Chapter 3: Joyce

1. Maternal Instinct

Joyce awoke on the kitchen floor with a headache and a kink in her neck. Buffy's school friend – what was her name? – Darla, was perched on the kitchen island, filing her nails, and apparently waiting.

"It's about time," Darla commented, in her abrasively sweet voice. "I was afraid that I drank too much, but I guess you older ones just need more sleep."

"The least you could have done was move me to the couch," Joyce said as she rolled her stiff shoulders

"Well, I was never one for grunt work."

Joyce glared. "What happened to me?"

"You feel it, don't you?" Darla grinned darkly. "The power… and the hunger."

"What am I?"

"A vampire, like me."

Joyce stared. A small part of her didn't want to believe the girl before her, but it was a very small part. Mostly, she knew it was true. She did feel newly powerful, and an overwhelming freedom, to do what she wanted, and to take what she wanted. But first, she still had questions. "Why me?"

Darla smiled again. Joyce was beginning to find her quite patronizing. "Because, my dear, you have some very… unique connections. Your daughter."

"Buffy? What about her?"

"Don't you know?"

Joyce stared at her sire blankly.

"She's the Slayer." Even though she didn't know what it meant, the word filled Joyce with a bone-chilling sense of dread. Darla continued her explanation, "Our sworn enemy, one girl chosen to rid the world of evil, a real little miss super hero." She gave the new vampire a moment to absorb the information. "Scary, huh?"

Joyce regarded Darla suspiciously. "That's why you made me? To kill…"

"You're catching on." Darla glanced out the kitchen window. "Come on, the sun will be up soon, and we don't want your darling daughter finding you in this condition, do we?"

"No…" Joyce replied distantly.

Darla started towards the door, but stopped when she realized that Joyce wasn't following. "Come along now, I've got big plans to see to."

Joyce nodded and went to join the older vampire.

As Darla opened the door to leave, she froze, an expression of shock plastered on her face. Joyce was gripping a wooden mixing spoon that she had plunged into her sire's back, and through her heart.

"No one lays a hand on my daughter," she growled in Darla's ear before she crumbled to dust. Joyce heard the front door open, and soft footstep in the hall. "Anyways, I've got plans of my own," she whispered to herself. She turned and started towards the hall.

"Buffy! What do you think you're doing, coming home at this time in the morning?"

2. Denial

Her doctors thought it was her new medications that caused Joyce's depression. They didn't associate her condition with the last visit of her daughter's friends, or the fact that she started to refuse their visits soon thereafter.

Dawn was the only non-medical professional Joyce would consent to see. Her daughter tried to tell her how the others were doing, but she wouldn't listen. By rights, they should have been killed as well. Why was Buffy the only one to have her life cut short? The only one to have her future robbed from her? The only one... one girl in all the world... chosen... That was how Mr. Giles always put it. If there was anyone who knew as well as Joyce how special her daughter had been, it was him. He was the one she hated the most, for making Buffy believe it.

Joyce felt that she should have died herself, before this could have happened. And it was bound to have happened sooner or later, it was fantasy to think otherwise. That's why she tried to convince Dawn to leave this town, so that she could escape the same fate her sister had met with. But she refused, she wanted to go on fighting. Joyce stopped talking to Dawn after that, although she still allowed her visits, which thereafter passed mostly in silence.

The time after the funeral was an exception. Dawn told her about the spot they chose, the service they put together, the headstone. Joyce listened in dull silence, staring at the radiator humming across the room.

What she resented most of all was that it was a secret. The grave was in a secluded spot in the forest at the edge of town, not in a cemetery. There wasn't a priest at the funeral, or even a memorial service at a funeral home that she could have attended. She couldn't even tell anyone that her daughter was dead. The only ones who knew what she was going through were those whom she thought of, however irrationally, as having stolen her daughter from her.

In some deep, hidden part of her mind, she knew that they were hurting too. When they came to see her, she saw the tears filling Willow's eyes; Xander's blank, hollow expression; the haunted look that Mr. Giles wore. But it didn't matter.

For all their sorrow and grief none of them could bring Buffy back.

3. They Did

Joyce straightened the blankets that covered her lap and patted her hair compulsively. She hoped she looked alright. She would hate to worry her daughter so soon after her return, who knew what she'd been through?

The last thing Buffy needs is to worry about her invalid mother. She should just relax and spend some time with her friends, maybe go to the Bronze.

Willow had called to warn her. She didn't want to come over right away, fearing the sight of her once-dead daughter walking into her hospital room would be too much of a shock for Joyce. Then she put Buffy on the phone so Joyce could hear that she really was there. Joyce hadn't needed the proof, she was ready to believe. But it had been so good to her voice again. Buffy had sounded tired, of course, who wouldn't? But she was back, and that was all that mattered.

She heard footsteps in the hallway. Joyce straightened her posture, and smiled broadly in anticipation.

Willow entered the room first. She smiled warmly, and walked confidently, which was something of a surprise to Joyce. She had gotten used to seeing the young witch slouching in and out of her hospital room, ducking her head, fearing one of Joyce's outbursts. She had been so angry at her, all of Buffy's friends. But that had changed; when Willow called and told her what she'd done, Joyce would have reached through the phone to hug her if she could.

All thoughts of Willow disappeared, however, when Buffy stepped into view. She looked around the room like it was some sort of alien dreamscape, but when she saw her mother she gave a slight smile, with tears glistening in her eyes. To Joyce, it was as good as a 100 watt grin. She was seeing her daughter smile again.

Willow's gaze flicked between mother and daughter. "Well, I'll let you two get all caught up," she said gently, and left.

Joyce beamed at her daughter. "Welcome home, Buffy."

Buffy's smile faded, and she melted into tears.

4. Regression

Joyce waited in the darkened kitchen, determination keeping her from falling asleep where she sat. It was far past the time when she should have been in bed, but Joyce didn't care. She had to talk to Buffy tonight.

Willow murmured in her sleep in the next room. Joyce wasn't exactly sure why -- something had happened with Tara -- but her daughter's friend had spent the last few nights sleeping on the couch. Joyce knew just as much about that as she did about everything else that was going on lately, ever since she had come home from the hospital. Which was nearly nothing.

The back door opened, and Buffy slunk in, looking drawn and tired. But as bad as Buffy looked, Joyce felt much worse.

"Hello Buffy," she said cooly.

Buffy looked up, noticing her mother for the first time. "Mom. What are you doing up?" Joyce bristled at the worry in her daughter's tone. "Did you come downstairs on your own? You know you're not supposed to do that."

"I haven't seen you for a while, so I thought I'd wait up."

Buffy sighed wearily. "I'm sorry. I've been really busy. We can talk tomorrow, okay?" She sounded tired, and older than her years; in fact, she sounded like a mother addressing a difficult child, rather than the other way around. "Now, let's get you back to bed."

She moved to take her mother by the arm, but Joyce jerked away. "We're going to talk now," she insisted.

"Look, I'll make time tomorrow, okay?"

"No, it's not okay," Joyce said sharply. "You're hardly home anymore -"

"I've been busy," Buffy explained, trying to keep a level tone in her voice.

"No, you've been avoiding me," her daughter's jaw dropped in surprise at the accusation. Joyce continued, "I know what it takes to run a household, and I know when you're just making excuses to get away."

Shocked and insulted, Buffy was losing her patience. "How can you say that? You have no idea what I do -"

"How can I?" Joyce cut in. "When I'm stuck upstairs all day like some dirty family secret?"

"We are trying to look after you!" Buffy protested, the volume of her voice rising.

"Well, maybe I don't want to be looked after," her mother countered, sounding for all the world like an affronted adolescent.

Buffy took a moment to regain her composure. "No one wants you to be sick, mom." She tried to sound soothing, but Joyce only felt patronized.

"I'm not a child, Buffy!" She was almost yelling. Willow snorted in her sleep in the next room. "I'm sick and tired of being shut out! This is still my house, and you're still my daughter. I have a right to know what's going on in your life, and in Dawn's, instead of having everyone tiptoe around me, like I'll drop dead at the first sign of bad news."

"Mom -"

"I'm not brain-dead, Buffy! I know something isn't right!"

"It's nothing." Buffy sounded very restrained. "Nothing worth worrying about, anyways. Not in your condition."

"F-ck my condition!" Joyce slammed her hand on the counter, and her daughter stared. "I am not my condition! I'm not some walking tumour! I'm your mother! I... oh..."

Joyce hung on to the kitchen island as the room spun around her. She closed her eyes to keeping the dizzying image from making her nauseous. Buffy was at her side in a second, holding her around the shoulders.

"Mom? Mom, are you okay?"

"Buffy... ?" Her voice was weak and frightened, like a child waking from a nightmare alone in a darkened room.

"I'm here, Mom. I'm here."

5. Soldiers

Joyce double checked that she had everything before she left the house. Keys, grocery list, wallet. Though she had recovered from her illness, she was still prone to forgetting, and it was embarrassing to be in line at the store with seven-hundred dollars worth of groceries, only to realize that you'd left all your money at home.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked Buffy, who was sorting through her weapons chest.

"I dunno, does Wal-Mart sell evil-defeating weaponry?" Joyce gave her daughter a look that said she was humouring her. "Guess not then"

Joyce was about to leave when she turned to Buffy again. "Hey, maybe I should rent some movies, and we could have a video night. Y'know, give the girls a chance to relax." Buffy raised her eyebrows at her mother, who continued with her train of thought. "I've been wanting to see The Hours, but that might be a bit too serious. I should probably stick to lighter stuff, like My Big Fat Greek Wedding or Scooby-Doo."

"Um... Mom?"

"Yes?"

"We're living under constant threat from the First Evil here. We have a major battle looming. I don't think videos are the order of the day."

"Oh." Joyce's face fell. "Well, it's up to you." She put her hand on the doornob, but once again turned to her daughter.

"I know they're your soldiers, Buffy." Buffy glanced up from her weapons as her mother addressed her, choosing her words carefully. "But they're girls too. It might be nice if someone remembered that. You used to think that way," she added softly.

Buffy blinked. "Okay."She shrugged."So rent some movies." She picked up a longsword and started polishing it.

Joyce studdied her daughter with concern, before sighing and heading out the door.