Chapter Text
Charilaos
It wasn’t often that Charilaos was given a day off. Usually they were afforded either a week off, or they were busy for days at a time, carrying out The Doctor’s most private and personal whims. Not tasks, those were official. What they do varies so much that at this point they’ve stopped bothering to categorize it. Anything from killing a handful of nobles in Liyue to bringing back a very valuable ruin guard core. Whatever he requires. In the past they’d also have to deal with his… patients. But, Chari soon made themselves useful enough in other ways that they didn’t have to stick around them for long. It was only easier on a technical level.
It wasn’t anything special, they just had a day off and wanted to spend it with Hanan. Or half of it at least, it was fairly dark out by the time they got back. Some rare mushroom needed collection and someone else needed to be dealt with, a long chain of messy events that comprised their work trip of sorts. Chari didn’t have anything planned either. It was just whatever Hanan wanted, within reason of course, they still hadn’t forgiven Chari for maybe, just maybe putting a snake in their room… while they were asleep. Regardless, most of their thoughts as they walked down the sleek halls of Dottore’s main facility through a few smaller hallways and to a fairly unassuming, if isolated room, were about how, as sappy and stupid as it sounds they kind of just wanted to cuddle for a bit. It’s hard for them now, to feel that relaxed without a little help.
Chari reasoned that they had timed their return well enough, Hanan usually got out of their lessons around this time and if they were staying late, well Chari could always find something to do. That poem they had abandoned maybe. As they walked the crisp click of their shoes startled them. Just for a moment, a single misstep and the lightest flinch later, the tiniest whisper that even now, they’re just like him. Chari promised themselves they’d stay sober for this but… they’ll see if Hanan is even free first. Their steps begin to slow, evening back out, softening just as they reach Hanan’s rooms.
“Hanan, are you free yet?” Chari calls out a little playfully as they knock on Hanan’s door, Chari’s mind begins to drift as they wait for around a minute, thinking of Faye, how many things they neglected while they were away, and a bit pressingly, whether or not Dottore will want a formal report. Just as they begin to dread, there is a faint scuffling sound that emanates from Hanan’s door.
“Chari? Um. Just let me… I gotta do something-“ Hanan’s voice is… soft and thick in a way that’s almost syrupy, it’s as if they were, bluntly, stoned halfway to hell. But, something sounds off to Chari, they sound tired, scatterbrained in a way that’s unusual for them. Chari feels themselves tense as they begin to form an only halfheartedly scolding remark about their drug use, something gives them pause though, a nagging in the back of their mind that maybe this is something different.
“You little- are you seriously so stoned that you won’t even let me in? I won’t tell Dottore unless you piss me off,” Chari responds in a rougher, but still light tone, though now it’s tinged with a clear line of worry as their voice hardens in a way they rush to play off. They aren’t stupid enough to run out of the gate yelling. As Chari waits for a response they begin to wonder just what their stupid little sibling actually took.
Hanan replies slowly, after an already slow pause but now it is clear just how off their voice sounds. It’s as if they’re on the verge of slurring every word. “No. No I’m not I’m just- I’m really tired.. could you come back later? I’m not- I’m not high I promise, I just-“ Now that they’ve spoken for longer Chari can even make out an unusual rasp to their voice, pain maybe? Chari quickly puts a hand on the door as they try to even their breathing and stop themselves from jumping to disastrous conclusions, or worse, fucking things up with Hanan. As Chari debates whether or not they should open the door themselves, Hanan lets out a muffled and pained whine, dulled as it may be by the odd rasp to their voice, it’s still audible.
“Hey. I won’t tell, but I am gonna open the door, okay?” Chari begins coaxingly, though there is a firm undercurrent to their voice, they’re being gentle, but at the heart of it, it’s not a request. With a quiet murmur of satisfaction at their own foresight of keeping a copy of Hanan’s room key, they unlock the door. opening it slowly as if Hanan is more frightened animal than a tripped up teenager.
“What? No, Chari please. Don’t. Wait at least.” Hanan rambles with obvious panicked, though whatever is affecting them is still slowing their speech, it’s panic mixed with a smoky and bone deep tiredness as the door swings open to reveal Hanan.
Hanan’s bedroom is, by all accounts much cozier than one would expect, warm even, considering that it is nestled within a quiet wing of Dottore’s lab, a place not particularly known for its warm comforts. For a moment Chari can’t help but be reminded of their fondness for Hanan, a now wilted bundle of jasmine sits on the still frosted windowsill, Chari usually brings one back for Hanan if they’re heading out to Sumeru. Initially they would beg and cry for Chari to bring one back, now it’s become something softer, vulnerable and unspoken, but it’d still be so much easier if they’d only pick a sturdier flower. The stack of thick blankets that sit beside their bed indefinitely because no matter how many years go by they’ve never gotten used to the cold. Though it never stopped them from wandering the halls at night, usually until either Dottore or Chari themselves entertained or comforted them. A small crevice lies in between two stones on the floor, kept concealed by a thick rug, though even that is unable to conceal it, not from Chari. Is where Hanan keeps their- things they don’t want their father to find. Chari always thought it was a little cute, and painfully obvious, but it’s not that they’d snitch without reason, of course. A decently ornate desk is cluttered with all manner of trinkets, countless letters, those that were received lay in a neat visible stack, next to the messy pile of half finished replies that are strewn about between a handful of well loved- debatable considering Hanan’s feelings on their practical applications but well worn nonetheless. A lab coat has been hastily thrown over the back of a chair, as well. Though Hanan isn’t without their own peculiarities, a few animals skulls occupy the space next to their new, similarly ornate and less than approved of catalyst.
There’s an.. unusual object on Hanan’s nightstand, Chari pauses for a moment in their confusion, It’s an oddly intricate piece of glass and metal… filled with the remnants of a strange dark liquid. It’s then that they notice the faint curl of smoke. Incense maybe? But it curls like hookah smoke despite its dark greyish color. It takes a moment for Chari to process what they’re seeing, understandably so, it’s not something they’re all that familiar with. However, they do eventually realize that the odd contraption on Hanan’s nightstand is in fact, a now empty god remains-syringe with its fat, twirled needle that now drips with what is left of the magical, and incredibly volatile liquid.
It all falls into place as Chari moves to stand over Hanan. A downy, almost feathery black sweater has moved to curl just below Hanan’s fingertips, it’s visibly disheveled from their consistent tossing and turning, accompanied by a pair of equally comfortable, if slightly more professional leggings. It seems that many of their usual accessories have been thrown about Hanan’s desk. A handful of bangles and necklaces lay in a tangled pile on their nightstand. Their dark curls are unrulier than usual, falling around their shoulders and clinging to their face with a fervor from the sweat that’s been caused by the pain and exhaustion as a result of.. whatever it is Hanan has done. lying there not exactly unconscious but certainly out of it as the only sounds that escape their lips now are soft, painted sounds while Hanan cradles their left arm protectively, between their fingers Chari can just make out the faintest tinges of a dark purple ish grey to their veins that stand out against the brown of Hanan’s skin while they curl in on themselves, shaking continuously as they turn their head to the side, revealing a prominent, owlish nose, rounded and circular eyes that are just large enough to be a bit off putting. and vaguely heart shaped lips that would be soft if they weren’t cracked, a little split and bleeding as their features are scrunched in a persistent, and surprisingly quiet agony. For a moment Hanan is completely unaware of Chari’s arrival, in that blissful and excruciating moment they are alone with their greatest success, or perhaps their greatest failure, only time will tell.
“Hanan. oh please. Fuck. Fuck. It’s- it’s gonna be alright, okay? Just like when you were little and couldn’t sleep. It’ll be better in just a little bit. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I love you- fuck.” Chari murmurs softly, a straining calm is the only thin veil concealing their panic while they bring their forehead to Hanan’s gently, so very gently as Chari begins threading their shaking fingers through Hanan’s hair and kissing their forehead, holding on to them protectively for a few indulgent moments before they mumble something unintelligible and soothing as they stand.
Hanan pleads in a choked and desperate rasp as their voice sounds even thicker than before. “Chari? Wait- don’t… go to him, please. Chari. I’m sorry. It worked- I’m sorry.” They grab for Chari weakly with their less injured hand and begin to cry softly and quietly in between the now muffled sounds of pain. When Hanan turns their head to look at Chari closely, their eyes are dilated and glassy. It takes barely any effort for Chari to pull away from Hanan, they’re used to being the stronger of the two but, this is different. It’s only another moment before Chari has pivoted sharply, leaving the room and making a beeline for an area of the palace they had previously planned on avoiding.
The Doctor’s more private experiments are conducted at the end of a winding labyrinth of doors and hallways, why he insisted on keeping them so far from Hanan’s rooms, Chari understood. Normally, but in this instance it serves only to infuriate and upset them as they walk quickly, their shoulders still shaking faintly as they grip the handles of the heavy double doors. Knocking is a courtesy that Chari has learned that they no longer need to abide, at least in emergencies. As Chari slips inside they quickly realize why Hanan was able to do something so foolish in the first place. Dottore, with his back turned and head bent over an operating table is currently, wrist deep in the Balladeer’s chest cavity. Something they, quite frankly don’t give a fuck about. Though, the doll’s head does tilt towards them with an unabashedly curious expression replacing a previous cloudy and vacant one, a slight smirk and an arched eyebrow glance at them silently.
“I don’t have time for your tantrum. Leave.” Dottore’s tone is final, clearly intended to be scolding, though the strong undercurrent of tiredness in his voice softens it. His hands are deft and practiced in a way that could almost be mistaken for uncaring boredom as he speaks without looking up from his work. The ‘work’ in question only smirks wider as he continues peering at Chari amusedly.
Chari responds flatly. There’s a sharp, almost accusatory edge of panic to their voice as they approach the pair, any fear they may feel at approaching Dottore is soon swept away by the suffocating thought that they are helpless to save Hanan. “Wrong person. Hanan may be dying, God-remains.” Before either Chari can spiral or Dottore can respond, a reedy laugh, almost a bark that would be musical if it wasn’t so dry and sarcastic, shatters the silence.
“Oh that’s hilarious! You try so hard and yet you still can’t manage to hide your insanity from your precious little darling before they’re either hating you or following right in your footsteps. I imagine it’ll be the former, eventually.” The Balladeer’s derisive voice rings out clear and sharp in the cold, tense room. There is a pause, an intake of breath as a singular motion, fluid and violent in equal measure, causes a crack to echo throughout the room. The Balladeer’s smirk is wiped off his face while his derisive laughter is replaced by quiet, pained wheezes as Dottore calmly removes his gloved hand from within Scaramouche’s chest.
“What happened? When did this happen?” Dottore mutters with a frustrated roughness to his voice as he grabs an unmarked syringe. The doors slam shut on the doll’s still wheezing form as the remaining pair continue down the cold labyrinth of hallways. Chari’s only response is a shrug and a rough shake of their head. Now, as the severity of situation fully sets in, it seems to them as if words aren’t enough to convey anything of note.
When the door to Hanan’s room is opened a second time, there is a shift or sorts in the air. While Hanan has visibly deteriorated, the shaking, discoloration in their veins, and the rasp to their voice have all worsened, Dottore- perks up in a way. Gone is his frustrated and tired boredom, in its place there is an icy, yet commanding and so, so very assured air to him that fills the room as Chari allows themselves to take a half step away from the situation. In the simplest of terms, Chari has done what was expected of them, and they no longer need to fray at the threads of their mind over whether or not they are capable of making important decisions enough to save Hanan. That’s not required of them, after all.
As Chari steps away Dottore instead rushes to Hanan, muttering to himself and to Hanan as he kneels beside them. “You stupid, presumptuous child- Hanan. Rouhi? Can you hear me?” Dottore continues, more clinical than pleading or soothing, though there is less bite to his words than Chari expected as he checks Hanan’s pulse and begins to examine their affected arm. Unfortunately for Dottore, it is at that moment when Hanan comes to enough to notice his presence, and begins to panic. As much as they can in such a state, anyway.
Hanan begins to squirm, bracing themselves on a forearm as they try to both sit up and wrench their other arm from Dottore’s grip. “No. No. Don’t- it’s not that bad, please, don’t hurt me.” Hanan rambles in a quiet, even more disoriented rasp as their own panic seems to slice through the slurring of their words for a time. As they begin to thrash and squirm faint wisps of smoke do coalesce and shudder, if only for a split second before dissipating. Hanan’s attempt at moving away is, an effort, however Dottore who is already leagues stronger at the best of times has no difficulty keeping them from doing anything beyond making things difficult for him. Though both restraining and treating them at the same time is another matter, with a sharp motion of his head Chari has moved to the other side of the bed and begun soothing and restraining Hanan with firm touches and gentle, unintelligible sounds.
It is all Hanan can do to stay coherently verbal, much less while also wrestling with two more than capable adults. With Hanan mostly subdued Dottore is finally able to inject them with the syringe he brought, an antidote of sorts Chari assumes.
As Dottore removes the syringe, placing it next to the god-remains one, he speaks in a more measured tone as he watches Hanan, waiting expectantly for them to drift off into a hazy sort-of sleep, at the very least. “Before you ask, they’ll be… as fine as they can be for now, considering we don’t know any of the specifics yet.” He relays with a sigh before continuing,
“How and why? Unfortunately, that will depend on what Hanan is inclined to confess. In the meantime, I’ll take and monitor them until they- wake. You are welcome to come but I assure you there won’t be anything, positive or negative for at least a few hours. I am… impressed that they succeeded, however.” Dottore finishes, his voice sounding clinical and tired with an only burgeoning calm as he gently lifts Hanan, with an arm under their knees and another around their back as he walks out without another word. Chari stands there, in Hanan’s fairly messy, cluttered and with the recent events, disturbed room. There is the thinnest, black squiggle of sorts stashed within a pile of clothes. Picking it up gingerly reveals that it is on fact, the now lifeless body of the snake Chari snuck into Hanan’s room only a few days prior. The creature’s neck is broken at such a sharp angle it almost gives them pause, that doesn’t seem like Hanan to kill it, or at least not so violently. But, with Chari’s thoughts already running in such vicious spirals, Hanan shouldn’t have done this. They need to stop provoking him. It’s only getting worse. They need to leave. It isn’t given much thought.
Chari is left alone with their thoughts as they stand in Hanan’s room, while that initial, quick to bloom panic is noticeably slower to fade. Hanan will be fine. Hanan will be fine. Hanan will be fine. But Chari sure as hell won’t stay sober if they have to wait six goddamn hours for any answers. Chari stalks off, a little rattled, very tired and borderline furious as they leave to do something that will make this archons-forsaken wait a little easier.
Hanan
Hanan’s lessons with Dottore are, if nothing else, a great sign of his affections. Wrapped in rigor and lecture as it may be, the steady, almost warmth of mechanical hands over their own, guiding them with such gentle confidence, is almost enough to make them ignore the vast quantities of blood. Up until this point, there had been only blood, no screams, pleas or tears that weren’t their own.
At first, years ago, it was soft and simple dead animals. Things they were at least tangentially familiar with due to their previous sector of childhood spent largely in the woods. It took some adjustment of course, but at the end of the day, when the initial apprehension wore off, all that was left was an interest, a fascination and a desire to learn just how things worked and above all, a need to be praised, to be seen. Then, it was larger, bloodier animals that took hours. That, was fine. If a little physically taxing for someone so young. Any arguments or protests that sprang from these specific lessons were quelled quickly and with little lingering resentment that wasn’t, admittedly a little childishly unfounded.
After Hanan grew accustomed to that, human corpses were introduced. Slowly, and carefully of course. It started with little more than an anatomy textbook or two, then it was only a glance, it was never bloody, nor was it for very long, but it did happen. Later, it progressed to gazing at and being near it for longer periods of time, to touching it and making the barest of incisions.
The first time Hanan had to actually dissect a dead body? That was an undeniable disaster. A handful of long, arduous hours filled with tears, cutting remarks and a fair bit of screaming. The latter of which is something Hanan is still surprised they actually participated in. That was a few months ago, and now Hanan is mostly capable of doing such a task with only the occasional remark, slight shake to their hands or tight knot of discomfort in their chest. But even that was something that could be repressed for a time. Though, the notion, the fact of what these lessons are leading up to, is unavoidable no matter how oblivious they may be. It was hardly a confession to admit that the thought of interacting with, much less experimenting on living patients was something that kept them up at night. The god-remains themselves? Much easier to stomach, at least in abstract. It took a lot of coaxing for them to even lay their eyes on the odd contraptions of glass and metal, longer still for them to be able to touch them.
Yes, Hanan believed in The Doctor’s grand search for godhood and his plans to better humanity and yes, they knew that such an endeavor would certainly entail a level of sacrifice and literal blood, sweat and tears. But did it really require so much of any of those? And in a much quieter, selfish vein, how many of those tears had to come from them? It was a struggle, admittedly to not flee the room and let that traitorous knot in their chest guide them somewhere safe, away from the cold metal, the iron of fresh blood and the barely muffled cries of the victims. The patients. It was made worse every time they arranged the syringes neatly and stood obediently while they were expected to watch as the person near them writhed in agony, children mostly, but they were usually afforded the leniency of not seeing the most brutal aspects of it for long. Usually. But today was special and such a lesson was long overdue anyway.
It’s no surprise then, that Hanan’s hands shake so violently now, that their breath keeps catching painfully, guiltily in their throat every time they heard the faintest noise. They have the clearance to be in this room. Technically. Divorced from what they are about to do, of course.
Opening the nearest plush and fairly pretty box, reveals six, ornate metal and glass bulbs lying flat on velvet cushions and filled with an eerily calm, dark purple and almost viscous liquid that seems to have stars dance across its surface. Gazing at it for a moment they are lost enough in awe to momentarily forget the fat, twirls of glass that make up its sorry excuse for a needle. It quite simply, looks like it hurts. As their fingers brush the needle of one, they are reminded of the first time they saw it. About how they made that same remark, only to be judged dismissively with a curt response that clearly they didn’t know what they were talking about.
It wasn’t hard, physically at least to slip one into the folds of their lab coat. Noting a strange etching of a eye, one that is lacking an iris no less, inside a curl of smoke on the bottle. After all, they are allowed to be here, unless Dottore was around, but Hanan was almost certain he’d be preoccupied with his favorite pet project right about now. And would be for quite awhile, knowing him, they hoped, at least. Mentally though, was a different matter. A day spent already on edge, their tongue held only by the notion and promise that a slip up or too combative demeanor would alert him, to something, anything being amiss and ultimately spell disaster for Hanan’s fairly meticulous plan.
This wasn’t some sudden whim borne of teenage rebellion. However, Hanan is also, all too keenly aware of how quickly this could all fall apart. The walk back to their rooms is short, and mercifully uneventful, save for anything caused by their own anxiety. Hanan opens the door to their room, shrugging off their lab coat and throwing it carelessly on the back of a chair as if today was any other normal and tiring day before slipping a hand inside it to retrieve the item of their anxiety. The preparation is minimal, almost meaningless as Hanan tosses off their boots, sits on their bed, and rolls up the left sleeve of their sweater in a handful of fluid and casual motions.
Setting the needle flush with their skin they are once again reminded of just how painful it looks, a fat and inelegant needle of twirled glass that connects to a quite pretty body that houses a truly mesmerizing liquid.
It doesn’t distract from the pain, of course. The liquid which first appeared to be viscous and syrupy, seems to dart into their veins with a hunger. Seeking and seeking for something. Hanan isn’t sure what, but they do know that it hurts. Whatever vicious intelligence this thing, this god, fragmented as it may be, burns like hell as it rips through their veins as their arm begins to spasm. Interestingly enough, after a few moments there is… not a relief of the pain but a, softness to it, and to Hanan as faint tendrils of a dark, almost purplish smoke begin to coalesce at their feet.
Outside of the pain, that cloying softness brought onto Hanan’s thoughts, persists. More than persists it continues to spread, soon, that admittedly pleasurable smoke has wrapped itself around their joints and snakes around any stray thoughts, cushioning and suffocating in equal measure before the pain, and the suddenly very tempting notion that they should stop thinking, to stop and rest, convinces them to lay down on their bed.
Hanan is, of course, still in excruciating pain as soft, raspy whimpers begin to leave their lips in time with faint tendrils of smoke that smell of incense and something sweeter. But, with the suffocation of their thoughts and the cocooning of their joints in such a pleasant substance, it begins to feel.. distant. Distant enough for
Hanan to close their eyes just as their grasp on their own vision begins to slip. Not completely, but it does go hazy and unfocused the handful of times they open their eyes. Luckily, Hanan feels too soft, warm and safe to panic about something so trivial, something so clearly temporary.
If Hanan had been able to see, if they had been aware of their surroundings, they would’ve noticed the coils of smoke that coalesce into something greater, as what appears to be the body of a large snake forms on the stone floor.
A moment passes, there is a soft whoosh and a crack as the being darts, almost unraveling for a second before It looks, fairly solid, dangling the body of a much smaller, weaker and entirely mundane snake in its jaws. The mass of darkly colored scales only wavers in slight, quiet shifts as it’s body coils up and up, and up. Its head is almost the size of their own, with two equal splotches of what looks to be scar tissue where its eyes should be. It covers the majority of its head in symmetrical, if unsettling detail as thin trails of smoke drift from the gaps between its fangs as it approaches. It deposits the now pitiful dead thing at Hanan’s feet before slithering forward slowly and gracefully until it is leaning, almost protectively over Hanan’s now, very disoriented form.
A mostly corporeal tongue flicks out from between very corporeal fangs as it speaks in a low, curious murmur. “This is.. interesting. It is a shame I cannot keep such a form for long.” It hums in an almost-hiss as it looms over Hanan. They seem, stricken for a moment as a new wave of pain rocks their body. Then, they are reaching their good hand slowly as if it requires a great deal of effort to bring a few, shaking fingers to the cool, not truly scales that adorn the creature before them.
The being purrs for a moment as it accepts the touch, small, curious tendrils flowing in rivulets out from the point of contact. “Mm. Your father is intriguingly familiar. Unfortunately, I have been dormant too long to know why. There is a hunger inside you, child. A wanting, a yearning for something dangerous and such a deep well of fear… is it of your father? No. That can’t be it, not only that. Powerlessness? A potential for the abandonment you’ve faced to repeat itself, perhaps?” It speaks in a gentle, contemplative coo as it begins to wrap itself around Hanan as its form begins to slowly dissipate and shrink. “No matter, we will find out together just how to fill that aching well inside you until the most glorious flame is borne from it. A promising little ember you are.” It muses, sounding almost fond in its conclusion as it rests its cool head again Hanan’s face while they let out a handful of soft, scared noises before the last of it dissipates. Physically, in any case.
With the being’s dissipation comes a few scraps of clarity for Hanan. Not much, and it does bring back a good deal of the earlier pain, but it is enough for a few errant thoughts to form and their breathing to steady as they hastily kick the grey body of the much smaller, weaker snake with its now sharply bent neck into a messy pile of clothes that litter the floor. Though even an action as simple as that sends a wave of painful chills down Hanan’s body.
Soon, the faintest, precise clicking of heels on stone fills the hallway outside their door. Flinching on instinct it takes another moment for Hanan to register the softening of those steps through the haze that still clouds most of their mind, though those same steps do not cease, instead they get louder, slowly but surely. A different problem then. An easier, softer one.
After this point though, truthfully Hanan doesn’t recall much beyond a bright sense of panic, and the shame of being discovered. A few poorly formed pleas and the refusal of said pleas through a loss of warmth, the easy, and heart-wrenching breaking of connection through touch. Before Hanan is left alone, with the bright and flaring staccatos of panic and fear, much like a frightened rabbit’s heartbeat, their only company as they drift into a blissful sleep.
Hanan
Hanan comes to in a haze, one that is pierced slowly by the returning sensations of cold metal, the acrid sting of consistent chemicals and an abundance of too bright lights, familiar, if momentarily unpleasant sensations as they realize that they lie somewhere in Dottore’s lab. This is so unpleasant in fact that upon waking, they let out a soft whine of discomfort before even opening their eyes.
“You’re awake. Seemingly no further complications… good.” Dottore, they recognize as his words come out clipped and oddly bitter underneath the audible relief in his voice as he begins to muse to himself. At his words they quickly try to sit up, however they barely manage to prop up an elbow before a sharp pain rings out like chords of lightning in their left arm, causing them to suck in a ragged breath in surprise. It takes no more than a moment for Dottore’s hand to find its way to their back, supporting them wordlessly.
“It hurts…” Hanan murmurs in a small, almost childlike whine while the worst of their disorientation fades as they instinctively move to press their head to where they approximate Dottore to be for comfort while the pain in their arm recedes to a dull throbbing. Heels click sharply once, twice, before Hanan’s request is indulged with a soft, exasperated huff.
“Yes, I imagine it does.” Dottore hums a reply, sounding faintly wry behind an otherwise clinical tone, as he gently nudges Hanan’s head before bringing a glass of water to their lips. Hanan drinks roughly half the glass, regardless of how self conscious Hanan is about how slowly and messily they drink, it is enough to satisfy Dottore.
“Hanan. Do you recall what you did?” Dottore’s voice cuts through the fragile bit of contentment they’ve created despite their lingering pains and discomforts as it begins clear and commanding, before it hardens further into something sharper. something that is at once worried and so, *so* angry. It is a tone that causes Hanan to shrink into themselves and tense their shoulders instinctively as a hot lance of shame pins them in place before they can even recall what is is they have done. Apparently, their body is much quicker than their drug and pain softened mind.
“Father I- please,” Hanan begins pleadingly, voice already tinged with the desperation of trying to avoid something they know very well is unavoidable. Soon, Hanan feels Dottore stiffen against them as they feel their pleas fail to land.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare insult me by acting as if your actions were merely simple and foolish disobedience. As if I was not there to see it manifest. As if you had simply gotten high behind my back.” Dottore snaps with an unexpected violence “An answer, now. Or, since you were so knowledgeable about the very dangerous materials I have been working with for centuries, and have boundless intelligence enough to perform such an experiment safely, despite being entirely unsupervised and unprepared logically then, you are just as capable of treating your own wounds. Unless of course, you do need my help to deal with something you barely understand because you are still, in fact a reckless child playing with things they don’t understand.” He stops, scolding paused for a moment as he stares down at Hanan expectantly, much of that anger still simmering beneath his mask. His words are spoken with a violence Hanan had hoped to avoid as they are suddenly very conscious of the fact that Dottore is supporting them physically.
“Yes, sir. I do. I do, I’m sorry.” Hanan mumbles a response, mechanically at first as they feel the added formality of the rarely used honorific as if it’s stuck to their throat before they continue in a much softer and still pleading ramble.
“Better.” Dottore mutters under his breath for a moment as his hand goes to pinch the bridge of his nose before falling back down with a sigh.
“Do you understand that this- is permanent?” he continues as he takes their afflicted arm, gently Despite the bite to his words before he lets go. “This, is not fixable, Hanan. You will have to live with it for the rest of your life. Of course, if you had actually paid attention when I prepared those lessons for you, if you had appreciated them instead of your insolent whining, then you would have known just how dangerous what you did actually is. But no. Apparently the only things you need are a vague and naive understanding and a few spare hours before you know better than me.” Dottore concludes briefly as some of his anger finally begins to ebb into an unadorned and unconcealed disappointment.
“That’s not the same! My refusal to do something that grotesque is irrelevant. None of your lessons are necessary for anything beyond a cruel punishment, and they certainly wouldn’t have deterred me from- what I’ve done. Do you truly believe that if I had instead obediently cut into every specimen, every person, without as much as a cursory protest that it would miraculously prevent this situation from happening? That I would immediately be oh so grateful and thus not feel the aching need to test something. To see physical, tangible results in myself in the same way you did, would that have prevented this?” Hanan snaps in response with a sudden and unintentional anger that it shocks even themselves for a moment. The shock of their own outburst does at least, wear off enough for Hanan to realize both the gravity of their own words and the fact that maybe now is a good time to break eye contact and watch their tone, if belatedly.
“Archons above. This is not a conversation. And it is certainly not a fucking argument about my methods. So I highly suggest that you instead, keep your petulant mouth shut and watch your tone for five minutes unless you can prove to me that you don’t need my help. As I assure you that once you leave this lab you will not be returning anytime soon, since you consider stealing something incredibly valuable from me and using it in what is likely the most irresponsible way possible to be a productive use of your talents.” Dottore cuts them off with an exasperated mutter that is quickly replaced by a tone so cutting and cold that it almost makes the lab feel warm as he glares down at them with a terse invitation to actually challenge him. As he finishes speaking Dottore also stops supporting Hanan, his hand moves from their back with only a moment’s hesitation before he steps away, turning his back to them as he begins to fill a small syringe before setting it aside. The only sound comes from the faint rustling of papers and the sound of glass against metal as Dottore begins to organize the space slowly and methodically.
“But That’s not at all relevant to what I did! This- situation has no relation to my issues with your mindlessly cruel and vile experiments. Bringing them up only to disparage me is needlessly petty. Forcing me to partake and learn as you so eloquently put it, is more effort than it would take for you to have something beyond apathy enough to see fucking torture as a proper methodology.” Hanan barks a response, their voice raising unintentionally as the brief lull in conversation only serves to make them tense further. Their fingers drum against the cold metal of the operating table in uneven bursts as they watch Dottore’s back warily, already prepared to flinch, and to a smaller extent, apologize.
“What was that? Something about my methods, that have lasted for so much longer than your entire life, and infinitely longer than your pitiful excuse for an education that has somehow led you to become entitled and sheltered enough that you now believe that I can, and should simply change my entire practice for the whims of a single, naive and insolent child who sees their own bleeding heart and somehow has still not comprehended that these controlled and tailored lessons are a kindness. You argumentative- Would you prefer that I instead, leave you to learn the truth of this world in the same ways I did, hm? Would you prefer to be violently cast out-“ Dottore responds in a measured raise of his voice, more lecture than yell as his back remains turned and his hands remain busy before he is cut off abruptly. Just as true anger was beginning to seep into his voice.
“I would prefer none of this. I would prefer that my opinions not be dismissed through broad comparisons to your own life simply because you are older than me-“ Hanan continues, speaking over Dottore with little apprehension or hesitation as they begin to glare at his back, their hands cease their tapping but there is a slight tremor to them now, as the realization of just how deep this argument is going begins to hit them. Dottore inhales sharply for a moment as his hands continue to rearrange his workspace as if nothing was amiss.
“Silence. I will make this impossibly clear, since you seem intent on arguing with me as if we are on equal footing, as if roughly six hours ago I was not rushing to reverse the effects of one of the most dangerous experiments you could’ve conceivably conducted, on yourself no less, with so little preparation it would be almost laughable if it wasn’t so infuriating. Do you even know which one it was? Of course not, if you were reckless and pitifully rebellious enough to do such a thing there is no way you properly planned anything. What do you know about recovery for the gods-remains patients? Nothing. Nothing compared to what you need to know, since you waste the time and effort allotted to your lessons so you could, what? Get high and run off crying about how hard your father is on you? So you could sneak off to get drunk only to show up to said lessons almost too hungover to stand? Would you prefer, that I treat you as I was centuries ago? To leave you to the wilderness and the cruelties of humanity so that you may learn that some bloodshed is necessary for progress and that the sooner you overcome this- troublesome flaw of yours, the easier it will be for you, the better. I won’t need to scold you so harshly, so consistently for this, do you truly think I enjoy it? That isn’t even getting into why you did this in the first place. Was it to spite me? Did you simply think your talents enough to succeed without incident?” Dottore turns sharply as he cuts them off, his voice rising to such a degree that Hanan flinches on instinct, averting their gaze wordlessly without bothering to check just how painful his gaze is as Dottore’s cutting lecture continues. Though to his credit, as he continues speaking some, certainly not all but some, of that venom leaves his voice. It almost comes across as, not pleading exactly but more exasperated and determined than purely furious as his questions begin to sound less and less rhetorical.
“No. No. No. Father, I was disrespectful but I wasn’t- I meant to, of course but i didn’t… it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. It’s not some- self destructive slight made out of pure rebellion or an impossible amount of arrogance and ego. Please, don’t send me away just yet, I knew- I thought I knew what I was doing. I didn’t mean to say those things. I’m sorry,” Hanan begins to explain themselves, slowly, inelegantly and almost a touch fearfully as some desperation leaks into their voice. There is a pause, and then slowly, very slowly a finger is placed under their chin. Then another, as Dottore gently, so gently in comparison to all the pain he’s caused them as he lifts their chin to look at him wordlessly. His touch becomes softer and it’s almost- a forgiveness for their outburst, a confirmation that he doesn’t hate them. He might be angry, almost unfathomably so, but he won’t leave. And for now, that is enough. A few moments and a soft hummed note later, Dottore has returned to organizing his lab without any further dwelling. The tension does begin to dissipate for a few minutes as Hanan becomes more chastened than completely and utterly cowed while they gather their thoughts and tentatively wait to see whether or not their response is… acceptable in comparison to their outburst.
“Clearly. Of course it wasn’t. Considered.” Dottore’s response is a good thirty seconds after they fall silent but otherwise structured in tune with Hanan’s rambling. It is clipped, firm and more assured than cruel as a hint of warmth begins to thread itself through his words. Back still turned, he continues. “Child, don’t insult me. If I wanted to I’d already have done so. Didn’t we all… now, hold still. I don’t hate you, if you really need me to say it so bluntly.” As Dottore continues speaking his voice trails off into a soft and quietly playful murmur as gloved hands gently guide the needle to Hanan’s arm.
Hanan hums a single note as the liquid, some level of painkiller they assume, is injected into their arm. “And, if you are so set on proving to me that you cannot be trusted alone, you can instead accompany me to a meeting with the Regrator, In a few days. He’s agreed to… take you for the day. And before you say anything, no, you are certainly not in any position to complain.” Dottore continues in a sterner, more final tone as he hears Hanan’s poorly hidden scoff of displeasure.
At his words Hanan turns their head sharply, as their potential rebuttal is accounted for preemptively. “But- that’s not- what would I even do?” Hanan begins in a frustrated huff. After a few seconds of nothing but an unwavering stare from Dottore they mumble out a reluctant “yes, father.”
At Hanan’s very reluctant acceptance Dottore hums a curt “Hanan. It will be good for you. Mhm. Now, I do have work that doesn’t involve you or your antics. So, if you would move along, there is still someone else who wishes to… speak with you about your- what you’ve done.” He concludes quickly as he gently, but firmly places a hand on their shoulder. A clear signal for them to stand, and otherwise leave if they are well enough to do so.
As Hanan leaves, shakily at first before they regain their bearings, they murmur something quick and light before they shut the door. “I love you.” They murmur softly, fleeing quickly out of embarrassment before they can know if they received a reply of any kind.
At their muttered, embarrassed words Dottore hums, an amused smile gracing his features for a few moments as he returns to his actual work. “Mm. That won’t get you out of any consequences.” He muses, mostly to himself before the more pressing matters of his work soon occupy his mind.