XMM Fic "Bed Sore"
May. 29th, 2006 08:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
st_aurafinaTitle: Bed Sore
Rated: G
Words: 250
Characters: Charles, Moira
Note: This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lilacsigil, who asked for zombie!Charles/Moira physical therapy fic. There's no actual physical therapy, sorry, but there's discussion of such things.
Charles doesn't like this nurse; he has hairy hands like a gorilla. The bathing goes swiftly, at least. There's something to be said for brevity when it comes to sponge baths. The gorilla takes the basin away and returns with a bowl.
"Thank you, Nigel, I can take care of that," Moira carefully lifts the bowl out of the gorilla's hands. "Go on, take your tea-break now."
Moira moves Charles's bed into a more upright position, and with efficient and capable hands, tucks the napkin under Charles's chin. He looks balefully at her as she spoons the thin oatmeal into his mouth.
"Don't look at me like that, Charlie," she says, scraping gruel off his chin. "Did you really think you could swoop down into this body, rise up like Lazarus, and walk out the door? There's such a thing as muscular atrophy, you know."
He swallows the oatmeal, and clears his throat with some effort.
"Not Lazarus. Sleeping Beauty."
Moira gives an impressive snort. "Oho! You think so? Have you taken a look at yourself, Charlie?"
Actually, Charles hasn't been able to: there's a lack of reflective surfaces. He strains the muscles in his neck and tries to look around for a mirror. Moira looks smug.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the vainest man of all?"
Charles is sure she's slopping the oatmeal down his chin on purpose. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth when the spoon butts against his lip. He may live to regret this.
Rated: G
Words: 250
Characters: Charles, Moira
Note: This is for
lilacsigil, who asked for zombie!Charles/Moira physical therapy fic. There's no actual physical therapy, sorry, but there's discussion of such things. Charles doesn't like this nurse; he has hairy hands like a gorilla. The bathing goes swiftly, at least. There's something to be said for brevity when it comes to sponge baths. The gorilla takes the basin away and returns with a bowl.
"Thank you, Nigel, I can take care of that," Moira carefully lifts the bowl out of the gorilla's hands. "Go on, take your tea-break now."
Moira moves Charles's bed into a more upright position, and with efficient and capable hands, tucks the napkin under Charles's chin. He looks balefully at her as she spoons the thin oatmeal into his mouth.
"Don't look at me like that, Charlie," she says, scraping gruel off his chin. "Did you really think you could swoop down into this body, rise up like Lazarus, and walk out the door? There's such a thing as muscular atrophy, you know."
He swallows the oatmeal, and clears his throat with some effort.
"Not Lazarus. Sleeping Beauty."
Moira gives an impressive snort. "Oho! You think so? Have you taken a look at yourself, Charlie?"
Actually, Charles hasn't been able to: there's a lack of reflective surfaces. He strains the muscles in his neck and tries to look around for a mirror. Moira looks smug.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the vainest man of all?"
Charles is sure she's slopping the oatmeal down his chin on purpose. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth when the spoon butts against his lip. He may live to regret this.
