Episodes

The children all beat him to the house on Revello Drive, so Giles had no opportunity to talk to Joyce about the short, hope-inspiring message she had left on his machine. But she smiled at him softly when Buffy let him in, which was a better reception than he had hoped for.

They gathered around in the living room to relate the events of the attack on Adam to Joyce’s wonder and horror. Riley was fascinated by the explanation of the joining spell, and contributed his own explanation of his disappearance from Buffy’s dorm room and Adam’s control over him. They all shared their perspectives from inside the joining spell, each fascinated by what the others did and didn’t notice.

When the debriefing was over, they broke up into small groups, Buffy and Riley for a sensitive reunion, Xander and Joyce in the kitchen getting snacks, while Willow sat on the stairs, lostthouthought. Giles stopped in the doorway to study her. “Feeling alright?”

“What?” She roused from her reverie, then smiled at him. “I’m fine. Just thinking about that spell. Not what we did, but how we did it. The energy, it was just so overwhelming.”

“Have you been working on your grounding exercises?”

She looked sheepish.

“Willow, if you are going to practice magic, you must keep up with your daily practice. You should have been able to draw the energy for this working in from the world around you instead of powering it all yourself.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But it’s just so much work . . .”

They were interrupted as Buffy walked Riley to the front door, at the same time Joyce and Xander came in from the kitchen with popcorn for the movies.

“Well, you guys have fun tonight,” Riley said as he opened the door. He offered his hand to Joyce. “It was very nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you ... finally.”

He and Buffy said their final farewells before Buffy shut the door behind him. Joyce looked her daughter playfully in the eye. “Did you notice how pointedly I said ‘finally’?”

Giles couldn’t help but smile as Buffy very innocently replied, “No.”

As they moved into the living room, bent on movie madness, Giles looked to Joyce. “You sure you won't join us?”

“No, you guys have your fun.” Her words were sympathetic and not avoiding. “I'm tired. I can't believe you're not exhausted. Have you even slept since...”

He shrugged. “Still feel a little bit too wired.”

“Mm,” Willow agreed, curling up on the couch. “Yeah, that spell, that was, that was powerful.”

Buffy sat down next to her. “Don't think I *could* sleep.”

As the kids argued over which movie to watch, Joyce and Giles exchanged a look of understanding tinged with frustration that after so much time apart, they were denied a chance to talk. Then with one last flicker of a smile, she headed upstairs as he settled into the armchair to watch the movie.



Buffy pulls him along eagerly through the carnival, hair in pigtails, face lit with excitement. “Come on, come on! We’re gonna miss all the good stuff!”

Joyce smiles, bemused. “Does she always want to train this badly?” She’s pushing a stroller, but it’s too small for Buffy. He wonders who belongs in it.

“Well, it appears she's never heard the fable about patience.” He allows Buffy to drag him along.

“Which one is that?” Joyce asks, following behind.

“The, the one about the fox, and the, uh, less patient fox.”

Buffy pulls up in front of a large sarcophagus shaped booth, bouncing on her toes. “Here, I want to, I want to!”

“Yes, go ahead,” Giles concedes.

Buffy turns back to the counter with a squeal of joy, snatching up the yellow ball and throwing it eagerly at the vampire target.

Giles sighs in exasperation. “Buffy, you have a sacrerthrrthright to protect mankind. Don't stick out your elbow.”

Joyce seems disappointed in her daughter as well. The girl loses some of her enthusiasm, but picks up another ball and tries again.

The target cries, “Ahh, you staked me!” as she hits it dead center. She whirls, a brilliant smile on her face.

He shrugs. “I haven't got any treats.”

Joyce protests. “For god's sake, Rupert, go easy on the girl.”

As Buffy reaches for a snack from one of the vendors, he turns to Joyce. “This is my business. Blood of the lamb and all that.” Then he notices what Buffy is doing. “Oh, now, you're gonna get that all over your face.”

But she isn’t a mess of sticky pink fluff. Instead, her face is caked with mud, tribal, primitive marking masking her identity.

He hesitates. “I know you.”

But just as he is about to focus on her, he hears a familiar voice calling for his attention, and turns to see Ethan standing near an open crypt. “Come on,” the man says, “you don’t want to miss anything.”

He looks at Joyce, who smiles at him before turning to Buffy. With a shrug, he follows after Ethan.

The inside of the crypt looks more like a chapel than a burial chamber. Candles burn on every surface, making the room bright. Joyce sits off to one side, face buried in her hands as she weeps brokenly. The carriage lies broken at her feet. But he is sure he left her outside with Buffy. . .

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Joyce,” Giles says, offering comfort.

When she looks up at him, her face is hard. “I don’t. I blame you.”

Ethan draws his attention, but when Giles looks, he sees a crowd of people gathered around taking pictures of a technicolor Ethan, garbed in flowing robes of red and gold, a burgundy velvet pointed cap slouched over on his head. “I’ve hired myself out as an attraction.” He gestures with the wand in his hand, and the crowd goes mad, flashbulbs exploding.

“As what? Sideshow freak?” Giles asks, ignoring Joyce’s renewed crying.

“Sorcerers are very in these days,” Ethan says blithely. He poses again, one hand out, one hand raised. The crowd responds with another volley of flashes.

Giles steps toward him, looking back at the devastated Joyce. “What am I supposed to do with all of this?” he asks.

Ethan responds, “You have to make up your mind, Ripper.” The Technicolor haze makes him hard to look at. “What are you wasting time for?”

Joyce brushes past him to join Ethan, letting him hold her protectively. “If you could put your ego aside for a moment, Rupert, you would understand perfectly.” Ethan’s expression as he speaks is critical, almost disappointed.

Giles feels the censure deeply and responds in the only way he can think of. “I should have let Buffy kill you.”

Ethan sighs resignedly, and Giles turns away as the sorcerer bends to kiss Joyce passionately.

He has barely gone a step when he’s intercepted by a short, bald man who appears to have slices of cheese layered on the top of his head. “I wear the cheese. It does not wear me.”

Giles watches as the little man slinks away, then shakes his head in disbelief. “Honestly, you meet the most appalling sorts of people.” And he proceeds on into the Bronze.



Joyce was busy at the stove when Giles came into the kitchen, but she glanced over at him with a quick smile. “You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit . . . unsettled.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think I understand now why Buffy hates her prophetic dreams so much.”

“Intense?” She brought the saucepan over to the counter and began pouring the chocolate out into mugs.

“Very. And surreal. But I feel as though if I could just hold on to one of the images for more than a moment, I might be able to understand it better.”

“Can you remember any of it?”

“Just pieces, really. There was a pocket watch, I think.” He moved to si one one of the stools at the island. “And I was performing at the Bronze, but it was my living room as well. And then of course I had my skull cut open like a melon. I don’t seem to remember much after that.”

“It sounds horrible.” She pushed one of the mugs across the counter to him.

He picked up the cup, twisting it around in his hands as she took the tray out to the living room. When she came back, he looked up at her. “Do you still blame me?”

She slipped her hands into the pockets of her oversized robe and leaned back against the island next to him. “For?”

“Buffy. For what she is, what she has to do.”

She met his gaze, her eyes filled with compassion. “No, I don’t blame you for that. She is what she is. You at least seem to understand her, let her be herself.”

“She’s a formidable force. You would have been proud of her today, Joyce.”

“I am.” She laid a hand on his arm. “And I’m proud of you, too.”

Something stiff and unyielding seemed to give way inside him, and he covered her hand with his own. “I’m so sorry, Joyce. I never should have . . .”

She covered his lips lightly with her fingers. “Don’t. Not now. We haven’t got enough time now to say all the things we probably need to.” She glanced quickly at both entrances to the kitchen before momentarily replacing her fingers with her lips. “But we’ll find the time. Soon. Because I’ve missed you, too.” She dared another kiss, lingered over it a little longer, filling his head with the smell, the feel of her, before stepping away. “The kids are going to be looking for you. They need you tonight.”

He caught her hand. “But soon.”

She smiled. “Soon.”

As he watched her leave, he realized it couldn’t be soon enough.