Disclaimer: who me? wasn't there. didn't see me do it. can't prove a thing. somebody else entirely. what body? (in other words, the universe belongs to someone else and dragon's just playing around on the lunatic fringes. non prophet.)
Rating: PG-14.
Other Needs
© 1999, dragon
Joyce Summers parked her car, turned off the engine and sat looking at the entrance to Rupert Giles' flat. She took a deep breath, let it out and continued to sit. She gave herself a mental shake, rubbed the bandage around her wrist thoughtfully and finally gave herself permission to chicken out of going and talking to Mr. Giles. Having done that, it didn't seem quite so daunting to get out of the car and walk up to the door.
Giles was surprised by a knock at the door. He was becoming so innured to Buffy and pals just barging in, that it took him a moment to recognize the sound. He set the book he was reading, for enjoyment, down on the desk and went to find out who was there. He opened the door and blinked.
"Uh -- Mrs. Summers." He had one of those really bewildered what have I done lately that I might shouldn't have, or that she thinks I shouldn't have looks on his face.
Joyce smiled at him. "It's all right. I'm not here as Buffy's mother -- for once."
"Ah." Short pause while he attempted vainly to assemble something resembling coherent thought processes. "Do come in."
"Thank you."
He closed the door behind her, a thoughtful look on his face. Was that a look of amusement he had seen? He turned to find Joyce standing beside the couch and looking around. She nodded appreciatively. She turned to face him. "It's nice. A little more -- homey, I guess."
"Thank you. Tea?"
"I'd love some."
He went into the small efficiency kitchen Buffy had overrun during Thanksgiving and set about making tea. The familiar motions were soothing, especially when confronted by Buffy's mother in an unexpected mood. He was aware that she had followed him and was standing on the living-room side of the breakfast bar. Their eyes met. His were still that interesting green. Hers were blue, a little more washed out looking sometimes than Buffy's. She smiled. It was a warm, friendly smile.
After a period of silence, he handed her a cup of tea and suggested they adjourn to the couch. Silence. Finally, Joyce looked up from her cup to find those intense eyes on her. She colored slightly, then laughed.
"I -- uhm -- I was --I will find a place to start."
He smiled at her. "I'm sure you will. This -- isn't about Buffy?"
"No. Oh, no. Buffy seems to be doing well. I think -- no, I know she was a little lost at first, but I really think things are working out for her. I'm glad. But, no. I -- I was doing some thinking a few days ago. And -- I believe I owe you an apology."
Giles was at a loss -- for ideas and words. He couldn't think of a single thing that Joyce needed to apologize to him for. "I -- I don't quite --"
"No. I'm sure you don't. I was -- rude -- after the incident with the candy." She held up her free hand to stop his immediate attempt to assure her that it wasn't so. "I was. I was upset. I was embarrassed. I *was not* a wild teen when I was teenager. I was -- pretty dull, to be honest," she said with a laugh. "Much too proper and worried about what other people would think to *do* anything out of the ordinary. I wasn't particularly rebellious." The last sounded a bit wistful.
"Most of us aren't," he said quietly. He was still puzzled, but he was listening intently.
Joyce smiled, that surprising sunny smile she didn't use very often. "I suppose not. I was -- inclined to want to forget the whole thing as soon as possible. But lately, my reactions have been -- nagging at me, I suppose. And then I took the time to really think about what I did and what went on around me. Do you know what I found?"
"No." A very cautious word.
"That I enjoyed myself. And that I was very, very grateful that if it had to happen, you were the one who was there. Even as a rebellious type, you took care of me. You made certain I was safe. There are a lot of people I can think of who -- well, it wouldn't have been just embarrassing to face them when we came down -- I think I have that phrase right."
"Er -- yes." Giles was regarding her with a sort of wondering look. It had never occurred to him that anyone could regard Ripper as protective. He'd regarded her as his -- and, of course, what was his he protected. It was something of a revelation to him. "You're -- um -- not angry any more."
"No. I was. I will admit, I took it very badly. And -- I was wrong to do so. I am sorry."
"It's all right. I -- had some reservations about what happened as well."
She smiled again. "I think I can understand that," she agreed with a laugh.
"Well. That was -- a revelation. More tea?"
"Oh, no. Thank you. I haven't finished this, yet."
Silence descended. It was one thing to apologize for awkward behavior. It was quite another to broach the major question in her mind. She finished her tea, fidgeted with the bandage on her wrist and decided to leave well enough alone.
"I think --"
"Did you --"
"Sorry. Go ahead."
"No. You -- " His gaze settled on the bandage. "What happened?" He felt a flicker of polite concern become quite real as she pulled her sleeve down to cover the bandage in response to his question.
"I -- ah --" She really should not have looked directly into those devastatingly penetrating eyes. "I -- Oh, dear." And if ever Joyce Summers had worn a guilty teenager look, she did now.
Giles reached over and gently took her hand, pushed the sleeve back to reveal a gauze bandage around her wrist. It wasn't very thick, just enough to keep the sensitive marks on the inside of her wrist from rubbing against things. He unwrapped the gauze. He felt her stiffen slightly, as though in protest, then relax. After all, that was why she had come to see Giles in the first place. He frowned at the marks, then looked up into her eyes.
"Who?" he asked carefully.
She sighed, regretfully. "William came by, before Thanksgiving."
"Spike?" The disbelief was almost comical.
Joyce colored slightly and straightened in her seat. "He came by. We had some chocolate. He likes little marshmallows," she ended with a grin. "And -- well -- he looked so -- hungry."
Giles looked at Buffy's mother with a whole new perspective. He'd known that Spike had, for reasons known only to himself, gone out of his way to charm Buffy's mother. It seemed that the charm had worked -- both ways. He inspected the marks. The bite was practically healed. He wound the gauze back into place and released her hand. His look was both speculative and deep.
"It's not -- I mean --"
"I don't think you're going to wake up a vampire, no. I do suspect that you're going to see Spike again."
"Spike -? Oh, William. But I haven't. Have you seen him?" Her largest worry relieved, she was now concerned for the vampire.
"Yes." Caution, Giles. Caution. "He's been here off and on. He's -- helping Buffy." No, he was not going to regale the woman with the tale of Buffy and Spike's short lived engagement, or the Thanksgiving melee. He would see if he could get Spike to tell him what he thought he was doing -- though he doubted he would find out.
"Oh. Well. Good. They will be careful? I mean, as careful as -- " She stopped and tried on a wry grin. It worked. "I will get used to it, some day. Here I was worried about her moving out on her own when she graduated, and she grew up while I wasn't really expecting it. Do you have any idea how -- helpless I've felt? How much it has hurt not to be able to help, to even know what she was going through? When she disappeared all summer, I thought -- I thought I would never stop hurting."
"I know," he agreed softly. "On a different level -- we've all felt -- helpless, as though we've failed her. The only thing I've found to do is recognize that Buffy is breaking new ground. She has never fit the original mold. Having survived her own death, she is always in uncharted territory and is writing a story no one else has ever lived."
"That's it, isn't it. There really isn't anyone else like Buffy, and never has been."
Their gazed locked in complete understanding of what was both right and wrong about the situation.
The door opened and closed. "Giles, m'man."
"Xander." Giles identified the invader who had broken the moment. "Knocking. It was invented to keep the lord of the manor from skewering guests while under the impression they were invaders."
Xander looked blank for a moment, then sheepish as he realized the ex-Watcher had company. "Oh. Sorry. Bad time?"
"No," they assured him in unison. They both laughed.
"I really should go. But, thank you." Joyce offered her hand to Giles who took it in a firm grasp and held it for a moment before letting her go. "And the tea was excellent. What kind?"
He told her as he showed her to the door and out. They exchanged smiles again and Joyce was gone.
end
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