Author's Note: Since it's Halloween, I thought I'd give a little treat: an early Ripper chapter! Enjoy, and Happy Halloween!


"What are you on about, Rayne? Buffy is what stops the evil," Ripper grunted, changing into a fresh set of clothes for the day. His head was still pounding from the double-whammy he had received the night before. Well, triple whammy if he counted Buffy's punch into his confidence regarding Ethan. Running his fingers through his hair, he leaned against the railing of the loft, looking down at the sitting room. Randall and Thomas had taken quite a liking to the TV. They'd found something called HBO. Deirdre and Philip were busy canoodling together on the sofa. Though they all helped in the research of the monsters Buffy hunted, Ripper only allowed them long-range offensive maneuvers. They were getting restless . . . he knew it.

Ethan stood beside him, resting his arms on the railing as well. "While you've been playing the hero with the Slayer, I've been working on getting us home," Ethan said. "I've held vigils with some friends. They couldn't exactly give me any clue as to how return to our proper time, and that was if I could even get them to talk to me at all. They're scared." Ripper knew Ethan was talking about demons. It probably should have perturbed him . . . it didn't. Ethan was smart. He knew how to shut a demon do. The Dark Arts were a force they had been dealing with for some time. They knew what they were doing. "They keep saying the same thing . . . 314. It's a bad place, Ripper. I mean it has to be if it has demons shaking in their little hoof-shaped booties."

"Great, demons are scared," Ripper pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag. "What does this have to do with Buffy?"

"314 has something to do with The Initiative. They're the ones who have the demons fleeing Sunnydale. And, apparently, your Buffy is working with them." Ethan looked at him expectantly. Ripper shrugged a shoulder. "Think, you twit! If demons are scared, then something bad is happening there, and your Slayer is in the middle of it."

"Right, or they're scared because this Initiative and Buffy are actually kicking their arses," Ripper pointed out, flicking a bit of ash off of his cigarette.

"Maybe," Ethan conceded. His voice dropped, "but I'm the one talking to these guys. It's a different sort of terror." Ethan leaned in. "Look, just be on your guard. Maybe your Slayer isn't all she appears to be."

Ripper eyed him, the look a near-glare. Ethan shrugged and held his hands up. "I'll ask her about it. See if she knows anything." Ethan nodded. Ripper pushed away from the railing and headed downstairs. Buffy was only one place if she wasn't here—at her college dorm. Getting into the old beater his older self called a car, he drove for the college. He was getting pretty tired of this manipulation. Buffy was telling him one thing, pointing fingers, and then Ethan was telling him another, pointing fingers as well. What happened to the bloody simplicity of sex, drugs and rock n' roll?

Arriving at her university, Ripper got out and smoothed out his leather jacket. Tapping his cigarette against the car mirror, he checked his hair again, then walked onto campus. He collected a few stares as he went. Entering the dormitory that he knew Buffy and Willow shared, he walked up to their floor. "Hey, there's no smoking in this building!" someone called after him, but he ignored them. Scanning the door numbers, he stopped outside of Buffy's and knocked.

There was a pause—and what sounded like a scuffle—before the door opened and a breathless Buffy appeared. "Ripper. What . . . what are you doing here?" she asked, looking flushed and trying to straighten her hair.

Ripper lifted an eyebrow and pushed the door open wider, looking in to find . . . a young man in her bed. "Ohhh," he smirked around his cigarette, giving her a teasing look. "I interrupted. Well, I'm sorry about that, mate," he said to the man, but walked into the room, anyway. "Need to talk, Slayer," he said. "Oops," he paused, "suppose that was a secret."

Buffy gave an irritated sigh and closed the door, muttering, "gee, come in. Make yourself at home." She crossed her arms over her chest and didn't look at the man. "He knows. So, let's get to business."

"Not going to introduce us, luv?" Ripper asked, his hands resting at his hips. "Rude. No matter. I'll do it for you." He turned to the man, who was clearly trying to put something on underneath the covers. "Don't worry about decency, mate. A willy's a willy. I'm Ripper. Buffy's Watcher."

"Oh, so now you're my Watcher?" Buffy rolled her eyes, walking over to the bed and picking up the man's pants, handing it to him.

"'Course. Once a Watcher always a Watcher. And as your Watcher, I must watch out for you. Now, who are you?" Ripper asked, his chest puffing out just a little in a subtle display of dominance. Buffy rolled her eyes again. Once the man had put on his jeans, he got out of the bed and walked over to Ripper, his arm extended. "Yeah, you can stop right there. I'm not shaking your hand. I may not care about seeing nudity, but I don't touch bodily fluids of another man. Sorry, mate."

"But I didn't . . . we didn't-"

"Ohhh," Ripper gave him a sympathetic look, "trouble with the plumbing, eh? Well, I happen to know a good warlock. He'll—"

"Oh my GOD. Stop!" Buffy shouted. "Ripper, this is Riley. My boyfriend. Riley, this is Ripper . . . younger . . . Giles person. That whole mess I told you about." Riley nodded in understanding.

Ripper gaped, his cigarette nearly falling from his lips, "mess!? I beg your pardon, but I'm doing pretty damn well with your little crusade! And, more importantly, I don't have issues with my plumbing." He grinned at that, chuckling to himself.

"Ugh! I don't need . . . Got that, you know, when you were all . . . nudist colony in your bed! Without the warning sign, I might add!" Buffy shouted back.

"Wait, you saw him . . . naked?" Riley asked, a look of confusion on his face. "When was this? Where was I?"

"I don't need warning signs, it's my bed!" Ripper argued back. "If I want to have an orgy in it, I will! You're not my mother!"

"And you're not my father! If I want to have an orgy with Riley—whose plumbing is fantastic, I might add—I will!" Buffy declared triumphantly.

Riley looked between the two, slowly itching his head. "So . . . I think I should go."

"-Yes," Ripper agreed.

"-No," Buffy protested at the same time. "Stay. Whatever Ripper wants to say, he can say with you here."

Ripper could tell there would be no arguing this one, so he took a deep drag of his cigarette and shrugged. "Yeah, alright. The Initiative. What do you know about it?"

"Uhh," Riley cleared his throat. "That's more my turf, actually. What do you want to know?"

Ripper blinked. "Ohhhh. Interesting." He leaned back against the desk behind him, sitting on the edge of it. "What is it? What does it do?"

Riley's persona seemed to change immediately. A soldier stood before Ripper now. "The Initiative's mission is to detain and—if possible—rehabilitate demons to protect the human race. We capture sometimes in order to study what we're up against and design weapons and combat techniques to better terminate them. We are militarily funded and coordinated."

"Hm." Ripper considered that. An organization designed to eliminate demons. He could understand why that would make a demon fear the Initiative . . . but he didn't understand why Ethan was so worked up about it. "Do you know anything about . . . 314?"

Riley' brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "Doesn't mean anything to me."

"Hmm," he said again, the cogs in his head slowly turning. Well then. Only one way to get to the heart of the matter. Pushing himself up after snagging some of Buffy's hair from her hairbrush on her desk, he stealthily slid it into his back pocket and cast a quick eye around. "And you, Buffy? You're part of this . . . Initiative?"

"Only recently," Buffy replied. "I was going to tell you, I just . . . never got around to it."

Ripper nodded, slowly circumventing towards the bed. "And what do you think of it?"

There was a hesitation, and then Buffy spoke. "Seems pretty clean to me. I went down there earlier. Got all clearanced up. Very Bond-like. And they're good," she smiled up at Riley. "At what they do. I think together, we can really clean up this town."

Ah, there we go. Ripper casually removed his leather jacket and draped it over Buffy's bed. Taking an interest in some of the posters on the wall, he was silent for a few moments. "Who leads it?" he asked.

"Well, there's numerous tiers," Riley said, "but Professor Walsh, I would say, is one—if not the—top head. She's a Professor here. Psychology."

"Ohhh, so she's good at manipulation. Excellent," Ripper nodded, turning away and looking back at them. Riley looked quite offended by that statement. "Calm down, soldier. I'm sure she's a lovely bird." Well, this had taken up enough of his time. He reached down for his jacket, his fingers drifting over the pillow as he did so, snagging some small hairs—Riley hairs—and slipped them into his jacket pocket as he put it on. "Well then. Best be on my way."

"What? That's all you came here for?" Buffy demanded. "Couldn't have called or something?"

Ripper headed back for the door. "I prefer face-to-face interactions. Better to tell if someone's lying," he replied easily. "Though I could stay, if you wanted a third party member," he paused, grinning at her naughtily.

"ICK. OUT! OUT!" Buffy shoved him out of the room, Ripper chuckling all the while. The door closed sharply behind him, and he smiled at it, shaking his head. Checking to make sure his collection was still in place, he left the dormitory.


The sound of the cauldron bubbling was, sadly, not enough to drone out Ethan's railing. "Why do I have to be Buffy!?" he asked for the twentieth time. "Why not take Deirdre? She already has the parts."

Ripper added one last ingredient, then stirred, watching the color closely. "Because, simply put, I trust you more than Deirdre to have my back. I need someone who can hold their own in a fight if this goes sideways. Besides," he grinned over at him, "you're such a champion of women. Perhaps you'll gain some actual insight by being one for a few hours. Now hush, or else you'll mess me up, and we'll both end up transforming into fleas or something."

"I'd rather a flea over Buffy," Ethan grunted, but he left the kitchen to join the others in the sitting room. Ripper shook his head, smirking lightly. He stirred clockwise six and a half times, then let it simmer. Grabbing some mugs, he spooned a healthy helping into each. The potion was thick and a deep purple, precisely what the book asked for it to be. Nothing like a bit of alchemy and magic. Ripper took the hairs out of his pockets and murmured quietly, "Factus. Reformabit. Factus." The liquid thinned and turned a light blue in color as he added the hairs. "Alright, Rayne. We're up."

With a sigh he heard all the way in the kitchen, Ethan reemerged and took the mug from him. "You owe me," Ethan told him seriously, then chugged the contents down. Ripper did the same, the liquid hot but not unpleasant. "Mm," Ethan swallowed and licked his lips. "That was actually rather pleasant. Was that mint?"

"Never understood why potions need to taste awful," Ripper smirked with a shrug. "My own little magic." But then it hit. Ripper grunted and fell to the floor as his body convulsed and ached. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and goosebumps popping all over his skin. He heard Ethan grunting and gasping somewhere beside him, but he was too focused on his own nausea and pain to care. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it vanished. Panting, he opened his eyes and looked down. Well . . . he was tanner. Pushing himself up, he touched his face and hair. Shorter hair . . . no earring . . . Looking at his arm, he saw the Mark had been removed as well. Hold on, last test. His hand sank into his jeans and grabbed himself . . . yup, definitely someone else's body, poor lad.

Looking up, he saw . . . Buffy. Ethan was stuck staring down at his own chest. "Ripper . . . this is the bloody oddest spell you've ever performed," he murmured. He gave a little jiggle, then grinned up at him. "I like it!" Laughing, he slapped his hand against Ripper—now Riley's—shoulder. "Oi, I wonder if I obtained Slayer strength with the form." Ethan-Buffy walked to the counter.

"Oi, no-!" Ripper called out, but he was too late. Ethan slammed his fist into the counter . . . and the counter remained as it were, Ethan swearing loudly instead and holding his hand. "Oh. Good. Serves you right. That's my bloody counter, you can't destroy my property."

"You gave me tits. I can bloody do what I please," Ethan protested, rubbing his hand. "So, they're just flesh-costumes then. We still maintain our own natural gifts. Right. So," he scratched his head . . . well, Buffy scratched her head. "We need a change of clothes. Pretty sure Buffy wouldn't be caught dead in this get-up." He nodded to Ripper. "And I doubt soldier boy sports the Union Jack."

Ripper looked down at himself. Clothes. Right. "Alright. We'll swing by Buffy's dorm again. I'm sure Riley has some clothes there. Come on."

They pit-stopped at Buffy's dorm, picking the lock to gain entry. Thankfully, it was empty, and they snatched a set of clothes each before changing and heading out. "Now, we need to find the entrance to the Initiative. Tracker spell?" Ripper suggested.

"I'm on it," Ethan-Buffy said. He snatched some of Ripper-Riley's hair, much to some protesting, and then murmured an incantation. The hair dissolved and turned into a ball of light. "Off we go!" The two followed it, ducking through some students and bushes until stopped near a tree, the ball of light just hovering. "Hm. Well, I don't see a door anywhere."

Ripper-Riley scratched his huge jaw. "Well, it's here somewhere. God! It is so odd to hear an American accent coming out of me. I sound so . . . flat. Like a damned cowboy."

Ethan-Buffy snorted. "Wait, hold on. Put your hands on your hips." Ripper-Riley did so, and Ethan nodded. "Yup, thought so. You remind me of Captain America. That's who you are. Bloody Steve Rogers!" A miserable groan left Ripper-Riley's lips, and he pushed Ethan-Buffy irritably. "Oi, you can't push me! I'm a girl!" Ethan-Buffy protested.

"Yeah right you are," Ripper-Riley scoffed. "Could you have chosen the sleaziest outfit?" he gestured to the clothes Ethan had chosen to wear—a black skirt and loose red blouse.

"Hey. I figured I might as well make the most of this experience," Ethan-Buffy defended himself, crossing his arms over his chest and actually looking very much like Buffy.

All of a sudden, the ground trembled and opened up in front of them like a giant flap. Ripper-Riley stared wide-eyed as two men walked out. "Riley, there you are. Walsh wants to see you down below. Better hurry. She's in one of her intense moods," the black one told them.

"Uh," Ripper-Riley blinked, "right. On that. God Bless America . . . and all that." He nodded for Ethan-Buffy to follow him and walked down the hole to find an . . . entrance. "Well, I wasn't expecting that," he murmured quietly, watching the top close.

"Come on. We only have another hour or so for this transformation spell to last," Ethan-Buffy reminded him. They hurried down the hall, finding themselves in a sterile, white-faced . . . facility. Scientists and other lab coats rushed to and fro. Soldiers were running by in their uniforms, obviously drilling. There were even a few military cars driving here and there, though Ripper couldn't imagine what they were doing with those. This place was . . . top-of-the-line. Definitely a far cry from the books at his house.

"Alright," Ripper-Riley pulled his gaze from the impressive sight, "we need to split up. Cover more ground. Meet back here in a half hour. I'll take East Wing, you take West." Ethan-Buffy nodded, and they both hurried their separate ways. Ripper-Riley walked quickly across the main room, keeping his head ducked down. A few people saluted him, and he gestured something or other back. Reaching the hall, he slipped down and started looking into the rooms. They were numbered. He was on two hundred and three. He needed to climb a level. Walking to the end of the hall, he saw a sign for stairs to the next level. Just as he reached the door, Buffy walked. Buffy-Buffy. She was wearing a blue tank and sweatpants. "Ohhh," he said smartly, feeling the encroaching scolding coming on. You're screwed, mate. She's going to cook you.

Instead, Buffy hopped over to him and beamed up at him. "I thought you were headed down to training. Thought I'd beat your butt again," she grinned.

"Uhh—" Ripper-Riley tried to think of something to say.

"No, no. I get it," Buffy smirked, her fingers dancing against his chest, "you missed me." She hopped up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Ripper-Riley's eyes shot open wide. Oh. Um. Right. Well, the proper thing to do . . . Ah, bugger it. Ripper-Riley grabbed her around the waist and tugged her tight against him. Buffy made a noise of surprise against his lips, but it turned into a pleasant hum as he kissed her back. Her little tongue boldly swept over his lip before capturing it with her teeth and tugging it. Ripper-Riley released a low growl, electricity sparking in his gut. Buffy pulled back, looking up at him in amusement. "Did you just growl?" She laughed. "Well, that's a first. Alright, Wolf-Boy. I'll see you down in training. Don't be late." Buffy tapped his chest, then went on her merry way down the hall. "And bring more of those smoochies!" she called before turning the corner.

Ripper-Riley, his lips still parted, watched her until she disappeared from view. "Woof," he said finally, then ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck," he collected himself. "Right. Not good." Clearing his throat, he did his very best to push that ground-shaking experience from his mind and focused on the task at hand. Opening the door, he finally headed upstairs to the next level. He passed by another lab-coat, trying not to look suspicious, and then exited onto the third floor. Ripper-Riley scanned the room numbers as he passed. 307. 310. He quickened his pace and stopped dead in front of it. 314. It had one of those "don't you dare think about entering here, it's super top secret" signs, but he ignored that. His main concern was the key pad . . . it needed a card to unlock. "Fuck," he swore, stepping back and scratching the back of his neck.

"Agent Finn," came a woman's voice. "I was looking for you." Ripper-Riley looked up to see a short blond-haired woman in a lab coat walking up to him. Taking a quick look at her nametag, he learned that this was the Professor Walsh. Of course, of all the people to run into, it's her. Something tells me, this one won't end in a quick snog. Oi! Nope. That didn't happen. Blissful ignorance of Buffy's lips. Though, it was quite—NO. Ripper-Riley cleared his throat, forcing a smile on his face. "You alright?" Walsh looked over him.

"Hm? Oh, I'm fine. I . . . I heard you were looking for me?" Ripper-Riley said, trying to look as casual as he could.

"Yes," Walsh eyed him for a moment. "But first . . ." She placed her hand on his arm. "Are you sure you're alright, Riley?" she asked, her tone familiar. Ripper-Riley's eyebrows shot up. Oh no. He knew that tone. He knew an interested female when he met one. Did Riley's boss have a thing for young men? Naughty girl. But hey. He could use that.

Clearing his throat, Ripper-Riley shook his head. "Just had a lot on my mind lately," he said, leaning into her. Body language, body language.

"Oh? Walsh frowned, placing the clipboard she had been holding under her arm. "What about? . . . Problems with Buffy?" she asked.

"Hm," Ripper-Riley nodded. "Just a lot of stuff going on right now. She . . . she said some things. That there might be more going on here than everyone is saying." He looked up at Walsh, eyes wide . . . vulnerable. "I didn't believe her, of course. I know you'd trust me with anything. Just like I trust you." Ripper-Riley watched Walsh's face soften. And got her.

"She's . . . not wrong. We have been keeping something from you . . . but only until the time was right." She took his arm in her hand, pulling him towards 314. "Which I think is now." Walsh's grip tightened. "But you can't tell Buffy. She wouldn't understand. This stays between us." And she placed her hand against Ripper-Riley's chest. "Do you understand me?"

Ripper-Riley deliberately licked his lips, staring at hers. "Crystal clear, Ma'am." She smiled and stepped back, unhooking her card from her belt and swiping it. The door clicked, and she opened it, letting them inside. Ripper-Riley found himself in a small room . . . an operating room of sorts. On a gurney rested a body—the most hideous body he had ever seen. It was man . . . and monster and machine. It was worse than the Frankenstein Monster.

"Don't be afraid," Walsh said behind him. "He isn't finished just yet . . . but he will be soon." She moved past Ripper and stood close to the abomination. "He's my creation," she said quietly. "Adam. A super soldier. With him in the field, I'll be able to keep you safe . . . you and the rest of the world." Walsh turned, smiling . . . but then froze. "Who are you!?" she demanded. Ripper felt his heart freeze in his chest. "Where did Riley . . . " Ripper reached for his face, longer hair, stubble, earring. Fuck. He was back.

"SECURITY!" Walsh shouted, her hand slamming on a button in the wall. Red lights started strobing, sirens wailing.

"SECURITY!"

Fuck.