Author's Note: This is my first ever fanfic so I hope it's not extremely bad. It's post "The Gift". I've always felt that Anya never got the amount of recognition she deserved for almost dying to save Xander's life, grrrr. Anyway, I suppose this is from her point of view. I'll update more if people seem to like it. See ya, hehehee.

Disclaimer: Er, Joss owns everything cos he is God (in a non sacrilegious way of course). Also, Mutant Enemy (grrrr argh) own the lovely characters I have stolen for my story.

The body looked so peaceful, almost like it was sleeping. It didn't have any visible abrasions marring its serene expression. Did Joyce look like that? Like she had just forgotten to wake up from a happy dream? Anya thought to herself. What about all those people she had cursed? They wouldn't have looked so tranquil and calm, not with bloody entrails hanging out, or boils covering every inch of their tormented bodies.

Everything was still so hazy that it was hard to think. The edge of her vision was obscured by white clouds. She was drifting in and out of consciousness. Suddenly, things began to get fuzzier as the white clouds expanded and she slipped away again.

"Anya!" She heard. The voice was familiar, but sounded so far away. It was nice - she smiled and continued her dissent into the warm void.

"Anya, come back!" It was louder this time, more desperate and accompanied by a gentle shaking, which gradually became more violent.

It was then that she realized she wasn't lying mangled on the ground, buried alive by tones of debris and dirt. She wasn't even touching the ground anymore. Warm, strong - almost to the point of being too strong - arms were holding her up, protecting her from the comforts of the vast whiteness. It was then, too, as she was dragged back from the relief of comatose, that she became aware of the pain. Searing, tearing through her body like hot pokers and pounding knives. At least, she thought it was her body. It resembled her body - two arms, two legs, one torso. It was even wearing the clothes she dimly remembered putting on. But the oozing blood that covered it, the disturbing angle of several joints and the limp, lifelessness of the limbs made her feel sick to the stomach. Nothing so disgusting could belong to her.

The dead body lying on the ground looked more alive than her one.

The arms tightened around her. Xander. That's who it was. Her boyfriend- no, her fiancé. So the world didn't end, they'd be getting married. She'd have a big white dress, many bridesmaids caring for every need. Or maybe it had ended, maybe this was hell. No, she'd been to hell dimensions before. This was too real, she knew it had really happened. She sank back into Xander's arms and looked at the unmoving body. She couldn't look any more, so Anya turned her gaze to the others. Willow's face had crumpled like a wet paper bag, and was soaked with grief. She was clutching Tara's uninjured hand so hard that Anya thought another cast would be necessary. Her body shook, rattled with sadness and rage. Tara, on the other hand, in a reversal of recent roles, was the protector. All that Willow had done for her these past few days was returned, multiplied by a thousand. But though she was physically with Willow, Anya could see her eyes and mind were glued to the body.

Dawn showed none of her trade mark grief - the tears that were usually so quick to fall stayed at bay. She just stood there, ignoring the blood still trickling down her slashed stomach, staring almost through the body. Her mother and now her sister were gone. Forever. Anya saw her stop breathing, no doubt trying to join them in death. As she began to worry, Dawn let out the air and dropped down heavily on her knees, now hyperventilating.

There was Giles, the look on his face was one of such failure, the look that only a father staring at the body of his dead child can get. He was alive, and she wasn't. He had failed in his duty to protect her, the person he loved most in the world. Anya wanted him to take of his glasses and clean them, to do anything that resembled the ordered man she had come to love and respect. But he didn't, of course, he couldn't do anything.

And Spike. The one who, apart from Anya herself, had seen the most deaths - he was probably even the cause of the majority. Anya knew that no other loss had ever hit him this way. He was feeling it for the first time, and she knew exactly what that was like. He broke down onto his knees and cried, grief wracking his body and blood pouring down at his face. She watched as he clutched he eyes, his un-beating heart, and his non existent soul. It was too much, she had to turn away.

Finally, to Xander. She didn't even need to see him to know what was going through his mind, his heart and his soul. The wet dears were dropping onto her stomach, mixing with blood, sweat and dust. They were like heavy raindrops of heartache. He didn't fall to the ground, didn't surrender himself to the grief, but stopped noticing anything but the body in front of him.

Only then did she finally realize that it wasn't just a body. It hit home faster than it had with Joyce - she was experienced now. This was Buffy, her friend. Anya knew Buffy only tolerated her for Xander's sake. But things had been changing the last few months of her life. They'd been through a lot together, for 'casual acquaintances'. Maybe they'd never have been the best of friends. The kind you ring up just to complain about the milk running out, or seeing someone funny in the Magic Box. Maybe they could have, though - Anya had begun to appreciate Buffy's quick jokes, her loyalty to the Scoobies (especially "ordinary" old Xander) and her complete braveness when facing overwhelming evil. What was it? Five or six apocalypses and she had defeated them all. But it would never happen now, they weren't going to have the chance to grow old together. To buy the same anti wrinkle cream, make lots of money from their long term stocks (well, Anya hadn't told anyone which she'd invested in, she wanted to make the most money, but she might have later on) or be God parents to each other's tiny pink children. They'd lost that opportunity.

She dropped her head in complete resignation and just stared. Raindrops were falling all around them and the escaped crazy people were scurrying to and fro, but no one cared. This time, Xander let her yield to the unconscious, and she didn't blame him.