lucetilogs | i'm half-awake in paisley print -- i can see the world clearly but i have to squint

i'm half-awake in paisley print -- i can see the world clearly but i have to squint

Who: [Bad username or site: slaying title= @ livejournal.com], [Bad username or site: hippocraticly title= @ livejournal.com] & [Bad username or site: lists_to_port title= @ livejournal.com]
What: Somehow, Jack has talked his way into helping look after the under-the-weather Doctor McCoy
When: Backdated to Wednesday morning
Where: House Seven
Summary: A lot of awkward silences are predicted.
Rating: PG13? Perhaps higher for implications or language. We'll see.

It was mid-morning on a Wednesday and Buffy was still in her pajamas. After her post-waking-up shower, she decided to slip right back into something comfy and casual. It made the day seem that much more inviting. And her evening had gone latter than expected, tending to the delirium-tinged sickness of Doctor McCoy. She probably doesn't even remember inviting Jack Sparrow over to "help" -- which is all well and good, because if she remembered she would probably rescind the invitation.

She began her day in the kitchen. Coffee had to be made -- for her. Bones was getting lemon in hot water or maybe some NeoCitran knock-off. Plus orange slices, because she has made it her own personal mission to get as much vitamin C into the doctor as she can manage. She took great satisfaction in crisply slicing the fruit, releasing deliciously orangeish smells into the air.

Once the coffee was successfully brewed, Buffy took a tray of everything into the lounge. She gently attempted to rouse Bones from his stupor on the couch.

(ooc; posting order -- bones, jack, buffy? sound good?)

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Jack wasn't unprepared for an attack of that kind, so he was able to somewhat swerve out of the way of the oncoming fist. Still, Bones connected.

"OUCH! See, Buffy? Quite a powerful lad still." Could he remember the things Jack had said to goad him into waking up back at the lakeside? Hopefully not.

"What window.....what window.....OH. Your window, lass. Erm...be right back." And the pirate got up and headed into the kitchen for something to staunch the blood.

Buffy watched as her everything crashed down around her. Peace, her Wednesday morning, reality. She rubbed her temple and just...no, she shook her head.

"Why with the Rocky act and--Jack?" Oh yes, she was yelling after him. "Didn't we have a conversation about my window, last night?"

It was difficult to say if McCoy remembered the comment about her underwear drawer when he was unconscious next to the lake, but he was not giving anything away as he slumped back onto the couch and faced the cushions sulkily.

"We did? I don't recall, lass." This Jack called out from the kitchen. He soon returned to them both with a bloodstained tea towel clutched to his nose. "I shut it tightly behind me, you'll be glad to know."

Yeah, we did. And you talked about how you wouldn't use the window if I didn't want you do and I still don't want you to."

Buffy was now standing somewhere approximately in the middle between Jack and Bones. She wanted to make a comment about his blood getting all over their tea towel but--God, was it really worth it? Clearly this was just one big disaster. So--like a strange kind of surrender, she pointed the orange slices out to Bones.

"Hey. Vitamin C, now."

As Buffy took the role of mediator, McCoy lifted his head and peered over the head rest of the couch at the two of them, trying to make out what the conversation between pirate and slayer actually meant. Instead, he looked aghast at the towel Jack was slowly defiling.

"Windows are for letting air in, not damn annoying bastards!" McCoy snapped at the man, rolling his eyes as she Buffy tried to direct his attention to the orange slices instead.

"Sorry, Buffy, force of habit, I guess. Any way I can make it up to you?" As he offered to make amends, the pirate peered around Buffy at McCoy. "Oi! Eat your oranges, now, there's a chap."

She took a heavy seat on the chair. Jack jumping on the command bandwagon would not help her cause, she predicted. She slurped her coffee like it was her only respite.

"Force of habit?" She echoed, miserably--before mouthing a quick God, I'm sorry to Bones.

"Mmmph."

It must have been a good sign that McCoy had so much energy to act so childishly right now, as he popped the orange slices into his mouth in rapid succession and chewed on them thoughtfully, eyes narrowed to slits as he willed the persisting nausea to give him a break.

Better to ignore Buffy's question or risk more bloodletting. House 7: a dangerous place. Jack returned to Bones's side, sidling past Buffy.

"I've brought you some special things what will help you mend, Bones."

At least Bones was eating the orange slices--perhaps he would notice the hot lemon water, too. But she wouldn't push her luck and it wouldn't do to have a clash of wills in front of Jack Sparrow.

"Your special things better not include booze, Jack."

McCoy lifted his brow and he was tempted to throw another punch at his face with him being in such close vicinity, but concentrated on the orange slices and keeping them down instead. He swallowed most of them before he decided to humour the other man.

"I severely doubt that somehow," He murmured thickly, although the prospect of alcohol being smuggled into the house was definitely appealing. McCoy had been gagging for a drink after what happened, but he knew Buffy would not approve; especially with the cup of hot lemon water currently being shunned.

"Got a cure in there for the common cold? Not damn likely."

Jack moved so that he could block Buffy's line of sight, reaching surreptitiously into his coat to pull out a familiar silver flask. He poured some of its contents into the hot water.

"Dunno, mate--might surprise you, eh?"

Buffy was far too distracted by her own misery to really figure out what was going on. She blustered through the hot coffee in a few gulps, then spun the dregs in her mug.

Maybe she could just...leave. But then more punches might fly.

"... Yeah, right." He muttered sceptically, keeping his expression impassive as he watched him add some more punch to the lemon. As he reached for the cup and lifted it, he gave it an experimental sniff before taking a good, long sip.

"Better already, eh? Now then....I'll show you what I've brought!" The pirate picked up the canvas duffle bag he'd carried in, unzipping it with a flourish.

Now, she looked up--curious.

"Move! Let me see."

As Buffy showed interest, McCoy was tempted to bury himself under the blankets again with his steaming spiked drink.

"Well aren't we an eager little thing, Buffy. No worries, I've brought something for you as well." Jack hovered protectively over the bag, unwilling for his surprise to be diminished by overeager onlookers.

First he pulled out what looked like a shriveled salamander.

"This," he announced, "when boiled for ten minutes, makes a fabulous healing tisane. The Pelegosto swear by it."

Buffy quickly wished she had never shown any interest. Never mind that she was now terrified what Jack might have for her--she certainly hoped it wasn't a shriveled up salamander.

"Oh, that thing is going nowhere near our cookware."

The ailing doctor shared her sentiments and suddenly he regretted listening to them both and eating those orange slices.

"... I think I'm going to throw up."

Ignoring them both, Jack knelt and laid the amphibian relic carefully on the floor and dug into the bag again. This time he brought forth what looked like a small, narrow pillow. It was stuffed with dried herbs of various kinds.

"Now this--wet it and then warm it so it steams, savvy? Then lay it across your chest, Bonesy: the fragrance helps you breathe and sleep."

This received less horror from Buffy. "Oh, like some kind of weird piratey Vicks Vaporub. I can get that--Bones? It probably works."

"Please don't agree with him." He whined weakly, tempted to bury his face into the cushions and wait for them both to leave him alone.

"All I have left is for the lady. Found this in the forest, Buffy." Jack's voice faltered slightly as he pulled a neatly-folded jacket from the bag. Tucked away in one pocket was a perfectly smooth oval-shaped piece of mother-of-pearl charm. A tiny hole had been painstakingly drilled through it. He knew it might never be found, or it might be thrown away, but there it was.

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