Chapter Two: No Sense
It just didn't make any sense.
Anya shifted uncomfortably in Xander's arms, trying without much success to ignore the screaming pain in her legs, her back, her head, and looked at Buffy's body. The useless meat sack that used to be home to the Slayer. She expected Buffy to get back up again at any moment. Buffy always came through. That was just what Buffy did. Anya had accepted Buffy's indomitable and frankly irritating ability to win as simple truth. It was one of those things you could always count on. Like the law of supply and demand, or the inherent treachery of men, or Xander's desire for orgasms after watching an episode of Voyager with that Borg woman. Buffy just didn't lose. Ever. So why wasn't she getting back up?
It just didn't make any sense.
Not for the first time since this horror show had begun, Anya wished she had skipped town. Running as fast and as far away from the danger as possible was just the smart thing to do. These stupid mortal bodies were too easily snapped and torn, and Anya liked her insides on the inside, thank you very much. Anya had plenty of practice at running away from an oncoming apocalypse. One might even go so far as to say that fleeing in terror was one of her many strengths. But last time she had tried that, she'd wound up in a cheap and poorly ventilated hotel room about a hundred miles outside of Sunnydale, where she'd spent the night hunched over a toilet, dry heaving after her stomach was completely devoid of content, worried as hell that something might happen to Xander.
And that was before all the copulating and the secure feelings and the stupid, stupid proposal.
Not that he'd had to produce a lovely, expensive-looking ring to convince her that running was no longer an option. As much as she hated to admit it, Anya knew she couldn't leave without Xander, and her attempt at convincing him to run away with her had met with spectacular failure.
"What? I-- What? Run? No way."
"But you were fine with running away before."
"Yeah, but that was with everybody. We were all along for the jaunty group run-fest. You're talkin' just you and me. That's not a group. That's a duet without backing orchestra."
"They don't need you. They don't need either of us. We don't have Slayer strength, or magic, or that handy vampire immortality. We're just human. Mortal. What can we do besides stay and die?"
"I'm not leaving Buffy and Willow to face Glory alone."
And with that, Xander had refused to even listen to Anya's logical and well-argued points. She cursed him repeatedly (though not really, and oh how she cursed that little deficiency too), but he remained steadfast and unwavering. Abandon his precious Willow and Buffy? Perish the thought.
What was even more frustrating was that his dedication and loyalty, despite the odds, was one of the things she loved most about him.
It just didn't make any sense.
So Xander's decision to stay sealed Anya's fate as well, and she had invested considerable effort in coming up with a plan to keep them both from dying horribly. Since she and Xander were still breathing and the world hadn't been plunged into chaos, Anya was tempted to say that it had been a rousing success. Only Buffy had died, and Buffy was neither Anya nor Xander, so yay. Right?
Only if that were true, then why did she feel so … numb? She had experienced the painful "grief" emotion when Joyce died, but this felt different. Closer, and yet somehow further away. Perhaps she was simply emoting on Xander's behalf? She may not have liked it, but Anya was only too well aware of the depth of Xander's feelings for the Slayer. She knew that this would devastate him.
Anya wanted to turn to Xander now, to begin the healing process immediately, right this second, so they could get over the disquieting and unpleasant mourning period as quickly as possible. She wanted to turn around in his arms, make him focus on nothing but her and their future wedding plans. And yet …
Why couldn't she look away? Why was she still staring at Buffy, expecting the Slayer to get up and make some inappropriate yet amusingly droll comment? Why were Anya's thoughts drifting instead to memories of late-night conversations over mountains of research text? Why was she remembering her plans to spend money imprudently at the mall with Buffy a week from next Tuesday? Why was she crying?
It just didn't make any sense.