Mable: A short fic I started a while back. I don't own 9, Enjoy!

Waiting

It was a quiet and uneventful afternoon.

Two Stitchpunks sat quietly in a room that had walls covered in pictures and drawings. Each little spot seemed to be covered by a white or yellowish piece of paper covered in black scribbles. On one side of the room sat the Guard who was busily sharpening his knife and being relatively normal. In the middle of the room was the small Artist who was scribbling at a small piece of paper and looking quite saddened as he did so.

This was mostly because a few of the others had decided to leave the Sanctuary to head to the Library to gather some items they needed. Usually it would be a trip involving all of them, but the sky looked clouded and a storm was expected, it seemed quicker for a few to just run to the building and return. They left around noontime and had been gone for a few hours. It wasn't long enough to be concerned and so the Guard wasn't in the slightest.

However, the little Artist was, and looked over at the larger, "When is he going to come home?" He asked quietly. The random question didn't take Eight too off guard as he immediately knew exactly who the other was addressing with such a pitiful tone. "Yeah, they will. Soon enough. Probably before tonight." The little Artist looked back at the drawing before him and released the most pitiful excuse for a whine that the Guard had ever heard.

The Artist then placed his hands on the floor and pushed himself off of his belly to sit upon his knees instead. He stared down at the picture a little longer before looking at his dirtied hands. They dripped with ink and he wiped them off on his thighs before looking around at the other draws around the room. His clear frown showed that he was more than distressed, "I miss him."

Eight finally decided to comfort him and stood up from his position. He put the knife to the side and crossed over the room beside the small one. He then crouched down, gave him a gentle pat on the head and ruffled the soft yarn, and then glanced at the drawing of scribbles across the clean, white paper. All of the Stitchpunks were crammed in and other than a few changes they looked pretty close to perfect.

One's eyes were near lines inside of circles, Five had a very wide smile that looked the size of his optic, and Eight was glad to see that he himself had no noticeable problems. He was also clearly given a wider berth than the others had been given. "Do you like my picture?" The Artist asked hopefully as he noticed that the Guard was looking it over. Eight honestly answered, "It's like I'm looking at them standing in the room."

This provoked a wide smile and a soft giggle of joy. For a second he seemed to completely forget that the others were gone. He soon looked back to the larger Stitchpunk and asked another question, "Do you think he'll like it?" Eight looked to him and answered truthfully once again, "Yeah, he'll like it, no doubt about it." The little Stitchpunk looked more pleased than before and Eight rubbed his back, "We could put it up for when he gets back."

"Oh, yes!" The Artist said with excitement as he grabbed the paper. He was careful not to rip it with his sharp hands and stood a bit clumsily, Eight steadied him. Then the yarn topped one began to scan the room for a place to put up the picture. It seemed like there was no space left and he furrowed his brows. Then, suddenly, he spotted a place, "I want to put it up there!" 'Up there' was a high empty spot for him, but very easy for Eight to reach.

"Alright." The Guard added and stood as the Artist ran over to the wall, looking up at the space. Eight crossed over to the box of tacks in the corner and picked one up before approaching the wall. He handed it to the other Stitchpunk and promptly received a small cry as it was dropped. The Artist, staring at the wall, hadn't been paying attention to how he was grabbing the tack at all, and got poked.

Eight leaned down once again, "You got to be careful." He reminded calmly and rubbed the ink pen tipped finger that had been assaulted. It seemed to help it ease and the Artist lifted the tack once again. Then, Eight took the Artist upon his shoulders, and lifted him to the correct height. The yarn topped one placed the picture to the wall and pushed the tack into the wooden wall to hold it still. He smiled at his work and looked to the Guard, "I think it's good."

That's when the Guard noticed one of the ink stains on the small leg his hand was gently holding, "You're covered in ink." He said, amused, and the little one went serious and defensive, "My hands were dirty." He showed his hands which were still coated with ever drying ink that would be difficult to clean once it was dried up. Eight was still amused, "You know you're going to have to take a bath, right?"

The Artist groaned, "I don't like bathes. Can't I stay dirty?" He was lowered to the ground as he continued to pout in an attempt to win the Guard's favor. Instead, Eight was determined, and decided to persuade the smaller, "How about a quick bath and then we'll play a game?" This won the other over rather quickly and he looked hopefully.

"And then Mama will be home. Right, Daddy?"

Eight looked at the smaller one and couldn't believe how much he looked like Six. He reached forward and ruffled his hair again, "Right, Ty-eh. Let's go; the quicker we finish the bath, the quicker we can get to the game." The small Artist dashed towards the door, "I want to play hide and go seek after the bath." He pointed out before waiting at the door for his father. Eight quickly followed along; continuing his goal to take the younger one's mind off of any concerns.

He also hoped the little one could return the favor until Six managed to come back.

FIN

Mable: To those who are questioning; Ty-eh is supposed to be a nickname made from shortening 'Sixty-Eight'. I also now take requests to write about little Stitchpunks created from couples of your choice. I hope everyone enjoyed!