161 Fic - Thoroughly Modern Anya

[laucus]

Title: Thoroughly Modern Anya
Author: Laucus
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1993
Prompt: 161 (Thoroughly Modern Millie) - 1967
Characters/Pairing (if any): Anya/Xander (very mild Willow/Tara and Buffy/Giles)
A/N: Just shy of the time and word cutoff. This is an AU, loosely based off the first half of the film - which is available on youtube for those interested. It's cute and fun.


“So you're going to marry your boss - ”

“Yup.”

“- and take all his money - ”

The taller blonde nodded.

“- then kill him? Are you sure that's legal.”

“Psh. Don't be stupid. I'm not going to kill him. He's just going to die.”

“Right.”

“Have you seen Sunnydale's death rate? People just drop off like flies.”

“Don't you feel, you know, guilty?”

“Guilty? No! It's the thing to do. It's in. Everybody's doing it.” Anya flashed her companion a bright smile. “That chic magazine had this big article on it. It was Gold-somethings. Seekers?”

“Diggers?”

“No...”

“Scavengers?”

“Maybe.”

Buffy sighed, and looked out the taxi's window.

“So, interview tomorrow. What's he like?”

“British.”

“And?”

“Unmarried. He runs a magic shop.”

“Sounds like a keeper.”

The sarcasm was lost on Anya, who excitedly nodded in agreement. Suddenly, she jerked around, and pointed out her window as they pulled up by a somewhat classy-looking building. Newly built and bright, but not so bright it became unpleasant. And from the pictures Anya had sent, the inside was nice too. It better be, for what I'll be paying, Buffy thought to herself.

“Here it is! I live here. Actually, I live up-” Anya started to contort herself as she angel her finger towards the top of the building, some seven floors above them, “-there.

“The elevator's a bit moody, but you just have to hit the wall to the tune of Old MacDonald and up you go!”

Anya paid the cab driver as he pulled up, although there was a brief debate over just what constituted one piece of luggage. Buffy got out, closing her door just as Anya made a vehement remark about the weight of the cabbie's wallet.

Puling her luggage - a modest three suitcases, a carry-on, and a backpack - free from the trunk, the girl hobbled onto the sidewalk, and looked up at the building.

“Home sweet home..”

* * *

“Anya Jenkins?”

“That's me.”

“Giles will see you now.”

She's already on a last-name basis? Damn. I'll have to work fast.

Anya gave the redhead a forced smile, which disappeared as the girl returned to the cash register. Moving to the back of the store, Anya straightened her blouse and her back, and, jutting out her chin, pushed open the door.

* * *

“How'd your British shop-guy thing go?”

“Hm?”

“The rich guy you're going to marry.”

“Mhm.”

“Anya? Hello?”

Buffy followed her new friend's gaze towards the construction site. More specifically, a man on said construction site, who was leaning on a shovel and wiping his glistening brow.

“Not too shabby,” Buffy observed.

“Mhm.” Anya tilted her head, and then seemed to shake herself. Shutting her eyes, she started to repeat something under her breath. Buffy was close enough to hear the whispered mantra of “Money, money, money, money.”

Stopping, the girl pulled in a deep breath.

“I think he likes me. I start tomorrow.”

“That's great, Anya.”

“What about you? I heard Doublemeat was hiring.”

“Great. A career in burger-flipping.” Buffy scrunched up her face.

“You'd look cute in the hat. And you could always marry your boss.”

“Sure. I bet Doublemeat managers are just rolling in the green.”

A small gasp came from Anya. “That - bitch!”

“Woah. What?” Buffy turned to see Anya glaring at the construction site. The worker she'd been not-so-subtly ogling only moments ago was standing next to a redheaded woman, and both appeared to be laughing.

“I see no problem.”

Anya opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it.

“Neither do I,” she muttered unconvincingly.

* * *

Anya started her job, and within days, was convinced something was going on. Buffy, her jobless and thereby captive audience, was treated with daily updates on the 'Magic Box' soap opera.

At first, Anya was convinced that her boss, Mr. Giles, had something with the redheaded girl, Willow. But there was another girl who worked there part time named Tara, who definitely had something for Willow. Then Anya had become convinced they were an item, because Willow and Tara left together a few times - even holding hands once or twice.

“You know, Anya, friends do hold hands sometimes. It's normal.”

“I think they're gay.”

The construction worker apparently also came in to talk to Willow, and, on occasion, Mr. Giles. The man's name was Xander, which, Anya swore, she had been told by Willow, and had most emphatically not learned through eavesdropping or any other form of espionage.

Then, one day, Anya came home again swearing that there was something with Willow and her boss. She'd walked into the backroom and they'd clammed up, hiding something under the table. Anya had gone back later.

“There were scented candles, and there was this little list of phrases written in Latin.”

Buffy raised a brow at her roommate, and casually glanced down at the classifieds section of her paper. The Doublemeat logo garishly stared back. She pushed the paper away with a frown.

“I bet they were sexy Latin phrases! They're both smart. They'd get off on stuff like that.”

“Right.”

* * *

“A job is a job,” Buffy muttered to herself as she scurried out of the Doublemeat Palace. The phrase did little to soothe her wounded pride. Neither did the rain, which started to pour down in buckets as she made her way back to the apartment. Provided she could find it; Buffy hadn't really been out much during the Sunnydale nights.

“And that would just the the icing on the cake, tonight, wouldn't it? If I got lost? And me being the poster girl for Murphy's law-eep!”

A leather-clad figure had materialized before her. The stranger raised his arms menacingly with a growl. Buffy managed to catch sight of yellow on his face, and what looked like a really nasty skin condition, when he grabbed her with one arm. She screamed, shutting her eyes and blindly batting outwards.

There's was a small 'poof' sound, and suddenly she was battering the air. Buffy stopped screaming, and opened her eyes. The man was gone. Not running away, not standing to the side, but totally,absolutely gone.

And there was dust on her new jacket.

“Damn.”

“Miss?”

“Ah! Get away!” She turned to the source of the voice, spinning with a half-clenched fist. It hit something solid.

“Ouch!”

“Ouch? You just punched me in the bloody shoulder!”

“I hurt my hand.” Buffy looked over the man, who was most certainly not wearing leather. It was more like tweed than anything. And, looking up his tall frame, she noted that his face wasn't all bumpy - kind of nice, actually.

“Well... you deserve it for scaring me.”

“Of course. Do forgive me for saving your life.”

The man sounded British. Or maybe Irish. She wasn't great with the accents.

“Right. Thanks. Speaking of, where'd that guy go, anyways?”

“Well, um, he...” Reaching out tentatively, the man wiped some of the wet dirt from her jacket. He shrugged, muttering something that she didn't catch, and showed her the dust as the rain washed it from his hand.

“He - dusted?”

“For lack of a better term...“

Great. Trade one crazy for another crazy.

“Sure. Well. Gotta go.”

Buffy turned pointedly, hurrying off. Reaching the end of the block, she bit her lip and after a short debate with herself, glanced over her shoulder. There was only the rain, though - the man was gone.

“Weird.”

* * *

Buffy didn't tell Anya about the tall mysterious maybe-British guy. She wasn't quite sure why, but she kind of liked having a little secret. With Anya, privacy was a gift to be given, not a right. And Buffy deserved something of her own.

Her own little fantasy secret.

* * *

“Xander might be promoted to crew chief next summer if he keeps up the good work. Isn't that great?”

“Sure is.”

“And he's saving up to buy a car right now.”

“What kind?”

“Something big and manly - to suit him, of course.”

“Naturally.”

“I think a hummer would suit him. I mean, it's a bit forceful, but he can be forceful too if he needs to be. And it's not complicated, but it's not too simple. Expensive, though. Hm. Maybe one of those matrix cars. Sleek and dark, but not menacing. And sexy in a subdued way. And they both have 'X' in their name.”

“When's the wedding?”

“Well, Xander has this water-park fantasy -”

“I meant with your boss. The Giles guy.”

“Oh.” Anya frowned, and pushed out her lower lip in a pout. “Well, there's a non-denominational winter celebration party coming up. You know, because Willow's Jewish.”

Buffy perked up. “Party?”

“I don't think he's a drinker, so if I give him enough eggnog - of course! He'll have to!”

Buffy had long since learned not to ask about Anya's thought processes, and merely nodded in feigned understanding.

“Employees can bring two guests. Willow's bringing Xander.”

“Can I come? Doublemeat's not big on the whole team spirit thing...”

“Hm. Yes. But you have to let me borrow that red dress.”

“Uh.” Why not? “Sure.”

Anya stuck out her hand, and Buffy wearily shook it.

“Deal.”

* * *

“Does it look nice?”

“You've asked me that eight times, Anya.”

“But does it?”

“Yes, it does.”

Anya asked a grand total of seventeen times before they actually reached the party. Which wasn't, it turned out, so much a party as it was a small gather.

Willow and Tara introduced themselves almost immediately. As soon as Anya left to take off her coat, Buffy leaned forward.

“You two are together, right?”

Tara started to stutter something, and the pair glanced at each other. After a second, Willow looked back resolutely, and nodded once.

“Thought so.”

Xander, upon entering, was more or less taken into Anya's custody. She took the liberty of introducing her guest.

“This is Buffy, my roommate. She's not interested.”

“Uh, hi. The G-man's just getting a few snacks from his car. I should probably go help - ow!”

“Let's go look at the pretty magic stuff.”

Before Xander could protest, Anya bodily dragged him into one of the shop's corners. Buffy winced at the sight, turning at the sound of the door jingling open. Willow moved to hold the door open,and a man half-stumbled in, awkwardly clutching several grocery bags.

Maybe he's one of the guests, she thought. Then, as he turned to Willow, Buffy realized there was something familiar to him. A lot of familiar, in fact.

“Thank you, Willow. Perhaps you and Tara could clear the table?”

Hell no. It wasn't, couldn't be -

“Buffy, could you pass me that table cloth?”

Shaking herself, Buffy turned took the folded cloth from a shelf at her left, automatically handing it to Willow.

“It is!”

“What's it?” Willow frowned at her. At Buffy's non-response, the redhead turned to Tara with a shrug. “I guess it is.”

Giles came towards them with two of the grocery bags, and Buffy, in a panic, turned to look for Anya. What she saw, was, perhaps, even more cause for alarm. To say Anya was plastered to Xander might have been overstatement - but she very nearly was. And Xander didn't seem too bothered by the fact.

Willow giggled a bit from behind her.

“About time.”