Patching Her Up 2: Scar

CLAYMORE-fanfic. Miria has a weakness, but that's ok, so does Galatea.
(Galatea/Miria)


This is the second installment in my series of short stories called "Patching Her Up".

Read Patching Her Up 2: Scar

Disclaimer: Claymore belongs to Yagi Norihiro as far as I know, and certainly not this little dragon.
This story is based on the idea that Galatea ended up in Pieta with the others in the anime (and that things turned out a bit better, I suppose), and has of course absolutely nothing to do with the manga (which I have not read). It might even fit a little bit with my Claymore series that begins in “Paths of Silver”... if you squint.

My “Patching Her Up” series is just a series of short stories unrelated to one another, from different fandoms, that have a certain theme in common. Each part is a stand-alone and a one-shot.






Patching Her Up 2: Scar
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson







”That hurts!” The whiny complaint was one Miria could scarcely believe she was hearing, at least not from the person she was currently crouching in front of.

“If you don’t wriggle around so much it would be over faster, and it wouldn’t hurt as much.” She explained with some patience, even if it was starting to wear a bit by now. Miria was a warrior and a leader, not a healer... how had she ended up doing this?

Oh, yes. That’s right. Galatea.

The tall, proud, often superior and, even Miria had to admit it, somewhat regal warrior had turned silver eyes on Miria and pouted. Pouted. At Miria.

So she had caved like a house of cards, and accepted the unwanted nursing duty which really should have fallen to one of the other girls, one of the girls more suited for these things. But oh no, when Galatea wants something, she usually gets it.

Of course, Miria could relate. She wouldn’t be keen on letting the younger girls that all looked up to her, looked to Miria for leadership and guidance, see her injured if she could help it, either. If injured, Miria would try to patch herself up as best she could. Enhanced healing had its perks, thankfully.

“You have the hands and gentle touch of a fisherwoman.” Galatea sniped, sniffing slightly and twitching in place once again. Miria sighed.

She had been wholly unprepared for this whiny and sulky side of ‘prince’ Galatea, a warrior as stoic and unflinching as the best of them normally. But as she had followed Galatea to a secluded room to get to work on the rather nasty gash that ran mid-thigh to calf on one of the woman’s unusually long legs, she soon found herself having to fight what seemed to be an overgrown and twitchy two-year-old for every stitch.

“Known a lot of those, have you?” Miria asked archly, pursing her lips and raising an eyebrow at prince pouty, knowing exactly what the answer would be. “Fisherwomen’s hands, that is.”

The transformation was instantaneous. With a rather self-satisfied smirk, the flirty woman whom had all the younger girls blushing as she walked by was back, oozing charm as she gave Miria a suggestive look.

“My fair share, why?” The whine was replaced by a sultry tone as Galatea leaned forward to bat her eyes at Miria in a rather outrageous move that would just look silly on anyone else. “You know I’m irresistible.”

Miria just grunted a little in response and refused to look at Galatea, far to busy multitasking; patting herself on the back mentally for distracting her difficult patient so easily, mentally shaking her head at Galatea for being oh so very predictable, and of course continuing stitching up the long pale leg in front of her while the woman held still.

“Why, Strawberry...” Galatea flirted, her smile far too smug but an honestly exited gleam in her eyes. “Are you jealous?”

Miria wondered idly why exactly it was that while Galatea seemed to be just naturally an outrageous flirt, and would indeed practice her charms on any woman within earshot sometimes, the taller woman had zeroed in on her. Galatea was particularly insistent, not to mention persistent, with Miria, no matter how little response she was given. It had quite frankly confused the hell out of Miria to begin with.

“Mmmmaybe.” She hummed, hiding a smile. While she still wasn’t sure what Galatea was really after, she had changed tactics with the woman and found, to her delight, that whenever Miria would flirt right back the poised and self-assured Galatea tended to flounder like a schoolboy. Sometimes she worried that she might perhaps have become somewhat twisted herself, to take such pleasure in making the other woman blush over her.

“R-really?” Immediately Galatea sat up straighter, the sly womanizer in her visibly having to struggle not to break out into a silly but delighted grin at Miria’s response. Eagerly she leaned even more forward. “Those others meant nothing, you’re the only one for me, Miri...ow!”

Miria’s elation was short-lived as the movement jostled the leg she was working on, and reminded her patient that she was displeased with the world currently.

“Honestly, Galatea...” Miria sighed again and carefully wiped a little bit of blood away from the wound. “I’m almost done, if you could just hold still for a little while longer I’ll have you all wrapped up.”

The pout was back, and while Miria tried not to she couldn’t help but soften at the sight of it.

“I don’t know why you’re having such a hard time with this anyway.” She chided gently, not entirely aware that she was caressing the leg under her hands comfortingly between the few remaining stitches. “You didn’t make a sound when that Awakened one sliced your leg open.”

In fact Galatea hadn’t so much as twitched as far as Miria could tell. Normally the attack wouldn’t have connected, but it had been a bad place and a bad situation, and if not for Galatea one of the younger girls would have been cut in half instead. It was quite the noble thing to do, really, and of course Galatea had been admired for it afterwards.

“In fact, if you hate being stitched so much, why don’t you at least try to enhance your healing?” Galatea was a warrior whose abilities were offensive rather than defensive, and as such her powers were not focused towards the physical. Still, by raising the yoma levels in herself she could probably heal much of the injury on her own, if not all of it.

“I don’t want to be ugly.” Was the quiet and reluctant answer. Galatea looked away, and after a moment of silence she continued. “Especially not in front of you.”

“Oh.”

Miria was unsure of what to say to the quiet admission, much less how to feel. Strangely her cheeks warmed and she couldn’t make herself look at Galatea anymore, focusing instead on tying off the stitches and gently wiping them down.

Reaching for the bandages she started with a slender pale foot and slowly worked upwards.

“Will there be a... scar?”

The question was so quiet that Miria did a double take to make sure Galatea had spoken. She eyed the long line of small and neat stitches she had carefully made sure to make, despite Galatea being difficult, and tried to understand why it would matter to creatures like them.

“I... don’t think so?” She offered, hesitantly, not having enough of a healer’s sense to be able to give any real assurances but well aware of their enhanced healing nonetheless. Suddenly thinking of the many scars on her own body she frowned, uncertain. “Does that matter?”

The squirming was back, even though Miria was merely finishing bandaging up, however absently.

“I don’t want to be ugly...” Galatea repeated quietly in a mutter. “...for you.”

Swallowing an unexpected lump in her throat, Miria focused on tying of the top of the bandages. While Galatea could sometimes appear to be a bit more vain than one would expect from a warrior of their kind, Miria was sure that underneath her uniform Galatea had the same tortured and gut-wrenching appearance as they all did, so what did a scar or two more matter? And yet, looking closely at the tall woman it was plain to see that Galatea did not have scars or other blemishes on any part of her body readily visible. Not like the rest of them.

Not like Miria herself. She felt a touch of regret suddenly for all the battles that had left their mark on her, but quickly shook off such whimsical thoughts.

“Don’t worry, Galatea.” She patted the bandaged knee gently before rising. “Short of you loosing yourself, that would never happen.”

She moved about putting away the supplies and the soiled cloth, taking a moment to give Galatea time to compose herself and Miria herself the chance to chase away strange thoughts she had no business dwelling over. She was already moving towards the door when Galatea’s voice stopped her.

“What...” The pout now on the tall woman’s lips were a playful one, but Miria still felt curiously powerless to resist it. “...no reward for being a good girl?”

A short laugh erupted from Miria before she could control herself.

Wrestling her expression under control she adopted a playfully thoughtful expression as she turned around and walked the few steps back towards Galatea, who was grinning at her, apparently quite pleased with herself. Miria tapped her lips as if in thought.

“Hmm... I guess...” She wondered briefly if she had been overtaken by some kind of madness, to even consider what she knew she was going to do. But the grin on Galatea’s face as she prepared to hop down from the high perch she had been sitting on until now made Miria feel a bit reckless, and giddy. “If you had really been a good girl...”

No-one could really match Miria when it came to speed.

Before Galatea had even realized that she had moved, Miria was already standing in between long legs, grabbing that flawlessly beautiful face with both hands, and placed what was meant to be a chaste kiss on the other woman’s lips.

Only, while it started out chaste, once the stunned and immobile Galatea made a small noise of surprise, chaste became far less so... even without Galatea’s participation.

Sucking a full lower lip into her mouth to give it a playful lick before finally stepping back, a bit breathless herself from the rather unexpected turn of events, Miria quickly leaned in to whisper into a slightly pink ear in as sultry a voice she could muster.

“Just imagine if you had really been a good girl.”

Then, barely containing a laugh that threatened to bubble up, the suddenly quite happy Miria all but skipped out of the room, not really caring if any of the younger warriors would see her grinning like a fool as she did so.

She didn’t get far before a whimper followed by a noisy scrambling reached her ears. Several fair heads peeked out into the corridor to gawk, amazed, between the now chuckling Miria and the open door through which Galatea was seen stumbling across the floor.

Possessed by some evil impulse Miria called over her shoulder to the wide-eyed and blushing Galatea. “Don’t forget to put on some pants before you come out here... baby.”

With a gasp and a yelp Galatea disappeared from sight, followed by an impossibly loud crash as she slid right into some furniture, upending it. The spectacle drew even more fair-headed young girls to the hallway, and a chorus of gasps and whispered speculation followed them.

Miria walked along, humming to herself and generally unusually happy with the world at large. Touching her lips she grinned widely at a tiny patch of blue sky among the grey that was visible through a window as she passed it by.

It was shaping up to be a fine day in Pieta.