Picture by Husk Summers

“He is so cute,” a high pitch voice squealed; she didn’t even bother whispering.

My head, Featherweight groaned inwardly.

“And the other day, he listened to me talk so attentively. He’s really a little charmer.”

“I know; I could just eat him up,” another said. This one did whisper, but Featherweight could feel hot, sauerkraut-smelling breath on his face. The surface he was on bent slightly to one side as something moved under him.

“Look at the little cap, oh, and the way his ears stick out! He’s so adorable. You were right, Red Heart.”

Featherweight moaned, shifting on the cushiony surface. Where am I? he wondered. Vaguely, he remembered Sweetie Belle and Rarity trying to kill him. Then, something about a door. Did Sweetie kiss me?

Three distinct voices sighed blissfully at the same time. “Oh my goodness, he’s blushing!” the first voice said. He could hear a pair of hooves clapping excitedly beside him.

Where the heck am I? Slowly, he cracked an eye open and stared up into the over-make-uped face of a slightly-over-middle-age nurse. The aquamarine unicorn gushed down at him, a horribly contrasting blush appearing on her face as he stared at her. “Oh, look at his eyes; aren’t they the cutest shade of brown? They match his outfit perfectly.”

Outfit? Where am I? Did I die? He pushed himself up, groaning as a stab of pain flashed through his head, to be matched by a burst of shame as he realized he was still in the suit. The same white-and-blue-trimmed suit that Rarity had obliged him --at scissor point-- to wear. “Gah!” he screamed, hooves batting uselessly at the blue-trimmed fiasco.

“What are you doing!” shouted the nurse that he now recognized as Red Heart. The white mare jumped onto his bed, pinning him down expertly as she mounted atop him. Soon, the other nurses joined in, pushing and shoving until they had him locked in place. The colt didn’t struggle. He just fixed his wide eyes on them as they grappled him in a tight hold. They began spewing a wealth of seemingly random codes and numbers, all of which were lost to him.

“What the hay are you doing?” he asked when one pulled out a long, thin needle.

They ignored him, smiling in an almost gleeful fashion as they lowered the needle to his flank. “Wait, what are you doing? I can explain! It was all Pipsqueak’s fault--” The rest of his spiel was lost as the needle poked through his skin and emptied its contents.

The last thing he saw was Red Heart’s overly content smile. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, you and I.”

What?

Steady beeping was the first thing he heard as he woke up. That, and the occasional flutter of a page turning. He wasn’t in the sailor-colt outfit any longer. Instead of the supple material, he felt rough cloth around him, the kind that rustled lightly with every gesture or movement. He opened his eyes and looked at the square-tiled ceiling, dimly illuminated with a yellow glow.

Where am I? he asked himself once more. Turning his head slowly, he looked at a hodge-podge of stacked machinery, all of which had thin, snake-like wires running up to, and into, his limbs. His confused gaze shifted from the machines to an empty bed beyond. Sunlight streamed into the room by way of an opened window, accompanied by a fresh breeze that circulated around the room.

A hospital? he guessed. Turning around slowly, he confirmed his suspicions.

Near the doorway, Scootaloo was leaned back on a pile of pillows on another bed, propping herself up to hold a thick manual in both hooves. She sat there, breathing evenly while occasionally flipping the page.

Featherweight stared at her, blinking a few times in surprise. Not so much at seeing Scootaloo --although he found that particular tidbit to be quite pleasant-- but because, on her tiny face, was a delicate pair of glasses.

Scootaloo wears glasses? Oh sweet Celestia, she’s so cute. He smiled blissfully, unable to resist as he spied on Scootaloo. The glasses rode low on the bridge of her nose, right on the edge of falling off. Every once in awhile, Scootaloo would push them back up, only to have them slip down once more.

“Since when do you wear glasses?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

Scootaloo jumped, ripping the glasses off of her face and tucking them beneath one of the pillows before slapping the book shut and doing the same with it. She then glared at him, almost daring him to bring the subject up again. “I don’t wear glasses. My vision is twenty-twenty. Perfect.”

“Uh-huh.” Then why were you wearing them? he thought, but kept his mouth shut. “So, how long was I out?” he asked, pushing himself into a sitting position. His head no longer felt like exploding, he noted with some joy.

Scootaloo seemed relieved at his chosen subject. “They brought you in yesterday
afternoon. Then, one of the nurses, Miss Red Heart, almost fainted. She brought in a few others and they... well, they...”

Oh, goddess, it’s worse than I thought. “What did they do?” He cringed, fearful of her response.

“They... fawned over you,” she replied, her face scrunching up in disgust. “They really liked that thing you were wearing, whatever it was.”

His face almost caught fire. She saw me, wearing that? My life, it can end now. He reached over, grabbed the cheap cotton blanket at his hooves, and covered his bright red face.

“Are you okay? Should I call the nurse? I’d rather not, honestly.” Featherweight pulled the covers from over his face and eyed her. She was staring back, a look of honest concern adorning her face.

“I’ll be fine, I guess.”

“So, why were you wearing that?”

Okay Featherweight, you can do this. Improvise. “I-I um, Miss Rarity... and, um--”

“Cause, you know, Sweetie loves those things. I never did know why...”

Featherweight froze. Oh, Celestia, please don’t let her figure it out.

Her next question blew his fears away, while creating many new ones. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Um, get out of here how?”

She smiled mischievously and he blushed in response, not just at the sheer adorableness of the act, but at the malice that was hidden beneath it. “You know, I’m feeling fine. The doctors did a good job of patching me up. And it is good for our health to take a little stroll, if you’re up for it. I mean, if you’re still feeling sick-ish, I’ll keep you company or something.”

Tears sprang up to his eyes just as he rolled out of bed. Twisting around, he faced the cot and quickly wiped them away. She’s so caring. “I’m ready for anything! Top notch, not a single scratch!” he exclaimed, doing his best to hide his winces.

Scootaloo climbed off of her own bed, expertly detaching the wires that were tied to her limbs. Silently, she stalked across the room on the tip of her hooves and helped him with his own bindings. Featherweight turned away from her proximity, coughing awkwardly until she was done with the straps.

“C’mon,” she whispered as she fluttered across the room. Feeling a well of giddiness spring up inside his chest, Featherweight followed.

The orange pegasus opened the door and peeked out, hair swishing as she looked to both sides. “It’s clear,” she said as she shut the door again. “Where should we go first?”

For a moment, Featherweight said nothing as he sat and rubbed his tiny chin in thought. “If we just walk out like that, we’ll get caught real fast. Maybe we should find some sort of disguise first?”

She slapped his shoulder and beamed at him. “You’re a genius. The doctor’s locker room is just a few rooms over.” She popped the door open and, back arched, tip-hoofed out of the room. Featherweight followed her.

The hallway was just like any other hospital’s. The sides held big clunky machines placed on casters and beds that weren’t in use. Featherweight glanced in the open doorways of the neighbouring rooms as they ran by, hoping that nopony would sound the alarm.

“It’s here,” Scootaloo whispered conspiratorially as she opened a door labeled ‘lockers’. With a sharp click that resonated through the tight walls of the corridor, she pushed her way into the room, straightening as she did so. Glancing around him one last time, Featherweight snuck in, too.

“Bingo,” Scootaloo said.

Every wall in the room was taken up by oblong cubicles. Inside of them, white coats hung in neat rows below the typical equipment of doctors. Giggling to herself, Scootaloo ran up to the nearest box and ripped out a coat. Within seconds, she was poking her too-short legs out of the front holes and adjusting the lapels. “How do I look?”

So cute it should be illegal. “Not bad, but you’re missing a little something. One sec.” He ran past her, flapping his wings to reach the upper part of the cubicles. Once there, he quickly found a stethoscope and grabbed it with one hoof before continuing his search. Come on, there must be a pair somewhere-- ah-ha!

Landing beside Scootaloo, he swung the listening device around her neck, and pulled out the glasses he had just found. With a gleeful smile, he placed them over her eyes and almost squealed when they slipped to the tip of her nose. “Perfect, now you really look like Doctor Scootaloo.”

She glared at him beneath the glasses, her cheeks reddening a little, but she just pushed them back up and said, “Hurry up and put something on; we can’t stay here forever.”

Smiling to himself, Featherweight put on the first coat he reached and shoved an otoscope in its breast pocket. “I’m ready!” he exclaimed.

Scootaloo rushed to the door and, opening it up with as serious an expression she could manage, walked out. Immediately, she turned to her right and began trotting slowly. Walking into the hallway, Featherweight quickly spotted a nurse at the opposite end before he snapped a turn and followed Scootaloo.

“So, where to first?” Scootaloo asked when he began walking beside her.

Featherweight shrugged and nervously glanced over his shoulder. The nurse was mumbling to herself while working on one of the machines. “I don’t know; this isn’t my sorta thing.”

“If you want to head back, just say so.”

And miss spending time with you? “Nah, I’m fine.”

They arrived at a ninety-degree turn. Featherweight trotted ahead and peeked around the edge. A quarter of the way through the hallway was a desk around which five ponies in nurse’s garb were gathered, all of them slowly working while chatting away. Mugs of coffee lay here and there on the desk, wisps of hot vapour still floating away.

Scootaloo joined him at the corner, her own head poking around for a second. “Um, how are we going to get past? Maybe we should go back around?” she suggested.

Featherweight looked around at the assembled wheelchairs, beds, and complex machines. Slowly, his eyes wandered to a room whose door was open. Inside, an old stallion was drooling on his chest, head lolling gently. “I think I have an idea...”

Two minutes later, the old pony was tucked into a wheelchair. Scootaloo pushed a large and confusing machine while Featherweight was struggling to look taller as he stood behind the chair.

He gulped, suddenly uncertain. “Okay, we just walk on by calmly and don’t say a word. Okay?”

“Lead the way,” Scootaloo whispered.

With a heave, Featherweight shoved the wheelchair forward and into the corridor, Scootaloo right behind him. Every half rotation, the chair’s wheels squeaked, making both children cringe.

“Read it, just read it,”Red Heart began. “Look how cute it is!” She pushed a little piece of paper across the desk where the other nurses crowded around it, eyes roving across the page. As one, they hummed a sweet, dreamy note. “I know, right? Isn’t he adorable!”

Featherweight and Scootaloo were right beside the station when one of them pulled out a pen and yanked the page back. “It’s cute, but I’m sure we could make it better.”

The others ‘oohed’ and smiled deviously, crowding around the mare with the pen. “Let’s improve it.” They giggled maniacally just as Scootaloo slipped on the too-long sleeves of her borrowed coat.

“Oh, this will be good,” one said as she clapped her hooves excitedly. Scootaloo rushed forwards and rejoined the machine, eyes wide and scared. Featherweight made a small shushing sound, hoping to comfort her.

“I wonder if he’d be brave enough to confess? Maybe we should do it for him? Help the little stud along...” More giggling as they leaned over the note and began scribbling.

Featherweight and Scootaloo turned around the corridor and found themselves in another empty area. Both of them abandoned their charges, letting both old pony and weird machine roll away while they clutched their chests and panted.

“That was so close,” Scootaloo said. She leaned against him, laughing off the nerves.

Featherweight smiled like a goofus as she pushed herself off of him. “Um, now what?” he asked, coughing a little.

She shrugged and began walking down the corridor, a mischievous smile on her face. “Come on, there has to be something fun to do around here.”

They entered a mostly empty lobby, the only occupants being some ponies impatiently waiting with tags in hoof. The ponies hardly spared the two foals a glance as they walked through the room. I guess our disguises are workin-- Featherweight never finished his thought as Scootaloo yanked him into an open doorway.

The colt slipped to the ground wide-eyed and felt wind whoosh by him as the door slammed shut. Getting up, he looked around the office and to Scootaloo. The filly had her back pressed against the door, and was holding a hoof up to her lips.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered in a loud hush, grabbing onto the paper-covered bed at the centre of the room to help him stand.

Before she could answer, a grumpy and eerily familiar voice spoke through the door. “Hey, I saw you in there. Open up, I’ve been waiting all day for this appointment! I’ll tell my dad!”

Featherweight blinked and looked at Scootaloo, his face asking the question for him: What should we do?

Scootaloo ran past him and sat at the desk, picking up a pen and scribbling randomly to look busy. Featherweight, catching onto her idea, got up in turn and began sorting through the cotton swabs, needles and tongue sticks at the back. “Come in,” Scootaloo said, trying hard to sound older.

The door creaked open, revealing a haughty, pink earth pony. “Well, it’s about time! Those other ponies were complaining about me! Can you believe that!” Diamond Tiara said as she strutted into the room.

Featherweight stared at her, heart beating wildly as his jaw slowly dropped. We’re so doomed.

Scootaloo, on her end, didn’t panic. Instead, she slowly pushed the glasses up her nose and stared at Diamond Tiara. “Oh, hello Miss Tiara. I’m so sorry for the incon- inconv-- the slowness of our, uh, stuff. Please, sit down.” She pointed to the bed and waited for the pink pony to sit on it before walking around her.

“Well, hurry up. I have things to do and places to be. I can’t lose my day here,” she said.

Scootaloo nodded sagely and, with great patience, pulled out her stethoscope and placed it on the other filly’s chest. “Breath in and out,” she ordered. Diamond reluctantly obeyed.

For a few moments, Scootaloo listened. Then she suddenly gasped, head turning away from the filly and towards Featherweight. “My goodness, Doctor, um.” She frowned. “Doctor Weight T. Feather, come and listen to this!”

What is she thinking? What is she doing? Mustering up all of his calm and zen, Featherweight pulled away from the mess he had made with the medical equipment and trotted over to Scootaloo’s side. “Is something wrong, Doctor Scootamedic?”

Diamond Tiara glanced from one to the other, her own forehead creasing into a frown. “Do I know you?”

Scootaloo ignored her. “I think she has a nasty case of empathitis!” She winked at him, a mischievous bend at the edge of her lips.

“What’s that?” the ‘patient’ asked.

Featherweight looked at her in turn, and pulled out his otoscope. Rudely, he shoved it in Diamond Tiara’s ear, eliciting a little yelp. “Oh, Celestia, you’re right; it’s horrible!” He pulled out the device, gave the ear-wax covered tip one good look, and chucked it into the trash.

“What’s empathitis? Am I going to die?” The filly was shaking now, genuinely afraid. I almost feel bad, Featherweight thought. “If you don’t give me the best treatment you have, I’ll sue you so hard, you’ll never work again!” But not that bad.

Scootaloo gently placed a hoof on her shoulder, changing her voice to one of a concerned mother. “I’m sorry, Miss Tiara. You can’t cure, um, empathitis.”

Diamond Tiara’s lower lip was now trembling, and tears were appearing at the edges of her eyes. “Bu-but what does it do?”

Featherweight joined in. “It makes you uglier every time you’re mean to somepony.”

She glared at him and quickly wiped her eyes with a swipe of her hoof. “Are you kidding me? A sickness that makes you uglier? What kind of docto--”

Scootaloo pointed at her face, twisting her own into an expression of shock. “Look, she’s getting uglier right now!”

“You’re right! Look at that nose, and her mane, it has white streaks...” Featherweight did his own imitation of shock. The filly touched one hoof to her nose while another rubbed her mane.

“Make it stop! How do you make it stop?”

Scootaloo smiled; they had won. “You have to be really, really nice to everypony you meet. Then you’ll be less ugly.... Well, you’ll go back to how you were before.”

The door handle rattled, and from the other side, they could hear a deep, masculine voice talking. “One sec, Martha; I just need to pick something up.”

The handle twisted and clicked open.

“Oh, um, look at the time. We have our coffee break now, bye!” Featherweight said as he pointed at a blank wall and pulled Scootaloo by the arm.

The door opened and, without even glancing at the pony in the entrance, both pegasi ran out.

Their hooves clacked wildly against the tiled entrance as they flew out of the lobby. Somewhere behind them a demure voice said, “Mister, do you think I’m ugly?”

Featherweight and Scootaloo laughed aloud as they galloped through the hallways, aimlessly heading anywhere that wasn’t behind them.

“So, where to next?” he asked once he had stopped running and his panting abated.

Scootaloo shrugged with her wings, her eyes glancing up and down a nearby directions sign. “Um, there’s the waiting rooms. Sounds boring. Check in. Dull. Intensive care.” She shivered. “Oh, X-ray room!”

X-rays? Why would... “What’s so special about that?” he asked.

The orange filly turned down the empty corridor indicated by the sign. “Wouldn’t it be cool if we had an x-ray of a wing for our project?”

“I guess, but how do you make the machine work?” he asked as they walked side-by-side down the corridor and past a bunch of rooms with long, complicated labels.

“It can’t be that hard,” she said while slowing down. They stopped in front of a slightly ajar doorway, ‘Radiology’ written above it in simple script. Ducking down, Scootaloo pushed the door open and crawled into the dark room.

Featherweight, less cautious, trotted in and absently ran a hoof along the wall until he brushed against a switch. Flicking it, the room was bathed in a harsh white light.

In the centre was a bed with a big mechanical arm over it. The plastic plated arm had dozens of little safety labels that they promptly ignored. Scootaloo walked across the room and to a control box on the other side of a partition. “I found the controls,” she said, pointing at the rows and rows of dials and buttons. After a few seconds of staring at them she smiled confidently. “Okay, I figured it out. Put your wing across the bed, and tell me when to start.”

Featherweight walked towards the oppressively large x-ray machine and gulped. “Maybe we should try with something else first?”

“Oh, don’t be a wimp, Feathers.”

Right, got to prove that I’m brave, too.... Well, maybe just a small test. He glanced around and judged her line of sight. From behind the partition, she couldn’t see any part of the bed or the machine.

Searching desperately for something to emulate his presence, his eye alighted on a half eaten muffin becoming stale beside a cold mug of coffee. ‘For Derpy’ a quaint little note said. Ah-ha!

Tip-hoofing forwards, he grabbed the muffin and tossed it beneath the business end of the x-ray machine. “Okay Scoots, I’m ready,” he lied.

“What setting should I put it on?” she asked from across the half wall.

“Um, I don’t know. On a camera, the more pixels the better. Maybe it’s the same? Is there a focus?”

“Oh, nevermind, I’ll just put everything on max.” Featherweight cringed as he heard a few dials creak to their highest setting. “Here goes!” she announced.

The machine hummed for a few seconds, then nothing happened. “That was anti-clamati--” The lights flickered and a dozen bolts of energy zapped from the end of the X-ray machine and into the bed, burning a hole where the muffin used to be.

Both Featherweight and Scootaloo pulled back and stared at the charred mess. The machine groaned a little, and one of its plastic panels blew off, smoking as it flew across the room. “Oops.”

“Maybe we should forget the x-ray for now?”

“No, wait, I’ll lower the settings a bit. Maybe it’ll work this time?”

He sighed, placing a hoof on his forehead. “No, it’s too dangerous. Let’s go... please.”

They stared at each other for a moment before she sighed. “Fine, let’s go find something else to do.”

He smiled, turned around, opened the door, and ran into nurse Red Heart’s white chest. With a thump, his flanks slapped the ground and he found himself staring up at a less-than-happy nurse.

“Um, I can explain?”

I bet a few of you are wondering: OCaK updated a week early, what’s up with that?

Of Challenges and Kisses has reached two thousand favorites (that’s a lot for those who don’t happen to know)! So, as a reward of sorts, I decided to give you guys chapter eight a week early! Hope you enjoyed it!

Don’t worry, chapter nine should appear on schedule. I might even throw in a special event once we reach 2.5K (hint, hint).

Thank you very, very much to all those for faved, watched and commented! I love you guys!

Edited by:
StapleCactus(This guy was extra awesome)
Your Antagonist

Proofread by:
Frederick the Saiyan
Cpl Hooves
Some guys, one called Bigdog117 and the other wasBurraku_Pansa. Cause it was a party in here.

[youtube=]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8tQkKAR82o]
[Pro-tip: Never post a link to the story you’re writing on a blog post. It get’s crazy.]

Oh, and I apologize for the infamous ‘wrestling’ scene. I didn't think it was so... lewd, when I wrote it.