.

Buffy's eyes, full of trust and on fire. Harder. Sam's eyes, vacant, unseeing. Deeper.

Had she known what was happening? Did she know she was dying? Did she resist it and fight it as much as she could? Or did she just close her eyes and wait for it to come?

He should have been there for Sam the way he'd been there for Buffy. Sam shouldn't have died alone.

He should never have let things come to that point; he shouldn't have let her angrily walk out that door, walk out of his life forever.

Riley's foot hit an exposed root, and he put his hand out to stop himself from falling. A smile appeared on his face despite his melancholy mood.

"Let." That was a good word. Sam wasn't exactly the kind of woman that allowed someone else to choose a course of action for her any more than Buffy was. It was one of the things he'd always loved about each of them: their eyes gleaming, smirks forming every time his Iowan upbringing got the better of him.

Even if they had granted him an illusion of control - even if he'd been there when the helicopter crashed, or when the bear attacked - it wasn't as though he could actually have done anything to help either one of them.

Not that that alleviated anything. He still felt like he had failed each woman; felt it down deep in his gut.

He wasn't too sure if the physical labor had done its job. Yes, it was probably better that he hadn't spent the whole day hovering over Buffy, making a general nuisance of himself. On the other hand - on the mental side of things - he wasn't too sure that he was in much better shape than he'd been in when Graham had ordered him into the woods.

He certainly hadn't fared very well physically: his back hurt, his hands and arms were scratched up, his head was pounding, and he was tired. Bone tired. Tired enough that if he made the mistake of stopping again, he'd probably fall asleep where he stood; drained enough that he probably wouldn't resist.

Muscles groaning every inch of the way, he brought his hand up and switched on his com-cam. Knowing full well that Graham was aware the com-cam was live again, Riley was surprised at his friend's restraint when it was ten full seconds before he heard: "Welcome back, Ri. You doing o.k.?"

There were a few moments of silence before Graham responded, "So it didn't make much of a difference, huh?"

He never had been very good at fooling Graham. The shrug was evident in Riley's voice. "The bear's buried."

Riley replied, "Some hands, some MacGyver-type shovels made out of branches and rocks."

There was another pause. Graham clearly wasn't too impressed by Riley's answers. He asked, "How's that whole blacking out thing going?"

Riley wouldn't have minded more questions about how they went about burying a humongous bear with rocks and branches, although - to be totally honest - he probably wouldn't have been able to answer since everything after the first hour had blended together.

His mental state, though, was not something he was prepared to discuss, especially given the aforementioned blur of a day thing which, when added to completely losing all sense of time, might in some peoples' minds - for example, Graham's - constitute 'blacking out.'

Riley, however, had made the executive decision of attributing it to the drudgery of physical labor. "That seems to have resolved itself. How's-?"

"She's fine," Graham answered without needing to hear the rest of the question. "Nothing's changed since my last update."

That statement brought about an unexpected rush of relief, one that was particularly surprising given that Riley had spent the day listening to Graham's reports that Buffy was improving steadily. He felt like he could breathe for the first time all day, halting his trek as the air hit him full force.

"Still here." Newly energized, Riley had to stop himself from running, overcome with a need to see Buffy. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

Graham's smile was evident in his voice. "I'll tell them to have dinner waiting."

Not really that hungry, Riley thought when the campsite finally came into view. Riley barely registered Morris or the rest of Brady's squad sitting around a campfire a little further down the beach; he was focused instead on the tent that sheltered Buffy and the three men sitting next to it - Brooks, Brady, and someone with his back turned towards Riley. Someone who looked a lot like - yep, damn it - Harry.

Riley was not at all happy with how close Harry was sitting to Buffy - his hand alongside her, indicating far too much familiarity than Riley thought was appropriate. Granted, Harry had been protective of her in a weird sort of way throughout the whole first week they'd spent with him and the rest of Brady's team; in a way - to be specific - that irritated the hell out of Riley, but only seemed to amuse Buffy. Which in turn, of course, only annoyed Riley more. It certainly wasn't helping now.

As soon as Brooks and Brady noticed Riley approaching, they stood up and wordlessly moved back, clearing a path to Buffy. Harry wasn't nearly as accommodating - though he stood once he realized Riley was there, he seemed to have no intention of moving away from the tent.

Fixing his gaze on the man, Riley made no attempt at small talk. Made no attempt at talk whatsoever, in fact, as he slowly walked up to the man. The look on Riley's face seemed to adequately show his displeasure, however, because Harry took a step backwards before defiantly saying, "I thought someone should be by her side."

Riley resisted saying anything about Brooks and Brady being perfectly capable 'someone's, nor did he mention that a large part of him agreed with the implication that he was the 'someone' who should have been there, a mindset, by the way, that did absolutely nothing to make him any happier. Instead, he kept his voice tightly controlled as he said, "Please move." It was not a request.

Riley crouched down next to the opening where Buffy was lying on a mat. Her face and hair had been cleaned - it would have been the first thing Brooks did after taking care of the obvious injuries, partly to stem infection, partly to ensure that there wasn't anything else he'd missed. Brooks had also discarded the clothes she'd been wearing and dressed her in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, most likely the ones that were always stowed in the medical packs just in case of this very situation.

That the clean clothes were meant for a man Riley's size rather than a woman like Buffy was obvious - the material hung loosely, dwarfing her tiny frame and overemphasizing how small and fragile she seemed, how unlike the way Riley thought of her. The bandages covering her arms didn't help, nor did the blanket pulled up to her chest, making her look like a little girl who'd been tucked in for a nap.

No, not for a nap - she was much too still for that. There was no question that this was an unnatural rest.

On the other hand, her face - which had been pretty severely beaten up - had already begun to heal. The swelling that you'd normally expect at this stage just wasn't there. The bruises were, as were the scratches, but all of it looked like the fight she'd been in either wasn't that bad or had happened at least a week before. And the tubes were gone. Good signs, all.

Brooks spoke from behind Riley. "Angel thinks the sedatives may have accelerated the healing process."

Brady chimed in with his best Scotty imitation, "Aye, Captain. All Slayer power has been diverted to the healing engines."

Ignoring Brady, Brooks continued, "All her readings are practically back to normal. Angel said it was quick, even for her." Brooks crouched down next to Riley. "We've stopped boosting the sedatives; stopped the Hespan an hour before that."

Rather than answer, Brooks moved forward and lifted Buffy's right arm. He gently unraveled the gauzy material.

Unbelievable, Riley thought as his mouth dropped open. Her arms had been scratched up pretty badly - mostly surface wounds, a few deep cuts. Now, though, there were already some places that were completely healed, and the deeper cuts, though traces of them still existed, were now merely jagged scratches that suggested a mean Tomcat rather than a big, old bear.

"It's." Brooks shook his head in disbelief as he looked at Riley. "It's unlike anything I've ever seen. I mean, the skin, the muscle - it's practically regenerating in front of my eyes. If someone told me this was possible, I don't think I'd believe him. I'm actually not sure if I believe it now and I've been watching it happen all day."

"Yeah," Riley murmured. "She's like that." He started to reach for her hand, and then pulled back, realizing that he was caked in dirt and day-old blood. Not exactly an ideal way to keep infection at bay.

"Go ahead," Brooks said, realizing what Riley was thinking. "I don't think I'll even rewrap that arm, it's in such good shape. Besides, she's got a ton of antibiotics running through her." He handed Riley a baby wipe - the washcloth of choice in the field - and a small bottle of hand sanitizer. "Just clean off your hands first."

Riley took the wipe from Brooks - took a second and third, in fact - and thoroughly washed his hands, rubbed in the sanitizer. In a few minutes he'd go for a swim, get rid of all this grime. Right now, though, he needed to touch her. He sat down and reached for her, lacing his fingers through hers.

"How long will you keep her out?" He tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. Unsuccessfully, he realized, as his voice cracked.

Brooks nodded at the man standing next to him. "Brady brought enough supplies to get us through the next couple of days if necessary. Originally, I thought it wouldn't be nearly enough. Now, however." Brooks shrugged. "Angel says she's got what she needs; I think I agree. She'll probably wake up in an hour or two."

He switched the com-cam off and put it aside, waiting for Brooks and Brady to walk away. "Buffy." was about all he could get out before choking up. Take a deep breath. This wasn't eight years ago. It was totally different. Buffy was totally different.

Squeezing her hand, he said, "Don't do that to me again - o.k.? I'm not sure I'd survive it a second time around."

He took another breath, closing his eyes as he flashed on another image of Sam. "I've got to go get cleaned up. Destroy these clothes." Get Sam out of my head. "Then you're stuck with me for the rest of the night." He kissed her hand gently before laying it down on the blanket again and standing up.

At some point during the day, someone had moved his pack next to the tent. He grabbed some clean clothes as Brooks appeared again. "I'll be back in twenty minutes, thirty tops."

After walking a few steps, he turned back to Brooks. It wasn't humanly possible to adequately convey how grateful he was. He'd have to settle for, "Thank you." Damn if that catch wasn't in his throat again.

The catch appeared to be contagious. "Anytime," Brooks said, looking down. It took him a few moments before he could meet Riley's eye. "If it weren't for Sam." He looked away. "I felt like she was here today, talking me through."

Riley fought to keep his composure. "Yeah," he finally said. "She was here. All day."

He turned on his heel and walked down to the water, dropping the clean clothes onto the beach. Pausing long enough to shed his shoes and socks, he headed into the water without bothering to take anything else off. May as well clean everything; that way there wouldn't be any toxic fumes when he burned it all.

As he swam away from the shore, he let the emotion of the day pour out of him, his strong strokes accomplishing what the hours of digging for some reason couldn't - beating back the grief, the frustration, the anger; letting his body absorb what his mind couldn't handle. He forced his mind to shut down and concentrated on the feel of the water. Every minute brought a bit more relief and by the time he turned back, he had finally pushed the memories of Sam into the background where they belonged and was ready to move forward again, ready to focus completely on Buffy.

Refreshed as he emerged from the water, he changed and, with a quick wave to the men sitting around the campfire - a group that, he was happy to note, included Harry - headed back up to the tent. Brooks and Brady had taken up their places again, sitting on the ground next to Buffy, playing cards. They looked up as Riley neared.

Riley sat down alongside Buffy. This time he reached for her hand without hesitation. "Not tonight, Brady." It was time to get back to work.

He picked the com-cam off the ground where he'd left it earlier. Put it back in place and turned it on.

"That's it?" Graham wasn't going to give in that easily. "I don't even get to ride your ass a little? You're completely over the guilt thing?"

Riley leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He stroked Buffy's hand. No guilt. Sure. "Are you?"

Graham sighed. "Nah." He paused for a moment and then said, "Moving on. What do you want to hear about first?"

A strand of hair had fallen across Buffy's eyes. Riley reached to brush it out of the way. "Let's start with this 'Warrior Princess.'"

Graham said, "O.k. Let me just quote a few lines. Stop me when it sounds familiar: 'A girl from ancient times who showed great valor and courage despite her few years. . Ultimately sacrificed her life to protect those she served.'" He paused. "You want me to go on?"

Angel answered, "No. Wes has been doing some research on that. He thinks she's probably a precursor, but there's no definite connection."

"Riley," Angel said. Riley could practically hear him smile. "Don't beat yourself up about the guilt thing. There really was nothing you could do."

Thanks, Angel, for that nice little emphasis on 'nothing.' No. Did not miss that voice at all. Two, however, could play at that game. "I guess it's too bad that you weren't here earlier today. No, wait - turns out there really wasn't much for you to do, either."

Graham stepped in before they went any further. "Should I tell the teacher that there's about to be a fight on the playground? Or maybe I could just get on with the working part of our day."

"So," Graham continued as though there hadn't been any interruption, "she wasn't a Slayer, but apparently the next best thing. The legend has it that her death earned her a seat at the Creator's table. Where she stayed for a couple million years until the trader guy - Longère - came along."

"What was so special about him?" Riley asked, still irritated. "Super powers? Satan's son?" There was a hint of coldness - bitterness? - as he said, "The love that couldn't be?"

"Really." Riley couldn't deny there was a tinge of smugness in his tone. Take that, Angel. "Just a normal guy."

"Yeah." Angel's subtext was clear - I'll see you, and raise you one. "Too bad he died. Nasty little case of smallpox. Did you really expect a happy ending?"

"Are you two kidding me?" Graham muttered before saying more loudly, "After he died, she went crazy, wreaked havoc and all that. The Creator finally needed to punish her; sent her off into a - wait, let me get the actual phrase - 'a world of darkness and flame, a place she would pay for her sins.'"

Damn it, Riley thought. He really had kind of been hoping for a happy ending. "He sent her to Hell?"

"That's all just a literary convention," Angel said. "Hell isn't really that dark. It's all fluorescent lighting; a lot of mirrors - which I hear don't work too well together. I wouldn't know."

"You're a vampire?" Graham asked incredulously. "O.k. I figured out the 'ex-' part pretty early on, but. The Slayer used to date a vampire?"

So didn't want to go there, Riley thought. And it absolutely killed him to keep from asking if the thing about fluorescent lighting was true. He was not, however, going to give Angel the satisfaction. "If not Hell, then where - an alternate dimension?"

Graham seemed to realize that the other line of questioning could turn things bad really quickly. "Just because it's a legend, doesn't mean it's true. Or accurate."

Riley thought back to the look on the guide's face - the stunned look that Riley hadn't been able to figure out - earlier that day after carrying Buffy out of the woods. "Did you see Joe this morning? As much as I hate to believe it, I think Jeff was right. I think Joe really did believe that Buffy was the princess. For a few minutes at least."

"O.k.," Graham conceded. "So what if he did? Why would he care? Is it just because of the living legend thing, which - granted - would be kind of big, or is there more to it?"

Reflecting on the day he'd just spent with the man, Riley was pretty sure there was more. What that was, however, was still unclear. "What about the whole butterfly thing? Is Willow still sure the guides talked about a butterfly princess? Can she find a connection with the warrior thing?"

"She's still working on it," Angel answered. "So far, the closest she's come is." He paused for a second and then said, "Ready? Here's the direct quote: 'The Butterfly Maiden is the female fertilizing force. Carrying the pollen from one place to another, she cross-fertilizes, just as the soul fertilizes mind with nightdreams..."

Nightdreams, Riley thought. Sounded familiar. Sounded like what he'd been doing all day.

Angel was still reading. "She is the center. She brings the opposites together by taking a little from here and putting it there. Transformation is no more complicated than that. This is what she teaches. This is how the butterfly does it. This is how the soul does it.A little changes much. The fertilizing force replaces the moving of the mountains.'" He stopped. "Do you want more?"

"More about fertilizing forces moving mountains?" Graham asked with a smile in his voice. "Sure. Why the hell not."

Angel continued, "'This is a woman connected to her wild nature, the translator of the instinctual, the fertilizing force, the rememberer of old ideas.She is Wild Woman personified.'"

"So that's the connection?" Riley said. "A 'wild woman' isn't exactly a 'warrior princess.'"

Once again, Graham cut in. "Well, if that's what we're up against, my money's on Buffy. Ri - I don't suppose you were able to get anything out of Joe today."

"No," Riley said, squeezing Buffy's hand. He had a suspicion that the images he'd been seeing all day were more vivid than usual thanks to Joe's questions - questions that had started being about Buffy, but had somehow turned to Sam. Small talk, more than anything - the kind of questions you ask when you're just trying to make conversation. The subject was too loaded, though, for it to be that simple. Not that Joe would have known that; not that he would have particularly cared.

"So what are you going to do about him?" Angel's voice was somewhat impatient, probably because he had expected Riley to be a little more aggressive in terms of finding out information.

Honestly? Riley had been surprised as well. It wasn't like him to let something drop like that, especially not something that had the kind of consequences of what had happened today. Then again, those consequences were probably directly related to the lack of focus. It was all very Catch-22.

He hadn't entirely let it go, though. In the recesses of his mind, he had wondered about where Joe fit into all this. There was something about the man that Riley couldn't quite pin down. Whether it was a good something or a bad something had yet to be seen. So, Angel - in response to your question - "I wish I knew."

The guide would have had plenty of time to plant that piece of gum, either after the fact - to make it look like Buffy had carelessly brought this on herself, or, for that matter, anytime before - they had been traveling with him for a week after all.

Come to think of it, anyone could have done it - Brady's team, i.e., Harry, had been around until the day before. The rangers had stopped by at the camp not too long before that.

Angel's mind seemed to be running along the same lines. "Have you considered your own men? Could it have been one of them?"

"No," Riley answered emphatically and without hesitation. He'd handpicked this team, had known most of them for at least five years; entrusted his life to them. He refused to consider the possibility.

Moving on, then. What if the gum had nothing to do with anything. What if it was just some red herring thrown into the mix by the - what had Joe called them? The Maymaygwayshi? Just for the hell of it; just to stir things up.

Or maybe it went even further than that. Maybe they had actually set the bear on Buffy. Could they do that? Hell, maybe they were the ones responsible for the dead hikers, the reason there were two teams of commandos in the middle of the woods in the first place.

"Could be that, too," Angel answered. "I'm just saying. There's an array of possibilities."

"But why?" Riley was still stuck on the Maymaygwayshi question. "What do they have against Buffy?"

"That's not how they work," Angel said. "They don't really have any ulterior motive. They just make mischief."

It irritated the hell out of Riley - the way Angel seemed to be the authority on anything mystical.

Knowing Angel had a monitor that showed the image of Buffy all bandaged up and lying on the mat - the image captured by the camera snaking down Riley's jaw - Riley posed the same question he had posed to Joe earlier that day: "This is mischief? Seems more like attempted murder to me." Or, actual murder, if there was a connection with the hikers.

"They didn't know better," Riley stated flatly. "That's the excuse you're offering?"

"Not an excuse," Angel said. "An explanation. It doesn't mean I wouldn't take their heads off if I stumbled upon one or two."

Now that was a sentiment Riley could get behind. Not now, though. Today had already gone on for far too long. "Anything else?"

"Let's see," Graham said. "Wendy sent us some stuff from Boston. Something about thunderstorms." He started to explain more and then stopped abruptly. "You know, we've covered enough for today. Let's save that for tomorrow."

Amen. Riley couldn't believe how tired he was. Exhausted, really. To the point where things were starting to get blurry again. "O.k. Consider me signed out."

Beyond exhausted, apparently, given that he hadn't even noticed Brooks and Brady were gone until Brooks reappeared.

Riley let go of Buffy's hand and stood up, allowing Brooks enough space to check her over. He wasn't quite ready to let her out of his sight, though.

Nope. Make that wasn't going to let her out of his sight at all. "I'm staying with her tonight."

Brooks grinned. "Figured as much," he said, nodding to the sleeping bag that had been placed next to Buffy's mat. "The sedatives are probably almost out of her system." He gave her an injection as he spoke. "I'm giving her some meds for the pain, though, so she'll most likely sleep through the rest of the night." He stood up and put his equipment into a bag. "I'll check back in a few hours. If you need anything, my tent's right over there."

The tent Brooks pointed to was about twenty feet away. Good. Well within shouting distance should the need arise.

There was just enough room for Riley to enter through the side flap of Buffy's tent and climb in without disturbing her. He reached over her to zip up the flap, and almost jumped out of his skin when her hand went around his wrist.

"God, Buffy." His hand went around hers as he watched her turn her head to him. "Are you-?"

"Hold that thought," she said, grabbing on to his shirt and pulling him down for a kiss. "O.k.." She smiled. "You were saying?"

She grinned. "I'm kind of buzzed," she whispered, a little girl sharing her secret.

Not surprising. The meds Brooks had given her were pretty powerful. First there was this crazy weird high.

Buffy pulled at the collar of her t-shirt and peeked underneath. Raising her eyebrows, she leaned a fraction of an inch closer and ran her hand slowly down his chest. "I don't seem to be wearing many clothes."

"Riley." Her eyelids started to droop. She took his hand and tucked it under her head. "I think I'm gonna go to."