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: A Spike-centric 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 SEASON 6 END SPOILERS
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part. 17 All Several Sins
Xander was the first one to recover himself. "How are you, Will?" he said gently. "Wanna sit?"
"Yeah, I do," she said, in a faint voice. She had changed into jeans and a plain sweatshirt, and looked almost like the girl they knew again. But her face and bearing were stamped with the experience of horror, loss, and an incredulous self-loathing that made them want to look away. Her face was as white as Spike's, her eyes dull and apprehensive.
"Um, Will, want some coffee?" Buffy said, taking her cue from Xander. Try and act normally, that was the ticket. This was Willow. She poured coffee and passed it down the table.
"I'll never say no to the caffeine." She sat heavily, propping her elbows on the table and resting her head in her hands for a moment. Then she looked up and faced them.
Giles cleared his throat. "How are you feeling, Willow?"
"I guess I'm good," she replied, with a weak attempt at normality. "Really, really tired, though."
"Everybody's got an energy drain," Dawn began brightly, "caused by, uh - "
"Caused by me?" Willow said.
"Uh, yeah."
There was an uneasy silence. Xander looked at her and tried to see the same Willow with whom he'd shared a bed when they wore footie pajamas. Yet she had threatened him, and everyone in the room, with dire suffering and death if they interfered with her revenge. He never would have believed she could do such a thing, and for such a sick, paltry reason; she was the one he thought he could trust beyond anyone else in the world, even Buffy -- or Anya. And yet he didn't know himself, either, did he? Could they trust him? Would he ever have believed he would desert his sincere, loving bride at the altar exposed to the pity and scorn of their so-carefully chosen guests? He would have said a guy who did that was a self-centered jerk -- before he became that guy. He didn't understand himself, or her, or the world, anymore.
"I helped you, too," Anya told Willow kindly, "so I am also to blame. Though it wasn't my idea."
Xander took her hand, his fingers threading through hers. She was doing her best to help; she was brave, and loyal, and earnest, and he loved her. That was one thing he was sure of.
"Yes, well, we were discussing an additional problem that's arisen due to the, ah, unfortunate events of the last few days," Giles said. "Things that will need, ah, coping with."
She looked into the depths of her cup. Shame was a crushing weight on the back of her neck, pushing her head down. "I remember now," she said. "I know what I did -- what I tried to do." She looked at Spike, who seemed perfectly at home sitting between Dawn and Buffy, openly holding Buffy's hand right in front of Xander and Giles. That was odd -- and unsettling. "I know what happened. I know you stopped me. I just don't know how."
Giles caught Spike's eye, and at his nod, said, "Well, certain things have transpired that you don't know about. Spike has -- has changed."
"Just give her the short version, Rupes."
Something flashed briefly in Willow's eyes. "Why don't you tell me yourself?" There was a ghost of hostility in her tone.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree:
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree;
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty! guilty!'
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no soul will pity me:
Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself?"
Shakespeare, Richard III
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: A Spike-centric 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 SEASON 6 END SPOILERS
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part. 17 All Several Sins
Xander was the first one to recover himself. "How are you, Will?" he said gently. "Wanna sit?"
"Yeah, I do," she said, in a faint voice. She had changed into jeans and a plain sweatshirt, and looked almost like the girl they knew again. But her face and bearing were stamped with the experience of horror, loss, and an incredulous self-loathing that made them want to look away. Her face was as white as Spike's, her eyes dull and apprehensive.
"Um, Will, want some coffee?" Buffy said, taking her cue from Xander. Try and act normally, that was the ticket. This was Willow. She poured coffee and passed it down the table.
"I'll never say no to the caffeine." She sat heavily, propping her elbows on the table and resting her head in her hands for a moment. Then she looked up and faced them.
Giles cleared his throat. "How are you feeling, Willow?"
"I guess I'm good," she replied, with a weak attempt at normality. "Really, really tired, though."
"Everybody's got an energy drain," Dawn began brightly, "caused by, uh - "
"Caused by me?" Willow said.
"Uh, yeah."
There was an uneasy silence. Xander looked at her and tried to see the same Willow with whom he'd shared a bed when they wore footie pajamas. Yet she had threatened him, and everyone in the room, with dire suffering and death if they interfered with her revenge. He never would have believed she could do such a thing, and for such a sick, paltry reason; she was the one he thought he could trust beyond anyone else in the world, even Buffy -- or Anya. And yet he didn't know himself, either, did he? Could they trust him? Would he ever have believed he would desert his sincere, loving bride at the altar exposed to the pity and scorn of their so-carefully chosen guests? He would have said a guy who did that was a self-centered jerk -- before he became that guy. He didn't understand himself, or her, or the world, anymore.
"I helped you, too," Anya told Willow kindly, "so I am also to blame. Though it wasn't my idea."
Xander took her hand, his fingers threading through hers. She was doing her best to help; she was brave, and loyal, and earnest, and he loved her. That was one thing he was sure of.
"Yes, well, we were discussing an additional problem that's arisen due to the, ah, unfortunate events of the last few days," Giles said. "Things that will need, ah, coping with."
She looked into the depths of her cup. Shame was a crushing weight on the back of her neck, pushing her head down. "I remember now," she said. "I know what I did -- what I tried to do." She looked at Spike, who seemed perfectly at home sitting between Dawn and Buffy, openly holding Buffy's hand right in front of Xander and Giles. That was odd -- and unsettling. "I know what happened. I know you stopped me. I just don't know how."
Giles caught Spike's eye, and at his nod, said, "Well, certain things have transpired that you don't know about. Spike has -- has changed."
"Just give her the short version, Rupes."
Something flashed briefly in Willow's eyes. "Why don't you tell me yourself?" There was a ghost of hostility in her tone.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree:
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree;
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty! guilty!'
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no soul will pity me:
Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself?"
Shakespeare, Richard III