Author's Note: Sorry about lack of updates recently. I had a hectic few days at work. And I might have some trouble over the next few days, because the manager of our hotel is going to a funeral, so I'm taking over his job, too.
Anyways, hopefully I'll get the Seventh Segment up in its entirety before I go to Norway to watch my grandma get the Kavli award.
So! About this section!
Yes, the very beginning of this first epilogue is taken from the end of "Paradox". Now you get to see into the Doctor's mindset a little, and see a little bit better why he had his serious breakdown at the end of "Elizabeth". This on top of everything else he'd just faced, in the show, is kind of harsh for him.
For the second part of this epilogue, I urge you to look back at what Buffy tells the Doctor she's going to do to him if he kills Dawn (chapter 16: Non-Interference, Part III). Then look at what the Doctor says in this section. Shows you the respect he has for Buffy.
And as for the third section of this epilogue, well, the Buffy show does make a huge thing out of whether or not Buffy had been brought back wrong. In the show, Tara researches it and decides that Buffy wasn't. Her molecules are all shaken up so she doesn't quite read the right way on technological instruments (like Spike's chip, or other instruments that were looking, say, throughout all of time and space trying to pick up Buffy's bio-signature), but she isn't wrong.
Poor Buffy.
(Poor everyone, really.)
Epilogue II is much more uplifting, I promise.
Epilogue I: One Week
.
Sunnydale, May 13, 1999 — One Week Before The Mayor's Ascension
The Doctor had been putting off going back to the space-time marker. He thought… he'd have to do it. To kill Dawn, to destroy Buffy's life, to make the timeline work out just as it had last time, with Elizabeth.
But then he'd gotten some strange, nonsensical readings on the TARDIS, originating from Sunnydale, 1999 — Buffy's past. Back to the time that Xander had yelled at him about, the time when the Mayor was about to Ascend, and he'd told them nothing that could help them. And, of course, it was the type of trouble only he could solve, so he had to land there.
It was only when the Doctor was there, in that place and time, that he worked it all out. Buffy had a copy of his soul. Yes… yes! Of course! He'd gotten the whole causality backwards. That portal… it was the portal! That was why he couldn't interfere, to stop it. That point in time was fixed. When he tried to change it, the universe simply wrote him out.
The portal had to happen.
Because Buffy jumped into it.
But I didn't die, Buffy had told him. I jumped, but I survived. You have to remember that.
And it pained him to think of her believing, so strongly, that she would die when she jumped into the portal. It pained him to think of her giving up hope, as she made her dying wishes. But he had used the Moment — he knew what it was like to think you were going to die, and then wake up and realize you'd survived the experience, that you was alive and didn't know why or what your purpose was. Buffy would be like that. She'd need help. Guidance.
Here, in his TARDIS, right now, he was facing a younger Buffy. A Buffy Summers who didn't have a sister. A Buffy Summers who wasn't in love with him. A Buffy Summers who'd just saved his soul from eternal torment inside a Dalek Hell designed specifically to torture him.
"So… um… Angel's leaving," Buffy offered, a little nervously. She was leaning against the console, watching him. "Just FYI. I mean, I know you don't like him."
Well. Better than Riley Finn.
"Naw! Angel's fine!" the Doctor said. He flipped another switch. "Well, I say fine. Actually, he's a bit naff in the temporal department. But his heart's in the right place."
Buffy tapped her shoes against the edge of the console, a bit awkwardly. "I… well I was just thinking…" She didn't even really look at him, playing with some slightly-peeling duct tape holding some button on, on the console. "...I mean, you know… with no Angel or anything, and me needing more help with big bads and monsters and stuff… maybe you could… stop by, more often."
There was silence, between them.
The Doctor glanced back at her. It was strange, seeing her this young. She had so far to go, before she became the Buffy he'd gotten to know, so well. Yet… she was still the same person, inside.
"You know," the Doctor said, with a grin. "I might just do that!" Then he plucked out the sonic screwdriver, and ran over to her friends. "But, first… better make sure the others are all right as rain!"
He left Buffy back on Earth, with her friends — and not one word on how to stop the Ascension, just as everyone had said. And then he'd raced back into his TARDIS, and launched it into the vortex, and just… stood there, a second. Waiting.
He'd destroyed Donna, he'd watched the Daleks nearly destroy the universe, he listened as Davros told him that he turned his companions into weapons (and Davros didn't know how true that was), and he'd even lost River — whom he didn't know, but would, someday.
And now, here the Doctor was. Alone. Again.
And he needed her.
(Buffy Summers.)
Beneath the shadows, beneath the bluster, beneath all of it, the Doctor was someone who needed her. So very, very much.
The Doctor set the coordinates for Sunnydale. Sometime after the date-time marker, perhaps enough of a ways out that Buffy could put everything in order, could straighten out her life and pack and make sure that she was ready to go off with him. Enough time that she would be sure, when he asked her, that she was ready for this…
Ooh, that was odd. Very odd. A bizarre set of temporal jumps, right around August 3rd, 2001.
The Doctor set the coordinates. Well, this could be brilliant, actually. Just what he needed! He'd find Buffy, work out these temporal jumps, save the world, and then they'd go off together. On to their next adventure, somewhere else in time and space.
Buffy and the Doctor.
The Doctor's TARDIS landed with a thud, and the Doctor did something tricky and rather brilliant to his TARDIS that would neutralize the time skips as much as possible. Then he went out to investigate, sonic in hand, trying to find the source of the disturbance.
He found Buffy being harassed by a vampire, which he scared off with no effort at all. Then he grinned at Buffy, expecting a warm welcome and a hug.
What he got was a punch in his jaw. And the realization that this wasn't Buffy.
Because Buffy was dead.
Gone forever.
Dead.
(And she was never, ever coming back.)
Sunnydale, May 29, 2000 — One Week After Buffy's Death
The minions were running.
The demons and evil things lurking in the night had worked out that Glory's scheme hadn't been intended to send Earth into Hell. It had been intended to destroy everything in the universe, with Glory safely on the other side.
That got them angry.
The minions didn't know what to do. They'd all worshipped Glory, their all-wonderful, all-powerful goddess. But now she was dead, and her plans had all failed, and there was no one left to protect them anymore.
They rounded a corner, and found themselves trapped in a dark, abandoned alley. They spun around, and watched as the evil, murderous hell beasts all stalked towards them, ready to tear them apart.
That was when a burst of wind rushed through the alley, and a blue box appeared beside the minions. The door opened, flooding the evening with an ethereal white light, and emerging from that light was a man. A skinny man in a brown pinstripe suit, his hand extended towards the minions.
"Come with me," he told them.
The minions looked at one another, then ran inside the box.
The moment they were all safely inside that box and the door was shut, the minions began doing what they did best. They went down onto their hands and knees and began to bow, singing praises to this "almighty Doctor" who had saved them, promising to worship him and serve him with no thought to themselves.
The Doctor just stood by the central console, seemingly deaf to their fawning and adoration, his eyes fixed on a sheet of paper in his hands. A paper upon which was written the words, "Blame Sheet."
"Get up," the Doctor said, and his voice was soft, quiet, but colder than the most biting winter storm.
The minions all hesitated, but stumbled to their feet.
The Doctor still didn't face them, still didn't even acknowledge them there, in his fabulous, glorious, wonderful time-ship.
"Oh holy, sweet, wonderful, magnificent Doctor," the minions tried again. "We promise to worship you, and praise you, and sing your…"
"Don't you dare," the Doctor growled. He spun around, and the look on his face was so dark, thunderous, and angry, that every one of the minions backed away from it. They realized that this hadn't, exactly, been the salvation they'd all thought.
The Doctor advanced upon them, his eyes scanning each and every one of their faces.
"Someone has died out there," the Doctor said, "someone better than any of you! Someone who should never have had to die! And all because of your twisted, ridiculous devotion!" He stopped, his entire posture radiating anger and disgust. "And I promise that the next person who so much as mentions the word 'god' will wish I'd left them out there. Do you understand?"
The minions all nodded, afraid to speak.
"Someone far more clever than me gave me some advice," said the Doctor. "She said to stop blaming myself for other people's mistakes. Place the blame where it really lies. And I may have made this timeline alteration possible, but I wasn't the reason that these events happened. I wasn't the one who made it a choice between two innocent girls' lives and the entire infinity of the multiverse! I wasn't the one who put them in this situation!" He glared at the minions. "You did."
"We… we were simply following orders!" one of the minions begged him.
"We only did as our magnificent, splendi…" the next minion trailed off, then coughed. "I mean, we only did as we were told."
"Then you should have said, 'no!'" the Doctor shouted. "You should have refused!" He took a few sharp, furious breaths. "I gave you all a choice. Each and every one of you. I told you, over and over again, what was going to happen. I warned you! But you kept going. You gave Glory the means, the tools, and the encouragement to make sure that this happened. You allowed all of this to take place!"
"We've learned our lesson!" said one of the minions. "We have seen the error of our ways, what has come from worshipping the false goddess, and we swear now to worship only you, oh wondrous—"
"You've learned nothing!" the Doctor cut in. "What did you do wrong? Tell me that. Anyone?"
"We… we betrayed the forces of light," a minion offered. "We worshipped the Abomination, when we should have worshipped you, oh glorious—"
"That," said the Doctor, "is the wrong answer." He seethed at them. "You tried to kill an innocent person! A child, only fourteen years old, who had her own life and dreams and aspirations. You tied her up, shoved her onto a board, and tried to bleed her to death, taking the rest of the universe with her. You tried to kill one innocent person, and wound up murdering another one. That's what you did wrong!"
The minions all stood, in silence, shaking in their brown sack cloths. None of them were sure what to say. They knew what they'd say to Glory, in this situation, how to appease her, but… this man… this Doctor…
What could they possibly say to him?
"Are you going to kill us?" one of the minions asked, at last.
The Doctor stepped back. "No," he admitted. "I'm going to make sure that you live. And I'm going to make sure that you never, not for a single second, forget that you killed an innocent girl. Not you, not your children, and not your children's children. I'm going to make you live with the pain, the loss, the guilt, and I'm going to make sure you never, ever forget her."
"Oh, all exultant, splendid, wonderful Doctor!" the minions cried. "We are so grateful that you—"
"Enough!" the Doctor shouted, and all the minions fell into silence, all at once. "This is your last day of worshipping another person — no matter who or what that person claims to be. From now on, you're going to spend every single day of your lives devoting yourselves to the ideals of friendship, love, and justice. You are going to slave for these ideals, spend every single ounce of your strength building a good and happier future, or so help me, I will personally ensure that you suffer a fate far worse than the death you deserve."
The minions all nodded, their terrified eyes fixed on the Doctor.
The Doctor turned back to the central console, his eyes landing on the sheet of paper he'd abandoned there — the Blame Sheet. "Take this down," he muttered. "I'm going to tell you a story, now. A story that I want to make sure you never, ever forget." He picked up the paper, and studied it with eyes that burned with a deep, despairing sorrow. "A story of a girl named Buffy Anne Summers."
Sunnydale, October 13, 2001 — One Week After Buffy's Resurrection
Buffy walked out of the Magic Box, and sat outside, just staring off into the distance.
She felt dead.
She'd given up her life, given up everything, just so she could save Dawn and her friends and the multiverse. She was supposed to die. She should have died.
But here she was. Alive.
She stared off into the distance, at the bright sun beating down on the Sunnydale sidewalks. She didn't fit in with this world anymore. She needed to leave. She needed to understand what it was like to live again. She needed…
The Doctor.
So she waited. Waited out here, where she would be able to hear the familiar sounds of the trumpeting TARDIS, if he came. Waited out here for the Doctor to arrive, carry her away. She waited for something to happen.
Nothing ever did.
"He sort of… stopped by," Dawn had told Buffy, a few nights ago, "while you were dead. He didn't know you'd died, actually. I mean, he knew you jumped, but he didn't know you actually… yeah." She brushed some hair behind her ears. "He was… really, really upset about it. Like, super duper upset. I think he kind of… blamed himself."
Of course he did.
And knowing her friends, all so wrapped up in their own grief and self-blame and insecurities, they'd have done nothing to make the Doctor think any differently. They might not even have noticed his pain at all. It was that grief, blame, and self-hatred that had driven the Doctor to tell her, in December of 1999, that she should kill him. Take her revenge.
"I keep hoping he'll stop by so I can say sorry," Dawn had said. "Because… I was really messed up and freaked out at the time, so I said a bunch of stuff I didn't mean, and… I feel all bad about it, now."
And now Buffy was alive, again.
And the Doctor had to know that! He had to have worked it out, somehow! He knew Jack was still alive, right? Maybe… oh, God, maybe Buffy had been brought back like Jack. Maybe she'd been brought back wrong.
Buffy shuddered at the thought.
Or maybe… she wasn't brought back wrong! Maybe the Doctor just didn't know. After all, in spite of appearing, on the outside, to be an all-knowing, super-benevolent Time Lord Superman-type guy, behind the shadows and the legends and all of it, he was just like her. Just like Buffy. He could make mistakes.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Buffy closed her eyes, and focused her mind. And she poured out a message for his psychic paper, one that she hoped would lead him to her.
Doctor,
Desperately sad. Need help. Death still infects me. Please, please, help me feel alive, again.
Buffy.
Day after day, Buffy sat outside and waited. Waiting for the Doctor. Waiting for him to get her message, come back, and answer it.
Forgetting he already had.
