Work Text:
A final signature is placed on the crisp paper. Pantalone can’t help but feel proud of himself; finally, all of the papers that required his attention have been reviewed. Finally, he is up-to-date with his work.
He looks up from his messy desk, to the clock that sits over the burning fireplace, but it only sours his mood.
11 p.m.
Not like he doesn’t stay up for hours to do work– no, of course he does. But this time is different. Most of the time when he does stay up, his husband is somewhere close, either sleeping in their bed– not even five steps away from him –or down in his basement doing some kind of horrifying experiment that’s barely legal.
This time is different, because it is eleven in the evening and there isn’t even a whiff of his husband.
Pantalone spent the whole evening alone in their house, trying to occupy himself for long enough that he wouldn’t start to worry about Zandik.
Not like he had any reason to worry, he was more than capable of taking care of himself. The man did spend one too many months in the desert all by himself, so a mansion sized building that is heated and is supplied with every necessity possible should be more than comfortable for him.
Still, Pantalone was worried, and he couldn’t just stay at home doing obsoletely nothing, lying to himself that all is fine, and all will be fine.
He silently racked his brain for what he could do. He really shouldn’t do anything impulsive, he really shouldn’t let his emotions take charge...
After a moment, he thought of a simple yet effective idea.
Pantalone went down to their kitchen perhaps a bit too fast, and perhaps he dialled the number a bit too hastily, but that in no way meant anything. Do not misunderstand.
It took awhile, but the person on the other end answered: “Who’s calling me at midnight..?” Sandrone sounded exhausted, her throat was also hoarse.
He would smile at such a passive-aggressive greeting, but there was a certain heaviness in his heart that had to be released: “It’s me, Pantalone. Look, Sandrone, could you tell me if anything had happened to the Doctor today?”
There was a short delay before the voice spoke once again: “How would I know?! You’re his husband, and you should know the answer to that!”
Pantalone sighed. “Could you at least tell me if you saw him before you left? He isn’t home currently and I do not know where he is.” At some point during the conversation, he had started to curl the long wire around his fingers.
More silence. “Oh, right, I didn’t see him for the whole day. But I did pass by a group of students that go to his lectures, and they were talking about the fact that their lecture with the man didn’t happen or something.” A long yawn was heard over the line. “Absolutely no idea what happened to him. But if I were you, I would go to check up on him, the man finds new ways with which to kill himself and people around him every day.”
He can’t help but frown at such a statement. “Alright then. Thanks, Sandrone.” He goes to hang up, but then he hears the telephone on the other line be forcefully put down, a jarring noise sounding out.
Pantalone sighs and unlike the other person, he puts down the handset slowly, gently.
This is not good.
Something has happened to Zandik, and it is so troubling that it forced him to take a whole day off without prior warning…
He has no choice but to go to the Institute himself.
It is a nice night in Snezhnaya. No snow falling, no clouds obstructing the sky, the beautiful nebula and a sea of stars visible to the naked eye.
Sure, the majestic view is barely visible in the capital because of all the lighting, but some stars shine bright all the same.
But then, at the centre of the capital, not so far from the Zapolyarny Palace, stands a dramatically large building– Shneznaya’s Institute of Science and Technology.
It is surrounded by a large garden which is covered with shining white snow, and also is protected by high iron fences. The only currently available way in is through the main gate, beside which sits a small guard house, a warm light shining bright inside it, a stark contrast to the darkness outside.
He drove right up to the gate, awaiting to be let it.
The guard, a short middle-aged man that has always looked suspiciously like the mayor, softly knocks on his window.
Pantalone rolls it down.
“Evening, Lord Pantalone! It is not often I see a great Harbinger this late at night trying to get into the Institute.” The man chuckled, his face tired, eye bags hanging heavy.
Pantalone always liked the man, perhaps it was the honest face. “Good evening, if it was up to me, I wouldn’t be here by any means. But life doesn’t go so smoothly, huh?” He gave a polite smile, only a sliver of teeth.
The other man forced a large smile, probably too tired to try to seem natural: “Of course it doesn’t, hah! Ah, just get a light, it’s dark at this time there.” He hurried back to his small house, opening the gate via his controls.
Pantalone drives up to the foyer, leaving his car where normally he shouldn’t, lest he get a ticket or a look from his superior.
And he enters, unlocking heavy doors, opening and then shutting them right after, since there is no good reason to let in the cold air inside. No, the bills are already too high, too expensive even for such an extravagant building.
The stained-glass window that welcomed each and every person who entered this establishment was currently illuminated by the moonlight, showing off its full glory, showing off the image of an obsidian-black raven and a snow-white rat: (in his lover’s opinion) the two smartest animals that live side by side with humans.
(It has once or twice occurred to Pantalone that the images, although seemingly having a pretty shallow meaning, might actually mean more to the Doctor than some may think at first. Ah, not like the man himself ever answers his questions about it. No, most of the time, he just murmurs something under his breath and a soft pink colours his cheeks.)
During the day, it looks holly, untouchable, a symbol of just how prestigious this place is. And at night, when the moon shines a pale yellow and lights up the glass, it makes you feel small. It makes you become overly conscious about the fact that you are but a mere mortal.
But this is not the first time Pantalone is here at the dead of night, so he barely gives a glance at the window, rather, he takes out his handy torch and proceeds.
The only thing that lights up the halls is the thin moon, but even then, you can barely see anything.
And the halls all look the same, with evenly spaced-out doors and signs with room numbers written on them. Pantalone would prefer more personality, but this place was not built to be pretty. This place was built to be a place of the greatest minds of Snezhnaya and beyond, to be a direct competitor to the Akademiya.
The latter thought is not necessarily disclosed to the public by any means, but the mere fact that the great Doctor created and lead this project says enough about its purpose.
Pantalone remembers the day when Zandik first made him aware of his grand idea.
They both became partners not too long ago, just a few months had passed since they’ve signed that faithful contract. And the proposed idea– well, it was more so a sketch, barely an idea –the biggest centre of knowledge in Teyvat! And the madman dared to seek a budget too, a budget so big it could power the current Institute for over five years.
Oh, and how everyone looked at him when he denied the obviously stupid request! Everyone called him a dead man, no one expected him to last more than a week!
And yet, somehow, he stayed alive.
After the first proposal, soon followed a row of others. Each one better than the last, more detailed, planned out, even the sum of money requested decreased. And then finally, after a year of proposals, Pantalone concluded that Zandik’s plans were good enough to be wasted money on and that the construction could be started as soon as he wanted.
Pantalone also remembers when both of them celebrated in his office after the building was finished.
Perhaps that was the moment when he had truly looked at the Doctor, saw him as more than a colleague, more than a mad scientist that wasted Mora like it was nothing to him. Perhaps that evening, that they spent in his office observing the sunset and drinking foreign wine, was the actual start to their partnership.
Merely perhaps, of course.
He pulls himself out of his reminiscing, leaving his warm memories in exchange for the dark halls of the institute.
He instinctively stops before a door, and shines his light to the sign on it.
C157
Biological engineering
D.Sc. Il Dottore
And he pushes the door open, noting the fact that it’s unlocked.
It is dark, no lights turned on, merely the moonshine from the windows and his torch lighting up the empty class.
At his desk, griping its edges, staring down at some paper, surely, is Zandik. Only half of him is visible, the rest– shadows. His hair is now the colour of ink, usually white clothing now stained with... something. His husband doesn’t look like himself, more so a husk.
Pantalone takes slow steps and places his torch on the desk, making sure it doesn’t shine right at the other’s face.
“Good evening, Doctor, has it ever occurred to you that getting yourself a watch would be beneficial? It seems like you’ve lost track of time again.” He begins slowly, making sure his voice isn’t too loud or demeaning.
Zandik exhales shakily, letting on more weight on his arms, his head falling lower.
He decides that this night is not going to be an easy one: “What happened, dear?” Pantalone slowly stalks over to his partner’s side, also putting his hands on the cluttered desk.
It takes a few long moments for the sulking to end, and for airy words to come out: “The… one of the Segments… Alpha, is dead… and I–” Zandik's shoulders falter, but his head slowly turns to his beloved. “He meant so much to me, to us.”
Pantalone can see a deep frown on the other's face, his mouth sneering. And if he looked hard enough, if the lights were just a bit brighter, he could see that the man’s eyes were red and wet with tears.
“He reminded us of better days, before everything. And–” The man had to cough to suppress a sob. “Gamma found him laying there– I just can’t–”
Before Zandik can even finish, his lover is already on his feet, pulling him into a tight embrace. And he starts muttering soft, comforting words into the shell of his ear, Pantalone has one hand in blue hair, brushing it softly, while the other is around the man’s waist, keeping them together in a tight hold.
“I understand, darling, I understand. But you mustn’t let his death take you over.” A small kiss on the cheekbone. “If you come with me, back home, we can talk about Alpha in better conditions. And I’ll call Pierro first thing morning, and ask him to give you a week off. Just, please, come home.”
Pantalone can feel his husband melting, he probably hasn’t slept for a while too.
After a long silence, a weak voice finally comes out: “Fine. But you're going to have to deal with Mu, I’m going to rest.”
And the other smiles, just a bit, only happy because one of his problems is solved. “Rest, dear, rest.” He gives one last kiss on the forehead.
The drive back home is uneventful. With his husband half asleep on his shoulder, and the darkness of the night enveloping the whole world, there is only the sound of the car’s engine and quiet breathing.
Nothing more but the tires on the uneven road, the slim crescent moon hanging above with the stars, and the snow that is like a permanent blanket over the ground and trees.
For now, at least, all is well.
And they get home, their miniature mansion a sight for sore eyes. Pantalone struggles to take Mu up to their bedroom– apparently, the man is heavier than he looks –and by the end, he's out of breath and has to rest on the bedside for a minute or two.
He starts to undress the man, when suddenly, a rasp voice comes out of chapped lips: "Pantalone..? What time is it?"
The unexpected conversation first spooks him, but he tries to hide it: “It is past midnight now, Mu, it is time to rest.” He carries clean pyjamas to their bed, starting to unbutton Mu’s shirt.
There is only a mere hum, no real response spoken.
So Pantalone pushes further: “I’ve never seen you so… still… Alpha really meant a lot to every single one of you, hm?” He makes sure the shirt that he puts on his darling is comfortable, and then moves down to the pants.
Finally, words come out: “Of course. You probably haven’t seen him much then, have you?”
A moment of thought. “Only a couple of times, briefly.”
“Zandik never let him take over. But all of us adored him, he was like a time capsule from better times, a time capsule from when we haven't even stepped on Akademiya's doorstep.” A short pause. “He was seven, I believe, and he was stuck on the first day of school. If you would’ve asked him how it was, you could only ever get a purely negative response, because in his opinion, there was obsoletely nothing good in that place.” A smile appeared on his lips, revealing pointy teeth. “We never told him what happens to us in the future, because the odd looks that he got from the other children are nothing compared to what Delta experienced…” By now, Pantalone had finished and settled down beside him in bed. “It’s difficult to explain, sorry if you don't understand.”
A tired smile tugged Pantalone's lips. “I understand all of you fully. Comparing your simple childhood to the dreadful future makes you laugh." A short chuckle escaped him. "But, ah, it's time to rest now, darling, sweet dreams.” A soft kiss on the forehead, and a strong embrace were the last things both of them remembered about the day.