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.
SPOILERS - CHARACTER RELATED
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part. 19 No One Left to Live With
None of the girls liked manly single-malts, so Giles poured fortifying shots of high-quality whiskey for Xander, Spike, and himself, and they sat around the table drinking like gentlemen while the women cleared away the dishes. The guys all knew they'd pay for it later, but what the hell. Preternatural exhaustion was beginning to weigh on everyone again, and it made them reckless.
Xander fidgeted, swirling the stinging peat-scented liquid around in his glass, and stealing glances at Spike, trying not to goggle. Right now Spike just looked like the same old evil-undead Spike to him. No glow-y effects, no haughty other voices laying down the law. In fact, he looked drawn, which Xander didn't remember ever seeing before, and the hand on his glass was trembling slightly. Xander actually felt a pang of sympathy for him, which made him angry with himself. Dammit, it was still Spike. How changed could he be? Well, that was the question, wasn't it?
"So when your -- your Gang said you can do anything, did you -- they -- mean literally anything?" he said finally.
Spike cast him a measuring look. "Pretty much."
"Like, oh, say, turn people into newts, or something? If you wanted?" Xander went on casually.
"Probably could. Not worth the bother, though. Then you're stuck with a newt running around."
"So why don't you? I mean, not the newts, but you know, make a vintage Aston Martin appear in the driveway, or a perfect rose, or magically fix the plumbing, or something?"
"You lot just don't get it, do you?" Spike said, exasperated. He lit another cigarette, and streams of smoke wreathed his head. "That's it, you know. That's why they picked me and not some dim, lazy human-type git to do this."
"I'm sorry; why did they, again?" Giles said curiously. One of the many questions revolving in his mind was why, exactly, Spike, of all the creatures in this world, had been entrusted with these fantastic capabilities. He didn't see how his devotion to Buffy, valuable as it doubtless was, fitted him to essentially hold the power of life and death over humans and non-humans alike, soul or no soul; and it was hard to imagine any occult trial that would demonstrate such fitness.
Spike sighed. "Because I don't believe in it, that's why. That's the point. Never have. It's too dangerous. They gave me the chance, you know, to get out of various -- situations -- by using a bit of hey! presto. But I wouldn't do it. I can fight a dragon, all right, but I'm not making mystery deals with unseen thingies," he continued, answering one of Giles' questions, at least. "When you use magic, you're asking beings, forces, gods, spirits, whatever, to do you a favor. Well, why the bloody hell should they? What're they going to get out of it? What'll they want in return? Some little nature spirit isn't going to wash your clothes or change the channel on your TV just because it likes you. It's gonna want something. Probably something you're not gonna want to give."
Xander was hung up on one item. "Whoa -- wait a minute. A dragon? And you won?"
"Well, yeah. I'm here." Spike breathed smoke out through his nostrils rather ostentatiously, but irritatingly failed to elaborate.
"So you believe the use of magic is a last resort?" Giles interposed, sticking to the point.
"It's the biggest of big guns. It stays in reserve. Anything we can do on our own, that's how we do it. Nobody said this gig was supposed to be easy."
"I guess that's the mistake Willow made," Xander said, looking into his drink. He remembered how proud she had been of her 'fiat lux' spell. But she probably should have just used a flashlight.
"In a nutshell," Spike said.
Shortly afterward, the party broke up. In the hallway, Willow found a moment to speak to Buffy alone. "Buffy, do you want me to leave?" she said flatly. "I'll understand if you do -- I can't imagine why you wouldn't."
Buffy had thought about this. She held both her friend's hands. "You'd be all alone, Will; I know your folks are away. I think you should stay here." She didn't say 'for now.' She wasn't sure if that's what she meant. But she couldn't let Willow go off into the night alone right now; she had a feeling that might mean losing her forever and she just couldn't face that.
Willow hung her head, her self-control finally cracking. "Buffy, you can't mean to forgive me," she said, tears running down her face. "You can't."
"I do mean to," Buffy said firmly. "I really do."
Xander came up and put his arm around Willow's shoulders. She looked up at him, distressed more by his affection than she would have been by his anger. "Xand, I was going to kill you," she whispered desperately. "I meant it."
"But you didn't," he said. "Maybe you wouldn't really have done it. Anyway, I hurt you a lot when I was a hyena. And hey, Buffy tried to kill everybody a couple of months ago." Except Spike, he suddenly remembered.
"Xander!" Buffy protested.
"All I'm saying is, we've all got some history here."
"I don't deserve this," Willow said, wiping her face with her hand. "I don't deserve to be forgiven."
"Maybe none of us do," Xander said, looking across the room at Anya; "maybe that's why we should forgive other people."
The three of them leaned against each other for a moment, sharing sadness and loss together. Perhaps they could go on from here, after all. After all their years of relying on each other, trusting each other, and fighting side by side, perhaps they could come through even this. It was something to hope for, anyway. Then the moment ended. Willow crept back upstairs to sleep, and Xander and Anya decided to go home to their apartment, and return the next day for another strategy meeting. Dawn was torn between yawns and a determination not to go to bed at nine o'clock on a Saturday. She sprawled on the sofa and turned on the television. Giles, beyond thought at this point, joined her, also yawning.
Buffy drew Spike into the hall by the stairway, and wrapped herself around him for a hungry kiss, which he returned with interest. "I thought they'd never leave," she breathed, nestling her head against his shoulder. She looked into his eyes, and said simply, "Come to bed."
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Mean laughter went about the town that day
To let him know we weren't the least imposed on,
And he could wait--we'd see to him to-morrow.
But the first thing next morning we reflected
If one by one we counted people out
For the least sin, it wouldn't take us long
To get so we had no one left to live with.
For to be social is to be forgiving."
Robert Frost
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.
SPOILERS - CHARACTER RELATED
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part. 19 No One Left to Live With
None of the girls liked manly single-malts, so Giles poured fortifying shots of high-quality whiskey for Xander, Spike, and himself, and they sat around the table drinking like gentlemen while the women cleared away the dishes. The guys all knew they'd pay for it later, but what the hell. Preternatural exhaustion was beginning to weigh on everyone again, and it made them reckless.
Xander fidgeted, swirling the stinging peat-scented liquid around in his glass, and stealing glances at Spike, trying not to goggle. Right now Spike just looked like the same old evil-undead Spike to him. No glow-y effects, no haughty other voices laying down the law. In fact, he looked drawn, which Xander didn't remember ever seeing before, and the hand on his glass was trembling slightly. Xander actually felt a pang of sympathy for him, which made him angry with himself. Dammit, it was still Spike. How changed could he be? Well, that was the question, wasn't it?
"So when your -- your Gang said you can do anything, did you -- they -- mean literally anything?" he said finally.
Spike cast him a measuring look. "Pretty much."
"Like, oh, say, turn people into newts, or something? If you wanted?" Xander went on casually.
"Probably could. Not worth the bother, though. Then you're stuck with a newt running around."
"So why don't you? I mean, not the newts, but you know, make a vintage Aston Martin appear in the driveway, or a perfect rose, or magically fix the plumbing, or something?"
"You lot just don't get it, do you?" Spike said, exasperated. He lit another cigarette, and streams of smoke wreathed his head. "That's it, you know. That's why they picked me and not some dim, lazy human-type git to do this."
"I'm sorry; why did they, again?" Giles said curiously. One of the many questions revolving in his mind was why, exactly, Spike, of all the creatures in this world, had been entrusted with these fantastic capabilities. He didn't see how his devotion to Buffy, valuable as it doubtless was, fitted him to essentially hold the power of life and death over humans and non-humans alike, soul or no soul; and it was hard to imagine any occult trial that would demonstrate such fitness.
Spike sighed. "Because I don't believe in it, that's why. That's the point. Never have. It's too dangerous. They gave me the chance, you know, to get out of various -- situations -- by using a bit of hey! presto. But I wouldn't do it. I can fight a dragon, all right, but I'm not making mystery deals with unseen thingies," he continued, answering one of Giles' questions, at least. "When you use magic, you're asking beings, forces, gods, spirits, whatever, to do you a favor. Well, why the bloody hell should they? What're they going to get out of it? What'll they want in return? Some little nature spirit isn't going to wash your clothes or change the channel on your TV just because it likes you. It's gonna want something. Probably something you're not gonna want to give."
Xander was hung up on one item. "Whoa -- wait a minute. A dragon? And you won?"
"Well, yeah. I'm here." Spike breathed smoke out through his nostrils rather ostentatiously, but irritatingly failed to elaborate.
"So you believe the use of magic is a last resort?" Giles interposed, sticking to the point.
"It's the biggest of big guns. It stays in reserve. Anything we can do on our own, that's how we do it. Nobody said this gig was supposed to be easy."
"I guess that's the mistake Willow made," Xander said, looking into his drink. He remembered how proud she had been of her 'fiat lux' spell. But she probably should have just used a flashlight.
"In a nutshell," Spike said.
Shortly afterward, the party broke up. In the hallway, Willow found a moment to speak to Buffy alone. "Buffy, do you want me to leave?" she said flatly. "I'll understand if you do -- I can't imagine why you wouldn't."
Buffy had thought about this. She held both her friend's hands. "You'd be all alone, Will; I know your folks are away. I think you should stay here." She didn't say 'for now.' She wasn't sure if that's what she meant. But she couldn't let Willow go off into the night alone right now; she had a feeling that might mean losing her forever and she just couldn't face that.
Willow hung her head, her self-control finally cracking. "Buffy, you can't mean to forgive me," she said, tears running down her face. "You can't."
"I do mean to," Buffy said firmly. "I really do."
Xander came up and put his arm around Willow's shoulders. She looked up at him, distressed more by his affection than she would have been by his anger. "Xand, I was going to kill you," she whispered desperately. "I meant it."
"But you didn't," he said. "Maybe you wouldn't really have done it. Anyway, I hurt you a lot when I was a hyena. And hey, Buffy tried to kill everybody a couple of months ago." Except Spike, he suddenly remembered.
"Xander!" Buffy protested.
"All I'm saying is, we've all got some history here."
"I don't deserve this," Willow said, wiping her face with her hand. "I don't deserve to be forgiven."
"Maybe none of us do," Xander said, looking across the room at Anya; "maybe that's why we should forgive other people."
The three of them leaned against each other for a moment, sharing sadness and loss together. Perhaps they could go on from here, after all. After all their years of relying on each other, trusting each other, and fighting side by side, perhaps they could come through even this. It was something to hope for, anyway. Then the moment ended. Willow crept back upstairs to sleep, and Xander and Anya decided to go home to their apartment, and return the next day for another strategy meeting. Dawn was torn between yawns and a determination not to go to bed at nine o'clock on a Saturday. She sprawled on the sofa and turned on the television. Giles, beyond thought at this point, joined her, also yawning.
Buffy drew Spike into the hall by the stairway, and wrapped herself around him for a hungry kiss, which he returned with interest. "I thought they'd never leave," she breathed, nestling her head against his shoulder. She looked into his eyes, and said simply, "Come to bed."
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Mean laughter went about the town that day
To let him know we weren't the least imposed on,
And he could wait--we'd see to him to-morrow.
But the first thing next morning we reflected
If one by one we counted people out
For the least sin, it wouldn't take us long
To get so we had no one left to live with.
For to be social is to be forgiving."
Robert Frost