Joyce Summers took in a deep, shaky breath. With no small amount of fear and trepidation, she picked up the small plastic stick. She closed her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again and peered down at the stick. A choked sob escaped her. She slid to the floor, the stick falling from her numb fingers. How long she sat on the bathroom floor, leaning against the wall, her feet just brushing up against the cool porcelain toilet, she couldn’t say.

She, Joyce Summers, barely twenty years old, honors student, always responsible and always rational Joyce, was pregnant. She was pregnant and she had no damned idea what she was going to do.

Unbidden, tears streamed down her cheeks. Sobs rumbled in her chest until she could no longer keep them silent. She curled up on herself and cried until her stomach hurt.

Was she being punished? She had never expected repercussions; it had been the one singular time she had ever stepped out of line. It was a small rebellion against a fate she thought she couldn’t fight against. Her parents said she would go to University. She agreed. Harvard? Of course. They demanded honors, and she complied. She had no friends, no social life, but she had above excellent grades and that was all that mattered to her parents. It didn’t matter how unhappy she was. Her mother was entirely unsympathetic to her daughter’s plight the one and only time Joyce had confided in her.

“You think I’m happy? Your father? Of course not. But to live the life we lead, Joyce, one must make sacrifices.” Eleanor Summers paused, her pursed lips softening slightly. “In time, you will be able to pretend happiness. And eventually you’ll sometimes forget it’s not real.”

As she had always done, Joyce gave into her mother. Hoping that maybe she would forget she was unhappy, if she tried hard enough. Joyce never broached the topic of her unhappiness with her mother again. And for two years she continued her parents plan.

Having graduated early from high school, Joyce finished her degree just after her twentieth birthday. Next on her parent’s plans for her was her Masters. Joyce had accepted it. She knew her parents would never accept failure on her part.

But now she was pregnant. She knew without a doubt what her mother would do when she found out. Her father’s reaction was too frightening to even contemplate.

She hadn’t even thought something like this could happen. Of course she understood how babies were made. She may be very innocent in some areas, but she wasn’t that naive. Even now she couldn’t remember that night very well...

It had been the night after her last exam. She didn’t know her final grades, but she knew with certainty that she passed every class with As. She had finished her degree and she was feeling that is was oddly anticlimactic. All the sleepless nights, hours and hours of reading, studying, and essays had led her to that moment and she was suddenly filled with a sense of discontentment. She paced her apartment, bursting with nervous energy.

Without giving it much thought, she ran to her room and opened her closet. Pushing aside her modest clothing, she reached into the far back and grabbed the articles of clothing she knew were stuffed there.

Joyce touched the silky fabric for a moment before slipping on the short skirt and sparkly black shirt. She couldn’t say why she’d bought the clothing two years ago. Maybe it was because it was something that was so completely opposite of the image people had come to expect of her. Maybe it was because she had honestly never felt so attractive. Or, more likely, it was because she knew her father was having an affair and she lashed out where she knew it would hurt: his money. Her mother, for all her faults, didn’t deserve an unfaithful husband.

The outfit had been very, very expensive. Plus the high heels, sparkly makeup, and the $25,000 she donated to the local battered women’s centre.

The only downside was that the donation was in her father’s name, so the very grateful battered women’s centre held a thank you dinner in his honour. Joyce claimed illness the night of the dinner, not wanting to hear his speech about how he had just “wanted to help an admirable cause”. The good publicity her father received following the donation left Joyce feeling bitter, and the novelty of spending her father’s money as vengeance quickly wore off.

So maybe Joyce wasn’t always the perfect daughter her parents wanted her to be. But nine times out of ten she was to a T.

So, in symbolic decisiveness, Joyce slipped into her daring, yet expensive outfit. She then put on her sparkly makeup and slipped into her high heels. She straightened her hair, put on bright red lipstick, a bit of blush, some mascara and twirled in front of the mirror. She barely recognized herself. Slipping on her shoulder bag, she left her apartment and hailed a taxi. When the taxi driver asked her “where to?” Joyce came to an abrupt mental halt. Where was she going? She’d never been to a bar or club in her life.

She flushed, embarrassed. “Um, someplace that people my age go? A club or something?” Joyce hated how unsure she sounded.

The cab driver only nodded as though the request wasn’t odd, and with a very excited, and bit fearful, young woman in his back seat he drove down the busy downtown street.

The club, for all intents and purposes, was exactly and nothing like Joyce had expected. It was dark, and a bit grungy. A mass of bodies moved on the dance floor to loud, upbeat music. Joyce could feel her own heartbeat accelerating. She was leered at and jostled as she moved among the throng of people. She was seriously considering going home when a young man, no older than herself, asked her to dance. Joyce quickly agreed. Several dances later he bought her a drink. Then another one. And then another. She was tipsy and she knew it. She knew it and she didn’t care. The liquor heated her insides and lowered her inhibitions. She danced several more times, not always with the same man. Hours had passed and she was laughing at something a very attractive man – was his name Tom or Tim? – said when she felt a cool hand lay on her shoulder.

After that the night was blurry. A series of tastes, touches, and sounds. She could remember going to a strange apartment. Now, looking back, she was very aware she had to have been very drunk to let herself enter the home of a man she didn’t know.

She didn’t even know his name. All she could remember of him was cold hands and dark, sensual eyes. In his apartment they were suddenly on his bed, kissing, groping. Flashes. Her clothes were gone without thought. A moment later his pants were down. Flash. He was inside her. She remembered crying out in pain. He looked down at her in shock but she began to move and he moved with her. Afterwards, when she thought about it, Joyce was ashamed with how insistent she had been. She screamed, yelled, clawed. “Faster” was her mantra and he looked down at her, up at her, beside her in something akin to awe as he complied with her demands.

The morning after she had woken in a panic, and she was half-way dressed before she realized she was alone. There was a dent in the pillow next to the one she had slept on, but that was the only indication that someone had slept next to her. She tiptoed out of the apartment; her ears and eyes wide open for any sounds of other inhabitants in the apartment, but she heard nothing.

She caught the first taxi she saw and directed the driver to her apartment.

She immediately went into denial and firmly placed the incident out of her mind. The shame of letting a man she didn’t even know use her body ate at her almost more than the shame of having enjoyed, and taken pleasure in a man she couldn’t even completely remember. For two months she tried to pretend it didn’t happen.

And now, she lay on her bathroom floor, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell she’d done.

Joyce went looking for him at his apartment.

For all her supposed repression of that night, it was easier than she’d thought to actually find the building.

She followed a resident into the building, pretending to have lost her key. Bypassing the elevator, memories assaulted her. They had taken the stairs. She could feel him on her skin. His lips trailing down her throat, her hands pressing his mouth lower to her breasts. She remembered wrapping her legs around his waist, desperate for friction. She knew if he hadn’t stopped her, they’d have fucked right there in the stairwell.

Joyce gasped leaning against the railing for support. Embarrassment and arousal flushed through her. She jogged up the three flights, desperate to escape the carnal images invading her mind.

He didn’t answer. She knocked again. Silence. She wondered if he wasn’t home. She wondered if she should leave a note. She wondered why she was trying to open the door.

It opened easily. The door swung open and Joyce gasped at what she saw. Nothing. The apartment was empty. She walked further inside. Everything was gone.

She knocked on the neighbours’ door. But the elderly Asian woman that answered didn’t know him.

“Did you move in recently? Maybe he lived here before … the last time I saw him was over two months ago …”

The woman shook her head. “We’ve lived here for over ten years. No one has lived there for about six months.”

“Oh … I …”

“Maybe it’s not the right apartment,” the woman said, taking pity on her. “What’s his name?”

Joyce flushed. “I, um, I don’t … I … maybe you’re right.” She left quickly.

Once outside and back in her car she took several deep breaths and then burst into tears. She wasn’t wrong. She knew this was right. She was certain that was his apartment. She didn’t know anything about him. Not his name, where he worked, nothing. She had no way of getting into contact to tell him …

To tell him.

She’d never felt so alone.

-

Two weeks later she’d been at her parents’ a few days, trying to pluck up the nerve to tell her mother about her pregnancy, but she always found a reason to delay. Her latest reason being that her mother was holding her biannual charity dinner for homeless children in a few days time.

On the third morning of her stay at the mansion, Joyce stepped out of the shower and patted down her body with a thick towel. She studied herself in the foggy mirror. Turning to the side, she lightly caressed her flat stomach.

Then, right there, standing absolutely stark naked, it hit her. Hit her so hard she couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized it before.

Ever since she found out she was pregnant she had only considered herself. How the baby was affecting her. How it was going to change her life. She never considered the baby. She never considered its needs. But now, staring at the spot where the foetus, her baby, her child, was growing, the enormousness of the situation crashed down on her. And through her sudden tears she smiled. She was needed. Her baby needed her to be a mother. A good mother. To be there for it; not only after it was born, but now too. It wasn’t just about her anymore.

Joyce dressed quickly, letting her wet hair dry naturally. Leaving her room, she hurried down the staircase in search of her mother.

--

“You’re what?” Eleanor’s voice was cold, her eyes sharp as knives.

“Pregnant,” Joyce repeated. A bit of fear rose in her belly, but all the uncertainty she previously felt had disappeared.

“You stupid, insolent girl. How dare you.” Eleanor seethed. She grasped Joyce’s arm in a painful grip. “After all we’ve done for you? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Joyce ripped her arm out of her mother’s hold. “All you’ve done for me? Are you serious? What have you done for me, mother, other than throw money at me – expecting it to fix every problem? You think that’s what I wanted – what I want?” She breathed in deeply, trying to reign in her emotions. “Even now you honestly don’t care about me. All you care about is your image ... and how having an unwed pregnant daughter will affect your social standing.”

“You ungrateful little... You’re blaming this on me? I gave you everything!”

“No, you didn’t!” Joyce shouted. She could feel years of repressed anger finally breaking free. “I needed my mother, not nannies! Not money ... or presents. I needed you, mom.”

Eleanor eyes narrowed. “I’m going to set an appointment with the clinic for tomorrow, then we’re going to have a discussion with your father about sending you to an all girl’s University in Europe.”

Joyce gaped. Did her mother not hear a word she said? How could she ignore her own daughter so easily? Then she latched on to what Eleanor said. Licking her lips she asked, “Why do I need an appointment with the clinic?”

“You don’t expect it to get rid of itself, do you?”

Joyce blinked, shocked. “I’m not getting an abortion.”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not,” Joyce said coldly. “This discussion is over.”

Eleanor’s eyes flashed angrily. “Don’t be stupid. If you had kept your legs together we wouldn’t be in this situation. But you didn’t and now we have to deal with this.”

Joyce backed away from her mother, staring at her as though she’d never seen her before. “We aren’t going to deal with anything. This is my baby. Mine. And I’m keeping it.”

“You absolutely will not.”

“You can’t force me to have an abortion.”

“You just wait,” Eleanor said lividly. “Just wait until I tell your father what you did.”

Joyce paled. “You can’t force me. You can’t. It’s mine. You have no right.”

Eleanor’s eyed her daughter with cold anger. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out until you come to your senses,” Eleanor snapped. “I don’t want you here. Get out! I can’t look at you right now.”

Joyce backed away as though she’d been struck. Blinking back tears, she could only nod. She nodded not because she agreed with her mother, but because she knew what she had to do. Leaving the mansion, she gasped in a breath. She felt as though something was being ripped away from her and freed at the same time.

She would never remember the drive back to her apartment. One moment she was at her parents’ mansion, the next she was in her apartment.

She packed quickly. Too quickly to really know what she threw in her suitcases. She could barely think. All she knew is she needed to leave. She knew it with her entire being. If she stayed, only devastation would follow.

She stopped at the bank and took out several thousand dollars before cutting her debit cards and credit cards in half. She knew, when they found out she was gone, really gone, they’d look for her. And she knew one of the first places people look when trying to find someone was through the missing person’s bank cards. She couldn’t let them find her.

Time seemed to have lost meaning for Joyce. One moment she was in her apartment, the next the bank, the next the bus station. She’d left her car at her apartment building. At the bus station she looked at the destination board, feeling lost. Where would she go? Where could she go? What would she do?

Joyce quickly ignored those thoughts. She couldn’t deal with that right now. What happened after would happen after. Right now she needed to deal with the present. She studied the list for another moment before picking a city at random.

An hour later she was on road to her future.

--

Joyce couldn’t say how many hours she’d spent traveling. She’d been getting on and off buses for days. She didn’t know what she was doing, but she just knew she needed to keep going. Each city she arrived at never felt right, so she hopped onto the next bus hoping the next destination was the one. Whatever – wherever – that was.

It was crazy, she knew. But something within her told her to keep going. Keep going. Keep going!

She was tense and had bitten her manicured nails down to the quick. She knew she must look like a mess but she only stopped long enough to brush her teeth and eat. The tense feeling she had had in her belly since she’d left had loosened only slightly. She kept glancing around as though expecting her mother – or worse, her father - to jump out and drag her back home.

No, Joyce scolded herself, That isn’t home anymore. Wherever I end up. When I can finally stop ... that will be home.

--

Joyce got off the bus. Sunnydale. She sat down on a bench and looked around. It felt right.

Sunnydale, California.

Joyce placed a hand on her belly.

Welcome home.

--

In Sunnydale, living for the first time in her life truly on her own had not been an easy assimilation for Joyce. The first two weeks in Sunnydale proved difficult for her. Having cut herself off from her family, she had no credit or references for renting an apartment. It seemed no one would even consider renting out to her. Living in a motel was taking a toll on Joyce and, perhaps more importantly, her dwindling finances.

Joyce hadn’t realized how hard it would be. She didn’t know what she had expected. Or maybe, if she was truthful with herself, she knew what she had hoped. She had hoped to arrive at her destination, immediately find somewhere nice to live - she imagined some apartment like the one she left in Cambridge. Next she would get a fabulous new job, make a ton of money so she could maybe upsize to a house within a few months (she had to realistic, didn’t she?). She’d buy the latest baby trends and join all the baby classes she could find. She had it all planned out. A to B. B to C. Easy.

But no one would let her rent. She first tried the nicest apartments in town, but the owners only raised incredulous eyebrows “No credit? No references? No job?” and then they would escort her out with fake promises of keeping her “on file.” Joyce moved onto smaller apartments, then smaller. But every time she was met with the same fake smiles and fake promises.

It was her third week in Sunnydale, her spirits at their lowest, when she saw the flier on a supermarket bulletin board. It was a small sheet of computer paper with large bold letters:

WANTED: Tenant for basement suite. 1 – 2 PEOPLE. Must be QUIET, 25 or OLDER, NO PETS, NO PARTIES, NO CHILDREN.

A number was scrawled at the bottom next to a name: Olga.
Joyce jotted the number down with a pen on her left arm.

Dropping a few coins in the payphone, she waited several rings before someone answered.

“Hello?” The voice was scratchy with age
.
“Hi,” Joyce said, suddenly feeling nervous. “My name is Joyce Summers. I saw your flier at the supermarket and I’m interested in renting your basement suite.”

There was a long pause.

“Just you?”

“Yes.”

“No pets? Kids?”

Joyce hesitated a moment. “No.”

“Come over tomorrow morning.” Olga gave Joyce her address. “Don’t be late,” Olga said sternly before hanging up.

Olga’s house was a lot nicer than Joyce had thought it would be. It was surrounded by flowers that sprung up in a beautiful chaotic manner. The house was very clean; almost pristine. The basement suite may not have been what Joyce had hoped for in the beginning, but after some of the grungy apartments she’d seen the past few weeks it looked like a palace.

“You like?” Olga asked. Her Polish accent was stronger in person than it was on the phone. She was an older woman – maybe in her late sixties. Her hair was long and dark grey and her eyes were a piercing light blue.

“Very, very much.”

“How old are you?” she asked bluntly. “Nineteen? Twenty, maybe?”

Joyce felt her stomach drop. She sighed. “Twenty.”

Olga nodded. She turned on a tap and filled a tea kettle before turning back to face Joyce. “You want to rent the basement?”

Joyce blinked. “You mean it? Your ad said twenty five-”

“I like you. You seem to be a good girl.” Olga speared her with her sharp eyes. “You are a good girl, yes?”

Joyce nodded earnestly. “I am very responsible. I ... I will always pay rent on time ... I’ll never have parties ... I don’t have any pets ...” She looked away for a moment. “I don’t have any credit, or references ... or a job. But I’m going to get a job very soon. I swear.”

Olga only nodded. “You good girl. Credit and references mean nothing. I turn away ten others already. Too noisy. Rude. Bad. Bad auras. Olga knows.”

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

“You get good job.”

“As soon as I can.” Joyce promised. “Tomorrow.”

After the difficult apartment hunt, getting a job had been easier than Joyce imagined. It was three days after moving into Olga’s basement suite that she found a job. The first two days Joyce looked through the classifieds. She called several businesses but quickly found she was either too inexperienced or she had too much education. The second day Olga came to her.

“No job?”

Joyce sighed dejectedly. “No job.”

Olga was silent for a moment. “You are a hard worker? Are you willing to work long hours?”

Joyce looked at the Polish woman curiously. “Yes.”

“I have job for you,” Olga said. Her expression was pleased and slightly smug.

“You do?”

“Yes. Tomorrow, I call my friend and you go for interview.”

It was a historical artefacts shop. Joyce was in the middle of her interview when Carla, the woman interviewing her, paused, her eyes narrowing at something she read on her resume.

“You have a business degree?”

“I … I know it’s not exactly the type of background you’re looking for in an employee, but I am a very good worker. I learn fast. You can start me at the very bottom; I don’t mind that. I’ll work week days and weekends. Mornings and evenings -”

“It’s alright, Joyce,” Carla said with a smile. “I was just a little surprised. It doesn’t mean I won’t hire you.”

Joyce blinked, a bright smile tentatively kissing her lips. “You want to hire me?”

“Yes.” Carla smiled. “My degree was in French literature, but here I am now. You can never tell where you’ll end up.”

“No,” Joyce agreed. Her smile lit up her entire face. “You certainly can’t.”

--

Over the next several months Joyce became more comfortable living in Sunnydale. Sharing tea at least once a week with Olga, they came to an easy friendship. At work she proved herself a reliable and hard worker and was slowly being given more responsibilities.

Even though she had been more than a little disillusioned in the beginning about how living on her own would be, Joyce was quick to realize the reality of her situation, and found she liked her new life. She couldn’t afford the luxurious and expensive things she’d enjoyed in her old life. At first she missed the things she’d taken for granted: such as manicures and hair stylists. But, Joyce knew she had to save her money. So she saved. She had never really considered being poor before. She had always understood the concept of poverty, but her life had been so set apart from the poor that she hadn’t completely appreciated the fear of not having enough. Not enough money. Not enough food. Not enough to just get by.

But now she did understand. Now, having to pay for rent, gas for her car (a rusty, twenty year old gas guzzler she’d bought for five hundred dollars), groceries, money she put away for when the baby was born, and the million other miscellaneous things she’d never thought of before, she was barely scraping by.

Joyce could barely believe how much money she had spent without a second thought back in her old life. She’d spent hundreds of dollars without blinking an eye. She thought it would have been hard to sacrifice the luxurious activities she’d so previously enjoyed, but it was surprising how easy it was to give them up. Her nails weren’t manicured, but she was fine with that. And she really didn’t mind getting bargain haircuts.

Letting go of her previous life felt like a burden was being lifted from her. She was creating a new life – and not just the one inside her. She was no longer dependent Joyce Summers - the rich girl living in an apartment paid by her parents, getting an education she never really wanted. She was independent Joyce Summers – yes she was poor, but she made her own decisions. She lived in a basement suite, worked long hours and barely made enough money to get by, but it was what she wanted. She was happy.

She had never felt so free in her entire life.

--

“You’re pregnant?”

Joyce choked on a mouthful of tea. “What?”

Olga skewered Joyce with a scrutinizing eye. “You gain weight. You have rounder face. Rounded tummy. You’re pregnant, yes?”

Joyce had honestly thought she wasn’t showing that much. “Olga ... I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before ...” she trailed off helplessly. Joyce had always known she’d have to tell Olga, but she had hoped it would have been later. She really wasn’t looking forward to finding a new place to live.

“You have the look for it.” Olga smiled. “A bit like my sister. But she looked more like an angry chicken. A fat angry chicken.”

Joyce couldn’t help laughing. Olga joined her a moment before Joyce sobered. “I’m very sorry, Olga, that I didn’t tell you in the beginning. I just needed somewhere to live ... just ... can I stay here for another two or three months? I promise I’ll move out before the baby is born.”

Olga’s brow crinkled in confusion. “Why do you want to move out?”

“Well, I mean, your ad said no kids ...”

Olga smiled in understanding. “Your baby is welcome to live here.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I like you, droga.”

“You’ll really let me stay here with my baby?”

“Really. Now, more tea?”

--
Later, looking back, Joyce didn’t know she would have coped without Olga’s help during and after her pregnancy. The older woman constantly brought nutritious food for Joyce to eat, provided a motherly ear for her to bend, and was full of wisdom gained through her own personal experiences.

“When I was pregnant I craved most odd things. Orange with pickle. Sauerkraut with chocolate,” Olga said one day when she saw what Joyce eating.

“Hm. Oranges and pickles don’t sound so bad.” Joyce offered Olga some of her food. “You want some of my chocolate egg sandwich?”

Olga’s nose scrunched up. “No thank you, droga.”

Through long hours and hard work, Joyce was slowly moving up into higher positions at work. Carla had been a bit surprised when Joyce came to her and told her about the pregnancy, but she promised that if Joyce still wanted the job afterward the baby was born, it was hers.

So, Joyce’s pregnancy, for the most part, was uneventful. She attended regular checkups, at Olga’s urging, and was told she was carrying a little girl.

Her little baby girl.

After passing her due date by a week, and twelve hours of labour, Joyce Summers delivered a healthy baby girl. Pink. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Perfect.

The moment she saw her daughter, everything seemed to come into focus. This little bundle was her heart and soul. The complete love and devotion she felt when she looked down at her small child overwhelmed her.

“There, there,” a nurse said kindly when Joyce began to cry. “It’s alright. You have a very beautiful daughter, Miss Summers.”

Joyce smiled around her tears. “I know.”

“Do you have a name for her?”

Joyce studied the sleeping baby in her arms. “Elizabeth,” she said finally. It felt right. “Elizabeth … Buffy Anne Summers.”

--

Joyce had never really had any prior experience with babies. She’d seen many in passing; mothers pushing them in strollers in the mall or on the street. She had only held a baby once in her entire life. It was right after her cousin gave birth to a baby boy. Her cousin had thrust the tiny, squirming creature into her arms while she made a bathroom run. Joyce had been so afraid of breaking the helpless baby that all she could do was stare in terror at the small bundle and hope she didn’t hurt him during the two minutes her cousin was gone.

It didn’t really look that hard. Being a mother, that is. From watching her cousin it seemed it was mostly feeding, changing and sleeping. Simple.

However, after getting up at least three times one night to see why Buffy was crying, she could only look back at her misconceived notions of motherhood and shake her head at her naivety.

“Wnuczka,” Olga cooed. “My little wnuczka.” Buffy grinned around toothless gums.

Olga had been amazingly helpful to Joyce. She didn’t know if she would have lasted that first year on her own. The Polish woman never minded helping her with Buffy. Unable to afford daycare, Joyce was even more grateful for Olga when the older woman took care of Buffy while she was at work.

Olga adored Buffy as though she were her own granddaughter and doted on her shamelessly. By the time Buffy was three years old it had become a ritual between just the two of them to go to the local ice cream parlour and have large sundaes once a week.

Joyce moved into a manager position a few months after Buffy’s first birthday. With her increased wage she was able to save money and put it towards nest egg that she hoped would grow enough to eventually be put towards a house down payment.

The first few years of Buffy’s life were relatively normal. Normal as life can be with a single mother and pseudo Polish grandmother. Even though her upbringing was a bit unorthodox, Buffy was a happy child. Joyce became very comfortable in Sunnydale, no longer worrying her parents were trying to find her. Life was, for the most part, normal.
It wasn’t until Buffy was almost four years old that Joyce began to realize her daughter may not be as normal as she’d previously thought.

One early evening she’d finished loading the dishwasher and checked her watch. Leaning through the open kitchen window, she called to her daughter to come inside.

Buffy shouted, “No, mommy!” and continued to play in the sandbox Olga had put in for Buffy’s second birthday.

Joyce dried her hands on a tea towel. Buffy’s refusal wasn’t surprising. She was an extremely stubborn and bright little girl - sometimes a bit too stubborn for her own good.

Walking out to the sandbox, Joyce put her hands on her hips. “Come inside, Buffy. Bedtime is in ten minutes.”

“Wanna play.”

Joyce reached for the little girl. “You can play more tomorrow, okay?”

Buffy wriggled out of her mother’s grasp. “No!” she screeched.

Joyce rubbed her temples. It was one of those nights. “Yes, Buffy. Let’s get to bed.”

When Joyce reached for her daughter again, Buffy growled low in her throat. For a flash of a second Buffy’s eyes darkened to a deep emerald, leaving no white or pupil and her pearly incisors elongated to wickedly sharp points. Joyce gasped, stepping back. But, in the next moment, her daughter’s normal green eyes shone back at her, her teeth were smooth and regular. Joyce blinked again. Did she...? No. It was a trick of the light. Trick of the eye. Impossible.

Joyce put the incident out of her mind. She convinced herself it had been her imagination – she had been very tired that day, anyways. She never thought on it again until two years later.

Buffy’s preschool teacher, Mrs. Phelps, called Joyce at work one day, explaining she wanted to speak with her after school that day.

At the school, Buffy played with the crayons in the back of the classroom while Joyce sat in a chair across from Mrs. Phelps.

“Miss Summers, you’re daughter is a very intelligent child,” Mrs. Phelps began carefully. “But I am concerned about some of her behaviour lately.”

“What do you mean?”

Mrs. Phelps looked at Joyce seriously. “Some of the other children are afraid of Buffy. I believe that she may be bullying them.”

Joyce’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “My Buffy? Are you certain?”

“The past couple weeks she’s segregated herself from most of the class. I’ve heard some very strange things from the other students.”

“Like what?”

“It seems some of the other children believe she can grow fangs, or some such things.”

“Fangs?”

Mrs. Phelps smiled slightly. “I know this is the children’s imagination working in overdrive, but I can’t help but think that Buffy has frightened them so much that they have presumed to give her … animal like qualities.”

“I see.”

Mrs. Phelps glanced past Joyce at the oblivious little girl merrily drawing in a coloring book. “I wouldn’t have brought this up to you unless I was truly concerned.”

“I know … I understand.”

“So you will talk to Buffy about this?”

“Oh … yes,” Joyce replied, her mind working a mile a minute. “Yes, of course I will.”

Joyce drove home on autopilot. Buffy was singing loudly in the backseat, but Joyce barely heard her. What she had seen two years ago ran through her mind. Hadn’t she only imagined that? What if she hadn’t? Joyce glanced at her daughter through the rear-view mirror. Was something wrong with her baby girl?

Later that night Joyce was tucking Buffy into bed when she brought up what Mrs. Phelps said.

“Buffy, today at school Mrs. Phelps told me something. I want you to be honest with me, okay?”

“Yeah, mommy,” Buffy said, snuggling deeper under her quilt.

“She said that … that some of the other children think you can change how you look.”

Buffy looked up at her mother quizzically.

Joyce swallowed heavily. “That you can … grow fangs.”

Buffy’s face cleared of confusion. She nodded. “Uh huh.”

“Can … can you show me?”

“Sure!” The next moment Buffy’s eyes became a dark emerald and her incisors had sharpened. Joyce gasped, jumping up from when she had been sitting on the bed. Buffy’s face melted back into her green eyes and blunt teeth. Tears slipped down her cheeks at the sudden fearful look on Joyce’s face. “Mommy? What’s wrong?”

Joyce felt her heart break at the sight of her distraught child. Gathering Buffy in her arms she whispered, “Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why you … you …” Buffy hiccupped.

Joyce looked down at her daughter. Her daughter. Buffy was her baby girl and Joyce loved her more than anything and nothing could change that.

Joyce kissed the top of Buffy’s head. “I’m sorry sweetheart. You just surprised me.”

Buffy sniffled into her mother’s shirt. “How long have you been able to change like that?” Joyce asked.

Buffy shrugged. “I dunno. Forever I think.”

Joyce was silent for several minutes. Buffy was starting to drift asleep in her mother’s arms when Joyce said, “Buffy, can you promise me something?”

Buffy blinked. “Huh?”

“This is very serious, Buffy. I need you to make a big girl promise, okay?”

“Okay, mommy.”

“Promise me you will never, ever change in front of anyone again.”

Buffy’s brow crinkled in confusion. “But why?”

“It’s to protect you, honey. Some people just won’t understand. Please promise me.”

“Okay,” Buffy said sleepily. “I promise.”

Joyce kissed her cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Joyce was a naturally inquisitive woman. As a child she had been full of curiosities that she frequently voiced. Fortunately, her nanny had been a patient woman and answered Joyce’s questions as best as she could.

Her thirst for knowledge only strengthened as she aged. Thus, after the shock wore off from her daughter’s transformation, questions quickly crowded Joyce’s mind. In search for answers, she went to the one place that had loyally provided her answers in the past. The local library.

After spending an hour in the medical section, Joyce still hadn’t found anything that came close to what she’d seen Buffy do. No shifting facial deformities. Joyce hated to think about it like that; while shocking, Buffy’s transformed face was still sweet in an odd way. She was about to give up when a thin, red book wedged between two large volumes caught her eye. Slipping it out, the title read ‘Medical Mysteries and Phenomena: Where Medicine and the Mystical Collide’. Flipping through it, one page came to her attention:

"Metamorphosis is the ability of a being to shift into a different entity. It is a profound change in form from one stage to another. There have been discoveries of more extreme and unique cases of metamorphosis throughout history. Creatures of Were are beings that are able to change from one form to an animal, the most common being lycanthropes. The origin of individuals with the ability to shape-shift can be traced back to..."

Her interest piqued, Joyce found a small alcove with a comfortable chair and proceeded to read the book from start to finish. However, nothing in the book seemed to specifically relate to Buffy’s condition; the closest reference being the few pages on metamorphosis. Closing the book, a picture on the back cover caught her attention. The author was smiling shyly, obviously uncomfortable with having his picture taken. Joyce’s eyes flicked down to the author’s brief biography under his picture. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. He was a professor at the University of California. At least he had been ten years ago when he’d written the book.

Logging onto one of the library public computers, Joyce quickly typed the authors’ name in the search engine. Pressing on the first link brought up, she found that he was still teaching at UCLA.

Joyce bit her lip in thought. Tomorrow was her day off. She could be in LA before noon and back in Sunnydale before dinner.

Well, Joyce thought, looking at the picture, let’s see if you can help, Dr. Rupert Giles.

--

Joyce drove into LA late the next morning. After several queries around the University she was directed to the basement of the Sciences building. The silence in the basement was slightly unnerving after the busy hustle and bustle of the main University grounds. She quickly found Dr. Giles’ office and, taking a deep breath, she knocked firmly.

A voice from inside beckoned her entry.

When she entered, her gaze was immediately drawn to the man sitting at the desk in the middle of the room. He looked up at her and Joyce found herself staring at Dr. Giles. Her first thought was how well he’d aged in the past ten years. Embarrassed, she quickly pushed the observation aside.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Hi,” Joyce said, holding out a hand that Dr. Giles shook automatically. “My name is Joyce Summers. If you have some time, I’d like to ask you some questions about one of your books.”

Dr. Giles smiled warmly at her. Joyce made a point to ignore at how her stomach jumped. “Well, certainly, Miss Summers. Are you doing research for a class?”

“Um, yeah. I’m studying at Sunnydale University,” Joyce lied smoothly.

“Sunnydale? Lovely town, if I remember rightly. It’s been a few years since I’ve been that way.”

“Yes, it is. I’ve only lived there a few years, but I like it.”

He smiled another heart melting smile. “So, what exactly did you want to ask me?”

Joyce took out the copy of ‘Medical Mysteries and Phenomena: Where Medicine and the Mystical Collide’ from her purse, not noticing how his face darkened when he saw the book.

“I wanted to ask you about your work with metamorphosis. I-”

He stood suddenly. Joyce looked up at him in surprise. His eyes jumped around the room, never landing on her. “My apologises, but I forgot that I actually have a class in a few minutes.”

“Well ... I ... okay. Can you meet with me after your class?”

He was stuffing books into his briefcase. “I think not, no.”

“Maybe a different day then?”

Dr. Giles paused his movements and sighed. He looked up at her wearily. “Whatever you’re looking for ... I assure you it is not in that book. You’d best forget about it.”

Joyce followed him out of the office and watched him lock the door.

“But I think-”

“No,” he said abruptly, his lips a thin line. “I have to go. It’s been a pleasure, Miss Summers.”

Perplexed, Joyce watched him hurry away.

Frustrated and a bit angry, she arrived back in Sunnydale well before dinner. Entering the house, she smiled at the picture Olga and Buffy made sitting on the living room floor, playing with barbies.

Olga looked up at Joyce. “You’re back early.”

Joyce shrugged and sighed. “Yeah. Didn’t exactly go as planned.”

The Polish woman only nodded, not pushing to know why Joyce had decided to make the quick trip up to LA in the first place. Joyce was desperate to confide in Olga. The older woman had become her closest friend and confidant – but she wasn’t sure if she could, or should, tell Olga about Buffy.

Buffy sniffed quietly, her head bowed; not acknowledging her mother’s entrance.

Concerned, Joyce kneeled next to her daughter. “Buffy? Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

As though turning on a faucet, Buffy started to sob, her face scrunching up in obvious misery.

“Oh, honey.” Joyce gathered her up in a hug. She looked to Olga. “What happened?”

“I’m not too sure, no. I get her from preschool and she cry all way home. But she would not tell me why.”

“Buffy? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

The little girl shook her head empathetically through her sobs.

Joyce lifted Buffy into her arms. “I’m gonna take her downstairs.”

“Of course, droga.”

Downstairs, Joyce gently laid her daughter on her bed. She soothingly stroked Buffy’s back until the little girls sobs had quietened down to uneven hiccups.

“Buffy, did something happen at school?” There was a long pause before Buffy nodded. “Did someone do something ... say something that hurt you?” A longer pause before the little girl shook her head. “What happened, Buffy?”

Buffy turned in her mother arms so she could look up at her. Joyce’s heart wrenched at the miserable expression on her daughter’s face.

“I’m so sorry, mommy. I’m so sorry.”

Alarmed, Joyce made sure her features and voice remained calm. “What happened?”

“They were ...making” hiccup “fun of me. I just got so mad ... and I ... and” hiccup “I didn’t mean to, mommy! I didn’t.”

“What happened?”

“I ... I changed,” Buffy whispered.

“Buffy...”

“I’m so sorry! You told me not to ... and I didn’t want to ... but I couldn’t stop it ...”

Joyce hugged her daughter. “Oh, honey, did you think I’d be mad?”

Buffy hiccupped. “Aren’t you?”

“No, sweetheart. Of course I’m not mad. This isn’t something you’ve learned to control yet.”

“I – I tried ...”

“I know, honey,” Joyce said, running a hand through Buffy’s hair. “We just have to take this step at a time, okay? We’ll learn to do this together. Okay?”

“Okay,” Buffy whispered softly.

Over the next few days, Joyce made sure to discuss with Buffy how to control her transformations.

“So you only change when you’re mad?”

Buffy thought seriously for a moment before shaking her head, licking the side of her melting ice cream cone. “No. It happens when I’m real sad, too. ”

Joyce nodded. “So we need to practice how to control big emotions, then.”

Even though Joyce’s attention was dominantly taken with her daughter, she still thought about her meeting with Dr. Giles. She still wasn’t sure why he had turned so cold towards her. Regardless of his behavior, Joyce hadn’t given up on her search for answers.

It was shop that she’d passed everyday going to work that she looked to next. She had never been inside it before. It was barely a hole in the wall, a dark and battered awning giving it an ominous feeling. The bells at the top of the door jingled merrily at her arrival. Stepping inside, Joyce wrinkled her nose at the musty smell. It was like the shop had been closed up for an extended period of time. She was the only customer.

A shelf full of jars caught her attention. Wandering closer, she quickly backed away when a jarred pigs’ foetus came into view. It was then that she noticed a withered old man standing at the counter, his sharp eyes watching her like a hawk.

“Um, hi,” Joyce said, unnerved by his unblinking stare.

He said nothing. Joyce bit her lip before looking away from him. She walked further into the store towards the collection of books at the back. She could feel his eyes burning into her.

The books were, surprisingly, in alphabetical order. Perusing the selection, Joyce jumped when a voice spoke right behind her.

“May I ... help you?” She turned to see the man at the counter standing inches from her. He studied her face as though searching for something.

“Uh, no, I’m alright, thanks.”

The man made an odd sound in the back of his throat before retreating back behind the counter. Finding nothing, Joyce went to leave minutes later, eyeing the man on her way out. Her skin crawled at the disgust on his face, his eyes smouldering with anger as he watched her leave.

“He knows.”

Half-way out the door, Joyce froze. “What?” she asked, turning to look at him.

But he was gone; a shiver ran down her spine. She quickly left the store, deeply unsettled.

I must have just imagined it...

The next night Joyce was still trying to put the whole disturbing incident out of her mind. She was in the middle of making dinner when a knock sounded at the door. She looked towards the door, surprised. Her visitors usually knocked at Olga’s front door, not knowing Joyce lived in the basement. Opening the door, she blinked in shock. Dr. Giles was standing on her door step.

“Er, um, hello, Miss Summers.”

Joyce hurriedly closed her gaping mouth. “Dr. Giles! Well, I ... this is certainly a surprise.”

Dr. Giles looked down shyly. “I’m sorry to arrive so abruptly. Should I come back another time? I probably should have called-”

“I – of course not. Please come in.”

Dr. Giles followed Joyce inside. He noticed she was making dinner. “Oh, maybe I did come at a bad time. I’ll come back later.”

“No, no,” Joyce said, still a bit flustered at his sudden appearance. “Please stay. You’re welcome to have dinner with us.”

Joyce was sure that she imagined the sudden disappointment on his face when she said ‘us’. She imagined it. Surely.

“I couldn’t possibly-”

“Mommy? Who’s that?”

Dr. Giles looked down at the little girl in surprise.

“Buffy, don’t be rude,” Joyce scolded. “This is Dr. Giles. And this little munchkin is Buffy, my daughter.”

Dr. Giles then did something that would capture Joyce’s heart forever. He kneeled next to her daughter and held out his hand to her. “Hello, Buffy. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please call me Giles.”

Buffy very seriously shook his hand. Joyce could tell from the sparkle in her daughter’s eyes that she liked him.

Joyce’s heart ached. Dr. Giles wasn’t the first man to be in their home. Joyce had gone on a few dates over the last six years, but they had never interacted with Buffy. And more often than not, once they found out she had a child, the made excuses and Joyce never heard from them again.

Joyce quickly reprimanded herself. Dr. Giles wasn’t here to take her on a date. He was here ... she frowned. Why was he here?

“Buffy, honey, Dr. Giles and I need to talk for a little while, okay?”

Buffy peered up at him. “Are you here for dinner?”

“Buffy, I don’t think-”

“Yes,” Dr. Giles said quickly then looked at Joyce. “As long as it’s alright with your mother.”

“Of course.”

Buffy simply said, “good.” Then she went back into the living room to watch Dora and Joyce found herself alone with Dr. Giles in her kitchen.

“She’s lovely.”

Joyce smiled. “Yeah, she is. She likes you.”

He was staring at her. His gaze suddenly made her feel naked. Embarrassed, she turned to the stove, stirring the cooking pasta.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

“Yeah, a bit,” Joyce agreed.

His hand was on her arm. Joyce swallowed a gasp. He gently turned her to face him.

“I want to apologize for my behavior the other day. I feel terrible for how badly I acted.”

“It- it’s alright,” she stuttered.

Dr. Giles shook his head. “No, it’s not. It’s just been ... a while since I’ve seen that book. It took me off guard.”

She looked up at him then, her curiosity aroused. “Took you off guard?”

His lips twisted in a self-mocking sneer. “That book almost ended my career.”

Joyce’s eyes widened. “How? I mean ... you don’t have to ...”

He smiled warmly. Joyce felt the familiar jolting sensation in her stomach at the sight. “It’s alright. I came here to explain it to you.” He then speared her with a calculating stare. “It wasn’t really easy to find you. I looked at the Sunnydale University, but they had no records of a Joyce Summers as a student.”

Joyce blushed. “I ... well ...”

“You don’t have to explain to me, Miss Summers.”

“You can call me Joyce.”

Another smile. Joyce’s knees felt rubbery. “Alright then, as long as you call me Rupert… or Giles if you prefer.” He looked over her shoulder. “You’re over flowing.”

“I’m what?”

He pointed to the over flowing pot. Joyce squeaked then quickly turned the heat down.

“Damn,” she said.

“Do you have a strainer?”

She nodded, pointing to the sink where she’d put it before she’d started dinner. Dr. Giles rolled up his sleeves and carried the pot over to the sink. Joyce watched him pour the pasta and water into the strainer, a bemused smile coming to her lips. He looked back at her, noticing the odd look on her face.

“Are you alright?”

Joyce mentally shook herself. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Putting dinner together with Dr. Giles was surreal. She still had trouble thinking of him as Rupert or just Giles. He insisted on chopping vegetables for the salad. Joyce accepted the help graciously and went to check the garlic bread in the oven.

“It wasn’t easy finding you,” Dr. Giles continued as though the last twenty minutes hadn’t happened. “But I found your address in the phone book. Seems not too safe to me, to have everyone’s address in a phone book, but I’m thankful for it because it helped me find you.”

“I know what you mean. I wasn’t too comfortable with it at first, but I got used to it.”

He smiled down at the pepper he was cutting. “I know I should have called first. But I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me.”

Joyce could feel herself flushing again. God, she hadn’t blushed this much since University. There was a long silence before he spoke again.

“That book ... I wrote it about ten years ago.” He sighed. “I was terribly naive. I didn’t realize what kind of repercussions writing it would have.”

“Repercussions?”

He nodded. Then he said his next words quickly, as though ripping off a Band-Aid. “I lost my job and my reputation. No one would hire me for a long time. It was only through several recommendations and an extensive probationary period that I was able to get a job back at UCLA. A less prestigious job. But I’m thankful for it.” His bitter voice made her question how thankful he really was. But she remained silent. “It’s only been the last couple years that I’ve been able to work past the book. I’m slowly getting back my credibility.”

“I’m sorry,” Joyce said quietly.

“Don’t be. While it has been a very trying experience, I think I’ve grown wiser for it.”

Joyce bit her lip. She felt terrible for him and incredibly guilty too. She knew that before seeing Buffy’s transformation she would have completely discredited his book too.

Dinner was fun. Joyce couldn’t remember laughing so much in a long time. Even Buffy was giggling more than usual. After dinner Dr. Giles again insisted on helping Joyce clean up. After they washed the dishes she put on a kettle for tea. With two mugs of herbal tea they sat at the kitchen table.

“Thank you for dinner, Joyce. It has been a while since I’ve had anything so good.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

A moment of comfortable silence passed.

“So, if you still have any questions about the book I’ll answer them as best I can.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to cause any pain for you.”

Joyce loved how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Don’t worry about that. I assure you it won’t cause me any pain at all to help you.”

“Well, I wanted to ask you about your work with metamorphosis.”

He frowned slightly. “Ah, I’m afraid my knowledge on the topic isn’t much more extensive than what is in the book. But I know of some sources I could look into.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s no trouble. Really.”

Joyce found her eyes caught in his. His eyes were so blue. Like the sky early in the morning before the world woke up. Realizing she was staring, she looked away with a blush. Glancing at him, she noticed his cheeks were stained red too. He looked at his watch.

“I should go. I have a class in the morning.”

“Okay.” Joyce tried to ignore her disappointment.

He was staring at her again. Then, he was up and heading towards the door. Joyce followed him and watched him slip on his shoes and put on his jacket.

“Buffy!” Joyce called. “Come say goodbye to Dr. Giles.”

Buffy ran out of her room and skidded to a stop in front of the man. “Will you come back?” she asked bluntly.

“Buffy!”

“Yes, I will,” he promised the little girl. Buffy smiled and kissed him on the cheek before she ran back to her room giggling.

Giles was blushing. Joyce found the sight absolutely adorable.

“I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course! I mean … certainly.”

“Alright then,” Giles said, smiling bashfully.

“Um, goodnight. Drive safely.”

“Yes, you too. I mean, good night, that is.”

Joyce watched him leave, giggling like she hadn’t since she was in high school.

That night she dreamed about soft blue eyes.

It was surprising how easily Joyce fell into dating Giles.

Only a few days after his first visit Giles returned, sheepishly adorable with several books on metamorphosis.

“You got all this … for me?”

Giles rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, I … yes. I thought it might help.”

Joyce stared at him with amazement. “This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”

He grinned bashfully.

She slowly got used to calling him Giles. Rupert felt too personal at first, and later she’d save calling him by his first name for special occasions.

It was several visits before he made any move to kiss her.

He was sipping his tea, his eyes crinkling just how she loved it, when he suddenly leaned over and softly placed his lips on hers. It ended too quickly for Joyce. She was sure she was grinning like a mad woman but she didn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” Giles said, flustered. “I shouldn’t have-”

Joyce cut him off with her lips. He groaned softly against her and enveloped her in his arms.

Buffy took an immediate shine to him. And he became equally attached to the little girl. Giles was soon taking extended visits in Sunnydale. He didn’t push Joyce physically; he’d stay at the local motel on the nights he couldn’t tear himself away from the woman and little girl he was coming to love.

The literature that Giles regularly brought didn’t shed any more light on Buffy’s ability, but Joyce was hard pressed to worry about it that much. She was taking time every day to help Buffy learn to control the strong emotions that caused her to change, and Joyce was satisfied with how Buffy’s control was progressing. Every week Buffy reported fewer and fewer unexpected changes.

Joyce knew that Giles was curious about why she wanted to research metamorphosis. But thankfully, he seemed to accept her lame excuse of being ‘interested in it and wanting to know more.’ He also hadn’t asked her about why she lied about being a student at Sunnydale University. Sometimes she could see the questions burning in his eyes, but he didn’t ask.

It was on his fifth visit that he asked her out on a date. Joyce accepted on her next breath. Olga eagerly agreed to watch Buffy, pleased with how happy Joyce was. Olga hadn’t warmed to Giles at first. She was protective of Joyce and Buffy, and she remembered how easily the few men Joyce had dated dumped her because she had a child. However, the Polish woman had observed how good Giles was with Buffy and was quick to approve.

“He’s a good man, droga,” Olga said on the evening of Giles’ fourth visit.

“Yeah, I think so, too,” Joyce said, her eyes riveted to the scene of Giles playing dolls with Buffy in the living room.

After their first date, Joyce arrived home on cloud nine.

Slipping into Buffy’s room, she saw the little girl sit up at her mother’s entrance.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I wanted to wait for you. Make sure it went okay.”

Smiling, Joyce sat on the edge of Buffy’s bed. “Very okay. Great, actually.”

Buffy settled back into her pillows. “Good. I told him he had to be nice to you.”

Joyce raised an eyebrow. “You told him to be nice to me?”

“Yep. He asked me if it was okay if he asked you out on a date, an’ I said it was okay as long as he was nice.”

“He asked you that?” Joyce blinked back tears.

“Mmhmm.”

It was at that moment that Joyce knew she was in love.

Giles only broached the topic of Buffy’s biological father once.

“Is he still around?”

“No, he’s not.”

Giles misinterpreted the odd look on Joyce’s face. “Oh, Joyce. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize …”

Joyce’s brow scrunched in confusion. “What?”

“I didn’t realize Buffy’s father had died.”

“Oh. No, he’s not dead. I mean, as far as I know he’s not.”

“Well, he’s a right bastard then.”

She stared at him surprised. Giles rarely swore.

“Any man that would leave you and Buffy is a bloody idiot.”

She smiled widely at him. God she loved this man.

The first time they made love Joyce knew he was more nervous than she was. As he pushed into her, she saw stars. He looked down at her worriedly; his breath gasping with hers.

“Oh my God. Don’t stop … please don’t stop, Rupert!”

He quickly regained his confidence, a cocky smirk on his lips as he quickened the pace.

It was six months after they started dating that Giles began to behave unusually. He was more nervous than usual and more often than not he’d cut his visits with Joyce and Buffy short. Just when Joyce was beginning to think the worst he astounded her.

“You’re moving to Sunnydale?”

They were in one of the better restaurants in Sunnydale. It was a Saturday night so it was fairly busy, but Joyce clearly heard his surprising statement.

“Yes. I’ve been putting it together for a little while. I wanted to wait until I was accepted on at Sunnydale University before I told you.” He looked at her worriedly when she didn’t say anything. “If … if you don’t want me to move here, I won’t. I just wanted to be closer to you and Buffy. And the position at the University is quite good. I already bought a little house – not that I’m saying you and Buffy move in with me – although that would be wonderful. I know I just sprung this on you-”

Joyce silenced him with a kiss.

“So … it’s okay?” Giles asked when they parted.

Smiling through her tears, Joyce could only answer with another kiss.

Buffy was ecstatic when she heard that Giles was moving to Sunnydale. Joyce didn’t mention Giles’ offer for them to move in with him. She wasn’t sure that he completely realized the huge changes it would take for him, and them, to actually live together. He didn’t ask her outright to move in with him, but she knew that was what he wanted.

Everything was perfect. Joyce was so happy.

And then it happened.

It was the end of winter semester and Giles was stuck in LA swamped with final exams to mark. He had already moved most of his furniture down to Sunnydale and was planning to haul the rest of his things in a few days after the last final exam had been marked. On the day before he was set to arrive in Sunnydale, Joyce decided to surprise him. She missed him terribly and thought he’d appreciate the extra help with packing his belongings.

Joyce strapped Buffy in the back seat and cheerfully turned onto the highway that led to LA.

It happened so fast. The driver in front of her spun out erratically. One second she was driving on the highway, the next they were rolled over in the ditch. One second Buffy was singing along with a song on the radio, the next she was completely silent.

Joyce could feel something warm dripping down her forehead. She feebly called out to Buffy before blood loss darkened her vision. Then she knew no more.

She woke up in a hospital room. She blinked several times trying to clear her vision. God. Everything hurt. She looked over and was mildly surprised to see Giles sleeping in a chair. His face looked haggard and was sporting several days’ worth of stubble.

She looked around the room, her head sluggishly trying to put together why she was there. What happened?

Then she remembered.

And she couldn’t breathe.

Giles woke up to the sound of her gasping. He jumped up and rushed to her side.

“Joyce! What’s wrong?! Oh, god! Nurse!” He ran out of the room and was back just as quickly with a nurse in tow. The nurse gave her something and Joyce immediately began to calm down.

She turned brimming eyes to Giles. “B-Buffy … is she …? Where is she?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Giles sat next to her and stroked her hand. “She’s fine. Barely a scratch on her. She’s just at home with Olga getting some sleep.”

Joyce shook with relief. “I-I thought …”

“I know, darling. But she’s fine.”

The nurse was gone. Joyce didn’t remember him leaving, but at that moment it didn’t matter. She found herself caught in Giles’ eyes. He looked so worn. So fatigued with worry. Suddenly, tears were coursing down his cheeks. Joyce watched them with fascination.

With a wordless sob he gathered her in his arms.

“All this … for me?”

Giles chuckled harshly. “Of course for you. Always for you. I love you. I don’t know what I would do if … I can’t …” He sighed and pressed his forehead to the crook of her neck.

“Me neither,” she whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “What happened? What caused the crash? I … I can’t remember.”

“The driver in front of you was trying to avoid an animal on the road.”

Joyce’s brow scrunched with worry. “Are they alright? The people in the other car?”

He gazed at her with love in his eyes. “Yes, they’re fine.”

The next few days Joyce experienced pain like she never had before. She had a broken arm, a broken leg, a concussion, a fractured pubic bone and a long gash that if it had been any deeper it would have nicked a major artery. She was in for a long recovery.

Olga and Buffy came in every day to visit her. Buffy burst into tears the first time she saw her mother. Joyce did the same and held out her good arm. Buffy jumped into her embrace and Joyce didn’t care how much it hurt.

Giles almost never left her side. He spent every day with her, only leaving to sometimes go shower at the house or eat in the hospital cafeteria.

One day into the second week of her stay at the hospital, Giles stared at her thoughtfully for a long time before Joyce broke the silence.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly, obviously in thought. “There’s something … I want to ask you about.”

Joyce stared at him curiously. “What’s that?”

“It’s about Buffy.”

Joyce’s eyes widened. Her heart stuttered. He couldn’t possibly …

“It’s about … something a saw her do.”

He was watching her carefully, cataloging each of the emotions crossing her face.

“It was after the crash … after I drove up here. She was so distraught … and her face …”

Oh God. Oh God.

“She told me that you knew. That you were practicing how to control it with her. The search for information about metamorphosis makes so much sense now.”

Joyce’s bottom lip wobbled. “Rupert … please … I can’t live without her. Please don’t take her away from me.”

He stared at her, aghast. “What? You-you think that I -?”

“I know she’s different … but she’s just a little girl. My little girl. I can’t be without her. I can’t!”

Giles pushed her chin up with a gentle hand. His eyes were warm and bright. “Oh, darling. I would never do that. Don’t you know I love you? That I love Buffy like she was my own? I want to marry you, I wouldn’t-”

He froze at the same time Joyce did. They stared at each other for long seconds before a tentative grin kissed Joyce’s lips.

“Was that a proposal?”

Giles flushed brightly. “I-well … could it be?”

She nodded wordlessly.

“I … well … then I guess it is.”

Her answer was a heart melting kiss.

--

Buffy knew her parents would totally flip if they knew that she was walking home late at night by herself. But she couldn’t have stayed in the Bronze for one more second. Watching Jason make out with Teri was like hot betrayal.

Okay, so Buffy wasn’t dating Jason, but there was some definite sparkage last week in math class. She was sure of it.

Grumbling, she kicked at a rock on the sidewalk. Stupid Teri. And stupid Jason for getting Buffy’s hopes up.

A cool breeze blew past her and Buffy tightened her jacket around her; her kitten heels tapped a steady rhythm on the dark pavement. Her only company on the deserted street was the low fluorescent glow from streetlamps. Okay, so, walking home alone probably wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done. As a resident of Sunnydale she knew, as every other Sunnydalian knew, the unspoken dangers of being outside at night.

But it wasn’t like she was totally defenseless. Her dad had put her in karate when she was eight years old and he took special interest in teaching her how to fight, much to her mother’s chagrin.

“Giles … do you think she really needs to learn this?”

“She’s special, Joyce. And she has talent. You know she’s stronger than other children.”

Joyce’s lips twisted with worry. “I know …”

Giles’ eyes were compassionate. “I know Joyce. But she is different. Someday she’ll need to know how to protect herself. And as much as I hate to say this … we won’t always be there to protect her.”

A look of understanding passed between her parents that Buffy wouldn’t understand until years later.

She was different. Very different. As a child she knew she had abilities other children didn’t, but she didn’t really consider herself that strange. However, as she grew older and more self aware she quickly realized how weird she was. She was stronger than anyone she knew. Stronger and faster. By the time she was ten years old she was regularly coming up victor when sparring with her dad. She had to learn how to control her strength. Sometimes she would forget and she’d accidentally break things or punch Giles a little bit too hard when they sparred.

They didn’t know what she was. Buffy began asking them that when she was nine. But they couldn’t answer her questions. They’d kiss her, tell her they loved her, but they never had answers.

She knew the her dad wasn’t really her dad, so she wondered if maybe what she was was genetically passed from her biological father. She asked her mother once about it, but Joyce immediately became distant.

“Do you know where he is?”

Joyce looked away for a moment. “No, I don’t.”

“Can’t you tell me his name? Maybe I can find him.”

“Buffy…”

Buffy threw her hands up in frustration, her thirteen year old hormones making her quick to anger. “God! Fine. Whatever. Keep your secrets. But he’s my father, you know!”

And now she was seventeen, but she was no closer to the truth of her origins. She felt like such a freak sometimes.

Making friends hadn’t been easy. She’d been ostracized from the other children since preschool. She eventually learned how to completely control her changes but the damage was already done. She was labeled a freak and segregated from the rest of the students. True friendship came in new student Willow Rosenburg. Willow was unique in a different way than Buffy. She wore the most bizarre clothing and she was amazingly smart. The other students steered clear of her. In Willow, Buffy found a friend with a heart of gold.

It was Willow and her boyfriend, Oz, that Buffy had left at the Bronze that night. Willow had wanted to walk Buffy home, but Buffy told her she was going to take a cab. And she honestly was. But once outside, she felt too jittery with nerves and decided walking home was a good idea.

However, as she was to realize not twenty minutes later, it really hadn’t been a good idea.

It had been a very bad idea.

Out of nowhere a hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat. She choked out a scream, but a fist slamming in her face lowered the scream into a low moan of pain. Her feet left the ground and she was slammed into a wall. The hand holding her throat was hard as iron and cold. Buffy could barely make out her attackers face. Terrified and desperate, she kicked out hard with her legs, she hit something pliable and the hands holding her loosened slightly. Reacting on pure instinct, Buffy angled her elbow and struck it into where she thought his face was. She was rewarded with a loud audible crunching sound and explicit oaths. His hands left her to touch his face for damage. Buffy scrambled away from him on hands and knees. She got to her feet and ran a few steps before she was tugged back by her hair. An arm snaked around her throat and another around her waist.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he whispered in a low southern drawl. “You’re a feisty one aren’t you?”

God. It was like all her training was for naught. She told her limbs to move in the manner she’d practiced hours on end, but terror made them numb and wooden.

Buffy struggled against him, but his grip was too tight, too solid. She’d never felt so helpless. He was so strong. Tears streaked down her cheeks. “H-help!” She tried to scream but her throat was like cotton. Her voice came out scratchy and pathetic.

Buffy could feel him laughing behind her. “There’s no one here, princess. Just you … and me.” Buffy felt something sharp graze against her neck. Images of a knife sprang to her mind and she began to struggle against him anew.

“D-don’t … please …” she whimpered.

“Oh, yeah. I love it when you beg.” He rubbed himself against her. “Do it again. Makes me all hot.”

She could feel herself changing. Her panic forcing the transformation. With the change some shred of clarity came to her mind; calming her. She lifted her right foot and stomped her heel on his foot. Her heel tore through his shoe, broke the skin, crushed bone.

“Fuck!” he yelled and suddenly Buffy was free.

She faced him in a defensive position. He was a big man. Broad shouldered, dark blonde hair, menacing dark eyes.

She knew she should run. She knew it. But she didn’t. She wanted to cause this man pain. He thought he could take her? Kill her? Arrogant bastard.

“You fucking bitch!”

Buffy almost laughed. Her heart pounded. She was sweating. Her face had changed but her attacker was still too pissed off about his foot to notice.

“Come on,” Buffy goaded around her incisors. “Be a man. Can’t take on one little girl?”

He then really looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “You’re not dead.”

She did laugh then. “You’re very observant.”

“You’re not dead … but you’re a vampire. What the hell are you?”

Buffy’s blood ran cold. “I’m not … I’m not a vampire.” Was she?

“What the fuck are you?”

She jumped him then. Her emotions too much in a tumble to sort out at the moment. She caught him off guard, which was her only advantage. Her moves were too slow. Sparring with Giles was nothing like fighting with this man. The label of ‘man’ was quickly dropped when she was his features change.

She stumbled slightly in shock. He was a vampire.

He looked a lot like she did when she changed. But there were notable differences.

With his change he became stronger. Much too strong for her to handle. Very quickly she was once again at his mercy. His knee in her gut, one hand holding her legs from kicking, the other clasping her arms in an iron grip. He slammed her head into the pavement, and she knew darkness for one long terrifying moment. Her heart was beating wildly. She was going to die. The thought ran through her head at a dizzying rate.

And suddenly he was off her.

Stunned, it took her a moment to sit up, and another to realize a fight was taking place only feet from her. She watched her attacker fight another man. Her saviour it would seem. Her vision blanked out sporadically, so she didn’t see the end of the fight. But she suddenly realized it was quiet. She opened her eyes to the ocean.

“Are you alright, love?” His voice was like silk and honey.

Buffy hated the stereotypical femaleness of it, but she couldn’t help it. Her adrenaline rush was quickly abating, leaving her mind trying to deal with the shock of what happened. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she blacked out.

Buffy could hear voices.

“We have to take her to the hospital,” a male voice said. His accent was distinctly British.

Another male voice sounded. American. “Yeah.” A pause. A sigh. “Yeah, I know. I’ll make the call and meet you there, alright?”

And suddenly, she was off the ground. A strong muscled arm eased under her legs and another slipped under to support her back.

“See you soon,” the American said. Buffy listened to his footsteps fade away.

She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t more panicked. Or worried. She knew she should be. And rightfully so. Memories of being attacked that night were slowly returning. Her mind was fuzzy. Too fuzzy. She felt stuck somewhere between the moment of oblivion and awareness.

Buffy was having trouble getting her eyes open. She inwardly commanded them to. But that didn’t work. It never did.

The arms around her tightened slightly, then loosened. The man holding her muttered something under his breath; then his lips were at her ear. “Pet? Can you hear me?” He paused as though waiting for her response. Buffy willed her eyes open.

They stayed closed.

Oblivion won. Darkness pulled her under and everything disappeared.

**

She woke up to flowers. Pink roses wrapped with a bow of white ribbon laid directly in her line of vision. Blinking sluggishly, a card next to the flowers caught her eye. On its front, ‘Get Well’ was spelt in large obnoxious colors.

Turning to lie on her back, she became aware of the overpowering medicinal smell. The white blanket covering her was making her skin itch.

Sitting up, Buffy blinked at the sight of her mom curled up, asleep in the visitor’s chair.

Buffy glanced down at her right hand and stared dumbly at the IV embedded in her flesh. She looked back at the roses. Pink. An inane thought that she had known, once, what each rose color meant went through her head. She couldn’t remember what pink signified anymore. She really missed her grandma Olga.

“Buffy?”

She looked up at the voice. Her father had come into the room without her realizing it.

“Buffy!” His relief was palpable. He rushed to her side and engulfed her in a hug. Joyce, disturbed from sleep by her husband’s exclamation, was immediately at Buffy’s other side.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joyce said, tears in her eyes.

“Mom?”

“We were so worried-”

“You wouldn’t wake up-”

“The doctors didn’t know-”

“Mom? Dad? Breathing room?”

“Oh!” Joyce and Giles backed off a few scant inches.

Buffy rubbed her forehead and was surprised to find a gauze wrapping. “My head?”

Joyce reached out and tenderly touched the gauze. “You have a concussion. When you didn’t wake up we …” She looked at away. Giles laid a comforting hand on her arm.

Buffy stared at her parents; their faces were drawn with worry and fatigue.

“How long have I been here?”

“Three days,” Giles said softly.

“Oh.”

Buffy felt like she was submerged. Her emotions were thick and slow. Everything was so incredibly distant.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes. After I left the Bronze a man…”

He grabbed her…

“a man…”

He made her feel helpless…

“he grabbed me…”

Defenseless…

“and…”

All her training…

“and…”

She almost died.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her mother had her in her embrace, tears streaking her own cheeks. Joyce whispered meaningless noise into her sobbing daughter’s ear. Giles clutched Buffy’s left hand, brushing away the wetness from his face.

**

Buffy was allowed to go home the next day; after a lengthy interview from the police:

No she didn’t know the man that attacked her.

Could she remember what he looked like? Well, other than the fangs…

Ha. That was a joke. Obviously…

Did he assault her? Well, clearly. Concussion.

Oh.

Assault.

No.

But the doctors already checked for that.

Who saved her?

Blue eyes.

Did she remember anything else?

No. No that’s all.

**

The next few days were enough to drive Buffy insane. Everyone was treating her like glass. She assumed her parents were afraid of setting her off into another breakdown, but Willow’s compassionate stares and careful think-before-she-speaks routine was seriously getting old.

“Will, I swear to god, I’m fine.”

Willow’s jumped guiltily. “What? Of course you’re fine. I know that. You’re totally with the fineness. I mean who wouldn’t be fine only a few days after being physically attacked?”

Buffy raised an eyebrow at her red headed friend. Willow crumpled under the stare. “I’m sorry if I’m acting all weird … but Buffy … what happened …”

“What happened is something that happened. It sucks, yeah, but I’ll get over it. But if you don’t start acting normal I think I might flip out. My parents’ wigginess is totally enough for me to handle right now.” Buffy sighed and leaned back against her headboard. “I mean, you’d think they were punishing me or something, with the earlier curfews and not being allowed to walk outside alone. Overprotective much?”

Willow stared at her left hand. The nails that she’d been painting were almost dry. “Well … it was pretty awful … the phone call … and seeing you like that. I can’t really blame them for being worried.”

Buffy sighed again. “I know. I get it. It just gets to me. Sorry.”

“No apologies need here. I’ll try to act less weirdsome – consider all weirdsomeness totally eradicated.”

“Weirdsomeness? I like it. We should totally add it to our dictionary.”

Willow grinned. “Making a note of it as we speak. Hey, do you want to go to a movie or something tonight?”

“A movie? But it’s Saturday. We always Bronze it on Saturdays.”

Biting her lip, Willow glanced away from Buffy’s sharp eyes. “I know. But … I thought maybe you’d prefer to do that rather than go to the Bronze.”

“Hey, I thought there’d be no weirdness.”

“There isn’t!”

“This is what I call weirdness. Let’s Bronze it up, Will. Come on. I’m okay. Really.”

Willow stared at her best friend for a long moment before nodding her head. “Okay. But I’m walking home with you. No buts!”

Grinning, Buffy stood up from the bed and opened her closet. “Come on and help me decide what to wear.”

**

“Oz!” Willow squealed in excitement as her boyfriend’s band came onto the stage.

“You didn’t tell me he was playing tonight,” Buffy admonished.

“I know … I didn’t want you to feel like you had to come out. Hey Oz! Oz! Buffy, he sees us! He’s waving!”

Buffy laughed. “Yeah. I see that.”

Oz’s band played for a half an hour. Willow and Buffy stayed front row and centre, calling out encouragements to the short red head. At the end of the set, Oz jumped off the stage and laid a searing kiss on Willow’s lips.

“Great job up there, Oz,” Buffy complimented when the couple came up for air.

Oz nodded his thanks. “Good to see you, Buffy.”

That was something Buffy liked about Oz. He was to the point; where a single sentence encompassed so many things.

Willow was cooing how she was Oz’s number one fan when Buffy saw him.

A flash of bleached hair disappeared out the back door of the club.

“Uh, guys … I have to go to the washroom. I’ll be right back.”

Attention immediately caught, Willow asked, “are you alright?”

“Completely. I’ll only be a minute.”

Slipping through the throng of people, Buffy was out the back door a minute later. She walked up and down the alleyway, but he was gone.

“Stupid,” Buffy muttered to herself. She was about to go inside when a voice sounded behind her.

“Were you looking for me?”

And there he was.

The man that had rescued her.

“You …” Buffy trailed off, suddenly unsure what to say.

He smiled and Buffy felt her stomach swoon. “Me.”

“I … you … saved me.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose I did.”

Buffy blushed. “I just wanted to say thanks. So, um, thank you.”

“Was a pleasure,” he said smoothly, lighting a cigarette.

“I’m Buffy, by the way, if you were wondering … or not …”

“Spike.”

Buffy squinted. “Really?”

“Hey! No making fun of the name of the bloke that saved your life.” His warm eyes let Buffy know he really wasn’t offended.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

Spike glanced away from her down the alley. “I should get going. Glad to see you’re doing well, Buffy.”

“My mom would love to meet you. She’s really all about finding out who rescued me and took me to the hospital. I think she wants to feed you and maybe adopt you.” Crimson faced, Buffy wished a hole would appear and swallow her up. She just couldn’t stop babbling.

Spike grinned, his eyes alight with laughter. “We’ll see, pet. Stay safe.”

And he was gone.

Thoroughly mortified, Buffy reentered the Bronze.

**