Without Shrimp, ch. 11
Disclaimer: All Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel: the Series characters belong to Joss Wheadon and Mutant Enemy. Like so many others, I'm just playing in his sandbox.
Author's Notes: My thanks to BloodyMiri, MadRog, Kantarya, Kallysten, Nautibitz, and all the other wonderful Buffy-fic writers who inspired this, I pray I haven't offended any of you by utilizing your specific 'verses in this or previous chapters. This Chapter, by the way, is Epilogue to the original ending, 10-A.
Spike stepped into the blue room at Wolfram and Hart, turned back to the doorway where Eve stood.
"Go on, then. Not like I need a babysitter, now, is it?"
"I thought I'd stay here, as moral support." She replied with a smirk.
"Riiight.. Bollocks to that." He gazed around at the other versions of him clustered in the room. "I'm pretty sure one or two of me here is STILL the Big Bad, maybe you might not want to risk becoming an entrée."
"All right, then," He said, as W & H's annoying spy left, "The Blue Room, here, can only be used for brief periods of time before the universe decides to go ka-plooey, so let's get this show on the road."
"Who died and made you boss on this little outing, eh?"
"The skinny bint who just left and works for the forces of darkness, that's who." Spike shook his head. Were all of him this irritating? "All right, let's make this a spot of show and tell. We all introduce ourselves, include the most recent highlights of the last four years, and whether you work on the side of the white hats, or the forces of darkness. I'm Spike, A.K.A. William the Bloody, A.K.A. William the Bloody Awful Poet. Came back to Sunnydale four and a half years ago, wanting to either kill the Slayer or shag her into the ground, till I ran afoul of some military types calling themselves the Initiative. They put a microchip into me brain keeping me from feeding on humans or hurting them personally, I started helping the Slayer and her minions in exchange for blood-money and an excuse to be close to Buffy. "
"So! How many o' you lot o' randy buggers-"
"Please, no comments on the name 'Randy', eh?" One Spike popped off.
'Well, that answers one question,' Spike thought, "-Are still with our dark Princess Drusilla, and which one's o' you lot are with Buffy?"
Two were with Dru, twelve with Buffy, four abstaining. Oh, this looks like it's gonna be a fun lot.
*_*_*
"Wesley?" Fred asked the ex-watcher, "It's been over five hours since Spike came back out of the blue room. He just locked himself into Dave's office, and hasn't come out. I'm starting to get worried."
"Perhaps he just needs time to come to grips about certain things he may have learned about his alternate selves. Or perhaps he's discovered some things about himself he doesn't feel comfortable about, and needs time to-"
"Blondie-Bear," Harmony's voice rang out, as she opened the door to the office Spike had taken refuge in, "I've got hot, fresh blood for you, and those icky wheatabix thingys you like-" suddenly, the sound of glass shattering on the door's hardwood surface like a gunshot caused everyone to jump in the office region.
"AAAHHH!!!! Okay, I'll just leave these here, then-" Harmony squeaked, closing the door back, Jack Daniels trickling down one side of her face where the splash had caught her. "UM, Spike isn't ready for company, just yet." She gave Fred and Wesley an apologetic look, then went back to her desk, and began fastidiously combing the whisky out of her hair.
*_*_*
Spike glared at the closed oak double doors, where shards of glass and Kentucky bourbon trickled down one door. 'Sod that, me aim's off. What else has that prat got stocked in here?" He rummaged through the bar inside the office, and grabbed a bottle in each hand. Gin in this one, and "Tequila! NOW, we're talking."
He staggered back around the desk, stopping to glare at the city below. He briefly entertained the thought of breaking the necro-tempered glass windows just to piss Angel off, but reconsidered it when he remembered he'd go up in dust and flames, too.
He slumped down into the lush leather chair, and glanced down at the photographs two of his alternate selves had given to him, to keep.
Row one: three children, two girls, and a boy, varying ages. The names on the back of the pictures gave names. William. Lisa. Joyce-Anne. Now THAT name made his undead heart ache. Both Buffy's mum, and his own. He shook his head, took a long, burning swig of tequila, before looking down at the next row.
Row two. Two pictures. One infant, no name listed on the picture, just a caption, entitled 'My Princess'. The next one, Buffy, holding the infant from the previous picture. The caption on this one read, simply, 'My Everything'.
Spike, the former Scourge of Europe, the Slayer of Slayers, William the Bloody Awful Poet-
-put his head in his hands, and wept.
End.
Disclaimer: All Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel: the Series characters belong to Joss Wheadon and Mutant Enemy. Like so many others, I'm just playing in his sandbox.
Author's Notes: My thanks to BloodyMiri, MadRog, Kantarya, Kallysten, Nautibitz, and all the other wonderful Buffy-fic writers who inspired this, I pray I haven't offended any of you by utilizing your specific 'verses in this or previous chapters. This Chapter, by the way, is Epilogue to the original ending, 10-A.
Spike stepped into the blue room at Wolfram and Hart, turned back to the doorway where Eve stood.
"Go on, then. Not like I need a babysitter, now, is it?"
"I thought I'd stay here, as moral support." She replied with a smirk.
"Riiight.. Bollocks to that." He gazed around at the other versions of him clustered in the room. "I'm pretty sure one or two of me here is STILL the Big Bad, maybe you might not want to risk becoming an entrée."
"All right, then," He said, as W & H's annoying spy left, "The Blue Room, here, can only be used for brief periods of time before the universe decides to go ka-plooey, so let's get this show on the road."
"Who died and made you boss on this little outing, eh?"
"The skinny bint who just left and works for the forces of darkness, that's who." Spike shook his head. Were all of him this irritating? "All right, let's make this a spot of show and tell. We all introduce ourselves, include the most recent highlights of the last four years, and whether you work on the side of the white hats, or the forces of darkness. I'm Spike, A.K.A. William the Bloody, A.K.A. William the Bloody Awful Poet. Came back to Sunnydale four and a half years ago, wanting to either kill the Slayer or shag her into the ground, till I ran afoul of some military types calling themselves the Initiative. They put a microchip into me brain keeping me from feeding on humans or hurting them personally, I started helping the Slayer and her minions in exchange for blood-money and an excuse to be close to Buffy. "
"So! How many o' you lot o' randy buggers-"
"Please, no comments on the name 'Randy', eh?" One Spike popped off.
'Well, that answers one question,' Spike thought, "-Are still with our dark Princess Drusilla, and which one's o' you lot are with Buffy?"
Two were with Dru, twelve with Buffy, four abstaining. Oh, this looks like it's gonna be a fun lot.
*_*_*
"Wesley?" Fred asked the ex-watcher, "It's been over five hours since Spike came back out of the blue room. He just locked himself into Dave's office, and hasn't come out. I'm starting to get worried."
"Perhaps he just needs time to come to grips about certain things he may have learned about his alternate selves. Or perhaps he's discovered some things about himself he doesn't feel comfortable about, and needs time to-"
"Blondie-Bear," Harmony's voice rang out, as she opened the door to the office Spike had taken refuge in, "I've got hot, fresh blood for you, and those icky wheatabix thingys you like-" suddenly, the sound of glass shattering on the door's hardwood surface like a gunshot caused everyone to jump in the office region.
"AAAHHH!!!! Okay, I'll just leave these here, then-" Harmony squeaked, closing the door back, Jack Daniels trickling down one side of her face where the splash had caught her. "UM, Spike isn't ready for company, just yet." She gave Fred and Wesley an apologetic look, then went back to her desk, and began fastidiously combing the whisky out of her hair.
*_*_*
Spike glared at the closed oak double doors, where shards of glass and Kentucky bourbon trickled down one door. 'Sod that, me aim's off. What else has that prat got stocked in here?" He rummaged through the bar inside the office, and grabbed a bottle in each hand. Gin in this one, and "Tequila! NOW, we're talking."
He staggered back around the desk, stopping to glare at the city below. He briefly entertained the thought of breaking the necro-tempered glass windows just to piss Angel off, but reconsidered it when he remembered he'd go up in dust and flames, too.
He slumped down into the lush leather chair, and glanced down at the photographs two of his alternate selves had given to him, to keep.
Row one: three children, two girls, and a boy, varying ages. The names on the back of the pictures gave names. William. Lisa. Joyce-Anne. Now THAT name made his undead heart ache. Both Buffy's mum, and his own. He shook his head, took a long, burning swig of tequila, before looking down at the next row.
Row two. Two pictures. One infant, no name listed on the picture, just a caption, entitled 'My Princess'. The next one, Buffy, holding the infant from the previous picture. The caption on this one read, simply, 'My Everything'.
Spike, the former Scourge of Europe, the Slayer of Slayers, William the Bloody Awful Poet-
-put his head in his hands, and wept.
End.