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Willow was quiet as she drove back to the motel. That was o.k. - she always got that way when she was concentrating on a spell. And Buffy was all for the concentrating.

Anyway, she had her own thoughts to keep her occupied. For the first half of the ride - all three minutes of it, this was Atikokan after all - she fought the sense of futility: there was no way this could end well. Even if they did find Riley, she couldn't imagine he'd want to leave Sam behind - how could he? She was his wife, the mother of his children. The love of his life. Home.

She spent the next three minutes, however, telling herself - so what? She was just going to give up? That was it? Forget her promises to him, to his kids? Come up against an actual roadblock and decide to just turn around and head back?

Unh-uh. No way in hell. Riley deserved more than that. His family deserved more. So did she.

By the time they reached the motel, Buffy had worked herself up into enough of a state that she didn't care what was going on with the DNA tests, she was going into those woods and wasn't coming out until she had found Riley and offered him the chance to come home. If that wasn't the path he wanted to take, well, she'd deal with that then.

She jumped out of the car before Willow brought it to a full stop. By the time the engine was off, Buffy had thrown open the door to the motel room. "Graham, I'm going-"

She snapped her mouth shut. Everyone was already in motion - Ana and Brady were zipping up their vests; Sprague was lacing his boots. Brooks was sitting down at the makeshift command center and putting on a headset; he slid his chair over, flicking switches as he moved.

Graham, the phone cradled against his shoulder, acknowledged Buffy with a nod of his head, but quickly turned his attention back to whoever was on the other end of the phone. He did not sound at all happy.

"No. That's unacceptable." There was a pause and then he shook his head angrily, tightly saying, "We'll be at Headquarters in twenty minutes; I want permits ready and special permission for a chopper to drop us in. And Jessica?" Graham's voice turned cold as he leaned forward in his chair. "If this gets screwed up, I will devote the rest of my life to making you understand what 'misery' means." He smiled as he listened to Jessica's response, answering, "Not a threat. That's what they call a promise." He nodded. "Twenty minutes."

Buffy could feel Willow come in behind her as she stepped further into the room. The test results must have come back, indisputably identifying the body as someone other than Riley. "Who was it?" Her almost desperate urgency transformed into a bolt of energy as she caught the taser Ana threw her.

"Dan Swanson, Leslie Willett's fiancé," Graham answered distractedly. He was looking at a printout Brooks had just handed him.

Buffy actually had to sit down on the bed, overwhelmed by the rush of relief. There were even a few tears. It surprised her, given how certain she'd been since seeing the body. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Willow smiling at her.

Brady pulled a chair over and sat down across from Buffy. "Not to break up the party or anything, but are we actually any closer to knowing what we're dealing with?" He gestured at the monitors as he said, "All we've got are some fancy sunrise bowls and Harry saying Sam's in on this with the Princess."

"She's not," Brooks snapped, turning around to face the room. He looked straight at Buffy. "I don't care how much she wants Riley back, she wouldn't do that to her kids. Not the Sam I..." His voice faltered before he finished with, "Knew."

Everyone turned to her and Buffy could feel the heat rise to her cheeks. They seemed to be looking to her for confirmation of some sort, for her to speak for Riley with the same authority. In other circumstances, that would have been just fine with her. Now, though, all it did was force her to acknowledge her own uncertainty.

It didn't matter how much he loved her - how in love he was with his kids - she wasn't sure that would be enough. She'd been under the spell; she'd felt its effects. Rational thought had flown right out the window. Every ounce of her strength went to keeping herself from Angel - and that was after being apart for less than two months. After a very non-romantic stretch of years to begin with.

Factor in the eight-plus years of mourning a wife Riley was obviously still in love with? Plus the fact that Riley - being the object of the spell - was getting the full-blown version...

Her hand went to the ring on her chain - the chain she'd put back on, despite being a little weirded out by having Sam quite so close. The ring - Sam - had unhelpfully chosen now to be quiet. Buffy turned to Graham - who was also in the mute camp, very noticeably so given his closeness to Riley; to Riley and Sam. "What do you think? Where does Sam come in?"

After a minute of very heavy silence, Graham finally admitted, "I don't know." He threw an apologetic look at Brooks. "I have no doubts as to how much she loved her kids. I just..." This time the apology was directed at Buffy as he said, "She and Riley had something..." Clearly uncomfortable, Graham shrugged. "I'm not sure how much they'd resist something like this. I don't know how much anyone could."

Buffy found herself annoyed to a degree that was completely uncalled for, especially since his words were merely echoing her own thoughts. It was just the way he put it.

So, fine. If they had such a perfect love... "Would Sam share him? I mean..." Buffy looked around the room. "The Princess is still part of this somehow, isn't she?"

Graham seemed to relax a bit, obviously feeling on much surer ground. "We've definitely got something odd going on," he said. "At that last crime scene you guys visited, Riley wanted some stones analyzed. Mostly, I think, on a whim." He held up the piece of paper in his hand. "They're undatable."

"Undatable?" Was that a word? Why not just call it like you see it? "You mean really, really old?"

"Actually, no," Graham answered, with a shake of his head. "I mean undatable. There's no trace of pollution, no trace of anything that a rock should have picked up in its, oh, billions of years on earth." He put the paper down. "Other than that, though, the components, the composition - they're exactly the same as the other samples from the area."

That was enough confirmation for Buffy. She stood up. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go." No one else moved. "What?"

The soldiers' heads all turned to Graham, and it occurred to Buffy that he hadn't actually given the go ahead yet. That though he'd told Jessica to be ready for the team - told the team itself to suit up - he himself had no weapons. He hadn't even gotten out of his chair.

Was he overcompensating, thinking that he'd been too eager to get them back up here? Or was it because he still didn't trust her?

Willow had said the spell was a combination: part love, part locator. The love part was already defined: an overwhelming physical need, like what she had felt for Angel. The locator part, though - that was where Graham's hesitation came in.

The yellow brick road to Riley was emblazoned with the words 'True Love.' 'They do what their hearts tell them,' Harry had said. He'd sent them 'home.' Riley's 'home' in this case had clearly been Sam.

Graham, having sixteen years of not-very-positive feelings about Buffy, was obviously concerned about Riley being the same for Buffy. If what she felt wasn't strong enough then there was no telling where the team would end up - or if they'd be able to make it back.

Seeing that Graham was just watching her without saying a word, this was all of course just conjecture on Buffy's part. Was he planning on doing that whole interrogation thing again? Great.

There was a moment in which she thought he was about to speak - he leaned forward and tilted his head. The words didn't come from him, though. Apparently Brady had been deputized - silently, imperceptibly, and yet without question as he slowly leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, glancing down at the floor and then back up at Buffy. "Your mom did teach you the difference between sex and love, right?"

"I..." Buffy could feel her skin flush. That had been much more blunt than she'd expected. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked sharply.

He refused to back down, clasping his hands together and echoing what she'd just been thinking. "The theme around here seems to be true love. If I'm remembering correctly, at Joe's village you said that if Sam's voice could lead Riley away, yours could lead him back. I'm guessing that's on the condition that the tie between you and Riley is as strong as what he had with Sam." Brady fixed his eyes on hers. "Is it?"

A quick scan of the room showed that no one was about to leap to her defense. Except for Willow, whose expression clearly indicated that she was willing to take them all out if Buffy only said the word. Which Buffy wouldn't do, of course, because, well, this seemed to be the condition. Graham's decision would be based on her answer. And it only seemed fair to answer the question in everyone else's eyes. They'd follow their leader to the bitter end, but they'd prefer to at least know what the odds might be going in.

God. This was like the nightmare where you had to stand up in front of everyone in your underwear. At least she knew she looked damn good in black lace.

Brady, as had already been well proven, was of the 'speak your mind' upbringing and had no qualms about pushing. "I mean, it's only been - what? - three weeks? You're the first woman he's even dated since Sam died. How would you-?"

She took a step toward him - a very assured step that positioned her close enough to look in his eye with absolute confidence, that allowed Graham to see her face without obstruction.

"Yes," she said, cutting Brady off. There was no question in her mind. Not now at least. Not after that last night, when she'd thought she was seeing an apocalyptic sky, when the inner beast unsurprisingly reared its head.

What had been surprising, was the fusion of her two halves - mind and matter. Well, mature mind and Slayer matter. Had that ever happened? Had the Slayer's wants and needs ever coalesced with those of the girl within?

She'd loved Angel with an incredible passion; Spike with an unbridled fury. Never, though, had she entrusted so much - heart, mind, and soul. Never had she been so trusted in return.

She wasn't sure what had happened to bring them to that point - the 'true love' talk? Maybe, because as much as she'd enjoyed Riley's reaction to the striptease, the lightning hadn't struck yet, the connection hadn't been made. She'd seen it in his eyes - or, rather, not seen it - at his most unguarded moment. Maybe he'd been missing it, too - maybe the Slayer hadn't yet bought in to what Buffy's heart craved; maybe her voice had been lacking the conviction of her words.

Not that there wasn't anything there - she had no doubt that Riley loved her and she was sure he knew the same. This, however, was another level entirely; a transformation so powerful she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed its absence until it was suddenly there: the way the air crackled as his hand approached her skin, the way his fingers left a trail of flames. The way his voice soothed her soul.

At that moment he became part of her. She gave herself to him; took what he gave in return. And what he gave her was everything - because he'd seen her eyes when her heart was closed and he knew that he was seeing something different, that he was seeing all of her.

That wasn't the kind of thing that happened in three weeks; nor in a year, or even sixteen. It happened in an instant. When that instant - that connection - occurred was of little consequence.

Was their love true enough to pave the yellow brick road? Yes. Without question.

Was it strong enough to help Riley transcend the spell? To bring him home? Well... That wasn't what Brady had asked.

Her voice strong and steady so that there was no question of how certain she was, Buffy looked at Graham and said, "It is."

"You're sure." His voice was cold and harsh, the voice of the man who'd helped Riley rebuild his life, not once but twice. The voice of the man wondering what he'd be taking Riley away from, what he'd be handing back in return.

She responded to the other Graham, the one who had seen with his own eyes - who had told her - how happy Riley had been during these last few weeks. "I'm sure."

Unable to move as he considered her words, she almost collapsed in relief when he nodded his head and turned to Willow, saying, "O.k. Tell me how this works."

Willow leaned over to hand Graham Harry's notebook. "The spell depends on sending the man 'home'; to where his heart belongs."

"No," Brooks corrected, his face the study of concentration. "To where he's guided." He looked at Graham and then Buffy. "Sam's voice - in the storm. It was like a beacon, drawing him in."

"Alright alrea-" Buffy started to snap, except it was kind of. Alright, that is. Because that was an explanation she could live with quite happily. Or, at least an explanation she could live with.

Buffy began to pace. She could see from Willow's reaction - which was very deliberately nonexistent - that this could get even more personal than it already was. Buffy searched her memory, trying to figure out what it was Willow wasn't saying.

After a minute, it came to her and she stopped walking. Sitting back against the room's dresser, she murmured, " For that moment." 'For that moment, the stars smiled,' to use Willow's words from the night before. "The moment in which they fell in love."

Willow shook her head, mumbling her correction. "The moment in which it became more than that. When it crossed into 'True' territory."

"That whole 'souls entwining' thing?" Brady asked. Incredulously, he continued, "You meant that literally?"

Buffy could feel everyone's eyes on her. Hadn't she just answered this question?

Wait a minute... She straightened up, eyes wide as she looked at Willow. "I actually have to say the moment?" Was she serious?

It would help? "You can't honestly be saying that Harry knew the exact moment that every one of these men..."

"No," Willow said, cutting Buffy off. "But Harry only needed to send one guy to one girl. I have to send all of you..." - her arm swept the room - "...into a very specific place. Otherwise it might not be enough to pull Riley away."

"Whoa..." Brady leapt to his feet. "You mean you're sending us into their..." - he scrunched up his face unhappily - "...moment?"

Buffy glared at him. It's not like she wanted him there either. "I'm not really into threesomes," she muttered. Or any-more-somes, considering it was also Ana and Sprague and Graham and Willow.

Willow rolled her eyes. "Not into the throes or anything. Just..." She looked at Buffy. "There has to be one."

"A threesome?" Buffy asked, turning what she knew was a very unattractive shade of red.

"No," Willow answered, exasperated. "A moment." And then meekly - "Was there one? I mean, you can tell me in priv-"

Oh, for heaven's sake. "Yes. O.k.?" Buffy threw up her hands, giving in. They were all adults here. "That last night. The Northern Lights." She whirled around to face Brady. "And don't even dare ask me if Riley felt the same way." She turned back to face Willow. "Please tell me that's all you need to know." Because she really had no interest in discussing details; like, as in knives.

And - doubly thankfully - Ana diverted the attention away from Buffy by asking Willow, "Why can't you just reverse Harry's spell? Just unentwine Riley and Sam?"

"Souls," Buffy stressed adamantly. "Riley and Sam's souls." That was what was entwined. Let's just get that straight.

Willow shook her head. "They're too connected. Harry's spell..." Willow paused for a minute, searching for the right words. "It kind of locks the two souls together - locks their fates together. Where they stay unless..." She snuck a glance at Buffy. "Unless they mutually decide to break apart."

Buffy sank back against the dresser. This just kept getting better and better. Harry was damned lucky to be in the custody of many armed men. Actually, even that might not save him given the way she was feeling at the moment.

"So this all depends on Riley..." Sprague leaned against the wall, at least having the grace to look guiltily at Buffy before continuing, "...Coming together with Sam? As in, um...?"

Brady - who just didn't know when to shut up - asked, "You mean to tell us that all these dead guys are actually living the 'happy ever after' forever? We're going in there to take Riley away from that?"

Buffy felt like crying out of sheer frustration. Wasn't the whole point to go find him and at least give him the option? Riley was a big boy. He could make his own decisions. What did she have to say to convince these guys?

Brooks chose that moment to speak up, the quietness of his voice not betraying his assuredness. "No."

Considering she was hanging on to the wispy threads at the end of a not very long rope, Buffy needed to hear this, needed someone else's affirmation. Because this was the part she was really shaky on; the part that made her question her motives - and she hated that feeling. She looked at Brooks, willing him to go on. Please.

Brooks continued, "These other guys - they have - had, I mean - no concept of any of this. They're dead; in Heaven as far as they're concerned." He shook his head. "With Sam and Riley, though, it's different. They know too much - that they're being played with."

"Do they?" Sprague asked, looking at Brooks and then Graham, completely avoiding Buffy. "If I were Riley, I can't honestly say I'd be questioning anything if Sam suddenly appeared in my arms."

"Of course they do," Buffy said much more assuredly than she actually felt as she tried to keep from envisioning that very scenario. "Sam's appearing in Kate's dreams for God's sake. Would she do that if she were taking this all lying down?"

Not to mention sending messages through the ring, which Buffy hadn't, in fact, mentioned. This would be the perfect time to do so if only Sam would say something. Unfortunately, she seemed to be choosing now to be completely silent, no 'damn right!' vibrations or 'pay attention to me' burning. Was it because they'd gotten it all wrong, or was Sam off somewhere, 'connecting' with Riley?

Either way, Buffy didn't think she wanted to know. She just wanted this to be over. And anyway, who cared if Sam wasn't speaking to her at the moment. If need be, Buffy would bare her - sports-bra clad, of course - chest to show them the mark the ring had made.

Need didn't be, though, as the dream thing seemed to mollify Brady and Sprague. That and Brooks saying, "I think Sam's already most of the way there. She wouldn't be talking to Kate otherwise."

Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed that Riley wasn't sending any such signals, which, as Buffy thought more about it was increasingly worrisome. If Sam could figure out a way to communicate interdimensionally, why couldn't Riley? Did he not want to?

No. It wasn't because he didn't want to, it was because he wasn't dead. Normal, alive people didn't have the same access to mystical lines of communication. Right. That was-

Ana smiled and stepped in. Unfortunately her words didn't exactly have a calming effect. "I hope Sam's not spending all her time trying to communicate with Kate because it seems as though she and Riley need to do some communicating, too." She looked at Willow. "I mean, you are saying that there needs to be a mutual decision of, um, non-permanent-entwining. Even if Sam's already decided, she still needs to make sure Riley does the same. Right?"

Graham, who had been quiet this whole time, finally spoke, his eyes moving from Buffy to Willow and then Ana. "That's not our concern right now. That doesn't matter until we get there. If I'm understanding Willow right, we just need the trail of breadcrumbs from Buffy to Riley." He turned to Willow; she nodded.

Buffy only barely managed not to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. Full speed ahead. Graham was on board.

"O.k." Graham said. He nodded at Sprague and waited for the other man to pull a box out from under one of the tables and hand it over. Opening it, Graham took out a small canister - which Buffy assumed was full of oxygen, considering it was attached to an oxygen mask. "As you may recall, Buffy wasn't exactly in the greatest of shape when we pulled her off the beach. Willow thinks that was due to the spell - side effects of the entwining thing - and not the storm; she tells me she can tweak it."

Graham ignored him. "What we have no idea about though, is what happens after the butterflies - where we'll go, what we'll find when we get there. And anyway, Buffy's account of being in the thick of it is not something I have any interest in experiencing."

Holding up the canister, Graham said, "Wear these. It gives you an hour's worth of air."

"After that it could get interesting." Graham grinned and stood up. "We're done discussing. As I've said before, this mission is purely voluntary. Anyone want to stay and keep Brooks company?"

Buffy looked at Brady, the representative of the naysayer camp. He stared back for what seemed like an interminable amount of time. "Hell," he finally said. "I always figured this job would get me killed someday. May as well give it a chance to be in the name of..." He paused before dramatically saying, "'True Love.'" He grinned and headed for the door.

It took all of two seconds for the others to follow him out. Buffy watched them all go, slightly in shock that they were actually moving.

"Buffy..." Brooks reached his arm out to her, his eyes full of what seemed to be concern. "Brady will be behind you a hundred percent. He's just... " He shrugged. "Well, he just does that. Don't let him get to you." Smiling, he added, "I won't mention how glad I am that Brady wasn't around when Sam was busy picking Riley over me."

Buffy nodded, not quite trusting her voice now that she felt as though she'd been thoroughly put through the wringer. And that was after defending something she was utterly sure of - that she loved Riley. If Graham had asked what the odds were of Riley actually coming back; if Brady had pushed the Sam thing...

As though reading her thoughts, Brooks said, "You've always been a part of him. Sam knew it..." - another grin - "...She used to say that she was damn lucky you didn't know what you had."

Et tu, Brooks? Was this what he called helping? "Could we get to the 'pep' part of the talk?"

Then his expression turned serious. "Even I can tell that things between you are different now. He knows it, too. I'd say that's something worth coming back for." Brooks let his hand drop from her arm. "Don't ever doubt that you can be his light. You're as much 'home' to him as Sam ever was."

Goodness. That was almost enough to make a girl cry. She bent down and gave him a quick hug. "O.k. That was good pep."

Swiveling his chair so that his back was turned to her, Brooks readjusted his headset and smiled sadly. "If you see Sam, tell her I said hi."

Riley shifted, feeling the brush tickling his skin as he woke up, more alert than he could remember being in, well, since he'd been here. Angry, too.

He opened his eyes, unsurprised to find her at the side of his bed. Nor was he surprised that she didn't try to hide what she was busily doing, wielding the brush along his skin. The markings now covered all of both arms and from his waist to his chest.

"You're not Sam." Not in any way except shape and form - and even those, he now realized, were suspect.

Grabbing her hands roughly, he stopped her from drawing anything else. When he sat up suddenly, he didn't care that the bowls and paints crashed to the floor, or that she nearly toppled over after them. She was tough, she could handle the fall. At the moment, she was lucky that was all he was doing: every cell in his body wanted to hurt her. Given the intensity of his anger, he might even possibly be able to do it, regardless of her pre-Slayer strength.

The worst part, though? There was a part of him that just didn't care. Despite knowing what she'd done - despite his absolute knowledge that this wasn't Sam - he craved her. He ached for her touch. That was just downright disturbing.

He made himself let go of her hands and reached past her for his shirt, laid out neatly at the end of the bed. "I guess I don't need to tell you how I figured it all out, right?" Forcing himself to ignore the heat radiating from her skin, he pulled on his shirt. "Because you saw it happen; you can see my dreams."

Dreams, which, this time hadn't been about the events in his life or the people that populated it; instead they were the pieces of a puzzle laid out in front of him - all he had to do was put them together.

"That's why you thought it was Sam I was dreaming about this whole time." Why she'd assumed it was Sam in the bed, 'warmed by the sun'; Sam under 'Aurora's lights.' "You didn't know it was Buffy."

That had made no sense at first - if she could see the dreams, couldn't she see the difference between Sam and Buffy? Even to a blind person the two looked nothing alike. That question had had him stumped for a while.

Until he realized that wasn't how dreams worked, no matter how vivid they were - and these dreams were most certainly that. They were tactile; touchable. But that was the whole point: the richness was in the sensations, the feelings - the intense rush of being invaded through and through.

It was nearly impossible to pin anything down, however; nearly impossible to actually envision something no matter how desperate you were for the image to appear. If anyone knew that, Riley did - what he would have given to see Sam smile one last time, even in a dream. The harder he tried, the more elusive she was. He could never capture her, could never quite connect the dots. Why would this be any different?

If he couldn't paint the picture, though, how could this woman take on Sam's appearance, right down to the midnight blue tank top with the colorful stitching along its hem? How could he wake up to her looking like Sam if the dreams hadn't even begun yet?

That, too, had an explanation: whatever power she was harnessing had as much to do with him as it did with her. The last thing he'd heard was Sam's voice - when he woke up, she was what he wanted to see, what he had expected. Thinking back on Joe's whole 'true love' thing, was it really any surprise that she appeared to Riley the way he remembered her from that day in Okinawa? The day his love for her transformed into something he hadn't known was possible, hadn't even felt with Buffy.

Not until recently at least. Very recently. Thus the fury. He'd been happy, truly happy - for the first time in almost nine years. Nine fucking years.

Riley stood up angrily and walked across the room, keeping his back to her. He needed to be away, needed to be out of arm's reach. He'd never wanted to lash out so much as he did at this very moment - not even with Spike, and that was saying something. He wanted to make her suffer, wanted to make her understand what it was like to have your breath taken away - stolen away - just when you were finally figuring out how to get the air back in.

She had done this to him - had made him think she was Sam, had made him want her so much that he could hear Sam's voice, that he could taste the lip gloss she wore. Even worse than that - she'd played off the guilt he'd felt since that first kiss with Buffy; she'd made him think that he'd betrayed Sam - betrayed Sam by dreaming about Buffy. No - not just dreaming about Buffy - feeling her; feeling every inch of her, feeling her open her heart up and drink him in.

Feeling the knife slice through his gut when he'd woken up after that incredible night - woken up and seen that sunrise. He'd actually laughed, thinking, Now? Now you're coming? Now, after he'd gotten five, maybe six whole hours of knowing what it felt like to be loved by Buffy - truly, wholeheartedly loved by Buffy in a way he hadn't even imagined possible all those years ago?

He could hear the woman behind him push the chair aside as she knelt to the floor.

Why couldn't she have felt that? Why hadn't he dreamed it - dreamed the awful moment of clarity in which he'd realized that he might never touch Buffy again, that he was about to lose her for the second time in his life?

And that was just a drop in the bucket compared to the thought of losing his kids - of never again watching Annie drown her ice cream in hot fudge, or of never again seeing Liam fly through the air on his skateboard. Of never again seeing them smile. Of them never smiling again.

No, he thought, turning back to face the bed - to face the woman who looked so much like Sam that he almost couldn't bear it now that he knew who she truly was. "Are my kids alive? My parents?"

This had to be an alternate dimension of some type. He understood enough about such things to know that time passed strangely in them, that a minute could be a year - or ten. That in the literal blink of his eye Kate could age into a full-blown Sam; Jack could become an old man and die.

Riley couldn't even let those thoughts stay in his head as he waited for her answer. He had to move on to something less painful, albeit only slightly. "Is Buffy?"

For Buffy it might not even take a full-fledged blink; she was living on borrowed time already. Did she even make it through the storm? She obviously wasn't here. She was stronger than he was; if she were here, he would have seen her by now. Had that been it? Was she gone?

No. She'd been on that bluff fighting those men. That meant she was fine - or at least had been when the fight happened. Which, of course, brought him back to the question, "How long have I been here?"

The woman didn't respond, her attention instead being very deliberately focused on the brushes and bowls he had knocked over.

He felt like it was a lifetime; which, in a sense, it was, seeing as he'd relived every moment of his kids' lives - plus a good deal of his relationship with Sam - since he'd been here.

Except, for some reason, the bad parts - the ones without a silver lining. Like the whole thing about Sam dying, followed by him almost destroying himself with grief. He wasn't sure why he'd been spared that; for that, at least, he was grateful.

However, despite reliving the last - what? sixteen? - years of his life, it felt like almost no time had passed. By his calculation, he'd only been fully conscious for an hour, maybe two. He wasn't hungry anymore; there was no need for another chamber pot. Hell, he didn't even need to shave.

So, great - he'd narrowed the time frame down to somewhere between an hour and sixteen years. Wonderful.

Other things were a bit easier, like how she'd managed to get Sam's voice down so perfectly: magic. A love spell? One of truth? Some weird combination that played off of his memories? It didn't really matter how she'd done it, just that she'd pulled off the illusion, yanked the rabbit out of a hat that had been empty only moments before.

She'd set up the scenario he so desperately wanted to believe, manipulating him enough that he'd even done some of the work for her, trying to convince himself that some part of this was real, that Sam was somehow really here - touching him, tasting him.

This wasn't just magic for magic's sake, though - there was a purpose to it. The dreams had been crafted by her; he'd been guided to them, his mind a maze of corridors locked up tight until she provided the key. The power of suggestion to the nth degree.

'Tell me about our children.' Children she knew existed because it had been the first thing he'd said when he'd initially woken up. Children whose names she hadn't even known until his memories had provided the words.

Riley fought the urge to cross back to where she knelt and grab her by the shoulders - shake her until she answered his questions. "You read my dreams, didn't you?"

He sat down at the table, a safe distance away. It wasn't as though he actually needed a response; he knew he was right. He was even confident enough to take it a step further. "You needed the kisses to do it. The connection."

The kisses were like a drug - lulling him into some alternate state of consciousness. Or at least he thought so. Maybe it was the way she controlled it, pushing his dreams along the path she wanted to follow. Sometimes it got away from her, though, her spell so strong that even just the way she'd been sitting on the bed was enough to bring him back to that night after Sunnydale; enough to flash forward to the hospital in Japan.

A pretty powerful combination: the power to read the dreams, the power to induce them.

Not all the power, however. He'd managed to make it at least a little difficult - getting out of the bed, finding his clothes... That had gotten to her, as had the time when he'd woken up first, finding her asleep in his arms - the time she'd sat up quickly, bringing on the whole Sunnydale/Okinawa flashback. She'd been as caught off guard as he was. More so, perhaps, since she was used to being in control. Good. That made him happy.

So did the part about where he'd been dreaming about Buffy - and not for the obvious reasons. Reasons that he actually didn't want to think about at the moment because just the thought of those nights with Buffy was in itself enough to make his heart start racing. He was having a hard enough time controlling that at the moment. Thinking about Buffy was certainly not going to help that. Thinking about screwing up the Princess' plans on the other hand...

Riley was fairly certain that hadn't been at all what the Princess intended when she'd hovered above his body, giving him the direction: 'I have somewhere I need to take you.'

No way she could have known that Buffy had said almost that exact same thing in very similar - albeit more naked - circumstances.

Had she had any clue that he'd been dreaming about someone other than Sam? That there was someone other than his wife, the woman she was imitating? Maybe she still didn't know. How could she? He didn't think she'd been watching him; and outward appearances, i.e. his wedding ring - which seemed to have disappeared for the moment - indicated that there was still only one woman in his life. The one who had died years ago.

"Where is it by the way?" He stretched his legs out in front of him, and rested his elbow on the table. Maybe if he acted relaxed, he might actually fool himself into thinking he was, might actually be able to ignore the signals his body was sending. "My wedding ring? Kate will kill me if I don't bring it back."

He almost fell out of the chair when not-Sam actually answered him. "What ring?"

What ring? Was she delusional? There were only two people here as far as he could tell, and one of them had been unconscious for the majority of the time. He straightened up; so much for pretending to be relaxed. "The one I was wearing when you brought me here."

She looked puzzled - genuinely so. Laughing almost, at the ridiculousness of what he'd just said. "You came to me. How would I call you here?"

Her hands were covered with the paint that had spilled and she wiped them on her pants. Midnight blue, by the way, just like the tank top. With the same colorful stitches along the hems that graced her ankles.

Was he actually looking at her legs? Was he really that crazy? If reminding himself of this woman's real identity wasn't enough, then think about Buffy. She might forgive him for kissing Sam, 'might' being the incredibly iffy operative word - but for thinking the kinds of thoughts that were creeping into his mind? About a woman he knew wasn't his wife? Buffy would kill him. And that was the best-case scenario.

Besides he wouldn't be surprised if this was all part of the deal, another trick up her sleeve. This kind of need just wasn't natural. He'd felt it only once before - in a poltergeist-infested frat house. It was pretty clear she could mess with his head; messing with his body wouldn't be too much of a stretch. Unfortunately, realizing that didn't seem to do a damn bit of good. He still wanted her. Intensely.

Push it aside. This is no different than dealing with pain. Mind over matter. Just keep working it out. She gave you the tools. Use them...

Use the words from before that last kiss, the words that got you this far: 'This time, think about me.'

Which he did. Think about, or, rather, dream about how it was that she was so much like Sam and yet not at all like his wife. Think about how she hadn't known about Faith, how she'd mistakenly thought it had been her under the Northern Lights. And, more importantly, think about how it was that she'd jumped up, startled when he had the dreams about Buffy.

That had been another point in his column, the point where he may actually have gotten the upper hand, although completely unbeknownst to him at the time. He'd attributed her reaction to him talking in his sleep, to his saying Buffy's name instead of Sam's.

His attention was drawn back to her as she stood up, and he shifted, again trying to disregard the way his body was reacting; again telling himself that this wasn't Sam, no matter how strong the resemblance. For some reason, that message didn't seem to be getting through.

You just think you feel her here, see her. It's part of the illusion. Don't let her fool you. She can be fooled, too. Remind her of that.

She appeared to lose interest in cleaning up the mess, kicking at and scattering various pieces of pottery as she spoke. "Buffy's a stupid thing to call someone." She glared at him. "I thought it was just her special sex name."

"Her...what?" Riley asked weakly. He wasn't sure why his skin insisted on blushing. This woman now knew him more intimately than either Buffy or Sam - she'd actually been in his head, thinking his thoughts; in his body, feeling what he'd felt. All of which was incredibly unsettling. Yet he still could only mumble, "So I did say Buffy's name."

No - the Princess. The warrior princess who is not only stronger than you, but is also still quite dangerous given this odd power she has over you. The Princess came over to the table and he watched warily as she sat down with a thump.

Warily for a good reason as it turned out, because she surprised him by letting a shy smile come over her face; she started to blush. Neither of those things did anything to diminish the wicked, playful look in her eye as she said, "Moaned it, in fact. Several times."

Don't grin, don't smile. Don't respond to the huskiness in her voice. Don't think about how that's Buffy's twinkle in her eye, Buffy's smile on her face.

Don't even entertain the thought. Don't give her the satisfaction. Upper hand - remember?

He turned a bit, so that there was no chance his legs would come in contact with hers under the table - actual physical contact might just break the camel's back. There was far too much to lose to even take that risk. Just keep putting the pieces together. Figure it out, what it was that had bothered her so much.

Think about how she'd fled the room, so unsettled when he woke up, mumbling... What was it - 'who'?

No - 'how.' She'd asked 'how.' It wasn't who he'd been dreaming, it was what he'd been dreaming about. The light bulb almost blinded him as it went off in his head. "You saw the fight, didn't you?"

Yes. The answer was clear even though she didn't actually say it. The way she sat back in her chair with her arms folded across her chest was good enough for Riley. And of course - being an earlier version of a Slayer, she would have recognized Buffy's power.

The rush of heat he felt was not at all welcome. Still, he found himself smiling. "You saw how good she is. Made you nervous, didn't it?" Well, alright. Score one for Buffy.

That seemed to annoy her - her eyes flashed and for the first time he saw the true Princess. Just for an instant as her anger flared. She practically hissed, "I already knew she was strong."

"Already knew...?" How would she know Buffy was strong? From his memories of the sparring sessions in Boston during training? It had to be. He didn't remember dreaming about Sunnydale. The Princess hadn't taken him that far back. There was a hint of completely unearned pride in his voice when he said, "That wasn't even Buffy at her-"

"Buffy?" The Princess jumped on his words, her face registering surprise. "That one was Buffy?"

She looked down at her hands, turning them back to front as though the movement would give her the answer she sought. What the question was, Riley had no idea.

"Yes," he said, trying to figure out why that was so disconcerting for her. "That was Buffy."

She actually seemed almost as unsettled as she had when he'd dreamed the dream in the first place. Because he had fought, too? Because he'd...?

Riley leaned forward. "That was your knife - the one I threw to Buffy. You gave it to me."

She wouldn't look at him, just drew her hands back and pulled herself inward as a tear rolled down her cheek and she shook her head. Her unexpected little girl vulnerability encased in Sam's skin reminded him so much of Kate that he wanted to just take her into his arms and hold her until she could see the light shine again.

Stop it. This isn't Kate needing everything to be made better. She's making you think that there's warmth under that steel. She's ramping up the emotion because the physical isn't getting it done.

Except that it kind of was seeing that Riley's hand was moving across the table, flying completely under the radar of his brain. He stopped himself only inches from her skin.

She looked down at his hand suspiciously and then back up, somehow sending Sam's voice into his head without speaking a word: "Don't do this, Finn. Don't let me feel you. I'm not sure I can die all over again. I'm not sure I can let you leave."

That stopped him in his tracks and he pulled his hand back as he looked across the table. How did she do that? How could his barriers be so easily broken? How could she still be Sam when he knew this was the Princess? And why on earth would she even bring up the subject of him leaving? Unless...

Riley drummed his fingers on the table, thinking that if he kept his hands occupied, they'd stay on this side of the table. "You're stuck here, too." It wasn't that she'd seen the fight, it wasn't that Buffy had scared her. She had actually been helping - maybe even hoping he'd escape, hoping he could somehow take her with him.

He looked around the room, its blackness tempered only by a faint, tantalizing hint of dawn and the flickering shadows on the wall; her prison of 'darkness and flame' as the legend put it. "Those men on the bluff - they keep you here."

Her nod, though almost imperceptible, was there. Her arms went around her chest as she hugged herself. She actually looked frightened - of him - as she whispered, "How did you go there?"

It's called Stockholm Syndrome, idiot. Identifying with your captor. Don't forget she holds your life in her hands, that everything you have left to live for is slowly slipping through her fingers. Don't forget that fourteen men are already past the point of no return. Fourteen men who never even stood a chance.

They'd never been exposed to the things Riley had seen; weren't even aware such things existed. They had no knowledge of the men who had come before, no knowledge of the Princess and her Trader. They'd probably woken up to see their wives staring back at them and hadn't even questioned it; would have skipped right past 'impossible' and moved straight on to 'Heaven.' Why would they question a kiss that sent them reeling?

Hell, even Riley had almost stopped right there. He'd wanted so much for this to be true that he'd even imagined he could feel Sam's presence, could feel her watching his back like she'd done so many times before. He'd thought he heard her speaking to him for God's sake - only minutes ago, when he was way beyond believing that she was here.

That was actually an improvement, though, as opposed to the other times he'd woken up and heard her voice despite being the only person in the room, heard her voice ringing in his ears.

No. That's what he'd tried to convince himself of - that he'd heard her voice. That it wasn't just him thinking her into his head as had happened almost every single day since she'd died.

The others, Ri. The fourteen others. Fourteen other men who left families behind. Countless other lives that had been irrevocably changed. How about them? How about doing the job you were hired to do? And if you're too damn weak to resist whatever she's doing - too weak to get past the curve of Sam's mouth, or the lock of hair that's falling to her cheek - then pick your ass up off this chair and walk away. Walk at least far enough away that you can't smell the jasmine in her hair.

Good. Glad to see you could manage that much. Could we maybe try and capitalize?

He turned to her and lifted his arm. Pulled back the sleeve to show her that he'd figured out the drawings, the ones she put there, painting as he'd slept. Symbols that - as he could still picture Willow pointing out on that huge video screen - were sometimes repeated, but appeared in patterns unique to each body, individual letters forming different words. "I'm here, too, aren't I? My life is here, what you see in my dreams. And when you're done-"

"My fault?" Riley asked incredulously, watching as she leapt to her feet and came towards him. He took a step back. "How exactly?"

All traces of tears were gone, and there was an odd juxtaposition of Buffy's fire flashing in Sam's eyes as she said, "You're the one who's different. You're the one who fooled me."

She was only inches away from him now, backing him up into the wall, jabbing his chest as she spoke and using just a little too much force as she did so. "You look like him. You're strong like-"

And there it was. The water roaring through the floodgates. He had to close his eyes; couldn't look at her face - Sam's face. Not when his wrist fell alongside the curve of her breast, not when she was clutching his hand. Not when his breath caught and he could hear her quietly sigh - whimper almost - as her lips brushed his chest.

Wrong. She wasn't sighing; she was crying. Her lips weren't brushing his chest in a kissing kind of way; it was that her head had collapsed against him and she was mumbling into his shirt.

"You even..." She burrowed against him, seemingly losing her strength. Her voice quietly broke. "You even talk like him, your words always smile; your eyes always laugh. Always..."

He was barely hearing her words, concentrating instead on not giving in to this need that was becoming overwhelming in its intensity. A need to have her, no matter what the consequences. A desperate urge to taste and touch her, every single part of her.

By sheer force of will, he released her hand and pushed her aside so he could move away. He tried to focus on what she had just said: 'like him'? He was like Didier?

She fell into the wall, clearly fighting the urge to cry as she trembled. As if to prove to herself that she wasn't about to lose all composure, she spun around and spat out, "And you don't listen to me."

Riley resisted the impulse to go to her as she lost her battle, tears streaming down her face. He made himself walk to the table and turn his back on her as she cried, feeling like an asshole every step of the way. He couldn't touch her again, though. Mustn't.

"He never listened to me. I could have kept him safe. I could have..." Her words trailed off as she shook her head.

He sank down in the chair, completely shaken. Not because of her thinking he was Didier, but because of how close he'd just come to losing control.

And because now, with his back to her - without seeing Sam - all he could hear was Buffy. The Buffy he had just come dangerously close to casting away. The new one who tried to balance the fierce protector with the woman she'd become. The one who he could tell was desperately trying not to fall back into old patterns of seeing him as yet another thing to take care of, as someone to cage in. The one whose frustration and fear had been obvious as she fought to keep harm at bay.

The same frustration that he was hearing from the woman behind him - laced with pain; voicing the words that made him smile bitterly as he was reminded of the legend that formed the skeleton of his own life: the Princess and the Trader. The woman with war coursing through her ancient bloodlines; the man with, well, nothing but blood. Woundable, mortal blood. No way in hell for a happy ending. Just plain old doomed.

No, Goddamnit. Riley leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he ran his hands over his face. This wasn't going to be that ending. Not again.

He was willing to concede the loss of Buffy back in Sunnydale - a colossal fuck-up for which he had no one to blame but himself. He could even accept Sam's death. Well, mostly at least.

Sure it had taken a while. He'd come to terms with it, though. They'd had almost eight years together - eight years in which they'd treasured each other, in which they'd made every moment count. Even the fights had been passionate - and resolutely forgiven. Except for the one at the very beginning of the marriage and the one at the end, her angry words still resonating every time he heard the slam of a door.

He'd stopped hating God, however, coming to the conclusion that Sam had been a gift; an angel that he'd only been allowed to borrow. An angel who had left him with four sparkling lights, shining bright whenever he thought he might slip into the darkness.

Now, though? Now that he'd gotten past that? Now that he'd been given something new to cherish? Could Fate really hand him a taste of that brilliant happiness without giving him the chance for a different ending? The universe couldn't possibly be that cruel.

Actually, that wasn't true. The personification of tragedy was standing right behind him. He turned to face her - the Princess who had very possibly spent several hundred years in this very room, sent here by the Creator, by God Himself.

Was what she had done really worth that punishment? What was it Graham had said - she'd gone crazy, 'wreaked havoc'? After watching her lover die a particularly agonizing death?

A lover, by the way, that she'd waited - literally - eons for. For whom she'd dropped out of Heaven. Wasn't she allowed?

Well, and his kids. Graham and Sarah, too - at least when Sarah hadn't been busy trying to fix him up with every single woman she knew. And Pete. Couldn't forget Pete. Not when he'd offered a legitimate outlet for the rage. It had been a fine line, though, and Riley couldn't say with certainty that his odds of survival had been good even with all those things in the 'don't make it worse' column.

No. Better not to look at her - because she wasn't just Sam anymore. She was Buffy, too. A nineteen-year-old Buffy with the weight of the world on her shoulders, with yet another apocalypse nipping at her feet.

Riley tried to shake it off. This wasn't the universe being cruel; it was him screwing up, all by himself. He was starting to feel for her, starting to feel too much of a connection, too much like someone who had been there. Truly - in the history of the world, how many couples were there made up of one warrior princess and one mortal man? Riley couldn't imagine it was much more than two.

And of those four people, how many had shared this prison - a prison she'd been in for going on several hundred years now - its dark walls made up of ungraspable memories, flickering shadows that were always out of reach...

Was there an actual possibility that Joe was right? That this had all been nothing more than the Maymaygwayshi, tricksters pulling at the raw, painful, trailing threads of lives that were coming undone; pulling the puppet strings and putting themselves where they didn't belong? Casting spells so that everyone could join in on the not-fun?

No. He turned back to her. Each of those dead men had been in this room. He needed to at least ask the question: "What happened to the other men?"

She was obviously taken by surprise. Enough so that she was able to get back a semblance of control. "The others?" She shook her head, confused. "Nothing. I sent them home."

She leaned back against the wall, her hand playing with the hem of her top. "What I call what? I gave them what they wanted."

She was annoyed at him again, which - honestly? - he preferred. Although he did have to admit that the crying helped him remember that this wasn't Sam, wasn't Buffy - that was becoming more and more key. "What they wanted? They wanted to die?"

A flush came to her cheeks as she lowered her eyes. "No one..." Her head jerked up as she seemed to suddenly realize what Riley was implying. "Die? I didn't..." Her eyes grew defiant. "They were fine when they-" Her mouth snapped shut; she shrugged uncomfortably. "...Left."

Riley jumped to his feet, any sympathy that he'd felt gone. She wasn't a prisoner here - she was the gatekeeper, the one with the key. A key that he needed if he wanted to get out. "When they left? They just got up and walked out of here?"

Realizing that he was suddenly within arm's reach of her again, he stopped, feeling the sparks skim along his skin.

That was going to make things difficult. How exactly was he going to get this key from her if he couldn't actually come near her without wanting to-

"You sent them?" Something in the way she spoke helped his brain get back into focus. "How did you...?"

She looked up again, the defiance back, though combined with...shame? "I..." Another uncomfortable shrug and her cheeks turned bright pink. Before his eyes, she transformed from the strong and unstoppable warrior princess to the young woman she'd been underneath the armor of her calling.

Only for a second, though. Only for one short second before the Princess was back, suddenly regaining her strength as she clearly began to realize that she still held all the power.

Her eyes turned to ice and the stare she gave him made his blood run cold. "You think I don't understand?" she asked. She took a step closer to him and pointed to herself. "What it's like to see the woman you love? To have her appear in front of you, speak to you even though you know this couldn't possibly be true?"

Riley took a step back, thinking that this was not a good turn of events. No. Most definitely not good.

And yet...so damn fucking good, even just by her grabbing his hand and pulling it to her cheek. Oh, God, was this an itch he did not want scratched. Not by her. His breath caught as she guided his hand down her neck, over her breast; her eyes closed and her head fell back.

Think about Buffy. About the last time you did this to Buffy. And you didn't even do this back then. He felt behind him for the table with his free hand - for anything to keep himself steady.

"To feel her cry for you?" The Princess' voice was coming from somewhere deep in the back of her throat, her throat that was now fitting perfectly under his chin as she took a step closer, her tongue grazing the side of his neck.

"To feel how much she wants you?" She guided his hand down to her waist, around to the small of her back where she held it in place, pulling the tank top away, shifting so that his fingers slipped under her waistband. He could feel the last shreds of resistance melt away as the heat of her body crept through his skin. "To feel how much she wants to taste you?"

He closed his eyes, willing his hands to push her away. All they seemed able to do, though, was find the smoothness of her back, the silkiness of her hair as she sank down to her knees. Her own hands were firmly holding him in place, grasping the backs of his thighs as her mouth closed over the bulge in his pants.

Air became a serious issue, and he almost cried out when her lips began to move, when she spoke without pulling away her head. "To feel how much she aches for you..." She turned so that it was her cheek pressing against him as she looked up from under her eyelashes. "How much she needs to feel you just one last time. She says she doesn't want to, but..." She turned so that her mouth was on him again. "...She hasn't set me free."

His lips tried to form the word 'no,' but no air came out. He was glad that his hands were already in her hair because it made the struggle a little easier when a splinter of reason broke through the surface, helping him push her head away. Finally able to speak, he gasped, "Is this... how you kill... all the boys?" His voice gained a little more strength with each word. "Or do I just rate... the extra special treatment..."

That seemed to make her falter. Her eyes grew sad as she stood up. There were about three seconds in which he could breathe and then her hands were on him again and her voice oozed with hate. "You want so desperately for it to stop hurting, so desperately to pull away." She reached out and ran her hand down his jaw, down underneath his shirt. "Yet you ache to touch her," she whispered. She leaned forward and kissed his chest. "You still see her in me."

When she pulled her lips away he feared his heart would stop beating. In fact, he almost wished it would. Oh, God, Riley - do not do this.

She looked up and caressed his cheek. "You still hold out hope - that somehow this might be real."

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. A spell; it's a spell. Her power is nothing more than words. Just move away. She doesn't want to be here either. That's real pain in her voice. Regret. You don't really want this. You don't... real...

"You think I don't understand?" Her arm snaked around his neck, entrapping him again, and her grip tightened as she pulled his head to hers; so close that he could feel her eyelashes tickle his skin when she blinked slowly, that he could feel her lips curve as she smiled. "What it's like to be bound to him? To be entranced?"

"To him?" Riley asked, breathless as his voice found an opening, as his hands - unfortunately - found her hair again. "Don't you mean her?"

Bad move, because the tears that formed in the Princess' eyes only seemed to make her angrier; in an eerily calm, life-threatening kind of way.

She began to walk him backwards, continuing on, completely ignoring that Riley had spoken. "And there's only one moment of freedom, only one way to breathe." The tears began streaming down her face, and her voice took on an edge of desperation. "Only one way to get him - to get her - out of my skin." Seeing as she was pushing Riley backwards toward the bed, he had a pretty good idea of what that way was.

He tried to tell his feet to stop moving; tried to keep his fingers from skipping down her back. Tried to keep his hands from finding their way to her face and lifting it up to his mouth. Tried to keep himself from breathing her into his soul. He said, "There must be..." Her lips teased his, making his heart pound so hard that he thought it would explode. "...another..."

This had reached an entirely new level, a level infinitely higher than the one with those put-him-to-sleep kisses in it; what she was doing had some serious teeth. "...way." Teeth that were skimming his jawline, getting dangerously close to-

The bed hit his knees, and she pushed him down, her arms controlling his fall, her legs pinning him in place, not stopping her own movement until their bodies were flush.

"I can release you," she murmured, placing her hand over his heart. "I can give you her. I can give you Sam." Her lips went to his mouth. "I can send you home."

Buffy looked out the window of the helicopter, down to the beach below. She'd expected it to look a little less untouched, a little more affected by the storm even though it had been several days before.

The sun was just disappearing below the trees off to Buffy's right - the thick forest they'd emerged from that last day. She looked at the cliffs overlooking the water. The dancing girl - the one who Riley and Brooks had seemed so enamored of - was still.

She felt Willow's elbow nudge her arm. Turning her head in the direction Willow pointed, it took Buffy a minute to pick apart the shadows the trees cast on the lake; when she finally did, she realized that there were men in among them - men sitting in canoes. No, make that Joe and five of his closest friends sitting in canoes.

Graham noticed them at the same time, and you didn't need to be wearing a com-cam to hear the string of profanities coming out of his mouth. He jumped out of the helicopter as it landed on the beach, clearing the blades in seconds and yelling, "No fucking way!"

Though there was a certain appeal to jumping out of large flying things, Buffy waited the minute it took for them to be fully on the ground before getting out herself. She watched Joe pull his canoe up to the shore and climb out. He just stood there placidly, the familiar amused look on his face.

By the time Buffy got to them, they were in a heated discussion. Well, Graham was in a heated discussion. Joe was just standing there, smiling serenely, completely unperturbed.

"I brought canoes," Joe responded calmly. "They just happen to have men in them."

Graham didn't even look in the direction of the group. "Absolutely not." He shook his head. "They're not coming." Glaring pointedly at Joe, he added, "You're not coming."

The smiled disappeared from Joe's face. "What makes you think that's your choice?"

Buffy had to admit - she was kind of on Joe's side. However, this did not seem the time to debate who had the authority here. Nor was it time to babysit. She stepped forward and, with a nod towards the team coming up behind her, she said, "We don't have the manpower to watch your backs. If you come, you're on your own."

One glance at Graham showed he was about as happy with her after she made that comment as he was with Joe. He closed his eyes for a second - obviously wondering what exactly he'd done to deserve this turn of events - and then looked back at Joe, saying, "This morning the Chief told Buffy there was no one for her to fight. Now you tell me you have a squad ready to take down our resident princess?"

Joe angrily countered, "Not take her down. Help free her. She's as much a pris-"

Graham seemed to have missed a key shift in opinion. Buffy asked, "You got the Chief and Ro to back the Princess?" When they'd been at Joe's village it had been pretty obvious he was the only one willing to speak for the Princess. She didn't think there'd be even this many men if the Chief and Ro hadn't given their blessing.

Buffy wasn't at the point yet of completely absolving the princess of all blame, despite her earlier conversation with Harry. And though she might be coming around, there were still things that didn't sit right. "There are fourteen dead men, Joe. Men who have a lot in common with-"

For some reason, she felt none of the anger she'd felt towards Harry. It was more disappointment - mostly at herself. "You knew Riley looked like Didier?" Of course Joe would know. How could he not?

Which he only confirmed by letting out a laugh and saying, "All of Atikokan knew. It was pretty obvious."

Joe's statement clearly did nothing to ease Graham's unhappiness. He folded his arms across his chest. "This would have been helpful to know before now."

"Yes." Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. "It would have been. I'm sorry." He looked up at Buffy. "I should have trusted you."

Buffy had to look away. Yes, he should have. With whatever it was. As Brady was in the process of finding out, asking, "Trusted her with what?"

Joe looked like he couldn't believe he was answering the question. He did, though, after taking out a cigarette and lighting it up. "With what the guides said."

"The guides?" Buffy looked over at the men from Joe's village, sitting patiently in their canoes. She'd met two of them that first night in Atikokan - they'd been the guides for Ana and Sprague's teams. "Richard and Dale?"

"No." Willow answered instead of Joe, locking her eyes on him as she spoke. "You mean spirit guides, don't you? What did they say?"

After a few seconds of hesitation, Joe responded, "That the Trader had to go, and that the Princess had to follow. Only then could she be set free."

"That doesn't make sense," Brady said with exasperation. "If the Princess can follow the trader, then what does she need to be set free from? You're sure you got the message right?"

"Yes." A look of annoyance crossed Joe's face. "Same message, every single night. No more, no less. Trust me - I got it right."

Every night. "That's where you kept disappearing to," Buffy murmured. Checking in with his guides, trying to figure out what they meant.

Stupid cryptic spirits. Wasting valuable time. Why couldn't they ever just come out and say what they mean? And Joe - if he had just told her, she would have helped him; after twenty years, she'd gotten good at deciphering. "Two different princesses." Darn spirits never could get the pronoun thing down. "You saw me fight the bear and realized I was the one you were supposed to follow. In order to set the other one free."

Buffy realized that her fists had clenched themselves, something that wasn't exactly a good thing since there was nothing here to hit. Although, clenched fists were better than useless tears, which were also threatening at the moment.

Riley's dreams about Sam had probably just added to Joe's confusion - he had asked Riley if Sam was a 'fighter,' too. The 'would you die for her' and 'true love - not once but twice' - that was just Joe working things out. He hadn't known anything for sure, hadn't even know which side Buffy was on, going so far as to ask her why she'd brought Riley here - here to Quetico, where Joe knew he wouldn't meet a good end.

Joe had probably doubted her up until the storm itself, the storm she almost didn't make it through. Maybe it had even taken until this morning, when it became clear that she didn't believe Riley was dead, that her intention was to get him - to 'follow the Trader.' "What convinced the Chief?"

Oops. She probably shouldn't have snapped that. Well, Joe should consider himself lucky. She liked him a lot better than she liked Harry. And, of course, there was that whole Joe being innocent thing.

Being Joe, however, the man didn't even blink at her sharp tone. Instead, he smiled. "Ro. The fight on the bluff. He said if this were the Princess' doing, she wouldn't have sent foot soldiers; she would have fought you herself."

Sprague moved a few feet forward, putting himself in the conversation. "Say you're right - there are still all these men who she has to answer for."

Adamantly, Joe shook his head. "She's been imprisoned for hundreds of years - why would she start taking men now? And why men who-?"

Graham held his hand up as he looked from Joe to Brady. "I'm not interested in debating this right now. It's irrelevant. We fight who we fight when we get there." He turned back to Joe. "Why did the guides pick you to talk to and not Ro?"

Joe took something else out of his pocket - something he seemed to use as a portable ashtray, grinding his cigarette into it and closing it up so as not to leave any stray ashes lying around. "You don't have to be a shaman to be chosen for the spirit conduit." A slow smile came over his face. "Or a Slayer."

"You...?" Buffy didn't care so much that he knew who she was, just that it hadn't been enough for him to trust her. "And you didn't tell me about what the guides said?"

Joe's smile was replaced by regret. "I didn't realize who you were until I got home, after everything happened. I didn't even realize someone like you existed." He attempted to shrug casually; not entirely successfully, though - he looked quite unsettled. He recovered, though, the laughter sneaking back into his voice. "I didn't used to hear voices. I'm kind of new at this."

Been there. Buffy sometimes wished she could start her own program: Hi, my name's Buffy. I'm the Slayer. I haven't had a normal life since I was fifteen. I'd like to introduce our newest member, Joe. He appears to have the thankless job of speaking up for a princess everyone else thinks is evil. Before they got too caught up in a meeting of Destiny Anonymous, however, Graham brought the conversation back to reality, saying, "To get back to my original concern, none of this makes me think that it's a good idea for you and your friends to join us on our trip to Ever After."

Joe spoke tersely, his lips set in a line. He was obviously annoyed that he had to justify himself. "We've been training."

The smile eased back on to Joe's face. "You'd be surprised what Ro can get done in eight hours."

Buffy had a feeling that one of the things Ro could 'get done' was to stretch those eight hours into a hell of a lot longer - Ro was that kind of guy. That could change things. These guys might actually be useful.

Her thoughts were apparently written all over her face. She turned to see Graham looking at her as if she had three heads.

His voice was, to put it nicely, clipped. "Are you kidding?" Graham pointed to the men on the water. "Even if they can fight. They're not prepared for-" He stopped abruptly, obviously realizing that he had no idea how to end that sentence. It seemed to take the air out of his sails. His hand dropped to his side as he somewhat lamely offered, "We don't have enough equipment."

"I don't want your blood on my hands, t-" Graham snapped his mouth shut, looking surprised that those were the words he had just spoken. He shook his head as his eyes went to the ground.

Buffy recognized the all too familiar daze - one that she'd managed to keep at bay for most of today. It was still waiting in the wings, though, and it took some effort to keep it from striking - that horrible, evil voice creeping into her head: What if I never see him again - never touch him again, never feel his arms around me. And that one was preferable to the shrieking, 'this is all your fault' voice.

Actually, sometimes the voices weren't so bad. At least they kept her from considering the nightmare of walking back into Riley's house - of facing his kids again - without him with her.

So just don't go there, Graham, because even the whisper of guilt - even one shred of doubt - might be enough to send her careening off the tightrope, crashing down to the ground below.

Now, presumably, Graham's voice wasn't saying anything about never feeling Riley's arms around him; however, she was sure the guilt one was there and that it was just as brutal. The only thing to do was to snap out of it. She looked at Graham. "We need to go."

Of course, all that guilt and remorse didn't do anything to dampen the exasperated, pissed-off-commando look from appearing when Graham practically sputtered, "We need to go?"

Ooo, yes. He was really mad, reduced to merely repeating her words in a 'who made you in charge' kind of way.

He gestured for her to go first - more in a resolved let's-just-get-on-with-this way than a nice, gentlemanly 'ladies first' one. "Fine. After you."

She took hold of Joe's canoe, ready to push it back into the water. "You and me, Joe."

Joe smiled and waved for the five other canoes to come up on shore and collect Willow, Graham and the others.

When Graham muttered something about scrounging up more oxygen tanks, Joe shook his head. "Ro covered all the bases. We'll be fine."

After shrugging her shoulders in what she hoped was a somewhat sympathetic way, Buffy was happy to see Graham finally climb into one of the canoes.

Paddling out into open water ended up being harder - much harder - than Buffy had expected. She hadn't realized how much Riley had had to compensate for her strength. Joe, even with his undisputed expertise, was struggling to keep up with her, and it took them a few agonizingly long minutes to settle into enough of a rhythm to get them heading straight.

Though she wanted to apologize to Joe for making him work so hard at something that should be so simple, she found she couldn't speak over the lump in her throat. Every stroke of the paddle took her breath away - reminding her of Riley, of how easy it had been to settle into that rhythm with him. And she wasn't just talking about the canoe.

These last few weeks had been so good, so right. He fit her in a way she would never have expected. All the edges that had been too rough the first time around - or maybe not rough enough - had evened out; no - had fused together. It was impossible not to wonder if that was about to change, not to think about whether he'd be coming home.

She was glad when Brady broke the silence. "Willow - can we just confirm? We're not doing the interlocking souls thing, right? I mean, Riley's a great guy and all-"

"No," Willow answered. "No interlocking of any kind." Buffy didn't need to look up to know the faint sadness in her voice was an apology of sorts.

Buffy shook her head. She wasn't looking for any mystical connection. She wanted Riley to come back because he wanted to, not because some spell dictated it. This needed to be on his own terms.

Brady still had questions, though. He glanced from Willow to Buffy and then back again. "Shouldn't you be telling Buffy to think about Riley? Declaring her love and all that? If that's what-"

"I'm good," Willow said, cutting him off again. "It's nothing that needs to be said."

Again, Buffy could feel Willow's eyes on her. This time, though, she did look up, feeling a rush of warmth as she saw the look on Willow's face - complete love and trust; no doubt whatsoever.

God, Will. Thank you. Buffy hadn't realized how much she needed that. She had to close her eyes. This was not the time for emotion. It was the time for...

Well, apparently, it was the time for Brady to ask another question: "Did anyone happen to think about how we're going to get whoever it is to believe that we're a six-foot tall, two hundred pound widower traveling alone?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Brady." Brooks' voice came in over the com-cams. "Will you just shut up? Of course Willow considered it. She's not exactly an amateur."

Buffy could practically feel the wind shift as everyone's heads swiveled towards Willow - Willow, who was trying hard not to roll her eyes as she nodded.

The whole exchange brought a smile to Graham's face, something Buffy was glad to see. He had to be wondering about this was all going to play out, too. And she certainly hadn't done anything to help by pushing Joe on him. He seemed to be back in command, though, saying, "Weapons at ready." He nodded. "O.k. Willow - do your thing."

Willow went into trance mode. "Form of a six-foot tall widower. Shape of." She opened her eyes and smiled at everyone looking at her. "Just making sure you were all paying attention." She started whispering in the language Buffy assumed to be Anishnaabe.

As Willow spoke, Buffy could feel her skin start to tingle - pins and needles, she remembered Riley saying. Well, kind of like pins and needles. It was more pervasive, more of a buzz, coming from within. Then the buzz changed suddenly, flaring up into a burn, an electric, angry current coursing through her body.

Buffy forced herself to breathe through the fire. She opened her eyes - when had she closed them? - to see the others staring at her. Without realizing it, she'd pulled the paddle in off the water and bent over. Shaking it off and putting her paddle back where it was supposed to be, she said, "I'm fine."

"Good," Brooks answered, "because you've got thunderclouds ahead. Bearing down quickly."

She instinctively looked in the direction from which the storm had come the first time. As with before, the skies were perfectly clear. This time, though, she knew where to look - on the water.

And there it was, skimming across the surface - the shockwave that brought with it the wind and the waves. Not nearly as violent as it had been before, however; that was clear even from this distance. Actually, it was clear even further away, as evidenced by Brooks muttering, "That's it? You guys are getting off easy."

That wasn't quite true, as it turned out. Fighting for survival had served as a distraction; now the only choice was to listen to the hum as it grew louder, to see the darkness at it approached. "Now might be a good time to put on those masks," she heard Graham say.

Except that it didn't do too much to help that crushing feeling in her chest as if the air were being squeezed out of her lungs; and it did nothing at all to hide the butterflies. Without the raging wind and the driving rain, she could actually see them rise from the surface, detaching from the water one by one as they formed a carpet rising up over the edges of the canoes.

Brady reached his hand out, smiling as he watched it disappear into the cloak of wings. The com-cams were already dead, but she could see him mouth the words, 'It tickles.' For all of his complaining, he actually looked like he was enjoying this.

Buffy was not. She was wishing that she'd had some of Ro's meditation training, because Joe and the other men from the village - with their eyes closed and their heads bowed - weren't seeing anything. She, on the other hand, was seeing the butterflies creep around her and close in; helplessly watching the boats around her slowly disappear.

Clawing out of a grave tended to stay with a girl, and she had to remind herself that she wasn't being buried alive, wasn't being crushed by the weight of the ground on top of her. She had to fight the urge to resist as she felt the air vibrate in the wake of millions of fluttering wings. It wasn't going to make a difference.

Breathe into the mask. Breathe out and then in. Let the wings make contact, let them creep along your arms and legs, crawl up under your skin. Let them take hold and fly you away; let them fly you home.