lucetilogs | I can cut you into pieces

Who:

slaying
What: The inevitable confrontation after the week's events
When: Back-dated to Sunday morning, after the alternate universe event ends
Where: The tunnels, at first
Summary: Post-experiment, Buffy is a moth to the flame when it comes to hurt and McCoy just has avoidance issues. Clearly they need to talk about what happened.
Rating: PG+?

McCoy was not entirely sure what happened at first. Lately, it seemed like this was becoming a regular occurrence for him, waking up sore and not recognizing his surroundings. He could blame the company he often kept these days, he supposed. Or maybe he was just growing too accustomed to waking up each morning to the same ceiling and that particular thought unnerved him slightly. Oh, how he was growing tired of it, he lamented silently to himself as he rubbed at his face tiredly. Then the memories of the past week came back to him in a nauseating rush.

Oh, hell.

An appropriate sentiment, as that is what it felt like as the memories of what he had done – no, it wasn't him... was it? – became less hazy and more distinctive as he woke up properly. Terran Empire? Chess pieces, confrontations... Summers. Experiment sprung to his mind almost instantly, eclipsing the nagging feeling he had and something Spock would most likely enjoy picking apart, but something he vehemently refused to even consider. It didn't seem like there was an excuse as he swallowed dryly as he leant back heavily against the wall.

"Damn it..."

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"Home. She repeated, with emphasis. Buffy backed out of the cell; clearly, being here was making her anxious. No one liked seeing their friends--no, their family--behind bars. It went against all of her natural instincts. The opposite of what she was supposed to be doing for McCoy. And yet, then again, there was a twinge of concern for when the Doctor would step over that threshhold into freedom. What if this was a trick? What if he never really returned back to normal at all?

Buffy's brows contracted. Both of them must have realized what was going through her head. This was, by no means, the first time that someone trusted--someone loved (albeit for different reasons)--had changed violently upon her. Encountering the darker side of McCoy smacked of the morning she had met Angelus as he masqueraded as Angel. The horrible things that had been said. The way it felt like some vital organ had been torn out.

And the moment Angel had come back to her, she had ran him through with a sword. Could she have done the same, now? Responding to her own thoughts, Buffy shook her head.

"It's really me, Summers." He offered to her in silence that reigned between them and inwardly admonished himself for how awkward that surname sounded coming from his lips now. It might not have been enough to crush the tension – the unspoken uncertainly –completely, but he damn well tried to at least alleviate it before he walked through that door.

"If it wasn't, I probably would have skipped out of here already." He added as a bitter after-thought. As it stood, he remained at the door and looked up at the entry of the cell. It was only one step between him and perdition now. His face was a mask of remorse, but an apology had failed to expertly materialize as of yet. How could it one come so easily and mean everything? He had used violence against her with damn intent because his views had been cruelly inverted for giggles.

"I think it's still in here. Hell, I hope it is."

"I know it's you."

She wanted to think that she could tell. That there was an air of difference around this man and the one from last week. A difference that she hadn't been able to spot because of the haze and confusion surrounding her own...problems.

"Just 'cause I magically thought Spike was Angel last week, doesn't mean I'm still suffering from the same delusions about other people's identities."

"So you're not..." McCoy trailed off, but it was obvious what his thought process was rotating around at the moment. His shoulders seem to sag with relief.

"Thank God for that."

"No, I am. I mean--we are. Just not li--" Crap. That was more of an admission that she was comfortable with. But it had to happen, didn't it? Eventually? Given enough time and space the truth was bound to slip out. Buffy simply hadn't wanted it to come out at such an inopportune moment.

Her cheeks flared up, red. Not shame or embarrassment, but emotion. Confusion. How could she even explain to McCoy about these feelings that felt like they were invading her?

"Spike and me...it's been--since the draft."

McCoy allowed that to sink in and watched as she blushed. Her and Spike... since the draft, huh? It made a lot of sense, actually. Even before the earthquake, he had watched leave to go out on patrol in the evening and then hear her sneak back early in the morning. Emony must have told him to drop it, but there was concern that only a plus year of captivity could do to a man buried there as to where she was staying. Especially when Derek let Emony, Spock and him stay in their residence.

Hell, patrol could mean a lot of things when it concerned Buffy Summers; sparring with other fighters, brawling with pirates, attending her shift at Good Spirits or God knows what else she got up to when she left the house.

"... What the hell." Disapproval, confusion, shock and maybe a pinch of anger was all rolled into one cantankerous gripe.

"There. That face, right there? That's exactly why I didn't tell you sooner." She jabbed a finger in his direction. Righteousness, one of her favouritest defense mechanisms. She turned away and tried to hide from the look of mixed-bag emotions on his face. It sliced her and hurt her in ways she had not anticipated. Going into the relationship with Spike, she knew that she would disappoint Bones. Back then, she had shrugged and gone with her gut instead. Now, she felt the chilling grip of some unnamed responsibility. Why should she care?

But she cared so much. Enough to keep it from him, at least.

Buffy might have cared enough to keep this from him, but McCoy was having trouble keeping up with her list of romantic pursuits. He rubbed his brow in the faint hope that it would disperse the twisting expressions in revelation of this and entice the Slayer to actually look at him instead of turning away like she often did. What a familiar situation this one was.

McCoy had laughed back then when she commented how different he was, but there was no way he could laugh now... and just why the hell was it affecting him so much? He remembered when he had made something of the truce with the bloodsucking bastard, back when she was still powerless.

Maybe it was the wall of silence. Neither of them could win.

Still turned away, she began to speak. "I just--Bones? I want to do right by him. Finally. And I feel I'm capable of that, right now."

These were important distinctions. Buffy wasn't sure about whether she actually loved Spike. He was in her heart--that much she had already admitted to Angel, years ago. She felt something warm and genuine towards him, but was that enough? Could she shape it into love just by the sheer force of her will?

"You can do what you want." He finally landed on that listless reply. He wondered, was this just indignation over how she was transferring those affections she had for Jim over to Spike? The doctor remembered how his abrupt departure from this world had affected her; she had never admitted to loving him, after all.

"You're old enough to--" make your own mistakes? "—-take care of yourself."

... And why the hell should he care any of this.

I can cut you into pieces

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