A/N: I have no clue if anyone's actually reading this, but if you are...yikes, sorry, that was much a longer hiatus than intended. This wraps up Season 5. The yet-to-be-titled Season 6 story of indeterminate length is on its way.

Jenny

Jenny didn't know what was wrong with her.

It had been years. Years. With Rupert, with the kids. Years of forming an easy camaraderie and building trust and synthesizing into this little unit where some came and went while the rest of them stayed unbreakable and intact. She'd been through the weird, there-but-in-the-background phase and then embraced the cool, trusted adult phase and settled nicely into the wise, unflappable older sister phase that they'd finally seemed to land on. And then Buffy's mother died - suddenly, shockingly, tragically - and Jenny was picking the worst moment of all moments to choke and falter.

Jenny felt like she'd been transported back to that first fateful year when she'd crossed paths with Rupert and his gang of unlikely library warriors. Everything felt terribly awkward and out of sync. She'd somehow managed to do the right things - offer condolences and give hugs and gentle looks conveying what she hoped was love and support - but she suspected that anyone watching from the outside looking in would assume that Jenny was a distant relative, a long-forgotten friend, one who was sweet and kind and possibly even good at handling grief and loss with generic condolences and tact and grace. And that would be a fair assumption because that was exactly how Jenny was acting. And try as she did, she couldn't get past it.

Luckily, everyone else was far too shaken for Jenny's strange behavior to take center stage. They'd all headed in their own directions after the autopsy, although Rupert fussed a bit over Buffy and Dawn staying alone in their house together, and Jenny was starting to think she'd get a reprieve, maybe a full night to sort out her own feelings before having to face the kids again, but Rupert clearly had other ideas.

"You seem out of sorts," he commented, throwing it back at her as he'd unlocked the apartment door as Jenny had shuffled her feet aimlessly behind him. Despite the heavy tiredness that had settled deep in her limbs, Jenny felt herself prickling. She'd been with Rupert long enough to know when casual comments thrown over the doorstep were just that but also when they were fighting words masquerading as politeness. Rupert was annoyingly British in that way.

And, really? Of course she was "out of sorts." Buffy's mother was dead - Buffy, who Jenny had come to have rather fond feelings toward. And then there was Joyce herself, who had been nothing but kind to Jenny over the years and never batted an eye when Jenny ended up at the Summers house at all hours handling one crisis or another or when she and Rupert, in some natural progression, were near-constant fixtures on holidays and birthdays and other random special occasions. Jenny paged through the last few years of memories like a Lexicon; turkey at Thanksgiving and eggnog on Christmas. Dawn's last birthday with a strawberry layer cake and a Princess tiara that Buffy had bought - pre-Dawn revelations - with just a touch of sibling rivalry and subtle insults. Even the absurd graduation party Joyce had insisted on throwing a mere week after the near-apocalypse that was the 1999 Sunnydale Commencement which had resulted in hangovers for all of the over-wrought, emotionally drained adults and much glee among the underage set. So, yes, Jenny thought acidly as she stood on her doorstep and tried to breathe through the onslaught of emotions, she was certainly out of sorts. No kidding. And no need for him to go digging for anything deeper.

Jenny chose the obvious answer and hoped Rupert would simply take it. "Of course I am," she offered sincerely. "Joyce is...I still can't believe it. We're around death so much and it's still not ever anything you're prepared for."

Rupert eyed her as she collapsed onto the sofa, not even bothering to take off her jacket, and Jenny groaned internally. Here we go. "Is that...not the answer you wanted?"

"You're not yourself," Rupert observed, and Jenny was dismayed to hear a hint of judgment in his tone.

"I don't feel like myself," Jenny confessed warily, wanting to offer something but not feeling up to an entire heart-to-heart. "But that's normal. Grief is weird. Everyone handles things differently."

Rupert slammed his hand on his thigh so suddenly that Jenny jumped. "Handling things differently is one thing. But you...I don't understand it. You were more distant with that lot today than you've been in years. More than you ever were, even. And I turned it over and over on the ride home and I can't for the life of me figure out why."

Somehow he'd gone from ranting to shouting in a matter of seconds and Jenny was over all of it. "It's not something for you to figure out," she fired back. "My relationships with the kids are just that - mine. It's not your job to mediate. Or to tell me how to manage them. We're way past the stage where they're all your little charges and I'm the new stepmom learning the ropes."

"That argument might carry more weight if you'd actually tried. Tried in any sort of way, I mean, rather than being completely useless. They are still kids, Jenny, adults or not. With two of them newly motherless."

"Completely useless?" Jenny was on her feet now. "You're quickly approaching the point where you aren't going to be able to walk this back and sleeping on this couch isn't going to be good for you. So you might want to rethink your own grieving strategy here."

"This hasn't got a thing to do with me," Rupert said dismissively.

"The hell it doesn't! Like I said before. You're grieving and you're angry. You're angry that Joyce left us so soon. You're angry about the additional burden on Buffy and what it's going to do to her and Dawn. You're angry that the world would deal us another blow. It's easier to be angry and I'm clearly an easy target."

"So you've taken up psychoanalysis, have you?" Jenny could detect a slight drop in attitude even though the words were still harsh.

"Not officially," she countered. "But enough to know that yes, I am out of sorts and out of sync and not myself, all of what you said. And there's plenty of reasons for that, none of which I feel like getting into tonight, especially after having to bear the brunt of your form of grieving. Not really a good time."

Rupert really did look apologetic then. "I shouldn't have shouted," he admitted. But Jenny's blood boiled further.

"So you're sorry for the volume and the tone, but not the words themselves? Not really what I was going for." She turned on her heel and headed for the loft. Done.

"I stand by my words," Rupert directed at her back. "Maybe it would be different if I knew why. But this...you dodging the hard things? Ducking out right when they need you the most?"

Jenny refused to turn around. "I didn't duck out," she argued hotly. "I didn't leave, I didn't…I didn't say anything wrong! I was still there, and still with them. As much as I felt...off, I made sure that none of them saw."

"But I did. And it scared me, Jenny. It still scares me. And maybe you're right and it's all wrapped up in grief. But I saw you dodging and distancing and, forgive me, but I thought...if she can't handle this now, with them, how is she going to handle this later, with our own?"

Jenny could feel her blood run cold as a wave of white hot fury whipped through her whole being. "How dare you use that against me," she hissed. "That's...that's got nothing to do with this. And the fact that you would even suggest that, when you know how much the kids mean to me and how much I - we - want the...other thing." She felt the tears start to permeate all the fury. "I...I'm going to bed. Sleep where you like. But don't you dare leave for Buffy's in the morning without me. Or I won't be here when you get back."

-BtVS-

Maybe it was an omen, Jenny thought miserably the next morning as they drove silently to Buffy's. Maybe Rupert was right after all. Was this all some glaring sign to re-evaluate things and maybe not be so willing to give in to the increasingly desperate pressure of her empty uterus? She probably would suck at all of it, especially given recent events. And especially given that Rupert had clearly been watching and evaluating her every move, apparently on the lookout for signs of her unfitnessness. The thought made her want to simultaneously burst into tears and run her fist into the nearest hard object, preferably something that would shatter and cut her hands so that the blood that would run free would somehow release the pain that her tears just simply couldn't cover.

She settled for balling her hands in her lap and noticed with some measure of satisfaction that Rupert had caught the gesture and was now frowning at the road with his most typical expression of concern. Good. Maybe if he had shown some of said concern last night instead of yelling and throwing out callous accusations, they wouldn't be in this mess on top of everything else.

Rupert had actually skulked up to the loft and to bed at some point when he clearly thought she'd be asleep and none the wiser. Forgiving Jenny, which also seemed to coincide with sleepy, defenseless, 2am Jenny, had concluded at the time that him coming to bed at all was a victory of sorts, a small concession, perhaps a way of admitting that he was sorry without actually having to wake her to do so. That Jenny had curled into him invitingly before rolling back over so that he could gently spoon her, his palms landing - coincidentally or not, Jenny didn't know - flat against her belly. But the Jenny of 7am - Righteously Angry Jenny - was not nearly as forgiving. Once the cobwebs had been swept from her brain and the leftover gooeyness from waking up in Rupert's arms had faded, Jenny was just as pissed as she was when she'd originally climbed into bed. How dare he? And by the time she'd made it downstairs - and found coffee brewing and a muffin out and waiting for her - it must have been apparent in the cadence of her steps or the square of her shoulders or the hardness in her eyes, because Rupert only sighed as he looked at her and said not a word. And here they fucking were.

Rupert parked easily in front of the Summers' front path and fumbled with the keys as he turned off the engine. "Jenny," he sighed. He chanced a look in Jenny's direction and Jenny felt a wave of triumph that was followed by immediate chagrin. How low had she sunk?

"Whatever you're going to say," she cut in tiredly. "Let's not do it now. Clearly there are bigger issues than the two of us."

"That's where you're wrong." This time Jenny's eyes flew to Rupert's even as she tried to keep her face neutral.

"There are no bigger issues than the two of us," Rupert continued carefully. "Or there shouldn't be, anyway."

Jenny snorted, putting an end to what could have been a touching moment in the "Rupert and Jenny Do Not Wear Their Hearts on Their Sleeves" saga, but then tried to backtrack. "I'm sorry, that was cynical…"

"And rude," Rupert looked ahead once more. "I'm trying here, Jenny. I don't like it when we have a row."

"Well, I don't like it either," Jenny countered. "And I appreciate the sentiment, I guess, but we both know that isn't true. Maybe it should be - that the most important thing here is you and me and this thing we have. It would make things easier for us and for whoever else we add to this 'us' at some point. But you saying it when it's not true just makes it even harder."

"Jenny…"

"I don't fault you for it. Truly. And I feel the same way, most of the time. Whatever apocalypse flavor of the week and Buffy and the rest of them, and now Buffy and Dawn alone without Joyce...those things will always be bigger than the two of us. No matter how hard we try or what we want or how we wish things could be."

"I love you," Rupert said suddenly, fiercely. "I...I don't know what else you want."

"I don't want anything else," Jenny burst out desperately. "I know that you love me, and I love you, too, more than anything. And it works. We work. But please, please don't use those platitudes with me. There will always, always be bigger issues than the two of us. I know that, and I'm okay with it. But don't make it out like those issues aren't there or will magically go away or that there will be some point when all of us just transition into normal lives. Because there won't be."

Rupert ran a hand over his face. "I don't understand," he admitted, his tone now as tired as hers. "If you want to not be together…"

"Haven't you been listening?" Jenny could distantly recognize that her volume was rising but had little ability to check herself. "That's the last thing I want. You were an ass last night, sure, but the next time we're 'having a row', I'll be a bitch and we'll call it even. It isn't the first time and it won't be the last. I don't want to do any of this without you, ever. But let's not kid ourselves here. This Hellmouth tour of duty doesn't come with an end date. And what's more is that you wouldn't want it to. And I wouldn't either. So let's not pretend that our life and our relationship would trump everything else. It won't. And that's fine. But I'm not going to pretend and act like it's one way when it's the opposite."

Rupert sighed. "I suppose that's fair."

Jenny stole a look in his direction before carefully getting out of the car. She waited for Rupert to come around to her side before gently taking his arm as they headed toward the door.

"Is all of that...is that why yesterday was...with you?"

Jenny was still miffed enough to get a little satisfaction out of her articulate Englishman boyfriend stumbling over a simple question. "No," she said simply as she knocked lightly before pulling the door open. "Whatever that was in the car had nothing to do with yesterday."

Rupert looked flabbergasted. "But…"

"I told you," Jenny said softly as they stepped inside. "I'm still trying to make sense of it myself. I'm just...confused." She felt her throat unexpectedly tighten as said confusion, plus the guilt she'd carried with her from Rupert's words, hit her full force. But Rupert's gaze on her was soft, softer than he'd been the entire time, but before she could say another word, Willow walked into the foyer and then was suddenly in her arms. And as Jenny busied herself, and her thoughts, with the distressed girl who was clinging to her desperately, she felt a tender brush of Rupert's hand across her back. They'd be okay.

-BtVS-

The second day after a tragedy always seemed like the worst, Jenny reflected as she sat around the Summers' table with the Scoobies. Once the adrenaline wore off and the fight was over, that's when the real hell broke loose. She could tell from a glance around the table that for Willow and Anya and Xander, and even Tara to some extent, today might be the turning point. The shock of the bad news was wearing off and they were all sad and suffering, clearly so, but that meant some progression forward. Buffy, on the other hand, was all business and boxes to be checked and work to be done, and Jenny had a very sneaking suspicion that when all the tasks were completed and the pomp and circumstance of this funeral came to an end, everything else was going to crumble along with it. But Jenny couldn't stop that, none of them could, so they all watched and helped the best they could and waited for the inevitable plunge.

Dawn, however, worried her most of all. Dawn wasn't old enough to bury herself in mundane tasks or take ownership of any of the decisions being made around the table. Dawn was also only just a little bit removed from a major identity crisis that had upended everything she knew, or thought she had known, about her mother and her sister and her life and just...herself. And now her mother was dead and her sister was a robot and this child was likely to never know any of the innocence or comfort that the monks had probably hoped for to have, even as their primary goal was simply to hide their Key in the safest way possible.

Dawn hadn't ever been on Jenny's radar that much, even in the altered memory state that the monks had clearly left her with. Dawn was so much younger than Buffy that she'd barely warranted a mention over their shared three years at Sunnydale High. If Jenny thought hard, she could picture Dawn being hustled off to her bedroom when she and Rupert had gone to clean up Ted and standing wide-eyed in her living room after Buffy's disastrous Welcome Home party had wrecked the house. But Jenny didn't see Buffy at home all that much until last year, and then it felt like her memories of Dawn amped up this fall. But they had, hadn't they? That's when the monks had made their great insert into all of their lives. But that was also when Rupert, and Jenny by default, bought the Magic Box and basically started spending all of their time - work, patrol, and otherwise - with the kids. And Dawn naturally ended up doing homework at the giant table among spellbooks and occult texts and occasionally would fetch something a customer requested or watch the register while Jenny took inventory or brought orders to the post office or whatever. Rupert seemed to regard Dawn with the same energy that generally most adult males directed toward teen girls - annoyance, exasperation, confusion - but Jenny liked her well enough. She was smart and studious and considerably sweeter than Buffy gave her credit for. And - Jenny would never admit this to Buffy - no more annoying or overbearing or obnoxious than Buffy, or even Cordelia, had been at Dawn's age. Jenny had had an entire career in education, before a giant demon snake had derailed things a bit, to prove her point. Dawn was just a kid and a pretty harmless one at that. And now Jenny watched with quiet concern as Dawn flitted in and out of the room, only to be shut down (at best) or generally ignored (at worst).

Jenny nudged Rupert's foot under the table as conversation stalled, Buffy still working resolutely down her list of tasks while everyone else sat basically helpless. "Rupert and I are going to figure out food," she said easily but carefully. "It's probably the last thing any of you are thinking of, but you need to eat. And it'll help, even if it's just a little." Willow shot her a look of gratitude and made to get up to help, but Jenny gestured for her to stay put as Rupert rose beside her.

"We'll just be in the kitchen," she murmured to Buffy as they rounded the table. Jenny was surprised when Buffy looked up from her papers and actually met her eyes, seemingly having heard what Jenny had said.

"Thanks, Jenny." Buffy even tried for a small smile, which Jenny returned, and she let out a small breath that she hadn't even known that she was holding. And then it all made sense. Somehow the anxiety that had existed just out of her reach for the past day had managed to put itself into words she could understand, and Jenny had to remind herself not to smile as the relief radiated through her. She wasn't cold nor callous nor crazy.

"Okay," she said once they had made it to the kitchen. "Let's see." Jenny opened the refrigerator for a look before scanning cabinets. "Clearly I'm not the chef out of the two of us, but there's enough here for some options."

Rupert looked all sorts of confused and Jenny couldn't tell if it was from the haze of the day or her newly returned confidence or the issue at hand. "It looks like the neighbors have brought some things by," he said slowly. "Do you really feel like cooking?"

"They've been picking at that all day," Jenny said over her shoulder as she pulled cheese and butter out of the fridge. "I'll make grilled cheese sandwiches and you can heat up some of the soup I saw in the cabinet. Maybe doctor it up a bit so it doesn't taste so canned?"

"Um. Very well, I suppose." They lapsed into comfortable silence as Jenny buttered bread and located a frying pan and Rupert got tomato soup going on the stove. "What...uh. Never mind."

Jenny hid a smile. "If you're trying to ask why or how I feel better today, it generally works well if you use actual words."

"The last time I did, you rather bit my head off." Rupert tempered his observation with an amused glance of his own.

"I'm a little touchy on the kid subject," Jenny admitted softly, sidling next to him at the stove to start her sandwiches. "I'm already insecure about not being a good enough parent. To hear you say it...it just sent me spiraling."

"I'm sorry." Rupert moved so that their sides were pressed together. "That was low and uncalled for. And not true. You'd be a fine mother. We've talked about it enough now. You must know that I believe that."

"I do. It's just...I know that I choked yesterday. And I couldn't really put into words why. And I felt guilty and like...I wasn't in my own skin. So that all just added to it."

"But you've figured it out now? You seem...lighter. More yourself."

"I think so." Jenny bumped his hip gently. "Our connections to these kids are all so tangled and non-traditional and complicated. But special, most of all. But with Joyce gone, it just...it got me stuck in my own head, I think."

"I still don't understand."

"That's because you're a guy," Jenny explained. "The only guy, or adult guy anyway. But for me, I always felt like I had to be more careful. And I was, in the beginning, especially with Buffy. Joyce was her mother. And I always tried to walk that line where I was a teacher and then a friend, or maybe even something a bit more than that. But never, never her mother. She had one. I never wanted to do that to Joyce or Buffy."

"You never said anything. All this time, you've been dealing with that alone?" Rupert shook pepper vigorously into the soup until Jenny gently stilled his hands.

"It wasn't something to "deal" with, per se. And Joyce never made it out like I was intruding with her daughter, er, daughters. But maybe that was because I tried very hard not to. I love them all, you know that. But I always tried to love them in a way that was appropriate and not overstepping. They have mothers already. That wasn't something that I could have or should have tried for. It's not fair to anyone."

"So, yesterday?"

"Yesterday I just felt like I didn't know which way was up and which was down. I was afraid that everything I said or did would be stifling or unwanted or obtrusive." The more Jenny spoke, the more she knew that she was right. She had been terrified, unconsciously even, that if she crossed that invisible line, perhaps even with the best of intentions, one of them would utter those words that Jenny had worked hard to not have to hear. You're not my mother.

As usual, Rupert followed her train of thought. "You didn't want to come across like you were trying to mother anyone."

For the umpteenth time in the last thirty six hours, Jenny felt the tears burn behind her eyes. "Exactly. That's...that's not the goal here. I'm not their mother. Friend, sure. Cool aunt-figure or honorary big sister? Okay. But I'm not anyone's mother."

Again Rupert cast a meaningful glance in her direction. "Not yet," he said softly. "And if you had told me all of this yesterday, I would have said that you were being too hard on yourself."

"I didn't know until just now. It...I figured it out. And I'm okay. Really." Jenny finished with her stack of sandwiches and turned off the burner, then wiped her eyes carefully with the heel of her hand. "We'll just set up in here and they can come in and help themselves." She turned around with the plate of sandwiches in her hand, nearly colliding with Dawn as she came into the kitchen.

"Buffy said that you guys were cooking something," the teen asked hopefully, and Jenny was immediately glad that they'd nixed the whole "eating the casseroles from the neighbors" idea.

"Yes," Jenny said easily, her awkwardness from the last day fully fading away. "We went for comfort food. You like grilled cheese and tomato soup, right?"

She didn't know what it was about the Summers girls, but Jenny was always shocked when she'd somehow end up on the receiving end of their rare but sudden hugs. "That's my favorite," Dawn said into her shoulder, her voice sounding a bit better than it had since the day before yesterday. "How did you know?"

Jenny let herself smooth Dawn's long hair. "I didn't," she offered honestly. "But I'll remember that now that I do."

Dawn pulled back, glumness now setting back in. "It's okay," she admitted. "I don't think anyone but my mom really paid much attention to what I liked or what I didn't. Unless I made a fuss about it."

Jenny made a mental note as another piece of the Dawn puzzle fell into place. "It's actually one of my favorites, too," she said, deciding to go for it. "So I'll definitely remember, and I'll make it for you sometimes."

Dawn's face was hard to read. "You'd do that? For me?"

This time, Jenny reached out to pull Dawn to her. "Of course," she whispered. "You don't even have to ask. Although you can, of course, because asking for help is always good. Even if "help" is a grilled cheese."

Dawn squeezed her waist before stepping back. "Thank you," she said sincerely, sounding so different from the Dawn that they all were used to that even Rupert turned around from the stove. "I'm...I'm really glad that you're here. It helps, you know."

Jenny caught Rupert's eye, a stream of words carrying across their glance as Dawn grabbed a grilled cheese and a plate. She took a bite as she headed back toward the dining room, turning around to offer a final thought. "You two should totally have kids," she commented through the grilled cheese, making Rupert grimace and Jenny grin. Dawn had morphed back into Dawn, possibly even pre-Joyce's-death-Dawn, if only for a moment. "You'd be a really good mom." And off she went without a single idea as to the weight behind her words.

Jenny caught Rupert's knowing look. "Don't rub it in," she griped, but inside she was beaming. They were all connected somehow, this little contingent, tethered together in ways that she'd never imagined. And they'd lost so many - Angel and Oz and Cordelia and Riley and now Joyce - but they'd gained some, too - Anya and Tara and Dawn and even Spike. Jenny just had to have some hope that, even with Glory closing in and the world looking increasingly dim, that they'd sustained enough losses to tide them over for awhile. And maybe, just maybe they'd gain another along the way.