Title: Comfort
Author: Selyf
Summary: Missing scene/epilog for fourth season episode "Beer Bad." When all is said and done, there is always a place for Buffy to go to for comfort.
Raitng: PG-13
******“These are the things we want. Simple things. Comfort. Sex. Shelter. Food. We always want these things and we want them all the time.” -- Dr. Maggie Walsh, lecture
****** The foursome headed back to Buffy and Willow’s dorm. Giles was worried about leaving both of the girls alone. Buffy was still under the effect of the tainted beer, Willow had been knocked unconscious, and both girls were suffering from smoke inhalation. Giles contemplated asking Xander to stay the night in the girls’ room while he himself camped out in the lobby of the dorm, just in case he was needed. Or perhaps they could locate Oz and have him stay with the girls.
Or he could insist that the girls return to their respective homes for the night.
As they drew closer to the dorm, Xander, who was leading the way, came to an abrupt halt. “What’s wrong?” Willow asked, as the rest of them also stopped.
“Mrs. Summers,” answered Xander.
Giles looked past the young man to see that Joyce was running in their direction. She must have been looking for them. Although he wasn’t certain why she was on campus, her face showed fear and worry giving way to relief.
“Buffy!” Joyce went to her daughter and hugged her. “You’re all right.” Taking a step back, she glanced at the rest of the group. “You’re all okay. I heard about the fire on campus and tried to call, but there was no answer in your room. So I came straight from the gallery.” Her gaze went back to Buffy. “But you smell of smoke. You went to help, didn’t you? I knew that you would.” Hugging her daughter again, Joyce said, “I’m so glad you’re safe.” She looked at Willow. “Willow? Are you okay? You were in the fire, too?”
Willow nodded. “I’m okay.”
Giles wondered if Joyce noticed that Buffy was rather uncommunicative and considered saying something. But Joyce was ahead of him. She pulled away from her daughter and searched the girl’s face. “Sweetheart?” she said.
Buffy looked into her mother’s face and began to sniff the air. She leaned closer, continuing to sniff. Recognition came to her expression. Then, to Giles’s amazement, tears began to well in Buffy’s eyes.
“Mommy.”
The word, so simple, was spoken with heartbreaking desperation. Buffy wrapped her arms around her mother and buried her face in Joyce’s shoulder. Joyce drew her daughter even closer. “Buffy?” she said.
A muffled reply came from the Slayer. “Buffy tired.”
Joyce stroked her daughter’s hair and made soothing sounds. She looked up to see the other three staring at them but her gaze settled on Giles. “What’s wrong?” she demanded in a tone that showed she would brook no evasion of the question.
Giles spoke directly. “She’s under a – spell. It’s caused her to revert mentally to a primitive state.”
“Sort of Cavegirl Buffy,” Xander added.
Joyce furrowed her brow. “Who did it?” she asked.
Not wanting Xander to face the wrath of Joyce for serving the beer to Buffy, even if he didn't know about the spell, Giles answered. “Someone who thought it would be a fun prank. It should wear off in a day or so. In the meantime…”
“But how—“
“Mommy.” Buffy leaned back to look at her mother. “Mommy, Parker bad.”
Tucking Buffy’s head under her chin, Joyce whispered, “I know. I’m sorry, sweetie.” She then glanced up at Giles. “Did Parker do this?!” Joyce asked, anger strong in her voice.
“No,” Giles told her. “Someone else.”
Willow and Xander gaped at Joyce. “Buffy told you about Parker and her?” Willow asked.
“Of course,” Joyce replied quietly. “Willow, are you really all right? You look so pale.”
As if on cue, the young witch swayed and nearly fell backward. Xander caught her before she could fall. “Easy,” he said softly. “You need to lie down. She got knocked out by some guys who got the same stuff that Buffy did,” he explained to Joyce. “Only they got the full treatment. They even look Neanderthal.”
The statement had the effect of making Joyce hug her child even tighter. Giles stepped in. “Xander, why don’t you help Willow back to her room? We’ll follow.”
“No,” Joyce contradicted. “Willow should go to the emergency room.”
“I’ll be okay, Mrs. Summers,” Willow protested. “I just want a hot shower and a cup of tea.”
After a moment’s arguing, it was decided that Xander would escort Willow to the dorm and stay with her for the night. Buffy, however, refused to leave her mother’s side – not that Joyce was showing any signs of letting her go anyway.
“Buffy needs a hot bath, too, and I’m not certain that she won’t need help,” Joyce said. “I’ll take her home with me.”
“Home,” Buffy echoed. “Home, Mommy.”
“Yes, sweetheart.” Joyce took one arm from around her daughter to hug Willow and give her a peck on the cheek. “Let me know if you need anything,” she said softly.
Exhausted, Willow could only nod in reply. Xander slipped an arm around her shoulder and they continued on to the dorm. Joyce dug into her pocket, a task made a bit difficult by Buffy’s refusing to take her arms from around her mother’s waist. Finally, Joyce pulled out a set of keys. “Rupert? Would you mind driving?” she asked.
“Of course not,” he answered. Together they headed for the Cherokee.
Buffy and Joyce sat in the back seat while Giles drove toward the Summers’s home. As soon as they were settled, with Buffy resting her head on her mum’s shoulder, Joyce started asking questions.
“How exactly did this happen? Was it someone who knows that Buffy is the Slayer?”
“No.” Giles glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Joyce gently rocking her daughter. He wasn’t sure how Joyce would react to the news of Buffy’s drinking, but he also knew that she wanted the truth. “From what Xander told me, Buffy went to the campus pub the night before last and met some young men who were having a few beers. They invited her to join them, not knowing, of course, that the beer had been tainted by a spell from a local warlock. Willow confirms that Buffy had already begun to suffer the effects yesterday. When Buffy met the boys again tonight…”
“I see.”
Giles waited for the other shoe to drop. However, Joyce seemed to be ignoring the fact that underage Buffy had beer at the campus pub. “Xander said that the boys were more affected,” Joyce said. “Why? Because she’s the Slayer?”
“No.” Now Giles had to tell her something else sure to rile her. “Xander is working at the pub as a bartender.”
“But he’s only eighteen. How can he work there?”
“I believe he used a fake ID.”
There was a short laugh from the back seat. Giles looked at Joyce in the rear view mirror. There was a tiny smile on her face. “Leave it to Xander,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You know, I think I still have my fake ID somewhere.”
The reaction surprised Giles. “You had a fake ID?” he said incredulously.
“Rupert,” Joyce replied, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “You’ve seen me as a 16-year-old. Of course I had a fake ID. Used it to buy Kahlua. And beer.”
“Beer foamy,” Buffy said.
Joyce kissed the top of Buffy’s head. “So,” she went on, “Xander served this beer not knowing that it had a spell on it until it was too late.”
“Yes. He cut Buffy off early when he thought that she’d had enough. But the boys went through another pitcher before they began to transform into Neanderthals.”
Joyce sighed. “When I was in college, we only worried about someone slipping narcotics into our drinks. I guess this was the Hellmouth version of PCP.”
Giles couldn’t help laughing. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” He caught Joyce’s eye again. “You’re not upset about the drinking?”
“Buffy’s in college,” Joyce said. “To a certain extent, she’s on her own and she’s going to test herself and her limits. I’m not surprised that she’s drinking some. But I’d prefer that she not get drunk or drink and drive or anything like that. And I’m praying that she stays away from drugs, though I really don’t think that I have anything to worry about there.”
“And Parker?”
“Parker bad,” Buffy chimed in. “Buffy hit.”
“Buffy hit?” Joyce repeated.
Giles didn’t bother trying to hide his smile. “Yes. Buffy knocked him out. With a club.”
Joyce returned the smile. “Great. Now I don’t know whether to scold or congratulate her.”
There was a long silence. Finally Joyce said. “The thing with Parker did surprise me. So soon after…” Joyce let the sentence go, and Giles knew that she was avoiding the subject of Angel while Buffy was in such a vulnerable state. “But I understand it, too. I just worry about her getting hurt.”
They were quiet the rest of the way to the house. As Giles pulled into the driveway, Buffy sat up, taking more notice of things. The car had barely come to a halt before she leapt out of the backseat and ran to the door. Giles realized that Buffy was simply glad to be home. He followed Joyce to the front door. “I’ll go on home,” he said.
“No,” Joyce said, unlocking the door. “Please stay. Just for a while. I’d like to talk with you.”
As Joyce got Buffy upstairs, she called over her shoulder, “Make yourself at home.” Giles tried to relax and do just that. It was easier than he imagined. Perhaps bad memories of the summer that Buffy was missing had begun to subside. He and Joyce had had a few rows in this living room before finally calling a truce. Even then there had always been a certain amount of tension between them.
Until the night they got high on Ethan’s magical candy. After that there was still some tension, but of a different sort. Now they had settled into a state of being rather comfortable with each other. And Giles was grateful for that.
Going to the kitchen, he rummaged around for tea and a teapot, happily finding both. Joyce might appreciate a cup once Buffy was settled for the night.
****** “These are the things we want. Simple things. Comfort. Sex. Shelter. Food. We always want these things and we want them all the time.” -- Dr. Maggie Walsh, lecture
****** Joyce ran a bath for her daughter, adding some bubble bath to it. Although she’d not said anything to Rupert, Joyce was somewhat upset over Buffy’s drinking to the point of apparent intoxication. But she truly understood how her daughter felt. The freedom of being on one’s own for the first time was enough to get to anyone – even someone like Buffy who had been fairly independent before that.
At the same time, there was a part of Joyce that relished her child being under her roof again – and once more needing her help.
Going into Buffy’s room, Joyce found her sitting on the bed, not yet out of all of her clothes. Buffy had turned on the radio and was playing with the station selector and the volume. Joyce went over and turned off the music. Buffy pouted. “Want singing,” she complained.
“Bath first,” her mother replied.
She helped Buffy out of the rest of her clothes and wrapped her in a robe. Steering the teen into the bathroom, Joyce sat her on the toilet lid and began to brush out Buffy’s long hair. As she did so, Joyce saw a confused look cross her daughter’s face. She followed Buffy’s gaze to the bathtub.
“Foamy,” Buffy commented, looking at the bubble bath prepared for her. “Beer?”
Joyce suppressed a laugh. “No. Bath,” she replied.
Buffy continued to frown. “Want beer.”
“No. No beer.”
“Want!”
“No.”
Buffy’s frown grew even deeper and her lower lip began to protrude. “Don’t even try,” Joyce warned. “I’m immune to the pouty face.” Joyce’s answer was a confused look from her daughter, so she shook her head. Even a cavegirl Buffy understood that and simple turned around again, apparently resigned to her mother’s reply.
There was no doubt that Buffy’s hair would need washing. The smell of smoke still clung to the blonde tresses.
“Ow!” Buffy complained as her mother caught a tangle in the brush. “Mommy hurt.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Joyce finished brushing Buffy’s hair. The entire scene brought back memories for Joyce. She missed having Buffy at home. She regretted the time lost between them, something never to be recovered. But, every now and then, they had a chance to connect. And during those times, Joyce felt that her daughter still needed her, if just a little.
About a half-hour later, Buffy was bathed, her hair was washed, she was in pajamas, and her mother was drying her hair. “Wind hot,” she complained.
“Finished soon,” Joyce replied, wondering when she had picked up the speech pattern that Buffy was using now. Soon the hair drying was done and not a moment too soon. Buffy was practically falling asleep. Steering the exhausted girl into her room, Joyce tucked her into bed.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” she whispered, kissing Buffy’s forehead. But her daughter wasn’t quite asleep yet. She held onto Joyce’s hand.
“Mommy sing,” Buffy murmured.
Joyce couldn’t remember the last time she’d sung a lullaby to her daughter. And now she wondered if she’d be able to get past the lump in her throat to try. Not letting go of Buffy’s hand, Joyce turned off the bedside lamp, cleared her throat, and began.
“Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe. Sailed on a river of crystal light Into a sea of dew. ‘Where are you going and what do you wish?’ The old moon asked the three. ‘We have come to fish for the herring fish that live in this beautiful sea. Nets of silver and gold have we!’ Said Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.”
****** After nearly three-fourths of an hour had gone, Giles started to worry a bit. He was certain that Buffy would never do anything to harm her daughter, but just in case…
He climbed the stairs and saw Joyce and Buffy going to Buffy’s room. All seemed well and he was about to go back to the living room when he heard Buffy ask her mother to sing. To his surprise, Joyce did just that.
The words were familiar to Giles, but he’d never before heard the tune. He stood on the stairs, listening to Joyce sing. Her voice wasn’t outstanding, but it was comforting and he had no doubts that it was just what Buffy needed right now.
“Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes. And Nod is a little head. And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one’s trundle bed. So shut your eyes while mother sings Of wonderful sights that be. And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea. Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.”
The song done, Giles expected Joyce to emerge from the room. Then he heard one more thing. It was Buffy’s voice.
“Mommy good.”
A moment later Joyce emerged from the room, pulling the door halfway shut behind her. Giles saw her brush away a tear. As she turned, she saw him standing on the stairs. Even in the dim light, he could see her blush. “I thought I heard you,” she whispered.
“It was lovely,” he assured her.
Joyce shrugged. “Well, Buffy’s never complained, though after listening to some of the music she likes, I’m inclined to think that she’s slightly tone deaf.”
Giles chuckled. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
They walked down the steps together. “I’ve got the kettle on for tea,” he told her. “And I found your stash of Walker’s shortbread.”
“Now that sounds lovely,” Joyce said.
Giles made her sit at the island while he prepared the tea. “How do you think Buffy is?” he asked.
“All right. You said that the spell should wear off in a day or so?”
“Probably by tomorrow. She didn’t get as much of the beer and she has a faster metabolism, being the Slayer.” Pouring a cup of tea for them both, Giles sat down on the stool beside Joyce. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he teased.
Joyce raised her eyebrows. “This?” she replied, indicating the tea and cookies. “Yes, I am. Especially since I’m not the one having to prepare everything. Thank you.” She smiled slyly at him.
“You’re quite welcome, but I was really referring to Buffy’s state right now.” Giles lifted his cup toward the ceiling. “Admit it. You like having your little girl a little girl again.”
Joyce took a sip of tea before answering. “I don’t enjoy her being under a spell,” she began. “However, I admit that it’s nice to have Buffy need me, if only for a little while.” She lowered her gaze and wrapped both hands around her mug. “I miss her so much. I understand that she’s an adult and that she needs her freedom. But I do like knowing that every now and then, I can do something for her. That she does still need me. Just a little.”
Giles reached over and took one of Joyce’s hands. She looked up and met his eyes. “Buffy will always need you,” he said. “You’re her mother. You give her an emotional center and strength and comfort that no one else can match. To put it as Buffy might right now, ‘Joyce good.’”
A soft smile lit Joyce’s face. “Thank you, Rupert.”