It was three weeks later.
Buffy walked through an alley. It was dark, would be spooky, even, if monsters and such existed. She sensed someone behind her and whipped around: "He—!" She stopped, "—y. Angel!" She jumped on him in a hug, "Don't sneak up on me like that."
"Not my fault you couldn't hear me."
"Well you know. Tinnitus."
"Maybe you should wear earplugs on stage."
"As if," said Buffy, "What're you doing here anyway? I thought you were working."
"Fight broke out at Willy's and the cops showed up and shut it down for the night. Got off early."
"Never thought I'd be so grateful for drunken violence," said Buffy. "So, what do you wanna do?"
"I was thinking ice cream, then my place. Till morning?"
"How dairy," said Buffy. "Get it? Heathers?"
"Never seen it?"
"You've never seen Heathers? But you… have the whole Christian Slater vibe, and I think you stole his jacket."
"Sorry."
"We need to get you a pop culture education STAT. Specifically Christian Slater. Did you see Interview with the Vampire?"
"Not into vampire movies," said Angel, "Unrealistic."
"Unrealistic because vampires aren't real?"
"Unrealistic because vampires aren't emotional dreamboats. They're fearsome, soulless monsters who suck on your blood till you're dead or one of them—" As he said this, he brought Buffy up against a wall and kissed her neck.
"So what I'm getting from that is Tom Cruise is a dreamboat. At least we can agree on something." She laughed.
"Did I tell you how good your record was yet?"
"Only a thousand times," said Buffy, "And it's just a single."
"I'm proud of you," said Angel.
"Yeah," said Buffy, "I'm proud of us too." Suddenly, like the universe decided the moment couldn't get too perfect, it started to rain. "Shit."
"I'm parked over there, the top's up," said Angel, covering Buffy with his jacket and fast-walking to his black convertible around the corner.
"Ugh," said Buffy as she climbed in the passenger seat. She frowned, "And now your leather jacket's all soggy."
"But you're dry," said Angel, "That's what matters."
"Not for long," Buffy muttered, mostly to herself.
"What?"
Buffy coughed, "Uh— Nothing. Kiss me?"
Angel flipped on the radio and they started making out, all thoughts of frozen dairy treats forgotten.
"Mm," Buffy moaned as some generic rock played on the radio, "Angel, you're… Probably a way better kisser than Christian Slater."
"You're beautiful," Angel said.
"Your eyes are beautiful," said Buffy, "But in like a manly way."
The DJ on the radio interrupted, but they didn't pay him much mind, "You're listening to 104.3 SoCal alt-rock and I'm Sweet bringing you the 8 o'clock hour," Buffy and Angel kept kissing, were getting into it now. "Now someone just put me onto this next band and you could just burst into flames hearing this stuff, in a good way. From up in Sunnydale, with somethin' to sing about, like the talking dog: they're called The Scoobies!"
And Buffy's voice was suddenly flowing from the speakers:
"So yeah they told her that it's do or die /
She's getting colder and she never asked why…"
Buffy jolted away from Angel, banging her head on the dash.
"Are you okay?" Angel said.
"Oh my god!" said Buffy, "Oh my god, that's us! Angel, we're on the radio!"
Meanwhile, Xander and Anya were actively banging, the radio playing in the background.
"...with somethin' to sing about, like the talking dog: they're called The Scoobies!"
"Holy crap!" Xander exclaimed, almost throwing Anya off him, "Ahn, turn it up!"
Giles sweeped up something icky on the floor of the studio. He tried to, at least, but it wasn't coming up. He sighed as he listened idly to the radio.
"...like the talking dog, they're called The Scoobies!"
"Bloody hell," said Giles, "They did it."
Spike sat with his legs crossed, painting his nails.
"...They're called The Scoobies!"
He chuckled, "No kidding. Maybe bird's got something after all."
Faith was drinking with strangers at some party in a basement. She was laughing at some bad joke from some ugly guy as the radio played out of fuzzy speakers.
"...They're called The Scoobies!"
Faith's mirth melted away.
"Fuck!" she said, throwing her bottle of beer at the radio.
Oz was meditating. Nothing really relaxed him like rock music, though, so he listened to the radio while he breathed deeply, in and out.
"...They're called The Scoobies!"
Oz blinked. "Huh."
Tara flipped through a zine in her apartment while she waited for Willow to come out of the bathroom, the radio on softly beside her.
"...Like the talking dog, they're called The Scoobies!"
Tara gasped as the song started to play. She got up and ran to the bathroom, "Willow! Will!" She knocked frantically at the door.
After a moment Willow came out, "W-what?"
Tara ran back over to the radio and cranked it up.
"Tara, your neighbors—"
"F-forget about them!" said Tara, "Listen!"
Willow listened for a moment, blood trickling from her raw nose, and her eyes widened as she realized what she was hearing, "Tara! Oh, my god, Tara! That's— That's— Ah!"
Buffy and Angel never ended up getting ice cream that night. They ended up at Angel's house instead.
Buffy couldn't believe it: her song was on the radio, her boyfriend loved her and they finally slept together. Things were perfect.
And that was only the beginning.
The Scoobies started to play bigger and bigger venues, and Lorne offered to record their EP. Things seemed to be going almost too well, suspiciously well, for the band: on top of their musical success, the gang's personal lives were thriving. Tara fully moved into Buffy's house with Willow, and after a particularly big show, Xander got on one knee and proposed to Anya in front of the audience, which Anya thought was so romantic as she accepted a ring Xander probably put down a mortgage for.
Tonight the Scoobies were headlining at the Bronze, and Spike had his work cut out for him because there was actually a line to get in.
"They love us," said Buffy in a little bit of awe as she packed up her stuff after their set, "They… I mean, they love us."
"What if we're one-hit wonders?" said Willow, "I mean, what if they're just clapping 'cause it's polite?"
"Didja see that mosh pit, Will?" said Buffy, "They love us."
A trio of teenagers scrambled up to the stage.
"Uh, hi," said a sheepish redhead, "Um. Wow. Hi—"
"You guys are awesome," said her dark-haired friend, an unearned air of confidence about her, "I'm Kennedy. This is Vi and Rona."
"We, uh," said Vi, "We're gonna start a band 'cause of you guys."
"Didja hear that, Buffy?" said Willow, "We're inspiring the younger generations of musicians!"
"We're not that young," said Kennedy, and she winked at Willow.
"It's just so cool that girls can, like," said Vi, "Do what you guys do."
"Would you, uh," said Rona, "You know. Sign our records?"
"Xander!" cried Willow, "Get over here, they want our autographs!"
"Wow!" said Xander, scrambling over his drums, "Sick!"
They each grabbed a record and a pen from the girls.
"Here you go," said Buffy, "We really appreciate you coming and making the audience at least not 100% forty-year-old white dudes."
"Now don't go selling these when we're really famous," said Xander, signing his.
Willow's hands were shaking as she prepared to scribble her signature, "What's my name again?"
They all finished signing each piece and bid the girls goodbye. Then they finished packing up and descended the stage, making their way to the merch booth.
"How'd we do?" said Xander as he bounded over.
"Thanks to my no-nonsense negotiation tactics," said Anya, pulling out a wad of cash, "Pretty well. Almost sold out of Mediums. Of course, if Tara wasn't giving out free stickers with every purchase, maybe we'd have made a few bucks more."
"The stickers are cute," said Tara, "A-and it's free advertising."
"Some girls asked for our autographs," Willow announced, giddy.
"Did you charge them?" said Anya.
"Of course not," said Buffy, "Not everything's about money. Actually, punk rock is, like, especially not about money. More than most things."
They chatted for a bit, but Willow's focus wavered and she decided to slip off to the bathroom. Tara watched her go and frowned.
Buffy caught sight of Angel as he approached and leaped on him in a hug and a kiss, "Angel."
"Hey," he said.
"What'd you think?" said Buffy.
"Same as always," said Angel.
"Huh?" said Buffy.
"I mean. Good. Good like always."
"Oh," said Buffy. "Uh, good. Is something wrong?"
"No," Angel growled.
Buffy was taken aback by Angel's mood, but was too high on the success of the night that she didn't find she cared much.
"Well look who's bringing girl-punk to the mainstream, Slayer," said Spike as he swaggered up to them. Angel glared at him, and Spike met his gaze with a pointed eyeroll.
"Sorry if that goes against your sexist ideals, Spike," said Buffy.
"I'm kidding, Pet," said Spike, "You all sound good. Good to know the ponce over here hasn't rubbed off on you." He snickered, "Probably just rubs one off to you, am I right Angelus?"
"I'll have you know we totally boned," said Buffy. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth, "Um. I mean—"
"Right," said Spike. "Good job, Slayer. On the show, not the other thing. Although getting the poof hard is probably quite the feat itself."
Angel snarled, "Don't you have a some drunks to bounce?"
"Whatever," said Spike, "I'll see you around."
"So, uh," said Tara as she noodled on Willow's guitar. The two of them were hanging together in the practice studio, "You guys inspired me."
"We what?" said Willow.
"I… I think I wanna play in front of people."
"What? Really? Tara, that's great!"
"Not, uh, in a b-band or anything," said Tara, "But, um, the Espresso Pump is having an Open Mic next Thursday so… I thought maybe… A-and if you'd come…"
"Of course!" said Willow, "Of course I'll be there! Tara, this is so exciting! I-I mean not that i-it's not cool to be like the one, exclusive listener of your music because, like, um. It's definitely cool for you, I mean, your music to be, y'know, like… mine. But for you to show your skills to the world! Or, y'know, to the Thursday 7pm Espresso Pump crowd. That's awesome!"
"Thanks," said Tara. "Um. And I am, you know."
"What?"
"Yours."
Willow blushed. "You inspired me too, actually," Willow admitted. "I mean, the songs you write… They are so beautiful. And if you can do it, and if Buffy can do it… I wrote a song. I'm gonna show it to Buffy so the band can play it. I wanna be a part of the creative process. I wanna create something."
"What's it about?" said Tara.
Willow kissed her, "What do you think, stupid?"
"C-can I hear it?" said Tara, handing Willow the guitar.
Willow blushed, "Okay, but I can't sing," she said. "So I'll say the words… but don't judge my singing, ok?" She cleared her throat:
"I used to go with wolves, now I like witches /
Used to do what I was told, now I know what the sitch is /
And if you've never met her she's cute shy and blonde /
Who'd have thunk that I could get her, I don't even need no wand!"
Tara blushed wildly at that as Willow began screaming the chorus:
"It's magic! It's magic! It's magic! It's magic!"
Tara was completely entranced by the song. Willow kept going, got even more into it as she got to the bridge.
"Bored now, was boring then /
Not gonna be that girl again /
Just waiting for the world to end /
Well I won't let it — don't you get it?"
A few choruses and verses later, the song was over, and Willow was blushing, hands sweaty.
"Will," said Tara, "I mean this: that song is really, really good."
"Not that many reallys," said Willow.
"No, really," said Tara, "I mean… Th-that totally rocks. People are going to love it. Buffy's gonna love it."
"You think so?"
"I know so. You're amazing."
"What the heck was that last night, Angel?" said Buffy, "Why were you being such an ass?"
Angel sighed, "I'm sorry."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It's just," said Angel, "You've got this EP coming out soon. And you're already getting so big. You realize it's not the band they like, right?"
"Excuse me?"
"It's you, Buffy," said Angel. "They like you. The fans, I mean. They don't give a crap about Willow, or Xander. They can barely play, and you're the brains of the operation. Once that EP comes out… Well, maybe you go your own way."
"That's—"
"Not true?" said Angel, "Look what happened to my band. Maybe things seem nice and shiny now, but they'll fall apart and they'll fall apart hard. Xander doesn't care about music. He's getting married. You think he's gonna have time for all this when that chick starts pumping out kids? And Willow? Even I can tell she's blitzed out of her mind all the time. You can't rely on either of them, and you shouldn't. You care more about this thing than they do combined."
The next day at practice, Xander spent fifteen minutes on the phone with Anya before getting behind the set. And Willow was late again, which was happening more and more these days. Maybe Angel was right, Buffy thought.
"Guys," said Buffy, "We have to get serious. We're getting bigger and we've got that EP coming out soon and then things are really gonna take off. We gotta focus, okay? Willow, stop being late."
"Sorry Buffy," said Willow.
"I just want everyone's head in the game, alright?"
"My head is firmly in the game," said Willow, "Totally disembodied and planted right in the middle of the field. Or court. What game is it? In fact," Willow's demeanor grew shy and she made herself small, "Um. I actually, um… Wrote a song."
Buffy looked surprised, and then cautious, "Oh."
"Can I, um," said Willow, "Show it to you? So if you like it maybe we can learn it?"
"Oh," said Buffy, "Um. Sure I guess."
Willow was a little taken aback by Buffy's response. At best it was disinterest; at worst it was reluctance.
But Xander egged Willow on, "Let's hear it, Wills!"
Willow played the song for them. Xander was into it, even started playing drums with her. But Buffy seemed to be hardly paying attention.
Willow finished the song with a feeble attempt at one of Buffy's punk rock screams, flushed from the exertion and embarrassment of singing in front of her band.
"Will!" said Xander, "That was amazing! I didn't know you could write like that! Buff, you should totally sing it and we can add it to the setlist."
"Hm," said Buffy. Normally she would be thrilled for Willow to finally introduce a song to the band. But after what Angel said… "I dunno, Will. I don't know if it's our sound."
"What do you mean?" said Xander, "It's loud, it's angry, it's got supernatural metaphors for real life problems which for some reason seems to be a theme in our songs. It's perfect!"
"I don't think so," said Buffy.
"Maybe, like, think about it?" said Willow.
"We have enough songs for now. We should focus on getting those perfect."
"But Buffy—"
"I said no."
Willow pouted, hurt and confused. The rest of practice wasn't that fun.
