Chapter 7: Bad ideas

"Nice job, everyone. If you have any questions, feel free to see me after class or shoot me an email. Have a good day," Willow announces to her class of Slayers, trying not to get offended by their vacant, yawning faces. She closes her Witchcraft history book, turns off the projector and packs up the rest of her things while the girls clear the room.

"Cool jacket, Ms. Rosenberg," a student calls out while leaving the room. "You a Megadeth fan?" Willow looks down at Faith's denim coat - the one she's still wearing.

"Oh, yeah. The biggest," she lies. As the room empties of human distractions, Willow is forced to confront her rapidly-moving, nagging thoughts.

Okay, Willow. Intervention time. Why are you still wearing Faith's jacket?

B-Because I feel like it.

You aren't even friends. You're colleagues - maybe acquaintances. But that's it.

W-Well, why can't I wear my colleague's clothes to work? That's … totally normal.

Not when you're attracted to them.

I-I'm not. I don't see Faith that way.

You're lying.

Fine, she's attractive!

She tried to kill you once.

Yeah, like, a buncha years ago. She's not like that anymore.

Faith is dangerous. And you are wearing her jacket because … what? You're lonely? She was nice to you for two seconds? You miss having a girlfriend?

Stop it.

Admit it. You're looking for something you know you'll never find again. Not since -

Don't say her-

Tara.

That's not true. I-I had that again. With Kennedy.

Liar.

Willow's bickering thoughts are interrupted by a bombshell brunette slithering into the room.

"'Sup, Will. Do you have my-" Faith notices the object of her desire on Willow's body. " ... jacket?"

Oh, ye Gods.

Willow's chest flares up at the sight of her. Faith stands across from the witch in the same shirt she was wearing last night - a red, form-fitting tank that reminds Willow just how gay she is and a pair of sleek, leather pants. Before another second of blank, awkward staring passes, Willow rips the jacket off of her body and throws it over to Faith so she doesn't have to come any closer. Faith catches it with one hand and raises an eyebrow at the red-head.

"S-Sorry. I couldn't find you this morning and I figured the best way not to lose it would be … to put it on my body. I'm always losing stuff," Willow laughs nervously while Faith maintains her utter coolness.

"Can't really blame ya. It's a killer jacket," she flashes a dark, enchanting smile at Willow.

Phew. She doesn't care. Neat. Neato. Wait, why doesn't she care? Is she seriously not going to look into that at all?

Faith looks as if she's about to leave the room after collecting her jacket and something inside Willow doesn't want that to happen.

"How are you?" She blurts out in full voice, causing Faith to stop dead in her tracks. She turns around bemusedly and gives a subtle shrug.

"Five-by-Five. And you?"

I still don't know what that means.

"I-I'm good. I found an unclaimed bag of skittles in the vending machine today so that was cool."

Wow, Willow. You're so cool and interesting. It's no wonder you have girls lining up … oh, wait.

"Sugar for breakfast. Score." Faith swings her jacket over one shoulder and continues the conversation. "How were the girls today?"

"Girls were good. They should be fully-rested for tonight's patrol," Willow jokes, rubbing the back of her neck.

Why did I say that? Now she's gonna think I'm boring! I mean, if she hasn't figured that out already.

"They fell asleep? Oh, now I have to torture them."

"Torture?" she squeaks.

Images of the rogue Slayer during her darkest days suddenly flood Willow's memory - like when the cold metal of Faith's knife tickled her throat and threatened to break the skin. Or when Faith tried to choke Xander to death. Or the many, many times she hurt Buffy.

No … She isn't like that anymore.

"I'm just gonna make them run laps and shit. Don't get your panties in a twist, Red."

"My panties in a twist?" Willow's nervous laughter returns. "I would … never."

Faith keeps her eyes on the flustered witch but doesn't say a word; she just watches with a wicked grin and vivacious brown eyes. Uncomfortable by the silence, Willow feels compelled to fill it up with more pointless jibber-jabber.

"I-I bet they don't have that problem with you. Falling asleep, I mean. Like I'm sure you keep them entertained."

"I do what I can. Hey, s'it cool if I smoke in here?" Faith slides onto the surface of Willow's desk and crosses one leg over the other. She pulls out a cigarette, lights it and brings the tobacco to her red lips before Willow can get a syllable out.

"Those are … really bad for you," she mumbles inaudibly, watching the hypnotic beauty destroy her lungs in the most elegant way possible.

She exudes confidence, fearlessness and all things sensual. And she's so … laid-back. How is she like that? In a place like this? In a place like … this. Oh, my god! Why am I letting her smoke in here? Drugs do not belong in the classroom!

Faith studies Willow's face, making her feel like a piece of art on the wall at a museum. Or more accurately - a caged animal at the zoo. There's something in her gaze that causes Willow to shutter. Why is she … looking at me like that? With a smirk hidden by a cloud of smoke, Faith readjusts herself on the teacher's desk into a slouch. Her legs are now wide and hang off the sides in true delinquent decorum. Faith blows a puff cloud into Willow's face playfully and lets out a charming giggle.

I-Is she … flirting with me?

"Did you know," Willow coughs and splutters from the smoke, outing herself as totally uncool. "Cigarettes are responsible for more than four-hundred and eighty-thousand deaths per year? Y-Yeah. And forty-one thousand of those deaths are just from," she coughs again. "... secondhand smoke exposure." Willow rubs her throat dramatically.

"Hm. Then I guess it's a good thing I'm only smoking around you," Faith remarks.

"You know, smokers die ten years earlier than non-smokers. And that's a fact."

Faith puts out her cig in the cup she finds on the desk, triggering a muted gag from its owner. She then leaps off the wooden surface and plants her heavy combat boots in front of Willow's mousy feet, causing her to stumble backwards.

"You know what else is a fact? You were checking me out earlier."

"W-What? I'm - what - no - what are you - that's crazy. You're crazy!" Willow stammers.

"Well, yeah. But I'm kind of a pro when it comes to sniffing out attraction."

But … I was being so subtle.

Feeling backed into a corner, Willow decides being honest and open about her feelings is probably the way to go. Lying, making excuses and pretending are clearly not strengths of hers - not anymore, anyway.

"Listen, Faith, I'm really sorry. That was extremely unprofessional of me and I-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Chill," Faith interrupts as if she doesn't have time for apologies. "You didn't commit a crime or anything. You just want to have sex with me, it's not a big deal."

"I - what? I never said -"

"You didn't have to. Like I said, I have a knack for this," Faith laughs; Willow finds it surprisingly gleeful of a sound for someone with such a dark presence. "Besides, I had a feeling this was gonna happen eventually," Faith adds in a cocky tone.

"Oh, what? You're so attractive and charming that it was only a matter of time before I fell head-over-heels in love with you?"

"Who said anything about love?" Faith raises her eyebrows suggestively and Willow gets the message. "I think we both know that isn't my style." Faith inches closer, her hot, dulcet breath lofting against Willow's cheek.

Sex. She means sex. Is she proposing what I think she's proposing?

The thought had never occurred to her. Every relationship Willow ever had - Oz, Tara and Kennedy - they were nothing if not attempts at big, wild and passionate love. But with Faith, it would seem that wasn't an option.

"I can see you're struggling with this, so let me clear things up. We're both adults. We both have desires. Things have been really tense around here. I think we could benefit from a night of fun," she shrugs casually. "Would you be up for it?"

Wow. She really just said all that. Like, outloud.

"I - uh - okay - um. C-Can I think about it?"

"Sure thing," Faith starts, slipping on her jacket. "You know where to find me." The bewitching slayer curls her sensual lips into a smile before stepping backwards and taking off. Confused, flabbergasted and to be frank, a little turned on, Willow traipses forward and hunches over the desk with a full head of conflicting thoughts. Her eyes latch on to the half-used cancer stick at the bottom of her "World's Best Teacher" mug.

I … um. What?