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Disclaimer: You’ve all heard it before, but I have to repeat it so I don’t get sued and lose my 5 pennies and lint ball. I don’t own the characters in this story, and I don’t own most of the dialogue either. All of it belongs to the man who loves to be mean to his poor characters--Joss Whedon. They also belong to Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, and everybody else that is not me.
Author's Notes: Okay, I was very unhappy about the way Dead Man’s Party was done, so I decided to change it and make it the way I think it should have been. There are no zombies in this one, and it’s pretty full of angst, but I think it turned out pretty well. And I want to know what you think, so send me feedback if you read this. It can be only one word if you want--great, excellent, stupendous, masterpiece, you get the picture :-). This is my second fic, and I’m strong enough to take flames, which by the way will be used to keep me warm. K, I’m done!!
Prologue
Where is she? God, she’s almost an hour late. Will’s never late. Buffy sat on the couch outside the coffee shop, glancing at her watch impatiently. Willow was supposed to meet her there so they could talk. But she was nowhere to be found. Buffy fiddled with the band on her watch and kept glancing down the street.
Still no sign of her.
Later that afternoon, when Buffy had returned home after being stood up by Willow, she found her mother in the kitchen. After talking about Pat, her mother’s new friend, Joyce said absentmindedly, “Oh, uh, before I forget, uh, Willow just called.”
“Where was she?” Buffy asked, suddenly paying attention.
“Uh...she...she got held up, but she said she tried to call.”
“Was there a message?” Buffy asked, as she stepped over to the fridge to get some iced tea. She reached in and pulled the pitcher out.
“No,” Joyce replied, then suddenly brightened. “But I had a thought. What if I invited Willow and Mr. Giles and everybody over for dinner tomorrow night? Don't you think that would be nice?” she asked, smiling. Buffy just poured herself a glass of iced tea and set the pitcher on the counter.
“Since I sort of already did, I was hoping for a yes,” Joyce said, waiting for Buffy’s reaction. She looked up at her mother and gave her a little smile and a nod.
“It'll be fun,” she said, then slowly let the smile fade from her lips. Seeing this, Joyce hesitated.
“Great. Uh, do me a favor? Run down and get the company plates,” she said. Buffy just looked at her.
“Mom, Willow and everybody aren't company-plate people. They're normal-plate people.”
“We never have guests for dinner. Indulge your mother?”
Sighing, Buffy went over to the basement door and opened it. Walking down the stairs, she went over to the far wall and grabbed a step stool, placing it in front of the old bookshelf that was cluttered with odds and ends.
Stepping up, she noticed a framed picture sitting on one of the higher shelves. Pulling it out, she looked at it in the light, a feeling of sadness sweeping through her.
It had been taken by Willow’s mom, they had been goofing around one day and she had wasted a whole roll on them. Willow was behind Buffy, and Xander had his head resting on her legs and he was looking up at her, grinning. She had missed them so much during her summer away, had missed their laughter, Will’s little comments, Xander’s bad jokes. A sharp pain went through Buffy’s heart, and she gazed at the picture for a long moment before returning it to the shelf. She’d have to come down and retrieve it, one of these days, after this was all hopefully behind them.
Buffy just wasn’t sure how soon that would be.