Disclaimers: Not mine, never was, nor will it ever be.
Feedback: I really do enjoy all of the feedback that I receive. Makes me happy.
Author's Note: Yes, I told you that Spike would be getting his rocks back, and he did! Really, he won't come back to Buffy like he did in season six (man, did that piss me off), and he will retain his dignity. Honestly. This chapter is all Buffy/Joyce interaction, more Spike to come in later chapters. And don't worry, this chapter is generally angst-less.
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Buffy placed her hand over the cold, metal doorknob and turned tentatively. A warm rush of air from the living room welcomed her as she entered. Joyce was sitting on the couch, wringing her hands together, and looking quite the nervous wreck. Buffy cleared her throat and Joyce glanced over at her, standing up, her eyes filled with expectation.
"Oh, Buffy, it's you. I was starting to worry that you'd run into some trouble . . . did you find Spike?"
"Yeah, I found him," she mumbled, "Kinda wish I hadn't."
"Did you find out why he ran off so quickly? I thought he wanted to talk to you . . . that's what he came for. I was very conf -"
"No, no, he . . . um . . ." Buffy ran her hands through her hair, attempting to calm her nerves, "That didn't really come up in our - our conversation. We were both kind of on edge, and . . ." she trailed off, unsure of what to say.
"What's the matter, Buffy?" Joyce queried, breaking the silence, "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, mom, I just -"
"Buffy." She took her daughter's trembling hand in her own, studying her face. "I can tell there's something bothering you . . . it doesn't take a genius to figure it out."
Buffy sat silently, thinking, her face turned to the floor. Joyce dropped her hand and sat back down on the sofa.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just feel that sometimes it helps to get what's bothering you off of your chest . . ."
"It's not me!" Buffy blurted out, her cheeks flushing crimson, "I mean, it's not me that I'm worried about," she continued, "it's a friend. A friend of mine. She has this problem . . ."
She slumped onto the couch next to her mother, sighing heavily.
"She . . . she likes this guy. He's also a . . . friend, kind of. I mean, I guess he's a friend, I haven't really considered it . . ." she paused, taking a deep breath, continuing, "He's totally wrong for her; everyone knows that. Hell," she scoffed, "even she knows it. But . . . he's also right at the same time." She rolled her eyes. "God, am I even making sense?"
"You're fine, honey. Go on."
"So . . . they used to be enemies. Fighting all of the time and, hey, things were easier for her then. She knew just what to say and how to act and -react- around this guy . . ."
Joyce raised a slim eyebrow in suspicion.
"Or, um, so I'm told," Buffy stammered, "I mean, we were talking about this the other night, so I - I guess that's why it's on my mind."
"So . . . it hasn't been an issue since just now? Their feelings?"
"Well . . . there were signs."
"Signs?"
"You could . . . tell that there was something between them. The way that they looked at each other and especially how he acted around her when it was just the two of them . . . um, she told me about that, too. No one else seemed to notice, but it seemed so obvious to her."
"What brought it up?" Joyce asked. "The subject of your friend and your . . . other friend? Why was that the right time to talk to you about it?"
"They kissed."
"Really?"
"Yeah . . . last night. She - she called me right afterwards, all confused about her feelings, needing my help."
"You said that they were enemies, your two friends. Why did they . . . what happened that changed all of that?"
"Oh, yeah, well . . . something happened that brought the two of them together. An act of God, I guess you could call it," she snickered, "though I doubt God would have had anything to do with it. He needed to be helped . . . sort of, and so I - she," Buffy covered quickly, blushing furiously, "took him in. Can't turn down the weak and helpless, that's the way she is. All noble like that."
"So after she took him in, then what happened?" she asked.
"Things just started falling into place. She realized that he wasn't such a bad guy after all, and he . . . he started liking her too, I guess. Can't really get into his head . . . unless you have a truth spell," she murmured, under her breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, I was just thinking to myself. So things kind of . . . escalated. He finally admitted his feelings to her, and she, well, freaked is a way of putting it lightly. Ran away only to come back the next day to find him gone, moved to God knows where."
"What happened?"
"Well, she runs into him later that night . . . or rather, he runs into her. They argue a little, flirt a little, and she ends up kissing him. She runs away again, and, well, that's the last time she's seen him."
"She doesn't seem very emotionally stable."
"Huh?"
"Your friend. She seems like she has . . . issues. Running away from him twice because she can't face her own feelings . . . come to think of it, it doesn't really seem too fair to him, either."
"No! He's the one with the issues, not her! He thinks that they can be together, although he knows damn well that they can't because he's . . . unemployed," she lied, blushing crimson at the lameness of her cover-up, "and she would, um, -never- be with someone that's unemployed. It goes against everything she fights for." She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "Besides, she's had a bad experience with deadbeats in the past."
"She fights against unemployment?" Joyce asked, her voice filled with good- natured humor.
"Yeah, she works for the government, handing out welfare checks. She, uh, doesn't believe in wasting our tax money."
"Can't he just get a job?"
"It's not that easy," she groaned, sighing, "it's never that easy. It doesn't matter if it feels right; it goes against her nature. Besides, what would her friends think? I can tell you, they'd hate it. Probably think he'd have cast some kind of spell on her. You might not think it, but her friend's opinions matter a lot to her."
"What does her mother think?" Joyce queried.
"Huh?" Buffy looked up at her.
"I said, what does her mother think?"
"Oh, uh, I, um . . . I don't know. That didn't really come up in our . . . chat. Why do you ask?"
"Well, I think you've made it pretty clear that this girlfriend of yours feels something for that, um, boy, but doesn't want to act on her emotions because her close friends wouldn't approve. Would it make a difference if her, oh, say, mother approved?" Joyce said, a sly twinkle in her eyes.
"I - I, err, it might make a difference. Maybe her mom's seen a different side of him than she has," Buffy said, realization dawning on her, "he usually plays the macho card when he's around people. Especially her."
"Listen, Buffy, it's not her mother's decision whether she dates him or not, nor is it her friend's decision. You need to tell your friend to make up her own mind, be her own person. I know how hard it can be to go against your friend's wishes, but she really does need to make relationship decisions on her own. To follow her heart," she said, patting her daughter's hand lovingly, "She won't be happy until she does."
Buffy considered this for a moment before drawing her mother into a hug. "Thanks, mom, that's good advice." She pulled away, smiling slightly. "You're one smart lady."
"You're welcome, Buffy. Now, if you don't mind, this smart lady's going to retire to her bedroom."
"So soon?" Buffy asked, pouting, "I thought we could stay up and talk."
"Soon?" Joyce smiled, pointing to the kitchen clock, "It's almost three in the morning, sweetie. I know I'm no college student, but isn't three still considered late?"
"I think it's early, technically," Buffy teased, standing up and heading for the door, "I should get going to; I'd like to have a few hours to sleep before classes . . . or a few hours to write that paper, at least."
She hugged her mother once more before opening the front door and allowing the chilly night air to wake her up. "Good night, mom, thanks for taking the time to talk to me. I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it. Isn't that what moms are for?"
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To be continued . . .
Feedback: I really do enjoy all of the feedback that I receive. Makes me happy.
Author's Note: Yes, I told you that Spike would be getting his rocks back, and he did! Really, he won't come back to Buffy like he did in season six (man, did that piss me off), and he will retain his dignity. Honestly. This chapter is all Buffy/Joyce interaction, more Spike to come in later chapters. And don't worry, this chapter is generally angst-less.
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Buffy placed her hand over the cold, metal doorknob and turned tentatively. A warm rush of air from the living room welcomed her as she entered. Joyce was sitting on the couch, wringing her hands together, and looking quite the nervous wreck. Buffy cleared her throat and Joyce glanced over at her, standing up, her eyes filled with expectation.
"Oh, Buffy, it's you. I was starting to worry that you'd run into some trouble . . . did you find Spike?"
"Yeah, I found him," she mumbled, "Kinda wish I hadn't."
"Did you find out why he ran off so quickly? I thought he wanted to talk to you . . . that's what he came for. I was very conf -"
"No, no, he . . . um . . ." Buffy ran her hands through her hair, attempting to calm her nerves, "That didn't really come up in our - our conversation. We were both kind of on edge, and . . ." she trailed off, unsure of what to say.
"What's the matter, Buffy?" Joyce queried, breaking the silence, "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, mom, I just -"
"Buffy." She took her daughter's trembling hand in her own, studying her face. "I can tell there's something bothering you . . . it doesn't take a genius to figure it out."
Buffy sat silently, thinking, her face turned to the floor. Joyce dropped her hand and sat back down on the sofa.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just feel that sometimes it helps to get what's bothering you off of your chest . . ."
"It's not me!" Buffy blurted out, her cheeks flushing crimson, "I mean, it's not me that I'm worried about," she continued, "it's a friend. A friend of mine. She has this problem . . ."
She slumped onto the couch next to her mother, sighing heavily.
"She . . . she likes this guy. He's also a . . . friend, kind of. I mean, I guess he's a friend, I haven't really considered it . . ." she paused, taking a deep breath, continuing, "He's totally wrong for her; everyone knows that. Hell," she scoffed, "even she knows it. But . . . he's also right at the same time." She rolled her eyes. "God, am I even making sense?"
"You're fine, honey. Go on."
"So . . . they used to be enemies. Fighting all of the time and, hey, things were easier for her then. She knew just what to say and how to act and -react- around this guy . . ."
Joyce raised a slim eyebrow in suspicion.
"Or, um, so I'm told," Buffy stammered, "I mean, we were talking about this the other night, so I - I guess that's why it's on my mind."
"So . . . it hasn't been an issue since just now? Their feelings?"
"Well . . . there were signs."
"Signs?"
"You could . . . tell that there was something between them. The way that they looked at each other and especially how he acted around her when it was just the two of them . . . um, she told me about that, too. No one else seemed to notice, but it seemed so obvious to her."
"What brought it up?" Joyce asked. "The subject of your friend and your . . . other friend? Why was that the right time to talk to you about it?"
"They kissed."
"Really?"
"Yeah . . . last night. She - she called me right afterwards, all confused about her feelings, needing my help."
"You said that they were enemies, your two friends. Why did they . . . what happened that changed all of that?"
"Oh, yeah, well . . . something happened that brought the two of them together. An act of God, I guess you could call it," she snickered, "though I doubt God would have had anything to do with it. He needed to be helped . . . sort of, and so I - she," Buffy covered quickly, blushing furiously, "took him in. Can't turn down the weak and helpless, that's the way she is. All noble like that."
"So after she took him in, then what happened?" she asked.
"Things just started falling into place. She realized that he wasn't such a bad guy after all, and he . . . he started liking her too, I guess. Can't really get into his head . . . unless you have a truth spell," she murmured, under her breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, I was just thinking to myself. So things kind of . . . escalated. He finally admitted his feelings to her, and she, well, freaked is a way of putting it lightly. Ran away only to come back the next day to find him gone, moved to God knows where."
"What happened?"
"Well, she runs into him later that night . . . or rather, he runs into her. They argue a little, flirt a little, and she ends up kissing him. She runs away again, and, well, that's the last time she's seen him."
"She doesn't seem very emotionally stable."
"Huh?"
"Your friend. She seems like she has . . . issues. Running away from him twice because she can't face her own feelings . . . come to think of it, it doesn't really seem too fair to him, either."
"No! He's the one with the issues, not her! He thinks that they can be together, although he knows damn well that they can't because he's . . . unemployed," she lied, blushing crimson at the lameness of her cover-up, "and she would, um, -never- be with someone that's unemployed. It goes against everything she fights for." She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "Besides, she's had a bad experience with deadbeats in the past."
"She fights against unemployment?" Joyce asked, her voice filled with good- natured humor.
"Yeah, she works for the government, handing out welfare checks. She, uh, doesn't believe in wasting our tax money."
"Can't he just get a job?"
"It's not that easy," she groaned, sighing, "it's never that easy. It doesn't matter if it feels right; it goes against her nature. Besides, what would her friends think? I can tell you, they'd hate it. Probably think he'd have cast some kind of spell on her. You might not think it, but her friend's opinions matter a lot to her."
"What does her mother think?" Joyce queried.
"Huh?" Buffy looked up at her.
"I said, what does her mother think?"
"Oh, uh, I, um . . . I don't know. That didn't really come up in our . . . chat. Why do you ask?"
"Well, I think you've made it pretty clear that this girlfriend of yours feels something for that, um, boy, but doesn't want to act on her emotions because her close friends wouldn't approve. Would it make a difference if her, oh, say, mother approved?" Joyce said, a sly twinkle in her eyes.
"I - I, err, it might make a difference. Maybe her mom's seen a different side of him than she has," Buffy said, realization dawning on her, "he usually plays the macho card when he's around people. Especially her."
"Listen, Buffy, it's not her mother's decision whether she dates him or not, nor is it her friend's decision. You need to tell your friend to make up her own mind, be her own person. I know how hard it can be to go against your friend's wishes, but she really does need to make relationship decisions on her own. To follow her heart," she said, patting her daughter's hand lovingly, "She won't be happy until she does."
Buffy considered this for a moment before drawing her mother into a hug. "Thanks, mom, that's good advice." She pulled away, smiling slightly. "You're one smart lady."
"You're welcome, Buffy. Now, if you don't mind, this smart lady's going to retire to her bedroom."
"So soon?" Buffy asked, pouting, "I thought we could stay up and talk."
"Soon?" Joyce smiled, pointing to the kitchen clock, "It's almost three in the morning, sweetie. I know I'm no college student, but isn't three still considered late?"
"I think it's early, technically," Buffy teased, standing up and heading for the door, "I should get going to; I'd like to have a few hours to sleep before classes . . . or a few hours to write that paper, at least."
She hugged her mother once more before opening the front door and allowing the chilly night air to wake her up. "Good night, mom, thanks for taking the time to talk to me. I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it. Isn't that what moms are for?"
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To be continued . . .