Summary: A bit of reflection and advice, courtesy of the late Joyce Summers.
Spoilers: Takes place post “Hells Bells”
Disclaimer: BtVS, its characters and situations, belong to people who are not me. Not infringement is intended. No profit is being made.
Feedback: Keeps my pen moving, and a smile on my face. Always appreciated.
Author’s Note: Italics are Joyce’s thoughts. The rest of the story fluctuates between the written word and present day actions.
*
Sometimes I wonder if the world will stop turning when I'm gone.
I used to worry about things like this. Now, I know better.
*
Don’t hate me for this, Buffy. Even as my fingers hit the computer keys to make these words appear across the screen, I have visions of you finding this little manifesto- days, maybe weeks from now- and storming up to me to exclaim over how I could have written such a thing.
I imagine you outraged. I imagine you absolutely bursting with anger over how I could have thought to write something so morbid. But the truth is, my darling daughter, that I can’t help it.
Yes, my fingers moving over the keyboard are not moving by my own volition. They are powered by fear. Spurred onward by unease. So, truthfully, my imaginings that you will confront me over this note, furious that I was so willing to accept my own death, don’t feel quite as likely as the scenario that runs through my head now. The one where you find this paper exactly where I mean for you to find it- behind the bookcase in the living room or underneath a stack of your grandmother’s old love letters- and you read it over twenty times, a tear in your eye, to find my words so fresh when I’ve been gone for so long.
Don’t hate me for this, Buffy. The doctors tell me that I’m doing better, but I can still feel the possibility of death hanging around me. And I want to write this down, before it’s either too late or I’ve come to my senses and have realized that the doctors are right. You’re right. That I’m not going anywhere for a long time to come.
For now… I have a few confessions.
*
Dawn scanned the bookshelf with part distaste and part boredom. She supposed that, if she hadn't waited until two days before the book report was due, she could have gone to the library and picked out something that she'd actually enjoy reading. Now, though, she was forced to find something off the living room bookcase, the sole occupants of which were her mother's old romance novels and art books, and a few of Buffy's old college texts.
Romance novels really weren't her thing, and she didn't think she'd get a very good response from her teachers if her book report had to do with the intricacies of writing a good love scene. Art history bored her to tears, and Buffy's college books, though useless at the moment since Buffy probably wouldn't be going back to school anytime soon weren't really what would qualify as “good reads.”
Sighing, Dawn finally just plucked one off the shelf at random and opened it. From somewhere between the pages, a square of folded computer paper fell to the floor. Her eyebrows shot up as she bent down to retrieve it, unfolded it, and scanned the type-written words.
Her jaw hung open for the smallest of seconds, before stiffening as she called out for her sister.
*
First, I would like to admit defeat. Nothing too dramatic – not for the mother of a vampire slayer – I’m not that easy when it comes to things like death, or relationships, or parenting. But, before anything else, what I need to write down here is this: I was wrong, Buffy. Or, at least, my words were.
You always believed that I thought you needed me. I know this. And, really, I wanted you to need me. What mother doesn’t? I wanted so badly for you to be my little girl again, and run home to my open arms at the first sign of trouble. But you’re stronger than that, Buffy. Stronger than me. And so is Dawn.
I’d ask you to take care of her, but somehow I know that I don’t need to.
I have such strong, capable daughters. I don’t worry about you as much as I used to. Not anymore. When I’m gone, you’ll still be slaying evil, saving the world, and doing it all without my help. I know it. You’ll be all right.
And now, my dear eldest, let me tell you a far better-kept secret (since I’m almost certain that I’ve let that last one slip at least once or twice in the past few months). The secret is this: those few individuals who I do worry about… are not my daughters. They are my sons.
*
Buffy stared at the paper in her hands, then glanced up at her sister, as if to ask for the girl’s permission to read it. Dawn pursed her lips and swallowed. Whatever words she wanted to say were caught in her throat and, so, she hoped silence would be as appropriate as it felt.
After a moment, the older girl resolutely took a seat at the dining table and began to read, while her sister sat down beside her, not bothering to risk a glance over the Slayer’s shoulder. She’d read the first paragraph already, anyway. She knew who was supposed to find and then read these few pages.
Buffy would handle it. Buffy would let her know just what there was to understand about it all and how they should go about understanding it. They sat in the dining room, in a heavy silence, and let the idea of their mother’s voice wrap tightly around them.
*
Now, let me explain before you jump to any conclusions, Buffy. Let me explain just who these sons of mine are, and why they’ve always needed me more than you or Dawn ever will or ever could. You’re too strong for that, Buffy. I pray to God that you understand this.
While you and Dawn are my everything, my sons occupy very different, yet very vital, parts of me. My head, my heart, and my soul. If scenario number two comes to pass, then there are a few things that I need you to do for me. I need you to take care of my boys.
First: my head. Your Mr. Giles. And I can almost hear you laughing as you read this, trying to picture Rupert as anything resembling a son. But, you’re old enough now, I think, to understand what it means to feel protective of your loved ones, especially those who might not be able to protect themselves. And, whatever you may believe, Rupert needs protecting. From himself, most of all, but also from you.
You see, sooner or later, Mr. Giles is going to leave. And I know you’ll be strong enough to go on without him, even if you don’t think you are. It’s what father’s do, sweetheart. They let their daughters grow up.
But you need to let him know that you’ll be all right once he has left. It’s hard enough to move on without your child’s blessing, but to leave and to think that they will not survive the parting… It will tear him up inside.
So what I need from you here, Buffy, is this: I need you to forgive him for letting you go. And I need you to help him forgive himself.
*
What will you do, Rupert, when Buffy is only a memory? And those pesky emotions start to pull at you once again? What will you do if you leave her, still not understanding how strong the connection between the two of you is?
Don’t you see? I've every right to worry about the Watcher of my little girl. You need her just as much as she needs you, and most of the time you don't even see it.
Yes, leave her. Let her walk on her own two legs. But don't abandon her.
*
My second son, perhaps you’ll find a little easier to accept.
My heart. My boy. Xander.
Now, he’s stronger than he looks, Buffy, don’t get me wrong. Always the stable one. The solid foundation for you and Willow to build from. But he’s, also, always been the sensitive one. The kind and generous one. You’ve seen it, I know. How loyal he is. How trustworthy. But sometimes I worry that you forget how difficult it is for him to be these things.
I need you to protect him too, Buffy. Protect him from the world. Because one day he’s going to have to face all that darkness and all that responsibility that he’s been letting you fight for him, and I’m afraid it might just break him in two. One day he’ll be forced to make that leap into adulthood, and it won’t be easy. I had hoped Anya might help him along the way- and maybe his love for her will- but the poor girl has so many of her own problems to solve…
Yes, he’s strong. Stronger than you girls often give him credit for. But I wonder sometimes if he’ll be able to handle the kind of pressure this world puts on those few, loyal, sensitive men.
What I need you to do for him, Buffy, is not to fight his battles. You’ve done enough of that. We all have. What I need you to do is offer him the same kind of support and affection he’s always offered you. I need you to understand how difficult it is for him to be the loyal, sensitive one. And never let him think that he is alone in all of it.
Protect him as best you can. Help him understand that being a man doesn’t mean that he can’t be himself. And it doesn’t mean that he’s alone.
*
Oh, my dear Xander. I know you can be brave. I've seen you do it. And I know how sensitive you are, even if you try to hide it. The world isn't kind to people like you.
So, you know what I need you to do? I need you to use your head, but follow your heart. I need you to keep doing what's right, even if it hurts. Even if you wish it would all just end. I need you to hold the others together. Because that's what you do. That's you're job. Don't let any one tell you differently.
Keep doing the right thing, Xander.
*
My third son… I hesitate to put down on paper- to move my fingers to the keys that will spell out what I know you just might not forgive me for. My third son, Buffy- my soul- is Spike.
And I can already hear your protests. Your snickers at the idea that a creature without a soul could be compared to mine. Your outrage that, out of all the men to love you, I would have chosen to care about the only one that you do not love back.
But things are not always as black and white for mothers as they are for vampire slayers.
My dislike for Angel was a product of circumstance. Know this, Buffy. He was part demon, and he was taking my daughter away from me. Circumstances prevented me from knowing him as anything else. Tragedy struck, and all I could see was that he had hurt you. And there is not a mother dead or alive who could forgive a man for that.
Riley was a good boy. He was. But I recognized that look in his eyes, and I’m betting, on those rare, introspective nights, so did you. It was the look of dispassion. Of white picket fences and nine to five jobs. And since when have either of my girls been able to settle for that?
Read these next words carefully, Buffy. Because they will be the hardest for you to grasp.
Summer’s women have a habit of scaring away the opposite sex. It’s in our blood. This restlessness, this gumption, that men, when they discover they cannot tame, run from.
There have only ever been three men who have stayed. And, my dear, one of them is Spike.
So, I need you to protect him, just as I need you to protect the others. Buffy, though his heart doesn’t beat, it has a capacity for love and kindness that can only be rivaled by Xander’s, or Dawn’s, or yours.
And he’s been through such heartache. I’m sure he hasn’t told you the half of it, and it would be wrong of me to divulge secrets now, even with the understanding that I will be long gone by the time this letter is read. Just know that he, despite those high walls that his existence has forced him to raise, is a sensitive being. He knows what it means to love. He knows what it means to be hurt.
*
And, Spike, what can I say to you that I haven't already said? Everything? Nothing? I've rehearsed the lines so many times in my head, that I sometimes can't remember if I ever actually said them or not. Let me see if I can remember them now. Or, at least, the most important one:
You're good for this family.
Don't you ever forget that. There's just something about us Summers women that drive men away. But you... You’re stubborn enough that, I think, you might just make it work.
Perhaps it sounds silly. Perhaps you would think me insane to try and give advice to a vampire four times my age. But you're still a boy to me. Just like the other two. And I know my boys. I know you.
And, even if you hide it better than any one I’ve ever met, I know how sensitive you are. How often you follow your heart and not your head. I love these things about you.
I don't care what they tell me about you not having a soul; you live as if you do, and that's all that matters to me.
*
He’s in it for the long haul, Buffy. That’s just the kind of man he is. And yes, when I write the word “man,” I do mean man. He’s grown and changed far too much to be anything but. Sometimes, I think you see that. Sometimes, I’m not so sure. What I need from you here, Buffy, is easier written than accomplished.
I need you to let him stay. He’s not going anywhere, Buffy, no matter how hard we might push. And I need you to let him. Accept that there will be some men in this world who will not leave you. Even if you wish they would.
And protect him, too. Protect him from that part of himself that he’s worked so long and hard to control. That demon in him that threatens to break loose at every turn. Help him continue to conquer it. To continue to grow into that man that I see him becoming, even while the rest of you can’t. I see it. When I’m gone, Buffy, I need you to see it for me.
Take care of my boys.
*
My boys… Live your lives. Take care of my girls as much as they'll let you, and let them take care of you, 'cause they're better at it than any one you'll ever be so fortunate to meet.
Do the right thing. For me. For Buffy and Dawn. For yourselves.
*
And, now, before I allow myself the luxury of ending this and going back to that life which does not allow room for such things as thoughts of death, I write one last confession.
The slayer in you will always be there, Buffy. I see that now. In truth, I always knew this, even if I haven’t been able to admit it. And I love it just as much as I love the rest of you. It is you. I understand this. I do not, as you might think, love you in spite of it. I love you because of it.
Please continue to remind Dawn of how much I love her. That she will always be my daughter, no matter what powers or magics might have made that possible. And I love you as well, Buffy Summers. Remember that.
I have such strong, beautiful girls.
*
Dawn stared at her sister intently. There were tears in the older girl’s eyes, though they didn’t fall, and this made Dawn want to cry as well. Made her want to hit something. Steal something. Feel something other than the pain that automatically filled her at seeing her sister so vulnerable.
“What is it?” She finally found the nerve to ask, her voice soft and nearly unable to make it past the lump in her throat or the dryness in her mouth.
Buffy looked up, trying to swallow back all the emotions that raged inside of her- trying to make sense of them. Fear. Anger. Sadness. Maybe a little joy in there too, she thought. ‘Maybe,’ anyway. Maybe that’s what her mom would have wanted.
Maybe that’s all she’d ever wanted too. And Dawn. And those boys that her mother had mentioned in the letter. Those boys that she had never even thought to… That she had never thought of in that way. That she had never considered as even remotely close to the woman who’s words she’d just read.
“It’s…” She swallowed again, trying to make peace with her voice and the expression on her face so that her sister wouldn’t see right through her. “It’s from mom.” She hesitated a moment- Dawn bit her bottom lip and gripped the edge of the table tightly with both hands- then passed the letter to the young girl.
Dawn accepted the pages carefully- almost afraid of them- and began reading. Buffy stood up and stared at the afternoon sunlight that filtered through the curtains and the glass. After a long, silent moment, she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded her head with a kind of firmness that suggested that she’d just made a very difficult decision. Or reached some, long-sought-after conclusion.
“I didn’t…” Dawn shook her head a little and let a tear fall. “I didn’t know…” Buffy put a hand on the girls shoulder and closed her eyes against the sadness that was so apparent on her face.
“It’s okay.” She said, her voice hoarse from the emotion that it had to fight its way through. “I…” She took in a breath, opened her eyes, and stared into her sister’s. “We know now, right? It’ll be okay.”
A tear feel down her cheek.
*
All my love,
Mom
*
The End