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Dottore slowly spins the floating, sharp edges of the tetrahedron-shaped device, its round, glowing blue core steady in its center. How long has Pierro been talking? Too long, that is for certain.
Harbinger meetings are far too pointless, a waste of his precious time. Therefore, for most of them, Omega attends in his stead, so he can do the truly important work for the Fatui instead of listening to Pantalone and Pulcinella probing at each other with backhanded compliments. Unfortunately for him, today, he was forced by none other than the Jester himself to show up in all his original human might. (Is he even original or human at this point? An interesting question, although Dottore has long given up on this entire ship of Theseus’ conundrum.)
“-ore.”
Really, what’s the purpose of this meeting again? He can hear Signora and Childe whispering, conversing once more. When did they become friends? Of course, it must be because of that mission of theirs in bordering nations, yet Dottore can’t ignore how strange their connection sounds…
“-ttore?”
The Fair Lady has always been far more socially apt than anyone in this room combined, perhaps competing only with Pantalone and the Mayor himself (although, that old fae hardly does anything too difficult regarding the Fatui, with the excuse of taking care of Snezhnaya and, specially, Snezhnograd, so he would argue that the other two would be far better on a competition of diplomacy.)
“Dottore!” The yell and the soft poking on his shoulder are far too different in feeling, but much similar in intention. He first looks towards his side, to where he had been poked, finding Columbina’s small smile. She tilts her head towards Pierro’s chair, but Dottore knows by her stance that she was also paying very little attention.
“Yes?” He dares ask, slowly turning his head to face an irritated Jester.
“Did you hear anything I said?”
There’s a small silence. “What makes you think I did not?”
There's a quiet chuckle from his left, one only he likely had heard. Wonderful to know at least Columbina found humor in this situation.
“Perhaps” his tone is cold, merciless, filled with his sternful wrath. “by the way I called out your name thrice and you didn't even as much tilt up your face?”
“I was merely coordinating my thoughts.”
“Then what did I say?”
He pauses, “Must I truly-”
“What did I say, Dottore?”
Hah! Pierro should know better than to underestimate his capability to revisit his own memories.
“If you insist, father, far be it from me to deny. You were talking about the resources on the outskirts of Avidya Forest-” There’s a strange, terribly unnerving silence. Dottore frowns, although none can see it due to the mask, but goes on. “-and I was about to tell you that I needed Pantalone’s funding to…” there’s a stray, choked cackle, held back immediately as it came out. Dottore turns to where the sound came from. “... I beg your pardon?”
All of them are staring at him. Not in the usual we all hate Dottore way. It’s awkward. Pulcinella, wide-eyed, presses his lips into a thin line, shooting a glance at Tartaglia beside him, whose hand is lightly over his mouth, staring back at the Rooster. Signora, one seat away from the two, has a ridiculously smug smile, as if she won some sort of bet, a scornful glare towards Dottore. Arlecchino, across from the Fair Lady, has a serious, albeit confused and fairly amused expression. Sandrone, beside her and sat on Pulonia’s hands, has her arms crossed, a mean, mocking gaze on her face as she instead faces Signora. Columbina, in between Dottore and Sandrone, has a confused expression, head tilted slightly to the side in confusion, face turned to the Doctor despite her closed eyes. Now, Dottore can't exactly see Scaramouche on his right, but he feels the way that brat smiles mockingly.
Dottore, confused and fairly unnerved, turns to face Pantalone in front of him, and it doesn't give him any enlightenment, that smile of his whenever he finds something Dottore says humorous.
“What?” He asks, subtly begging anyone to give him a single clue.
“You…” Arlecchino begins, and Dottore turns to her in expectation. “just called Pierro father.”
He stares at her.
One second.
Utmost silence.
Two seconds.
Tartaglia cracks and snorts.
Three seconds.
“What?”
“I wasn’t aware the Director was your father…” Columbina says, hushed tone warped in actual confusion.
“He’s not my- I didn't say that.”
There's a bigger chorus of laughter now. Pulcinella lets out a nose-laugh, Signora actually laughs at it, Sandrone lets out a mildly entertained “huh”. Capitano doesn't quite laugh, but he does hum an amused “hm”.
Dottore faces Pierro. His face looks the same as always, but there’s something strange. Dottore squints, and there it is—Pierro’s pale skin is tinted with… a blush? He’s embarassed?!
Surely, Dottore wouldn't have said that.
“Oh, I sincerely doubt we misheard you.” Pantalone smugly adds. Dottore is gonna kill him. He’ll actually tear him apart as soon as they leave this meeting.
There’s a colour shift in the blue hue of Dottore’s mask. “.... My recollection of data makes it clear! This was a diction error, not a-”
“Sounds like a freudian slip to me.” Sandrone adds.
“A diction error.” He snarls, correcting. “I intended on saying Jester but was seconds away from saying far and a cognitive mishap-”
“Were you, really?” The Fair Lady questions, inclining towards him as she speaks. “When have you ever addressed him as Jester?”
“Signora-”
“Enough.” Pierro finally says. “We have more pressing matters than a… diction error.”
There's a short myriad of chuckles before Pierro looks back at Dottore, who sinks into his chair, continuing the explanation he had to give as hurriedly and half-assedly as possible. He just wants to leave.
The meeting went on. Dottore hopes that that will be it. No mentions of that embarassing, ridiculous mishap.
Of course, Dottore's hopes hardly ever come to fruition.
He approaches Scaramouche.
“What?” The Sixth asks, hands tucked into his coat as he failed to make a discreet exit.
“You have missed nearly all four of your monthly visits.” Dottore argues. “Pierro has given me less than three months to conclude this experiment, if you don't cooperate-”
Scaramouche laughs. “I’m sure if you ask your daddy for an extension he wouldn't mind it.”
Dottore’s expression immediately plummets to that upside down frown of his, very characteristic of his younger segments.
“Scaramouche-!”
“Can’t take a joke?” He interrupts “Sour mood you’re in, no?” and, with that, he simply turns his back, walking away and dismissing Dottore with a wave. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Dottore walked out of the meeting room, trailing his usual path to his lab within Zapolyarny palace, ignoring his colleagues’ chatting. He left without bidding goodbye. He couldn't take any more of that.
Surely, that would be the end of it.
Light, feathery footsteps and low humming prove him wrong in seconds.
“Columbina.” He greets, not even turning to face her, hoping she’ll leave him alone.
“Hello.” She says, hushed tone. “No tests today?”
“No. I’m busy.”
“Mmm..” she hums. “I see.” Despite that, she continues following him. His steps come to a halt.
“Do you need anything, Columbina?” He doesn't put effort into not sounding rude.
“I was just curious…”
“... About?” Please don’t mention-
“Pierro. So is he or isn't he your-”
“Argh-!” Dottore groans, both hands sliding down his face in exasperation.
“-father? I thought it made sense given your talk about enduring for family, but you said otherwise-”
“He isn't my father. I misspoke! How come all of them are granted the right of mishaps whereas this simple diction error is taken with such-”
Columbina stays quiet. Dottore doesn't have the energy to go on with his rant. He takes a deep breath.
“So you don't see him as your father?”
“He’s not my-” That's not what she asked, is it? Dottore ignores that he noticed it. “It’s… a simple mistake. We are a family, Columbina, but I never meant literally.”
She hums in understanding. “Mm.”
Dottore practically hides in his coat once Columbina leaves him alone, scurrying his way out of his acquaintances’ reach.
Pantalone dreads encountering the other Harbingers, but at least today the meeting was a little more humorous.
He walks inside his home, environment contrasted from the unforgivingly cold night outside, and places his heavy coat on the coathanger.
Speaking of which, he hasn't seen Dottore since then.
He takes off his boots, leaving them near the door as he walks towards his bedroom.
Maybe Dottore is hiding away in his lab, embarassed and mortified.
Pantalone opens the door of his bedroom, facing the extensive darkness of the massive room.
It’s not like the harbingers didn't know of Dottore’s and Pierro’s relationship, but it was terribly hilarious seeing it addressed out loud in front of everyone.
He turns on the lights.
And there he is. Dottore, lying on the Ninth’s bed, faceplanting against the pillows. (Pantalone's pillows, to be specific. Dottore has spent long enough in this room for them to have their specifications regarding sides of the bed.)
“There you are.”
There's a muffled answer and a groan. Pantalone can’t understand even half of it, but he has an idea of what has brought Dottore to this position.
Pantalone climbs on the bed, slowly crawling towards Dottore. “I take it you’re in a bad mood?”
Another muffled answer, but Pantalone understands it this time. “Thank you for the astute observation.”
Pantalone hums, hovering above the Doctor, one hand beside Dottore’s waist so Pantalone can keep himself staring down at the Second.
Pantalone leans down, trying to coax Dottore into looking at him; it, surprisingly, works, and the Doctor turns to face him, perhaps half expectant of a kiss. “You know-” Pantalone says instead, and Dottore frowns, face back on the pillow.
“Don’t.” He complains.
“You don’t even know what I was going to tell you.” Pantalone huffed, still taking the opportunity to leave a kiss on Dottore's neck.
“Ugh,” Dottore groans, shifting his face slightly so he can be properly heard. “Do I not?” He questions; it's rhetorical.
“... Well, not everything, at least.”
Dottore grunts. “Fine.”
“...”
“...”
“You’ve ruined my timing.” Pantalone finally states.
“I knew it.” Albeit controlled, Dottore’s tone is terribly accusatory. “You were going to make fun of me.”
“Me? The gall to accuse me of such.” Pantalone feigns offense, lying besides the Doctor, one leg entangling with Dottore’s. “Was it a diction error, love?”
“... Yes! What else would it’ve been?!”
“Mmm… It sounded so natural for you to say it, you didn't even realize it.” Pantalone teases.
“I loathe you.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Pierro knocks on the door of the laboratorium.
He waits for what must’ve been ten minutes, but he knows someone is there.
The metal door slides open.
The Delta segment stares him up and down; Dottore’s reflection of the arid night Pierro found him, despite his face hidden by the bicoloured mask with the shape of a crescent moon.
“Hello, Delta.”
“... Hi.”
“Is Dottore here?”
“No. He ditched us again.”
Pierro makes a sound that leads to a feeling akin to disappointment.
“May I come in?”
There’s silence.
“Is that an order?”
“No.” Pierro is far too quick to add. “A request.”
Delta shrugs.
“Sure. The mess is Omega's fault, though.”
Pierro chuckles.