*****

"...two hundred and thirty-nine, two hundred and forty..."

Riley Finn closed the door and frowned, staring down at his friend and team-mate with growing frustration. Graham was on the floor doing push-ups, and judging from the sweat coating his skin and the trembling muscles he'd been working out for quite a while.

"How long have you been at it?" he asked, worry making his voice sound sharper than he'd intended.

Staying in top form was necessary for a soldier, especially if he was working for a special forces unit like the Initiative, but what Graham was doing was way past the required training. Riley couldn't remember ever seeing anybody punishing himself so hard without an apparent reason. He'd tried patience, hoping his friend would talk to him about whatever was troubling him, but Graham had been even more close-mouthed than usual. He didn't answer this time either, though at least he stopped what he was doing and sat on the floor. He leaned against the bed, while trying to catch his breath.

Riley sat down on the opposite bed, studying his friend, feeling helpless and increasingly concerned. Whatever was eating Graham, it was starting to affect him physically as well as mentally. He'd lost weight, and the vigorous exercising had taken care of any remaining softness, not that there had been much to begin with. Graham always had a fighter's body, built for strength and endurance, unlike Forrest, who had to work hard to keep in shape.

Not that he minded. Forrest was energetic enough to actually enjoy training.

It would have been a lot easier if it had been Forrest who was troubled. Riley could have gotten him to talk about it, no problem. But Graham? Graham was too reserved to share his problems, too accustomed to dealing with everything alone. Even though he was working well in a team and had no particular problems with getting along with other people, he wasn't used to having real friends. He wasn't used to anybody actually caring about him. Well, Riley wasn't going to lose him just because he didn't know how to ask for help. He just wasn't sure how to approach the issue.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Okay, so he wasn't much of a diplomat.

"No." Neither was Graham.

//Fine. Let's try a different tactic.// Riley slid down onto to floor, facing his team-mate and trying to get him to meet his gaze. "Whatever it is, it's tearing you apart. You've been pushing yourself to the limit, you've had trouble sleeping, and you're eating like a girl on a bikini-diet." He knew it was serious when the last comment didn't get him so much as a glare. "You can't go on like this." He hesitated, then added softly: "I can't go on like this." Graham's body tensed, but he didn't move, didn't reply. "I need my men to be in fighting shape, or else it could cost somebody's life. I can't risk having you on the team if you're not 100%."

It was a low blow, and Riley felt like scum for using Graham's loyalty to force him into a discussion he didn't want to have, but he was too worried to bother with fair play. He needed to know what was going on, he couldn't stand seeing his best friend slowly self-destruct in front of his eyes. So he met Graham's pleading gaze, refusing to flinch at the desperation raging behind the shields Graham had so carefully erected.

"I can do my job," Graham defended himself, his voice surprisingly firm for a man whose eyes looked as if he were about ready to shatter into a million pieces. "I'll deal with it, Riley. I'll sleep. I'll eat. I won't let you or the others down. Ever."

Riley sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know, Gray. I'm not worried about your performance. I'm worried about you."

Graham tried to smile, unaware that he was only making things worse. "I'm okay."

"No, you're not. You're anything but okay. -- Listen, if you don't want to talk to me, maybe you should talk to Professor Walsh."

It was remarkable. He hadn't thought it possible but at the mention of Maggie Walsh, Graham drew back into himself even more. Riley could almost see the barriers going up behind the grayish blue mirrors of his eyes.

"Maybe I will."

//Yeah, and maybe Spike will dance through the sunshine in a pink wedding dress, yodeling the Yankee Doodle.//

"Graham..."

"I need a shower."

And he was gone.

Riley stayed where he was, more worried than ever before and wondering why the hell the idea of talking to Walsh made Graham shut down like this.

********************

The next two days were quite hectic, so Riley didn't get a chance to question Graham again. He still noticed that his friend didn't sleep enough, and that he was closing himself off even more than usual. He tried to talk to Forrest about it, hoping that maybe his second in command knew what was going on with their friend. But Forrest shrugged it off as a mood, suggesting they let Graham deal with it on his own terms instead of crowding him.

If the circumstances had been a bit different, Riley would most likely have accepted this and let it rest. Graham wasn't the most talkative of persons on his best days, but he was one of the strongest, most level-headed people Riley knew and well able to take care of himself. Apart from that there was a demon on the loose, and the Initiative and the Scooby gang were both scrambling to catch it before it managed to complete its collection of human spleens.

At the end of the second night Riley staggered into the room he shared with Graham and Forrest, unsuccessfully trying to wipe the blue blood from the HST from his T-shirt and unable to decide whether he needed to shower or sleep first. Forrest took the decision out of his hands by brushing past him and occupying the bathroom, leaving him and Graham to fend for themselves. Riley thought about using his rank to get first dibs on the shower, but was too tired to bother.

"God, what a night," he mumbled, sinking down on his bed and pulling ineffectively at his right boot. "I swear I'm going to eat more spinach. That was the third time in two weeks Buffy had to save my sorry butt."

"Don't worry. I guess by now she's gotten used to it."

Riley looked up, glaring at his friend, yet secretly pleased to hear him joking again.

"Thank you so much, Graham. You're really lifting my self-esteem there," he grumbled. "Like she didn't kick your ass in training, too."

Graham shrugged. "She's the Slayer. She was born to do this job. I don't have a problem with her being better at it than we are. Besides -- I like her style."

That earned him a frown. "We were ordered to bring the hostile in. She killed it."

Graham smiled slightly. "I know. I already said I liked her style."

There was something in his voice, beneath the dry humor, that made Riley stop glaring and look at him...really look at him. What he saw was enough to evaporate every good reason Forrest had given him not o get involved in Graham's private life. It was enough to make him see that whatever problem his friend had, it was too much for him. Graham was tired, hurting and alone, and the realization just how close he was to breaking made Riley's soul freeze.

He'd learned his lesson, though. He didn't try to get the other man to talk about it, knowing that it wouldn't do any good. It was hard to smile and fool around when all he wanted to do was grab Graham's shoulders and shake the truth out of him, then take him into his arms and hold him until the pain went away, but somehow he managed.

He stayed calm and collected until they had all taken their turn in the bathroom and crawled under the covers. Forrest was asleep within seconds, snoring like a polar bear with adenoids, but no matter how tired Riley was, he couldn't sleep. He lay awake in the darkness, all his senses focused on the still shape on the neighboring bed, registering every little sound and movement. He felt rather than saw Graham fall into an exhausted slumber, and kept monitoring him until his lids grew heavy.

He was just starting to wind down and drift off when Graham started to get restless, obviously trapped in the snares of a nightmare. It wasn't the dramatic movie-style tossing-and-turning-and-then-sitting-up-and-waking-with-a-blood-curling-scream. It was quiet and unobtrusive, which somehow made it only more frightening. A trembling body, breathing harshly, tense like a bowstring and looking as if he wanted to move, to fight, but was unable to do so. Strong fingers clutching the covers in a death-grip. Powerful muscles straining to the point of tearing. It lasted for a few minutes, then Graham flinched violently and woke up, shivering and sweating, but still eerily silent.

Riley, now wide-awake, had to grip his pillow with both hands to keep from sliding off the bed and go to Graham. The only thing holding him back was the knowledge that his friend would most likely deck him if he approached him now. It never was a good idea to touch a US Marine who was that shaken and tense. Chances were he'd be spooked and react according to his training -- by striking out against the potential threat.

So Riley remained where he was, determined not to screw this up. He had a feeling that if he made one mistake in handling this situation, he was going to lose Graham, and he didn't dare risk that. He needed more information, he needed to know what the hell was going on, so he could decide on a tactic to deal with the problem. He also needed someone to help him, because he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to do this alone. It had to be somebody he could trust, somebody who was good at research and good at keeping secrets.

Finally he fell asleep, thinking about Graham and Maggie Walsh and the Initiative's computer system, reviewing the special security clearance code he'd received when he'd been transferred to Sunnydale.

He wondered if Willow was going be able to break into Walsh's private files.

*****
Part 2:

Forrest and Graham had been summoned by Professor Walsh into the main complex of the underground base, and knowing her they'd be busy for quite a while. Riley wasn't really comfortable with sending Graham down, but he figured that he should be all right with Forrest there to keep an eye on him.

Diverting Buffy had been more difficult, especially since she was in one of her more cuddly phases. Usually he was all for spending time with his girlfriend -- more so, in fact, than his girlfriend herself at times -- but at the moment he considered her more of a distraction than a help. She didn't think much of his friends, and he had neither the time nor the inclination to defend his protectiveness towards Graham. So he arranged for one of her tutors to rope her in for some extra work, enough of it to keep her busy until the evening. He had to call in a favor and promise the TA dinner, but he didn't mind. He would have happily invited the whole university if he'd thought that might banish the shadows haunting his friend's eyes.

After making sure they wouldn't be interrupted, he went in search of Willow, finding her under her favorite tree. She was reading and munching an apple, looking so young and innocent that he actually hesitated for a moment. His plan was dangerous. If they got caught, his superiors might well decide not to bother with court-martialing them. Maybe he was a bit naive sometimes, but he wasn't stupid. The Initiative was a top secret project, which meant that normal rules and laws didn't necessarily apply. If anybody found out he was planning to hack into the database and retrieve information he wasn't authorized to view, he had no illusions about what was going to happen to him and his accomplice. They'd be lucky if they were shot on the spot.

He was willing to take the risk, but did he have the right to endanger Willow, too? He didn't like the idea of her getting hurt, but then he remembered the look in Graham's eyes and the way he fought against invisible restraints in his sleep, and his resolve hardened. He didn't question why he was ready to get both himself and Buffy's best friend killed to find out what was wrong with his friend. All he knew was that he couldn't bear seeing Graham in so much pain. He'd do anything to stop it.

Willow looked up when his shadow fell over her, blinking a little in surprise but smiling when she recognized him.

"Hi Riley!" She craned her neck in search of her roommate. "Where's Buffy?"

He shifted his weight, trying hard not to fidget, and met her gaze seriously. "She's busy. Can we talk?"

That got him a sunny grin. "Sure. You need any more advice on how to woo Buffy?"

He knew his answering smile didn't reach his eyes, knew his face was too rigid, thus alerting Willow that the person talking to her was Special Agent Riley Finn, not Riley, grad student and adoring boyfriend of one Buffy Summers. Before she could get all worked up and panicky he quickly lifted a hand and shook his head.

"This has nothing to do with Buffy or the others," he said, hoping with all his heart he was right about that. "I just need to talk to you."

Willow nodded nervously and he quickly dropped to the ground beside her, leaning against the tree and closing his eyes for a moment. He could hear the redheaded witch move, trying to keep still, then giving up and clearing her throat.

"Well?" she asked, trying to sound resolute and ending up sounding mostly apprehensive. "What's this all about?"

"That's what I'd like to find out," Riley mumbled. He opened his eyes again and looked at Willow. No sense in putting it off. "Listen, I need a favor from you. I don't like asking, because if you do help it's dangerous, and if anything happened to you it would just about kill Buffy, and I don't want that. Not just because Buffy means a lot to me, but also because I consider you a friend, but I still need you."

Willow blinked. "You know, hanging out with me and Xander has really perfected your already considerable babble-skills."

If she'd tried to help him relax with her words, she'd succeeded. Riley couldn't suppress an embarrassed laugh, feeling himself blush.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just feel uncomfortable dragging you into this."

The witch smiled at him encouragingly. "Just think about the fact that I'm a witch, have been friends with the Slayer since High School, and have survived things that would've sent most of your men running. I can deal with danger. I'm danger-proof. -- Not that I'm invincible or anything," she hurried to explain in typical Willow-fashion, "but I've got some experience with being in danger. So I'd really like to hear what this is all about before you lose your nerve."

"Yeah, thanks, that helps," Riley sighed. He knew he'd never get used to the nonchalance with which these kids faced death on a regular basis. "You know Graham?"

Willow frowned, then her face lit up. "Yeah, sure. The cute guy with the silvery eyes and the great body." She blushed. "Not that I've checked him out or anything, I didn't...I mean...he is handsome, but...uh...we are talking about the silent one, with the beautiful smile, right? The one I have definitely NOT checked out...I think I'll better shut up now..."

If he hadn't been so worried, Riley would have smiled at her description of Graham. Forrest would have loved this. There were few things he liked better than to crack jokes about the effect their oblivious friend had on the female part of the student body...and on some of the males, too. Not that Riley would've noticed. He had a girlfriend, after all.

"Yeah, that's him," he said. "He's my best friend...and I think he's in trouble." He rubbed a hand over his thigh in an unconscious nervous gesture, then described the changes in Graham's behavior and his reaction to the suggestion that he should talk to Maggie Walsh. "I don't know what's going on here," he ended his report, "but I'm reasonably sure Professor Walsh does. So in order to find out what's happening to my friend I need to get into her personal files...and that's where you come in."

Willow nodded in complete understanding. "You want me to hack into the Initiative's database."

"Yes."

"Okay."

Now it was Riley's turn to blink. "Okay?"

The witch smiled at him, shrugging. "Yeah. Okay. I mean, Graham appears to be a nice guy, and he means a lot to you, and what you told me doesn't sound so good, so if I can help, I will. I'll need your help, though, the passwords and codes, and it'll take a while."

"How long?"

"I don't know. That depends on how good their firewalls are. Could be a few hours, could be a few days."

Riley's hands clenched into tight fists as cold dread started to seep into his being. "I'm not sure if Graham has a few days," he whispered. "You didn't see his eyes, Willow. Whatever it is, it's eating him alive. He can't take much more."

"Then we'd better get started," Willow stated, already collecting her books and getting up. "Come on."

He jumped up readily, falling into step beside her.

"Where are we going?" he asked when he noticed they were heading towards the dorms.

Willow, already thinking about the task before her, looked surprised at his question. "To my room, of course," she answered, giving him her patented wasn't-that-obvious? look. "I need my laptop and I don't want to hack into secret government files where anybody might see what I'm doing."

The tall special agent grimaced at the thought, then he frowned when another thing occurred to him. "But what if they trace you somehow? Wouldn't it be better to be at a public terminal or something?"

The response was not helping his nervousness any.

"Actually, if it's really that urgent, we'll have to do this without much of a safety-net. Let's hope I'm up to it."

"I'm sure you are," he croaked, wondering if it was time to send that goodbye letter to his parents yet.

"You know, you could at least try to sound a bit more convincing," Willow grumbled. "It's not as if I were a complete amateur at this stuff."

"So you do this a lot?" Maybe there was hope after all.

Willow blushed, which would have been quite charming if not for the circumstances. "Well, no, not really. But I've hacked into the police database several times and I check the morgue's files regularly. Oh, and there was this time when a computer-demon fell in love with me."

Riley did a double-take. "Come again? There is such a thing as a 'computer-demon'?!"

"Not anymore."

//Do I want to know?// Riley asked himself, only to get a figurative slap on the head by the little voice inside his mind he'd come to associate with his underdeveloped sense of self-preservation.

//Don't even think about it, Finn.//

*****
Part 3:

"Okay, what now?" he inquired an hour later, hovering behind Willow and looking over her shoulder at the screen of her laptop. "What can I do to help?"

The witch didn't even look up.

"Get me donuts. Lots of donuts. And coffee. But make sure it's decaf, or I'll be bouncing off the ceiling in no time. Then sit down on the bed and be quiet." Riley stared. Willow interrupted her work just long enough to raise an eyebrow at him. "What?"

He grinned, shaking his head. "Nothing. D'you want sugar and milk?"

"Two lumps of sugar, lots of milk, jelly donuts. Oh, and your security code."

"75329. Anything else?"

Willow typed in a command, frowned, mumbled something unintelligible and waved her hand distractedly in what he supposed was a go-away-and-stop-bothering-me gesture. Okay, no problem. He was a soldier. He could take orders.

So he went and bought a vacuum flask, filled it with coffee, liberally added sugar and milk, then got a large box of jelly donuts for Willow and a small box of crackers for himself and returned to the room.

Then the waiting started.

The first hour was okay. Riley sat on the bed, munching his crackers and trying not to think, which wasn't that difficult considering how tired he was. He'd been unable to sleep much the night before. Several times he'd woken up, instinctively checking on Graham, and finding him awake every time. So he'd lain in the semi-darkness, listening to his friend's carefully controlled breathing and watching his broad-shouldered shape soundlessly pace the room or stand at the window, staring at the blinds like a trapped animal might stare at the bars of its cage. Naturally, neither of them had gotten much sleep this way.

He dozed for a while, jerking awake whenever Willow moved and being haunted by dream-fragments of demons and blood and Graham. If somebody had told him a few days before that one day he would lie on Buffy Summers' bed and think about his friend instead of her, he would've laughed his ass off. Now he didn't even notice.

Noon came and went. Willow and he ate a quick meal while one of her programs ran through, then the witch returned to her work and Riley cleaned up and tried to sleep some more. It was no use, though. He was too tense. Pacing helped, but only for a couple of minutes, then Willow told him to stop, so he sat down again and did his best to keep still. He'd never liked waiting. He didn't have Graham's seemingly endless patience, his ability to stay in the same spot for hours without moving a muscle and never once lose his concentration. Sometimes he wondered why his friend had no interest in becoming a sniper. He could have been one of the best.

Frustrated to no end Riley reached under Buffy's pillow and pulled out the stake she kept there, proceeding to sharpen it to perfection. He was so focused on his self-imposed task that he didn't even notice Willow's satisfied little "Yesss!" when she found what she'd been looking for. The witch looked at him, found him hacking away at Buffy's emergency stake and smiled fondly. She was about to call out to him when her attention got caught by a random phrase. She stopped, eyes widening, and started to read in earnest. Forgetting about Riley she scanned the reports, filtering the information, then pulling more files.

Finally she leaned back, still staring at the screen with a look of horrified revulsion, and swallowed.

"Riley?" Her voice shook almost imperceptibly.

Riley jumped slightly and turned hastily, a hopeful smile on his face. "Did you find something?"

Willow nodded numbly. "Yes. You could say that."

The smile died as he took in her paleness, stared into eyes that seemed too large for her fine-boned face. Knife and stake dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers. He didn't notice.

"What?" he rasped, fear lending a hard edge to his usually warm voice. "What's wrong?" He wanted to jump up, run to her, look at the screen himself, but he couldn't, finding himself transfixed by her gaze.

She cleared her throat, her slender fingers gripping the armrests of her chair so hard he almost expected the material to break under the pressure. "I...I found a couple of reports..." she whispered. "About the experiments the Initiative is carrying out with the demons you capture."

Riley relaxed a bit. "I know you don't like what we're doing..." he started, then stopped when he saw Willow's look.

"Just...just listen...and try to stay calm, okay?" she said, still in that strange, haunted voice. He closed his mouth and nodded. The fear was back, stronger than before. "The...experiments...they are..." She made a disgusted little sound, wrinkling her nose. "But that's not it. I think it's pretty sick what they're doing with these demons...but...from a scientific point of view, the tests are pretty much standard."

He shifted impatiently, then pulled himself together when her eyes pleaded with him to let her do this her way. She tore her gaze away from him, staring at the computer instead, and blushed a little.

"Go on," he said softly.

"According to Walsh -" He noticed she had stopped referring to her as 'Professor' or 'Ms.', but didn't say anything, "- she encountered some problems...with...the demons didn't...they couldn't..."

He wanted to shake her. He didn't. He just asked: "What did they have problems with?"

"She wanted to test their sperm," Willow explained, meeting his gaze head-on. "She wanted to know how and if they 'reproduced'. But that proved more difficult than she thought." The words were tumbling out now in a rapid, almost vicious stream, as if spitting the information out as quickly as possible could somehow make it easier. "Then, a couple of weeks ago, something happened. Your friend Graham and another soldier were helping to transfer a vampire into another cell, and it got free somehow. It killed the other soldier, but not Graham. According to these reports, he managed to dust it...after it tried to rape him."

Riley had the sudden urge to sit down, even though he was already sitting. "He never said a word," he muttered.

"He couldn't." Willow swallowed. "See, Walsh thought that was a great opportunity. She ordered Graham to keep quiet and to participate in a series of experiments to find out if the incident could be put down to the fact that the vampire had wanted Graham for personal reasons, or...or if it was Graham's 'fault'. Turned out to be the latter." She took a deep breath, intertwining her fingers to keep them from shaking so badly. "That's when it got ugly."

"'Ugly'? What do you...?" Riley felt his blood run cold. "She used him as bait?" he whispered. "No, she wouldn't have...Willow?"

She looked away, unable to meet his pleading gaze. "There are...several video files," she said, nodding vaguely into the direction of the laptop. "She documented everything. It's a highly sophisticated set up. Multiple cameras with simultaneous playback. Sound. The videos are...detailed. Very thorough woman, that." Her attempt at a smile came out as a grimace.

"He wouldn't," Riley objected, still stuck on the part of Graham being used as bait.

"According to her notes, he didn't want to. So she used...she used you to get to him. Said that she'd noticed some of the demons looked at you like they looked at him, and that if he refused to volunteer, she could still take you instead. So he...did what she told him to do...and kept his silence."

"What did she make him do?" Riley barely recognized his own voice. Willow flinched. "WHAT DID SHE DO TO HIM?!" he roared. His legs were working again and he crossed the room in two long strides, joining the redhead at the table. "If you can't tell me, show me," he growled.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she objected. "I'll get you the written reports..."

"I don't want Walsh's version of what happened. I want to know the truth, dammit!" he hissed. She shrank back from the white hot rage radiating off him, and he forced himself to calm down, get himself back under control. "I can't help him if I don't know. The only way to find out is watching those video files. Open them."

A pale hand reached out and grabbed the mouse.

A few seconds later, they saw.

A white room. Maggie Walsh. Graham. Forrest. A metal table, formed like a large Y. Walsh voice ordering Graham to undress sounded tinny and faint through the laptop's speaker system. He hesitated a second before he obeyed, something Riley had never before seen him do, then Forrest nudged him and he did as he was told. Naked, he stretched out on the table, legs spread and bent at the knees, arms above his head. Riley could see a shiver run through his muscular frame, though his face remained carefully blank. Neither Walsh nor Forrest seemed to notice. Or maybe they just didn't care. Forrest took position at the head of the table, grasping Graham's wrists, and Walsh was busy writing on a clipboard. Then the door opened and two soldiers entered, escorting a demon in. It looked almost human, except for the horns and fangs and the shimmering, green skin.

The demon took in the man spread out before it and stopped, nostrils flaring and ears twitching. It was shackled, but naked, and its body's reaction to the sight of Graham was immediate and obvious. Walsh set the clipboard aside and stepped closer, nodding at the soldiers, who grabbed the demon's arms and held it still while she bent down and rolled a condom onto the pulsing cock. Graham watched the proceedings from the table, terror and panic warring with resignation in his eyes as the creature was led closer. Walsh stepped between his legs and started to prepare him, voicing her displeasure when he was unable to relax.

Forrest reached out, patting his chest and telling him to 'just lay back and enjoy it'. Riley almost smashed the computer.

Clutching the edge of the desk he watched Walsh push and stretch him until she was satisfied with the result, then step aside and take up her clipboard, taking notes while the demon drove into Graham's body with an inhuman roar. Forrest had to lean onto the wrists he was holding to keep the other man from arching off the table and breaking free. He started talking almost immediately, the same pleasant stream of chitchat as always, now used as a means to ground Graham, who had closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, not uttering a sound, his muscles quivering from the effort not to fight back.

At that point Willow jumped up and retreated to the other end of the room, hugging herself and staring at the wall, trying hard not to vomit.

Riley remained where he was, pale and motionless, flinching every time the demon thrust into his friend. His gaze stayed fixed on the screen during it all, watching the creature climax, throwing its head back and roaring in satisfaction. Even after it had spilled its seed it continued to pound into Graham, until the soldiers dragged it off him. Walsh stepped in and quickly retrieved the condom.

The demon was led away. The soldiers didn't look at Graham, kept their faces impassive, but they hurried out of the room as if fleeing from the pits of hell, hauling the demon along.

Forrest let go of Graham's wrists with a friendly: "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Walsh collected her sample and left the room in a hurry to get the vials to the lab. Forrest patted Graham's shoulder and told him he'd see him later, then left, too.

Graham lay on the Y table, naked and abused, starting to shiver violently. His breathing lost its even rhythm and grew ragged and shallow, but still he somehow held on to his control. He climbed off the table, moving slowly and carefully like an old man...or a hurting, traumatized young man. He stumbled over to the counter, took the towel that lay there and wiped the blood from his anus and the insides of his thighs, wincing from the pain. Afterwards he stood there for a moment, staring at the bloody material, looking as if he were going to be sick. He wasn't. He threw the towel into the trash, dressed and left.

*****
Part 4:

"Where's Graham?"

Forrest looked up from the weapon he was cleaning and greeted his CO with a friendly little grin. His smile died when he saw the cold fire blazing in Riley's eyes and the grim anger simmering just beneath the cool mask of his face.

"Hey, man, what's wrong?" he asked, instantly worried. "What did he do to get you this pissed off?"

Somehow Riley managed not to kill him on the spot, if only because he knew there where too many witnesses around, and that he'd never make it out of the compound alive if he unleashed his rage. His first priority was to get Graham out of Walsh's clutches, everything else took a backseat to that. He couldn't believe that he'd actually sent his friend here this morning.

"Where is he?" he repeated, ruthlessly reigning in his fury.

Obviously he succeeded in hiding the fact that he was teetering on the edge of committing multiple homicide, because Forrest relaxed and shook his head.

"I think he went up to our room," he said, shrugging. "He looked tired." A quick Forrest-grin darted across his smooth face. "Maybe he's getting old."

It was almost impossible to imagine that his friendly, teasing second-in-command had not only stood by while his friend had been raped by a demon, but had held him down while the monster pounded into him.

For a second Riley stopped, a sliver of doubt piercing the cloak of his rage. Could the recording have been a fake? Could an enemy have tried to drive a wedge between them by making him believe that Forrest and Professor Walsh had committed the ultimate betrayal? He knew pictures and video-tapes could be manipulated. Maybe somebody wanted to split him from the Initiative, wanted to divide their forces.

He could almost believe it, and had to fight the urge to ask Forrest, to confront him and get the truth from the look in his eyes. Then that tiny voice of reason in his mind reminded him of the way Forrest had acted during the rape; he hadn't lost his 'bestest buddy' routine for even a second. That might have been faked too, but he found himself unable to trust Forrest enough to risk tipping him off. So he just nodded stiffly and left, crossing the hall quickly so as not to be forced to stop and chat with anybody.

Everything seemed so normal, and yet his world had changed completely, his faith in what he'd believed in shattered by what he'd seen. All he wanted to do was find Graham and talk to him. Part of him hoped with all his might that his friend would tell him it wasn't true, that he was just having women trouble or something similar.

He took the stairs up to the exit two at a time, then forced himself to stand still during the elevator ride to the frat house, not wanting to alert anybody to his agitation. Fortunately, most of the other guys were out for dinner, so he made it to the room without having to stop and talk.

Graham was lying on the bed, one arm over his face, breathing regularly. Riley stared at him, unsure as to whether his friend had finally managed to fall asleep or not. Then Graham moved, lifting his arm and opening his eyes, and his doubts vanished.

"Gray?" he whispered.

Graham blinked slowly. "Riley?"

Riley stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and carefully moving towards the bed. Something wasn't right. He could feel it as clearly as he could feel the floor beneath his feet. It was in Graham's voice, dark and tired and rough.

"I don't feel so good," Graham mumbled, his eyes drifting shut again.

Fear, cold and sharp and getting much too familiar, struck again. Riley sat down at the edge of the bed, automatically reaching out a hand to check Graham's temperature.

Gray eyes flew open when his fingers touched hot skin, a look of sheer terror flitting across the chiseled face, almost too quickly to notice. It was immediately replaced by recognition and relief, then the usual stoic mask, but now that Riley knew what to look for, he didn't miss it.

"Gray?" he asked, waiting patiently until the tired gaze focused on his face. "What's wrong?"

Graham moved uncomfortably, shrugged, averted his eyes. "I don't know. I..." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I think I'll better get down...ask Professor Walsh to check me."

Riley didn't even try to keep the fierceness out of his voice. "The hell you will!" he snapped. "You're not going back there! The only way that bitch's going to lay a hand on you again will be over my dead body!"

Graham froze, the feverish flush disappearing as the blood rushed from his face, leaving him pale and drawn. "You know." It wasn't a question.

"Damn right I know," Riley growled. His hand snaked out, capturing Graham's chin as he tried to turn his head away and hide the shame in his eyes, gently forcing him to look at him. His voice softened considerably. "It wasn't your fault, Gray. You know that, don't you?"

His friend didn't answer. His eyes were sliding half-closed, his breath quickening. He leaned into the touch of Riley's hand, purring softly like a great cat. Riley's heart skipped a beat, then his brain kicked his libido back into submission.

"Shit," he mumbled. "Graham, what's wrong? What did she do to you?"

Graham flinched at his words. His eyes opened again, widening when he realized what he'd been doing. His whole body grew impossibly still, tension radiating off him in waves. "I don't know," he rasped. "I feel...strange. Hot. Tingly." He shuddered. "Horny as hell."

Riley opened his mouth to ask if he'd felt like this before, if maybe it was an after effect of being raped by a demon, but one look into the scared eyes of his friend quickly convinced him that it wasn't. Okay. Talking about the situation could wait until after they'd dealt with whatever had gone wrong this time. Which made him wonder...

"Gray?"

"Yeah?"

"How...how often did they...?"

Graham moved uncomfortably. His side brushed against Riley's thigh and he shivered, moving closer, almost absentmindedly rubbing himself against his CO. "Once a week, sometimes twice, depending on how...sore...I was." He turned slightly, so that more of his body came in contact with Riley, and closed his eyes. "Usually Walsh would prepare me, but she used no lubricant. Didn't want to screw up the test results."

Riley ground his teeth, then noticed he was caressing Graham's face. He snatched his hand away, which elicited a tiny, mournful sound from the prone man.

"Graham, I need your help. When was the last time you were raped?"

"It's getting stronger, Ri. Feels like I'm on fire."

"Graham..." God, how could someone who'd gone through so much still be so beautiful? "Think, Gray," he ordered hoarsely. "How long since the last time?"

Another shudder ran through the powerful body beside him. The heavy, musky scent of male arousal reached Riley's nose, prompting him to dart a quick look at Graham's groin. Somehow, he was not surprised when he saw the growing bulge there. This was not good.

"This afternoon," Graham whispered. "Walsh wanted to test the hostile we caught last week. I don't know...maybe...maybe the condom had a hole in it or something...there was an awful lot of semen. It burned a bit." His face became impassive. "I didn't tell Walsh. Didn't want her to...experiment on me, too."

"Good," Riley said. "That gives us a little time. We've got to get you out of here." He touched Graham's shoulder, frowning with worry when he felt the heat even through the fabric of the shirt. "Can you make it?" he asked gently.

Graham snorted indignantly.

"Of course I can. I'm a Marine."

"Yeah, but you're a Marine who's been raped repeatedly, spent the past weeks running himself into the ground, and is burning up with fever."

"I can make it," Graham growled, opening his eyes and glaring at his CO. "I damn well better, because I doubt it would go unnoticed if you carried me out of here on your shoulders, Iowa."

"Point. Just try not to faint while we're on the stairs, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," his friend muttered. "That'd be too fuckin' embarrassing."

*****
Part 5:

Nobody paid attention to them when they slowly strolled across the campus, moving unhurriedly through the park. People were used to seeing them together, walking in silence because Graham didn't talk much on principle and Riley wasn't exactly loquacious either when Forrest wasn't with them.

To both their relief, they made it into town without running into any problems. Riley walked closer to his companion than usual, close enough to catch him should he stumble, but Graham kept himself upright and moving with stubborn determination.

"Where are we going?" he asked after a while.

Riley, who had been thinking about what to do about their situation, started a little at the sound of his voice and smiled apologetically. "You remember Giles?"

He knew Graham remembered -- there wasn't much his friend missed, and even less that he forgot -- but it took a second for his question to register, which worried him. The fever must be getting worse.

"Rupert Giles," Graham said finally, making the connection. "Buffy's mentor. Ex-Watcher -- whatever that means. Ex-librarian. At the moment unemployed. The 'Scooby gang's' father figure. We're going to his place?"

"Yeah," Riley said. "Willow went on ahead to tell him we're coming."

"Is it far?"

//Translation: I'm going to collapse any second now.//

Riley fought the instinct to wrap an arm around Graham and support him, knowing his friend wouldn't appreciate the contact. Not now. It would only break his concentration, which was NOT a good idea at the moment.

"We're almost there," he declared. "You gonna make it?"

"Would you please stop asking me that?" Graham grumbled. "I honestly don't know what's worse: that killer headache I've got, being treated like a friggin' invalid, or fighting the urge to jump your bones!"

Riley stumbled and almost fell flat on his face. Graham wanted to jump his bones?!

The soldier made a move to catch his tumbling CO and ended up on his knees on the sidewalk, cursing a blue streak and shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear it. Riley tried to help him up, but he recoiled and stood up by himself. "Don't touch me," he mumbled. "Don't look at me. Don't talk to me. Just...keep your distance."

Riley didn't have to ask why. Graham's pupils were dilated, his eyes dark with desire. His whole body was shaking with arousal and fever. Whatever that demon had given to him, it was getting worse.

"Come on," Riley said gently.

Graham nodded mutely, following him closely, careful not to touch. It didn't matter, because even so Riley was aware of every movement he made, listened to his every breath. He went faster than before, eager to get his friend into the relative safety of Giles' apartment, out of the open, and Graham kept up, like he'd known he would.

*****
Part 6:

Graham made it through the door and to the couch, before his legs gave out under him. He would've fallen if Riley hadn't caught him. Giles, always the embodiment of British calm, decided to settle him in the bedroom. Riley took his unconscious teammate into his arms and carried him up the stairs.

Willow pulled back the covers and waited until he had placed the feverish man onto the bed, then she said: "Help me undress him."

"Undress him?" he croaked, blushing.

"Oh, don't be such a bloody prude," Giles chided from behind him, causing him to almost jump out of his skin. "The man's uncomfortable enough as it is. Get him out of these clothes and under the covers."

//Me being a prude is not the problem// Riley thought, even as his body jumped to follow the gruff command. //Graham being all naked and aroused and too sexy for his own good; THAT'S the problem.// The buttons of the shirt gave easily, revealing an upper body that was all silken skin and solid muscle. Riley's eyes were drawn to the hard little nipples. //Think of Buffy. Think of Buffy. Think of...God, he's beautiful.//

Somehow he got the shirt off without embarrassing himself in front of Buffy's surrogate father and her best friend. He turned, hoping that Giles would take care of getting Graham out of his pants, but the former Watcher had already disappeared back down the stairs. Willow dropped the second boot onto the floor, then quickly tugged Graham's socks off. Damn. Even the man's feet looked sexy. This was a situation he so did not need.

Looking up he found the witch staring dreamily at Graham's abs, licking her lips. He almost laughed out loud at the sight. Talk about the cat and the canary... Not that anything about this was even remotely funny, but since he knew that he could either laugh, or cry for what had been done to his friend, he opted for laughing. Willow started guiltily, then grinned ruefully.

"I might be still mourning Oz, but that doesn't mean I'm blind," she defended herself. "I mean, have you seen those abs? And those shoulders? And that chest? This guy was made for sex...And I did not just say that. I did so not say that. I'm going!"

And before he could so much as blink she had fled the room, leaving him alone with a half-naked Graham. Riley sobered abruptly. This was not good.

He returned to the bed hesitantly, staring down at his charge with growing concern. Willow was right, he was magnificent. Even unconscious and sick he reminded Riley of a sleeping predator -- more specifically a large, resting cat, powerful, elegant and dangerous. Still, the repeated abuse had left its marks, even if they were visible only to somebody who knew Graham as well as Riley did. The lines of exhaustion on his face hadn't been there a few weeks before, and neither had the bruises covering his torso. Judging from the placement of the injuries he'd taken on at least three different sparring partners at the same time, or in rapid succession -- and, knowing Graham, he'd won.

The thought of his friend being brutalized time and again, hurt and humiliated by people he'd trusted, made his stomach knot. He should have seen it. He should have realized what was going on a lot earlier than he had. Not only was he Graham's CO, he was his friend and roommate, he should have noticed something was amiss. He of all people should have looked past the stoic mask his friend wore in order to protect himself.

"I'm sorry, Gray," he whispered. "I'm sorry I let you down. I didn't see what was right in front of my eyes, but now that I know I swear I won't let them touch you again." He cleared his throat, his gaze wandering down. "Speaking of touch...I still gotta get you out of those jeans, so I'm going to open the buttons now. Remember, it's me, no need to panic, okay?"

Graham gave no indication that he'd heard him, but when Riley reached down and carefully started to unbutton his pants he didn't try to kill him either. Getting the jeans off wasn't easy. Because of whatever chemical was coursing through his veins thanks to the demon that had raped him, Graham was extremely sensitive, and Riley's fingers touching him, pressing against him intimately, didn't precisely help matters.

Riley did his best not to hurt his friend, or to arouse him any further, but he had to admit defeat somewhere around the third button. He could either work quickly and cause Graham pain, or slowly and stimulate him. Since he'd been hurt more than enough already, Riley clenched his teeth and went for slowly and stimulating.

It would have been a lot easier if he hadn't been attracted to Graham, hadn't felt so strongly for the other man, but that couldn't be helped. He tried to avoid contact as much as possible, but given the fact that every tiny move he made caused Graham to moan softly and gently thrust against him, his attempts were pretty much in vain. He could feel the silken hardness beneath the soft cotton, and couldn't stop himself from running his fingers along the long column of Graham's cock when he freed it from the restricting cloth. Graham arched up to meet him, his answering moan vibrating through Riley's bones.

Mesmerized, Riley watched him move, watched him rub himself against his CO's hand, seeking release. Every breathy little sound he made caused Riley's heart to pick up its pace, for he'd never before heard so much longing, need, and desire combined. Not in his wildest dreams had he imagined that his reserved, taciturn close combat expert could be so passionate, so hungry for touch. If he had known... but he hadn't, and now he had a girlfriend -- a girlfriend who would've kicked his ass if she'd heard his thoughts -- so he drew away reluctantly and concentrated on the willful jeans. He was drenched in sweat when he finally eased the material down and off, his own cock throbbing almost painfully in the confines of his pants.

Taking care not to touch the much too inviting skin he pulled the covers up and tucked Graham in, noting with worry the raging fever and increasingly shallow breathing.

He was just pulling a chair closer and preparing to keep watch over Graham when the soft creaking of the floorboards alerted him to Giles' return. The Englishman looked annoyed, probably because he was followed closely by a smirking HST 17, or, in other words: Spike.

*****
Part 7:

"Well, isn't that a hoot? Commando boys got a taste of their own medicine. So, how does it feel to be used as a guinea pig? Sucks, hmm?"

Riley ignored Spike, staring at Giles instead. "If I promise to clean up the mess afterwards, may I kill him?" he asked politely.

Giles sighed. "I'm afraid not. You see, the reason I brought this annoying excuse for an evil vampire is that he may actually be able to help."

The commando remained skeptical. "I don't see how."

"Well, mate, for one I might be able to identify the bugger who shagged your friend there," Spike drawled, then grinned evilly. "I already got a fairly good idea, and if I'm right, you'll need me for something else, too."

Riley looked at Giles. Giles shrugged. "Your friend seems in a bad way, Mr. Finn...Riley. We don't have the time for extensive research."

"You really expect me to trust a vampire with Graham's life?"

Spike took a step closer to the bed. Riley rose immediately, instinctively placing himself between Graham and the perceived threat. The vampire rolled his expressive eyes. "Don't worry, Hayseed. I wouldn't hurt the lad, even if I could. I owe him."

"What do you mean, you owe him?" Riley inquired, distrust clear in his eyes. "You mean you're going to pay him back for capturing you."

The blond snorted. "I mean I'm going to pay him back for letting me go," he corrected, grinning at the shock in both Riley's and Giles' faces. "What? You didn't think I was able to break out of a high security underground prison, built to hold vampires and demons, all by myself, did you?"

"But why would he help a vampire?" Giles asked, visibly confused.

It was Riley who provided the answer. "Because he knew what it felt like to be violated, used like some kind of lab rat. Because he could relate to Spike's desire to be free. And because he knew about the chip."

"And because it so screwed up Walsh's day," a raspy voice threw in. Riley turned to find Graham awake and staring at Spike. "So you made it."

Spike nodded. "I made it. Though you could've warned me about that soddin' chip."

"Don't push it," Graham warned, and Spike instinctively took a step back when he perceived the warning growl underlying the words.

Riley was impressed and a little surprised, but didn't voice the questions whirling through his mind. Not at the moment, anyhow. There were more important things to do.

"What's wrong with Graham?" he asked.

Giles, who had watched the exchange quietly, pushed his glasses up his nose and joined them at the bed. "That we are going to find out. Graham, could you describe the demon who last..." He broke off, looking embarrassed.

"...raped me?" Graham finished the sentence neutrally. Giles nodded. The soldier closed his eyes, keeping himself perfectly still despite his obvious arousal. "It looked more or less human," he recounted, slipping into what Riley secretly called his debriefing-mode. "About 6'11''. Black skin with red tiger stripes. Green eyes. Red hair. Pointy ears, claws, fangs, the works. A long, mobile tail, like a cat's." His jaw muscle twitched almost imperceptibly in remembered pain. "Well endowed."

Giles and Spike traded a look, then the Watcher busied himself with cleaning his glasses, letting Spike go ahead. The vampire sat down at the edge of the bed, meeting Graham's cool gaze soberly and ignoring Riley.

"Sounds like you were taken by an Aemanan, mate," he said. "A nae-raido." Graham raised an eyebrow. Spike grinned and answered his unvoiced question. "An Aemanan is a kind of demon," he explained. "They're also called cat-people. Hunters, mostly, though they're known as fierce warriors as well. They're organized in large clans, called raido. A nae-raido is an Aemanan who was born outside a raido, the son or daughter of an outcast. They're not allowed to breed with other Aemanan, which is why the dominant males have developed a special 'talent' to ensure the cooperation of their chosen sex-partners and give them a chance of siring children...or at least have some hot, steamy sex."

Graham's expression stated clearly that he didn't like where this was heading. Riley, who was a bit slower on the uptake when it came to demonology, frowned. "What kind of talent?"

Spike shrugged. "If you want technical details, go ask Giles. I only know what Drusilla told me when she was in her sexy-wild-warrior phase. She lectured me about obscure demon sex practices for two bloody, strenuous years. Then one fine night she ate that stupid doll-maker and from then on it was all 'Miss Edith this, Miss Edith that' and I had to..."

"Spike," Giles interrupted. "Nae-raido."

"Oh. Yes," Spike shook himself and returned to the topic at hand. "Anyhow, they only have to rape their prey once, then some kind of...pheromone or enzyme or...whatever...kicks in and makes the other person extremely horny, so all they have to do is help themselves." He grinned lewdly. "Lucky buggers." Riley was far less pleased. "So why the fever?"

The blond waved a hand negligently. "Oh, that's just in case the victim's being stubborn. It's either screw the demon or die a slow, painful death."

Riley sat down abruptly, feeling like he'd just received a kick to the solar plexus. His gaze met Graham's and he moved closer to his friend instinctively, protectively. Giles was the first to find his voice; he was even able to formulate a coherent sentence. Riley would have been in awe if he hadn't been so shell-shocked.

"So he...he'll die if the demon doesn't finish what he's started?"

Spike shrugged. "Nah, not necessarily. 'S far as I see it doesn't have to be the demon. If he gets fucked long enough, he should pull through just fine."

A shudder rippled through the man on the bed. "No," he rasped, sitting up and retreating towards the headboard, taking the covers with him. "No way."

Pale blue eyes met his gaze almost pityingly. "Not like you got much of a choice here, mate."

Graham shook his head emphatically. "I'm not 'getting fucked'. Not again. Forget it."

"Think, Spike," Riley commanded, placing a comforting hand on a far too tense shoulder. "There must be another way."

"Sure. He can die. Should only take him about two days. Hey, can I have his blood when he's dead?"

"Touch me and I'll feed you your own guts," Graham snarled.

Spike wasn't impressed. "Not when you're dead."

"Then Riley will do it for me."

"Stop it, both of you!" Riley bellowed, glaring at Spike. "He won't die. You won't drink his blood. Now stop bickering and activate that seldom-used brain of yours. There has to be another possibility than to..."

"Fuck him?"

"Get intimate with him."

Giles cleared his throat. "I will try to find an alternative. Maybe there is a kind of spell, or some magical concoction..."

"Fine, but you better hurry," Spike said amiably. "Because he has about two hours before there's no turning back. Nae-raido are not known for their patience."

The Watcher's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you making this up, Spike? Because if you are, I'm afraid I will have to seriously harm you."

The vampire rolled his eyes. "Why the hell should I lie to you?" He blinked, thought about it, and amended: "Except for my evil nature and my general dislike of you, that is."

"Giles?" Riley knew his gaze was pleading, but he couldn't help it. He could feel Graham tremble beneath his hand, could sense the terror raging behind his angry exterior.

Giles continued to stare at Spike. "Willow and I will search for another way. But if we have not found a solution in an hour, I'm afraid we will have to consider Spike's suggestion."

Graham shook his head again. "No."

Riley's fingers tightened for a second. "Find a solution," he told Giles.

"And if we don't?"

"Then we'll do it Spike's way."

*****