Author's note: Missing scene, Dr. Trixie :)
And though she be but little, she is fierce. - Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act III, scene ii
Mazikeen looked up as she heard the front door rattle. She probably should have escaped to her bedroom, away from curious eyes and prying questions, but she'd made the tactical error of sitting, and now she really couldn't come up with a good reason to get up.
"Bye, Daddy!" Trixie called as she closed the door behind her. Turning to see Maze, she passed, eyes gone a little wide. "Wow. What happened to you?"
Maze knew, of course, that she couldn't tell the truth. The little hellion was smart enough to ask questions that Maze didn't want to answer. Thinking back to the cartoons she and Trixie had watched the previous Saturday morning, over clandestine bowls of Toasted Sugar Frosties, she offered dryly, "I slipped on a banana."
Trixie nodded seriously, as if this was the most logical reason in the world for Maze's appearance. "Don't worry, Maze," she reassured. "I'll fix you up." Her face lit up, and she instructed, "Wait here. I'll be right back."
Maze truly did not mind waiting, though she couldn't help but wonder at the scuffling noises coming from the bathroom. It was the giggle that made her call warily, "Trixie?"
"It's Doctor Trixie," the girl proclaimed as she returned. She had pulled on a white coat, and had accessorized with a plastic stethoscope and head mirror; she carried a roll of gauze, likely left over from one of Decker's injuries. Maze assumed that the kid probably wasn't supposed to use it, but she was nobody's mommy.
Trixie studied the demon thoughtfully, pulling out a small pad of paper and pen from the jacket pocket. "Name?" When Maze raised her slashed eyebrow, the child repeated insistently, "Name?"
"Mazikeen Smith," she drawled. Seeing the child hesitate, her lips curved, and she amended, "Maze."
Trixie nodded and scrawled furiously on the paper. "This is your chart," she said, her tone serious. Maze reflected, with a pang, that the kid had spent far too much time sitting in hospitals, that she could pretend-play with such realism.
Trixie showed her the paper: her name, the word Health, and a jagged line leading upward to a smiley face. "This is you now," she said, pointing with her pen to the low end of the line. "And this is how you'll be when I'm done with you." She tapped the smiley face, then pulled a roll of medical tape from her pocket and attached the chart to the demon's chest. "It's right over your heart," she added, smiling.
And that was what made Maze decide to play along. Nobody even needed to call her heartless; it was assumed. Demon. Heartless. But not to the small human. She smiled. "I feel better already."
Trixie studied Maze critically, her lips pursing in thought. "Good, but we need to get you to here." She nodded at the smiley face. "I'll be right back." She's darted into the bathroom and came back with her little step-stool, which she placed before Maze. Grabbing the gauze, she climbed up on the stool. "Just keep still. This won't hurt a bit." Standing on tiptoe, she leaned precariously to reach around Maze's head, and the demon put a steadying hand on her shoulder. Trixie grinned down at her and added another several layers of gauze.
Maze kept still as indicated, a small smile lingering on her face. Trixie tugged at the gauze, trying unsuccessfully to rip it. "Need a hand, Doc?" Maze queried. At Trixie's nod, she cautioned, "Don't move," and pulled out one of her knives, deftly slicing the gauze.
Trixie murmured her thanks, impressed, then a quick look of calculation crossed her face. "I need one more piece," she decided. "Can I cut it?"
Maze smirked, but nodded. "Sure, little human." She held out a hand for the gauze; Trixie, after hopping down from the stool, handed it over, and Maze asked, "How much?" After Trixie indicated the length, Maze handed over the knife and held the gauze while Trixie, the tip of her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, carefully sawed through the gauze.
"Cool," the little girl approved, delighted.
Maze held out her hand and Trixie reluctantly returned the knife, receiving the gauze in return. Maze watched, not bothering to hide her amusement, as Trixie visibly pondered what to do with the gauze. Then the girl grinned and stepped closer to Maze. She carefully tucked one end under the gauze ringing the demon's head, looped it under her chin, and tucked the free end under the other side.
"I don't think this will work," Maze observed, tugging the gauze more securely onto her head.
"You're right," Trixie agreed, studying her masterpiece critically. "It's needs something." She dashed into the bathroom and returned with Band-Aids, liberally decorating the bandages. "There. That's perfect."
Maze put her feet up on the stool. "Nice work, Doc," she approved.
Trixie considered her friend thoughtfully, her expression gone serious. "Do you feel better now, Maze?"
"Yeah, little human," Maze replied. "I do."
She was surprised to realize that it was the truth.