Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He worked silently. The only sounds in his lab were those of the equipment he was using; a glass beaker bubbled with a substance he had synthesized, a pyro slime encased in heat-resistant geo materials heating it from the bottom.

His hands were steady as he aligned a contraption of glass tubes with the beaker, ready to open the spigot to allow the substance to trickle in. But just as he was about to turn the small handle, there was a knock on his laboratory door.

He hated that he had flinched, and with a sneer he removed the heating contraption from the counter, dousing it and the slime in a bucket of water; it wasn’t safe lab practice to keep pyro slimes burning, after all. He made his way to the door, his mood already soured by the untimely visitation.

He didn’t even bother to open it, figuring it was a mere servant who had been sent to tell him some news. So he leaned against the wall next to the door instead, speaking through it, “What do you want?” HIs arms folded over his chest.

“Dottore, if I may come in…” That voice… Ah, so it was him.

He sighed and removed himself from the wall, opening the heavy door to his lab. The cool air of Snezhnaya’s eternal winter rushed in, revealing the visage of the first Harbinger, Pierro, standing there. He ushered him in with a quick apology, “I didn’t realize it was you, Sir. Please, come in.”

He put on a forced, tight-lipped smile as the man entered. The door was quick to be closed and locked, and Pierro was equally fast in removing his thick, furred coat. It was no wonder he was so hasty - the lab was considerably warm.

“I have orders from Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa.” Pierro spoke bluntly, moving to sit in one of the few chairs littered around. He picked one with a cushion and back, and Dottore couldn’t blame him for that.

He, himself, sat in one of the stools around the edge of the large, open room, “Oh? And what might those be that she had to send you, her second-in-command?” His arms found themselves crossing over his chest once more, hooking a foot under the bar between the stool’s leg to keep himself balanced.

Pierro gave an almost defeated-sounding sigh. “As it happens, within the next two weeks, all of our fellow Harbingers are scheduled to stop through Snezhnaya’s capitol at some point. Her Majesty has requested that during that time, you… ‘check-up’ on all of us.”

Dottore raised an eyebrow under his mask, feeling his lip curl up in a grimace. “Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa… Wants me to give all of the other Harbingers… Check-ups?” Pierro gave a soft nod. Dottore sighed, whispering under his breath, “Her Benevolence knows no bounds, truly… What am I? Some hoity-toity healer?”

Pierro nodded, “Indeed. She believes it is in our best interest to keep all of her Harbingers healthy and well…”

Dottore scoffed, “Couldn’t you have picked someone else? I don’t know, an actual healer?”

Pierro gave a low, rumbling chuckle, “No one else is privy to the Harbingers’ medical histories as you are, Dottore. You mustn’t humble yourself sometimes. You have been entrusted with our files, as we have been with yours as they pertain to our goal.”

Dottore rolled his eyes but sighed, relenting, “Alright, alright. Do you have a schedule for these… Visitations?”

“As it happens, I do.” Pierro reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, producing a folded up sheet of paper. Dottore got down from his perch to go over, grabbing it out of the hand that held it toward him.

He unfolded the creases with ease, his eyes sliding over the page, quickly reading over it.

The following details the dates on which Her Majesty’s Harbingers have been instructed to meet with Lord Harbinger Dottore at mid-day. All dates are in accordance with the Harbingers’ personal and business schedules, and no conflicts should arise.

Pierro - 13th Day of the 8th Month
Columbina - 14th Day of the 8th Month
Arlecchino - 15th Day of the 8th Month
Pulcinella - 16th Day of the 8th Month
Capitano - 17th Day of the 8th Month
Sandrone - 18th Day of the 8th Month
Signora - 19th Day of the 8th Month
Tartaglia - 20th Day of the 8th Month
Scaramouche - 21st Day of the 8th Month
Pantalone - 22nd Day of the 8th Month

Should a conflict in time-schedule arise…

Dottore stopped reading at that point, moving to place the paper flat on one of the counters. “It says here that you, Sir, are scheduled for the 13th…”

Pierro nodded. “That, I am.”

Dottore narrowed his eyes, turning to look back at the man, “Today is the 13th.”

The man in the chair looked at him with a blank, unreadable expression. After a moment of silence, he spoke a simple, “Correct.”

Dottore let out a long sigh, “Very well. I will do your… Check-up.” He grit his teeth together, biting out those words. “Give me a moment to tidy up my lab… And go over your files.” He made it crystal clear that he was not happy about the circumstances, putting an empty beaker on the paper to weigh it down before going to the back of the lab.

On his way down the hallway to the back, he found one of his segments waiting for him, leaned against a doorway, a sinister smile on his face, showing his jagged teeth. Dottore gave him a “Tch,” only for him to shift, revealing a letter pinched between two of his fingers.

“I’m just going to leave this on your desk,” the segment spoke in a sing-song tone, disappearing into the office he’d emerged from. Dottore rolled his eyes, making his way to his records room, tracing over the drawers’ labels with a gloved finger. The smell of the room was almost nauseating, old wood and dusty parchment.

Before long, he found the files on the other Harbingers, pulling out the entire stack to sort and put in order later. He found Pierro’s file, which was concerningly thin. Figures. The man certainly had a lot to hide.

Giving the medical file a quick skim, it was easy enough to understand what he needed to check up on. He pulled out one relevant sheet and quickly made his way back to the main lab where Pierro was still waiting patiently, observing some of his lab equipment.

“Alright, Mr. Pierro,” he put on a tight persona, “There are a few things I must ask you.”

“As you will.” Pierro sat back down, crossing one leg over the other as he kept his watchful eye on Dottore. He didn’t care, though, leaning against the counter.

“Right, so… You are afflicted by a curse, yes? Have you noticed it spreading at all?” He raised an eyebrow, looking between the sheet and the man whose details were on it.

Pierro shook his head, “No. Nor have I felt anything new coming of it. However, its effects are still not pleasant, as they never are.” A deep frown settled on Pierro’s face, but it looked perfectly natural to Dottore, who had only ever truly seen the man frown.

He nodded, “Well, that seems to be in order…” He furrowed his eyebrows under the mask, “Though…” Something itched at the back of his mind. A question. He was given a golden opportunity to test things on his fellow Harbingers. Nothing sinister. Nothing that would truly cause them great harm. But for Pierro…

“Wait here a moment, Sir. I have something that might be of use for you and your… Condition.”

That seemed to pique the man’s interest, and Dottore was quick to shuffle to one of the few storage rooms connected to the lab. He was always importing new strange substances from all across Teyvat; anything had the potential to improve or ail a person, it just came down to circumstance and willpower.

Ugh, the storage rooms always smelled of chemicals and herbs, his nose being assaulted by the smell of pure dendro coalescences. He pushed through to the back where he remembered recently placing something he’d received from a younger segment of his. A jar of water. Though, not any water. It was water from some sort of spring related to a lost civilization that had been misplaced.

He didn’t bother to question how the segment had gotten his hands on it; that was the one that had gone to the chasm, and Dottore quite honestly didn’t want to know what happened in there. All he knew was that apparently the segment had observed strange behavior from abyss creatures around the water, which made him think that perhaps it could have an effect on Pierro.

He took the jar down from the shelf and made his way back out, quickly fetching a few small glass tubes to portion the water; he didn’t want to just give Pierro the entire jar, seeing as it could have its uses elsewhere.

He capped them off, moving back to the man, “Here.”

Pierro took them and squinted, “This just appears to be… Water.”

Dottore shrugged, “It’s water that was found in the Chasm that seemed to hold significance to the Abyss Order. If its properties are not location-dependent, it could perhaps have some effect on you. Be that a positive or negative effect, that is yet to be seen. However…”

Pierro was eyeing him suspiciously. “If that effect turns out to be negative, since it’s just water and not a significant amount, it’s easy enough to dilute it in your system by way of drinking still or tap water.” He crossed his arms, “Really, you can’t go wrong with it.”

Pierro sighed, “Very well. I will give it a try. If anything happens, I will report it to you duly.”

Dottore allowed his lips to crack up into a toothy smile, “Wonderful. Now tah-tah, I have stuff I need to keep working on.” He quickly ushered Pierro up and out of the lab, helping him to shrug his jacket back on. He was practically shoving the man out of the door by his back before slamming it shut and locking it.

He buried his face in his hands, back against the door and hunched over. He groaned. These were orders from Her Majesty directly, but well and truly did he think they were ridiculous. His commotion seemed to attract the attention of the segment from earlier, who peered in from the hallway.

“Sir, is everything alright.”

He looked up with a glare, “You,” the segment waited for his orders, “I need you to locate all relevant, recent medical files from all of the other Harbingers. The files are already pulled in the Records Room, but I cannot be assed to do it myself.”

The segment nodded, “You have a deal, Sir, so long as you read that letter.”

He rolled his eyes and the segment quickly scurried off. Why was he so irritating when he was younger? No matter, he crossed the lab, making his way to his office. The letter sat on his desk, taunting him, a deep blue wax seal with the insignia of “IX” stamped on it.

He sat in the plush chair, sinking down into it, allowing his posture to slack. It was a habit he developed in his youth and never bothered to kick. He propped his legs up on the desk and tore the envelope open, pulling out the neatly-folded letter. It was two pages thick, folded in on each other. When he unfolded it, a slip of paper fell out, which he picked up.

It was a check for 2 million mora. Great. Just what he needed, bribery.

Turning his attention back to the letter itself, the handwriting was ornate and decorated, but seemingly rushed, some of the curls left too wide or too tall.

My Dearest Doctor,

I have received your latest shipment of poisons. However, it seems as though you may not want to send them through the mail anymore. Two of the pouches had opened up in the box and mixed with one another! I’m not sure what bearing that would have on either of their potencies, but I daren’t try the concoction.

Perhaps you can send it via a personal envoy next time, hm? You know, like this handsome man next to me right now, reading over my shoulder. The one who came to inform me of my appointment in a couple weeks.

Dottore gripped the sheet tightly. One of the segments had been informed before him?! Why had no one told him of these arrangements?! Maybe he needed to see if Pierro’s memory was starting to go as well, seeing as he forgot to inform him until the day of!

He took a deep breath and continued reading the letter.

In any case, I’m looking forward to it. Some nice, quality time with you, Doctor. Perhaps we can discuss more intimate matters, yes? Intimate matters like a new project for you. The mora I have attached is for a personal request I want you to fulfill. A new type of poison, one that currently only exists in theory.

The details of the request are on the sheet below this. I trust you more than anyone to be able to provide me with what I want. And I want it soon. If you need additional research funds…

Well, you know who to write.

Regards,
Your Personal Sugar Daddy.

Dottore made an audible “Eugh,” at the signature. The nerve of the man to be so blatantly disrespectful and demanding. Someone needed to put him in his place.

In any case, he had a new project to work on.

Chapter Text

Dottore spent the next morning dreading the appointment. Columbina. Even to him, she was unsettling, but after reviewing her file, he would be surprised if she even showed up on time, if at all.

He’d begun work on the project he had been commissioned bright and early. Throughout the course of the morning, before the pale sun had crested to its highest point in the sky, he’d already made quite a few discoveries.

First of all, a potent ingredient for the desires of his… Customer was silk flower extract from Liyue. Specifically, a special blend of various forms of Silk Flower that he’d scrounged up from dusty vials in his storage cabinets.

He figured something floral was inevitable, but to think it would be from Liyue of all places…

No matter. He has spent the morning portioning out small individual droplets of the samples to test in combination with various other substances. He already had quite a few ideas as to what could enhance and amplify the desired effects, including various forms of dendro reaction remnants and herbs imported from Sumeru.

But the extraction processes for those things were lengthy, and would require equipment he’d have to dig out of his storage. Bah, it didn’t matter, he had plenty of time to send one of his segments to do it for him.

In fact, right before the scheduled time for Columbina’s appointment, he caught one of his segments passing through the lab and tasked him with fetching the required equipment. With that taken care of, he moved to look over the documents the segment had retrieved on Columbina.

And then he read them again.
And then a third time.

He glanced at the clock. It was about twenty minutes past the scheduled time. He looked around the lab. Dead silence.

With a sigh, he moved to sit in one of the stools strewn about, watching the clock, occasionally reading some label or going over hypotheticals in his head. Formulating more potential ingredients and tests to write down later.

By the time it was over an hour past the scheduled appointment time, he had grown fed up. He stood up from the stool, going to the door to open it and check to see if any chariot was even on its way.

When he saw nothing, he slammed it shut and turned back to his lab, only to find someone else who certainly hadn’t been there before.

He jumped, the girl currently slumped over the back of the chair Pierro had occupied the previous day eyeing him through a thin veil of lace.

He grumbled, making his way over but careful not to get too close. “Columbina…”

“Hiiii, Doc’.” She giggled, giving a limp wave with one hand.

He narrowed his eyes, “Right.”

She only laughed more at that, leaning her cheek against the top of the chair’s back, closing her eyes.

“Columbina, let me ask you something.” Dottore crossed his arms, watching as she hesitated to open her eyes again and look up at him, a curious sparkle in her eyes. “How long ago, exactly, did you wake up?”

Columbina looked around the room, raising her head only slightly, until she finally spotted a clock, squinting to read it. “Uhm… thirty minutes ago…?”

Dottore sighed, reaching under his mask to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Right. That’s what I thought. You missed your appointment because you overslept. Let me ask you something else.” He waited for her to look at him, “Have you tried using anything to either help you sleep better or to keep you awake?”

The girl hummed, the pitch gradually falling until her jaw opened and it became a drawn out “ahhh….”

Dottore tapped a finger against his arm, waiting for her answer. It came a few long moments later, “No.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before clapping his hands together in front of himself, “Right. I’m going to give you something that should in theory make your quality of sleep better. How does that sound?”

The girl giggled, “Is that even possible..? Sounds like a miracle to me, Doctor…” She drifted off into a hum.

Dottore elected to ignore her, sifting through some cabinets until he found some violet grass extract. He simply grabbed a whole vial, bringing it over to her, “Take this.”

She picked it from him with a loose grip, studying it close to her face.

Dottore knew that look from any patient. “Do not drink it.” He looked down at her disapprovingly, to which he was met with a distraught look. “It might smell sweet and floral, but it can and will make you regret putting it in your mouth. Instead, try putting some on your neck before you sleep at night, almost like you would put on perfume.”

She scoffed, giggling and swirling the vial in her fingers, “Are you sure that’s gonna work, Doctor…? Sounds like… Mm… Sounds fake.”

Dottore sighed, “I use it to sooth my own sleep on occasion.” He left out the part of those occasions being whenever he was experiencing a hangover and needed a nap desperately. “Give it a try, if nothing else.”

She hummed, “Sure thing, Doctor…” She slipped the vial into her pocket.

Dottore turned around to go back to his work, but he still felt her eyes on him. He looked behind himself at her again, her eyes giving a soft glow in the bluish light of the lab. He squinted at her, sensing something mischievous from her.

“Do. Not. Drink. It.” He reiterated, turning back to his lab equipment with a sigh. When he glanced behind himself a moment later, the girl seemed to have vanished entirely.

He shook his head. At that moment, however, the segment from before came in from the back with a counter-sized appliance in his arms.

He thanked the Tsaritsa for her benevolence before going over to grab it from him, using his work to distract him from how uncooperative some of his colleagues were. If nothing else, he could always rely on himselves.

Later that night, he finally penned a letter back to his… customer to be delivered the same night.

Fiend,

He did not write the word fondly. It was a direct attack on the man it was addressed to, written with a firm touch.

I have received your request and begun work on it promptly. I require no further supplementation from your funds, as I have all of what I need in-house. I will admit it is not out of character for you to request such a thing. I only worry that you’ll have too much fun with the finished product.

Regards,
The Ever-So-Kindly Doctor.

He folded the letter evenly and placed it into an envelope. Now, how to make it inconvenient to open…

He could have just sealed it with wax, but where was the fun in that? He looked around in his desk until he found one of his little experiments: a sealant that he had originally developed for closing wounds and creating synthetic flesh when exposed to air.

This would do nicely and serve to thoroughly unnerve the man he was sending it to, surely.

He poured a small amount onto the seal of the letter where one would pour wax, the substance bubbling and quickly solidifying into a rubber-like material that sat at the color of flesh.

He chuckled to himself, taking out his wax sealing equipment as an idea formed in his head.

Instead of using a candle to heat a spoon of wax, he instead heated the metal stamp itself, pressing it hard into the seal, the substance burning red under the hot touch of the metal.

When he pulled it off, he was met with a glorious brand of the Fatui’s crest. Perfect.

He’d send it promptly.

Chapter Text

He didn’t receive a message back by the time the next appointment rolled around. But he wasn’t too concerned; if his customer needed more from him, he’d ask. And if he didn’t… He knew to leave Dottore to his devices to make his poison.

And make his poison he did. He had observed positive results from a few of the other ingredients he’d tested. One, he observed, acted as a catalyst for the desired effect, whereas others acted to improve the potency of it.

If he could figure out how many parts of each he needed, he could create a fast-acting, strong toxin.

But he needed to let the results set to observe their full effects over time, so he tucked half of the samples away in a cabinet to be free of light, while the others were left out in the lab’s brightness. No variable could be overlooked, after all.

Thankfully, right on time, there was a knock at the door. Ah, delightful. At least this colleague of his knew how to arrive on time and adhere to a schedule. Not that he thought she wouldn’t.

He crossed to the door, opening it wide enough for her to enter, “Arlecchino.” He greeted, putting on a sly smile; if nothing else, she was fun to tease.

“Doctor.” Her tone was stiff, as always

Stiff, stiff, stiff. Arlecchino was stiff. And her medical records reflected that: chronic pains and frequent migraines.

She shrugged her coat off, draping it over the back of the chair that both previous harbingers had seemed to gravitate toward. Was there something about that chair in particular, he wondered, that was so alluring? He’d have to move its position tomorrow to see if it was just a matter of convenience.

He leaned against one of his counters, “I’ll try to keep things brief for you. Have your pains and migraines improved in the past six months? The past year, even?”

“No.” She studied her nails, not even bothering to give him the slightest of glances.

“Then, have they gotten worse?” He cocked his head to the side.

“I can’t tell. They just hurt.” She rolled her eyes. The nerve.

He took in a deep breath, “I see. And have you been using anything — internal, external, or otherwise — to mitigate these ailments?”

“Those pills you recommended did nothing. So no. I haven’t.” Hm, he figured the medicine he’d recommended the last time they spoke about these things might not have been potent enough.

And while he didn’t have any solution for her migraines… His eyes traced down her form to her posture. She was slumped in the chair, her back curved, chest down.

He hummed, “Have you considered wearing a corset to help with your back pains?”

She finally looked up at him, a grimace on her face, “Are you kidding me? A corset??”

He shrugged.

“No way.” She scoffed, “I’m not going to wear one of those… Garrish waist-cinchers from Fontaine. I feel like they might very well make it worse.”

Dottore laughed, “Oh, you misunderstand. While the waist-cincher you speak of is definitely one style… There are others made specifically for supporting one's back and chest. And with your body type and current posture… I would recommend you invest in one.”

She squinted at him, baring her teeth in a disgusted expression, “Fucking perv.”

“Pardon? I’m looking out for your well-being. I’ve no need to observe your body in any way other than purely medical and/or experimental.” He thought it was quite funny that she thought he was thinking of her in such a way.

If he had been, he’d have made it plenty more discreet and not have mentioned it. Besides, she was in charge of a good few dozen small children. If he truly wanted to pursue any form of relationship, casual or not, it wouldn’t be with someone so closely associated with… Ankle-biters.

“Hm. Then tell me where I can buy one of these… Non-sexual, non-pain-inducing corsets. Because quite frankly, I don’t think you’re telling the truth.”

“Oh, gladly!” He clapped his hands together before fetching a pen and a loose sheet of paper. As he scribbled down the name of a business, he admitted, “I actually own a few. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you require things to make your life a little easier, as loath as I am to admit it.”

He folded the sheet of paper in half and walked over to her, holding it out with a grin. She snatched it from him and slipped it into her pocket. “I’ll consider getting one.”

She stood, quickly putting her coat back on. Her tone was dripping with sarcasm as she left, “Thanks, Doc. Oh, what ever would I do without you and your limitless solutions.”

Once she’d left, he allowed himself to laugh, running his fingers through his hair as he did. Oh, she sure was a handful, that one. So stand-offish. It was funny to him just how sensitive she was despite her hard and stony exterior. Easy to push the buttons of.

And really, who could blame him for poking the beast? If she wanted to think of him as a pervert, she could, he really couldn't care less. It just hurt his ego for her to think she’d be even remotely interested in someone. Nonetheless a woman.

Ah, well, it didn’t matter. He spent the rest of the day organizing records and writing one up for his current experiments, all the while the same experiment sat in the lab, awaiting results.

Thankfully, a new letter didn’t come on that day. It would have definitely soured his quite content mood.

Chapter Text

For the first time in four days, Dottore would be receiving a visitor whom he wasn’t dreading. In fact, he’d even made special arrangements. One of his segments had been sent to retrieve him, and he’d taken the liberty of bringing a more plush cushioned chair in from his office.

While he awaited the arrival of his patient and segment, he took to observing the experiment’s results. A few of the samples had seen their effects diminish, though none had gained any potency during their time sitting. He quickly ruled out and disposed of the samples whose effects had weakened, and in the ones that persisted, there was little to no difference between the group left in the light compared to the group in the cabinets.

He mixed up larger quantities of the compounds for further experimentation, using his notes on the ingredients from previous toxins and projects to calculate decent-enough ratios of each substance. Once he had a handful of possible tinctures, he once more let them sit, opting to put them in the cabinet, lest one of his visitors or segments decided they wanted to know more.

He spares a glance at the clock on the wall once he’d scribbled down his notes for the time being, and it was just about time for his guest to be arriving. Knowing the segment of himself he’d sent out to fetch him… It would probably be sooner rather than later.

And just as he’d predicted, as soon as he’d put the Harbinger’s records on his clipboard, there was the turning of the door’s knob. His segment, of course, had the key, and he didn’t expect him to knock, either; it was his lab also, after all.

His segment soon walked in, accompanying a rather small man. Chivalrous by demand, the other Dottore helped to remove the man’s coat and hang it from a hook on the door.

He walked over, a decently friendly smile on his face, “Mayor.” He addressed politely.

The man in question turned to him, seeming to forget about the segment as he curled his lips up in a smile, “Ah, Doctor! It’s a pleasure to see you. I see you’ve been working on manners with your subordinates, hm?”

Dottore chuckled, shooing away his segment before leading the other Harbinger to the nice chair he’d set out for him. “Ah, well. I made it more so a requirement; if he wasn’t going to be nice to you, then I’d have to task him with the most boring, tedious things I could think of.”

The man hummed, getting comfortable in the chair, his hands folded in his lap, “I see… In any case, I’m glad you’ve been keeping them on their best behavior.”

“Of course.” He smiled, pulling up a chair of his own to sit across from Pulcinella, “Now, do you have anything ailing you, Mayor? Pains, aches, difficulty breathing, difficulty eating, loss of appetite-”

He was cut off by the man laughing softly, “No, no… Nothing of the sort. My body has been in decent enough condition. Mobility is still an issue sometimes, but I’ve been using a cane when necessary. I’ve no need for anything else.”

Dottore nodded, looking down at the records. Pulcinella had always been on the healthier side; after all, he spent most of his time in Snezhnaya, so there were no foreign threats or injuries sustained in the line of duty. The only real cause for concern is his age; while most of the Harbingers were rather old, Pulcinella was one of the few who didn’t actively extend their lifespan.

“In that case, would you mind if I ran a few tests? Nothing major, I’d just need you to drink a solution or two and allow me to take some blood.” If he could just verify that the man had no complications, he could send that as his report for the appointment instead of leaving it empty.

“Ah, of course, Doctor! Whatever you need to do to make sure I’m in good health.” The man gave a small, beaming smile at Dottore, and it briefly crossed his mind that this would probably be the first and last one of these appointments that he didn’t want to rip his hair out because of.

“One moment while I get everything I need, then.”

Pulcinella nodded and Dottore stood, setting his clipboard and pen down on a counter to go fetch what he needed. He wanted to get it over with rather quickly, so instead of utilizing needles for the blood extraction, he was going to use a blood-thinning solution and simply gather it via laceration.

But before that… He had another concoction he needed the man to drink. It was just one that would react negatively to any elemental anomalies, which were often what caused people ailment. He sifted through his cabinets until he found the solutions he needed, which were labeled and in neat glass bottles.

He also made sure to grab a small beaker for dosing, a small knife, and an empty bottle.

He set everything out on the counter, feeling the man’s gaze on his back as he arranged it. Grabbing the aforementioned elemental anomaly detection tincture, the empty beaker, and his clipboard and pen for recording the data, he made his way back.

“If all is well, you may only feel slight discomfort after drinking this,” he explained calmly as he poured it from the bottle and up to one of the first lines on the beaker. Since Pulcinella was a smaller man, he didn’t need as much as most people.

He handed it over to him, and the man looked at it curiously. “I have to admit, Doctor, I’m a bit hesitant…”

Dottore sighed, “You can distrust me all you want, but really… If I was going to assassinate you, which I never would, it certainly wouldn’t be at a predetermined time and location that all the others and The Tsaritsa knew about.”

Pulcinella chuckled, “You do have a point there.” And with that, he downed the solution in one swig.

Dottore waited, his pen poised over an empty portion of the page. After a moment, the man before him began to cough, clearing his throat and beating his chest with a closed fist, his breathing growing ragged.

It only lasted a minute before he let out a long breath, “My, that felt like drinking 100-proof Fire-Water…”

Dottore chuckled, making a few notes, “Well, you’ll be glad to know that was one of the most minimal reactions, which is a good thing. It means everything should be in perfect, working order as it pertains to the elements and your interactions with them. Should you be ill or otherwise, it does not stem from elemental influence.” He explained.

As he took the beaker from Pulcinella, he made his way back to the counter. As he did, the man hummed, “I suppose that is good… Goodness, any worse reaction would surely have felt like I was dying..”

Dottore chuckled, “Oh, sometimes it feels much worse than dying, Dear Mayor. But no one, not even I, has found a better method of testing these parameters.” He frowned down at the beaker - it wasn’t clean, and he didn’t want to mix the two substances…

He grabbed the bottle of blood-thinning solution, raising it up to the light. Ah. Perfect. There wasn’t much left. He’d have to get more, but for right now, it was a convenient happenstance. He stacked the empty bottle on his clipboard, nesting it against his side as he tucked the neck of the solution’s bottle between his thumb and index finger, picking up the knife with his knuckles.

He made his way back to Pulcinella, offering the solution, “Here, take this bottle; I need you to drink all that’s left in it.” He instructed, to which Pulcinella complied, taking the bottle from him. However, like before, he didn’t immediately drink it. Instead, he took to reading the label as Dottore dragged his chair closer.

“Blood-thinning… Dottore, I know you said you wished to take blood, but doesn’t that usually involve needles?” He looked up at Dottore, who put on a toothy grin.

“Dear Mayor, we both have a rather tight schedule, do we not? If I were to set up my lab for blood-extraction of that sort, it would take ages. This is a much more archaic way of doing it, sure, but it’s certainly quite fast and requires little to no preparation. So go on, don’t delay us.”

The man across from him sighed and uncorked the bottle, drinking the small amount of liquid left in only two swallows.

Dottore took the empty bottle from him, setting it on the ground by his chair’s leg.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.

“It tastes of… Bitter herbs and something rotten. And it’s lingering.” The man opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if trying to air out the aftertaste.

Dottore merely chuckled, “It does have that taste, doesn’t it? It’ll go away, I promise. Now all we have to do is wait a minute.”

Pulcinella sighed, slumping a bit in his seat. Then, as if remembering something, he sat up again, “Ah, Dottore, before I forget…”

“Hm?”

“Before I left the Palace earlier, I was given something to deliver to you.” The man reached into his lapel, pulling out a sealed envelope. He raised an eyebrow. “It’s from Regrator… He asked me to deliver it to you. Something about ‘unreliable mailing services.’”

Dottore glared daggers at the envelope between the man’s fingers before snatching it with a bit of force. He didn’t even care that the paper got crumpled slightly. He wished he could tear it in two, how irritating the man was, making Pulcinella deliver his mail for him.

“Thank you, Mayor.” He bit out through tightly-clenched teeth. “I’ll read it later.” He resisted the urge to throw the letter on the ground, instead gently setting it next to the empty bottle.

After taking a deep breath, “We should be good to continue with the blood-drawing…”

Pulcinella nodded, “Just tell me what I need to do.”

Dottore hummed, looking the man over. “Mayor, which hand do you use to write?”

“My right. I presume you want my left?” He asked, already offering his left hand. Dottore took it, holding it by the wrist.

“Very good… Yes. I don’t want to risk anything by cutting somewhere more sensitive.” Pulcinella nodded and Dottore moved the man’s wrist to his own knee, grabbing the empty bottle and uncorking it, ready to collect the blood.

He took the smaller man’s hand in his own, lifting the knife to the soft flesh of his palm, “This may sting.” It wasn’t so much of a warning, since the moment after he spoke those words, he cut into the man’s palm. He felt the man flinch as crimson blood welled up and began to spill from the wound.

Dottore was quick to collect the blood as it dripped from the wound, putting gentle pressure around it to encourage more of the stuff to leak out. Soon enough, the wound wasn’t giving as much as before, and so Dottore corked off the bottle.

“One moment, please.” He brought the bottle to the counter, opening a cabinet to fetch some loose gauze, quickly making his way back to wrap around the man’s hand. “There.” He tied it off, “That wasn’t so bad, hm? Definitely not as time-consuming as getting out the needles, yeah?”

Pulcinella sighed, “I suppose. Though, if this causes any issues for me, I will be making you pay me back.”

“Of course, Mayor; that would only be fair.”

With that settled, the man got up from the chair, Dottore following suit. “I’ll get the results underway, they’ll be included in my report to The Tsaritsa. If anything unusual comes up, I will let you know.” He guided the man to the door, grabbing his coat from the hook.

He helped the man shrug it on, “Thank you, Doctor… Though, I doubt you’ll be finding anything.”

Dottore chuckled, “Well, it’s always better to be safe than sorry, no?”

Pulcinella hummed softly in affirmation and Dottore opened the door for him, leading him out. Once he was alone in his lab again, he sighed, his eyes drifting to the empty bottle and letter on the ground. Heavens have mercy, he did not have the energy…

Later, when he was sitting at his desk, he stared at the sealed letter for a good minute, his teeth bared, as he went through all sorts of excuses in his head to not open it.

Eventually, much like ripping off a bandage, he finally just tore the letter open, disregarding the way the envelope tore. He pulled the letter out and flattened it; thank fuck it was a shorter one this time.

My Dearest Doctor,

You wound me with such short letters. It’s as if you view our relationship as purely work! How cruel of you to deny a man his penance of worldly affections.

Dottore rolled his eyes. It was one time.

In any case, I hope the development is going well on that request. Though, if possible, I ask that the finished product be a powdered substance; soluble in alcoholic beverages and water, and easily transportable. Odorless, too, if you can manage that.

He grit his teeth. All of his current possibilities were in a liquid form; while it was possible to turn some of the resulting components into fine powder… He’d have to see what he could do.

If you can manage to have it by the time my appointment rolls around… I’d love to try it out.

Yours Truly,
The One With The Money

He scoffed, crumpling the letter in his fist and tossing it into the rubbish bin. He’d write a reply later. In the meantime, he had to prepare some things for Capitano’s visit.

Chapter Text

Only one of the compounds he’d created was suitable for evaporation and subsequent implementation as a potential powdered substance. He’d tested all of the potential ones, and out of the handful that were viable, only one managed to not lose its potency nor desired effects.

Great.

So he had only one option.

On the one hand, it made further tests easier. But on the other, if he ran into a roadblock, he’d be completely out of luck and stuck at square one.

He just had to hope he got lucky.

Thankfully, after a few tests, the powder was soluble in most thin liquids, though it reacted poorly with oil-based substances. Water and alcohol-based substances, on the other hand, were completely workable with the powder.

That was one big plus, and he’d mention that in his letter later.

As for right now…

He was preparing himself for how dry this next check-up would be. Most of his colleagues were rather interesting in one way or another, be it in an inconvenient way or otherwise. But as for their beloved captain… He was rather boring.

He was ruthless, sure. But rather dull and blunt. He was, to Dottore, more suited as an object to observe than a person for him to get on with. The man’s sheer strength and brute force was commendable, and due in no small part to some of Dottore’s previous experiments, but he was, in that head of his, rather… Bland.

Three strong knocks to the door signaled the brute’s arrival, and Dottore took a deep breath before answering it, looking up at the veiled captain.

“Captain, how nice to see you…” He spoke through clenched teeth, ushering the man in.

His movements were rash and rather uncalculated, but he pulled his jacket off, revealing his rather impressive musculature. He didn’t remove his helmet, however.

Capitano did not speak, not yet, as he looked around the lab, finding his way to that same chair again. Dottore had put away the nice chair he’d let Pulcinella use the day before, and had even moved the chair the other three had used to the other side of the room. And yet, Capitano seemed drawn to it. Interesting.

Dottore pulled up a stool, crossing one leg to balance his ankle on his opposite knee. “Well, out with it. Have you been injured in any meaningful way lately? Any new developments in your health? Anything at all?”

“No.” The man’s voice was deep and gruff, just as Dottore remembered it.

“Right, right…” He marked that down on his sheet. “Then, have you recently been exposed to any miasmas or other magical or elemental influences that might have any bearing on your health?” Seeing as Capitano was one of the few harbingers who were regularly sent out of Snezhnaya, he had to cover all his bases.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Was the man’s answer. Great. Dottore pursed his lips together and jotted it down.

“Right… Now…” He clicked his teeth together behind his lips, “Have you taken your helmet off at all? Even to sleep?” He asked, squinting below his mask.

“Also no. Your questions are redundant.” The Captain crossed his arms over his chest and Dottore couldn’t help it as his eyes gravitated to the bulging muscle below his clothes.

He took a deep breath, “Well, therein lies your issue.” He received nothing but what he could only assume was a blank stare from the man across from him. After a borderline awkward amount of silence, he continued, “By not taking your helmet off, you’ve been neglecting your hair. You could have lice, you could have matts, anything, really.”

“I am not a dog.” Capitano leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking as he did so, “I should not have to worry about such things.”

“And yet you don’t wash your hair. Captain, really… You need to take care of it.”

“I don’t see why I must. It’s a waste of time, as is this ‘appointment.’”

“Be that as it may… If you don’t start taking care of your hair and its hygiene, I could very well send a request to have it cut off.” He added a smug tone to his voice, which he immediately regretted when Capitano stood up, leaning forward to grab Dottore by the lapel of his vest, hoisting him up and out of his chair.

Dottore merely raised his hands up in surrender, his clipboard and papers falling to the ground. Capitano shook him to emphasize his words, “Don’t you dare.”

Dottore chuckled, cocking his head to the side, even as he was being man-handled by the captain. “Oh, but I will if you don’t start taking care of it. It could very well lead to complications that will hinder your work, so if you don’t take the five or so minutes a day to take care of it, then we’re going to have an issue.”

Capitano released Dottore and he fell back into his seat, a small, cocky smile settling on his face. Capitano sat back down, putting his hands in his lap. After a moment of silence, “What…” He seemed to be hesitating, “What do you suggest I do… To take care of my hair?”

Dottore’s smile fell and he instead slumped into himself, reaching under his mask to run his fingers down his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. “Right…” He should have figured their beloved captain wouldn’t know how to take care of his hair.

When he looked back up, Capitano was fiddling with his thumbs, so Dottore answered. “Well… You’ll want to get a few products. Given that I’m a scientist and not a hairdresser, I don’t know exactly what you’ll need for your particular kind of hair. If anyone would know the answer for that, I recommend you ask Pantalone.”

The name was bitter on his tongue, but the rich bastard was the only person whom Dottore could think of who might know what the captain would need.

Capitano nodded, “I will ask him, then, next time I am in contact with him.” Dottore gave a nod of his own and Capitano stood, “I will be going now. There is nothing else to discuss.”

Dottore waved him off, not even bothering to watch the man gather his things and leave.

Just as he’d suspected. Dry. Dry and blunt.

Later, he once again found himself at his desk, his pen hovering over the empty page as he deliberated over just what he wanted to address the other man by this time.

He rolled his lip between his teeth before finally putting the tip of the pen to the paper, letting his inner voice take over.

My Dearest Nuisance,

I have isolated one potential toxin that suits your needs. I have a test batch that has been powdered, and will begin creating larger quantities to test on rodents soon. Once that is in order, I will detail the instructions for dosage and include it with the package I will be giving you upon your next visitation.

Regards,
The Competent One Between Us

He swiftly sealed the letter - with wax this time - before stamping it with the Fatui’s insignia and slating to have it delivered by one of his segments in the morning.

He also issued orders for one of his segments to acquire a batch of adult mice for testing purposes. Seeing as the poison wouldn’t be killing these mice… Well, he wondered if Arlecchino’s ankle-biters would be interested in keeping them as pets.

If nothing else, it would serve to make her life a little more difficult.

Chapter Text

By noon the next day, Dottore had amassed an entire jar full of the toxin he’d developed. It was pale brown in color, but that color dissipated once it was dissolved. It had no taste and no smell, which was something that the powdering process actually aided in; in its other form, it had a distinct smell to it, but now… It was odorless.

The one issue with the stuff was that it got everywhere. Dottore was no stranger to working with powdered substances, and he knew very well how they could get everywhere, but considering the particular nature of this toxin… He’d neglected to take the precautions he typically did.

Thus, he ended up inhaling a small amount of it while it was being powdered. If nothing else, this minute exposure could aid in the dosing, but on the other… The fact that he was feeling its effects at all after inhaling it versus ingesting it, was quite interesting.

Mice had been procured, and they currently sat in a separate room in individual cages, separated from one another for now. Unlike some of his other experiments, using human children simply wouldn’t work, and so he had to opt for the more ethical, older method of using unwilling rodents.

By the time his patient came knocking at his door, he’d taken his vest off, fanning at his face below the mask with his clipboard. Even the top two buttons of his shirt did he undo, allowing the small circulation of air in the room to make its way across his skin.

Ugh, he couldn’t believe he let himself be affected by such things.

Nonetheless, he opened the door for his patient and put on a soft smile despite his state of being, relishing in the cool air that blew in from the outside’s ever-present snow. “Sandrone..” He addressed as the girl and her machine shambled through the door.

The sound of gears churning against one another permeated the lab’s typical silence as the machine that carried Sandrone plucked her jacket from her. “Doctor…” She gave him a good once-over before cocking her head, “Don’t tell me you’re hungover…” She squinted at him disapprovingly.

Dottore sighed, shaking his head, “No, nothing of the sort… I’ve just… Pulled an all-nighter. Someone has been awfully impatient with me, and so I spent a night working out the kinks in his request…” Hopefully that excuse would be satisfactory enough.

She gave a few clicks of her tongue but seemed to accept that answer. “Oh, of course, of course… I’m sure that someone will be very happy to know how you’ve been handling yourself.” She rolled his eyes and her construct carried her to the center of the room where it itself sat down, still holding her in its palm.

“Right… Now, let’s get to work, shall we? Has your condition improved?” He asked, deciding to sit in the cushioned chair, himself. Sitting in it for the first time in one of these appointments, he really couldn’t understand why the others had been drawn to it… Maybe because it was the only seating option with color? Who knows.

“Improved? Doctor, you can’t possibly be so foolish as to think that my condition could have improved…”

Dottore chuckled, “My mistake. Here I was, thinking maybe a miracle happened.” His tone dripped with sarcasm. “Sandrone, you and I share one thing, if nothing else, and that’s an innovative mind.” He leaned in a bit closer, “I’m sure that if you spent just one day working on it, you could come up with a mechanical solution.”

He watched as Sandrone looked down and away, chewing on the inside of her cheek. After a moment of silence, she spoke again, “In truth, I have spent time working on a possible solution.”

“Oh?” Now, that caught his interest. “Well, then, what’s stopping you from implementing it?”

She sighed deeply, “My knowledge and expertise lies solely with machinery. While I can make plans on paper, their viability as something able to be implemented into my flesh body is… Questionable at best and lethal at worst.”

Dottore crossed his arms, “Do you happen to have any schematics with you? If you give them to me, I can look them over and write down any critiques or changes you’d need to make. Consider it… A small charity.” He once again began to fan his face and chest with his clipboard, his eyes flicking to check the clock. If he could get her to hand over those schematics, he could look them over later and get things over with in this appointment sooner.

She eyed him warily but nodded, “I do…” She reached to gently knock on her machine’s wrist. It seemed to understand her command, reaching to its chest to open up a hatch. With more subtle movements of her fingers against the metal of the human-like chariot, it flicked through some papers before pulling a few out. Pinched between the fingers of the machine, they were offered to him.

He took them and clipped the whole stack to his clipboard, flipping through them. On the sheet were designs for mechanical spines; ones that could, in theory, help Sandrone’s mobility and potentially allow her to walk properly again.

Though, among the few solid designs, there were a few notable, repeating flaws. “Hm… I see… There’s definitely things to be improved… I can write a detailed review and revision for you, if you’d like. After that… If you come to me with the completed parts… I have to say, I’d be more than willing to install them.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as the machine closed itself up, “I don’t like how excited you seem about it.”

He chuckled, “Can you blame me? If this works, it’ll be a step forward in both of our research and understanding. Your understanding of machines… And my understanding of mortal flesh and blood. Hm?” He cocked his head to the side, trying to ignore the next wave of heat that overcame him.

“I suppose. I will wait for you to send that report in the mail, then.” Dottore nodded and the machine stood. “Oh, and before you ask… I’m completely fine otherwise. I know to keep myself in good health… Unlike some people.” She scoffed, clearly making a direct attack at him.

He gritted his teeth. He almost wanted to throw something at her as she made her way out of the lab. But nonetheless, he allowed her to go, letting out a groan as yet another flash of heat overcame his body.

Much later, well past sunset, he was in his office once more, this time writing up a report on the results of Pulcinella’s blood tests. They’d all come back in good order; not a thing out of the ordinary. While there were a few borderline concerning levels, if he didn’t supplement his current routine, there was no cause for concern.

Report-writing was, by far, his least favorite task. But out of all of the versions of himself, he knew he was the most competent one when it came to report writing. All of his younger selves had no respect for reports, which he understood all too well, having once been them.

But one foul report and everything goes to shit. So there he was, cross-referencing the lab results with his report to make sure everything was in order.

As he was scribbling down some suggestions about potential diet causes for a few of the borderline results, there was a knock at his office door. Great, must be one of his segments.

“Come in,” he waved a hand dismissively as he heard the door creak open. He looked up to see, as he’d suspected, one of his segments standing in the doorway, a wicked grin on his face, accenting his wide red eyes and shark-like teeth.

He narrowed his eyes at himself, “What’s that look for?” The segment walked to his desk, hands clasped behind his back. Great, he probably had something.

“So… Once again, our dear Regrator made me watch him write this.” He slid an envelope onto the table, stamp as ornate and blue as ever. He snatched it up, ripping it open.

When his segment didn’t immediately leave, he paused, fingers about to pull the sheet out of the envelope. “Well? Why are you still standing there? You already know what it says.” He put a bite in his tone.

His segment backed up until he was at the door again. But Dottore stopped him, “Ah, and listen… If he tries anything with you… You have full authority to slap him.”

The segment snickered, “Oh, but Sir, I fear that may very well be what he wants. He may very well like it.” Dottore scoffed and his segment slipped out of the office, the door clicking shut behind him.

Dottore rolled his eyes and set his report to the side to properly open and read the letter.

My Dear,

Great, so he was just throwing all sarcasm to the wind, addressing him directly with a pet name. Foul.

I am sending this letter with your absolutely lovely younger self with as much haste as I can manage. Oh, how captivating those red eyes are, even as they watch over my shoulder.

The ink was smudged there, almost as if he’d been nudged while writing, or even just distracted. Dottore tried not to think about the implications of that.

I’m glad to hear that you’re working hard on my request. If you can manage to have it done before my visit, I may very well bring you some extra spoils while I’m there… Perhaps some more mora. Or, should you not want the mora, I could always bring you something else. You’d just have to tell me what you want.

There was a drawing of a love-heart next to the end of that paragraph, which made Dottore’s lip curl up in distaste. He’d have to do something with it in his response.

In any case, if you don’t get it finished, that just means you’ll have to keep sending your lovely younger self to come deliver letters and progress reports. I think he might be blushing under that mask of his. You better keep him in line… Otherwise he may very well get what I KNOW you want.

Only Yours’,
Regrator

Dottore hated the way he’d phrased that. Not to mention… He really had no idea what his segment got up to when he sent him to visit Pantalone… Maybe he’d have to put a monitoring device on him next time to make sure the pompous man’s influence wasn’t going to interfere with anything.

Whatever, he’d worry about that later. In the meantime, he had a report to finish and guidelines for rodent-testing to write.

Chapter Text

“You.” He caught one of his segments wandering the halls. It was one of his slightly older segments, more well-put-together than some of the younger ones.

He stood up straight, “Yes, Sir?”

“I need you to take these and begin experimenting with the substance labeled R-195-24 on the mice in Room B-8. You should have everything you need to complete the experiments by the end of tomorrow. I don’t need a detailed report, I just need the raw data. Can you manage that?”

The segment took the folder Dottore had handed him, opening it to flip through the pages as he gave the instructions. A smile grew into a grin on his face, “Ohh, of course I can. This one seems dreadful.” He could hear the glee in the segment’s voice.

“Good. Now go, I have some other stuff I need to do.” He waved a hand and the segment turned around to walk back down the hall, headed for the basement. Perfect; he knew he could rely on himself to get all the dirty work done.

Now, all he had to do was prepare for Signora’s appointment. She was a fairly easy one, at least he hoped so. Looking through her files and recent missions, he had a few concerns he’d need to address, but other than that, it should be a relatively simple affair.

He made his way to one of the storage closets, pulling from it a few jars of concentrate from various elemental slimes. Stacking them in the crick of his elbow before bringing them out to the main lab area.

It wasn’t long before Signora came knocking, and he was right there at the door to greet her. She merely pushed past him, though, making her way to relax. For once, she didn’t gravitate to that damn chair. She instead took it upon herself to lean against one of the counters, arms folded.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we, Doctor?” She cocked her head, a tight-lipped smile on her face.

“Oh, of course! I wouldn’t want to take more of your time than I must. I’m sure you have a busy schedule. You’re preparing for a trip to Inazuma, yes?”

“That’s correct. So if you could…” She raised a hand to look at her long nails, idly picking at one of them with his thumb.

Dottore rolled his eyes, “Right, well, I do have a few questions to make sure everything is alright.”

“Spit it out, then.”

“You’ve been to both Mondstadt and Liyue in the past few months, yes?” He asked, tracing over the part of the mission report that had that information with the butt of his pen.

“Mhmm.” She hummed noncommittally.

“Yes, so… I just wanted to know if the environments in those regions caused any unnatural or unexpected flare-ups of your innate pyro energy.”

“What do you mean?” She narrowed his eyes at him and he could feel her gaze piercing against his back. He wasn’t unnerved, however.

“I mean… Mondstadt and Liyue both have significantly warmer climates than Snezhnaya. If I recall correctly, it was Mondstadt where this pyro initially manifested itself, and it was Snezhnaya’s winter cold and the effect of the delusion you wield that managed to subdue it.”

“Yeah, and?”

“So… When you were away from Snezhnaya, did you find yourself more irritable? More prone to depressive episodes? Perhaps with stronger emotions overall? I heard you made quite a scene with Mondstadt’s archon.” He laughed softly, making note of the account of physical assault on the report.

She sighed, “A little…”

“A little? Care to elaborate?” He finally turned to her, leaning an elbow against the counter to look at her properly.

“Liyue was fine. I felt no different there…” She dropped her hand to hold her other forearm, almost in a hug, “But… Mondstadt. It wasn’t the Mondstadt I knew, but it still… Put me at unease. It was rebuilt, and… It’s as if it had moved on. It made me feel…” She rolled his lip between her teeth, “I was upset. More so than I usually get.”

Dottore nodded, “I see…”

“I felt forgotten. Time had passed on, but I hadn’t. Everyone was so carefree as that fucking archon did nothing. He just sat and drank nearly the whole time. I’m glad I got to teach him a lesson.”

“Would you say that assaulting him made you feel better?” He asked, jotting down a few notes without looking; if his handwriting was sloppy, he could decode his scribbles later.

“I don’t know. It felt good to get revenge, but… I can’t help but feel that he let me.” She looked down at the floor. “I know he’s stronger than that. And yet… He didn’t stop me. He made no moves against me.”

“Mhmm… Would you have felt differently if he had fought back?”

“Probably. If he fought back, he’d at least be acknowledging that he sees me as a threat. I’m no longer a child of Mondstadt; I belong to the Tsaritsa’s benevolent cold. So why, then, would he not attack me?” She sighed, shaking her head, “I don’t want to get all sappy with you. You’re the last person I’d trust with my secrets.”

Dottore chuckled, “I get it, don’t worry.” He paused, then continued, “Well, if that’s the only issue you encountered, then I don’t feel as though the test I was going to perform is necessary. It seems that everything is working as it should be. And so long as your delusion’s power doesn’t fade, you should be safe to continue going to other nations.”

She nodded, “Thank you, Dottore.”

He shrugged, “Just doing what I was ordered.”

She shook her head at him, looking over his masked face, “No, I mean… I think it was nice to get that off my chest.”

“Ahh… I see. Well, Rosalyne,” He addressed her by her true name to convey his genuine thoughts, “I’m glad you were willing to open up.”

She gave him the faintest of smiles before turning her gaze to the clock… And then the door. “I should get going. I need to continue writing out a schedule for my visit to Inazuma.”

Dottore hummed in affirmation and waved her off.

He had to admit, he wasn’t expecting her to be so… Gentle with him. Usually, she’d get worked up. Perhaps it was the cold. Perhaps it was even the fact that she’d gotten at least the tiniest semblance of closure. But more than likely, it was just that she was tired.

Foul Creature,

Testing has begun.

I will write the report shortly.

I require no surplus supplementation.

Regards,
Dottore

P.S. If you lay a hand on any of my segments, I will have that hand cleanly removed from your body and kept in a jar as a reminder of your disgusting behavior.

Pantalone frowned at the letter in his hand, the little love-heart he had drawn on his last reply ripped in half and pasted next to the signature. Did the man truly despise him so? He looked up from his desk at the segment that had delivered it. His head was hung low and his feet together. He sighed, setting it down.

Crossing his arms and leaning back in his plush chair, “Dottore, come here.” He beckoned, waving a hand toward himself. The segment looked up and carefully made his way over. “Your creator is so cruel, is he not? Does he treat you well? You know, if you ever want to change careers… I’m always looking for more debt collectors.”

The segment frowned, shaking his head. “I’m treated well enough. Most of the time, I’m left to my own devices unless Prime needs something.” He explained.

Pantalone sighed, “Fine, fine, you can go, then. I won’t trouble you to wait for me to write a reply.” He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a breath. Then, an idea struck him, “Oh, wait, before you go..” He opened his eyes once more to see the segment already on his way out of the office. But he paused, turning back.

“If I give you a little something… Can you keep it between us?” He raised an eyebrow, and the segment seemed a bit too delighted to be keeping secrets with him.

“Oh? And what is it?” He cocked his head to the side, which Pantalone found so charming.

“Nothing much. I figured you might want a little treat for doing all this work. Does the Prime Dottore ever give you treats?”

The segment laughed, “I’m not a dog…”

Pantalone shrugged, “Human treats.” He opened a drawer in his desk, shuffling through the various decadent junk-foods he kept in there, until he found a bar of premium Fontainian chocolate. “Here, take this. I heard from someone that Dottore has a sweet tooth. Surely, that must carry over to you as well, hm?”

He offered the treat, to which the segment hesitantly reached out to take it. He made the deliberate choice of placing it in the segment’s hand himself, making sure their hands, which were covered with gloves, made contact at the fingers, gently sliding against one another.

The segment quickly scurried off and Pantalone offered a small wave, a small smile on his lips.

If the segment told the Prime Dottore of the touch, Pantalone would be sure to write about it in his letter back. And even if not, he could easily phrase it in a way that was cheeky enough to make the Doctor upset but unable to deny his own flawed reasoning.

Pantalone reached into the drawer for himself, plucking a chocolate truffle from a container and placing it in his mouth as he went back to his bank records.

Chapter Text

Dottore was not looking forward to the appointment today. Tartaglia. A nuisance. A thorn in his side, sometimes even more so than Pantalone. In preparation, with one of his segments busy conducting tests with the toxin, he allowed himself to sleep in to save the caffeine-induced headache he’d get if he tried to wake up early and have a nice cup of coffee.

Tartaglia had a rather shocking medical history. He had no conditions that were innate, although he seemed to have a sensitivity to sunlight both on account of his lineage and the fact that he spent what he reported to be a significant amount of time in the Abyss, which had some unforeseen consequences.

Most notably was his ‘Foul Legacy’ state. It seemed that whatever injury he sustained in that form was amplified when he transformed back, which could be both a good and a bad thing. It did mean, however, that there were plenty of reports of him getting stitches, cauterizations, and other medical dressings.

Unlike a fighter like Capitano who knew when to back down, Tartaglia was more headstrong and seemed to enjoy the thrill of near-death experiences, which led to an impressive log of injuries. From what Dottore could see, there were a handful that were rather recent and likely hadn’t fully healed. He’d have to check on those when the man arrived at his lab.

For the first time since he was assigned this task, the knock came early. Twenty-two minutes early, to be exact. He sighed, pulling himself up from flipping through Sandrone’s blueprints, setting his pen down that he’d been using to write revisions.

He opened the door, a sour look immediately finding its way onto his features as his eyes met the dead blue of Tartaglia’s. The younger man gave a grin even in the cold winter air and raised a hand in a wave, “Afternoon, Comrade!” He pushed the door open further and walked in past Dottore, looking around.

“Damn, none of your little minions around? Disappointing, I was hoping this would be like a doctor-and-nurse, good-doctor bad-doctor type deal.” He pulled his coat off, hanging it up and crossing the lab to sit on one of the counters.

Dottore only turned to him, glaring at him. The man had way too much energy, and way too much confidence. Dottore determined then and there that he needed to take him down a peg.

“If you’re so insistent on a traditional doctor’s office setting, then please, be my guest and take your shirt off and lie down on the cold metal counter.” He sat himself in one of his stools, crossing his arms to watch Tartaglia’s reaction.

He saw the man’s face flush, before he stuttered, “I mean- Gosh, Doctor, I didn’t know you were into guys as young as me.” He laughed awkwardly.

“Tartaglia. Stop fooling around.” He flicked his clipboard, “You have at least three injuries with stitches that haven’t been removed, yes? I can take a look at them for you and cut the stitches if they’re healed enough.”

“Oh, uh-” Tartaglia cleared his throat, “Right…” He reached for his jacket, starting to undo the clasps.

A small, sinister smile found its way onto Dottore’s face, knowing he’d gotten under the man’s skin so easily. Now in charge of the situation, he continued, “Not to mention, I want to monitor your delusion’s effects on your body, seeing as your Foul Legacy responds to it differently than your usual form.”

Tartaglia avoided eye contact as he slipped his jacket off, then the leather strap he wore under it, and finally his shirt. He gripped the edge of the counter, leaning forward a bit as Dottore stood. It was as if he was trying to stop him from getting in his personal space. How quaint.

“Tartaglia,” He put a teasing lilt into his tone, his gloved hand grabbing the younger’s forearm to move it off to the side, revealing his oblique. “I need you to cooperate with me, hm?” The man sighed and let go of the counter, raising his arms slightly.

Dottore moved to look at the stitches on his flank; the laceration they sealed was quite deep, but a healthy layer of scar tissue had formed over the wound, meaning that leaving the stitches in any longer could be harmful in the long run.

He made a note of it before moving around to the man’s front, his attention turning to the scars on the man’s chest and shoulders. They were in the shape of what was almost a tree; a thick layer around his upper arms and shoulders, branching out into smaller channels across his chest and the rest of his arms.

He found the point where they were the furthest from the origin, placing a finger on it. He could feel the man’s shudder and breathing under his finger, but he couldn’t care less, even as he shifted uncomfortably. Dottore checked the records; yup, just as he’d suspected. The scarring had expanded further on his body. Great. He took his hand away finally, writing that down.

Tartaglia cleared his throat, “So, uh…”

Dottore raised an eyebrow, looking up to him, “I’m going to remove at least one set of stitches, and it appears your delusion’s scarring has gotten worse on account of the use of it during your foul legacy transformation.”

He watched as Tartaglia rolled his lower lip between his teeth and then chewed on the inside of his cheek, “Well it’s not… It’s not bad, is it?”

Dottore pinched the bridge of his nose, “Childe, you are twenty-two. If you continue at the rate you have been, your body will be entirely scar tissue by the time you’re thirty-four, if you even live to thirty-four in the first place. Do you really want that?”

He saw the man ponder this, the slight awkward smile falling from his face.

He let that sit for a moment, before shaking his head, “Whatever, I’m going to remove those stitches and you can think on that.” He walked to a drawer, plucking a scalpel from a neat array, bringing it over to the table. “This might sting.” His tone was dry as he once again made his way to the man’s flank, moving his arm out of the way.

Thankfully, Tartaglia seemed to have shut up, and Dottore could work in peace, cutting the thread and pulling it from the other’s skin. He merely flinched a few times, before seeming to get used to the sensation.

Once all the thread was removed and disposed of, Dottore turned to him from where he’d set the scalpel down, “Now, I do have another line of questioning I need to ask you.” Tartaglia finally looked back up, and Dottore couldn’t help but compare him in his head to a cat with the way his eyes flicked over his form, like a cat eyeing something it had never seen before.

“Oh? What might that be?” He’d put a lilt back in his voice, a lop-sided smile forcing its way across his cheeks.

“Let me get this clear… You’ve spent nearly a year in Liyue, and met up with Signora there… But, unlike Signora, the envoy you traveled back with also made a stop in Fontaine before arriving back in Snezhnaya?”

Tartaglia looked up to the ceiling, seeming to think through that course of action. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” He shrugged.

“Right. Now…” Dottore picked his pen back up, grinning. “Tell me. How many cheap whores did you pick up in that year? And don’t give me a wrong answer.”

He watched as Tartaglia’s entire face flushed bright red, “Well, I-” He seemed to be getting nowhere, struggling to speak.

So Dottore threw him a bone, “Fine. Don’t answer. Just…” He took a deep breath, “Tartaglia, you’re a young man and you were in a foreign nation. Making bad decisions is inevitable, especially with someone of your, uh…” He cleared his throat, “Your type.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Dottore noted the way his fists clenched at his sides.

“It means… You know what you want and you want it fast and good, no?”

Seeing the man stumped, he continued, “Now. Please… Tell me you were at least safe about it? I really don’t want to give myself more work by having to test you for anything.”

With the way Tartaglia looked away, it seemed he may have been in for more work than he wanted. “Well…” Dottore raised his eyebrows, waiting for the answer. “I was safe, I’d say, about ninety… Ninety-five percent of the time.”

“That’s not one hundred, Childe.”

“I know, I know! It’s just… Ugh, I don’t think I’d have gotten anything from it, though.”

“And how can you be certain?”

A good twenty second passed before Tartaglia took a deep breath, his voice an entire octave higher than it usually was, clearly embarrassed. “Because it was the Geo Archon…?”

There was a beat of silence. Everything was still.

And then Dottore burst out laughing, gripping the counter tightly. He couldn’t help it! Tartaglia! And Morax! The god of contracts, known in all literature to be dense and a bit of a dumbass! Well, he supposed like attracts like, but even so!

“Stop laughing!” Tartaglia reached and grabbed Dottore by his lapel. He was even less threatened than when Capitano had done so earlier in the week, especially since the ginger was red-faced and shirtless. “I mean it, or so help me-!”

Even as Childe reeled his fist back to go in for a punch, Dottore couldn’t help his laughter. Childe’s hand gripped his shirt tighter, making it cinch around his neck.

Tartaglia finally seemed to snap, his face giving him away as he sneered, finally throwing the punch. And while Dottore may have been on the older side of the Harbingers, he certainly wasn’t to be messed with. He reached his hand up to grab Childe’s wrist, stopping his fist. His laughter immediately ceased.

With both of Childe’s hands full, he took a jerky step back, pulling Childe off of the counter and sending him to the floor. He replaced the hand on Childe’s wrist with his foot against the cold floor, moving to kneel on his abdomen, leaning in close.

“You know better than to raise a hand at me.” He warned, the beak-like part of his mask nearly brushing against Childe’s nose. He looked him directly in the eyes, and he knew the younger could feel the pressure, his breath quickening.

“Y-yes, Sir…”

Once he had that affirmation, he stepped away, recomposing himself and grabbing his clipboard to jot down a few things. “Well, if that’s all, I think you can put your clothes back on. I’ll send an order for a different doctor to remove all of your other stitches once they’re ready, hm?”

Childe picked himself up from the ground, quickly dressing himself and moving to grab his coat, “Y-yeah… Thanks, Dottore…”

He offered the man a sickly sweet smile as he waved him off. Once the door clicked shut, his smile fell and he sighed, his back slumping. He needed to calibrate the machine he’d need tomorrow.

Later, as Dottore was finalizing his revisions to Sandrone’s blueprints and organizing his notes to seal and send off, there was a tapping at his office window. He figured it was just a passing bird or a branch of one of the evergreens that swayed outside.

But then the tapping turned into knocking and he sighed, pushing his rolling chair back and swiveling it to save the window. He should have been surprised when he saw a Fatui agent hanging outside the window, but he really wasn’t.

With a sigh he stood up and went to the window, unlatching it and hoisting it open. Immediately, a rush of cold air blew in, rustling the papers on his desk.

“What do you want.” He sneered at the agent.

The man, still hanging by one hand, cleared his throat and reached into his jacket, “Lord Harbinger, Sir… I have been sent to deliver a letter.” He was clearly buying time as he searched his pockets.

Dottore rolled his eyes, “Let me guess, Pantalone sent you?”

“That is correct, Sir.” He finally found the letter, pulling it from his jacket and offering it through the window. Dottore took it and tossed it behind him haphazardly.

He crossed his arms, “How much is the bonus?”

“Pardon me, Lord Harbinger?”

“How big of a bonus is he giving you for delivering this letter in such an… Inconvenient manner?” He tapped his finger against his arm.

He watched below the man’s mask as he shifted his jaw, chewing at his cheek. A moment later, he spoke, “Twenty-thousand extra this week…” When he sighed, a puff of steam drifted up from his lips.

Dottore closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, “Very well. Now go.” He grabbed the window and slammed it shut with considerable force, watching as the man outside fumbled for a moment in surprise, nearly losing his grip. They were only on the second floor, he’d be fine if he fell.

Not bothering to look back, he turned around and went to fetch that letter from where it had landed on the floor. It was cold to the touch from having been out in the open air for so long on that agent’s person, but with the seal still intact, it was reasonable to assume that it hadn’t been tampered with.

Wanting to get it over with as soon as possible, he tore it open and sat down at his desk to read.

Woefully, it was a long one.

Doctor,

You truly do wound me. Do you not care for me? I must say it would be such a shame if the kindly doctor did not care that his patient was suffering. What ails me, you ask? Why, a broken heart. I thought our bond was close; intimate, even. Yet you disrespect me so, even as you continue to heed my demands.

I received your last letter from that segment of yours. He seemed distraught that you forbade him from touching me, and me him. But Doctor, really, you must be more specific… For I still allowed him a small mercy, a small taste of what I know you both want.

You threatened to sever my hand from my body, well… My hand is not what touched him. Truly, neither of our bodies touched. But merely two gloves came into contact. You cannot fault me for allowing him that mercy. That illusion of intimacy.

Dottore rolled his eyes. Pantalone had always been a smartass, and not in a charming way.

Nonetheless, I’m glad to hear that your progress is coming along smoothly. But do you truly not require any additional supplementation? Perhaps I’ll pick something out for you. I already know what it’ll be, seeing as your little helper seemed all too willing to accept something of such a variety.

There was another drawing of a love-heart, this time with a crude drawing of Pantalone and his younger segment.

Yours,
Pantalone

Dottore gripped the letter tightly in his hand, taking in and letting out a deep breath. It was too late for this shit. He’d reprimand his segment in the morning.

Chapter Text

The next morning, he sent that younger segment to fetch him his cup of coffee, waiting patiently at his desk for him to bring it. After a few minutes, he returned, a nervous smile on his face. “Your coffee, Sir…” He set it on his desk and Dottore smiled.

Before he could take his hand back, Dottore reached to grab his forearm, standing up and pulling his younger self over the desk, the coffee sloshing and nearly spilling. “What the hell has Pantalone done to you?!”

His younger self merely snickered, “Really, Sir, I think it’s hilarious how salty you get.” He cocked his head at Dottore and he tightened his grip in response.

“What the fuck are you talking about. I’ll have you eviscerated if you keep up the back-talk.”

The segment shrugged, “Okay. But still. I’ve seen the way you look at him,” he teased, “Because let me let you in on something.” Those red eyes that belonged to him narrowed at Dottore, “We look at him the same way. You’re just so stuck in your ways that you don’t want to acknowledge the fact that you want to ravish him.”

Dottore scoffed and put his other hand on his segment’s chest, releasing his arm to shove him away, “Get out of my sight.”

“Very well. Just think about what I said, hm?” With a self-satisfied smile, his segment left his office, leaving Dottore to stew over what he’d said.

He shook his head after a moment of contemplation, sipping at his coffee and turning to the data from his far more reliable segment’s lab work on the mice. The segment had handed him the results red-faced and panting, which meant he’d probably inhaled a good amount of the substance on accident during testing.

If anything, that image of his segment combined with the somewhat relaxing task of calculating proper dosage for humans would serve to help sooth him as he prepared for the appointment he had later on in the day.

When Scaramouche arrived, Dottore was ready to receive him. He looked down at the man in his doorway; he didn’t wear a coat, in fact, he was donning his typical attire of hat, short sleeves, shorts, and sandals. Dottore couldn’t fault him for that; he didn’t feel cold, so why should he want to wear a thick jacket.

“Scaramouche. I trust you’ve prepared yourself for a recalibration?”

The shorter man rolled his eyes, walking into the lab and taking off his hat, hanging it up, “I don’t need to ‘prepare’ myself for that in any way other than mentally. But yes, I’m ready.”

“Great, then just follow me.” Dottore grabbed his clipboard as he led the other down into the basement of his lab.

The basement was a tranquil place for Dottore; the sound of whirring machinery, bubbling canisters and tanks, and the rattling of cages as mice and… others chewed and clawed at the bars providing relaxing white noise.

Eventually, the two came to a room with the label “B-P” over it. “Do you remember how to do this?” Dottore asked as he plucked a thick lab coat from a hook on the wall next to the large iron doors.

Scaramouche crossed his arms, “I do.”

“Good. You go in first, then. I’ll allow you a bit of privacy for you to strip down and get into the chamber, hm?”

The other man pushed past him, opening the door with a “Whatever.” When he’d slipped in, Dottore finished closing up the coat, reaching for the pair of goggles that hung from the same hook. He took his mask off, replacing it with the dark-tinted glass, the worn leather soft against his cheeks and forehead.

He placed his mask on the hook as a signal that the room was currently in use as well as a signal that it was him in there and not one of his other segments. That way, if one of them needed something… They could fuck off and ask him later.

He double-checked the sheets on his clipboard, making sure that he knew the specifications he’d need for this particular calibration. After checking everything, he figured his fellow harbinger had finished getting ready, so he entered the room himself, shifting the large metal bar-lock into place on the other side.

The room the doors led to was rather small at first glance; a small control terminal in front of a large glass pane. But there was a hall to one side that led down and into the chamber on the other side of the glass.

Walking up to the terminal and peering down into the chamber, he could see that Scaramouche had done as he was asked to do. The room he was in was circular, padded with non-conductive materials, a raised platform in the center where Scaramouche currently sat, bare save for his undergarments.

Underneath the raised platform was a glass box containing a singular mutant electro slime. Its electrical releases were currently being subdued by pressure in the chamber.

Dottore sat on the stool in front of the control terminal, setting his clipboard on an empty section, away from the myriad of levers and buttons. Leaning forward, he pushed a button that opened up communication between the two rooms, “Good job! You didn’t forget anything.” He teased, the man in the chamber looking up at the one-way glass, eyes narrowing.

“Shut the fuck up.” Scaramouche sneered and Dottore just laughed.

“Alright, alright. Please, lie down and relax; you know this calibration won’t work if you’re tense.” He hummed through the intercom.

Scara sighed, but shifted and laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Dottore hummed, making sure his position on the platform was sufficient enough. Once that was settled, he once again spoke through the intercom, “I’m going to do a quick full recalibration. You will receive thirteen electro currents over the span of ninety seconds. If anything unusual arises, I will shut it off. I will ignore any screams or cries for help.”

He could just barely see as Scaramouche rolled his eyes, which made him chuckle.

He turned off the intercom, cracking his knuckles as he turned his attention to the terminal in front of him. There were six levers, a row of buttons, and two dials. Each of the levers was labeled one through six, each corresponding to a chamber around the circumference of the room, evenly-spaced. They were labeled clockwise, ‘1’ being aligned with the top of Scaramouche’s head.

He reached for one of the dials, pushing it in and turning it. The sound of shifting gears and machinery flared up, bursts of steam escaping from the chamber as all but the central box began to be siphoned of air from the top, the pressure lowering.

He gave a wicked grin as he could see Scaramouche becoming uncomfortable already. He shifted his hand to the other dial, turning it to the right, pressure being released from the central chamber, finally allowing the electro currents from the slime to be realized.

Before it gave its first shock, Dottore pulled the lever labeled ‘1’ toward himself, opening up a chamber containing a purple electro slime. The current from the mutant electro slime immediately found itself attracted to the node on the top of it, sending a bolt of electricity through the puppet.

Dottore was quick to close that chamber and pull the next lever, the process repeating for each of the six chambers until each had delivered a shock through the puppet’s body.

With that initial set of shocks out of the way, he cranked the dials back, putting more pressure onto the mutant slime, instead now relying on the internal timers of the purple slimes that had been set to be the same.

He shifted both hands to the set of levers, pulling them in timed combinations.

1-4.
2-5.
3-6.
1-2-4-5.
2-3-5-6.
1-3-4-6.

Electricity rang through the air both inside the chamber and out. Scaramouche’s hair stood on end as his body responded to the electro energy, jerking and lifting from the table as lightning-like tendrils of electro shot through his body.

The thirteenth, final shock had Dottore pulling down the remaining two levers that were up, all six chambers opening up. Dottore could feel the tingling of electricity in the air as a snowflake-like six pointed array of electro energy coursed through Scaramouche’s body.

Even through the thick glass and wall of the chamber, he could hear the man screaming out, but he paid it no mind, satisfied that he had managed to keep as still as he could throughout the course of the recalibration.

Once the charge dissipated from the air, he used his forearm to push all six levers back to their closed position at once, then reaching for the dial to return the air pressure to normal within the chamber. He grabbed his clipboard, scribbling down that the first portion of the recalibration had gone well.

He pulled the goggles away from his eyes, instead resting them on the crown of his head, leaning forward and pressing the button to open up communication to the chamber. “You did well, Kunikuzushi,” he praised, eyes flitting over the man as he slowly moved himself to a sitting position on the platform.

He glared up at Dottore, making him chuckle, “You can redress and come back up here. You know the drill.” He released the button, standing from the stool and moving to the door, lifting the metal bar to unlock it. Now that the dangerous portion of the calibration was over, there was no reason to keep it locked.

A minute later, Scaramouche came walking down the hall and into the control room.

“How are you feeling?” Dottore asked, raising an eyebrow.

Scaramouche lifted his leg, bending his knee a few times and rolling his shoulders. He sighed, “A lot less stiff…” He seemed almost loath to admit it, which Dottore found to be charming in a quaint way. How pleasant it was that Dottore could give so much power to something so inherently hollow.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, “May I?” He moved to him, reaching his hands out to hover just a few inches from Scaramouche’s body.

The man merely rolled his eyes, which Dottore took as permission, placing his index and middle fingers under the other’s jaw. Thumbs on his chin, he tilted his head back, to the sides, down, and back up. It seemed to have full range of motion, which was good.

Next he examined his shoulders, his elbows… Even down to the mobility of the other’s wrists and individual fingers.

The electro energy he’d sent through the body seemed to have done them some good. Unlike humans who needed only trace amounts of electricity to work properly, Kunikuzushi’s body required quite a bit of extra energy. And while he was perfectly fine as he wandered Inazuma, in other nations where electro energy wasn’t nearly as abundant, he required artificial supplementation every now and then.

Once he’d finished examining the other, he stood back up from being crouched, gently patting him on the head with a condescending, “You did so well, I should give you a treat.” The sneer that Scaramouche presented him with gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction.

“Don’t patronize me.” Scaramouche pushed past him, hoisting open the door to the room and leaving. Dottore sighed, picking up his clipboard once more and following. Unfortunately, by the time Dottore had swapped the goggles back for his mask and hung the coat back up, Scaramouche was gone.

Even as he made his way back upstairs, he still was too late; the other had left. How rude.

Later, he’d finally finished creating a dosage chart based on the data from the labs. There was a considerable difference in dosage required for male versus female specimens, but knowing his client, Dottore doubted he’d be using it for the latter.

In fact, if anything, the sick bastard probably just wanted it for himself, not for use on anyone else. Whatever. It wasn’t any of Dottore’s business.

He’d put a fair amount of the stuff in a pouch, careful not to inhale any of it as he did, cinching it shut. With that ready, he left it out in the lab overnight to be given to his client the next day.

As for what said client had in store for him… He was dreading finding out.

Chapter Text

The next day, he left the door to the lab unlocked. He didn’t want to have to answer when his patient came knocking; and even if he’d locked it, he knew the man would still find a way in. So he just bit the bullet and left it open for him.

When the ill-awaited hour finally struck, Dottore was in the process of organizing his lab. After over a week of working primarily on one project with an obstacle every single day, things had gotten out-of-sorts, at least to a point where it was inconvenient.

So he was organizing his things, taking inventory of what equipment he’d used, what equipment was no longer viable for use because of the possibility of contamination, and what equipment needed a thorough cleaning.

He didn’t even look up from his notes when he heard the door click open and then shut a few seconds later.

“Oh, Doctor!” That sickly-sweet voice called. “I’m here for my appointment.” He still didn’t look over, even as he heard the shifting of fabric and the clicking sounds of jewelry against itself.

“Uh-huh. Sit down and be patient, then.” He sneered, scribbling a few last things down for the time being.

“Oh, you’re so cruel to me, Doctor. I could be ailing and you ask me to wait? What if I was bleeding out?” He heard the man draping himself over a chair, and he fully expected it to be that same heavens-forsaken chair the others had gravitated toward.

“If you were bleeding out…” He set his pen down, flipping closed his ledger and looking over his shoulder to see just that sight; Pantalone sat on that same chair, legs spread, posture curved, and a mock-hurt expression on his face as he twiddled his thumbs in his lap. “I would let you. Then I’d use your blood as fine ink to forge a signature on your will.” He spat.

Pantalone raised a hand to his chest, “You wound me, Doctor!”

Dottore rolled his eyes under his mask, pacing over to stand in front of the man on the chair, looking down at him with crossed arms. “Pantalone. Take this seriously, would you?” In an instant, that facade of hurt faded from Pantalone’s expression and he put on a tiny, gentle smile, straightening his back. “Thank you.”

Pantalone gave a soft hum of a laugh, “Alright, alright, I’ll play along. What are the questions for me today, Doctor?” He cocked his head to the side and Dottore hated how his eyes gravitated to the way the thin chains hanging from his glasses shifted, brushing against the pale flesh of Pantalone’s cheek.

He took a deep breath. “How has your diet been?” He tapped his finger on his arm, watching the way Pantalone rolled his lip between his teeth. Dottore hated how long his gaze lingered on the motion. Did Pantalone even know what he was doing?

“Well, Doctor… It’s been… Fine.” Pantalone laughed nervously, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers.

“Cut the bullshit. How many meals a day have you been eating?”

Pantalone reached up, taking a bit of his hair and twirling it around his finger. Dottore watched the way it danced around the glove like fine silk. “Well… At least one.”

“And what, pray tell, does this meal consist of?” He pushed, moving just slightly forward until his leg touched Pantalone’s, knowing just how much more pressure that would put the man under; just how much it would make him squirm.

“Well, usually for my meal, I’ll go out to dinner somewhere… Or I’ll have someone make me something of restaurant-quality.”

Dottore narrowed his eyes, reaching down and grabbing Pantalone’s jaw with a firm grip, tilting his head up. He relished in the way the other’s lips fell just slightly open, his eyes searching Dottore’s mask for any semblance of emotion through those thick lashes. “What. Are. You. Eating.” It was a demand now.

Pantalone clenched his jaw and Dottore could feel the muscles tightening under his fingertips. Then, he finally relented, “Not much… Small things… I do enjoy many different foods, but… Mostly stuff like pirog and pelmeni...”

Dottore let go of the other, “So I assume you eat an excess of carbs compared to other food types? Knowing of that junk food habit of yours as well, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Pantalone sighed, “I guess… I just don’t get that hungry.”

Dottore gave a sigh of his own, “You really need to work on that. Your body is already not in the best shape from your youth. If you don’t eat enough, it’ll do more harm than good.”

Pantalone shook his head, “I know that…” He put a hand on his forehead, massaging his temples, “I’m sorry..”

Dottore let out a sigh, “Don’t apologize. Just do better.” He turned, “That’s all I wanted to check up on. I have your package.” He walked to the counter he’d set the poison on the night before, sliding it to the edge.

Pantalone quickly stood up and followed him over, but he diverged to go to his jacket that was hanging up, rummaging through the pockets to find a long, flat box. “And I have yours.” Pantalone chimed in a self-satisfied manner, strutting over to the counter.

He offered the box to Dottore who merely sighed as he took it, “I told you I didn’t need anything else.”

“Oh, but I wanted to give it to you. Out of the kindness of my heart.” Pantalone clasped his hands together over his heart, giving a puppy-eyed pout. It pissed him off.

“Wipe that look off your face, asshole.” He pried the lid of the box off. Ah. Of course. It was an assortment of fine candies and treats, but not an overabundance. If anything, he figured this was one way for Pantalone to gradually diminish his stash… The next step was for him to stop buying more.

“Great. Thanks.” He was dry in his response, closing the box and pushing it to the back of the counter, “I’ll let the segments fight over it like dogs.”

Pantalone laughed softly and Dottore cursed the fact that he liked the way it sounded. “Oh, you’re such a cruel master, Doctor…”

“I am only so cruel because I know they secretly enjoy it. They crave it. They need it. They need me.” He gestured to the pouch and instruction sheet, “Here. Your commission.”

Pantalone gave a slight frown as he picked up the pouch, holding it up and feeling the weight of it as it dangled between two pinched fingers, “It’s…”

“Hm?” Dottore hummed, reaching back to grab the edge of the counter as he cocked his head.

“It doesn’t seem like a lot…” Pantalone finally finished.

Dottore chuckled, “Oh, it might not seem like a lot…” He held his tongue as Pantalone opened the pouch to peer inside, “But believe me when I say it’s effective. You don’t need much.” He still didn’t give a warning as Pantalone leaned in to smell the substance, even as its fine powder gently wafted into the air.

The man coughed then cleared his throat, closing the pouch with one quick movement, “Well, it’s certainly odorless… Maybe a bit messy, though..” Dottore watched him hold back another cough.

“Oh, definitely. But you did request a powder.” Pantalone gently tucked the pouch into a pocket, next taking the dosage and use sheet and folding it in half a few times to store away with the substance.

“Oh, and one other thing.” Dottore let the smile that he’d been biting back finally crack his lips open into a grin. “This aphrodisiac you’ve requested… It’s effective even in trace amounts both when ingested… and when inhaled.”

The look that Pantalone gave him was truly a sight to behold. At first, a gentle acknowledgement, then realization, then what can only be described as dread of the most embarrassing degree. It was priceless.

Chapter Text

Dottore laughed as Pantalone reached around, gripping the hair on the back of Dottore’s head and pulling it back, his other hand grabbing at the collar of his shirt. “And you didn’t think to tell me this before I took a big whiff of it?!”

Dottore looked down his nose at Pantalone, knowing full well Pantalone could see his eyes now as he peered under the mask, “Oh, I thought to. But I didn’t. Some things are better learned through your own folly, after all.”

Pantalone moved directly in front of him, the man’s weight (though not much) pushing him against the edge of the counter that he still gripped, feeling the hard metal against his lower back.

He could already see the flush on Pantalone’s cheeks as he pulled Dottore’s hair tighter. “You bastard! Unless you did this on purpose.”

Dottore shrugged, one of his hands coming up to place oh-so-gently on Pantalone’s chest, “Perhaps it was on purpose… Perhaps it wasn’t. Truly, I don’t know the answer myself.”

Pantalone grit his teeth, the hand on Dottore’s collar finally releasing to pry his mask off of his face, setting it on the counter. Dottore merely kept that smug grin on his face the entire time, his blood-red eyes now beating down fully upon the other.

Pantalone’s hand replaced where Dottore’s had been on the counter a few moments before, their chests now pressing against one another. Dottore’s hand wandered upward to Pantalone’s hair, finally getting to touch those silky smooth locks that he’d been eyeing earlier.

Dottore hummed, “Or… Maybe I do know. Maybe I was reminded of something. Something that I try to deny.”

Pantalone pushed him further back, Dottore’s back straining as it was bent over the counter, the regrator’s piercing gaze a mix of anger, delight, and a thirst for power. “Just say you miss what we had.”

He chuckled, “I wouldn’t say I miss what we had. No. I don’t miss it.” He licked his lips, “But just because I don’t miss it doesn’t mean I don’t want more.”

He could see the anger and the desire in Pantalone’s face just before he leaned in to kiss him.

It was rough and it was messy, but the two had never known any other way.

When Pantalone shifted to Dottore’s neck, he let his eyes fall open, though his expression immediately soured. That younger segment of his, the one who had given him nothing but issue the past while, was standing at the edge of the hallway.

Seeing that Dottore had noticed him, he gave two big thumbs-up and a grin before turning to rush back down the hall.

Dottore flipped him the bird even if he couldn’t see.

A week later, Dottore received a letter.

Beloved Doctor,

Dottore rolled his eyes.

I have begun building up a resistance to the toxin you crafted for me. Hopefully, the next time we encounter one another, it should not be in such desperate throes.

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, leaning back in his desk’s chair and kicking his feet up onto the wood.

I have taken your advice and have been eating more and more frequently. It was difficult at first, but I believe my body is beginning to get used to it. Though, if anything comes up, I will notify you immediately. Or some other doctor, since I’m sure you’re as busy as always.

Dottore thanked the tsaritsa that he’d contact another doctor; he wasn’t a nutritionist, he just knew how bodies worked.

Also, Capitano approached me the other day asking for hair-care advice?? I told him about the stuff that I use for mine, but it was weird to see the Captain in such a state. It was almost as if he was embarrassed, which I’ve not seen once in my life. Were you the one who suggested he take care of his hair? If so, I commend you. Truly, you are much braver than I to encourage him to do such a thing.

I will say… I do miss the regular visits from your segments. Though, I’m sure once Her Majesty’s will is enacted, we will have plenty more time to spend together in a world much kinder. But until then,

Dearest Regards,
██████

Dottore held the letter in his hands for a few moments before - instead of throwing it away - he folded it back up, tucked it back into its envelope, and slipped it into the top drawer of his desk.