(no subject)
Either nine months too late or three months too early.
For Bart.
She convinced herself Thanksgiving would be the worst, and she had all sorts of reasons for it. Reasons like Thanksgiving being about family (but what isn't) and Thanksgiving being Buffy's favorite (but she isn't sure) and nothing being more depressing than buying just a turkey thigh and drumstick because there's no one else you're feeding this year.
Really, she thinks as she hangs her favorite ornament--an earring Buffy found on the ground, a long icicle she though had to be for a tree--it wasn't that she'd really thought Thanksgiving would be worse, she just couldn't imagine Buffy not being home for Christmas.
She knew it would be different, this year, but she'd thought it would be because Buffy was at college, and she wouldn't be around very much, she'd be busy with her new friends and her classes and her Slaying. But Christmas she thought would be the same. Christmas between the two of them had never changed very much. She can remember so clearly Buffy, three, bright-eyed and eager, telling her about the pony and the ice skates and the red dress with the ribbons that she'd asked Santa for. She remembers the argument about the skates clearly too, but that doesn't matter as much as Buffy's expression.
No matter how complicated her daughter's life became, Joyce could always count on Christmas.
But now Buffy is somewhere gone. Mr. Giles said something about an alternate Lousiana, and Joyce can't count the number of times she's thought about driving to this Lousiana and demanding it return her daughter.
She doesn't mind Buffy being gone so much as she minds Buffy being unreachable. If she'd gone to college in another city, it wouldn't be like this. There would be phone calls and visits and she'd be home for Christmas.
Joyce finds Buffy's other ornaments easily; they're in their own box, the years of art projects not gone wrong so much as gone not entirely right. Her reindeer's slightly mangled, her snowflakes have too many points. It doesn't matter. Joyce has hung them every year and she never plans to stop hanging them.
After all, they all look beautiful.
Christmas is harder than Thanksgiving because it's longer, and even in California, winter is more desolate than other times. Joyce thinks there's just something in the air in the middle of December that feels hopeless. She knows Buffy is coming home, but she can't bring herself to believe it will be soon.
She has the wildest momentary hope when the doorbell rings, but it fades after a second because she knows Buffy would never use the doorbell. She wipes her eyes before opening it, even though she's not sure she's been crying, just because it seems safer.
"...Mr. Giles?" She's surprised. Mr. Giles has come to see her occasionally, but never with anything helpful. Just worrying messages about Xander having left or similar. She doesn't mind seeing him, she just can't help but blaming him for Buffy being gone. He has, after all, admitted it's his fault.
"Ah, good evening, Mrs. Summers. I apologize for not calling ahead."
"No, please, come in. Can I get you anything?"
"No, thank you," he says, following her into the living room. "What a lovely tree."
"Thank you. I guess I didn't really need one this big, but...Buffy always liked them."
"Yes, she's mentioned. I admit, that's why I'm here."
"You've seen Buffy?"
"I'm afraid not," he says, apologetic. "But, ah. She's mentioned in the past that you always decorate the tree together on the twenty-third."
"Yes. It's a family tradition."
"I know," he says quietly, "it's my fault that she isn't here, and there's nothing I can truly do to show how sorry I am. But, well. I thought at the very least, I could offer to help with your tree. It...isn't the sort of thing one should be alone for."
Joyce considers, thinks about being mad at him for taking her away, thinks about crying, thinks about hitting him for offering to be here when she was doing so well working herself up about being alone.
But it's Christmas.
"Yes," she says. "Thank you," she says. "The ornaments are over here."
"Did Buffy make these?" he asks, touching the reindeer softly.
"Yes, she did."
"She's a remarkable girl."
"She is."
"I'm sure she'll be home soon."
"Yes," she says. "Thank you," she says.
For Bart.
She convinced herself Thanksgiving would be the worst, and she had all sorts of reasons for it. Reasons like Thanksgiving being about family (but what isn't) and Thanksgiving being Buffy's favorite (but she isn't sure) and nothing being more depressing than buying just a turkey thigh and drumstick because there's no one else you're feeding this year.
Really, she thinks as she hangs her favorite ornament--an earring Buffy found on the ground, a long icicle she though had to be for a tree--it wasn't that she'd really thought Thanksgiving would be worse, she just couldn't imagine Buffy not being home for Christmas.
She knew it would be different, this year, but she'd thought it would be because Buffy was at college, and she wouldn't be around very much, she'd be busy with her new friends and her classes and her Slaying. But Christmas she thought would be the same. Christmas between the two of them had never changed very much. She can remember so clearly Buffy, three, bright-eyed and eager, telling her about the pony and the ice skates and the red dress with the ribbons that she'd asked Santa for. She remembers the argument about the skates clearly too, but that doesn't matter as much as Buffy's expression.
No matter how complicated her daughter's life became, Joyce could always count on Christmas.
But now Buffy is somewhere gone. Mr. Giles said something about an alternate Lousiana, and Joyce can't count the number of times she's thought about driving to this Lousiana and demanding it return her daughter.
She doesn't mind Buffy being gone so much as she minds Buffy being unreachable. If she'd gone to college in another city, it wouldn't be like this. There would be phone calls and visits and she'd be home for Christmas.
Joyce finds Buffy's other ornaments easily; they're in their own box, the years of art projects not gone wrong so much as gone not entirely right. Her reindeer's slightly mangled, her snowflakes have too many points. It doesn't matter. Joyce has hung them every year and she never plans to stop hanging them.
After all, they all look beautiful.
Christmas is harder than Thanksgiving because it's longer, and even in California, winter is more desolate than other times. Joyce thinks there's just something in the air in the middle of December that feels hopeless. She knows Buffy is coming home, but she can't bring herself to believe it will be soon.
She has the wildest momentary hope when the doorbell rings, but it fades after a second because she knows Buffy would never use the doorbell. She wipes her eyes before opening it, even though she's not sure she's been crying, just because it seems safer.
"...Mr. Giles?" She's surprised. Mr. Giles has come to see her occasionally, but never with anything helpful. Just worrying messages about Xander having left or similar. She doesn't mind seeing him, she just can't help but blaming him for Buffy being gone. He has, after all, admitted it's his fault.
"Ah, good evening, Mrs. Summers. I apologize for not calling ahead."
"No, please, come in. Can I get you anything?"
"No, thank you," he says, following her into the living room. "What a lovely tree."
"Thank you. I guess I didn't really need one this big, but...Buffy always liked them."
"Yes, she's mentioned. I admit, that's why I'm here."
"You've seen Buffy?"
"I'm afraid not," he says, apologetic. "But, ah. She's mentioned in the past that you always decorate the tree together on the twenty-third."
"Yes. It's a family tradition."
"I know," he says quietly, "it's my fault that she isn't here, and there's nothing I can truly do to show how sorry I am. But, well. I thought at the very least, I could offer to help with your tree. It...isn't the sort of thing one should be alone for."
Joyce considers, thinks about being mad at him for taking her away, thinks about crying, thinks about hitting him for offering to be here when she was doing so well working herself up about being alone.
But it's Christmas.
"Yes," she says. "Thank you," she says. "The ornaments are over here."
"Did Buffy make these?" he asks, touching the reindeer softly.
"Yes, she did."
"She's a remarkable girl."
"She is."
"I'm sure she'll be home soon."
"Yes," she says. "Thank you," she says.