Epilogue III

Title: Epilogue III

Rating: "Chiaroscuro" is mostly R and PG. However, some content of the overall story may be considered NC-17. This epilogue is barely PG, for some language.

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Thanks: To Kes for the beta, for making the jokes funnier, and for her relentless pursuit of hamster pics. (I'm beginning to worry that she suffers from a rodent obsession.)

And to my wonderful RL and fandom friend, DorothyL. She's the one who first encouraged me to write and post fanfic. When I was stuck on the first chapter of "Chiaroscuro," she wrote me a poem that helped me finally get the plot moving. Now she has not only beta'd this, she has written me a hamster theme song, so she is, as she says, in at the alpha and the omega.

Notes: As you've probably guessed by the reference to a hamster theme song, this is a silly entry.

I originally promised two epilogues, but when I got the first one back from beta, I pulled out a snippet with Dawn and Joy. Then Swmbo mentioned her hilarious dream about a hamster named Chiaroscuro, which gave me an idea. So, Swmbo, here at last are the hamsters I promised. And Joy's first word . . .

"No!" yelled Joy.

"Well, it's a word," said Dawn. "Actual talking."

"It is a word," Buffy agreed. "And a useful word, sometimes. It would be nice if we could get the occasional 'yes' too, though." She looked wistful. "'Mommy' would be even nicer."

"No!" cried Joy again, smacking her palm down on the tray of her high chair. She slew several Cheerios with the assault, their oatmealy goodness shattering under her hand. The motion upset the lidded cup holding her apple juice. Some of the contents leaked onto the crumbs before Buffy reached over automatically to stand the cup upright again. Joy licked her fingers, slapped the tray again, and smeared the soggy remains of her cereal over the plastic surface.

"You know," said Dawn, "I never thought of Cheerios as particularly sloppy food before. But she's managed to make a pretty impressive mess with them. Even though we wised up and didn't give her any milk this time."

"At least it's not in her hair. It's better than the peas from last night," said Buffy. She shivered dramatically. "And I still have post-traumatic flashbacks to the peanut butter incident."

Dawn looked up at her sister and returned to an earlier topic. "She says, 'Ma' sometimes, Buffy. When you're not here."

"Nice to know I'm missed," said Buffy wryly, but Dawn thought she looked more cheerful. "I'd like to hear it sometimes myself though, mixed in with all the 'No's and—"

There was a creak as the apartment door swung open. "Da!" screamed Joy in immediate reaction. "Da! Da! Da!"

"Gee, do you think maybe Spike's home?" asked Dawn facetiously.

Before Buffy could do more than grimace, Spike came into the kitchen, grinning as he made a beeline for the high chair.

Joy shoved the remains of the Cheerios aside as she struggled to stand up. “Da!” she yelled again. She demonstrated the precocious motor skills that her pediatrician had admired the week before by wriggling out of the protective straps that were meant to hold her in the chair with terrifying ease. She launched herself through space towards her father.

He caught the baby up before she could fall to the floor and responded in the impossibly doting tone that even quite sane adults often use to talk to very small children. “And how’s daddy’s Joy today?”

Joy squealed and wriggled, kicking him in the chest in her enthusiasm.

“She’s noisy, hyperactive, and showing a definite tendency to bite,” said Buffy. She had half-risen from her chair when it appeared the baby might fall, but now she sat back down again, watching father and daughter with mingled exasperation and affection.

“That’s my pet,” cooed Spike, raising Joy high over his head.

“You didn’t expect him to think any of those were bad things, did you?” Dawn asked her sister.

Spike swung Joy around by the waist so that her back was against his side. This kept her from making too much of a mess of his shirt with her sticky hands and front, and also elicited excited squeals of pleasure. Joy bounced up and down on his hip and kicked her feet back, encouraging him to swing her through the air some more. "Da!" she screamed imperatively.

"She's a mess," warned Buffy. "And she just ate. What you toss up in the air may spew down."

"I'll clean her and let her settle down a bit before there's any more acrobatics," said Spike.

"Clean yourself too." Buffy pointed to his black t-shirt, which was already smeared with mashed Cheerios. Joy's arms and legs windmilled frantically as she chortled, either anticipating that some wonderful treat was in store or just ecstatic to be in her father's company.

"Yeah, love," said Spike absently. He bent over, still holding the baby against his side, and nuzzled Buffy briefly on the neck before heading toward the bathroom. Dawn got only a casual nod.

Buffy's eyes followed Spike as he went down the hall, bouncing the baby on his hip. "Gee, that's so sweet, it makes me feel just—superfluous."

"Join the crowd," said Dawn. "Just call us the superfluous sisters." She bit her lip.

"It's a sad day when your firstborn child treats you like chopped liver." Buffy frowned, mock-seriously. "Although I'm not really sure what the correct treatment of chopped liver is. Just how are you supposed to behave when in the company of pâté or—?" Buffy's eyes caught Dawn's, and she stopped babbling. "I'm sensing hostility towards my levity."

"What?" Dawn shook her head. "It's not the joke, Buffy, although you've done better. You know what it is."

"The school Giles found for you." Buffy really did look concerned now.

"It's a boarding school, Buffy. As in, people dump kids they don't want there."

"It's a school with boarding and day students, Dawn. As in, it's only a few blocks from Giles' place, and you can stay with him or some of the members of the coven when Spike and I have to be away." Buffy bit her lip on the last words, as if she regretted them.

Dawn leaned forward, jumping on this admission. "Meaning you're planning on going off and leaving me there! With a bunch of people who do Giles-speak. They'll probably make bi-lingual Latin puns and then laugh at my accent! Besides, this place may be dangerous. Haven't you seen the Harry Potter movies? If it's anything like Hogwarts, I was safer back on the Hellmouth."

Buffy started using what Spike called her "Slayer voice." "Dawn, this is a really good school. And it's your last year before college. You need at least one solid, stable year of education without moving every two months or having finals disrupted by constant slayage or an apocalypse. I want that for you. Something I didn't have."

"No, you got to blow up your school," said Dawn, crossing her arms in front of her and slouching back into her chair.

"Yeah, but I waited until I graduated," said Buffy in a cheery tone. When she saw that wasn't working, she added more seriously, "Joy, you'll always be a part of our life. We'll try to be near you as often as possible. But we're always going to have to travel a lot, and that's just not best for you right now. And, think about your vacations! We'll be able to visit all those places in England and Europe you want to see and that Spike and Giles talked about showing us."

Dawn felt her face freeze at this heartwarming speech. "Buffy," she said coldly, "you just called me 'Joy.'"

"Oh?" Buffy looked taken aback, then scrambled to reassure. "Did I? Just my tongue slipping up, Dawn. It's not like I can't tell you apart." She laughed nervously. "The height difference is a big giveaway."

Dawn slumped down further and glowered.

Since humor wasn't working, Buffy moved back to sincere-mode. "You know, Mom used to do that too all the time. Call us by each other's names. I think it's just a mother thing."

"Yeah," said Dawn, relenting. "I remember." And maybe it means you do love me as much as Joy. She looked around. "Speaking of Joy—"

Buffy leaned over, trying to peer down the hallway of the small apartment. "Now that you mention it, what are those two up to? It doesn't take that long to wash her face, no matter how much she squirms."

The sisters stood up and went down the hall towards the bathroom. The door was ajar, and they could hear babyish giggles interspersed with rumbles of masculine laughter. Curiously, they peered inside.

Joy's hands and face had been scrubbed, and she was wearing a clean shirt and fresh overalls. Judging by the damp spots across his chest, Spike had merely swabbed at his own t-shirt with a washcloth before dropping the rag on top of the baby's Cheerio-encrusted clothes, which were lying on the floor at his feet. But both of them had obviously forgotten the reason for their excursion into the bathroom.

Joy was standing on the vanity, her bare toes gripping the slippery counter, protected from falling by Spike's hands on her waist. Her fingertips were white where she had pressed them against the mirror over the sink. She was leaning into the glass, breathing on it and steaming it up, her blue eyes shining with awe and delight at the patterns and images she saw there. She stared first at the reflection of a wide-eyed baby with comical tufts of blond hair, then met Spike's eyes and bounced up and down, almost toppling over before he steadied her.

"Where's the baby?" he asked her. "Where's Daddy's pet?"

"Gah!" squealed Joy, slapping the mirror with her fat fingers and howling happily.

"And where's Daddy?" asked Spike.

"Da! Da!" yelled the baby, first swatting at the mirror a few inches away from the site of her first blow, then turning and smacking him hard on the chin. She turned to the mirror again and danced merrily, kicking a shampoo bottle and some toothpaste into the sink. Various other toiletries were already in disarray on the vanity.

"Well, the baby's all sparkling fresh, but now we have to clean the bathroom," said Dawn with a sigh. She rolled her eyes toward Buffy, looking for sympathy, and caught her breath when she saw her sister's expression.

Dawn looked back at Spike. Completely engaged in this simplest and most childish of games, he stuck his tongue out. Joy saw him in the mirror and spun her head around—too late. He was looking as prim as he could with his eyes blazing with laughter and pride. Joy chortled with laughter, looking back at the mirror, clearly expecting him to stick out his tongue again. He did, and she swung back towards him, this time catching him before he'd had the time to compose his features. She gave a bloodcurdling scream of triumph that echoed painfully in the confines of the tiny bathroom.

It was a scene that almost every parent played out with a baby sooner or later. The incident was ordinary to the point of banality, not worthy of a line in even the most obsessive parent's baby book. And throughout it all, Buffy was staring at the father and child as if she'd had a tiny glimpse of heaven.

Dawn didn't need to ask why. She remembered the days when Spike had no reflection at all, and she'd noticed how he'd avoided mirrors for months even after he'd grasped hold of his humanity again.

Three years ago, that mirror would have reflected only an empty room. And in those days, Buffy's eyes reflected emptiness too. Maybe this is a good time for me to stop worrying so much about where we're going and to remember how far we've come.

Joy and Spike tired of their silly game at last, and he set the baby down on the floor. She darted away immediately, dodging between her mother and her aunt and heading toward the living room. Spike took off after her.

"Remember when we just couldn't wait for her first step?" asked Buffy incredulously.

"Back in my foolish, carefree youth," agreed Dawn. "That must have been at least two weeks ago." She reached out to touch Buffy's arm before her sister could join Spike in the chase. "Wait."

Buffy turned to look at her inquiringly.

"Why don't you and Spike go out together tonight?" said Dawn in a rush.

Buffy's look of puzzlement grew. "Patrol? Why? We're moving because there's been no real demon activity here for weeks now."

"Not patrol. Dinner and a night on the town. You know, like a date. I mean, you finally got a good gig as the Slayer. New Orleans. Of course, we got to go to Louisiana in August, and I have a few things to say to Giles about that, especially the cockroach situation, but—you guys should have at least one night out on the town just for fun before we leave."

"A date?" repeated Buffy slowly, as if it were some strange, new concept she'd never heard of. "Dating time isn't something that's part of my life any more."

"It's hamster time!" caroled a voice from the television set.

"It bloody well better not be," snarled Spike, rushing for the remote control.

Dawn watched him skid through the door, and saw his face fall when he realized Joy was already in the living room. "Too late." She grimaced at his expression, partly amused by his chagrin and partly sympathetic to it.

Spike growled in frustration as Joy chirped with delight, spinning herself around, her blue eyes gleaming, while a pair of hamster puppets danced across the television screen. Marching along a background of images ranging from Georgia O'Keefe's southwest to the Sistine Chapel, they twirled paintbrushes and pointed at the palettes embedded in their hairy tummies. And they sang:

We're Chiaro and Oscuro

From the Happy Hamsters Bureau,

And we're here to help you brighten up your day.

With our magic palettes we

Visit art through history,

So you can tell your Manet from Monet.

The little blonde hamster batted her eyes at the audience as a swirl of Impressionist canvases appeared on her palette. The brunette hopped up and down and a Turner landscape appeared. Joy dove forward and pressed her hands against the screen, trying to get closer to the bright colors and vivid patterns.

"Too close, sweetie!" said Dawn automatically, pulling Joy back a few feet and making a half-hearted swipe at the sticky television screen with a rag kept there for the purpose.

Yes, with Chiaro and Oscuro

The world of art's a blur-o,

But we always make the time to sing and play.

Spike stood watching the performance, hands folded across his chest, his eyes sparking with anger. "I don't want her watching this shite," he growled.

"Okay, it's almost as annoying as Barney," conceded Dawn, "but at least when she watches—" She looked at Joy. The baby was staring ecstatically at the television as she bounced up and down on her toes. Then she plopped down on her rear end, the landing amply cushioned by her diaper. After a few seconds, she rolled over onto her back, sucked on her big toe, rolled over again, and finally landed on all fours, feet firmly on the floor, head to the ground, and her bottom up in the air. Her eyes were still glued to the set, but she was now viewing it upside down as she peeked between her legs. 'Sitting still' was not an accurate description of Joy's behavior. "At least she stays in one place and out of trouble while it's on," Dawn finished. "And it's not garbage. It's educational."

"Educational?" No matter how many times they had this argument, Spike's indignation refused to fade. "She can barely talk yet! How is a brat her age supposed to learn anything from some vermin doing Sister Wendy impersonations?"

This time, Dawn had some new information. "Well, I read an article about it in a parenting magazine when we were at the pediatrician's last week. A study showed that kids who were exposed to art at an early age do better on their SATs in high school," said Dawn. "So someone got a grant to make Chiaro Oscuro. And the magazine said it's okay to let them watch because it's on public TV, and there are no commercials."

"The whole bloody show is a commercial!" protested Spike.

Dawn looked around the living room and had to agree with him. The apartment was littered with Chiaro and Oscuro paraphernalia. Joy owned a Chiaro Oscuro ride-on toy, push toy, and pull toy; she had Chiaro Oscuro mechanical and electronic learning games, action figures, CDs, DVDs, and puzzles. The main characters' pictures appeared on the sippie cup that lolled on the coffee table, they smiled up from several books scattered across it, and they covered the special bag that was intended to hold additional Chiaro Oscuro gear. Joy herself, now in the fourth outfit of her busy, messy day, was a toddling advertisement. Dark-furred Oscuro adorned the baby's t-shirt, and her pants were covered with reproductions of Van Gogh's sunflowers, which had appeared on a favorite episode of the show.

And, of course, there was the 12-inch animatronic Chiaro doll, which was only supposed to be available in the UK. It had been Federal Expressed to Joy by a doting Rupert Giles the moment it came on the market, so that she could be the first baby on the block to have one. Dawn cast a resentful glance at the doll, which stood smirking near the couch, waiting its chance to burst into vapid song if anyone got too close to it. The thing was only supposed to start crooning if it was squeezed or shaken, but it had a nasty tendency to vibrate and sing its mechanical heart out when least expected or wanted—usually just after Joy had finally fallen asleep for a much-delayed afternoon nap.

"It's not art, it's bleeding Monet," muttered Spike as a series of haystacks paraded across the screen under various lighting conditions. Joy had thumped back into a normal sitting position, and she was following the progression with fascination.

"What do you want them to show kids? Hieronymus Bosch?" said Dawn, determined to play Devil's Advocate.

"Don't want them to show anything. I want them to keep from rotting my girl's brain with this nonsense. Why can't she just watch cartoon animals eviscerate each other like brats her age used to do?"

Chiaro and Oscuro were back on screen again, interacting with several real children as they demonstrated finger painting on a huge sheet of paper spread outdoors in a park. Joy gasped in amazement.

"Great," said Dawn, giving up any attempt to reconcile Spike to the baby's favorite show. "Now she's going to want to do that. Anyone here feel good about having paint in the same house with this kid?"

"Everything we own will look like Jackson Pollock puked on it," agreed Spike. He dropped down on all fours to talk to Joy. "'Lo, pet," he cooed. She didn’t even turn around.

"Grrr," said Spike, slipping into game face. "Want to play with the lion? Wrestle the bad kitty?"

Joy, who was fascinated by the spectacle of Oscuro dancing in a sculpture garden, ignored him. Dawn rolled her eyes. "Spike, do you have any idea how pathetic you look trying to upstage a hamster?"

He morphed back to human face and glared up at her.

Dawn smirked back. It was so damn obvious that Spike hated the show because it was the only thing that Joy was more fascinated with than him. "Besides," she said, "you kind of dressed halfway nice to take Buffy out. If you keep crawling around on your knees, you'll spoil it."

Instead of responding, he peered at the dancing puppets and added darkly, "Those hamsters are pretty affectionate with each other. Has anyone told Jerry Falwell about this?"

"I think one of them is supposed to be a girl. And I'm sure they're just good friends," said Dawn before she realized the full idiocy of this latest turn of the conversation. "Besides, Spike, you've done some evil things in your time, but even you wouldn't narc on Joy's favorite characters to Jerry Falwell."

Buffy came into the room, clipping a chain with a sunburst pendant around her neck. She frowned at Spike's words. "I will have no implications of hamster slash in my household. And don't knock the silly little rats. At least they're not Barbie."

Still on all fours, Spike turned around to protest, but he almost collapsed on the floor when he caught sight of her.

To prepare for the big date, he had put on a pair of newish jeans, a shirt that was less than a year old, and boots that had only a few scuff marks. But Buffy was wearing a short skirt, high heels, and a silky, slinky white top that dated to her pre-pregnancy days. Her figure had expanded since then, and she filled the top out in a nicely voluptuous way. Her cheeks were flushed, and her green eyes gleamed with anticipation. Her hair was carefully pinned up, and her makeup was flawless. Even Dawn thought she looked gorgeous. The effect on Spike was more dramatic.

He stood up slowly and moved toward her, his eyes lighting up. "Is this the lady I'm escorting for the evening?" he purred, dropping his lips to nuzzle her neck as she smiled with satisfaction at the effect she was having on him. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Joy's head whipped around, and she jumped to her feet, running to her parents. "Da!" she demanded, raising her arms imperiously. Still staring at Buffy, Spike bent to pick her up. Buffy frowned.

We're all jealous here, thought Dawn. I'm jealous that they're going to leave me at that English school, Buffy is jealous that Joy runs to Spike before her, Joy is jealous when Spike wants to cuddle Buffy, and Spike is jealous of an idiot TV show. The only one here who isn't jealous is that stupid toy rodent.

As she finished the thought, the animatronic hamster suddenly sprang to pseudo-life, trilling madly, "The world of art's a blur-o, but we always make the time to sing and play . . . a blur-o . . . a blur-o . . . a blur-o," until Joy turned away from Spike and wriggled to be put down so she could to run to it. The moment the toy had the baby's full attention, it lapsed into silence.

Dawn found herself almost as dismayed as Spike at this turn of events. Well, maybe I can't leave the hamster off the list after all. I'm having the entire coven examine that thing once we get to England. I can't believe something that annoying isn't possessed by at least a minor demon.

"The little bugger is evil, I tell you," said Spike, echoing her thoughts.

"I'm sure that after closing a Hellmouth, we can manage to control a singing rat," said Buffy with her most beguiling smile. "But let's worry about defeating its demonic influences tomorrow, okay? After we have dinner, all by ourselves, in a restaurant that doesn't give away toys with its meals." She was holding his hand and towing him towards the door as she added more prosaically, "Besides, the way she's shaking the damn thing, she may accidentally slay it for us."

Spike leered appreciatively at Buffy as he followed her into the apartment's tiny hallway, but he spared a comically concerned glance over his shoulder for Joy.

The baby was manhandling her doll with a vigor that might well have damaged it, but as Buffy and Spike reached the door, she looked up and yelled again, "Da!"

"Mommy and Daddy are going out," said Dawn in what she instantly realized was a too-soothing tone. "You're going to stay here and have fun with me."

Joy greeted this news with the dismay appropriate to the announcement of an impending apocalypse. Moving with what Dawn swore was more-than-normal-human speed, she was at the door, one arm wrapped around Spike's leg, the other hand yanking on his pants as she peered up at him, her face covered with tears with miraculous suddenness.

"Sing and play . . . " caroled the hamster desperately from the floor. "Sing and play. . . sing and play . . . "

Spike's expression was agonized as he gently unwound Joy from his calf, picked her up, and kissed her. "It's all right, pet," he said gently. "I won't—" he cringed at Buffy's gasp of dismay and added quickly, "I won't be gone long." He managed to peel ten fat fingers off his arm and dump a squirming body into Dawn's arms.

"No! Da!" The screams were heartrending as the baby tried to throw herself back into her parents' arms. "No!"

Dawn held onto Joy for dear life as Buffy and Spike slipped out the door without so much as a "Good luck!" to her. She couldn't blame them much. Experience had taught them all the folly of dragging out scenes like this.

The hamster lapsed into silence, and Joy stopped screaming and wiggling the moment the door was shut. Her chin quivered, and she sniffled. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She looked up at Dawn. "Ma?" she questioned plaintively.

Dawn shook her head. "It's just you and me, kid. For a few hours, at least."

As Dawn had anticipated, they turned into a very long few hours. A walk outside failed to tire Joy out, even though she demonstrated her newfound talent for climbing in and out of the stroller at least twenty times during their circuit around the block. An encounter with the puppy who lived across the street left the mutt exhausted and her hyperactive. They returned home, and she splattered dinner all over herself and most of the kitchen. A bath followed. Dawn dressed Joy in clean pajamas, without much hope that the baby would take the hint and fall asleep. In fact, Joy apparently decided that this outfit was appropriate for a journey of exploration around the apartment. Dawn was soon worn out from prying baby fingers away from various dangerous objects that Joy somehow managed to acquire, even though all logic said they were out of reach or locked away, safe from her infant grasp.

At last, Dawn resorted to desperate measures, playing the newest Chiaro Oscuro DVD to gain a few minutes respite. She found this video the most tolerable of Joy's collection, since she'd only seen it about twenty times already. Together they watched the hamsters branch out from the world of art to join other rodents in common big-people jobs like becoming an astronaut or joining the circus. When this introduction into real-life adventure was over, Joy was content to play with her toys for a few minutes, struggling with a simple puzzle and banging away at the mini-computer that was supposed to teach her "reading readiness" and "number awareness."

Dawn wondered why no one could invent a toy that would teach a toddler concepts like "nap readiness" and "sharp-scary-thing avoidance."

Becoming bored with bopping tiny hamsters over their heads with a small mallet (Dawn wondered who had designed that particularly disturbing version of a toy xylophone—some Monty Python fan, perhaps?), Joy jumped up suddenly and ran off with her aunt in hot pursuit. Much to Dawn's relief, the baby dived for the pile of books under the coffee table. She quickly found Where the Wild Things Are and shoved it at Dawn with a squeal and a bounce.

Reading. Well, this means I get to sit down for a few minutes. And at least there are no smartass hamsters in this story! Dawn sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled her niece on to her lap.

But even reading to Joy was exhausting. The baby wanted the same story over and over. Although she could barely talk, she clearly understood enough to have memorized the words. If Dawn left out a single phrase, Joy squawked indignantly, slapping the page with her fist. By the time Max was being sent to his room for the seventh time, Dawn was thinking very bitter thoughts about Maurice Sendak.

Finally, Dawn shut the covers of the book and said brightly, "Why don't we read something else?"

Joy squirmed around on Dawn's lap, looked up mutinously, and shoved at her aunt's shoulder. She slid to the floor, but instead of looking for another book, she started glancing around the room. "Ma!" she yelled suddenly, and took off in the direction of Buffy's bedroom.

Dawn untangled her long legs and took up the chase again. "Mommy's not here," she called, as she caught up with Joy by the bedroom door. "Mommy and Daddy will be back soon." I hope. She picked up the baby and carried her back to the living room.

"Ma!" cried the little girl again. She fussed and began tossing her head from side to side in a way Dawn hadn't seen recently. Oh, damn. The baby shouldn't be hungry, and she could drink milk and juice from a cup, so she certainly didn't need to nurse. Although she still did. Dawn still found the whole process kind of bizarre, and had expected Buffy to completely wean Joy months earlier, but both Buffy and Spike seemed to think it was normal. The little girl would crawl up on her mother's lap several times a day, pushing up Buffy's shirt and seeking both nutrition and comfort at her breast.

Dawn couldn't really argue with this parenting method, because there was no doubt Joy was thriving. The constantly wailing infant of six months ago had been replaced by this whirlwind of activity, who cried only when tired or frustrated. And it took a lot to tire out Joy. But right now, the baby's frustration level was growing. And Dawn wasn't equipped to deal with her niece's current request.

"Why don't I get you a drink?" asked Dawn with forced cheerfulness, heading towards the kitchen.

"No!" bellowed Joy, calling on the full force of her three-word vocabulary. "Ma! Da!"

Oh, damn. Dawn went back into the living room and sat down on the couch, trying to settle the squirming baby on her lap. "Your mom and dad are just taking a little time to themselves. So it's just you and me for a little while."

To Dawn's surprise, Joy appeared struck by these words. She stared intently for a few seconds, sucking meditatively on her fingers, and then reached out to stroke Dawn's cheek.

Dawn had become so inured to constant contact with the baby over the past few months that she didn't even think "Ick!" at the touch of those damp fingers. She kept talking about Buffy and Spike, since Joy seemed to be paying attention and was, for a miracle, sitting still.

"Mommy and Daddy must have had a nice, long, romantic dinner by now. Well, it was probably romantic unless Spike grossed Buffy out by eating tons of those awful crawfish and sucking on the heads. Then they'll probably have fun staking some stupid vamp that wandered into town after reading too many Anne Rice novels. Then they'll go to Preservation Hall, and Spike will love it, but Buffy will complain it's a fire trap. So they'll wander around and foil a couple of muggers, and Buffy won't let him visit any of the really naughty places out there, and then they'll have fun of a kind that you shouldn't be even thinking about for a long, long time, and they'll come home happy and give you lots of hugs as if they hadn't seen you in months."

Joy went back to sucking her fingers. Her gaze was locked on Dawn's face.

"Then we'll go to bed, and in a few days, we'll move to England, and you'll see Aunt Tara again, and Aunt Willow, and Grandpa Giles, and whatever we think of for you to call Anya. I can't think of any nicknames for her that Buffy will let me teach you right now, but I'm sure we'll come up with something. And I'll start school, so that the next time Mommy and Daddy have to move, probably it will be just the three of you, plus maybe some of our other friends. But not me. Because Mommy and Daddy are worried about my education, and I have to stay in one place for a while. So you'll have Ma and Da whenever you need them, but I'll be alone in that strange school with everyone talking with funny accents and thinking I'm the weird American girl and—and—"

Dawn shook her head, feeling foolish, but also comforted by the knowledge that she could unburden herself safely to the baby, without fearing she would utter words she'd later regret. "I'm being a real dumb-ass, Joy, and I know it. But I keep thinking that now Buffy and Spike have you, a little Slayer baby of their very own that they kinda-sorta-maybe made on purpose, they won't need an almost-grownup corporeal Key any more. And I should be wanting to get away to college and stuff, and part of me does, but the rest of me really, really still needs you guys. I mean, Xander's already so far away, and Tara and the others will be busy with their own stuff—"

Dawn stopped, staring at Joy. There was something odd about the little girl's gaze. Dawn leaned closer to the baby, trying to read the gold flecks that had appeared in those piercing blue eyes. Then she fell forward, into that azure glow.

Dawn found herself staring into a cloud of pink, silver, and blue sparkles. They swirled and danced gently and smoothly, as if they were floating in some kind of liquid—in something that was thicker than air, certainly. They were floating in—sheesh! They were floating in a silver lava lamp.

She remembered that lamp perfectly. She was in her old bedroom back in Sunnydale. The sense of familiarity was overwhelming. She recognized not just this place, but this time. Everything here was specific to a brief period in her life. The short period after she had been called into existence by a bunch of meddling monks and before she had known she wasn't real. This was her bedroom as it had been before her mother had died. Her bedroom the way it was before she realized she was the Key and found out that her life was a lie.

Back then, this was where she had run to hide whenever life as the Slayer's little sister had gotten too crazy. It still seemed intact and tranquil, free of guilt and bad memories. When her room was set up just like this, she hadn't yet begun to steal things and hide them here. She hadn't yet wept into the pillows on the bed for the loss of her mother, her sister, and her sense of self.

Dawn had packed up everything here and moved away from this house over a year ago, but the room had lost this sense of tranquility long before then.

She was sitting on the bed, and she could tell that the objects behind her back were her old embroidered pink cushion with the flowers on it and some of her stuffed animals. She knew that if she looked down, she would see the pastel pattern of the bedspread; she could feel its familiar texture beneath her fingers.

Something was wrong about that. Her hands shouldn't be clutching the edge of the bed. She looked down at her arms and realized they were empty. Suddenly panicked, she stood up and turned around, searching for Joy.

“It’s okay, Aunt Dawn.” The girl standing by the door smiled at her. “I’m here.” She looked around. “Is this your room from when you were my age?”

Dawn stared at Joy. It wasn't the first time they had met in an alternate dimension. The girl looked as if she must be about twelve or thirteen. She was not very tall yet, but there was something in her dark blue eyes that bespoke at least that much maturity. "Yes," she said, "but I didn't mean to take us here. I don't know how I did it. I don't even have my talisman."

“The talisman's just a catalyst, you know that. Like making the blood flow. You don't have to do that any more either when you dimension-shift." Joy walked over to one wall and shook her head at the colorful fish mobile that was hanging from the ceiling. "I hope I can remember this place when I’m awake. I’ll really be able to tease you.” She looked at the posters and cocked her head to one side. "Who the hell is Britney Spears? And—" Joy snickered— "'N Sync? "

“You never heard of—” Dawn stopped, realizing the futility of discussing ephemeral pop stars with her niece’s future self. “Do you know why we’re here?”

Joy opened the closet and pulled out a patterned shirt. “Did you actually wear this? Like in public? Everyone would see your belly button! I bet you wore those pants with the big legs too. And look at these clunky shoes!”

This was too much. "Cut that out, or I'll start in on the hamsters!"

"Hamsters? What hamsters?" Joy gaped at her in astonishment.

"When you were a baby, there was this TV show you watched over and over." Dawn started to sing the hated ditty that echoed painfully in her mind. "'We're Chiaro and Oscuro, from the Happy Hamsters Bureau—'"

"Okay, okay!" Hurriedly, Joy shoved the shirt back in the closet and gave up her examination of Dawn's wardrobe. “But if you didn't want me to see this stuff, why’d you take us to this room and not someplace else?”

“I'm not sure, but I know it wasn't so you could pretend we were on an episode of What Not to Wear." But Dawn thought hard, because it was a good question. "Maybe because I felt safe here, like I belonged.”

Joy brushed her fingers over one of the brightly-pattered pillows that were strewn over the bed. "Yeah, I guess a room like this would make you feel safe. You know how I always keep the same posters and books around so I can make my room the same whenever we move. Well, maybe you don't know that, because I don't do it yet." She had knelt down, and after picking up a few knickknacks and smirking at them, she began rifling through the contents of a bookcase. “Hey, you read this one to me when I was sick once. I liked it so much that I cried until you let me keep it, even though you knew they were fake tears. Gee, I was a real brat.”

Was? thought Dawn. “Why aren’t you a baby?” she asked. "I understand that I needed to crawl back to a safe place because my whole life is about to change again, but why did I make you grow up?" Joy shrugged, and Dawn tried to answer her own question. "Maybe because it's going to be a long time before we can really talk like this and I wanted to know what you'd be like? Whether we'd get along or if we'd even see each other much?"

Joy had another book open on her knee. “Yeah. Or maybe I did it. Kind of force of habit on my part. I’ve had to talk so much in visions, I’m not used to being an infant except in that one dimension. Besides, being a baby is really boring. You can’t control your arms and legs right or even ask for what you want, and the only way to get your frustrations out is by crying. Life doesn’t start getting good until you can run around and talk. It gets even better when you’re big enough to throw a few punches.” Apparently losing interest in this topic, she held up the book and pointed at an illustration. “This must belong to one of the fairy godmothers.”

“Who?”

“Aunt Tara and Aunt Willow. Look what I found.”

Dawn peered at the image of a vaulted chamber and felt herself falling into the open page. She staggered, caught her balance, and stood up in an ancient room. It felt like a place of worship, but she couldn’t place its age from the architecture.

Joy was still with her, but she was taller and looked stronger now. Dawn guessed she was about sixteen or seventeen. Her niece didn’t seem at all disconcerted by this change of venue. She walked across the room and looked at the pentagram permanently etched into the worn and uneven stone floor.

Dawn shivered. “We seem very far away from the others.”

“Oh, we'll get back soon.”

“You’re very sure.”

“I’m old enough now for you to have told me the story about what’s happening to us now,” said Joy. She frowned at the implications of her own words. “Other dimensions and time shifts cause some really weird sequences of tenses, don’t they?"

"Whatever," was all Dawn could think of to say as she tried to work that out.

Suddenly, Joy's expression became very serious. "Aunt Dawn, I think you need to pay attention to this bit. I'm older than I was a few minutes ago, and I know more. Not everything, but I'm sure this next part is important.” Joy stepped onto one point of the pentagram. Shadowy female forms rose at each of the other points. Dawn squinted at the figures but couldn't bring them into focus. She looked at Joy’s face. First it matured into adulthood, and then it changed into the wild visage of a true Slayer, dangerous but self-controlled. The golden eyes smiled confidently. Joy shook her head and was once again a precocious teen. “I’ll need my sisters to stand with me when I come here for real. And we'll need to find out as much as we can about this place before then. And we'll need you.”

“Your sisters.” Dawn looked at the five points of the star. “Does Buffy know just how much motherhood she’s in for?”

“I'm not sure.” Joy blinked, as if confused. "I'm not sure Mom's visions work just like this. I think we both see things, but in different ways."

Dawn smiled inwardly. Yes, and I understand how you see the future. You have your father's sharp eyes and your mother's pretty face, but there’s more of your Aunt Dawn in you than anyone realizes, Joy. I know why you’re so confident moving around these alternate dimensions. In a way, you're my kid too.

Dawn felt something shift. She stood up straighter and looked at her niece. “It’s time to go back,” she said positively, even though she knew that “time” wasn’t the right word. The right word didn't exist.

Joy didn’t argue. She walked towards Dawn, holding out her hands. In conflict with all rules of perspective, the closer she came, the smaller she seemed. By the time she reached her aunt, Joy was toddling uncertainly over the uneven surface, and Dawn snatched the child up just before she took a tumble to the ground. As the vaulted chamber's walls shrank down to the proportions of a modern apartment living room, Dawn shifted the little girl in her arms and cuddled her like the baby she once again was.

The front door was creaking open, and Dawn vaguely recognized Buffy and Spike's voices calling 'Hello.'"

"Da!" cried Joy, squirming away from Dawn and sliding to the floor.

She ran to Spike, and he picked her up, kissing her soundly on both cheeks. Joy laughed, and twisted in his arms to reach out to Buffy. As soon as she was in her mother's arms, she began to whine softly.

Buffy rolled her eyes as she dropped into a chair. "That's right. Daddy gets to hear his name, and he gets the kisses and the smiles, but Mommy gets—" She looked down to the baby, who was already latched onto her breast, a blissful expression on her face. Buffy's expression softened. "I guess Mommy doesn't get such a bad deal after all."

"I'll make you some tea, love," said Spike, bending to kiss Buffy on the top of the head. "And you too, Bit?"

"Uh, yeah, thanks," said Dawn, still distracted.

Spike winked at her over Buffy's head. "Thank you, Bit," he said with a satisfied smirk before going into the kitchen.

That made Dawn grin. "So you had a nice evening, huh?" she asked her sister.

"Oh, yeah," said Buffy. "We had a really good meal down in the French Quarter. Well, I had a good meal, and Spike seemed to like his plate of disgusting tentacled things. He surpassed his previous record for crawfish swallowing. Then we ran into an incredibly stupid vamp who must have wandered into town after reading too many Anne Rice novels. After we staked him, we went to that Preservation Hall he's been wanting to visit."

"Oh!" said Dawn in a small, surprised voice. "Did you like the music?"

Buffy grimaced. "Spike loved it, but I thought the place was a fire trap. Then we ran into a couple of muggers who were even stupider than the vamp. We managed to chase them into the arms of some cops without getting stuck having to make statements ourselves, and then—" She looked down at the baby and grew silent. Apparently, the description of the rest of the evening had been censored.

Dawn looked at Joy, who had stopped nursing, but was still curled close to Buffy's breast. The baby was falling asleep, eyelids fluttering over unfocused blue eyes. Just a baby. For now.

"—and that's the end of the story," said Buffy at last.

"No," said Dawn emphatically. She met Buffy's surprised look with a suddenly confident smile. "That's the end of this chapter. We've got a lot more story ahead of us."

I thought I should add something because of the way I ended this epilogue.

I admit that I have some ideas for future stories, but right now I'm working on so many things--most of them having to do with my real life!--that I don't know if I'll add any more to this. It has to end somewhere, but I like to think of the characters as continuing to grow and have adventures.

Thanks again to everyone who's followed me through the story, and especially to those who've sent feedback. It's meant a great deal to me.

P.S. There's a tiny bit more now: Dragon Slayer

Please send feedback to: missmurchison@mchsi.com