Out of Joint -- Chapter 7 (Part 2)
May. 22nd, 2005 09:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sharelleMore fic-spam! But, hey! This one is not an oldie. Lo, but it is another segment of "Out of Joint!" I hope you like . . . another scene is close behind. *G*
Thanks,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
makd, for your wonderful assistance. I'm so glad your end of term went well!
As usual, all previous sections can be found here.
(Chapter 7 – Part 2)
* * *
Joyce Summers proceeded to rinse off the dinner dishes Buffy had carried into the kitchen. “I’m not going to lie to you, Buffy,” she said. “I’m glad you stayed at home tonight.”
Buffy sighed and leaned against the island in the middle of the kitchen. Her mother had been relatively quiet during their meal, only raising the subjects of school and the gallery as they ate. The remainder of dinnertime had been filled with an awkward tension revolving around matters unspoken. Now, both safe themes had been equally exhausted and Joyce was stationed over the sink with her back to Buffy. It was only now that she broached the topic which must have been foremost on her mind all day. Buffy knew it was bound to come up eventually. Making the decision to stay at home this evening, in case Spike came back, inevitably meant she wouldn’t be able to hide from it. She could only hope her mother was too tired to engage in such an emotionally-charged altercation as the one they’d had last night.
She wasn’t that lucky.
Joyce continued scrubbing away at one of the plates -- rather unnecessarily, Buffy noted, since it had come clean quite a few moments ago. Buffy knew this harsh focus would not bode well for her once her mother got going. She clasped her hands together upon the island, stared at the countertop and braced herself.
When Joyce didn’t speak again, Buffy decided that the prolonged wait for the unavoidable blowup was worse than the actual fight they were eventually bound to have. She risked interjecting the next comment in the hopes of bringing it all to a close sooner rather than later. “So am I,” she admitted in response to Joyce’s statement, adding, “I had to make sure everything was okay here tonight.”
She saw her mother’s shoulders sag and Joyce reached out to shut off the running water. Grabbing a dishtowel from the counter beside her, she dried her hands as she turned around to face Buffy. There was a sad weariness in her face.
“Buffy,” she began, “I can’t claim to understand the first thing about what went on here last night. I think there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to know. But you’re my daughter, and I love you. And I’d like to think I’d believe you when you tell me something. Even if the story seems so—”
“Crazy?” Buffy offered. “Scary? Insane? Dangerous? Worthy of Bizarro World? You’d be pretty hard-pressed to find an adjective I haven’t already used to describe what I do.” She continued to stare at the surface of the island as though there was something fascinating to be found there.
Joyce seemed to visibly flinch at Buffy’s last statement. The notion that tangling with creatures like the one who had appeared in their home last night was what her daughter ‘did,’ went beyond crazy or scary or any other word Joyce might use. She tried to force an understanding smile, no matter how far from the vicinity of understanding she might be. “Well,” she said, “I admit there are a few things I’ve learned in the past twenty-four hours that I would have been happier not knowing about. But now that I know, I don’t want to spend a pointless amount of time fighting over it like we did last night, Buffy. We’ll find a way to fix it, just like we did last year when we moved from L.A. And then—”
Buffy’s groan cut off her mother’s words. She finally raised her eyes, and Joyce noticed the same sad weariness in them that she herself felt. “You don’t get it,” Buffy muttered. “This isn’t something that can just be fixed, Mom. This is something that will follow me no matter what I do. It already has. It wasn’t bullies and vengeful fashion faux pas that got me into all that trouble at Hemery.” She threw up her hands and hopped down from her perch at the island, beginning to pace back and forth. “When we moved from L.A., I thought it was over. But surprise and amazement for the new girl! Good old Sunnydale’s got vampires too. And did we mention it’s on a Hellmouth? Vamps and demons and Big Bads – oh, my! That means Buffy gets to be even busier than she was in Los Angeles! Plus there’s that added bonus of friends and family constantly in danger – as well as the lovely constant reminder that a Slayer is better off without either one to begin with . . . .”
Buffy stopped walking and wrapped her arms around herself. “In the past couple years, I’ve heard more words like destiny, prophecy, and calling than you might get in a B-grade fantasy movie, and the scary thing is, all those words . . . they’re applying to me. I’m home tonight because there’s a vampire out there who’s got a free pass to this house and I need to make sure you’re safe. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to have to be out there tomorrow night, and the next night, and the night after that.”
Joyce shook her head. “I’m sorry, Buffy, but this is all a little overwhelming. In less than a day, I’ve learned that vampires . . .” She released a puff of disbelieving breath. “. . . are real. And now my only daughter -- a slayer?”
“Not a slayer, Mom,” Buffy corrected. “The Slayer. Capital ‘T,’ capital ‘S.’ As in The One, the only one. The Chosen One -- a choice, I might add, I have no say in. I wish to God I did.” She tightened her grip on herself and stared into a corner of the floor. “You’re overwhelmed? I was fifteen when I found out about all this.”
Joyce looked longingly at the girl. She couldn’t remember ever wanting to hold and comfort her daughter more, yet at the same time she wasn’t sure she could. The young woman across from her seemed less like her Buffy in that moment and more like a stranger; like she was meeting her for the first time. How could she have been so clueless about what had been going on in her daughter’s life? Something so huge and monumental happening right under her nose and she hadn’t known or sensed it? Or maybe she had, really. There had always been an underlying feeling that things weren’t quite right with Buffy, even before they’d moved to Sunnydale. Granted, something so very fantastic as the story she was just now learning wouldn’t have been the first conclusion to which Joyce Summers might have jumped.
And to think she had been disappointed in Buffy for not confiding in her about her first brush with sexual intimacy. It was scary that, in comparison, something so profound now seemed so trivial.
The mother in her wanted to fix this. Erase it. Make it so Buffy wouldn’t have to face such demons again (though, in this case, that meant literally). She wanted to understand what horrible force out there had decided that her girl would be the one to carry this terrible burden. And there was something else she needed to know.
Joyce tilted her head to try to catch Buffy’s eye, urging her daughter to look at her. “Did you mean what you said?” she whispered, breaking the taut and fragile silence that had hung between them. “When you said you’d be better off without – family?”
Buffy did look at her then, and her face was stained with the traitorous trace of tears which had refused to stay behind the strong façade she was still wearing. She sighed. “I’ve been told, on more than one occasion, that Slayers can only do their job right if they have no ties to the world. Is it what I want? No. I feel alone enough as it is.” She shrugged. “But being connected means there are more people out there I need to worry about protecting.”
Joyce felt a chill across her skin as Buffy spoke. There was something very wrong with the girl’s words. “You’re my daughter, Buffy,” she responded in a determined yet shaky voice. “You aren’t supposed to be protecting me.”
Buffy stared at her mother for an eternal moment. Then, before Joyce’s eyes, the strong and unfaltering wall with which Buffy had surrounded herself began to crumble. New tears streamed, unchecked, down her face and her shoulders began to shake as she squeezed her eyes shut. And Joyce recognized her then. This was no longer a stranger. This was no longer an intruder as foreign as the man who had appeared in their home last night; a man who had turned Joyce's life upside-down by inadvertently introducing her to the daughter she only thought she knew. This was her Buffy, her little girl. And no matter which other titles she went by – Slayer, Savior, Chosen One – it was the little girl who needed her mother right now.
So Joyce went to her.
She lost track of how long she and Buffy held onto each other there in the kitchen.
Buffy finally sniffled and pulled away, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, interjecting a little embarrassed laugh as she tried to straighten herself. Joyce smiled tenderly at her. Of course, she still wasn’t happy with the situation; frankly she was scared to death. However, she didn’t want to make the life which had been thrust upon Buffy any harder. Certainly, the last thing she wanted was for the girl to decide there was any truth to the statement that Slayers were better off without familial ties.
“Could you answer me one thing?” Joyce asked as she tucked a strand of hair behind Buffy’s ear and wiped her tears away as she lovingly kissed her forehead.
“Shoot,” Buffy replied, pulling herself up and trying to inject a carefree air back into her tone. She managed a small but genuine smile.
“You said ‘Slayers’ can only do ‘their’ job right if ‘they’ have no ties to the world,” Joyce said. “But didn’t you just get done telling me that you were the only one?”
Buffy’s smile faded and she chewed absently at her bottom lip. There had been so much tension between her and her mother over the last day, and there was so much more to tell. It was going to take a while before Joyce would really accept all, if any, of it. Buffy wasn’t sure if now was the right time to break out with the ‘when one dies the next is chosen’ spiel. She wasn’t sure if there would ever be a right time for that. In the end, she just shook her head noncommittally. “Only one at a time,” she said. After all, it wasn’t a lie. “It’s like this whole turn-taking deal.”
“Well, I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Joyce replied, turning back to the sink to put the dishes away. “Obviously, there’s more than one vampire out there in the world. I’d think it would make much more sense to have enough Slayers to cover the problem, don’t you?”
Buffy couldn’t help but laugh. Her mother was speaking as conversationally about this as she might with a salesman who wasn’t giving her the best deal on a stereo. “I’m not sure if destinies work that way, Mom,” she said. “Ye Olde Annals of Slayers always seem to say the same thing: ‘one girl in all the world, blah, blah, blah.’ Probably not enough preternatural strength to go around.”
“The world’s a big place, Buffy,” her mother commented as she closed the cupboard after putting away the last of the glasses and leaned back against the counter. “I don’t like the idea of you taking on that entire burden alone.”
Buffy smiled reflectively as she thought of her friends. Friends were the one thing Slayers weren’t really supposed to have -- the proverbial albatross to weigh her down -- and Buffy couldn’t see them as anything other than the reason she had even made it this far. “I’m not really alone,” she said. “Not always.” She held out a hand for her mother. Joyce accepted it and gave it a squeeze. “Especially not now.”
Although she didn’t mention it aloud, her mother’s words had caused Buffy’s mind to shift to Kendra. Technically, there were two Slayers out there, and the world hadn’t spun careening off its axis yet because of it. Maybe that meant there was a way to get around the supposed ‘one-and-only-one’ statute. “Besides,” Buffy added good-naturedly, as much to herself as to Joyce. “I’m sure if there’s a way to mass-produce Slayers, Giles is sure to find it eventually.”
Joyce cocked her head at Buffy with a look of slight confusion. “Giles?” she asked as partial recollection dawned. “Mr. Giles, your librarian?”
Oh. Buffy had forgotten how little her mother still knew. “Yeah,” she affirmed and tried to clarify. “He’s not a real librarian, though. Well, in another life, maybe – he does seem to have a forbidden passion for the written word. In this reality that’s like his secret identity. Giles is actually my Watcher – which roughly translates to: stuffy British guy who, er, watches me.”
At her mother’s raised eyebrow, Buffy was quick to add, “That came out way more dirty-old-man than it was supposed to! I meant ‘watching’ in a totally professional Slayer-type way, Mom. He helps me figure out what to do, does research stuff on random Big Bads, you know. He’s the think-tank.”
Buffy hopped back up onto one of the chairs surrounding the island, and as she spoke, her mother walked over to the freezer and produced some ice cream. The Slayer’s eyes lit up like a little girl's. Joyce began to spoon healthy portions of Chocolate Chip Cookie-Dough into two good-sized bowls.
“Anyway,” Buffy continued as she grabbed her own utensil from the drawer and casually dug out the occasional chunk of raw dough directly from the half-gallon tub, spooning it into her mouth as she spoke, “that’s what Giles is trying to do tonight while I’m here. Researching how Spike could have gotten into the house uninvited last night.”
Joyce attempted to swat Buffy’s spoon away from the ice cream. “You’re going to be complaining when there’s nothing left but boring vanilla in here,” she warned as Buffy managed to maneuver around her parry and procure an especially large chunk of cookie-dough, shoveling it into her mouth with an innocent bat of her eyes.
“That’s what the microwavable fudge is for,” Buffy countered, mouth full.
Joyce grinned. “I was going to get that anyway.” She reached into the fridge and brought out the jar of hot fudge, twisting unsuccessfully at the tight lid.
Buffy held one end of the spoon in her mouth and motioned for her mom to hand the jar over. When she did, Buffy effortlessly twisted the top off and handed it back. “Slayer strength,” she mumbled around the silverware obstruction, feeling a swell of relief at finally not having to think up some lame excuse to explain away her freakishly powerful muscles. Even over something so small, she was happier than ever that her mother now knew about her.
Joyce popped the jar in the microwave and set the timer, turning back to Buffy. “So all the things about vampires – crosses, stakes, needing invitations – that’s all true?”
Buffy nodded. “Mostly,” she answered. “We’re kinda still on the fence when it comes to the whole garlic deal; some vamps seem to have a bigger tolerance than others. But for the most part, yeah. Which is why I was totally freaked about Spike being here last night. He should never have been able to get in without an invitation from either you or me.”
Joyce shook her head and stared thoughtfully into space. “I know I never invited him in,” she said. “I know it. But I can’t help but think there was something familiar about him. That I’ve seen him somewhere. Spike, is it?”
“Yeah,” Buffy confirmed, before reluctantly adding, “And you did see him before. Once.”
Joyce stared at Buffy expectantly.
“Parents’ Night,” Buffy hinted sheepishly. “Gang members on PCP.” She held up her hands as though wielding an invisible axe. “Get the hell away from my daughter.”
“Oh.”
“Look, Mom, Spike is really dangerous,” Buffy insisted, noting her mother’s faraway look. “If Giles can’t take care of this tonight, I’m going to need to teach you how to defend yourself for when I’m not here.” She started ticking items off on her fingers as she mentioned them. “Only use a stake through the heart as a last resort – it would probably be best if you don’t even let him get that close to you. You’d be way better off with an axe, or something with a longer range to it. And with those, you’re gonna want to aim for the head. Although your best alternative is probably a bottle of holy water – just throw it at him and run. Somewhere safe." She squinted. "Maybe we should invest in water guns. And if you—”
“Buffy,” her mother interrupted gently. “While I find your tutelage to be fascinating . . . and, admittedly, frightening . . . I have to say I’m not sure if this Spike was here to hurt us last night.”
If her mother’s naïveté wasn’t so troubling, it might have been funny. Buffy still managed a strained chuckle. “Of course that’s what he wants you to think, Mom,” she said. “Vamps are big on the false sense of security. And the ones who have lived as long as Spike have had plenty of time to perfect it.”
“Just something in his eyes when he first saw me,” Joyce asserted. “He almost looked frightened – like he’d seen a ghost. And he knew my name.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Buffy returned. “Vamps like Spike make it their business to study up on their victims. He probably knows everything about me by now – your name, my friends, my patterns, everything.”
“The fact that you still have a crush on Joey McIntyre?”
Buffy rolled her eyes. This was no joke. “The point is – I’d be surprised if he didn’t know you. And since he does, he probably also knows your patterns too – where you work, your friends, when you’re away from the house. Trust me, Spike knowing you is so not a good thing.”
Joyce shook her head. She dropped her attempt at lightheartedness, but something about last night was still nagging at her. “He just seemed so apologetic,” she said. “I admit; I was scared senseless while he was here, but right before he left, before he shoved me into you, he actually apologized to me. He said it right to me. He said, ‘I’m sorry, Joyce’.”
Buffy was suddenly very serious, her face a mask of dread. She had to make sure her mother truly understood just what Spike was capable of. “He’s killed two slayers, Mom,” she said. “Hunted them down and killed them. And the last time I fought him, he ended up in a wheelchair. So believe me when I say, he’s not big with the warm fuzzies for me and mine. Last night was not a social call.”
She spoke very quietly, but it probably would not have made a bigger impact had she screamed it. Joyce’s eyes widened in horror. This was exactly what Buffy had hoped she wouldn’t have to explain tonight. But she knew her mother. And she knew Joyce’s nature to reach out to those who seemed to need it. And the last thing Buffy needed was Joyce trying to mother Spike. It could be the last thing she ever did.
They stared at each other until the shrill beeping of the microwave timer split the silence between them.
“I don’t want you to worry,” Buffy assured her mother in a gentler voice as the woman turned to remove the hot fudge from the rotating tray with visibly shaking hands. “We’re going to take care of this. Giles is on it right now and everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Joyce made a weak attempt at a smile and, after pouring a generous helping of the chocolate onto each of the bowls of ice cream; she placed an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and guided her toward the living room.
“I want you to know,” Buffy said as they settled themselves upon the couch, her head on her mom’s shoulder, “tonight I’m not worrying about any of that. Not Slayers, or dangers, or even Spike. Tonight the only thing my supernatural Slayer strength is being used for is the opening of evil, stubborn jar lids for the microwavable hot fudge.”
Joyce’s sober grin broadened a bit. She held the ice cream in her lap as the fingers of her other hand raked through Buffy’s hair. “I love you, Buffy,” she said. “And when I hear you say these things it makes me even more afraid for you . . . and even more aware of the fact that there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
Buffy nestled her head closer against her mom’s shoulder, both women giving and receiving comfort in the other’s closeness. “I know,” Buffy finally replied.
“I may not have Slayer strength,” Joyce said, “but I hope you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” She sighed, kissing her daughter’s forehead gently. “I just wish you had some real help, that’s all,” she added. “Maybe if I knew there was someone as strong as you out there, watching your back, I might not worry as much.”
* * *
To be continued . . .
Thanks,
makd, for your wonderful assistance. I'm so glad your end of term went well!As usual, all previous sections can be found here.
(Chapter 7 – Part 2)
Joyce Summers proceeded to rinse off the dinner dishes Buffy had carried into the kitchen. “I’m not going to lie to you, Buffy,” she said. “I’m glad you stayed at home tonight.”
Buffy sighed and leaned against the island in the middle of the kitchen. Her mother had been relatively quiet during their meal, only raising the subjects of school and the gallery as they ate. The remainder of dinnertime had been filled with an awkward tension revolving around matters unspoken. Now, both safe themes had been equally exhausted and Joyce was stationed over the sink with her back to Buffy. It was only now that she broached the topic which must have been foremost on her mind all day. Buffy knew it was bound to come up eventually. Making the decision to stay at home this evening, in case Spike came back, inevitably meant she wouldn’t be able to hide from it. She could only hope her mother was too tired to engage in such an emotionally-charged altercation as the one they’d had last night.
She wasn’t that lucky.
Joyce continued scrubbing away at one of the plates -- rather unnecessarily, Buffy noted, since it had come clean quite a few moments ago. Buffy knew this harsh focus would not bode well for her once her mother got going. She clasped her hands together upon the island, stared at the countertop and braced herself.
When Joyce didn’t speak again, Buffy decided that the prolonged wait for the unavoidable blowup was worse than the actual fight they were eventually bound to have. She risked interjecting the next comment in the hopes of bringing it all to a close sooner rather than later. “So am I,” she admitted in response to Joyce’s statement, adding, “I had to make sure everything was okay here tonight.”
She saw her mother’s shoulders sag and Joyce reached out to shut off the running water. Grabbing a dishtowel from the counter beside her, she dried her hands as she turned around to face Buffy. There was a sad weariness in her face.
“Buffy,” she began, “I can’t claim to understand the first thing about what went on here last night. I think there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to know. But you’re my daughter, and I love you. And I’d like to think I’d believe you when you tell me something. Even if the story seems so—”
“Crazy?” Buffy offered. “Scary? Insane? Dangerous? Worthy of Bizarro World? You’d be pretty hard-pressed to find an adjective I haven’t already used to describe what I do.” She continued to stare at the surface of the island as though there was something fascinating to be found there.
Joyce seemed to visibly flinch at Buffy’s last statement. The notion that tangling with creatures like the one who had appeared in their home last night was what her daughter ‘did,’ went beyond crazy or scary or any other word Joyce might use. She tried to force an understanding smile, no matter how far from the vicinity of understanding she might be. “Well,” she said, “I admit there are a few things I’ve learned in the past twenty-four hours that I would have been happier not knowing about. But now that I know, I don’t want to spend a pointless amount of time fighting over it like we did last night, Buffy. We’ll find a way to fix it, just like we did last year when we moved from L.A. And then—”
Buffy’s groan cut off her mother’s words. She finally raised her eyes, and Joyce noticed the same sad weariness in them that she herself felt. “You don’t get it,” Buffy muttered. “This isn’t something that can just be fixed, Mom. This is something that will follow me no matter what I do. It already has. It wasn’t bullies and vengeful fashion faux pas that got me into all that trouble at Hemery.” She threw up her hands and hopped down from her perch at the island, beginning to pace back and forth. “When we moved from L.A., I thought it was over. But surprise and amazement for the new girl! Good old Sunnydale’s got vampires too. And did we mention it’s on a Hellmouth? Vamps and demons and Big Bads – oh, my! That means Buffy gets to be even busier than she was in Los Angeles! Plus there’s that added bonus of friends and family constantly in danger – as well as the lovely constant reminder that a Slayer is better off without either one to begin with . . . .”
Buffy stopped walking and wrapped her arms around herself. “In the past couple years, I’ve heard more words like destiny, prophecy, and calling than you might get in a B-grade fantasy movie, and the scary thing is, all those words . . . they’re applying to me. I’m home tonight because there’s a vampire out there who’s got a free pass to this house and I need to make sure you’re safe. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to have to be out there tomorrow night, and the next night, and the night after that.”
Joyce shook her head. “I’m sorry, Buffy, but this is all a little overwhelming. In less than a day, I’ve learned that vampires . . .” She released a puff of disbelieving breath. “. . . are real. And now my only daughter -- a slayer?”
“Not a slayer, Mom,” Buffy corrected. “The Slayer. Capital ‘T,’ capital ‘S.’ As in The One, the only one. The Chosen One -- a choice, I might add, I have no say in. I wish to God I did.” She tightened her grip on herself and stared into a corner of the floor. “You’re overwhelmed? I was fifteen when I found out about all this.”
Joyce looked longingly at the girl. She couldn’t remember ever wanting to hold and comfort her daughter more, yet at the same time she wasn’t sure she could. The young woman across from her seemed less like her Buffy in that moment and more like a stranger; like she was meeting her for the first time. How could she have been so clueless about what had been going on in her daughter’s life? Something so huge and monumental happening right under her nose and she hadn’t known or sensed it? Or maybe she had, really. There had always been an underlying feeling that things weren’t quite right with Buffy, even before they’d moved to Sunnydale. Granted, something so very fantastic as the story she was just now learning wouldn’t have been the first conclusion to which Joyce Summers might have jumped.
And to think she had been disappointed in Buffy for not confiding in her about her first brush with sexual intimacy. It was scary that, in comparison, something so profound now seemed so trivial.
The mother in her wanted to fix this. Erase it. Make it so Buffy wouldn’t have to face such demons again (though, in this case, that meant literally). She wanted to understand what horrible force out there had decided that her girl would be the one to carry this terrible burden. And there was something else she needed to know.
Joyce tilted her head to try to catch Buffy’s eye, urging her daughter to look at her. “Did you mean what you said?” she whispered, breaking the taut and fragile silence that had hung between them. “When you said you’d be better off without – family?”
Buffy did look at her then, and her face was stained with the traitorous trace of tears which had refused to stay behind the strong façade she was still wearing. She sighed. “I’ve been told, on more than one occasion, that Slayers can only do their job right if they have no ties to the world. Is it what I want? No. I feel alone enough as it is.” She shrugged. “But being connected means there are more people out there I need to worry about protecting.”
Joyce felt a chill across her skin as Buffy spoke. There was something very wrong with the girl’s words. “You’re my daughter, Buffy,” she responded in a determined yet shaky voice. “You aren’t supposed to be protecting me.”
Buffy stared at her mother for an eternal moment. Then, before Joyce’s eyes, the strong and unfaltering wall with which Buffy had surrounded herself began to crumble. New tears streamed, unchecked, down her face and her shoulders began to shake as she squeezed her eyes shut. And Joyce recognized her then. This was no longer a stranger. This was no longer an intruder as foreign as the man who had appeared in their home last night; a man who had turned Joyce's life upside-down by inadvertently introducing her to the daughter she only thought she knew. This was her Buffy, her little girl. And no matter which other titles she went by – Slayer, Savior, Chosen One – it was the little girl who needed her mother right now.
So Joyce went to her.
She lost track of how long she and Buffy held onto each other there in the kitchen.
Buffy finally sniffled and pulled away, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, interjecting a little embarrassed laugh as she tried to straighten herself. Joyce smiled tenderly at her. Of course, she still wasn’t happy with the situation; frankly she was scared to death. However, she didn’t want to make the life which had been thrust upon Buffy any harder. Certainly, the last thing she wanted was for the girl to decide there was any truth to the statement that Slayers were better off without familial ties.
“Could you answer me one thing?” Joyce asked as she tucked a strand of hair behind Buffy’s ear and wiped her tears away as she lovingly kissed her forehead.
“Shoot,” Buffy replied, pulling herself up and trying to inject a carefree air back into her tone. She managed a small but genuine smile.
“You said ‘Slayers’ can only do ‘their’ job right if ‘they’ have no ties to the world,” Joyce said. “But didn’t you just get done telling me that you were the only one?”
Buffy’s smile faded and she chewed absently at her bottom lip. There had been so much tension between her and her mother over the last day, and there was so much more to tell. It was going to take a while before Joyce would really accept all, if any, of it. Buffy wasn’t sure if now was the right time to break out with the ‘when one dies the next is chosen’ spiel. She wasn’t sure if there would ever be a right time for that. In the end, she just shook her head noncommittally. “Only one at a time,” she said. After all, it wasn’t a lie. “It’s like this whole turn-taking deal.”
“Well, I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Joyce replied, turning back to the sink to put the dishes away. “Obviously, there’s more than one vampire out there in the world. I’d think it would make much more sense to have enough Slayers to cover the problem, don’t you?”
Buffy couldn’t help but laugh. Her mother was speaking as conversationally about this as she might with a salesman who wasn’t giving her the best deal on a stereo. “I’m not sure if destinies work that way, Mom,” she said. “Ye Olde Annals of Slayers always seem to say the same thing: ‘one girl in all the world, blah, blah, blah.’ Probably not enough preternatural strength to go around.”
“The world’s a big place, Buffy,” her mother commented as she closed the cupboard after putting away the last of the glasses and leaned back against the counter. “I don’t like the idea of you taking on that entire burden alone.”
Buffy smiled reflectively as she thought of her friends. Friends were the one thing Slayers weren’t really supposed to have -- the proverbial albatross to weigh her down -- and Buffy couldn’t see them as anything other than the reason she had even made it this far. “I’m not really alone,” she said. “Not always.” She held out a hand for her mother. Joyce accepted it and gave it a squeeze. “Especially not now.”
Although she didn’t mention it aloud, her mother’s words had caused Buffy’s mind to shift to Kendra. Technically, there were two Slayers out there, and the world hadn’t spun careening off its axis yet because of it. Maybe that meant there was a way to get around the supposed ‘one-and-only-one’ statute. “Besides,” Buffy added good-naturedly, as much to herself as to Joyce. “I’m sure if there’s a way to mass-produce Slayers, Giles is sure to find it eventually.”
Joyce cocked her head at Buffy with a look of slight confusion. “Giles?” she asked as partial recollection dawned. “Mr. Giles, your librarian?”
Oh. Buffy had forgotten how little her mother still knew. “Yeah,” she affirmed and tried to clarify. “He’s not a real librarian, though. Well, in another life, maybe – he does seem to have a forbidden passion for the written word. In this reality that’s like his secret identity. Giles is actually my Watcher – which roughly translates to: stuffy British guy who, er, watches me.”
At her mother’s raised eyebrow, Buffy was quick to add, “That came out way more dirty-old-man than it was supposed to! I meant ‘watching’ in a totally professional Slayer-type way, Mom. He helps me figure out what to do, does research stuff on random Big Bads, you know. He’s the think-tank.”
Buffy hopped back up onto one of the chairs surrounding the island, and as she spoke, her mother walked over to the freezer and produced some ice cream. The Slayer’s eyes lit up like a little girl's. Joyce began to spoon healthy portions of Chocolate Chip Cookie-Dough into two good-sized bowls.
“Anyway,” Buffy continued as she grabbed her own utensil from the drawer and casually dug out the occasional chunk of raw dough directly from the half-gallon tub, spooning it into her mouth as she spoke, “that’s what Giles is trying to do tonight while I’m here. Researching how Spike could have gotten into the house uninvited last night.”
Joyce attempted to swat Buffy’s spoon away from the ice cream. “You’re going to be complaining when there’s nothing left but boring vanilla in here,” she warned as Buffy managed to maneuver around her parry and procure an especially large chunk of cookie-dough, shoveling it into her mouth with an innocent bat of her eyes.
“That’s what the microwavable fudge is for,” Buffy countered, mouth full.
Joyce grinned. “I was going to get that anyway.” She reached into the fridge and brought out the jar of hot fudge, twisting unsuccessfully at the tight lid.
Buffy held one end of the spoon in her mouth and motioned for her mom to hand the jar over. When she did, Buffy effortlessly twisted the top off and handed it back. “Slayer strength,” she mumbled around the silverware obstruction, feeling a swell of relief at finally not having to think up some lame excuse to explain away her freakishly powerful muscles. Even over something so small, she was happier than ever that her mother now knew about her.
Joyce popped the jar in the microwave and set the timer, turning back to Buffy. “So all the things about vampires – crosses, stakes, needing invitations – that’s all true?”
Buffy nodded. “Mostly,” she answered. “We’re kinda still on the fence when it comes to the whole garlic deal; some vamps seem to have a bigger tolerance than others. But for the most part, yeah. Which is why I was totally freaked about Spike being here last night. He should never have been able to get in without an invitation from either you or me.”
Joyce shook her head and stared thoughtfully into space. “I know I never invited him in,” she said. “I know it. But I can’t help but think there was something familiar about him. That I’ve seen him somewhere. Spike, is it?”
“Yeah,” Buffy confirmed, before reluctantly adding, “And you did see him before. Once.”
Joyce stared at Buffy expectantly.
“Parents’ Night,” Buffy hinted sheepishly. “Gang members on PCP.” She held up her hands as though wielding an invisible axe. “Get the hell away from my daughter.”
“Oh.”
“Look, Mom, Spike is really dangerous,” Buffy insisted, noting her mother’s faraway look. “If Giles can’t take care of this tonight, I’m going to need to teach you how to defend yourself for when I’m not here.” She started ticking items off on her fingers as she mentioned them. “Only use a stake through the heart as a last resort – it would probably be best if you don’t even let him get that close to you. You’d be way better off with an axe, or something with a longer range to it. And with those, you’re gonna want to aim for the head. Although your best alternative is probably a bottle of holy water – just throw it at him and run. Somewhere safe." She squinted. "Maybe we should invest in water guns. And if you—”
“Buffy,” her mother interrupted gently. “While I find your tutelage to be fascinating . . . and, admittedly, frightening . . . I have to say I’m not sure if this Spike was here to hurt us last night.”
If her mother’s naïveté wasn’t so troubling, it might have been funny. Buffy still managed a strained chuckle. “Of course that’s what he wants you to think, Mom,” she said. “Vamps are big on the false sense of security. And the ones who have lived as long as Spike have had plenty of time to perfect it.”
“Just something in his eyes when he first saw me,” Joyce asserted. “He almost looked frightened – like he’d seen a ghost. And he knew my name.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Buffy returned. “Vamps like Spike make it their business to study up on their victims. He probably knows everything about me by now – your name, my friends, my patterns, everything.”
“The fact that you still have a crush on Joey McIntyre?”
Buffy rolled her eyes. This was no joke. “The point is – I’d be surprised if he didn’t know you. And since he does, he probably also knows your patterns too – where you work, your friends, when you’re away from the house. Trust me, Spike knowing you is so not a good thing.”
Joyce shook her head. She dropped her attempt at lightheartedness, but something about last night was still nagging at her. “He just seemed so apologetic,” she said. “I admit; I was scared senseless while he was here, but right before he left, before he shoved me into you, he actually apologized to me. He said it right to me. He said, ‘I’m sorry, Joyce’.”
Buffy was suddenly very serious, her face a mask of dread. She had to make sure her mother truly understood just what Spike was capable of. “He’s killed two slayers, Mom,” she said. “Hunted them down and killed them. And the last time I fought him, he ended up in a wheelchair. So believe me when I say, he’s not big with the warm fuzzies for me and mine. Last night was not a social call.”
She spoke very quietly, but it probably would not have made a bigger impact had she screamed it. Joyce’s eyes widened in horror. This was exactly what Buffy had hoped she wouldn’t have to explain tonight. But she knew her mother. And she knew Joyce’s nature to reach out to those who seemed to need it. And the last thing Buffy needed was Joyce trying to mother Spike. It could be the last thing she ever did.
They stared at each other until the shrill beeping of the microwave timer split the silence between them.
“I don’t want you to worry,” Buffy assured her mother in a gentler voice as the woman turned to remove the hot fudge from the rotating tray with visibly shaking hands. “We’re going to take care of this. Giles is on it right now and everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Joyce made a weak attempt at a smile and, after pouring a generous helping of the chocolate onto each of the bowls of ice cream; she placed an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and guided her toward the living room.
“I want you to know,” Buffy said as they settled themselves upon the couch, her head on her mom’s shoulder, “tonight I’m not worrying about any of that. Not Slayers, or dangers, or even Spike. Tonight the only thing my supernatural Slayer strength is being used for is the opening of evil, stubborn jar lids for the microwavable hot fudge.”
Joyce’s sober grin broadened a bit. She held the ice cream in her lap as the fingers of her other hand raked through Buffy’s hair. “I love you, Buffy,” she said. “And when I hear you say these things it makes me even more afraid for you . . . and even more aware of the fact that there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
Buffy nestled her head closer against her mom’s shoulder, both women giving and receiving comfort in the other’s closeness. “I know,” Buffy finally replied.
“I may not have Slayer strength,” Joyce said, “but I hope you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” She sighed, kissing her daughter’s forehead gently. “I just wish you had some real help, that’s all,” she added. “Maybe if I knew there was someone as strong as you out there, watching your back, I might not worry as much.”
To be continued . . .
