Joyce Summers
Mom of a Chocoholic
Okay, this is a plot bunny that has been nibbling at my brain for the past few months. And the bunny grew until it was this huge evil wererabbit thing that was forcing me to write this story. So I erm, did.
Summary:It is completely and utterly AU from the moment Angel throws Darla out of the apartment in the timeline of the Angel Season Two episode 'Epiphany'. Darla, having been told that she never made Angel happy but Buffy did, sets out on a vengeance warpath and heads back to Sunnydale, intending to rip Buffy limb from limb. But on a Hellmouth things never go how you initally plan them to, but you can always count on things being equally bad...
Warning: There will be lots and lots of character death in this story, but you know not over-the-top-this-is-ridiculous-lots but you know, there will be a fair amount. So if that isn't your gig, feel free to try anyway or just slowly back away now. This is technically a work in progress, but as I have a chapter-by-chapter layout planned and I'm obsessively organized when it comes to two things- writing and fashion- this will be update regularly. At least every saturday and perhaps, if you know my life doesn't get in the way, on Wednesdays also.
It is a Joyce-centric-ish fanfic. Blame Jane Espenson for writing so many good Joyce eps, and blame Kristine Sutherland for being so marvellously talented and playing the character so well. It's all their fault. Really it is. (I guess I should also thank them I suppose .:: sigh ::.)
And of course, feedback is very much appreciated. Hope you like and enjoy the first chapter.
"You still have a soul," Darla spat in disgust, holding the red bed sheet tightly around her form as she backed away from the still ensouled Angelus, as though she felt a good vampire looking upon her naked flesh was worse than any rape she'd experienced while she had been alive.
"I still have a soul..." Angel repeated in stunned agreement, walking back into the apartment, walking past Darla as though she no longer held any interest at all for him, to sit on the bed moments ago they had been having passionate sex in again and again.
"But how?" Darla asked, sounding more confused than anything as she walked after him, sheet still held tightly around her, "But we..."
"Yeah.." Angel nodded in agreement.
"And you..."
"I know" He agreed somberly, beginning to get dressed at a patient steady rate so unlike the frantic, desperate attitude he had adopted when he had come face to face with Darla hours before.
"Then I..."
"Three times," He confirmed.
"You're not evil," Darla truly couldn't comprehend this fact, this hitch. Sex, a moment of perfect guilt-free happiness and he became her boy again. She detested this mopey conscious bearing Angel. He was boring, bland. Awful. Tasteless, "I don't understand. Was I- was it not good?" She let out a short laugh of pure disbelief. She was always good. Always, "Well, I don't accept that. You can't tell me that wasn't perfect. Not only have I been around for four hundred years, but I used to do this professionally, And that was perfect. I'm always good!"
"And you were," Angel looked sympathetically over at the desperate Darla, "But you never made me happy"
"I...never made you happy?" Darla could barely form the words, she loathed them so much, she didn't even choose to believe them, "I didn't make you happy but that...that cheerleader did?!" Oh no, nuh-uh, no way. No way was that little blond bitch of a Slayer better in bed for him than her. Several generations they'd been together, having sex the likes of which could be only be described as having the ability to move mountains and now he was telling her that never made him happy?
"We're done Darla," Angel stated simply and somberly, standing up from his seat on the bed now he was fully dressed and he seemed to tower over her more than normal. She had always been the strong one in their relationship, always, even when he thought he was the dominant, but here he was seeming to tower over her as though she were the frightened little whore she had started out as. She didn't like this. In fact the anger it caused to burn inside her made her feel more murderous than usual. "Let yourself out. Get dressed and get out. Because the next time I see you, I will have to kill you"
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Drusilla had left Darla to return to Sunnydale shortly after Angelus had tried to set both of them alight. She had gone back to try and get Spike to join them, to 'reunite their family' she claimed. Darla couldn't care less. Spike had never been a real interest of hers. A silly boy who still had fantastical thoughts of vampires even after he became one himself. However, Darla couldn't deny that she needed both of them now, or at least she needed Drusilla. The two of them were the only vampires to have survived a long period of time in Sunnydale, the Hellmouth and the home of the reigning Slayer. And it was there where Darla wished to now go. To Sunnydale, to the Slayer. The little bitch who stole Angel's heart. It wasn't really his heart though was it? You can't steal a heart that is no longer beating, that no longer pumps blood through the veins. She had stole his soul though. Oh yes, she had done that. In more than one way. And it was for that that Darla was going to have her vengeance, the little bitch was going to pay.
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Vampires had a heightened sense of smell. It was a wonderful gift in her opinion, one that was so often rejected by others of her kind. No, not rejected. Unappreciated. But Darla appreciated it, reveled in it even. You could smell the fear on your prey, it was like an aphrodisiac to her. Erotic, charging yet at the same time calming and relaxing to the demon within her. And the more fear she smelt upon them the more she felt their heartbeats race, their blood pumping faster and hotter which only encouraged her feeding frenzy. She had sired very few because of this matter. She mostly devoured, rarely savored.
The strong sense of smell had other qualities and advantages too though. One vampire could smell it's offspring, no matter how far down the line it was and Drusilla, being a childe of Angelus' was not very far down the line at all, and having also been her own sire in a weird twist of fate, so Darla easily found her. In an abandoned building dramatic and fantastical enough for Drusilla's tastes, just on the outskirts of Sunnydale.
"Drusilla!" Darla sang out pleasantly, "Grandmother's home!" There was no answer though, no distant, poetic reply. Drusilla was still here wasn't she? She hadn't yet moved on? No, Darla could smell her strong enough to know she was somewhere around here. The question was where."Drusilla...where are you?" She asked gently, walking softly around the place, looking in every dark corner.
"My dear boy's gone all away," Drusilla suddenly spoke out into the darkness and Darla turned to see the dark-haired vampire walk out of the shadows.
"Pardon?" Darla frowned.
"He's gone all away, he doesn't like to sing our little songs anymore" Dru moaned.
"Drusilla, what are you talking about?" Darla asked directly. Spike and Angelus had always had patience for Drusilla's insane ramblings, loved to listen to them enjoyed them, but Darla had never had the patience for the thing. She's always been a straight-up sort of woman and she didn't have time for mad mumblings.
"Spike, he's gone away," Drusilla explained, "Terribly awful he was. Didn't set me on fire though...just wanted to put it out. Wood to my chest. Hard and pressing. Hard and pressing"
"He tried to stake you?" Darla couldn't believe it. Spike was devoted to the woman. Even once he was turned he had kept his soppy attitude about eternal love- and it was always about Drusilla. Darla laughed softly in disbelief, "Well, he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do - you must have misunderstood. Maybe it was one of your little games" She smiled
Drusilla shook her head sadly.
"No, no games to play. The only games he plays now are with her. He's gone away to her, no getting him back now"
"He's gone to who?" Darla asked, stepped toward her as she did so. Drusilla didn't answer at first, merely continued to look down at the floor with a glazed expression, stroking one of her favored porcelain dolls. Suddenly she stopped though and slowly lifted her head to look directly into Darla's eyes as she answered:
"The Slayer...he's gone to Slayer...he's got her all about him...reeks of him...reeks of death...of borrowed conscience. That and little metal chips giving little shocks all around his head"
So, Darla was confused by the last part about metal chips and shocks but she certainly understood the first. Not only had Buffy taken Angelus from her, never to be returned, but now she had stolen Drusilla's man as well? That was it, Darla no longer cared how petty or whether it was revenge or not anymore; one way or another Buffy was going to die bloody.
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Joyce Summers sat in the living room, marveling at how entirely quiet the house was for once. Both Dawn and Buffy were staying at their Dad's for the weekend. Dawn had been excited, but Buffy was extremely reluctant. Hank had hardly been in their lives for a while now, only very occasionally calling up claiming he wanted a father/daughter weekend (usually, Joyce had figured out, when he had broke up with his most recent secretary). Dawn was always delighted by this announcement but as she had got older, Buffy had become less and less enthused, developing a cynicism about her Father that eldest siblings from divorced families tended to develop.
And so, Joyce had the house to herself. Which had been wonderful the first few hours...and then it got lonely. Sure she may constantly complain about the noise and the mess her daughters made, but when they weren't here...the house just didn't feel the same. No matter how much she claimed to need time to herself, she always missed them when they were gone. Always.
To make the emptiness of the house even more noticeable, when the girls were away none of the others ever stopped by, almost as though forgetting she were still there. Not that it was surprising. After all, she wasn't one of their...what was it she had heard call Dawn call it? The Scoobies, that was it. She wasn't one of those, so it wasn't surprising that when Buffy wasn't here they chose not to stop by. Occasionally Xander would come over for a few hours with mostly homemade food on his mind, but nevertheless she was always glad to see him, and even more occasionally Rupert would stop by, perhaps in desperate need of some adult conversation which, being the mother of two young daughters, was a need Joyce could understand.
So when their was a knock at the door, Joyce immediately presumed it was one of these two, so she didn't even bother to look out the window before she pulled open the front door.
However, it was neither Rupert nor Xander stood there. Not even Anya or Willow, which it very, very occasionally sometimes was but instead was a petite blond girl, wearing jeans and a red top. Looking very normal, very average, but for some reason she struck Joyce with a feeling of familiarity. Blinking the low, almost-set sun out of her eyes, she tried to focus on the girl seeing if some recognition would come to her. It didn't.
"Hello," Joyce greeted her, but her own puzzlement spoke in the word and it came out more of a question.
"Hi," The girl smiled back at her, peering past her as though looking for something and Joyce instinctively stood more centrally in the doorway, protecting her home from the prying eyes of strangers. "Buffy's not here is she?" Darla asked casually. She remembered the Slayer's Mother. That had been the night she had died for the second time. Angel had staked her, all for this woman's daughter. God, it always came back to her didn't it? Buffy. Back then this woman had been entirely oblivious to their world, if she hadn't have been Darla knew she would not have freely invited her into her home without even considering what she could be. However, that was almost fours years ago now and so many things could have changed. Things had changed for Darla after all. She'd been human, dying, vampire, now rejected. So, maybe the Slayer's Mother now knew of her kind...maybe that was why she wasn't saying the magic words. 'Would you like to come in and wait'. Such a simple thing and yet it gave a vampire so much power, so much control. However, Darla had been invited in before and a vampire was forever welcome until the invitation was revoked by ancient, powerful rituals, so she should be able to walk right in anyway. But did that rule apply? This was her second life as a vampire so would she need a second invite? She certainly hoped not. "I've been looking for her..." She elaborated if only to buy time until she saw Buffy or found out where she was. As she said this, she casually brushed past Buffy's Mother with a presumptuous grace she knew threw people too much to ever question it, and she was serenely delighted when she came across no barrier and instead walked right in. Once in the hall, she turned to look back at the woman and saw that indeed she did look a little less on edge than a moment before. Her entry perhaps 'proving' to the woman that she wasn't a vampire. More fool her and luck for Darla since she couldn't remember meeting the seemingly young girl before.
"I'm afraid Buffy's not here, she's staying with her Father for a day or so..." Joyce explained, frowning at how the young girl had just strolled in as though she owned the place. She looked no older than Buffy, but something about her, the way she held herself, the way she stood made her seem so much older than her years. "Don't I...don't I know you from somewhere?" She asked, trying to place the feeling of recognition and familiarity.
The 'young' blond turned to look at her, a peaceful yet at the same time all-knowing smile on her face as she nodded gently in confirmation, beginning to pace slowly and comfortably around the living room.
"Yes," She told her, "We've met before. A few years ago actually..."
It was as the girl said these words, that Joyce was finally able to place her face and she nodded and smiled in recognition, in relief even as she realized she knew the girl.
"Oh yes, it was when we first moved to Sunnydale wasn't it? You were, uh, tutoring Buffy with her...history, right?"
"That's right," Darla nodded yet again, continuing to stroll around the living room, brushing her hand casually over mantelpiece and ornaments adorning it, taking in everything that was the Slayer. It was all so...homey. She detested it.
"Yes, that was the night..." Joyce trailed off as all the memories of that night came back to her. The girl's name was Darla, yes she remembered that. She also remembered fainting in the kitchen, Buffy had found her and called an ambulance to take her to the hospital. She had been told by the doctors that she must have fell on a barbecue fork despite the fact that had no such utensil in their house. It was only in later years when Joyce had found out about Buffy's secret identity that it had been explained to her that the faint scar that remained on her neck was not the result of clumsiness, but rather a vampire bite. The vampire being...as her thought process stopped at a dangerous place, Joyce froze in fear. This girl was the vampire...but the sun wasn't even down completely. Apparently it was down enough. Oh god, she was trapped in a house with a vampire with Buffy out of town, so no chance of her smashing through the window again such as when Faith had been holding her hostage in her own house. She went to back away, to put as much distance between her and the vampire as possible, but their was a resistance at her back and as she turned to look what was stopping her she gasped in shock and horror as she realized Darla was already behind her.
"Aww..." Darla pouted, putting her hands on Joyce's shoulders so she was forced to look at her face, now in complete vampire visage, "Did I ruin the surprise?" She spun Joyce around to face while pushing her away roughly so as to shake her up as though she were a misbehaving young child she were attempting to shake the information out of, "Now...where's Buffy?"
"Why would I tell you anything?" Joyce managed to reply despite the fear that was threatening to consume her completely. For her efforts she was thrown back towards the staircase by Darla, landing painfully on the floor.
"Because I can do a lot worse than that to you," Darla replied simply with a patient sigh, but then suddenly her eyes lit up, "Oh but wait...you already told me where she is didn't you?" Joyce didn't reply, didn't nod or shake her head, didn't give any indication that she knew what the vampire was talking about, "Yes...staying with Daddy isn't she?" She smirked, "Now, I don't suppose you'd care to tell me where Daddy lives, would you?"
Joyce didn't say word, she remained silent while pulling herself back up and attempting to keep her balance despite the pain of the fall roaring through her entire body and Darla sighed again.
"Thought not," She said simply, striding towards Joyce with purpose and grabbing her left arm tightly in her small, feeble looking hand. "But I'm a Take-Back-The-Night kinda girl and I like to give women more benefit than the guys, so I'll give you a second chance" She leaned in close, knowing she was intimidating Joyce, frightening her more than she had ever been in her life, "Where is your daughter?" When Joyce remained silent, closing her eyes tightly so as to shut out the terrifying image of Darla before her, the vampire sighed in frustration and threw the forty-one year old away from her. Though it wasn't as roughly as before and Joyce merely stumbled a few steps forward before managing to gain her balance. Darla saw her eyes dart over to the direction of the front door, "Don't even try it," She said simply, fleetingly, knowing exactly what the woman had been thinking, "Now, since you won't tell me where Bitchy is, I'm guessing the only option here is to...well, kill you" The word alone made Darla grin, her fangs gleaming in the golden light pouring out from one of the Art Nouveau lamps that adorned a side table in the living room. "I also enjoy a good kill makes me feel..." She searched around for the appropriate word and smiled when she found it, "Refreshed. Plus, it'll give me a real kick seeing how much pain it causes that daughter of yours" Darla monologued, walking towards Joyce. "Of course..." Darla said thoughtfully, a plan more devious than she had purposely intended forming in her mind, "Drusilla can be interesting and insightful at the best of times but her complete an utter insanity?" Darla rolled her eyes in exasperation, "It can be so annoying!" She laughed a little after this, sounding a little crazy herself as though Drusilla's own insanity was getting to her, "And three I'm told isn't really a crowd, is it? The more the deadlier right?"
It was then that Joyce understood what was really on Darla's mind. And it was nothing good. She could deal with her own death. Joyce had faced the concept once this year and in a way, felt she had already come to terms with it. She was no longer fearful for what awaited, only afraid of how her daughters would cope if she were forced to suddenly leave them like that. However, she knew she'd sooner die a solid death protecting her daughter, leaving them, no matter how unfortunately, without her too look after them anymore rather than submit to the outcome Darla was 'offering' her here. An unlife. An evil, soulless creature who, she had been told, would imitate her in every step, every word every glance, every thought but would never really be her. It would just use her image to fool and trick others, to lead them into a death trap. To lead Buffy into a death trap. No, she would never have that. But, as much as she hated to admit it, if it was what Darla intended there wasn't much she could do about it. She didn't have superstrength like her daughter, she didn't have the training or knowledge that Rupert had nor the experience Buffy's friends had all gained over the years. She had always remained out of the supernatural circle and she realized that, ironically, that was going to be her downfall.
"If you...Buffy will..." She began to threaten but Darla cut her off knowingly.
"...be all too late to do anything about this," She finished knowingly with a sinister smile. In once last desperate attempt to save her own life, Joyce went with pure gut instinct and dashed for the door, but no matter how fast she ran Darla would always be quicker and she reached the only escape route before she did, blocking the doorway casually, shaking her head 'no' at her, letting her no that there was no escape this time. No one to come save her.
Before Joyce could move away again, at lightening quick speed, Darla grabbed her by the arm pulling her towards her. She roughly shoved her head to the side, knocking the curls back so her neck was vulnerably bare. Joyce tried to tug away, wriggling, knocking her elbow back, kicking, anything to make Darla let go but she was too confident and too strong to be effected by any of this from a mere mortal woman. Darla couldn't help but smile as she saw the scar of a vampire bite she herself had created...and now she was going to finish off what she'd started.
"See, my mark's already there..." She said to Joyce, aware yet not caring that woman would be too afraid or concerned with trying to get away to hear anything she had to say, "It's strange...I can still smell you on me, even though it was so many years ago. You smell of me...with just a hint of..." Darla identified the smell immediately, it was as familiar as her own,"Angelus"
With the mention of Angel's name all the vengeance and rage from before came rushing back to her with startling power and all 'reasoning', all desire to talk or monologue at all left her just as quickly and she leaned over, sinking her teeth into the neck, and drinking ferociously, until Joyce Summers' heartbeat slowed to an almost no-more...
Summary:It is completely and utterly AU from the moment Angel throws Darla out of the apartment in the timeline of the Angel Season Two episode 'Epiphany'. Darla, having been told that she never made Angel happy but Buffy did, sets out on a vengeance warpath and heads back to Sunnydale, intending to rip Buffy limb from limb. But on a Hellmouth things never go how you initally plan them to, but you can always count on things being equally bad...
Warning: There will be lots and lots of character death in this story, but you know not over-the-top-this-is-ridiculous-lots but you know, there will be a fair amount. So if that isn't your gig, feel free to try anyway or just slowly back away now. This is technically a work in progress, but as I have a chapter-by-chapter layout planned and I'm obsessively organized when it comes to two things- writing and fashion- this will be update regularly. At least every saturday and perhaps, if you know my life doesn't get in the way, on Wednesdays also.
It is a Joyce-centric-ish fanfic. Blame Jane Espenson for writing so many good Joyce eps, and blame Kristine Sutherland for being so marvellously talented and playing the character so well. It's all their fault. Really it is. (I guess I should also thank them I suppose .:: sigh ::.)
And of course, feedback is very much appreciated. Hope you like and enjoy the first chapter.
Chapter One: Perfect Despair
"You still have a soul," Darla spat in disgust, holding the red bed sheet tightly around her form as she backed away from the still ensouled Angelus, as though she felt a good vampire looking upon her naked flesh was worse than any rape she'd experienced while she had been alive.
"I still have a soul..." Angel repeated in stunned agreement, walking back into the apartment, walking past Darla as though she no longer held any interest at all for him, to sit on the bed moments ago they had been having passionate sex in again and again.
"But how?" Darla asked, sounding more confused than anything as she walked after him, sheet still held tightly around her, "But we..."
"Yeah.." Angel nodded in agreement.
"And you..."
"I know" He agreed somberly, beginning to get dressed at a patient steady rate so unlike the frantic, desperate attitude he had adopted when he had come face to face with Darla hours before.
"Then I..."
"Three times," He confirmed.
"You're not evil," Darla truly couldn't comprehend this fact, this hitch. Sex, a moment of perfect guilt-free happiness and he became her boy again. She detested this mopey conscious bearing Angel. He was boring, bland. Awful. Tasteless, "I don't understand. Was I- was it not good?" She let out a short laugh of pure disbelief. She was always good. Always, "Well, I don't accept that. You can't tell me that wasn't perfect. Not only have I been around for four hundred years, but I used to do this professionally, And that was perfect. I'm always good!"
"And you were," Angel looked sympathetically over at the desperate Darla, "But you never made me happy"
"I...never made you happy?" Darla could barely form the words, she loathed them so much, she didn't even choose to believe them, "I didn't make you happy but that...that cheerleader did?!" Oh no, nuh-uh, no way. No way was that little blond bitch of a Slayer better in bed for him than her. Several generations they'd been together, having sex the likes of which could be only be described as having the ability to move mountains and now he was telling her that never made him happy?
"We're done Darla," Angel stated simply and somberly, standing up from his seat on the bed now he was fully dressed and he seemed to tower over her more than normal. She had always been the strong one in their relationship, always, even when he thought he was the dominant, but here he was seeming to tower over her as though she were the frightened little whore she had started out as. She didn't like this. In fact the anger it caused to burn inside her made her feel more murderous than usual. "Let yourself out. Get dressed and get out. Because the next time I see you, I will have to kill you"
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Drusilla had left Darla to return to Sunnydale shortly after Angelus had tried to set both of them alight. She had gone back to try and get Spike to join them, to 'reunite their family' she claimed. Darla couldn't care less. Spike had never been a real interest of hers. A silly boy who still had fantastical thoughts of vampires even after he became one himself. However, Darla couldn't deny that she needed both of them now, or at least she needed Drusilla. The two of them were the only vampires to have survived a long period of time in Sunnydale, the Hellmouth and the home of the reigning Slayer. And it was there where Darla wished to now go. To Sunnydale, to the Slayer. The little bitch who stole Angel's heart. It wasn't really his heart though was it? You can't steal a heart that is no longer beating, that no longer pumps blood through the veins. She had stole his soul though. Oh yes, she had done that. In more than one way. And it was for that that Darla was going to have her vengeance, the little bitch was going to pay.
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Vampires had a heightened sense of smell. It was a wonderful gift in her opinion, one that was so often rejected by others of her kind. No, not rejected. Unappreciated. But Darla appreciated it, reveled in it even. You could smell the fear on your prey, it was like an aphrodisiac to her. Erotic, charging yet at the same time calming and relaxing to the demon within her. And the more fear she smelt upon them the more she felt their heartbeats race, their blood pumping faster and hotter which only encouraged her feeding frenzy. She had sired very few because of this matter. She mostly devoured, rarely savored.
The strong sense of smell had other qualities and advantages too though. One vampire could smell it's offspring, no matter how far down the line it was and Drusilla, being a childe of Angelus' was not very far down the line at all, and having also been her own sire in a weird twist of fate, so Darla easily found her. In an abandoned building dramatic and fantastical enough for Drusilla's tastes, just on the outskirts of Sunnydale.
"Drusilla!" Darla sang out pleasantly, "Grandmother's home!" There was no answer though, no distant, poetic reply. Drusilla was still here wasn't she? She hadn't yet moved on? No, Darla could smell her strong enough to know she was somewhere around here. The question was where."Drusilla...where are you?" She asked gently, walking softly around the place, looking in every dark corner.
"My dear boy's gone all away," Drusilla suddenly spoke out into the darkness and Darla turned to see the dark-haired vampire walk out of the shadows.
"Pardon?" Darla frowned.
"He's gone all away, he doesn't like to sing our little songs anymore" Dru moaned.
"Drusilla, what are you talking about?" Darla asked directly. Spike and Angelus had always had patience for Drusilla's insane ramblings, loved to listen to them enjoyed them, but Darla had never had the patience for the thing. She's always been a straight-up sort of woman and she didn't have time for mad mumblings.
"Spike, he's gone away," Drusilla explained, "Terribly awful he was. Didn't set me on fire though...just wanted to put it out. Wood to my chest. Hard and pressing. Hard and pressing"
"He tried to stake you?" Darla couldn't believe it. Spike was devoted to the woman. Even once he was turned he had kept his soppy attitude about eternal love- and it was always about Drusilla. Darla laughed softly in disbelief, "Well, he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do - you must have misunderstood. Maybe it was one of your little games" She smiled
Drusilla shook her head sadly.
"No, no games to play. The only games he plays now are with her. He's gone away to her, no getting him back now"
"He's gone to who?" Darla asked, stepped toward her as she did so. Drusilla didn't answer at first, merely continued to look down at the floor with a glazed expression, stroking one of her favored porcelain dolls. Suddenly she stopped though and slowly lifted her head to look directly into Darla's eyes as she answered:
"The Slayer...he's gone to Slayer...he's got her all about him...reeks of him...reeks of death...of borrowed conscience. That and little metal chips giving little shocks all around his head"
So, Darla was confused by the last part about metal chips and shocks but she certainly understood the first. Not only had Buffy taken Angelus from her, never to be returned, but now she had stolen Drusilla's man as well? That was it, Darla no longer cared how petty or whether it was revenge or not anymore; one way or another Buffy was going to die bloody.
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Joyce Summers sat in the living room, marveling at how entirely quiet the house was for once. Both Dawn and Buffy were staying at their Dad's for the weekend. Dawn had been excited, but Buffy was extremely reluctant. Hank had hardly been in their lives for a while now, only very occasionally calling up claiming he wanted a father/daughter weekend (usually, Joyce had figured out, when he had broke up with his most recent secretary). Dawn was always delighted by this announcement but as she had got older, Buffy had become less and less enthused, developing a cynicism about her Father that eldest siblings from divorced families tended to develop.
And so, Joyce had the house to herself. Which had been wonderful the first few hours...and then it got lonely. Sure she may constantly complain about the noise and the mess her daughters made, but when they weren't here...the house just didn't feel the same. No matter how much she claimed to need time to herself, she always missed them when they were gone. Always.
To make the emptiness of the house even more noticeable, when the girls were away none of the others ever stopped by, almost as though forgetting she were still there. Not that it was surprising. After all, she wasn't one of their...what was it she had heard call Dawn call it? The Scoobies, that was it. She wasn't one of those, so it wasn't surprising that when Buffy wasn't here they chose not to stop by. Occasionally Xander would come over for a few hours with mostly homemade food on his mind, but nevertheless she was always glad to see him, and even more occasionally Rupert would stop by, perhaps in desperate need of some adult conversation which, being the mother of two young daughters, was a need Joyce could understand.
So when their was a knock at the door, Joyce immediately presumed it was one of these two, so she didn't even bother to look out the window before she pulled open the front door.
However, it was neither Rupert nor Xander stood there. Not even Anya or Willow, which it very, very occasionally sometimes was but instead was a petite blond girl, wearing jeans and a red top. Looking very normal, very average, but for some reason she struck Joyce with a feeling of familiarity. Blinking the low, almost-set sun out of her eyes, she tried to focus on the girl seeing if some recognition would come to her. It didn't.
"Hello," Joyce greeted her, but her own puzzlement spoke in the word and it came out more of a question.
"Hi," The girl smiled back at her, peering past her as though looking for something and Joyce instinctively stood more centrally in the doorway, protecting her home from the prying eyes of strangers. "Buffy's not here is she?" Darla asked casually. She remembered the Slayer's Mother. That had been the night she had died for the second time. Angel had staked her, all for this woman's daughter. God, it always came back to her didn't it? Buffy. Back then this woman had been entirely oblivious to their world, if she hadn't have been Darla knew she would not have freely invited her into her home without even considering what she could be. However, that was almost fours years ago now and so many things could have changed. Things had changed for Darla after all. She'd been human, dying, vampire, now rejected. So, maybe the Slayer's Mother now knew of her kind...maybe that was why she wasn't saying the magic words. 'Would you like to come in and wait'. Such a simple thing and yet it gave a vampire so much power, so much control. However, Darla had been invited in before and a vampire was forever welcome until the invitation was revoked by ancient, powerful rituals, so she should be able to walk right in anyway. But did that rule apply? This was her second life as a vampire so would she need a second invite? She certainly hoped not. "I've been looking for her..." She elaborated if only to buy time until she saw Buffy or found out where she was. As she said this, she casually brushed past Buffy's Mother with a presumptuous grace she knew threw people too much to ever question it, and she was serenely delighted when she came across no barrier and instead walked right in. Once in the hall, she turned to look back at the woman and saw that indeed she did look a little less on edge than a moment before. Her entry perhaps 'proving' to the woman that she wasn't a vampire. More fool her and luck for Darla since she couldn't remember meeting the seemingly young girl before.
"I'm afraid Buffy's not here, she's staying with her Father for a day or so..." Joyce explained, frowning at how the young girl had just strolled in as though she owned the place. She looked no older than Buffy, but something about her, the way she held herself, the way she stood made her seem so much older than her years. "Don't I...don't I know you from somewhere?" She asked, trying to place the feeling of recognition and familiarity.
The 'young' blond turned to look at her, a peaceful yet at the same time all-knowing smile on her face as she nodded gently in confirmation, beginning to pace slowly and comfortably around the living room.
"Yes," She told her, "We've met before. A few years ago actually..."
It was as the girl said these words, that Joyce was finally able to place her face and she nodded and smiled in recognition, in relief even as she realized she knew the girl.
"Oh yes, it was when we first moved to Sunnydale wasn't it? You were, uh, tutoring Buffy with her...history, right?"
"That's right," Darla nodded yet again, continuing to stroll around the living room, brushing her hand casually over mantelpiece and ornaments adorning it, taking in everything that was the Slayer. It was all so...homey. She detested it.
"Yes, that was the night..." Joyce trailed off as all the memories of that night came back to her. The girl's name was Darla, yes she remembered that. She also remembered fainting in the kitchen, Buffy had found her and called an ambulance to take her to the hospital. She had been told by the doctors that she must have fell on a barbecue fork despite the fact that had no such utensil in their house. It was only in later years when Joyce had found out about Buffy's secret identity that it had been explained to her that the faint scar that remained on her neck was not the result of clumsiness, but rather a vampire bite. The vampire being...as her thought process stopped at a dangerous place, Joyce froze in fear. This girl was the vampire...but the sun wasn't even down completely. Apparently it was down enough. Oh god, she was trapped in a house with a vampire with Buffy out of town, so no chance of her smashing through the window again such as when Faith had been holding her hostage in her own house. She went to back away, to put as much distance between her and the vampire as possible, but their was a resistance at her back and as she turned to look what was stopping her she gasped in shock and horror as she realized Darla was already behind her.
"Aww..." Darla pouted, putting her hands on Joyce's shoulders so she was forced to look at her face, now in complete vampire visage, "Did I ruin the surprise?" She spun Joyce around to face while pushing her away roughly so as to shake her up as though she were a misbehaving young child she were attempting to shake the information out of, "Now...where's Buffy?"
"Why would I tell you anything?" Joyce managed to reply despite the fear that was threatening to consume her completely. For her efforts she was thrown back towards the staircase by Darla, landing painfully on the floor.
"Because I can do a lot worse than that to you," Darla replied simply with a patient sigh, but then suddenly her eyes lit up, "Oh but wait...you already told me where she is didn't you?" Joyce didn't reply, didn't nod or shake her head, didn't give any indication that she knew what the vampire was talking about, "Yes...staying with Daddy isn't she?" She smirked, "Now, I don't suppose you'd care to tell me where Daddy lives, would you?"
Joyce didn't say word, she remained silent while pulling herself back up and attempting to keep her balance despite the pain of the fall roaring through her entire body and Darla sighed again.
"Thought not," She said simply, striding towards Joyce with purpose and grabbing her left arm tightly in her small, feeble looking hand. "But I'm a Take-Back-The-Night kinda girl and I like to give women more benefit than the guys, so I'll give you a second chance" She leaned in close, knowing she was intimidating Joyce, frightening her more than she had ever been in her life, "Where is your daughter?" When Joyce remained silent, closing her eyes tightly so as to shut out the terrifying image of Darla before her, the vampire sighed in frustration and threw the forty-one year old away from her. Though it wasn't as roughly as before and Joyce merely stumbled a few steps forward before managing to gain her balance. Darla saw her eyes dart over to the direction of the front door, "Don't even try it," She said simply, fleetingly, knowing exactly what the woman had been thinking, "Now, since you won't tell me where Bitchy is, I'm guessing the only option here is to...well, kill you" The word alone made Darla grin, her fangs gleaming in the golden light pouring out from one of the Art Nouveau lamps that adorned a side table in the living room. "I also enjoy a good kill makes me feel..." She searched around for the appropriate word and smiled when she found it, "Refreshed. Plus, it'll give me a real kick seeing how much pain it causes that daughter of yours" Darla monologued, walking towards Joyce. "Of course..." Darla said thoughtfully, a plan more devious than she had purposely intended forming in her mind, "Drusilla can be interesting and insightful at the best of times but her complete an utter insanity?" Darla rolled her eyes in exasperation, "It can be so annoying!" She laughed a little after this, sounding a little crazy herself as though Drusilla's own insanity was getting to her, "And three I'm told isn't really a crowd, is it? The more the deadlier right?"
It was then that Joyce understood what was really on Darla's mind. And it was nothing good. She could deal with her own death. Joyce had faced the concept once this year and in a way, felt she had already come to terms with it. She was no longer fearful for what awaited, only afraid of how her daughters would cope if she were forced to suddenly leave them like that. However, she knew she'd sooner die a solid death protecting her daughter, leaving them, no matter how unfortunately, without her too look after them anymore rather than submit to the outcome Darla was 'offering' her here. An unlife. An evil, soulless creature who, she had been told, would imitate her in every step, every word every glance, every thought but would never really be her. It would just use her image to fool and trick others, to lead them into a death trap. To lead Buffy into a death trap. No, she would never have that. But, as much as she hated to admit it, if it was what Darla intended there wasn't much she could do about it. She didn't have superstrength like her daughter, she didn't have the training or knowledge that Rupert had nor the experience Buffy's friends had all gained over the years. She had always remained out of the supernatural circle and she realized that, ironically, that was going to be her downfall.
"If you...Buffy will..." She began to threaten but Darla cut her off knowingly.
"...be all too late to do anything about this," She finished knowingly with a sinister smile. In once last desperate attempt to save her own life, Joyce went with pure gut instinct and dashed for the door, but no matter how fast she ran Darla would always be quicker and she reached the only escape route before she did, blocking the doorway casually, shaking her head 'no' at her, letting her no that there was no escape this time. No one to come save her.
Before Joyce could move away again, at lightening quick speed, Darla grabbed her by the arm pulling her towards her. She roughly shoved her head to the side, knocking the curls back so her neck was vulnerably bare. Joyce tried to tug away, wriggling, knocking her elbow back, kicking, anything to make Darla let go but she was too confident and too strong to be effected by any of this from a mere mortal woman. Darla couldn't help but smile as she saw the scar of a vampire bite she herself had created...and now she was going to finish off what she'd started.
"See, my mark's already there..." She said to Joyce, aware yet not caring that woman would be too afraid or concerned with trying to get away to hear anything she had to say, "It's strange...I can still smell you on me, even though it was so many years ago. You smell of me...with just a hint of..." Darla identified the smell immediately, it was as familiar as her own,"Angelus"
With the mention of Angel's name all the vengeance and rage from before came rushing back to her with startling power and all 'reasoning', all desire to talk or monologue at all left her just as quickly and she leaned over, sinking her teeth into the neck, and drinking ferociously, until Joyce Summers' heartbeat slowed to an almost no-more...
