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Awkward doesn’t begin to describe the strangeness of the mini-Scooby reunion, post-diverged-apocalypse number 4, or is that, 5. Maybe 6 even? Anya is too overwhelmed to think straight. On the couch are Buffy and Dawn, sitting closer than she ever remembers them sitting before. They speak quietly to each other. Buffy does not leave Dawn’s side.

There sits Giles in the chair, looking much more comfortable now that Buffy has tended to his injuries. He sips his tea in silence. Anya had made a whole pot and has joined him. A tea party. A tea party in the Summers home after they were almost murdered by Willow. Welcome to Sunnydale.

Of the missing. Tara. Gone, her blood stain still on the carpet upstairs. Was it only hours ago that she was here, alive, smiling? It is too much to take in. Shock is a wonderful, numbing thing, Anya decides.

Spike. Gone, without a trace and without a word. Buffy told them, very quickly, that he will be gone for a while according to Clem. When Dawn mutters "Good," the rest are confused.

And of course, Xander and Willow, not present. They are back at Xander’s apartment. Xander had called. Willow was Willow again and should they come by? Buffy, by way of the gutter mouth, told Xander Willow was not welcome here. Heated arguments ensued. They could practically hear Xander’s pleas on the other side of the phone. In the end it was agreed (or rather, insisted by Buffy) that it would not be wise for Willow to come here in the near future. Anya was relieved. A part of her wanted to see Xander, a part of her, strangely, didn’t.

The clock ticks loudly in the background. "How’s your tea?" Anya breaks the silence.

Giles has been looking at her, but when she looks at him directly he looks away. "Strong... good... thank you."

"Anya," Buffy suddenly says. Then she pauses. She seems to struggle with the words. "Thank you." Their eyes meet and hold. Anya nods, smiles tentatively, not sure what to say. She only knows those words make her feel good. The strange, tight feeling of sadness in her chest loosens a little.

After another long silence Anya becomes impatient. "This is tense, isn’t it?" she finally says. She looks around. "What were all the other post-near-apocalypse gatherings like?"

Giles lets out an unexpected snort of laughter.

"How is that funny? This is a serious question. I wasn’t around for the Master, or for Angelus, and I didn’t know you all very well after the Mayor, so I’m wondering, what is going to happen now?" Anya crosses her arms and waits for an answer. They all look at each other, at a loss.

"Well, we can start by cleaning up the Magic Box tomorrow," Giles says. "But first I suggest we all get completely snockered."

"Me too?" Dawn brightens.

Buffy begins to object, but in the midst of absurdity it seems irrelevant. "Oh, what the hell. Have a drink."

Anya decides to forgoe the alcohol. The last time she got plastered there were devastating consequences and she refuses to think about that awful night so she stays busy playing bartender. She thoroughly enjoys watching the rest of them slowly ease away from numbness and shock into silliness thanks to lots of alcohol. Two hours later Dawn is asleep on the sofa, having passed out a while ago after 1 strong mixed drink. Buffy has been singing (quite badly) a variation of that annoying song "Oops I Did It Again" but putting in her own lyrics about saving the world. She gives Anya yet another in a series of sloppy hugs.

"Anya, let me tell you, you are one brave vengeance demon. And I love your hair." Buffy grins up at her. "I love you."

"How nice," Anya grins tightly, hugging her back awkwardly. Buffy becomes teary-eyed. Again.

"Hey, we should go shopping one of these days! We’ve never done that, just the two of us." Buffy holds on to Anya’s arm for support and tries to focus.

"Well, no, you’re right, we haven’t. I don’t have girlfriends. Is that what girlfriends do?"

"Hey, I’m your friend who’s a girl! Want me to give you a manicure?" Before waiting for a reply, she suddenly goes over to Giles.

"I love you, Giles," Buffy says, all teary-eyed again. "I love my friends."

Giles is not drunk on the level of Buffy even though he has had more scotch than she has. He does seem very tipsy, however, and he lets Buffy hug him unreservedly.

"Please don’t offer me a manicure as well, Buffy."

"No, won’t do that. That’s silly. I’m sleepy." Buffy sits on the floor and rests her head on the back of the couch. Soon she is asleep, and snoring rather loudly.

Anya begins to clean up the empty glasses.

"So." Giles says, watching her.

"So." Anya echoes. That odd tightness is back in her chest, a strange, curiously exciting feeling.

Giles tries to get out of the chair and winces.

"Let me help," Anya says simply.

"No, I’m..."

"In a lot of pain still and slightly drunk. For Pete’s sake, I won’t bite." At the realization of what she just said, Anya’s face becomes very hot.

Giles stares, amazed. "Anya, you’re... blushing. I have never, ever seen you blush."

"Is this blushing?" Anya touches her cheek. "I’m embarrassed at what I said. This must be a side effect." Uncomfortable, Anya shrugs it off. "Come on, up you go, Rupert." She stands in front of him and holds out her hands. He lets her pull him up, but she does so too quickly and he almost falls on her. She grabs hold of him and steadies him and the heat is back in her face, only this time it seems to spread to her limbs as well.

"You’re still blushing," Giles says quietly, his face inches from hers.

"Am I?" Anya says, or rather, croaks, because her throat is dry. "It’s warm in here."

"It is, rather, isn’t it."

His arms feel so, so good around her. And he smells so, so good too, warm and male and... sexy. Sexy. She finds Giles downright sexy. She does not move.

"What were the things you wanted to tell me?" Giles says softly. Anya frowns in confusion, then remembers. She looks down, embarrassed. She never gets embarrassed, never. What is happening to her? "Well, it... it doesn’t matter now, does it? Because you’re okay now."

"Am I?"

His voice sounds funny. Anya looks up and that’s when he kisses her. He breaks it off almost as suddenly as it started. She hears him swear under his breath.

"Anya, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry."

"You are?"

"Are you?"

"Well, I am if you are."

"Oh, for heaven’s sake." Giles kisses her again, and her arms wind around him and she opens up to him like a flower.

There will be time later, she thinks in a haze as her hands go under his shirt to feel his skin. Time later to mourn and to rage and to act rational and to do the right thing. This kiss deepens, becomes urgent. There will be time later to realize very wrong this is. Together they move to the kitchen, still kissing, now out to the back porch, where the night air is cool and fragrant. There will be time later for her to think. But now is not the time.

Part 3

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