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.
NO SPOILERS
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part 29. The Scorpion
The day looked like Willow felt; it was gray, overcast and wind-swept. Sunny California wasn't putting up much of a show. She was having a late breakfast by herself in the kitchen; everything tasted like cardboard, but she supposed she should eat. She'd need her strength tonight. Well, they all would. She stood looking aimlessly out the window, and munched a bowl of cold cereal.
She didn't think about Tara. Ever. She schooled her mind not to see her in the kitchen, in the living room, in the bedroom, not to hear her voice, not to feel her touch, her soft, soft lips, her warmth, her power - even in dreams. She looked on the scenes of their love with flat indifference, no fear, no nostalgia, no pain. There would be no more pain. She couldn't endure it - she wouldn't. Just blankness.
There was a footstep in the hallway. Oh, fine. The last person she wanted to see. She took her bowl to the sink and started to rinse it.
"Got a minute, Red?" Spike said. She turned. He was looking at her with that new air of gravity and responsibility she found pretty hard to take. He wasn't even alive, for heaven's sake. Why should he be responsible?
"Sure," she said colorlessly. She'd meant to try for perky, but he probably wouldn't be fooled anyway. Dead, but perceptive.
"There's something you should know about tonight," he said.
"I think I've got a pretty good idea. Big scary apocalypse again, right?"
"There's a bit more to it than that -"
"Not for me, though. I'll be babysitting." She tried to smile. "I know that unlike you, I can't be trusted with the big stuff anymore."
He face grew rather stern. She didn't like that, either. "First, looking out for Dawn isn't exactly a small thing -"
"I forgot. She's still the key, right? The teenage Key. Is that what you were going to tell me?"
"And second, this isn't about me, it's about -"
"Funny, I thought pretty much everything is about you nowadays," she interrupted, abruptly giving way to her vexation. "You and Buffy."
"What's about me and Buffy?" he asked, suddenly quiet, watching her.
"You're both heroes now, aren't you? Companion heroes. Side by side." She felt her face crumple, and turned away from him. "I could've done that, you know!"
"Why can't you do it now? You don't have to bend steel bars to be a hero. Do what you can do."
Furiously, she said, "I can't do anything without her! I'm nothing!" Why did he flinch when she said that? How could he possibly understand how she felt?
"You're not bloody nothing," he answered forcefully. "You're a strong, healthy, beautiful girl; you've got a brilliant mind; you're just starting your life. And you were loved by one of the best people I've ever known, and I've known a century's worth. What the hell more d'you want? What more d'you expect?"
"She's gone," she insisted in a hollow voice. "They took her away from me and she's gone. I'm as good as dead without her." She squeezed her eyes shut. "You don't know what it's like."
"Don't I, Red?" He contemplated her for a moment. "I don't understand your idea of love," he said finally, with some bitterness. "Someone you love dies, and you rush right out and do exactly what she'd hate the most? Is that the human thing to do? How does that honor her?"
"It was the pain!" she almost shouted. "I couldn't take the pain!"
"So you betray every dream she had for you, everything she wanted you to be. You think it's supposed to be just daisies and happy times? If you can't take the pain, how can you say you loved her? You KNOW there's life after death - look who you're talking to. How d'you think she'd feel seeing you right now?"
"Don't you think I've tried to find out? Don't you think I'd bring her back if I could?"
"Bring her back?" he said sharply. "What makes you think she'd want to come back?"
That stopped her. She gripped the edge of the counter. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she whispered desperately, and made for the door. Hoping it wasn't overcast enough for him to follow her outdoors, she flung herself into a lawn chair, hugging her knees and forcing down tears.
"Bugger!" Spike said to himself. He'd screwed that up royally. Sometimes he thought this soul-having lark wasn't exactly as advertised. He hadn't meant to say all that - hadn't meant to bring up Tara at all, at least not now. And he never even warned her about Buffy's dream. Bugger.
He poured himself a cup of black coffee and wondered if he should go after her. He could see her clearly through the kitchen window. It looked like she was crying; perhaps he should just leave her alone to compose herself. But she looked so miserable; maybe he should do something.
"Did you tell her?" Buffy said from behind him in the kitchen doorway. He'd known she was there, of course.
He looked at her apologetically. "Well, uh, no. She took umbrage."
"Huh?"
"She got pissed, love," he sighed. "Still a bit sensitive. Maybe we should leave it until -"
"Who's that she's talking to?"
"Who -?" He spun around to look out the window again.
Willow stood in the middle of the yard seemingly conversing with a tall, odd-looking man. He was weirdly thin, dressed almost in rags, with lank black elflocks hanging in his face (why didn't these guys ever wash their hair?), and a battered, shapeless fedora pulled down over his ears. A grayish haze seemed to hang around him. He gestured with spidery hands as he spoke to her, and as he moved his head Spike saw his eyes. Black, demon eyes.
"Not just who, love; WHAT," he said, heading for the door, pausing only for a brief sun-protection spell. Buffy was right behind him.
They approached cautiously. Willow was within arm's reach of the creature, and she could be used as a hostage. It hissed and mumbled at her, evidently able to speak but not too well.
"Who's your friend, Red?" Spike said casually.
"I don't know," she said, startled as they came up behind her. "He just suddenly showed up."
"Don't forget... sssss... you... are wanted... tonight," the demon wheezed, backing away.
"He keeps saying that," Willow said warily.
"Okay," Buffy said brightly to the demon, "How about you move on, so I don't have to kick your butt? 'Cause these are new shoes."
It snarled, and made a rush towards Willow, flashing its long arms out for her; she screamed and stumbled back, with a hand to her cheek.
"Look out for its claws!" Spike said. With a deep-throated growl, he vamped out, seizing the creature from behind and tossing it overhead across the yard away from the girls. Buffy dashed after it, landing a kick to the head and several blows to the body. The demon struck back, confused but forceful, knocking Buffy off her feet, and then it scrambled towards the bushes. They heard it crashing off.
Spike helped Buffy up. "All right, love?" he said. "Looks like he got away."
"Sure," she said. "He was pretty icky; I'd just as soon not have bits of him scattered around Mom's rose bushes anyway." Her hand still clasped in Spike's, she turned to Willow, saying with concern, "Did he get you?"
"I don't know," Willow said, "I think I felt a scratch, though. And ugh - what's that smell?"
"Let's see," Buffy said, moving Willow's hand from her face. Over the pale cheekbone was a laceration, the edges darkening unpleasantly, and underneath strange, streaky bruises seemed to be developing. Spike caught his breath, and Buffy gasped.
"Oh, Will, that looks pretty bad -" she began, touching the wound gently, when all at once a faint ripple of blue-white light surged from the tip of her finger and washed over the side of Willow's face. The marks vanished as if they had never been there. Buffy stared for a moment. "Uh, I guess it's okay now, actually," she said.
"It feels okay," Willow said shakily; apparently she hadn't seen or felt anything odd. "You know, I still want to go inside and wash, though. I mean, eewww."
"We'd better make sure he's gone, love," Spike said.
"Sure, right; then we'll come right in. You okay to get upstairs?"
Willow nodded, and went back towards the house. She hadn't looked at Spike the whole time.
Spike watched until she was out of earshot. Then he met Buffy's bewildered eyes.
"What the heck WAS that?" she said, "Did you do that?"
"Matter of fact, I didn't," he replied thoughtfully. They looked at each other for a moment, neither one noticing that they were still hand in hand.
Then Buffy wrinkled her nose. "And what IS that smell?"
"Brimstone," Spike said grimly.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Is it strange
That this poor wretch should pride him in his woe?
Take pleasure in his abjectness, and hug
The scorpion that consumes him? Is it strange
That, placed on a conspicuous throne of thorns,
Grasping an iron sceptre, and immured
Within a splendid prison whose stern bounds
Shut him from all that's good or dear on earth,
His soul asserts not its humanity?"
Percy Bysshe Shelley, Queen Mab
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.
NO SPOILERS
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
Part 29. The Scorpion
The day looked like Willow felt; it was gray, overcast and wind-swept. Sunny California wasn't putting up much of a show. She was having a late breakfast by herself in the kitchen; everything tasted like cardboard, but she supposed she should eat. She'd need her strength tonight. Well, they all would. She stood looking aimlessly out the window, and munched a bowl of cold cereal.
She didn't think about Tara. Ever. She schooled her mind not to see her in the kitchen, in the living room, in the bedroom, not to hear her voice, not to feel her touch, her soft, soft lips, her warmth, her power - even in dreams. She looked on the scenes of their love with flat indifference, no fear, no nostalgia, no pain. There would be no more pain. She couldn't endure it - she wouldn't. Just blankness.
There was a footstep in the hallway. Oh, fine. The last person she wanted to see. She took her bowl to the sink and started to rinse it.
"Got a minute, Red?" Spike said. She turned. He was looking at her with that new air of gravity and responsibility she found pretty hard to take. He wasn't even alive, for heaven's sake. Why should he be responsible?
"Sure," she said colorlessly. She'd meant to try for perky, but he probably wouldn't be fooled anyway. Dead, but perceptive.
"There's something you should know about tonight," he said.
"I think I've got a pretty good idea. Big scary apocalypse again, right?"
"There's a bit more to it than that -"
"Not for me, though. I'll be babysitting." She tried to smile. "I know that unlike you, I can't be trusted with the big stuff anymore."
He face grew rather stern. She didn't like that, either. "First, looking out for Dawn isn't exactly a small thing -"
"I forgot. She's still the key, right? The teenage Key. Is that what you were going to tell me?"
"And second, this isn't about me, it's about -"
"Funny, I thought pretty much everything is about you nowadays," she interrupted, abruptly giving way to her vexation. "You and Buffy."
"What's about me and Buffy?" he asked, suddenly quiet, watching her.
"You're both heroes now, aren't you? Companion heroes. Side by side." She felt her face crumple, and turned away from him. "I could've done that, you know!"
"Why can't you do it now? You don't have to bend steel bars to be a hero. Do what you can do."
Furiously, she said, "I can't do anything without her! I'm nothing!" Why did he flinch when she said that? How could he possibly understand how she felt?
"You're not bloody nothing," he answered forcefully. "You're a strong, healthy, beautiful girl; you've got a brilliant mind; you're just starting your life. And you were loved by one of the best people I've ever known, and I've known a century's worth. What the hell more d'you want? What more d'you expect?"
"She's gone," she insisted in a hollow voice. "They took her away from me and she's gone. I'm as good as dead without her." She squeezed her eyes shut. "You don't know what it's like."
"Don't I, Red?" He contemplated her for a moment. "I don't understand your idea of love," he said finally, with some bitterness. "Someone you love dies, and you rush right out and do exactly what she'd hate the most? Is that the human thing to do? How does that honor her?"
"It was the pain!" she almost shouted. "I couldn't take the pain!"
"So you betray every dream she had for you, everything she wanted you to be. You think it's supposed to be just daisies and happy times? If you can't take the pain, how can you say you loved her? You KNOW there's life after death - look who you're talking to. How d'you think she'd feel seeing you right now?"
"Don't you think I've tried to find out? Don't you think I'd bring her back if I could?"
"Bring her back?" he said sharply. "What makes you think she'd want to come back?"
That stopped her. She gripped the edge of the counter. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she whispered desperately, and made for the door. Hoping it wasn't overcast enough for him to follow her outdoors, she flung herself into a lawn chair, hugging her knees and forcing down tears.
"Bugger!" Spike said to himself. He'd screwed that up royally. Sometimes he thought this soul-having lark wasn't exactly as advertised. He hadn't meant to say all that - hadn't meant to bring up Tara at all, at least not now. And he never even warned her about Buffy's dream. Bugger.
He poured himself a cup of black coffee and wondered if he should go after her. He could see her clearly through the kitchen window. It looked like she was crying; perhaps he should just leave her alone to compose herself. But she looked so miserable; maybe he should do something.
"Did you tell her?" Buffy said from behind him in the kitchen doorway. He'd known she was there, of course.
He looked at her apologetically. "Well, uh, no. She took umbrage."
"Huh?"
"She got pissed, love," he sighed. "Still a bit sensitive. Maybe we should leave it until -"
"Who's that she's talking to?"
"Who -?" He spun around to look out the window again.
Willow stood in the middle of the yard seemingly conversing with a tall, odd-looking man. He was weirdly thin, dressed almost in rags, with lank black elflocks hanging in his face (why didn't these guys ever wash their hair?), and a battered, shapeless fedora pulled down over his ears. A grayish haze seemed to hang around him. He gestured with spidery hands as he spoke to her, and as he moved his head Spike saw his eyes. Black, demon eyes.
"Not just who, love; WHAT," he said, heading for the door, pausing only for a brief sun-protection spell. Buffy was right behind him.
They approached cautiously. Willow was within arm's reach of the creature, and she could be used as a hostage. It hissed and mumbled at her, evidently able to speak but not too well.
"Who's your friend, Red?" Spike said casually.
"I don't know," she said, startled as they came up behind her. "He just suddenly showed up."
"Don't forget... sssss... you... are wanted... tonight," the demon wheezed, backing away.
"He keeps saying that," Willow said warily.
"Okay," Buffy said brightly to the demon, "How about you move on, so I don't have to kick your butt? 'Cause these are new shoes."
It snarled, and made a rush towards Willow, flashing its long arms out for her; she screamed and stumbled back, with a hand to her cheek.
"Look out for its claws!" Spike said. With a deep-throated growl, he vamped out, seizing the creature from behind and tossing it overhead across the yard away from the girls. Buffy dashed after it, landing a kick to the head and several blows to the body. The demon struck back, confused but forceful, knocking Buffy off her feet, and then it scrambled towards the bushes. They heard it crashing off.
Spike helped Buffy up. "All right, love?" he said. "Looks like he got away."
"Sure," she said. "He was pretty icky; I'd just as soon not have bits of him scattered around Mom's rose bushes anyway." Her hand still clasped in Spike's, she turned to Willow, saying with concern, "Did he get you?"
"I don't know," Willow said, "I think I felt a scratch, though. And ugh - what's that smell?"
"Let's see," Buffy said, moving Willow's hand from her face. Over the pale cheekbone was a laceration, the edges darkening unpleasantly, and underneath strange, streaky bruises seemed to be developing. Spike caught his breath, and Buffy gasped.
"Oh, Will, that looks pretty bad -" she began, touching the wound gently, when all at once a faint ripple of blue-white light surged from the tip of her finger and washed over the side of Willow's face. The marks vanished as if they had never been there. Buffy stared for a moment. "Uh, I guess it's okay now, actually," she said.
"It feels okay," Willow said shakily; apparently she hadn't seen or felt anything odd. "You know, I still want to go inside and wash, though. I mean, eewww."
"We'd better make sure he's gone, love," Spike said.
"Sure, right; then we'll come right in. You okay to get upstairs?"
Willow nodded, and went back towards the house. She hadn't looked at Spike the whole time.
Spike watched until she was out of earshot. Then he met Buffy's bewildered eyes.
"What the heck WAS that?" she said, "Did you do that?"
"Matter of fact, I didn't," he replied thoughtfully. They looked at each other for a moment, neither one noticing that they were still hand in hand.
Then Buffy wrinkled her nose. "And what IS that smell?"
"Brimstone," Spike said grimly.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Is it strange
That this poor wretch should pride him in his woe?
Take pleasure in his abjectness, and hug
The scorpion that consumes him? Is it strange
That, placed on a conspicuous throne of thorns,
Grasping an iron sceptre, and immured
Within a splendid prison whose stern bounds
Shut him from all that's good or dear on earth,
His soul asserts not its humanity?"
Percy Bysshe Shelley, Queen Mab