Work Text:
The hum of machinery was the only sound in Dottore’s lab. Rows of vials shimmered with liquids that seemed to pulse with a life, the scent and strange metals clung to the air like a stubborn fog. Dottore tapped a gloved finger against a steel surface, his sharp red eyes scanning a series of readings that refused to make any damn sense.
He just exhaled, a hiss that sounded suspiciously like iritation..This was awfully annoying.
Normally his segments would be buzzing with activity, assistants flitting between experiments and notes scribbled everywhere. But today out of all days they were all busy, leaving the man alone in his laboratory.
Alone meant no distractions, theoretically speaking perfect conditions for his line of work..Yet somehow, it also meant no one to argue with him, no one to point out the most obvious flaws he already hated noticing, no one to…to notice him at all actually.
The rhythmic ticking of the clock on the far wall suddenly felt too louder.
He exhaled long and quiet and for once didn’t reach for another vial or to scribble. Instead, he leaned back on the chair, gloved fingers drumming restlessly against his thigh before falling still. The lab felt larger than usual. “Tch..” He clicked his tongue back , but the irritation in his voice was there. “How inefficient.. Can’t even think straight with this….”
“This is pointless,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure to what exactly he was talking, “Ridiculous,” He crossed his arms, “…How pathetic,” He muttered, the words fell flat in the empty lab, suddenly the unbearable silence became a little too familiar.
Dusty shelves and flickering lantern lights, the slight scent of old books and ink, rows upon rows of tables in the library, empty except for one in the back where he usually sat. It was that same type of quiet that made him grind his teeth annoyingly.
His hand curled into a fist. How irritating that he could still feel it, that cold echoing solitude from so very long ago.. “Pathetic,” he muttered to no one. “This again? I thought I was over it,” He just needed more work. Something to occupy his mind before it drifted anywhere else again. He grabbed the nearest set of notes and files flipping a few pages, then set them down again realising it's not helping at all.
With a sharp exhale, he dropped into his chair again. It creaked under his weight, his foot started tapping against the floor, then the doctor crossed his arms, one gloved hand rising to tap against his shoulder impatiently. This depressing silence made him think of the Akademiya a little too much for his liking.
Back then, he’d told himself that it truly didn’t matter. That he was so above them, above needing anyone actually. Loneliness was the price of brilliance and he could bear it. The red eyed man pinched the bridge of his nose and let his head fall back against the chair while staring blankly at the ceiling.
Was he always this lonely? Of course not, he had the segments and he liked them to some degree...Which now he realises it kinda sounds narcissistic. People like him, like Crucabena....He hadn’t thought about her in..years, maybe. She’d been one of the very few who could trade words with him without trembling. Sometimes they’d argued for hours her voice cool and measured.
They’d even laughed once or twice. He could still hear the low and almost musical sound of it if he closed his eyes. But oh well such a pity she had died. He rubbed at his temple, lips twisting in a smirk. “Ironic,” The doctor thought to himself. “The Knave was the only one among them I didn’t entirely despise and yet her replacement would gladly have me torn apart limb from limb if we weren't co-workers..”
Arlecchino was useful, yes, but barely tolerant of his damn existence. Their meetings were like knives, her politeness a fake facade. He could almost hear her voice now..that too-calm tone.
‘You’re not a man. You’re an infection that learned to walk.’
He laughed when she’d said it. Laughed because that was easier than admitting it actually bothered him. Now, in the echoing quiet, it didn’t sound so funny anymore. For the first time in years, Dottore wondered if perhaps Crucabena had understood him more than anyone ever would?
Knock knock.
For a moment the sound startled him more than it should have. His head snapped up,, eyes narrowing at the lab door. No one ever knocked, no one dared. Especially his damn subordinates which always looked so scared near him as if he's gonna pop their eyes out.
With a annoyed sigh, he rose from his chair, “Ugh..Dear Tsaritsa, if it's Sandrone again with her damn nonsense from–” He froze halfway through the sentence when the door opened. “..oh.” Of course.
Pantalone stepped inside with that usual smooth composure, the faintest smile curving his lips as he adjusted his gloves. The air around him seemed warmer somehow, softening the cold edges of the lab. His every movement was deliberate, as though the world itself bent around his rhythm. He was mad. He started to understand the man's body language rather easily these days.
Dottore’s first instinct was to speak up, to snap even, asking what the banker wanted considering he still didn't agree to raising his funds..but the words caught in his throat so badly. Because all at once, the room didn’t feel so empty anymore, and somewhere deep inside him he didn't want to fuck up by saying something bad.
“…That’s not true, now is it?” The blue haired man muttered under his breath, answering his own question from earlier.
Pantalone blinked, tilting his head on the side slightly, “..Pardon me?”
“Oh uh..Nothing.” Dottore waved a hand dismissively and turned away, hiding the faintest, reluctant curve of a smile tugging at his mouth realising how mad the other is even with such a gentle smile, “Just… thinking some things out loud.”
After a moment, Dottore tilted his head too. “You’re angry,” He exclaimed plainly without any justification. “Am I?” Pantalone blinked again, the curve of his mouth annoyingly tightening by a fraction.
“Oh, don’t play coy with me now,” The doctor straightened his back , brushing nonexistent dust off his gloves before continuing. “I might be a lot of things but I’m not blind, dear. You walk in here with that charming little pretty smile..” he gestured vaguely mimicking it with mockery but with no real bite to it, “..And yet, I can practically smell the irritation rolling off your body. Regrator what’s got you so damn angry? Did someone ruin your precious profits?..Or is it me this time?”
“....Would it matter,” Pantalone murmured, tone quiet but still sorta edged, “if it was you?” Pantalone’s composure faltered, barely for a moment but Dottore still did caught it.
“No. It would make sense.” The blue haired man turned back to his cluttered desk, fingers brushing over the cool glass of a beaker, “For some reasons everyone’s always angry at me eventually.” To the doctor's surprise the other man didn’t respond immediately. “You assume far to many things, Doctor.” Immediately Dottore glanced at him from over his shoulder, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Ah do I? Or did I just hit a nerve?”
Pantalone’s lips curved into yet another facade of a smile, one of those carefully measured ones that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If you must know,” He called out smoothly, “My anger, as you call it is nothing more than just…some irritation.” Dottore arched an eyebrow before sarcastically mumbling, “Really?”
“..Well...Not quite,” Pantalone replied, his tone clipped before he sighed, “It’s been like two weeks, Dottore. Two weeks without a single response from you to my letters. Not even one of your weird vague notes or a miserable scrap of doodles to suggest you’re somewhat alive.”
“So that’s what this is about. I get it now you were worried.”
Pantalone let out a short, breathy laugh the type that suggested that he wasn’t amused at all. “Please..Worried?.. I simply find it… inconvenient when one of the few people who can actually maintain a functional correspondence disappears without a word into the thin air.”
“Oh, but of course. Purely logistical as always.” Dottore’s grin returned, sly and teasing walking even closer to the other. “Heavens forbid the Regrator be concerned for anyone’s well being..” Pantalone shot him a rather cold glare, sharp enough to slice through the mockery which made him stop immediately. “Don’t test me, Zandik. I’ve had an exhausting week.”
“Do tell. I’d love to hear what could possibly fluster you of all people.” Which it wasn't technically a lie but in the same time he wanted to know what has gotten the regrator so pissed to the point that he had to use his damn actual name.
“A business meeting,” He said simply. Right he forgot he has to technically milk the drama out of the black haired man until he starts yapping on his own nonstop like a running water mill. “With?”
“Some merchant from Fontaine, you know how the people from the Court of Fontaine sometimes act,” He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “One of those pretentious wannabe riche types who think the mere act of their existence is a performance.” Dottore’s lips kinda twitched. “Ah, yes. The type who calls themselves ‘visionaries’ while losing their balance at a gala thrown by their archon. They wouldn't surprise in the wild at all,”
“Ha, precisely.” Pantalone’s tone grew sharper. “He wouldn’t stop flirting the entire fucking time. Every question I asked about the contract was met with some..ridiculous compliment about my so called 'charming voice' or my 'irresistible eyes' or some other bullshit....”
“And what did you do? Surely you did something if he has got you this worked up,” The doctor chuckled expecting some type of twist coming up, “I just smiled..” Pantalone said flatly crossing his arms before starting to mutter under his breath, “And ended the meeting before I had the chance to punch the table with his head and then threw him out the nearest window,”
“I’d have loved to see the aftermath of that.” Dottore teased, voice laced with a wicked sort of amusement to the thought of that usually pristine white table stained with crimson..The black haired man rolled his eyes, but the faintest hint of color touched his cheeks, “I see you’re enjoying this conversation.”
After a while, Dottore looked down at his gloved hands, the corners of his mouth twitching yet he's not sure what kind of expression he was making up “You worry about stuff too much Regrator.”
“And you think too little of how others might worry about you.”
The words hung there for a hot second. He wasn't sure where to look with his red eyes. He could look at the gorgeous man before him, or back into the files on his desk or perhaps down to his feet.. “I’ll…I'll try to answer next time. It would save you the trip here” that's all he could come up with. “See that you do,” Pantalone said, voice gentler now. At least he wasn't that angry anymore..
Pantalone glanced around the lab, clearly taking in the mess, the dim light, even the unwashed glassware stacked like towers of half-forgotten thoughts which the Omega build said he'll clean up once he arrives back, “You know,” The Regrator said, tugging his gloves a little tighter, “for someone who's so brilliantly smart you have the spatials awareness of a feral cat.” Dottore eyebrow arched up not understanding the comparison. “And yet, you keep showing up here..What does that say about you huh?”
“That I’m a extremely patient man,” Pantalone said lightly. He crossed the room and, without asking, perched on the edge of a cleared workbench. The coat he wore draped elegantly, the dark fabric catching the lamplight. “And..perhaps a little foolish if I think about it.”
Dottore sighed, leaning back against his chair again, arms crossed..“You’ve already said what you came to say..Just go back to your bedchambers. I have work to finish here..” Hopefully if he finishes rather rapidly he could pay him a visit and–
“I think not.”
The words were soft but it was clear by the tone that Pantalone wasn't gonna back down. Dottore’s gaze snapped toward him, annoyed. “Excuse me?”
Pantalone smiled faintly, that damn calm frustratingly smile that always seemed to disarm without effort. “You look tired. Distracted even! Frankly I don’t trust you not to accidentally blow yourself up in this mood..The repairs to the lab would cost a fortune too.”
“That’s rich,” Dottore muttered, rolling his eyes. “You think I’m fragile or something?” He didn't like the feeling he had when he thought about it...Him? Second of the Fatui Harbingers? Fragile like some damsel in distress? This feeling of possible inferiority got under his skin.
“No. I just think you’re rather lonely considering you isolate yourself from others so often.”
The words hit harder than Dottore expected. He didn’t reply immediately, just looked away, his jaw tightening before whispering, “You’re fucking insufferable.”
“Takes one to know one I suppose,” Pantalone’s tone was light again as a slight giggle left his lips, but he didn’t move to leave.
Eventually, Dottore let out a long sigh and pushed away from his desk, “You’re really not going to go, are you..?”...The doctor stared at him, the faintest twitch of amusement crossing his features realising he's so serious about this, “Unbelievable.”
Without any warning Dottore leaned forward, reached out and caught a lock of those damn dark loose curls between gloved fingers. Pantalone blinked, startled for once, not expecting such a gesture. “What are you–”
“Testing a theory,” Dottore murmured absently, twirling the strand between his fingers before pulling one of his gloves down to touch the softness better, “Hm...Softer than I expected..I assumed they’d feel like wire, given your personality.” Pantalone huffed out a quiet laugh, trying to hold it in. “..You’re terrible.”
Dottore’s fingers paused mid-twirl, red eyes narrowing thoughtfully at the curl slipping between his gloved fingers. He tilted his head. “You know..your hair is remarkably well-kept.” Pantalone blinked, the faintest blush rose his cheeks before he cleared his throat. “I–...Uh thank you?” Dottore leaned closer, “Tell me, what’s your routine?”
Pantalone let out a short, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, oh his poor doctor and his horrible approaching skills.. “Oh no, Doctor. You really wouldn’t want to know. It’s rather complicated.”
“Come on now, how complicated are we talking? Ten minutes? Twenty?” He thinks half an hour at best. Usually it takes him like five to ten minutes to get his hair done. But it's also a waste of time when you're moving around nonstop, who knows when something is gonna explode in your face and ruin both your clothes and hair anyway?
“Eh..More like, one to two hours?” Pantalone said flatly, a little too quickly. Then he laughed again, a short, rueful sound noticing the doctor's face that just screamed that it was a waste of time, “Hey in my defence, drying it is the hard part...to be honest all this fussing has been quite entertaining.”
Dottore didn’t look up, still swirling the curl around his fingers. “I am a scholar if you forgot,every detail matters..”
“Of course,” Pantalone said with teasing tone. “So… would you care to accompany me to eat something? I assume even a genius like you needs to refuel.”
The doctor stayed still for a moment considering the offer, he is kinda hungry but it's also pretty late anyway, “…Hmm. I suppose that can could work since I skipped dinner,”
“Great then.” Pantalone hopped down from the bench before walking towards the door waiting for the red eyed man to follow him. They didn’t speak a lot, Snezhnaya’s streets were quiet at by this hour. As Dottore kept on walking he would sometimes steal glances towards the regrator..
Pantalone turned his head slightly, catching the tanned man staring. “You’re awfully quiet,kinda unusual for you. When I don't do the talking you usually do it by informing me about your magnificent research,”
Dottore blinked, as if snapped out of a thought. “I was thinking some things I assumed you wouldn't..exactly like. ” Red eyes staring right into him and the black haired man could almost see the doctor's cheeks rose, and that definitely wasn't because of the cold weather. “..that maybe I’ve been...wrong. About being alone.” He put an strong accent on the 'wrong' part, not appreciating admitting it out loud. Pantalone’s expression softened before leaning in closer to the point that he took the doctor's hand in his.
“It’s weird,” Dottore continued, tone quieter now, almost hesitant to speak up just slightly worried that he might fumble up, “To have someone choose to be here. To actually spend time with me and not expect something..”
“Perhaps you’re more like the rest of us than you’d like to believe” The fair skinned one muttered. “Perhaps,” Dottore murmured. His gaze dropped to the snow beneath their boots as they continued walking.
He glanced back at Pantalone again afterwards, watching the way the small snowflakes clung to his dark curls, he kinda wants to touch them and slightly pull them only to annoy Pantalone but he held that impulsive thought back, instead touching and rolling the rings on the man's fingers in an attempt to take them down. The doctor held back chuckles every time Pantalone would pull his hand away for a few seconds steamed off before letting the other hold into his hand again.
Every time he's with the regrator there's this warm feeling inside him he hasn't felt in centuries. But he knew what would happen someday. This cruel world had a way of stealing whatever little happiness he managed to grasp. Pantalone will wither, as all mortal things do, while he can't do nothing but hold into the other a little tighter.