Daylight – * gushes * You give me tons of credit, so I hope I won't disappoint you (or anyone else for that matter!)
Europa – Now with new and improved euphoric sensations!
Lisette – You're giving me ideas…
Bathroom Conversations
The foursome had trudged back to the Summers' house in relative silence, with the Slayer sneaking furtive glances at her two counterparts in concern. Strider kept one arm close to his stomach in a guarded fashion, and Buffy could not be sure if it was his arm, his ribs or both that were injured. For his behalf, he made no comment on his obvious injury, but by the way his jaw was rigidly clenched, she knew it was a painful burden.
The Elf kept a stony composure and although he was perfectly aware that she was studying him, he gave no acknowledgement of such. Outwardly, she could see no apparent wounds and he gave no physical indication that he had any, until she spotted a dark scorch mark on his upper left arm. She hoped the charred area was his sweatshirt and not his skin, but she had to wonder how much of a protest he would put up if she tried to inspect it.
Before Buffy could turn the doorknob, it swung open revealing an anxious Dawn. "What happened? Are you okay? Did you see anything? Were there – "
"Dawn, hold up." Buffy held both her hands out as a means to slow her sister's barrage of questioning down. The four slowly stepped into the entranceway, and Dawn suddenly became aware of Legolas and Strider's wearied faces.
"What's wrong?"
Strider shot a quick glance in Legolas' direction, but the Elf refused to meet his gaze. After a few moments of awkward silence, Buffy waved the question off. "Nothing. Dawn, Xander, could you guys make something to eat?" The two looked at each other with quizzical expressions; neither one of them was particularly adept in the kitchen. "Strider, Legolas, follow me."
Buffy headed upstairs, hearing the footsteps of her injured companions following closely behind. She headed for the master bedroom, her bedroom, and turned the light on in the bathroom. Strider and Legolas stood in the doorway of the bedroom, cautiously examining the room. She became slightly peeved that they wouldn't trust her enough to come into her bedroom, until she realized that they were actually waiting outside the room as a gesture of politeness.
"You can come in." she coaxed. They stepped in slowly, still looking at all her curious and at sometimes familiar objects. Buffy pointed to the bed. "Legolas, have a seat. Strider, you're with me."
Aragorn was not used to taking orders, especially from a petite young woman. But the Ranger was a master at reading other people and playing on his instincts, so he felt it was probably best to follow her commands. Still, it was somewhat humourous and he had to smile when he thought of what Elrohir and Elladan would have remarked had they seen him now.
Legolas sat stiffly on the edge of the bed with his hands folded in his lap as he watched Buffy lead Aragorn into a small room and close the door. He did not distrust the woman, but he felt an overwhelming need to know what was transpiring beyond the closed door. He consciously decided to keep his ears closely trained on hearing every muffled sound that came from within.
Aragorn knew it was a room for bathing; that much was obvious by the large basin and towels hanging beside it. What he couldn't figure out was what the white funny looking chair was for.
"Sit." Buffy prompted. 'Oh,' thought Aragorn. It was for sitting. Obviously. With a pained grunt, the hardy Ranger lowered himself onto the chair, but felt the top shift under his weight. It was overall a silly design, he decided.
"Take off your sweater."
The command elicited an incredulous look from Strider. This was quite improper. "Madam, I do not think – "
"Look, you don't have to be modest around me. We need to look at those ribs and make sure nothing's too damaged. Besides, it's nothing I haven't seen before." Her candid reasoning left a blank stare on Aragorn's face. After a few blinks while he considered his options – which were none – the Ranger ultimately acceded and slowly started to remove the black sweater. The movement of lifting his arms up over his head proved to be quite painful and after struggling a bit, he was both embarrassed and ingratiated by the Slayer finally pulling the garment over his head and wrists for him.
Buffy stooped to eye the mottled bruising that covered his right side and stretched out over his stomach. She was about to experimentally poke at his ribs when she though better of it. Judging by the several scars dotting his half-naked torso, he probably already knew what was wrong.
"Are any of them broken?"
"At least one is." He answered in a gruff voice.
Buffy stood with her hands on her hips and chewed her bottom lip as she thought. "Well, we can tape it up. I can give you ice to help with the swelling and maybe some Tylenol for the pain but that's about it. You're going to have to try to not move around so much to give them a rest."
Aragorn smiled at her. "You didn't tell me you were a healer and a slayer."
Buffy turned her head to hide her bashful smile. She guess she did sound a bit like a doctor.
Legolas mentally admonished himself for eavesdropping. He knew his friend was more than capable enough to defend and think for himself. Determined to preoccupy his time rather than spy, the Elf turned his attention onto the bedside table where an odd looking black box held glowing symbols and a fire-less light cast shadows on the wall. Tucked behind the box and facing the bed was a portrait of amazing clarity and colour. Whoever drew this had to be a master artisan. Legolas picked up the frame and studied the faces. It was a smiling threesome of beautiful women, two he readily identified as Buffy and her younger sister Dawn. But the third woman he had not met; she was older than the other two, but had the familiar glowing smile of the two siblings. He replaced the frame and slowly stood, searching the walls for more portraits. Across the bed was a large oak dresser, upon which was perched many more intricately drawn faces, more containing the mysterious woman. Legolas held up two different pictures, one of the woman and one of Buffy, comparing them for their similarities and coming to an abrupt conclusion. Was this Buffy's mother?
Strider had grunted occasionally while Buffy tightly wound the tape across his midsection in silence. Standing back, she surveyed her work with satisfaction when she noticed the Ranger scratching his head and coming away with bloodied fingers.
"Hey." She announced and Strider looked up at her with surprise until he looked at his fingers. Buffy was already standing over him and separating his hair when she found it – a gash surrounded by an ugly raised bump.
"Hold still." She ordered as she fetched a clean cloth and antiseptic. Strider hissed in pain as she applied the stinging serum. "Sorry," she apologized sheepishly. "You guys probably don't have to put up with this where you're from."
"On the contrary." Aragorn said through gritted teeth. "My father seems to take immense pleasure in administering harsher treatments for foolish injuries."
Buffy laughed lightly. "Is that what most of those scars are from? Foolish injuries?"
"Some." He replied truthfully. "Some are from actual battles."
Buffy nodded. "You and Legolas need to fight a lot where you're from?"
"Legolas more than I. Until recently, I had rarely seen battle. Rivendell is a carefully hidden and guarded city."
Buffy rolled the name around in her mind. "Rivendell." She repeated. "Sounds pretty."
"It's breathtaking. Open terraces filled with gardens, rivers and waterfalls everywhere you look, Elven statues that pre-date most men." As he spoke of his home, a warm light danced in his eyes.
"You live with Elves?" She asked, to which Strider nodded. "Why? I mean, why don't you live with humans?"
The warm light left his face and was replaced by something much darker. "It is not safe."
She was tempted to push him for more info, but reconsidered. It was apparent that it was not the most comfortable subject for him. Wiping away the last smear of blood, she passed him his sweater back. "All done."
The more Legolas studied the various pictures in Buffy's room, the more troubled he became. Something was very wrong. The photographs with Buffy's supposed mother seemed to speak their sadness openly to him, while the photographs with Dawn appeared out of place to him, yet he could not fathom why. There were no pictures of any men besides Sander and the man Giles. Giles did not physically appear to be Buffy's father, but Legolas had to assume he was related in some fashion, for there was no evidence of her father anywhere. Perhaps he was a great warrior who perished in battle, but only after training his daughter to become a shieldmaiden. Still, the portraits were unsettling. He picked up a large framed photograph of the woman, an older one lacking any colour. She appeared to be in her youth and looking just slightly past the artist's view. Legolas eyebrows furrowed. He thought he could hear whispers emanating from the picture itself. He ran his finger over the woman's frozen face and a name suddenly entered his mind. 'Joyce'.
"Next."
Legolas jumped as the door swung open and Aragorn and Buffy walked through. Aragorn was walking much stiffer than before and he looked slightly uncomfortable. "Why don't you go downstairs and make sure they aren't going to poison us all with their cooking?" She suggested to Aragorn, and for a moment, shock flittered across his face until he registered her cynicism.
Legolas was watching him leave, unaware that he was still holding the photograph. Buffy walked up to him and stood at his side, smiling sadly at the picture. "Beautiful, wasn't she?" Legolas looked surprised at her comment, then gazed down at the woman and nodded. "That was taken when she was a teenager." Buffy explained.
"She's not here anymore, is she?" Legolas asked softly.
A flood of sadness threatened to engulf her, but she fought it with every ounce of her strength. "No," she finally answered. "She isn't." She gently took the photograph from his hands and placed it back on the dresser. "It's your turn."
Legolas eyed her. "For what?"
Buffy smiled broadly. This wasn't going to be easy; she could tell. "For your appointment with Doctor Buffy." He shook his head at her in a questioning reaction. She pointed to the burn on his bicep. He reflexively placed a guarding hand over it and shook his head again, this time in defiance.
"I need no treatment."
Buffy shrugged with aloofness. "Okay, fine. Have it your way. See if I care when it gets all infected and nasty." She pivoted as if to walk away and the gullible Elf fell for it, as he relaxed his stance and removed his hand from the wound. With lightening speed, the Slayer whipped around and whacked his injured upper arm, not hard but enough to make the archer gasp. Momentarily stunned by her action, Buffy seized her opportunity and grasped his good hand, dragging the unwilling Elf into the bathroom.
She forcefully made him sit on the toilet, and she couldn't help but grin at the deadly glare he sent in her direction. "Not used to being told what to do, huh?"
Legolas stubbornly looked away. Her assertion was only partly true.
Buffy held out his bad arm and inspected the charred black edges of the sweatshirt. Her first fears that the skin was badly burnt underneath had been confirmed. "Off." She ordered as she pointed at the sweatshirt. She was certain that he was growling at her underneath his breath as he gingerly removed the top. She opened the medicine cabinet and selected a wad of bandaging and antiseptic cream. Closing the cabinet door, she faced the now shirtless Elf and her eyes nearly bugged out. She suddenly felt as giddy and self-conscious as Dawn. The Elf had the most perfectly constructed chest and arms she'd ever had the pleasure of being witness to. After several seconds of glorified ogling, the Slayer felt instant redness rise up her face when Legolas turned and unhappily looked up at her. 'Well, get on with it you drooling moron,' his eyes seemed to say to her.
Buffy fought to regain her composure, but ultimately failed as she began to stutter while cleaning the wound with a dampened cloth. "So. Do, ah, you…work out a lot?" She immediately regretted saying it and mentally slapped herself.
Legolas looked at her, puzzled. "Do you mean archery practice?" To which she quickly nodded. He shrugged with his right shoulder. "I suppose so."
Buffy was doing her best to bury her still blushing face by concentrating deeply on the badly burnt area. "This is probably going to scar." She warned.
"Elves don't scar."
Buffy started to laugh. "You don't scar and you don't sleep with your eyes closed. What else don't you do?"
Legolas couldn't be sure if she was laughing at him or the fact he didn't have the same characteristics of mortals. "We don't age either." He said cautiously.
"Hmmm." Buffy hummed as she finished the cleansing. She stood and turned away, now feeling back to her regular self. "So how old are you then?"
"Over 500 years."
She nearly choked. How come the best looking men in the world (and in all others apparently) have to be centuries older?
"It's still quite young for an Elf." He reasoned.
Buffy turned back around to study the young Elf with the bottle of antiseptic in her hand. "I bet." She liberally poured a large amount onto a piece of gauze, turning her nose up at the smell it emitted. "This is going to sting a little."
Legolas was studying her, and considered telling her that Elves don't feel – but reasonably decided against it. Unfortunately he wasn't prepared for quite that amount of stinging. The moment the cotton gauze grazed his burn, his entire arm felt like it was engulfed in flames. "Sweet Elbereth!" He cried as his entire body jolted and his right leg kicked out, neatly clipping Buffy in the shin. She went down forward, unable to stop her momentum with the antiseptic in one hand and the cotton in the other.
And found herself living Dawn's wildest dream. The Slayer had been propelled into Legolas' sitting body, and she now had her head over Legolas' right shoulder with his good arm cradling her back to keep her from slipping. Buffy turned her head and Legolas found his face buried in her hair. He inhaled, and was rewarded with the sweetest of fragrances from her blonde locks. Buffy turned her head the other way as she realized her hair was all over his face. Despite the unbelievable awkwardness of the moment, Buffy could not help but gaze into his intense blue eyes. He made no move to help her get back up, but stared right back. He could hear her heart beating, feel her chest expand with each breath. Buffy hooked her right arm over his shoulder, hoping that it would help balance her so she could stand back up, but as she moved it only brought it her closer to his face and as her eyelids fluttered and his mouth beckoned –
"Getting' kind of cozy, aren't we?" Spike stood in the doorway with one hand lazily draped on the doorframe.
Flustered, Buffy ungracefully managed to get to her feet and stammered at Spike. "Well, what are you doing here? I mean you can't just – hey, what happened to your face?"
"Long story."
Ack! I know, I'm evil. This chapter in no way entails that this is going to be a Buffy/Legolas or not a Buffy/Legolas. I just thought I'd be a tease and let Buffy live out MY wildest dream. Sigh.
