lucetilogs | >> this is my endgame

>> this is my endgame

Who: [Bad username or site: gotmebones title= @ livejournal.com] & [Bad username or site: a_slayer_slays title= @ livejournal.com]
What: Now that the snark has subsided, these two need some quality time.
When: Mid-afternoon, Friday.
Where: House Seven
Summary: Damnit, Bones! I'm a Slayer, not a chess nerd.
Rating: PG-13ish

In the haze of the improving season, Buffy had begun to contemplate where she had once heard that there was nothing really good, or nothing really bad--except in how you thought about it. A significant portion of her guessed that it was probably some stale English class back at Sunnydale High. The day had probably been quite similar to this one, with green tinges of growth outside the window. Back then, she had probably been aching to get out and into the green. Today? Well, today there were far too many interesting things going on inside the four walls of the house. Electricity had sprouted, as if from no where, and it had not taken her long to make what use she could from what they had been given. All morning, House Seven was treated to the incessant dinging and whirring of a microwave being rather over-used. As Buffy plunged her fork into the soft belly of a pizza pocket (new food had arrived in the shops, after all), she did not care that it was her fifth today. The point was that it was a good day to be a twenty-first century kinda girl.

She was sitting by a window in the house's lounge, her knees drawn close to her chest and the plate balanced precariously on the tops of her feet. Her chin, set in the crevice between her knees, tilted and shifted for each delivered bite. By all accounts, she looked peaceful enough. But how long would that last, with a certain medical doctor on the prowl?

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McCoy is a man and cannot understand just how special that day is for girls. "They nearly got married, right? Sounds like he had a lucky escape."

"He left her. At the altar. Guess who had to play Miss Damage Control for both the crowd and the crazy ex-demon bride?"

He pulled a face at that and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ouch.>/i>"

"One of her ex-demon job victims came and played a not-so-practical joke on the groom to be. It ended poorly for pretty much all involved."

Buffy downed the last of the milk and nudged the glass back onto the table. "The got to be something like friends again, later."

"Good." McCoy nodded. "Good.. marriage rarely ends well."

"It's gotta work for some folks." She argued, all the while being only supplied with examples to the contrary. "It was supposed to work for them."

Buffy had banked so much emotional happiness on Xander and Anya's relationship. It was supposed to be an indication that the wild and wacky world of human and demon love could work. That it didn't all end in slaughter and heartbreak, like her forays had.

"There's love, right? So why can't there be marriage, too. I've seen a lot of love that--if it weren't for other circumstances--woulda continued on forever."

She thought briefly upon the reunited witches.

"There are a lot of relationships that could have continued for forever." A few examples came to mind; a certain Trill for one took up most of this idea, whenever he toyed with the notion a relationship could have worked back when he was young. And naive. "There are always circumstances."

"Like...being from different world." It's an ambiguous comment. She could mean planets, or she could mean different realities. Like what they experienced here in Luceti. The is subtext there that is rapidly becoming text and so she draws back, looking past Bones and out the window.

"I just want to see someone get a happy ending. At least once."

"... Maybe some people will."

The doctor shrugged. Despite her level of ambiguity concerning that statement about other worlds, he suspected what she had meant by those words and stares at the ceiling, where the pristine new bulb hung waiting to be used in the evening.

"Happily ever afters don't exist. You said it yourself about the whole marriage thing."

Watch out, Bones. Get too cynical and the youngsters might copy you.

"You don't need to get married to have a happily ever after. It'll probably help, but look where I ended up after the whole thing." He gestured to the living room.

"Stuck in winged-bizzaro land with a modern surgeon's nightmare down the road and taking in dogs." Brown did not take kindly to that comment or the fact that some of her colloquialisms had rubbed off on the doctor.

"You ended up with a someone. That's where you ended up." Buffy was brash as ever and seemingly unbothered by how much she knows Bones usually doesn't want to talk about this. She, of course, means the other blonde of the household.

"That's gotta be a bit of a good thing, right?"

If McCoy had been drinking from that mint julep he left forgotten on the table as she said that, he would have choked at that brash accusation flung at him by the Slayer.

He was just left to splutter indignantly or blush. The latter of which reared its ugly head. "Yeah."

"And so did I, for a little while. And that's not the kind of thing that should be turned into regret." Her voice was hesitant. She was working through the theory just as she was teaching it to him. "Sure--it's not the safest or nicest or funnest place for a rendezvous...but it's still a place."

She still avoided eye-contact. Part of her respected the doctor a bit too much to become a spectator to his reaction. "You certainly seem to throw a lot of regrets out the window, when she's around." Buffy smirked. "You grumble less."

Most of those regrets would soon rebound considering his plan to nail the windows of the house shut. An idea he should have mulled over when the temperatures were below freezing and he wasn't stuck in a bar getting steadily more drunk. Little inconsistencies.

"... Is it that obvious?"

Here was a rare uncomplicated smile. "I've dated a brooder, before. That's only like...one step removed from a grumbler. So I guess I'm well-versed in the differences."

It wasn't often that she could think back to Angel with simplicity, but using that memory in the service of understanding the situation before her? It helped. And that relationship hadn't ended through any real fault of their own. It had been the curse, right? "It might not be obvious to everyone. But I bet it's obvious to her."

"I don't brood."

Even if she did not accuse him of that, there were times when he did brood, but at least he was more forthcoming than most of the brooders accumulated in Luctei and the ones in her own world that she was drawing comparisons with. If he was unsatisfied with something, he would vocalize it and probably argue his point across. Emony would always humour him with his many gripes; nearly two hundred years older than him, there was no denying that she had a bit of an edge on him when it came to that.

"... Hmph." Despite that off-hand grumble, he could not ignore that feeling of euphoria thinking about her. It was different from his relationship with Jocelyn and others, and it showed on his face. McCoy was just a huge softie.

Buffy, delighted by that forthcoming expression, pushed her luck. "If I was a more observant kinda girl, I'd say that free room was free long before Emil came by and needed a spot, right." She hinted, only. She wouldn't go delving into horribly personal areas associated with that conclusion, but she felt the need to let Bones know that she knew. It was only fair after how many window-climbing jibes he had made before she had even moved in to the house.

"It's a good thing the two of you remained all unaffected by the love-spell. 'Cause that kind of whammy is totally non-productive for a budding romance. The one time I was hit by a charm like that, back home? I met the guy I'd just started dating outside a wedding dress shop and proceeded to invite him to my own nuptials. To someone else." To Spike, in fact. But Buffy holds out on that one. Bones certainly did not have to hear about the time the vampire had, under the influence of magic, proposed to the Slayer.

"It wore off pretty fast...but, still. It wasn't easy passing the whole thing off as a really bad practical joke."

"Do you ever have just a normal day? Where you just.. oh I don't know, play golf or something?"

McCoy attempted to question the inquiring Slayer, whilst trying to cover up this feeble attempt at palming her off on the subject of changing rooms and Trills. If Buffy had been surprised by Emony deciding she was going to share a room with the doctor from now on, she wasn't the only one; it came as quite a shock to McCoy, who had the pleasure of waking up one morning and discovering that his new roommate was leeching the body heat off him as she cuddled up to him. Not that he was complaining about that kind of comfort after so long and it was relieving to have her that close... while the experiment did not propel them any closer, it was nice taking steps in their relationship now the air was clear.

"We have a lot of free rooms. It's a big house."

"Golf? Golf is not normal. Dancing is normal. Board-game nights are normal. Beach days and picnics are normal. Golf is just...weird. Gives me the creeps."

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Golf gives the Slayer the creeps. There is something rather wrong with that. But she moved on, eyeing the Doctor with care and concern.

"Aha! So you admit it. The whole bunking-up thing isn't just a space issue." She smirked.

While the slur against golf (since McCoy was a doctor and was therefore expected to enjoy the game) did not go unnoticed, it was dampened by the other accusation about space. If there would have been a telepath present in the house at the moment, then the sound of McCoy inwardly cursing 'damn it' would surely give the recipient a headache.

"I'm not admitting anything!"

"You might as well have admitted it, mister."

She could not wipe the smile from her face. C'mon, Bones. She's happy that you're happy about something.

She might have been happy about his happiness, but she had come to that conclusion by trolling it out of him. McCoy crossed his arms and grumbled: "Fine."

It's how the Slayer works. Words were her weapon just as much as any stake or sword. She sat back with delight.

"Why so secretive about it all, though?"

"We're not being secretive about it." He reasoned sullenly. McCoy wasn't like a certain Captain who often boasted his romantic accomplishments during their years at the Academy. "It just... isn't something that warrants public knowledge, that's all."

After all, he did not want to be lumped in that category of 'snogging at the fountain' which, blissfully, they were both unaffected by.

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