A/N: Took a while to get this one to where I felt okay about it - it was originally longer, but I had to cut it in two for time's sake. Hope you like, I'll be updating Saturday or, at latest, Sunday night (barring death or amputation). Thanks!

Chapter Six

Throughout history, different religions have each crafted their own concept of hell. However, despite conflicting beliefs, there is one aspect of hell that most religions agree upon: it really, really sucks - and for all eternity, to boot.

Willow no longer feared hell. She was living it.

Her hell, Sunnydale hell, took place in the form of a Scooby meeting that just. wouldn't. end. Though they had little to talk about, as the still raw issue of Buffy's untimely and ultimately confusing death was being skirted - at least when they were in person, the meetings grew longer and longer with each passing session. At current count, the latest gathering had gone on an unseemly hour and forty-three minutes. The last four of those had focused on how Giles had misplaced his glasses that morning; when he'd gone to clean them, he discovered they weren't on the dresser where he thought he'd left them.

It was turning out to be, unfortunately, one of the highlights of the afternoon.

As Giles talked, Willow idly wondered what she had done to piss off the Powers that Be so much so that they felt the need to take such drastic and spiteful action against her. She thought she had been a generally good girl; she flossed every day, washed behind her ears, and tried to give to charity at least once a year (she usually forgot). Not to mention being a sidekick to the Slayer herself! Well, at least until recently.

But it wasn't as if everyone hadn't been trying to keep up the slack; since the funeral, Willow had begun patrolling nightly. She had discovered by the second day that, while the cemetery is a nice place to visit, she certainly wouldn't want to live there. A little day trip here and there is fine, but the nightlife sucks to the Pauly Shore-th degree.

Her excursions to the Valley of the Shadow of Aches and Pains left her sorely needing some R&R, but it seemed that after years of neglect, both R's had abandoned her for good. Fortunately for Willow, though, Tara was more than willing to fill in the blank in her alphabet with some sorely needed TLC.

In fact, she was the one that had convinced Willow to go the meeting despite her dread at the now painful dull-a-thons. And despite her own awkwardness at the overlying air of grief that she herself couldn't fully recognize, having only known Buffy for a short period of time, Tara continued to accompany Willow as her moral support.

But Willow could see that Tara, too, was bored. Having given up any pretense of interest, she leaned against her girlfriend, her head slumping over her frame as her eyes drifted shut. A quick glance around the table revealed similar boredom. The day was depressing, the shop dull - a lone customer wandered among the knicknacks, not making a peep.

Sleep was on everyone's mind, and Giles' story certainly wasn't helping - he was the speaking equivalent of triptophan. Anya especially looked bored. She began absently flicking a pencil against the table, an angry thwap! sounding dully with each hit. Giles paused at the sudden interruption, but she failed to notice. Her eyelids hung at half-mast as she stared off into space with a glazed over stare, chin resting heavily in one cupped palm.

"Well, this is certainly interesting," Anya drawled theatrically to the group seated around her. "Not boring at all," she continued. "I personally enjoy spending hours at a time making small talk."

Giles pressed his fingers against his temple, closing his eyes in obvious frustration. Willow felt a pang of sympathy for him; at least he was trying to make conversation, however dull it may be.

"Anya, if you're bored, feel free to leave." He sighed under his breath. "Actually, I think everyone would find it rather . . . refreshing, at this point."

She flicked her eyes over to Xander and, heaving a dramatic sigh, shook her head. She smiled brightly, displaying a falsely happy grin that reminded Willow of hyena Xander a few years back; the one that said he was fantasizing about your slow and painful evisceration.

"No," she continued. "I find issues of no relevance to me to be fascinating." She turned to Giles. "Please, go on. I really do want to find out how the case of the missing glasses turns out."

Xander gave Giles an embarrassed half-smile and turned to his girlfriend. "Ahn," he started, "lay off, will you? The conversation was ERing, and G-man's just trying to do the host thing. Which probably hasn't been very easy, considering we all have the collective energy of a sea sponge today." He paused. "And, uh, I don't mean the cartoon talking one, because that's just not right."

Anya glared at him, her eyes flashing angrily. "I don't want to 'lay off', Xander. I wouldn't even be here unless you hadn't forced me to go, and I wouldn't have to be a sponge, or pretend for over an hour like I'm having fun! It's not fun!"

She motioned towards Giles. "His stories are awful, like some sort of . . . taffy made out of boring words. He just keeps talking about his 'missing' glasses, which I don't understand, because he's wearing them right now, so it's not like the whole thing's going to have a surprise ending. Besides, he's old and feeble and they were probably on his head the whole time."

Xander reached for her, but she pulled away. "Anya, come on, you have to give Giles a little credit."

Giles looked at Xander sheepishly. "Actually, no. She's, uh, she's quite right."

Anya threw her hands up. "Ha! See? Like Nancy Drew, without the intrigue or mystery or annoying blond girl."

"Anya," Xander soothed, "Look, I'm not going to force you to stay. You can go if you -"

"Really?! Thank you!"

She stood quickly, slinging her purse over her shoulder with gusto. Turning to Xander, she beamed a brilliant smile. "When you come home tonight, we're going to have lots of sex to celebrate our escape from this hellhole."

Anya gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then made an abrupt about-face and began walking hurriedly toward the front door, her tennis shoes thudding dully on the lanoleum.

With a short groan, Willow slid down low in her seat until her rump touched the corner of the hard wood base. Life just wasn't fair. Anya got to leave, while those who showed a sort of torturous patience for the whole pointless affair were made to stay because of their very grace of character.

As Willow watched her pass the bookcase, a shudder ran through her. Anya was, in her impatience, her only hope, her possible saving grace. Willow had hoped that she would spark about a bit of lively conversation or, at best, an early end to the meeting. But now her 'get out of jail free' card was about to, literally, walk out the door. When the bell jingled, it would toll the death of her afternoon. Pity, too. She still had so much research to do, and then her work in the lab . . . the wee hours of the morning were rapidly becoming her new peak activity time.

Shutting her eyelids against the increasingly harsh flourescents, Willow hoped for a disruption, any disruption, short of the world ending kind. It was usually inevitable, anyway. Something always died or rose up from the grave or tried to eat her alive. Just to spice things up, to kill the mundanity. But wouldn't it be her luck? The one time that Willow would really want a little pizzazz, the demons wouldn't come a' courting and the vampires would decide raid their local blood bank instead of their local redhead's neck. So she closed her eyes, crossed her fingers, and wished for a distraction.

As her eyes shot open at Anya's shout of "Hey!", and the ensuing echo that seemed almost chaotic within the drafty shop, she realized that it had been granted.