Joyce sighed at the pair of boots thrown at Buffy's closet. They were stained with mud and something that had started out orange and gooey. She didn't think it was Thousand Island salad dressing or Big Mac sauce. For that matter, Joyce had no idea what it had been, and she wasn't even sure that she wanted to know. A pair of jeans thrown into the laundry basket had grass and dirt over the knee and back. The sort of stains that said the person wearing them had been fighting.

Buffy was fighting again. The jacket hadn't been a one-time thing.

Leaving her daughter's room, Joyce decided that she'd have to have a talk with Emma about this. Even if all her friend could do was listen, that would be something. This wasn't 'all in her head', and she didn't think it was because she was neglecting her children. Instead of tossing blame, they needed a plan.

"Emma?" Joyce called out, uncertain if her friend was in the office.

White walls, white carpet, gleaming steel desk… No Emma. Joyce sighed and closed the door. Shaking her head, she made her way towards the kitchen. If she didn't find Emma, she could still get some cocoa.

"What's wrong, Joyce?"

Emma's voice stopped her half way down the hallway. Smiling, Joyce turned to face her friend, unsurprised at the white suit. She wasn't surprised that Emma had lost the heels either, remembering how often her friend had lounged around with bare feet and perfectly manicured toes back in college.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "It's Buffy. Can we talk?"

"Would I be wrong if I said that it looks like she's been fighting again?" Emma asked.

"I'm not going to ask if you guessed or read my mind," Joyce sighed. "I… I can't just hope that it will go away, or that relocating will fix things. Something has to be done."

Emma passed her a mug of cocoa. "First, drink this. We'll figure out what to do about Buffy. First, I think a good martial arts instructor could help, one who goes over the times and circumstances to fight and the times not to fight. It might not hurt for Dawn to have some lessons as well."

Joyce sipped at the cocoa, pulling her feet up onto the couch. "I feel like I've failed them somehow. Did I do something wrong, is it my fault that she's fighting so much?"

"You aren't responsible for everything, Joyce," Emma paused, one finger tapping against her mug. "I think some lessons for you might not be a bad idea."

"Emma, I don't need karate lessons," Joyce protested.

"There are nasty people out there, Joyce. Vile, terrible perverts who enjoy hurting people weaker than they are. I know. I've heard them thinking their twisted thoughts. You don't have that sort of early warning system. I want you to be safe," Emma insisted.

"But Emma…" Joyce started

"Exercise is also good for your health, tones your muscles, and can keep you looking years younger. How else do you think I keep the sort of figure that lets me wear some of what I have in my closet?" Emma countered. "And the flexibility can do wonders for your sex life."

"I thought the wardrobe was your complete lack of modesty?" Joyce sipped at her cocoa. Emma did have a point about exercise and health, and she had been thinking that her pants were feeling a bit snug…

"That may help," Emma admitted. "I hope you never need the lessons for anything more than ensuring you keep a trim waistline and gain a bit more flexibility,"

"Reading my mind, or was I thinking that loudly?" Joyce sighed.

"Loud thoughts," Emma replied, sinking onto the couch beside Joyce. She was just close enough that their knees touched. "Even if it bothers you a little, I'd rather you take the lessons and not need them than find yourself one day desperately wishing that you'd learned."

Joyce nodded, agreeing with that sentiment. "I reserve the right not to like the possibility of being attacked, and to complain about aches and stiffness after lessons."

Emma laughed, patting Joyce's knee with her hand, "That's what hot tubs are for, darling. Soak away the stiffness and aches. And no sane person enjoys the thought of being attacked and needing to fight."

"As opposed to other sorts of attacks?" Joyce arched one eyebrow, sipping at her cocoa.

"I've rarely objected to a lover surprising me," Emma murmured, glancing at Joyce through her lashes.

Joyce sputtered as the cocoa went down the wrong way.

Joyce was waiting as soon as the girls got home from school. Dawn was smiling, but Buffy had a small frown and seemed to be chewing on her bottom lip. She didn't bother trying to fight the dread and nervousness that inspired.

Stepping closer, she asked, "Buffy? Is something bothering you? Troublesome homework? A ten page report?"

"No, it isn't anything about school," Buffy shook her head, and dropped her bookbag beside the door. "It's just… I don't know if I'm imagining the whole thing. I probably am, so it's nothing to worry about. Really."

Joyce wasn't convinced.

"I'm going to go work on my math, and then I wanted to call Mindee, is that okay?" Dawn chirped, bounding up the stairs without even waiting for an answer.

"Buffy, the 'it's nothing really' line hasn't worked since you were eight. Talk to me," Joyce insisted, tugging her daughter towards a seat. "If I don't know what's wrong, I can't try to help."

Buffy let herself drop onto the sofa, one booted foot swinging towards the glass coffee table as she tucked the other underneath her. "For the last few days, I keep getting this weird feeling. Like I'm being watched. Like I'm not alone."

"You aren't alone at school," Joyce offered, certain that there was something else Buffy was meaning. Her daughter would know enough to expect people to watch any new student.

"Not just at school. I get this wiggy feeling when I'm out jogging, or when I go shopping. There's also this guy…" Buffy shivered, her hands reaching up to close over her elbows, as if she was giving herself a hug. "I keep seeing him wherever I go. He was at the mall, the one with the yellow and brown tiles. He was at the park. I saw him again at the beach. I think I saw him at school today."

"What about this guy?" Joyce felt a cold knot forming in her stomach. Why would some man be following her daughter? Spying on her? Unfortunately, she had a few ideas, and none of them were comforting.

"He's a little taller than Dad, and a bit thinner. He's got this horrible tan jacket, with darker patches on the elbows, and a matching hat," Buffy shook her head, uncurling a fraction. "Sort of like one of the old professor types on those late night movies you used to watch with Cassie down the street."

Joyce frowned, considering Buffy's words. "That doesn't sound like anybody that I know. I don't like this. I don't like the idea of you having some strange stalker following you around, watching you all the time. Who knows what else this man might take it in his head to try?"

"And what can we do about it? He hasn't talked to me, and I can't just say that he can't go to the beach, the park or the mall because he's fashion impaired," Buffy said.

"Emma knows someone who can give you some martial arts lessons. Karate or something," Joyce put the words out slowly, wondering if this stalker had any connection to Buffy fighting, or if it was just some horrible coincidence. "If he's just some strange but harmless man, then you won't need to worry about him. But if he turns out to be dangerous, I want you to be able to defend yourself."

"Mom, I don't need karate lessons!" Buffy protested, her eyes flashing. "I can handle myself!"

"Buffy, you're five foot two, and you can't be more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. I want you to be able to defend yourself, and that's final. I also hope that you never need that knowledge." Joyce tried to ignore the little voice that insisted that was the exact same logic that Emma had used against her earlier.

"Fine. But I really don't need any lessons," Buffy grumbled, a smile keeping her words from having the slightest sting.

Joyce tried to smile back. "Would it be less cool of me to say that I really hope you are imagining this person following you?"

"No," Buffy whispered. "It would be great if it was all my imagination."

Joyce couldn't figure out why Buffy looked as if she was fighting back tears with those words.

End part 12.

Joyce retreated to the room that she used as workspace, pulling out the tablet that held the information about the upcoming I. Adler art showing. She needed to work up the advertisements, and determine what else would need done beforehand. Would she need to bring in podiums for sculptures? Drapes to accent certain works, or to fill empty spaces between them?

Her mind kept returning to her talk with Buffy. About Buffy's worry over the strange man that she kept seeing, following her. About all the dangerous and terrible things that could happen to her daughter. While it was reassuring that Buffy would soon be in lessons with that instructor of Emma's, it didn't make Joyce stop worrying. Perhaps she should get Buffy some pepper spray, in case of an attacker?

"I can get some pepper-spray, but why are you considering giving some to Buffy?" Emma's voice came from the doorway.

"I talked with Buffy after the girls got home," Joyce began, not even realizing that she was referring to Emma's place as 'home'. Putting her pen down, she continued, "Buffy told me that she seems to have picked up a stalker. There's a man who keeps being in the same places that Buffy is, at the school, the mall, the beach, the park. He keeps watching her. It's bothering her a good deal more than she wants to admit."

"Has he done anything?" Emma frowned, moving into the room.

"Not that Buffy told me about. She said he hasn't even spoken to her. And you can't forbid someone from happening to be in the same public location," Joyce sighed. "I don't like it. Buffy doesn't like it. I told her that I'd feel much better if she took some karate lessons, and while she's insisting that she doesn't need any lessons, she agreed. I think she's humoring me."

"We'll have Dawn take some lessons as well," Emma said, sinking onto the second chair. "But I'm sure you already knew that. Have you brought the idea up with Dawn yet?"

"Not as such," Joyce smiled. "She was saying that it might be nice to have something else besides school, something where she could perhaps make a few more friends. I think she was angling for ballet lessons."

Emma laughed, "I can arrange those too."

"I don't like the idea that some stranger is following one of my girls," Joyce admitted.

"There's no reason you should like it," Emma said. "I'll have someone try to find this man and follow him. If we can figure out who he is and why he's following Buffy, then we'll know how to deal with him."

"And in the meantime, Buffy will start her karate lessons," Joyce finished.

"In the meantime, all of you will start martial arts lessons," Emma corrected. "There are people who are quite eager to use parents or siblings as leverage."

Joyce nodded, and frowned again at her tablet. "I don't have to like that, but you're right. Now I need to try to get a little bit of work done for this. Tell me, what colors does polite society on this coast consider 'in' this season?"

One of the advantages of her wealth and influence was that when Emma Frost wanted something done, it usually happened in short order. When that something was as simple as karate lessons for a pair of girls in her school and one adult, it happened fast enough to make an outsider's head spin. Buffy's first lesson had been that afternoon, and Emma was waiting in her school office to hear how it had gone from Walter, who taught most of the unarmed combat classes.

"Emma, have I annoyed you lately?" Walter spoke from the doorway, a small frown on his face.

"No," Emma arched one eyebrow, looking at Walter. His muscles were mostly hidden under his loose fitting clothing, and a faint hint of sweat was present on his forehead. That was unusual, as was the frown he currently presented to her. "What makes you ask?"

"The new students for today. The Birmingham boy's near hopeless, stiff, clumsy and too arrogant to try to do better. I'd ask what you were thinking, except that I know how much money his parents have in various banks. The Keller twins are workable, but I get tired of people who can have conversations with each other in a look and a twist of the lips and forget that the rest of us aren't in the conversation with them. And that Summers girl… She's got a good grounding, but her form's sloppy. She also damn near broke my arm for me earlier. Fast, decent skills, and a lot stronger than she looks," Walter shook his head. "Emma, you promised me that you'd give me warning if you knew you were sending me another mutant with enhanced physical abilities."

"She what?" Emma blinked, surprised at Walter's words. "I wasn't aware of Buffy having any unusual abilities."

"Strength and speed both, Emma. The girl's a bit short, but other than that, she's built for fighting. Good balance, her speed's better than some of the students I've sent off to the Olympics, and more strength than a linebacker. At a guess, she's gotten into the habit of relying on strength instead of skill, and that's something I'd want to work on. I just wish I knew how she picked up her training and those habits," Walter sighed, and leaned against the wall.

"I can't tell you that right now, Walter," Emma frowned, wanting those same answers herself. How much of this had Buffy learned with her previous history of fights? Where had she learned her karate, sloppy form or otherwise? "For now, let's keep her abilities quiet."

"Fair enough, though I'd love to see what she could do on the competitive circuit with a bit of polish on her form," Walter had a wistful sparkle in his eyes.

"Thank you, Walter," Emma watched the man leave.

Joyce wasn't going to be happy about this. She wasn't particularly happy either. There were too many unanswered questions, among them where and when had Buffy learned to fight, and why was she sneaking out of the house at night to do it. Emma reached into her desk to pull out the bottle of Tylenol, feeling a new level of respect for Joyce. Parenting was harder than it looked.

End part 13.