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in the dead silence of the bankers office you can hear the way the leather of pantalones gloves tighten at the news of the death of nearly every agent that was sent on the latest mission, a mission that he had orchestrated. death was normal, expected even, in this line of work and he had done his fair share of contributing to it as well but this was not what he anticipated for this particular mission, else he would not have sent you with them. his eyes were serious and dark behind his glasses as he stared back at the fatui agent that had been the one unfortunate enough to tell the regator what happened to the team his beloved was sent with.
“and what of him?”
pantalone didn’t need to specify who he was talking about, for the other agents knew. but much to the harbingers' displeasure they apparently didn’t know enough to let him know of your whereabouts before anyone else's. he’s impatient while he waits for the answer to his question, lacing his fingers together and placing them on top of his desk, feeling a lump in his throat and a lick of fury creeping up his spine.
he hadn’t spent much time thinking about what he actually might do in your demise, after all he had the money and power to protect you, to keep you by his side and you were strong in your own right. he had seen your strength first hand but evidently all of it was not enough and he would not make the same mistake again. you were his and he’d be damned if celestia took you from him.
“he- he is the only survivor,” the agent stutters under the oppressive atmosphere around him, feeling the collar of his shirt tightening like a noose and his hands begin to shake a bit. “upon returning he went to the infirmary-”
the entire space around the 9th harbinger is cold, nearly enough to leave a trail of frost in his wake as he gets up from his desk and immediately heads towards the door, not sparing another glance at the fatui agent as he passes by him.
he looks as composed and elegant as ever walking from his office to the infirmary, the dark coat he wore swaying with each step he took, but inside he still felt that uncomfortable tightness in his chest and the heat of anger at his back. who he was angry at, he’s not sure. perhaps it was the agent who stupidly waited until the last moment to tell him about what happened to you or the entire team that failed or maybe it was himself for being the one to send you out there in the first place.
the smell of disinfectant tingles your nose, the wound cleaning solution burning against the many cuts that littered your body even under the delicate touch of your nurse tending to you. your entire being aches but you couldn’t be bothered by any of it. not when the death of so many weighs like mountains of frigid ice on your mind and heart.
every time you closed your eyes you couldn’t blink away the bloody scene of the slaughter of your comrades and even now you hardly knew how you, and only you, made it out alive. you know you should count yourself lucky but nothing about this felt lucky and you can’t help but wonder if you should have died along with th-
“lord regrator!” the nurses throughout the infirmary are quick to attention when pantalone enters the room and in unisense they welcome him.
he doesn’t pay them any mind, his eyes immediately fixated on you from the moment he spotted you sitting on top of the exam table, beat up, bruised and bloodied but alive. within moments he’s by your side, the cool leather of his gloves pressing against your skin as he grabs your chin and forces you to look into his eyes.
you want to pull away and hide your eyes, fearful that he would find nothing but weakness within your soul and that you’d lose the battle with the tears you had tried so hard to hold in the entire way back home but his grip is tight, not powerful enough to hurt you but still enough so that there was no escaping his piercing gaze as he studied you. it’s as if he was committing to memory every scratch and bruise on your body, ready to repay those who dared to lay their filthy hands on you. it was his job as an honorable businessman, after all.
“who did this?” he asks, his voice cold, calculating, threatening and even though you know it’s not directed at you, you can hardly stand to hear it.
swatting his hand away, you pull your face from his grasp and instead focus on the silver bowl at your side that’s filled with bloodied water and shines in the evening light filtering through the windows. you don’t have any answers, don’t have anything to say that won't immediately lead you to tears that you swore would drown you if you let them rage.
“it’s fine,” you mutter under your breath before biting your bottom lip. it’s the first real words you’ve spoken since the ordeal but you’re speaking quietly enough he might not have heard it at all had his attention not been so focused on you but you really don’t know who you were saying it to reassure. it felt like it was more for you than it was for him.
you don’t say anything else the entire time the nurses finish working on your wounds or on the way back to your shared home with the harbinger at your side as the sun sets and the moonlight begins to glisten on the snow. normally you’d love to see the snezhnayian night, admiring how beautiful it looked under silver rays of light and white powder that laid across the land like a blanket, it was serene, breathtaking, but after this mission you swear each time you blinked you saw the same blood stained canvas you had run from; crimson painted mercilessly in the snow. would you ever be able to admire these cold nights the same again?
if he’s asked you questions or said anything more, you really don’t know. it’s so hard to hear anything over the noises in your head that replay your living nightmare, over the tiredness that loomed over your body and mind. you can only hold onto his arm and walk beside him, focusing on the freezing ground under your feet and trying to keep the thin thread of your sanity from fraying. it isn’t until you’re changing into soft silken pajamas, the price of them no doubt more than you needed to be spent on you but pantalone insisted on spoiling you with the finest of things, buttoning up the last few buttons that cover your chest, that you finally hear him and you feel the strands of your senses begin to unravel one by one.
“will you not speak to me y/n?” his words are soft, full of worry and concern, a stark contrast to the way he spoke when you were back at the infirmary and it makes your eyes well with the tears you tried so hard to hold in.
you were facing away from him, just a few inches from the opened drawer of the dresser that held your clothes, and you’re thankful for that. if you had been looking at him there was no way you could have hidden the pain that was making its way to the surface, so much stronger than the will you used to keep it down until now. would he think you were weak if you were to shatter into a million pieces in the palm of his hand? surely he -
his hand on your shoulder is gentle but with it leaves the last bit of your composure. you reach for the dresser as your legs give way, your sobbing so loud it feels deafening in the quiet of your bedroom but your hands never touch the mahogany of the dresser. instead they’re collected by gloveless hands and pulled into the chest of the man you love, warm, welcoming, safe.
still you cannot face him but you don’t dare move from his grasp, not when it was the only thing keeping you above the water of your tears, so instead you bury your face into his chest and cling onto his dark clothes for dear life.
you try to stutter out the words of your failure to complete the mission, your grief and guilt of being the only one to make it out alive, but it all comes out an incoherent mess. all he can hear for certain is your whimpers of ‘i’m sorry’ over and over again.
“shh.. it is alright. you have no reason to be sorry,” gingerly he shushes you while running a hand over your hair and holding you just as tightly as you do him with the other, as if he too might have been afraid, and afraid of having almost lost you he was. “you did everything you could.. you made it back to me and that is all i could truly ask for.”
you don’t know how long you cry into his chest, you only know it was long enough to soak the cloth that rests under your cheeks, but eventually, when it was evident your tears would not be stopping soon, that your body was moments from giving up, he lifts you into his arms and carries you into bed.
the sheets are just as you remember, warm despite the freezing cold of the place you called home, filled with the expensive scent of the finest shampoos and perfumes that were offered in teyvat, but more importantly, pantalone being beside you. he easily pulls your curled up figure into him, never once letting you go or allowing your mind to further sink into the abyss of your pain. onyx hair tickles your skin as he holds you, the steady beat of his heart echoing in your ears and for the first time since you made it out of that hell, you start to think you might be okay. maybe not now or anytime soon, but eventually, as long as pantalone stayed by your side.
he collects every tear, be it on his clothing or with his pale slender fingers, and continues to comfort you, pouring every ounce of tenderness a harbinger would not be known to have into his movements and words. to have brought this upon you, while not being the one doing the killing- though he thinks he might as well have with his choice to send you on this mission, he would do everything he could to make it right, to take away your pain and bring back your loving smile. no other man could compare to your light and love and pantalone would ensure that you never lost that, for you were his most precious of possessions, his love, his one and only.
even after your body and mind have given way to the exhaustion that clung to you so heavily, your breathing now even and your red puffy eyes now resting, he continues to caress over your hair, up and down your back, placing chaste kisses to the crown of your head; attempting his best to overturn the gruesome memories with better ones, ones of his devoted love for you.
“i will not make this mistake again… no one, not even the tsaritsa, will ever take you from me my love and you shall not suffer in this alone.”