Spike's battered boots splashed through the muck as he followed his lover through the sewer passage. He watched her sway slightly beside a heavy metal door. Her delay allowed the thoroughly annoyed vampire to reach her side. Despite his seething anger and weariness, he offered a steadying hand to her waist.
"Drusilla, Sweetheart, you are not well. You should not be traipsing through this muck," he warned honestly. Although neither vampire had eaten in over a day, the lack of blood had a far more immediate affect on the severely weakened female. Even with regular feedings, Drusilla was barely maintaining her unlife. Refusing her proper nourishment only complicated her already delicate condition.
His dark beauty leaned her weight against his strong arm as her features faded from her human facade to her demon countenance. Gently, Spike stroked the side of her altered face with the same desire and affection he would have offered her more human appearance. He found both sides of his lover equally appealing.
"Please, Luv," he pleaded as he too shifted to match her yellow eyes and ridged forehead. He tried to rub his facial ridges against Dru's brow. She avoided the show of brief show of affection by shifting slightly until her lips slipped down his neck.
"Not much farther," Dru promised as she leaned her head onto her companion's shoulder. She breathed deeply and enjoyed the mixed scents that she always associated with the safety of her lover's embrace. "Grandfather is waiting for his strength and his sight."
The bleached blond vampire just sighed. His lover sounded so certain of herself that he did not have the heart to fight her seeming nonsense any longer. If his dark princess wanted to sleep in a rat infested hole in the ground, he would support her desire. It didn't mean he liked it but he saw no other choice. It certainly would not be the worst place they ever slept.
"Okay, Pet," he agreed as he reached for the door handle. With minimal strength of wrist, Spike snapped the simple knob enclosed lock and swung open the door. It creaked on hinges rusted from years of exposure to the sewers. On the other side of the sewer doorway, there was another set of tunnels. These were similar to the tile lined utility access the vampires had originally traversed when they entered from the cemetery. They had followed those corridors until their progress was thwarted by rubble from what Spike figured to be a recent earthquake. In the cleaner utility corridors, the filtering light of occasional security lighting provided ample vision assistance to the two vampires and so both shook away their demon ridges as they proceeded down yet another pathway.
Leaving behind the foul gray water of the sewer, the pair caught a faint whiff of stale blood, the soft murmur of voices and the unmistakable sounds of footsteps. Drusilla squealed with elation. They were so close that she could no longer contain her childish excitement. As her lover cringed at the suddenly intrusive wail, the weakened vampire slipped from his steadying arm and scampered in a wobbly gait around the next corner. Spike called her name in warning as he followed close behind her.
As the blue-eyed vampire turned the corner, he was just in time to see a large, black-skinned vampire grab Drusilla around her neck. While shouting to his companions, Absalom slammed the still screeching vampire into the wall before he demanded that she identify herself and cease her caterwauling. He shook the thin female in annoyance when she failed to immediately comply to his demand.
"Spike," the dark haired princess whined as her blond lover growled and moved to destroy the lowly being who dared to touch his wicked plum. Three other vampires moved to intercept the blond's attack as Absalom once more viciously shook the captured female. Their movement momentarily blocked the blond vampire's view of his lover. The loss of sight of Drusilla only fed his demonic rage.
"You do not belong here," the angry Aurelian barked before slamming the weakened female one more time against the rough stone wall in the darkened tunnel that led to the Master's chamber. Tiny bits of rock clattered to the ground from the force of Drusilla's body contacting the rough wall. The willowy female did not even flinch from the abuse even though scratches, cuts and abrasions immediately erupted on her back. The coppery scent of her blood fed into the violence of the moment.
"I do not speak to dust," hissed Drusilla as anger flashed in her eyes and her ridges rose on her forehead. Her perfectly manicured nails bit into her sputtering captor's arm but she was too weak to break his punishing grasp. Once more the pretty vampire called for Spike.
Enraged at hearing Drusilla being manhandled by the unknown vampire, Spike flung himself at the closest Aurilian with a ruthless abandon. Despite his previous fatigue, the brawler easily avoided the sloppy haymaker his first opponent threw at his head. Deftly, the vamp ducked and snapped his own punch towards his attacker. The blow caught the heavier male along his jaw and sent him spiraling against the stone wall. A follow up kicked assisted him on his way. The side of his head collided with the stone; the vampire fell to the ground in a painful daze.
Even before his first opponent hit the wall, Spike moved to engage his next two foes. A well placed kick to the chest send one of them stumbling backwards. The third Aurelian took one good look at the vicious killer before her and she likewise stumbled backwards with her arms up in submission. Spike snapped a quick jab into her face for good measure anyway before launching himself at the vampire still shaking Drusilla as she screamed in his face that both sides of his coin were dust.
Absalom had only a moment to register the tackle that hit him like a guided missile before he found himself on the ground. The initial blow loosened his hold on his captive and Drusilla slipped from his grasp as he fell. Hitting the hard ground forced a rush of air from the dark vampire's body and he grunted in pain. The sharp rocks biting into the flesh of his back mirrored the injuries he inflicted on Drusilla but they were nothing compared to the agony that soon erupted from his face and head.
Unused to anything but token resistance from his human victims, Absalom was unprepared to counter the fury fueled assault that rained down on his sprawled form. The blond's knees prevented the prone vampire from raising his arms to protect himself from the ensuing assault. His attacker straddled his chest with his dark coat flowing over the trapped vampire's legs like a black leather blanket. Spike's fists flew in rapid succession against the prone vampire's face. The irate blond screamed in the stunned Aurelian's face and he punctuated each word with another blow.
"YOU. DO. NOT. TOUCH. HER. NO. ONE. HURTS. HER." Spike yelled as Absalom's cheeks crumbled, his nose shattered, and one of his eye sockets collapsed as the soft tissue inside it mashed into a useless pulp. With a final primal scream, Spike ripped the Aurelian's head from his senseless body.
Spike's knees dropped a few inches to settle on the newly dusty tunnel floor. He shuddered for a moment as the fury rode his body for a few seconds longer. The battle-drunk vampire scanned the dark space but found no other company but Drusilla. The other Aurelians had smartly scrambled into the darkness in a well timed retreat while the enraged blond had been destroying their recent companion and the closest thing to a leader the Master still retained. Seeing only his lover, Spike shook away the emotional stranglehold of his enraged beast. He stood and gathered Drusilla in his arms. Blood from his battered knuckles and his victims' bodies left ruddy fingerprints on her flowing dress.
"My, what a good dog, my sweet William is," Drusilla cooed into his neck as he pulled her against his body. Exhaustion ate at Spike as the rush of battle subsided. He shuddered wearily as his lover slipped smoothly from his embrace. Retaining his battered right hand, Dru pulled her protector the few remaining steps down the tunnel.
"So quiet down cobwebs, Dust go to sleep, Grandfather is waiting and Sunshine won't keep," Drusilla giggled in a mangled adaptation of a child's silly rhyme.
Wearily, Spike's feet plodded after his dark princess' lead. He stepped from the smaller tunnel and into a cavern lit with torches
"What have you done!" demanded a harsh voice from the center of the shattered and sunken church. "How dare you?"
Drusilla giggled once more as she turned her back to her lover and stepped delicately into the lit space. She almost floated across the rubble strewn earth until she was only a few steps from the shimmering barrier the so frustrated the Master. She smiled at the livid vampire trapped like a bottle cork. Like a tiny and shy child seeing Santa, the dark haired vampire waved her fingers coyly at the grumbling demon.
"Good morning Grandfather," she called as her companion stumbled to a halt behind her.
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered as his eyes cataloged their newest potential danger. Silently, he hoped Drusilla didn't pick a fight with this new vampire. He could practically feel his power washing over him in waves and the exhausted British vampire doubted he could take this new potential threat in his current state of exhaustion. In a more realistic frame of mind, he might even wonder if he could ever best the powerful being.
The seriously pissed expression washed from the Master's face as he tapped his clawed pointer finger against his compressed upper lip.
"Grandfather?" the wrinkled and ridged vampire questioned as he stepped as close to the edge of his prison as he could travel. The Master of the Order of Aurelius attempted a quick inventory of those who might have the gall to call him such a name. It was a short list with few names of creatures daring enough to link themselves as kin.
"Choices and Chosen, Grandfather," Drusilla answered with another joyful smile and she attempted to curtsy. She wavered on her feet and Spike wrapped his arms around her once more to offer her his remaining strength.
"Drusilla, Luv, I think we should let his vampy-ness totter back to his business and we should find our own place to kip," Spike whispered to his lover as he glanced around the chamber once more. The entire place was making the blond's skin crawl and he wanted nothing more than to find somewhere far away from this spot and its uncomfortable magic where they could hide from the sun and sleep.
"You're Angelus' get," the Master suddenly stated as he realized who was arrogantly claiming to be his grandchild.
Dru clapped happily at his understanding. She grinned at the ancient vampire like he was an old dog who learned a new trick. An equally evil grin erupted on the Master's face. On the dark haired beauty, the smile was breathtaking. On the ancient being's face, the smile was enough to loosen even a strong man's bowels. Spike barely resisted the urge to step backwards in caution.
"My Darling Darla spoke of you, my dear. You are Angelus' Drusilla, yes?"
The female smiled and nodded in reply while Spike resisted the urge to growl at the verbal linking of his lover and her sire. The Master turned his sharp gaze to her companion as if he sensed the mental rivalry. The piercing eyes of the older demon traveled over the smaller and significantly younger vampire. In a flash, the Master noted the younger demon's bruised and bloody knuckles, his seemingly arrogant stance which masked a fighter's ready for battle footing, and his air of weariness that was rivaled only by his wariness of the situation. The head of the Order decided he might like this one as long as he showed him the proper respect. IF he lacked the proper respect, the Master decided he would simply instill it in him with his own hands. "Which would make you, William the Bloody," he stated in all certainty of his knowledge.
"Spike," Drusilla offered with an innocent smile.
"Ah yes, Spike... the Slayer of Slayers..." the Master repeated as he began to pace within his confining magical prison. The eldest member of the Order of Aurelius contemplated the equal parts pride and annoyance Darla had shown when she mentioned the youngest member of the vampire family known as the Whirlwind. Darla had grown to respect the young vampire's bravery and viciousness but she had greatly lamented his unpredictable zest for life which often fell contrary to her or Angelus' plans. The ancient vampire remembered with a hint of jealousy the pride his Darling had exhibited when news of Spike's murder of a second slayer reached the Order.
"A bit late to the party," the old vampire stated in a tone that was hard for the newly arrived vampires to determine if he was angry at this fact or teasing about it. The tone was harsh yet carried an undertone of mocking. "We could have used you a few months ago."
For a few minutes, the Master ranted about his previous slayer issues to his new audience. Spike frowned momentarily when he realized that he missed pitting himself against yet another slayer but soon allowed his thoughts to wander. Too tired to summon the energy to interrupt the Master's tirade, Spike attempted to wrap his mind around a plan to coax Drusilla out of this dismal pit. The cocky vampire was not interested in any of the pomp and circumstance that he suspected surrounded the head of the Order of Aurelius. His blue eyes glazed a bit as he quickly considered and just as quickly discarded options for timely escape.
Silently and oblivious to either male's racing thoughts, Drusilla crept forward until she was standing at the edge of the pulsing magical prison. She reached forward until her hand passed into the shimmer. The sneaky vampire hummed softly as she rotated her hand back and forth in the magical barrier as if she could see a cascade of color caressing her fingers. Her preoccupation with the unseen finally drew the attention of her male companions. The Master's voice trailed off from lamenting over the death of his most precious childe. Spike's musing of tactical retreats stilled. Both just stared in silence at the seductive sway of the preoccupied female as she hummed along with the previously unheard music in the magic. Her swaying hips momentarily drew the attention of both males for similar reasons although both soon pulled their thoughts from the carnal gutter by their own concerns. The Older male's eyes slanted as he watched Drusilla suspiciously and another tired sigh escaped from the younger one's lips as he moved closer to his lover.
When Drusilla failed to acknowledge their proximity, the Master whispered his concern to her normal companion. Spike snorted.
"Yeah, this is normal," William the Bloody confirmed with obvious affection in his voice. "At least normal for Dru."
The Master considered this answer for a few moments as he continued to watch the strange woman who so readily claimed him as kin. The elder demon startled slightly when Drusilla suddenly shifted from pleasantly communing with his magical prison to screeching in agony. Both males moved to catch the collapsing female but the Master proved a hair faster. He caught his caterwauling great-grandchilde against his leather clad chest. Although he felt no immediate affection or connection to the limp vampire in his embrace, the ancient vampire did notice the sudden flash of possessive fury in Spike's eyes before the younger vampire properly covered his reaction to having someone else beat him to catching his lover. The Master trailed his clawed fingers gently through Drusilla's dark hair as he smirked at the younger vamp.
Before Spike could respond in a manner sure to land him in dire straits, his lover stopped screeching and opened her eyes. Her body shivered as if it was terribly cold and she mumbled a string of barely audible words that were hampered by her chattering teeth. Spike swept off his leather duster and stepped forward. He wrapped his trembling lover in the coat at the same time as he extracted her from the Master's embrace. Drusilla happily leaned into his protective strength as she repeated the same phrase over and over against the smooth skin of his neck.
"The path of Cleomedes leads to release," she murmured.
"Cleomedes?" Spike repeated and Drusilla nodded. Her temple bumped against his jaw as she affirmed the name.
"Release of what, Pet?" her protector prompted.
"Pop goes the cork," she giggled. "And Grandfather can drink champagne with his minions of hell."
The Master's eyes widened while Spike glanced from the female in his arms to the male in the magic prison.
"You stuck in there, mate?" he asked.
The older vampire nodded.
"She reliable?" the Master questioned in return.
William the Bloody gently patted Drusilla on the back as he shifted them fully outside of the magical barrier that held fast the older vampire.
"Dru's a barmy nutter but her visions are reliable."
"Wonderful," crowed the Master with an enthusiasm that pricked at all of Spike's self preservation instincts.
"Welcome to the family, grandchildren," the Master hailed the two younger vampires. This time, a true shudder crept up Spike's spine though he remained steadily in place. The arrogant young demon was too exhausted to respond any other way. He just silently hoped that this new relationship was less damaging than some of his other familial ones had progressed.
Hank Summers smoothly pulled to the curb in front of his ex-wife's home in Sunnydale.
"I'm glad you came for the summer, Sweetheart," her father stated cheerfully as he pushed the button to close his sunroof. The tiny motor hummed as the glass moved into place. Hank stole a glance at his silent daughter as he shifted off the ignition of his sedan. He frowned slightly as he noticed a second car parked in the Summers driveway.
"Nice mustang," her father commented with a nod towards the older model but well maintained muscle car. The bright afternoon sunlight glinted off the gas guzzling relic from the early seventies.
Buffy stretched to look at the red and black vehicle.
"Oh, that's Officer Friendly's car," she replied with a slight smile.
Hank's frown increased.
"Officer Friendly? Who is that?" he inquired with a note of concern. An unexpected twinge of jealousy pricked at Hank as he wondered if his ex-wife was dating someone.
Noting her dad's unexpected interest, Buffy's smile increased slightly. She turned to face her father with a hint of life and affection seeping into her eyes that had been hidden most of her summer break.
"Look, Dad," she began as she removed her hand from the door handle instead of opening the car door. "If you want to know about Detective Ricci, you should ask Mom."
She grinned a bit mischievously for a second as she added "Parent date-age info is so not in my list of kid responsibilities. I'm not sharing on Officer Friendly and his sporty red car with you and I'm not sharing about Ms. Vicky and her Tuesday night casseroles with Mom. Okay?"
A sheepish grin crossed Hank's lips for a moment.
"Point to you, Sweetie," her father stated before he opened his car door.
As the father-daughter duo exited the sedan, the front door of the Summers home opened. Joyce practically sprinted from the porch and down the sidewalk. Her arms wrapped around her daughter and squeezed tightly. Joyce had spent the past weeks worried beyond measure for his daughter's physical and mental health. Buffy had been wholly unresponsive to her phone calls and Hank had been unable to assuage her anxieties. After her crushing hug, Buffy's mom pulled back. Her hands remained on Buffy's upper arms as she stared intently at her child. Joyce wondered if Buffy had worked through any of her behavioral quirks and fears during her time in LA.
"Missed you, Mom," Buffy offered with a small smile that actually showed some warmth in her eyes.
Joyce noticed the slight smile and beamed in response. The soft show of affection was more than Buffy shared at the beginning of the summer vacation. She offered another crushing hug to her daughter before finally turning her attention to her ex-husband. She greeted Hank pleasantly and joined him at the trunk of the car where he was removing the three suitcases stowed in the storage space. The older Summers female waved off her daughter's offer to assist with the bags. Joyce only recognized one of the pieces of luggage in her ex-husband's trunk.
"Did a bit of shopping, did you?" Joyce stated in teasing question and Hank had the grace to appear a bit embarrassed as he explained about using shopping as an obvious way to connect with his reticent daughter.
As her parents spoke quietly, Buffy offered Antonio his own greeting. The policeman grinned warmly when the teen addressed him once again as Officer Friendly and he returned the tease by reminding her that he was Detective Friendly. Antonio also offered assistance in carrying Buffy's luggage into the house but both Joyce and Hank waved away his offer. Her parents shuffled quickly into the house leaving both Buffy and Detective Ricci in the front yard. The pair watched their disappearance into the house with mutual feelings of anxiety.
"Don't be offended," Buffy stated when she noticed the slightly concerned tightening of the detective's lips and the way his eyes followed the divorced couple. She shrugged as she added "they just want some privacy so they can talk about me."
The slightly bitter tone employed by the teen on her last comment drew Ricci's attention from his own insecurities regarding his slowly developing relationship with Joyce. He turned a concerned eye to the small blond fidgeting faintly with the sleeve of her slightly over-sized dress shirt which she wore over a simple white t-shirt. A tan pair of cargo pants and blue Keds the same color as her shirt completed her outfit.
"I think I would rather hear the news from the source," Antonio stated with an encouraging smile as he took a step towards the house.
Buffy fell into step beside him. When they reached the porch, they both paused. By mutual consent but without a spoken word, the detective and the teen found seats on the steps. In the distance, the sound of a lawn mower filled their silence. Insects hummed to complete the soft summer soundtrack.
"I like your new hairstyle," Detective Ricci complimented as his attempt to bridge the silent gap.
Unconsciously, Buffy's right hand rose to her bleached, fly-away pixie cut. Like any female would, she grinned warmly at the compliment. When she went to the salon, the teen had sought something completely new. Although the hairstyle was significantly shorter and lighter than her natural hair had been in years, the change in style helped her feel a bit better about herself. Before the haircut, Buffy had shuddered every day when she looked in the mirror. The image in the mirror seemed like the same Buffy. She had the same nose with the annoying little bump. Even though they did not smile as often, she still had the same lips and teeth. The teen could not even admit to having a difference in her eyes. Her soul had lost its innocence when she was called as the Slayer so the loss of her body's innocence had left little new cloud in her tired and aged eyes.
"I needed a change," Buffy honestly admitted and for a short period of time it really had helped her feel less disconnected from her own body. The ear length, soft waves of almost platinum blond provided an artful frame for her face and made her eyes seem larger. The casually tousled appearance also helped soften the sharper angles on her face that had developed from her decreased appetite.
Her older companion nodded in understanding. As a veteran officer, Detective Ricci had seen a number of changes displayed by victims of any number of crimes. A change in hairstyle and clothing choices were actually a mild alteration. Antonio considered it a much healthier outlet for change than some of the self-destructive behavioral changes he had witnessed. Remembering the months he spent wallowing in whatever bottle of liquor was handy after his family died, he could not help but be proud of the emotional strength of the young teen. He considered attempting to express that sentiment to Buffy but wasn't sure how to say the words properly.
While he argued with himself on how best to offer his observation on her emotional strenght, Buffy beat him to breaking the silence. Her question startled him though. It was a jump in logic he found confusing for a moment.
"How do you do it?"
"Do what?" he inquired with an intrigued light in his dark eyes and a self-conscious swipe of his hand through his thick hair.
"Your job."
"My job?" he asked with even more confusion.
Buffy smiled as she tried to explain. "I once read that the LA police academy has this motto or something to protect and serve, right?"
Antonio nodded in encouragement. Most police departments had similar credos. They believed it was their duty to stand between citizens and the criminal element. The detective avoided voicing the unkind thought that at least it was the purpose of most police departments outside of Sunnydale. He figured their unspoken motto was hide under the covers and pray the populous remained clueless. It seemed to be the common theme for the small city with more than its fair share of unexplainable crime.
"How do you go out and protect people when the people you are protecting might be just as bad if not worse than the people you are protecting them from? How can you help them?" Buffy asked as she rested her head on her drawn up knee. Her hazel eyes pleaded with her companion to take her request seriously.
As she begged for the reply, Antonio couldn't fathom why the answer seemed so important to the teen. It seemed like a very abstract issue on which to focus her attention. If she was another police officer and been a victim of a violent crime, the detective would have understood the question. Since his audience was not part of law enforcement, he was unsure from where her thoughts originated. Setting aside his inability to understand Buffy's logic trail, Ricci decided to offer her honestly. Wishing to respect her obvious concern, he collected his thoughts while watching the strange desperation in Buffy's expression.
"I don't think about it as who deserves to be saved and who does not deserve it, Buffy. I am just a cog in big machine. I do what I can to keep anyone from being a victim. No matter who they are, good or bad or otherwise, no one deserves to be a victim. I work to ensure that there are less victims of any flavor."
Buffy remained silent as she considered his words. She worried her lips between her delicate white teeth.
"Less victims is a good thing," she finally muttered.
"Of all types," Antonio agreed softly.
The two protectors sat silently a few moments longer before Ricci prodded the teen into discussing her trip. Although lacking the enthusiasm she would have shown last spring, Buffy slipped into a comfortable dialogue about her time with her father.
While Detective Ricci was learning about Buffy's time in LA, her parents were in her second floor bedroom having their own discussion. After Hank explained once again about his reasons for spending so much money on clothes and shoes, the divorced couple finally broached their real concerns for their daughter.
"So how has Buffy been?" Joyce demanded as she absently unloaded new shoes from the smaller of the new luggage bags.
Hank paused from his own chore of emptying clean clothes onto Buffy's bed for her to place away later. "She was, um... you know, great," he finally stated in a stilted and uncomfortable voice.
"But?" his ex-wife prompted when she recognized her companion's reluctance to add to his statement.
Hank sighed and returned the new pair of designer jeans he had removed from the bag back to the top of the pile still in the suitcase.
"She was just, I don't know, um... distant. Not brooding or sulking, just... there was no connection. The more time we spent together, the more I felt like she was nowhere to be seen."
"What did the specialist say?" Joyce probed.
Hank now appeared both confused and even more uncomfortable.
"I took her to the neurology specialist just like your Sunnydale doc recommended. He did a bunch of tests. Thing was, the neurologist seemed almost flummoxed at her recovery. He got the records from Sunnydale Memorial and the doctor that followed up after her release. He said that she seemed to have no continuing effects."
Hank wiped his face nervously.
"Um, and when I say, no continuing effects, I mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. The doc said he couldn't see any indication on any of the scans or tests that showed any damage."
"That's good, right?" Joyce countered as she placed the last pair of ankle boots on the floor of Buffy's closet. "We want her to recover fully."
"Well, we don't have to worry about that. Accourding to the neurologist, she has recovered to the point that it seems like she never was injured."
The parents silently contemplated that strange but welcome miracle for a moment before Joyce asked how Hank thought her emotional recovery was going. Her ex-husband grimaced.
"She is having nightmares," he warned. "Serious ones. Thrashing around. Screaming sometimes. She broke her lamp on the nightstand the one night while flailing her arms. Put a dent in the drywall on the other side of her bed another time."
Joyce wrapped her arms around her body.
"Did she talk to you about the nightmares?"
Hank shook his head negatively.
"Do you think," Joyce began but then paused. She took a deep breath and started again. "Do you think we should send her back to the hospital?"
Hank's forehead creased as he considered the suggestion.
"I think they are just nightmares. I think she feels scared. It's not like she is delusional. It's not like before. The nightmares don't seem to have to do with monsters or vampires. I think... um... I think she is just reliving the assault."
Joyce nodded in understanding but still frowned.
"But if she isn't talking to us about it, maybe she needs someone like a psychiatrist to help her?"
A tiny smile quirked along Hank's lips as he shared what he considered a big secret.
"I think she has someone she is sharing with already," he admitted. A teasing light lit his eyes as he thought about his daughter and her new friend. "His name is Daniel. Daniel, um... Osbourne. Buffy calls him Oz."
Joyce froze in shock. She wondered if this Oz was the same boy Buffy had hoped would ask her to the spring dance. She had not heard anything about him before this point. Joyce wondered aloud if Buffy's new friend was from LA. Hank shook his head.
"Nope, he's here in Sunnydale. In fact, he is supposed to come to visit this afternoon. Was the reason Buffy wanted to come home early instead of waiting until tonight. I was hoping to hang around and meet the young man."
Joyce shared a questioning look that her ex-husband still recognized.
"I am not going to cause problems. I just want to meet the boy who coaxed our daughter into writing letters."
For a moment, Joyce appeared incredulous. Hank chuckled.
"Yes, our daughter. Stamps, paper and envelopes. Sounds crazy, I know, so I just have to meet the kid who inspired such a bizarre behavior."
"She called him a couple times. I overheard her talking about a dream so I figure she must be at least trying to deal with the nightmares."
Joyce shifted the smaller suitcase into the larger one and closed the larger one. She then placed the luggage in Buffy's closet and closed the door. Instead of leaving her daughter's bedroom though, she detained her ex-husband for a moment more.
"Don't you think we would do better to have her seeing a professional about the nightmares," she suggested even though she can just imagine how like a lead balloon seeing a therapist would float with Buffy.
Despite the bitterness of their divorce, Hank reached for his ex-wife's arm. Even with time and distance, the male Summers could not help but notice Joyce's obvious concern. He likewise felt fearful for his daughter's health but was significantly less reactionary. Since he did not normally see their child daily, Hank did not have the slowly building anxiety that something was radically wrong with the teen. In his mind, no arrests or delusions about monsters meant she was going to be fine. Buffy had not burned down the gym or any other property in response to her assault. She was not facing criminal charges and expulsion. In his mind, she was coping well. He clasp his companion's shoulder softly.
"We are doing what we can for Buffy. You are doing a fine job. Just give her time to heal. The doctor says that she is fine physically. I am sure her emotional health will improve soon too."
Joyce sighed. Although she was not sure if she agreed with Hank, she wasn't sure she could handle the battle of forcing her daughter into therapy if Buffy's father was not supporting the intervention also. Reluctantly, she conceded the point.
As Joyce moved to leave Buffy's bedroom once again, her ex-husband's hand stilled her movement for a final time. She turned to him with a questioning expression and Hank offered her an almost playful grin.
"So who is Mr. Muscle Car?" the slightly jealous male questioned. Hank Summers might have realized years ago that his marriage with Joyce was not destined to end with mutual rocking chairs in the old folks home but that doesn't mean he didn't still hold some affection for the woman.
Joyce made no attempt to hide her snort of annoyance at the intrusive question.
"Well at least that gives me confirmation of where our daughter gets her manners," she muttered before turning from her ex-husband with a knowing smirk.
"Joyce," whined Hank ever so slightly as she exited the room without answering his question. All that answered him was silence.