FIC: Ascension's Shadow (4/?)

[Alan Rogers <masterofwords@xxxxxxxxxx>]

Credit where credit is due.

Once again, many thanks to Mad Hamlet for his superb beta-reading and for making my cousin's new beau a BtVS fan via his Prisms ~ Sundowning story arc.  (yep, Hamlet, it worked....)

Some of Spike's dialogue in this one is his doing -- as always, he is the master of the Peroxide Blonde Big Bad.

*hugs* to Kimber and her crew for updating Exquisite Coalescence...I was having a horrible time finding it!

hope you enjoy!

~alan, the mad dragon

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Ascension's Shadow
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fanfiction

by: Alan Rogers (masterofwords@xxxxxxxxxx)

Rating: R, for graphic violence 

Disclaimer:  I, Alan Rogers, do not in any way, shape, form or fashion own anything of or related to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series.  Those rights are held exclusively by Joss Whedon, Warner Bros. Entertainment, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, Inc., and any other entities, corporations or groups not named here that have legal rights to aforementioned  series. 

The Original Characters of Charlie Rille, Auric Ward, Falcon Smith and all other Original Characters in this Fanfiction are the soleproperty of myself, Alan Rogers. 

This is a work of fiction.  Some of the cultures and histories are based on real cultures, groups, events, etc., but MANY poetic liberties were taken.  My apologies in advance to any who maybe offended by my warping of history and culture. 

Acknowledgments: To Joanne W, who made me love Buffy Fanfiction; Kimber, for showing me just how much fun it could be do create a wild Alternate Universe; to Gee, for showing me that a series doesn't have to move fast to be wonderful, and can be as much like the show as the show is like Fanfiction (if that makes sense) and to Ozmandayus for demonstrating just how serious and emotional shipper-fics can be. 

Dedication: To Kimber, for endless patience with my rambling and inspiring me to write this, no matter how bad it turns out to be. 

Summary: The morning after Graduation Day, Xander is still unconscious and the remnants of the Scooby Gang gather their wits as the situation comes to light. 

Spoilers: Graduation Day I & II especially; Seasons 1-3 (minor) -- not much of seasons 4-5 because I'm changing so much.

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Author's Reference Note: This is now the morning after Graduation Day.

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Chapter Seven: The Morning After 

She woke up facing the sun.  Streaks of sunlight slid through the minuscule cracks between her eyelids, burning the dream out of her mind.  Gasping, she sat bold upright in his bed, and stared out his window at the dawning light, drinking in the warmth that filtered through the curtains. 

Peeling off the sweat - and - rain dampened sheets, she slid out of his bedand walked over to the window, standing before the sun; her savior and hershelter from the creature she was called to hunt.  Rays of warmth caressed her bare skin, gently brushing away the chill of the previous night'srain, stroking away the fear of the nightmares with a lover's touch. 

A lover.  Him.  Rupert Giles.  A British name for a British man, with rugged features masked in expressions of aristocratic sarcasm andgentle worry for a world, and a father's love for the girl supposed to save it. 

Buffy Summers.  The Slayer. 

He might have been her lover, if not for the Slayer.  Somehow, that hurt.  A dull ache, deep in her chest, where her emotions where supposedto rest. 

Shivering at memories that weren't quite hers, Janna rubbed her shoulders and turned away from the window.  I need to get dressed and I need to warn the Slayer. 

"Good morning, Jenny Calendar." 

The little man was sitting on her bed, dressed in a painfully loud shirt and outdated leather clothes from the sixties -- and even then, he would havebeen tacky.  He blinked at her, the and smiled gently.  "Wow.  I can see why he fell in love with you." 

Refusing to let herself blush, Janna looked at him.  There was no reason to be embarrassed; the little man would be dead in moments.  But she needed a few answers first. 

"Who's Jenny Calendar?  And who are you?" 

Memories flickered on the edge of her mind; running barefoot beside the wagons as a child amongst the Kalderash, and standing in front of a classroom,her dulcet voice explaining the mysteries of technology that were as arcane as any magic she dared learn in her quest to guard the torment of the fallen demon. 

He eased from the shadows that splotched the room to the light with such simplicity, it seemed as if he was almost beyond their touch, and paced back and forth, playing with things sitting around on the elegant oak dresser.  Everything in the room was a study in understated traditional eleganceput together with pieces of frugal and unpretentious furniture and knickknacks, adding that deeply personal feel that made English decorating such a powerful statement. 

"I'm your only friend in this.  I'm the only one that knows why you aren't still dead and who you were when you were alive the last time."  He seemed cloaked in a darkly quiet stillness that made him seem like he wasn't even in the room with you that battled against the frantically nervous energy that drove him to keep moving. 

"That means you need me, Jenny Calendar." 

Shaking her head, waist length tresses of raven hair fell over her shoulders, granting her a small semblance of modesty.  "My name is Janna,of the Kalderash.  Not Jenny Calendar.  And if you can help me find the Slayer, then I need you.  If all you're going to do is ogle meand talk cryptic nonsense, then I don't." 

Her gut was roiling with the butterflies practicing marching drills on the walls of her stomach as flickers of feeling clenched the muscles behind hermidriff.  Guilt was first, followed the remembered scent of after shave as her hand touched his, briefly, lightly, under a table where neither of them had to admit it happened.  And how beautiful that simple touch had been...how that simple touch had kept her warm and smiling all day no matter what demon had threatened them. 

Demon.  She had to kill a demon. 

Angel.  More emotion ran through her.  She knew him; regret mingling with grudging respect, knowing he had made the best of his torment, seeking redemption in the blood of those he had once lead. 

Angelus.  He was fear incarnate.  Controlled chaos and terror brought to life in a single moment of brilliant failure and staggering pain that had cursed her with him for the rest of his days.  Until she killedhim.  Until he died.  Until she cleansed her debt to her people.

Which meant she could never re-pay her betrayal of the Slayer.  Of theman she wanted so desperately to love. 

"You're remembering some now, aren't you?  No fun, I know.  This part always hurts.  But that pain is good; it reminds you what's really at stake."  The little man's soft voice held a depth of authority even she couldn't deny.  "You know, we both failed. And your curse gives us that second chance we weren't supposed to have.  This time, you have to stop him, because if the Slayer does it twice, she'll break." 

He paused and sat on the bed with his chin on his hands.  "That'sthe problem with Slayer's you know.  They're alone...and when they'realone, they're powerful, fearless, cornered animals.  But they're alone.  They always hurt...and eventually, the pain breaks them." 

Tears streaked down her flawless face. 

"That pain broke you, Jenny Calendar.  You made a mistake in seeing past vengeance and past anger to see what really had to be done.  And you did it.  But it hurt, what you had to do.  So your people cursed you to follow him now, and stop him whenever his torment ends."

Looking up, her dark eyes met his as she drew in a sharp breath.  "That means..." 

Nodding somberly, the little man shrugged.  "Yeah.  I know."  He tilted his head to one side.  "Are you up to this Jenny Calendar?" 

Janna shook he head.  "I wasn't then and I'm not now." 

Nodding again, the little man smiled slightly.  "Good to hear yousay that.  I'll teach you.  But first, I should be a gentleman and tell you my name."  His pause wasn't for dramatics as much as it was to let the shivering woman soak up what he had said.  "I'mWhistler." 

Outside the window, dark clouds were floating over the sun.

~ * ~

"Perfect!  Oh, this is just perfect!"  Grinning like a boy let loose in a candy shop, the mayor leaned back into the seat of his limousine, staring out at the old mansion through deeply tinted windows.  "Brilliant idea, lad, just brilliant!" 

"It has a nice homey feel to it, don't you think?"  The darkfigure asked in a mockingly deep voice, while sinking farther into the shadows.  "A perfect place for both our new home and a perfect placeto trap the Slayer..." 

"Yes, yes it is!"  Looking concerned, the Mayor tilted his head towards the two men in the limo with him.  In but one night, they had proven themselves to be dependable and resourceful, and he was countingon them as important members of his staff to help advise him.  The best leaders always listened to their subordinated, because they often saw what he wouldn't.  Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses after all.  "But you don't mind giving it up, do you?  I don't want to take if you really want to keep it!" 

Laughing coldly, the dark figure shrugged his broad shoulders.  "No.  I want it to be yours.  Perfect dramatic irony is a beautiful thing, don't you think?" 

The mayor laughed with him.  "Oh, I think this is the beginning of a long and mutually beneficial friendship!" 

A flicker of flame followed by the acrid scent of cigarette smoke filled the dark cabin.  "You daft blokes enjoy your games and your bloody irony.  I'm going to worry about the Slayer and her friends instead oftoying with them.  You both should bloody well know by now that the little blonde chit isn't some cute trollop.  It always works the same bloody way.  The most irritating thing is that we never seem to learn!" Spike raised his voice so he sounded like a woman. "Oh. Let's play a little game with the Slayer, I will crack her and crush her and smash her and eat her and do all sorts of lovely things. I will put her in a dollcollection..wheee!"  He reverted back to his normal tone. "When in all reality all it would take is a frontal. We've done it before. Hell, even the Poofter did it once and what was the final score on that eve?Scoobs nearly broken and one slayer down. No games, no fuss, no muss,"  He began 
to sing in a mocking tone "Crunch goes the good guys." 

The dark figure shifted, resting his arm across Spike's shoulders.  "Spike, old boy...there's nothing to worry about.  We've got you towatch our backs...and I know that when your 'bollocks' are on the choppingblock, you are very, very good at doing that.  We'll play our games and break the Slayer while the 'Big Bad' makes sure she stays broke for good, don't you think?" 

The mayor nodded.  "Hmm...yes.  William, I'm proud of you.  That took a lot of guts to say what you really thought about our little plan.  And I'm glad you did.  I really makes me feel much better than our little inner council has a voice of reason.  You're right William.  The Slayer is strong, and fast, and has friends that keep herfrom going off half-cocked.  Just like what you did for us right now.  So, how about this, William, Liam, why don't we adjourn to my officewith Drusilla and plan this out a bit more, this time taking into account that the Slayer seems to always win.  Sound good to you fellas?" 

Taking a deep drag off the cigarette, Spike narrowed his eyes.  It washard to tell when the Mayor was mocking you or being serious, and guessingwrong could be fatal. 

The dark figure growled an answer. 

Rubbing his hands together, the mayor nodded enthusiastically.  "Well then, let's go."  He tapped the window and signaled the driver to go back.  "I'll send work crews over first thing while you two arrange refreshments and get my secretary." 

"Work crews?"  The two vampires stared hard at each other, each not wanting to admit the had spoken at the same time. 

"Yes, work crews.  There is a lot of work that needs to be done there to prepare it.  A new wing, I think, and some furnishing.  Alarge, modern bedroom with a balcony, for starters, and then other amenities both you will appreciate." 

Spike laughed.  "Bloody beautiful!  You're going to use cityworkers to fix up the mansion!" 

Looking aghast, the mayor shook his head no.  "William, for shame!  I would never use city funds in such an inappropriate manner! That money belongs to the tax payers of Sunnydale!" 

The dark figure chuckled.  "Besides, it's more trouble than it's worth." 

The limo's engine growled as it pulled onto the highway. 

"Oh, and William, put that out!  Smoking is a disgustingly unsanitary habit!"

~ * ~

It took something like nine hours of surgery to put Xander Harris back together again. 

Now in a Intensive Care ward down the hall from Faith's Willow Rosenberg and Buffy Summers were sleeping curled up on a spare bed, both of them facingXander.  The small redhead had her back pressed against Buffy's chest, spooning against the Slayer in an unconscious grasp for comfort she was too afraid to ask for aloud.  Buffy had pressed up against her friend, wrapping an arm around Willow's waist. 

Every time the two spent the night in the same bed, they seemed to end up like that. 

Every time she saw it, Joyce Summers wanted to cry.  Sometimes they clung to each other like they were drowning, and other times it was more tender than lovers.  She hated to think about what they had seen to createthat kind of need. 

But seeing Xander laying in a hospital bed nearly From the gun wielded by his own his own father made her see red.  Cold rage and hot anger warred in her chest, and she knew that if she ever saw Mr. Harris face to face, he would learn where her daughter got the pure violence she needed to be Slayer.  Never, not once, had she allowed herself to interfere in his life, no matter how much every fiber of her ached to.  It was his world and if he wanted her help...well, she had made sure he knew it was available.  But he had never accepted her offer. 

This time, she could help him.  This time, there was no one to stop her.  She had extra bedrooms and she had a place at her table. 

She took another step into the room, and Buffy leapt off the bed, her eyes wide.  "Mom!" 

Joyce held her daughter to her, whispering soothing nothings and stroking her hair just she had when Buffy had been a little girl with nightmares night after night.  Buffy clung to her mother desperately, a few tears leaking out. 

"What is it, honey?" 

Only a mother could have made sense of the ensuing rush of babble distortedby her face buried in Joyce's shoulder.  "Xander is hurt, Oz, Giles, Cordelia and Wesley are missing, Angel is staying I think, I stabbed Faith and I know that something horrid is going to happen soon even though we stopped the Mayor by blowing up the school and..." 

Joyce's stomach sank to the floor.  I think my daughter and I need to have a long talk later. 

She had always suspected that eventually being Slayer and holding her secrets would break something inside her, and that Buffy would need her there.  Smiling into her daughter's hair, Joyce knew that she was finally going to be let back inside her daughter's life. 

"You'll get me killed if you stay."  She had never been prouder of Buffy the moment she had spoken those words, and had never hurt worse, not even when her husband of almost seventeen years had left her for a twenty-year old secretary.  She knew her daughter was acting in the best interest for more than just them; she acting on her best judgment to protect the world. 

Every night the weight of the world is on my daughter's shoulders. I want to be allowed to give my daughter a few moments to just be a daughter.  And someday, I want her to know just how proud of her I am. I keep telling her, but I don't think she hears. 

Buffy stayed in her mother's arms like that for a minute, drawing the emotional reserves she needed from the woman who had raised her.  She didn't know how her mother always had something else to give, or how she always managed to give it, but Buffy was more grateful for it right then than everbefore.  All of the emotions of the past six weeks were catching up to her in a rush. 

She took in he mother's appearance and blinked, stepping back.  "Have you had a chance to get home yet?" 

Joyce shook her head.  "I came as soon as I got your message.  How is he?"  She gestured to Xander, allowing herself to wait before she asked about the mayor and the school.  It had taken time, but Buffy had told her everything about Pike and Merrick, and then Angel andthe death of Kendra and Jenny Calendar.  She trusted her daughter to eventually tell her what was happening now. 

"He's not good.  He's okay though.  The doctors have him sedated, but Will and I won't leave until he's awake and knows what happened.  I...I think he'll need us...but he'll need Will more than me." 

There was a note of something very sad in her daughter's voice as she said the last; but only a mother would have been able to hear it.   Joyce squeezed her arm gently.  "You know he'll want you both there." 

Buffy gave her tight-lipped smile.  "Thank you, mom..." 

"Buffy...I'm glad you're up!  Oh...hello, Joyce!"  Sheila Rosenberg slid into the room, her fashionable clothes of earlier exchanged for jeans, t-shirt and sneakers.  She had a small duffel bag of clothes for the girls over her shoulder.  Throwing that to Buffy, she shrugged.  "Here are some clothes for you girls.  I think there's something in there that might fit you.  And I talked to a doctor...I think we have another day or so before they wake him up.  Both of you should get home and get some real sleep, or at least some real food.  I promise I won't let them wake him without you both here." 

Buffy nodded and walked over to shake Willow awake.  Already, Joyce saw some of her old fire was burning in her eyes. 

"Willow...com'on Wills, wake up..." 

Willow batted at Buffy's hand.  "Uhhh.....no....sleep...." 

Buffy shook her again.  "Willow...please...." 

Willow scooted closer to the blonde, nuzzling up against her leg.  Buffy's face softened, and her fingertips brushed across her cheek, caressing an errant strand of red hair behind Willow's ear.  Leaning down, she whispered something into her friend's ear. 

Groaning, Willow sat up.  Buffy smiled at her.  "That sounded almost human,Will..." 

"You woke me up."  The redhead pouted, rubbing her eyes.  Buffy swore she looked like nothing more than a groggy kitten, but resisted the urge to tell her so.  Hospital pillows made good projectiles. 

"Mommy....?"  Willow said, looking up at her mother. 

"We brought clothes."  Sheila gave a small smile at her daughter. 

"Oh.  Okay.  That's nice.  Thank you." 

Sleepy Willow-babble was slightly more translatable than most other kinds of Willow-babble.  She had to speak slower while she woke up. 

Sensing that his daughter might be half-asleep enough for him to apologize,safely, Ira dashed to her side and pulled her into a tight hug.  Sleepy and suddenly surrounded by warm arms, Willow snuggled against her father.  "Mmmm...I love you, Daddy..."  There was a lot more pain, and maybe a few tears in that voice that Ira hadn't expected to hear.  He held his daughter tightly for a moment, a few tears of his own running into his carefully cultivated beard. 

"Mom...can you take the Rosenbergs to our house?  Willow and I need to talk before we talk to them."  Buffy whispered to her mother, her fingertips running along Xander's limp arm, her eyes studying his face. 

Joyce nodded slowly, suspected what her daughter had in mind.  Considering her opinion of both Xander and Willow's family lives, she wanted to bethere.  "Of course.  Buffy...are you going to..." 

Her daughter shrugged, still staring at Xander.  "Maybe, mom.  Maybe.  It's up to Will." 

Joyce looked over to where Ira was rocking his once again sleeping daughterin his arm.  "All right."

~ * ~

Willow and Buffy both dived for the bag Sheila left with them as soon as the door shut, sorting out the clothes in a rapid-fire fashion that only teenage women, Broadway performers and crack military outfits could manage without making a rather odd mess. 

Both started to change, eager to be out of clothes that either didn't fit or they had been wearing for almost thirty-six hours, but stopped as they turned to look at Xander. 

"You know...he's gonna be pissed he slept through this."  Buffy commented, stripping off her shirt and sports bra, replacing them with a tank top borrowed from Willow.  Tugging at the hem of the tight shirt, she down at herself and shrugged in resignation.  "At least it's black." 

Willow giggled.  "Yeah, Xander's gonna be mad he missed this."  She frowned a little.  "I didn't know I had any black clothes though." 

Shrugging her bare shoulders, Buffy grinned back.  "You don't, anymore." 

Willow paused after slipping into her skirt, blouse and fuzzy sweater.  "Buffy...are we going to tell them?" 

Stepping into a pair of jeans she had left at Willow's months ago, Buffy looked at her friend.  "Your choice, Wills.  They're your parents."  Zipping the jeans up, Buffy blinked.  "Wow.  I've lost some weight." 

Willow slapped her arm.  "That's not always a good thing, you know!"  Sometimes, she worried more about Buffy than she liked to let on.  And the Slayer had lost a lot of weight since the start of the school year.  Willow sighed, pulling on her sneakers.  "But it's your secret to tell!" 

Buffy sat down on the edge of Xander's bed, her fingertip lightly resting on his arm.  "And you have to deal with their reactions.  It's your call.  I'll tell them, but you have to tell me I can." 

Swallowing, she barely noticed that her hand had found Xander's.  "I think we may need their help this time." 

Noticing that Buffy was holding Xander's hand, she smiled softly to herself, wondering why seeing that left a hollow ache in her chest.  "We'll tell them." 

Buffy's fingers played with Xander's hair as she met Willow's eyes.  "Only if you want to." 

Willow sat down in front of Buffy and leaned towards her friend just enoughso that they were almost touching.  "I think I do.  For hissake, if nothing else." 
  

Chapter Eight: Almost Getting Answers 

"Aren't you ever going to get dressed?!" 

Grinning impishly, Janna sat down at the table with her mug of tea and hot blueberry pop tarts.  Who would have guessed?  Rupert Giles ate pop tarts.  "Not as long as it makes you squirm, little man. I never would have thought an immortal balance demon with bad sixty's fashion sense to be prudish.  Hmm." 

"Don't you have any shame?  Or modesty?"  Whistler almost whined. 

Setting the mug down, the gypsy turned towards him, her long dark hair and dark eyes crackling like black lightning.  "No, not really. I lost both when I was killed by a crazed vampire for trying to restore his soul so I could be allowed to fall in love with a man destined to die at the side of a sarcastic teenage blonde with bad taste in men and even worsetaste in shoes." 

Turning back to the table, she sipped her tea.  "If you're so worried about it, then use your demonic powers and conjure up something I can wear.  Everything he's got doesn't fit." 

Whistler shook her head.  "Sorry, but it doesn't work like that.  I can help in a cryptic and not so direct way, but I can't interfere directly.  Not even so much as to get you dressed."  His irritating grin came back full-force.  "And as nice a sight as you are naked, you need to go find the Slayer here pretty soon.  We both know that." 

Munching on a mouthful of pop-tart, Janna shrugged one bare shoulder. "After I eat, I'll figure something out.  This is California after all, and the Hellmouth on top of that...there has to be  wayto get some kind of clothes delivered, or something." 

The balance demon shrugged back, returning to his habit of pacing and searching through the kitchen cabinets.  "I wouldn't know about that.  I have to special order mine." 

"I don't doubt it."  Janna mumbled under her breath, polishing off her second pop-tart and washing it down with the last of her tea.  "Why do I have to find the Slayer at all, Whistler?  Why can't I just go kill Angelus myself and then die again like a good and stealthylittle Kalderash assassin?  Why do I have to face the Slayer and her little wannabe A-team?" 

Whistler raised an appreciative eyebrow at Giles vastly expanded liquor selection.  "Now this is what I'm talking about.  I can almost see why you liked him so much.  As for the Slayer, well, you're here to be punished, really.  It's all part of the emotional torture thing, and fate seems to be helping.  You can't kill Angelus right now, magicor no magic.  He's too smart, too canny, too old, too experienced andhas way too much pride to back out.  You are outgunned, outnumbered, and outclassed in a big way." 

Smiling at her, Whistler winked.  "Now the Slayer, on the other hand.  She could have him, just like that-"  He snapped his fingers in front of his face for emphasis, "and leave him floating awayon the wind.  You need her to kill him." 

Standing, Janna hugged herself.  "And that means talking to her.  And to him.  And dealing with the emotions of memories I don't rightfully have, or even want?  And I have to watch the hell I put themthrough while I turn the Slayer against her lover again, and let her feel the pain of killing him twice.  And then watch her go mad." 

Whistler shrugged.  "Almost.  It's subtler than that, and somuch more cruel.  You can't kill Angelus, but she can.  Angelus can't kill her, even soulless.  There's enough left of who Angel was to keep him from doing that.  Someone else has to." 

Janna sank down the floor, closing her eyes.  "Oh gods.  That's it, isn't it?  Angelus is the only one who can break the Slayer's friends and keep them broken.  He did it once before.  Only he can isolate the Slayer enough to make her listen to what I have to tell her.  And then only I can kill the Slayer when she goes mad." 

Whistler nodded. 

"Why?"  Her voice was a hoarsely croaking whisper. 

"Magic is funny that way.  Too many people trying to play with the same part of it, and odd stuff happens.  The Powers that Be, they can only interfere so much, so they gave you me to try to make this work out for the best.  But the new big bad and your people, well they've messed with enough stuff to make this happen this way.  And I can't do muchmore than even the odds with a little hidden hint here and there.  You gotta do what you gotta do, no matter what else happens.  And that'sall part of being cursed." 

"I didn't want this.  I didn't earn this.  I don't deserve this."  Janna spat out the words, curling tighter into herself. 

"You really think that matters?"  Whistler asked, kneeling down next to her.  "You have a choice.  You can hide in Gilesold house, naked and crying on the floor until it's over and the world is ended with it, or you can get up and do something about it." 

Snarling, Janna leapt back up, pacing violently.  "Like what?" 

"You figure that part out.  I told him a lot of this just a few years ago, near a hot dog stand in Manhattan, and he went off and fell in love with the Slayer.  Look where that got us?" 

"What is that supposed to tell me, demon?!"  She stormed up the stairs, her bare feet landing heavily on the stairs. 

"Not much, except look out for choices you don't mean to make." 

"You have to be the most useless help I've ever been given." 

Whistler gave a small laugh.  "I think that's the idea.  I can give you ideas, or even answer some questions if you know the right onesto ask, but I can't really help you?" 

Throwing on one of Giles button-up shirts, Janna sat down at his desk and met the balance demon's eyes firmly, a slight smile quirking into place on her expressive face. 

"What are the right questions to ask?" 

Whistler smiled back, sitting on the bed.  "Now we're getting somewhere."

~ * ~

He barely made it out in time.  St. Clair had never meant to fall asleep, much less on the couch.  When he had awoken, it had been by his magical alarm, not by the sun streaming in on his face from the window, or even the small alarm on his watch beeping loudly. 

His senses told him that Joyce Summers was on her way home, without her daughter. 

Groaning, he rolled off the couch and onto the floor with a thud.  Wincing, St. Clair picked himself up, cursing himself for moving into the couch after starting his own Watcher's diary on his breaking and entering the Slayer's home. 

He heard a car in the driveway. 

Scrambling, he had gathered up the diaries and the duffel bags and rushed towards the closed door, chanting under his breath.  Shimmering light surrounded him as he fairly leapt through his portal and into his own livingroom. 

He didn't notice, or even think about the two diaries he had left on the coffee table.  His, and one other.

~ * ~

Joyce was happiest when she was in her kitchen.  She didn't know why, really; she was a good cook, but not spectacular.  But it did seem that she always did her best work in this kitchen, fixing hot chocolate and tea and food for that small cadre of silent and unlikely warriors that went about saving Sunnydale, the world, and her daughter's life more often than any of them wanted to think about.  It was her one, small contribution to keeping the world safe from the baddies that had a deep desire to see her and everyone else dead. 

It was in the kitchen she was actually a part of her daughter's life. 

If Buffy and Willow are about to do what I think they are going to do, then I think I need to check the liquor cabinet. 

"Please, come in and sit down.  Can I get you anything?" 

She had plenty of practice playing hostess to people she barely knew. It was one of her finer-honed skills, developed through dedicated effort over the past four years of her daughter's career as Slayer. 

Nervously, the Rosenbergs sat down at the kitchen table, discreetly holdinghands under the table.  Joyce tried not to wince when she saw this, feeling a familiar pang of loss at her husband's absence. I miss him and so does his daughter, but I don't think he could handle this.  Any of it. 

She breathed out a slow sigh of relief when she realized she had several kosher wines stowed away in the back of her small liquor cabinet.  Beingthe curator of the gallery in Sunnydale had exposed Joyce to a variety of cultures and customs, and she had unconsciously started to live her life ina way that prepared her to deal with all of them. 

Not a bad habit, if I do say so myself. 

"Why do I get the feeling you know more about what's going on here than I do?"  Ira asked dryly.  "And if you have any, I'd love some black coffee.  It's still to early in the morning for anything else." 

There was a note of reproach in his voice as Joyce got out the wine.  She smiled to herself.  "There are mugs and a coffee pot by the stove.  Help yourself.  And I have the distinct feeling that Buffyand Willow are going to explain everything to you as soon as they get here." 

Buffy seem to have making her little secret have as much impact as possible down to an art form.  For me, it was a vampire attack on my front porch hours before she had to murder her lover.  For Willow and Xander, it was an attack at the Bronze that drew them deeper and deeper into the world of vampire slaying.  And now for the Rosenbergs, it's going to be a slap in the face that they've been ignoring their daughter. 

But it always gets revealed when they desperately need help.  And Ithink Mr. Giles and their friends having disappeared is a good time to askfor help. 

A familiar chill settled into Joyce's gut as she forced those thoughts out of her mind, determined once again to provide cheerful if nervous support for the Scooby Gang. 

Pouring coffee for himself and his wife, he added sugar and creamer to one mug and turned to Joyce.  "Coffee?" 

A small smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.  "Please.  Lots of sugar, no cream." 

Ira set about making her coffee with the consummate ease of a man long and well familiar with the restorative effects of the fragrant beverage. 

All three of them sat around the table, where Joyce casually engaged them in small talk, drawing them into a animated conversation about Ira's studiesand Sheila's latest book on early childhood development.  Ira and Joyce quickly found themselves covering common ground of cultural anthropology.  He, like Joyce had a master's degree in the field and followed it closely.  Ira did more field work while Joyce spent her time running galleries and handling research. 

Sheila let herself fall silent, knowing how much her husband enjoyed talking to a newfound colleague while she sipped her coffee and tried to wait forthe girls to arrive.  Her stomach churned as she talked a bit about her newest book, guilt making her want to burn the manuscript.  She felt herself capable of teaching others about children when she didn't know her own.  But that was the way it seemed to work, wasn't it? 

It wasn't long before Buffy and Willow walked through the door, serious andsomber looks on their faces.  Joyce raised an eyebrow at the shirt Buffy was almost wearing. 

Ira raised an eyebrow at the 'Resolve Face' his daughter wore; he had seen that _expression_ enough times to know whatever was coming, he had already lost the argument. 

The two girls took seats next to each other at the table with their parents, hazel and green eyes matching gazes with both of the Rosenbergs in turn. 

Joyce stood up to get the wine. 

Willow took a deep breath, spoke softly.  "Mom, dad...I think Buffy needs to explain."

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I know guys, this chapter was a little shorter and was full of fun little filler scenes, but I have to set the stage for Xander to wake up and for the plot to really move.  Next time, there will be lotsmore serious stuff....and the chapter will be long enough that it may takeawhile. 

Thanks for reading! 

~alan, the mad dragon

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