The Perfect Woman

Title: The Perfect Woman

Setting: Season 7, in particular End of Days

Word Count: 1,221

Rating: PG for very mild language

Beta: None, so I’m to blame for every little mistake!

Author’s Notes: Standard disclaimer about how they’re not my characters, not my concepts, and I’m writing fanfic because I don’t have the originality of the almighty Joss.

This story was originally written as part of a fanfic challenge on KAX entitled “Unconventional Bonds” just about a year ago, in March 2007. I was pleasantly surprised when it won first place.

I wrote this in the first person, from Andrew’s perspective. He makes some comments about events in previous episodes, which aren’t entirely accurate, but (just like possession) perception is nine tenths of the law. The fic stems from the interaction and bonding between the two characters when rummaging through the hospital.

Her name is Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins and she is the most beautiful woman alive. If you can consider a vengeance demon “alive”, that is. Well, she was a vengeance demon, but now… not so much. And if she’s dead, she’s the most amazing dead woman I’ve ever met.

The apocalypse is looming (yet again), and the forces of Hell are poised to descend upon the mortal realm for the final battle against the heroes for good (that’s us). Everyone’s scared: the potential slayers, Xander, Dawn, Mr. Giles, Willow, and even Buffy. Even I take a moment to worry, but I must remind myself that I am the glue that must hold this rag-tag group of heroes together. Just like Ben Grimm of the Fantastic Four, that is my purpose. And together, we are humanities last hope.

I look into Anya’s eyes, and I forget about all the evil in the world. Or all the evil that is about to invade this world and make us all its bitches.

As we rummage through the hospital, I discover some oxygen tanks which I show to my lovely companion. As if she had Spock’s twelfth level intellect, she answers with certainty.

“They’d only be useful if something big was attacking, and then we could shove one down their throat and blow ‘em up like Roy Scheider did with that shark in Jaws”.

With widened eyes, I look at Anya in amazement. Not only is she incredibly beautiful, and not only is she incredibly intelligent, but it turns out that she knows her movies. No wonder she left Xander at the altar… she realised that she is above him.

“You are the perfect woman.”

“I always thought so.”

I look on in wonder. Like Leia to my Han, like Trinity to my Neo, like Kitty Pryde to my Colossus, I know that Anya is the woman for me. I comfort her in her hour of need, and tell her that everything will be right in the world.

“You know how to handle a weapon, and you’ve been in this world for, like, a thousand years,” I tell her.

Anya smiles sweetly, with beauty radiating from her face, as if she were Phoenix from the X-Men (before she went all evil Willow and tried to kill her friends, that is), but I can see her tremble. She’s still nervous.

“So, wheelchair fight?” I offer.

Sitting in my wheelchair, I briefly think of how Professor Charles Xavier must have felt every time he had to save the world from Magneto (though, admittedly, I’m not best friends with the First). I then think of how awesome it would be to be able to read minds, and be able to simply make the First stop being evil.

And then I consider what Anya must be thinking. What does she think of me?

Oh, Andrew’s so brave. And so sexy, and strong… He has no superhuman powers, and yet he faces all the world’s evils… and wins. He’s Batman to my Catwoman. He’s simply amazing.

I’m thrown from my thoughts by the barrage of Anya’s wheelchair hitting mine.

“Oh, now it’s on!” I say; my words drowned by her giddy laughter.

Channelling Cole Trickle from Days of Thunder, I speed after my opponent. I follow Rowdy Burns (Anya) with determination. I am the underdog, and my opponent shall fall!

In one swift move, Anya spins her wheelchair 180 degrees, and is facing me. Sweat glistens from her brow and she looks at me with determination and beauty. She wheels her chair back about a metre, and our eyes lock together. Mesmerised by her gaze, I fail to charge. Anya, on the other hand, doesn’t.

With the power, speed and grace of Speed Racer, Anya careens toward me, before reaching impact. Her wheelchair collides into mine, and the impact knocks us both from our wheelchairs and onto the floor. Anya lands on top of me, and my head hits the floor.

“Ow…” I say, as I rub my head.

Anya looks into my eyes. Her concern is evident.

“Are you okay?”

I smile back at her.

“You love me.”

“It’s obviously concussion. Or you’re faking it so you don’t have to fight and die.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I snap back before realising that Anya’s joking. Wow, she’s funny too. She really is the perfect woman.

As Anya straddles me, I force my weight upward and toward her, wrestling her to the ground. Her head hits the ground.

“Ow! Are you stupid?”

“Stupid like Lex Luthor, maybe.”

“Lex Luthor always loses.”

“Lex Luthor is the greatest criminal mastermind that ever lived.”

As I utter those words, I am reminded of Jonathan and Warren, and our brief time as criminal masterminds (and how we failed to take over the world). How could Anya (Sunnydale’s very own Wonder Woman) love a criminal mastermind? Even if he is reformed?

“I’m reformed, you know!”

“What?”

I smile. It was sweet of Anya to treat my previous life of darkness with such nonchalance. Or maybe she can simply relate to my predicament – after all, she was a vengeance demon (and did her fair share of killing). I won’t question her over it, it’s sure to be a sore point.

“Never mind,” I tell her.

“You are one weird little freak, you know that?”

I know that Anya doesn’t mean those harsh words. She’s just lashing out at me, probably because of her guilt from her own past combined with fear over her probable death. I understand, though. I am the glue that holds this group together, after all. And while I am drawn to Anya’s perfume like Batman is to Poison Ivy’s, I know that I cannot abuse that trust.

I realise that I am still on top of Anya, and bring myself to my feet. I look down at Anya, and offer a hand to help her to her feet.

“We should get back to the others,” I tell her.

Anya nods her head in agreement, and we start to collect our night’s takings. As Anya collects medical supplies, I hear her speak.

“You’re not entirely weird, you know. You’re a sweet little freak.”

I turn my head and continue to pack, not wanting Anya to see me blush. I now know how Superman must have felt the first time Lois Lane noticed him soaring over the Metropolis skyline.

“Of course, if you tell anybody I said that, I will have to kill you.”

I finally turn my head toward Anya, and smile. Anya returns the smile, looking just like Buttercup in The Princess Bride.

“You’re carrying this stuff,” she tells me. I don’t let on that I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I carry the supplies (which are quite heavy; it’s not like I ever got hit with gamma radiation and can turn into the Incredible Hulk), and we proceed to leave the hospital.

“Wanna grab some ice cream on the way?” I ask.

“Maybe after we save the world,” Anya replies.

As we walk out the door, Anya places her hand on mine, holding it. I don’t know what to expect from our impending battle. But if Anya’s fears come true, and she does wind up like Linda in The Evil Dead, at least I’ll always have the memory of tonight.