Deon hovered around the table, wary and a bit worried, but not enough to butt into the procedure and accidentally mess it up Ari worked the healing equipment because they didn't call Dr. Bones, cause she would probably assault them for letting the kid get hurt again. Probably assume Deon was responsible.
And with how carefully Ari attended to the boy, with gentle conversation and precise treatment, nobody in their right mind would blame him. Somehow, they'd think the kid running head-first into the control counter was Deon's fault.
But in truth, neither Deon or Ari knew what to attribute these injuries to.
"It's owie," the kid moaned, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. He tried to reach up and press his chubby palms against his forehead, but Deon cut in.
"Ease up, scout. Your dadda's got you covered," he said, pulling the kid's hand back down so that Dadda could properly apply the medicine. The kid looked back up at both of them, tears in the corner of his mis-matched green and purple eyes. It reminded Deon of her, of course, though after all of this time, and with this new family, reminders of her shouldn't hurt anymore...
Still, Deon affected a smile, purely for the kid's benefit. "Feel that tingly thing on your forehead? Dadda's got a magic washcloth for that hard head of yours."
Ari glanced over at Deon, and his frustration at what Deon said was painfully evident. The washcloth held a complex bio-chemical medicine, a compound Bones had taught Ari to make, and that he was rather proud of mastering. But he didn't cross what Deon had said, especially cause 'magic' seemed to calm the kid down. "Very sciencey magic," he said, by way of compromise. "Will you eat this, please?"
The kid sat up, his legs dangling over the side of the metal table, and ate the aspirin dutifully. Deon had a small cup of water ready, and passed it to the kid. Ari kept the washcloth over the hurt forehead while the kid drank, but already Deon could see the purpling of the bruise fade off.
"I can cure his injuries whenever we need to," Ari said, though pain was evident in his words and his eyes. Deon nodded, agreeing more to Ari's frustration than words.
"It's better to figure out why this happens," Deon said. He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. "I don't get it. It's almost like he has no idea where he's going sometimes."
Something worked in Ari's mind, clearly. Deon watched him as he touched his own face, moved his fingertips behind his ears and hair. Ari took off his glasses, and carefully put them on the kid.
"Huh," Deon said, and watched with fascination. Ari wouldn't be able to tell the kid's reaction one way or another, not without his glasses. But Deon was sure he saw something shift in their boy's focus. "Well, let's see what happens." He stepped forward, then grabbed the kid under the armpits and put him on the ground.
The child stamped his feet, maybe to confirm that he was on the ground, and slowly looked up at his fathers. The surprise in his eyes couldn't be confused for anything else. He tried looking down next and clapped his hands over the arms of the large glasses, keeping them from falling off his face. Something the kid saw made him gasp in surprise.
Deon crouched, his hands on his knees, so he was at eye level with the kid. "Well? How's that feel, scout?"
"Poppa," he said. The kid stared up at Deon, then pointed down at his feet. "I can see the ground!"
Deon stared for a moment, silent, then cupped his face with both of his hands. The kid touched Deon's hand after a few moments, probably in concern, so he paused his despairing and instead ruffled the kid's hair. He grinned for the kid, even if Deon looked like he was just holding back nausea. "That's nice, scout."
"His vision must have been very poor," Ari stated. He rang out the washcloth and folded it, leaving on the shelf. But he kept his hand on the counter after it was necessary, like he needed the balance. "Ah, additionally, I must report to Captain Kirk. I don't believe I can handle navigation duties today."
"Good." The kid had wandered off, to look at the tables and chairs that he now could actually see. Deon found the little flask he kept on him, and knocked back a swig of it. "Cause I can't handle flying."
Ari = Dadda, Deon = Poppa, Mara = KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN
And with how carefully Ari attended to the boy, with gentle conversation and precise treatment, nobody in their right mind would blame him. Somehow, they'd think the kid running head-first into the control counter was Deon's fault.
But in truth, neither Deon or Ari knew what to attribute these injuries to.
"It's owie," the kid moaned, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. He tried to reach up and press his chubby palms against his forehead, but Deon cut in.
"Ease up, scout. Your dadda's got you covered," he said, pulling the kid's hand back down so that Dadda could properly apply the medicine. The kid looked back up at both of them, tears in the corner of his mis-matched green and purple eyes. It reminded Deon of her, of course, though after all of this time, and with this new family, reminders of her shouldn't hurt anymore...
Still, Deon affected a smile, purely for the kid's benefit. "Feel that tingly thing on your forehead? Dadda's got a magic washcloth for that hard head of yours."
Ari glanced over at Deon, and his frustration at what Deon said was painfully evident. The washcloth held a complex bio-chemical medicine, a compound Bones had taught Ari to make, and that he was rather proud of mastering. But he didn't cross what Deon had said, especially cause 'magic' seemed to calm the kid down. "Very sciencey magic," he said, by way of compromise. "Will you eat this, please?"
The kid sat up, his legs dangling over the side of the metal table, and ate the aspirin dutifully. Deon had a small cup of water ready, and passed it to the kid. Ari kept the washcloth over the hurt forehead while the kid drank, but already Deon could see the purpling of the bruise fade off.
"I can cure his injuries whenever we need to," Ari said, though pain was evident in his words and his eyes. Deon nodded, agreeing more to Ari's frustration than words.
"It's better to figure out why this happens," Deon said. He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. "I don't get it. It's almost like he has no idea where he's going sometimes."
Something worked in Ari's mind, clearly. Deon watched him as he touched his own face, moved his fingertips behind his ears and hair. Ari took off his glasses, and carefully put them on the kid.
"Huh," Deon said, and watched with fascination. Ari wouldn't be able to tell the kid's reaction one way or another, not without his glasses. But Deon was sure he saw something shift in their boy's focus. "Well, let's see what happens." He stepped forward, then grabbed the kid under the armpits and put him on the ground.
The child stamped his feet, maybe to confirm that he was on the ground, and slowly looked up at his fathers. The surprise in his eyes couldn't be confused for anything else. He tried looking down next and clapped his hands over the arms of the large glasses, keeping them from falling off his face. Something the kid saw made him gasp in surprise.
Deon crouched, his hands on his knees, so he was at eye level with the kid. "Well? How's that feel, scout?"
"Poppa," he said. The kid stared up at Deon, then pointed down at his feet. "I can see the ground!"
Deon stared for a moment, silent, then cupped his face with both of his hands. The kid touched Deon's hand after a few moments, probably in concern, so he paused his despairing and instead ruffled the kid's hair. He grinned for the kid, even if Deon looked like he was just holding back nausea. "That's nice, scout."
"His vision must have been very poor," Ari stated. He rang out the washcloth and folded it, leaving on the shelf. But he kept his hand on the counter after it was necessary, like he needed the balance. "Ah, additionally, I must report to Captain Kirk. I don't believe I can handle navigation duties today."
"Good." The kid had wandered off, to look at the tables and chairs that he now could actually see. Deon found the little flask he kept on him, and knocked back a swig of it. "Cause I can't handle flying."