Doctor Keller doesn't know how she landed nursery school detail for the day. She volunteered, maybe? Because she loves children? Especially the Atlantis young kids, who are so bright and creative (and healthy!) and funny?
All she knows is that she's been a princess, a Wraith, a patient (they haven't got tired of testing each other's reflexes or borrowing her stethescope), and the sole member of the Art Experiment Cleanup Brigade.
Arit, the two-year-old Athosian boy who runs off so often she decided to just carry him around the rest of the day, likes her stethescope best. He uses it on her nose, her ear, various points of her head ("hear you think!"), and once, when she looked away for a split-second, most of the way inside of his mouth.
"Shiny!" he announces, listening to her throat with the stethescope. It's not his favorite word (that would be no with a side of no way), but he uses it as a generic adjective for anything exciting to the senses – cold is shiny, and funny sounds, and the weird grain cereal that fizzes like pop rocks.
She checks the time. Almost 1800, when she'll be free for the day to return to the infirmary and either finish analyzing cell cultures or fall asleep on a diagnostic bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Kamala and Carlos tugging a book in two different directions and before she can get a word out, the book is torn in half and Carlos is crying.
"Shiny?" she murmurs to Arit, a little brain-dead, and at a loss for other words.
"No," Arit corrects. "Messy."
"Messy," she agrees, and heads over to the troublemakers to lay down the law.
Shiny - Atlantis babyfic
All she knows is that she's been a princess, a Wraith, a patient (they haven't got tired of testing each other's reflexes or borrowing her stethescope), and the sole member of the Art Experiment Cleanup Brigade.
Arit, the two-year-old Athosian boy who runs off so often she decided to just carry him around the rest of the day, likes her stethescope best. He uses it on her nose, her ear, various points of her head ("hear you think!"), and once, when she looked away for a split-second, most of the way inside of his mouth.
"Shiny!" he announces, listening to her throat with the stethescope. It's not his favorite word (that would be no with a side of no way), but he uses it as a generic adjective for anything exciting to the senses – cold is shiny, and funny sounds, and the weird grain cereal that fizzes like pop rocks.
She checks the time. Almost 1800, when she'll be free for the day to return to the infirmary and either finish analyzing cell cultures or fall asleep on a diagnostic bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Kamala and Carlos tugging a book in two different directions and before she can get a word out, the book is torn in half and Carlos is crying.
"Shiny?" she murmurs to Arit, a little brain-dead, and at a loss for other words.
"No," Arit corrects. "Messy."
"Messy," she agrees, and heads over to the troublemakers to lay down the law.