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Childe lets out a laugh without warning - nearly a giggle, airy and melodic and without the slightest care in the world.
"Loosen up a little, would you?” Childe teases. “I could hear your teeth grinding the whole way up here."
Dottore's jaw only bears down even harder at the observation. He whips around to face the Eleventh, shushing him fiercely in the process.
"Do you not possess even the slightest bit of discretion?" Dottore hisses. "Quiet down! What if there's someone else here?"
Childe sighs, though a fond smile plays at his lips as he turns the lock to the Northland Bank's front door.
"I already told you," Childe says, not bothering to match Dottore's volume, "there's nothing to worry about. The bank is under a strict ordinance issued by the Qixing - even stricter than usual, in light of recent events. We're to follow all Liyuean customs down to the letter, and that includes the closing of all non-essential incorporated businesses during Lantern Rite festivities. It's how things are done here. And they certainly wouldn't take kindly to us operating behind closed doors while the entire city is occupied."
He tugs on the door a bit to ensure it's been securely locked, slipping the key back into his pocket. He turns to Dottore then, spreading his arms out to gesture to the darkened, empty lobby in front of them.
"There's nobody here," Childe finishes. "Nobody would even dream of coming here during Lantern Rite. We'd be in big trouble if they did."
Childe seems blissfully unaware that his explanation only worsens the situation. Dottore groans, lifting his mask slightly to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Oh, the things I let you-" Dottore cuts himself off, deciding it's better not to outright imply that Childe has the ability to talk him into anything - even if it is exactly what happened. Instead, he stares down Childe with a frown, getting back to the subject at hand. "You act like we're an organization well known for avoiding trouble. And more importantly, we can't forget that this bank is the Regrator's first and foremost. I want this place checked from floor to ceiling before I move one step further."
Childe's smile falters with a disgruntled expression; his lips twitch, clearly threatening to pout. "Come on, seriously? I told you, it's fine."
"Is it now?" Dottore challenges. He crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow that Childe can't see. "So are you perfectly content to spend the remainder of the evening alone?"
Childe looks like he wants to argue, but only sputters wordlessly in exasperation. He soon concedes, shoulders drooping with a reserved sigh.
"Fine, fine," Childe mutters. "Just wait right here, Lord Dottore. I'll scout the area ahead. Happy?"
Dottore merely grunts, tapping his foot impatiently. "We'll see."
Childe scoffs before walking past him, and Dottore watches as he slips behind the reception desk and soon disappears around the corner and into the back room. With nothing else to do, Dottore begins to let his eyes wander over the expanse of the lobby.
The design is decidedly gaudy, as fits Pantalone's taste, made even gaudier still by the incorporation of Liyuean architectural standards. Striking crimson pillars, coffered ceilings, golden crown moulding - none of which suits Dottore's taste in the slightest. He frowns as he regards the space around him with rising disdain and apprehension, rigidly stepping further into the room.
He shouldn't be here. By no stretch of the imagination should he be here. Dottore is well aware of this by now, and must admit that perhaps his inclination to leave the wake of potential adverse situations to his theoretical future self may no longer be an advisable stratagem. At least not when dealing with matters involving the Eleventh.
And it isn't just the fact that the presence of two Harbingers in Liyue Harbor, should they be discovered, could very well wreak havoc on the already fragile state of diplomatic relations between the Fatui and the Qixing; in Dottore's mind, that was and still remains the least of his concerns. As far as he is concerned, their business in Liyue had concluded the moment Signora took the gnosis into custody. He is well aware of some grand schemes Pantalone is planning that have yet to reach fruition, and it may be unwise to so carelessly end up on the Regrator's bad side, but Dottore ultimately holds little interest in either the Ninth’s personal vendettas or his ire. He can handle a bit of tongue-wagging from Pantalone. Even if it would undoubtedly be less bothersome to simply prevent such a dispute from occurring.
Though perhaps that is why Dottore let himself get roped into this in the first place. At face value, the situation had seemed inconsequential; if Childe was going to keep hounding him about paying a visit, it would be far easier to acquiesce than to deny him much longer, lest he continue pestering him on the subject. It is difficult to say who between Childe and the Regrator could serve as the greater thorn in Dottore's side, but Childe has at least one thing going for him in that department - he is far, far more persistent.
What Childe had declined to mention about their rendezvous, however, was the fact that Dottore would be visiting during Liyue's Lantern Rite.
And now, here they are. Dottore supposes he can be forgiven for not finding it worthwhile to simply retract his attendance the moment he realized what he'd waltzed into. Perhaps he can even be forgiven for jumping at Childe's suggestion of a quiet place to themselves after witnessing the hellish hustle and bustle of the city, if only to avoid the unsightly crowds on the docks.
What cannot be forgiven, however, is the oversight that had not hit him until the moment they stood before the entrance to Northland Bank - that this had likely been Childe's intention from the very beginning.
Dottore scowls to himself as he approaches the front desk and absently runs his fingers over the polished wood. He brings them up to his face to inspect them, noticing the meager particles of filth still sticking to his glove. Dust. Dust from a dusty city, governed by a dusty council, inspired by a dusty old fool of a god. Oh, how he despises Liyue; a dreadfully antiquated nation that he'd long since run out of uses for.
So why on earth had he let Childe convince him to come here?
Dottore flinches slightly as a presence behind him suddenly makes itself known with arms slipping around his waist like strangling vines. Dottore recognizes the hold almost immediately, but if anything, it makes him grow more rigid in the embrace.
"Cleaning protocols aren't up to your standards?" Childe asks, amusement clinging to his words as he rests his chin on Dottore's shoulder. "It's nothing to look so cross about. They're not performing surgery here, Doctor."
Dottore thinks about wriggling away as Childe's chest presses against his back, but suddenly he feels too weary to make the effort. He begrudgingly lets Childe hold him as he pleases, but does not reciprocate the gesture. He stands straight as a board against his weight, tapping his fingers against the counter with a disdainful scoff.
"I thought I told you to check this place from floor to ceiling," Dottore says in a dull monotone.
"Already did. Honest," Childe replies. The second part comes quickly after the first, as if expecting a protest. "No one's here. It's just us."
The final statement comes out in a low, drawling rasp. The fact that Dottore must suppress a shiver at the tone does nothing but irritate him.
But however brazen and shockingly conniving as the Eleventh's methods are - as per usual - Dottore feels that it is in his best interest to yield to the circumstances. He is already here, and he has nothing substantial to gain from taking his leave early. If anything, he would only lose precious time and precious pride if he were to merely march out of the bank in a huff. If he were to stay, however…
Judging by Childe's roaming hands, it is safe to say that Dottore will be coming out of this evening with something somewhat pleasant to show for it. To say he's no longer in the mood for a tryst in Liyue is a dire understatement of his current dispassion, but he's never been one to leave a place of interest empty-handed. And besides, perhaps in this scenario, a lack of investment will only work in his favor. Dottore would like nothing more than to get a rise out of Childe after all this, and it's never easier to do so when the boy is so evidently over-eager.
"Is that so?" Dottore responds disinterestedly. One of Childe's hands has worked its way downwards, and his pinky finger flicks at the waistline of Dottore's trousers. The Second casually picks up the offending hand between his thumb and forefinger - gingerly, as if trifling with something covered in filth - and moves it back up above his navel. "That's very good. It seems I can now spend the rest of the evening admonishing you without fear of interruption."
"Oh yeah?" Childe challenges with a salacious lilt to his voice. "What exactly did you have in mind?"
His growing anticipation is palpable, and Dottore rolls his eyes. "Something far less enthralling than what you have in mind, I'm sure."
"What do you mean?" Childe asks with a laugh. "You're not actually mad, are you?"
"Oh, and why would I be?" Dottore shoots back sarcastically. "It's not as if I abhor mindless crowds. Least not potentially hostile ones."
"If you're thinking I asked you here on Lantern Rite - of all nights - on purpose, you're wrong," Childe says, and the confidence with which he proposes this makes Dottore's fingers twitch irritably. As if sensing his dissatisfaction, his words are followed by a tender kiss to his neck. "There wasn’t anything going on back when I first asked you. It's your fault for putting off visiting for so long." Another kiss finds the sensitive skin just behind Dottore's ear, as if his lips are silently begging forgiveness for the grating noise spilling out of them. "Although I will admit I wasn't very eager to correct your mistake when I heard of your plans."
Dottore purses his lips, but finds his head lolling to the side as Childe peppers more kisses against his skin. If he wishes to be forgiven, then he can continue to beg for it like this. Perhaps if he tries hard enough, he might even succeed; a droll little experiment of Dottore's own making. And with that thought, Dottore can't help but notice his pulse quicken ever so slightly.
"And why is that?" Dottore asks calmly. Childe's hand begins to wander again, and this time, he lets it.
"Don't you think it's a little exciting, sneaking around like this?" Childe asks softly, his lips touching down on Dottore's neck with every pause. "I would think so. Sneaking around is more your modus operandi than it is mine. Besides… The scenery this time of year is pretty romantic, don't you think?"
Dottore rolls his eyes again, and he does break out of Childe's embrace then. But only to turn himself around, letting his lower back hit the edge of the front desk as he meets Childe's dark eyes.
"Oh, yes," Dottore answers sardonically. "There is nothing more sensual than a deafening cacophony of aesthetic pyrotechnics and the smell of the docks. How I've managed to keep my hands off you for this long, we'll never know."
"Right?" Childe says with a laugh, though Dottore isn't sure his response is entirely in jest. But before he can complain about it, one of Childe's hands yet again toys with the edge of Dottore's waistband, while the other carefully plucks the mask off of the Second's face. "Nothing's stopping you now, though."
"Presumptuous, aren't you?" Dottore drones, vaguely watching as his visor is lowered onto the desk beside him. His eyes follow Childe's hand back up until it pushes a lock of hair back behind his ear. The heel of Childe's palm brushes against his jawline, and Dottore fights the urge to lean into the touch. He'll be damned before he lets the boy get what he wants so easily.
"Am I?" Childe intones. "Doesn't mean I'm wrong, though."
Not giving him a chance to argue, Childe finally leans in to slot their lips together. His fidgeting hands find a temporary resting place on Dottore's waist and the back of his neck, firm enough to keep him in place as he sets the pace for them. Dottore follows his whims, but keeps his own hands to himself; palms pressed flush to the counter at his back, fingers only slightly twitching at the thought of gripping something more yielding.
Childe's eagerness is obvious, but he does indeed seem capable of reading a room with some accuracy. His movements are a bit more subdued than Dottore would have expected, very purposefully attempting to placate him. There is no silver tongue or bared teeth that come with the kiss as they so often do - only lips salaciously enveloping his own, easing him into a gentle rhythm like the waxing and waning of ocean waves against sandy shores. And Dottore can't help but eventually be swept up by the tide.
The hand on Dottore’s waist has been gradually pulling his tucked shirt out from under his waistband, until nimble fingers are slipping underneath the fabric to stroke the bare skin lying just beyond the broken boundary. Childe manages to elicit a quiet groan out of him as he strokes his side, right at the slight tuck of his waist where the skin is most sensitive. This time, Dottore can't suppress the shiver that comes with it. He feels Childe smile into the kiss and senses his smug air even before opening his eyes to meet the twin abysses regarding him mischievously. Dottore feels a surge of something caught between indignance and ardor, and his hands move from their position before he can think. He throws his arms around Childe's neck, pulling him in closer, screwing his eyes shut again as he returns the kiss with renewed vigor - he bares his teeth, sinking them into the Eleventh's bottom lip until he feels him flinch. But this, of course, does little to discourage Childe. He matches Dottore's fervor, and soon the steady rhythm he'd initially created is all but abandoned in favor of a disharmony of teeth and tongues colliding in the infinitesimal space between them.
Childe is still smiling all the while.
At a certain point, Dottore realizes that his current actions do not align with what his cold, calculated intention had been going into this exchange.
Oh, damn that boy. But Dottore supposes he can only blame Childe's infectious enthusiasm so much. It is the Eleventh’s greatest appeal, after all. A mindless, complaisant kind of enthusiasm; something that makes Dottore forget his troubles and dissatisfaction, if only for as long as he remains enveloped in his arms. It is the very reason Dottore chooses to stay within reach at all. The very thing he's here for, and the reason why he couldn’t be anyone else. By that logic, it would be a waste not to let go of inhibition and an admittedly arbitrary sense of pride.
After all, he is already here. And the thrum of the city’s Lantern Rite celebrations already feels so far behind them. Here, they feel like the only two people in Liyue.
And only seconds after that sentiment crosses Dottore's mind, he hears the sound of a key being turned.
Childe obviously hears it as well, as the two of them freeze in tandem. For a split second that seems to last an impossible eternity, the only movement in the room is Dottore's eyes, their line of sight immediately darting over Childe's shoulder and towards the rustling front door.
When he looks back at Childe, it is with sheer desperation carved into his aghast, furrowed brow. Childe can only look at him blankly, eyes blown out wide. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. It's only the moment they both hear the lock clicking open that he can manage to utter a single word.
"Hide?"
The fact that he inconceivably poses the word as a question fills Dottore with a rage so unfathomable that he can scarcely react. Thankfully, Childe does all the reacting for him. He grabs Dottore around his waist and hoists him up onto the counter with irritating ease, wordlessly hissing at him and gesturing wildly to the space behind the counter. Dottore catches his drift quickly, all negative emotions momentarily suspended in favor of pure, thoughtless reaction. He manages to quickly spin around and throw himself through the teller's window until his feet are successfully planted behind the counter, with Childe jumping up on the desk and following close behind. But by the time they've both made it over, the door to the bank is already creaking open. There is no time to make a mad dash for the back; as such, Dottore quickly feels Childe's hand around his wrist, brusquely yanking downwards before he can offer much protest.
With both of them now on the ground, they promptly scoot backward into the recession built into the reception counter until their backs are flush with the back panel, the lip of the wooden countertop hanging over their heads. But unfortunately, they are only barely covered enough to shield them from any prying eyes that may want to peek over the edge of the desk. Dottore feels a cold wash of dread course through him at the realization. They may as well have stayed out in the open, for how exposed they still are! Anyone with even a single working eye would be able to catch them under here. But the real rate at which they would be discovered all depended on who had just entered the building. And now that there is nothing to do but sit and wait, Dottore's train of thought comes screeching back to him. It only takes seconds for his mind to be swimming with a million different scenarios and their inevitable, humiliating - and perhaps even dire - conclusions.
But the sound that finally rings out through the lobby manages to not fit a single one of those scenarios, and it catches Dottore off guard.
It's a giggle. Light and carefree, feminine and almost melodic, like the trill of a songbird that has simply lost its way and wound up indoors.
And it is promptly followed by an urgent, masculine shush.
"Be quiet!" The male voice implores in a hush, sounding desperate as the door is closed and locked behind them. "Honestly, Nadia! What if someone else is in here?"
"Oh, relax just a bit!" The other voice - Nadia, one must presume - retorts teasingly, her tone remaining light and lackadaisical. "I already told you it's fine."
Dottore hears a quiet sound beside him; it's Childe clicking his tongue quietly, and his head lolls backward in exasperation.
"Oh, goddammit," Childe mutters. To his credit, he speaks so softly that he is barely more than mouthing the words. Still, it only earns him a swift swat from Dottore's hand, and the Second glares fiercely at him while pressing a finger to his lips, bidding him to stay silent. The Eleventh has the gall to look wounded by his reproach, but doesn't retaliate. Judging by his demeanor, Dottore can gather that he knows the two people that are currently in the lobby - but whether that is a good or bad thing remains to be seen. Not that Dottore can think of any scenario that could possibly be “good.”
"Maybe we should just be a little more careful," the strange male voice says, still keeping his volume lowered. "This… probably isn't the best idea."
"Oh, Vlad, don't be such a worrywart!" Nadia scolds lightly, another whimsical giggle escaping her. "Of course, no one’s going to be here; nobody would even dream of coming here during Lantern Rite."
Oh. What a disdainfully familiar phrase that is. Dottore sucks his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle any noise that may be tempted to come out of it. What that would be, he didn't know - perhaps a derisive bark of a laugh, an incredulous scoff, a wordless exclamation of dismay? He slowly turns his head towards Childe without a sound, his eyes surely darker than they ever have been in his life. Childe catches his gaze, but pointedly does not maintain eye contact. He stares unblinking at the rows of security boxes lining the wall in front of them, no doubt trying to ascertain whether or not his entire body could fit inside the empty compartments given it were separated into enough pieces. That is what he should have been wondering, at least. It is certainly the only thing presently running through Dottore's mind.
"That isn't-" The man, Vlad, sputters off into silence before a weary sigh escapes him. "Maybe we should go back. This isn't a good idea."
"We will go back," Nadia ensures. "We'll be back before the fireworks even start. No one will even notice we're gone. There's nothing to worry about." Dottore can hear her boots clicking leisurely across the floor of the lobby as she saunters through it. "But… we have plenty of time before then, you know."
"Nadia…" Vlad's footsteps seem to follow her, treading much lighter with a tentative gait.
"It's strange being in here, when it's completely empty like this," Nadia comments, paying no mind to her partner's obvious trepidation. "Not that I'm a stranger to how quiet it gets at night… But it's different when it's all dark like this. It feels a little eerie."
"It's certainly, uh… a bit disconcerting," Vlad answers nervously.
There's a pause after that. Perhaps a bit too long. After a few moments, Nadia speaks again. "There's a bit of a chill, too, with no warm bodies around."
"Uh-huh." Vlad still sounds distracted, like he's not really listening. "Maybe."
Another pause follows it. This one is definitely too long. It is so pervadingly silent, Dottore begins to fear that a mere bead of sweat falling upon the floorboard would be enough sound to have the Harbingers found out. Thankfully, before that happens, Nadia clears her throat and tries again.
"Why don't you come a bit closer, Vlad?" She asks gently.
"I'm, uh- Oh. Oh. Sure, I just-" Vlad stutters off into nonsense until he's forced to reel it in with a tight breath inward and outward. "Maybe we should check around just in case? It wouldn't hurt just to make sure."
Dottore's body goes rigid at the suggestion, and he can feel Childe's shoulder tensing in turn.
"Oh, don't be so anxious," comes Nadia's reply. "It'd be silly to waste all our time scouting out the whole bank. Just come here for a second."
"I know, but it's probably not a bad idea." Though even as he says this, his footsteps can be heard moving across the lobby in the direction of Nadia's voice. They eventually come to a stop. "It would only take me a few minutes, and I'mmph-!"
The words are cut off rather abruptly, and followed by more silence. Well… a lack of speech, more accurately. After a few moments, Dottore's straining ears catch a rather unmistakable noise - made even more familiar by the fact that he and Childe had been the source of such vulgar smacking sounds only mere moments ago. Dottore smacks his hand against his forehead without a sound, dragging it down his face in exasperation. This has to be a joke. Some kind of sick, cruel prank played at his own expense.
Dottore doesn't notice that he's paid little mind to Childe until it's far too late; he's not able to anticipate it when the Eleventh suddenly gets to his feet, still poised in a crouch, and creeps just a bit outside of the eclipse of the countertop above them. To Dottore's sheer horror, Childe raises himself slightly to peek over the counter, and the Second's hand shoots out to grab him by the shirt to yank him back down. Childe merely swats him away at first, but with another stronger, indignant tug Dottore manages to throw him a bit off balance. Childe retreats again, still trying to shake himself from Dottore's grip.
"Relax! It's fine!" Childe hisses in a deathly quiet whisper, though it is still far too loud for Dottore's tastes. He desperately and silently presses a finger to his lips again, but Childe simply shakes his head. "They won't hear us if we're quiet. They're still over by one of the tea tables in the front. They… didn't make it as far as us."
The boy has the nerve to smirk at his own statement, and Dottore seethes.
"Have you lost your fucking mind?" Dottore spits, matching Childe's volume.
"Trust me, they're not looking," Childe whispers dryly. "I just wanted to get a feel for our surroundings."
"You- Who the hell even are these people?!"
"They're, uh… the day and night guards. Vlad and Nadia."
"Oh?" Dottore crows acrimoniously. "How lovely to know. And would you mind explaining to me what Vlad and Nadia are doing waltzing in here without approval - under your command?!"
Childe throws him a jaded look, one of his eyebrows shooting up into his fringe. "Do you really need to ask?"
In all fairness, Dottore certainly does not need to ask. But he smolders with indignation nonetheless, baring his teeth at Childe as he strains to keep his volume down.
"Don't take that tone with me, boy!" Dottore snaps. "Just what kind of operation are you running here? This kind of misconduct should not be stood for!"
"I obviously know that!" Childe replies defensively, gesturing vaguely to the space just in front of them. "But do you want to be the one to reveal yourself and reprimand them right now? Because be my guest, by all means!"
Dottore bites down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste iron, just to keep himself from lashing out at Childe at full volume. But he's right, of course; even if Dottore were able to theoretically have the two soldiers thrown into an isolated, dark cell for the rest of their days - which would be an egregious misuse of resources anyway - the damage would already be done. The mere act of punishing them would inadvertently reveal the hows and whys of Dottore and Childe's involvement. How else would either of them have known that the two subordinates were sneaking around in a temporarily restricted area, after all? And could they keep the details from the rest of their respective subordinates? Most likely. But could they keep it from the rest of the Harbingers? Certainly not.
And it isn't the idea of being reprimanded for being in Liyue when he ought not to have been that bothers Dottore, or even the thought of his and Childe's relationship becoming common knowledge amongst their colleagues. Dottore sincerely doubts that none of them have any suspicions of their interloping as is, and while he would prefer to keep aspects of his more personal dealings to himself, he also holds no fear of any eventuality that may come of this being known. His work would be unaffected either way, and any additional disrespect he would receive from his colleagues through their opinion on Childe alone would be a negligible annoyance.
But as for them knowing the particulars of the situation, however… Oh, he could almost hear them all already. Pantalone's smug, honeyed derision, Arlecchino's haughty disdain, Sandrone's wry disapproval, Columbina's disembodied giggles following him down the halls of the palace. What a fine laugh they would all have, imagining the great Second Harbinger nearly getting caught - quite literally - with his pants down. Sneaking around in empty buildings like some horny, giddy teenager, catching two subordinates necking in the bank only because he'd been doing the exact same thing moments before. Perhaps their colleagues could even excuse Childe for the same behavior, seeing as he's barely even a decade off from being one of those very insatiable teens himself. But not Dottore. No, Dottore should be far too old for that sort of malarkey. By several centuries, to boot.
Dottore nearly moans, silently bidding for the floorboards underneath him to give way and pull him deep underground. "Shit. Shit. I should have never come here."
"Aw, come on," Childe replies, sounding genuinely wounded. "Don't be like that."
Dottore glares at him again, gaze sharp and unrelenting. He has no interest in coddling the boy's feelings now, but he also can't afford to let his anger get the better of him and risk accidentally lashing out just a bit too loudly. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain control of himself.
"Quiet," Dottore hisses, changing the subject. "You got us into this mess. And I swear, if you don't find a way to get us out-"
"Look, look, I get it," Childe interrupts. "Just… calm down. I think our only option here is to just wait it out. We could try crawling toward the back, but it's a dead end and there are no good places to hide if they do decide to go poking around. At least here they have a chance of missing us."
"So that's your solution? To just sit here?"
"Well, yes," Childe admits sheepishly. He rubs the back of his neck. "They'll probably, uh… finish… eventually."
"Finish? " Dottore hisses in disbelief. "So you expect me to just twiddle my thumbs and wait for them to do Gods only know what and-"
Another giggle from out in the lobby makes both of them freeze, Dottore’s words quickly dying out in his throat.
"There," Nadia says, an airy laugh escaping her. "Feel a little better now?"
Vlad chuckles nervously. "Ah… Yeah, I- Yeah."
Dottore squares his jaw in annoyance, bringing a hand to his face and biting down on the tip of his gloved thumb. As much as he hates to admit it, Childe is right yet again. Waiting it out is their best option. To do anything else would be to attract attention, and the Harbingers' only saving grace at the moment is that the couple doesn't seem to have much attention for anything but themselves. If the soldiers' distraction is already a factor working in their favor, it is best to let it ride itself out. At this point, Dottore can only hope that whatever they do, they can get through it quickly. But judging by the palpable, underlying awkwardness in the air, perhaps that is too much to wish for.
There is a prolonged silence for a while, this time woefully lacking any more interspersed intimate sounds - what a sordid twist of fate, that Dottore is nearly praying for them to just continue and get on with it. But Nadia simply lets out a dreamy sigh after a few moments.
"The atmosphere in the city this time of year really is magical, isn't it?" She says wistfully.
Vlad laughs lightly. "I'm just grateful to have some time off, honestly."
"Well, that doesn't hurt," Nadia agrees. Her voice has taken on a bit of a dull tone, however, as if disappointed by his response. "But I don't know. I think it's something special. The folks around the harbor seem so much kinder this time of year, and everyone works so hard to make sure the festivities go off without a hitch. Their camaraderie is infectious. It's the only time it comes close to feeling like home, you know?"
There is no immediate response. When it does come, Vlad has grown so quiet that Dottore can scarcely hear him. "Yes. You're right."
Dottore pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Could this possibly be any duller? At the very least, they could have the decency to desecrate the lobby promptly, but no. They're just-
Something suddenly occurs to Dottore, something that quickly becomes so glaringly obvious that the realization is mortifying in more ways than one. He's rubbing his face right now. His bare face. His mask is still sitting somewhere up on the teller’s counter, right where Childe left it.
Dottore quickly jabs a finger into Childe's arm to get his attention, causing the Eleventh to jump slightly. He turns to Dottore, woundedly rubbing his arm, mouthing, "What?" Dottore frowns deeply at him, merely pointing to his face, then up at the desk hanging over their heads. Childe's expression is initially blank, but realization soon flickers across his features as well.
"It is nice to have the time off, though." Nadia suddenly begins speaking again. It sounds a bit yielding, as if backtracking her prior statements in the wake of the silence they brought. Perhaps it had dragged on just a bit too long for her comfort. "Especially when… you can share that time with somebody else."
Dottore feels a strong compulsion to groan in exasperation, but instead keeps his attention on Childe, his eyebrows shooting up expectantly, issuing a silent ultimatum: "Do something about it before they notice it." Childe simply nods, his lips forming around a soundless affirmative. He slowly starts scooting forward again.
"I… Yes. It's very nice," Vlad replies from out in the lobby. Then, somehow tentative and hurried all at once, he adds, "I- I like spending this time with you, Nadia."
Childe is now fully out of the desk's shadow, pulling one of his knees under himself to kneel just behind the edge of the countertop. Dottore swallows thickly as he watches him, the conversation behind him only marginally holding his attention now.
"I do too, Vlad." A wistful sigh follows the statememt. "It's silly, but I'm already thinking about what we'll be doing next year."
"No, I understand what you mean. It's nice to have even more to look forward to on the off chance I'm still here next year."
"Mm-hm." A pause. "What do you mean?"
Another pause follows this, one that Dottore doesn’t really register. He watches as Childe licks his lips nervously, raising himself up just enough to peek out into the lobby. He quickly ducks back down, but the coast must be clear; he carefully brings his hand up over his head, reaching for the countertop.
"Well, I- You know." Vlad stutters slightly.
"N-no. No, I don't think I do. What are you saying?"
Childe's hand is blindly feeling around the surface of the front desk, going off of memory alone, but he hasn't quite grasped it yet.
"Well, I mean-" Vlad continues. "If my transfer goes through, then I won't-"
"Your transfer?!"
Nadia's volume upticks without warning, and both Harbingers flinch at the sudden outburst, Childe's hand instinctively shrinking back down under the counter - empty-handed. Dottore bites back an audible curse, though perhaps letting it slip would have made no difference; Nadia continues her noisy tirade, sounding aghast.
"Honestly? You're thinking of that at a time like this?"
"I- Nadia? I don't understand what you mean! I'm just being realistic, and I-"
He's interrupted by a loud scoff from Nadia, and the sound of indignant footsteps suddenly tramping across the floor. Much to Dottore's dismay, it does not sound like they're making a way toward the exit. He watches Childe peek his head over the counter just a bit again, and the grimace he wears as he comes back down speaks volumes; it is not difficult to ascertain that the two supposed lovebirds out front no longer have each other's undivided attention. Childe quickly slides back into place next to Dottore, looking uncharacteristically defeated.
"Nadia, I- I don't understand why you're so upset," Vlad says hopelessly, his footsteps gingerly following after her.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Nadia snaps, though the apology is not entirely disingenuous. "It's just- Oh, how many times have we talked about this, Vlad? And to bring it up now, and here … Are you really that eager to be rid of me?"
"What? No, that's not what I meant at all!" Vlad insists. "I'm just… being realistic, Nadia."
"Realistic?" Nadia crows in disbelief. "Vlad, it's been years and you're still talking about this! It’s like it’s all you can think about. Don’t you think they would have done it by now if they were going to?"
"I know that! But we can never know when it might happen, and they should be processing the request I just sent out, so I just want to be prepared in case-"
"The request you just sent out?! " Nadia parrots in disbelief. "Are you telling me you're still sending out transfer requests? On top of the first one?"
The room falls dead silent.
It is at that moment that it dawns on Dottore that if he were to give into his current state of distress, abandoning all caution and reason to the wind, he would not know which of the three other people in this room he would seek to strangle with his bare hands first. Childe is the easiest to reach, of course, but the other two are quickly making a case for themselves as worthy of the extra distance traveled. Though perhaps an even better use of his efforts would be to craft a noose for his own use.
He glares at Childe again, if only for a lack of anything more productive to do. Childe meets his eyes this time, only offering him a weary expression and having the nerve to shrug reservedly - as if to say "I'm not happy about it either, but it's out of our hands." And while he has a point in that assessment, it only worsens Dottore's mood.
"Are you just going to stand there gawking at me?" Nadia blurts out suddenly, breaking the silence. "Honestly, Vlad… So when did you send your last request, then?"
"It was… a few weeks ago," Vlad says weakly. "But Nadia, I don't understand-"
"A few weeks ago?" Nadia repeats in dismay. "And was that before or after we'd already made our plans for Lantern Rite?"
"I don't- I don't exactly remember, but- Nadia, why are you so angry? You know this is what I've always wanted. Even before we really knew each other, I thought you understood."
"Well, I don't! I honestly don't understand you at all, if you can stand there and ask why I'm angry. What if it had gone through this time, Vlad? You could have already been shipped off by now…"
"W-well, maybe it was bad timing, but…" Vlad trails off desolately, a helpless scoff escaping him. "What do you want me to do, Nadia? I don't fit in here. This has never been the right place for me, and I thought you understood that. I just… I want to go back home."
"I do understand!" Nadia exclaims in exasperation. "That's your problem; you think nobody else understands you, but everyone understands how you feel. We all want to go home. I want to go home. But we all stay regardless, because that’s what our homeland needs from us."
Vlad stutters defensively for a moment, clearly scrambling for a response. "You- You act as if I plan on defecting! I'm doing everything right; I'm following all the appropriate protocols and not overstepping my bounds. But if there's any chance they could use me back in Snezhnaya, it feels like a waste to not at least try. I don't feel like that's unreasonable!"
"Well, I find it quite unreasonable, if I'm being honest," Nadia shoots back. "I don't care about paperwork or protocol or anything of the sort. We were assigned here for a reason, and I don't feel it's paying our mission any respect to go against the grain like that." She groans then, her footsteps meandering across the floor as she no doubt paces through the lobby. "And I was willing to reassure you in the beginning, because I know how bad it can feel to be homesick, but at this point… Oh, it's just getting ridiculous now, Vlad!"
This is followed by a prolonged silence that is yet again so stifling that Dottore almost feels as if he should hold his breath, lest the slightest shift in the heavy atmosphere exposes their location. When Vlad finally speaks again, his tone has changed.
"So that's how you really feel, is it?" He speaks lowly, darkly. "That I'm a disgrace to the mission?"
After a beat of silence, Nadia's voice wavers. "You're putting words in my mouth."
"No, I'm not! That's exactly what you meant, isn't it?" He lets out a dry laugh of disbelief, an edge to his words that was not previously present. "Well, you're wrong. I think you're just trying to protect your own feelings by hiding behind some arbitrary sense of honor. This isn't about our mission at all; it's about you."
"That not- Oh, and what if it is?" Nadia retorts shrilly. "What's so wrong with that, considering everything else? Considering us?"
Dottore suddenly wilts, biting his lip to suppress a groan as he puts his head in his hands. Oh, he cannot stand to listen to another word of this. If he had wanted to bear witness to a pair of strangers' sordid little domestic dispute, he'd have picked up a few tawdry romance novels on his last trip to Inazuma. He tries to simply tune out the noise, but given that it is the only noise in the room, it proves difficult to drown out entirely. Still, the underlying sound of raised voices and petty accusations gradually becomes more and more muffled as he wallows in his own dismay.
How on earth had he let himself get into a situation like this?
"You okay?"
The hushed voice from beside him breaks Dottore out of his thoughts. He picks up his head then, eyes snapping angrily at the Eleventh. Childe's lips are pursed into a thin line, his expression flickering with a rather uncharacteristic trepidation as he regards Dottore with concern. At least he has just enough humility to behave sheepishly. Dottore thinks about scolding him for speaking, but given how heated the argument behind them is slowly getting, it is safe to say they will not be heard at their current volume.
(Dottore doesn't register much of the couple's argument now, but it unavoidably fades in and out of his recognition due to the innate desire to keep tabs on their physical positions.
"Nadia, you- You're not being fair."
"I'm not being fair? Do you really think it's fair to me, bringing it up at a time like this?")
"Am I okay? Of course I'm not okay!" Dottore snaps quietly. "We're going to be here all fucking night at this rate."
Childe sighs, his head rolling back against the wood paneling behind him. "I know, just- Relax. It'll be fine. Vlad's not the most… assertive guy. You'll see; he'll cave soon enough, admit he's wrong, and they'll sulk out of here in no time."
"You better be right," Dottore hisses. Now that they're actually speaking, he finds himself unable to leave it at that. Since he has nothing better to do than nitpick Childe's poor judgment - if only to avoid dwelling on his own - he snidely adds, "Though if you know him to be spineless enough to concede while standing on high ground, perhaps we really should reconsider your operations here."
("It isn't about that. You're taking it too personally, I- The whole thing is just so second nature at this point. It has nothing to do with you."
"Second nature? That's the exact problem, Vlad! It has everything to do with me!")
Childe doesn't respond at first, looking similarly wrapped up in his thoughts. Though the moment he processes Dottore's words is visible from the twitch of his features. He turns his head back towards Dottore, eyes narrowing cagily. "He is wrong, though."
It's Dottore's turn to take just a bit too long processing the words being spoken to him. At first, he only feels a sense of disbelief that Childe would bother offering any commentary at all in a situation like this. But perhaps it's the present feeling of isolation that gets the better of Dottore; suddenly, he finds himself biting back a wry laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of what the Eleventh is implying.
"Have you lost your mind?" Dottore jeers. Childe may be a lot of things, but even Dottore must admit that irrational is generally not one of them. The Eleventh is actually shockingly rational when he wants to be, and to think of him agreeing with such an illogical ideal catches Dottore off guard.
"Have you?" Childe retorts, raising an eyebrow at him accusingly. "She's right, obviously. It's disgraceful to dwell so much on the frivolous comforts of home. That's not what we're here for."
("Nadia, I do care about you, but… This isn't home. You know that."
"But why does it need to be?")
"Oh, please. Do not start this here, of all places," Dottore dismisses quickly. There's a time and a place for the particular sense of honor Childe so cherishes, but by no extent of the imagination is this one of them. At the very least, Dottore finds it foolish that he could get worked up enough over the dignity or lack thereof of filing paperwork to bring it up now. "So long as all the T's are crossed and there's a need for a warm body elsewhere, it doesn't matter where these people are. And there's no sense in dithering around somewhere where one isn't urgently needed."
"That's not the point," Childe says firmly. "We all miss home sometimes, but to pine for comforts you haven't truly earned is not a path worthy of a warrior. I get homesick too, but you don't see me crying about it and asking for transfers at the soonest sign of adversity."
Dottore glares at him, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "Perhaps if you did, you would spend markedly less time doing busy work in the harbor that you clearly lack the competence to handle."
("I don't understand why you're acting like I'm the one that's being unreasonable. Isn't this only natural? Everything we do, we do for our homeland. Why wouldn't I want to go back if I could?"
"Because it isn't just about Snezhnaya. It's- It's- Oh, forget it!")
Childe's expression darkens at that statement. "Are you being serious? You and the others are the ones responsible for sending me here!"
"And what an egregious mistake that turned out to be, clearly!" Dottore replies, vaguely gesturing behind him to the two soldiers still squawking incessantly in the lobby. "It's no one's fault but your own if you lack the agency to play the game to your strengths. Do you really think those conniving parasites back at the palace have never once attempted to set me up for failure? Of course they have! The only difference between the two of us is that I don't let myself get treated as a doormat."
"You-" Childe lets a quiet groan escape him as he cards a hand through his hair in frustration. "You don't get it. It's not about being complaisant. It's about having a sense of honor, and finishing what you started. I was assigned here for a reason, and until that reason changes, I'm not going to bemoan the particulars of my situation. And our subordinates should be no different. People depend on Vlad here, whether he chooses to see it or not. Especially Nadia. Everyone knows how chummy the two of them are."
("I just don't know how you can expect me to drop everything I've ever known - everything I've ever fought and worked for-"
"I'm not asking you to do that! You're not listening!")
"So is this what you spend all your time doing?" Dottore challenges. "Keeping up to date on all the interpersonal relationships of your subordinates?"
"Of course not. It's just something not easily missed. Anyone that's been in the vicinity during shift changes can see it."
Dottore rolls his eyes with a quiet, incredulous scoff. "Oh, why are we even talking about this? This is ridiculous. You're being ridiculous. It's no more dishonorable to be a cog in the machine here than it is in Snezhnaya."
He looks back at Childe then, almost desperately, wishing for nothing more than this stupid, tasteless discussion to reach its end and for this entire evening to be a distant memory. But Childe's mulish expression does not falter. He offers Dottore neither asylum nor deference, and continues nevertheless.
"I just find it rather unsavory that a man would so readily forgo his responsibilities for his own benefit alone."
("We have to be realistic about these things, Nadia. The truth is, either one of us could be transferred out of Liyue at a moment's notice outside of any requests I've made. Shouldn't we at least be prepared for that eventuality?"
"That's not the same! There's a difference between following our duties and actively looking for a way out of them!")
Dottore can feel something snap inside him. He's had about as much as he can take of all of this.
"So what?" Dottore asks, and it's a wonder he manages to not raise his voice. "If that ponce wants to spend the rest of his days filing transfer paperwork, why shouldn't he? It will make no significant difference to anyone here. If there is a need for him elsewhere, there will just be another man in line to take his place. It doesn't matter. None of this does."
("Nadia, what do you expect me to do? If I do get approved, what am I supposed to do? Just stay here in an inhospitable city, when the place we both fight for is just a boat trip away?")
Even with that, Childe does not yield, glowering at Dottore with a dark expression that he cannot quite read. With rising indignation, Dottore turns away, refusing to offer his inscrutable face any more of his attention. Even so, Childe pushes. "There's no reason for him to leave."
"There's no reason for him to stay!" Dottore hisses.
"I would stay for you!"
Dottore isn't sure why the girl's voice suddenly sounds so clear now, when the rest of the exchange behind him had successfully lost the majority of his attention. But as soon as Nadia gets the words out, he finds them ringing in his ears. He is likely not the only one; while he'd been quick to defend himself up until this point, Vlad has no response to offer now. In his place, Nadia weakly continues.
"I don't think we are doing this just for the sake of our loved ones back home," she says. "We're doing this for everyone. And that includes… the people standing right in front of us."
The room, yet again, falls completely silent.
Dottore finds himself slowly looking back at Childe. The Eleventh is still staring at him, and doesn't look like he's stopped - but his expression is not the same. The sharpness in his gaze has softened somewhat, and there's something wistful and melancholy that flickers across his face - just before finally turning his eyes away and focusing on an empty spot in the space ahead of him.
Dottore ends up following his gaze, finding himself suddenly entrenched in a feeling he cannot immediately define.
So being the man he is, and having nothing else to do but be consumed by these thoughts, he begins to formulate a hypothesis.
Dottore thinks, perhaps, that he first must consider the very questions he has been asking - and has persistently dodged answering - since the very moment he arrived in Liyue: Why had he chosen to come here? Why had he chosen to stay? What could have led to such an egregious lapse in judgment - not just now, but time and time again? The answer to all of those questions, of course, is Childe.
But objectively speaking, Childe does not exist in a bubble. As much as he would probably like to think he is, the Eleventh is not a force of nature or some immutable inevitability that Dottore has no control over. So to say that Childe in and of himself is the reason for the series of follies that have occurred this evening would not be an accurate assessment. If one of Dottore's own researchers plopped a half-assed hypothesis like that on his desk, he would ensure that researcher would never present another hypothesis of any kind to anyone else for the rest of his days.
So what is really the reason, then?
Vlad finally speaks again, the defensive edge to his voice gone. "Nadia…"
"I just…" Nadia's voice wavers. "I thought at this point I meant more to you than just someone to pass the time with. I thought that maybe… we could be a piece of home for each other. Something more to fight for. But- I guess I was mistaken. So it's my fault, I suppose. I'm… sorry for overstepping my bounds."
Dottore remembers a notion he had earlier in the evening; that Childe's sole purpose in his life is to serve as a veritable black hole in which Dottore can lackadaisically throw all his troubles and cares into. He has always been well aware of this effect Childe has on people, and on himself in particular. He knows that a ludicrous situation such as this is merely a result of the very thing he wanted in the first place. So why is he so often dissatisfied with these results? And why does a logical man such as himself merely make the same mistakes again and again, as if expecting the conclusion to be any different?
Unless there's a certain part of him that doesn't view these situations as mistakes at all.
And if that is the case, it would mean Dottore's sense of dissatisfaction does not stem from Childe's influence at all.
"Nadia, no," Vlad says suddenly. "You're… Oh, Archon, you're right. It's not you at all. It's all my fault. I wasn't thinking. I was too afraid to think, but that's-"
Fear. That's it. That feeling Dottore was having trouble defining.
Dottore hasn't felt true fear in a very long time. And perhaps to say that even this is "true" fear would not be entirely accurate. It's a kind of fear he doesn't think he's ever experienced before, and he'd felt a surge of it the moment Childe had wearily turned his gaze from him.
And it was because as soon as he saw that wounded expression on Childe’s face, Dottore had wanted to take it all back.
"I'm sorry, Nadia."
Dottore's features twist up in distaste. Alright. Now this is just starting to get ridiculous. Not to mention obnoxious. He doesn't know how much longer he can stand to hear these kids whine about their feelings. He screws his eyes shut tightly, attempting to focus more on his own thoughts.
But it's true. Dottore had mistaken Childe's qualms for some arbitrary, misguided sense of solipsism. And perhaps to a certain degree, it was. But Dottore thinks he'd missed the real source of Childe's reservations. And for some reason, being blind to that distinction bothers him.
Dottore is not a benevolent man; his concern has never been to preserve one's irrational emotions, not even as far as Childe is concerned. But to be so callous through sheer ignorance alone leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
And why is that, exactly? There is indeed a certain intrinsic value in simply understanding things - the feeling of satisfaction that comes with solving a riddle or putting together the last pieces of a puzzle. Though is his own reproach simply the product of Dottore despising ignorance in general? It is not likely. If ignorance is his only albatross, then the act of overcoming it should not be something that leaves him apprehensive.
But understanding worldly conundrums and understanding Childe seem to be two separate matters entirely. And maybe what truly makes Dottore apprehensive is what it may take to fully understand his and Childe's dynamic.
("Vlad, you don't have to-"
"N-no, you're right. I haven't been fair to you. I'm just… nothing but a homebody. I always have been. And if I'm being honest, I think the thought of being anything else scared me half to death.")
The thing about willfully forgetting oneself is that eventually, you will run the risk of forgetting yourself entirely. Dottore has never had any qualms in leaving matters to his future theoretical selves because he knows himself inside and out. He knows the person that will ultimately be faced with the conundrums he has led them to, and therefore trusts in their ability to handle every last eventuality.
But what if he doesn't recognize the person that will be left standing at the end of this series of experiments?
("It's… hard for me to be happy. Because if I'm happy, then it means I've moved on from everything I used to know up until this point. And… I just wasn't ready to leave that life behind yet.")
Indeed, the man who sits in his place now is a person Dottore finds himself eerily unfamiliar with. A stranger; someone who goes places for no reason and does things without thought. Someone who feels remorse for words spoken out of turn. Someone who sits frozen in apprehension at the notion of misunderstanding another person.
So it is not just the fear of forgetting himself that leaves him in distress; it is the fear of finding someone entirely new standing in his place.
("But that isn't fair to you. After all you've done for me… That should be worth more than any idyllic notion of the past.")
Dottore glances back over at Childe. The Eleventh still sports a distant, glazed-over expression, probably trying to tune out the rest of the room as much as Dottore is. He studies him for a while, with all the sick fascination of a scholar witnessing a prey animal struck down by its ecosystem's apex predator. Though perhaps to allegorize it as such is only a testament to Dottore's bias.
Bias is a nasty little thing to introduce to an experiment. It can skew good results and hinder progress. It can inhibit necessary changes. And perhaps Dottore has simply grown a little too comfortable with considering himself as an unchanging entity.
But where there is dissatisfaction, there should be constructive reaction. And if the source of his dissatisfaction stems not from the "experiment" at hand, but from his own fear of change…
The most logical recourse would be to strike fear from the equation.
("I love you, Nadia.")
Dottore's gaze drifts downwards, and he notices Childe's palm pressed flat against the ground, his fingers tapping against the floorboards a bit impatiently. Dottore looks away again - but his own hand moves as he does. He places it over Childe's, intertwining their fingers, and simply holds it lightly.
He feels Childe flinch at the touch, and out of the corner of his eye can see him turn towards the gesture and regard it with a quizzical tilt of his head. He's looking for an answer, but Dottore does not bother looking back at him to give it. Least of all not when he can feel a bothersome heat creeping up the sides of his neck.
An experiment cannot be unduly rushed. And perhaps the results of such an experiment will be best kept to himself, anyway.
Regardless, Childe soon turns his hand around, pressing their palms together. They idle in that position without a word.
Despite how almost sickeningly idyllic the scene must look from an outsider's perspective, Dottore is ruefully wrenched back to reality by an obnoxiously joyful-sounding sob.
"Oh, Vlad," Nadia says, voice thick with emotion. "I'm so happy to hear you say that. I love you too. And I'm sorry… I wasn't being fair either."
Dottore rolls his eyes, not bothering to remain tuned into what is likely to be a grating exchange of professions and apologies in rapid succession. He's had just about as much as he can take. He does turn to face Childe then, donning a stern expression, though he keeps holding onto his hand.
"We need to get out of here. Now," Dottore drones lowly. "If I have to listen to another word from these two, you won’t be the only one that has attempted to bring this city to the ground."
Childe gives him a closed-mouth grimace, shrugging his shoulders, though his tone is not nearly as defensive as it had been previously. "I- I'm sorry. I don't know what you want me to do. We can't get them out of here any faster than they would leave on their own."
Dottore falls silent, starting to wrack his brain for their best option. But then, as if answering a prayer, Vlad's voice suddenly cuts through the Harbingers' silence.
"So, uh…" Vlad trails off at first, laughing nervously, and perhaps even a bit giddily. It seems they've already reached the end of their reconciliations. "Should we… head back down now?"
"Mm," Nadia hums thoughtfully. "We probably should."
Dottore instinctively squeezes Childe's hand at that, on the edge of his seat with burgeoning relief. Oh, thank the fucking heavens. It looks like they can be out of trouble sooner than Dottore even expected.
But then, a whimsical giggle tumbles out of Nadia. "But. I think we do have just a little bit more time to spare. Don't you?"
Dottore fleetingly considers biting through his tongue to avoid any future instances of him speaking too soon.
To make matters worse, he soon hears footsteps padding across the bank lobby once more - this time, unmistakably in the direction of the front counter.
Vlad lets out a rather oafish chuckle, his steps following after her. "R-really? You still want to…"
"Oh, come on, now," Nadia lilts. Her voice is now practically directly above Dottore's head. "We're already here, aren't we? And since we already made up…"
She trails off pointedly, and suddenly, there is a creak over the Harbingers' heads as a weight hits the front counter, and more playful laughter grows suspiciously muffled.
Considering Dottore had been in the same position not even a quarter-hour prior, it doesn't take much brainpower to figure out what's happening above them now.
He looks at Childe dully. Childe suddenly sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, either to stifle a laugh or a smile. If it is the latter, he fails miserably. And while Dottore is now feeling less inclined to slap the expression off his face, he is still not exactly in the mood to match his good humor.
There is even more rustling above them, growing concerningly more feverish by the second, and a little yelp of surprise suddenly escapes Nadia at the counter over their heads, creaking as even more weight is placed upon it. Seemingly sat on the counter now, there is more creaking and straining as Nadia adjusts herself. And then-
"Ouch!" Nadia cries out softly, the word half-muffled as the couple's mouths finally separate.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Vlad asks immediately.
"Oh, yes, I just… I think I sat on something. Hold on." She can be heard half-heartedly rummaging around on the counter behind her. "Ah, it's too dark in here. I can't see what I- Oops!"
The moment the exclamation leaves her mouth, Dottore's mask drops roughly onto the floor right before his eyes, bouncing and skittering to a stop just a bit in front of him. It is completely unharmed, of course - but something about the sight makes his features twitch in annoyance.
"Oh, no. What was that?" Nadia worries distantly. "I can't see a thing. It didn't sound breakable, but-"
"We'll get it later," Vlad blurts out suddenly, his tone grotesquely salacious and hurried. He then does something that elicits another giggle out of Nadia, and suddenly, it's as if their activities were never interrupted in the first place.
That's it.
Dottore silently releases Childe's hand, reaching out for his mask and calmly placing it back on his face. After that is done, he braces his hands at his sides, palms pressed to the floor. He takes a deep breath inwards, and lets it out through his nose sharply.
"Alright," Dottore proclaims. He gives one last look at Childe, just in time to catch the burgeoning horror on his face, presumably because Dottore is now speaking at plain volume. "We're done here."
Dottore hears two things as he finally hoists himself up off the ground; Nadia distractedly asking if Vlad had just said something, and Childe below him, sputtering "No, no, no, wait-" in a whisper as if the hushed tone were still warranted. It is not, of course. By the time Dottore has fully righted himself, the two soldiers fooling around at the teller's window are well aware of his presence, both of them spun around and looking directly at him.
The faces Dottore is finally met with are unsurprisingly unfamiliar, so he can overlook the initial confusion written over their shocked faces and the senseless stuttering that tumbles out of them. They have likely never seen any tangible form of his in their entire lives. But the sudden, almost simultaneous flash of sheer terror that quickly overcomes their expressions tells Dottore that they have likely passed by at least one of the many portraits of his on display in the palace. They both fall dead silent, and Nadia quickly jumps down from the counter and urgently straightens out her uniform once on her feet. Vlad, conversely, seems not to have moved even a single centimeter since Dottore's reveal.
At that point, Dottore grows aware of his rather disheveled appearance. His shirt is still messily untucked from before, and his hair is no doubt sticking up every which way. He cards a hand through that first, smoothing his fringe back and irritably taking notice that Childe has yet to join him at his side. He looks down, and realizes that the Eleventh is now the one with a red-splotched neck and his head hidden in his hands. So this is all it takes to truly embarrass the boy? Dottore finds the revelation to be a bit of a letdown. Though in all fairness, these are his own subordinates they're dealing with; Dottore will likely never see these people again in his life, but Childe is not so lucky.
Not that Dottore has any interest in giving him a break.
"Get up. Now." Dottore orders. Not allowing him the option of refusing, he grabs the back of Childe's collar and forcibly drags him out from under the counter, as if picking up a stray kitten by the scruff. "Up, up, up."
When Childe sheepishly pops up from behind the counter alongside him, the terror written clearly on the other couple's faces turns once again to confusion. Dottore gives them a moment to process, taking the time to dust himself off a bit.
"We didn't see anything," Dottore drones dully after a moment, tucking his shirt back into his pants. Once that is done, he fixes a severe glare on them both. "And neither did you."
Nadia is quicker on the draw. Her eyes dart back and forth between the two Harbingers rapidly for a moment before settling back on Dottore.
"Of course, my Lords," she answers, far more composed than Dottore would have expected. Vlad, on the other hand, looks quite literally petrified in place; Dottore has seen corpses that look better than the man standing in front of him now. But he supposes that he's willing to take the guard's stark white face and gaping mouth as evidence that he, too, understands the gravity of the situation.
"Good. Now move," Dottore says brusquely, putting his hands on the counter. When the movement doesn't come quick enough for his taste, he loses his temper a bit. "Move!"
The second order does the trick, and Nadia quickly steps out of the way, locking arms with Vlad and moving his rigid body with her. With all the dignity he can possibly muster, Dottore hoists himself onto the counter and crawls out the teller's window as gracefully as one can. He straightens himself out once more as soon as he's on the other side of the counter, already walking towards the front door.
Childe crawls out behind him, lingering awkwardly in front of his two soldiers, clicking his tongue just a bit too loudly.
"Uh…" Childe begins dumbly. He seems unable to go anywhere productive from there, and Dottore hears him merely sigh. "Just… Lock up on your way out, okay?"
"Absolutely, Lord Tartaglia," Nadia responds promptly. Dottore doesn't look back, but wouldn't be surprised if Vlad's sustained silence is evidence that the man has already fallen over dead from shock. The idea nearly puts a smirk on his face. But he keeps it to himself - for now, anyway.
"Hurry up, boy!" Dottore barks over his shoulder. "Let's not waste time."
"Did you have to call me 'boy' in front of them?"
It's the first thing that really makes Dottore crack a smile, and he in fact nearly cackles at the question.
The smell of gunpowder still lingers faintly in the air in the wake of the fireworks that only just ceased firing. All things considered, they'd managed to exit the bank with fairly optimal timing. The firework show was just beginning as they stepped outside, so the terrace was crowded, but every set of eyes in the harbor were transfixed on the glittering heavens above. Childe and Dottore were successfully able to slip out of the harbor entirely, finding a secluded spot just outside city limits to wait out the crowd. Childe's impressively pitiful mimping are the first words either of them have said since exiting Northland Bank.
"Do you really think that's what will make them lose respect for you?" Dottore teases. "I can assure you with the utmost certainty, Childe; that alone is not going to bear any weight on their minds."
"Oh, shut up," Childe mopes, crossing his arms. "What's up with you all of a sudden? How come neither of us can be in a good mood at the same time?"
"That sounds like a personal problem on your part, quite frankly," Dottore says wryly. "And who said I'm in a good mood?"
Childe juts out his lower lip. "Ugh. Knock it off, then. There's no need to knock me off my perch when I'm already on the ground."
Dottore had spoken sarcastically, but he doesn't bother to clarify himself. It is, admittedly, just a bit too much fun to watch the boy sulk around like a wounded tiger. And aside from that, Dottore suddenly isn't in the mood to needlessly squabble with him. After the night they've been through, he's eager to soak in as much quiet as he can get.
And it is actually quite peaceful to stand there, as the streets gradually begin to empty out below them, leaving nothing but a galaxy of xiao lanterns behind them. The drone of the city slowly gives way to the melodic chirp of crickets hiding out between stones and in the bushes around them. For the first time all night, Dottore feels a sense of calm. There is no restlessness, no second guessing.
And surprisingly, no fear.
Dottore is not sure how long they stand there before Childe sighs softly, yet again breaking the silence.
"Your boat is still in the port, right?" Childe mutters. "I can walk you back, if you'd like. I don't think there's any more reason to keep you here."
Dottore glances at him out of the corner of his eye. He still looks dreadfully put out, and his gaze is fixed squarely on his own boots as he kicks at the gravel under his feet.
Dottore smiles.
He makes sure it's gone by the time he looks back to the city, merely clicking his tongue in disapproval.
"You're telling me that after all that, you're not even going to invite me back to your quarters?" Dottore chides lightly. "What a dreadful sense of hospitality you have."
"Uh…" Childe trails off initially, like he hasn't entirely processed what Dottore just said. When it hits him, Dottore can see his head slowly perking back up. "What?"
"You heard very well what I said." Dottore regards him with an expectant but carefully neutral expression. "Well? Would you like to try that again?"
The dumbstruck, incredulous look on his face is an absolute delight to witness. Childe's eyes momentarily dart around their surroundings, as if scouting the area for an impending ambush. But when they focus back in on Dottore, he can see the uncertainty written there slowly morphing into optimism.
"Do you… want to join me in my quarters?" Childe asks. His approach is so tentative and polite, Dottore can't help but smirk at him outright.
"Oh, why not?" Dottore muses a bit playfully. "I'm already here, aren't I?"
Childe still looks a bit tentative, but a grin slowly finds his way to his face. "You're not being sarcastic, are you?"
"I am not."
"Really? That wasn't sarcastic, right?"
"No, Childe."
"Okay… And that wasn't-"
"Childe. Take me back to your room."
"Okay, okay, sorry," Childe says quickly, his usual enthusiasm now back in full force as he hops closer to Dottore. "I just can't believe you don't want to leave. I mean- I kind of want to leave town now, if I'm being honest."
Dottore snorts in amusement. "Just because of that? Childe, you've been an enemy of the state before all this."
"I don't care about that," Childe says dismissively. He sidles up beside Dottore and places a hand at the small of his back, gently urging him back in the direction of the city. "But in all honesty, I suppose I don't really care about the other thing, either. I'm just… I really am happy you're here."
Dottore lets himself be led along, always grateful for the times he can manage to coax a gentleman out of this unwieldy rascal. He finds it amusing that such behavior makes Childe seem almost unrecognizable, acting so gracious and courteous like this.
Likewise, another man Dottore does not quite recognize delivers his reply to the serene night around them with a thoughtful hum.
"Mm. I think I am, as well."