I'm sure I'm not the only person who hated the fact that Anya Jenkins is dead. So I decided to make a little tribute of sorts, out of Xander's point of view. It's short, but okay I think. Enjoy. :)
Spoilers: All seasons, all episodes
Disclaimer: I don't own ME. I wish I owned ME. And Joss Whedon. Because then I'd get him to write me another season of Buffy! Oh, and I don't own the first part. It was in the last bits of the finale.
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"She was incredible. She died saving my life," he says, looking up at me weakly. I clap a hand on his shoulder and give a carefree grin.
"That's my girl. Always doing the stupid thing." Andrew nods in agreement slowly and we walk over to where Buff and the rest are standing, looking at the crater formerly known as Sunnydale. I know I should be thrilled. I mean, there are thousands of Slayers all across the globe, the world still exists and Bleach Boy died in the battle. Well, to be fair, he saved the world- and he wasn't really such a bad guy anyway. But I can't help it. I feel kind of like I've been cheated; we finally start getting it back together (granted, over Edy's Cookies and Cream) and then a blind guy takes it all away!
I suppose I should have more respect for their fighting abilities now that I'm halfway there, but you know something? I really can't. She was Anya.
The girl I took to the prom; traditionally, I was supposed to get my hormonal needs out of my system and then brag about it to all my friends in the cafeteria. But, of course, I managed to get the one girl in Sunnydale who talked more than she smiled, complained more than she cared about the actual prom and, oh yeah, had lived for a thousand years and tortured more men than that. I remember having a not-quite-so magical night, but I also remember thinking "Impressive. She may just be even more bizarre than me."
The girl I lived with post-high school; she even put up with my hell inspired parents. No matter how badly the basement may have smelled or how completely incapable of cleaning I was, she never left me. Sometimes I think it was because of the constant supply of Fruit Roll-ups, but I like to hope otherwise.
The girl who loved me back; a new experience for me. I actually never wanted to get married, I mean, look at who I had as role models! But somehow, Anya changed that for me. I couldn't really bear even imagining her ending up with any other guy- it had to be me. The best part? She felt the same way.
The girl who was supposed to be there for it all; our marriage day. I can say with all the confidence in the world that I made a stupid decision. But it scared me, you know? I didn't, and don't, want to end up an alcoholic wife beater like my dad. Anya deserves better…or I guess it'd be deserved now wouldn't it? Oh God.
The girl who smashed my heart; my first real experience with betrayal. If you had seen what I saw on that screen…ugh. It was disgusting. Peroxide rooting all over her, MY her, and her responding like there's no tomorrow. There was a tomorrow, boy, big time. Well. I wouldn't remember it, seeing as I drank it away. Love does funny things like that to you.
Then she was the girl who passed me by. Like that she was gone. I don't know if I was the only one, but I feel like it went by too fast. We went from sweethearts, to a couple, to fiancées, to vengeful lovers to nothing in practically a year! And every time I looked at her, I felt my insides do this- this floopy thing and I wanted to take a baseball bat and beat it to a pulp for making me all puppy eyed like that.
She was Anya.
She made me laugh. Once, we were outside reading the newspaper together like one of those married couples you see on greeting cards, you know? Anyway, I turned the page and a huge Easter Bunny campaign ad looks at us like the 'Bride of Chucky' or something. Not your average Joe Bunny. Anya freaked, table on the grass, newspaper in tatters, me fallen on the ground laughing, the whole nine and a half yards. Once the Bloomingdale's Bunny was safely put to rest, she stood there looking guilty, but proud. God, she made me laugh so hard. We were a perfect match, I always used to say it and I still do. Just weird enough to make it interesting, just strange enough to make it work.
I'm standing here looking at a ruin of a city and all I can think about is her. And I'm wondering; where is her body in all this? Is it crushed? Is it scorched? Does she still have her lipstick on, or the star brooch Buffy got her for Christmas last year? Where is she?
"Now what are we going to do?" I hear Dawn say next to me.
What we always do Dawnie. Get up, brush ourselves off, and go save the world again. It's a given; it's what we do. It's what she died doing…the least I can do is follow up. This time I don't mind being the follower.