Disclaimer: I don't own Billie Letts' "Where the Heart Is", or Joss Whedon's "Buffy the Vampire Slayer. What, I can't always have a funny disclaimer, can I? Am I just here as a clown for your amusement? Let's just see who's the clown when you're wearing the funny nose and multicolored wig! Yeah, Bozo, what the fuck are you going to do then?

Rating: This will be rated R! Sorry kiddies, but I like using inappropriate language.

Author's Notes: Kept my promise! Kudos to myself. Just a little note to all you readers who think some of the reviewers are a little less than tactful: Most likely, they are my friends. You see, in normal friendships, there is a positive interaction of encouragement and praise. My friends, on the other hand, only wish for me to die a horrible death so they can steal my Buffy DVDs (which they won't!). Anyway, I won't be updating next week. I'll be home. But, I will try to post a new chapter some time before April. Much love, and have a good spring break to all of you who have it now.

PS: Death to the WB for canceling Angel. This chapter is just a series of "meaningless" vignettes (notice how I put meaningless in quotation marks? That must mean something . . .) It's a lead in to the next chapter I will post, which isn't going to be hugs and puppies. ____________________________________________________________________________

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Chapter Nineteen- Still

The thin paper gown did nothing to protect Joyce's skin as she sat in the bare, cold exam room at Sunnydale General Hospital. She felt so naked and vulnerable, which is not exactly the way she wanted to feel at the moment. Trying to concentrate, she began to steal herself up, preparing for whatever the doctor had to say.

Finally, the metal door clicked open, and Doctor Hobsen casually strolled in. The moment he sat on the stool next to Joyce, she knew that whatever he had to say wouldn't be good. Although he was calm on the surface, his eyes betrayed everything.

"So, Joyce," he began, his voice wavering ever so slightly, "I've just reviewed your test results . . ."

The uncomfortable silence was too much to bare, and Joyce couldn't let the inevitable hang in the air.

"What did they say, Lou?"

Rarely had the doctor been referred to by his first name when talking to a patient. But, this was Joyce. He had known her for years. He should be able to talk frankly with her.

Sighing, he lifted his hand up, and began massaging his sinus area.

"They're positive."

Her first reaction wasn't shock. No, she had been expecting it. She was actually surprised to feel relieved. Finally, they knew what was the matter with her.

"I can have you admitted this evening," he continued, as he started re- examining her test results. "By Friday, you can be in the operating room-"

"No."

Doctor Hobsen shot his head up. He stared at Joyce, her arms firmly crossed at her chest, her jaw set in a defiant frown.

"I don't think this is wise . . ."

"I'm not doing it, Lou," she interrupted once more, "Not this close to Christmas. I need to be alert and ready, because I know Buffy will end up setting some part of the dinner on fire, Xander's going to teach my granddaughter another awful song or story, and Spike and Giles are going to have their post-dinner fight over transcendentalism or the correct way to prepare yams."

"This isn't something you can take lightly, Joyce. You're body . . ."

"MY BODY will still be here after New Years. Then, you can slice me, dice me, put me on a silver platter and call me supper. After New Years, and not a moment sooner."

Once more sighing, he gave up, knowing there was no other way to convince her.

"Fine. You can set the time up with the receptionist when we are done." He took a pad of prescription referrals, and scribbled out three notes. "In the time being, I'd like for you to take these medications. One pain reliever, one for the dizziness. Take both of them three times a day. The third is more of a 'just-in-case'. Only take it when the symptoms increase."

Meeting his eyes, Joyce nodded, then got up off the table and walked around to the partition in the back of the room, and began changing into her normal clothes.

"I don't have to remind you, Joyce, of what I told you last time," the doctor commented while Joyce was changing.

She faltered, her beige skirt almost falling out of her hands.

"You informed me that . . ." Closing her eyes, she tried to push out all of the unhelpful negative thoughts away. "You informed me that, if I were to relapse, there would be a good chance that I wouldn't recover."

"Just thought I'd mention this, in case you want to talk to your family," Doctor Hobsen replied, before he left the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I don't want a broffer!" Meredith complained, her tiny feet swinging underneath her as she gripped the chains holding her swing.

"Maybe . . . maybe you get a sister," Aurora replied from the swing next to her.

Considering this, Meredith attempted to move the swing back and forth. So far, the two friends had not figured out the exact technique required to swing, so they settled for rocking sideways.

Absently, Aurora gazed over at her mommy and Meredith's mommy, both sitting at a nearby bench and talking. Preschool had been let out for winter break, and today they could go to the park because Mommy didn't have to work.

The little girl had been fascinated with Meredith's mommy's tummy, which, she was told, held Meredith's new brother or sister. If her mommy had a tummy like that, then she would get a little baby to play with.

"I want a broffer," Aurora sighed.

Meredith had managed to get a hold of one of the swing supports, and was trying very hard to hang on.

"You can't," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Yeah huh! I can!"

"Nuh huh, you don't have a daddy."

This caught Aurora off guard. "So?"

Rolling her eyes, Meredith let go of the swing support and went flying wildly about.

"The daddies help the mommies. You can't have a baby wiffout the daddies," the three-year-old reasoned.

Jumping off the swing seat, Aurora began to chew on her lower lip.

"So," she considered, "I have a daddy? Then I have a broffer?"

"Yep," Meredith said, before falling to the ground. She didn't cry, but simply sat up and started brushing the bark dust from off her jeans.

"Meredith," Aurora asked hesitantly, "Where do daddies come from?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Most of the town was quiet as Willow's green SUV passed slowly through the streets. It was nearing one in the morning, and the little community had gone to bed hours ago.

The driver was concentrating intently on the road. Not because she needed to. It was her passenger, sitting right next to her that was causing her such uneasiness.

They were driving home from Cordelia's baby shower; one the pregnant woman had themed 'My last.' But the humor and liveliness of the night had now vanished from the two, who sat in the uncomfortable silence and acknowledged neither.

Willow knew something was up with Oz. He was gone more and more lately. She had thought it had something to do with his band touring and things like that. It was only that he had just come back after being gone for two weeks. He hadn't told her ahead of time, and hadn't called her once.

Oz had never been a chatty guy. His stoic-ness had been one of the reasons that made the two of them such compatible partners long ago. This was a new silence, and not a very friendly one at that. In the past, Oz had managed to make small talk with her friends, but he had spent the entire night sitting in the corner, nursing a beer.

Everyone else could tell something was up at the party. Willow managed to avoid all talk of relationships when hanging out with her friends, but they saw close up this evening how they were slowly unraveling.

'I wonder how long we have,' Willow thought to herself, watching him through the corner of her eye as she turned down the street.

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Sitting on her window seat, her head leaning against the glass, Drusilla stared up at the moon, noting all the little shadows and imperfections that marred its glowing surface. Long ago, when she was little, she wished that she would wake up one night and find the moon transformed into a perfect, silvery sphere, the way the sun looked.

Drusilla took comfort in the moon's rays. Most of the time, the medications the doctors gave her made her sleep during the day, meaning she would be wide-awake at night. No one else in the house knew, because she was always as quiet as a mouse. The moon became her sun, her source of light in the dark evenings.

She knew she didn't have very much time. Her room was starting to cave in on her, and no matter how many pills the doctors gave her, the pixies would come back to get her. The beautiful room, with the Victorian-style post bed, dresser, and wardrobe, had dark corners. And soon, they would consume everything.

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"Rupert." She paused, and took a cleansing breath before continuing. "I'm dying."

He had just taken a sip of his morning tea, which unexpectedly sprayed out of his mouth and all over the paper.

"PARDON ME?" he yelled while wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his bathrobe. *Very un-Rupert like,* she mentally chided.

Sighing, Anya began playing with the edges of her toast, now turning cold.

"I'm dying. Every day I'm getting closer and closer to my death, and I have yet to obtain a husband or produce children. The successful business has already been taken care of, as have the oodles of money, and although the library is not the ideal environment, it makes a suitable home. I wish to have the other things in order to complete my life."

Halfway through her explanation, the glasses had come off for the routine polishing. When she had finished, he pulled her to him and began to massage her back.

"You're not dying," he whispered. "You and I have a lot of silly years ahead of us. Besides, I thought you said you never wanted to get married."

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I know. But, that was a long time ago. You had to take care of Drusilla and William, so I decided to step back and let you deal. But, now it has been a while, and I've been patient for a very long time." Closing her eyes, she whispered the last part. "I just don't want to lose everything the way Fredrick and Amelia did."

"Why don't you want to end up like my brother and sister-in-law?" he asked, curious.

"Well, they had obtained everything: the money, home, Will and Dru. Then, in one night, they lost it all."

"Can I promise you something?"

"What?"

He smiled. "I promise I'll try my best to stay here, and make an honest woman out of you."

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Leaning against the front of the old, dusty green couch he had bought at a Goodwill, Xander took a final swig of beer. He loved his game room. Most middle-class-married men had offices, but he had a game room. Even if it was a section of the basement with beat up furniture, an old TV, and a mini- fridge, it was all his, a sanctuary from his pregnant wife and squabbling children on his days off.

"Want another one?" he asked his video game partner, Spike, who was now on the third level of the new "Pimpmaster 6".

Not tearing his eyes away from the screen, Spike blindly grabbed his empty bottle and handed it to Xander with his free hand.

Trying to move as little as possible, Xander leaned over, grabbed two cold beer bottles from his mini fridge while tossing the used ones on the couch.

"God, I love being an American. Your reward for protecting the boring streets of Sunnyhell is violent video games and cheep booze," he toasted.

Spike didn't answer, his concentration on the game.

Xander began absently playing with the beer bottle label he had just torn off.

"Bleach-boy, gotta ask you a question. How long have you been in love with Buffy?"

Again, Spike was silent, but Xander got his answer from his friend's sudden change in posture, how he sort of caved in on himself.

Shrugging his shoulders, Xander brought the bottle to his lips.

"Well, just do something about it. You're starting to act kinda like a stalker." He gulped some of the amber liquid down. "Actually," he amended, "That's not a surprise, seeing how it's you."

When the game controller came flying at his head, Xander only laughed.

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Soft music was playing in the sound system of Tara's greenhouse. Most of the time, it was a random oldies station filtering though the air, something most of the customers would like. But, the greenhouse had closed only a few minutes ago, and it was now her time.

Humming absently along to one of Jewel's albums, she puttered through the rows of flowers and ferns, spraying each plant with her own mixture of natural fertilizers and water.

She tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of her head, the one that had been warning her for weeks. Always an intuitive person, Tara knew to trust her feelings. This time, she didn't want to trust these ones.

Something was going to happen.

It had been hanging in the air. It was the proverbial calm before the storm. Bad times were coming, and if the past had taught her anything, she knew that it always came in threes.

If she had any idea to whom it would happen to, she'd intervene. That wasn't the way it worked, she understood that well. All she could do is be prepared, and hope for miracles.

There was also another thought dancing around in her head. But, this one had been there for years. It concerned her feelings for someone very close to her. Something she could never act on.

Again, Tara found herself completely helpless against fate.

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"I swear to fucking GOD! If you EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN, I WILL KILL YOU!"

"Cordy, babe, please just calm down." Xander was sweating underneath the paper garb the doctors had forced him to put on. He looked like a blue paper sack.

"DON'T. YOU. TELL. ME. TO. FUCKING. CALM. DOWN."

She, on the other hand, looked like that girl from "The Exorcist", flailing about in the delivery room bed, talking in tongues.

He gulped, wishing she hadn't insisted on natural childbirth, seeing how she was at the moment breaking the index and middle finger of his right hand. At least she was ready to give birth after only a few hours of labor, even though it now meant that Christmas would have to be postponed until after they got home.

The doctor was crouched between her open legs, his arms out as he instructed Cordelia to push one more time.

This was it. Xander was about to become a father.

Again.

Smiling, the doctor sat up, and picked up a squalling, wrinkled, tiny thing that was wailing like its mother.

"It's a girl!" The doctor announced, even though both the parents had known months earlier. They were tired of waiting in anticipation, and not being able to buy the proper clothes until after the birth.

Wrapped in a soft blanket, the infant was placed on her mother's chest, her father holding the both of them.

This was the one perfect moment Xander couldn't get enough of. The months of midnight food runs, hormones, and swollen ankles were all made up in the few precious moments he got to stare at the tiny thing he helped create.

Kissing his wife on her clammy forehead, Xander strolled out the doors of the room and headed to the waiting area. A mob of people was waiting for him to hear when Sydney Chase Harris was born. Hell, she was the reason they were all hanging around, watching crappy TV and drinking stale coffee, instead of enjoying Christmas Eve like earlier.

The only blood relatives he knew were waiting for him were his own children, being watched after by his very good friends. Xander couldn't care less. If his own family wouldn't give a damn, he had a mixed bag of people waiting in line. And that's perfectly acceptable.

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Chrestomanci- Just two words for you: Starfence sucks.

Psychovampgurl- Nope, there isn't going to be any Spuffiness soon, but I hope I'm putting enough sparkage in to make it believable. Oh, yeah, and the Angel confrontation isn't going to be as big as you think, but it is meaningful in my mind. Well, I'm done with finals (thank the pestilent gods), so I've got a nice long Spring Break ahead of me. Then, back to more school. Damn, now I'm depressed. Yeah, I say a big protest, with streamers and clowns! Have fun w/ your man!

FirstAidKid- Oh yeah, Spike the Babysitter! Very squee-worthy. As are little kid shoes, which are adorable enough to eat. Love little kids so much! Except when they start talking.

Comedia- We represent the Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild, the Lo- Oh, sorry. Yeah, you talk a big game. Be lucky you're in New York, because I feel the sudden urge to whoop ass!

Tobert- Well, you got your wish, but Joyce is a stubborn woman. Remember, out of all the bad comes some good.

Mita427- Whatever! Whatever! I do what I want! *Ghetto finger snap* Not like you gonna stop me, are you, bi-atch? I let Joyce do whatever I please, because I am the mother-fucking puppetmaster here! You wanna change it? Come make me, because I will through your ass onto the ground and make mother-fucking peanut butter out of it! Thanks, and love you too!