The evening was not going at all how Giles had hoped. Joyce Summers had welcomed them inside with a nervous sort of energy, arranging them in the living room and bringing out china cups of black coffee that went un-drunk by all but her. She had asked Xander and Willow several times if they had seen Buffy, and where they had left her the night before. The two teenagers had carefully skirted the truth on the subject, looking to him repeatedly as he searched for a way to begin his revelations to the frantic woman before him. Only when she leapt abruptly from the couch and headed towards the telephone, declaring that she was calling the police, did he realize that his time was up, and that he had no option but to be out with it.
"Joyce," he began, guiding her to an armchair well away from the phone, "I'm afraid that last night wasn't quite the night of trick-or-treating that you thought it was."
The woman's eyes immediately narrowed, her anxious fluttering coming to a complete halt as her parenting instincts honed in on a lie. "Do you know where Buffy is Rupert?" she asked, her voice calm and dangerous.
"At the moment I do not," he answered honestly, "But if you'll just listen to what I have to say, you'll understand why it's important that we find her."
Joyce remained silent, her mouth tight as she waited for him to continue.
"Your daughter," he began, "Is a very important person in this world. She was chosen, by powers beyond the control of you or I, to help maintain balance and order on this plain. I am more than just her librarian, I am her Watcher, and it is she who fights against the evil things that hunt in the night. She is called the Slayer, and it is her job to fight and kill demons that roam the earth."
"Dear God," Joyce whispered, horror-struck. So she understood. "Not again."
Perhaps not.
Jumping quickly to her feet, Joyce paced angrily away from Giles, flinging her arms out in wide, heated motions. "I don't believe this!" she cried. "She promised! We said, after LA, that this would never happen again. That she wouldn't go back to this nonsense! And you!" she shouted, turning on Giles with finger raised, "You! A grown man, feeding into her delusions like this!"
Giles moved to defend himself, but a knock sounded at the door. Throwing a glare over her shoulder, Joyce stalked out of the room towards the door, leaving him staring after her, mouth agape. He looked to the two teenagers sitting on the couch, both of whom appeared frightened by the emphatic, uncharacteristic outburst. Willow seemed about to speak when Joyce's voice sounded from the hall.
"Buffy!" she cried, the anger and frustration in her voice outweighing her relief. "Get in here this instant!"
Buffy's mouth curled into a dark smile. She hadn't really had a plan when she'd left the crypt, had only known that she was dirty and tired and hungry, and wanted… something. Something that felt like home, something that would make her feel less alone, something…
It hadn't occurred to her that she wouldn't be able to get inside the house, not until she was standing in front of the door, hand half out to grasp the knob. She could hear them inside, moving around, could practically feel their hearts beating on the other side of the walls. Buffy tipped her head back and sighed, tasting the air as her eyes flashed from gold back to hazel, her human mask firmly in place before she raised her fist and knocked.
She supposed she did it for the shock factor. To get a laugh out of the horror on their faces, to enjoy the failure that would no doubt consume them all. But she got lucky. Her mother, her foolish, loving mother did the one thing Buffy always tried to warn her not to do. She invited her in. Oh, the words were said in anger and without thought, but she guessed the syntax didn't matter, because when she stepped across the threshold, no mystic field barred her way.
Following her mother into the living room, she almost back stepped when Giles, Willow, and Xander all leapt to their feet. She managed to hold her ground, to control the sudden lurch in her veins that suggested she strike, sink her teeth into the nearest throat and bite. Something whispered to her that there was a game to be played here, fun to be had if she just bided her time.
"Buffy!" Willow gasped. "Thank God! Where were you, what… what happened?" Willow's gaze suddenly dropped to Buffy's chest, where Harmony's blood had dried dark and crackled on her skin. "Is that..." The girl gulped. "Is that blood?"
"Blood!" Joyce yelped, grabbing Buffy by the upper arm and trying to turn her to get a better look. Buffy shook her off easily, biting down hard on her lip to keep from lashing out, from snarling her displeasure. "Buffy, where have you been? What is going on here?"
"As I've been trying to explain to you Joyce," Giles spoke up, using his placating, 'I know better' tone, "Buffy had a bit of a… costume malfunction last night."
For some reason this struck Buffy as terribly funny. "Malfunction," she snickered, all eyes leaping to her. "Isn't that a word."
Turning away from her mother, the Watcher faced his Slayer with a look of consternation. "Buffy, I… I don't understand," he said, taking a step towards her. "Why did you dress that way?"
Buffy tilted her head and thought a moment, then shrugged carelessly. "I wanted to know what it felt like," she replied simply. "To be the dangerous thing. The dark thing. The one that walked in the shadows and didn't play by any rules." Casually, Buffy began to circle the room, instinctively herding the others into a tight knot in the middle. Some small, ancient part of their brains was telling them something wasn't right here, and with each step that she took they countered.
"And let me tell you," she continued, grinning widely, "It was great. The strength. The power. God the drive, the way I crave…" She stopped, looking up at her Watcher whose eyes had gone wide, his face pale. She smiled, that of a little girl with her hand caught in the cookie jar. "Oops…" she giggled, "Have I given myself away?"
"No," Xander whispered. "Oh God, no."
"Joyce," Giles said, his voice cracking, "Get back." Joyce looked up at the older man in confusion. "Joyce, she's a vampire, get back!"
"What?" Joyce asked on a nervous laugh. "Rupert, don't be ridiculous! Does this have something to do with all that nonsense a few years ago?" Joyce turned to her daughter who was smiling craftily at her Watcher. "Buffy, what have you told them?"
Suddenly Buffy laughed, a harsh and bitter sound. "Give it up Watcher-man," she said smugly as she began to circle once more, looks of utter desolation on her friends' faces. "She won't believe you. She wouldn't believe her own daughter." Turning to her mother, Buffy sneered showing blunt human teeth and snarled, causing Joyce to startle and stumble backwards into Xander's arms. "All those nights sneaking out," Buffy hissed, taking a slow, stalking step forward, "All those mornings when there was blood and grass stains and ash all over my clothes. When I burned down the gym; a place I loved, a place I spent so many hours…"
Buffy's voice had risen to a fever pitch, a single tear rolling free down her cheek from eyes gone golden, but suddenly it dropped to an agonized whisper. "You never believed me. Mommy you… you never believed me. I told you the truth and you locked me away, threw me into a white, padded cell and left me!" She snarled viciously, her emotions leaping around like an animal in a cage, frenzied, desperate to escape.
"Never knew that did you?" she taunted, suddenly calm as she addressed her Watcher and her friends. "Never knew that the Slayer's mommy and daddy had her committed, locked up in the loony bin. And for what? For telling the truth? For trying to explain, for trying to keep them safe!" Buffy sneered, and let her demon come down fully over her face. "Tell me mommy," she purred, "Do you believe me now?"
Joyce fainted dead away.
All eyes on her wilting mother, Buffy took the moment, the second of distraction and leapt for the body closest to her, her brain shutting down and baser instinct taking over once again, propelling her towards her Watcher with fangs bared. She might have succeeded in her attempt, might have gotten her teeth into his thick British neck if not for something she'd never have expected of him. He pulled a cross.
She'd never seen him wear one. Never seen him pocket one. Yet here it was, big and wooden and hot. Those same instincts which had driven Buffy forward now threw her back, hissing and spitting like a scalded cat. She was sure, certain that this thing, this holy symbol that had always meant protection, now meant pain and anguish for her. Backing away with her arms up, she bared her teeth and snarled angrily, suddenly pissed that this man, this mortal had raised a hand against her. Spinning on Willow, she made to go for her instead, but the redhead quickly pulled another crucifix from beneath her top, its gold chain glittering at her throat. Roaring with rage, her brain spinning in a million directions, she backed towards the door, glaring at her Watcher with vicious rage and violent intent.
"This isn't over," she hissed. Turning on her heel, she disappeared into the night.