Chapter Text
The halls of the palace are dim again. It's never usually this gloomy after a terrible snow storm.
During these times of the day, Pierro would head out to the back of the palace and rewind from all his work. The dormant garden preserved by ice became a familiar sight to him. Although he thought sitting on a bench and giving away to his thoughts would let him rest, these past couple decades, it's hard to get a proper breather. And it only got harder since Zandik requested that leave.
He couldn't really settle on the thought of that man stopping the only thing he ever wanted to do; experiment. Because more experiments means more knowledge. And hoarding more of it seems to be the only thing that would make that man smile. Atleast that's what The Jester convinced himself.
He wondered if there was more to that man's shell than he thought. Those countless of nights without rest or food, he remembered just how stiff The Damslette was whenever she came running to his office just to tell him that Dottore passed out again. It's an obvious tic in her personality, but he wondered if Zandik had any of those features, too.
Afterall, at the end of the day, Dottore was once just a regular human just like anyone else in Teyvat. No matter how much he tries to shrink his humanity down to the smallest tic, it's never completely gone. He'd just push himself for change so hard, it'd be easy to say he isn't human. Unlike his clones, he still needed rest and nutrition. Not even those fast-acting vaccines and vitamins he made for himself could replace those human needs. All he did was modify his system to prevent aging after all.
And just like that, The Jester sighed, a memory from the back of his mind coming up to the surface again.
"Isn't human" they say... Hm. He really thought this was going to be an introspective time to think. He didn't really want Tim reminiscence about that day.
That day where Dottore successfully made himself like him.
Immortal.
It wasn't the most pleasing memory. Not with his body temperature rising up, his bile tainted with blood, his eyes lost all sign of life and sanity.
He remembered how The Damslette's eyes welled with tears as he held Dottore lying on the floor, surrounded by syringes and shattered glass vials. Before all that, The Captain calling for him at the other side of the hallway was something small compared to the scene at the underground laboratory.
And the days that followed, everything was so different about him.
After recovering from his weakness, he started getting closer to him, talking to him more. But not in a good way.
The way how that twisted smile formed, the way he looked at him with those red eyes. It wasn't warm or anything positive.
"I've made myself immune to time now. If I can accomplish this, what more somewhere is waiting to be known?"
"With the vials I've made, we can manufacture more of the formula for our men to consume. If that can be done, not even the strongest warriors from the other nations can level with us."
"Can't you see Jester? I'm not like what you've seen before. I'm like you now."
He didn't dare want to picture that sight again. Not now that something new is going on.
All he wanted was to live and perform experiments... He would spend all day and night tinkering with metal and ripping at human flesh just to find something to discover, something new to know. And that insatiable thirst for knowledge and commitment to his dreams led the Fatui to become what it is today, a powerful nation with otherworldly machines and weapons, soldiers with skill and strength that no other nation can rival with.
Sometimes he wondered whether the Fatui would still be the same without him. All those inventions, experiments and sacrifices made... Could someone else would've pulled it off? Pierro just settled with a fact, that Dottore was bought here by fate.
A glaring flaw yet a potential was one thing unique to him afterall. That no matter what happens to him or the others he's acquainted with, he'd stop at nothing to acquire the pinnacle of unknown knowledge.
...
Dear Archons, what is he thinking?
Pierro shook his head, followed by a low grunt. He's been thinking too much. One thing's for sure, that day where Dottore changed his very being was something he told himself to forget about.
The Damslette forgot about it.
The Captain forgot about it.
So why can't he?
Maybe it's time to get back to work...
-=/== -
The door to the second's private chambers are open again. Rumors have been spreading about The Doctor's indefinite leave. No loyal agent of his or the other harbingers would believe such a take so easily, just as no one would dare sneak a glance or take a peak through his chamber doors.
Oblivious to The Regrator's agents passing by, Dottore sat on the aedge of his bed, facing the window with his head leaned against the wall.
Just like yesterday, he didn't feel like doing anything today. Even just going to his lab and read some books felt like a waste. If only Columbina didn't file that leave without his permission... She always does something without saying anything, thinking it's going to make him "feel better".
If only he hadn't come back to this room...
If only he stayed in that cold lab of his...
If only he remembered to lock that door when he was taking it out on himself...
Then maybe...
His hands clenched tightly at the bedsheets. Even just the most subtle move of his muscles, he could feel the rows of scars sting on his arms. Though The Damslette have properly cleaned and wrapped them in bandages, it still hurt just like before, as if it never really healed from his previous scratching...
That day... A few days ago, Pantalone came in with his sword and pointed it at him. But it's all so strange and confusing, surely the banker must've thought of something, that it wasn't him behind the door. Pantalone really was there.
But as he reminiscence that day, he remembers it differently.
His own image, threatening him.
It was all so dark and quiet. All he could focus on was another him, holding up a sword with a glare as sharp as the blade.
He hates himself. He can be honest with it. That carefully planned and crafted ideal he made for himself seems harder to reach now.
When The Jestee found him in the deserts, he was weak and vulnerable, begging himself to keep breathing.
Just as the heat was becoming too much, that's when that cold and strong figure approached him with an open hand. He didn't know why that man approached him, or why did he offer food and shelter. But one thing's for sure, he came looking specifically for him. That Akademiya cap with a Spantamad insignia was definitely his, he must've dropped it from the previous sandstorm.
It's all crumpled and dusted with sand, and yet, he clings onto it like a delicate treasure.
The silence was oppressive, until the man spoke up and began the conversation that changed his life forever.
On that day, promises were made. To help that man's organization he calls the Fatui. To promise undying loyalty to the Archon Of Cryo. And to dedicate his life in accomplishing those fragile dreams of his...
Performing experiments and inventing machines that will surpass current advancements. Obtaining knowledge and wielding it as the greater power that no lesser human would understand. Proving the seven nations that a human mind can create and comprehend a power surpassing of the gods.
This is what he swore to live by the moment the dealings were done.
Hundreds of years later, he changed. He was now so much more than that young scholar he once was.
And no matter how many accomplishments he made, no matter how big and changing they were, The Jester never changed. He was still cold and distant.
...
The Jester needs to notice it. He really should. He should be congratulating him, thanking him, praising him, boasting his accomplishments to the people around him... Hasn't he done enough now? He's proud of his achievements!... right?
Why can't he see that?
—
... Maybe... He's not thankful enough of him...
No... That's impossible! He's done so much for the Fatui. It won't be the organization it stands as now without all his machines and experiments.
He dedicated his entire life to this. He's doing all of it for the sake of his dreams and The Tsaritsa's purpose.
And just by doing all of this, he's showing just how much he owes his life to The Jester. His life's work... That's more than a thank you to the man who saved him.
Unless...
He's not doing enough. If he can't get The Jester to notice his achievements, then what's the use of creating so many innovations when the man who's the reason why he's doing it won't turn an eye on them? It's not enough for those lowly Fatui operatives and agents to praise his name for it, Pierro needs to see him, too.
He wants to see just how proud he is of him, to be that shining, golden trophy that he'll cherish all his life.
That's what he wants to see from him. To see just how proud and honored The Jester is for saving him in that deserted place, for choosing him be the Second Harbinger of all people. With just that, Dottore can see just how valuable he is to the ones he admire.
And when that's done, Dottore wants to tell him that he's the only person he's thankful for.
So if he can't make him say or do anything about that then... Was everything he did really enough? Did he really do anything?
The simple thought of it was horrifying. He can't be like that in front of the world. He can't be the same person he was many years ago. He can't be weak. He shouldn't.
He has to live up to what he and The Jester envisioned of him.
But seeing himself now, it made his chest ache.
Why can't he be like that?
He was seeing things. He felt like he betrayed himself. For breaking down that delicately made wall around him, for letting others see the inner workings of his feelings he once thought was dead...
He just can't be that image he wants everyone else to see.
He just can't live up to those simple things The Jester wanted from him.
And he hates himself for that.
-=/== -
How many hours has it been? The world outside is starting to get darker...
Dottore still faced the same, familiar window that bought in some gentle sunshine. He still sat on the same spot on the edge of his bed, his head still leaned against the wall.
His ruffled hair seemed to gleam with sweat. Some strands have fallen onto his lap and to the floor...
His chest still aches from the sobs he let out, his eyes covered by hands clenched tightly, trying to not let anyone see of those tears that pooled in his eyes and made his face wet.
The door to his room was still open, the empty halls outside quiet. No one seems to have budged the door to see the mess he was inside.
It's almost time for Columbina to come to his room and bring him his dinner. He didn't want to engrave another memory of his weakness into her mind. He needs to calm down now, and just sleep away the ache in his chest after he gets over whatever Columbina has for him tonight.
Tomorrow is going to be a big day. The day where he was supposed to get on a grand stage and do that speech The Captain always have spoken every hundred years. (Childe is going to have fun doing that...)
He let The Jester down again.
The best he could do tomorrow is go through the day without starting another scene. Avoiding Columbina and Pantalone for a while would be nice...
If ever they cross paths, he still has to keep a straight face in front of The Jester. He has to come up with a good reason why he filed that leave. He doesn't want to spark anymore trouble if he says The Damslette did it against his will. That would only land on the worst outcome; telling Pierro everything she knows about him.
And even if all of that goes to plan, the feeling it leaves behind will all be nothing but emptiness...