She stood in front of the house at 1630 Revello Drive. It was easily after two in the morning, yet the porchlight remained on, as did a light in the living room. For a long moment she stood motionless, looking up at the new house her mother had bought. Looking down at her hands, she spread them, examing the palms and backs, clenching and releasing her fists. Sighingm, she begins the walk up to the front door. As soon as she steps on the porch, the door swings upon. "Buffy? Her mother calls anxiously. She watches as her mothers face lights up. "Come inside, honey. "Her mother holds forth her hands, gesturing for Buffy to come forward. She steps forward, almost hesitantly, and Joyce embraces her. Buffy returns the hug awkwardly, tring not to let her hands touch her mother. "Buffy? Buffy, what's wrong? "She had such a look of concern on her face...and before Buffy knew what was happening, she had started sobbing quietly. Joyce escorts her inside, shutting the door firmly on the outside world. She leads Buffy towards a couch, where the two sit down. Joyce holds her close, gently stroking her hair. "It's all right, Buffy...I love you. "Softly, gently, Joyce began humming a tune, and then sings gently under her breath. They stay like that for a long time. Eventually, Buffy stops crying, and just clings to her mother. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong now? "She asks, gently. Buffy shakes her head. "That's fine."
Buffy disengages one hand from her mother, and scrubs roughly at her face. Her mother hands her a tissue, and she responds with a watery smile and a whispered "Thanks..." The two fell silent for a long while, Buffy curling up tighter against her mother. "It's just..."
"Been a bad day? I know...you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I just...I just want you to know, that I'm here for you."
"No...it's not..." She stops, making a confused sound, and then starts again without preamble. "I shot someone today." She lifts her hand up and mimes pulling the trigger. "Just...bang. In the head. Blood everywhere." She stares vacantly off into space. "She got totally splattered by the blood...and I just stood there...it was so easy. Why was it so easy...?"
"I'm sure you did the right thing, honey."
"He was just a human..." She mumbles as she drifts off to sleep. "...a human...why...?"
He stands in the street in front of his house. None of the lights are on. The flickering glow of a television in the living room is the only illumination. Cordy slowly walks up behind him, and rests a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to go in." She says, quietly. "You can come back with me, stay in the poolhouse."
He half smiles. "But Cordy, whatever would your parents think?"
She snorts softly, a harsh sound. "I've been dead to my parents for almost 4 years now, Xan." He stiffens under her hand. "Sorry..." She whispers. He shrugs uncomfortably, and the tension slowly drains out of his body.
"They're my parents, Cor." He stares at the house almost longingly.
"No they're not!" She snarls harshly, spinning him around to face her. "Listen to me, Alex." She gently shakes him with each word. "They are not your parents." She looks deeply into his eyes. "Do you understand? At best, they're nothing but a sperm donor and a walking incubator."
His eyes are pained, as is his voice. "They're my parents..."
"Only by blood, Alex." Cordy sighs, and releases her hold on him. "It's late. Let's get you inside." The two of them walk up to the house.
Cordelia walks up to her house, and reaches for the door. It opens before her hand reaches it. "Cordelia." Her father says nuetrally.
"Father." She says coldly.
"It's late...almost four o'clock. Your mother is worried." Cordelia arches an eyebrow at him. He winces. "Alright," he concedes, "she's not. But I am."
"Why, daddy dearest, I never knew you cared."
"Cordy..."
"Don't."
"Alright..., Cordelia, I know we haven't....been the most understanding parents ever-"
"Understatement of the year. "I'm tired, Father, it's been a long night. Get to the point."
"It's been a long night. That's my point. I'm worried about you, Cordelia. Despite what your mather might say, I still care."
"Funny way of showing it. It's late, can we continue this in the morning?"
"No. Just hear me out. I know that I've been...distant...ever since that day...but..." He trails off, dark memories replaying behind his eyes. He shakes it off. "You've changed." He hols up a hand to stop Cordy from replying. "That's not an excuse. I didn't, don't know how to relate to you at all. You'd lost the things you seemed to treasure most. Your mother's love, your perfect looks, and your lovely voice. Don't think I didn't hear you those first few months, playing back what recordings we had of your singing over and over." He sighs. "Your mother...frankly, your mother married me for my money. Not that I minded...she was hot, and at least pretended to be kinky." He laughs at the discomfiture on Cordy's face. "That's all your mother knew. Money equals love and happiness. She could get boys to give her money because she was beautiful. When the surgeon told us...it crushed her dreams for you, and your dreams for yourself."
"What about you?" Cordy asks bitterly. "I notice you haven't mentioned your dreams for me."
"I didn't?" He asks, quietly. "Guess not." He hesitates. "They aren't dreams per se, so much as hopes. I hope that when you grow up, you'll be happy, and healthy, and wise. How you get there is up to you. Since you've started hangng out with the Harris boy, you've beeen happier. Whatever happens, that's all I want for you." He lowers his head. "Just so long as the boy doesn't turn ou like his parents. I guess...I just wanted you to know that I still love you, even if I don't know how to show it."
"That's it?" Cordy asks.
"That's it." He confirms.
She snorts. "Good night. Daddy." She heads up the stairs to her room.
As the door to Cordelia's room slams, <cordy's mom> stalks into the entranceway. "That's it!? She comes staggering home, clothes ripped and bloody, been out doing who knows what to who, and you tell her you love her?"
He looks her in the eye. "That's right."
"She's out there popping pcp and fucking that Harris boy...probably the whole foot-ow!" She exclaims, holding one hand to her red check. "You slapped me!"
"That's right. I won't have you slandering Cordy in this house, <cordy's mom>. Whatever she's doing, she's not doing drugs. She's a fighter, now. I can see it in her eyes. "She might be having the Harris boy, but not the football team...and even if she was...what business is it of yours, ours, now anyway? We lost any rights to be concerned about her three years ago."
Giles smiles slightly as he writes his report to Travers, leaning back in his chair and sipping at a small glass of some exquisite cognac. 'Sir, I must regretfully report to you that the early reports of Miss Summers were quite correct. She is a typical Colonial girl, interested only in cheerleading and sex. Frankly, how she survuved this long is an absolute mystery to me. I had to force her, virtually at the point of a crossbow, to go forth and stop the Harvest. Fortunately, another hunting team was nearby, and assisted us in the destruction of the Master's minions, preventing his release from the Mouth. Unfortunately, the trio left before I could even tentatively identify them. They appeared to simply be highly skilled human warriors. Sir, I respectfully request that another watcher be transferred here, preferably one more acomplished with the martial aspects of our dutys, so that I may return to the British Museum, and resume my research. This posting is not the best use of my abilities, and in fact presents a clear danger to the future. Respectfully, Rupert Giles.' Signing the parchment with a flourish, he msiles, and takes another sip. "Poor bastards." He says, smirking to himself. "Bet they didn't even realize what they'd run into."
"Sir? You requested my presence?"
"Yes, I did, Lieutenant." He turns around on his desk, and looks down at the letter in front of him. "This, Major, is the latest report from the Slayer's watcher. Nowhere is the mention of an assault by a trained soldiers, at no point is it even indicated that the current Slayer is even capable of independently staking a fledgling vamp."
The lieutenant flushes. "Sir, I stand by my report, sir. What we encountered sure as hell looked like Slayer Summers, and whoever it was ripped apart half my team, and either dodged our fire or absorbed it. I personnaly put three 4.7 millimeter rounds through her chest at a range of ten feet."
"I find that very hard to believe, indeed, lieutenant. However inhumanly tough and strong the slayers may appear to be, they are still humans. I want that Slayer in the ground. Stone. Cold. Dead. Is that perfectly clear?
"Sir." He turns, and exits the room. Walking back to the barracks, he encounters his sergeant.
"Lieutenant...they've authorized the release of mystical weapons and ammunition to our team. What's going on?"
"Three guesses. First two don't count."
"Of course. Going back out after that Slayer?"
"That's correct."
"What's the plan?"