Title: Hello Goodbye (Part 7 of 12)

Author: Jeffrey Patrick

Description: The gang must discover their gifts in order to bring back the dead Slayer.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a pickled herring, and a bug zapper. Joss Whedon and the fab folks at Mutant Enemy own Buffy and all related characters. It’s their sandbox. I just bring the matchbox cars.

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Anya found that she was not nearly as bored with Giles’ pre-battle speech as she usually was. Xander had changed all that. Or, more to the point, Xander and his friends had changed all of that. It was still the same old pep talk mixed with a stern lecture about their responsibilities. She listened intently though, because Buffy’s life was at stake.

Ever since Joyce Summers had died, Anya had pondered the meanings of both life and death. She had been close to Joyce. It had sneaked up on her. One minute she had taken the connection for granted, much as she had nearly all her human friends. The next minute, Joyce was gone… never to return. It had changed Anya. Something down deep had been punctured, and feelings--real human feelings had rushed out, a torrent in her being. She squeezed Xander’s hand as she listened. She knew he was getting ready to make a joke. He always did when he was scared.

"That's it, Giles,” he quipped, “From now on you don't get to make the big pre-battle speech, because you're…"

There was a displacement in the air, and the view before her changed radically. No longer was she sitting at the conference table in the Magic Box. Instead, she found herself in surroundings no less familiar, but far less comfortable. There was a fire burning in the hearth. A small piglet was roasting over the open flame. Something deep inside her shivered, and it spread throughout her body.

“You know why you are here, yes?” a familiar voice asked.

She turned to see an older man with dark hair that was graying at the temples. She vaguely remembered the beard he often wore in the winter. The tunic he wore was the blue one that she remembered to be his favorite. Yet, in spite of the familiar appearance, her brain struggled to remember him until she saw his icy blue eyes. Only then did her thoughts reach far enough back to pull his identity from the ashes of her ancient past.

“Father?”

A slight smile curled his lips. “Anyanka. It has been generations since last I laid eyes upon you.”

She looked away. She knew the test had begun, but she had never suspected that it would involve her father. She felt like she would throw up.

“You remember your father?” he asked. “Remember your home?”

“I… remember this place.”

“It is the place of your birth,” he said. “It is the place of your life… before you chose the darkness.”

“I didn’t choose it.” She sat down on the floor. “It chose me.”

“Did it now?” he asked, warming his hands by the fire. “Is that the way you remember it?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Anya said.

“You MUST speak with me, Anyanka. It is part of the test.” He said it so matter-of-factly, she knew arguing was pointless. "And you must speak freely, Anyanka, lest you lose your gift."

“My name is Anya,” she said nearly too softly for him to hear.

“I taught you the ways of magic, Anyanka. You did not have to accept D’Hoffryn’s offer. You were becoming a decent apprentice.”

“That’s not what you said when I borrowed your spell book.”

“You stole that book, and created a killer rabbit, Anyanka. How could I not be upset?”

Anya shuddered at the memory. “I was six years old.”

“You were eight, and I had given you the rabbit for your birthday.”

“I know. Just tell me what my gift is so I can go.”

“I am not here to tell you, Anyanka.”

“Then why am I here?" A million things flooded her head. She knew to hold them back was to risk blowing Buffy's only chance at returning from death. She also knew that she would never really open up so much to her father, but she refused to be the one who failed her test for lack of trying. "It’s not like I’m important to Buffy," she continued. "Xander and the others… they have the real gifts. I can’t even do magic anymore.” She stood up and began pacing. “They’ve known each other forever. Xander loves her… and Willow. I mean, not the way he loves me… but… In some ways, he loves them more.”

“Why do you say this?” he asked.

She looked in his eyes for just a second, then gazed into the fire. “I’m in love with him. I cook for him. I let him tell me about his day. I listened to him when he cried over Joyce. When Buffy died… he began shutting down. I was quiet. I’ve been waiting. When he is sick, I take care of him. I hold him. I have the wild sex with him. There is this one thing that he likes to do… where I dress like a…”

“Anyanka, please,” her father begged. “Stop.”

“But they don’t do those things,” Anya said. “They’ve never slept with him. They’ve never held him when he cried.”

“And?”

“And he would die for them.” She said it softly, but the words seemed to hang in the air. “He loves them… differently than he loves me.”

“You are jealous of this?”

“A little. He isn’t IN love with them. It’s just that…”

“What, Anyanka?”

“Something tugs at me.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“I do. It’s just…”

“Olaf ruined you. You used to be a trusting girl. But after you got mixed up with him, you turned to D’Hoffryn.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Are you?” He stuck a stick into the fire and used it to light his pipe. “After all of my attempts to raise you properly… to guide your steps, you turned on me.”

She looked at him with tears in her eyes. She had tried to forget.

“Your mother was heartbroken,” he said. “Honestly, Anyanka… a pig?”

“I… I…”

“I wound up over a spit. How could you, Anyanka? I was your father. I had never done anything to deserve such hatred. I was a good husband… a good father. But you sold your soul, and cursed me. You betrayed me, Anyanka. Is that your gift for the Slayer?”

“No, I…”

“The reason you cannot seem to trust your young man is because you, yourself, are not trustworthy, Anyanka. You know this is true.”

“No,” she said, her voice rising noticeably. “It’s NOT true.”

He smiled at her. “I’m afraid it is. The Slayer will never return to the life she knew, because you have no gift to offer.”

“I DO have a gift, Father. It’s the only gift I’ve ever had. Funny, because if you would’ve asked me earlier today what my gift was, it would’ve been the magical evening I can create with just a camcorder, a fruit salad and a… Anyway, I would’ve been wrong. I may be a lot of things… a bad daughter… and bringer of a heck of a lot of pain and suffering in my vengeance demon days… a jealous girlfriend… all of those things. But there is one thing I have always been. Honest. I tell it the way it is.”

He turned his back to her, as the memories flooded her mind. Things long buried in the darkest recesses of her soul. Tears began to fall from her eyes, but she knew she had to continue.

“I was sixteen. Your brother had come to stay, with my cousin, Miran. She was a year younger than I was… the little sister you and mother never gave me. One night, I woke up to find her missing. I searched for her.”

“That’s enough,” he said roughly. “I’ll hear no more of this.”

“You will!” she screamed. “It’s why I’m here!”

He turned back to the fire, refusing to meet her gaze.

“She was with him… her own father was… I saw them, Father. I saw them, and I told you.”

“You lie.”

“No. I don’t. That’s my gift. When no one else wants to be honest, I tell the truth. I told you what I saw, and you punished me. You punished ME! I begged her to run away. I told her I would go with her, but she couldn’t run. She was afraid of him. I begged you to help… to believe me. You refused. I told some of the men of the village, and they came for your brother. You helped him escape. You helped him ESCAPE! I never saw her again. Miran, was found dead later that year. They said that she had been gored by a wild animal, but I knew. I KNEW, Father. He killed her. He killed her, and you were just as guilty. You could’ve saved her. But all of the lessons you taught me about morality… were lies. You were a hypocrite. My trust was shattered. I ran away, and met Olaf. He cheated on me, true... but he was never the reason I took D’Hoffryn’s offer. The truth is, I wanted the power to punish you and your brother. Miran’s spirit cried for vengeance, and I was determined to answer it.”

“You lie,” he said weakly.

“No,” she said, standing to her feet. “I faced a terrifying truth. If I have one thing to offer Buffy, it’s only that I can speak the truth, consequences be damned. You were the example of everything I never wanted to be. I found out so many things about you before I accepted D’Hoffryn’s offer. I know that there were many woman in your life besides mother.”

“No,”

“I even know that… my dear uncle was not the only one to abuse Miran.”

“No!” he screamed, getting into her face. “You are a liar!”

She smiled at him. “If you ended up as the side of bacon for someone’s breakfast, it was likely too good for you.”

He screamed as he disappeared. She glanced at the pig over the spit. She had thought it looked familiar. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. She had never told Xander of her father’s fate, but she would. She knew that lies were a cancer. She loved Xander, and she knew he was not at all like the others… like her father. She would tell Xander everything, and he would love her anyway. She believed it with all her heart. It was, after all, the truth. She smiled and faded out of the small cottage.