A/N: Review my story please? All I have to fix it is my spell and grammar check; and my own brain...Tell me what you think. This part is a little boring, but I think the conversation will play a large part later on. Happy reading!
Knock. Knock. Knock. Joyce Summers looked up from her work in surprise. "I wasn't expecting anyone," she muttered to herself. "Who could that be?" Walking quickly to the door, Joyce peeked outside to see who was standing on her doorstep. A young man, blonde and friendly looking, stood there, waiting patiently. Joyce opened the door and looked at him questioningly.
"Hello," he greeted her. "My name is Andrew. I heard that you were looking for someone to help out at your gallery."
Surprised, Joyce nodded. "Yes, I am. My name is Joyce Summers. Please come in." 'Buffy would kill me if she knew I invited a strange man into the house. But he seems nice enough.' Joyce found rather ironic that Buffy was more able to protect her mother than vice versa. Yet that was the way things were when your daughter was the Slayer. 'But why my daughter?' Joyce shook her head to clear it of unpleasant thoughts. "Can I get you anything, Andrew? Some coffee perhaps?"
Andrew smiled as he thought of Monica's affinity for coffee. "Some tea if you have it, please."
"Certainly. Please, sit down." Joyce motioned to the couch as she made her way to the kitchen.
Andrew thanked her as he sat on the couch in the cozy family room. Looking around, he saw a picture of a girl with two other people. Buffy was in the middle, smiling and laughing at something one of her friends had said. 'It was probably Xander,' the Angel of Death thought with a smile. 'He's practically famous at Home for his witty puns and jokes.' He looked up as Joyce walked into the room with a tray laden with cups and a teapot. "Please, let me help you," Andrew said, rising from his place on the couch.
"Thank you." Andrew looked around the family room some more before turning back to Joyce. "You have a lovely home. Do you live here alone?"
Joyce smiled kindly. "Thank you very much. I don't live alone. My daughter Buffy is a student at U.C. Sunnydale."
"Oh? And how is that going for her?" Andrew asked. He was still holding the picture, occasionally glancing at it. 'Father, it is so hard to believe that this small girl has the power to defeat as many demons as she has.'
"Buffy doesn't tell me much about school. She doesn't tell me much about anything actually," Joyce said with a small laugh. "So goes the way of mothers and daughters. I think it's in the handbook: 'a teen-aged daughter will not share any information with her mother. Ever.'"
Andrew began to chuckle, and glanced at Joyce. "It's so true though. I have noticed over the years that the lines of communication between parents and their children are all but completely closed off."
"You don't look that old Andrew. 'Over the years?' I think not." Joyce said to him.
"I'm older than you think." They both paused for a moment before Andrew stood up. "Now what all do you need me to do?"
"I hope you like paperwork, Andrew. There are a lot of things that need filing. I've let it pile up on me over the past couple months and it's getting out of control. I walked in my office the other day and I was just so overwhelmed that I had to get help, so I put the ad in the paper…" Joyce stopped as she realized something, "…yesterday," she finished softly. Muttering to herself, she tried to work this out in her confused mind. "I placed the order yesterday. It wouldn't have shown up yet. How in the world did Andrew know I was looking for help?" Shrinking away from Andrew in fear, Joyce told him, "I don't know who you are or what you want, but you need to leave before I call someone to come and make you leave!"
"I want to help you, Joyce." Andrew cringed at her sudden fear. What was it that had frightened her so much? 'Father,' he prayed, 'help me understand this, please. I don't believe I did anything to upset her, and yet she stands in front of me with so much fear and anger. Did I do something wrong, Father? If I did, please forgive me. If everything is going according to Your plan, please help me explain it to Joyce. Your will be done. Love, Andrew.'
He reached out to Joyce, to hold her hand. "Joyce, listen to me. I'm looking you in the eye see? So I cannot tell you a lie. I did not come here to harm you in any way. I only came to help you. I promise."
"But...but how?"
"How what?"
"I placed the ad yesterday," Joyce explained shakily. "The paper wouldn't have printed it yet."
Andrew smiled in understanding. "I see. I understand how that would frighten you. I know that Sunnydale sits...is a high crime area. Something like that would scare me as well."
Joyce smiled at him gratefully. "Yes, but how did you know?"
"No one can ever say that you're not persistent, Joyce," Andrew said with a smile. "How long do you have?"
Joyce looked at him with confusion. "I didn't know my question would prompt a story. I have all day."
Knock. Knock. Knock. Joyce Summers looked up from her work in surprise. "I wasn't expecting anyone," she muttered to herself. "Who could that be?" Walking quickly to the door, Joyce peeked outside to see who was standing on her doorstep. A young man, blonde and friendly looking, stood there, waiting patiently. Joyce opened the door and looked at him questioningly.
"Hello," he greeted her. "My name is Andrew. I heard that you were looking for someone to help out at your gallery."
Surprised, Joyce nodded. "Yes, I am. My name is Joyce Summers. Please come in." 'Buffy would kill me if she knew I invited a strange man into the house. But he seems nice enough.' Joyce found rather ironic that Buffy was more able to protect her mother than vice versa. Yet that was the way things were when your daughter was the Slayer. 'But why my daughter?' Joyce shook her head to clear it of unpleasant thoughts. "Can I get you anything, Andrew? Some coffee perhaps?"
Andrew smiled as he thought of Monica's affinity for coffee. "Some tea if you have it, please."
"Certainly. Please, sit down." Joyce motioned to the couch as she made her way to the kitchen.
Andrew thanked her as he sat on the couch in the cozy family room. Looking around, he saw a picture of a girl with two other people. Buffy was in the middle, smiling and laughing at something one of her friends had said. 'It was probably Xander,' the Angel of Death thought with a smile. 'He's practically famous at Home for his witty puns and jokes.' He looked up as Joyce walked into the room with a tray laden with cups and a teapot. "Please, let me help you," Andrew said, rising from his place on the couch.
"Thank you." Andrew looked around the family room some more before turning back to Joyce. "You have a lovely home. Do you live here alone?"
Joyce smiled kindly. "Thank you very much. I don't live alone. My daughter Buffy is a student at U.C. Sunnydale."
"Oh? And how is that going for her?" Andrew asked. He was still holding the picture, occasionally glancing at it. 'Father, it is so hard to believe that this small girl has the power to defeat as many demons as she has.'
"Buffy doesn't tell me much about school. She doesn't tell me much about anything actually," Joyce said with a small laugh. "So goes the way of mothers and daughters. I think it's in the handbook: 'a teen-aged daughter will not share any information with her mother. Ever.'"
Andrew began to chuckle, and glanced at Joyce. "It's so true though. I have noticed over the years that the lines of communication between parents and their children are all but completely closed off."
"You don't look that old Andrew. 'Over the years?' I think not." Joyce said to him.
"I'm older than you think." They both paused for a moment before Andrew stood up. "Now what all do you need me to do?"
"I hope you like paperwork, Andrew. There are a lot of things that need filing. I've let it pile up on me over the past couple months and it's getting out of control. I walked in my office the other day and I was just so overwhelmed that I had to get help, so I put the ad in the paper…" Joyce stopped as she realized something, "…yesterday," she finished softly. Muttering to herself, she tried to work this out in her confused mind. "I placed the order yesterday. It wouldn't have shown up yet. How in the world did Andrew know I was looking for help?" Shrinking away from Andrew in fear, Joyce told him, "I don't know who you are or what you want, but you need to leave before I call someone to come and make you leave!"
"I want to help you, Joyce." Andrew cringed at her sudden fear. What was it that had frightened her so much? 'Father,' he prayed, 'help me understand this, please. I don't believe I did anything to upset her, and yet she stands in front of me with so much fear and anger. Did I do something wrong, Father? If I did, please forgive me. If everything is going according to Your plan, please help me explain it to Joyce. Your will be done. Love, Andrew.'
He reached out to Joyce, to hold her hand. "Joyce, listen to me. I'm looking you in the eye see? So I cannot tell you a lie. I did not come here to harm you in any way. I only came to help you. I promise."
"But...but how?"
"How what?"
"I placed the ad yesterday," Joyce explained shakily. "The paper wouldn't have printed it yet."
Andrew smiled in understanding. "I see. I understand how that would frighten you. I know that Sunnydale sits...is a high crime area. Something like that would scare me as well."
Joyce smiled at him gratefully. "Yes, but how did you know?"
"No one can ever say that you're not persistent, Joyce," Andrew said with a smile. "How long do you have?"
Joyce looked at him with confusion. "I didn't know my question would prompt a story. I have all day."