These characters belong to the good people at Mutant Enemy.
Supplanter
Joyce
inspected her hair critically in the mirror. [Not good, but it'll do. Have to
wash it tonight.]
She
pressed the bar on the soap machine, sighing at the state of the sink. It was
always impeccably clean at work. She could never keep her own bathroom that
clean; not with two girls in the house. She rubbed her hands under the tap, not
really paying attention. She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, used it,
and dropped it in the trash. [Hang on, did any soap actually come out? I'm so
silly.]
She
was surprised when her hands, of their own volition, pressed the bar again -
twice - and scrubbed themselves. She tried to stop, but her hands just kept
moving.
She
was terrified when she found herself looking in the mirror at her own smile, and
listening to her own voice say, "Don't fight it, fool. Now, who am I?"
****
"Buffy!"
Joyce said cheerfully.
Buffy
turned away from the TV. "Yes, Mom?"
[Help
me, please!] "Can you help me with the dishes?" [Damn.] Joyce slumped
mentally. It was strange. She could feel what happened to her physical body, and
she felt as if she possessed a body under her control, but it must've been a
creation of her mind. She waved her arms. Nothing happened.
"It's
Dawn's turn," Buffy whined, grinning at her sister.
Dawn
was on her feet instantly, outraged. "Is not! I dried up last night. You
weren't here. You were out sucking face with-"
Buffy
gave in hastily. "Oh, all right."
Joyce
led the way to the kitchen, trying desperately to trip, to yell, to grab Buffy's
arm - anything to let her daughter know that her mother was in trouble. She
concentrated hard.
She
managed a squeak.
"What
was that, Mom?"
"Excuse
me!" Joyce laughed. "I ate too much." [Almost. Maybe if I try
again.]
"You
and me both." Buffy rubbed her stomach in mock pain. "But I am only
human - I cannot resist the sweet temptation of your pumpkin pie!"
They
did the dishes with companionable small talk. Not the Slayer and her constantly
worried mother, just two people, a mother and a daughter, being domestic.
Except
the mother was trapped inside her own mind.
Joyce
gathered her energy again as they finished up and moved back into the living
room. There was a knock at the door.
"Willow
and Tara!" Dawn leapt up and opened the door, beaming.
Joyce
focused her thoughts, trying to use a meditation exercise she'd seen in one of
Buffy's books when she'd been snoop- cleaning.
[I'm]
/ "I'm"
[trapped!]
/ "happy to see you!"
[DAMN.]
||Stop
that.||
Pure
pain jolted through Joyce. She cried out soundlessly.
||Don't
do that again. You're not worthy.||
[Not
worthy of what?] Joyce asked, but she sensed that the other presence was, once
more, paying her no attention.
Not
that it mattered. She was exhausted, and cold. She barely registered herself
answering Tara's polite comment about her scarf. She sat down.
Willow
punched Buffy playfully on the arm, then pretended to shake her hand in mock
pain. "Okay, Buffster. Time to make you more buff."
Dawn's
eyes lit up. "You're gonna do it now? Mom, can I stay and watch?"
"No,
dear, it's time for homework, then bed," Joyce answered firmly. She felt
something rummaging through her brain. "So go on up, lil punkin belly. I'll
come up soon and tuck you in."
"Awww,
Mo-om!" Dawn groaned, but obediently went upstairs.
Buffy
eyed the ingredients Tara was pulling out of her backpack. "So, er, what do
you have to do, exactly?"
Willow
grinned. "Is your Slayer sense tingling?"
Tara
joined in. "Do you sense danger?"
Joyce
frowned. "Slayer-"
The
others looked at her, waiting for her to finish the sentence. Tara raised her
eyebrows thoughtfully.
Joyce's
mind flinched again, as another memory was torn away. "Even Slayers have to
be careful with sharp objects," she said, pointing at the sticks of
incense. Joyce could hear the desperation in her own voice as the presence in
her mind tried to make light of the near-slip. "You could put an eye out,
you know!"
They
laughed. "Are you sure you want to stay around for this, Mom? You've never
been comfy with this witchy stuff," Buffy hinted.
Joyce
shrieked silently, barely able to muster the energy even for that. [No! I can't
leave them!] She felt something smile in her mind.
"I
am a little tired. And I'm in the middle of a great book," Joyce agreed.
"Another
bodice-ripper?" Buffy asked, snickering. "A dark, handsome man with
flashing eyes and great hair behaves in a dastardly fashion towards a pure,
brave young beauty, until she discovers his inner pain and basic niceness?"
"Yes."
Another chunk of Joyce's sense of self detached. She reeled mentally, trying not
to give in to the dizziness. "And yes, you can borrow it when I'm done.
Good night, girls."
||You're
getting weaker.||
She
went up to bed, smiling and sobbing.
****
Joyce
stood in a desert. The moon hung low in the sky. Vast obelisks surrounded her,
and wind whipped through her hair. [This is one helluva dream.] She walked
towards the edge of the circle, but met an invisible barrier. No way out.
||Not
a dream, fool.||
She
spun around. A dark-haired woman smirked at her, hands on hips. She was shorter
than Joyce, and more powerfully-built. Muscular.
The
woman aimed a kick at her, slowly and deliberately. Joyce moved out of the way
easily. She was astonished when the woman disappeared and a fist connected with
the side of her head. She went down hard, choking on the red sand.
||You
don't know how to use this place. You don't deserve them.|| The woman dove at
her. An image of Buffy and Dawn floated through Joyce's head.
Joyce
concentrated, imagining herself on top of the nearest obelisk. The woman fell to
the ground as Joyce faded. She found herself on the obelisk, exactly where she'd
imagined. She stared grimly down at the other woman, trying to get her breath
back. It had worked, but she felt so *tired*. . .
[They
are my daughters. They will *always* be *my* daughters.]
****
Smoke.
Chimes. Someone intoning softly in Latin near her head.
She
tried to move, but her hands and feet were tied, and she was incredibly weary.
Her muscles were mush. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was covered with
sand.
"What's
going on?" [What the hell?]
A
figure moved near her head, barely visible in the near-darkness. It touched her
on the forehead, both wrists, then the stomach. Pain flared in each location. It
felt like she was being ripped open from inside. Joyce screamed, internally and
externally.
.
. . then relaxed, breathing in short gasps.
"Joyce?"
A man's voice, gentle and kind.
Joyce
tried to speak. To her shock, it worked. "Ru - Rupert?"
"Mom!"
Another figure threw itself on her, clutching her in a hug. "Thank
God!"
The
curtains were opened a crack. Joyce saw Buffy, Giles, Willow, Tara, and Xander,
standing around her bed. "What happened?" she croaked.
Tara
started untying her hands. Xander offered her a glass of water.
"You
were possessed, Mom," Buffy said guiltily. "I'm so sorry."
Joyce
sighed. "I figured that much out, at least, Buffy." She chuckled.
"I'm not that stupid."
"Stupid
is my job," Xander volunteered cheerfully.
Joyce
said reprovingly, "You do much more than that. You know that." She
grinned at her daughter, revelling in being able to do so, then teased gently,
"Why are you sorry? Did you do it?"
"No,
of course not," Giles jumped in. "As far as we could determine, you
came into contact with the spirit of a woman who died a few weeks ago."
"Sara
Wilcox," Tara added.
Willow
asked, "Have you had anything new at the gallery lately?"
"I
opened a new case yesterday," Joyce nodded in realization, "donated by
a deceased estate."
Giles
helped her sit up. "We believe she lost her daughter a short time before
she herself passed away."
Joyce
put a hand to her heart. "Oh, the poor woman. She wanted to be a mother
again. How awful for her." She frowned. "Though I don't approve of her
coping methods. How did you know what had happened?"
Tara
said shyly, "You looked wrong last night. I knew you weren't - weren't
you."
"Thank
you, Tara," Joyce said warmly.
Buffy
put an arm around Tara's shoulders. "She told us, and we did the research
thing. Tara kept an eye on you to make sure you were still - there. We were just
in time. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it sooner, Mom."
"You
can't stop everything," Joyce told her intently, carefully not mentioning
how close it had been. "I'm a big girl, honey. I know you love me. And I
know you protect me. You - all of you," her grateful gaze took in everyone
in the room, "saved me. But you can't save me from everything, and that's
not your fault, Buffy."
Buffy
tried to joke, "I'm the Slayer, Mom. Everything's my fault."
"Buffy."
Joyce met her gaze, and held it until Buffy nodded reluctantly, squirming.
"Don't take so much responsibility on yourself."
Giles
cleared his throat, interrupting delicately. "Dear me. Joyce, I must ask
you to come to training some time. She *never* believes *me*." Buffy threw
a pillow at his head.
Dawn's
wavering voice came from behind the door. "Is she okay?"
"Yes,
come in, Dawnie." Tara ushered her inside.
Dawn
rushed over for a hug. "Oh, Mom! They told me something happened. But they
wouldn't tell me what - they didn't even *tell* me till this morning."
"I'm
fine, honey." Joyce embraced her weakly. "It was a little strange, but
I'm fine."
"Why
did that woman want you? Did she hurt you?"
"No,
honey. And I know she would've left me alone, eventually," Joyce lied
smoothly. "I'm just a little tired." She was silent for a moment,
thinking of the loss she'd felt in the other woman's mind. "She wasn't a
monster. She was just a mother, missing her child."
