Author:  Rabid Squirrel

Title:   "Murphy's Law"

Disclaimer:  If I actually owned BTVS, would I bother to write fanfiction?  Seriously, Buffy and co. are owned by Joss Whedon, Kazui Productions, 20th Century Fox, and UPN, sick bastards all of them.

Summary:  Follow-up to the travesty that was season 6.  Answers questions such as:  Why Spike is able to hit Buffy; why did Xander really leave Anya at the alter; where does Whistler get his wardrobe; and just what really is in a hot dog.  (Just kidding about the hot dog – nobody knows what they hell they put in those)

Spoilers:  Thru season 6, though my selective memory allows me to edit out or rewrite certain unsavory aspects.  Also, this may be a crossover at some point, though I make no guarantees.

Rating:   R, for violence, strong language, sexual content, and the untimely demise of cute little puppies and bunny rabbits. 

Dedication:  To all B/Xers, who know that B/S is simply that - BS.

Feedback:  As always, constructive criticism and positive feedback are more than welcome.  I also accept flames; I use them to light my cigarettes.  Special thanks to RobClark, Finn Mac Cool, lwbush (modesty becomes you), de profuundis, Ghostrider, and all others who have taken the time to read and review this little work of fiction.  I'm glad you came along for the ride. 

Note:  I don't know if anybody noticed, but the timeline in this story is somewhat skewed.  The first chapter took place during the present day, at the time of posting late July.  I then somehow skipped to August 24.  I sometimes wonder where my mind is, but then I remember – it's usually in the gutter.  Anyway, on with chapter 4…

Chapter 4

Sunnydale California
August 24, 2002

Xander's Apartment

Alexander Harris had a number of dreams that night.   As a peaceful slumber claimed him, his heart rate slowed drastically, and his breathing became more rhythmic and less frequent.  Shortly thereafter, he entered a stage of semi-consciousness known as REM – Rapid Eye Movement.  He lay in bed asleep, unaware of the scenes playing out in his head.  Thoughts that had plagued him during his waking hours came back to the forefront, his hopes, dreams and fears coming alive in his sub-conscious mind.  Remarkably enough, Xander would remember none of it.

When he woke the next morning, Xander was keenly aware of two things:  1) He hadn't slept this well in a very long time, and 2)  There was a naked redhead lying in his arms.  Ordinarily, both would be welcome revelations, especially the latter.  However, as it was, unnecessary complications were no longer welcome in his life.  His life was screwed up enough as it was.  At times like these,  Xander very much envied the coyote.  If it were possible to chew off his arm to escape this extremely awkward situation, he would gladly do so.  Unfortunately, human instinct, or the complete lack of it [according to socio-biologists], precluded him from doing so.  It wasn't that this was a coyote-ugly situation; that is, it wasn't as if he were trying to escape the aftermath of a an unpleasant one-night stand.  After all, the sex had been incredible, possibly even mind-blowing, and not even a blind man could accuse Willow of being anything less than beautiful.  No, it was just that a fleeting moment of passion had once again altered his relationship with Willow, and that was not something he had the energy to deal with this morning. 

Carefully extricating himself from the slumbering redhead, Xander slid out of bed, silently making his way to the bathroom.  He needed a hot shower to clear his head…or maybe a cold shower – he wasn't exactly sure which at this point.  Xander scampered into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind him.  Flipping on the light switch, he paused to glance at himself in the mirror.  What he saw was not a pretty sight.  Though his wounds had largely healed, the scars on his chest were still quite prominent.  The sheer force of Willow's attack had badly injured him, and still caused him a great deal of pain, both physical and psychological.  He had tried to conceal his wounds from Willow, but the previous night's escapades had made that an effort in futility.  Though she didn't mention it, Xander knew she had to have noticed them, and he felt guilty for letting her do so.  She didn't need a physical reminder of what she had done.  The guilt she carried with her was more than enough. 

Shaking his head at his latest predicament, he pulled open the shower curtain and stepped inside.  The spray of hot water that followed shortly thereafter was just what the doctor ordered.  Xander stood motionless beneath the hot stream of water, letting it cascade over him, washing his worries away.  Hmmm, steam good.  Hot water good.  Sex with best friend problematic.  Obviously he wasn't going to get past that concept anytime soon.  Willow had assured him that it didn't mean anything, other than that they were two people who loved each other and who were badly in need of a little coital bliss.  Naked Willow could be very persuasive that way.  But Xander still had lingering doubts.  He knew he wasn't in love with Willow.  She was more like a sister to him…one that he had sex with?  OK, disturbing mental picture.  Not a sister, more like a close friend, a very close friend.  Besides, his heart belonged to someone else; always had, since that fateful first day his sophomore year.  Damn her.  Damn Buffy Summers for making me fall in love with her.   Was it possible to love and hate someone at the same time?  It had to be, since right now he rued the day he had met the diminutive Slayer.  He had given her his heart and soul, had always watched her back, even after she had utterly rejected him.  He had been there for her in her darkest hour, and how had she repaid him?  She spit in his face.  She gave herself to a soulless beast, time and again, while lying to him and Willow, telling them everything was fine.  When she was hurting inside, she didn't turn to the people who loved her most.  No, she turned to the one who had caused her so much pain, who had tried to kill her time and again.  And in spite of it all, he still loved her.  Spike was wrong, Xander muttered underneath his breath.  He's not love's bitch.  Hands down – the title belongs to me.

Turning off the faucet, Xander reached for a towel, drying himself as he stepped from the shower.  Wrapping the towel around his waist, he walked back into the bedroom  Willow was still fast asleep, thank God for small wonders.  Still not ready to deal with that little peccadillo. Pathetic much Xander?  Quickly pulling on his boxers and a worn pair of Levi's, he ventured over to the kitchen in search of breakfast.  Finally, something I can manage to do right.  He hadn't made it halfway when he was stopped dead in his tracks by the sound of a knock at the door.  Who the hell could that be?  It's Saturday morning.  Everyone knows better that to bother me on…..oh shit.  I almost forgot.  Dawn and Buffy were coming over to see Willow.  Yessiree, everything's coming up roses today for Xander Harris.  Cursing softly to himself, Xander crossed over the living room to the front door.  He swung it open, only to be run down by the sixteen year-old blur of energy known as Dawn Summers. 

"Hey Xand-man, what's the what?  Broken any hearts lately?"  In spite of himself, Xander couldn't help but smile.  The girl had a certain directness that never ceased to remind him of Cordelia.  Only with Dawn, that trait was at least partially endearing.  The smile didn't last long.  As he looked back towards the door, his eyes fell on Buffy, and his face dropped again.   He quickly recovered though, replacing his genuine smile with a cheap imitation.

"Dawn, Buffy.  What brings you to casa del Harris at this ungodly hour?  The world's not ending is it?  'Cause if it is, I'm going back to bed and catching a couple z's."

Dawn didn't answer him.  She was mesmerized by the spectacle that was a shirtless Alexander Harris.  God, construction certainly agrees with him.  He looks absolutely yummy.  Not that he looked bad before, but, DAMN, he looks good.  Dawn had noticed the scars, but was not repulsed in the least  If anything, they only accentuated his manliness, at least in her mind.  Not that she still had a crush on him.  A crush was something a little kid entertained.  She was an adult.  This isn't a crush – I'm over that.  I am merely admiring a fine physical specimen, Dawn rationalized to herself.  But if he's still single when I turn 18….

Sensing Dawn's preoccupation, Buffy chimed in.  "Nope, all's abnormal on the Hellmouth.  We just dropped by to see how you guys were doing."  The expression on Xander's face when he had opened the door had not gone unnoticed by Buffy, though she mentally willed herself to ignore it.  "Speaking of you guys, where's Willow?" 

Feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, Xander managed to choke out a response.  "She's uh, still in bed I think.  She didn't get much sleep last night."  That much was true.  Their sexual decathlon had lasted into the wee hours of the morning.

Dawn finally found her voice.  "Xander Harris, the first one up on a Saturday morning?  Maybe the world is coming to an end.  Oh, and while we're on the subject of unusual things, Buffy and I are millionaires." 

"….Says the queen of non-sequitors," deadpanned Buffy, not surprised that Dawn had been the first to broach the subject of their newfound wealth.

"You're what?"  Xander asked, momentarily stunned.  After twenty-one years on the Hellmouth, few things could surprise him.  Dawn's revelation was one of those things.

"Millionaires," Dawn explained patiently.  "We went to ATM before breakfast this morning, withdrew fifty bucks, and still had a million and change left in our account."

"And you didn't think this was the least bit unusual?" Xander asked, his suspicious nature kicking into overdrive.

"Well, actually," Buffy began, only to be cut off by her sister.

"I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.  Buffy, on the other hand, insisted on talking to the bank manager.  She told him there must be some kind of mistake.  In retrospect, I think Willow must have screwed up the spell.  Obviously Buffy's brain is still dead."

Both Xander and Buffy ignored the latter part of Dawn's comment.  "So what happened?  Where'd you two Scoobies get all those scoobies?  Oh wait, Let me guess.  You two have taken to drug dealing and money laundering, maybe a little pimping on the side?  C'mon, fess up you little felons.  The X-man is on to you."

Dawn laughed at the latest Xanderism, while Buffy tried her best to explain the situation.  "That's what I tried to find out.  Only the bank told me there was no mistake.  And when I asked them where it came from, do you know what they said?"

"Obviously not," came the exasperated reply from Dawn.

Buffy shot her a dirty look, then continued the story. "They said they couldn't divulge that information.  Can you believe it?  Over a million dollars mysteriously appears in our account, and they won't tell us anything about it.  This could only happen in Sunnydale."

Looking the Slayer in the eyes for the first time that morning, Xander offered his two cents worth.  "Well Buff, I think I'm gonna hafta agree with the Dawnster on this one.  I'd take the money and run.  This kind of opportunity doesn't come along every day."

Seeing that she was clearly outvoted, Buffy acquiesced.  "We could use some of the money to pay off the mortgage.  And pay our bills.  And buy a new car.  And maybe I could go back to school…."  Buffy's voice trailed off as she considered the possibilities in her mind.  This money really could help make their lives easier, better even.  Her musings were interrupted by the disembodied voice that came drifting from the bedroom. 

"Xand, are you out there?  Why don't you join me in the shower – I'll let you do my back."  Willow suddenly appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but a sheet, a playful grin on her face.  Then she spotted the visitors.  She was not expecting to see Buffy and Willow. 

"Oh God, I'm sorry.  I didn't know you guys were here..."  

The reactions of the other three Scoobies to the latest revelation were varied, to say the least.  Dawn's eyes immediately became as wide as saucers, as the implication of what had happened dawned on her.  That little….witch, she thought.  Having her way with my not-quite future husband. 

As for Xander, he simply froze.  He could see the look in Buffy's eyes, the obvious disappointment and betrayal she felt .  He felt terrible, not because he had taken advantage of a vulnerable Willow, but because he had hurt Buffy, even if he didn't quite understand how he had done so, or why it bothered him so much.  His eyes met Willow's, and he saw her mouth the word sorry.  You and me both, he thought.

Buffy's heart skipped a beat, and then another.  Time seemed to stand still as she looked from Willow to Xander, and back again.  They had sex, it belatedly dawned on her.  He made love to her.  He made love to Willow.  Xander wasn't the type for one-night stands, at least not since Faith, and Buffy knew it.  Could he be in love with her?  Had he already moved on?  The shock was too much for Buffy, though for the life of her she couldn't understand why.  It's just Xander.  Why do I feel this way?  What the hell  is happening to me?  Buffy felt her chest constricting.  She couldn't breathe.  "Oh my God," she finally stammered.  "Oh God."

Xander knew he had to say something.  "Buffy, let me explain…."  He started, only to be cut off by an inexplicably distraught Slayer. 

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know.  I-I should go.  We should go."  Buffy grabbed Dawn by the arm, bodily dragging her out the door behind her.  Dawn threw an apologetic look Xander's way, then stumbled out the door after her sister.  Xander immediately moved to follow them, but stopped when Willow laid a hand on his arm.

"Let her go Xander," she said softly.  "She needs time to think."

Xander nodded slightly, his head hung dejectedly as he watched the Jeep tear out of the driveway and speed out of sight.

Aboard the Freighter Tunis

Somewhere in the Atlantic

The container ship had left Benghazi the previous day, with scheduled ports of call in Oran and Havana.  He didn't know what cargo it carried, other than himself of course.  As far as he was concerned, that was the only cargo that mattered.  He glanced perfunctorily at the clock on the bulkhead, though the action was entirely unnecessary.  He could smell the sunset long before it came.  Grabbing his trademark black duster, Spike proceeded to make his way above decks.  

One had to be careful when on the ocean, especially one with an aversion to sunlight.  The infinitely flat horizon provided for an interminably long sunset, beautiful though it was to Spike.  It was a common myth that vampires never witnessed either sunrises or sunsets.  It was an easy assumption to make.  The truth of the matter was, as long as a vampire's skin wasn't directly exposed to the sunlight, sunburn wasn't really an issue.  Spike had occasionally allowed himself to watch the sunset, and, on rarer occasions, to watch it rise, though the precautions necessary for the latter were extensive indeed.  Spike enjoyed a chuckle as he remembered a movie he had once seen, wherein a vampire hunter and his lady friend had used an artificial ultraviolet light to burn a vampire.  Movies, he grumbled, they never get it right.  Someday somebody'll make a movie about me.  The Watchers Council, perhaps? A precautionary instructional video for Slayers? The thought greatly appealed to him.

Leaning against the railing, Spike enjoyed the view off the port bow, shielding his cigarette against the ocean spray.  He hadn't been to Havana since his last exile from Sunnydale, though he still remembered the sights and sounds.  Mostly though, he remembered a certain Voodoo priestess, a shriveled old woman with a gift for the black arts.  She would fix him, make him whole again.  And then he would fix the Slayer.

15,000 feet AGL

Groom Lake, Nevada

100 miles from Las Vegas

The AH-66 Comanche flew almost silently through the darkness, its composite main rotor and embedded tail rotor generating surprisingly little noise as they cut through the thin night air.  The two General Electric turbines were humming along at 80% throttle, propelling the low-observable aircraft eastward at nearly 180 knots.  It had been a good night for  Chief Warrant Officer Clancy Thomas.  The unofficial war game scenario played out at the Nellis range had been a resounding success, even if it was only for show.  He and two other Comanche pilots had penetrated the range's outer perimeter, the combination of their low flight path and radar-absorbing black matte paint concealing them from the Patriot battery's search radar long enough to reach the flight line, where, much to his surprise, they found two complete squadrons of F-15 Eagles parked on the tarmac.  Lambs to the slaughter, the CWO mused, remembering the turkey shoot that had ensued.  The three attack helicopters had blown down the line, [simulated] 20mm cannons blazing.  Within thirty seconds, fully half of the aircraft compliment below had been destroyed, at least according to the onboard computer.  The three had quickly egressed  the area, though one of their number had fallen victim to a lone F-15 Charlie flying low CAP (combat air patrol).  Clancy almost felt sorry for his fellow aviator.  Eagle jockeys were notoriously cocky, and this one would be even more so after administratively shooting down the $80 million chopper.  At least he wouldn't have to hear about it.

The war game had been a cover to get the Comanches to their real destination, the unremarkable stretch of dry lake bed known simply as Area 51.  Officially, the facility at Groom Lake had existed for only four years, though in truth the first runway had been put down nearly 50 years earlier to accommodate the initial flight testing of the Lockheed U-2.  Area 51 was currently used to test advanced weapons concepts, though many its blacker-than-black programs had since been relocated to White Sands to escape intense public scrutiny.  The dearth of activity at the airbase made it a prime candidate for its present function, the home base for the 666 Air Battle Wing.  Somebody must have a sense of humor, Clancy mused, remarking on the Wing's unit designation, the ostensible mark of the Antichrist.  It did have a certain transcendent irony to it.  After all, they were the last line of defense against the forces of evil, or so he had been told in the briefing.  He still wasn't sure he believed it all. 

Clancy Thomas had never been an overly religious man.  Prior to his acceptance at West Point, he had never even been to church, and to be honest, he had rarely attended services during his time at the New York Academy.  Desert Storm had changed that.  During the initial phases of the Gulf war, his Air Cavalry Regiment, the 160th,  had been tasked with seeking out and destroying mobile anti-aircraft platforms attached to an Iraqi Republican Guards division.  During the first such sortie, the squawking of his threat receiver had alerted him to the presence of an SA-6 missile at his six o'clock.  Clancy had muttered a quick prayer to God, shoved the collective stick forward, and dove for the deck.  The Russian-made missile had passed within twenty feet of his aircraft, but the warhead had not detonated.  Either the proximity fuse was defective, or God had heard his prayer.  From then on, he had chosen to hedge his bet.  He attended Mass every Sunday.

Dropping down through 1000 feet, he could see the flashing red landing lights surrounding the helipad below.  He continued his descent, dropping down to fifty feet before leveling off.  Clancy reduced his airspeed to almost nothing, hauling back on the collective, the nose of the chopper flaring slightly before the landing gear touched down gently on the tarmac.  Another perfect landing.

The pilot completed the post-flight checklist, spooling down the powerful turbines.  As the wheels were chocked, a Sr. Airman pulled up in a black Humvee, standing by to escort the pilot to the ready-room for the unit briefing.  Clancy climbed down from the bird, jogged over to the truck, and jumped in the passenger side.  Without so much as a word, the driver took off, speeding through the still night toward their destination.  He gazed out the tinted window, trying to get a feel for the size of the base, and failing miserably.  The base had been designed to fool the human eye; the majority of the infrastructure and facilities were located below ground.  Only a few aircraft hangars and associated structures marred the otherwise unbroken landscape on the surface.  Few aircraft were visible, partly due to chance, partly due to the Chinese photoreconnaissance satellite scheduled to pass overhead in a few minutes.

As they passed one of the few visible aircraft, Clancy was surprised to see a C-5 tasked to the military airlift command.  Two M1-A2 main battle tanks were currently being off-loaded from the giant transport plane.  He could also see various types of munitions being unloaded, mostly of the air-to-ground variety.  From the cargo hold, bright lights bathed the immediate area in white glow, gleaming off the numerous metal bomb casings.  He recognized most of the munitions, and his heart nearly stopped as his eyes fell on two seemingly ordinary one-thousand pound bombs.  Looks can be deceiving, as was the case here.  These two weapons were known as B-61 gravity bombs.  And though they only weighed half a ton apiece, their combined yield was equal  to two-hundred thousand tons of TNT.  They were nukes.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

End of chapter 4.  Thanks to all who have read and reviewed.  I am really enjoying writing this story.  It's been cathartic.    One note:  The last part of this chapter is loosely based on a short excerpt of Tom Clancy's "Debt of Honor".  If you haven't read any of his work before, I highly recommend it.  The man can tell a story.

Chapter 5 should be out sometime late this week.  My work schedule has mellowed out some, so I have more time to write (says the guy who is writing this at 2 in the morning).  I'm not sure what we'll see in the next chapter, though it will probably include a heart-to-heart between Xander and Willow, perhaps another between Dawn and Buffy, as well as the return of Whistler's enigmatic friend, and perhaps the return of Spike.  I'm thinking about bringing in some characters from Angel, though it would likely be limited to Wolfram and Hart.  Let me know what you all think.

Also, I'm having some trouble with formatting (double spacing where it's not wanted!).  I've been writing this in HTM format.  If anyone has any suggestion to correct this little problem, I would be grateful.  That's it for now.

Until next time,

Rabid Squirrel