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Not Your Typical Military Wife

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This story is No. 1 in the series "NYTMW Universe". You may wish to read the series introduction first.

Summary: W/Jack. A "When I Woke Up" fic. Willow. Jack. Vegas. And too much to drink. This could equal trouble for our heroes.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > Willow-Centered > Pairing: Jack O'Neill(Site Founder)JinniFR151822,87021214133,0367 Apr 0428 Jul 06No

Not Your Typical Military Wife

Title: When I Woke Up

Author: Jinni (druscilla@cox.net)

Rated: PG13

Pairing: W/?

Genre: BtVS/? Crossover.

Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, et al.

Distribution: WLS, WLF, NHA, BMP, Aislin, TTH, TQC.

Author’s Note: Just something quick and short I thought of while at work. I’m going to add it to the scenarios list at TQC if anyone else wants to play with the idea.

Feedback: Please?

~*~*~

I know before I open my eyes that the last thing I want to do is, well, open my eyes.

Its just one of those feelings you get right before you wake, that once you open your eyes nothing will be the same ever again. Like on your first day of school or your first day of college, or later in life the morning of your wedding.

Nothing will ever be the same.

That’s what my mind keeps screaming at me, and I haven’t even opened my eyes yet. Don’t open them, my brain is yelling, because once you do. . . .

So – where am I?

Hard to say without opening my eyes, though I know I’m lying in a bed of some sort and a part of me wants to go ahead and assume that I’m in my hotel room, in Vegas and that this pounding in the back of my head is a hangover from the impromptu drinking spree me, Xander and Buffy went on last night.

Why are we in Vegas in the first place? Just for the hell of it. Really, that’s it. Buffy and Xander did *not* decide to elope. Nor did Xander and I, or Buffy and I. We came here just for fun, drinking and gambling.

I think Xander also came to see some showgirls, but that’s just him. I am here for the fun.

Of course, right now my head feels like I had a little too much fun and there’s still that nagging sensation in the back of my head saying something has changed.

Something big.

So before I commit myself to opening my eyes and facing what the morning (or is it afternoon?) has to greet me with – I’ll just lay here and try to remember last night.

Let’s see. . .

Okay. . .

We went to a club. One of those ones in the casinos. It was fun. Much better than the Bronze ever was. In fact, after going to this place I don’t think the Bronze should ever be allowed to call itself a club again. Does disgrace to the whole word.

So. . . club. . .

And there was drinking.

A lot of it.

Mucho drinks.

All around, even. I think I remember Xander passing out at one point.

There were guys. Me and Buffy found hotties! Woo! At least, I think they were hot.

I *hope* they were hot, since I can remember getting quite physical with my guy on the dance floor.

And then. . . .

Damn.

What happened after that?

It’s all a blur.

I mean. . . we drank. .. we danced. My supposed-hottie took me outside for some fresh air. . .

And now I’m in a bed.

Okay, so maybe its not *my* bed. Well, that can’t be that bad, then – right? I got drunk and ended up in someone’s bed. We probably did things that are going to make me blush as soon as I remember them.

Yep.

That *has* to be the reason why I have this little. .. feeling. . . that something happened.

Hmm. .. .

It feels like something bigger than that, though.

Goddess – give me strength. I’m going to do it. I’m going to open my eyes.

Aiee!

Yep! There’s a man in my bed.. .. . except its not my bed. Nope this room isn’t familiar. Not at all. Uh uh. Means that I’m a woman in *his* bed. Or is this just some random bed we found to fall into last night?

Slowly, I move my hand, trying not to wake up the hottie of a stranger laying next to me. Yeah, he’s definitely hot. At least I have taste even when I’m that wasted.

But moving my hand presents another problem.

Well, not a problem, per se.

Just a discovery.

A ring.

You know – on *that* finger. The one that you save for marriage. A little golden band.

I better just get this over with and look at his hand –

Sweet Goddess.. … he’s got one too. . .

Don’t tell me I did something this stupid, please don’t tell me.

But that bouquet of tacky silk roses sitting on the nightstand next to my head says something different. As does the little brochure and rather official looking certificate underneath of it. You can get married twenty-four hours a day in Vegas.

And it looks like that’s just what I did. . .

Well, damn – I can’t even remember his name.

Meek little Willow Rosenberg got drunk, got hitched, and then. . . one moment while I check my state of undress. . . yup. . . apparently got laid, too.

Wonder where Buffy was during all of this. . .

~*~The End~*~
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