lucetilogs | Draft Log #3: During v. 2.0

The answer was prompt, almost like he was waiting for her to ask that question.

"Try and break his jaw for me."

The smallest of smiles.

"Aye aye, Doc."

McCoy offered a small one back.

"Now as your doctor, I'm gonna strongly advise that you get some rest, kid." His tone left no room for arguments and he crossed his arms over his chest. "You can play big damn hero tomorrow."

"...We both know that I don't really need it, Bones. I'm still fighting fit."

But there wasn't much fire in her argument. It'd been a long week.

"No, but I'll feel better if you do."

Her silence was a weighing one.

"...There's a bit of bandaging I could use but -- but I don't want you to freak when I show it to you, okay? I mean -- you're a medical professional, you don't freak. But I mean don't freak in a professionally medical way. I'm fine. It'll be fine. And it'd probably just heal up on its own over time but some disinfecting and tying up wouldn't hurt."

McCoy said nothing as the Slayer babbled nervously, but he could feel the blood drain from his face as trepidation seized him and chilled him to the bone. They both took her healing perks for granted, but she was fighting hordes of Third Party members out there -- faith in her ability to come out unscathed seemed foolish now and he unlinked his arms, gesturing for her to enter the medical camp.

"Get in there."

"I can count on your doctor-patient confidentiality, right?"

She didn't need others thinking too much about her being injured. But even before he answered the question, she was walking in -- past him -- and not limping or otherwise favouring any part of her. Not an outward sign of injury. None except for the darkened stain on her thigh -- but she was so customarily blood-spattered! Who knew if it was her blood or someone else's.

The stain on her leg could easily be a trace of a skirmish with some Third Party member on the beach in the day. McCoy never witnessed the fighting and it was purely conjecture on his part, but a thought struck him as he followed her into the camp -- just when did he become so inured to seeing her covered in blood?

Grimly, he raked his medical eye over her and searched for injuries he would probably never find, unless she pointed them out to him. She wasn't giving anything away and that vexed him sometimes. He was a healer dealing with the most uncooperative patients.

"Of course."

"I want a curtain. There's no need to give the whole damn infirmary a free show."

And now, finally, she tapped her thigh. The pressure brought a surge of fresher blood to the surface and a tear in the denim was now visible. She'd been skewered in the leg, it would seem.

"Good God, Summers."

He exclaimed once he saw the injury -- softly, mind you -- and pointed her in the direction of one of the nearest booths, where a cot and the medical equipment went unused by anyone injured or looking to catch some sleep. "Sit down. I'll find something for you."

"I'm okay," she insisted but obeyed all the same. Buffy tucked herself away on a corner of the cot and while the doctor did his scrounging she peeled the gore-soaked jeans off her legs. Modesty -- so often an issue with Buffy Summers -- was never one when it came to McCoy. He was the one to tend all of her major injuries here in Luceti; more often that not, she would have no other.

Scrounging is what he did best most of the time and he quickly secured something to use as a make-shift curtain and returned to pin it up around the booth. He cursed as he performed this task, bitching about primitive, twentieth century methods, but ultimately succeeded in the effort and shrugged off his coat.

"All right," He announced and closed the curtain around the two of them. "Let's take a look."

The deep, deep cut was just above her knee -- to the left. It looked as though she must have taken a sword-point or perhaps some crude, sharpened bar. It wasn't pretty and it wasn't clean. And it must have happened recently because it hadn't even begun to close over.

"See? Not so bad," she griped.

"That sure as hell isn't a paper cut."

McCoy retorted and crouched down for closer observation. Sealing the wound would stop the bleeding, but he needed to know what caused it first and looked up at the Slayer from the floor. "Do you know what they used?"

"...You don't really want to know, Bones. Believe me."

But her hands tightened around the handle of her slayer's scythe, resting next to her on the cot. She'd washed the blood off the stake-toting end but it was sharp enough -- and with enough force, perhaps from an Elite, it certainly would have been able to cause a wound like that.

Pinned. Pinned with her own stake.

"... I'll take your word for it."

This draft has been traumatizing enough without him hearing that story. Not that he would be able to deter her from using that weapon in the future and he starts the processing of cleaning the wound. She might not get sick, but he wasn't going to risk it or allow himself to cut corners.

"This is gonna sting."

"Do your worst. Uhm, I mean best. I mean...you know what I mean."

"... Well, I'm plenty of people would say they're synonymous of each other when you're dealing with me." A beat. "But sure, I know what you mean."

"Not so synonymous," she said warmly with only a slight hiss at the sting.

He frowned as he cleaned the wound. "It's real deep. Bastards."

"...It's their war, too. I'd give'em one deeper given half the chance. I did." A grudging respect for the other side; it's a new feeling for Buffy who was so used to fighting only monsters.

The doctor would never condone violence, but he didn't show any scorn for it either or praise her efforts. It was just something they had to do in order to survive out here and protect the people back in the enclosure -- a sad fact for a man who enlisted in a peace-keeping armada.

"What do you think they were moving?"

Edited 2011-08-28 14:54 (UTC)

"Jack and I tried to get a peek at the stuff but it was a total no-go. Who knows? It could be anything."

Why doesn't it surprise him that Buffy and Jack tried to do that? He cocked an eyebrow in amusement and reached into the medical pouch around his waist.

"Wonderful."

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