Chapter Text
Weeks passed. Pantalone learned to adjust his schedule around the morning sickness. He’d discovered that the owner of Andreyovich’s was named Ilariy. He had, since that first visit, come in so many times that Ilariy now knew to set aside a batch of ginger cookies specifically for Pantalone on the days that he tended to stop by. The man had taken to calling him “Ajax’s strongest competitor”. (He privately hoped Ilariy hadn’t been telling the other about it; he didn’t particularly want Childe to try to connect with him over this.)
He still couldn’t smoke—not that he should, given the situation—but the aches in his body from the nicotine withdrawal had calmed and the tremors in his hands had ceased. On Haoxuan’s advice, he had taken to carrying around peppermints to suck on throughout the day as a sort of substitute. He was finding that they had the effect of quelling his nausea, giving him something to do with his mouth, and filling his stomach just enough that they reminded him (often very inconveniently) when he was hungry.
As much as it annoyed him, this was to his and the baby’s benefit. Haoxuan had informed him the week prior that, to both of their relief, the fetus was in perfectly healthy condition despite Pantalone’s self-granted deficiencies, but also that he should start planning to eat more and eat healthier. She had then presented him with a comprehensive nutrition plan she had personally crafted with his physicality in mind, which left him feeling oddly touched. (He ignored the voice that whispered regrets that Dottore was not doing it instead.)
Haoxuan had also advised him to tell the other Harbingers as soon as possible. While her reasoning was sound (“You could probably hide your pregnancy until you gave birth, but how are you supposed to hide a baby, Pantalone?”), Pantalone found himself reluctant to do so. More people knowing meant more people asking questions— and regardless of what the baby ended up looking like, there was only one person in all of Teyvat that his colleagues would assume he’d have a child with.
Pantalone had always known that the other Harbingers assumed things about the two of them, but despite all of the speculation, their personal relationship had always maintained a level of privacy about it that he felt should be protected. None of them would be like Haoxuan; unlike the doctor, his colleagues all had years of experiences and biases from knowing him. They would assume they knew who the father was and they would be correct—but then they would poke and prod and hit points they all knew were sensitive, as he had done to them and they had done to him and to each other countless times before, but these would hurt far more than he wanted to admit, and he didn’t think he could take that now.
(They would make assumptions regarding the nature of their relationship and they would talk, and they would all be wrong because none of them understood, could ever understand what their friendship had been.)
(He had tried explaining that to Haoxuan, but she had told him to just tell his colleagues exactly what he had told her. He was absolutely not going to do that.)
Unfortunately, he was now sitting at thirteen weeks pregnant and could now feel the beginnings of a bump, which meant that soon, others would be able to see it. If he didn’t want to spend the next six months wearing his Harbinger coat everywhere he went, he would have to say something sooner rather than later.
~
He should’ve suspected something was off when Pulcinella approached him after a meeting. As it was, the Domovoy’s manner was uncharacteristically serene as he regarded Pantalone.
“I haven’t smelled smoke on you in weeks now,” Pulcinella observed offhandedly, in the way that one can only sound when they’re preparing to raise hell.
Pantalone narrowed his eyes at the shorter man but kept smiling. “Perhaps your nose is simply going out in your old age.”
Typically this was the point where the Rooster would turn bright red and start fighting his desire to spit curses at him, but Pulcinella simply shook his head. “No. You’ve stopped.”
Pantalone fought the urge to sigh. Here it comes. “What makes you say that?”
Pulcinella ignored his question. “In fact, I don’t believe I’ve seen you smoke since… since that little incident before your trial. You were in a particularly foul mood for awhile after that...”
“I had the flu,” Pantalone lied flatly.
“For two weeks.”
“Well, my doctor died, you see,” Pantalone said, plastering a piteous look on his face. “My poor immune system can hardly cope.”
“My spies have reported you taking regular appointments at the medical center.”
”Why do you have spies on me?”
Pulcinella waved his hand dismissively. “Inconsequential. They could not find anything beyond that.” He then narrowed his eyes. “Have you fallen ill, Pantalone?”
“If I had spies on you, they would’ve brought me back actually useful information, you know.”
“Answer the question.”
Pantalone heaved an exasperated sigh. “Wh- No. Ugh, fine, I quit smoking and I’ve been going to a doctor to help with it. Happy?”
“Now that you’ve acquiesced so easily, no,” Pulcinella admitted. His brow furrowed then into something… concerned? Surely not. “Truly, are you ill, Pantalone?”
Pantalone crossed his arms. “Why do you care?”
Pulcinella looked up at him, a challenge on his face. “Can’t a man take an interest in his colleagues’ health now and again?”
Not when it’s you asking me, Pantalone thought, but saying that that would be playing into the Rooster’s game.
Well. There was only one way to win this. Goodbye, privacy.
Pantalone fixed his face into something that was close to resignation. “If you must know, fine. I’ve been trying to keep it a secret because I only recently found out.”
Unconsciously, Pulcinella leaned closer. “Yes?”
“I’ve been going to the doctor,” Pantalone said plainly, “because I’m pregnant.”
Pulcinella’s cane fell to the ground. The old man’s jaw dropped, mouth hanging open rather foolishly, eyes wide. “What… what did you just say?” He whispered, as though afraid of the words he was speaking.
“A baby, Mayor. I’m having one.” With theatrical softness, Pantalone lowered his hand to his abdomen and gave his best attempt at a tender smile.
Pulcinella looked up at Pantalone with shock and what he hoped was a hint of horror. “So, the vomiting…”
“Morning sickness,” Pantalone confirmed. “It’s why I’ve been rescheduling my morning tasks.”
“And the cigarettes…”
“Yes, the baby doesn’t like them.” Pantalone shook his head mournfully. “My doctor doesn’t either. Cigarettes are terrible for pregnancy, you know.”
Pulcinella’s gaze dropped from Pantalone. He stared blankly at the wall. “Tsaritsa have mercy.”
Well. That was a bit of an overreaction if you asked Pantalone, but he’d gotten the response he wanted. “It was lovely chatting with you, Mayor, but I have some meetings I need to attend to.” He turned as he was walking away to wave innocently.
The cat was out of the bag.
~
“I KNEW IT!” Childe’s voice exclaimed as the young man slammed the door to his office open from the outside. Pantalone jolted and nearly fell out of his chair.
“Can this wait, Tartaglia?” Pantalone groused, taking deep breaths to try and calm his rapid heart rate.
“Nope!” Childe declared, grinning wildly. “Because I heard from the Rooster that you’re having a baby.”
“If you didn’t just kill it when you came crashing in here,” Pantalone muttered. He sighed. “What did he tell you?”
Childe stopped short and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, not very much. He seemed a bit out of it. All he said was that you were ‘with child’. Then he started muttering something about political ramifications. I think the idea of you having a kid scares him.”
“I think I gathered that much from our last conversation,” Pantalone said wryly. “But yes, I am. ‘With child’, as they say.”
“I wanted to come say congratulations.” Childe put his hands on his hips triumphantly. “And also that I knew it. I’ve never heard of you eating sweets, and then suddenly I hear about you being a regular at Andreyovich’s. When I told you about my mom liking those cookies when she was pregnant, you even said you’d find out for yourself, and you were so cheerful that I figured something was up.”
“Yes, I’d just found out, actually,” Pantalone admitted. “I came straight from that appointment.”
“Well I’m glad you’re happy about it,” Childe said, beaming. “At least, I think you’re happy about it.” When Pantalone didn’t answer, he crossed his arms. “Do you have a sonogram or something? Would it be okay if I saw it?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Pantalone must be feeling very indulgent today, because he pulled out the small printed picture he kept closely in his coat pocket and held it up for Childe to see.
“Oh, wow!” Childe squinted at the picture. “It’s… very bean-shaped.”
Pantalone held in the snort threatening to escape him. “I’m told most fetuses are at thirteen weeks.”
A peculiar expression bloomed on Childe’s face. He studied Pantalone with a furrowed brow, looking deeply contemplative. “Thirteen weeks, you say,” Childe said with feigned casualness. “That’s not quite as far along as I thought.”
Doubtlessly, he was doing the math to see how the timing lined up with who he suspected the father was. “And what is that supposed to mean?” Pantalone said sweetly.
Childe froze, correctly sensing the trap there. He locked eyes with Pantalone for a moment, then laughed nervously. “Nothing, Regrator, sorry, I’ve got things to do, youknowhowitisgottagobye!” He shouted the last part in a rush as he bodily threw himself out of the office and took off sprinting down the hallway.
Pantalone pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed at an empty room. “You could have at least closed the door!”
~
It was with no particular fanfare, later that day, that the Knave approached him at a cafe.
“I heard about your condition from Childe,” Arlecchino said bluntly. “I suppose this is good news to you.”
Pantalone sipped his (very pregnancy-safe, mind you!) tea. “Yes.”
“Sandrone also had a message for me to give you.” Arlecchino pulled a folded-up piece of paper from her coat pocket and read aloud. “‘Don’t you dare delay my funding just because of yours and Dottore’s stupid baby’. Her words.”
“Lady Marionette could use some pointers on how to speak to the man providing said funding,” Pantalone said, not bothering to hide the amused curve of his lips. “And all of you are very quick to assume you know the identity of the father of this child.”
“Are we wrong?” Arlecchino challenged him.
Despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to outright say no. “The Doctor was nothing more than a close friend.”
“As you’ve said before.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Yes. Well.” Arlecchino inhaled deeply, looking like it pained her very deeply to say this. “I am sorry for your loss. I’m sure that this is all… very painful for you.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” Pantalone said, knowing exactly what she meant.
She shot him a sharp look, crossing her arms under her coat. “Please, Regrator.“
Pantalone took a small bite from one of the cookies he’d bought with the tea. Tasty, but not as good as Andreyovich’s. He’d have to go back sometime soon to restock his supply. “I’m not going to change my answer just because you don’t believe me.”
Arlecchino stared at him with narrowed eyes. Pantalone blinked back at her. She let out an aggrieved sigh. “We’ll see when the baby is born.”
“If you say so,” he said mildly. The two sat in silence for a long, awkward moment. “Cookie?”
“No,” Arlecchino said, eying his cookies suspiciously. “But thank you.”
Pantalone didn’t say anything.
“I hated Dottore.” Arlecchino broke the silence first. “I hated everything about who he was. I would’ve killed him myself if I could have. But I know he was important to you.”
“He was,” Pantalone conceded, putting his teacup down. “He was the truest friend I’ve ever had.”
It was the most sincere thing he’d ever said to Arlecchino, and she seemed to recognize it. He recognized in kind that she was attempting to be civil despite her general dislike of him. He folded his hands over his lap and looked away towards the falling snow outside.
“I won’t lie and say I was broken up by the news of Sandrone’s death. She’s never been more than a mild amusement to me. But,” Pantalone sighed, “I did not know he was going to kill her. It means nothing to you, but he would not have done so had they not been enemies.”
Pantalone then turned back to look her in the eyes, making both of them very uncomfortable. “Your loyalty to your friends is…” He coughed into his fist. “Commendable.”
Both of them looked away from each other. Pantalone decided he was never doing this again, civility be damned. He finished the last sip of his tea and left his remaining cookie on his plate. These cookies really hadn’t measured up to Andreyovich’s. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some urgent matters to attend to. Good day, Arlecchino.”
~
“I’m sure you’re aware of why I called you here,” Pierro said severely.
Pantalone folded his hands together in front of his abdomen. “I believe so.”
“Good.” Pierro’s usual frown relaxed a little. “I have to say, I would have expected this from Dottore, but not from you. I’m surprised you agreed to it.”
Pantalone’s eyes widened. That was a new one. “This isn’t some experiment of Dottore’s, Director.”
“Isn’t it?” Pierro asked. “Everything with him is, regardless of whether or not you know it.”
“I- no,” Pantalone emphasized, a little flustered. “He isn’t- Dottore’s not-“
Even in this, he couldn’t make himself say it.
Pierro’s face blanked completely. “Well, congratulations regardless.” He shuffled some papers together on his desk and moved them to the side. “The Tsaritsa is busy for the time being, but she wanted me to send her well wishes as well.”
“Thank you,” Pantalone said, not knowing what else to say and not particularly wanting to be in here. “Was there anything else?”
“No. You can go.”
Pantalone obliged eagerly.
~
As soon as Pantalone got to his bedroom, he collapsed onto his bed, exhausted. In addition to his colleagues’ gossiping, he’d spent far more time out and about than he typically had prior to this whole situation. He wouldn’t have considered himself this much of an introvert before today, but perhaps that would need to be reevaluated. Or perhaps it was that fatigue Haoxuan had warned him about.
He reached down to cradle the barely-there beginnings of his bump, feeling insurmountably weary.
(How was he supposed to endure six more months of this?)
Too tired to think further on the matter, Pantalone fell asleep in minutes, still bundled in his Harbinger cloak.