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If Mom were here she’d be yelling at her. Dad just drives her home in silence, wearing his “not angry just disappointed” face.
Yelling would be better, Grace decides. At least then she’d know where she stood.
“Do you want to tell me what you were thinking?” Dad finally asks.
“I was thinking about not letting him get my puck,” she says.
“And that justified ramming another child into the boards?” he inquires levelly.
“No.” Grace cringes. It’s not the first match penalty she’s gotten, but it’s the most severe. Worse than that, she’d broken Rule One. For as long as she can remember, she’s been taught to fight, hard and dirty and vicious, because her family takes down bad guys and sometimes the bad guys take it personal. But hand in hand with that training comes the most cardinal of house rules: those skills are only to be used when it’s life or death. Not in a game, not ever in a game. “I’m not trying to make excuses. I know nothing could justify it. But you asked what I was thinking, and in the moment that was the only thing on my mind.”
“I see,” he says, and then falls silent again, unreadable, leaving her to stew in her own shame.
Yelling would definitely be better.
***
They reach home without another word. Grace gets out of the car and lugs her gear bag inside, thinking about the contents: the number 28 jersey that she won’t wear again this season because she’ll be suspended for more games than are left before spring, the stick she’d taped so carefully before the game, the skates with her lucky purple laces that hadn’t been so lucky today – no, that’s not right, luck had nothing to do with it. This was all on her.
The sick feeling that’s been building in the pit of her stomach all the way home grows stronger. She swallows hard, and ventures to ask, “Are you ashamed of me?”
Dad stops, and kneels to look into her eyes. “No, Grace, don’t ever think that. I’m disappointed, because I know you know better, but I could never be ashamed of you.”
She lets go of the bag to throw her arms around his neck, and the knot in her stomach starts to ease as he hugs her tight.
“I think I shouldn’t play hockey anymore,” she confesses, her face still buried in his shoulder because it feels a bit like a betrayal to say. Dad is her biggest fan, there for every practice and every game; hockey has always been their special thing. But she’s been thinking it over the whole ride home, and the conclusion is inescapable.
“What makes you think that?” he asks. “Grace, I know you feel badly about it, and believe me there will be consequences, but that seems a little excessive. You don’t need to beat yourself up.”
“It’s not that,” she says. “It’s just…. Sometimes when I’m on the ice – or at school, when they make lessons into contests – I get into this mode where I lose track of everything and all I care about is winning. It’s like something takes me over that makes me ruthless, makes me mean. I don’t like who I am when I’m like that.”
“That’s an awfully big decision to make all at once,” he cautions. “And if you’re having impulses that concern you, we should work on how to control your reaction, because you won’t always be able to avoid triggering them. But you know yourself best, and if you decide quitting is what you need to do, that’s your call.”
“You won’t think less of me for it?” she asks.
“Never,” Dad assures her, and squeezes her tighter.
***
When her family gets home from Grace’s hockey game, Buffy barely catches a glimpse of her daughter before she retreats into her room. But Angel comes to find her right away, to let her know that Grace has been suspended for fighting – and, of greater concern, using techniques unacceptably vicious for a children’s sports brawl.
Buffy’s first reaction is somewhat towards the ballistic. But before she can fly too far off the handle, he cautions her, “Don’t go too hard on her. She already knows she made a huge mistake, and I’m not sure anything we do will be worse than what she’s doing to herself.”
She nods acknowledgement. Coming from Angel, who knows the demons of guilt and shame better than anyone – and whose pensive, serious temperament Grace has inherited to a sometimes disconcerting extent – she can’t take that warning less than entirely seriously. “What do you suggest?” she asks.
They talk the details of the situation and appropriate discipline half to death, but even after it seems there’s no nuance left unexamined, he still looks like something’s weighing on him.
“Okay, what gives?” she finally demands. “You look spooked. Don’t tell me you’re that bothered that she’s talking about giving up hockey.”
“No, it's when we were talking about why she got in the fight, Grace said something concerning,” Angel admits. “She said that when she’s invested in winning something, it wakes up something mean and ruthless in her – that it’s like something takes her over.”
“It sounds like she’s got a competitive streak,” Buffy says, knowing the feeling all too well. “I can’t imagine where she could have gotten that from.”
Her glibness prompts an unamused look. “You really think that’s all it is?” he asks anxiously.
“What else would it – oh.” He’s getting a degree of brood-face that seems far too intense for the topic at hand. She’s familiar enough with the workings of his mind that it only takes a minute of confusion before she gets a horrible suspicion of the direction his thoughts have taken. “Let me guess, you’re afraid this is a sign she’s demon-essencey or something. And that it’s somehow all your fault, despite that fact that you haven’t had a demon in you for nearly twice as long as she’s been alive and that makes no sense?” she demands.
“I … basically,” he admits, sheepish.
Buffy rolls her eyes. Leave it to Angel to invent new advances in creative worrying. “I’m pretty sure this one’s more easily explained by the fact that kids are just feral little gremlins by nature. Maybe you’re too old to remember what it’s like, but we’ve had a pack of the little monsters underfoot for long enough now I’d think you would have picked up on that. You remember when Bea bit Grace over a Monopoly game?”
“Bea’s part demon,” he objects.
She fixes him with an exasperated glare. “A quarter, and you’re normally the first to point out that Brachen demons are peaceful. Fine, Aly then. One of the sweetest, calmest children we know, and yet I’ve seen her go full Cain instinct on her brother.”
He sighs. “I guess.”
“Quit borrowing trouble, love. Grace is a perfectly human, destiny-free child. Who we named after a pirate queen and taught to fight, and then you chose the most violent sport possible to get her hooked on, so really we should probably have seen this coming.”
His eyebrows raise. “Oh, so this is on me now?”
“If the shoe fits,” she teases. It’s gotten him to crack a smile, so she can’t feel too bad about her ribbing.
“Seriously, though, you’re not worried about her having violent tendencies?”
“I mean, I don’t love it, but I haven’t seen anything outside the bounds of normal kid stuff, especially given we’re not exactly role models for pacifism. Honestly, on the whole I’m impressed by her maturity. Not that she’s not still grounded for at least a month, because obviously, but the fact that she was able to recognize that in herself, and to decide she doesn’t want to let it rule her? I couldn’t do that that young.” Buffy gives a rueful laugh. “I mean, as late as senior year, I spent a solid week in psycho bitch mode over the Homecoming Queen contest of all things.”
Angel frowns. “Senior year? Why don’t I remember this?”
“It was pretty early, you weren’t really up to being out and about much.” She grimaces; that time is a painful part of their history to look back on, but there are some small silver linings. “Possibly for the best, I think I’m glad you didn’t see what an idiot I made of myself. I was feeling pretty invisible – the nice normal guy I was trying to convince myself I had a chance at something with dumped me, my favorite teacher didn’t even know who I was, and then I missed school pictures – and, I don’t know, I just wanted a chance to live in the world for a minute, to prove that I could be good at something other than being the Slayer. And, okay, Cordy was being aggressively Cordy and I kinda let her get under my skin.”
“And that never happens anymore,” he deadpans.
“Quiet, you, unless you want me sharing your little wig session just now,” Buffy threatens. “Don’t think I won’t sic her on you.”
Angel wisely refrains from further teasing. “So what happened?” he asks.
She shrugs. “Not much to tell. We got to be at each other’s throats so bad that the guys pulled an intervention and locked us in a limo together. Only a bunch of vamps and demons who’d got ambitious were tracking me and mistook her for Faith and hijacked the ride so instead we spent the evening getting hunted. We finally made it to the dance just in time to find out that apparently the rest of the school was sick of our shit too, because neither of us won the crown. You know, typical Sunnydale stuff.”
“Indeed.”
“Looking back, it all seems so petty. Definitely not my best look.” She sighs. “Anyway, my point is, the cutthroat instinct is real, no demons necessary. But Grace has a good head on her shoulders, and if she can figure out how not to lose perspective she’s doing better than most.”