This time, when the Bringer comes toward her, she hears him. She runs her sword through the one that has Andrew pinned against the wall and then whirls straight around without pausing. The Bringer has his knife raised, but this time Anya is ready. Her sword is already swinging in a wide, smooth arc, and the Bringer's head is sliced neatly from his body. This time, the knife doesn't cut into her shoulder with that clean, biting pain; it simply drops from his hand and clatters uselessly onto the floor.
Anya stares at it, while Andrew chatters something at her that she can't hear above the noise coming from the cavern beneath them. Or is the roaring just in her ears? She can't quite seem to tell.
She looks over to where Tara stands, hands folded neatly in front of her. She's wearing that yellow dress that Anya really likes, the one that brings out the highlights in her hair.
"I thought it would feel better than this," Anya says, indicating the dead Bringer.
Tara smiles gently. "I know."
And the world fades.
*
Sometimes, she has a flamethrower instead of a sword. Then, she kicks Andrew's one in the side, just enough to push it away from him, and sets it alight. She leaves the flamethrower on as she spins, engulfing the oncoming one in the wave of fire. He screams as he burns, which she thought was cool the first few times, but Tara always looks kinda disappointed with her.
She doesn't use the flamethrower very much any more.
*
"Oh, fuck off," she says as she spins around and uses the hilt of her sword to knock the knife from his hand. He stares at her, and this time she laughs.. "I'm bored with killing you, do you hear me? Just - go away."
This time, Tara claps. She takes a step forward and so does Anya, and the hug feels so good that she thinks it'll be fine if it just goes on until the end of the world.
Maybe it does.
*
It isn't Sunnydale outside the school, which half surprises Anya and half doesn't.
"Where is this?" she asks Tara. She's wearing a white shirt with pink flowers this time. Anya likes that, too. It looks very fresh, very Spring-like. Very pretty.
Tara smiles at her. "Generally, or specifically?"
"Both?"
Tara links her arm through Anya's as they walk down the street. It's very quiet; no traffic noise, just a distant sound of birdsong. There are houses lining each side, neat little cottage-y things with bright red roofs.
"In general terms, this is called the Summerlands. This specific part is probably somewhere you saw on a tv show, or maybe imagined from a book. Somewhere you thought you'd like to live."
"Well that doesn't make a lot of sense. Vengeance demons don't really live anywhere. Unless you count Arashmahar, and that certainly looks nothing like this. And as a human I didn't imagine living anywhere that didn't have Xander in - oh."
She realises that Tara's stopped walking, and over the other side of the road a man is mowing the front lawn of one of the houses. A man with dark, floppy hair and a smile that still manages to flip her heart. He straightens up, and waves to them.
Tara waves back. Anya just says "Oh" again.
"Go," says Tara. "It's okay. You can."
She hesitates for a second, but only a second, and then she's running, flying across the street and into Xander's arms.
When she eventually looks back, Tara is gone.
*
She still calls it Sunnydale, which makes Xander laugh, but in a way it is; Sunnydale as she always wanted it to be. The Magic Box is still there, except this time Giles works for her. He's very helpful and pleasant, though, and they have a good, healthy trade. Giles restocks all the shelves regularly, because their suppliers are never late any more, and enjoys helping her count the money.
Xander makes furniture in a little studio attached to the house, and their rooms gradually fill up with beautiful chairs and cabinets and tables. He sells lots of pieces too; Andrew commissions him to make large display units for his collection of comics and odd-looking little plastic figures. Anya always smiles at Andrew whenever he visits; he was kind of annoying, but no more so than the rest. She's glad he got out okay.
They hear from Buffy sometimes - or rather, Xander does. She's away somewhere; overseas, out of visiting range. That suits Anya. She wouldn't want anything to have happened to Buffy because that would upset Xander, but she doesn't really mind if Buffy never comes over.
They don't see Willow either, and that Anya does mind. Not for herself - they managed polite antipathy at best - but for Tara. If she has Xander, and Giles, and her lovely home, shouldn't Tara have Willow? This worries her, but no-one else seems bothered. "I'm sure Tara's fine, honey," says Xander. "Everything's fine."
Somehow, Anya's not so sure.
*
If she waits long enough, Tara always comes. Dressed in her lovely, bright flowing clothes and with her hair always spread around her shoulders. She hugs Anya, and sits next to her on the bench. Above them, the sun shines.
The sun always shines.
"Where's Willow?" Anya asks.
"Why?"
"Because - because - shouldn't she be with you? If I have Xander, you should have Willow."
Tara smiles. "I'm fine, Anya."
Anya sits up straight. "Don't. Don't do that."
"What?"
"Do the 'fine' thing. Xander always does the 'fine' thing. I don't like it."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise, just tell me. Why isn't Willow here?"
Tara shifts on the bench, turning a little sideways so that she's facing Anya. "She was. But now she's gone."
"Why? Why, Tara? I don't understand."
Tara leans her head on Anya's shoulder. Her cheek feels soft and warm against Anya's bare skin.
"You will," she says.
*
Anya stamps her foot. "Why?" she demands. "Why, Xander?"
He laughs softly, and carries on working at the piece of wood in his hands. "Don't be so silly, sweetheart. Why on Earth would I want to fight with you?"
"But we used to fight all the time! All the time! You were always upset with me about something. I - I embarrass you, I tell Giles about our sex life, I - "
"Honey, I'm not upset with you. Giles is our friend, we can tell him anything. I love you, Anya. I don't mind what you do."
"But - but - I want you to. I want you to mind."
He gets up, walks across to her and pulls her into his arms. "Why would you want that, baby?"
She pulls away from him. "Because then I might be able to believe this was real."
*
She runs into the street and screams for Tara.
Immediately, warm arms go around her. Soft hair falls onto her neck.
"I'm here, Anya. I'm here. It's okay."
She leans into Tara's embrace and cries; the first tears she can remember shedding since - since -
Since she died.
She pulls back and stares at Tara through blurry eyes. "This isn't real," she says. It isn't a question.
Tara reaches out and strokes her hair. Rubs a thumb across her cheek, erasing the tears. "It is, in a way. It just isn't the kind of real you knew before."
"I don't like it. It's too - too good. And that sounds stupid, doesn't it? " She starts to cry again.
Tara pulls Anya back towards her, still stroking her hair. "No, honey. No, it doesn't sound stupid at all."
"I love Xander, Tara. I do. And I wanted him back, wanted us to be happy. And now he's here, and he loves me, and everything's perfect, and it just isn't right."
"I know."
"Is that - is that why Willow isn't with you?"
"Yes." She rests her cheek on the top of Anya's head. "We had a lovely beach house," she says. "Every morning, I'd wake and Willow would already be up, making fresh orange juice and pancakes. We'd eat breakfast on the porch, watching the sun come up and listening to the waves. Then we'd spend time playing with the cats, or reading, or walking on the beach. In the evening we always made love, and it was always wonderful. And she never used magic, and we never argued, and we were happy."
"That sounds lovely."
"It was. For a while."
"For a while? Not for always?"
"No. I realised - actually I think I'd always known - where I was, what had happened. I'd learned how to find other places, other people - my mom, my home - and it was all wonderful and totally, totally untrue. And when I'd come back, Willow would still be there, waiting for me, and everything would go on as before. After a while, I just stopped coming back."
"Where did you go?"
"I just - wandered. Sometimes I met other people, and I'd spend time with them. Live in their worlds for a while." She smiles. "I saw Joyce, you know."
"Joyce? Buffy's mom?"
"Yes. She runs an art gallery in somewhere that looks a little like Paris. She never divorced her husband - he was quite sweet, really - and her Buffy is studying to be a doctor. A paediatrician. Joyce is ever so proud."
"Her Buffy? Not - not our Buffy? Not the Slayer?"
"No. There are no vampires in Joyce's world."
"And Joyce isn't - isn't like us?"
"No. For her, what she has is enough."
Anya settles back in Tara's arms. "But it wasn't enough for you?"
"No. I found that I needed more than that. More than just sweet shadows."
Anya raises her head, turns her face to Tara. "What more is there?"
"There's you."
"Me? But - but I'm not Willow."
"I know. You're real."
Anya closes her eyes for the kiss, and it's the warmest touch that she remembers in a long, long time.
"So," she says, eventually. "What happens now?"
Tara smiles. "I don't know," she says. "And I think that's how I like it."
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