"'Cause of Tara how?" said Buffy, "Oz has a crush on Tara?"

Willow just pursed her lips and waited for Buffy to get it.

"No…" Buffy said, "You…" She blinked, "Oh! Hey. Cool, Will."

"You don't think it's weird?"

"Weird?" said Buffy, "Willow, we are in a punk band. There is a Team Dresch cassette tape not four feet from where you are sitting. It would be statistically whacky if neither of us was gay."

"Wait, are you—?"

"No, Will. But I appreciate the lesbian contribution to the genre."

"Oh," said Willow, "Uh. Good."

"I'm Debbie Harry and you're, like, Joan Jett."

"Joan Jett's gay?"

"Nevermind, Will. I'm proud of you," Buffy said, "Listen, I gotta coffee date but I'll see you later."

"A coffee date?" said Willow, "Pray tell, with whomst?"

"Okay, I'm cool with you being gay—not Emily Dickinson. Anyway, he's just this guy I met at the Bronze. His name's Angel."

"Angel?" said Willow, "Sounds pretty. Is he pretty?"

"Very," said Buffy, "And get this: he was in Spike's band back in England."

"Ooh. So is this a date date or a 'get-dirt-on-Spike' date?"

"Can it be both?" said Buffy, "I think it can be both. I'm very good at multi-tasking."

"Well I hope your romantic ventures are more straight-forward than mine. I may not look it, but I'm self-imploding inside. Why is this so complicated?"

"Aw, sorry Willster. I'll see you when I get back."

"Can you come to the Bronze with me tonight? I told Oz I'd be there but Tara's also gonna be there and I wanna see both of them but also neither of them and… Well, it would be nice to have you there in case I want to jump off a bridge or something."

"Anti-bridge duty. Got it. See ya later, Wills."


"So. You don't have an English accent," said Buffy, warming her hands around the Espresso Pump-branded cup between her and her date.

"Makes sense. I'm not English," Angel said.

"But, Whirlwind—"

"Well," Angel shrugged, taking a sip of his own coffee, "I've moved around a lot."

"Like a… nomad. Or something."

"I'm actually from Ireland. Originally."

"Ireland?" said Buffy, "Like. Leprechauns and alcoholism and stuff?"

"Oh, I am a leprechaun," said Angel, "I'm just really, really tall."

"How are you even somehow all sensitive brooding-guy when you make jokes about leprechauns?"

"You're the one who brought up leprechauns," said Angel.

"So…" Buffy said. There was a bit of an awkward silence as she tried to take a sip of her coffee, but found the cup empty. "Tell me about Spike."

"Spike?" said Angel. He rolled his eyes, "Oh, come on—"

"No! I mean… I mean, you said there's… Like, what's the sitch? The drama? Your band was kinda getting big, sounds like, before everything fell apart."

"I don't really wanna talk about it," said Angel. He stood, "And if all you wanna talk about is Spike—"

"No! Wait—" said Buffy, standing too, "Don't go. I'm sorry. I'm just… nosey. I don't even like the guy. Sometimes it's just nice when there's someone else to… Well, it's nice to know my hatred is justified. Y'know?"

Angel sighed and sat again, "Our bassist, Darla. She died, and it was Spike's fault."

"Spike's fault how?"

"She was into something. Spike was selling. He didn't care who got hurt, and she got hurt."

"He sold her the drugs that killed her?" said Buffy.

"He knew she was in trouble," said Angel, "I warned him to stop her. But he didn't care, as long as he could make a buck."


Tara yawned. It was only the start of her shift, but she was already exhausted.

"Hey," she heard, and she looked up to see Oz sitting at the bar. "Sorry for bailing with Will the other day. Had to catch up."

Tara smiled softly, "It's f-fine. Can I get you anything?"

"Nah," said Oz, "I'm doing the sober thing."

"Oh," Tara said, "I mean, g-great. That's really cool. How about a coke? On me."

"Sure," said Oz. He tapped his fingers on the bar as Tara returned with the can. "So. Is she here?"

"Who?" Tara asked, but she felt like she knew.

"Willow," said Oz, "Is she here? She said she'd be here tonight."

"Oh, uh," Tara said. She felt a little nervous, but she wasn't sure why. "I d-don't think she's here yet. B-b-but I'll let you know when I see her."

"Oh," said Oz, "Okay." He contemplated something while Tara glanced around for someone's order to take. "Hey," Oz reached out and grabbed Tara's sleeve, suddenly but gently, "Is that her shirt?"

"Um," Tara said, "N-n-n—"

"Yes it is. I know that shirt."

"I don't—" Tara started to realize why she felt so nervous around Willow's ex.

Her savior from this dreadfully uncomfortable conversation came, though, in the form of Devon and the rest of his ex-bandmates. "Hey Oz," Devon said with a hearty pat on the guitarist's back, "You back for good now?"

"I dunno," Oz said, "Maybe."

"Here," said Devon, "Lemme get you a beer."

"No thanks," said Oz, "Sober-guy."

"Aw, come on," said Devon, "You go to, what, India for a few months and now you're like some kinda straight-edge?"

"I went to a lot of places."

Devon rolled his eyes at the other two bandmates, "Gee Oz, sorry the rest of us didn't have time to get all enlightened." He turned back to Oz, "Come on, have a drink like old times."

"No, really," Oz said, "I shouldn't."

Devon scoffed and knocked on the bar to get Tara's attention, "Hey hot stuff. Four beers."

"Oh," Tara glanced at Oz, "I don't—"

"Hey, you're a bartender. Right?" said Devon, "So? Tend the bar." He put some cash on the table and Tara had no choice but to serve them the drinks. She tried to place the fourth beer as far from Oz as possible, but Devon picked it up and passed it to the guitarist.


"Listen," said Buffy as she caught her breath between kisses, "I'm supposed to meet my friend at the Bronze."

"You met me at the Bronze," said Angel, one hand on the wall of his apartment and one caressing Buffy's face, "Maybe she'll make a new friend too."

"Uh, I think the problem is she's got one too many 'friends' at the moment. If this is the definition of 'friend' we are using." She kissed him again.

"If you have to see your friend, I get it," said Angel, "I'm working all week, though, so it'll be a while till we can see each other again."

Buffy thought for a bit. Then he shrugged and moved in for another kiss, "I can be late."


The band had managed to convince Oz to have a drink. And then another, and another, Tara watched the group laugh away about old times and the music scene. Oz remained relatively chill, but she could tell the alcohol was still affecting him.

"Remember that one gig we did with those stake punks from Portland?" said Devon.

"Yeah," said Oz.

"Their bassist was so hot," said Devon, "You know I did her in their van after."

Oz sort of sighed, apparently uninterested in this line of conversation.

"Sucks about your girl by the way," Devon said, "That's rough."

"What?" Oz perked up, his subdued drunken joy dying down quickly, "What about my girl?"

"You know. Redhead?" said Devon, "Well, soon as you left. I mean…" He laughed and took a swig of beer, patting Oz hard on the back, "Hope you weren't looking to get back together."

Oz let that soak in. Then he turned to Tara, glanced at her shirt… "Willow didn't— We talked all night and she didn't say anything about—" He took a deep breath, nails digging into the bar as if to hold himself together. Then, suddenly, Oz grabbed Tara's sleeve again and pulled her into the bar, "Are you two involved?"

"Whoa, Oz, man," said Devon, "Chill out—"

"You chill out, Devon," Oz seethed. He turned back to Tara, and Tara hardly thought he seemed like the same man she'd been talking to an hour ago.

"Oz," Tara stuttered, pulling away from him, "L-l-let me g-get you a g-glass of water—"

She placed a glass on the bar, but Oz just smashed it with his hand, "You, you—!" He threw a drunken punch at her, and she stumbled back into the shelves, a couple bottles clattering to the ground.

"Hey," growled Spike, grabbing Oz from behind as he appeared out of nowhere, "Full moon must be out tonight. You're lucky I'm feelin' nice. You touch her again and I'll—" Spike bit his tongue, "Don't touch her again." He dragged Oz towards the door, "And you know what? Don't you go near Red either."

It happened that at that moment Willow walked in.

"Oz?" Willow said.

And Oz seemed to come back to himself: His angry eyes became guilty and sad. He turned away from her, and let Spike lead him out of the bar.

Willow turned to Tara, who had watery tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Spike returned, dusting his hands off on his coat. "What happened?" Willow asked.

"Dingo boy went rabid's what," said Spike as he re-entered the club, "You better go check on your girl." They walked towards the bar, "Y'alright, kit?"

"I'm f-f-fine," Tara sniffed, "Thank you, Spike."

"You're bleeding," Willow said, and Tara touched the scratch on her cheek.

"I'm f-fine," Tara said again, "It was just some g-glass that f-f-fell."

"Tara," Willow muttered, "I'm so sorry… Oz, I thought he was better, I…—"

"I gotta g-g-go," said Tara, gathering her stuff, "Spike, can you—"

"I'll cover for ya, Potions," said Spike, "You just get home safe."

"I can walk you home," Willow said.

"N-no, that's okay," said Tara, "I drove."

"I can still—"

"I-it's fine," said Tara, and she was gone.

Willow sighed, tears in her eyes, "Spike, have you seen Buffy?"

"Not yet, luv," said Spike, "She meeting you here?"

"She was supposed to but… I don't know, I guess she's late."

"Listen, you wait till I get off and I'll walk you home," said Spike, "Don't be too blue, alright? These things have a way of working out."

"What things?" said Willow.

"You know. Love."


Willow sat alone at a table in the corner of the Bronze. She was so incredibly depressed, and without Buffy around to keep her company or cheer her up… Well, the bridge thing was sounding pretty good right about now.

She looked up to scan the bar for a friendly face and caught sight of Amy. "Amy!" she called, gesturing her over.

"Hey Will," Amy said, "What's up?"

"Amy," said Willow quickly, "Do you have that, uh… Stuff we've been doing in the bathroom?"

Amy raised an eyebrow, "You mean blow?"

"Shh!" cried Willow, "Not so loud!"

"Willow, this is the Bronze. They fill cracks in the walls with cocaine."

"Really?" said Willow.

"You're right," Amy shrugged, "They've never repaired a crack in a wall here. But seriously. Everyone does it. News flash, you're not special because you're a punk who likes to get high."

"I don't really wanna be special," said Willow, "I'm having a terrible night. I just wanna be high."


"Shit," Buffy said, throwing on her clothes, "I gotta go. I said I'd meet Will an hour ago,"

"William?" Angel asked, sitting up.

"No, no! Willow, my friend. I told you: I hate William. Spike. Whatever his name is." She sighed, tying her show, "Anyway, I gotta bounce. This was nice. You're… nice. Those are few and far between in this scene. Nice guys, I mean."


"It just occurred to me how unsanitary this bathroom counter probably is," Willow said, "How many noses have been on here, do you think?"

"Willow," said Amy, "Do you want the blow or not?"

"Yes please," Willow said.


When they came out, Willow nearly ran into Buffy, who was rushed and disheveled.

"Dammit, Will," Buffy breathed, "I'm so sorry I'm late. I guess the time got away from me."

"It's okay," said Willow.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's fine," Willow huffed, eyes dancing everywhere around the room but on Buffy's face.

"Are you okay?" said Buffy, "You seem… off."

"I'm fine. I'm fine, Buffy."

"Were Tara and Oz here? I don't see them."

"Yeah they were here," said Willow, "They were here, and Oz started smashing things and Spike had to get him away from her. Tara left and she wouldn't talk to me."

"Oh god, Will. That's terrible," Buffy said, "I'm so, so, so sorry I wasn't here, I—"

"Whatever," Willow said, "Just— Just get away from me."

"Will, I—"

"I said get the hell away from me," said Willow, and she stomped away.


"Jeeze," said Buffy, leaning on the wall outside the bar, "I majorly fucked up."

"Right you did," said Spike, "Poor Red's a wreck even if she's not showing it."

"Oh, she's showing it," Buffy sighed, "A wreck. Furious. Whatever she is. Anyway, thanks for keeping Tara safe. And Willow by association."

"Just doin' my job, luv," said Spike. "Can't help but wonder, though: where the bloody hell were you?"

"I was late. I was with, um…"

Spike snorted, "So. You've taken an interest in Captain Forehead, huh?"

"We got coffee earlier," said Buffy, "He's nice."

"He's soft is what he is," said Spike, "You want a flaccid lamppost for a man, he's your bloke."

"Because you are so very hard, right?"

"I'm hard alright—" Spike cut himself off, "Oh. You know what I mean."

"Uh-huh," said Buffy. She thought for a moment, "Spike, do you deal drugs?"

"Why?" said Spike, "You looking to buy?"

"No," said Buffy, "I don't do that stuff. I'm in it for the rock 'n roll, not the 'sex and drugs' part."

"No sex? Maybe Angel really is the bloke for ya, then."

"That's not what I mean," said Buffy, "Anyway. Angel said you used to sell drugs."

"So?" said Spike, "What of it? I was young. I was broke. And, if ya haven't noticed, everyone does everything out here. Sure it's not the 80s anymore but it's still punk rock."

"He said you sold to Darla. He said that's what killed her."

"He's still on that?" said Spike, "That is not my fault. I was just a merchant selling my wares. Not my job to make sure my customers are using it right."

"She was your friend," said Buffy, "You were supposed to care about her."

"I am not taking a lecture from you, Slayer," said Spike, "Why don't you go step on a butterfly and see how that changes the future. Can't hold me responsible for something I didn't even do. Go back to Angelus and cry about how punk rock isn't as pink and plush as you thought it'd be." He took a drag from his cigarette and nodded at Willow, who was stumbling out of the bar, "And 'sides, if there's any one of the two of us that's letting a friend down today, I think that'd be you, luv."


Buffy took a deep breath and caught up with Willow, who was sitting on the curb.

"Whatcha doing out here?" Buffy said, sitting beside her.

"Fresh air," Willow said.

"Listen," said Buffy, "I am so sorry I was late. And I'm so sorry that happened to you, and to Tara. If there's anything I can do—"

"It's fine," Willow said, "It's not your problem."

"But it is," said Buffy, "You're my best friend and I… I wanna be there for you."

Willow fiddled with a loose string on her sleeve, apparently distracted by it for a while. "Well you weren't," she said, suddenly standing shakily, "Fuck you, Buffy."

Willow started to walk away, and Buffy chased her down, "Will! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" said Willow, "I'm mad. Can't I be mad?"

"This isn't like you, Willow," said Buffy.

"Yes it is!" said Willow, "I'm not some weakling, Buff. I'm just as tough as you. I can do anything I want."

Buffy stopped walking under a street lamp and took Willow by the shoulders, "Will, what the heck is going on with you?"

Willow only scowled at her.

Buffy looked deeply into her eyes and cocked her head, "Oh my god, are you on something?"

Willow didn't answer her.

Buffy shook her by the shoulders, "Will!"

"Who cares?" Willow said, "So I do a little, y'know, uh, blow at shows. Everyone does."

"Blow? You're doing coke? Since when?"

"Who cares?" said Willow, "It's cool."

"Oh my god, this feels like an After School Special. You gotta be careful with that stuff, Will. I've seen some shit go down. Where are you getting it?"

"Amy."

"Oh, Amy. Yeah, she's trustworthy."

"She's my friend," said Willow, "She knows what she's doing. It helps me stay awake and have a good time. It's fine."

"Just be careful," said Buffy.

"Stop worrying about me," Willow growled, and she stormed off.

Buffy slapped her own forehead and muttered to herself: "And the award for screwing things up goes to…"