By the time Saturday rolled around, Joyce was feeling much better about life. Both of her girls had started classes at Emma's school, and while neither of them were particularly thrilled, they hadn't mentioned any disturbing complaints. She'd expected to hear a bit about not knowing anyone, not being able to find their way around the new school, having to learn new slang and fashions, and the usual complaints about teachers and homework. She'd heard all of those at length, but nothing about drugs, or about being threatened or attacked. Nothing about people being mean because they were new. So, her girls were settling in at their new school. She had a job, which made her feel considerably better about life, even though the books were a mess, the last person's handwriting was atrocious, and she had to arrange a showing for next week.

Dawn had gone over to visit the Stepford girls, and Emma had assured her that she'd be just fine. Just in case, Dawn had a cell phone so that she could call if anything happened. While a part of her wanted to keep her baby girl at home where she'd be safe, she resisted the urge. First, home wasn't always safe. Second, Dawn wasn't a baby and needed to be able to live and learn and grow. Third, smothering over-protectiveness either led to helpless adults or rebellious teens running away.

Pausing in the hallway, Joyce peeked in at Buffy's room, hoping that it wasn't as messy as the one in LA had been. Clothing in the closet and a few bags near the dressers. Shoes spilling out of the closet in an untidy heap – when would Buffy learn that they lasted longer when you didn't abuse them? Unmade bed with a pillow fallen to the floor. Jacket dropped beside the open window.

Seeing that jacket, Joyce felt her throat tighten and her stomach turn. Not again, oh please don't let Buffy be getting into fights again, not like she was back in LA those last few months… Her mind flashed to all the nights that Buffy had been out late, not admitting to where. To the strange injuries and bruises, to the stained and torn clothing. She couldn't feel anything else as she moved across the room, picked up the jacket and opened it up to take a good look.

Dirt and grass had stained the back of the shoulders and elbows. Something stiff was encrusted near the left cuff, a peculiar red-brown that suggested dried blood or soy sauce. It didn't smell like soy, it smelled horribly like blood.

Joyce had no idea how she'd gone from standing in Buffy's room to sitting in a chair facing Emma. Buffy's jacket was still clenched in her hands, and she couldn't feel anything. She blinked at the sight of a mug of coffee before her, and slowly looked at Emma. She lifted the jacket, unable to put words to what she was feeling.

Emma took the jacket from Joyce's hand, inspecting it very much the same way that Joyce had done in Buffy's room. One finger hovered near the stain on the cuff, and Emma looked over at Joyce, "This looks very much like blood. Is Buffy injured?"

"She didn't seem injured. This morning, she said she was going to go soak in the hot tub outside. Now that I think of it, there was a towel draped over that arm. If she was injured, she doesn't want me to know about it," Joyce picked up the coffee, unsurprised that her hands were shaking. Drinking the coffee, she couldn't tell if it was hot or not, only registering the taste of dark, strong coffee. "I'm afraid things are going to go the same way that they did before. Fights, staying out too late, telling lies about where she's been, and then she burned down part of her school."

"My school probably has superior fire prevention measures," Emma commented, looking again at the jacket. "These other stains… I'd say that it looks like she was fighting."

"I don't want it to happen again," Joyce whispered. "I don't know if I could bear to go through it all again."

"It won't," Emma promised, her voice denying the faintest possibility that things would go against her wishes. "We'll make sure that even if she is seeking out fights, things won't go that far."

As Joyce sipped the coffee, she began to feel again. She could hope that Emma was right, that they could keep disaster at bay. As she drained the last of her coffee, she found herself wondering just how far they'd need to go to keep things from repeating.

End part 8.

Emma leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes. It really wasn't prying to do a simple check to find who was in the area and check the general feel of their mind. For a telepath, it wasn't any different than stepping out the front door and looking around.

Joyce was in the room with her, prickly with worry under the slick shock of finding her daughter's jacket, cold with fear that it would start all over again. Fragmentary memories of clothing stained with dirt, blood and less easily identifiable marks, torn and slashed. Half concealed bruises on Buffy's body. Reports of Buffy skipping school or getting into fights. A burning building.

Pierre was in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast, contemplating the merits of shrimp for tonight, and wondering how long the ladies Summers would stay. Other than his contemplations of menus, there was a few admiring thoughts about a cute vegetable merchant in town, and hazy thoughts of alone-time.

Patrick was in the garage, tinkering under the hood of her Porsche. His mind was filled with calculations of torque, horsepower, and fuel usage. Emma left his mind quickly, content to leave him playing with the car. As long as he kept it running well, she didn't care about the details.

Kelly was vacuuming the hallway on the third floor, debating if she could afford that cute red dress so she could go to a party this weekend. Her mind was filled with harmless thoughts of her job, two cute guys that she wanted to get to know better, and her sister who was dating 'that weird artist'.

Buffy was soaking in the hot tub, with worries and teen angst. Emma was about to move on when she caught a deep worry that 'they' would find her again, tied to a regret that she 'couldn't just give it up' – whoever 'they' were, and whatever 'it' was. She didn't quite pry, but she had the feeling that both of those thoughts were tied to the sneaking around and the fighting that Buffy had been doing.

Further from the house, there were the expected people driving past on their way to assorted places, a few people driving by just to look enviously at homes that they couldn't afford, a few secret lovers, an assortment of household staff. Children idling at home, bored spouses lounging, or preparing for golf, or aerobics, or socializing.

Farther away, she could feel familiar minds. Even though she wasn't looking for them, she could feel the Stepford girls to the west. Several of her former students, in every direction. Old enemies. Business rivals.

Life was proceeding normally all around her. Nothing else had caught her attention, nothing more pressing than Joyce's concerns and Buffy's inspecific concerns about 'them'. Joyce would feel better if she could figure out who 'they' were, what they wanted with Buffy, and how to ensure that Buffy wasn't out beating up helpless mutants, or any other group of people.

Damn the fact that she'd promised herself not to go snooping into Joyce or her daughters' minds. She wouldn't ignore thoughts shouted, or directed towards her, but she wouldn't go dipping into memories, prying at dreams, or borrowing their eyes. Finding out what Buffy was hiding would be so much easier if she just went the direct route. But the cost of that would be too high. Joyce didn't care that she was a mutant, that she could read minds, or that she was a very wealthy woman. Joyce didn't care about the mutation, and liked her in spite of the wealth. But if she broke into Joyce's daughter's mind… That would be an unforgivable crossing of a line.

Sometimes things would be much less tempting if she was 'ordinary'. No telepathy to let her peek into the minds of others, no fortune to let her buy on a whim what other people considered out of reach. But she'd never been ordinary before, and wasn't likely to start anytime in the future.

"Of course, telepathy isn't the only way to learn things. Now that we know Buiffy's hiding something, we watch for how she's hiding it and the pattern to her behavior. Everyone gives themselves away eventually, and she's only fifteen, it won't take that long," Emma voiced, knowing that Joyce would want to watch her daughter as well.

"And we won't let things get as bad this time. I won't have to fight you the way I had to fight Hank, and you won't try things just as a sign of having more power than me," Joyce agreed. "This time will be different."

"Exactly. The two adults in her life won't be focused on fighting each other, and when we figure out what she's doing and why she's hiding it… We'll decide the best way to deal with it," Emma promised.

Joyce nodded, not even giving a moments concern or dismay over the fact that Emma had stepped into a parental role for Joyce's children.

Delighted, Emma smiled. Troubling as Buffy's fighting and secrets were, this could be an excellent stepping stone to the future that Emma wanted.

End part 9.