Fic: Sharing, Fandom: Star Wars, G-rated Fluff for Layren
Title: Sharing
Author: in_excelsis_dea
Fandom: Star Wars
Characters: Qui-Gon, Kyran (OC borrowed from linterambiel) and OC Healer
Summary: Sharing isn't alwasy caring.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Qui-Gon belonds to George Lucas, Kyran belongs to Layren.
AN: Fluff. FLUFF. Layren wanted a hurt/comfort fic for her birthday and this...sort of is hurt/comfort, but not really. But it's kiddie!Qui and Ky, so you have to give me that. Also written for 64damn_prompts using the prompt 19. Itch.
“It itches, it itches, it itches!” Qui-Gon rubs his back against the bed futilely, trying his best to assuage the sensation. Purple spots cover every visible inch of him and they itch something fierce. Healer Myraine simply shakes her head and continues to prepare the bath for him.
“If you scratch them, they’ll only itch worse- or they might become infected and cause you true pain.” She stirs the mixture.
“I know,” he comes close to whining, biting his lip as he stills his movements. “I know.”
“Perhaps this will do as a lesson not to venture out of bounds and track down wild creatures.” Myraine frowns and shakes her head at the man standing in the doorway. Tall and lean, he makes an imposing figure in dark robes, a frown on his face. Whatever the young Padawan needs, it is not a scolding from his Master- especially a Master who has admitted to never having acquired Tehran pox.
“This is a quarantined ward, Master Dooku. Please stay out unless you have been cleared to enter.”
“Of course, Healer Myraine.” He bows low and bids farewell to his Padawan. “I shall visit you once you are no longer contagious.”
“Yes, Master.” Qui-Gon bows his head, unable to do anything else, since Myraine had him strapped down several days ago after he scratched himself so hard he bled. Both Healer and Padawan watch the imposing Master disappear from view. “I guess he is right,” the boy finally admits.
“To what?” Myraine dries off her hands. “I’m going to unstrap you now,” she warns, “but if you try to scratch, I’ll give you a sponge bath instead.”
“I’ll be good,” he is quick to assure. Sponge baths are truly the best threats for adolescent and teenaged male Padawans, she learned early on. The “indignity” (although on her planet, nudity is a common occurrence) of being bathed in front of a female Healer is often enough to placate the most unruly patients. Especially the returning ones, like Qui-Gon, who usually shows up once a week.
“Good.” She turns around, using the Force to make sure that he doesn’t scratch while her back is turned, and waits until he’s settled in the tub to turn back around. “I just want you to soak for awhile. The vapors will clear up your lungs and the water should soothe the itching for a time. I’ll be in my office, catching up on data charts while you stay here. Call me if something goes wrong,” she adds, referring to last bath when he, somehow, knocked against a table and sent a barrage of creams into the water, which reacted violently to the special herbs she used. That had added an extra week onto his hospital stay.
Only now is he finally recovering from the lung damage caused by inhaling the dangerous fumes.
“So, um, do you think I can keep the Matehran?” He asks, referring to the creature that gave him the disease in the first place.
She simply sends him a look and he shrinks back, ducking his head underwater until she leaves.
Qui-Gon waits until Myraine has entered her cramped office before tapping out a rhythm on the tub. A head peeks out from under one of the other beds, glancing hurriedly in both directions before emerging. “I thought she’d never leave,” Kyran says, brushing off his robes. “It’s not the most comfy place, under the bed.”
“Well, there isn’t any other place to hide,” Qui-Gon defends, his head peeking out from the water. “And you know she’d never let you in otherwise.”
“Yeah,” the older Padawan is wistful, “not like Broker.”
“Broker’s been assigned to a mission in the Outer Rim,” Qui-Gon states, as if the knowledge is something special. “Master Dooku said there’s an epidemic and the disease is his specialty.”
“Wish they would’ve sent Myraine.” Kyran whispers, eyes locking onto the figure in her office. “It was hard keeping myself hidden in the Force that long. At least Master can’t complain that I haven’t been practicing.”
Qui-Gon nods absent-mindedly, scratching some spots on his shoulder. “I hate Tehran pox. At least you’ve had them before. Master Dooku’s never had them before, so he isn’t allowed to come in at all. Saved me from a lecture earlier.”
“I heard.” Kyran then frowns. “Wait- did you say Tehran pox?” He moves to scratch his wrist. “I thought you had Telran pox.” The two diseases are quite similar, except Tehran pox is much more contagious and worse the older you get. Being eight, Qui-Gon has little to fear in general, except he ended up with an allergic reaction to certain antibiotics as well as the whole accident in the bath, which set him back further. But Kyran, on the other hand…
“It’s Tehran. I got it from a Matehran, remember?” The younger boy splashes a little. Kyran absent-mindedly scratches at his collar.
“I thought you got it from playing outside the Temple with other children, when you were looking for the Matehran.” Matehrans are small furry animals, about twice the size of Qui-Gon’s hand and with a long, fur-covered tail. While most Matehrans are harmless, a few do transmit Tehran pox with their saliva. Telran, on the other hand, was passed through humans.
“Nope.” Qui-Gon ducks under again. Kyran stares at him in horror. “Ky? What’s wrong?” He comes back up, staring at his friend.
“I…I never had Tehran,” he whispers.
“Oh. Oops.”
When Myraine returns from her office, she frowns at the newest patient, but sighs in resignation when she spots the telltale signs of a Tehran infection. “I should have figured with one of you infected, the other one would get it as well.”
Author: in_excelsis_dea
Fandom: Star Wars
Characters: Qui-Gon, Kyran (OC borrowed from linterambiel) and OC Healer
Summary: Sharing isn't alwasy caring.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Qui-Gon belonds to George Lucas, Kyran belongs to Layren.
AN: Fluff. FLUFF. Layren wanted a hurt/comfort fic for her birthday and this...sort of is hurt/comfort, but not really. But it's kiddie!Qui and Ky, so you have to give me that. Also written for 64damn_prompts using the prompt 19. Itch.
“It itches, it itches, it itches!” Qui-Gon rubs his back against the bed futilely, trying his best to assuage the sensation. Purple spots cover every visible inch of him and they itch something fierce. Healer Myraine simply shakes her head and continues to prepare the bath for him.
“If you scratch them, they’ll only itch worse- or they might become infected and cause you true pain.” She stirs the mixture.
“I know,” he comes close to whining, biting his lip as he stills his movements. “I know.”
“Perhaps this will do as a lesson not to venture out of bounds and track down wild creatures.” Myraine frowns and shakes her head at the man standing in the doorway. Tall and lean, he makes an imposing figure in dark robes, a frown on his face. Whatever the young Padawan needs, it is not a scolding from his Master- especially a Master who has admitted to never having acquired Tehran pox.
“This is a quarantined ward, Master Dooku. Please stay out unless you have been cleared to enter.”
“Of course, Healer Myraine.” He bows low and bids farewell to his Padawan. “I shall visit you once you are no longer contagious.”
“Yes, Master.” Qui-Gon bows his head, unable to do anything else, since Myraine had him strapped down several days ago after he scratched himself so hard he bled. Both Healer and Padawan watch the imposing Master disappear from view. “I guess he is right,” the boy finally admits.
“To what?” Myraine dries off her hands. “I’m going to unstrap you now,” she warns, “but if you try to scratch, I’ll give you a sponge bath instead.”
“I’ll be good,” he is quick to assure. Sponge baths are truly the best threats for adolescent and teenaged male Padawans, she learned early on. The “indignity” (although on her planet, nudity is a common occurrence) of being bathed in front of a female Healer is often enough to placate the most unruly patients. Especially the returning ones, like Qui-Gon, who usually shows up once a week.
“Good.” She turns around, using the Force to make sure that he doesn’t scratch while her back is turned, and waits until he’s settled in the tub to turn back around. “I just want you to soak for awhile. The vapors will clear up your lungs and the water should soothe the itching for a time. I’ll be in my office, catching up on data charts while you stay here. Call me if something goes wrong,” she adds, referring to last bath when he, somehow, knocked against a table and sent a barrage of creams into the water, which reacted violently to the special herbs she used. That had added an extra week onto his hospital stay.
Only now is he finally recovering from the lung damage caused by inhaling the dangerous fumes.
“So, um, do you think I can keep the Matehran?” He asks, referring to the creature that gave him the disease in the first place.
She simply sends him a look and he shrinks back, ducking his head underwater until she leaves.
Qui-Gon waits until Myraine has entered her cramped office before tapping out a rhythm on the tub. A head peeks out from under one of the other beds, glancing hurriedly in both directions before emerging. “I thought she’d never leave,” Kyran says, brushing off his robes. “It’s not the most comfy place, under the bed.”
“Well, there isn’t any other place to hide,” Qui-Gon defends, his head peeking out from the water. “And you know she’d never let you in otherwise.”
“Yeah,” the older Padawan is wistful, “not like Broker.”
“Broker’s been assigned to a mission in the Outer Rim,” Qui-Gon states, as if the knowledge is something special. “Master Dooku said there’s an epidemic and the disease is his specialty.”
“Wish they would’ve sent Myraine.” Kyran whispers, eyes locking onto the figure in her office. “It was hard keeping myself hidden in the Force that long. At least Master can’t complain that I haven’t been practicing.”
Qui-Gon nods absent-mindedly, scratching some spots on his shoulder. “I hate Tehran pox. At least you’ve had them before. Master Dooku’s never had them before, so he isn’t allowed to come in at all. Saved me from a lecture earlier.”
“I heard.” Kyran then frowns. “Wait- did you say Tehran pox?” He moves to scratch his wrist. “I thought you had Telran pox.” The two diseases are quite similar, except Tehran pox is much more contagious and worse the older you get. Being eight, Qui-Gon has little to fear in general, except he ended up with an allergic reaction to certain antibiotics as well as the whole accident in the bath, which set him back further. But Kyran, on the other hand…
“It’s Tehran. I got it from a Matehran, remember?” The younger boy splashes a little. Kyran absent-mindedly scratches at his collar.
“I thought you got it from playing outside the Temple with other children, when you were looking for the Matehran.” Matehrans are small furry animals, about twice the size of Qui-Gon’s hand and with a long, fur-covered tail. While most Matehrans are harmless, a few do transmit Tehran pox with their saliva. Telran, on the other hand, was passed through humans.
“Nope.” Qui-Gon ducks under again. Kyran stares at him in horror. “Ky? What’s wrong?” He comes back up, staring at his friend.
“I…I never had Tehran,” he whispers.
“Oh. Oops.”
When Myraine returns from her office, she frowns at the newest patient, but sighs in resignation when she spots the telltale signs of a Tehran infection. “I should have figured with one of you infected, the other one would get it as well.”