FIC: Dark Paths

[buffythebushkangaroo@xxxxxxxxxxx]

Title: Dark Paths
Author: Charlotte Holmes
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Set in the later half of Season 3. Be warned, it's my first 
fanfic.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Except a cat. She's called spot. She 
bites.

--

The greatest irony of all was when she called me Angel. Do you know 
what an Angel is? Look it up, it's in the bible. Whenever God wanted 
someone killed or a city destroyed, he always sent an Angel to do his 
dirty work. How do you think an Angel feels, trying so very hard to be 
good, but forever living with one wing dipped in blood? Ask yourself, 
would you ever truly want to meet an Angel?

Good and evil. Consider, if you will, the duality of a species that 
can merrily butcher livestock, and yet ascribe inestimable value to 
itself. Do you think a demon truly cares about fulfilling the 
stereotype of an evil that dances forth from the imaginations if a 
single human generation? Evil is not our master.

Chaos; A force much older than Mankind. Rip a soul screaming from its 
body and a demon may breathe. The demon will feed from hunger, will 
revel in blood, will forever strive for chaos. Return that soul, and 
beware the folly of your intentions. In the balance you seek order may 
yet behoove an even greater chaos. These are dark streets we walk, 
grim paths we yet must tread.

--

Buffy stared out the classroom window, the exam paper on her desk 
little more than a dim irritation that pricked idly at the cushion of 
her mind. She stared at the Old English that now commemorated some old 
English teacher. Somewhere, she thought, there must be a kind of 
cookie cutter, some evil contraption that pounds out old Englishmen. 
Sort of like a cloning machine in tweed.

Buffy quite liked the grass outside the window. It didn't fuck about; 
just came right up to the building and said howdy. No strange oriental 
gardners plaguing Sunnydale, no geeky janitors wielding shovels and 
how trying to combat the encroaching lawn with flowerbeds. Simple. 
Elegant. She appreciated simplicity.

Not like this whole Faith situation. It had her all on edge. Life was 
hard enough to deal with without some goddamn rogue Slayer on her 
hands, shacking up and aiding the protodemonic Mayor.

Buffy hated not being in control, unable to change things. She hated 
having a boyfriend who'd drink Jekyll Juice if they ever managed to 
screw again. She hated being stuck on problem 3A of a lousy English 
paper devised by agents of sadism, especially when she knew what 
'protodemonic' meant.

Gah! She wanted to be lying under the oak tree, having sex.

As soon as the thought dropped into her head she felt the flush begin; 
That inexorable warm glow of arousal she knew must be lighting up her 
face like some damn neon sign. Big, pink neon sign, with 
eight-foot-tall letters on the mezzanine of her paranoia screaming: 
"Look at me, I'm as horny as a fucking Rymoth demon during Summer 
Solstice!"

Inwardly, she cursed Giles for forcing too much extracurricular 
demonology down her throat. Even if the Mayor's ascension was 
important, a girl still had to graduate, right? Furtively, she stole a 
glance at Ol' Reliable. no glassy-eyed vacant stares out the window 
for the Willster. Oh no... Oh. Well, okay. But then, she'd probably 
finished the whole thing already. No fair! She must have found time to 
cram. Like during kindergarten, or something.

She does look like a Goddess. The way the sun catches her hair in 
auburn waves. "Dull hair, lifeless hair," Inner Cordelia reminded her, 
"So don't go there." Such a perfect, kissable mouth... 
"Disproportionate! Frog-like!" Inner Cordelia railed from her cage in 
Buffy's thoughts. Inner Cordelia, a device Buffy invented ages ago to 
prevent herself falling completely in love with Willow. Buffy 
shrugged, stuffing a metaphorical gag into Inner Cordelia's mouth and 
admired her best friend's sultry good looks.

Then, in total disregard for protocol, sanity, public opinion and hey, 
let's not forget, California North Examining Body (CNEB) Rules of 
Examination Governance Subsection 6, Buffy scrawped her chair back, 
strode over to Willow, and drew her into a momentary, yet ultimately 
satisfying, kiss.

--

"Well, Miss Summers?" Snyder glared menacingly at the errant Slayer 
who sat opposite him, next to a Willow who appeared more like a trauma 
victim that the severely confused young woman she was. "Do you have 
anything to say for yourself? Any explanation as to why you so 
successfully disrupted a most important examination?" Snyder drew a 
breath and dissembled. "Not that it makes any real difference, of 
course."

Buffy would have so liked to have made a speech. A great speech. 
Something on the same lines as the shit Mel Gibson spouted in 
Braveheart. You know, "If you could take each day, from that day to 
this..." or some such happy horseshit. Not her style though. For a 
brief moment, she considered meantioning her Slayer philosophy: Live 
each day as though it's your last. but she doubted Snyder'd find it as 
poetic as Willow had. Or her mother, for that matter, who now fixed 
her four course lunch trips of guilt.

Buffy fixed Snyder with an equally menacing glare, and uttered the 
most convincing argument she could muster given the circumstances. 
"Fuck you," she said. She turned to a stunned Willow. "Coming?"

Willow shot from her chair and followed Buffy out, stammering an 
apology in her wake.

--

Chaos; It's fun. It's sneaky. It can so easily become your master. Few 
have the strength or resolve, hell, even the courage to shoulder its 
insidious advances. We each of us have our dark secrets, our burdens 
of guilt. Dark paths we all assume we have to walk alone. Pray you 
find the strength to find your way. I do. Every day.