And with a big finish that had Xander breaking a stick and Willow stomping on all her effects, Buffy ended the set with a powerful screech that could make a monster's head explode, if there was a monster whose head exploded from being screeched at.

"We've been The Scoobies! Tip your bartenders! Thank you to the Bronze, and hang around for the other bands," Buffy panted into the microphone, glistening—no, sticky—with sweat. A few claps and some whoos came from the sparse crowd as music came back on over the speakers.

"Oh my god," said Xander as Buffy started to pack up, "That was awesome. That was awesome, right?"

"I think so," said Buffy, "I think it was awesome. Except for the part where I played the wrong bassline… but no one could hear that, right?"

"No one noticed," said Xander, "I didn't notice. Is that bad? That I didn't notice?"

"Nah," said Buffy, "I mean, I don't know. We did it, that's all that matters. Right, Will?" She looked at her friend, who was still holding her guitar and staring out at the audience. "Hello, Will? You gonna pack up your gear?" Buffy glanced at Xander, "Should we be worried?"

"We did it," Willow muttered, and then her feet left the ground in an enthusiastic little leap, "Holy S-H-I-T, we did it!"

"I think we're all a little too old to be spelling things out, Willow." The light admonishment came in a familiar British tone, and the band turned to see Giles approaching.

"Giles!" said Willow, hopping off the raised stage and giving him a hug, "You came!"

"How could I miss it?" said Giles.

"Well, I figured you'd heard enough of us," said Xander, "You know, the walls in the studio aren't very thick."

"I simply had to come see what that cacophony was building towards. You were all wonderful."

"Thanks, Giles," said Buffy, "Couldn't have done it without you."

The moment was cut short, because Anya was already complaining before she made it over to them, and they struggled to hear her over the music, "Willow, your ridiculous effects are going to blow out my speakers. There is no logical reason that any tone needs that much gain. And how many times do I have to tell you not to adjust your amp after I've already checked the sound?"

" You guys did really good ," Willow said in a high-pitched little mimic, " Hey, thanks Anya! Really appreciate it!"

"Ha-ha," Anya said, "You guys were good, I suppose. Especially Xander." She grinned at him, "You're excellent at the drums. Well, sound comes out of them, anyway. I know an instrument you're even better at."

It was the fastest Buffy had ever seen him disassemble his gear, and to say Xander tossed his snare and cymbals backstage would be an understatement, only seconds passing before he and Anya ended up there too.

"Are those two ever not going at it?" asked Buffy.

"No," said Giles, "I know because of the thin walls."

Willow grimaced at the implication, and then looked back out at the floor, "Oh, there's Amy." She heaved her guitar case onto her back and toddled a little bit under its weight, "I'm gonna go say hi."

"Meet me at the bar after," said Buffy, "When Xander's done, uh, drumming, we gotta celebrate."

"And I think it might be time for me to go," said Giles, "It's 9:30, after all."

"Past your bedtime right?" quipped Buffy.

"Some of us have a music studio to open up in the morning."

"Alright," said Buffy, "Thanks again for coming. I'll see you tomorrow."

Now Buffy was alone on the stage, Giles off to get some shut-eye and Willow wobbling over to her friend Amy. Buffy sighed, a small smile on her lips as she continued to pack up her gear.

"You're wrapping that cable wrong," came another English accent, but this one's owner was a little more annoying and a lot more blonde than Giles.

Buffy didn't even look up, "What, are ya gonna tell me more about how the British invented punk rock and girls shouldn't play it?"

"Was gonna," said the man, "But the guitar looks good on you."

"It's a bass," said Buffy, "Shows what you know."

"I used to play," said the man, "Across the pond. Yep, Whirlwind they called us. We killed."

"Uh-huh," said Buffy, "Well I've never heard of you."

"Spike's the name," said the man, "By the way."

"I don't remember asking. I'm Buffy."

"That your real name?"

"Yeah. Is yours?"

"Doesn't matter," said Spike.

Buffy rolled her eyes and bit her tongue against some choice words for him, lest she ruin her band's chances of playing here again.

"You know," said Spike, "You'll get eaten alive out here. Things come out in the dark."

"Uh-huh," said Buffy, "I know all about it. I've been in the scene since I was a teenager in LA."

"You riot grrrl dykes are all the same," said Spike, "Think you're all that till you gotta face the real shit in the world. Well it's not all flaming bras and hairy armpits, pet. The other side of this girl power thing is hard. It's life. Real life."

"And have you?" asked Buffy, "'Faced the real shit?'"

"Our drummer," said Spike, "Her name was Darla—there was Darla, and Angel, and my ex Dru—She's dead now. Darla, I mean."

"I'm sorry," said Buffy, "So there were girls in your band."

"I'm not the sexist arsehole you make me out to be, pet. I'm just realistic," said Spike. "I've seen you here before, you know. In the pit 'n all. You're tough. Might even be the real deal."

"See, that's the kinda thing a 'sexist arsehole' would say. Look, I'm not in this for the 'girl power feminism' thing, that's Willow's territory. I just wanna make music," said Buffy, "And what are you doing watching twenty-something girls in the pit, anyway? What are you, like forty?"

"Not quite. Maybe I'm just keepin' an eye," said Spike, "Little thing like you could get hurt here, y'know?"

Buffy glanced at the blood that stained the corner of the stage by Spike's feet, "Yeah, I know. What're you gonna do, swoop in and save the day?"

"And I don't just mean breaking your teeth in the pit," Spike interrupted, "There's a dark underbelly to all this—this place, this town, this scene. I don't think you want to go there."

Suddenly Anya was there again, a little bedraggled in a post-coitus sort of way, "Spike! Could you quit distracting her? I need to do soundcheck for the next band and I need you off the stage."

"Bugger this, anyway," said Spike, "You girls have fun with your toys." He stalked off, and Anya grunted in frustration. Buffy raised an eyebrow at her.

"Wait," said Buffy, "How are you talking to him like that? Isn't he your boss? Doesn't he own this place?"

Anya burst into laughter, previous anger apparently forgotten. "What? Spike?" she said, "He doesn't own this place. He just hangs around all the time. Lurks is the word, I think. He just knows a lot of people in the scene so sometimes Snyder lets him help book people."

"Who the heck is Snyder?" asked Buffy.

" Snyder owns this place. A little autocrat if I've ever seen one. The man doesn't know a thing about music, or running a bar. I'm not sure how or why he does it, but he does. One day, I will take over for him and the first thing I'll do is keep people like Spike away. All he does is cause trouble. The second thing I'll do is up the drink prices—you people are getting away with burglary. Now put your cable away and get off my stage, there's other bands that need to play."

Willow made her way over to Amy, an old friend with an energetic soul who was almost as strange as Willow was. The woman didn't greet Willow with a grin or a hug, but instead she scanned the room for something, or someone.

"Hi Amy," said Willow, "Thanks for coming."

"Oh, I didn't come to see you," said Amy. She seemed to realize, after a moment, that this was a socially unacceptable thing to say. "I mean, you guys were great!"

Willow cocked her head at the girl, who was fidgeting and glancing around the bar with a demeanor that reminded the guitarist of a rodent, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," said Amy, "Yeah. I'm fine. You guys were great!"

"You said that already," said Willow. Amy still looked right past her, at the rest of the club behind her shoulders, "What are you looking for?"

"Oh, just… my friend," said Amy. "You guys were great. I'll see ya around!"

Amy scurried off towards the bathroom. And it really was a scurry, Willow thought; there'd be no other way to describe that kind of movement—it seemed wrong that it occurred on only two legs. Amy always was strange, anyway. Willow shrugged and made a beeline for the bar.

"Willow," said Tara, almost tossing the can of beer she held at her waiting customer as she rushed to praise her new friend, "You were s-so amazing!"

Willow blushed, and looked away, like the compliment would bite her if she got too close to it, "Thanks. It was pretty much power chords." She tapped at the bar, anxious and still sweaty though she was no longer under the lights of the stage. All she could think about were all the mistakes she made. Every note she missed, every chord she flubbed.

"No," said Tara, "I saw that lick you did. Th-that was fantastic."

"A Minor Pentatonic Scale," Willow shrugged, any apparent confidence all pretend, "It's never done me wrong."

"Y-y-you're so cool," said Tara, "I'm serious. You're really good."

Willow felt a hand on her shoulder and she jumped in her seat. She turned to find Xander behind her, with Buffy in tow.

"Hey Wills," said Xander.

"Oh!" Willow said, "Guys, this is Tara. She's a bartender. But you can see that. This is Buffy and Xander, my bandmates. But you… could see that."

"Nice to meet you," said Tara, "You guys w-were really great."

Xander nodded his thanks, and then announced: "I vote a round of celebratory shots."

"I second the motion," said Buffy.

"Hmm, I guess supermajority rules," said Willow, fishing out some cash, "You heard the drummer, Tara. 3 shots."

They sat at the bar drinking and chatting for a while. The next band came on and Buffy quickly found herself in the mosh pit. Xander had gone off somewhere with Anya (again), and Willow was left at the bar, spacing out a little, but drunk enough now that her anxiety wasn't as loud. Still, her mind wandered, as it often did, while she watched Buffy get tossed around on the floor.

"—wanna dance?" said Tara.
"Huh?" said Willow.

"Y-you don't wanna dance?" Tara repeated, "Go in the pit with Buffy?"

"Oh," said Willow, "Nah. Somehow every time I go in the pit I end up on the floor. See that blood stain over there?" She pointed to the edge of the stage.

"That's yours?"

"I guess you could say I'm a bit of a… pushover. Literally. It was some 6'4 jerk who wasn't paying attention to anything around him. He pushed me way too hard. Buffy says you could hear my skull crack over the band, but I think she's exaggerating. That's actually when I decided to start learning guitar, and Buffy convinced me to start the band with her. I thought it'd up my… confidence or something, let me be a part of all this without getting me killed. Anyway, moral of the story is Buffy's definitely the brawn of the operation. I just try to stay out of trouble. I'm not so good at standing up for myself."

"Did the guy at least say sorry?" asked Tara.

"After Buffy made him," said Willow, "She's way stronger than she looks. Luke was his name, I don't think he comes around here anymore."

"Maybe we should talk to Buffy about having her bounce," Tara laughed, "Keep some of the creeps out."

"Are there a lot of creeps?" asked Willow, "Do people creep at you? Am I creeping at you?"

"No, you're not a creep," Tara shrugged, "I'm just h-happy to be working around music."

"Right," Willow said. She got this resolved little glint in her eye. She chugged the rest of her drink and waited a moment to feel the effects, "I still think we should jam," she grabbed a napkin and the pen from the check of the person sitting beside her, "This is my number. Call me. Okay?"

"Okay," said Tara.

"I just think you're really, really cool. I don't have any friends besides Buffy and Xander—and I guess Amy, but she's… well, she's been in the bathroom for a really long time and I don't know what's up with that," she shook her head to clear it as she prattled on, "—so I just think it'd be super duper, you know, uh, rad to hang out and play guitar and make zines together, y'know?" Her speech started to slur by the end there, and she was glad the liquid confidence kept her from caring too much.

"I think so too," said Tara. She passed Willow a cup.

"What's this?" asked Willow, giving it a sniff.

"Water," said Tara, "You come back for another drink once you finish that."

Willow pouted and took a gulp. She glanced back at the bathroom door that Amy still hadn't emerged through.