Just Human, Chapter 4: Expect the Unexpected

It was a pain in the ass to be seventeen. Of course the fact wasn't new to
Joyce. She'd had the same thought for a while now. Six months to be exact.
Ever since she'd become seventeen, two days after her father died.

She had wondered why she couldn't just skip this last year and turn 18 instead.
But that wasn't possible and so she had to live through this unnecessary
year. And it was the result of not being eighteen that she had to live with
Willow and Tara, their daughters and her own younger siblings instead of
being able to have her own apartment.

Of course there was her mother she could blame for it as well. If Buffy
wouldn't wallow in self-pity and drink herself into some sort of stupor, she
would be able to live with her mother. She was a pain in the ass too
sometimes, but still better than the two lesbians who were always trying to
talk to her. 'We should talk about this, Joyce' or 'I think we really need
to discuss this' were their favorite quotes.

And she hated it. God, how she hated being forced to talk about things. All
she wanted was to be left alone and live her life. That wasn't much, was it?

Throwing her backpack over her shoulder, she waved goodbye to her best
friend Valerie and the very last moment she remembered that she had to turn
right instead of left, again thanks due to her mother. And of course also to her
father, who had just died and left them in this mess.

She quickly blinked the threatening tears in her eyes away and frowned for a
moment. She knew it wasn't fair to think that way. But she missed him, God,
how she missed her father. His gentle and loving smile, his warm, forgiving
eyes, the way he would touch her, the hours he'd spent listening to her, and
she even remembered all the times he'd read stories, things she'd been too
embarrassed to remember for a long time. And she would gladly, gladly,
listen to every stupid story if it meant she'd have him back again.

But of course he wouldn't come back. People didn't just come back from the
dead and live again. Sure, there were a lot of creepy things happening in
the world, she'd even seen some of them before she became seven years old,
had even been forced to believe that vampires existed, but she was old
enough to know that things didn't work that way.

And now her mother was gone too. Of course, she wasn't really gone. Buffy
was alive and well, but not really there anymore. A part of Joyce didn't
blame her mother. The part that liked the fact that her mother was sick over
her father's death, that her mother had loved her father so much that she
wouldn't go on living without him. But another part also felt jealous,
because that part wanted to be loved the same way her father had been loved.
She was her mother's daughter for God's sake and she didn't like to see that
her father was more to Buffy than her own children.

She startled when she heard someone talking to her and she looked up
and into the face of a stranger, who was gazing at her from his car. "Yes?"
she asked.

"Excuse me," he said, and smiled, and God, he had a killer smile. "I think
I'm somewhat lost. I've been to Sunnydale years ago but there are so many
new streets and houses and, well" he laughed a little and Joyce felt her
knees go weak at that laugh, "I'm looking for Blueberry Lane. Do you know
where it is?"

"What? Oh, sure, Blueberry Lane. That's where I live too. You drive straight
ahead and then turn at the second left. You can't miss it." She finished her
description with her best beam. "Are you going to live there?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head. "I'm going to see an old friend."

"Oh," she nodded, trying not to sound too disappointed. "But maybe," she
added, "you'll be staying for a while?"

He flashed her another smile, "Maybe. It depends."

He didn't elaborate that, but it was just as well. "Well, maybe we'll see
each other again," she said hopefully.

"Who knows," he replied with a noncommittal shrug. "Thanks for the help."

"You're welcome," she said, but he was already driving away. "Oh Holy
Jesus," Joyce breathed and fanned her face with her hand. Her palms were
sweaty and her heart was racing a mile a minute, her knees transformed into
jelly.

"Who was that?"

Joyce almost jumped out of skin at the sound of her best friend's voice.
"Valerie," she almost shouted. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd
gone home."

"Jeez," Val shook her head, "Sorry. But I saw you talking to this extremely
handsome guy in that very expensive car and forgive me that I just wanted to
know who the hell my best friend was talking to."

"It was nothing. He wanted to know how to find Blueberry Lane," the blond
told her. Joyce had the same blond hair like her mother. But that was where
the resemblance ended. Where Buffy was tiny, her daughter was tall. With
five foot ten, Joyce was taller than most of the girls, and before her
curves had begun to fill out she'd often been mistaken for a boy.

To her size and the blond hair, she had her father's blue eyes and the shape
of her face was a mixture of her parents. Valerie had even suggested, Joyce
should think about becoming a model and although the idea flattered her, the
blond had never contemplated it. She didn't like to be photographed and
besides, she'd long decided that she wanted to be a doctor. And if she
managed to keep her grades up, she would stick to it.

"Oh sure," Valerie shot her an incredulous glance that turned to open shock
when she realized that Joyce was telling the truth. "He really asked you
directions." She sighed deeply. "What a bummer. You didn't, by chance, ask
for his name?"

"No," the blond replied, but a smile played around her lips. "But he said
he'd visit a friend at Blueberry Lane. So what do you think are the chances
that we might see him again?" And maybe, she thought, life didn't hate her
that much after all.

*****

Buffy took a deep final breath and straightening her aching spine she
scanned her apartment with satisfaction. It was done. She was tired, sweaty,
and dirty and her bones were aching from all the cleaning, washing and
dusting, but she had finally managed to get the apartment in a presentable
state. There were clean clothes in her closets and drawers, and the
underlying foul smell she hadn't even noticed for the last six months was
almost gone.

She had worked like a mule for the last 18 hours, right throughout the
night, and was ready to drop from exhaustion, but she couldn't remember when
she'd last felt so content with herself.

Now all she needed to feel human again was a hot bubble bath, a good book
and a drink and... Stopping her thoughts right there, she was too stunned to
move for a second. She hadn't even been thinking about a drink for the last
18 hours. She turned slowly and looked at the untouched bottle of Bourbon
that was standing in the middle of her table. She'd found it under her sofa
while cleaning the living room and remembered that she'd noticed it was
missing a few days ago.

God, but she wanted a drink right now. Now that all the work was done, the
memories, the pain and the guilt would come back, now that there wasn't
anything she could do anymore to stop herself from thinking.

No, she decided, she wouldn't take a bath, she would just jump under the
shower instead. Having come to that decision she tore her clothes from her
body and when she emerged from her shower half an hour later, she felt like
a human being again. She was wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, the one she'd
just washed tonight and a clean towel enveloped her wet - and now clean -
hair. She had needed to wash it four times. Thinking back on it, she still
felt a slight shudder of disgust. God, she hadn't even noticed what was
going on with her. She'd looked like a bag lady, not like Buffy Summers,
ex-slayer and mother of three children.

Buffy Finn, she reminded herself quickly with a little stab of guilt. Funny,
how she never saw herself as Buffy Finn. It was just a name, but it was
significant and one more of the hard truths she hadn't been able to face the
last months. But no more. Her mother was right, or whatever that thing was,
that looked, spoke and smiled like Joyce Summers. There would be no more
running away from the truth. The shock of hearing about Marlie in the
hospital still sat deep and even more did Willow's refusal to let Buffy come
with her to see her own daughter.

Food, she reminded herself, breaking away from that painful train of
thoughts. She'd actually managed to order a pizza earlier and now she put it
into the microwave to re-heat it. She'd wanted to cook but one look into her
fridge had told her that there was nothing in it besides wine and beer.
Buffy couldn't even remember the last time she'd eaten properly. There had
been no need to buy food for Spike because, well, he didn't eat.

A glimpse into the bathroom mirror had told her that she'd grown painfully
thin, bony even, her face was hollow, and under her eyes she'd found dark
shadows. She made a mental note to apply some makeup before she left the
apartment to fill her fridge.

Pulling the pizza from the microwave she poured herself a glass of water and
was on her way to the sofa when the doorbell rang. Sighing she put plate and
glass down and walked over to the door. She wasn't really dressed for
visitors, but at least her apartment was clean now and compared to her
yesterday appearance even being clothed in a bathrobe and towels was like
wearing the crown jewels. Oh well, maybe it was Willow, she thought while
she reached for the doorknob. Then she could see for herself that her friend
was making an effort to get things back on track.

With that thought firm in her mind, she pulled the door open and her heart
stopped. Tightening her hold on the handle so that her knuckles went white,
she managed only one word, "Angel."

"Buffy," came his reply, and she had to grip the handle even tighter. His
voice was so achingly familiar, and the way he said her name, almost
breathless, a bit afraid, as if he could hardly believe she was really
there.

She felt her breath catch in her throat, felt her heart begin to hammer in
her chest. "Oh God," was all she managed to say.

A little half-smile appeared on his lips, and it propelled her right back in
time. She remembered times and places when she'd seen that smile, had been
dying to see it soften his much too somber features. Had marveled in the
fact that she had been the cause for that smile sometimes. "No, still only
an Angel," he said and instantly grimaced at his own bad joke. "Sorry, that
wasn't really funny. Can I come in?"

As if she was in trance, she stepped back to invite him in and watched him
proceed towards the living room. He moved with the same fluidity, the same
stealthy grace she remembered. He didn't look a day older than the last time
they'd met. Of course she hadn't expected him to look older. He was a
vampire after all. A vampire who moved into her living room, then stopped
and turned towards her, sun shining right on his back.

"Oh God," she said again and felt her body begin to tremble. "You don't
burn," she remarked, staring at him. "You don't burn," she repeated in an
incredulous whisper.

He smiled then. Not the half-smile from before, but a full, all-teeth smile,
a smile she had never seen before on him and it was breathtaking. "No, I
don't. Only vampires burn, human beings don't."

"Hum-" her voice died and her eyes rounded even more. "Oh my God." It was an
almost painful moan, and she swayed on her feet for a moment, but when she
saw him moving towards her, she held out her hand. "No, don't touch me."

Angel felt as if she'd struck him, but she looked at if she'd been struck
herself. As he watched she seemed to crumble. Her shoulders hunched, she
curled her arms protectively around her own body and the trembling changed
into a real shaking. "Oh my God," she moaned again.

This went on for some minutes, but suddenly, her body underwent a transformation,
her spine straightened, her arms loosened. She swallowed and blinked several
times. "When?" she finally managed to ask.

"Several months ago," he replied, keeping his distance. He wanted nothing
more than to take her in his arms and hold her, but there was no way he
could do that right now. He pointed at the bottles on the table, "I would
vote for something to drink, but given the circumstances, I think it's
better not." The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew it had been
the wrong thing to say, but he couldn't take them back now.

But Cordelia had told him about her meeting with Willow and when he'd called
the redhead this morning she'd been so concerned, he hadn't been able to
think about anything but Buffy's drinking problem the whole way from L.A. to
Sunnydale. Well, that and the fact that Riley was dead. He had hardly been
able to believe her, when Cordelia had given him the news.

"What?" Her voice was sharp, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You're white as a sheet," he explained. "Usually you offer people something
to drink to calm her nerves," he said, hoping against hope, she would forget
about his lapse. But he saw her eyes narrow even more and sighed, "Okay, so
Cordelia talked to Willow and then I talked to Willow and she was really
concerned about you."

"Oh, I see," her voice heavy with sarcasm, "And so you had to come and help
the poor drunken Buffy. Well, I'm pleased to tell you that I haven't even
touched a drink today."

"That's good." His voice was soft. Incredibly soft. And warm. She had to
close her eyes for a moment. How she had missed hearing that voice.

Taking a deep breath, she looked back at him, "Why are you here? I mean it's
a bit surprising. After all I haven't even heard from you for about ten
years."

He didn't look away, he didn't even try. In fact his eyes were locked with
hers, when he said, "You know why I left." And of course she did. They had
never talked about all this, but she had known nevertheless. "I heard about
Riley," he continued. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you," she replied stiffly, not wanting to go there, not ready to face
this, her deepest, darkest guilt.

"Willow told me it was quick. He didn't really suffer."

"No," she slowly shook her head, "he didn't suffer. One morning he woke up
with a fever and when it didn't go away he went to the doctor. Then to the
hospital and he never came home again. It was over in four days." Her voice
was flat and bare of emotion telling him about Riley. "But I'm not going to
discuss my late husband with you."

"It's not why I came," he replied gently. "I just," he shrugged, "wanted to
see you, I guess."

"Why?" she asked.

"Why?" he echoed. Because I love you, because I never stopped loving you,
because I'm human now and Riley's dead and we've got a chance now, if you
give us one. Because I was desperate each single day without you. Because
thinking about you and Riley together, having children, being happy, made me
want to scream. But of course he couldn't tell her that. She had, after all,
lived 20 years with Riley. She had three children with him and she had loved
Riley. Maybe even more than she had loved him. She had told him so, she
might have been angry then, but he'd believed her nevertheless. Buffy wasn't
a person who used the word love lightly.

"We were close once," he said instead. "And I thought, maybe you could use
my help."

"Your help?" She shook her head, the towel loosening and falling down. Her
still wet hair cascaded down. It was shorter than he remembered, but still
long and Angel wanted to touch it. Wanted to burry his face in it and inhale
her scent. God, he had missed her. Her next words, however, shattered any hope
that this was going to happen somewhere in the near future, "I don't need your
help, Angel. I managed without you very well. There is no need for you to play my
savior. Take your humanity and whatever there is, and go. If you came for me, you
came in vain."

"Buffy, I-"

"No. Leave. Now." She was holding up barely and no way she would break down
in front of him.

"I'll be staying in Sunnydale for a while," he said then, reaching into his
pocket. "If you want to talk or just see me, give me a call." He put a
little business card on her table. "I would like to met your children. And
I'm not just going away. If you don't call, I'll be back in a couple days.
You won't get rid of me that easily."

His voice was gentle, but there was a subtle warning in it. And she knew it
then. He meant it. He wouldn't just leave. He wouldn't let her hide from
terrible, dark truths. And more than anything she feared the truth. And
coming face to face with her own weakness.

She heard the door close behind him and with a last glance at his card on
the table, she sunk down on the floor and cried.

... to be continued