Many thanks to mynuet, without whom, this wouldn't be half as funny.
Title: Let’s Go Round Again And Again And Again…..
Author: Booster and Mynuet
Summary: Aziraphale and Anya Jenkins meet again. And again. And again. Reincarnations can be such a bitch at times…. Sequel to Let's Go Round Again.
Disclaimer: Buffy and the gang belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Aziraphale and Crowley appear from Good Omens and belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett.
Setting: Post season seven and “Chosen” for the Buffyverse.
Dedicated to my co-author Mynuet who started the whole thing off, and came up with all the best lines.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Suddenly a shot rang out.
The rabbit crumpled down to the ground. It seemed strangely peaceful in death, an almost serene look upon its face.
“Are you alright, Master Bruce?” the man servant with the smoking rifle said.
“I’m fine Alfred,” said the multi-millionaire getting up from the study chair. “It’s a sign… I shall become a creature of the night – I shall become a Rabbit!”
"Very good, sir," said Alfred tactfully. "But perhaps you might consider a more... impressive animal."
Meanwhile, back in heaven, Aziraphale was nearing the bottom of the pile of paperwork dealing with what some of the other angels were calling The Sunnydale Incident. He’d long ago realized why he’d gotten this job, instead of the other angels, and had made a mental note to check in on the heavenly gossip much more regularly in future.
He paused. Was that a slightly familiar voice in the outer office?
The door swung back with a thud against the office wall, and a figure that Aziraphale recognized stalked in, back rigid with annoyance. Coming to a dead stop in front of his desk, she declared in a loud voice “My name is Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins. I am not happy with the service here. At all!”
Aziraphale didn’t quite know what to do, but made small shooing gestures with his hands towards the shocked expressions on the angels in the outer office. Turning back to the rather scary looking woman in front of him, he asked "Um….Didn't I see you 2 weeks ago?"
Anya scowled. "Yes. You made me small and furry, and surrounded me with frightening creatures. This is poor customer service, and I demand to speak to a manager."
He blinked. “Um…You don’t want to see my boss, believe me.”
“And why not?” inquired Anya, daggers practically shooting from her eyes. “The first rule of running a good business is to please your customers at all times. And I am not currently pleased. Make it better.” She looked up at where Aziraphale was pointing. “So? All senior management have the higher offi…ces….ah.”
She rallied. “I wish for another re-incarnation. I was not pleased with the last body at all.”
“Very well,” said Aziraphale wearily.
There was a flash of white light and Anya was gone.
On the side of a road in Kansas, what had been the body of a particularly good looking female vole somehow miraculously healed, and its eyes popped open. It clambered to its feet, looked around at itself, examined her paws with a critical gaze and quite distinctly said “No. No, this simply will not do.”
Moving to the edge of the road, she waited there until what little there was of her eyesight and hearing told her a motor vehicle was approaching. Then threw herself into its path.
Lex Luthor peered blurredly ahead at the Loeb Bridge approaching fast. Maybe he should slow it down a bit? Nah.... speed limits were definitely not something that applied to Luthors. From the corner of his eye, he noticed something small and brown dart out of the brush by the side of the road directly in front of his car.
Automatic reactions kicked in a little slower than normal, and Lex found himself tugging hard on the steering wheel, sending the car off to the side – and directly into Clark Kent, who happened to be walking along the bridge.
The car spun and crashed through the guard rails and sank into the river below. Anya noticed with some surprise that a) the guy hit by the car was already standing unharmed, and b) she was still alive.
“Oh, penis!” she muttered.
After the cute guy with the car imprint on his chest dived in after the car’s driver, Anya got an idea. Crossing over to the side of the bridge, she threw herself in after them. There was a small plop as she broke the surface.
The door swung open to Aziraphale’s office. Looking up from filling out the P56B form (Re-Re-Incarnation of Deceased Apocalypse Victims, subsection D) for Miss Jenkins, Aziraphale felt the makings of a fine headache developing as he recognized the silhouette before him. He didn’t even need the panic-stricken faces in the office behind him to help.
“Was there something else, Miss Jenkins?” he asked politely.
She snarled. “You sent me back as animated roadkill. That is not acceptable behaviour in any civilized society that I have ever, ever visited and killed people horribly in.”
Anya's posture shifted as she added, in a confidential tone, “Also, someone must tell the man out there to put down the flaming phallic symbol before everyone starts wondering just what shortcoming he is attempting to cover up.”
There was a beat of appalled silence before her eyes narrowed and she placed her fists firmly on Aziraphale's desk and leaned over to say menacingly, “This time I expect better. I have no wish to commit suicide again.”
The side of Aziraphale’s mouth twitched. Maybe he had been hanging around Crowley too long indeed, but he had the perfect body ready.
There was another flash of white light.
Two days later, Aziraphale heard quite a disturbance in the outer offices. Crossing over to the door, he listened intently. Gabriel had been in quite a sulk since someone had let slip what Miss Jenkins had said. He was quite sure that it wasn’t his fault – after all, Miss Jenkins had left the office door open.
His brow furrowed. It sounded like people rushing out of the office for some reason. And there were more footsteps getting louder and louder. With a sudden flash of inspiration coupled with despair, he leapt back from the door just as it crashed open and Anya Jenkins swept into the room again.
She glared at him. "You KNEW lemmings were good swimmers!"
Anya yawned, stretched out in the bright sunlight and coughed up a hairball.
From her vantage point in the middle of the garden patio, she could see all around herself, and it was good. Maybe, just maybe this one would work out. She sniffed the air inquisitively. So many interesting aromas.
She had never paid much attention to the stupid consumers of milk before, but she vaguely remembered something about them being able to lick their own genitals. A very feline smile crossed her face for a moment. Life was just about to become very good indeed.
A large pair of hands, belonging to the human whose purpose was to serve Anya’s every feline whim, suddenly closed around her midriff and Anya felt herself swinging through the air. Her unexpected flight path finished in a portable carrier. Startled by the experience, she spat and tried to scratch the human before the door completely closed behind her.
“Awww… look at the liddle darling!” came the annoying human’s voice, “Don’t worry, Princess Meggieweggiepoos, you’re just going for a trip to the vet for your spaying.”
Anya growled and sulked in the corner of the carrier, two thoughts uppermost in her mind. Firstly, that she was never ever, ever going to answer to that hideous name. And secondly, what the hell did “spayed” mean?
Nine hours later….
"Nine times! Nine times I had to kill myself to get back here!"
Anya peered around, trying to work out where and what she was this time. “Oh great,” she sighed, “I’m a fish. Oooo… bubbles.”
She jackknifed her body in the water experimentally, and swam forward a few metres. “Hmmm…” she pondered, “Not that bad, I suppose.”
"There don't seem to be orgasms, but the scenery is pleasant. Perhaps I should look on it as a restful vacation." Another couple of twists and maneuvers with her new body impressed her even more. “This is not actually terrible, especially compared to the last suggestions.” She darted through the water as fast as she could. “Yes… Yes, I think I’ll stick with this one.”
Which naturally, was the point when the already weakened bridge (whose support pillar had been severely damaged by Lex’s crash) collapsed on top of her.
The door slammed open again. “No fucking fish!” shouted the still dripping wet Anya.
Stunned, Aziraphale scrabbled among his paperwork. “They’re really supposed to warn me whenever you commit suicide,” he moaned.
Anya advanced on him, with a distinctive evil look in her eye. Visions of her past were obviously running through her mind. Gulping, Aziraphale grabbed for the list of possible re-incarnations and picked one at random.
Deep in the Forbidden Forest, a Death Eater stared down his wand at the young couple in front of him. “Think carefully about your choice, boy,” he sneered. “Do you really want to throw your life away for a muggle-lover?”
Draco looked at his father’s steady wand arm, and knew that this was the most important decision of his life. “Screw you,” he said calmly, staring at his father’s masked visage. “If I want a bloody Weasley, I shall have a bloody Weasley whether you like it or not!”
He could feel Ginny behind him, pressing up hard to his ribs, and wondered frantically what she was doing? Was that her…wand? No! His father would kill her without a second thought!
Draco pushed back suddenly, causing Ginny to fall backwards and onto the ground. He quickly stepped in front of her, spreading his robes out to shield her as best he could. “If you want to kill her, Father, you’ll have to kill me first.”
Although his face remained hidden, Lucius's head tipped slightly to the side in an all too familiar way. “Plenty of time to get another heir, I suppose,” he mused. “Avada Kadavra!”
The wand spat out a bolt of energy directly at the blond Slytherin – only to hit a small bird that had somehow flown into its path. Stunned, Lucius paused, allowing the furious Ginny Weasley to roll out from behind Draco and hit him with a shouted “Impedimentia!”
Lucius Malfoy dropped to the floor, unable to move. Draco just stood there, fixed in the same position, and muttered “And I thought the hard part would be bringing you home to Mother.”
Ginny looked up from her position on the ground where she was cradling the bird’s body. “Draco? Is there anything we can do for her? Without her….” Her voice trailed off, and Draco could almost sense the tears welling in her eyes.
Stepping over his father’s unmoving body, he knelt down and hugged Ginny hard. The way he felt right now, he never wanted to let go. Staring down at where the redhead held the bird’s body, he noticed that, somehow, it almost seemed to be smiling.
“All right,” said Aziraphale crossly. His voice sounded somewhat tinny and distant, which Anya put down to the cramped space and strange acoustics from his hiding place under the desk. “Let’s try this alphabetically, shall we? Aardvark.”
The door was still vibrating from the force used to open it. Aziraphale was starting to wonder if there’d been a slight mistake with the paperwork, and he was dealing with a Slayer after all.
“Kindly cease and desist with the alphabet! I know we’re only up to Ant, but that was fairly annoying. And that reminds me – you can take ant-eater off that list too.” Anya shuddered. “Not even having a tongue that long helps.”
She paused, a faraway look in her eyes, “Now, Xander would make a good ant-eater. Did I ever tell you about—“
Aziraphale frowned from his vantage point behind the wall of filing cabinets separating the two of them. "Reincarnation is supposed to be a process for learning, wherein you earn advancement by suffering and doing good works, not for getting yourself killed as quickly as possible. You were only down there five minutes that time!"
"I learned! I now know that tortoises can actually move very fast if properly motivated."
"By all rights you should be a dung beetle this next time," he muttered, sidling out from his hiding place. Aziraphale inched around the desk, intent on keeping it between him and Anya. "And what, pray tell, do tortoises consider proper motivation?"
Anya looked at her fingernails studiously, feeling somehow that "a great deal of pain" and "avoiding boils on the genitals" were not going to be acceptable answers.
Aziraphale noted at the back of his mind that the door was starting to leave an imprint in the wall of his office by now. And there appeared to be what looked like an imprint of a foot in the very centre of the door.
“You made me a panda! In a zoo! How often do they get sex? Never!”
Anya scowled yet again. "Perhaps, small nervous man, you should save us both some time, and my various earthly forms a great deal of pain, if you would allow me to approve of the form before you place me in it."
Aziraphale sighed, feeling that he was definitely due some form of bonus for dealing with this situation. As one was unlikely to be offered, he felt justified in choosing a somewhat unorthodox solution. After all, this situation was unlikely to be in any of the rulebooks, and thus technically he wasn’t breaking any rules. "Very well."
“That is the final disappointment,” Anya stated clearly as she came through the office door. Literally through the office door – the hinges (which had been squeaking for some time now) had given up even attempting to stay in one piece and caused the door to collapse onto the floor.
Stepping over the piece of wood, Anya advanced on the quaking angel. Almost snarling, she vaulted across the desks, sending all his files crashing to the floor. Aziraphale groaned at the thought of sorting out all those hundreds of pages again, when suddenly his air supply was cut off by Anya’s arm around his throat.
Technically, of course, he did not actually need air, but it had become enough of a habit to be uncomfortable, as was the way that she was shaking him in the manner of a terrier with a rat.
"You made me a cow!" The rhythmic thumping of his head against the wall behind him stopped. He couldn't take comfort in the fact, however, as he was pulled up to face the extremely dangerous looking Miss Jenkins from less than an inch away. "And then the strange little gray aliens kidnapped me for experimentation." Her voice lowered to a menacing hiss as she said, "Do you know how it feels to be milked by a four fingered hand? Not to mention the anal probe. They didn’t even warm their instruments!"
""Problems, angel?" Aziraphale and Anya both turned to face where what appeared to be a man wearing leather and sunglasses lounged against the remains of the door's frame.
Anya scowled. "You will have to resume your homosexual relationship at another time," she said, turning her attention back to Aziraphale. "Assuming that you remain capable."
"I think you have entirely the wrong idea," said Crowley, smoothly tugging her arm away from Aziraphale's neck. "I'm Crowley. Hi."
She was spectacularly unimpressed by his gleaming smile, and Aziraphale scurried to put some distance between them before stammering, "As you can see, this is, well, it's rather a bad time--"
"Requisition form 6543-F," said Crowley, handing a sheaf of papers to the distressed angel, who started looking through them distractedly, then looked up with the air of one finding that the oncoming train was only a handcart. Crowley nodded in response and said, "Apparently she came highly recommended by D'Hoffryn himself."
Anya's head snapped around. "D'Hoffryn?"
"Yes, he gave you an excellent reference for your new job." Before she could ask, Crowley gave another wide grin, of the sort usually found on used car salesmen or motivational speakers, and said, "You're to be in charge of taking vengeance on behalf of unsatisfied customers."
Her eyes narrowed. “What about compensation? This has been several traumatic experiences for me.”
Crowley smiled. He’d always liked a good bargaining session back in the old days. “How about a promotion? You will now be the Patron Demon of Unsatisfied Customers. New job – got to move with the times after all.”
She folded her arms and stared at the pair of them, visibly calming. “I want full dental. And 4 weeks paid vacation a year. And I don’t do apocalypses any more.”
Crowley’s eyes narrowed in appreciation of what looked like becoming a rather enjoyable session. He hadn’t had one of those since the 17th century.
Some time later in Cleveland, it was a nice normal Saturday afternoon, and the staff and members of the Jenny Calender Self-Defense Academy were sitting around in the kitchen, resting, relaxing and reading newspapers.
Xander Harris snerked and almost swallowed his coffee the wrong way when he reached one particular story. Laughing and spluttering, he called the others over to see it.
Apparently, an aircraft carrying food for humanitarian aid had a slight emergency in mid-flight. The lock on the cargo door had mysteriously popped open, sending several large crates donated by the Hormel corporation hurtling towards the earth. Hundreds of square, blue, 12 ounce cans rained down and completely destroyed the main operations base of a prominent mass-emailer. "SPAMMER PUT OUT OF BUSINESS BY SPAM!" the headline screeched in bold 30 point type.
Patting Xander on the back with Slayer strength quickly turned his cough into a pained wheeze, but he still had the old Xander grin on his face when she stopped. It was nice to see him laugh again, but... "Uh, Xand? Sure it’s funny, but not coughing up your lungs type of funny.”
Xander smiled happily at the gang around him. “It just reminded me for a moment of Anya, y’know? The sort of mad, crazy thing that she would do.” Buffy and Willow exchanged glances – this was new. Normally, Xander never mentioned Anya at all. And certainly not while smiling.
“I don’t know,” Xander said, still cheerful. “It feels oddly enough like closure in a strange way. Which again is Anya all over.”
From outside the kitchen window, Anya nodded, satisfied that he was going to be alright in the future. Concentrating, she teleported herself away from Cleveland. After all, she was a very busy person right now.
Looking down at her To Do list, she made a large check mark against Check On Xander. Now what was next? AOL? Oh goodie… she had a very, very good idea of what to do with all those free discs of theirs.
Other disclaimers :
Batman and Smallville - DC comics and Warner Brothers.
Draco and Ginny - JK Rowling
I own nothing of theirs. Please don't sue. I'll cry.