Epilogue - In the Old Dispensation

"And...strike!"

Xander backed away from the lane and strutted up to the table where Anya sat with his parents.

"Nice frame," Anya said.

"Yeah," Tony Harris slurred, as he lifted a beer bottle to his mouth. "Just like his old man."

"Really," Jessica Harris replied, reaching for her wine glass. "So I guess he worked on his bowling game during his many bouts of unemployment?"

"Maybe," Tony mumbled. "Or maybe he just joined a night league, since there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot to come home to after sundown."

"Okay!" Xander shouted over the noise of crashing pins. "What say we call it a night?"

"Nah," Tony replied. "There’s still another hour of cheap bowling. Your turn, Jess."

Jessica rolled her eyes, stood up, and walked over to the lane. Xander took her seat at the table.

"So," Tony said, turning to Anya. "I hear this is a little farewell celebration for you."

"Just for a couple of days," Anya replied, wiping a napkin back and forth across the table, trying to rub out a dried soda stain which kept sticking to her sleeve. "I have to go get an...item I ordered for our store."

"Oh, yeah," Tony said. "The ‘Oogidie-Boogidie’ shop you work at. You know, back in my day, women didn’t have ‘careers’ and whatnot."

"Mine too," Anya said.

"Of course, the men DID have careers," Jessica called back, hefting her bowling ball from the return. "Gee, Tony, I guess you’re more progressive than I thought."

"Well, maybe nothing like what you did before we were married," Tony shot back. "Did I ever tell you kids about my lovely wife’s exciting foray into the food service industry? It’s amazing how far ahead you can go, with nothing but a little gumption, a will to achieve...and a blouse that’s missing the top four buttons."

A loud crack echoed through the bowling alley as Jessica lobbed her bowling ball and it crashed to the floor.

"Nice follow through, sweetheart," Tony said.

Anya clenched the ring box that sat in her pants pocket. She’d convinced Xander that, the Scoobies aside, there was no reason not to tell his parents that they were engaged. Xander had agreed that they could make the announcement, either at dinner or bowling afterwards, before his parents had the chance to get drunk and and start arguing. Mr. and Mrs. Harris showed up to the restaurant already drunk, and already arguing.

Of course, Anya could not remember a time when they’d shown up anywhere in any other state.

"Dammit!" Jessica shouted. "The alley’s jammed!"

"Well, hit the ‘reset’ button!" Tony yelled back.

"What do you think I’ve been doing?" Jessica replied.

Tony grunted, stood up, and stormed over to the lane.

"The folks are in rare form tonight," Xander sighed. "Sorry."

"It’s not your fault," Anya said.

"It’s just, I know you wanted to, you know, tell them. About us."

"I wanted," Anya said tersely.

"That’s not what I meant," Xander said.

"Really? Could’ve fooled me."

"Look, I’m not trying to...."

Xander was interrupted by the sound of Tony Harris slamming his hand against the top of the ball return. He pointed an accusing finger at Jessica, who leaned in toward him scowling.

Xander took as deep a breath as he dared, given the stench of cigarettes and stale beer. He glanced over toward Anya, who shifted uncomfortably in her hard plastic chair. He let his hand drop to his side, and reached a tentative finger for her palm. She responded by opening her own hand, and entwining her fingers in his. Anya looked back at Xander, smiled weakly, and shrugged.

The couple sat back in their chairs, waiting for Xander’s parents to run out of steam.

---

"Vino de Madre."

Willow looked up from her book as she realized that she’d spoken those words out loud. She saw Tara behind the counter glance over to the table in curiosity. Willow held up her hand in a reassuring gesture, so Tara continued talking with her customer.

Willow read the text again. The requirements were very clear about "The Wine of the Mother." What it was. What it meant. What she’d have to do.

It seemed foolish. It had been a long time since Willow could call herself squeamish. Five years of patrolling the Hellmouth had exposed Willow to more slimes, biles and excretions than most people could imagine. She’d experimented with every bathroom cleanser on the market, just to get the technicolor stains out of her tub. She’d killed a few demons, watched even more die, and had reached the point where she could go out afterward for a pizza.

But this was different. This was just an animal. A deer.

Willow remembered when her Hall Monitor discovered Miss Kitty Fantastico, and she had to listen to every word of the University’s ‘no pets in the dorm’ policy. She eventually found a new home for the kitten, but only after she’d checked references, given the couple required reading, and had a good long cuddle session with the cat, whispering words of assurance and affection, and ultimately breaking down into tears.

The disciples of Osiris were apparently not so sentimental.

‘I can do this,’ Willow thought, closing her eyes. ‘I have to. It’s such a small thing, for such a great thing. And once it’s done, it’ll all be worth it.’

Over at the counter, Tara scowled down at the order form the customer had handed over.

"I’m sorry, Ms. Langford," Tara said. "I’m not the one who took the order, but it seems pretty clear that the delivery was set for next week."

"But that’s not what I was TOLD," Ms. Langford insisted, glaring at Tara over the rim of her glasses. "I told the woman at the counter that I needed the book by today, and she told me it would not be a problem."

"You probably spoke with Anya," Tara said. "She’s not here, and neither is the owner. I’m just kind of filling in. It’s just that the order slip has a space for rush orders, so I don’t know...."

"May I please speak with your manager?" Ms. Langford asked, although her tone suggested that it was not a request.

"I-I-I’m afraid there’s no one else here," Tara replied. "But the owner will be here tomorrow morning as soon as...."

"I can’t wait until tomorrow morning!" Ms. Langford said, her voice becoming increasingly shrill. "There must be someone here who can help me NOW!"

"I’m s-s-s-sorry," Tara stammered. "I’m doing everything I...."

"Look, you obviously don’t know what your doing," Ms. Langford growled. "If you’re too incompetent to help me, then get me someone who at least has some idea of...!"

"I can help you," Willow called from the table.

Tara and Ms. Langford turned to look at Willow.

"You need to come back tomorrow," Willow said.

"Will you be open at nine o’clock?" Ms. Langford asked pleasantly.

Tara’s jaw dropped in amazement at Ms. Langford’s sudden shift in demeanor.

"We’ll be open at eight thirty," Willow said. "You can wait until then, right?"

"Oh, of course," Ms. Langford agreed. "It’s nothing urgent. I usually make a big production out of minor things because it makes me feel important."

"But you see now why that’s wrong?" Willow suggested.

"Absolutely," Ms. Langford responded. "I look forward to treating everyone with the same respect that I’d want. The fact that the other children in grammar school made fun of my thick glasses will no longer be an excuse for my insensitive behavior. I’m an adult, and from now on I’ll behave that way."

"Best of luck with that," Willow said.

Ms. Langford turned toward Tara, flashed an amiable grin, then walked to the door and out of the shop.

Tara looked at Willow, her mind full of questions, but found her answers before she could get out a word. Willow absently twirled a flowery sprig between her thumb and index finger. Willow smiled slyly, winked, then returned to her reading.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

"Huh?" Tara gasped. She returned her focus to the counter, and saw a teenager standing before her, holding a sculpted crucible in his hands.

"Would this make a good ashtray?" the kid asked. "My uncle’s birthday is next week, and he smokes cigars, so would this work?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," Tara said.

"Cool," the kid replied. "I’ll take it."

"Um, right," Tara said, taking a wary look at Willow before asking:

"Cash or charge?"

---

"Taste my stake, vampire!" the Buffybot exclaimed, spinning around and thrusting her fist into the empty air.

The robot stood back from the mirror, turned a bit to her left, then repeated:

"Taste my stake, vam...ppfftthhhh!"

The Buffybot spat out the strands of hair that had whipped around into her mouth.

"Um, Buffybot?" Dawn asked, slowly entering the bedroom. "Is everything okay?"

"There are no vampires here," Buffy said. "You are safe. I am pretending that there are vampires here, so I can practice my fighting moves and my quips. But my silken blond hair keeps getting the way. I wish Willow had fixed that during the three weeks I was asleep for repairs."

"Yeah," Dawn muttered. "That would have been nice. Um, I’ll just let you get back to it."

"Thank you!" the Buffybot said, turning to face the mirror again.

Dawn turned to leave the room, but paused, then said:

"Maybe I can help."

"How can you help?" the robot asked. "I thought only Willow understood my programming?"

"Not that way," Dawn said. "I thought I could help with the hair thing. Buffy...the other Buffy...she used to pull her hair back, to get it out of the way."

The Buffybot looked in the mirror, then grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it straight backwards.

"But this leaves me with just one hand," the ‘bot protested, her head tilted toward the ceiling. "How can I slay like this?"

"No, silly," Dawn said, trying not to giggle. "I mean with a band or something. Here, have a seat."

Dawn walked over to the desk in front of the mirror and pulled back the chair. The Buffybot sat down and stared at her image. Dawn opened one of the drawers and grabbed a hairbrush.

"You know," Dawn said, dragging the brush down the back of the robot’s hair. "When I was younger, the other Buffy taught me how to braid. We used to get up early on Saturday mornings and make french braids in each other’s hair. I mean, we hadn’t done it in a long time when she...well, it was something we used to do together."

"That is a very sweet story," the Buffybot said.

"Thanks," Dawn said, allowing herself to smile.

"This new hairdo will not make me less pretty, will it?" the ‘bot asked. "Spike likes my hair to be long and flowing, especially when I straddle his...."

"Buffybot," Dawn said, reaching for a barrette. "Remember what Willow told you?"

"Oh, yes," the robot replied. "I am not supposed to talk about Spike’s sexy bod, his piercing eyes, his long, hard...."

"Yep!" Dawn interrupted. "That’s the rule."

"Willow often has to remind me," the Buffybot said. "It’s strange. Willow tells me things, and I try to remember. But then other things...older things...suddenly they just...Willow explained it, but...I really don’t understand."

"Hey, no big," Dawn said, running the brush across one side of the robot’s hair. "Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome, that just means you’re a Summers girl."

"Of course I am!" the Buffybot proclaimed. "I am Buffy Summers, and you are Dawn Summers. We are sisters!"

"Yeah," Dawn whispered, gathering a handful of the robot’s hair in her hand. "That’s us."

---

"Rupert!" Giles heard Parsons exclaim through the telephone. "Good to hear from you, old boy. Are you well?"

"Quite well," Giles replied into the receiver. "How is the wedding coming along?"

"Oh, it’s a nightmare," Parsons sighed. "Claire’s sister has declared that she won’t eat a bite until she can fit into a size six dress, the vicar has just informed us that the outside of the church will be under renovation during the week of the ceremony, and don’t even mention flowers! You were wise to remain a bachelor, my friend."

"Yes," Giles said. "I suppose, in retrospect...listen, Parsons, I was wondering if I could ask a small favor."

"Name it," Parsons said.

"I was wondering...that is, I know that you’ve asked me to stay at your place and mind the house while you’re on your honeymoon...."

"If you can’t, it’s alright," Parsons said. "I understand the importance your work in Sunnydale. I can always have my brother do it."

"No, it’s not that at all," Giles said. "On the contrary, I was wondering if perhaps I could stay a few days after that."

After a moment of silence, Giles continued:

"That is, if I would not be imposing too much. I’m sure that you and Claire don’t want a house guest so soon after...."

"Rupert, don’t be foolish," Parsons said. "Of course you can stay. But I’m somewhat...it’s just that you’ve never been able to take an extended holiday before. Is there a reason you’ll be staying longer?"

"Well, I’m not sure that I will," Giles answered. "But, it’s possible...that is, I might need a few days to take care of some personal business."

"Business?"

"Yes," Giles said. "I...I may need to look for a flat."

Parsons allowed a moment for Giles to give further explanation. Giles offered none.

An acquaintance might have asked questions. A friend might have expressed concern. Giles and Parsons were the oldest of friends, from the oldest of English families. Parsons simply said:

"Stay as long as you like."

---

Spike looked down at the neon orange flier in his hand. He read:

GRAND OPENING!

THURSDAY

THREE BANDS! THREE BUCKS!

LIVE MUSIC

LADIES DRINK *FREE!* ‘TIL TEN

JOIN US AT THE ROCKET ROOM

1604 EMERSON AVENUE, AT THE END OF JUNIPER STREET

Spike tossed his cigarette to the ground and retreated into a shadowy corner in the alley of Juniper Street. There was no intersection of Emerson Avenue and Juniper. There was no Emerson Avenue. Most of the college crowd didn’t know that, though, so there would be a number of co-eds strolling into the dark alleys of Juniper Street. Easy pickings. The vampires and demons of Sunnydale were second to none when it came to proactively creating opportunities.

Spike heard footsteps clacking down the alley. Heels, which meant it was a woman. That would make it easier.

"Lost, luv?" Spike asked, emerging from the shadows.

The girl gasped, then turned and faced Spike, petrified with fear.

‘Right, then,’ Spike thought to himself. ‘Flash the fangs, get the purse, call it a night.’

"Hey!" A voice called from down the alley.

Spike turned, and saw a tall vampire in a white muscle shirt bolting toward the woman. He grabbed her arm as he reached her, and slapped his hand across her mouth before she could scream.

"She looked like she was ready to rabbit," the vamp explained. "There’s enough here for two."

"Never been one to share and share alike," Spike muttered.

"Oh, c’mon!" the vampire protested. "Anything we get out of the old flyer scam gets divvied up. You know the score."

"Yeah, mate," Spike murmured. "I know the score."

"Cool," the vamp said, his wide smile revealing the razor fangs beneath his lips. "You found her. You first."

The vamp twisted the woman’s head to expose her neck. She trembled, and her soft, muffled sobs echoed in the alley.

"I guess you’re a bit of a rough customer?" Spike asked.

"I can hold my own," the vamp replied, a puzzled look crossing his face.

Spike took a step back, and said:

"Let’s see then."

The vampire’s eyes shifted between the woman in his grasp and Spike standing before him. The vamp could not understand why he’d found himself in this situation. However, the cold, determined look in Spike’s eye made it clear that one of the two would not leave the alley alive.

The vampire snarled, threw the woman aside, and launched himself at Spike. A quick step to the side allowed Spike to avoid the vampire’s grasp, and Spike caught the vampire with a high kick to the back of the head.

The vampire tried to roll to his feet, but Spike was there as he arose. Spike backhanded the vampire across the face, sending the vampire crashing against a wall.

"You make me ill!" Spike said, kicking the vampire in the stomach. "Luring college birds into dark alleys with a stack of papers!"

Spike grabbed a board laying on the ground, and broke it over the head of the vampire.

"What the hell kind of a kill is that!?" Spike growled. "Bloody poofs! You call yourself a vampire? I used to mop the floor with gits like you! We’re demons! We’re animals! And look at you! Skulking and sneaking around like rats! You’re pathetic!"

"Then what the hell are you doing out here?" the vamp asked, cradling his bloodied head in his hands.

Spike’s jaw tensed. Finally, he said:

"Don’t know, mate."

Spike rammed the board into the vamp’s chest. It turned to dust.

"Thank you," a small voice called behind Spike.

"You should’ve taken off," Spike said, turning to face the girl. "There’s no club. There’s no band. Just sod off."

"I just wanted to thank you," the girl said, reaching a hand out to touch Spike’s arm.

Spike took his first real look at the woman he’d rescued. She was at least thirty, with short dark hair and green eyes. She was tall, almost as tall as Spike. Her white blouse stood out against the deep tan of her face and arms.

"I was so scared," she continued. "I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t...."

Spike cut her off by shaking off her grip on his arm.

"I said sod off," Spike snarled. "You...you don’t even look like her."

The girl tried to find Spike’s meaning in his face, but found only stoney defiance. She took a step backwards, then turned and ran.

Spike shuffled his feet in the dust that had been a vampire, then reached in his jacket for a cigarette.

"Bugger all," Spike grumbled, sticking the cigarette in his mouth. "What the bloody hell’s happening to me?"

Spike smirked as he remembered Drusilla’s conversations with Ms. Edith.

‘Alright,’ Spike thought to himself. ‘No talking out loud to nobody. Down that path lies madness.’

Spike took his lighter from his pocket, lit his cigarette, then walked toward the street. It was still early enough to swing by Teeth and borrow a couple of kittens. After that, a couple of games with the lads and a bottle on the table would wash the taste of the night out of his mouth.

---

"Jinx, you idiot!"

"Please, Oh Most Perfect of Beings, I beg your forgiveness!" Jinx cried. "For my incompetence, please remove my foul arms from my most loathsome torso!"

"Ew!" Harmony exclaimed. "Do you know how much icky stuff comes out when you tear someone’s arms off? No thank you! I might break them, but I’m not tearing them off!"

"My apologies!" Jinx yelped, looking up at the darkened stage. "I will endeavor to find some more fitting and sanitary form of torture for my despicable...."

"Jinx," Harmony said, looking down at the demon from the stage. "Do you even know what you did?"

"Well, no," Jinx said. "But I am sure that it was something wretched and unworthy!"

"Ya got that right!" Harmony shouted. "Alright, let me see if I can make you understand. I went to all the trouble of getting this abandoned theater for my sales presentation. Fifty vampires are going to be here in less than two hours, looking for my brilliant insights. With my guidance, they’ll see how they can take their appetite for blood, and put themselves on the road to personal fulfillment, freedom and success."

"Turn two, the rest is food!" Jinx chimed in.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Harmony said. "Now, I go backstage to get dressed, and I find that you’ve laid out my sepia Chanel suit. Why do I wear my sepia Chanel suit?"

"Because the lines of the dress flatter your most perfect figure," Jinx responded.

"You bet your wrinkled minion ass they do!" Harmony shot back. "That’s why I wear it for the meet-and-greets. But this is a presentation! I’m going to be up on stage, projecting large pie charts in primary colors! I go up there in a dark suit, I’ll blend right into the background! No one will see me! How are all the vampires supposed to find the strength and resolve that they have as individuals, if they don’t pay any attention to ME?!"

"Oh, but of course!" Jinx sighed. "How foolish of me!"

"Ugh, it’s so hard to find good help," Harmony snorted. "Look, I don’t know what kind of performance got you by when you were doing the whole ‘suck-the-planet-into-hell’ gig, but in the world of multilevel direct marketing, this kind of work JUST! DOESN’T! CUT IT!"

"I will endeavor to bring my humble services up to the high standards worthy of Your Most Wondrous Perfection," Jinx promised.

"You better," Harmony warned. "Alright, we’ve got two hours. That should leave you plenty of time to put out the extra chairs, set up the desert table, and iron my periwinkle Versace suit. And I swear, Jinx, if I find one bad crease on my suit, I will personally rip off each and every one of your toes, and shove them so far up your...."

Harmony stopped and squinted down at Jinx. Her keen vampiric sight could easily penetrate the darkness, but at the moment she was having trouble believing her eyes. Finally, she said:

"Jinx, are you...are you crying?"

"I’m alright," Jinx whimpered, trying to compose himself. "I...I just need a moment."

"Minions don’t cry!" Harmony bellowed. "What’s up with that? I haven’t even maimed you yet! What kind of a minion starts bawling before you even maim them?"

"No, no, no," Jinx replied. "It’s not that. I...I’ll be fine."

"Well if it’s not the imminent pain I’ll be inflicting on you, what is it?" Harmony asked. "Why are you crying?"

"Oh," Jinx sighed. "It’s just...I’ve finally...it’s all just so...."

Jinx sniffed back a tear, and as a wide smile crossed his face, he proclaimed:

"It’s good to be home!"

THE END

a/n: The final passage was inspired by a final scene of the "Disharmony" episode of AtS (which was edited out), which suggested that Harmony started her own pyramid scheme after leaving LA.

Thanks to Estepheia for her input.