Title: Disrepair
Author: Starla
E-MAIL: fuzzylittlepackrat@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns the characters, etc.
Distribution: Yes, indeedy. Just LMK.
Summary: Set after GD2, Joyce finds Buffy in tears.
POV: Joyce
Spoilers: s3.
Author's Notes: This is probably not what Joyce was really thinking, but hey, I can dream, can't I?
Feedback: Good stuff.

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I walked into the kitchen with my sister at my back, talking happily about the new exhibition we were holding there about promising young artists, when I heard the sniffling.

I turned on the light, holding my breath, and there was Buffy - *My Buffy* - sitting on the floor, curled up against the wall.

Her body shook and trembled, the aftermath of a long fit of sobbing, and I felt my heart break a little. Fear ran through me as I thought of all the things that could have happened - I got flashing, gory images of things that could have happened to my baby girl, but it was all so incoherent through my worry, that I couldn't pick out a single thing to tell you, now. Except for the fact that my mind kept going back to the fact that Buffy had wanted me out of town, *away* from the long, arduous battle.

"Buffy?" I whispered, my voice trembling a little, "Sweetheart?"

She whispered something that I couldn't quite make out.

"Honey?"

She lifted her head, then, and locked the most stricken eyes I'd ever seen on my own, her voice still barely a whisper. "He's gone."

"Who?" I asked, though a guilty twinge in my stomach gave me some suspicions.

"Angel. He left." She said, and I could tell that it pained her just to speak his name.

"Oh, Buffy," I said, sinking to my knees alongside her. I didn't really know what else to say. I mean, what could I do? Tell her that all men are bastards? She'd hate me, and I'd hate myself, because I know that he loves her more than anything, and would do anything to see her safe.

See, I never really believed it til I went to see him that morning. I saw it written plainly in his eyes, his movements - even his surroundings. Despite the chains on the wall, there were little touches of Buffy that he not only allowed, but also cherished, it seemed. He glanced at Moodles the cow, sitting on his couch, lovingly as he walked by. Some of her cds were strewn across his coffee table, and there was a photo on the wall, obviously taken in some of the better times - Of the two of the with the entire group.

But more than that, it was just in every fibre of his being - love and concern for her radiated around him like starlight, and even I wasn't blind to it.

Even so, he is a vampire, and she, my little girl. No matter how much love is between them, it just can't work. I wanted to shield Buffy from the pain of separation once a strong, lasting bond has set in, but it seems I was too late.

I wonder what would have happened without my interference.

I can feel Darlene's uneasiness, and I make a silent promise that I'll explain everything to her later - I must, because otherwise she'll just think that my daughter is a basketcase who can't handle being dumped. I see the need for this pain to be recognised as something deeper than that. I think Buffy needs it.

I reach out to touch her, and she flinches away. I try not to feel hurt, but part of me is, very deeply. I'm not the issue here, however.

"Buffy, this pain - it won't last forever," I say, and immediately know it was the wrong thing, because her head snaps up and she looks at me with glassy eyes.

"It will if he doesn't come back to me," she whispers pathetically. "I feel like - I'm going to die."

"Buffy..."

There is a long stretch in which no one says anything. Buffy is still curled up in a ball against the door, her head against her knees, and I just kneel by her in silence. We sit there for god knows how long - it feels like hours - before Buffy speaks softly.

"I feel like the sun will never come up again."

She stands abruptly, and walks up to her bedroom with jilting steps.

I hear her crying into the small hours of the morning.

When she gets up, her face is a mask, and after that night, I don't see or hear her shed another tear over him, all summer long.

I think she might be broken.