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.
ACTUALLY NO SPOILERS THIS TIME
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part 23. Ready for Anything
"Good lord!" Giles exclaimed.
"Don't just keep saying that, Rupert! There's no time to do anything else." Spike still looked put out.
"What's the problem?" Buffy asked. "What's so 'good lord'-worthy about this guy?"
"Remember that I told you some of Spike's, uh, gang, literally wrote the books? He's one of them. You and I actually trained using his books on swordcraft; they're classics. He was a legendary Watcher."
"Oh." She hadn't actually read the books. But still. "But that's good, right? Isn't that good?" she said. "Why isn't that good?"
"It IS good," Giles said firmly. "He's one of the greatest swordsmen the world has ever known - but his era was rather long ago. It might prove difficult for him to, um, adjust. The rules have changed somewhat since then."
"We should do this now, so he can get acclimated," Spike said edgily. "He's a good bloke, but he's not up to speed on the nineteenth century yet, much less the twenty-first." He stood irresolutely on the porch.
"Well, go ahead, then," Giles said.
"I can't decide if he'd be more freaked inside or outside. Maybe inside's better," he said, and strode through the house into the living room, Buffy and Giles close behind.
"Turn off the television, will you, Xander?" Giles said. "We're going to have another visitation."
"Hold on to your hats, guys," Xander said to Clem and Jonathan, clicking the remote control. "And possibly your heads. You're not gonna believe this."
"What's going on?" Willow said. She'd missed the previous performance.
"Spike's going bye-bye," Xander replied.
"Watch it, newt-boy," Spike growled. He seemed far more agitated this time. He put out his cigarette, and paced a little before finding a clear spot in the archway to the hall. Then he stood still for a moment in the way they had come to recognize, and closed his eyes - and was gone.
"Whoa!" Clem whispered.
"Damn, I hate that!" Buffy muttered. It gave her goose bumps; she fidgeted uncomfortably.
There was a brief pause. Then someone taller, straighter, and indefinably foreign stood there instead. Of course, Spike was foreign, technically speaking, but this was different. He stood with his eyes closed for a moment, balancing his arms in front of him, apparently getting the sense of the body he was using. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Giles, his face full of a slightly mocking sophistication that seemed very, well, French.
"The Watcher's nightmare, M'sieur Giles, is it not?" he said, his voice smooth and intriguingly accented. "Now I am a vampire."
"Well, yes; strictly speaking, ah, you, you, you are a vampire," Giles stammered rather nervously, looking at their visitor with undisguised awe. "How do you do, Chevalier? As you know, I'm, ah, Rupert Giles."
The Chevalier bowed gracefully. Just as before, his audience was nearly paralyzed with amazement; they could almost see the plumed hat he would have liked to sweep off, the cloak thrown over his shoulder, and the sword at his hip. He also seemed to have a mustache, somehow. "M'sieur," he said. His eyes swept the room. "I hope you will present me," he said politely.
Giles pulled himself together and feeling that a certain formality was called for introduced the ladies first. "Certainly. Everyone, this is Chevalier Etienne De Treville. Chevalier, these are the Slayer's friends and, ah, associates; Miss Willow Rosenberg -- "
"Mademoiselle." He swiftly crossed the room to kiss Willow's hand. Her eyes grew very round. This was more like it. The girls sat up entranced as the Chevalier repeated his action with each one in turn.
"Anya Emerson."
"Madame," he said.
"And this is Dawn Summers," Giles continued.
"Ah! The sister of the Slayer." He kissed her hand, too, much to Dawn's delight.
"Alexander Harris."
Another bow. "M'sieur."
"Hey," Xander felt a little on edge. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about this guy. True, he wasn't Spike, which won him points right off. But he seemed almost too self-confident. And suave. And elegant. There was something dangerous about him, too, which wasn't obscured by all that hand kissing, even though the women seemed to be falling for it big-time.
Gilew went on with the introductions."Jonathan." Jonathan goggled as the Chevalier bowed.
"Our friend Clement - " Giles wasn't exactly sure how an eighteenth century Watcher would feel about fraternizing with demons, however friendly.
"Comment allez-vous?" Clem said shyly.
"Bien, merci, M'sieur Clement," the Chevalier said.
"I didn't know you could speak French!" Xander stage-whispered. Clem shrugged modestly.
Giles moved on. Apparently, good demons were all right with the Chevalier.
"And of course, this is Buffy Summers, the Slayer."
As Dr. MacNab had done, the Chevalier took her hand between both of his, and seemed at a loss for words for a moment. He looked at her through Spike's intensely blue eye as if she recalled for him a lost world of memories, happy, proud and sorrowful. "I am honored," he said finally.
Buffy felt extra weird this time. For one thing, the Chevalier was - well, very attractive in his own right. For another, she had to wonder what he knew about her nighttime activities with Spike, and thought of that made her blush. On top of all the rest, the hands holding hers were still Spike's familiar hands, and she felt an urge to cling to them. She dropped her eyes and he released her at once.
"So," he said. "I understand we must now fight with swords, yes?"
"Exactly," Giles said. "Are you familiar with Kaa Lore demons?
"But yes. They require a mere thrust through the heart; they have no skill. That should be simple enough."
"Well, there are a lot of them, and not so many of us," Buffy said practically. "So we needed help."
"Mademoiselle, I am honored," he repeated, and also bowed again. Buffy thought she could get used to this, actually. "May I see your swords?"
"Um, sure," she said. "And call me Buffy, okay?" She scrambled to the weapons chest and opened it, lifting out the top tray to reveal larger weapons underneath. He followed her, very closely watched by three pairs of feminine eyes.
"Very well; but 'Buffy' is not so easy to say," he said, with a charming smile. "You must call me Etienne."
"So I've got about six swords," she said, again flushing a little. "I usually use stakes, myself; you know, close combat. Though Spike likes an axe. A nice, big axe."
"If the technique is correct, a sword should be sufficient," Etienne said simply. "If one cannot cut the head off a vampire in a single stroke, one needs a better sword."
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"And so M. de Treville was praised in all keys by these men, who absolutely adored him, and who, ruffians as they were, trembled before him like scholars before their master, obedient to his least word, and ready to sacrifice themselves to wipe out the least insult.
The court of his hotel, situated in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier, resembled a camp as early as six o'clock in the morning in summer and eight o'clock in winter. From fifty to sixty musketeers, who appeared to relieve each other there, in order always to present an imposing number, paraded constantly about, armed to the teeth and ready for anything."
Alexander Dumas, The Three Musketeers
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.
ACTUALLY NO SPOILERS THIS TIME
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part 23. Ready for Anything
"Good lord!" Giles exclaimed.
"Don't just keep saying that, Rupert! There's no time to do anything else." Spike still looked put out.
"What's the problem?" Buffy asked. "What's so 'good lord'-worthy about this guy?"
"Remember that I told you some of Spike's, uh, gang, literally wrote the books? He's one of them. You and I actually trained using his books on swordcraft; they're classics. He was a legendary Watcher."
"Oh." She hadn't actually read the books. But still. "But that's good, right? Isn't that good?" she said. "Why isn't that good?"
"It IS good," Giles said firmly. "He's one of the greatest swordsmen the world has ever known - but his era was rather long ago. It might prove difficult for him to, um, adjust. The rules have changed somewhat since then."
"We should do this now, so he can get acclimated," Spike said edgily. "He's a good bloke, but he's not up to speed on the nineteenth century yet, much less the twenty-first." He stood irresolutely on the porch.
"Well, go ahead, then," Giles said.
"I can't decide if he'd be more freaked inside or outside. Maybe inside's better," he said, and strode through the house into the living room, Buffy and Giles close behind.
"Turn off the television, will you, Xander?" Giles said. "We're going to have another visitation."
"Hold on to your hats, guys," Xander said to Clem and Jonathan, clicking the remote control. "And possibly your heads. You're not gonna believe this."
"What's going on?" Willow said. She'd missed the previous performance.
"Spike's going bye-bye," Xander replied.
"Watch it, newt-boy," Spike growled. He seemed far more agitated this time. He put out his cigarette, and paced a little before finding a clear spot in the archway to the hall. Then he stood still for a moment in the way they had come to recognize, and closed his eyes - and was gone.
"Whoa!" Clem whispered.
"Damn, I hate that!" Buffy muttered. It gave her goose bumps; she fidgeted uncomfortably.
There was a brief pause. Then someone taller, straighter, and indefinably foreign stood there instead. Of course, Spike was foreign, technically speaking, but this was different. He stood with his eyes closed for a moment, balancing his arms in front of him, apparently getting the sense of the body he was using. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Giles, his face full of a slightly mocking sophistication that seemed very, well, French.
"The Watcher's nightmare, M'sieur Giles, is it not?" he said, his voice smooth and intriguingly accented. "Now I am a vampire."
"Well, yes; strictly speaking, ah, you, you, you are a vampire," Giles stammered rather nervously, looking at their visitor with undisguised awe. "How do you do, Chevalier? As you know, I'm, ah, Rupert Giles."
The Chevalier bowed gracefully. Just as before, his audience was nearly paralyzed with amazement; they could almost see the plumed hat he would have liked to sweep off, the cloak thrown over his shoulder, and the sword at his hip. He also seemed to have a mustache, somehow. "M'sieur," he said. His eyes swept the room. "I hope you will present me," he said politely.
Giles pulled himself together and feeling that a certain formality was called for introduced the ladies first. "Certainly. Everyone, this is Chevalier Etienne De Treville. Chevalier, these are the Slayer's friends and, ah, associates; Miss Willow Rosenberg -- "
"Mademoiselle." He swiftly crossed the room to kiss Willow's hand. Her eyes grew very round. This was more like it. The girls sat up entranced as the Chevalier repeated his action with each one in turn.
"Anya Emerson."
"Madame," he said.
"And this is Dawn Summers," Giles continued.
"Ah! The sister of the Slayer." He kissed her hand, too, much to Dawn's delight.
"Alexander Harris."
Another bow. "M'sieur."
"Hey," Xander felt a little on edge. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about this guy. True, he wasn't Spike, which won him points right off. But he seemed almost too self-confident. And suave. And elegant. There was something dangerous about him, too, which wasn't obscured by all that hand kissing, even though the women seemed to be falling for it big-time.
Gilew went on with the introductions."Jonathan." Jonathan goggled as the Chevalier bowed.
"Our friend Clement - " Giles wasn't exactly sure how an eighteenth century Watcher would feel about fraternizing with demons, however friendly.
"Comment allez-vous?" Clem said shyly.
"Bien, merci, M'sieur Clement," the Chevalier said.
"I didn't know you could speak French!" Xander stage-whispered. Clem shrugged modestly.
Giles moved on. Apparently, good demons were all right with the Chevalier.
"And of course, this is Buffy Summers, the Slayer."
As Dr. MacNab had done, the Chevalier took her hand between both of his, and seemed at a loss for words for a moment. He looked at her through Spike's intensely blue eye as if she recalled for him a lost world of memories, happy, proud and sorrowful. "I am honored," he said finally.
Buffy felt extra weird this time. For one thing, the Chevalier was - well, very attractive in his own right. For another, she had to wonder what he knew about her nighttime activities with Spike, and thought of that made her blush. On top of all the rest, the hands holding hers were still Spike's familiar hands, and she felt an urge to cling to them. She dropped her eyes and he released her at once.
"So," he said. "I understand we must now fight with swords, yes?"
"Exactly," Giles said. "Are you familiar with Kaa Lore demons?
"But yes. They require a mere thrust through the heart; they have no skill. That should be simple enough."
"Well, there are a lot of them, and not so many of us," Buffy said practically. "So we needed help."
"Mademoiselle, I am honored," he repeated, and also bowed again. Buffy thought she could get used to this, actually. "May I see your swords?"
"Um, sure," she said. "And call me Buffy, okay?" She scrambled to the weapons chest and opened it, lifting out the top tray to reveal larger weapons underneath. He followed her, very closely watched by three pairs of feminine eyes.
"Very well; but 'Buffy' is not so easy to say," he said, with a charming smile. "You must call me Etienne."
"So I've got about six swords," she said, again flushing a little. "I usually use stakes, myself; you know, close combat. Though Spike likes an axe. A nice, big axe."
"If the technique is correct, a sword should be sufficient," Etienne said simply. "If one cannot cut the head off a vampire in a single stroke, one needs a better sword."
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"And so M. de Treville was praised in all keys by these men, who absolutely adored him, and who, ruffians as they were, trembled before him like scholars before their master, obedient to his least word, and ready to sacrifice themselves to wipe out the least insult.
The court of his hotel, situated in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier, resembled a camp as early as six o'clock in the morning in summer and eight o'clock in winter. From fifty to sixty musketeers, who appeared to relieve each other there, in order always to present an imposing number, paraded constantly about, armed to the teeth and ready for anything."
Alexander Dumas, The Three Musketeers