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chapter 23

In three strides Buffy was at the door greeting her dad warmly before turning the interlopers, blocking the entrance into her house


“No way,” she warned in a firm tone, mentally gearing up for more dramatic woes. “You don’t get passage. Out.”


“Buffy, just listen…” Xander said not one to ever listen to anything.


“No Xander, YOU listen for once. Look, I just came out of the slaying closet and let’s just say it wasn’t voluntarily. My mom is all aboard the freak train and I really don’t need you here right now. “Buffy’s words were harsh but her eyes were pleading with him to understand.

“Yeah and I’m sure having Spike here is just so very helpful,” Xander commented snidely.


“Buffy, we need to-” Angel began, his face a mask of pained forbearance as he tried to ignore the overwhelming scent of Spike and passion that Buffy was completely drenched in.


“What part of ‘out’ did you not understand? I am so not doing this with you.” Buffy pulled out her resolve face, and pointed at the door. “We’ll talk later, alright?”


“Buffy,” Angel tried again, at war with what he knew to be true and what his demon wanted to unleash, leaving him feeling extremely volatile.


“Angel, don’t MAKE me throw you out. For a night that started out pretty damn good, this had spiraled into some major suckage, so honestly? I am so not in the mood. OUT.”


With a pained sigh, Angel turned and walked out the door, easily passing over the threshold that had so welcomingly allowed him passage in the recent past. Now he was the interloper, thrown to the curb like yesterday’s garbage.


And yet Spike remained inside, leaving Angel battling with his rage and his desire to tear the younger vampire apart. Yet there was that lingering guilt over the memories that had been aroused earlier by Spike’s musical tribute.


Sometimes he just really hated his soul.



“Well, that’s a whole lotta thanks we get,” Xander complained, throwing himself down petulantly on the top step of the porch. He turned around to look at Angel. “What are you doing?”

Angel sent the boy an exasperated look before pressing his ear back to the wooden barrier that had been thrown up by the girl he had thought was his. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m eavesdropping.”

Xander scoffed. “And this surprises me not at all. Once you‘re an Evil Dead Guy, always an Evil Dead Guy, just as I‘ve been saying all along.”

There was a moment of silence.

“So Evil Dead Guy… are they saying anything good?”

***

Inside the living room, the temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees; the frosty atmosphere making Buffy seriously wish she had told her mom when her dad found out.


Because this? This was major nightmare-worthy, forget becoming vamped; that paled in comparison.


Joyce had conflicting emotions at seeing her ex-husband again; the only thing they had in common anymore was their mutual concern for Buffy‘s well-being. When she had first discovered those things in Buffy’s room, her first instinct had been to call him and get him to Sunnydale for support; the heavy burden of single parenthood more than weighing heavily.


But now? Seeing the warm greeting her daughter had given her father, Joyce had a sinking suspicion that her ex-husband was not going to be the emotional crutch she needed right now.


As Hank and Buffy had entered the living room, Joyce’s brain was frantically trying to work up a way to share this newest… thing in the clearest way possible.


But then when Hank paused and did a double-take at Spike’s presence, a bad feeling began working its way through her gut.


“Spike?” Hank asked, his brows pinching together as he stared at the vampire sans the Billy Idol tribute. “What are you doing in Sunnydale?”


“Hank,” Spike nodded his head in way of greeting, an easy smile on his face. “Have a new business venture up this way.”


“Good, good. You’ll have to tell me about it later,” Hank replied warmly, finding himself not in the least disturbed to find Spike with his daughter. If anything, it just made things easier knowing how his ex-wife could be.


“You know this…person, Hank?” Joyce accused, her eyes wide with disbelief.


Hank’s eyes met her daughter’s guiltily, traveling to briefly touch upon Spike before making their way with resignation to face his potential execution.


“Um… I met Spike in LA. He owns a night club down there. Does a pretty mean Billy Idol impersonation,” Hank commented weakly, never one to lie well. “You should see it.”


“I know about his club,” Joyce replied frostily. “But…” Her voice trailed off as she became at a loss on how to continue. How do you explain that your daughter is…whatever she is?


When the strained silence threatened to get ugly, Buffy finally took the bull by the horns and broke the silence.


“Dad already knows,” she announced quietly.


The maelstrom of emotions on Joyce’s face was clear to see and she gave full rein to it. Disbelief, hurt, anger and the lingering paranoia of why SHE had been kept in the dark while HANK, the absent parent, knew about her daughter’s professed obsession clearly etched on her face.


Her empty glass was in danger of shattering with the death grip Joyce had on it as she rose shakily to her feet. “You knew,” she accused. “You knew and didn’t see fit to tell me? That our daughter thinks she’s some sort of slaughterer?”

Buffy cringed. “Slayer, mom, SLAYER.”


Her mom rounded on her. “Oh and there is a difference?”


“Yes there is a difference!”


“I’d like to hear what it is then,” Joyce announced belligerently, crossing her arms over her chest.


“Well, for one thing a slaughterer just goes and kills things,” Buffy began.

“And that differs from what your hobby is because…?”


Buffy’s mouth dropped. “HOBBY? You think this is a hobby to me?”


“What am I supposed to think, Buffy? You keep secrets from me, you sneak around. You associate with things that shouldn’t exist, I mean, honestly? What should I think?” There was a slight hysterical edge creeping into Joyce’s voice as she tried to stare down her daughter and assert some parental control while knowing in the back of her mind that she was behaving in the most irrational manner possible.


Buffy opened her mouth to answer, the feeling of being misunderstood once again smashing through her with all the subtlety of a freight train; only to find her throat choked with tears, her vision blurred by the buildup of tears that wanted to be shed. She threw a helpless look to Spike who had already sensed her rising anguish and brought her into the comfortable circle of his embrace as she tried to stem the flow before it began.


“Buffy get away from him,” Joyce said quietly, her earlier suspicions about their relationship now grounded.


“Joyce.” It was just one word, a name, but the impact it had was great.


“Hank, he’s a vampire. Did you know THAT?” Even as the words left Joyce’s mouth, she realized how trite they sounded. “Our daughter aligns herself with evil, Hank. How is that supposed to make me feel?”


Hank and Spike shared a quick look that spoke volumes. “Joyce, you didn’t hear a bloody word I said, did you?” Spike asked trying to keep a hold of his temper.


Buffy’s dad could almost feel Buffy’s pain, his own regret over his own callous treatment over her supposed ’troublemaker’ status striking deep. In a deceptively mild tone, Hank announced, “Our daughter is a god damn miracle, Joyce, and you better come to that same realization pretty darn quick.”


Buffy lifted her head from the safety of Spike’s welcoming chest to give her dad a small smile of gratitude.


Joyce looked at the table where all the weapons and books were scattered and a shiver went through her. She honestly didn’t know if it would have been preferable to learn her daughter was involved with satanic rituals. At least that was in the mainstream and written up in Time magazine.


But vampires and demons? She took a good look at her daughter and couldn’t fathom how Buffy could fight what she said she did. Yet in the back of her mind, Joyce knew it as the truth. Even as far back as the infamous Parent/Teacher night, she had seen how Buffy had suddenly took charge when that gang burst in. And how everybody had let her, recognizing Buffy as someone who knew what needed to be done.

She knew it, yet denied it.


She still wanted to deny it.


But seeing her daughter’s ravaged face, Joyce allowed regret to slip through the solid wall of denial and pain that surrounded her heart and mind.

With a heavy sigh, Joyce allowed acceptance to settle into place, wiping out the denial and accusations. Her own eyes brimming with tears, she took a deep breath and looked at her daughter. “Buffy, I’m sorry. For everything.”

Tbc….
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