disclaimer in part 1
It had taken Joyce over an hour to grasp the concept that her daughter had no choice but to be the "Vampire Slayer." Mr. Giles looked at her wearily; he'd displayed great patience.
On one level she HATED it! Her poor baby . . . no wonder it seemed she'd grown up so quickly. She had. Such an awesome burden placed on her daughter's frail shoulders . . .
No. Those shoulders were NOT frail.
On the other level-- she couldn't have been prouder of Buffy had she cured cancer singlehandedly. She rescued people. She killed monsters. She'd saved the world more than once. Over and over again.
Her daughter was a hero.
Of course, Joyce would have traded Buffy's heroism in a cold minute for her having been able to have a normal life. That, unfortunately, hadn't been in the cards.
And what bothered her most was the way she'd treated her daughter. In the name of protection and love she'd pushed Buffy away, given her nothing but suspicion, heartache, and mistrust. She'd thought for just a second that Buffy had killed that girl. She still couldn't believe that.
The one good thing is that, in one sense, it meant that qualities she'd tried to instill in her daughter had gotten through. She'd been more successful than she'd ever dreamed.
She rose to leave. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Thank you, Mr. Giles. You've given me a great deal to think about."
He said, "Now, Mrs. Summers, it is IMPERATIVE that you tell no one about this -- um you DO believe me, then? You're not just being polite until you can call for the men in the white coats to drag me off to a nice padded room somewhere?"
"I believe you. I wish I didn't, and that I COULD have you committed -- but right now I'd have to join you there."
"Any other questions -- or if you hear anything --"
"I'll be in touch. I promise. You do the same." Joyce left the library and walk out of the school. Xander was sitting on the front steps, looking VERY depressed. Hesitantly, she decided to brush up her rusty parenting skills. Approaching him, she said, "Hi, Xander -- no, no, nothing new. Giles told me EVERYTHING about Buffy and, well, I guess I wanted to apologize for my behavior of the past week."
He said, somewhat weakly, "Naah. You've got nothing to be sorry for -- we've all been hiding something pretty big from you. Not like she was just skipping school or anything. Well, she WAS, but --"
"I understand. But I was a lot nastier than I had any right to be." She paused. "Everything else okay? You look REALLY out of it."
Grateful, surprised, he began telling Joyce his problems.
That is, until the king of the trolls showed up.
After that was over, Joyce went back to her car. God, did she need a drink . . .
* * * * *
Principal Wilhelm Snyder couldn't have been more pleased. First, TWO people had decked Harris. Second, with Summers on the run from the law -- as it should have been -- there hadn't been a peep from that damned Hellmouth. This pleased his supervisors -- and the MAYOR -- no end, and for this he was grateful.
Who else had been stupid enough to volunteer for duty in a school with a murder rate worse than New York City's, though? Only him. Of course, they'd dangled an obscene amount of money in front of him. That he got to torture teenagers had been a nice fringe benefit.
He looked outside. On the front steps, Harris was talking with Summers' mom. This could not be permitted. He walked up behind them and said, "Harris, why aren't you in class?"
"Because, this is a free period?"
"Well, feel free to spend it INSIDE." Harris glared at him.
Mrs. Summers spoke. "We were having a private conversation. Do you mind?"
"On school time, on school grounds, you're damn right I mind. Feel free to continue therapy on your own time." He stared back at Harris, daring him to smartmouth back. Unfortunately, the coward just went back into the school. "And you, Mrs. Summers, I'm sure you have other places to be. I'd suggest a good attorney's office." She gaped at him as he went back into the school, grinning.
He passed through the student lounge. Chase, Rosenberg and Osgood were all sitting in it.
Apart.
He laughed to himself. This WAS shaping up to be a good day . . .