Andrew/Anya fic (Part 2)
Apr. 11th, 2003 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
estepheiaI feel utterly crappy for reasons I can't disclose. I was told others feel crappy too today. I can't do anything about my own foul mood but maybe I can improve everybody else's.
Flight of Fancy - PART 2
PAIRING: Anya/Andrew (UST and friendship), Anya/Xander (latent)
SPOILERS: Set shortly before S7 “Storyteller”
GENRE: Comedy
RATING: R (language)
SUMMARY: Anya and Andrew bond over mishap and latte - whackiness ensues
This way to part one
(This is how yesterday's post ended:
“I should be celebrating my first wedding anniversary on Tuesday. It’s not fair!” Anya suddenly shouted, unaware of the uncomfortable glances she was drawing from the other patrons and the ‘neurotic female’ label she was rapidly earning in their eyes.)
Andrew blinked. Since he’d been interned at Revello Drive, Andrew had been privy to several references to the Big Anya Trauma AKA the marriage-that-never-took-place. He’d often imagined the crucial moment of abandonment like a scene from Runaway Bride only with Xander doing the running away part instead of Julia Roberts. He’d pictured Anya in a pretty white gown, frantically waving a huge flower bouquet at the rapidly disappearing groom. This was his chance to unearth the facts. And maybe this was his chance to do more than just that.
“I’m sorry, but why aren’t you? I mean why didn’t Xander, you know, go through with it?”
“That’s just it,” Anya exclaimed. “I don’t know! He never really explained why he did what he did, how he felt. Or what he’s feeling now. I just don’t know.”
She looked so sad sitting there. Andrew’s high-flying hormones did a nose-dive and crash-landed. He passed her a paper napkin in case she wanted to cry, but Anya merely frowned. “I gotta pee,” she told him, slid off her stool and headed towards the restroom.
If Anya didn’t know why Xander had gotten cold feet, maybe Andrew could help her figure it out. Like Bogart in those old black-and-white movies, the hard-boiled Detective helping the classy dame get her man. Okay, Anya wasn’t exactly hiring him, and he had neither the P.I. license, nor the other trappings like fedora, corner office and 45mm Smith & Wesson, but he could so see himself in that role.
He sighed, propped his chin up and stared into empty space.
‘Don’t worry, dollface, I’m gonna find out what’s going on inside your sweetheart’s head, even if I have to turn every stone from here to Pasadena.’ – ‘Oh, thank you Mr. Wells, you’re my last hope.’
“I hope you can conjure something really big and dangerous quickly,” Anya jolted him out of his reverie, and he almost fell off his stool. “Because I think we’re in danger.”
“I—um, not really, not without my didgeridoo and that’s in Buffy’s weapons chest,” Andrew babbled while looking around nervously, “I don’t understand why she doesn’t trust me with it. It’s not like I’m still a super villain or anything. I mean I’m a good guy now, like you on a path of red—“
“Shut up,” Anya snapped. “When I went to the restroom there was this evil smell. I’m sure it’s some kind of demon, out to get us. Either the First wants to grab you again or d’Hoffryn’s assassins have found me. Either way, we have to get out of here!”
“It could just be the toilets,” Andrew hazarded a guess.
“Fiddlesticks. I’m more than a thousand years old. I can sense evil with my eyes closed,” she declared shrilly and resolutely picked up her carrier bags. She quickly counted money onto the counter, then grabbed his sleeve. Andrew barely had time to grab his own purchases, before she dragged him out of the Espresso Pump.
He didn’t resist. Maybe Anya was right. Maybe there really was something evil and smelly in those toilets. Like that disgusting demon in ‘Dogma’ – you never knew if film makers didn’t get their inspirations from real life.
They crossed the road at a run -- no mean feat with Anya’s sexy-but-impractical high heels -- causing several cars to screech to a halt or veer off into odd directions. Anya seemed to think she had right of way, courtesy of the fact that she’d been walking the earth long before the invention of the automobile.
Andrew didn’t share her optimism. By the time they’d reached the park on the other side, he was as white as a sheet and wondering if it was possible to have a heart attack at 21. Anya dragged him into cover behind a shrub. Panting, they sat there, huddled, staring across the street and waiting for panic to erupt in the coffee shop.
“You know, if Willow hadn’t killed Warren, he could build a time machine – under my guidance of course – and then I could go back into the past and make Xander marry you.” Andrew babbled, still stubbornly focussed on problem number one: Anya’s non-existent sex life.
Anya looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “What?”
“I’m sure it would have worked, I mean we built the invisibility gun and a really cool freeze-ray, and we experimented with time a few times, you know, creating infinity loops and paradoxes. Or is it paradoxa?”
Anya opened her mouth, but before she could express her opinion on Andrew’s ludicrous train of thought, panic did indeed break out in the Espresso Pump. It started with a single female scream, that soon turned into a shrill chorus. The next thing that happened was that the patrons came running out, practically bursting out of the coffee shop, their flight paths radiating outward from the corner building like debris in an explosion. Andrew thought there was a certain beauty in the geometry.
Meanwhile, cars were screeching again as they swerved wildly to avoid fleeing students and High School seniors, then there was a loud crash and a pink Plymouth barreled into the bridal shop two houses further down, causing a cascade of broken glass to splatter everywhere, crippling several mannequins and forever ruining at least half a dozen glorious wedding gowns. Anya thought there was a certain beauty in the demolition.
The alsatian-sized cockroach-like bug-things that spilled out of the shop weren’t quite so beautiful. There were about a dozen of them, skittering around on spindly legs, their carapaces an oily-looking black, mandibles clicking and long whip-like antennae wriggling.
“Crap,” Anya said. She snatched Andrew’s wrist and dragged him to his feet again. “Run.” She told him. “And while you do, try to think of a way to save me. Hurry.”
They didn’t wait to see how the XL-sized cockroaches would fare with modern traffic. Too scared to even rubberneck, they dashed off in the opposite direction – which happened to be deeper into the park. Behind them, they could hear a cacophony of cars honking their horns and tires screeching, rounded off by a squishy splat.
“Are you sure they’re after us?” he panted, when Anya paused briefly to take off her stiletto-heeled pumps to continue on bare feet.
“Hear that?” Anya asked, stuffing the expensive footwear into her purse.
A high-pitched whirring sound was in the air. It sounded like a swarm of locusts or fireflies and it was coming their way.
“Oh, okay.” Andrew said, more than willing to accept Anya’s authority and leadership in this situation.
It soon became apparent that it was impossible to outrun the giant bugs. Anya was limping already and her stockings were torn, when Andrew spotted a bright yellow lawn-mower that was standing only a few yards away, it’s motor purring, its driver’s seat empty. There was a suspicious rustling in the nearest shrub.
He changed course, heading for the mower at what passed as Warp nine on the Andrew speed-o-meter. At first Anya shot him an indignant ‘hey!’ but a moment later she sat on his lap, almost strangling him, while Andrew fought with the gears of the mower. The machine lurched forward with a jerk, stuttered but soon they were speeding through the park, leaving a squiggly line of cut grass and massacred flowers in their wake.
TBC
Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladycat777 - she kicked out a few glaring mistakes. This will require a rewrite and a thorough betaing eventually, but I decided to go ahead and post for now. Enjoy.
Flight of Fancy - PART 2
PAIRING: Anya/Andrew (UST and friendship), Anya/Xander (latent)
SPOILERS: Set shortly before S7 “Storyteller”
GENRE: Comedy
RATING: R (language)
SUMMARY: Anya and Andrew bond over mishap and latte - whackiness ensues
This way to part one
(This is how yesterday's post ended:
“I should be celebrating my first wedding anniversary on Tuesday. It’s not fair!” Anya suddenly shouted, unaware of the uncomfortable glances she was drawing from the other patrons and the ‘neurotic female’ label she was rapidly earning in their eyes.)
Andrew blinked. Since he’d been interned at Revello Drive, Andrew had been privy to several references to the Big Anya Trauma AKA the marriage-that-never-took-place. He’d often imagined the crucial moment of abandonment like a scene from Runaway Bride only with Xander doing the running away part instead of Julia Roberts. He’d pictured Anya in a pretty white gown, frantically waving a huge flower bouquet at the rapidly disappearing groom. This was his chance to unearth the facts. And maybe this was his chance to do more than just that.
“I’m sorry, but why aren’t you? I mean why didn’t Xander, you know, go through with it?”
“That’s just it,” Anya exclaimed. “I don’t know! He never really explained why he did what he did, how he felt. Or what he’s feeling now. I just don’t know.”
She looked so sad sitting there. Andrew’s high-flying hormones did a nose-dive and crash-landed. He passed her a paper napkin in case she wanted to cry, but Anya merely frowned. “I gotta pee,” she told him, slid off her stool and headed towards the restroom.
If Anya didn’t know why Xander had gotten cold feet, maybe Andrew could help her figure it out. Like Bogart in those old black-and-white movies, the hard-boiled Detective helping the classy dame get her man. Okay, Anya wasn’t exactly hiring him, and he had neither the P.I. license, nor the other trappings like fedora, corner office and 45mm Smith & Wesson, but he could so see himself in that role.
He sighed, propped his chin up and stared into empty space.
‘Don’t worry, dollface, I’m gonna find out what’s going on inside your sweetheart’s head, even if I have to turn every stone from here to Pasadena.’ – ‘Oh, thank you Mr. Wells, you’re my last hope.’
“I hope you can conjure something really big and dangerous quickly,” Anya jolted him out of his reverie, and he almost fell off his stool. “Because I think we’re in danger.”
“I—um, not really, not without my didgeridoo and that’s in Buffy’s weapons chest,” Andrew babbled while looking around nervously, “I don’t understand why she doesn’t trust me with it. It’s not like I’m still a super villain or anything. I mean I’m a good guy now, like you on a path of red—“
“Shut up,” Anya snapped. “When I went to the restroom there was this evil smell. I’m sure it’s some kind of demon, out to get us. Either the First wants to grab you again or d’Hoffryn’s assassins have found me. Either way, we have to get out of here!”
“It could just be the toilets,” Andrew hazarded a guess.
“Fiddlesticks. I’m more than a thousand years old. I can sense evil with my eyes closed,” she declared shrilly and resolutely picked up her carrier bags. She quickly counted money onto the counter, then grabbed his sleeve. Andrew barely had time to grab his own purchases, before she dragged him out of the Espresso Pump.
He didn’t resist. Maybe Anya was right. Maybe there really was something evil and smelly in those toilets. Like that disgusting demon in ‘Dogma’ – you never knew if film makers didn’t get their inspirations from real life.
They crossed the road at a run -- no mean feat with Anya’s sexy-but-impractical high heels -- causing several cars to screech to a halt or veer off into odd directions. Anya seemed to think she had right of way, courtesy of the fact that she’d been walking the earth long before the invention of the automobile.
Andrew didn’t share her optimism. By the time they’d reached the park on the other side, he was as white as a sheet and wondering if it was possible to have a heart attack at 21. Anya dragged him into cover behind a shrub. Panting, they sat there, huddled, staring across the street and waiting for panic to erupt in the coffee shop.
“You know, if Willow hadn’t killed Warren, he could build a time machine – under my guidance of course – and then I could go back into the past and make Xander marry you.” Andrew babbled, still stubbornly focussed on problem number one: Anya’s non-existent sex life.
Anya looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “What?”
“I’m sure it would have worked, I mean we built the invisibility gun and a really cool freeze-ray, and we experimented with time a few times, you know, creating infinity loops and paradoxes. Or is it paradoxa?”
Anya opened her mouth, but before she could express her opinion on Andrew’s ludicrous train of thought, panic did indeed break out in the Espresso Pump. It started with a single female scream, that soon turned into a shrill chorus. The next thing that happened was that the patrons came running out, practically bursting out of the coffee shop, their flight paths radiating outward from the corner building like debris in an explosion. Andrew thought there was a certain beauty in the geometry.
Meanwhile, cars were screeching again as they swerved wildly to avoid fleeing students and High School seniors, then there was a loud crash and a pink Plymouth barreled into the bridal shop two houses further down, causing a cascade of broken glass to splatter everywhere, crippling several mannequins and forever ruining at least half a dozen glorious wedding gowns. Anya thought there was a certain beauty in the demolition.
The alsatian-sized cockroach-like bug-things that spilled out of the shop weren’t quite so beautiful. There were about a dozen of them, skittering around on spindly legs, their carapaces an oily-looking black, mandibles clicking and long whip-like antennae wriggling.
“Crap,” Anya said. She snatched Andrew’s wrist and dragged him to his feet again. “Run.” She told him. “And while you do, try to think of a way to save me. Hurry.”
They didn’t wait to see how the XL-sized cockroaches would fare with modern traffic. Too scared to even rubberneck, they dashed off in the opposite direction – which happened to be deeper into the park. Behind them, they could hear a cacophony of cars honking their horns and tires screeching, rounded off by a squishy splat.
“Are you sure they’re after us?” he panted, when Anya paused briefly to take off her stiletto-heeled pumps to continue on bare feet.
“Hear that?” Anya asked, stuffing the expensive footwear into her purse.
A high-pitched whirring sound was in the air. It sounded like a swarm of locusts or fireflies and it was coming their way.
“Oh, okay.” Andrew said, more than willing to accept Anya’s authority and leadership in this situation.
It soon became apparent that it was impossible to outrun the giant bugs. Anya was limping already and her stockings were torn, when Andrew spotted a bright yellow lawn-mower that was standing only a few yards away, it’s motor purring, its driver’s seat empty. There was a suspicious rustling in the nearest shrub.
He changed course, heading for the mower at what passed as Warp nine on the Andrew speed-o-meter. At first Anya shot him an indignant ‘hey!’ but a moment later she sat on his lap, almost strangling him, while Andrew fought with the gears of the mower. The machine lurched forward with a jerk, stuttered but soon they were speeding through the park, leaving a squiggly line of cut grass and massacred flowers in their wake.
TBC
Many thanks to
ladycat777 - she kicked out a few glaring mistakes. This will require a rewrite and a thorough betaing eventually, but I decided to go ahead and post for now. Enjoy.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-04-11 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-11 01:30 pm (UTC)Anya/Andrew
Date: 2003-04-12 01:44 am (UTC)And I'm sorry you aren't feeling well today -- hope tomorrow's better.