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They knew that Pantalone would die first.
Dottore wasn't human enough anymore to age normally. His clockwork heart whirred too fast in his chest, the countless experiments to slow cell death kept him just about middle aged, no matter how many years passed. And Pantalone, human, fragile, soft, aged away. They'd gotten married, just before Pantalone hit forty, and Dottore had settled as the years had passed.
Dottore seemed… unconcerned. Cheerful, almost. He kept up appearances well, assuring Pantalone that everything would be fine, that he had nothing to worry about. Their retirement hadn't found them far from the Palace, a little cottage for them and the Segments, a peaceful little family.
And then, comfortable at home, Pantalone died. Peaceful, with Dottore's hand in his, wedding rings warm against each other. It was easy, soft, like falling asleep.
Dottore watched the light leave his Lone's eyes, and without letting go of his hand, sat down in the little chair he had next to his bed. He took a breath, steady, calm, and unbuttoned his shirt slowly.
And punched his fingernails through his own chest, wrenching his ribs open to grasp his clockwork heart, tearing it from his chest with strong, clever fingers.
For the last few moments, he watched it whir itself out, buzzing just slightly in his scarred hands. It had only beat for Pantalone, anyway.
The youngest of the Segments, just eight, found them there, stumbling into the room only moments after the heart stilled. The Segments couldn't survive without their host, and they knew it. So he found them there, his father resting calmly in bed, Dottore slumped over his chest, cold heart in his hand. The blood dripping quietly to the floor was still warm as the boy climbed into bed, curling up next to their bodies to follow them into the dark.
A peaceful little family, easy, soft, like falling asleep.