I think I fell asleep on top of a book again.
Some hard, unmovable corner seemed very angry with my cheek, and determined to let it's disatisfaction be known. And come to think...no come to feel it, I might've fallen asleep on my notes and several pens and pencils as well. At least a half doen or so.
It was the only thing that could explain all the pricks and hurts currently having their way with pretty much the entire length of my body. And it struck me as strange, because laying out in the office isn't what I was really inclined to do. But it seemed to be the only explination.
Reaching for one of the more stubborn percils....or books. Or pens. I reached for whatever was there, somewhere just above my left cheek, and felt my stomach sink a little at the dampness I found there. "I promise I didn't spill coffee on your 15th century text Wesley," I offered quickly, the words muffled and far away to my ears. "It must be the air? It seemed really damp in here before, so that must be..."
But I stopped when the heat and the thickness on my hand became slicker than air ever could be, and I was startled when the expected flush that followed actually stung.
"Ok, if it was coffe," I continued, the words no closer, then I'll fix it somehow, even if I don't know what that some is right now? I'll fix it, I promise."
Rolling onto my side, I confirmed that I was both lying down and did actually pocess a damp hand, all while trying not to get too lost in thoughts of the book. My eyes must have been closed, because I had to focus to open them, and when I did a bright, pressuring light was enough to pull the hand right back up as cover. And the air was hot, and the sky was blue, and my hand was...red?
This might be more than a normal hurt.
"I don't think I like this book," I offered to no one, right before I got to the part where I was aware I was making no sense. Not even a lick of it. I blinked again, and just past the dark, just-so-bloodied outline of my hand I caught a glimpse of the sun.
And then the other sun.
Then other sun.
"Oh no no no no no.....no."
But at least I was making sense now, even if it was only to myself. "Just...no," I muttered, hoping uselessly that it might make it true, or truely a bad dream. I pushed up off the ground, aware of at least four or five other real hurts that hadn't anything to do with books, but I couldn't look at then. Only...only the suns, both of them.
And then my eyes dropped to the horizon, one that I had watched nervously for years. For five...
And then the plants, that I had named and renamed over and over again, long after I had forgotten what my own sounded like.
((open to Cordy, Gunn, and Wesley, plus anyone else close by))