Accursed Chapter 10

Joyce petitions to be allowed home for the last two days before her surgery and wins.

Buffy tries not to feel overwhelmed by the doctor's instructions for home-care. There are warning signs to watch out for, there is medication to be given. Dr. Isaacs had also warned Buffy that her mom's tumor would be pressing on her brain, causing her to say and do strange things.

This ends up being the worst part. Joyce will seem fine one moment and the next: "You look like your father when you cry."

Then it was, "Don't eat that, you're already too fat." And then their mom didn't even recognize Dawn as her own daughter.

By the end of the first night with Joyce home, Buffy and Dawn are understandably nerve-wracked and emotionally distraught.

Dawn curls up with Buffy on the couch to watch old movies after they help Joyce to bed. Dawn keeps nodding off every few minutes or so and eventually, Buffy prods Dawn up the stairs to go to sleep, too. As they get closer to Dawn's room, both girls stop when they hear their mom muttering to herself agitatedly. Dawn wordlessly turns around and looks up at Buffy with wide wet eyes. Buffy spontaneously hugs her sister. Dawn clutches her back, with uncharacteristic neediness.

After Dawn goes to her room and shuts her door, Buffy creeps closer to her mom's room to listen. Joyce's voice is a strange combination of fear, anger, and pleading. Almost tearful.

"…angel…stay away…my daughters…don't you dare!...Oh, god, why…angel…"

Buffy flees back downstairs.

Spike stands in front of the Summers' home, one hand shoved deep in his duster pocket and the other flicking his lighter open and shut, over and over.

The little witches had come by earlier to bring him up to speed on the snow globe situation. Scoobies save the day again, beating the odds, blah blah blah. Spike's just glad to not have such a constraining time limit hanging overhead anymore. Enough damn stuff going on without running around town like chickens with their heads cut off.

Spike has just finished a sweep of the main hotspots that the Slayer likes to patrol. He'd come by to let her know how it went, as agreed upon beforehand. Control freak.

Spike wonders how Joyce is faring. He strains to hear activity inside the house, but it's pretty quiet. Nibblet sounds like she might be tossing and turning in her bed and Joyce is resting, but awake in her room. As for the Slayer…

Spike becomes suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the sounds of Buffy Summers crying on her back porch. Nothing excessive, just quietly miserable sniffling and choked back whimpers.

He strongly considers turning around and pretending he'd never come here.

He finds himself winding around to the back of the house anyway.

She's sitting on the back steps, arms hugging her knees, face pressed into the cradle of her arms. Despite the thin crunchy layer of snow, Spike's moving pretty stealthily. She still looks up, pinning him with her gaze. Tears shine on her cheeks in the moonlight.

Spike's stomach twists uncomfortably. "Ay. Finished patrol. Was dead out there tonight. Halloween, you know."

Buffy wipes her tears away with small, subtle movements. "Kay. Good."

Shit. Crying women. Spike's drawn to it like a moth to a flame. That strange old caregiver instinct has him saying, "What's wrong?" before he even realizes he wants to know. That he wants whatever is making her cry to stop so she won't be so unhappy. Awful, seeing the Slayer like this. Broken in battle? Glorious. Broken by life? Fuckin depressing. Buffy Summers is worth so much more than an end like that. Spike…he doesn't actually want to see her fall down that path. The one all Slayers eventually reach when they've lived long enough.

Joyce. Must be Joyce.

Buffy's pressed her mouth into a thin line. Her entire face is tightly controlled, no emotion except for one dead giveaway. Her eyes have gone huge and wet and distant. Shit, shit, shit. Why does this make him feel so terrible?

Spike moves closer and closer until he's right next to her. He cautiously sits beside her. "How's Joyce, then?"

"Resting." Buffy whispers.

"Sounded awake to me."

She looks at him then quickly away again. Spike doesn't know where to put his eyes or his hands. He alternates between looking straight forward and straight at her. His hands clench into fists then relax.

Buffy stares at the frosty ground with unfocused eyes. "She's been saying things. The tumor makes her say and do weird stuff. It's not easy to listen to, but it's not her fault. I don't think she knows what she's even saying."

Spike frowns. "What's she been saying?"

Buffy shrugs, a little. "She asked who Dawn was and why a thing like her was in our house. She called me fat. She said I looked like my dad when I cry. Stuff like that."

Spike winces a little. Distant memories of an old parlor room blur in his mind's eye, then fade away again. "S'not her talking. That's not your mum, you know that? What she's saying…it's not her. Joyce wouldn't think that, normally."

Buffy's voice is small. "I don't know that. I don't think she would, but maybe…maybe somewhere deep down, the tumor is making her talk about things she's thought before but has never said. To—to spare our feelings, maybe."

Spike clasps his hands on his knees. "Oh, I doubt that. Calling little Bit a thing? Calling you fat? Yeah, right. Slayer, that's not your mum talking and you know it. What's got you so upset? It's gotta be something else, something worse. You've got thicker skin than this."

Buffy looks at him. She's calmed down, some, talking to him. Bottling it up, putting on a brave face for Dawn and her mom, it makes it all so much harder. Spike knows she can handle her shit even if she loses her cool once in a while, and that actually makes him easier to talk to. He's a surprisingly good listener.

"Mom's so upset by whatever she's seeing or thinking about. I hate seeing her like that."

"Yeah, that's rough. And?"

"And what?" Buffy says with a hint of attitude.

"And what else has got your knickers in a twist? You've got that martyr look on again."

Buffy hugs herself. Why she chose to sit outside, she doesn't know. Maybe because the cold clears her thoughts. Without letting herself think too hard on it, Buffy finally puts words to the horror she'd felt hearing her mom muttering to herself.

"I heard her talking about Angel."

The quiet night settles between them.

"And Joyce sounded upset." Statement, not a question.

Buffy feels her throat start to close up. "Yeah," she says hoarsely. "She sounded pretty upset. Like," Buffy swallows trying to ease her speech again. "Like afraid."

"Angelus isn't for the faint of heart. Not that Joyce really falls into that category, but could see why it'd bother her. Thinkin' on him. What's it got to do with you?"

He watches Buffy's breaths puff out in white wisps faster and faster as she gets worked up again.

"You really don't know? Maybe you wouldn't. Angelus came around scaring my friends and family. Angelus was my mom's first real impression of Angel. And he frightened her. When Angel came back to me, Mom didn't like it, but she never said that much to me. I mean, I knew she didn't want him around, but she never talked about how he made her feel." Buffy gulps back more tears. "I heard her tonight though. She's still scared of him. She's still worried about him hurting me…hurting Dawn. He's on her mind in a bad way and that's hurting her."

Spike's unusually quiet, letting her work through her thoughts out loud. He stares steadily at her, silently inviting her to lay it on him.

Buffy's chest hurts, like her heart is being squeezed in a vice. "Mom would never have had this pain in her life if it wasn't for me. If I wasn't so stupid and if I hadn't done what I did. How long has he bothered her? I never knew. I never even considered. At the time, all I thought about was myself. And I try so hard not to think about him now. Just because I forgave Angel, just because I swept all of that aside, doesn't mean everyone else did. I know Giles still suffers. That's on me forever, what h-happened." Her voice breaks. Buffy's just talking now, almost to herself, words pouring out of her. "But my mom, too? And probably Dawnie, God. They don't talk to me about him, not really. Is Angel something that keeps my mom up at night? Well," her voice turns bitter. "He is tonight." Tears trickle down her cheeks, but they stem more from a kind of horrified, self-directed anger. "Aren't things bad enough, without Mom unable to sleep because she's so worried about him? About an evil I brought into her life, into her home?" Buffy swipes angrily at her tears. "I can't fix it now. I can't go back and do things differently. I just have to live with this. It's just…what if…what if Mom's surgery goes bad?" Horrible saying it out loud. Giving it a voice, that thing no one has said yet. The words feel like a physical thing, dark and scrabbling and alive as they leave her mouth. "What if she doesn't make it?" A sob catches on her next breath. "What if she dies and her last nights on earth were spent sleepless and scared because of Angel! Because of me!" Buffy's crying in earnest now, quiet choked sobs. Her whole body wracks with the force of them.

Spike is floored. How can so much misery and worry and martyrdom exist in such a small body? How does she not explode from the force of it?

"Slayer…" Buffy gives no indication that she can hear him. "Slayer. Buffy." Spike shakes her shoulder. She stares at him with agonized eyes. He can practically see her playing out this possible future through her brain like a movie on repeat. Joyce, out of her mind over Angel straight up until her surgery and dying on the operating table. Christ.

"Stop! Snap the fuck out of it, will you?" His harsh words work to bring her focus back on him. She looks pissed. This is a dangerous spot he's put himself in. Should tread carefully.

Yeah, fuck that.

"You've jumped right to the worst-case scenario. Get over yourself. Joyce is a tough lady. Maybe she had a bad moment. It's not a big deal. Maybe the next one will be better. Either way, if it's Angelus she's upset over, that's not your fault, it's his! When will you get that? It's on him, not you!"

"Shut up! What do you know? How dare you talk to me like that. You don't know me, Spike. You didn't know my relationship with Angel and you sure as hell don't know anything about my mother! Don't tell me it's not a big deal! This is a big deal!"

Spike had actually gotten ahead of himself somewhat. Not really his fault, he's made this sort of argument before. Many, many, many times. It's a subject he's pretty bitter over.

"You think you're the only one that feels like this? Angelus barely scratched the surface with you. What do you think it's been like for Dru, huh? You think this is the first time I've sat with a girl who's crying over what that fucker did to her and hers?"

Stricken, Buffy goes paler and abruptly silent. Yeah, that threw her off, didn't it? And fuck, this all escalated quickly. Better reel this in before she starts using her stake instead of her words.

Also, he'd actually meant to make her feel better, not worse. First time for that. Used to be aiming for the exact opposite. Figures he'd hurt her now when he didn't intend to.

Forcing gentleness into his tone, Spike tries again. "Look, all I'm saying is, you're borrowing trouble. It's not all about you or even all about that poofter. Just cause Joyce got bent out of shape over him doesn't mean things have gotta stay that way. You can take her mind off it. Change the subject. Talk about other, happier shit. Doesn't have to be such a big nightmare for you."

Buffy's eyes might be on him, but her gaze goes through him. Disconnected.

"You're right." The words come, as if from very far away. "I overreacted."

Spike pinches himself to make sure he isn't dreaming.

Buffy puts her face in her hands. "God, I'm so tired. I just…I want this to be done. I want Mom to be better. I want to sleep at night. I want my family back to normal."

Yeah, Spike's noticed the Slayer's obsession with normal.

She inhales deeply and shivers.

"Not dressed for the weather, once again." Spike says dryly.

Moving right along.

"I know, I just had to get out. Get some fresh air."

"Think you've gotten it."

Buffy's nose and ears are red from the cold. She sniffles again, more from a runny nose than true upset. She looks at him and it's like a weight has been lifted off of her. Buffy actually feels lighter. That had been…strangely cathartic. Nothing's been solved, but it feels more worked out, now that she's said it out loud. Spike, asshole that he was about it, did make a couple good points. Sometimes Buffy needs someone to tell her the truth as they see it, no bullshit. She doesn't even have to agree with what he'd said. Just hearing him NOT baby her has helped immensely.

A corner of her mouth turns up. "Thanks for coming by, Spike. I half-expected you to blow me off and just go home after you patrolled."

"To my crumbling crypt? Perish the thought."

"That's not funny."

Spike smirks, relieved for a return to lightheartedness. The less said about his poofter of a grandsire the better, really.

Buffy rubs her hands together, "So really, what did you run into tonight?"

Bugger. Take her mind off her problems and now he's got to give a fucking report. Figures.

Inside, Dawn tosses and turns in her bed. She can hear her mom's voice through her bedroom wall. Even though she can't make out the words, the tone is clear. Her mom is freaked out by whatever her brain is showing her now. It's almost like the woman next door isn't even Dawn's mom. Just some lady who talks to herself and says strange, rude things. Like a…like a bag lady.

Dawn wonders if her mom would be able to see Dawn's monster stalker now. Though it hasn't been around all day.

Dawn's had plenty of opportunities now to talk to Buffy about that Cousin It thing. But her sister is so obviously stressed about Mom and Slayer stuff that Dawn can't bring it up. She won't be the one to add more things for Buffy to worry about. Dawn's been handling things fine on her own up until now.

She'll tell Buffy about the creature after their mom's surgery. That will be way better timing.

Through the wall, Dawn hears her mom's voice crescendo with anxiety and then finally quiet down. Thank god.

Dawn puts a pillow over her head and tries to sleep.

In Joyce's room, Joyce keeps on arguing. Not the kind of woman to lay around in bed and wait for fate to claim her, not a chance.

"…my daughters still need me. Don't you dare do this to me now! I'm not ready to go. I don't care if you're an angel from on high, I'm not done here yet! I'm not going anywhere, do you hear me?"

Joyce addresses the being to her right. She could've spoken to the one at the foot of her bed or even the one by the window. But the angelic being to her right is hovering, black feathered wings flexing. This one seems to be in more of a hurry.

Three bland faces stare at her stonily, as mute as they were when first crawling in Joyce's bedroom window.

"I'm telling you, I'm not going." The angelic figure next to her extends a hand.

"Don't you touch me! Angels or not, heaven-bound or not, I'm not ready so I won't be going with you. Now, please! Get away from me!"