Joyce sighed, letting the pen fall to the table beside the ledger. On one hand, this job was just the sort of thing that she enjoyed, managing an art gallery. There was even the benefit of her paycheck not depending on the sales of the showings, though a series of poor showings wouldn't be a good thing. Yes, the ledger was a mess from the previous accountants, and yes, she had a lot of responsibility as accountant and manager, but…

Her problems had nothing to do with work. She was worried about her daughters, hopeful and nervous about Emma, a bit self conscious, and still adjusting to living somewhere so different from LA. The news was even different here. In LA, the focus had been on record companies and the misdoings of countless Hollywood personalities. Here, it was the mutant issue, and various mutants and what they were supposedly doing. Buildings damaged, fires, thefts, disappearances… And the hate groups, and the debates about legislation and registration and gene testing.

"I thought you were in the process of fixing the ledgers, Joyce?" Misty's voice was calm.

"That's moving along, slowly, but I am making progress. I was just thinking about how different things are here, and a bit about my daughters," Joyce turned the chair, looking at the woman who owned the gallery. "Do you have any children, Misty?"

"I… My children don't live with me anymore," Misty's voice was soft. "My son hates me and anyone remotely like me. He sees me as an abomination to be locked away or destroyed. I had a foster daughter for a while, but…we fought about a few things. Unfortunately, we aren't on speaking terms any longer," Misty sighed, and leaned against the wall.

Joyce decided not to mention that Misty had taken on a slightly bluish cast as she spoke. Heaven knew the idea that she didn't have her children with her would be bad enough, but to have one think that she was an abomination… "Did your son take it that badly when you got involved with Irene?"

Misty looked up, her eyes having changed to a strange golden color. "He doesn't know about Irene. Lord only knows what he'd say if he knew about that. He can't stand mutants. He's one of the founding members of that bigoted hate group. He's told me to my face that he hates me, hates every mutant on Earth and thinks that the world would be a better place if we were all dead."

Joyce gasped, appalled that anyone would be able to say that to their own family. "That's horrible!"

"I can't change him. But instead, I am his worst nightmare. A liberal minded mutant activist," Misty's expression should have been a smile, but it looked far too full of pain. "Add in the lesbian aspect, and I manage to hit all his buttons at once."

"I'm sorry that you have family troubles," Joyce offered. "I know that won't help, but I am sorry."

"It's more than most people would say," Misty countered.

"Of course, I think I'm a bit jealous," Joyce managed a thin smile. "You don't look nearly old enough to have a grown son."

That actually caused Misty to laugh.

Joyce smiled, and a part of her thought that Misty was actually quite pretty. The blue wasn't very pronounced, though it seemed to come and go. Granted, Misty and Irene seemed to be happily married, but it wouldn't hurt to look and notice. Pretty as Misty might be, she wasn't what Joyce wanted, despite having dated a few redheads in college. No, Misty was pretty, but that was all.

She found herself preferring pale blonde hair now. Blonde hair and blue eyes, dressed in white and with a slightly sarcastic sense of humor. In short, Emma.

Oh dear.

That could change everything. If she was lucky, Emma would be interested in her that way, and perhaps they could get involved and things would be wonderful. Or maybe Emma was only interested in her as a friend, someone that she could be Emma with, instead of always being Ms. Frost. It hadn't seemed to bother Emma when she'd mentioned thinking Emma had been gorgeous in college, and Emma might have been flirting with her on a few occasions…

Well, she'd just have to see what happened. If it was nothing more than an unwanted crush, she would handle it, and it would, hopefully, fade. If Emma was interested, then… one thing at a time.

Shaking her head, she sighed. "Sorry, my mind wandered off again. I recently divorced, just moved out here, and I'm worried about my oldest daughter getting into fights."

"You certainly must have a lot on your mind," Misty agreed. "I hope you'll be at the opening for Irene. She's looking forward to meeting you."

Joyce considered her wardrobe and what sort of things she might have suitable for a gallery opening. Maybe a bit of shopping would be in order. "That should be nice. I'm a bit curious what sort of woman can keep you so happy."

"The best woman in all the world," Misty sighed, "Though I might be just a little biased."

"Maybe a little," Joyce agreed. "But if she makes you happy, then I'm glad for you both."

Joyce felt better as she returned to the ledger. She would see how things went with Emma. Dawn was adjusting nicely. Buffy would be starting her karate lessons today, so the maybe-stalker wouldn't be as much of a problem. And Emma would know exactly where to shop for some gallery opening dresses.

Everything would be… manageable, if not fine. As long as she took things once step at a time, and didn't let herself get overwhelmed by the sheer changes in her life.

End part 14.

Eventually, Joyce closed the ledgers, tucking them back into the desk drawer. She'd finished the display plan for Irene's showing, the scheduling, and the advertising plan. There was nothing else keeping her from going home for the night. Calling out a 'Good Night' towards Misty's office, Joyce left the building.

Emma had mentioned that Buffy's karate lessons would start today, and they were going to talk about them this evening. That could be a good lead in for a talk about Buffy's fights, and why she kept sneaking out. Though if Buffy seemed very upset, they might discuss the lurking man and if he'd been around. Hadn't Emma mentioned having someone look into the man following Buffy? Joyce frowned, deciding that yes, Emma had mentioned that, and wondering just how long it would take whoever Emma had put on that to come up with something and how much they would have.

At least Dawn wasn't having serious problems. She was getting along with the Stepford girls, and had a few other friends, though she kept saying that Billy was a horrible, rotten meanie. Emma had explained that Billy was one of the boys that Dawn had class with, the spoiled darling of a corporate executive with more money than sense. Her grades were good, she had friends, and she hadn't acted out with anything worse than a few temper tantrums, a messy room, and leaving the milk out on the counter, though that might have been an accident.

But Buffy? There were problems there. Problems that had started long before they moved here. Emma would help her, and at least she wouldn't have to fight to try to get her daughter help. Emma wouldn't suggest putting her in the care of 'a special facility for disturbed individuals' the way Hank had after Buffy had woke screaming from yet another nightmare. Nightmares that Buffy claimed not to remember the next morning.

Nightmares that her daughter lied about.

Joyce didn't know what horrible things haunted Buffy's sleep, or why her daughter would lie about them. She suspected that the nightmares tied in with the sneaking out, and the fighting, and the lies, but she didn't know if they were the cause or the result. Fighting, sneaking around, all those things could easily inspire nightmares. Or perhaps Buffy had started sneaking out in an effort not to dream. She didn't know. But locking her daughter in a mental institute wouldn't help.

Joyce walked down the hall, a cup of coffee in her hand. She didn't know enough to solve those problems. Maybe Emma would have something that would help, information about the stalker, or about nightmares.

"Joyce? I can hear you thinking to yourself out there." Emma opened the door to her study, bare toes peeking out from under a pair of white pants slipped over white lace. "Why don't you come in here, and we can talk about whatever's getting you twisted into mental pretzels."

Stepping into Emma's study, Joyce sighed. "I'm hoping that you can help untangle some of them. How did Buffy's first karate lesson go?"

"He asked if I'd slipped him another mutant and forgotten to mention her abilities," Emma frowned slightly, and wiggled her toes against the thick carpet. "Walter told me that Buffy's considerably faster and stronger than normal."

"How much more than normal? If she was just good, you'd be smiling and suggesting that I talk to her about competitive lessons, or pulling out information on tournaments," Joyce sipped at her coffee.

"I poached him from an Olympic candidate. He knows strength, he knows speed. Buffy definitely has abilities outside of the normal human limits," Emma looked over at Joyce, and asked, "Has she ever said anything about mutants as a whole? Or anything to suggest that she might be a mutant herself?"

"There was someone at Hemery that she described as a crazy orange guy who smelled funny. She's made a few statements about the news coverage scaring people," Joyce tried to remember, and shook her head. "She hasn't told me anything. But some of the stains I've found on her clothing… That might explain some about her nightmares, but she still hasn't even admitted to me that she remembers them."

"We'll have to talk to her," Emma pulled out a folder. "My people have found some things about her stalker. His name is Jeremy Claybourne, he's a forty seven year old British man, here on a work visa. He's been employed for the past five years at an antique store. No wife, no children, no serious girlfriend or boyfriend, no serious dating, though he does seem to have a few regular correspondents, several of whom he meets occasionally. They couldn't hear what was being discussed, though one of them works for something called the Council of Watchers. That's a British organization."

"What do they do? What do they watch?" A cold, angry knot was forming in Joyce's belly at the thought of these people watching her daughter, watching other girls like Buffy.

"I'm still waiting on that information," Emma dropped the folder on the glass topped table. "I'm planning to have a few words with him this weekend, and if need be, I'll take the answers out of his mind."

"Good," Joyce whispered, eyes following the folder.

"Anything else twisting your mind into pretzels, Joyce? Other than your daughter," Emma looked at her, blue eyes bright and shining.

"One," Her uncertainties fluttered back with a vengeance, and Joyce could feel her throat going dry and tight. "Something that I hope you can help me sort out."

"Anything for you, Joyce," Emma purred. "You should know that by now."

Joyce put the coffee down, relieved that her hand wasn't fluttering to match her insides. Glancing back at Emma, she whispered, "Anything, Em?"

"Anything at all," Emma repeated.

Joyce reached out, her fingers sliding through Emma's pale locks, curling around the back of her head as she settled onto the couch, one knee beside Emma's hip. Grabbing the spark of courage before it could tremble and sputter out, she pressed her lips to Emma's, tasting a hint of strawberry. Her other hand slid over Emma's side, the lace tickling her palm.

:Oh yes…: Emma's voice was a whisper that bypassed her ears and purred right into her mind. :I want to see if we can be more than just friends.:

Everything would be fine after all.

End part 15.