Finding Joyce
Author: spikeNdru
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Romance
Pairings: Buffy/Spike, Buffy POV, Buffy & Joyce, Spike & Joyce
Rating: PG
Length: 8,415 words
Timeline: Season 7, Spoilers through Touched.
Summary: Buffy is totally stressed out with having to deal with The First, the Potentials and being a parental figure to Dawn. She desperately misses her own mother and finds a unique way to connect with Joyce which gives her the strength and support she needs to carry on.
For denny, who suggested this story after reading "Christmas Wishes from the Summers".
Usual Disclaimers: Joss imagined, ME created, Fox owns. I just borrowed them. If there's a problem with that, contact my attorneys at Wolfram & Hart.
The First Day
Buffy fled to the small attic space, pulling the retractable ladder up behind her, and heaved a sigh of relief. Of all the challenges she had faced, NOTHING had prepared her for this onslaught. She had been an only child for most of her life, and was still struggling with the addition of responsibility and loss of privacy engendered by a retroactive sister, and now both were increased tenfold. She honestly didn't know how much longer she'd be able to cope. Each additional Potential brought into the house corresponded with the loss of a piece of herself. She gave of her time, her space, her energy---but got nothing back. What would happen when it was all gone?
Friends and family had been the one constant in her life and that had all changed. Everything was different now.
Buffy drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. Always the heart of the group, Xander was a shell of himself. Since leaving Anya at the alter, having to confront Dark Willow and, let's face it, learning she hadn't been in hell and hadn't wanted to come back, the heart had seemed to go right out of him. He went through the motions, but that carefree boy who had pledged his life to her and Willow was gone for good.
Willow. She had never imagined she would ever have as close a friend as Willow had been. Now trust was broken and no matter how they tried to patch things up, the glue was visible and there were pieces missing.
She and Giles had been so close; she had thought he was the one person she could always count on. She had thought her heart would break when she discovered how he had betrayed her during the Cruciamentum. His abject apologies and own pain had allowed her to try and rebuild the trust, but then last year he had left. He knew what she had been through, what she still had to go through, and yet he still left. He said it was for her own good, but could he really believe that? She was drowning and he threw her a life preserver, but then instead of pulling her to shore, he cut the rope. In what reality could that possibly be for her own good? Now, when she saw him, it was only to bring her more girls, more problems, more responsibilities. Never to help with her burden, only to add to it.
Her mind skittered around the edge of thoughts of Spike, but she firmly slammed that door shut. She wasn't ready to think about Spike yet. Even thinking about finances would be better than thinking about Spike. And exactly why were finances her responsibility anyway? She had worked that horrible job at the Doublemeat Palace and now was working as a counselor, trying to feed them all. Giles kept bringing more and more mouths for her to feed---shouldn't someone be paying her room and board for these girls? And if she was willing to work at the DP and wear that stupid hat with the cow, why wasn't Willow capable of getting a job? If she had had a job last year, she might not have had all that free time to get "addicted" to magic!
Buffy sighed and prepared to reenter the fray. This had felt good, having a little time and space alone. She now patrolled alone, but it wasn't the same thing. Patrolling was no longer fun and exciting as it had been with Spike; now it was just another responsibility.
She carefully lifted the trap door and checked the hall. No one around. Good. This small attic would become her "Secret Garden", her place to be alone. And, God knows, she needed that. With a small smile, Buffy jumped down, closing the trap door behind her.
Eight Days Later
Buffy let out her breath in a long, slow sigh. It had been over a week since she had last been able to visit her secret place. Eight long days and nights of noise, chaos and people. Always people. Everywhere. Many, many teenaged people. God, they made her feel old. She wasn't that far removed from being a teenager herself, but she was sure she had never been as surly, whiny, annoying and just plain needy as all the teenagers currently taking over her life like a plague of locusts.
Teenagers with problems at work; teenagers with problems at home. In the car. In the yard. In the bath. Doing math. Here and there. Everywhere. Buffy kicked off her stylish, yet affordable, boots and wiggled her toes. It wouldn't do for anyone to hear her walking around up here. This tiny attic seemed to be the only place in Sunnydale that was currently a teenager-free zone.
She idly walked around the attic, resting a gentle hand on Joyce's sewing machine for a moment. She smiled, remembering the dozens of ice skating costumes lovingly hand-made for her, and the various Halloween costumes Joyce had whipped up for both her and Dawn. Her mom had seemed to be able to do so many things effortlessly, things Buffy couldn't manage to do if her life depended on it. And, thank God, it doesn't! World savage was a piece of cake compared to understanding finances, taxes, gallery management, and even things like cooking and sewing that looked so deceptively simple but really . . . weren't. Did these things just come naturally to Joyce or did she actually have to learn to do them? Buffy sighed and wished she'd paid more attention when Joyce had tried to show her how to do stuff. But she'd never had the time, the patience, or Be honest, Buffy the interest, in learning what was important to Joyce---what mattered to her. She had been so focused on ice skating and cheerleading and boys and friends and shopping and boys and then the whole slaying gig, and again with the friends and the boys . . . why hadn't she spent more time with her mom? Why hadn't she gotten to know her as a person---as Joyce?
CRASH! THUMP! Oh my God, it sounded like a herd of elephants was rampaging through the house! She'd better get down and check what was going on. Buffy gently replaced the dust cover on the sewing machine and realized she felt much calmer and more peaceful than she had in days. Thanks, mom she thought.
Several Days Later
Returning early from patrol, Buffy stood on the sidewalk and stared at the house. That's how she thought of it now---"THE" house, not "HER" house---and just couldn't force herself to walk up the stairs and in the door. With a guilty little shrug, she snuck around back and climbed the tree to her bedroom window. After changing into a tank top and pajama pants, she pulled on a pair of thick socks and listened carefully at her bedroom door.
The shower was running---the shower seemed to always be running---but everyone else must either be in the living room watching videos, in the basement-slash-training room-slash-laundry room or in the kitchen, eating. At any given moment, someone was taking a shower and someone was eating. Twenty-four/seven.
She made it to the attic undetected and headed straight for Joyce's small file cabinet. If she wanted to learn more about her mom And she did! Oh, God, she really did. this was a good place to start.
The top drawer held receipts, household bills, copies of tax returns and other boring stuff, but in the bottom drawer, she hit paydirt. There was a whole stack of letters from her mom's best friend Tina, Celia's mother. And the best part was, there were Xeroxes of Joyce's responses paper clipped to each letter.
Buffy sat cross-legged on the floor and held the letters in her lap. She felt a twinge of guilt at what she was about to do. Letters were personal, weren't they, like a diary? Would this be wrong, like invading her mom's privacy? Should she just put them back where she found them? She gently stroked the top letter over and over and realized she felt bereft at the thought. She missed her mom so much. There was so much she wanted to ask her, to know about her, and this would be her only chance. But still. . .
Carefully laying the pile of letters aside, Buffy cracked open the trap door and peeked out. Good. No sign of anyone in the hall. She lightly jumped down and hurried to her bedroom. She snatched up her cell phone and glanced at the clock. 11:23. That wasn't too late to call, was it? It was before midnight. Calls before midnight were still considered "evening", right? Before she could lose her nerve, she snuck back into the attic and dialed "Aunt" Tina.
An Hour Later
Buffy smiled through her tears. It had been good to talk to Aunt Tina---why hadn't she done this before? Partly because of the whole "secret identity" gig, she had never been very good at reaching out to other people. Then there was the whole numbness of the funeral planning and Glory, and the death and the depression and the only person she could talk to at all was Spike. He had been there for her. She had reached out to Spike, hadn't she? Yeah. Right. Reached out with my fists and my violence and hateful words. That was taking, not reaching out. And then everything had gotten really, really bad and he left and came back crazy---with a soul, no less, and she didn't even know how to begin to deal with that little toy surprise in the crackerjack box! And now he was gone again, and she really, really didn't want to be thinking about Spike right now!Think about Aunt Tina. Aunt Tina had encouraged her to read the letters. Had said it would be a lovely remembrance of Joyce and had said to call whenever she wanted to talk about her mom. So. . . good. Guilt free, permissible snooping coming right up.
March 20, 1997
Dearest Joyce,
I still can't believe you're actually gone! After 15 years of being best friends, nearly everything I do feels strange not to be doing it with you. I still think about those Lamaze classes where we met. You and I were so nervous and earnest and wanting so badly to give our babies the perfect start to a perfect life---and Hank and Doug were so twitchy and obviously wanting to be anywhere but there! Hank said "Women have been having babies for thousands of years, why do we suddenly have to take a class in it?" And you said, "This is the most important thing we'll ever do in our lives. To be good parents, we need to prepare." And Hank said "What does being good parents have to do with having the baby?" And then you patted his knee and said "Hank, dear. Actually producing the baby is sort of a prerequisite to being parents." He commented that you'd be doing all the work so why did he have to come to class? When you told him he was expected to act as your labor coach and actually help deliver the baby, I thought he was going to faint! He started hemming and hawing and sputtering like crazy and you just gave him a steely glare and said "If you could be there for the conception with no complaints, you can damn well be there for the delivery the same way!"
I laughed so hard I actually peed my pants and knew then and there that we would be close friends. And Hank and Doug were looking at us like we were specimens in a zoo.
I really miss you already, Joyce. Let's promise to write regularly and never lose touch, no matter how our lives change. We've just got too much history together, kiddo.
Love,
Tina
March 25, 1997
Oh, Tina,
Thank you! Thank you so much. I can't tell you how much it meant to get your letter. It really cheered me up. We were so young back then, weren't we? We were trying to act so mature and together but all four of us were really scared witless. Would we be good parents? Would we know what to do? We had made an irrevocable decision and what if we couldn't cut it? What if it was too much for us? What if we changed our minds?
We can laugh about it now, but at the time, my biggest fear was "What if the baby and I don't like each other?" It's not like adopting a puppy, where if it doesn't work out, you can take it back to the pound, after all. Grown-ups have babies, but the more pregnant I got, the less I felt like a grown-up! I was all of 22 and totally crazed until the moment I held her and looked into her eyes and then I just knew it would be okay.
I had never even imagined I was capable of feeling as much love for anyone as I felt for that beautiful, perfect, red-faced, smooshed-nose little being. Remember the arguments Hank and I used to have? I wanted "William" or "Sarah"; he wanted "Robert" or "Catherine". And remember that two week period when he was really lobbying hard for "Autumn"? I mean, really---Autumn Summers, how tacky is that? We had finally compromised on William or Catherine, but I took one look at her and just knew she wasn't Cathy, she was Buffy! Hank's eyebrows must have shot all the way up to his hairline and he decided it must be the influence of the drugs. . . until I reminded him we had done natural childbirth and there weren't any drugs. She scrunched up her little face and blew air out in a "Pffft" sound and he decided she was as cute as a button and "Buffy" suited her, so Buffy it was.
I also promise that we will never lose touch no matter what happens or how ever many daily crises get in the way. After all, you and I are the only ones who really knew each other "before"---before we became parents, before Celia passed away, before Hank left, before we moved. Back when we were just Joyce and Tina---before all the bad stuff that we helped each other through. We bring out the "Before" in each other when everyone else just gets the "After". I think we both need that. We need someone who remembers who we were, because who we were informs who we are.
Love,
Joyce
Buffy caught her breath. Twenty-two. He mother had been twenty-two when she had her. The same age Buffy was now. This Joyce, with hopes and dreams and responsibilities and fears---this Joyce was someone she really wanted to know. She carefully returned the stack of letters to the file cabinet and snuck back to her room.
The Following Day
Buffy hurried home from work. Half of the Potentials were doing some kind of exercises in the back yard under the tutelage of the attractive, bossy girl. Lyndon? No. Kennedy. They stopped what they were doing when she appeared, so she did her best to give then a motivational pep talk. When she noticed their collective eyes beginning to glaze over, she came to an abrupt halt and asked where the others were. Grocery shopping with Willow and Anya, apparently. Good! Calling dibs on the shower, Buffy headed into the house.
Twenty minutes later, clean, moisturized and much more relaxed, she headed for the attic. She had been looking forward to this all day. Sheesh! Sneaking around to connect with Joyce was taking the same kind of finesse and misdirection she had had to use last year to meet with Spike! Sublimation, much? Not going there! This was very different. Discovering her mother was a good thing.
Just because it was a secret, private relationship that she didn't want anyone else to know about because it was meeting her desperate need for connection that the others wouldn't understand, that they'd want her to talk about and share her feelings and probably try to convince her it was morbid and she should snap out of it and just be what they all thought she should be and it would be just like with Spike and it was wrong because he was an evil soulless thing, and get back up on that pedestal, Buffy, which is where we've all decided you belong because you have a "sacred duty" and "responsibilities" and if something makes you happy, it must be wrong unless it's what we decide should make you happy and whatever that something is, it certainly isn't Spike. Nope. Nuh-uh. Spike is definitely minus the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval and we'd much rather have you be virtuous and miserable than have to entertain the unacceptable concept that you might actually have a chance to be happy with another vampire cause geez, our choices are so normal. We can date witches and werewolves and demons, oh my! And, hey, this is the Hellmouth! But not Buffy. Oh, no. We get veto power over Buffy's choices. You wanna date a government-brainwashed, chemically altered, electronically controlled member of a secret military organization? Great, go for it! Or, hey, how 'bout a possibly evil, wickedly energetic principal of Hellmouth High? Yeah! We're with you. We've got your back. But Undead Americans (or Brits, as the case may be?) No way! Not for Buffy!
Whoa! Where did that come from? Looks like there was a whole boatload of repressed anger and hostility floating down De Nile! And did she really feel like that? About Xander? And Willow? And Spike? Not sure what caused the sudden shift to Insightful Girl, but I'm thinking, yeah. I do. Feel that way. Pretty much. And what am I gonna do about it? Looks like getting more in touch with Mom's feelings is kinda getting me more in touch with my own. Kinda weird. Kinda scary. Scratch that. Very scary.
Buffy opened the file cabinet and chose a letter at random.
May 5, 1999
Joyce, my dear,
You know you can tell me anything. Please, please don't ever feel you have to hold back to spare my feelings. When you share your concerns and joys about Buffy, it's almost as it Celia isn't really gone. It helps me imagine what our lives might have been like, what my life might have been like to be the parent of a teenager. I know what it was like to share my life with an infant, a toddler, a child. My memories are still vivid. But at age 8, they just stop. Celia stops. And that is what is hard to bear. The stopping. When you write about Buffy---when you talk about the times you're so proud of her you think you'll literally burst, and when you talk about the times you're so frightened for her that you can only sit alone in the dark and shake---all those times let me experience feelings and emotions that I would never be able to otherwise feel. And it feels like Celia didn't stop, but somehow goes on, through Buffy.
Yes, I do remember our "Beach Fantasies". We'd take the girls to the beach in the morning, before the sun got too hot, and sit in folding chairs and watch them play. Celia loved to build sandcastles. She'd be content to sit for hours filling her bucket, tamping it down, and adding walls and towers and rooms. But Buffy was never a "sitter". She'd run and she'd dance and somersault and pick up shells and chase the waves. Never still---always in motion. Celia was the builder of dreams, but Buffy was their protector.
And we'd build our dreams, too. Our dreams for them. I imagined Celia as Student Council President and you imagined Buffy as a cheerleader and Prom Queen. That seemed to fit their personalities, even as children. We'd imagine their prom dresses---Celia in pink and Buffy in lavender. And their dates. . . Celia's smart and grounded and kind. Buffy's strong and athletic and sure of himself. Celia's beau would go on to discover a cure for cancer and Buffy's would save the world! So, yes, I do want to hear about Buffy's prom. Every single solitary detail.
Love,
Tina
May 9, 1999
Okay, girlfriend! You asked for it---you got it. Prom (and subsequent Graduation) is such a major milestone; I'm really having trouble assimilating it all at once. It's too much, too soon. Prom is really very like a wedding rehearsal, isn't it? It's all so magical and glamorous and "important". It's dreams of spun sugar with formal clothing and special hairstyles and adult romance fueled by teenage hormones all rolled up into one. It's the first time you really see your child dressed and acting like an adult, and I am very afraid I have done something unforgivable.
As I told you before, Buffy has been dating a man who is much older than she. He's so much more worldly and experienced, yet seems fairly emotionally stunted at the same time. Buffy, of course, is madly in love with him and I truly believe he loves her as much as he is able to, but I don't think it's enough. Not in the long haul. Buffy will never come first with him---they have different priorities. I have no doubt he would die for her, but I don't think he could live for her. They are too different in personality and the way they view the world, yet too similar in other ways. They are both stubborn, both natural leaders and both solitary decision makers. These traits would make any compromises difficult, if not impossible. And if forced to make compromises both would eventually deeply resent it. They are like positive and negative electrical charges---irresistibly drawn to one another but causing an explosion when they meet.
They've been seeing each other for two years and Buffy has been miserable the whole time. I have never seen her relaxed or contented or happy with him. I've seen giddiness and euphoria in the beginning, but mostly longing and sadness and soul-destroying angst. My heart bleeds for her, and he will never make her happy because it just isn't in him. He is not a happy person---the whole concept seems foreign to him. And the longer they are together, the more he will suck the happiness out of her until she also forgets that it's possible, that fun is good and laughter is a gift.
They've been hovering around each other in a holding pattern for months---never really coming together, but never really being apart. It's like they're dancing to a scratched record and it could go on indefinitely. Never changing, never growing, never moving on. I want more for her than that. She deserves more. She deserves an equal in fire and passion; someone who isn't afraid of happiness. Someone who reaches out and grabs life with both hands; who's not afraid of growth or change---who loves and laughs and celebrates. Someone who's caring and protective and understanding, who will let her be her---whoever she is at any given time. That's what I want for her; it's what she deserves. And it's something he can never give her no matter how much he loves her.
So I went to see him, to basically see what his intentions are. I told him what she needs and he knows it, too. He knows he isn't good for her, that he can never make her happy. He told me he's planning to leave town after graduation, and I encouraged him to do so. I think he really does have her best interests as heart, and I respect him for that. But I don't like him. I've seen what he put he through over the last few years and I really can't forgive him for that. So I don't know what will happen, what they'll decide. I don't even know if Buffy will be going to Prom or not, but I hope she does. And I hope they make the right choice for both of them. Whatever it is, it's going to hurt all of us.
I'll write later and let you know what happens with Prom.
Love,
Joyce
Buffy's breath caught in her throat as the letter fluttered to her lap from suddenly nerveless fingers. It was . . . disconcerting to see her relationship with Angel dissected like that. She had lived in the center of the maelstrom that was "My Relationship With Angel" and it had been humanly impossible to step outside and view things from another's perspective. Not that she would have, anyway. Every criticism of Angel served only to bring out her own defense of him. None of them knew him like she did and she recognized, even back then, that most of the objections were self-serving in some way---motivated by jealousy or fear or a desire to control.
This letter to Aunt Tina was different. It wasn't meant to control her or convince her---it wasn't meant for her at all. It was a loving mother pouring out her hopes and fears for her daughter to her best friend. And maybe there had been enough time and distance and water under the bridge that she could look at things from Joyce's point of view without the defensiveness. Joyce was right. In all her history with Angel, she had never been happy. And she had been ready to accept and ignore that aspect because she loved him so very much.
She loved him still---probably always would, but when she tried to picture her life in the future, Angel wasn't in it. Joyce was right about their relationship. Sometimes love wasn't enough. Angel was a part of her---would always be a part of her, but she could keep that part in her heart now, without needing or wanting it to be any more than it was. They could never recapture what they had, and they could never have a life together. She wasn't sure she even wanted that anymore. Oh sure, sometimes she thought about it, but in all honesty, it was really more nostalgia for what might have been rather than what might be.
My mom was a wise lady. And her love for Buffy was tangible. It came through in every line, every syllable. Joyce honestly wanted what was best for her. What she deserves. "I fought for my soul, made a deal with a demon so I could give you what you deserve." What did her mom think she deserved? Fire and passion and growth and change. Love and laughter and understanding. Someone who lets her be herself---whoever that self is and loves her just the same. Someone who has seen her best and her worst. And loves her just the same.
Oh. My. God. Apparently, Mom thinks I deserve Spike!
Several Days Later
Buffy had spent a restless night. She hadn't been sleeping well for months, and she felt worn and tired. Definitely was beginning to look it, too. She was getting pretty close to the point where she'd have to invest in some extra strength cover-up. Maybe the stuff designed to cover tattoos would be able to mask the dark circles under her eyes? Cause they sure weren't going to be getting better any time soon. She had basically lived the last three years of her life in permanent stress-mode and it was definitely taking its toll on her girlish charms. Maybe some heavy-duty vitamins? Maybe a whole bottle of them?
She went down to the basement and began her workout with the heavy bag. She was in desperate need of something to pummel. There'd been a dearth of regular vamps around lately and the Uber-Vamp seemed pretty unkillable at the moment. And the First? Non-corporeal meant no ass-kicking on that front, either. And she guessed she really couldn't beat up Andrew.
Finishing her workout, she wearily climbed the two flights of stairs to take a shower. At the "meeting" last night, she again suggested that they should be looking for Spike, but no one else had any interest in jumping on that bandwagon. She was so tired of the "Spike is evil" and "Spike can't be trusted" refrain. What exactly had Spike done that was any more evil than what, oh, say, Willow had done? Willow killed people and tried to destroy the world. But, hey, she was driven mad by grief, so it was forgivable. Spike killed people and was driven mad by the First, but, hey!, evil vampire, so not forgivable. Did they have any idea how sanctimonious they sounded? The whole thing boiled down to: Willow is part of the "In" group, and Spike isn't. But then, they didn't really know Spike like she did. They didn't know how bad things were for her when they first brought her back. Those first three months had been hell on earth, and Spike's friendship and understanding and support had literally kept her sane. They had really begun to develop a friendship. She and Angel had never been friends. She and Riley hadn't either---they were both keeping too many secrets from each other to be able to develop a real friendship.
She had no secrets from Spike. She could talk about anything with him and he didn't judge her, didn't pressure her. They had gotten to the point where they genuinely liked each other. Enjoyed each other's company. So of course she had to go and fuck it up by coming on to him. Then again, the sex had been pretty incredible. Okay. Amazingly incredible. Amazingly fantastically perfectly incredible. Definite compatibility there. So why had she been so desperate to hide her relationship with Spike? Because of what "they'd" think? Because "they'd" put pressure on her to break it off? Because she knew she hadn't been strong enough to tell them to "sod off"? Because she'd been afraid she'd come back "wrong" and was afraid to trust her own judgment?
Probably all of those things. Tara had been the only one she could talk to about Spike---the only one who didn't automatically hate Spike in a knee-jerky way, which kind of put a damper on the trustworthiness of the others' perceptions. It was sort of depressing to realize she didn't currently know one single person who didn't hate Spike. He was actually pretty likeable when you got to know him; ergo, no one of her current acquaintance really knew him. But she did know someone who "knew" Spike and seemed to like him. Was there any possibility Joyce had mentioned Spike to Aunt Tara? She'd have to skim through all the letters to find out. Cause at this moment in time, she really, really needed to know what her mom actually thought about him.
Late That Night
Ensconced in the attic, Buffy carefully skimmed the letters for any mention of Spike. She would read them all, in their entirely, when she had a chance to savor them and make them a part of her. But right now, she was "Mission Girl." Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find one person on this planet who isn't irrevocably convinced that Spike is a total loser with no redeeming qualities and no social value whatsoever. Good luck. This tape will self-destruct in ten seconds.
All right! Four mentions so far---there may be more, but Joyce had proven to be pretty much spot on in her analyses so far, so Buffy decided to go with what she had, for the time being. Chronological order would probably be good.
October 1998 Excerpts
Oh, Tina, I almost forgot to tell you---I had a rather bizarre encounter with Spike last night. I'm not really sure if he's Buffy's friend or arch nemesis, but in any event, they know each other. I had actually met him several times before, during the last year.
The first Parent-Teacher conference I went to at Buffy's new school managed to degenerate into an all-out brawl (and you were afraid I'd be bored moving to such a small, "quiet" town! snicker) The upshot was, I hit Spike over the head with the flat side of an axe during said brawl which, weirdly, engendered his respect for me. He informed me that I "kicked ass", which (surprise!) hadn't actually been on my mid-life career goal to-do list! But it was pretty cool, nonetheless.
I then met him again in the Spring when he and Buffy stopped by the house to tell me they were forming a rock band. Buffy was planning to take up the drums and Spike was slated as the lead singer. Which actually would have been a pretty workable premise. He's British, and has this whole Billy Idol vibe going on and is at least a 9 on the Hottie scale. My mother thinks Spike's hot? Please, please, please tell me we're not getting into TMI territory, here! Cause, not sure I could handle being scarred for life on this topic! In any event, the band didn't work out and Spike left town, which is probably for the best, as I'm absolutely certain my neighbors would not have been thrilled with Buffy's drum practice!
Spike came back for a visit and dropped in last night. He was totally plastered and really hurting because his girlfriend (whom, I gather, he had been in a long-term relationship with) had dumped him for someone else. I made him hot cocoa and we had a pleasant chat. He is surprisingly very articulate and well read, which came through even though he was drunk on his ass. I swear, Tina, I haven't seen anyone that wasted, but still functioning, since that TKE party Hank took me to in 1978! Anyway, I tried to cheer him up, and he thanked me for the cocoa and then left when Buffy and Angel came to pick him up. Angel was in a pretty cranky mood, but I'm glad he was there, as Spike wasn't in any condition to drive and I would have really worried about him getting home safely under his own power. And as Buffy has noted, she and cars aren't really "mixy things."
O-kay. Not a good example. And now I'm stuck with "Your mission is a failure. Your lifestyle's too extreme." running through my head!
Remembering the love spell, Willow and Xander locked in the factory, Cordy getting shish-kabobed and having to face the fact that she and Angel would never be able to be friends wasn't doing a lot for the "redeeming qualities and social value" mission. In fact, it brought back just how annoying Spike could be. Maybe she'd have better luck with the next example. Or not.
April 2000 Excerpts
Remember when I told you about the "70's Theme Party" I went to with Ripper Giles? We really had a good time and I was quasi-hoping something might develop. But he's Buffy's teacher and the next time I saw him, he was really uncomfortable around me. So, of course, that made me uncomfortable and things never went anywhere after that. It was sort of a shame, because he really is bright and funny and interesting and, did I mention cute? Anyway . . . he plays guitar and sings and he had a gig at the Espresso Pump, so I went to hear him play. I sat in the back because I didn't want him to feel uncomfortable again, but he was really amazing. I didn't get a chance to tell him how much I had enjoyed his music, because just as he was finishing his set, some friends of Buffy's came in and he left right away with them.
I was just sitting there, finishing my coffee, when Spike came in and asked if he could join me. We talked for over an hour and I really enjoyed his company. I've been feeling rather lonely since Buffy is living in the dorm and Spike seems to be at loose ends, too. We talked about books and poetry and history, mostly. I discovered Spike holds some really strong views on Benjamin Disraeli! He knows a lot about Victorian England and life in Britain during WW II. He talked about the bombings and air raid shelters and rationing and really made it come alive for me. I had always been interested in the European Front, because my father served there, but didn't really talk about it much.
Spike's a real history buff! We also talked about Prohibition in the 20's and the Chinese Boxer Rebellion. It was really fascinating. I would have liked to stay longer, but it was getting late and I had to work the next day. Spike offered to walk me home and he saw me to my door and thanked me for a pleasant evening.
Wow! Spike and Mom sitting around having coffee and talking about history? They "discussed" the Boxer Rebellion, but I'll bet he didn't mention killing the Slayer there! And where was I when all this fascinating conversation was going on? Oh yeah, the party at Lowell House. Giles had said he had something on for that night.
Buffy remembered Xander and Anya arguing about Giles' performance. Anya was all "acoustic rock god" groupie and it gave Xander a wiggins. But Spike. . . so he was all articulate well read Mr. History Buff conversationalist with Joyce, why didn't he ever talk about stuff like that with her?
Um, maybe because I never gave him the chance? We never "went out for coffee"; we never dated at all and I suck at history, anyway. But still, it might have been nice . . .
Buffy was shocked to realize she was feeling almost competitive with Joyce. Yep. The Joyce who thought Spike was a Hottie and spent a relaxing hour discussing history over coffee with him was definitely feeling like competition. This was good! It was giving her a chance to see Spike in a whole new light, and isn't that what she wanted? She just hadn't expected it to feel so . . . "other womaney".
December 2000 Excerpts
Now that the surgery is over and was successful, I can finally admit how scared I was. I was absolutely terrified, Tina. Not of dying, per se, but of dying and leaving the girls alone, especially right before Christmas. And I didn't want to frighten them so I was trying to pretend it was no big deal. The tumor had already been causing some hallucinations and generalized craziness which was very upsetting to Dawn, so I didn't want to worry them, but I was really scared.
And then Spike showed up at the hospital. He brought me daisies and he said he had a lot of respect for me, that I was a great "mum" and everything would be fine. He said I needed cheering up and something to take my mind off things, so we watched "Passions" (he is as hooked on Passions as I am! We both enjoy Timmy and Tabitha, but for some strange reason, Norma is his favorite!) which did take my mind off things. Then, believe it or not, we watched Teletubbies---which actually did cheer me up. It's this darling kid's show with these brightly colored furry creatures that are just so kind and loving to each other that it did relax me and make me feel better. I wish that show had been on when Buffy was little---it was much better than Teddy Ruxpin.
Right before he slipped out, Spike said I'd always been decent to him, and he wouldn't forget it. Somehow I just knew that if things went wrong and I didn't make it, Spike would be looking out for Buffy and Dawn.
"I'm counting on you to protect her." "Till the end of the world." Mom felt like that, too, about Spike. I did the right thing placing my trust in him to take care of Dawn. And he did. Even after I was gone, he protected her and cared for her. And he didn't just do it for me. He did it for Mom, too.
Feeling emotionally and physically drained, Buffy decided this was enough for today. She really couldn't take in any more and needed to think about things---when she wasn't quite so exhausted.
Carefully placing the letters back in the file cabinet, she was reaching for the trap door when she froze, remembering. She had felt so numb and guilty for not being able to save Joyce and with all the funeral arrangements to get through. . . A picture formed in her mind that had not been significant previously. Leaving the house with Giles to go to the cemetery, she had noticed a bouquet of daisies on the lawn.
The Following Morning
Buffy woke, feeling rested and refreshed. Her subconscious had done the work for her while she slept. There were no more doubts. No more questions. She picked up the framed photo of Joyce that always stood on her nightstand and lovingly ran her fingertips over the glass.
Willow had an expression she called her "resolve face" and they all knew what it meant: "I am committed to doing this. You can't talk me out of it, so don't even try." Buffy tried out her own version of "resolve face". Hers meant: "I am committed to doing this, so get out of my way or I'll go right through you."
She wrapped both arms around Joyce's picture and hugged it to her chest. You know what, Mom? We're not sheep. Summers women are not sheep. We don't follow. We lead. We're strong and smart and perfectly capable of making our own minds up about stuff. Oh sure, we can ask others for help and advice, but that's all they can give us---help and advice. They can't do our jobs for us, and they can't make our decisions, either. We need to go with our gut instincts. I think I finally get that.
Dawn always liked and trusted Spike. They were friends---good friends. She enjoyed hanging out with him and he loved and protected her. He didn't let her down. He thought he did, up on the tower the night we fought Glory, but he'd only have let her down if he hadn't tried. He did his best. Sometimes our best isn't enough, but if we do our best, we've won. It's all we can do. Dawn never blamed him. She knew in her heart he had done his best, and she continued to like and trust him . . . right up until Xander told her he tried to rape me. She stopped listening to her gut and started listening to other people.
You always liked and trusted Spike. I could tell back then and your letters have shown me a side of him---and you---I had only vaguely realized before. The only time you ever expressed doubts about Spike was when I told you he had a crush on me, and Willow and I got all wigged. It was our fears and concerns about Spike that worried you, not your own.
Giles and Xander and Willow can't see that Spike has changed. But, you know what? None of them have bothered to look. They have too much history with Spike---and Angel---to even want to look. They focus on the bad and stupid things he's done and totally blow off all the good things. That's their loss.
They kept telling me over and over that Spike couldn't love me and I believed them. I looked at him through their eyes and I never saw what was right in front of me. Tara saw. She tried to tell me he really loved me, and she told me it was okay for me to love him. Or it was okay not to love him. Whichever I chose. And she knew it would have to be my choice; she'd support me either way.
So I've figured it out. I'm a Summers woman. And we're not sheep---we're lions! I'm gonna find that Ubervamp and kick his creepy, scaly ass. And I'm gonna do it in front of everybody. I'll show every single one of those scared, whiny little girls who's really the Queen of the Jungle. I am Lion, hear me roar! And when I'm finished . . . when he's dust . . . I'm gonna find Spike and bring him home where he belongs.
Several Weeks Later
Spike woke and lazily stretched. Hands clasped over his head and toes pointed down, he felt every muscle in his body uncramp and relax. Okay. Not every muscle, but the vast majority of them.
Last night had been the best night of his life. Human and undead combined. Even poncy William had never felt the rush of tenderness and love that had permeated every cell of his body until he thought his cold, dead heart would burst with love. He got it now---he really did. Love wasn't something used as a reward or punishment or control. It simply was. Love was pure and transcendent. It didn't rely on what the other person did or did not do. It didn't matter if they loved you back or not. If they were good or bad or loveable or not. Love was a gift. The funny thing was, the gift wasn't for the recipient of the love. The gift was in being able to love. With no expectations, no reward, no need even for the love to be returned. The love itself was enough.
It had grown and expanded in him all through the long night as he held her in his arms. His night vision allowed him to cherish every expression, every nuance, as he watched her face as she slept. The lines of fear and worry and exhaustion had smoothed out during the night, allowing inner feelings to surface. She had felt calm, relaxed, protected and safe. He could read it on her face.
Her total trust in him had finally allowed him to be able to trust himself. To let go of the fear and pain and soul-destroying guilt about the past. He wasn't that person anymore and nothing, no matter what happened, could ever make him be that person again. He felt new---reborn. And so he slept, cradled in her arms; and he felt warm and protected and safe.
He unclasped his hands and stretched his arms out to either side of his body. His right hand felt the crackle of paper and he opened his eyes and found her note.
Dear Spike,
Thank you for last night. I don't know how you manage to do it, but you always seem to know exactly what I need, often before even I know it. Last night was a. . . revelation. All the pieces came together and I know what needs to be done. And we can do it. We can win. Against all the evil in the world, we can win. Because love is always stronger than evil. You gave me that. You've been showing me that for years, but last night I finally saw.
I don't need to tell you that we're not all gonna make it. I said that to you before, and you understood then, as you understand now. There are casualties in war and some of us will die. It might be me, it might be you, it might be Dawn. But it doesn't matter, because Love is stronger than Death. My mom is dead, but her death didn't affect my love for her. Dawn and you continued to love me after I died. Death and evil can't win over love. And some of us will make it. I know that. And the love for the ones that don't will continue.
I found some letters from my mom in the attic. She had written to her best friend over the years and I read them. I always knew Mom loved me, but I guess I just sort of took it for granted. Holding her letters in my hands, reading the words over and over, discovering how much she loved me even before I was born gave me a more. . . visceral knowledge. If that's the right word. I didn't just know it in my head, I felt it in my gut---her love. And I wanted you to have that, too.
Mom mentioned you in her letters, you know. She really liked you. She enjoyed your company and thought you were witty and charming and articulate and caring. She also thought you were a 9th level Hottie and I can't believe I just said that! You brought her flowers, didn't you? The day of the funeral, there was a bouquet of daisies lying on the lawn and I picked them up without thinking about it and took them to the cemetery. I just recently realized they must have been from you, for her. She saw things in you---she knew you could be a good person. Dawn did, too. It just took me a little longer. Guess that makes me the slow one in the Summers family. Not so good with the keen observiness. But, hey! Better late than never. So you get what I'm trying to say, right? What I'm trying to tell you? And eventually, I'll be able to come right out and say it. But I want to be able to look into your eyes when I do. You deserve that. But if anything happens and I don't make it, I wanted you to have this letter; so you'd know.
Till later---
Buffy
THE END