Transitions - Ch. 9

All week long Buffy had left messages on her mom's answering machine, and had jumped every time Giles's phone rang, thinking it might be Joyce calling back--but it never had been. It hadn't occurred to her that her mom would simply refuse to talk. She expected Joyce to yell, or nag, or book a guilt-trip round the world, not to give her the silent treatment.

Giles had offered several times to contact her mom for her, but Buffy knew that even regular talking was a big enough deal for him right now. This wasn't something he needed to do; it was something she had to do for herself. If her mom was screening her calls and not phoning back, Buffy would have to go see her in person.

She'd gotten her learner's permit renewed on Monday, and had been driving the Citroen ever since, in Giles's company--and actually doing pretty well, thank you very much. Even though the Gilesmobile was a stick shift, and that took a little practice, it was easier to learn in than her mom's Jeep. For one thing, the Citroen was little, and for another, since it had zero pickup to start with, there wasn't nearly the danger of the roaring starts and abrupt turns that always made her mom say, "Oh, God!" as if she was praying for divine intervention. For a third, the more smoothly she drove, the less likely Giles was to turn green--and it had only taken one episode of actually making him sick with her jerky driving to make her want to calm down that little habit right away. How nice he'd been about the whole thing had only added to the guilt.

So today she'd driven him to his doctor's appointment, then hiked over from the hospital to her mom's gallery. She'd stopped for mochas on the way, partly as a peace offering--a nice mocha with whipped cream on top being Joyce's number one secret vice--and partly on the principle that if you were already shaky and nervous, an overload of sugar and caffeine could only add to the experience.

Buffy stood outside the employee entrance with the two paper cups in her hands, almost too scared to press the buzzer. She might have just slimed away if the door hadn't opened in her face, to reveal Joyce with a stack of broken-down cardboard boxes in her hands.

"Mom?" she said, in a trembly little voice.

The boxes fell. Joyce stood looking down at her daughter, not mad at all, but with this horrible, hurt, lost expression in her eyes that for a minute made Buffy feel like she was the grown-up and Joyce was the child. She set the mochas carefully on the side of the recycle bin, and put her arms around her mom's waist, hugging her tight while Joyce sobbed. Joyce's arms came up to hug her too, until both of them were crying, with the dropped boxes in drifts around their feet.

After a while they pulled apart.

"I brought mochas," Buffy said.

"Do you want to come inside?" Joyce asked her.

"Uh-huh. Yes. I do." Buffy picked up the cups and followed her mom into the gallery. Everything pretty much looked the way it always had: white walls and dark wood. Big cacti in Southwestern pots in corners. Warm golden light that made the art look prettier--not that Buffy liked most of it. A lot of the statue-things looked kinda ugly to her, the way the zombie mask had, but what did she know?

"The place looks good," she told Joyce, following her mom into the office, over the floors made of loose brick that made a pleasant grindy-squeaky sound when she walked. Buffy had always liked those floors.

Joyce sat down behind the desk, while Buffy perched backward on a chair. Her mom sipped the coffee through the little red straw, but Buffy pulled the lid off hers and used her tongue to clean whipped-cream off the inside.

"You were right," her mom said. "About your father. He does give me headaches."

"He's an okay guy." Buffy restored the lid to her cup. "I hope you didn't argue a whole lot about me."

"Believe me--" Joyce gave a little laugh. "We can find plenty of other things to argue about."

"I remember." Buffy plunged her own red straw up and down through the little hole in the lid. "I was always numero uno, though." She sipped. "Wow, these are strong today."

"I like them strong." Joyce sipped too, not meeting Buffy's eyes.

"I missed you," they both said, at exactly the same time, then gave identical sad, small laughs.

"The house seems so empty without you," Joyce told her. "I keep hearing footsteps, and calling out, but you're not there."

"I keep coming downstairs in the morning expecting there to be juice," Buffy said, "And there never is--until I make it."

"Welcome to the grown-up world," Joyce said drily.

"I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't even mean to move out," Buffy told her. "You were always a great mom. I don't want there to be any blame here, for anybody. Not for dad, or you, or me...or Rupert."

Joyce set her cup down and started playing with the papers on the desk, tapping them together into neat little stacks. "I know it's not intentional, but I can't help but feel as if he betrayed us."

"That's not fair," Buffy told her quietly. "It wasn't fair to make me chose between you, either, Mom. Giles was sick, and he needed me. He still does."

"I know. Since when have I ever been rational, where you're concerned? It's, as you say, a mom-thing."

"I just don't want you to hate him. `Cause I don't. I love him so much, Mom. It's--it's--" Buffy set down her own cup, trying to pull the words together. "It's not like Angel. It's completely other than Angel."

Joyce just looked at her.

"Yeah, I know how I was--all mushy, obsessive, 'I'll die for you.' Like none of it existed in the real world. Angel never thought about me doing stuff like taking the SAT's, or going to school, or getting a job. Angel never woke up all bristly, needing to shave, and his hair never looked weird, and he didn't run into stuff on his way to the bathroom. I never had to think about like birth control, or where we were going to be in ten years, because I knew in ten years Angel was going to be exactly the same. I knew we'd never have kids--or even have friends over for dinner. Like, imagine spending Christmas with Buffy and Angel--would you like to pour some blood for our guests, dear? And by the way, I already checked them for holy symbols. And forget family picnics, or Fourth of July barbecues."

This time, Joyce gave a tiny smile.

"See, I thought about this. A lot. Angel and I--we never wanted other people around us, really. We were just there, in our own little bubble, like Barbie and Ken in their dreamhouse. And you know what, Mom? The real thing's so much better for me you can't even believe."

"But Mr. Giles still sends you out to fight demons every night."

"No one 'sends' me, Mom. No one ever sent me. I was chosen, but not by Giles--he was chosen, too, to help me, so I wouldn't die. I used to like to blame him, but it's no one's fault. If anything, I send myself--and right now Rupert seems to have pretty much cleaned the local demons' collective clocks, 'cause I haven't heard a peep for days."

Buffy glanced at her mom, to see how Joyce was taking this. "I used to make all those jokes at Rupert's expense, about how stuffy he was, you know? But he's nice to live with. He's quiet, and he puts the toilet seat down, and he loves my friends. And Mom, he thinks a lot of you too. He's been after me for days to clear the air."

"And your education, Buffy?"

"On track. I already registered, and Will and I have our dorm room assigned."

"Oh, I--" Joyce paused, looking up at her. "I didn't think you would."

"Well, I didn't want to, at first, but Giles insisted. He wanted me to be sure, to finish doing kid things as much as I needed to. He didn't want to hurry me."

"Hurry--?"

Buffy stretched out her left hand, showing her mom the ring. "It was his great-great grandma's. Just so you know we're both serious. And I kinda think he still wants to do the permission-asking thing with you, so if you'd come to dinner, when he's feeling a little better?"

"Oh," Joyce said, running her thumb across the stone. "Buffy, do you know what that ring is probably worth?"

"I know it's antiquey. I'm just trying not to drop it down the sink or anything, because I'd have to go after, and I already spend enough time crawling through the sewers."

"Well, I don't want to scare you, but just be careful."

"Oh, great," Buffy laughed, "Like that makes me feel better." She came around the desk and gave her mom another hug. "I hate for you to be mad at me--at either of us--because I try as hard as I can, and I still can't feel like I'm doing anything wrong. I could have fallen for someone any time, you know--and he could have been my age, and a real jerk. At least with Giles you get a loving, caring guy with a good education for a future son-in-law, and you won't be stuck around the dinner table hearing him drone on about his hot rod or his favorite places to skateboard."

Buffy pulled back, and put her hands on either side of her mom's face, and gave Joyce a kiss on the forehead. "So, be happy for me, okay?"

"Any time you want to come home, honey," Joyce told her in a choked-up voice. "Any time, it's okay."

"And I probably will, when Giles is better. Part of the time, anyway. You know I'm always your daughter, and I'll always love you--no matter who else I love." Buffy glanced at the clock. "And you, young lady, need to open the store."

"I do." Joyce rubbed her eyes.

"Let me know if you need any help around here? Any heavy stuff that needs carrying?"

Joyce laughed. "Are you sure you're my daughter? Because we just had a rational conversation, followed by an offer of help."

"See? Maybe being around Giles full time is good for me."

"If you start wearing tweed, though, I'm calling an exorcist." Joyce stood up, and kissed the top of Buffy's head. "You take care, honey. And call me. Every day."

"You can bet on it, Mom. And you'll come to dinner?"

"Just let me know when, I'll be there. And I'll even try to wear my happy face."

"Fair enough." Buffy gave a little wave and left the gallery, feeling lighter than she had in days--so light that she nearly skipped back to the hospital.

Giles wasn't ready yet--he'd had to see his regular doctor, and then the hand guy, and the hand guy seemed to be taking his time. Buffy fidgeted in the waiting room, glancing around at all the people in casts and braces. She tried to read a magazine about gardens, which was boring, and looked through another one, that seemed to be for doctors, really, about horrific things that people had done to their fingers and hands, and how they got fixed up again--that one was kind of interesting, in a sick morbid way, and it certainly made her glad for Slayer healing. She thought it was an evil trick to leave it in the waiting room--if any of the real patients caught a peek, they'd probably run screaming.

Buffy played peek-a-boo for a while with a little kid in a big cast, and then, finally Giles came out. She walked up behind him while he made his next appointment, and put her arm around him. His voice was low, and he looked white and shaky. There was a bigger bandage--with kind of a splinty cast-type thing underneath it--on his hand, and his arm was in a sling. Buffy took the appointment card from the receptionist and put it in her own purse. The woman smiled at her, probably thinking she was the world's most considerate daughter, so Buffy couldn't help but say to Giles, "You ready to roll, sweetie?"

But the receptionist didn't get a creeped-out look, she just kept smiling. She had on a wedding ring--maybe she was also way younger than her husband. Buffy decided that she herself needed to just grow up and get over trying to mess with other people's minds. She took the big long list of instructions the woman handed to her, and said, "Bye," with a nice smile of her own.

Inside the Citroen, Giles lay back in his seat, shutting his eyes, not saying anything all the way home, even though Buffy kept glancing over at him. Of course, with his eyes closed, it's not like he'd notice. At last, she couldn't stand it, "They do something icky to you, Rupert?"

He cleared his throat. "One or two of the small bones needed resetting. It's nothing."

"One or two?"

"Well, several. I may have jostled it a bit."

"Rescuing me?" Buffy asked.

"Or sometime before or after. As I say, it's nothing. Actually, the doctor assured me that now it will most likely heal better."

Buffy parked. Carefully, but one-two-three and she was in. "Damn, I'm getting good!"

"Hmn?" Giles roused himself. "Oh, the parking. Yes, I'd say you are. Do you think that you're ready?"

"For the test, you mean? I think I could try it."

"Then make your appointment. I'll help you study for the written examination." Despite his paleness and shakiness, the smile he turned on her was warm and loving. "You've done amazingly well, Buffy."

"Was that praise from the restrained Mr. Giles?" Buffy laughed. "I could get used to it."

"I believe you may have to," he answered.

"I went to see mom today," she told him, on the way up the stairs. "Guess what? Both of us lived."

"Glad to hear it. I don't hold with matricide."

"It was okay." Buffy unlocked the door. "Really. Hugging and kissing. Significant lack of raised voices. She even kinda-sorta called you a good influence. I asked her to dinner, for when you're feeling better."

"I'm all right," Giles told her, heading down the hall toward the bathroom. "Ask her any time."

"Okay." Buffy started to go through the mail--not exactly sure why; none of it was ever for her anyway. She set it down on the desk and went to plug in the kettle. At first an electric tea kettle had seemed weird to her, but now she liked it--it was way faster than the top-of-the-stove method. She decided on Sleepytime tea, because of the peppermint and chamomile--she suspected Giles might appreciate something soothing right then, rather than caffeinated.

He still hadn't come out when the phone rang, and so Buffy went to answer, saying perkily into the receiver, "Howdy! Summers-Giles residence."

"Summers-Giles?" said the voice at the other end of the line. Buffy heard static, and that sound like the wind blowing, and ghost voices, that always made her think the other person was calling from a long ways away. "May I speak with Mr. Rupert Giles, please?"

For a minute, she almost told the other person to stop joking, because he sounded not just kind of, but exactly like Giles himself. "He's not out of--I mean, not available--at the moment. Can I say who's calling?"

"You said Summers. Is this Buffy Summers? His Slayer?"

Weird, she thought. "Who is this?"

There was a pause, and then the guy who sounded exactly like Giles, except maybe a few years younger, said, "Buffy, this is Sebastian. Sebastian Delacoeur." He paused, as if expecting her to say something like, "Hi, Sebastian," or "How's it going?" or anything to show she knew him.

When Buffy didn't, he added, "Rupert's son."

She wasn't sure why it affected her the way it did, but the receiver slid out of her hand and thumped down on the carpet. She could hear, just barely, Sebastian's voice rising up to her, though she couldn't make out words.

His son. Giles's son. Not my son. I won't get to be the first.

She'd always known she wasn't his first for making love to--of course not, at his age, that would have been ridiculous. He wasn't her first either, after all. But for some reason, in the pretty picture she'd built in her mind, she was going to be the one to present him with his first-born, and Giles would look down on her child--their child, that shared part of them--so thrilled and proud and happy that his heart would overflow. Now that wouldn't ever be, not the way she'd imagined.

This guy on the phone, who sounded so much like her Giles, was living proof. She knew she had no right to be mad, but she was--Moira had mentioned Sebastian to her, though not by name, and Giles, when he'd first cut his hand, had confirmed the mention, but somehow she'd let that stuff slip out of her brain. The guy on the other end sounded grown up. He sounded Wesley's age, and that, the more she thought about it, made things even more horrible.

Who's was he? What was his story? And how dare Giles have a child with Moira before he had one with her? How dare he have a son before she was even born?

Buffy felt the hot tears start to slide down her cheeks. She was so angry and jealous she couldn't stand it, and she bent to pick up the receiver to slam it back down--but Giles came up behind her to take it out of her hand. He and Sebastian talked for quite a while, but through her tears Buffy couldn't see his face, or hear anything of the words the two of them said to one another.

She drifted over to the couch and threw herself down, so hard that one of the cartons fell off the stack of boxes. She didn't bother to pick it up again.

After a while, Giles hung up the phone, and came over to the couch, sitting on the other end. Buffy had expected him to try to comfort her, the way he did, usually. He didn't. He sat so far away she wouldn't have been able to touch him, even if she'd stretched out her arm as far as it would go.

Gradually, she became aware that Giles's good hand had gone over his face, and that his entire body was shaking, almost as if he'd started laughing. He wasn't laughing, though--and he wasn't crying either. She didn't know exactly what this was, only that it was something worse than crying. It was something worse than with Eyghon, or the night Jenny died.

Giles started saying things, all so mixed up she couldn't really understand, about ghosts and demons and Ethan, and that kid Randall who died, and Moira and Sebastian, and that horrible thing the vampire Maria had told her about, that happened with his dad and his sisters. He talked about some guy called Mr. Stanley, using bad words she never even expected him to know, and went on for a while about the subways in London.

And then he talked about his mom. On and on about his mom, and all Buffy could make out was how much he'd loved her, and how much he'd hated her.

His face had started to get all gray-green and pasty, so much so Buffy got worried. At last she moved off her end of the couch, made him lie down and fetched a cold cloth from the bathroom, taking his glasses and smoothing the compress across his forehead. She knelt beside him, and talked to him soothingly, until he calmed down a little, and finally said something that made sense.

"My mum's died, Buffy. I have to go to England."

"If you do that," Buffy told him, "I'm going with you."

Giles didn't argue.