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Chapter 60

Giles schooled his features into a pleasant smile and struggled with the books in his arms; finally managing to get them settled in one, he used the other and extended his forefinger to push quickly on the doorbell.  The noise, though muffled by the barrier of the closed door, still reverberated in his head, and he shifted on his feet, struggling to subdue the moan rising automatically on his lips. 

After Doyle had left, he’d had every intention of going to Joyce to try to explain things to her.  But, as he’d walked back into his living room to retrieve a few books that might aid him in his cause, he’d seen the uncorked bottle of Lagavulin and figured he could do with another shot of liquid courage.  One thing had led to another, one glass had become five, until he’d lost count and damn near finished off the bottle. 

He didn’t remember passing out on the couch, but the crick in his neck and the pounding in his head told him that he wouldn’t pull a stunt like that ever again.   

The door was jerked open, Buffy’s name shouted from the woman’s lips before she could see who was standing on the front porch. 

“Oh… Mr. Giles!?”   

Giles smiled wanly, the woman’s shocked greeting setting off a new round of throbbing inside his head.  

“Hello, Mrs. Summers.  I, uh, was wondering if I might have a word with you.”  When he saw her hesitate, he added, “It’s about your daughter, Buffy.” 

“Buffy?” she gasped.  “Do you know where she is?  Is she alright?” 

Joyce’s shrill screeching set his teeth on edge, and he couldn’t hide his wince as his headache bloomed anew. “She’s…” He struggled to find something to say that would placate the woman enough so that she wouldn’t call the police – if she hadn’t already.  

“Are you all right, Mr. Giles?” Joyce asked upon noticing his pained expression. 

“Yes… yes, I’m fine.  Would you mind if I came in, Mrs. Summers?  This may take some time.” 

Joyce stood there in indecision for a moment before finally stepping back and allowing the librarian to enter.  She eyed the books tucked under his arms curiously as he crossed the threshold and waited patiently in the foyer; she closed the door and led him to the living room. 

“Would you like something to drink, Mr. Giles?” she asked, manners getting the best of her.  “I have a pot of coffee that I just brewed.” 

Tea would have been preferred, but he wasn’t going to turn down something hot and loaded with caffeine. 

“Coffee would be perfect.  Black, please, if you don’t mind.  And, please, call me Rupert, or just Giles.  The ‘mister’ reminds me of my father.”  He affected, what he hoped was a grateful expression, then watched as she nodded and smiled, finally moving off towards the kitchen. 

With the room to himself, his lips turned downward, his face taking on a greenish tinge, and he mentally worked to still his rolling stomach.  He set his books down on the coffee table and sat down gingerly on the couch, moving in exaggeratedly slow movement as he catered to his hangover.  When that was accomplished, he leaned back against the cushions and allowed his eyes to close while he waited for Joyce to return. 

~*~ 

Joyce stilled her shaking hands and carefully removed two mugs from the cabinet.  Her flight home last night had been delayed and she’d been unable to reach Buffy to let her know that she was going to be late.  After three unsuccessful attempts, she’d finally left a message, giving her daughter the new arrival time – not that Joyce would needed a ride, she’d left her Jeep at the airport, but to let her daughter know that she wouldn’t be home for dinner and to use some of the slush fund to order something to eat. 

It had been an exhausted Joyce that had entered her home around eleven last night.  She’d dropped her suitcases just inside the front door and made her way wearily up the stairs to check on her daughter.  When she’d opened her bedroom door and Buffy hadn’t been inside, Joyce had begun to panic.  It was too late to call Willow’s house to see if Buffy had gone there, though she’d rushed to her bedroom and had the receiver in her hand, the number halfway dialed, before her reasoning resurfaced. 

Besides, it wasn’t like her daughter hadn’t made use of her friend’s house often enough in the past when she didn’t feel like being home alone. 

Thoughts of a note left on the refrigerator telling of Buffy’s whereabouts had her returning the handset to its cradle and walking downstairs.  In the kitchen, she’d turned on the light, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness.  But, once they had, the glaringly obviously lack of a note tacked to the refrigerator was the first thing she noticed.  The second was the blinking red light on the kitchen phone’s answering machine. 

Her daughter hadn’t been home to check the messages. 

Anger filled her as she’d begun to panic, and Joyce had paced the small confines of the kitchen trying to determine what to do. 

She’d met her daughter’s friends, Xander and Willow, and thought them both nice enough.  Had actually thought their influence would rub off on her daughter.  Especially Willow’s; the girl seemed quiet and studious, traits her daughter would do well to possess.  

But, Joyce had begun to notice things recently.  Things her daughter thought she’d been able to cover, or wouldn’t notice.  Clothing that seemed to disappear, Buffy’s vague comments at not knowing, drawing suspicion – especially when she’d been cleaning the trash can in the basement and come across a mangled shirt with what appeared like dried blood on it.  The winces of pain her daughter thought she hid.  Her constant exhaustion, similar to when they’d been living in Los Angeles. 

Joyce had feared her daughter had hooked up with a bad crowd again.  And, was using her mother’s absences out of town to her advantage. 

Only the fact that her grades, though not stellar, seemed to improve from what they’d become those last few months in LA, had kept her from confronting Buffy.  Joyce had eventually moved to the living room, too tired to remain on her feet to wait up for her daughter.  Determined to speak with her once and for all about her behavior. 

She’d fallen asleep waiting for Buffy to come home, only waking as the sun peeked through the partially open curtains on the living room windows.  She’d sat up abruptly, momentarily confused as to where she was.  Then it had come back to her. 

She’d rushed upstairs and burst inside her daughter’s room, praying that the girl had slipped in sometime late last night.  But, no, the room had still been empty.  And there was no sign of her missing teenager anywhere. 

Frustrated, angry and near tears at her daughter’s behavior, she’d trudged off and taken a shower, washing away the dirt and grime of the flight home.  Then she’d gone down to make some coffee.  She’d been debating calling the school to see if her daughter was in class, but didn’t want to appear a failure in their eyes, so had held off.  Instead, she’d called the gallery and told them she wouldn’t be coming in, that her flight had been delayed and she was still dealing with jetlag, and that she would be in tomorrow.  Her assistant had laughed and told her to have a lazy day at home. 

She’d been just about to pour herself a cup of coffee when the doorbell had rung.  Setting the pot down, Joyce had hurried to the front door, calling out Buffy’s name as she opened it – even knowing that her daughter had her own key and could let herself in.   

It had thrown her for a loop seeing the school’s librarian standing there – a little green around the gills, shuffling nervously on his feet. 

After fixing two cups of coffee, peppering her liberally with sugar and cream, Joyce carried them back to the living room.  Pausing to hand one to Rupert before taking a seat on the chair.  She forced herself to wait for the man to speak.  Watched as he waged a silent battle in his mind, his mouth opening and closing at intervals.  When he did open his mouth and speak, she could only stare in shock at what came she heard. 

“What do you know of vampires, Mrs. Summers?” 

“Is this some kind of joke?” Joyce demanded.  She set her cup of coffee aside, her eyes boring holes into the man.  

Then the phone rang. 

Joyce was going to ignore it, really she was.  After that out-of-left-field question, she was determined to get some answers.  But, thoughts of her daughter had her rushing from the room and into the kitchen to reach the phone, giving the man a pointed look leaving no doubt that they were going to finish their discussion. 

“Hello!”  Her barked greeting was a carry over from the living room. 

“Mom?” Buffy’s voice was soft, hesitant. 

“Buffy?”  Just an instant of motherly concern, relief that her daughter was safe… then she exploded.  “Buffy!  Where the hell are you?  I want you home right this instant, young lady!  Do you hear me!!?”  Tears were welling in her eyes, threatening to spill over as the anxiety of last night caught up with her. 

“Mom.  Can I… speak with Giles for a minute?” 

“What…?  How did you know Mr. Giles…” Her voice trailed off and she looked around frantically for some sign of her daughter nearby. 

“I saw him walk up to the house.” 

“Saw him walk up to the house?”  She peered out the window over the sink, but no one was about.  “Buffy, where are you?” 

“Someplace safe.  Mom, can I please speak with Giles for a minute?  Then he can explain things to you.  Alright?” 

Joyce nodded, more confused than ever, but something in her daughter’s tone had her relenting.  Then realizing Buffy probably couldn’t see her, she mumbled, “Okay.”  She turned, surprised to see Rupert standing in the entryway to the kitchen.   

He just stared at her, his eyes unusually somber. 

“It’s Buffy,” she told him uselessly.  “She…she wants to speak with you.”  She held out the phone in his direction. 

“Joyce, I…”  Her first name slipped unconsciously from his lips, wanting, no… needing to explain things to this woman.  He stopped, though, at seeing her upheld hand and nodded wearily, silently taking the phone from her. 

“Hello, Buffy.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy held the phone to her ear, listening to the sound of her watcher’s greeting.  She had wanted to be there when he told her mom about what she was.  That she was the Slayer.  Only, she didn’t want to go alone.  Needed the reassurance her husband’s presence would bring her. 

The problem was that it was early, barely nine o’clock in the morning.  And, she didn’t want to wait until nightfall because Renee’s childe would be due to rise and she wanted to be there for her friend.  Wanted all of them to be there to welcome the newest member into their clan. 

She lifted her head, seeking guidance from Spike. 

The vampire sighed and took the phone from her hands. 

“I’m sending Doyle,” he told the man brusquely.  “He’ll bring you to us.”  

Spike hung up the phone before the watcher could reply. 

Buffy leaned up and brushed her lips across her husband’s, her hand a smooth caress along his cheek in gratitude.  She slipped silently from the open room and towards Renee and the other women, leaving Spike to hash out the details with Doyle.  After checking briefly with the others, taking a moment to catch up with both Angelina and Esme since she’d left so abruptly after her arrival, Buffy left them to get cleaned up.  Praying a long, hot shower would chase off the jetlag threatening to consume her. 

In the bathroom connected to the room she shared with Spike, the Slayer quickly stripped and stepped into the shower.  She’d set the water as hot as she could stand it, and in minutes, steam had enveloped the tiny room.  As she went through the motions of getting clean, tears fell silently down her face, mingling with the spray.   

Everything that had happened – was about to happen – was crowding in on her, and it wasn’t long before her shoulders were heaving.  Huge, wracking sobs shook her body, and she leaned back against the tile for support… then slid slowly to the ground as her legs gave out on her.  She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, her arms hugging her legs, face resting on her knees, crying, but the curtain soon parted and she was wrapped in cool arms and cradled against a chest quickly warmed by the hot water raining down on them. 

“Shhh… luv, it’s ok.  ‘ve got you now,” Spike murmured against her wet hair.   

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike watched the Slayer walk from the room and struggle not to throw something.  Instead, he turned to the half-breed.  Telling him to retrieve his wife’s mother and watcher and bring them here.  

“Adam, have the car brought round.  Doyle, blindfold them.  I don’t want that wanker getting wind of where we are.  If they don’t, they’re not to get within a mile of the warehouse.  Is that understood?”

Doyle nodded. 

“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” Spike grumbled to himself.  He sat down in one of the chairs in front of the monitors and stared at the screens. 

“Come on, Doyle,” Clayton told the half-breed.  “I’ll walk you up.” 

“Yeah…ok.” 

The two walked together companionably towards the exit. 

“He means it, you know,” the vampire said after awhile.  “If they won’t submit to a blindfold, don’t bring them here.”  Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded cloth.  “Or, you can just open this.” 

“What is it?” Doyle asked. 

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” 

“You’ve been watching too many movies, Clay.” 

Clayton grinned.  “It’s just a little something I picked up a few years back.  Knocks human’s right out.  Harmless though.  They’ll wake up in about an hour.  Tried it on Buffy once.”  The vampire smiled in memory. 

At Doyle’s raised eyebrow, Clayton elaborated.  “I didn’t think it would work on her since she was claimed by Spike.  It worked, only it was more like five minutes instead of an hour.  Too bad the thing doesn’t have a memory loss component to go with it.  Girl woke up and had murder in her eyes.  Lit into me for about an hour once she came round.” 

“I’ll bet.  Bet Spike wasn’t too pleased either.” 

“She never told him.  Was a bitch trying to hide the limp from my sire, though, let me tell you! And her, struggling not to laugh.  She’s evil, I tell you.” 

Doyle snorted and rolled his eyes.   

“Anyway… keep it in your pocket.  If you need to use it, just pull it out and uncover it.  The gemstone works instantly.” 

“Yeah, and what about me?  I’m only half demon, you know.” 

“So, you take a little nap.  Bob will get you all back safely.” 

They arrived at the exit, and Clayton punched in the code that allowed the door to open.  He stepped back, enabling the other to step out into the alley.  Bob was waiting there, a smaller blackened out vehicle idling quietly. 

“Mr. Doyle,” the employee greeted, holding the rear door open for him. 

“I’ll be back shortly,” Doyle told the vampire and walked out into the sunlight to get in the car.  A silent hiss and click as the door slid closed and locked was his only answer. 

“I gave him the orb as a backup,” Clayton told the others when he stepped back into the room. 

Spike perked at that bit of information. 

“Orb?” 

“It’s a sleeping gemstone.  Incapacitates humans for about an hour.  Knocks them right out.  Acquired it from a warlock a few years back.”  The vampire’s grin told Spike there was a story behind it.  Once things settled down, he’d have to remember to ask his childe about it.  Hell, he had a lot of catching up to do with all of his childer. 

Spike looked back at the monitor and saw the black car disappear out of range of the monitors.  Nothing stood out on any of the others, so he stood, telling the others in the room to come get him when the others arrived. 

He was walking down the hall when he heard Buffy weeping. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Giles held the phone to his ear for a moment, not realizing that he was listening to a dial tone.  When he finally did, he slowly lowered it and pressed the disconnect button. 

“Ok, I think I’ve been fairly reasonable about everything, but if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on in the next second, I’m… I don’t know what I’m going to do.”  She gave him her best “I’m the mom and you’re going to tell me the truth” face.  “But, I promise you, it’s going to hurt.  Where is Buffy and what was that remark about vampires?” 

Giles set the phone on the island countertop, then removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.  His headache, while a muted memory a moment ago, was throbbing painfully now. 

“Joyce, I know you’re not going to believe me, but your daughter is a vampire slayer.”  He took a breath waiting for the woman’s explosion.  “And I’m her watcher.” 

“Drugs.  You’re on drugs, aren’t you?  Or dealing drugs.  And, somehow, you’ve managed to drag my daughter into this with you.  I’m right, aren’t I?”  She stood on the opposite side of the kitchen, grateful to have the island between them. 

“No, Joyce, I’m not on drugs.  Everything I’ve just said is the truth.  If you come with me to the living room, I’ll prove it to you.” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you.  In fact, I want you out of my house.  I’m calling the cops.”  She made to reach for the phone, but his words chilled her to the core. 

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Mrs. Summers.”   

At her frightened expression, he relented a bit.  “Look…  I really am telling you the truth.  There’s someone on their way to retrieve us right now and take us to Buffy.  I just…I just wanted to explain a few things so they didn’t come as a shock.  Please, Mrs. Summers… Joyce.  Let me just show you my books.” 

Joyce stared at him, her wide eyes narrowing, as if it would allow her to see into his mind.  Determine the veracity of his words. 

When she finally nodded, Giles breathed a sigh of relief and turned to head back to the living room. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

It was a stunned Joyce that opened the door to reveal a dark-haired man standing on her doorstep.  Garbed in normal, everyday clothes, the man didn’t appear to be a threat, but after looking through the book on demons and reading a few excepts from another that Giles had called his “Watcher’s Diary,” she wasn’t quite sure. 

“Mrs. Summers,” he greeted her pleasantly enough. 

“You’re not a vampire.” 

“Errrr… no, ma’am.  I’m not.  I’m, uh… a friend of Buffy’s and Spike’s.” 

“Spike?  Who’s Spike?” 

“Ho boy…”  Doyle looked over the woman’s shoulder and was pleased to see the watcher step into view. “Giles,” he greeted.

“He’s not a vampire,” Joyce commented.  “Is it ok to invite him in?”  Joyce knew she probably sounded like she was on the verge of a mental breakdown, but she was having a bit of trouble dealing with everything that Rupert had just told her.   

Her daughter was a Slayer.   Went out night after night, slaying demons.   Then came home, calmly as you please, going about her life like it was no big deal if she didn’t come home one night.   

“It’s all right, Joyce.  This is Doyle.  I don’t want to get into the particulars, but he’s a good guy.” 

“Oh… ok.” 

Seeing the woman’s eyes glaze over, Doyle could have kicked Spike for putting him in this position.  “Mrs. Summers, if you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to your daughter.” 

“Buffy?”  Her voice was small, far away. 

Giles caught her before she crumpled to the ground. 

“I’ll get the door.  Bob will help you,” Doyle told the man. 

Giles nodded and easily swung Joyce up into his arms and walked to the car.  Doyle secured the front door and, mindful of the cameras hidden somewhere on the property, gave an improper gesture for the benefit of whoever was watching, before returning to the car.   

Doyle allowed Bob to see him inside and shut the door behind him.  He glanced over to see Giles with a tender expression on his face as he gazed down at the woman he held in his arms.  However, when the watcher looked up and stared at him, no trace could be found.  It was like a mask had slipped into place, hiding whatever the man was thinking. Doyle bit back a smile and silently regarded the other. 

“Blindfold or sleep?” he asked, finally, the car well on their way to their destination. 

“I get a choice?” Giles asked drolly, knowing right away what the emissary meant.   

“Spike’s idea.  Not mine.  He’ll do anything to protect his clan.  Even blindfolding his wife’s mother.  But, since she seems to be a bit out of it, I’ll just worry about you.” 

“I’ll take the blindfold.”

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