Title: Smells, Pains, Sights, and Sounds
Author: Beneficia
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing them.
Spoilers: Everything that's aired so far is fair game
Summary: Prompt 008. Illness
AN: For Author's note, see my live journal.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The first thing that Buffy became aware of when she regained consciousness was the smell.
No matter how far she traveled, or how many years passed, the smell of disinfectant and illness that all hospitals seemed to have remained the same.
The next thing that broached her awareness was pain.
Along with a side of thirst with a heaping dash of nausea.
When she opened her eyes, the hospital guess was confirmed by the tell-tale lighting and the color and shape of the walls and ceiling.
She slowly sat up, groaning as every nerve in her body protested the movement, and began to examine her surroundings.
The room was too small, and too decrepit, to be a hospital. A glance out the windows, and the sound of the distinctive hum of an engine in the background, and Buffy knew she was in the infirmary of a space ship. Probably small transport.
Her bare feet touched the floor and she fought of a wave of nausea while getting her bearings and assessing her condition.
She was pretty bad off. From the looks of her arms and legs, she had probably lost about ten pounds. Something that her already too skinny body couldn't really afford. The cracked ribs were still agonizing, but she could tell they were already on their way to healing up. The various open wounds on her skin had that tight, stretched feeling that told her they were closed and mending.
She would live. Not that she particularly wanted to at the moment.
A quick glance around didn't show any water set up for her in case she woke. There weren't any clothes lying around either, so she figured she'd have to make do with the baggy brown prairie dress someone had put her in.
It was that thought that finally fully woke her up as her brain finally really realized and remembered what had happened.
The reavers. The chains. The villagers. The box.
She was wearing the brown sack because her clothes had been too far gone to salvage.
She had been too far gone to salvage; or so she had thought. Someone had taken her out of the box. Cleaned her up. Patched her up.
She turned to the closed door leading out of the infirmary. Whoever ran this ship had saved her.
How and why were two very pressing questions that she would need answers to, and soon.
But not now. Now she needed water. And food. And some other type of garment, because honestly, whoever had put her in this thing, hell, whoever had looked at this monstrosity and paid actual money for it, needed a serious beating.
The dress Buffy had been buried in had been prettier than this, she thought with disgust as she pulled the waist of the dress a good two feet away from her body. Which was quite a feat seeing as how that had been the ugliest thing she ever remembered wearing.
Why was it that when other people dressed her, they picked the ugliest things they could find?
She briefly glanced at the cabinets that lined the walls of the infirmary, but decided that the odds of them holding pants and t-shirts were about the same as the odds of them containing a stash of turkey sandwiches and iced lemonade.
The door it was then.
It took a little while to wobble over to the exit, cursing her weakness as she did, only to find that the door had been locked.
From the outside.
Well, that was ominous. But whoever was in charge hadn't had her chained to the bed, so that was a plus.
It took a few tries, but she managed to break the lock and wrench the door open. Good to know she still had some of her slayer strength still working, even if it was at a mewling-beaten-kitten level instead of its usual roaring-enraged-cougar state.
At this point in her life, she'd learned to take what she could get.
The living area near her looked worn and lived in. Homey, even. Another point she chalked up to being of-the-good.
Then she heard muffled voices. She eventually pinpointed them to be coming from above her, probably on the next upper level of this ship.
To sneak around, or to not sneak around, that was the question.
Another glance at the hand-embroidered flowers that someone had put on the worn, patched throw pillows, and Buffy decided she'd take her chances asking for help.
Anyone who could live with a pillow that had a teddy bear, and the phrase, "I heart strawberries" on it couldn't be that bad.
Climbing up the stairs proved to be a rather difficult chore. Several of her leg muscles that had been slashed and torn weren't through healing yet, and they weren't happy with her trying to use them. On the bright side, her slow pace made her approach quiet, and it went unnoticed by the people in the room she was heading towards.
Which meant she got to hear what they were saying.
Which was especially useful as they appeared to be discussing her.
Apparently they knew who she had been during the war, or something of who she was, and they were all gathering around waiting for the captain to show up and explain the details.
How they had recognized her, after all the trouble she had gone through to be dead and disappeared, and why this 'captain' was supposed to know about her, brought back the apprehension she had first felt when she realized they locked her in the infirmary with a wave of nausea. She leaned heavily against the wall to still her gut and wait for the flashing lights in front of her eyes to disappear.
'Teddy bear pillows,' she reminded herself. They had still gotten her out of the box and doctored her up; there was still a chance she wouldn't have to kill them all.
It had gotten quiet where the people were gathered, and Buffy resumed her trek through the hallway toward the light. If she didn't get some water and food soon, she'd probably pass out. She didn't want to find out if they'd chain her to the infirmary bed once they found she broke the lock.
"So tell us again how is it that sad sack in the infirmary is a livin legend that ain't suppose ta be living," she heard a rough voice speak as a chair dragged across the floor "and how is it that she's supposed to be one of the most feared killers in the 'verse, 'cause that just ain't makin' no sense."
Teddy bear pillows. Teddy bear pillows.
Besides, she wasn't about to try going back down those stairs, and the hallway only went in one other direction.
She turned a corner and found a three-way intersection. One led straight forward into another set of hallways; the one on the left went off straight to what looked like the cockpit; and the doorway ahead of her and to her right was streaming light and the smell of coffee, and Buffy realized that the ship's crew must have gathered in the kitchen.
"I take it that y'all have done some diggin' yourselves." Another male voice, tinged with familiarity; Buffy went out on a limb and decided that this might be the captain.
A split second later the familiarity of the captain's voice zinged through her memory, and rang with a clear ding as it landed on where she had heard that voice before.
Buffy sighed heavily with dread and memory as she closed her eyes and leaned her fragile frame against the cold wall outside the kitchen.
Well, that answered that question.
