Dawn had gone off for a day with the Stepford girls. Apparently, Mindee had convinced Mrs. Stepford that it would be a good thing to do to spend time 'cultivating Ms. Frost's guest', and now Maria Stepford couldn't offer enough outings for Dawn and her girls. Today was supposed to be something about horses. Joyce sighed, and wondered if she'd need to worry about Maria Stepford trying to meddle with Dawn, or rather, how much the woman would try to meddle.

"As much as she thinks she can get away with, naturally," Emma commented, curled on a chair. "She won't see it that way, but she will try to guide Dawn in the directions she thinks most beneficial for herself and her girls."

"Maybe we can turn that around, and try to help her girls step out of her shadow a little? Wouldn't they be happier being themselves, instead of extensions of Maria Stepford?" Joyce glanced at the clock, and sighed, "I'll need to go to work before too long. Maybe I should start looking into a car for myself, instead of using one of yours all the time."

"Joyce, I have plenty of cars, go ahead and use one. I have enough space that you and your girls aren't in the way, you aren't too expensive, and I like the company. You need to break that habit of thinking that you and the girls are a burden," Emma insisted.

"Habits are hard to change," Joyce whispered. "I've had a little over fifteen years to get stuck into that rut, I think it'll take more than a few weeks to get away from it."

"I suppose so. And I do think that you're right about the Stepford girls, they'll be much happier if they aren't Maria's little pawns and clones. I do wonder how much of their behaving alike is her influence and how much comes from them being mind-linked telepaths..." Emma mused.

"Oh, Buffy was asking if there were any good places to learn karate in the area. I thought maybe you could recommend one? Somewhere that she wouldn't be pushed to compete if she doesn't want, and maybe... Do you know any martial arts instructors that could help keep an eye on her? Maybe try to keep her from going out looking for fights?" Joyce looked at Emma, nibbling at her lip as she tried not to think of all the ugly ways that fighting could end for her daughter. Injuries worse than cuts, broken bones. Horrible scars. Her daughter, beaten, raped, possibly even killed. Ugly thoughts that she couldn't entirely force away.

"I have someone at the school. I arranged him to teach because of some of my special students, and he's quite good about working at them using his teachings responsibly," Emma paused, and sighed before admitting, "I had a student once who was in the habit of using his abilities to get whatever he wanted, when he wanted it. Entirely selfish, and rather irresponsible. That behavior got him killed, and several other students with him."

"I'm sorry," Joyce stood up, moving to stand beside Emma. "I can't imagine how terrible that must have been for you."

"I keep wondering if I could have taught them better, reined in some of their excesses. He wasn't the only one to indulge himself and enjoy what he could do that ordinary humans couldn't, but it was his actions that sparked that fatal disaster. If I'd been a better teacher, more worried about guiding them as responsible people instead of mutants with powers, would they still be alive? Would they have become the leaders of tomorrow, or would he still have been a self-absorbed hedonist? I can't know for certain, and it still bothers me on occasions. I've been much more careful in what I look for now, hiring instructors for the special ones. It isn't enough to stimulate their minds in the regular classes, or to teach them the ways to use their powers if they don't know that sometimes, it's better not to use them. Sometimes, it's a choice of what your goal is when you do something," Emma leaned against Joyce, closing her eyes.

"I have confidence that you won't make the same mistakes again," Joyce offered, rubbing at Emma's shoulder.

"So do I. I'm worried about what mistakes I'll make this time," Emma replied. "Not that I'd admit that to most people. I have too many enemies to be in the habit of admitting any vulnerabilities."

"You have me. Even if I can't help, you can be yourself with me, Emma. You can be afraid of making mistakes, upset over what happened, and you can let yourself enjoy chocolate ice cream at two in the morning. You can let yourself be human, be Emma instead of Ms. Frost, headmistress and corporate shark," Joyce said.

"You have no idea how much better that makes me feel," Emma smiled.

"Everybody needs to be able to relax once in a while," Joyce replied. "I'm just hoping that if I relax enough now, I won't give myself an ulcer when I have to explain the books to Ms. Adler this afternoon."

"Joyce, you passed accounting in college. You did better than I would have if I hadn't been able to lift some of the formulae from… Well, you did very good in that class. What's wrong with the books?" Emma had a smile as she asked.

"The last four people who were keeping them," Joyce retorted. "I'm just not sure if they were just really bad with figures or if they were trying to cause problems and lose money."

"Oh dear," Emma frowned.

"And you know how unhappy some people get towards the bearers of bad news," Joyce sighed. "If I end up jobless after this, at least you aren't planning to throw me out."

"Of course not," Emma assured. "Stay as long as you want."

"That could be a long time," Joyce whispered. "I like it here, and not just for the great big tub."

End part 10.

Joyce took a deep breath, and hoped that she wasn't about to loose her job. Picking up the accounting books, she walked into the office of her employer, Misty Adler – who had told her repeatedly to 'just call me Misty, and don't worry about the titles.'

Placing the pile of books on the edge of the desk, she sighed. Flipping open the top book, she started, "I've finished going through these books, and arranged the next showing for the gallery. Now for the bad news; the books are a mess. Between bad handwriting, uneven spacing, and bad math, you're in bad financial shape. I have no idea if it was bad math or bad ethics. Here is where things stand right now."

Taking the book, Misty frowned. Her eyes moved over the numbers, changing to an odd yellow color, even as her skin took on a faint blue cast before returning to the previous hue. "You're right, that is bad. I have a showing for you to arrange for six weeks from now."

"Works by your artist?" Joyce phrased it as a question, not expecting any other answer. "What name should I use for the announcements?"

"Her name is Irene Adler," Misty was smiling now, the expression far more gentle than anything Joyce had seen on her before. "She's my wife."

For a moment, Joyce blinked, absolutely certain that Misty was female, and Irene was definitely a woman's name. Then it clicked, "That's right, it's legal for same-sex couples to marry in this state. I'm still not used to that. California's still debating allowing something for long-term partners, and they don't have spousal privileges with children or hospitals."

One red eyebrow rose, "Is that a problem?"

"Just something to get used to, like the sun rising over the ocean instead of setting into it," Joyce shrugged. "Does she use her full name for the showings, or an initial?"

From there, they moved to the specifics of timing and the sort of pieces that Irene had ready. Fliers were discussed, and an announcement for the paper was worked out, for the normal placement in the arts pages. Most relieving for Joyce, she wasn't being shot or banished as the bearer of bad news.

*******

The fact that the Slayer hadn't gone to the Hellmouth was causing a considerable amount of panic among several circles. The Watchers Council was in an uproar, shocked and furious that the Slayer had slipped through their fingers. Their plans called for her to go to the Hellmouth; not to go elsewhere, to do what she wanted, to live her life other than according to their needs. Careful plans were shattered.

A few individuals took the time to point out that if they had taken her into their direct control, training and guiding her directly instead of sending one person to talk to a girl among the rest of the world, this wouldn't have happened. Council-raised Slayers never vanished like this. Others had said that if they had just stepped in and made themselves useful, offered to take her away for a 'special school', then a divorce in the family wouldn't have permitted her to vanish.

In another place, a demon in an appallingly plaid jacket slumped on a couch, staring at an empty house. The message had been clear – the Slayer would come to Sunnydale. She would live in that house, on Revello Drive, and he had to make certain that the souled vampire calling himself Angel took an interest in the Slayer. There had been plans. The Powers had decided how events should unfold, and who needed to be pushed to cause things to develop properly. Everything hinged on the Slayer living here.

The house had been sold. The new family had moved in last week, and he was pretty sure that he'd seen everybody.

A cheerful Hispanic woman that was just on the curvaceous side of well padded, the man in her life – presumably her husband – and four children, none of whom could be over ten. They had two dogs, a parrot, and an iguana.

No Slayer.

The Powers' plans had just been shot to pieces unless someone could find the Slayer soon. She wasn't on Revello Drive, she wasn't anywhere in Sunnydale. Whistler was just thankful that the Powers had phrased things as assigning him to work with the vampire instead of the Slayer. That meant that it wasn't his job to find the Slayer. He didn't envy whoever did get stuck with the job.

End part 11.