Title: Beer Very Bad (originally titled "One Night Stand," but this seemed more apt)
Author: Golden Waffles
Rating: T. For now, at least. Mentions of sex.
Description: It's kind of an alternate ending to "Something Blue." That night Willow gets drunk at the Bronze, something a little different happens, involving a certain blonde girl.
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own the characters or settings of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Just the situations I put them in here.
A/N: I'm definitely a fan of Willow/Tara, so they will definitely end up together and happy by the end of this. They're gong to take a rather unusual path to get there, though. I just got this idea in my head and couldn't get rid of it, so here goes nothing!


Chapter 1:
The Morning After

Buffy was right. Beer bad. Beer very bad.

Willow cringed as the pale morning light reached her, hitting her like a knife between the eyes and dragging her into wakefulness. She immediately brought her hands up to massage her temples, trying to ease the splitting headache that threatened to settle in for the day. One of her hands reached automatically for her neck, which had been stubbornly aching every day for the past several weeks, but she found that this morning it actually felt surprisingly loose and relaxed. Really, her whole body- besides her head and stomach- felt great. Loose. Relaxed. Rested. Kind of tingly, really. Just her head felt like it was going to split open. Her stomach also felt a little shifty, but some kind of warm, soft pressure was keeping it placated for the time being, which she was grateful for.

She supposed she deserved this. Drinking had never gotten their group anywhere good in the past. Buffy had certainly taught them that lesson. But after a day like yesterday, after Oz's only remaining things just disappeared, drowning her sorrows hadn't seemed like such a bad idea. The alcohol hadn't fixed anything, of course. Oz was still gone. All she had now was a hangover and a night of blurry memories that seemed to cut out after the third or fourth beer.

As she groaned her displeasure, she heard something answer her- a soft murmuring sound. She froze. Unexpectedly, the soft, warm thing that had been soothing her stomach began to move, causing goosebumps to explode over her entire body. It was this sensation that alerted her to the fact that she was, for some reason, completely naked. Given this new information, she was finally compelled to open her eyes to the piercing morning light.

Uh oh.

She was lying back on a large bed. The quilt was lying on the floor, as was a blanket and about half of the remaining bedsheet. The walls of the room were painted black. Oz's room had been like that, but while his room had been littered with dirty clothes and CDs, this room was quite neat, although full of some rather bizarre decorations. More importantly, though, the mysterious warmth on her stomach and along her side was explained by the presence of the room's owner: a similarly naked, full-bodied blonde girl. This girl, now in the process of waking up, sighed and nuzzled against Willow's stomach, which obediently flipped over at the tickling sensation. Her heart exploded into high gear and ordered her brain to join it. She needed an explanation. And a solution. Fast.

The blonde girl gave a huge yawn, causing her nose to scrunch up sleepily, but she continued using Willow's tummy as a pillow. Her eyes, which were now revealed to be a clear blue, blinked dubiously at the expanse of skin before them with an expression of such bewilderment that Willow might have found it cute or funny under radically different circumstances. As comprehension dawned, the curious gaze slowly traveled up Willow's stomach, then chest, then neck, then lips, then nose, until it finally met Willow's own green eyes. There was a flash of nervousness, the start of a blush, but then the blonde's pink lips curved into a goofy, uncontrollable smile.

"Hey. Morning," she beamed, blushing lightly but remaining in her- their- entangled situation. Her voice was hoarse from sleep, but warm with affection, and her expression was open and trusting. Willow's tongue lay paralyzed, unable to form even a simple response to the greeting.

"Hi," she squeaked out finally, wincing as the hysterical timbre of her own voice reminded her head that it was supposed to be torturing her.

"Are you- Oh- Hold on. Let me get you something," the blonde murmured, disentangling herself from Willow and standing on shaky legs. She scanned the area briefly for some sort of clothes or cover, but appeared to give up after a few seconds. "I guess this is, um, what you get for not being a 'good girl' last night, huh?" Before Willow could puzzle out the implications of that sentence, the girl executed a huge stretch, temporarily derailing her train of thought. Against her permission, a very small part of her mind began patting her on the back and enthusiastically shaking her hand. She clamped down on that before it could progress. Admittedly, the girl was beautiful. And naked. Very, very naked. Willow shivered and gathered a sheet around herself self-consciously. It smelled like sex. Lots of sex. She had had sex with this girl. A lot. Somehow. The sheets, the nakedness, the way her legs were weak and her body was humming- there were no two ways about it. It didn't make sense though. Why would she have sex with a girl? How would she have sex with a girl?

Gritting her teeth against her throbbing headache and studiously ignoring any other throbbing body parts, she sat up just in time to see the mysterious girl returning. She held out her hands, one with a bottle of water and the other with a few aspirin. Willow averted her eyes slightly, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with their mutual nudity. The blonde didn't seem too concerned about it.

"Here," she offered. Willow swiftly accepted the water- her tongue had both the taste and consistency of sandpaper. She was more careful with the aspirin, and attempted to take it from the girl's hand with as little contact as possible. Naked touching was how she got into this mess in the first place. Successful, she popped the pills and took a long drag from the cool bottle. Her mouth and throat immediately felt better, but her stomach protested a little without the warm weight of the blonde's head to steady it. She took another long drink, trying to hydrate the hangover away. Meanwhile, the mystery girl, satisfied, settled back comfortably on the bed, silently looking Willow over. She seemed content. One of her hands drifted over to softly trace the length of the redhead's uncovered calf. At the unexpected touch, Willow shot back until she collided with the headboard with a painfully loud bang. The blonde started, her face suddenly wearing a strange mixture of confused and apologetic. Her face tinged pink and her head ducked so that her long hair shielded her face.

"S-sorry… I just…"

Willow stood abruptly, abandoning the water on a small wooden nightstand.

"I need to go now," she blurted out, her voice far too loud for the muted morning hour. She thought she saw the girl, still frozen in place, flinch at the harsh sound, folding into herself a little. Without pause, Willow began fumbling hastily for her clothes, which seemed to be strewn in all corners of the room. "I just… I have class… I mean, homework… I mean… I just… I'm sorry." The blonde lowered her eyes and folded her arms over her chest, shielding her exposed form, as Willow continued mindlessly, desperately grasping at excuses. "This wasn't… I didn't mean… I'm sorry. I have to go."

Her thoughts were flying too fast. It hurt. She just had to get away. If she could just put a little distance between her and this girl, her and this room, her and this absurd, inexplicable situation, it would all make more sense. She just had to get out, get away. She blindly pulled the clothes on, barely even registering what was going where. Her apparent ex-lover just sat perfectly still, frozen in the same defensive posture as Willow whirlwinded around the room, scrambling to produce her belongings.

"S-s-sure… Of… of course," she stammered finally, obviously trying and failing to keep her voice upbeat. Willow crammed her shoes roughly onto her feet and stumbled towards the door. She just had to leave. Then things would make sense again.

As she slipped out of the room, relief overtook her, but guilt forced her to give one last glance back to her mystery girl. She sat on the bed, silent and exposed, her legs now locked together and her arms shielding her chest. Her head was still bowed, but Willow could make out parts of her face- her downturned eyes, her knitted brow. The confident, unashamed girl of just a few minutes ago was gone, replaced by this shy, nervous replica. She looked mortified. Rejected. Willow's heart squeezed in sympathy, and maybe even gave a twinge of regret, but her head was screaming too loudly- Get out, get out, get out! So she shut the door behind her, hiding her mystery girl from view, and began her brisk walk back to Stevenson in last night's clothes, finally understanding why everyone called it the Walk of Shame.