Chapter Text
You knew that Arlecchino could get angry.
She hadn't shown anger towards you once, on account of you "being a loyal, intelligent and well-mannered servant" to put it into her words. There was a subtle smile on her face every time she would come home to you diligently cleaning the house, the children already tucked into bed or out on missions, as if she was savouring a moment with dreamlike sweetness to it. Her hand would caress your shoulder gently after a job well done, later calling you to her office to sing you praises. A rare privilege to witness the knave so full of adoration and praise, one not most of her children even get to witness. Once, a few months after "joining" the hearth, once both of you had warmed up to each other (you wouldn't say you really warmed up, this was a mission for you after all), once frequent compliments of her became common, you asked her why she bothered with flattery regarding you, and she replied:
"You are skilled, my dear. You may have some rough edges but it simply means you need more polishing. Since you have entered this house, there hasn't been a single report made regarding any... accidents, here. The children are also happy and on their best behavior, as for me, i'm quite content. You have the working and emotional skills I have given up to even expect from most. Now tell me, why should you not be deserving of praise?"
And you laughed, imagining you were here because of honest loyalty and care, helping pretend better, act more genuine, then memorised every laid out document the dead spies would manage to get their hands on before the knave took care of them in the later hours. The cleaning process was slow and tedious on most days, but it gave you plenty of time to look over the bloody papers usually scattered around on the velvety floor of matching color while scrubbing blood off of every surface in the room. after, you wrote down the carefully memorised information on paper in detail and sent them to Dottore, all the way across Teyvat, through routine and precise means.
You had witnessed her anger numerous times, though it was always directed towards others:
Towards the less experienced children, who were too cowardly and fled their mission, the old, stubborn and idiotic noblemen she had to deal with at court, the people who just angered her with their behavior.
"Unmannerly, foolish..." She would mutter under her breath, a sharp insult shooting from her lips to her offender like a verbal bullet, adding another and another, until a sense of humiliation would corrupt the other parties brain. That's how she got children prone to minor disobediences to behave. That's how she got the annoying people at court to not bother her with their petty acts. It was usually all she needed, and why would she exert her energy any further when it was unnecessary to do so?
You had seen her anger, but you had never seen her rage, especially when you were the cause of it.
It was still nighttime. You don't know how she found out about everything. The letters, the manipulations, small seeds of dissatisfaction you had been planting into the children's hearts without them even noticing. She didn't tell you, and she won't in the future either, that much you know.
She entered your room as you had just finished a cleanup. You hastened to hide the report you had been writing for the Doctor, completely thrown off guard by her visit. She looked calm at first. Maybe not calm, but like her usual, reserved self, yet you felt something wrong in the air, or maybe about her, the moment she entered.
"We are going out for a midnight walk, now."
You were confused, even tried to refuse, but her nearly houndlike gaze staring its claws into you made you give up and comply, nervously fumbling to put on your shoes and grab your coat, but nervous? You, of all people, nervous, and behaving like a clumsy child. You, who had played games of lying and pretending since you remembered? It was her gaze, observing with the ferality of an angered beast, making you feel small and incapable before her, like you had sinned before a god.
The walk was as silent as the nights you would spend alone, outside of the camps your coworkers would set up at night, except there was no serenity about it, only eeriness that ate at your heart as both your steps pierced the silence of the cold night.
She walked with you without a word, devoid of any smalltalk she would make when being together, devoid of a subtle smile and a sense of pride which you could tell washed over her when she was with you. She made you walk until you reached ruins of a once great building on the outskirts of Fontaine city; You had no idea what the building used to be though.
Once you reached the centre of the ruins, she turned around, standing so close you could feel her fiery breath against your face, and see her "X" shaped pupils so clearly even you felt the uncomfortable, desperate need to step away, but she didn't let you.
Her hand held onto your wrist, a vicelike grip that kept getting hotter and hotter by the second, danger alarms ringing through your head like a fire warnings now. You stared, wide eyed and confused, as she reached into her pocked and pulled out a single envelope, with a black stamp, evident symbol of the Fatui on the wax.
You dared to look into her eyes after, a big mistake. You were paralysed with fear, mind and body; your mind managed to snap out of it after a few moments and start thinking again, but your body still wouldn't listen. It couldn't, in the red light of her bloodshot eyes.
"Confess," She said, her voice chilling you to the core "confess truthfully, and I might be less harsh on you."
You didn't need to say it out loud. Your eyes told her the truth, as your defences had been broken down by the sheer fear this woman managed to stir in you right this moment. You felt her bloodlust, her hunger and rage which was all directed towards you.
You wouldn't wish that for your worst enemy; her following actions proved this to you even further.
You don't remember much of what she did next, but recall what you felt clearly: An unrestrained kick to your stomach that sent you flying backwards; A loud and electrifyingly painful cracking sound sending shocks through your spine. You couldn't feel your body already, but oh then came the burns. Completely negligent of your well being, fueled with hate and rage, making your flesh sizzle with hot flames. Then there was the blurring of your eyesight, your throat croaking out something before your vision turned white from the pain and in that moment you felt truly blissful. In extreme pain, yes, but free at last, of the Doctor's shackles, of the envious coworkers, the Knave's anger, her hesitance, her words, the children's adoring gazes, of this unfortunate, pain in the ass of a life!
Yet you woke up.
The pain was unbearable. You were covered in bandages from head to toe, yet you felt every single blister and wound under it. It was like you were still burning from her hand. All that you could hear for the first few days or weeks was a gentle voice which so deeply resembled hers. You barely heard her, but you felt as she would place cool towels on your forehead to bring down your fever; As she would cover you with a thick duvet over and over despite your struggles to get rid of it with your half-burnt limbs (even a feathery touch sent an electric pain through your body, the blanket was contributing); The third time you did it, she actually spoke up. Something about a risk of catching hypothermia. The time that passed was painfully long, excruciating and boring. Your routine consisted of laying and suffering, incapable of thought from the pain; Then a visit from her a few times a day, either to change your bandages, to bring you medicine, or to feed you what little amount of bland, watery food your body could handle to digest.
For Arlecchino, everything was much clearer.
From your walk to the ruins where she, in the past, got rid of Crucabena once and for all; to your confusion and uncharacteristic clumsiness (Which she somehow found endearing) ; to the moment when she pulled out the envelope with the Doctor’s stamp; to the widening of your usually careful and intelligent eyes; to the rage she felt at your betrayal.
Arlecchino did consider that she had romantic feelings for you in the past. She admired your wit, competence and loyalty. She thought those were the traits that made her affectionate towards you and she didn’t mind her feelings. You would not be a weakness to her; You were strong, capable of protecting yourself and she would be assured that you would come back to her.
But once she found out you were never loyal in the first place, when she saw all wit leave your eyes, replaced by complete, cowardly fear, she thought she would lose those feelings; That’s why she didn’t hesitate to beat you, to scorch your skin with burning flames of hatred, but then you said something, and she hesitated to continue.
It wasn’t anything big or important, just a small question in midst of your delirium:
„I’m... free?“
It was barely audible, below a whisper, but it made her hesitate.
She didn’t think this through; Very unlike her.
There was some sort of relief in your voice when she heard the words spoken through your dry lips, as if you had been longing to be free of life for a long time.
Of course, the longing for death was no unfamiliar concept to her. She, who had witnessed all tragedies this world had to offer to an ordinary person, had seen children raised by her hand, her comrades, her coworkers rush towards death not in a form of bravery and self-sacrifice, but as a way of escape.
You might’ve considered this as a suicide mission, or maybe every time you received a new one, you would hope that it would be the last. And that’s when she came to an epiphany, that you might’ve been trapped between Dottore’s claws all along.
It was completely plausible. After all, there was a reason why she despised the man so, but she felt glad in the moment, that you were forced to work for him, for it gave her the opportunity to be your saviour, instead of your killer.
She would grasp that chance and keep it in a tight grip.
You were already passed out from pain and whatever other injuries you sustained besides burns, but those were still the worse to the eye. Even Arlecchino was slightly shook at the damage inflicted on you, though she didn’t show it (She was also enjoying it, only a bit). Both your left Arm and leg were covered in blisters, looking more like sizzling meat than limbs at this point.
She wasted no more time, as it was of most value now and took you up in her arms, rushing you back to the hearth. Most of the children were already asleep, they wouldn’t find out, she hoped (all she could do now was hope).
Despite not wanting to wake the children, she made no effort to stay quiet, as your life was slipping from her hands by each minute you were left unattended, a result of her own uncontrolled actions.
Your head was bleeding, you had second degree burns on nearly half of your body, third degree ones here and there, two broken ribs and an injured leg. You groaned and cried out in your dreamless slumber as she treated you and gave you first aid help, eventually forcing you to gulp down a few painkillers to keep your squirming body at bay. You looked so ugly at the moment. Sweat clung to your skin, and your hair was sticky, wet. Some of it was even burnt too, she noticed (She would help you cut it later). You were half covered in dirt and rubble from being slammed against the wall, and your injuries were gruesome enough to make someone feel sick.
But despite all of that, she still found you beautiful, Oh so dazzling in the moment, because it was she who harmed you, no one else. And even if she regretted it now deeply, it would still leave her mark on you, both physically and mentally.
She raised your limp body into her arms once again. The children didn’t know this, but she had her own, smaller bedroom in the older, less used wing of the orphanage. It was quite plain, but cozy, good enough for you to rest and recover without interruption. She placed you in bed, making sure to cover you fully with the heavy duvet, propping your bandaged head up to rest on the pillow. She stared at your lips for a few moments, before placing a soft kiss on them. They were chapped and bloody, but it didn’t bother her, since she finally felt like you had been rendered hers and hers forever.
You were unconscious for 3 days.
The children asked her about your sudden disappearance, of course. She brushed their question off with a short reply. Something about her sending you to a "small trip".
Whenever she was home, she would disappear quite often, leaving the children even more confused, but no one ever got themselves involved. Everyone knew nothing good would come out of trying to meddle in their father’s personal business.
She thought a lot during your recovery. You were helpless like a babe, needing her help with basic tasks like washing up or eating (the former she had to refrain from for a while, due to your injuries). Every time she took you up in her arms, she could feel you unwillingly giving up to her, frustrated at your helplessness through your delirium, clinging to her with broken will. You squirmed and whimpered every time she rebandaged your wounds or even touched you. She hated weakness in general, but she found your vulnerability towards her so lovely, whether you were doing it of your free will or not.
She thought a lot, yes, about how she would conduct herself with you from now on, what she wanted you two to become, but her feelings grew a lot too.
She realised that, she didn’t just love you as a loyal dog, but she adored all of you, enough to keep her rage over your betrayal at bay.
You started to slowly escape your delirious state through recovery. In a week, you could already talk (albeit weakly and with strain) and comprehend what you heard, though there was no point in that for a while, since she barely said a word to you during the short time periods when she would visit you. You noticed a certain shift in her eyes though, like the spike in them had dulled a bit, became softer. You stayed quiet for days; mostly because you were in pain, exhausted and speaking felt painful too, but slightly because you felt some spite towards her for being the one to put you in this state, though you deserved it (you thought).
You gradually recovered, but the scars she left wouldn’t fade. Your left half was covered in burn scars, the rest of your body having added insult to the injury (literally and figuratively) with more marks. You knew she admired them, for her gaze always lingered a little too long at the damage she had done. You knew she was fond of what she did to you, but you wondered, was she still fond of you? Why didn’t she kill you?
Your questions were answered on a sunny day. You didn’t know the date, since there was no clock or a calendar in the room which would help you keep track of time.
You were lying on your bed, trying to entertain yourself with one of the few books you had managed to find here when she entered the room without a knock, her expression more pleased than usual. She held a box in her hands.
Inside the box turned out to be a new dress: Plain, but beautiful.
„try it on.“ she told you, and you obeyed.
Changing in front of her wasn’t embarrassing for you at this point, she had seen you nude nearly every day for the past... how much time had passed? Weeks? Months?
The dress was completely white, knee length, hugging your body in a flattering way. You felt her gaze on you when you were changing.
You stood up once you were done, turning towards her and keeping your eyes down at her feet. You didn’t want to look her in the eye, not yet.
„well?“ You asked, and you heard her breath hitch just slightly. She walked up to you, getting so close that your bodies were a needle away from touching, and brought you over to the singular mirror in the room. The one that showed off your whole body.
You saw your burn marks which the dress did little to nothing to cover, with its short sleeves and a wide collar.
You felt ugly. You looked away from your reflection, not wanting to face yourself in the mirror, but a blackened hand came up to hold your chin in place. Sharp nails held your chin in a warning grip. You felt as if thorns had been wrapped around you, threatening to pierce your skin at slightest resistance.
„Don’t look away. Keep your eyes on the scars, admire them,“ She kissed the burn mark on your shoulder, causing an involuntary shudder to run through your body. „Know that they show that you’re mine, that you cannot go back to Dottore, and that you will never, ever betray me or the children again.“ She brought your burnt arm up to her lips, peppering it with kisses down to your hand. There was an obsessive glint in her eyes, her entire being, like she wanted to devour you.
„You will see the children tonight. You got the scars from a sudden battle during your trip. Most importantly, we will have important news to announce, don’t you think?“
You definitely didn’t need to ask how she felt about you now.