FEBRUARY 20, 2001

The pale, pretty girl with the ankh stood before her, and Joyce simply knew. Oddly, she thought about Dawn, hoping that her daughter-by-magic would never dress this way.

"So the operation didn't take?"

The girl nodded, seeming sadder for the false hope Joyce was offered than for the reason for she was there.

"Yeah. But it wasn't entirely the tumor. You could have lived with the operation's after-effects. Problem is, the monks' spell told your body you had borne two children. Your body knew otherwise. It all put your immune system into imbalance."

Joyce shook her head.

"Magic. Its always magic. It once made me make a pass at Xander Harris!"

Both ladies giggled, just a bit, at that. Then Joyce girded herself.

"Can you make sure I'm not sprawled all over the place? My daughter has a lot of enemies, and I don't want her to think one of them got me."

The girl nodded.

"Very reasonable. Easily arranged. But Joyce? I don't have to take you for a full twelve hours. You can have the chance to say goodbye as it happens."

Joyce smiled. It would all be perfect, or as perfect as these things got.

"How much of this conversation do I get to retain for the time I have left?"

"The conversation and me? Nada. But you'll keep the gist. You can call people. The bank. Your ex. Your birth mother's mother, out in Illinois. Make a big meal."

At first, the thought had tremendous appeal. But Joyce Summers prided herself on being a practical woman, and that meant asking obvious questions.

"To do your job, you can't give people extensions. Otherwise, everyone would want one. So why are you doing this for me?"

Her pretty face sank a bit.

"Its not an extension, Joyce. I'm twelve hours early. You see, you don't exactly get to make those calls in peace, if you live your full time."

Joyce sat down, and the girl sat with her. "Buffy?"

"Its not one of her enemies. Its something you did. A questionable but highly understandable attempt to protect Buffy's heart."

Joyce remembered.

"Angel."

"Mmm-hmm. See, while you and Buffy are chatting, Dawn will go looking for a brush. She'll go in your room. She'll find and read your diary. She'll see the passage regarding your talk with Angel, just before he left. Dawn will then try and hide this from Buffy. That is, she'll try and hide it."

When Joyce was silent, her visitor continued.

"If you live your appointed time, then your life will end in the middle of the single most ferocious argument you and Buffy have ever had. Do I really need to say what follows from there?"

No, she didn't, mused Joyce.

"No disrespect meant--but why would you care? You have your job to do, and I get the impression that this is an unusual arrangement."

The girl raised her finger.

"Disrespect. You see, that's what this is about. Nobody likes who I am, and what I do. But most people show respect to the necessity and nature of it all. Your daughter's enemies, though? They regularly spit--among other things---on my image and likenesses. By staking them, Buffy shows them that in the end, a Master dies same as a Joyce. You should see their faces as they realize I'm not going away."

Joyce shook her head.

"I'll find the words. Explain to her why I did what I did."

"Eventually, Joyce? She might even understand it all, and thank you for your love and concern. But not in the time you have left. If you come now, that volume of your diary will be accidentally burned by Dawn, as she's helping to clean up. Buffy will never see it."

Joyce saw the kindness in this gesture, but also would regret not saying goodbye to her daughter--to her daughters, and so many others. Still, the choice was plain, if her intervention was to remain her and Angel's secret.

"Let's go."

Joyce felt the girl gently take her hand, and then suddenly winced at the goofy expression she saw her body's face wearing. Then, she took note of something else.

"My slip! The paramedics...."

"Joyce--she'll cover it up when she finds you. Now, let's go. I've already arranged with my brother to give her a lot of powerful dreams. Buffy will be fine."

Joyce walked with the girl to her destination.

"How--how long before Buffy joins me?"

Death had given her gift, and so answered this last question as honestly as she could.

"That's a tough one. You see--she's just not the type that stays put very well."

Before entering a great gate, Joyce heard one word murmured meekly from the other side.

"mommy?"