Fic: Consequences (1/?)

["sochankitsune" <annelise@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

I was just digging through my archives and found this, so I brushed 
it up and started writing more.

I think I first posted this in its original form 3 years ago under my 
pseudonym; Charlotte Holmes.

Anne-Lise

PS: British Telecom have taken 2 months almost to sort out my domain 
transfer from Cable & Wireless. THEY SUCK! The comic is NOT gone: You 
just can't find it! :> 

--

I remember when she first called me by name; Angel. Kind of ironic, 
really. Do you know what an angel is? Its in the Bible. Whenever God 
wanted someone killed, or perhaps a city destroyed, He always sent 
His Angel to do the dirty work. How do you think an angel would feel, 
his life spent in the worship of God and forever bathed in His light 
and purity, only to be sent out into the cruel world to rend the 
living and bring destruction upon flesh; one wing forever dipped in 
blood? Would you ever truly wish to meet an angel?

*

Buffy stared out the classroom window, her exam paper little more 
than a dim irritation that lay before her on the ink-stained desk and 
pricked idly at the cushion of her mind. She stared out at the old 
English Oak tree 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 English gentlemen. A cloning 
machine for tweed.
She quite liked the grass outside the window. It didn't fuck about; 
just came right up to the building and made its greeting. No strange 
oriental gardners plaguing Sunnydale, no geeky janitors wielding 
shovel and hoe trying to combat the encroaching lawn with flowerbeds. 
Simple; Elegant. She appreciated simplicity, but she adored elegant.
Not like with this whole Faith situation. It had her on edge. Life 
was hard enough to deal with without some goddamn rogue Slayer on her 
hands, shacking up with the protodemonic Mayor.
Buffy hated not being in control of the situation. She hated having 
a boyfriend who'd pull a Mr. Hyde if they ever managed to screw 
again. She hated being stuck on problem 3A of a lousy English paper 
devised by evil agents of sadism. Especially when she knew 
what 'protodemonic' meant. Life just wasn't fair.
She wanted to be out under the oak tree, having sex.
As soon as the thought dropped into her head she felt the flush 
work its way up to her face; The inexorable warm glow of arousal she 
knew must be lighting her up 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. Wrong again! Well then. She'd probably finished 
the bloody thing already. No fair! She must have found some spare 
time to cram. Like during kindergarten, or something.
She does look like a Goddess, though. The way the sun catches her 
hair in auburn waves. "Dull hair, lifeless hair," Her 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 long ago to prevent herself 
falling completely in love with Willow. Buffy smiled to herself and 
stuffed a metaphorical gag into Inner Cordelia's mouth as she 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 than 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. You're prime material for expulsion, and always have been!"
Buffy would have so liked to have made a speech. A great speech. 
Something on the same lines as the shit Mel Gibson would spout in his 
Braveheart persona. Not really her style though. For a brief moment, 
she considered mentioning 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 lunches, packed with vitamins and guilt.
Buffy fixed Snyder with an equally menacing glare, and uttered the 
most convincing argument she could muster given the 
circumstances. "Fuck you, Snyder!" she exclaimed, and stormed out of 
his office, Willow in tow with manga-large eyes.

*

Willow seemed calmer. You could tell, because she'd now moved on 
from speechlessness, through nonsensical gibberish, and out into the 
land of monosyllables.
"Are you okay?" Buffy asked, wondering if there was something she 
could do. Hospital seemed like the most viable option, although the 
thought of Willow in a hospital smock was turning her on for some 
reason.
"I..." Willow engaged second gear. "I'm okay. Really."
Buffy stared into Willow's eyes. "Really?" she echoed.
Willow's lips on her own gave her the answer her heart ached for.

*

End Part 1.