Fic: The Chosen Mom Author: Dolores E-mail: dolores_l@hotmail.com Summary: A desperate situation calls for an unlikely heroine, and the experience is liberating. Rating: R, maybe NC-17 Disclaimer: All owned by Joss, except Wimminwood which is Armistead Maupin's. Notes: My Joyceficathon fic for Doyle, who wanted Joyce/Xander post-s4 and with a bit of comedy. Hopefully this is that. *** June 2000, somewhere in northern California... It was night, and the stars shone on the gathering. Around the roaring fire, they danced: eight loving, powerful wimmin chanting to their goddesses and their saints, free from the restrictions placed upon them by the heterosexist patriarchy. They were also naked from the waist up and daubed in thick strips of vegetable dye. >From a piece of higher ground a few feet away, Buffy Summers sat watching, chewing thoughtfully on an organic vegan bran muffin. She was sitting next to Willow, who was seemingly entranced by the range of heaving bosomry before her. This probably had something to do with two sets of said bosoms' owners being Tara and Anya. "Tara's really come out of her shell here," Buffy said eventually. It took a few moments for Willow to reply, words taking time to filter through the delicious imagery. "Yeah. Anya too." Suddenly her brows furrowed slightly. "Hey, Buffy - Anya is actually one of the saints they're chanting to. Anya is chanting to herself. Can she do that?" "Dunno. D'you think Santa writes to himself?" "I guess he writes to Mrs Santa. She'd be the only one who'd know if he's been good or not. And, y'know, if he isn't, she can tell him he's been a very naughty boy, take him over her knee and… I'm going to bad mental places now. Very bad. Oh, Buffy, it's all these boobies, I'm being driven into a sexual frenzy." As Buffy choked quietly on her muffin, Willow decided to change the subject. "But anyway, uh, what're you doing next? Tara wants to go to the 'Examine your Cervix' session but I'm not sure I want to examine mine. Wanna do some pottery? Or we could go listen to some poetry." Swallowing with difficulty, Buffy thought a little more. "Remind me again, how did you talk me into coming here?" *** Back in Sunnydale... "Damn and blast." "No dice?" Xander asked, as Giles replaced the handset. Giles shook his head. "They won't even talk to a man, let alone allow one to leave any sort of message. I don't even know where the bloody place is, or I'd drive up and collect Buffy myself. Not that we'd have the time in any case. Dammit, why couldn't they have just gone to Disneyland like everybody else?" "I think Willow wants to get in touch with her feminist side, and Tara said Wimminwood is the place to do that. Anya used to go every summer when she was a demon. Got some of her best vengeance ideas from the attendees." "Not really the greatest of recommendations." Xander shifted a little in his chair. "I have to say, I'm not looking forward to their return. It's not like there was a shortage of Girl Power around here before. We're gonna be washing the dishes till Sunnydale disappears into the Hellmouth. Which brings me back to the point – what do we do now?" Giles slumped into a chair, and rubbed his face with one hand. "We need a Slayer. We can't get hold of Buffy, Faith is out of the question – even if we could break her out of jail – and, not that he's a Slayer, but Riley is in Iowa and he'd be the closest thing we'd have otherwise." "You should have one in a little red box on the wall. 'Break glass in case of an emergency.' Like a fire axe, only better." Giles glanced at Xander when he spoke, then murmured, "fire axe," and got to his feet. He paced for a moment, deep in thought, whilst Xander looked at him in bemusement. "There is a way we can get our Slayer," he said after a moment. "But it will be dangerous. For her more than anybody else." "Who's her?" *** Joyce Summers was watching Passions when the doorbell rang. She sighed, put her bowl of popcorn onto the table and rose gracefully, gliding to the door. Through the little windows she could see Rupert and Xander. Whatever it was, it was trouble. Only when Rupert outlined his plans did she realise just how much. Her finest confused expression effortlessly crossed her face. "You want to make me a Slayer?" Rupert nodded. "Yes, but it would only be temporary. The spell would last a few days, a week at most. Enough time to stop the end of the world." She grasped her necklace, rolling the pendant in her palm. "Shouldn't somebody younger do it? I mean, I work out on that exercise bike, but I'm still not as fit as I used to be. What about Xander?" Xander made a small, strangled squeak. "No; he cannot. For the spell to be successful it must be cast on a female, and preferably one who is a blood relation of a Slayer. The effects aren't entirely predicatable – but our best shot is you. And believe me, when you're a Slayer the age won't matter at all." She gripped the pendant tighter. "And we can't wait until Buffy comes back?" "The Scunner demons plan to complete their ritual tonight. If they do, the Hellmouth will open and then not even a hundred Buffys would be able to defeat what is released. We can't wait for her to return and Xander and I can't defeat them on our own. We need the power of a Slayer." For a moment, Joyce looked away, pale and frightened. Then she thought about Buffy, and she steeled herself. She turned her gaze to Rupert, flint in her eyes. "What do I have to do?" Giles looked down at her floaty skirt and baggy jumper. "First I'd change into something more suitable." *** Whilst Giles prepared his ingredients, Xander did what he thought was best, and stayed out of the way. To be honest, he was more than a little nervous being in Joyce's house. He'd felt awkward in her presence ever since all that business with the dreams, because one of the most vivid scenes, even now, was Joyce in that red negligee, with those lips and that cleavage and, oh man. When they'd all debriefed the day after and Giles had made everyone write down all the things they'd seen (in case there was some cryptic message to be divined) he'd left that bit out. Sure, it was only one weird moment in a bizarro hullapalooza, but quite apart from him not wanting to tell Buffy he had erotic dreams about her mother, it was also one moment which he knew had more than a little truth to it. In fact, it had altogether too much of a resemblance to certain thoughts he had had in fully conscious moments for longer than he cared to admit even to himself. If there was a message, he didn't want to know. The way he saw it, repression was sometimes the better part of valour. The sound of footsteps on the stairs drew his attention. He looked over, and his jaw dropped. At the same moment, Giles looked up from his ingredients and exclaimed, "gosh!" Joyce slinked, rather than walked, down the stairs. A tight, fitted black leather jacket hugged her upper body, zip pulled down so that a vee of creamy skin and just the faintest hint of the valley between her breasts was revealed. Her lower half appeared to have been poured into a pair of tight black leather pants, her legs tapering to neat, black sneakers. Both her lips and nails were painted in a dark red. Evidently, she'd realised if she were to feel the part, she'd have to look it too. She was, quite simply, killer. Taking in their amazed expressions, she allowed herself a small smile. "Is this ok?" Giles made a high pitched squeaking noise, then cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes, absolutely." "I've been waiting for an excuse to wear these pants for months." She looked at them both sternly. "But Buffy must never know I even own them." The two men nodded mutely, and Giles began to fiddle with his ingredients once more. Xander placed his hands over his lap and fervently hoped he wouldn't have to stand up any time soon. When the spell was ready, Giles muttered some words in an ancient language, threw around some herbs and tossed a shiny rock into a small cauldron. The lights flickered, there was some eldritch flame and purple smoke, then Joyce cried out. Her eyes flashed golden for a moment, and she rocked on her feet. Then it was done. In the silence that followed, Xander asked, "how do we know it worked?" Giles got to his feet, looking at Joyce. "Let's take a trip to the cemetery." *** In the aftermath of the Initiative, Sunnydale's undead population was somewhat depleted, but even so, it was still Sunnydale. There would always be vampires. As they made their way to the nearest graveyard in Joyce's jeep, Giles had hurriedly explained the basics of hand-to-hand combat. As he'd pointed out, Joyce would rely more on the instincts that came with Slayer powers than anything else, and there was no time to do the kind of training he would normally do – but a few words of advice would do no harm either. Xander sat behind them and tried not to think of Joyce's chest. When they reached their destination, a vampire obligingly attacked after only ten minutes of Xander acting as bait (by sitting on a gravestone and whistling loudly). Joyce rushed the vampire, and got an elbow in the face for her trouble. She was thrown backwards over a headstone and Xander's stomach lurched – partly because he thought the spell had failed and partly because he then received a hard punch in the gut by the vampire. He fell back in a sprawl was still trying to breathe when he saw Joyce jump to her feet far more athletically than ought to be possible. He gaped as she proceeded to hurl herself at the vampire in a very good impression of a flying karate kick, accompanied by an Amazonian yell. There then followed a display of primal violence, mostly Joyce's, including some vicious punches and a particularly excellent roundhouse kick. Finally the vampire, bloodied and beaten, was pinned to the ground and Joyce was reaching for her stake. The briefest of moments later and the vampire was dust. Joyce was a little breathless but clearly exhilarated, whilst Giles looked both relieved and impressed. Xander was slightly sweaty. "Well, I'd say that the spell worked," said Giles, "now for the Hellmouth." He started to walk back to the jeep. Joyce turned to Xander. "Are you ok, dear?" "Fine. Just winded." She helped him to his feet, squeezing his hand as she did so. "I could get used to being a Slayer. I haven't felt like this in years." She gave him a wink and started after Giles. Xander found his gaze dropping to her shapely behind and he tried not to have the thoughts he was having. Making Joyce kick-ass as well as beautiful was really not helping his libido. *** Lack of experience meant Joyce's despatch of the Scunner demons was perhaps less efficient than that which would have been attempted were her daughter around, but with the help of both Giles and Xander the ritual was stopped, most of the demons killed and the world was once again safe from imminent destruction. Of course, Xander had nearly got himself killed because he kept being distracted by Joyce's leather-clad ass but the bruises would probably be worth it. Giles wanted to return to his apartment straight away, to do some further research and make sure that the surviving demons could not attempt the same ritual again (it depended on the exact alignment of certain stars) any time in the near future. When the jeep had pulled up outside his building he thanked Xander for his assistance and then, more profusely, thanked Joyce for all that she had done. "You are a remarkable woman," he said, stepping out of the vehicle. Joyce blushed. "Much like your daughter. As I say, the spell should wear off in a few days – I'll let you know if we need your services in that time! If you have any questions though just call." "I will. Thank you, Rupert. We're going to have fun telling Buffy about this, I'm sure." "Quite. Good evening." He shut the door, and Joyce turned to Xander, sat in the back. "Do you want a lift home, dear? Or, uh, if you want you could come back to my house and I could make you some dinner. I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep for hours after all this and it would be nice to have some company." Xander swallowed, but nodded. "You know I'd never miss out on the chance to sample your cooking, Mrs S." "Please, Xander, call me Joyce." *** The summer before senior year, when Buffy had run away, Xander had visited Joyce at least twice a week. Usually it was just for coffee, occasionally she'd make him some food, and they'd just talk. He could tell Joyce was grateful for his presence, especially as he could fill her in on some of Buffy's exploits in the previous eighteen months. Willow called occasionally but felt too shy for the most part, and Giles felt too awkward. So it had been down to Xander to make sure she was okay. It hadn't been anything special but he'd felt like he owed Joyce something. In most respects Xander could say he was repeating what he had done two years before: being a friend to her when Buffy was absent, although of course this time that absence was definitely only temporary. In other respects it was something else entirely, and he felt quite guilty. But not enough that he hadn't come. He'd never seen Joyce quite like this. She almost burned with energy and life. She was more girlish too, giggling more and making sassy jokes and – admittedly this could be wishful thinking – flirting. Whether it was because of the spell or because of the slaying or both he couldn't tell, but he wasn't complaining. She'd cajoled him into drinking wine with his dinner and kept topping up his glass, and as he wasn't much one for drinking he felt slightly tipsy fairly quickly. He helped her clear the table and whilst she tidied the kitchen he washed the plates. At one point, she squeezed past him at the sink, ostensibly to get to a cupboard on his other side – but there was plenty of space so that sort of touching wasn't really necessary. Xander decided it wasn't wishful thinking. He couldn't decide what in the name of Dolly Parton he was going to do about it. A little later, on the couch, they drank more wine. He noticed her pupils were dilated and her cheeks flushed. She leaned in and asked him a question. "So, how serious are you and Anya?" "Well, uh, I guess it's kinda early and, uh, I like her, but, well, I guess we'll see." A war raged in his conscience between the part of him that was screaming not to do anything and the part of him desperate to do everything. She nodded and smiled, lips shiny with wine. "I think I remember that stage. When things are fluid. When you aren't yet... committed." Joyce was pressed up against him now, and his heart hammered in his chest. He couldn't quite bring himself to make a move, but he knew he wouldn't resist if she did. Suddenly she seemed to catch herself, and laughed softly. "I can't believe I'm acting this way. It's just, after the slaying – the feeling is indescribable. It's like I have so much energy and it's all feminine. If that makes sense. And I need to share that energy with someone, connect. It's been a very long time since I felt like that - not since Hank..." Her hand drifted up Xander's chest, fingertips trailing up the buttons on his shirt. "Xander, did I ever tell you that when I met Hank I had to steal him away from his girlfriend?" He gulped. Her fingers reached the top button and began to undo them, moving back down until his shirt was open and her palm slid in to caress the skin underneath. Her nails dragged across his nipple and he whimpered. "I've always thought you were attractive, but you were also always too young. But you've grown up so much." The hand suddenly descended and cupped his crotch. She squeezed and giggled. "So very much." "Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs Robinson?" She answered by placing her lips on his and squeezing some more. He pressed back fervently and his hand gripped her waist. She began to undo his belt buckle and growled into the increasingly passionate embrace, "I want to see you naked. Now." She pushed him back and he scrambled to his feet, pulling at his clothes as he went. Eyes shining, she watched as he stripped, and Xander was sure he'd never been this hard in his life. When he pushed down his boxers – the last item he still wore – her eyes widened, and she actually licked her lips. "Stay still." Joyce stood up and, staring into Xander's eyes, tugged at the zip on her jacket. It inched down to reveal more of the cleavage and, then, the fact she was wearing nothing underneath but a red, lacy bra. She stopped before the jacket fell open, took one of Xander's hands and shoved it inside. He grasped her breast, almost breathless with excitement and tried to kiss her again. Before he could she removed it and, as he opened his mouth to protest, dropped to her knees and gave Xander the best blow job he had ever had. He climaxed within about two minutes, although he felt that under the circumstances that was actually fairly restrained. He still apologised. Joyce smiled. "Don't worry, you're nineteen. That's how it works. The second time, you're going to last." For a few seconds, Xander was struck dumb. "The second time?" Casually, Joyce removed her jacket. "Unless you'd rather we didn't." Xander's gaze dropped several inches to Joyce's incredible bosom. The decision was made. "Well, okay. But this can only be tonight." Joyce removed the bra. "Or, well, maybe we can stop after the spell wears off." Joyce smiled. "That should give us at least a few days." "This is gonna kill me." She laughed. "Don't worry. I'll be gentle." "Really?" "Maybe." *** The dancing was finished. Tara sat at the fire, heaving. She didn't know where Buffy and Willow had gone, but she was sure she'd find them soon enough. She did know where and with who, Anya had gone, and most probably what she would do when she got there. She was glad Buffy and Willow hadn't been around to see it. Granted, the woman she went with was a bit of an icon, but Anya was still cheating on Xander. Then again, she wasn't sure she could have resisted either: she had watched Silence of the Lambs dozens of times and it certainly wasn't for Anthony Hopkins. Tara resolved to talk to Anya about it later. After all, it was probably only a holiday romance. Who would know? Poor Xander though, he probably wasn't having nearly as much fun.