Ever wondered about Anya's terrible rabbit phobia? It always seemed like a nice, juicy plot bunny, so I decided to write a little story. At first, I hoped to write something poignant - heart wrenching, even…then I remembered I was writing about bunnies. Post Tabula Rasa


Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.

P.S. No bunnies were harmed in the writing of this story

Rated PG15 for sexual references, but no clothes are actually shed in this story!



The Terrible Truth About Bunnies


He was an oddity in a sea of teenagers, and they all knew it. Vacuous school kids they might be, but every last one of them had been through an unusually `hellish' education. From the paleness of his skin, to the scruffy leather jacket he wore, everything about him screamed `looking for lunch'. Undisturbed, he sat at his empty table; a nearly drained glass in his hand, a near full bottle in front of him.

She had decided it was all his fault, of course. He was an evil, naughty vampire, taking advantage of the poor, defenceless, virtuous slayer. It was amazing how she managed to conveniently forget that it was she who slammed him up Against the wall, she who rammed her tongue down his throat…oh bugger it; this train of thought was getting him nowhere.


Elation warred with disgust as he slouched in his chair. A few blissful moments, followed by a barrage of abuse. Once again she had turned the tables on him, leaving him seething with frustration as she ran from the Bronze, as fast as her little super powered legs could carry her.


"Penny for them."


Slowly, his eyes travelled up, and he suppressed a brief spurt of surprise as he recognised who it was. "What the bleeding hell, is she doing here?”


"You look like you ate something which disagreed with you," Anya observed as she slipped into the chair beside him. "You're not getting your blood from Willy's, are you? If you are, I'd strongly advise a change of suppliers. The butcher on Brook Street has a clean supply…so…what were you thinking about."


"Sorry, luv, I'm not in the mood for sharing, tonight. What are you doing here, by the way - and where is your pet carpenter?" he added, scanning the crowd. With one, usually came the other; you practically needed a crowbar to pry them apart.


"Oh, he's doing the whole considerate-boyfriend-who-is-good-with-tools thing," Anya airily informed him, tossing her hair back as she flashed him a smile.




"He's fixing the shop window."


"Oh, I see. Aren't you supposed to be cheering him on, makin' him a snack or sumthin'?" Spike teased. The chit had some peculiar ideas about her new role, as a `fiancé'. Personally, he he suspected she might be watching too many daytime soaps.


"Hmmm," came the noncommittal reply as she leaned forward in her chair, eyeing his scotch bottle. Taking the hint, he grabbed the arm of a passing waitress and sent her looking for a glass. "I couldn't bring myself to do it," she admitted, once the waitress had gone. "After today, it was all I could do not to run out of there."


"What, you losing sleep over that mix up with the watcher?"

Curiously, a blush crept up the ex-demongirl's cheeks. Bloody hell, the chit actually looked embarrassed, she never looked embarrassed, what was goin' on?


"Oh, that," she squeaked. "Oh no, that was nothing…nothing happened…I mean…oh god, the bunnies!"


Spike raised an eyebrow as the flood of words poured out of her mouth; the demongirl was hiding something, he just knew it. The waitress arrived with the extra glass, and he poured her a measure. "Here, take a swig of this, calm your nerves."


"Thanks." Her voice escaped with a high pitched squeak as she grabbed the glass and downed it.


"Steady on, luv, you're human now, remember? A fifth of scotch is not good for the stomach lining – besides, it's my last bottle."


"Oh, don't worry, I've got plenty of money … I'll lend you some – interest free."


"Right thoughtful of you, luv," Spike muttered sarcastically.


"Never let it be said that I can't be generous," Anya said expansively, the sarcasm floating over her head as she refilled the glass. "Oh yes, this is just what I needed, something to dull the memory."


"What are blathering on about now?" After today's little dance with Red's spell, the last thing he needed to hear about was another memory problem.


A perplexed look crossed her face, as her eyes tried in vain to focus, the scotch had hit fast. "What d'ya mean, what am I blatherin’ about?" she asked confusedly. "I'm talking about bunnies, of course."


"Oh…riiiight…bunnies," drawled Spike, rolling his eyes in exasperation. As Scoobies went, Anya was usually a bit of alright, but she obviously couldn't hold her liquor.


"Mmmhm," she uttered. "Mangy, fluffy tailed, long eared, buck toothed hounds of hell…"


"Actually, luv, they're rodents."


"My point exactly," she declared. "They're oversized rats; fluffy, disgusting, horrible, horrible rats."


"Bloody hell, woman, I get the bloomin' picture. You don't like rabbits."


"'S right," she mumbled. "I don't, demon spawn, is what they are."


"This comin' from a woman who spent over a millennium with a wrinkly face," observed Spike.


"Hey! Human now," she pointed out. "I can make derogatory remarks about demons any time I want to – it's practically a requirement.


"Is that so, luv?" Spike grunted, quirking an eyebrow as he watched her hand creep towards the bottle once again.


"Yes, it is, she declared. “And bunnies are demon spawn, they may look cuddly, but they have these devious little pea brained minds which can thwart your every move – so there!"


A smirk settled on his lips as he studied his now sizzled companion. "And what brought you to this conclusion."


"I…I had a little incident, once," she admitted reluctantly, "Back in my demon days. It should have been a slam dunk; scorned woman, vengeance wreaked - what could go wrong, right?"


Curiosity piqued, Spike nudged the bottle in her direction and watched her pour another glass. "What did go wrong?"


"I hate bunnies."


"I think we have already established that, pet."


"No, you don't understand, I really hate bunnies."


"Okay, so maybe getting her liquored up wasn't such a good idea, after all," Spike mused, eyeing her hand nursing the already half empty glass.


"They weren't supposed to be false," she wailed, her voice rising perilously as she lifted the glass to her lips. "They were supposed to be real!"


"Is that so, luv," drawled Spike, would the woman ever get to the point? He was beginning to run low on scotch.


"She told me he'd been running around on her," she mumbled. "Said he had the libido of a rabbit, eyes roving over anything that had two legs, so I…."


"What the hell is going on here?"


"Oh Bloody hell," thought Spike, exasperated, "Why me?" Leaning lazily back in his chair, he grinned at Xander slyly. The boy looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel. "What does it look like, lard-boy; me and your lady friend are having a little chat about the good ole days." Nothing like a reference to Anya's pre-human days to get the kid's back up. He didn't like reminders of his fiancé's vengeance demon past.


"Xander, honey, what are you doing here," Anya piped up, his presence finally permeating her alcoholic haze.


"Looking for you," he replied shortly. "Come on, An, it's time to go home."


"Hold on, mate," Spike protested. "She hasn't finished her story yet.


"And besides, we haven't finished the bottle," Anya added.


"I think you've had enough, An," Xander pointed out reprovingly. "Now, let's go home before you make a fool out of yourself...


Anya's face darkened and, for just a moment, Spike felt a small twinge of pity for Xander. The chit may not be a demon anymore, but something told him she could still make a man plead for mercy.


"Or maybe I'll just sit down for a moment," Xander finished lamely; obviously the same thought had just occurred to him…maybe he wasn't so stupid after all.


"As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted," Anya continued, ignoring Xander's glowering face as she leaned into Spike conspiratorially. "The man was obviously a philanderer. A classic case, if you ask me. The man's nose practically twitched every time a pretty girl walked by.  This was definitely a situation that needed my special expertise." Xander rolled his eyes, but wisely said nothing.


"So, what was her wish?" questioned Spike.


"She wished that every woman he looked at ended up with long ears and a fluffy tail," she muttered.


"So what’s the problem?" asked Spike, puzzled. "No offence, luv, but it isn't the sort of thing nightmares are made of." Out the corner of his eye, he watched Xander pull his chair closer.


"You don't understand. The ears and tail were supposed to be real," Anya explained tearfully. "But something went wrong with the wish, the bloody things were fake."


"Fake bunny ears – sounds strangely familiar," Xander muttered aloud.


A little light bulb went off in Spike's head, "Bloody hell, woman! Surely, you don't mean…"


"YES," she roared angrily. "It was him - and I did it! It was supposed to be vengeance, damn it. Not happy, happy Playboy land."


"Playboy…" Xander echoed softly, a dazed look plastered on his face as he stared at his girlfriend in disbelief.


"Bet the girl wasn't too happy," observed Spike.