RATING: NC-17 f/f slash, references to child
abuse

CLASSIFICATION:  sick fic, more ways than one

SUMMARY:  PWP.  Idea attacked me while I was
surfing picture galleries.

PAIRING:  Maggie Walsh and Joyce Summers

SPOILER WARNING: through US 4.

DISTRIBUTION:  how much do I owe you for
hauling it off?

FEEDBACK:  please, at exfilia@y...

DISCLAIMER:  The BtVS characters belong to
Mutant Enemy and are used with no intent to
profit and without permission.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

              Mothers and Daughters
                                              
                   by Exfilia


Joyce Summers was pretty enough, in a warm and
fuzzy sort of way, but she wasn't much like her
daughter.  Her legs were long, for one thing,
taking long strides across the parking lot below
Maggie's office window, whipping her gauzy skirt.
They were very long, long enough to....

"Professor Walsh?"

"Riley!"  Maggie hadn't meant to squeal, and she
surely didn't mean to stand with a hand to her
throat, taking deep rasping breaths.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine.  You startled me, is all.  You move quite
silently."

"Yeah, well, they kind of teach us that in boot
camp."

"I thought it was all shouted cadences and
pushups."

"You're sure you're okay?  Would you like me to
drive you home?"

"That's very thoughtful of you, Riley, but I have
an appointment this evening."  Maggie started for
her desk, but the floor swayed beneath her until
Riley caught her.

"What's wrong?  Come on, tell me.  If it affects
the Initiative's work...."

"I stood up too fast, is all.  That and the flu."
She sank into her desk chair and pulled a bottle
of water from the bottom drawer.

"You're sure you're okay to drive?"

"I will be, or I'll get a cab.  Go home, Riley."

"Who are you meeting?" he asked with a
mischievous grin.

"None of your business!"  That had come out
wrong.
Riley was beaming with unwarrented assumptions.
Maggie took another sip of her water, and had to
force herself to swallow.  Riley was watching her
closely.

"I could wait," he said.

"When I need a babysitter, Mr. Finn, you'll be
the
first to know.  Now get out of here and let me
take care of... this."

"Okay.  I'm just going over to Buffy's, though.
She isn't well, and her mom had to go out for a
bit.  If you need me, you call me, okay?"

"You don't make a very good mother hen, Riley.
Go.  Go and be a young man in love.  Go on."

Riley smiled, and went.  Maggie sat down and took
another taste of the water.  It was just the flu.
It had nothing to do with the woman who appeared
in her office door.

"Professor Walsh?"

"Mrs. Summers, right?"  Oh, yes, it was Mrs.
Summers, legs and all.  Maggie capped the water
bottle and put it away.

"Yes, I've come for my daughter's assignments.
She's going to miss the next couple of classes.
She had a little accident."

"I heard she got slimed by a chaos demon, and 
she'll be blind until the end of the week."

"You know.  You know she's the Slayer."

"I know a good many things, Mrs. Summers.  One
of them is that extracurricular activities should
not be allowed to interfere with academic work."

"Saving the world is not an extracurricular
activity, professor."

Maggie smiled.  If only Joyce knew.

"Perhaps I should make an exception in this
case,"
she admitted, and stood up and reached for the
binder that held her lesson plans.

She woke up a bit later, flat on the floor with
Joyce Summers holding her elevated knees.  It
was not a bad way to wake up, not a bad face to
wake up to, if it was sort of warm and fuzzy.
Perhaps the fuzziness wasn't Joyce.  Perhaps it
was something inside Maggie, something that
hadn't
dared to rear its head since she was an
undergraduate.

Perhaps Maggie was feverish, if she was thinking
any such thing.

"Can you walk?" Joyce asked.  "Can you get as far
as the car, anyway?"

"I have things to do...."  She did.  She needed
to check Project 341....

"You should be in bed."

She most assuredly should, particularly if Joyce
Summers was there with her, warm and close, with
Maggie's face buried in all that hair, and those
lovely long legs....

"I don't think I'm doing too well," Maggie
gasped.

"You'll be okay," said Joyce.  "Come on, I'll
take you home."

"You don't have to do that for me."

"Then imagine that I'm not doing it for you. Say
I'm doing it for the parents of the child who'll
be killed when you pass out behind the wheel of
your car."

Joyce did not play fair.  Well, she was the
Slayer's mother, after all.  Perhaps she had to
know how to pull such strings.  Maggie allowed
herself to be bundled into a coat and
half-carried
into the elevator, where the motion almost made
her faint again, and then out to Joyce's car.

Maggie must have fallen asleep on the way home,
because the next thing she knew she was sitting
on the edge of her own bed with her face 
buried between Joyce's breasts, and the other
woman's hands were unhooking her bra.

"You back?  Good.  Can you sit alone for a
minute?
Where's your nightgown?"

"I, uh, sleep in the raw.  There's some sweats
in the bottom drawer, though."

Joyce returned with a pale blue tee.  Maggie
fumbled with the buttons of her blouse.

"Here, let me do that."  Joyce knelt between
Maggie's knees and unfastened one button, then
the next, working her way down Maggie's blouse.
When she'd finished, she slid it off the other
woman's shoulders, and only then met Maggie's
eyes.  For a moment they just looked at one
another, each hypnotized by the other's gaze.

"I'm going to get what you've got," Joyce
whispered.

"Oh, God, yes."

They didn't actually make love, although Maggie
was more than willing to try.  Joyce peeled
her out of her clothes, tucked her into bed
and lay down beside her.

"How did you find out?" Joyce asked.

"I had a really close girlfriend in college.
We experimented."

"I meant about Buffy."

"Riley told me.  He was worried about her."

"Riley?"

"Don't think less of him for it.  He really was
very concerned.  He needed someone to talk to,
someone objective."

"And you believed him?"

"I'd seen something of the sort before."  Maggie
flashed on herself as a very young child, being
carried screaming down an antiseptic corridor
for things to be done with knives and needles,
and whispers she wasn't meant to understand
burned by the pain into her child's mind,
"posthumous delivery," "cytoplasmic DNA,"
"maternal exsanguination," "retroviral
extraction."

"Maggie?  Are you all right?"

"It's passed from mother to daughter, you know,
the Slayer thing."

"No, I didn't know."

"Did you ever think, what if it wasn't Buffy?
What if it had been you instead?"

"Not really.  I suppose I'm lucky."

"They tried to make another one, once.  They
cultured the stuff from someone who was born with
it, and gave it to half a dozen little girls, and
they all died.  One by one, they all turned pale
and died.  They did it again and again and again.
All those sweet little girls...."

Warm arms wrapped around Maggie.

"Sometimes," Joyce said, "I think we should just
lock all the scientists in a big closet and throw
away the key.  Maybe we could put a couple of
vampires in with them, you know?"

"They had to do it.  They had to try.  It's the
only thing standing between the human race and
extermination.  We have to find something...."

"Shh.  We'll talk about it in the morning."

"Hold me, Joyce.  Just hold me."

Joyce burrowed against her, and Maggie laid her
cheek against all that lovely hair.

"Go to sleep.  You'll feel better in the
morning."

"Yeah.  Sure."

                    The End

=====
exfilia
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Can't a woman wreak a little havok
without a man being involved?