Title: Epiphany.
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Irvine/Fiona.
Notes: The sleee-epy chapter. That really doesn't do much but take up space and give crazy-haired Doctor D time to vent and act annoyed. Think of him as a makeshift father figure. :D
Oh, yeah. I'm not a doctor and I've probably got the timing for how long it would take Irvine's injury to heal. So, um, deal with it and don't get annoyed, ne? If you can correct me, do so, and I'll change and credit you for it.
Oh.. and due to a request, I'm gonna try to get Raven into this. I don't know how, but I shall attempt! .. Somehow. Or, I think I'm actually going to start a Raven-centric fic soon. So, I dunno.
- - - -
"Fiiooonaaa!" Was the distraught wail of Doctor D, which shook her to life immediately, taking a grip upon her consciousness that refused to let her fall back into bliss. That, or the fact that she was curled so awkwardly into the basket chair she had crashed within after leading Irvine into the tent, that she couldn't fall back asleep.
She yawned into her palm and groggily kneaded at her eyes with the heel of her hand, before opening her eyes to cast a hazy gaze upon the old, old man. She smiled sleepily. "Yes, Doctor D?"
"Why is there a man in your bed?"
"Mm?" She looked in the direction of the bed; only the hair was peeking out over the boundless expanse of blankets she had piled atop Irvine the night before. She laughed quietly and shook her head, heaving herself from the chair. She sluggishly walked toward the bed and, knowing he wouldn't be able to respond, gingerly pulled back the corner of the blanket to reveal the sleeping face of Irvine.
"Irvine?" He wailed once more and Fiona had to get in his way to keep him from diving at Irvine and glomping him. He shot her an awkward look as she neatly folded the blanket corner back and kept herself in his way. "What's he doing here and why is he in your bed?"
"Shh," She took him by the elbow and led him from the tent. Irvine stirred though didn't toss, subconsciously reminding himself that the injury still existed. "I think he needs to sleep."
"You look like you need to sleep!" Doctor D blurted, noting the faint rings about her eyes. "How can we possibly get any work done when my protégé is half alive today?"
"He showed up with a bullet wound and I fixed it." She responded lightly and, covering her mouth, yawned once more. She rolled her shoulders back and stretched. "What time is it, Doctor D?"
"Early." He frowned and clasped an arm about her waist and urged her in the direction of his own tent. She stumbled, though willingly went along – until she realized where she was going and halted. "Go on and sleep. You look like you need it, Fiona."
"No – I can't." She ducked under the arm and rubbed her eyes once more. "I told him I would be there when he woke."
"Fiona –"
"No." She shook her head and ducked beneath his arm, flashing him an apologetic smile. "I need to."
- - - -
When he did wake, the first thing he did was bolt upright and shoot a wild look around the room, as though he had no idea where he was and had currently been considering the reasons as to why he was currently there. However, that came to an abrupt end as the pain seared through his thigh once more and he moaned, collapsing back onto his back, stirring the, once more, sleeping Fiona from her rest.
She sat dazed for a brief moment, registering the noise, before diving to her feet and almost collapsing to reach the bedside in time. She kneaded her eyes and frowned. "Irvine – you shouldn't have moved!"
"As if I could remember that!" He snapped in return and rolled upon his left side, and rubbed lightly at the wrapping upon the wound. That, contrary to his belief, did not make it any better. He moaned again and even whined. "What the Hell! I thought your stuff would make it feel better!"
"No –" She sighed and circled her hands about his wrist, pulling it from the injury. She held it against her chest in an attempt to keep him from taking it back. It worked. "And stop that. You'll hurt yourself worse."
"Fiona!" He stared at her, fingers instinctively flexing to curl about her own. While he had, indeed, seen her hands numerous times before, he had never actually felt them. Her hands were small, delicate and held an instinctive cold to them..
No. Not this again. Suffering is fine once, though twice – no.
"Sleep." She smiled tiredly and placed his hand back upon the blankets, ignoring his writhing and cringing. She found herself moving back to the chair she had slept with in, at the head of the bed, and sitting once more, folding her hands within her lap. She focused upon the door.
"Oh, as if that'll be possible." He grimaced and, suddenly, reached up to rubbed at either eye – He blinked his right eye and tipped his head back to look at her. His eyes still held traces of the tears of pain – she felt rather bad for him. "Where's my patch?"
"Here." She motioned to a small table beside her chair and, as she had said, there it sat. "You shouldn't sleep with it on. Are you hungry?"
"Not really." He cast his gaze away and frowned, trying to block out the pain with thoughts of false realities where she –
"You'll need to eat soon and I don't think you'll be able to walk properly so," She smiled still and beamed, standing up once more to tuck the blankets about him in a more than motherly fashion. He turned a dangerous shade of red and attempted to hide it beneath a cover of the blankets vainly. She held up her index finger and winked cheerfully, "I'll have something sent in soon! I'm going to be in the ruins today, so if you need me just – yell. Really loud."
"U-Uh huh."
"Sleep." She repeated, her tone still cheerful, and she traced her steps backwards out of the tent, before swiftly melting into the bright, lucid blue of the sky.
- - - -
He was hungry and yet, the violent pain refused to let him eat. His stomach lurched with his movements and the most he wanted to do, that very moment, was hit himself in the leg and then go torture the jerk who shot him.
But – ah, yeah, right.
He moaned despairingly and, much to his own distaste, pushed himself upright. He was to his feet and wobbling violently moments afterward, contemplating his choices. Flee and, most likely, collapse just inches before he could reach the entrance or exit way of the campsite, or he could stay. And suffer immensely through further embarrassment and frustration due to mixed emotions.
"Going somewhere?" Came the innocent inquiry from the doorway and, due to it, he fell backward onto the bed once again, landing less than gracefully sprawled upon his back. He sighed loudly in annoyance.
"Nope. Not me."
"I hope not." Fiona watched him in confusion for a moment, before continuing into the tent and across it toward a number of furnished objects. Splatters of dust upon the front and back of her clothes were apparently of no matter to her as she shoved through a collapsible closet, eventually coming back out with a small case of small objects, which clanked together curiously. "Are you hungry?"
"My leg hurts," He muttered and pushed himself into an upright position once more, extending his leg flat over the bed top. She looked about the room, stuffing the small pouch into the large, front pocket of her skirt, locating the plate of food, which had been set out for him. "And laying in bed – oh, how I love this –"
"Whining won't heal your injuries." She grinned and took the plate into her hands, setting it out on the table beside the bed. He stared at the food dejectedly. "And I don't think glaring at the food will make you any better, either."
He paid no mind to that, instead turning his gaze upon her, one brow hiking upward in mild curiosity. "What are you doing?"
"We've uncovered another facial mural," She glanced between the food and him, wiping her hands off upon the towel dangling from the aforementioned pocket upon her skirt. She picked a steamed carrot of the top of a pile of vegetables and popped it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before speaking once more. "It's –"
"Can I see?"
"No." She beamed and, after scooping her blankets up from the chair she had slept upon, she dumped them upon him. "You have to stay here. You can keep my bed warm for me."
"My leg hurts." He almost pouted as he dug his way out of the blankets and pushed them aside.
"I need to get back to work." She walked back to the entrance and waved, stepping out once more. "Stay put, Irvine!"
- - - -
"How deep was it?"
"Not very," She shook her head and rubbed gingerly at a curve, which was lathered in dirt, grime and dust, patiently attempting to coax it away. They had an ample amount of the top of the face revealed and, as the Doctor had said before, it did look an awful lot like her. Older, yes, but nonetheless – maybe she was of Zoidian royalty? Her heart jumped at the concept and she had to quietly chide herself to keep from squealing in anticipation at the thought. "Sort of – shallow. It was bleeding profusely, though."
"Then it wasn't shallow." Doctor D flailed around, set off by something – most likely the concept of having a grown man sleeping in the bed of his protégé, or possibly the fact that his protégé had wasted a lot of the day sleeping because of that stupid man! "Where did you find him?"
"He was hiding in this hall." She turned toward him, pulling the mask off her mouth and down to her neck, allowing it to dangle. She pointed toward the area where she had run into Irvine at the night before. "Over there, about."
"I think we should have another tent set up for him." He rubbed thoughtfully at his chin and 'hmm'ed gently.
"I'm fine with him –" She argued, though only to be cut off by a quick motion of the hand. She scrunched her nose up in distaste.
"No," He turned his head aside and looked thoughtfully toward the exit. "I believe there's room in the tent we just recently set up.."
"But we use that for reports." She frowned and canted her head in confusion, breaking away from her work long enough to look back at him. "It would be too loud and, after he had been moved in, too cluttered."
"I'm sure he's gracious for your concern," He looked back, now smiling brightly. He had made up his mind and, as commander of the campsite and excavation, whatever he said goes! "Though he has to."
".. I suppose so." She pursed her lips and willed herself back to her work. Arguing with the Doctor was like arguing with a food-deprived Ban. Winning was impossible. Doctor D beamed and clasped his hands together before him.
"Keep up the work, then!" He turned upon his heel and prepared to exit once more. "I will have him resituated right now."
She kept quiet and watched him leave, silently musing over his choice to decide to not trust a person. Maybe his old age was affecting his mind, or maybe he was becoming overprotective of her, as she was, to the knowledge of most, one of the last of her race.
Who knew?
She pulled the mask over her mouth and turned back to the wall, resuming her work and allowing whatever was about to happen, happen.
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Irvine/Fiona.
Notes: The sleee-epy chapter. That really doesn't do much but take up space and give crazy-haired Doctor D time to vent and act annoyed. Think of him as a makeshift father figure. :D
Oh, yeah. I'm not a doctor and I've probably got the timing for how long it would take Irvine's injury to heal. So, um, deal with it and don't get annoyed, ne? If you can correct me, do so, and I'll change and credit you for it.
Oh.. and due to a request, I'm gonna try to get Raven into this. I don't know how, but I shall attempt! .. Somehow. Or, I think I'm actually going to start a Raven-centric fic soon. So, I dunno.
- - - -
"Fiiooonaaa!" Was the distraught wail of Doctor D, which shook her to life immediately, taking a grip upon her consciousness that refused to let her fall back into bliss. That, or the fact that she was curled so awkwardly into the basket chair she had crashed within after leading Irvine into the tent, that she couldn't fall back asleep.
She yawned into her palm and groggily kneaded at her eyes with the heel of her hand, before opening her eyes to cast a hazy gaze upon the old, old man. She smiled sleepily. "Yes, Doctor D?"
"Why is there a man in your bed?"
"Mm?" She looked in the direction of the bed; only the hair was peeking out over the boundless expanse of blankets she had piled atop Irvine the night before. She laughed quietly and shook her head, heaving herself from the chair. She sluggishly walked toward the bed and, knowing he wouldn't be able to respond, gingerly pulled back the corner of the blanket to reveal the sleeping face of Irvine.
"Irvine?" He wailed once more and Fiona had to get in his way to keep him from diving at Irvine and glomping him. He shot her an awkward look as she neatly folded the blanket corner back and kept herself in his way. "What's he doing here and why is he in your bed?"
"Shh," She took him by the elbow and led him from the tent. Irvine stirred though didn't toss, subconsciously reminding himself that the injury still existed. "I think he needs to sleep."
"You look like you need to sleep!" Doctor D blurted, noting the faint rings about her eyes. "How can we possibly get any work done when my protégé is half alive today?"
"He showed up with a bullet wound and I fixed it." She responded lightly and, covering her mouth, yawned once more. She rolled her shoulders back and stretched. "What time is it, Doctor D?"
"Early." He frowned and clasped an arm about her waist and urged her in the direction of his own tent. She stumbled, though willingly went along – until she realized where she was going and halted. "Go on and sleep. You look like you need it, Fiona."
"No – I can't." She ducked under the arm and rubbed her eyes once more. "I told him I would be there when he woke."
"Fiona –"
"No." She shook her head and ducked beneath his arm, flashing him an apologetic smile. "I need to."
- - - -
When he did wake, the first thing he did was bolt upright and shoot a wild look around the room, as though he had no idea where he was and had currently been considering the reasons as to why he was currently there. However, that came to an abrupt end as the pain seared through his thigh once more and he moaned, collapsing back onto his back, stirring the, once more, sleeping Fiona from her rest.
She sat dazed for a brief moment, registering the noise, before diving to her feet and almost collapsing to reach the bedside in time. She kneaded her eyes and frowned. "Irvine – you shouldn't have moved!"
"As if I could remember that!" He snapped in return and rolled upon his left side, and rubbed lightly at the wrapping upon the wound. That, contrary to his belief, did not make it any better. He moaned again and even whined. "What the Hell! I thought your stuff would make it feel better!"
"No –" She sighed and circled her hands about his wrist, pulling it from the injury. She held it against her chest in an attempt to keep him from taking it back. It worked. "And stop that. You'll hurt yourself worse."
"Fiona!" He stared at her, fingers instinctively flexing to curl about her own. While he had, indeed, seen her hands numerous times before, he had never actually felt them. Her hands were small, delicate and held an instinctive cold to them..
No. Not this again. Suffering is fine once, though twice – no.
"Sleep." She smiled tiredly and placed his hand back upon the blankets, ignoring his writhing and cringing. She found herself moving back to the chair she had slept with in, at the head of the bed, and sitting once more, folding her hands within her lap. She focused upon the door.
"Oh, as if that'll be possible." He grimaced and, suddenly, reached up to rubbed at either eye – He blinked his right eye and tipped his head back to look at her. His eyes still held traces of the tears of pain – she felt rather bad for him. "Where's my patch?"
"Here." She motioned to a small table beside her chair and, as she had said, there it sat. "You shouldn't sleep with it on. Are you hungry?"
"Not really." He cast his gaze away and frowned, trying to block out the pain with thoughts of false realities where she –
"You'll need to eat soon and I don't think you'll be able to walk properly so," She smiled still and beamed, standing up once more to tuck the blankets about him in a more than motherly fashion. He turned a dangerous shade of red and attempted to hide it beneath a cover of the blankets vainly. She held up her index finger and winked cheerfully, "I'll have something sent in soon! I'm going to be in the ruins today, so if you need me just – yell. Really loud."
"U-Uh huh."
"Sleep." She repeated, her tone still cheerful, and she traced her steps backwards out of the tent, before swiftly melting into the bright, lucid blue of the sky.
- - - -
He was hungry and yet, the violent pain refused to let him eat. His stomach lurched with his movements and the most he wanted to do, that very moment, was hit himself in the leg and then go torture the jerk who shot him.
But – ah, yeah, right.
He moaned despairingly and, much to his own distaste, pushed himself upright. He was to his feet and wobbling violently moments afterward, contemplating his choices. Flee and, most likely, collapse just inches before he could reach the entrance or exit way of the campsite, or he could stay. And suffer immensely through further embarrassment and frustration due to mixed emotions.
"Going somewhere?" Came the innocent inquiry from the doorway and, due to it, he fell backward onto the bed once again, landing less than gracefully sprawled upon his back. He sighed loudly in annoyance.
"Nope. Not me."
"I hope not." Fiona watched him in confusion for a moment, before continuing into the tent and across it toward a number of furnished objects. Splatters of dust upon the front and back of her clothes were apparently of no matter to her as she shoved through a collapsible closet, eventually coming back out with a small case of small objects, which clanked together curiously. "Are you hungry?"
"My leg hurts," He muttered and pushed himself into an upright position once more, extending his leg flat over the bed top. She looked about the room, stuffing the small pouch into the large, front pocket of her skirt, locating the plate of food, which had been set out for him. "And laying in bed – oh, how I love this –"
"Whining won't heal your injuries." She grinned and took the plate into her hands, setting it out on the table beside the bed. He stared at the food dejectedly. "And I don't think glaring at the food will make you any better, either."
He paid no mind to that, instead turning his gaze upon her, one brow hiking upward in mild curiosity. "What are you doing?"
"We've uncovered another facial mural," She glanced between the food and him, wiping her hands off upon the towel dangling from the aforementioned pocket upon her skirt. She picked a steamed carrot of the top of a pile of vegetables and popped it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before speaking once more. "It's –"
"Can I see?"
"No." She beamed and, after scooping her blankets up from the chair she had slept upon, she dumped them upon him. "You have to stay here. You can keep my bed warm for me."
"My leg hurts." He almost pouted as he dug his way out of the blankets and pushed them aside.
"I need to get back to work." She walked back to the entrance and waved, stepping out once more. "Stay put, Irvine!"
- - - -
"How deep was it?"
"Not very," She shook her head and rubbed gingerly at a curve, which was lathered in dirt, grime and dust, patiently attempting to coax it away. They had an ample amount of the top of the face revealed and, as the Doctor had said before, it did look an awful lot like her. Older, yes, but nonetheless – maybe she was of Zoidian royalty? Her heart jumped at the concept and she had to quietly chide herself to keep from squealing in anticipation at the thought. "Sort of – shallow. It was bleeding profusely, though."
"Then it wasn't shallow." Doctor D flailed around, set off by something – most likely the concept of having a grown man sleeping in the bed of his protégé, or possibly the fact that his protégé had wasted a lot of the day sleeping because of that stupid man! "Where did you find him?"
"He was hiding in this hall." She turned toward him, pulling the mask off her mouth and down to her neck, allowing it to dangle. She pointed toward the area where she had run into Irvine at the night before. "Over there, about."
"I think we should have another tent set up for him." He rubbed thoughtfully at his chin and 'hmm'ed gently.
"I'm fine with him –" She argued, though only to be cut off by a quick motion of the hand. She scrunched her nose up in distaste.
"No," He turned his head aside and looked thoughtfully toward the exit. "I believe there's room in the tent we just recently set up.."
"But we use that for reports." She frowned and canted her head in confusion, breaking away from her work long enough to look back at him. "It would be too loud and, after he had been moved in, too cluttered."
"I'm sure he's gracious for your concern," He looked back, now smiling brightly. He had made up his mind and, as commander of the campsite and excavation, whatever he said goes! "Though he has to."
".. I suppose so." She pursed her lips and willed herself back to her work. Arguing with the Doctor was like arguing with a food-deprived Ban. Winning was impossible. Doctor D beamed and clasped his hands together before him.
"Keep up the work, then!" He turned upon his heel and prepared to exit once more. "I will have him resituated right now."
She kept quiet and watched him leave, silently musing over his choice to decide to not trust a person. Maybe his old age was affecting his mind, or maybe he was becoming overprotective of her, as she was, to the knowledge of most, one of the last of her race.
Who knew?
She pulled the mask over her mouth and turned back to the wall, resuming her work and allowing whatever was about to happen, happen.