Chapter Text
INT. THE HARRIS RESIDENCE
XANDER HARRIS, mid-thirties, is sprawled in front of the TV, his son TONY sprawled on the chair next to him. Both of them are in matching pajamas. JESS HARRIS, Tony’s sister, is demurely doing her homework at the nearby kitchen table, and ANYA—
“Wait,” said Anya. “What?”
AND ANYA IS MAKING BREAKFAST.
“You don’t have to yell about it!” Anya said irritably, picking up the mixing bowl and squinting down into its contents. The gelatinous goop looked like it could be pancakes, but she thought she could make out chunks that looked a little too meat-y to be breakfast food. “So what am I making?”
“It’s not your line, honey,” said Xander through his teeth, eyes trained on the television. “Wait for your cue.”
“But Xander—”
JESS
Daddy, how come I don’t get to watch TV with you and Tony?
XANDER
Well, sweetie, lying around doing nothing on a Sunday morning is a man’s job.
(laugh track)
“I don’t really think that that’s funny,” said Anya. “That’s a fairly astute observation, actually. You are lying around doing nothing on a Sunday morning, more often than not, and—”
“It’s not your line, Mommy,” said Tony reprovingly. “Wait your turn!”
“Well, what is my line?” Anya countered. “Why don’t I know it?”
“Jesus Christ,” Xander muttered. “Listen, Anya, just—just shut up for a little and watch me, okay?”
“What do you mean, shut up—”
“I’m trying to help you,” Xander persisted, still not taking his eyes off the TV. “Just mix the bowl and wait a little while. You’ll get the hang of it.”
JESS
That’s not fair! I’ve been working all weekend on my homework, and Tony just gets to watch cartoons? How come us girls have to do all the heavy lifting, Mommy?
Anya was focusing on the mixing bowl. The more she mixed it, the less it looked like pancakes. She could swear that one of those chunks of solid whatever in the batter looked a little like a human eye, but when she tried to unearth it with the spatula, all that came up was a blueberry. Frowning, she set the bowl down, taking a closer look at the kitchen. It looked like a normal sitcom kitchen, but if she squinted—
“MOMMY, IT’S YOUR LINE!” shouted the children in unison.
Anya whirled. “My line?” she echoed. “What do you mean, my line? I don’t know what any of this is! Since when do we have children, Xander, and how come they’re only named after your parents and not mine? And for that matter, since when did you have enough money to invest in a suburban house that isn’t a basement?”
The children, she realized, hadn’t moved from their positions either. Jess’s eyes were on Xander and Tony, as though she was talking to them and not Anya, and Tony, like his father, still hadn’t turned away from the TV. “Daddy, Mommy’s going to get us all in trouble,” said Tony tremulously. “Why doesn’t she know her lines?”
“Hell if I know, Tony,” said Xander exhaustedly. “I think she’s just stupid.”
“I am not stupid!” said Anya hotly.
“Ahn, baby, these kids are six years old and even they know their lines,” said Xander. “You’re telling me that you’re smarter than us and you don’t even know what’s gonna get a laugh from the audience?”
“You’re not telling me anything I need to know!” Anya protested. “I don’t even know where I am! I don’t even know who I am!”
With a long-suffering sigh, Xander pulled himself up from the couch, waving away the children’s protestations and (in Tony’s case) attempts to get him to sit back down. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s fine. We’ll get in a little bit of trouble, but your mommy just needs a little bit more help than most people. It’s okay.” Crossing the room, he took Anya’s hands in his, pressing a kiss to her wedding ring. “You’re my pretty little Anya,” he said. “You’re a mommy and a wife and you can make everybody laugh. You have two kids and your daughter looks just like you.” He pinched her cheek. “Does that make you feel better, baby?”
“…what?”
“Well, you didn’t know who you are, right?” said Xander very slowly. “I just told you. Does that help?”
“Why’s Mommy so stupid?” chorused the children. “Why doesn’t Mommy know her lines?”
And then Anya was standing on her own in front of a studio audience, expectant eyes on her, a single human eyeball cupped in her hands. A voice that she didn’t recognize echoed: Why Doesn’t Anya Know Her Lines?
“Why do there need to be lines?” Anya burst out. “Why does everyone keep expecting me to know them?”
Stupid, Stupid, Stupid Anya.
“I’m not stupid!”
Stupid Anya, the voice repeated. Then, Clever Aud.
A chill ran down Anya’s spine. “I’m n-not—I’m not Aud,” she said. “I’m Anya. I’m stupid Anya. I’m Xander’s wife and I’ll learn my lines, I promise, just—”
Clever Aud Likes Blood. Clever Aud Likes Bunnies. Clever Aud Slits Throats And Laughs And Laughs And L A U G H S
Aud was standing at the edge of a cliff, the hem of her dress spattered with mud and blood. Below her were the bodies of thousands and thousands of men, some dismembered, some mutilated, all in gruesome pieces. Next to her was a pretty little blonde thing in an apron and a full-skirted dress, hair curled like it was the 1940s, mouth in a pretty little red-lipsticked O of surprise. “Oh, golly!” gasped Anya, pressing her gloved fingers to her mouth. “What a mess down there!”
“But this is us,” said Aud. “This is what we do.”
“This is what you do,” said Anya. “I’m a pretty little housewife and my dress never gets dirty. Xander!” she called, and Xander came strolling over to the two of them, lifting her up in a bridal carry. “See?” she said, and giggled.
Xander’s eyes landed on the men and he blanched, his arms tightening around Anya. “Ahn, baby, what is this?” he whispered. “What happened to them?”
“Oh, Xander,” sighed Anya tearfully, letting her cheek fall against his chest. “I was such a bad little girl before I met you, but that’s all over now.”
“But there are so many,” Xander said shakily. “And they’re all dead. This wasn’t you, Anya, was it?”
“I’m just a stupid little girl, Xander,” said Anya, batting her eyelashes at him. “You’ll tell me if I’m doing things wrong, and I’ll just stop doing them. Nobody ever has to get hurt like that again, not with you around to give me my lines.”
But Xander was shaking his head, his face pale and his mouth tight. “No,” he said. “No, you’re—you’re disgusting, Anya, you’re evil.”
Aud whirled on him. “You know this is me!” she said. “You have to know! Why are you turning your back now? I can give you your pretty little Anya, I can be good for you, I can be good to you, this doesn’t matter—”
“So many of them are dead,” said Xander, and took a step forward, Anya in his arms. “How can I ever forgive that?”
Sensing her close proximity to the cliff, Anya’s cavalier demeanor vanished. “Xander, no,” she said urgently. “No. No, Xander, don’t put me down there with them—”
“It’s where you have to go,” said Xander. “I’m a Scooby. I kill the demons. This is justice, Anya. You know it is.”
“Xander—Aud, make him stop!” Anya wept, clawing at Xander’s arms and attempting to squirm out of his tightening grasp. “He’s going to drop me, Aud, you can’t let him—”
“Anya, you’re not real,” said Aud plaintively. “You’re not anything. Losing him won’t hurt you, and losing yourself—well. It might be better if that’s what happened.”
“No, you’re supposed to protect me, you’re all supposed to protect me, please—”
“Goodbye, Anya,” said Xander, and dropped Anya over the cliff.
Anya screamed as she fell, a shrill echo that seemed to go on for centuries. Before she had even hit the ground, the pretty little dress of hers had become ragged with mud and blood, her blonde curls streaming out into a deep brown mess of hair that wriggled in angry tendrils. The mass of bodies parted as she fell, enveloping pretty little Anya until she was no longer visible from the cliff.
“Are you going to kill me too?” said Aud.
Xander looked blankly up at her. “I don’t know you,” he said. “It’s not personal. I just…” He sighed. “She killed so many people,” he said. “I guess I’ll miss her for a little bit, but it’s what had to happen, you know?”
“No,” said Aud. “I love you.”
“No, you don’t,” said Xander, and placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her in for a kiss. It was quick and emotionless, just a brush of lips against lips, and his eyes were still devoid of any sentiment when he pulled back. “If you didn’t want to be Anya, you wouldn’t want me,” he said. “You know that, right?”
“Ah, Anya,” said Giles. “I’m so glad you’re here, we have a very important meeting. Come, sit down.” He gestured pointedly towards Xander’s lap.
“I’d like a chair, actually,” said Anya.
“Oh, Anya,” chorused Willow and Buffy, dissolving into a fit of girlish giggles.
With a resigned sigh, Anya sat down on Xander’s lap, settling her head against his shoulder. He began to stroke her hair.
“Now,” said Giles, and pointed to the whiteboard, to which he had attached a blown-up photo of Anya’s own face. “Today, we will be talking about the greatest threat to Sunnydale: Anyanka, a vengeance demon who has been active for over a thousand years.”
“But that’s me!” said Anya.
“No,” said Giles, as though talking to a very small child, “you’re Anya. This is Anyanka.”
“She doesn’t really get the whole Scooby thing, huh?” Willow whispered to Buffy. “Don’t you think someone should tell her what her lines are?”
“Someone should,” Buffy whispered back.
“Then why don’t you tell me my lines?” Anya protested indignantly. “How come you don’t want to tell me my lines?”
“Oh, it’s not our job,” said Buffy. “Why would it be our job, Anya? You should know better than to say you’re a vengeance demon.”
“You’re a human being, Anya, just like us!” Willow chimed in.
“Just like us,” Giles agreed.
“Just like us,” said Xander, and his fingers tangled, hard, in her hair.