The Parchment

Summary: A magical piece of paper falls prey to the whims and fancies of midlife crisis. Definitely B/S, set in AU S5; no Dawn, no Glory.
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all related to her belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing.
A/N: Okay, chapter two's on. If you read this, then review. Also, forgive me for my bad mood.

2. Mommy's Girl

"I can't believe him, Mom," Buffy groused the next day as she hefted up the stairs of Joyce's art gallery a crate of Peruvian masks. "I mean, he knows what it's like to have recently broken up – god knows, he was such a wreck. Instead of making cracks about it, I tried to help him! Help him, Mother! And how does he repay me? 'Oh, Slayer,'" Buffy made an uncannily good imitation of Spike's voice, albeit with a terrible British accent, "'Doesn't Soldier Boy patrol with you on Fridays?' Hmph!" Buffy snorted in disgust, slamming down the crate and making Joyce wince. "I can't believe him!"

"Buffy," Joyce stepped gingerly up to the crate to check for any broken objects. "Calm down. Yelling at your poor mother won't help any."

"I know." Buffy sighed, then growled in frustration. "It's just, he makes me want to kill him... you know what I mean?" She asked her mother helplessly.

Joyce hid a smile. "Yes. I understand. Now, help me take it into the back. And don't talk to me about Spike, okay?"

Buffy nodded in grudging acceptance and followed her mom to the storage area. When they emerged half an hour later, Joyce was wincing as Buffy said, "And, to top it off, if he follows me, shouldn't he help me with my slaying? But nooooo, Mr. The Bloody just has to stand in the bushes and...

"Where is the damned thing?" Muttered Willow to herself as she emptied her purse onto her dorm bed.

From her place on the desk, Tara looked back at Willow. "What're you looking for?"

Willow jumped and stammered, "N-nothing, just a piece of paper I have stuff written on..." She frowned as a thought hit her. "Did you take it, Tara?" A hysterical note crept into Willow's voice as her girlfriend looked up from the computer, a slight frown marring her features. Willow instantly calmed herself. "I-I mean, did you see it, or anything...?"

"A piece of paper you had something written on?" Tara echoed. She shook her head. "No, of course not. Why would I take a paper you have something written on?"

Willow tried to smile. "Yes, of course. Why would you..."

Tara's frown deepened in concern. "Willow," She asked, "Are you okay? You look a little... flushed. What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing." Willow sank onto her bed, smiling a fake reassuring smile at Tara. "Nothing at all."

"Buffy," Joyce said, "Help me with this."

With a look of disgust, Buffy bent to pick up the painting Joyce was referring to. "Why'd you want to put this up?" Her nose screwed up at the framed picture of a dying rooster.

With a sigh, Joyce indicated where it was to be hung as she explained, "It symbolizes something to do with the French Revolution... I'm putting it up so people will see it, like it, buy it."

"I don't think anyone will buy this piece of shit." Buffy declared, standing back to observe whether the frame was tilted. Nodding at its straight position, she continued, "I mean, why would you want a dead rooster in your living room?"

"The same reason," Joyce said through gritted teeth, "That you have pictures of chocolate in your bedroom."

Buffy's frown deepened. "Chocolates and rooster? Nah, they don't really compare, Mom. I mean, apart form technically being food, chocolate means something. Dead roosters don't. Plus," She stepped up closer to the painting and observed it through the glass, "It's all smudged, it seems. As though, I don't know, it's raining or something."

"Impressionist art, Buffy. Impressionists. Heard of them, ever?" At her daughter's blank look, Joyce cried, "Oh, god, are you telling me I'm completely wasting my hard earned money on your college education!"

"Don't be silly, Mom," Buffy scoffed, moving to lean against the wall. "I don't know anything about art, but I do know other stuff, like... English!" Buffy grinned. "I came second in class, only after Willow. Hah, beat that!"

"I topped my college art class every year, for eight years, in a row, every semester." Joyce told her daughter. "Want me to continue with my high school...?"

Buffy, whose eyes were sort of wide, rolled them. "Everyone has their own field, Mother."

"Exactly. Yours is slaying, mine is art. I don't know diddly-squat about your field, so I never interrupt your plans. You know nothing about art. Don't scoff at what you don't have an idea of." Picking up the keys that led to her office, Joyce added, "Why're you till here, anyways? Don't you have a date with Riley?"

The second the words left her mouth, Joyce knew her mistake. She turned around to watch Buffy freeze, eyes wide, as she stared at her mother.

The silence stretched for a long minute. Then, Joyce said, "Oh, Buffy. I'm sorry, honey. I slipped."

Buffy's posture relaxed, but Joyce saw her gulp. "That's okay, Mom. It happens."

Putting down her keys, Joyce walked over to her daughter and pulled her into her arms. "Oh, Buffy," Joyce sighed into her daughter's hair, "I'm sorry it happened like this. I know how much he meant to you..."

Buffy, who had buried her face in her mother's sweater, looked up. "Do you, Mom?" She looked confused and upset. "Because even I don't know what he meant to me." She pulled away from Joyce and paced the length of the floor, agitated hands finding solace in her golden hair. "When Angel left, I felt as though... as though I couldn't breathe, Mom, but when Riley told me he was leaving... I don't know, I-I didn't really care. As though... as though I knew he was just temporary, as though I was – I am – waiting for someone better to come along." With a sigh and a pull at her hair, she leaned back against the wall. "Things were tense ever since I beat Adam."

Joyce frowned. "Really?"

Buffy nodded, arms crossed over her chest. "He saw me united with Giles, Willow and Xander. Not a very pretty sight, I'm guessing, because he didn't touch me until he kissed me before he left. He must have seen the bloodlust, too, in my face, because, in the last few days, he told me I was too intense in my slaying, that I played around too much – yeah, right – and I hated him dictating my slaying. So, when he said he was leaving, I didn't stop him." She swallowed. "I miss him, though."

Joyce stood next to Buffy, leaning against the wall, too. "I know the feeling." The two stood in silence before Joyce said, hesitantly, "Buffy, do you think you didn't care for Riley anymore because you liked... someone else?"

Buffy looked at her mother with a frown. "Someone else?" She echoed. "Who would I like in this hellhole of a town?"

Joyce bit her lip. Hard.

Something about Joyce's expression warned Buffy. She said, "Mom..." warningly, but Joyce burst out.

"You and Spike spend so much time together; don't you feel for him?"

Buffy looked at her mother with eyes wide with horror and shock.

Joyce winced. "I'm guessing not..." Her voice was lost as Buffy broke out.

"Mom! Spike! I would understand if you connected me to Xander, but Spike! Have I ever given you reason to believe that I feel for him, Mom! Have I? I-I – ugh!" She burst out in disgust and shock. "I loathe him, Mom, every inch of his pearly skin! He's tried to kill my friends, my boyfriends, me – what possible reason could I have for liking him in ... that way!"

Joyce rubbed her eyes. "It was just a suggestion, Buffy. You do talk about him a lot."

"Because I hate him."

"Right. Of course."

Buffy frowned. "It's true."

"Yes, Buffy, you've made yourself clear. Loud and clear. Now," She reached for the keys again, "We're locking up early, today, because I have to—"

"Yeah," Buffy interrupted, "We have to go do Thelma and Louise again."

Joyce frowned. "Actually, Buffy," She said, "I have a dinner date with someone."

Buffy stared incredulously at her mother. "You have a dinner date?"

Joyce rose a slender eyebrow. "Am I that unattractive?"

"No!" Buffy vehemently shook her head. "It's just... who?"

The answer came as the double doors of the gallery swung open. The smell of smoke and leather filled the room as Spike yelled, "Oi, Joyce, you ready to--" He froze when he saw Buffy staring at him, mouth slightly open. He grinned. "Why, 'ello, Slayer. Fancy seein' you here! Didn' know you did artsy stuff!"

"Didn't know you barged into private conversation uninvited," Buffy retorted, taking an aggressive step forwards. "Tell me why I shouldn't pound you, Spike?"

"Now, now, Slayer," Spike tsked, "We're all friend here, right Joyce?" He looked over the blonde Slayer's shoulder at her mom.

Buffy whirled to face Joyce, now. Joyce sighed, uncomfortable, and said, "Buffy, Spike's here to take me for dinner."

The silence could be cut with a knife. Spike stood, hands in his duster, watching Buffy stare at Joyce, stunned. When she found her voice again, she managed to stutter, "Yo-you're g-going with him!"

"Well," A slightly defensive note crept into Joyce's voice, "I've had my own life when you've been off at college, and Spike is a part of my life now."

Buffy gaped. "Are you saying that when he was plotting my murder, you were eating with him!"

"Buffy," Joyce said crossly, "You have your own group of band mates. Spike was lonely. So was I. He came looking for you and stayed for cocoa, which became our weekly tradition." Joyce softened, slightly, and said, "Buffy, come with us. I know how you're feeling... you shouldn't be alone, tonight."

Buffy stared, disbelieving. Observing the expressions on the faces of the Summers women, Spike said, "Yeah, Slayer, come along. I sure as hell don't mind. Give a vamp some company, won't you?"

Buffy looked away from Joyce to Spike. Meeting his blue eyes, she shook her head. "No... I just remembered, I had to be at Willow's."

And grabbing her coat, Buffy left before any of the two could say anything.