Work Text:
"Bud."
"Blood."
"Bud! Bud!"
"Not quite, sweetheart. Blood. Look at my mouth; bbbbb-llllll-ood!"
"Bbbb... Bbud!"
Ugh.
This little back-and-forth had been going on for a while, before the doctor finally admitted defeat. He clicked his pen and placed it along with his notepad on the floor, where he was seated opposite of little Misha, a few wooden ABC blocks scattered around them. Not that the toys had been of much help, since Misha thought it more fun to be stacking them on top of each other and then knocking the makeshift tower down with glee, rather than using them for their intended purpose. And she'd continue flat out ignoring Dottore and his lessons, if one of the blocks didn't fly from her flailing hand and hit bullseye, right on the man's nose. He cursed and covered his face, contorting in pain.
"Oops." Was all she squeaked after a moment of stunned silence they both shared. Dottore blinked rapidly at her, at a loss of words and even the wooden letter B seemed to laugh at him from where it landed on his lap. Before he could muster a reply, it was Misha's sudden burst of sounds that caught his attention.
"Bud! Bud!" Was all she'd say while pointing. Bud? What ever did that mean? Dottore's hand rubbed his sore nose in an attempt to relieve some pain, and when he retracted it...
"Bud!" Misha repeated with urgency.
Oh.
Blood. There was a little blood smeared on his fingers. Turns out even a toy can be used as a weapon, should the times call for it. Boring spelling lessons, for example. Dottore almost chuckled. Almost.
"Bud!"
"Yes, yes, Misha, it's a little blood. That's because you weren't careful with your toys and hurt me. You don't throw those around, do you understand?"
But alas, Misha seemed to be far more interested in the crimson trickle of his nose, his admonishment falling on deaf ears. She bore a face of concern, her brows furrowing.
"Bud..." She murmurs before shuffling closer and attempting to put a hand on the doctor's face. Normally he'd let her, he didn't discourage her curiosity, even when he happened to be the object of interest, however this time Dottore had already got to deal with one mess. He didn't need another.
"No, Misha. What have I said about injuries?" He grasps her hand and gently redirects it back to her body, "We don't touch our injuries. Not with our bare hands."
"Bud!" Misha protests when her hand is removed, and quickly tries the other, soon to meet the same fate.
"Aren't you resourceful" Dottore coos, now grasping both of her hands and holding them down. He took a good look at her as she soured her face, hoping to convey her frustration to her caretaker. Pursed lips, stiff position, little grunts. A fantastic display of anger, without trying to bite him? Now that was a first. Someone was making progress.
"Are you angry, Misha?" He queries, his tone leading, "Did I make you angry?"
"Bud!" She screams and tries to break free.
"Yes, love, you've made your point. It is blood. B-l-o-o-d. Not bud. Blood. You have blood, and I have blood." The sound of his voice slowly helps her settle, "All living things have blood. Humans and animals alike. Blood makes our organs work." He continues in the same fashion of short and simple sentences he always used when talking to his littlest patient. Helped with keeping her focus.
"This is my blood on my nose. My nose is bleeding. It's bleeding because you threw something at me. Your toy." Misha stares at his moving mouth, as if digesting his words letter for letter. She likes his voice. It's deep and smooth. It slows down just enough for her to catch up, it sometimes grows and sharpens when she doesn't listen, and other times it shrinks and feels soft on her ears. It always speaks the language the others speak too, his friends and the Queen, and herself. But other times, rarer times, his mouth moves differently and new sounds emerge from it. Weird, foreign words, Misha had only heard from him. A language he can now only share with himself.
Misha seems calm, so Dottore gambles releasing her hands in order to reach for a handkerchief for his nose, dabbing it gently against his nostrils.
"Bud!" Misha cheers when she sees a few red stamps on the used handkerchief. Dottore can't hold back a laugh.
"At least say it correctly, will you?" He grabs her waist and pulls her close to him, their foreheads bumping gently. "I'm not letting you go until you say "blood" properly." He declares, squeezing in mock strength, causing Misha to squeal and thrash about. After five minutes or so of play fight, the doctor lets her scamper off. She disappears behind equipment and a bunch of old things that he should probably consider putting away sometime.
Granted, his study wasn't the tidiest. And having a live-in experiment to take care of only added to the mess.
When Misha appears again, she's clutching something in her right hand, and trots to the, now standing, man.
"Hm? What do you need, Misha?" He asks, before crouching down as per the request her frantic hand movements made. She fusses with whatever it is she was carrying, before peeling something off of it and sticking it right on top of Dottore's nose.
A pink bandaid. With puppies.
"No bud!" She triumphantly announces.
He blinks. His fingers meet the smooth foreign body, clumsily plastered on the bridge of his nose.
"Thank you, Misha. No more blood, indeed." Is all he can say, gently tousling her forever messy hair. "That's very helpful. Now, be a dear, and get your ABC's in their box, will you? Hadi, kızım, git" He gets back up and nudges her towards the scattered blocks, and she miraculously obeys, leaving him to continue his work.
Not much longer and word reaches him that he's needed in the Throne Room, immediately. A glance at Misha who's making another tower with the blocks, and he exits the study, making a beeline for the Tsaritsa's chambers.
Puppy bandaid and all.