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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

"I'm not talking about renting a sky-writer. Just, y'know...it not being such a taboo subject in the household?"

Because she was one to talk about not keeping romances a secret, yep.

"It's not a taboo subject either."

But clearly it was because it was Leonard McCoy and he would hit the roof if any of his private life was leaked to the public.

"Oh, it isn't? Then why don't you go and take her out on a date, Romeo."

Her eyebrows lifted, questioning.

"I cook for her."

It was true; he had made her a special Valentine's meal while Buffy was pining after the leather-clad sissy boy slaughtering most of the villagers. The benefit of that experiment that everyone was too absorbed in their new life partners to pay any attention to a doctor attempting to woo his girlfriend with alien food.

"Yeah? Is that so? I've served Spike pig's blood through a straw but that never meant we were exchanging promise rings or anything." Buffy drawled, immediately regretting the parallel the moment she had made it. It was just that she had Spike on the mind.

She hurried to rectify her faux-pas: "I mean...look, the weather's warming up. Maybe you should take out for a hike or something. Romantic camping trip? That's pretty unpublic enough, surely."

The suggestion of a romantic camping trip – that would be rife with insects and all sorts of venomous creatures that spoke back before slaying Emony and causing his heart rate to sore – fell on deaf ears as she mentioned Spike.

"He should fall on a damn twig."

"In my defence? He was totally my prisoner at that point. We had him chained in Giles' bathtub. This was post-evil-scientist-chip, but pre-soul."

Buffy shook her head. "Just wait and see. He'll prove himself. He has a bad habit of being surprisingly useful."

"I'm sure he will."

The tone did not match the optimistic phrase that he might as well spat out at her.

Buffy continued to shake her head, adamant.

"Losing battle, huh?"

McCoy sighed after she shook her head and mulled over what he would say next concerning the vampire-from-her-world-that-was-an-ex situation.

"... I'll try." He was not a man to make idle promises, but he would at least attempt civility with the man with peroxide bleached hair.

"Thank you. I mean that. I'm not asking you to be his friend...just try not to become big time enemies?" Buffy sighed.

"He's got his own kind of chivalry."

"Chivalry?" He snorted at that notion. "Coulda fooled me... but all right; not big time enemies." In fact, he would strike some sort of allegiance with the vampire at one point concerning the powered down Slayer.

And Buffy would remain none the wiser. Which was probably for the best, considering how conspiracies put a bee in her bonnet. Or they would, if she had a bonnet.

"He's all ye olde British and all that, under the whole eighties rocker vibe. They're just bursting with chivalry."

"I think you've had too many knocks to the head, Summers." He replied, tapping to his temple knowingly. The mere prospect of that punk having any trace of chivalry was just... well, laughable to the gentleman doctor. Maybe he would have disagreed if he grew a pair but until then, he was suspended in denial.

"Hey! He was probably the best babysitter in all of Sunnydale."

She was laughing lightly when she said it. It was very true, but also rather bad of her to bring it up.

"He didn't gamble with them, did he?"

"N-no. No baby gambling." Buffy shook her head. "I mean...he looked after Dawn, sometimes. When she needed it. Y'know, making sure she was safe and telling stories. Kind of like a nanny."

"... Oh. So he was a nanny?"

This would be McCoy storing this titbit of knowledge away for future trolling.

>> this is my endgame

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