“Dawnie, honey – please go downstairs with Spike,” Joyce said calmly, her words a request, but her tone a command, as she spoke to Dawn, but kept her eyes focused on Buffy.
“But Mom…”
“*Now*.”
With an irritated huff, Dawn turned and headed down the stairs. At least, if she could not watch the extreme tongue lashing that Buffy was about to receive, she could pass the time offering what comfort she could to her physically and emotionally injured crush-slash-friend.
Joyce closed the door firmly behind her younger daughter, before turning to face the older girl again. Buffy stood near the window, a wide-eyed, trapped expression on her face. Clearly, she was terrified.
*Good,* Joyce thought, trying to keep the instinct to rush forward and comfort her child at bay, reminding herself that Buffy was not the one who had been wronged. *I’m sure Spike’s spent every moment of the past few days terrified – won’t hurt Buffy to know what it’s like.*
Desperately seeking to hold off the conversation she knew was about to take place, Buffy blurted out, “You sent Dawn down there to wait with *Spike*? His chip doesn’t work anymore, Mom! He can hurt her!”
“He won’t,” Joyce replied without hesitation, and the certainty in her eyes was startling to Buffy.
She knew deep down that it was true. First of all, there was her order to Spike not to hurt Dawn, which she knew that he could not have disobeyed if he had tried. But beyond that, there was a surety deep within her, telling her beyond all doubt that regardless of her command, Spike would never harm those nearest and dearest to her heart.
She had assumed that it was because Dawn was *her* sister – that Spike would not hurt Dawn merely because he knew that to do so would be to hurt *Buffy*. But now, faced with the certainty in her mother’s eyes, her unwavering belief that Dawn was safe in the company of the master vampire in their living room – the master vampire that she had just gone out of her way to comfort and was now ready to defend so fiercely…
Buffy had to wonder if it was more than his connection to *her*, that restrained the vampire from harming her defenseless little sister.
Unaware of her daughter’s rising suspicions, Joyce went on, “I really don’t think he’s the one that’s dangerous right now, Buffy! You’re the one who’s been hurting *him*, when he can’t lift a finger against you! So don’t even *start* trying to push this off on Spike. This is not his fault!”
“Yeah – let’s argue about whose fault it is while he’s down there eating my little sister!” Buffy snapped, unable to keep a petulant note from her voice, as she desperately tried to cling to the only subject she could find to stand between her and her mother’s judgment.
Her mother would have none of it.
“Dawn is probably safer than I am right now, Buffy, so just stop trying to get out of this!” Joyce snapped, losing patience with her daughter’s attempts to divert her attention, as well as with her attitude of self-pity and accusations aimed at anyone but herself.
Buffy flinched from the harsh statement, wounded by the suggestion that she might be capable of harming her own mother. But – she had threatened to hurt Dawn – hadn’t she? She remembered her own words to Spike in the kitchen with an uneasy sensation in her stomach.
Even now, as the pieces of the story that had been hidden from her began to come together in her mind, she could feel the dark anger and suspicion building insider her, gaining strength, as she began to realize that her mother and sister had deceived her, and questions filled her thoughts.
Why was Dawn so furious with her for hurting Spike? Why was her own mother acting as if she had committed some heinous crime, simply by attempting to control a dangerous vampire? And why did her mother seem to trust Spike with her youngest daughter’s safety, knowing that there was no chip to restrain him?
She seemed to trust him more than she trusted *Buffy* at the moment.
A feeling of jealousy rose in her at the thought, though she was not sure exactly who she was jealous over – her mother or her mate. As she began to question the nature of her family’s unusual manner with *her* vampire, she could feel the possessive force within her surging up furiously, screaming for release.
“How can you say that, Mom?” she demanded in a voice that trembled with hurt and accusing anger. “This is *Spike* we’re talking about! As in ‘tried to kill me more times than I can count’ Spike! How can you know for sure that he won’t…”
“Buffy,” Joyce interrupted angrily. “I don’t need you to question my judgment on this! This is not about why I trust Spike…”
“You *trust* Spike?” Buffy’s voice was higher than she meant it to be, and a bit shrill with her rising emotions. She had known as much already, but to hear it said aloud only made her own insecurities and suspicions that much more real to her.
“I don’t need your permission to trust whomever I decide is trustworthy,” Joyce informed her in a heated tone of quiet warning. “And when it comes to this family, Spike is as trustworthy as they get. He would *never* hurt your sister.”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed in accusation. “What makes you so sure?” she asked pointedly, a chilling anger in her darkened green eyes, making it clear to Joyce that she was wondering about the odd connection the vampire had to her and Dawn, which was obvious now. The Slayer’s fiery eyes demanded an explanation.
“Buffy,” Joyce began quietly, a tired, sad sound to her voice, “if you’d been home at all over the past few months, maybe you would already have known this.”
She paused suddenly, surprised and alarmed, as she looked into her daughter’s eyes – and saw a stranger glaring back at her. With a chilling realization, she recognized the frightening power that Spike had told her of, the terrifying force that took Buffy over and made her do such violent things.
Joyce’s eyes narrowed in an expression that was almost defiant, as she spoke with slow certainty, deliberately addressing that force, rather than her own daughter. “Spike is my friend. I trust him with Dawn because he loves her – and me…” She opened her mouth to go on, but stopped before the words “and Buffy” could leave her lips.
That was how much a stranger this person in her daughter’s body appeared to be.
“And we love *him*, too. And I’m *not* going to let you hurt him,” she continued instead, her words a solid declaration against the force that seemed to desire to crush the vampire completely – to utterly possess him, or to destroy him.
Not on Joyce Summers’ watch.
Buffy was struck speechless by the words, confused and frightened by the force of the possessive anger she felt, screaming inside her with rage at her mother’s words. Intense, outraged words circled through her mind in a tumult of powerful, violent anger, just barely restrained by Buffy’s last measure of self-control.
*Spike is *mine*! No one else’s! You can’t keep him from me! He’s mine!*
She struggled to fight back the fury, the feelings that terrified her with the desire to lash out, to challenge any claim of any sort that any other person might feel they had to *her* mate. But – even her own *mother*? She couldn’t – she had to…
Oh, God, she was so confused!
“Buffy?”
Her mother’s voice was guarded but uncertain, as it tried to draw her out of her darkening thoughts. Joyce watched her closely, a sense of apprehension tight in her chest, as she became acutely aware of the violent power that was inherent in her daughter, and how very dangerous she could be if she chose to turn that power on her. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to flee.
Every instinct – but one.
Joyce took a slow, cautious step toward her obviously hurting, very troubled daughter.
“Mom,” Buffy whispered, shaking her head in confusion, as if trying to clear it. “I – I’m sorry. I don’t – I mean – something’s…”
She stopped speaking, just shaking her head, unable to come up with words that made sense through the fog of the presence that was trying to take her over again. The threat it had made, through her lips, against her sister – the fury she felt at her mother’s perceived threat to her claim, and the horrifying desire to eliminate that threat – terrified her, and made her fight that much harder for control.
*I don’t care who or what you are,* Buffy thought with bitter anger. *You *won’t* make me hurt my family!* Her hands rose unconsciously to fist in her own hair on either side of her head, as she turned away from her mother, then back toward her, caught in a losing battle for mastery of herself.
“Buffy?” Joyce’s tone now was one of concern, as she drew slowly nearer to her daughter, placing a steadying hand on one of her trembling, upraised arms. “Buffy – honey – what is it?” she asked in a hushed, cautious voice.
Suddenly, like an elastic band stretched to its very limits, and then suddenly released, Buffy felt the tension of the struggle within her snap – and suddenly, she was in full control again. She stared up at her mother through wide, disoriented, almost panicked eyes, as her arms lowered slowly back to her sides – and then reached out desperately toward Joyce, whose initial impulse was to draw back in alarm.
A stricken look in her eyes, Buffy stared at her mother with a lost expression of hurt confusion.
“Mommy,” she pleaded in a desperate, trembling whisper. “Help me – please help me.”
Joyce’s mother instincts – and pure love for her daughter – took over, and she moved forward without hesitation to take the Slayer into her arms.
Once in the shelter of her mother’s arms, Buffy broke down, sobbing out a barely coherent stream of tearful apologies, pleas, attempts at explanation. Her heart aching for her little girl, but feeling helpless to actually change her situation, Joyce just held her close and allowed her to let it all out – exactly as she had done for Spike, only minutes before.
“Oh, honey,” she said finally, when Buffy had been silent for a few long moments. Her voice was soft and sad and full of regret. “Why would you do something like that, Honey? Why in the world did you think that that ritual was even necessary?”
“I don’t know,” Buffy sobbed, her plaintive words muffled against her mother’s shirt. “Giles and the others just kept saying that Spike was still dangerous, and he was always – always *there*, and – and I thought I should do it if that’s what Giles said, and I didn’t know it was going to turn out this way, and I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Mommy!” She gasped for the breath she had lost as the words had poured from her in a single, sobbing rush.
“I’m not the one you need to tell, Honey,” Joyce reminded her in a voice of gentle but unyielding reproof. “Spike’s the one that’s been hurt by all this.
Her sobs finally subsiding completely, Buffy looked up at her mother through solemn, tearful eyes. “Mom,” she informed her in a tone of bitter self-disgust. “That’s all I’ve done since this whole thing has started is tell him I’m sorry.” She paused, amending, “Hurt him, and say I’m sorry and promise not to do it again. But – but whatever this is – I – I can’t control it. It always *does* happen again!”
Fresh tears welled in her eyes as she leaned her head against Joyce’s shoulder again, falling to soak her mother’s blouse as she sobbed, “I’m so sorry! I wish I hadn’t done the stupid ritual! I’m so, so sorry!”
Joyce was quiet for a long moment, just letting her daughter cry. Finally, she spoke in a soft, firm voice of resolve. “But you *did* do the ritual, Buffy. Not quite the one you meant to, from what I understand – not that either one of them would have been a good thing,” she added pointedly with a little frown.
“But – what’s done is done. And now, all we can do is try to find a way to fix it if we can – and deal with it in the mean time.”
That had been all that Buffy had been trying to do from the moment she had discovered the dangerous side effects of her claim – but somehow, the words were more soothing and reassuring coming from her mother’s mouth. It just made sense. Panic, despair – neither would help her.
This was her situation, and there was nothing for it but to deal with it.
She sat up slowly, regaining her composure and turned a fearful, but calmer, gaze upon Joyce’s serene face, as she realized the one problem – she hadn’t the first clue how to go about “dealing with it”.
“So – what can I do?” she asked in a very small voice with a sheepish little grimace.
“Well,” Joyce began. “I should think that you and your friends need to be trying to figure out what you and Spike may have done in the course of the ritual that’s not an actual part of the ritual – what might have gone wrong. Because neither the dominance ritual you *meant* to do, or the mating claim you *actually* did should have caused this whole possession thing.” She paused, before adding as an afterthought, “Or Spike’s chip to fail. Maybe the two are connected somehow?”
“I’ll talk to Giles about it,” Buffy nodded thoughtfully. “If we can find out what went wrong, then maybe we can fix it. Figure out what this thing is and where it came from, and get it out of me…” Her expression darkened, her eyes and mouth becoming hard in a true Slayer glare as she finished with determination in her voice.
“So I can kill it.”
Joyce nodded slowly, completely understanding her daughter’s anger. If this sinister thing wreaking havoc in her baby’s life and abusing her surrogate son was not actually *inside* her baby at the moment – and if she had the Slayer-strength her daughter did to actually kill a demon – Joyce would have taken it on herself, whatever it was.
But there was more than that that Buffy had to deal with; the conversation was far from over, as far as Joyce was concerned.
“And until you do?” she prompted Buffy softly, catching her gaze with a searching look, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
Buffy’s eyes widened as she took in what her mother was asking – and realized that once again, she had no idea. She looked away, thinking it through carefully, while her mother patiently waited. She remembered her thoughts earlier, during her conversation with Dawn, about how she had spent next to no time actually getting to know Spike – about how hurt and lonely he must feel because of the way she was treating him.
“Well,” she began slowly, thinking it out as she went along, “Because of the claim – Spike and I are drawn to each other. And I mean *really* drawn to each other,” she clarified grimly, lest her mother misunderstand. “There’s no getting around that. He needs me. I think – if we spend some time together, maybe I can – I don’t know…”
*Get to know him better…try to make it up to him…*
“…figure out what’s causing me to go off like I do…find out a way to control it maybe?”
Joyce frowned, her disapproval for that idea clear on her face. “And at what cost, Buffy?” she asked. “Think about that for a second. How are you going to figure out specifically what sets these violent fits off – without *actually…setting…them…off*?”
Buffy’s eyes widened; she had not quite thought of that.
Joyce shook her head, taking advantage of the silence to assert her own authority. “No,” she declared. “No, Buffy, you don’t need to take chances like that with his life. Anything could set you off. Until we figure out how to fix this, you two need to be separated.”
The sudden flow of defensive rage that began to course through Buffy took her by surprise, as her eyes shot up to her mother’s, blazing with defiant fire – but she said nothing.
Joyce stood her ground, though she realized that she was walking into a dangerous area with her words. “Buffy, you know it’s true,” she said. “You need to go back to school – and Spike can stay here. You don’t need to be with him right now.”
Buffy glared at her mother silently for another moment, and Joyce could actually see her eyes darken with an unnatural rage at the woman’s intention to separate her from her mate. For a moment, she was actually afraid that her daughter might strike her – so much so, in fact, that when Buffy moved suddenly, she flinched slightly.
But the Slayer did not move to strike a blow; before Joyce knew what had happened, Buffy had shot past her, out the bedroom door, heading down the stairs. Realizing suddenly with dismay what was happening, Joyce hurried after her.
“Buffy!” she called in a shaking, warning voice as she rushed down the stairs after her daughter, almost falling in her haste. “*Buffy*!”
By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, Buffy was standing beside the sofa, grabbing Spike’s arm in a grip that had to be painful as she yanked him up from his seat beside Dawn, where the two of them had been innocently talking, completely unsuspecting of the danger that was building upstairs all the while.
“Buffy,” Spike said softly in a clear effort to soothe her, his eyes searching hers, wide with the effort to keep his expression calm, but full of trepidation. “Buffy, love – what is it…?”
“Shut up,” she snapped. “We’re leaving, *now*. Come on.”
He had no choice but to go with her, his mind racing as he tried to fathom what might have happened to set her off this time, what he had done to earn her wrath from clear across the house. But when they reached the front door, he began to put the pieces together – to realize that for once, maybe this was not about him or anything he had done.
Joyce stood in the doorway, her hands on either side of the doorjamb, her feet planted firmly, glaring at her daughter through eyes that were fearful yet utterly determined – not to be moved. Spike’s heart sank, as he felt the violent surge of rage that rose up in the Slayer at the next words her mother spoke.
“Buffy Anne Summers – I swear on my life I am *not* letting you take Spike out of this house.”
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