Sweet Addiction: The only story on fanfiction.net that proudly boasts a Kwan/Simpson pairing.
Why? Because I can... and I was the first one to think of it. In your face! Go Originality! [just to let you know, this was written like, during the middle of the second season, so it is really dated!]
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Part Six
Upon entering Mr. Simpson's classroom, I sat down in the nearest desk and huddled down deep into my jacket. I felt the pressure of the knife against my shirt and skin and was relieved. A little. Even if this guy went wacko, I could still protect myself.
Simpson followed me in and went to his desk. He sat down and looked out at me. He was uncomfortable, I could tell, because he was fidgeting. Normally, he taught his computer classes standing up. It was unnatural for him to address students in the 'sitting position'.
~ Poor fool ~ I nearly smirked. ~ He doesn't know what he's gotten himself into ~
"Well." Mr. Simpson said. "Obviously we have a situation here. You... uhh... seemed to have witnessed myself and Ms. Kwan... expressing our feelings to one another... in the uhh... staff room." He looked around nervously as if the walls were listening. Finally the pressure got to the man. He stood up and crossed his arms.
"Well Amys... It is Amys, isn't it?"
~ Close, but no cigar ~ I didn't say anything though.
He ignored that little fact, and went on lecturing, "What are we going to do about this? Or rather, what do you want to do about this?"
~ Holy shit ~ I had power over a teacher. I could do whatever I wanted. ~ Whatever the fuck I want ~ He knew I knew this. Simpson started to sweat.
Goddamn teachers are too smart for their own good. He suddenly had a look of inspiration in his eyes and his posture became more confident. Or rather, he sat down on top of his desk and crossed his legs.
"But then," he started, "What were you doing in the staff lounge? It is off limits to students. And why weren't you in class?" It was a stare-down.
We just sat there, myself in a desk, him sitting on his. This was a make or break situation. Who was going to feel the guiltiest? We sat. Five minutes... ten minutes... fifteen...
He finally looked away first, in guilt and shame. I had won. Mr. Simpson was my bitch, and maybe even that Ms. Kwan. I allowed myself a small smirk.
And then I quietly told him my plan.
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Short, simple, and all together a waste of your time, but unfortunately, necessary.