moaningminnie (moaningminnie) wrote,
moaningminnie
moaningminnie

Home - Part 6

Merry Christmas!

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I know it's been a while and for that I am sorry! I have been incredibly busy as I mentioned on previous entires in my journal. I've not actually had time to write the rest of the fic up, but since I'm off and been having a nice relaxing time today I decided to write some more up. I hope that you enjoy the next installment in the series (: And please let me know if there's anything you like or would like to see!

Before though, I thought this was a funny fail which might be appreciated on this festive day ;D



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Previous parts can be found here: Follow Me

~@~@~

<3 years later...>

“Just calm down...look now, I can’t treat you if you keep on moving...sit still!”

The stench of antiseptic ointment seeped through the Infirmary like toxic gas. At the far end of the room sat Zelenka, who was being tended to by Carson. The Czech man was propped up on a diagnosis bed wearing some rather old looking denim jeans and an Atlantis t-shirt, the deep red of which perfectly matched the dribble of blood trickling down his left cheek.

“I vowed I’d never do it again!” he yelled, waving his hands in a manner which seriously impeded Carson from tending to the wound on his forehead. With a lowered voice, he leaned in towards the doctor and furtively added, “that child is the devil incarnate. Nobody should be made to babysit—”

“—As I recall, son, you offered to babysit—”

“—What’s going on here?”

John Shepherd’s entry into the room caused everybody to look at him. Then, from seemingly nowhere, a little girl – long, dark curls, huge, brown eyes, dressed in pink pyjamas and matching slippers – came running at him full force, throwing herself into his welcoming arms.

“Oh...” he exhaled, her unusually potent strength winding him ever so slightly as he pulled her up onto his hip. He pushed her straggled hair behind her shoulders and moved his head to catch her eyes with his; seeing a sadness which worried him.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

Megan Weir said nothing but simply rested her head on his shoulder and began to fiddle with his neck tags. So he made his way over to the two men for answers.

Zelenka’s frown-pout combination wasn’t giving John much confidence in the situation, though Carson had managed to clean up the wound before John saw any blood.

“There was an incident,” Carson began to explain in a tone very reminiscent of a similar situation three years earlier. “...Megan, it seems, became a wee bit angry when Radek asked her to go to bed. She seems to have...punched him...”

“She punched you?”

Zelenka nodded firmly, obviously missing the humour in John’s voice.

“And you came to the Infirmary?”

Nobody missed the humour there.

“Radek thinks there may have been some kind of infection transferred through the open wound,” Carson said, ignoring John’s comment. But this information only seemed to amuse John further.

“Infection...” he said blankly, to which Zelenka lifted his hands and wiggled his fingers.

Grubby little fingers,” he commented, and John’s mouth opened in shock, with him responding defensively.

“Hey! Megan my only be three years old, but she’s not dir—”

The man was forced to cut himself off, however, on something else catching his attention. Lifting his free hand to his neck, his face screwed up ever so slightly as he peeled the metal tag from his skin, leaving behind some manner of sticky residue which had obviously come directly from the hands of the little girl in his arms.

“Hmm...” he mused, clearly embarrassed at his misplaced defensiveness. Zelenka did nothing but raise his eyebrows and cross his arms, satisfied, allowing Carson to finish treating him.

“Well, there you are, all clean and dandy.” When the patient failed to move, John realised that there was something else Zelenka was after.

“Don’t you have something to say to Mister Zelenka?” John asked, giving her a little shake. A few seconds later she spoke, her quiet and perfectly innocent voice causing all three men – Zelenka included – to succumb to forgiveness.

“I’m sorry for hitting you Mister Zelenka. I hope you will look after me again near...”

John nodded at the two men. “She means “soon””, he added, for their benefit, giving her hair a little stroke.

Megan lifted her head to smile at the pair, effectively making them putty in her hands. As they, too, smiled back at her – Zelenka’s a little less reassuring than Carson’s – John took it as his opportunity to leave. While doing so, Carson walked him to the door and Megan waved goodby to her babysitter over John’s shoulder.

Unseen to anyone, Zelenka waved in return causing Megan – just as unseen – to blow him a little kiss, as she had a habit of doing to everyone these days.

“Where’s Doctor Weir?” Carson asked quietly on the way to the door. Before answering, John discreetly and momentarily covered the ears of the highly intelligent child in his arms.

“She’s not feeling so great. I made her take it easy today.”

The Doctor nodded, obviously impressed with the military officer’s professionalism in this medical matter. That, or his persuasiveness.

“Quite right, too. She’s had a lot to deal with these past few weeks. I’m glad somebody’s looking out for her now.” Giving Megan’s hand a little shake he added, “...now, wee one, I’ll see you later...and make sure you keep your hands to yourself...”

Her nod seemed acknowledgement enough for him.

“See you later, Doc.”

With that, John left; the toddler in his arms blowing Carson a kiss just before they were out of sight.

~@~@~
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