FIC: A Wiccan Gets The Wiggins 7 & 8 (revamped and reposted)

A Wiccan Gets the Wiggins
(and the girl!)

by badbard

(de_badbard@xxxxxxxxx)

See first part for relevant disclaimers and explanations.

* * * * * * * * * *

7.

Sometimes it gets unbearable, being in love with my best friend.

I touch her and she thinks nothing of it.

I drown in her eyes, gasping for air, and she smiles guilessly and looks away.

Into the eyes of the Angel.

Sometimes I pray the demons will be sucked into hell where they belong. Sometimes my prayers are answered. But fallen angels tumble back to earth and the gods gleefully claw off their faces and I see the truth.

They are demons one and all.

They want my soul to torture and my body for their temple.

They want to possess me.

"The Slayer is for me," hissed Dionysus, twisting my tongue to form his words, to work his wicked will.

My left hand shot out, grabbing Buffy's shoulder, gouging my fingerprints into her flesh. Yanked her close to me, so we stood chest to heaving chest, choking on our terror.

"Oh God," gasped Buffy, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to study the ancient evil in mine.

"Yesss," chortled Dionysus, "I am here, sweet maiden."

Tiny Willow sobbed for Buffy to save her. To save herself.

"Strange," rumbled the wine god, raising my left hand to rake gnarled claws down Buffy's wan face. "So much power. So very easy to break you and take it all away."

Buffy shook as hot tears slid down her cold cheeks. Where was the Slayer? What had Giles done? What was I supposed to do? Crash the housewarming party the lost gods were throwing in my body?!

Buffy shifted against me. Dionysus groaned throatily.

Buffy took a breath.

Buffy jerked up her knee and stomped her heel down.

Hard.

Dionysus let go. Dionysus roared his indignation to the neighborhood.

"Shut the hell up!" screamed the old lady next door.

"Put the mongrel out of its misery!" yelled the guy from across the street.

My bedroom door burst open with a bang.

"Willow, what in the world?" groused my mother, looking extremely put out. Oh goody. My parents had come home.

I whirled around, power flaring from my fingertips, hair wisping along the ceiling.

"Jesus Christ!" Mom yelped. She scrambled backwards, bumping into my father as he topped the stairs.

"Please, Honey, we're Jewish," he reminded her mildly, before shoving her aside in order to give me a good talking to.

"Honey?!" Mom screeched as she sprinted downstairs, "We're Jewish for Christ's-sake! I knew we never should've moved to America. Or Sunnydale. Especially Sunnydale."

"Look, Willow, Honey," began Dad, before he actually got a good look at me.

He blinked. At length he mumbled, "you do something different with your hair?"

"Die, foolish mortal," boomed Dionysus, advancing with my left hand outstretched, skittering iced blue arcs.

Dad cleaned his glasses.

Buffy had the presence of mind to grab his arm and herd him to safety. I caught snatches of her explanation as she guided him downstairs.

"Sleepover...bad breakup...stuck tongue into electric socket...no that wasn't a roar...she's getting a cough...will turn loud music down...better the devil you know in the daughter you don't...have you tried the new restaurant outta town...no we don't have any restaurants in city limits....don't have anything....Sunnydale...crappy...really sucks..."

My right hand rose, pulsating with green light.

I watched in fascination as the hand of the huntress closed over the wine god's withered appendage, bathing it in holy light, delivering divine retribution.

"I hate my family," grated Dionysus, digging his claws into the meaty flesh of my right palm.

Artemis screamed but held on.

"No male, god or mortal dares do harm to my Chosen," she insisted, voice raspy with effort. "There is a heavy price to pay. The hunter becomes the hunted."

I blinked. My left hand had just been turned into a rabbit's paw.

Interesting. I blinked again.

Buffy bounded back into my room, slamming the door behind her.

It was her turn to blink. "Not seeing the bright side," she muttered as she approached me cautiously.

"What have you done to me, woods witch?" screeched Dionysus, shaking his cute and cuddly paw in outraged humili ation. As you do.

"She's got you hopping mad," observed Buffy less than helpfully.

"Die!" roared Dionysus, shaking his fuzzy white paw in Buffy's smirking face. This time she didn't freeze up. This time she grabbed Faith's dagger and moved in for the amputation.

"I've been looking for a lucky charm," she grinned as Dionysus began twisting my head abou t, searching frantically for an exit. "I'd love to see your paw dangling from my rearview mirror. It'll remind me of my bad hare days!"

Dionysus' paw jerked up to cover my mouth in abject terror.

"Got your foot in your mouth?" snarled the Slayer, moonlight ghosting off her blond hair, lighting her pale eyes with the fury that heats in cold fear's wake.

"Allow me to shut you up, permanently."

The voices in my head gibbered with horror.

There are no advantages to being an immortal stuck in a dying mortal's body. And death is incomprehensible to those who live forever. The gods have no heaven or hell, no afterlife, no faith in their own paltry inventions.

I didn't know what would happen to them if Buffy started carving but I could feel their confusion, their roiling attempts at resistance. Power bubbled up through my veins again, melding shields about my trembling body, convalescing into swords and spears which broke into glittering blue sh ards as unpracticed ancients lost focus.

Buffy ignored the light show.

Clenching her knife, she stalked a circle around my shivering staticy form, looking for her opening.

I saw her clench her teeth and curve her upper lip, I saw her stop thinking and
surrender to instinct.

She could no longer remember being the Slayer but she was the Slayer regardless.

I was terrified of her.

This wasn't the old Buffy, or even the shade I'd glimpsed under my covers. I'd met this Buffy before, back when Buffy d...died and I hadn't known how to tell her what that had done to me.

I've never let on about the endless summer nights I'd lain awake, trying to bury the horrible knowing. Buffy had died. Buffy had died and she was in L.A. and I had no way of checking that she was okay.

When Buffy cam e back she was...well, she wasn't okay.

She was bad in a mean-to-Cordy way, not bad in the good, Buffy you're so sexy in that leather corset way and she had a bad Jone Collin's 'tude and I just couldn't stop her hurt. I couldn't get close.

Only Buffy could deal with what had been done to her and when she finally did, it was Angel who held her safe in his arms.

Not me.

I watched her grind the Master's bones into Lego for ages undead and up and I caught a glimpse of all the pain she holds inside, and I swore she wouldn't be able to hide the next time.

Not from me.

The knife skittered off my power shield with a splash of icy sparks. The shield blinked out for a second before re-asserting itself with some slight flickering of the disturbing variety.

I lost it.

"Helllp!" screamed Tiny Willow, yanking the chord out of her computer and crawling under her desk.

"By Hades' Hallowed Helmet!" squeaked Dionysus, making panicky hopping motions with his rabbit paw. "I'm much too godly to die! Merciful Tartarus, I'm not even dr unk! Whatever happened to invulnerability? And...and RULES! I can't die! I'm a god! Bwa ha ha ah ah ahhhhhh! AHHHHH!"

I had the presence or perhaps the absence of mind to wonder where he and Artemis had learned to speak English. TV?

Buffy made a calculated swipe at his paw.

Unknown voices shrieked as the knife punched and sliced its’ way through power, cutting a glancing blow across fuzzy white fur.

Dionysus bellowed and belted out of my body. He wasn't the only one. I felt them tear
their way to the surface, clawing aside my conscious mind, brushing rudely past Tiny Willow who cowered under her desk and wept.

Icy blue light streamed from my pores for the last time, leaving me empty and
aching for the reassuring rush to return.

My hands reached for Buffy as she came at me again, and they truly were my hands as they wrapped themselves around her neck in a fervent embrace.

The knife clattered to the floor.

"Oh Buffy," I babbled. "I am never ever calling on gods...well, those particular gods ever again. Ever."

Buffy's trembling hands smoothed up my sides and crushed me to her. I squeezed back as hard as I could. Air wasn't a priority.

"I missed you," she mumbled through her tears.

"Me too," I murmured back. Always insecure, I'd never realized how wonderful it was being Willow. Much better than being the lost gods at any rate!

Breathing deeply, I finally took a halting step back but Buffy stepped forward. She tried to hug me.

Grinning in anticipation, I stepped back again. The remaining power buzz made me feel bold.

Buffy pouted and tried to follow. I held her at arm's length as she whined my name.

So help me, it was cute.

I wanted to show her just how cute I thought she was.

So I kissed her.

* * * * * * * * * *

8.

Buffy froze.

Me, I just kept right on kissing her.

With her parted lips warm and sweet as melting chocolate, how was I supposed to resist?

Or control myself?

Or remember my name?

Kissing Buffy was like casting magic for me. Getting started was scary but getting down to it was second nature.

Buffy whimpered. I moaned excitedly.

Nothing existed but Buffy as her mouth began to move under mine.

Buffy's body, arching up into mine as she stood on tiptoes to crush our lips together; Buffy's hand, cupping my cheek, dripping blood onto my chin.

We broke apart into two teenage girls, gasping for air, searching eyes for answers.

"Blood!" I squeaked. "You hurt hand? Blood on hand! Hand is hurt."

"Yes," panted Buffy, holding her dripping cut up for inspection. "Hurt hand. Um. Question. You're not still Diehardwithpus are you? I wasn't having smoochies with Dyedhairallmussed was I? Was I?"

I waved my hand in her face.

"No. No paw. I'm not Dion...on...on...on…drugs...really I'm not...I'm uh W...W...I don't 'member right now but I do know my hand is s'pposed to be cut. 'Cause you carved up my paw. But no blood. No roasting rabbit. And, uh, you have hurt hand! Bad! Very bad!"

I couldn't tear my eyes away from Buffy's lips. She was only inches away and that was far too
close. I was having trouble making thoughts. I would have to watch a Sesame Street marathon before making words again. All I wanted to do was make smoochies.

Apparently Buffy was in the same love-boat. Curving her uninjured hand into my hair she made a soft demand. "Kiss me better."

Our lips met.

Lingered over hello.

Went on a mining excavation.

Buffy's kiss filled me up and ate away at the tiny part of me that insisted I wasn't allowed to love my best friend this much. What I felt when Buffy's lips brushed mine was fierce compared to loving Oz. Slow fire compared to pashing Xander. It beat the feathers out of kissing my pillow.

When Buffy slowly backed away I was having trouble carrying out basic bodily functions. Breathing for one. The beating of the heart for another. Sweating was putting in some serious overtime. Buffy meanwhile, struggled to control her puffing like a freight train.

"So," she puffed and grinned as I beamed back. "Where do we go from here, Will?"

"To bed," I giggled. Her eyes got all wide and I smirked at her. “To sleep,” I clarified. We sighed simultaneously. Ah, what a pity that it just isn’t done to jump from platonic friendship to steamy x-rated…uh, okay, Buffy’s injured. Focus on helping her.

“Let me take care of that,” I said, indicating her hand. I got my first aid kit from where I hide it conveniently under my bed and wrapped the cut. She watched me intently.

When I had finished, I dared to look at her again. Her eyes were all softness and special light. They made me feel like I had sunshine for insides.

“Back to bed?” I suggested.

Buffy bounded under the covers so fast I thought she'd gained a new Slayer Power.

Slayer Strength, Slayer Healing, Slayer Necking...what next? I slipped in next to her, smiling so hard my jaw muscles were on the verge of collapse. What wasn't there to smile about?

Sure, Giles was wigging me out, lost gods were taking my spells a little too seriously and wacked-out evil Slayers were paying house calls, but Buffy was snuggling up to me and that made it the best night I'd ever had.

Even better than the night before, spent wrapped up tight in Oz's strong arms as he rocked me gently in our aftermath...

Oh no.

Oz.

Oh no.

I stared up at the ceiling.

Oz.

Buffy.

Betrayal.

Oh no.

This was bigger than the Ascension and prone to even more fireworks.

* * * * * * * * * *

I dragged myself downstairs the next morning with a splitting headache in tow.

What, or rather Who I saw in my kitchen made me hastily take an extra couple aspirin.

Buffy and my parents were having breakfast.

Slinking in to pour myself coffee, I selected strong black, no sugar. I had half a snail's feeler out for clear and accurate probing of the situation. Probe first, panic later.

"How was the restaurant?" I heard Buffy ask.

"Couldn't find a restaurant," griped my mother. "Ended up at some repulsive night club. The Bonds. Or maybe it was the Blondes? A hopeless local band was playing. Um, what were they called…’Finger-Sate With Gravy?’ ‘Bingo Baits Old Ladies?’ ‘Thingo Dates Than Slaysme?’ Anyway, the music made me want to dig a hole."

"You went to the Bronze and ‘Dingoes Ate My Baby’ was playing," corrected Buffy. "Will's boy..." she trailed off uncertainly.

I took an unhealthy swig of disgusting coffee and plopped down without looking at anyone.

Especially Buffy.

"All the girls dressed like sluts," confided Mom, looking to my Father for confirmation. A silly grin
spread over Dad's face as he nodded wholeheartedly.

"The beer tasted funny," Mom complained, "and it was red! Yech! Still, what can you expect from a town like Sunnydale?!"

"Exactly," agreed Buffy, darting a covert glance my way.

"I didn't want to move here," Mom proclaimed, pointing her muffin at my father. "Why couldn't we move to a nice town, some where likeGotham for instance? Ever since we came here there's been nothing but trouble and mysterious deaths."

"Honey, we've always lived here," interjected my Dad mildly.

My mother was not to be deterred from her rant.

"First our sweet little pussy-cat ate contaminated cat-food, grew giant fangs and scarfed down the
neighbor’s smelly mongrel, much to my profound relief, because that stupid mutt never shut its’ muzzle until we buried it alive, six feet under. Then that anemic night salesman with corpse-complexion stole our vacuum cleaner for his bizarre sucking demonstration. And to cap it all off nicely, Willow's falling in with the wrong crowd: more specifically that gym-burning Summers pyromaniac! Bunny or Botty or whatever the hell her name is."

Buffy stopped glancing my way and started studying the extremely unattractive floral pattern on our tablecloth.

Dad cleared his throat.

My cheeks burned with a lethal combination of anger and embarrassment.

"What?!" shrieked Mom at Dad. "I can't be concerned that our daughter insists on playing Library with an expellee? You know what that can lead to! Bad grades!"

"But Willow's already graduated," protested Dad.

"AND she decided to go to that god-awful College this side of the stinking city limits," hissed Mom. "All because of that Boofy." She turned to Buffy.

"What do you think, Booty? Does your mother let you play with that awful Summers girl?"

"I try to do that when she's not around," said Buffy. I choked on my coffee.

"Hmph," said Mom. "That's what I thought."

She turned on Dad again. "You better take me somewhere really romantic tonight to make up for that godforsaken walk through the graveyard last night. The only thing not rising there was MY temperature."

"Sure, Honey," said Dad amicably.

He got up as Mom did. She held out her hand to shake Buffy's, smiling pleasantly for the first time that morning.

"Nice seeing you again, Boppy. Sleep over anytime." She turned to me.

"Willow, dear, your father and I have decided to revoke your electric socket privileges. If you'll just stick some, I don't know, gum or something over your bedroom's outlet until further notice..."

Buffy reached for my hand under the table as we watched my parents' retreat. I held on tightly and racked my brains, trying to make those big life-changing decisions.

You know the ones.

What to do.

Who to love.

TBC in 9.