Joyce squinted and leaned closer in to examine the picture developing on the monitor. Aunty Willow had been over more lately and was showing her how to use all the fun things on the computer. She especially liked the painting program. It was a lot less messy than when her and daddy tried to paint and got it all over the table.

She grinned at the memory. Mommy had been a lot less happy with that picture. She'd gotten her a new box of crayons soon after to replace the paints that had been put away for safekeeping.

Joyce leaned forward again, trying to concentrate and remember exactly what color everything needed to be. It was a picture for mommy so it needed to be perfect. Mommy hadn't been happy lately. They thought she couldn't tell, but Joyce knew mommy was tired. She frowned at the remembrance. She didn't understand why mommy didn't just take a nap and then have daddy give her cookies and milk. That always helped her.

The little shoulders bounced in a quick shrug. Oh well. Maybe the picture would cheer her up.

She heard the door open and close. Daddy was back inside. He had been in the garage trying to "fix the bleedin' motor"...whatever that meant. It must have something to do with their black car, she figured. He hadn't driven it in a while.

She heard him cross the hallway and enter the den where the computer was set up. He stopped behind her and laid a kiss on top of her head.

"Whatcha' up to, lil' bit?" He asked, calling her by the same name as he sometimes did Aunty Dawn, and gazing at the screen with an odd look on his face.

"I'm just makin' somethin' to cheer mommy up. D'ya think she'll like it?" Joyce queried, anxious to please, while putting the finishing touches on her masterpiece.

For a moment she didn't think he'd answer her and her lower lip trembled a bit until she sensed movement behind her.

She suddenly found herself in his strong embrace, pressed against his chest, and found, to her dismay, that he was breathing like she did when she was crying.

"I'm sorry! I can change it! Honest!" She whimpered, causing him to pull back. He gazed at her, kneeling in front of the turned chair, with tears in his eyes.

"No, baby. Don't change a thing. I'm sure your mum'll love it." He lovingly brushed a stray hair back to tuck it behind her ear. A small smile was forming on her lip.

"Swear?"

"I swear, pet."

Later that night, when Buffy walked through the front door, Joyce was waiting in her pajamas at the top of the stairs, print out in hand.

Her mommy looked awfully tired again. Daddy said that something at mommy's work wasn't right just then, but that it'd be better soon if the Wiccans could find something to help. She didn't know who "the Wiccans" were, and didn't dare ask since she knew that her eavesdropping to find that much out had been wrong, but she hoped they found something soon.

Silently, the tiny blond crept down the stairs. Her blue eyes were sparkling with hope and she was chewing on her pink bottom lip as she tried to sneak up on her mother.

Buffy was hanging up her coat when she felt a small tug on the hem of her shirt. She turned and smiled wearily down at her tiny daughter before bending to pick her up. Balancing Joyce on her hip, she made her way towards the living room.

"Whatcha' got there, pumpkin?" Joyce held the piece of paper behind her back.

"I'll show ya' when we get to the living room." Buffy nodded as she entered the room in question and plunked down on the couch. A moment later Spike appeared in the doorway. He leaned against it and gazed on while Joyce got comfortable in her mother's lap.

"So, sweetie, what is it you were going to show me?" Buffy asked patiently waiting. Joyce worried her bottom lip again, a habit she had picked up from Spike, and glanced at her father in the doorway. He smiled at her and nodded reassuringly.

Joyce turned again to lock eyes with her mother.

"I made you this so you could take it to work with you and then you wouldn't be so sad when you came home," she finally replied, handing her mother the paper.

Buffy glanced at Spike in question before looking down at the paper her daughter had handed her.

It took a minute for the images to register and when Buffy looked at her daughter again it was through blurred vision.

"Do...do you like it?" Joyce asked her nervously.

Buffy pulled her daughter into her arms, letting the family portrait fluttered down on the couch next to them, and said, as the tears rolled down her cheeks, "It's beautiful."

The drawing Joyce made for Buffy.

END







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