Title: Return
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.
Feedback: Please!
Summary: An alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.
DEFINITE SPOILER ALERT
----------------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part 6. Heart and Soul
Sitting in her own living room, drinking much needed orange juice, and watching Spike talk -- with Dawn and Giles apparently hanging on every word -- was a surreal experience. It made Buffy lightheaded; or maybe that was the lack of breakfast. But nothing seemed rational anymore.
Her world was unquestionably awry. Tara was gone; she wasn't even ready to think about that yet. Willow was unhinged by grief, who knew how lastingly. Xander was shattered by his near-loss of Anya, whom he truly loved. Anya almost let despair drive her to renounce humanity forever.
But here were Dawn, Giles and Spike sitting comfortably in her home together like nothing had changed. Dawn, her sister and charge, so in need of protection, so brave and calm in this latest emergency. Giles, who had left her, but returned without question when the crisis arose. And Spike. Gone when she thought she needed him most, only to return to save the day. In the nick of time, even. The last person she had expected to see -- she had to smile a little, for the first time in weeks.
She sat observing his paradoxically vital face. He had the liveliest countenance she'd ever seen. Nothing was ever simple with Spike; every expression held layers of meaning too subtle to ever pin down, here and gone in an instant. When he was angry, he revealed stores of malice and leashed violence truly startling even to her; when he told her he loved her, that beautiful face showed her the joy, the bitter humor, and the pain of his situation more delicately and thoroughly than words. She let her eyes trace the line of his jaw, the smooth, silky-looking white hair brushed back from his forehead, the angle of his cheekbone. Then she caught herself, suppressing a gasp. Uh-oh.
"It was bloody hard to get used to at the start," he was saying. "We've worked out a system now, but at first I'd suddenly find I was arguing with myself in three different voices. Got some odd looks, I can tell you."
"They argue?"
"Of course they argue, Rupert, they're Watchers. Hell, I think they even have meetings. But now I don't need to hear it. It's like I've got rooms in my head," Spike went on, "with doors in between. And if they want to talk to me they have to knock, and if I want them, for translating Tagalog or hand-carving a throwing axe or something, I have to knock."
"So it seems familiar and natural, not confusing and esoteric."
"Childishly simple, really. Well, it isn't, but it seems like it."
"You know, you never did say how this process resulted in removal of the chip, though obviously it has done."
"Oh." Spike said with a sardonic grin. "I did that myself, after all. What you might call the 'think system.'"
"Simple teleportation, you mean?"
"Spot on. Takes a bit out of you, you might say, but it's not too difficult, really. Not the sort of thing you want to fool about with, though."
"I see. You can access the knowledge as needed." Giles looked at him very thoughtfully. "Could you channel specific personalities, if you wanted to?"
"Don't see why not."
Giles looked as though he wanted to pursue this angle a bit further, but Dawn said, "So you're all soul-having now, right?"
"Almost more than I can handle, Bit."
"I mean, you've got your own back, right? Besides all those other people?"
"Right."
"You seem to be, ah, coping with it well," Giles said.
"Helps to have help. They want the use of my body, and it wouldn't be much use to 'em if I ended up huddled in a corner for ninety years, like certain flaming nancies I know. Not to mention it's been longer for me than for you lot, so I'm used to it by now."
"So how long were you gone -- from your end?" Buffy said.
Spike looked at her, and something smoldered behind that look. She dropped her eyes first. She had missed him painfully, and as far as she was concerned he'd only been gone a month. Something started to sing inside her. "Not really sure," he said. "Time's different there. It seemed -- a lot longer."
"Like years?" Dawn said.
"Well, yeah; like years."
"So did you expect to find me all grown up with kids and everything when you got back?" she pursued, wise in the ways of sci-fi.
"No, 'cause I knew I could get back to the right time. Learned a few new tricks, see."
"I can well imagine." Giles said with some enthusiasm. "The raw knowledge alone -- I should expect you have assimilated rather a lot of sorcery, for one."
"Divination, Thaumaturgy, Conjuring, Necromancy -- stay away from that one, Rupert -- Wizardry, Theurgy; Anthropology and Archeology, Medicine -- might come in handy, Philosophy, History, Literature, Classics -- hmmm, knew those already, Psychology -- could definitely use that around here, Strategy, Tactics, the Art of War, and about a hundred languages, not including dead ones. And I know how to build a mud hut, ferment beer and hunt down a gazelle with a spear -- I get those from the earlier blokes, I expect."
Buffy couldn't help smiling again. "Gazelles of Sunnydale, beware!" she said.
"Handy, indeed," Giles murmured. "What on earth is Theurgy?"
"What did you mean you already know philosophy and history and stuff?" Dawn asked, singling out one fact he had hoped to put off discussing indefinitely.
Spike hesitated. He meant to stick with the truth from here on, so it was now or never, he supposed. Better get the embarrassing bits over as soon as possible. "Well, long time ago, before I -- died, I went to college, Niblet," he said cautiously, avoiding Buffy's eye.
"You mean you graduated and everything?" Dawn said almost accusingly. This was not cool. Some rebel. Always been bad, eh?
"Well, yeah, I did."
Giles regarded him thoughtfully. "Where?"
"King's College, Cambridge."
There was a long pause. "Well, I suppose one might consider that an education," said Giles, an Oxford man, at last.
A happy thought struck Dawn. "You can help me with my homework!"
"Oh, the joy," said Spike. "Should have mentioned it years ago."
Dawn stood up. "Giles, how about a doughnut run," she said. "I'm absolutely starving to death. We never have enough food around here."
"All right; we are a bit short on supplies, and I wouldn't mind a jelly," Giles said. "Perhaps we should check on Willow first."
"No, we'll see to her; you go ahead," Spike said, rising.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Thou tak'st thy way, carrying the heart and soul
That Nature gives to Poets, now by thought
Matured, and in the summer of their strength."
William Wordsworth
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.
Feedback: Please!
Summary: An alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.
DEFINITE SPOILER ALERT
----------------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part 6. Heart and Soul
Sitting in her own living room, drinking much needed orange juice, and watching Spike talk -- with Dawn and Giles apparently hanging on every word -- was a surreal experience. It made Buffy lightheaded; or maybe that was the lack of breakfast. But nothing seemed rational anymore.
Her world was unquestionably awry. Tara was gone; she wasn't even ready to think about that yet. Willow was unhinged by grief, who knew how lastingly. Xander was shattered by his near-loss of Anya, whom he truly loved. Anya almost let despair drive her to renounce humanity forever.
But here were Dawn, Giles and Spike sitting comfortably in her home together like nothing had changed. Dawn, her sister and charge, so in need of protection, so brave and calm in this latest emergency. Giles, who had left her, but returned without question when the crisis arose. And Spike. Gone when she thought she needed him most, only to return to save the day. In the nick of time, even. The last person she had expected to see -- she had to smile a little, for the first time in weeks.
She sat observing his paradoxically vital face. He had the liveliest countenance she'd ever seen. Nothing was ever simple with Spike; every expression held layers of meaning too subtle to ever pin down, here and gone in an instant. When he was angry, he revealed stores of malice and leashed violence truly startling even to her; when he told her he loved her, that beautiful face showed her the joy, the bitter humor, and the pain of his situation more delicately and thoroughly than words. She let her eyes trace the line of his jaw, the smooth, silky-looking white hair brushed back from his forehead, the angle of his cheekbone. Then she caught herself, suppressing a gasp. Uh-oh.
"It was bloody hard to get used to at the start," he was saying. "We've worked out a system now, but at first I'd suddenly find I was arguing with myself in three different voices. Got some odd looks, I can tell you."
"They argue?"
"Of course they argue, Rupert, they're Watchers. Hell, I think they even have meetings. But now I don't need to hear it. It's like I've got rooms in my head," Spike went on, "with doors in between. And if they want to talk to me they have to knock, and if I want them, for translating Tagalog or hand-carving a throwing axe or something, I have to knock."
"So it seems familiar and natural, not confusing and esoteric."
"Childishly simple, really. Well, it isn't, but it seems like it."
"You know, you never did say how this process resulted in removal of the chip, though obviously it has done."
"Oh." Spike said with a sardonic grin. "I did that myself, after all. What you might call the 'think system.'"
"Simple teleportation, you mean?"
"Spot on. Takes a bit out of you, you might say, but it's not too difficult, really. Not the sort of thing you want to fool about with, though."
"I see. You can access the knowledge as needed." Giles looked at him very thoughtfully. "Could you channel specific personalities, if you wanted to?"
"Don't see why not."
Giles looked as though he wanted to pursue this angle a bit further, but Dawn said, "So you're all soul-having now, right?"
"Almost more than I can handle, Bit."
"I mean, you've got your own back, right? Besides all those other people?"
"Right."
"You seem to be, ah, coping with it well," Giles said.
"Helps to have help. They want the use of my body, and it wouldn't be much use to 'em if I ended up huddled in a corner for ninety years, like certain flaming nancies I know. Not to mention it's been longer for me than for you lot, so I'm used to it by now."
"So how long were you gone -- from your end?" Buffy said.
Spike looked at her, and something smoldered behind that look. She dropped her eyes first. She had missed him painfully, and as far as she was concerned he'd only been gone a month. Something started to sing inside her. "Not really sure," he said. "Time's different there. It seemed -- a lot longer."
"Like years?" Dawn said.
"Well, yeah; like years."
"So did you expect to find me all grown up with kids and everything when you got back?" she pursued, wise in the ways of sci-fi.
"No, 'cause I knew I could get back to the right time. Learned a few new tricks, see."
"I can well imagine." Giles said with some enthusiasm. "The raw knowledge alone -- I should expect you have assimilated rather a lot of sorcery, for one."
"Divination, Thaumaturgy, Conjuring, Necromancy -- stay away from that one, Rupert -- Wizardry, Theurgy; Anthropology and Archeology, Medicine -- might come in handy, Philosophy, History, Literature, Classics -- hmmm, knew those already, Psychology -- could definitely use that around here, Strategy, Tactics, the Art of War, and about a hundred languages, not including dead ones. And I know how to build a mud hut, ferment beer and hunt down a gazelle with a spear -- I get those from the earlier blokes, I expect."
Buffy couldn't help smiling again. "Gazelles of Sunnydale, beware!" she said.
"Handy, indeed," Giles murmured. "What on earth is Theurgy?"
"What did you mean you already know philosophy and history and stuff?" Dawn asked, singling out one fact he had hoped to put off discussing indefinitely.
Spike hesitated. He meant to stick with the truth from here on, so it was now or never, he supposed. Better get the embarrassing bits over as soon as possible. "Well, long time ago, before I -- died, I went to college, Niblet," he said cautiously, avoiding Buffy's eye.
"You mean you graduated and everything?" Dawn said almost accusingly. This was not cool. Some rebel. Always been bad, eh?
"Well, yeah, I did."
Giles regarded him thoughtfully. "Where?"
"King's College, Cambridge."
There was a long pause. "Well, I suppose one might consider that an education," said Giles, an Oxford man, at last.
A happy thought struck Dawn. "You can help me with my homework!"
"Oh, the joy," said Spike. "Should have mentioned it years ago."
Dawn stood up. "Giles, how about a doughnut run," she said. "I'm absolutely starving to death. We never have enough food around here."
"All right; we are a bit short on supplies, and I wouldn't mind a jelly," Giles said. "Perhaps we should check on Willow first."
"No, we'll see to her; you go ahead," Spike said, rising.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Thou tak'st thy way, carrying the heart and soul
That Nature gives to Poets, now by thought
Matured, and in the summer of their strength."
William Wordsworth