August 21 - Haze of Mind
Title: Haze of Mind
Author: koohii_cafe
Rating: FR7
Crossover: BtVS/Star Trek: The Original Series
Disclaimer: Since I am a poor chickadee with no wealth to speak of, I think it's safe to say that neither BtVS nor Star Trek: The Original Series are mine. ^^;
Written for: TtH August Fic A Day Challenge
Summary: She woke slowly, her thoughts hazy as consciousness began to return little by little, and the first thought she had was that, for the first time in recent memory, she didn’t hurt.
Author's notes: Part of my 'Bound in Story' series.
~*~*~*~*~
She woke slowly, her thoughts hazy as consciousness began to return little by little, and the first thought she had was that, for the first time in recent memory, she didn’t hurt. No, instead of the familiar deep ache of wounds that never fully healed, there was a blissful state of- she didn’t have a word for it, this lack of pain, not when pain had been a regular companion for as long as she’d been trapped in the desert, since the day she’d led an army down into the hellmouth and been lost there. Whatever it was, this sensation of not hurting, it was enough to bring a small groan from her lips as she woke.
The next thing she became aware of was a beeping sound, somewhere above her, and then after that, the feel of something smooth draped over her, and something soft beneath her. It shouldn’t have been possible, but there was a thought that- a hospital? It couldn’t be, not when she was trapped in the desert, but there was nothing like this in the desert. Nothing comfortable, nothing that beeped, nothing that felt like a bed, and god, how long had it been since she’d slept in a bed? But that beeping, the one that had started out slow and consistent, was now speeding, and she’d heard things like that before. In hospitals, back home, in the world of before, before the desert.
As if in reaction to that beeping, there was movement around her, and senses long trained to hypersensitivity, because it was the only way to stay alive in a world that held nothing but an endless number of demons out for her blood, picked up that movement immediately, from the sounds, the shifting of the air, and there was someone coming towards her. The thought should have been enough to jerk her into full awareness, and while her eyes did open, a gasp forming on her lips, there was still a haze of fog around her. And- a man, standing over her. Not a Shadow Man, but also not- there had been another man, hadn’t there? In the desert, golden and golden eyed, and he’d offered his hand to her- but this wasn’t that man. He was-
He was speaking.
“Miss? Can you hear me?”
“W- where?” Her voice was thick, her throat rasping with the effort, her mouth dry, and she tried to push up, but her limbs didn’t respond immediately, and the man placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, preventing the movement.
“It’s alright, you’re safe. Just lie still.” His voice was unfamiliar, but kindly, with a slow kind of drawl to it, and he waited a moment, until it seemed like she wouldn’t push up again, before he pulled his hand back from her shoulder. Only then did he continue, dusky blue eyes finding hers, and in that gaze there was a kind of reassurance. “You’re in the Starfleet medical facility in Des Moines, Iowa. My name is Dr. McCoy; a- friend of mine found you, and he gave me a call after you collapsed. I had you transported here for treatment.”
“Iowa?” It was the easiest thing to latch onto, and her mind flew strangely to the thought of Riley; he was from Iowa, wasn’t he? How could she be in Iowa? Did Riley have something to do with it? Why would he? What was ‘Starfleet?’ Some new branch of the Initiative? Why did she feel so slow, so sluggish? Why didn’t she hurt?
“Yes, Iowa. And the reason you feel so slow has to do with the medication we’ve given you to suppress the pain. You’ve had some very serious injuries. We’re going to take care of you, but it will take some time.”
No, Riley hadn’t been the one to find her. That unfamiliar man had been- Jim? That had been his name… Jim.
“Jim isn’t here right now, I’m sorry. He was here earlier, but visiting hours ended a few hours ago. He’s very worried about you.” There was a thread in his voice, and she had a thought that that wasn’t the full truth, and she remembered the man who’d rescued her, remembered that he’d been hurt, bleeding. And- the doctor was answering questions she hadn’t realized she’d asked, not out loud. She was, she thought, speaking without meaning to. Closing her eyes for a moment, Buffy tried to gather herself, tried to push away the haze of medicine- and tried to push up again.
“Miss, you really shouldn’t,” he said, but he let her this time, his voice resigned, and there were hands helping her carefully, shifting a pillow beneath her so she could lean back against it. Once she was settled, no longer flat on her back, if not fully upright, he turned and lifted a metal cup from the table she hadn’t realized was beside the bed, offering it to her. “Here; your throat is probably dry and sore, some water will help.”
“Thank you.” The words were easier then, although they came after a sip from the cup, and oh god, water. Water had been a scarce resource in the desert, and she barely kept herself from gulping down the entire cup in one go. Instead she took it slowly, a sip at a time, and he let her. As she drank, he held a small silver cylinder in his hand, one he pointed towards her, and she looked up at the low hum of the thing, What-
“It’s just a medical tricorder,” he answered, and there was a look in his eyes then, one she didn’t fully understand, but he set the device down. When he spoke again, his voice was a little slower. “It won’t hurt you, I promise. Your name is Buffy, right? Jim said that’s the name you gave him.”
“Buffy Summers,” she managed, and her throat hurt less this time. Good.
“Can you tell me where you’re from, Buffy?”
“Sunnydale. It’s in- it was in- California.” He arched an eyebrow at her answer, and then something seemed to occur to him. His next question was slower, more careful somehow.
“Buffy, can you tell me what year it is?”
It was a common question, she knew, to ask someone who’d hit their head. As far as she knew, she hadn’t. She answered anyway: “2003.”
“Thank you.” The tone of his answer was just as friendly as he’d been when she first woke up, and at the same time it was… “ I want you to rest for now. I need to check on another patient, but I’ll be back in a little while to see how you’re doing. If you need anything, just call; there’s a nurse right outside who can take care of you.” He was patting her shoulder gently, and the smile he gave her was warm, his drawl thicker, and he exuded the feeling of just a kindly doctor happy to help. Then he was stepping away, and moving towards the door, and Buffy had the sinking feeling that something was very, very wrong.
Author: koohii_cafe
Rating: FR7
Crossover: BtVS/Star Trek: The Original Series
Disclaimer: Since I am a poor chickadee with no wealth to speak of, I think it's safe to say that neither BtVS nor Star Trek: The Original Series are mine. ^^;
Written for: TtH August Fic A Day Challenge
Summary: She woke slowly, her thoughts hazy as consciousness began to return little by little, and the first thought she had was that, for the first time in recent memory, she didn’t hurt.
Author's notes: Part of my 'Bound in Story' series.
~*~*~*~*~
She woke slowly, her thoughts hazy as consciousness began to return little by little, and the first thought she had was that, for the first time in recent memory, she didn’t hurt. No, instead of the familiar deep ache of wounds that never fully healed, there was a blissful state of- she didn’t have a word for it, this lack of pain, not when pain had been a regular companion for as long as she’d been trapped in the desert, since the day she’d led an army down into the hellmouth and been lost there. Whatever it was, this sensation of not hurting, it was enough to bring a small groan from her lips as she woke.
The next thing she became aware of was a beeping sound, somewhere above her, and then after that, the feel of something smooth draped over her, and something soft beneath her. It shouldn’t have been possible, but there was a thought that- a hospital? It couldn’t be, not when she was trapped in the desert, but there was nothing like this in the desert. Nothing comfortable, nothing that beeped, nothing that felt like a bed, and god, how long had it been since she’d slept in a bed? But that beeping, the one that had started out slow and consistent, was now speeding, and she’d heard things like that before. In hospitals, back home, in the world of before, before the desert.
As if in reaction to that beeping, there was movement around her, and senses long trained to hypersensitivity, because it was the only way to stay alive in a world that held nothing but an endless number of demons out for her blood, picked up that movement immediately, from the sounds, the shifting of the air, and there was someone coming towards her. The thought should have been enough to jerk her into full awareness, and while her eyes did open, a gasp forming on her lips, there was still a haze of fog around her. And- a man, standing over her. Not a Shadow Man, but also not- there had been another man, hadn’t there? In the desert, golden and golden eyed, and he’d offered his hand to her- but this wasn’t that man. He was-
He was speaking.
“Miss? Can you hear me?”
“W- where?” Her voice was thick, her throat rasping with the effort, her mouth dry, and she tried to push up, but her limbs didn’t respond immediately, and the man placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, preventing the movement.
“It’s alright, you’re safe. Just lie still.” His voice was unfamiliar, but kindly, with a slow kind of drawl to it, and he waited a moment, until it seemed like she wouldn’t push up again, before he pulled his hand back from her shoulder. Only then did he continue, dusky blue eyes finding hers, and in that gaze there was a kind of reassurance. “You’re in the Starfleet medical facility in Des Moines, Iowa. My name is Dr. McCoy; a- friend of mine found you, and he gave me a call after you collapsed. I had you transported here for treatment.”
“Iowa?” It was the easiest thing to latch onto, and her mind flew strangely to the thought of Riley; he was from Iowa, wasn’t he? How could she be in Iowa? Did Riley have something to do with it? Why would he? What was ‘Starfleet?’ Some new branch of the Initiative? Why did she feel so slow, so sluggish? Why didn’t she hurt?
“Yes, Iowa. And the reason you feel so slow has to do with the medication we’ve given you to suppress the pain. You’ve had some very serious injuries. We’re going to take care of you, but it will take some time.”
No, Riley hadn’t been the one to find her. That unfamiliar man had been- Jim? That had been his name… Jim.
“Jim isn’t here right now, I’m sorry. He was here earlier, but visiting hours ended a few hours ago. He’s very worried about you.” There was a thread in his voice, and she had a thought that that wasn’t the full truth, and she remembered the man who’d rescued her, remembered that he’d been hurt, bleeding. And- the doctor was answering questions she hadn’t realized she’d asked, not out loud. She was, she thought, speaking without meaning to. Closing her eyes for a moment, Buffy tried to gather herself, tried to push away the haze of medicine- and tried to push up again.
“Miss, you really shouldn’t,” he said, but he let her this time, his voice resigned, and there were hands helping her carefully, shifting a pillow beneath her so she could lean back against it. Once she was settled, no longer flat on her back, if not fully upright, he turned and lifted a metal cup from the table she hadn’t realized was beside the bed, offering it to her. “Here; your throat is probably dry and sore, some water will help.”
“Thank you.” The words were easier then, although they came after a sip from the cup, and oh god, water. Water had been a scarce resource in the desert, and she barely kept herself from gulping down the entire cup in one go. Instead she took it slowly, a sip at a time, and he let her. As she drank, he held a small silver cylinder in his hand, one he pointed towards her, and she looked up at the low hum of the thing, What-
“It’s just a medical tricorder,” he answered, and there was a look in his eyes then, one she didn’t fully understand, but he set the device down. When he spoke again, his voice was a little slower. “It won’t hurt you, I promise. Your name is Buffy, right? Jim said that’s the name you gave him.”
“Buffy Summers,” she managed, and her throat hurt less this time. Good.
“Can you tell me where you’re from, Buffy?”
“Sunnydale. It’s in- it was in- California.” He arched an eyebrow at her answer, and then something seemed to occur to him. His next question was slower, more careful somehow.
“Buffy, can you tell me what year it is?”
It was a common question, she knew, to ask someone who’d hit their head. As far as she knew, she hadn’t. She answered anyway: “2003.”
“Thank you.” The tone of his answer was just as friendly as he’d been when she first woke up, and at the same time it was… “ I want you to rest for now. I need to check on another patient, but I’ll be back in a little while to see how you’re doing. If you need anything, just call; there’s a nurse right outside who can take care of you.” He was patting her shoulder gently, and the smile he gave her was warm, his drawl thicker, and he exuded the feeling of just a kindly doctor happy to help. Then he was stepping away, and moving towards the door, and Buffy had the sinking feeling that something was very, very wrong.