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, DEFINITELY SPOILERS
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part 22. Gentle His Condition
The Scooby meeting was called for eleven-thirty Sunday morning. Xander and Anya had arrived bearing doughnuts, muffins, and a large container of fruit salad. Brunch came first, and Jonathan was expected later in the day. He had sounded nervous but eager to please on the phone, and Buffy applied just enough pressure to motivate him, but not enough to scare him - she hoped. Giles had strong reservations about recruiting Jonathan, but they really had no choice.
Meanwhile, Buffy explained those experiences of the night before that were suitable for public consumption to Giles, Willow, Xander, Anya and Dawn, sitting again around the familiar dining room table. "So we couldn't see what they were up to exactly, but Rack was there, and Amy, though she didn't look too happy about it," she said.
"Poor Amy," said Willow a little sadly. Then, as they all looked at her, she went on, "well, she was a pet, you know? I got sort of attached."
"She's caused nothing but trouble for you, Will," Xander said. "I'm thinking I liked her better as a rat."
"Transmogrification often brings out the best in humans," Anya observed. "It's very educational."
"Okay, let's just not mention that theory in front of Spike, hon," Xander said.
"Anyway, none of the vamps were up to snuff yet - except Spike," Buffy continued, reverting to the subject at hand, "but those towel demons or whatever were pretty strong, all right. And they were there for a reason."
"Ah - towel demons?" Giles inquired.
"Well, that's what Spike said," said Buffy.
"Where is Spike?"
"He'll be right down. Morning sun makes him sleepy," she said complacently. "Look, I'll show you something we got from them."
She left the room for a moment, and returned to place an armload of long, sharp, recently cleaned horns down on the sideboard.
"Good heavens!" Giles said. "Towzie demon horns!"
"Whatever. Spike ripped their heads off," Buffy said proudly. "Then we used these like spears."
"You stabbed them with their own horns? That's just really gross and way cool at the same time," Dawn observed through a mouthful of muffin.
"May I be the first to say 'eeeewww'?" said Xander.
"Ooh," said Anya, in a rather different tone. "Valuable. And pricey."
"Feel free," Spike entered jauntily, a mug of nuked blood in his hand. It had been a long time since he'd ripped anything's head off, and he'd honestly enjoyed it, not to mention the appreciative look on Buffy's face. Or her even more enthusiastic expression of appreciation later, when the words 'big bad' had even been mentioned. "Plenty more where they came from."
"So we can conclude that Rack is calling up whatever forces he can muster, I take it?" Giles said.
"Looks like." Spike answered, selecting a muffin. The others were just as glad not to see him dunk a doughnut in his mug of blood. "These guys were just run-of-the-mill mercenaries. No brains, just muscle."
"Mercenaries with big sharp teeth and horns," Xander said. "So, basically, he WANTS the Hellmouth open, so he can make deals with whatever comes out - "
"Which just show that he's a pillock, because he's not strong enough to trade with them - they'll just gobble him up in about three bites. He's just a low-rent, down-and-dirty type of wizard - he's got nothing to interest them," Spike went on. Willow shrank a little in her chair, but didn't say anything.
"And he's probably going to stage some kind of pre-emptive strike to keep us from re-sealing the Hellmouth," Xander pursued.
"Right; so if you ask me, we need to stage a pre-pre-emptive strike," Spike said.
"Surprise him before he surprises us," said Xander.
"Exactly," Spike agreed.
"Excuse me, but aren't we forgetting that Rack does have quite a bit of power?" Giles said. He felt the younger men - well, Spike wasn't exactly younger, but he might as well be - were getting ahead of him; "Of a crude type, I'll grant you, but it's still power. Do we want to risk our resources taking him on at this point?
"Yeah," Spike said flatly. "'Cause he knows enough to suss out what we're doing. We can only do it at a particular moment; we can't let him delay us, and we can't let him interrupt us, or it'll be no go."
"Tactically speaking, we should take him out;" Xander said firmly. "I'm with Spike on this." Then, realizing what he'd said, he opened his mouth to take it back when his attention was deflected by Anya giving his hand a gentle squeeze. They were almost always hand in hand now, he noticed. It just seemed natural that way.
"I love it when you use military jargon." She smiled at him. "It's very manly."
"Thank you for sharing that, hon," he said, almost without irony. After all, it was better to have the woman he loved, passionate, complex, and unpredictable as she was, expressing her admiration than not, even if her phrasing sometimes left something to be desired.
The doorbell rang. Buffy went to open it, and Jonathan stood on the front porch, his dark eyes extremely anxious; but he held his ground. "Hi, Buffy," he said, with hardly a quaver.
"Come on in," Buffy said, with a serious face. She led him into the living room, where the rest of the Scooby gang joined them; they too had grown grave.
"First - I want to say I'm sorry about your friend," he said bravely. "I never knew - I never thought anything like that could happen."
Willow looked at him with stricken eyes. "I know you didn't," she said quietly. "I guess none of us knew what could happen."
"I never knew what Warren was planning, you know? And then he wouldn't let me leave. But whatever you think I can do to help you, I will," he said. "I don't know what that is, but whatever it is, I'll try."
Buffy smiled at him. "That's all we're asking," she said.
Just then Spike appeared with another mug of blood - last night had made him peckish - and Jonathan jumped about a foot. "Oh, relax," Spike said irritably. "Like I'd eat you, anyway."
"Spike!" Buffy said warningly. She turned to Jonathan. "Don't worry, he's good now."
"Hey!"
"Well, you are," she insisted.
"Am not!" He thought about it. "I'm ambiguous. Shades of gray, you know? Too complex to pin down."
"Yeah, right," Buffy said sarcastically, resisting the urge to remark that she'd pinned him down pretty effectively the night before. In a consensual way, of course. But her eyes spoke volumes. She turned again to Jonathan. "Well, anyway, he's on our side, and he's NOT going to kill anybody. Or even TALK about killing anybody." Ignoring Spike's derisive snort, she continued, "So, Jonathan, we do need your help."
"Okay," he said. "I'm not really that strong; I don't have much power."
"We understand that," Giles said. "We need your expertise in handling magic itself; Spike here will supply the power. But the seal on the Hellmouth must be strengthened, and it must be done within a certain time frame. We're left with no leeway to call in reinforcements - so we do need you."
Jonathan looked at Spike, glowering in his armchair, with renewed apprehension. He swallowed. "What about Rack?" he said. Willow cringed slightly, but didn't speak.
"What do you know about Rack?"
"Well, Warren got a lot of help from him, and he's still out there. He wanted the Hellmouth to open."
"He's certainly up to no good. He was seen near the Hellmouth last night with some fighting demons, apparently in his employ. The demons were, ah, neutralized, but he's still at large."
"I still say we need to 'neutralize' him, too, Rupes, while we're about it," Spike chimed in.
"Yes," Giles sighed, "I fear you're right."
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England, now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."
Shakespeare, Henry V
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, DEFINITELY SPOILERS
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part 22. Gentle His Condition
The Scooby meeting was called for eleven-thirty Sunday morning. Xander and Anya had arrived bearing doughnuts, muffins, and a large container of fruit salad. Brunch came first, and Jonathan was expected later in the day. He had sounded nervous but eager to please on the phone, and Buffy applied just enough pressure to motivate him, but not enough to scare him - she hoped. Giles had strong reservations about recruiting Jonathan, but they really had no choice.
Meanwhile, Buffy explained those experiences of the night before that were suitable for public consumption to Giles, Willow, Xander, Anya and Dawn, sitting again around the familiar dining room table. "So we couldn't see what they were up to exactly, but Rack was there, and Amy, though she didn't look too happy about it," she said.
"Poor Amy," said Willow a little sadly. Then, as they all looked at her, she went on, "well, she was a pet, you know? I got sort of attached."
"She's caused nothing but trouble for you, Will," Xander said. "I'm thinking I liked her better as a rat."
"Transmogrification often brings out the best in humans," Anya observed. "It's very educational."
"Okay, let's just not mention that theory in front of Spike, hon," Xander said.
"Anyway, none of the vamps were up to snuff yet - except Spike," Buffy continued, reverting to the subject at hand, "but those towel demons or whatever were pretty strong, all right. And they were there for a reason."
"Ah - towel demons?" Giles inquired.
"Well, that's what Spike said," said Buffy.
"Where is Spike?"
"He'll be right down. Morning sun makes him sleepy," she said complacently. "Look, I'll show you something we got from them."
She left the room for a moment, and returned to place an armload of long, sharp, recently cleaned horns down on the sideboard.
"Good heavens!" Giles said. "Towzie demon horns!"
"Whatever. Spike ripped their heads off," Buffy said proudly. "Then we used these like spears."
"You stabbed them with their own horns? That's just really gross and way cool at the same time," Dawn observed through a mouthful of muffin.
"May I be the first to say 'eeeewww'?" said Xander.
"Ooh," said Anya, in a rather different tone. "Valuable. And pricey."
"Feel free," Spike entered jauntily, a mug of nuked blood in his hand. It had been a long time since he'd ripped anything's head off, and he'd honestly enjoyed it, not to mention the appreciative look on Buffy's face. Or her even more enthusiastic expression of appreciation later, when the words 'big bad' had even been mentioned. "Plenty more where they came from."
"So we can conclude that Rack is calling up whatever forces he can muster, I take it?" Giles said.
"Looks like." Spike answered, selecting a muffin. The others were just as glad not to see him dunk a doughnut in his mug of blood. "These guys were just run-of-the-mill mercenaries. No brains, just muscle."
"Mercenaries with big sharp teeth and horns," Xander said. "So, basically, he WANTS the Hellmouth open, so he can make deals with whatever comes out - "
"Which just show that he's a pillock, because he's not strong enough to trade with them - they'll just gobble him up in about three bites. He's just a low-rent, down-and-dirty type of wizard - he's got nothing to interest them," Spike went on. Willow shrank a little in her chair, but didn't say anything.
"And he's probably going to stage some kind of pre-emptive strike to keep us from re-sealing the Hellmouth," Xander pursued.
"Right; so if you ask me, we need to stage a pre-pre-emptive strike," Spike said.
"Surprise him before he surprises us," said Xander.
"Exactly," Spike agreed.
"Excuse me, but aren't we forgetting that Rack does have quite a bit of power?" Giles said. He felt the younger men - well, Spike wasn't exactly younger, but he might as well be - were getting ahead of him; "Of a crude type, I'll grant you, but it's still power. Do we want to risk our resources taking him on at this point?
"Yeah," Spike said flatly. "'Cause he knows enough to suss out what we're doing. We can only do it at a particular moment; we can't let him delay us, and we can't let him interrupt us, or it'll be no go."
"Tactically speaking, we should take him out;" Xander said firmly. "I'm with Spike on this." Then, realizing what he'd said, he opened his mouth to take it back when his attention was deflected by Anya giving his hand a gentle squeeze. They were almost always hand in hand now, he noticed. It just seemed natural that way.
"I love it when you use military jargon." She smiled at him. "It's very manly."
"Thank you for sharing that, hon," he said, almost without irony. After all, it was better to have the woman he loved, passionate, complex, and unpredictable as she was, expressing her admiration than not, even if her phrasing sometimes left something to be desired.
The doorbell rang. Buffy went to open it, and Jonathan stood on the front porch, his dark eyes extremely anxious; but he held his ground. "Hi, Buffy," he said, with hardly a quaver.
"Come on in," Buffy said, with a serious face. She led him into the living room, where the rest of the Scooby gang joined them; they too had grown grave.
"First - I want to say I'm sorry about your friend," he said bravely. "I never knew - I never thought anything like that could happen."
Willow looked at him with stricken eyes. "I know you didn't," she said quietly. "I guess none of us knew what could happen."
"I never knew what Warren was planning, you know? And then he wouldn't let me leave. But whatever you think I can do to help you, I will," he said. "I don't know what that is, but whatever it is, I'll try."
Buffy smiled at him. "That's all we're asking," she said.
Just then Spike appeared with another mug of blood - last night had made him peckish - and Jonathan jumped about a foot. "Oh, relax," Spike said irritably. "Like I'd eat you, anyway."
"Spike!" Buffy said warningly. She turned to Jonathan. "Don't worry, he's good now."
"Hey!"
"Well, you are," she insisted.
"Am not!" He thought about it. "I'm ambiguous. Shades of gray, you know? Too complex to pin down."
"Yeah, right," Buffy said sarcastically, resisting the urge to remark that she'd pinned him down pretty effectively the night before. In a consensual way, of course. But her eyes spoke volumes. She turned again to Jonathan. "Well, anyway, he's on our side, and he's NOT going to kill anybody. Or even TALK about killing anybody." Ignoring Spike's derisive snort, she continued, "So, Jonathan, we do need your help."
"Okay," he said. "I'm not really that strong; I don't have much power."
"We understand that," Giles said. "We need your expertise in handling magic itself; Spike here will supply the power. But the seal on the Hellmouth must be strengthened, and it must be done within a certain time frame. We're left with no leeway to call in reinforcements - so we do need you."
Jonathan looked at Spike, glowering in his armchair, with renewed apprehension. He swallowed. "What about Rack?" he said. Willow cringed slightly, but didn't speak.
"What do you know about Rack?"
"Well, Warren got a lot of help from him, and he's still out there. He wanted the Hellmouth to open."
"He's certainly up to no good. He was seen near the Hellmouth last night with some fighting demons, apparently in his employ. The demons were, ah, neutralized, but he's still at large."
"I still say we need to 'neutralize' him, too, Rupes, while we're about it," Spike chimed in.
"Yes," Giles sighed, "I fear you're right."
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England, now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."
Shakespeare, Henry V