Just Human, Chapter 12: OLDER WOMEN AND YOUNGER MEN

Joyce Finn ran as if her life depended on it. She couldn't remember ever
having ran so fast in her life. Usually she wasn't very much for running.
She didn't have a problem with it either, but she wasn't much for working
out, gymnastics or even worse, being a cheerleader. So it was very unusual
for her to run, more so as it was in the middle of a warm Californian day.

After half a mile she was totally exhausted, sweat was streaming down her
body, and her lungs felt as if they were going to explode at any moment. She
couldn't run anymore, she had to slow down. So she did it. Slightly. No, she
was certain that she never ran like this before. But then, it didn't happen
every day that you came home and found your mother with her lover.

In bed.

Naked.

Using her sleeve to wipe the sweat from her face, Joyce closed her eyes for
a moment in disgust. It was bad enough to know that her parents had a sex
life. Parents were... well, parents. They were older. Much older. And older
people and sex just didn't mix. But of course Joyce wasn't as naive as to
believe that her siblings had come through some miracle. She knew her
parents had sex. It had been bad enough to accept that.

But now she'd found her mother with another man. God, her father was dead
for only half a year and her mother had been jumping... she shuddered
slightly and suppressed a sob. As much as she had hated the fact that her
mother was drinking and had given up life and with it, her children, it had
been comforting to think she was so broken about her husband's death that
she couldn't stand living without him.

As of today that idea didn't work anymore. Her mother had a lover. Sheesh.
Her mother was supposed to be her mother. Mourning her father. Not
screwing... Another tremor ran through her body while her mind refused to
accept what she had seen. That her mother was having sex, was sleeping, was
getting naked with a man, who was not her father. A man who quite obviously
was younger. Much, much younger. As if the situation wasn't bad enough. Her
mom had to go and find herself a lover who looked as if he was just a couple
years older than Joyce.

The girl stopped dead in tracks. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes
widened, and she felt suddenly weak. Reaching for the next car, she held
onto it, until she was sure she wouldn't break down here and now.

Holy Cow.

She knew the man she had seen in her mother's bed. The bed her parents had
once shared. She hadn't paid much attention to him at first, too angry with
her mother. But now, when she recalled the situation in her mind, her mother
clutching a sheet to cover her nudity, her lover... Jesus Bleeding Christ.
She knew exactly who the guy was. She had seen him. Even flirted with him.
He had asked her for the directions to her house. It had been the guy in the
convertible, the guy who had made her heart pound faster, the guy she had
hoped to see again, maybe to get to know him better.

Oh, well, she thought sarcastically, she would certainly get to know him
better now. He was screwing her mother after all. God, this was too much.
Not that it wasn't bad enough that her mother was sleeping with another man.
No, it had to be a man, Joyce remembered finding dangerously attractive,
even admitted to have a little bit of a crush on.

What the hell was she going to do now? She had no idea what to do. But one
thing was absolutely certain. There was no way her mother could go on being
with this guy. Not just because her daughter had the hots for him, Joyce
wouldn't even allow herself to think of him that way anymore, after his
hands had been allover her mother, no, but because it just wasn't right.
There was still her father, who had just died and then... older women didn't
date younger men.

Willow.

The name shot through her head and a smile split up her face. Willow would
know what to do. Yes, she would talk to Willow. The redhead was the voice of
reason. And she surely would be able to talk some sense into her mother too.

*****

"Buffy, calm down," Angel said, stepping into his pants, then went into the
living room only to realize that Buffy hadn't exaggerated about his shirt.
It was torn. There was no way he could wear it. Not only were the buttons
all torn off, no there were holes in it as if some oversized kitten had
tried to claw through it. He had to smile at the image. Yes, there were
certainly similarities between Buffy and a kitten. His smile became wicked
for a second, but vanished completely, when Buffy stormed in the living
room, her hair tousled, but completely dressed, her face slightly panicked.

"Calm down?" she echoed. "Joyce just found her mother in bed with another
man. A man who wasn't her father."

"Thanks to God for it," Angel muttered under his breath.

She glared at him for a second, and then went on, "Her father, who by the
way only died six months ago." She stopped and looked at him, hands firmly
planted at her hips, "Tell me, how would you feel if you were her?"

Angel considered it for a second, and then grimaced, "Point taken," he said,
not really knowing what to do. Joyce had left so fast they hadn't even had
an opportunity to call her back, too shocked by the unexpected confrontation
in the bedroom. "Still," he said then, "What do you want to do? She's
probably very angry right now. There's no way she's going to talk to you at
the moment. And even if she did, what would you tell her? The situation was
pretty obvious. We were naked in bed. And we were having sex."

"I know that," Buffy bit out through gritted teeth.

"Buffy," he said gently, "She needs time. Most of all she needs time to
think this through. I'm sure she's a bright girl. She'll realize that this
had nothing to do with her father, and she will come to accept that her
mother is still part of the living. That her mother is still free to love,"
he stepped closer, slowly, tentatively, "Because her mother is a beautiful
woman, who cannot stop living at the age of forty, just to keep the memory
of a dead man alive and her daughter happy."

Finally he was standing only a foot away, but he didn't dare reaching out for her
although he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and make all
the hurt and pain go away.

Averting her eyes, Buffy released a pent up breath and Angel could see her
blinking rapidly, then she combed a shaky hand through her hair. "God,
Angel," she said, rising her head, looking at him, "This is one of the worst
moments in my life. She looked so hurt... so shaken to the core. I don't
know if she'll ever forgive me."

"Forgive you for what?" he asked, feeling anger rising in him. "For having a
life? For sleeping with a man? For finding love? Buffy, there is nothing
you've done that needs forgiving. Stop feeling guilty all the time. I know
that sounds as if it's easy. But it isn't. Still you have to stop. Because
if you don't we won't have a chance. Because then your children, and in your
case Joyce, will tell you what to do. She'll use your guilt to her
advantage."

She looked at him and Angel felt an icy hand gripping his heart when he saw
the warmth disappear from Buffy's eyes, when they seemed to shut down and
when she finally raised a brow in some sort of mocking gesture, "And who's
telling you I want a chance with you?" she asked, her voice cool and
controlled. "Okay, so we jumped in the sack together. But that doesn't mean
there's more to it."

"Like hell it isn't," he shouted, his anger getting the best of him. "I know
you, Buffy. You can say what you want, but what just happened meant
something. It was important for both of us. Don't try telling me it wasn't
because I know better."

She shrugged, "Believe what you want. For me, the past hours were nothing
but sex. Granted, it was mind-blowing and really good, but still nothing
more than sex."

God, she was building walls so fast, Angel thought, feeling panic rising.
The walls were coming up so fast, he had no idea how to tear then down
again. "That's a lie and you know it. The way you were talking to me-"

"Pillow-talk," she threw at him, looking almost bored. "Angel, women will
tell you a lot after sex. You should know that, but then, you didn't have a
lot of practice lately, right? Well, believe me. Women tell a lot of stuff
after a good fuck."

"Oh God," he moaned, feeling sick all of a sudden, "Don't do this, Buffy,"
he pleaded, reaching out for her. She instantly stepped away, out of his
reach. "I know you still have problems dealing with your guilt about Riley.
And now Joyce..." he shook his head, trying to find the right words, "I know
it hurts and you're afraid to lose her, but you won't. Please don't give up
on us just because she's not behaving rationally at the moment."

She turned her head and the moment he saw her eyes Angel's heart hit the
bottom with a loud thud. He could see it, could see it in the depth of her
hazel orbs. "I want you to leave," she said, her voice carefully controlled.
"There is no 'us'. A roll in the sack doesn't give you any right. And I will
certainly not allow for some lover to come between my children and me. Take
your things and leave."

He longed to reach out and take her into his arms, and another part just
wanted to spank her bottom and beat some sense into her stubborn head. But
he knew that she would step away the moment he tried to touch her and as for
beating. He sighed inwardly. There had already been too much violence in his
life and hitting the woman he loved wasn't a priority on his list. Besides
he knew for sure it wouldn't help at all. She had built up her wall and
nothing he could do that would be able to tear it down again.

So he just slipped through the arms of the shirt that still wore Buffy's
marks that still smelled like her. His eyes were sad and tired when he
finally looked up. Her eyes were narrowed and cold. Distant. Almost
hostile. Well, so much for sweet after-sex bliss, he thought sarcastically.

Without another word he walked out of her apartment.

*****

The front door slammed shut with a force that had Willow almost dropping the
spell book she'd been reading. Tara had brought it yesterday from the Wiccan
shop and it was really interesting, she'd said. Willow could only agree. For
the last two hours the redhead had been studying a spell about turning a
human in animal form back to his real self. Her gaze flickered to the cage
were the Amy-rat was happily racing her wheel. Granted, it looked as if the
former witch had accepted her fate, and without doubt she had to be the
oldest rat alive, but Willow couldn't help but think it would be nicer to
walk on two legs and to have more distraction than just a wheel and some
tasty food.

Only seconds after the door had been slammed Joyce stormed into the living
room, her eyes puffy from crying, her hair disheveled, sweat was running
down her face and she seemed distressed.

Willow put the book away quickly and rushed to the girl's side, "Joyce,
honey, what happened? Are you alright?"

Joyce tried to gulp some air into her still burning lungs, "No," she pressed
out, "I'm not... alright." She took another deep breath and seeing Willow's
alarmed expression she amended, "I'm okay, physically."

The redhead released a pent up breath, then led the teenager towards the
sofa. "Sit down, honey. Can I get you something? A drink?"

"No," the girl shook her head, "Thanks. I... I don't need anything."
Suddenly, unexpectedly, tears welled up in he eyes. "I... I..."

Willow wrapped an arm around her and crooned, "Shhh, it's okay. Everything
will be okay. Just tell me and we'll find a way to make it better."

"Nothing will be okay," Joyce replied, glad her heart wasn't beating so fast
anymore. She wouldn't have liked getting a heart attack. On the other hand,
maybe her mother would've felt sorry then, would realize what she's done.
She felt so much irrational anger against the woman who'd born her, felt
betrayed in a way she'd never experienced before.

"Of course it will," Willow said gently. "Things always look worse than they
really are."

But Joyce wasn't ready for the real voice of reason. She pulled away
quickly, her eyes full of anger, "Look worse?" she asked sardonically. "I
wonder if there's anything worse than finding your mother with a man?"

The redhead's mouth jaw hit the ground, "What?" she asked, staring at the
teenager.

"You heard me," Joyce replied, "I found my mother with... with... a man."

To the girl's great surprise, Willow's expression turned to one of
speculation, "A man, huh?" she said, not quite able to hide the smile in her
eyes. She had a good idea who the man was. And frankly, she wanted to jump
on the table and dance. "Can you describe him?"

Joyce blushed slightly, but managed to keep her voice angry, "He... uh...
was kind of cute, I have to say that. Tall, dark, good-looking. Brown eyes.
Spiky hair."

The redhead tilted her head slightly, "You got quite a good look at him,"
she commented.

The girl's blush deepened, "I... uh... kinda met him before," she admitted.
"A week ago, he was looking for our street, asked me for the address and we
talked." Angry with herself, that she'd sounded more wistful than angry, she
said, "And that makes it even worse. He came to Sunnydale only a few days
ago and then I find him and mom. Together."

Willow's eyes narrowed, "Define, together," she demanded.

"They were naked," Joyce said acidly, "And don't try to tell me they were
just doing some weird form of playing doctor. I'm not stupid. They've been
doing the nasty thing."

The witch couldn't help her face lighting up with a beam, "Oh, good," she
said.

Joyce gasped, "WHAT?" she shouted, staring at Willow in distress. What the
hell was happening? She'd gone to find an ally and now it seemed she'd found
her mother's most cheerful supporter.

"I'm sorry, Joyce," Willow replied, sobering, "I know you might have
expected me to shout and be very angry. But I can't," she took a deep breath
and put a hand on the teenager's arm, "Maybe it's time to tell you about
Buffy and her lover."

"You mean there is MORE? It's not disgusting enough to find her with a man
in bed. A man who's only half her age, I want to add. She might look young,
but-"

"Uh... actually he's not half her age."

"YOUNGER?" Joyce's eyes almost bulged out of her head. "Oh, that's *so* bad.
So very, very bad." If he was even less than half her age, that would make
him... Oh God! He couldn't be much older than Joyce was herself. And Willow
seemed to back it up. What was happening? Was she in some wacky nightmare
and hadn't just noticed it?

"No. Not really. As a matter of fact, he's older, much, much older," Willow
said with a gentle smile. "There's more to Angel than it meets the eye."

"Define older. Because for me he looks younger, much, much younger."

"About 250 years older," the redhead said matter-of-factly.

"250... WHAT? Oh sure, Aunt Willow? Did you take any pills or... WHAT IS
WRONG WITH YOU!?"

The redhead sighed heavily. There was a lot to explain, "Okay, Joyce. Why
don't you sit down and I'll tell you that Angel was born more than 250 years
ago in Ireland."

... to be continued