Abby had been in the lab all day. They had a new patient, another CSI from Las Vegas that had apparently arrived straight from an encounter with a zillion fire ants (maybe...Greg was a little freaked out and hadn't explained it very well), which meant most of the salves she'd made had been used up in attempt to keep the guy from scratching his entire epidermis off. And that meant she had to make more.
She walked into the kitchen to get some coffee, smelling faintly of mint, even after wearing gloves and washing her hands.
"Ooooh, is it hatching?" she asked, immediately forgetting the coffee.
"So it would seem," Qui-Gon replied with a smile. Whatever was inside the egg made a tiny sound, perhaps a chirp, and shuffled back and forth a bit. The crack widened, showing just a flash of something yellowish. "It is quite determined, I am glad to say."
This had been going on for an hour or two, perhaps, and each outward push seemed to grow stronger.
"They all know how to hatch and when. I don't understand the evolutionary background, but it's so cool," she said in awe, sitting down near Qui-Gon and watching the bird intently.
"A great many creatures in my galaxy are the same, though so many have evolved independently of each other," Qui-Gon agreed. "Although there is a particular species of reptile on Kystix-3 which hatches only when another species chews on its shell. Unfortunately, the latter species went extinct, with the reptile species quite nearly following before someone discovered the truth."
Another push with a singularly long, thin beak, and the shell cracked around the top, lifting to the side with the force of a darkly gold head, obviously avian. The chick made a little reedy sound, blinking bright red eyes at Qui-Gon. It shuffled back and forth, freeing a tiny wing and flapping it twice.
"Hello there," Qui-Gon said, scooping up the egg before it could roll too far.
"I...have no idea what kind of bird that is, but I'm not an ornithologist either. It's cute though," she chuckled, looking at the little beady-eyed thing.
"It certainly is." The little bird made a final impressive push, and wiggled its way free of the remains of its egg. It blinked at Qui-Gon again, and tried to fluff its tiny wings. "I wonder if I could use a dishtowel without suffering someone's wrath," Qui-Gon considered aloud. Birth was not exactly a clean and tidy process, after all.
Her willingness to perjure herself for him was equally disturbing and flattering, and he chuckled in reply. "In that case, hand me one of the towels in that drawer, and we will see what this creature looks like when it isn't unpleasantly damp."
As he dried the baby bird, it grew fluffier, and as it grew fluffier, it grew ever more round. Mostly dry, it tried its best to perch on Qui-Gon's palm, but kept wavering on its tiny legs, too weak yet.
"I confess I still have no idea of its species," he said, reaching out the other hand with great care, rubbing a fingertip over the top of the chick's head.
Charmed, Qui-Gon let the chick nibble on him for a moment or two. "I suppose that is for the best," he chuckled, "if I am to care for him. I imagine that is what the island intended." Unless he found a nest built by two birds of the same species, this little one had no one else.
"Hm?" He arched a brow, having never heard that turn of phrase before. The chick chirped at him, opening its narrow beak wide and fluttering its wispy wings.
She walked into the kitchen to get some coffee, smelling faintly of mint, even after wearing gloves and washing her hands.
"Ooooh, is it hatching?" she asked, immediately forgetting the coffee.
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This had been going on for an hour or two, perhaps, and each outward push seemed to grow stronger.
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"Hello there," Qui-Gon said, scooping up the egg before it could roll too far.
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She finally settled on a small dark blue one, and took it back over to Qui-Gon, handing it to him before sitting down again and studying the chick.
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"I confess I still have no idea of its species," he said, reaching out the other hand with great care, rubbing a fingertip over the top of the chick's head.
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The chick nuzzled Qui-Gon's fingertip.
"I think it likes you."
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