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If it were any other two men, the situation would have been dire. Two lone soldiers separated from their battalion, deep behind enemy lines, fighting off a blizzard closing them in on all sides? It was an ordeal those weary men might not make it back from. But if they were Harbingers?
No, the situation wasn't quite so dire. Only dire enough to make Childe feel restless, and for the rigid line of his shoulders to start hurting by the time the sun began setting on the Snezhnayan mountains. If it were just him, he would have fought his way out; not because of any profound distaste he harbored for either rebels or snowstorms, but simply because he detested idle hands.
Dottore did too, but he had still insisted they wait out the storm. Childe was sure he had his reasons, and he was sure they were good ones; his senior did better understand the virtue of lying low. But in the end, Childe just didn't see much point in the breath that would be wasted arguing over it.
The dark cavern they'd found for shelter made him feel antsier still, so during the last break in the storm before nightfall, he'd wandered out to the edge of the cliff, taking a seat in the snow and watching the distant horizon. But the setting sun left much to be desired, for there was no sky to be seen nor any shape to the day. The light simply faded. White turned to grey, and grey would eventually fade to black - or possibly go white again, depending on how bad the blizzard got. But that was all. There was no magical melding of colors like he so often saw overseas, those decadent gradients of golds and pinks and purples and even more than he could name. It was just dreary. Morose. Unremarkable.
Childe shivered at the thought - though now that the reflex had pulled him out of his thoughts, he wondered if he'd spent just a bit too long sitting out in the cold. The tip of his nose and apples of his cheeks were beginning to burn, and the feeling in his fingers wasn't quite all there when they touched down upon a narrow glass bottle tucked away in the breast pocket of his coat. He should go back to their fire. He'd need to drink in all the warmth he could stand before nightfall.
But just a little longer wouldn't hurt. In the meantime, he could drink up a different kind of warmth.
"I would really prefer not to drag your frozen corpse down the mountain behind me tomorrow," a voice suddenly droned behind him. "So perhaps you should consider coming back to the fire."
Childe looked over his shoulder, unsurprisingly met with a shock of blue on the grey. The severe mask over the Doctor’s eyes offered little insight into how he was really feeling; the perturbed curve of his lips offered just a bit more.
A scoff tumbled out of Childe, and he raised an eyebrow in Dottore’s direction. "You're not supposed to bring the corpses home with you at this kind of altitude. If you try that, you're more likely to accidentally stick around with it."
"Mm. Indeed. And what an utterly insane point to bring to the table," Dottore retorted dully. "All the more reason to return to shelter, don't you agree?"
"Worried for my health, Doctor?"
"No. I'd simply prefer to keep you in my sights. I don't need you galivanting off in the snow."
Childe let out a little hum of amusement, but turned back to the muted horizon. "In a minute."
"Why?" Dottore groused. "There's absolutely no point in staying out here."
It was a fair question, and it came with fair answers: because he felt a bit more at home out in the elements than he would have by the fire. Because it was better to suffer the chill of winter than it was to sit with the chill of uncertainty. Because there was a certain part of Childe that wanted to go back in - and that was a desire that could prove more dangerous than sitting out in the cold.
Dottore had never outright given him any reason to distrust him. What he lacked in staunch loyalty he made up for with staunch reason. His work was very important to him, even if his duty did not take first priority; there would be no reason for him to thrust his position into a precarious balance for the sake of catching a fellow Harbinger unaware. And even if something untoward were to happen between the two of them… Childe lacked the modesty to take the Second's rank to heart. There was no doubt in his mind that he could overcome whatever trials the Doctor may impose if the whim were to strike him.
Still. Childe supposed he just preferred keeping to himself, at the end of the day. His dedication was unflappable, but a difficult boon for others to come by. For all those traits and little eccentricities the Doctor possessed that intrigued him - and intrigued him greatly - they were still only comrades in name alone.
But that was nothing that Dottore wanted to hear, nor was it anything Childe wished to share. He just pulled that little bottle out of his coat with a chuckle, replying, "It's no real concern. I have other things to warm me up in the meantime."
As Childe twisted the cap off the bottle, he heard the snow crunch behind him as Dottore made a slow approach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Doctor peering curiously at the object in his hand - a small glass of firewater, no bigger than a leather flask. Dottore's lips twisted up in distaste.
"All that does is lower the core temperature of the body, you know," he said flatly. "And I would sincerely prefer it if you didn't inebriate yourself while on duty."
"I'm not going to get drunk," Childe scoffed. "It's just a little something to take the edge off. And it takes a lot more than this to throw me off my game."
"Eager to test your limits, are you?"
Childe shot a smirk in his direction. "With my constitution, or with you?"
"Both." Dottore crossed his arms over his chest indignantly.
Childe laughed, bringing the bottle up to his lips. "You can always go back inside if you don't like it."
With that, he threw his head back, that acrid, crystalline substance following with it. That pleasant burn of the sinuses, the warmth spreading out from his throat as he swallowed it down - there was really nothing else like it. A shot of liquid fire in the bitter cold.
Childe was a bit surprised to notice Dottore still standing there after the burn had passed, and he looked up at him curiously.
"What?" Childe asked, a slight edge to his voice.
Dottore pressed his lips into a stern line. "You seem shockingly perplexed by the fact that I may have found your insolence to be unsatisfactory."
"I already told you I'd be back in a minute."
"And I told you I'd prefer if I could keep an eye on you."
"Keep an eye on me out here, then," Childe retorted, waving his hand dismissively. "You can handle a little cold, can't you?"
"Watch your tone," Dottore droned. Though he often admonished Childe's behavior, he never exhibited much interest in keeping on top of it; even now the warning came off as unenthusiastic, nothing more than a dull rumble in his chest. But he made no moves to leave, simply turning his gaze towards the far distance.
"What's wrong?" Childe jeered. "Starting to wish you'd brought some of your own?"
"No. I don't touch the stuff."
"Why not?"
"It hinders the mind. Dulls the senses over time." Dottore's head tilted fractionally in his direction, the only indication that his eyes had drifted. "You'd do well to kick that sort of habit while you're still young."
Childe laughed heartily at that, taking a rather petulant sip as he did. "Are you lecturing me, Doctor?"
Dottore tutted loudly. "Only if you are willing to listen," he said with a shake of his head. "But one cannot be taught if he is unwilling to learn. And I perish the thought of wasting my breath."
"I won't make you, then," Childe said dryly. But he shot the Doctor a playful look anyway, if only to goad him further. "But maybe I'd be more inclined if you happened to teach something worth knowing."
"Oh?" Dottore's lips twitched upwards slightly. "And what subjects are those, the ones you've deemed worthy of your time?"
A short, hearty bark of a laugh escaped him then. The fog his breath kicked up hit the frigid breeze and blew back in his face, and his stinging cheeks seem to burn just a bit hotter.
"I don't know, I guess," Childe chuckled. "On second thought, I don't think I'm the type that could stand a lecture."
Dottore pursed his lips, looking down at him with an inscrutable expression. But after a moment, he merely sighed. "Then what a waste of a perfectly good mind."
"I wouldn't go that far." Childe paused. "You really think it's a good one, though?"
There was a flicker of dissatisfaction, and then blatant disinterest. Beyond that, Dottore didn't respond.
Childe didn't say anything else either. Not for a long time, anyway. Not until the Second's unwavering presence looming over him began to make him uneasy again.
"If you really are going to just watch me, can you at least sit down?" Childe piped up, feeling a little annoyed. "It's strange, just standing over me like that."
He expected another argument, or for the Second to finally lose interest in him - what he got instead was a heavy sigh, and Dottore easing himself down on the ground beside him.
Childe just watched him for a moment, the Doctor's eyes still locked on the far distance. After a few moments, his stare caught his senior's attention. Dottore frowned at him, head tilted questioningly in his direction.
Not knowing what else to do, Childe suddenly remembered the bottle in his hand. Slowly, he held it out to Dottore, offering it to him with a little nod. Dottore's lips twisted back in disgust, and he actually reeled back a bit. But after a second, he froze in his tracks; perhaps he found his own revulsion to be undignified, or maybe his own curiosity got the better of him. Regardless, that grimace of disgust shifted into a mere scowl as he snatched the bottle from Childe's hand.
"Insistent, aren't you?" Dottore groused, sniffing the bottle’s contents before bringing it to his lips. "I wouldn't have expected you, of all people, to have such a fixation on dulling your own senses."
"That's not why I do it." Childe watched with fond amusement as Dottore threw a swig back, his visible features immediately growing pinched. But he took it better than Childe would have expected - telling him that despite the lecture, it was something the Second had indeed touched before. Though his dissatisfaction with the drink was still evident as he let out a brisk, annoyed exhale, shoving the bottle back against Childe's chest.
"And what other reason could you possibly have for keeping that hog swill on you?" Dottore asked hoarsely.
Childe took the bottle back, fastening the cap back on as a grin pulled at his lips.
"It warms you up," he said simply. "It can warm you up to a lot of things, if you let it."