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On ordinary days, Dottore loved listening to the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet. It amazingly tuned his brain for work, its steady rhythm reminiscent of music, to which all thought processes sounded like a well-played orchestra. Today, however, the sound of this orchestra was anything but steady; it was disjointed and chaotic, as if every musician were playing their own tune and trying to outshine everyone else. The thoughts in his head also jumped chaotically from one to another, each trying to drown out the previous one, turning everything into a nauseating, deafening cacophony.
Is there even one sufficiently convincing reason why he isn't at the bank today?
By the way, it is necessary to reconsider the initial data and double-check the frequencies to prevent a fatal error at the most critical stage.
Did I really have to interrupt my work and run all over town just to get a single signature from him?
Hmm, I wonder. If I replace the A-179 control key with an older model, maybe I can achieve better synchronization?..
Dottore shook his head, trying to calm the chaos raging in his mind, even just a little. He took a deep breath and exhaled, focusing on his breathing so that he wouldn't pay any more attention to the nasty crunch of frozen puddles, which were turning his thought processes into complete bedlam.
Damn bureaucracy. The bank refuses to give me any funds without his signature, treating me as if I’d just walked in off the street begging for a handout. And right now, I don’t just need funds—I desperately need them, since my last batch ran out at the very most critical moment of the experiment.
“I can’t waste any time,” he said to himself, quickening his pace. Fortunately, the walk was almost over—he just had to turn one more corner, and Pantalone’s house finally came into view.
If he isn’t here and I waste more time, I swear I’ll leave the bank in ruins.
He pushed open the gate and glanced down the path leading to the building. It looked like Pantalone had just returned from somewhere because the footprints of his boots were clearly visible in the thin layer of fresh snow. And next to them...
“What is this?” Dottore stared at the bright red spots that looked almost fluorescent against the white snow. Everything inside him tensed, and the cacophony in his head gave way to an unnatural, deathly silence.
Had something happened to him again?..
He hurried inside, pushing open the front door with force. A trail of bright red drops led him deeper into the house until he reached the bathroom, where the soft sound of water splashing came from.
“What are you—” Dottore barged into the bathroom without a second thought. But when he saw what was happening inside, he fell silent, completely at a loss for words.
The wall was splattered with red droplets, and the water running into the sink looked pink. Pantalone held his hands under a thin stream of water, washing away the blood—the skin on his slender hands, covered with scars and traces of old burns, seemed to have suffered severe injury again. There was a deep, fresh cut on each of his palms, and on the cabinet lay a pair of torn, dark gloves.
“What happened?” Dottore stared intently at the wounds. It looked as though someone had slashed Pantalone quite severely with a knife—and by no means a simple one at that; in some places, the wounds even looked jagged, as if the blade had, on top of everything else, torn off bits of skin.
Pantalone finally looked up at him. His whole body was trembling, and he had tears in his eyes. But somehow he still managed to force a smile—one so unnatural that it sent a chill down Dottore's spine.
“Nothing to worry about.”
Dottore clenched his teeth.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Pantalone lowered his gaze again.
“What was there to tell? They’re just simple cuts. Besides, I know you’re busy today. My apologies—I seem to have completely forgotten that I promised to sign a couple of papers for you.”
Dottore opened the cabinet tensely and took out a bandage.
“What does that have to do with anything right now?”
He grabbed Pantalone’s hands and carefully rinsed the wounds with water again to make sure there was no dirt left. Then, he rolled the bandage into a small ball and began to gently treat the edges of the wound with antiseptic solution. Pantalone flinched and closed his eyes.
“Does it hurt badly?” Dottore asked, continuing to carefully treat the wound.
After a pause, Pantalone sighed.
“We’ve been through things much worse than this. But I have to admit, this isn’t the most pleasant feeling.”
“I’m almost done. There’s a lot of blood, but the wounds aren’t as deep as I initially thought.”
Dottore continued carefully tending to Pantalone’s delicate hands. When he finished disinfecting them, he applied a bandage to one hand, and then to the other. And when he was finally done, he looked at Pantalone’s face again. There were no more tears in his eyes, and the smile on his face no longer seemed forced.
“Thank you.”
Even though the crisis was over, Dottore still didn’t feel like smiling. He glanced at the torn dark gloves, which now looked more like rags.
“What happened? Did someone attack you again?”
Pantalone nodded and looked at the gloves, too.
“Those were my favorites. What a shame,” he sighed, walking toward the bathroom door. “Everything happened too fast. I was talking to a client in the square when some guy jumped out of nowhere and slashed at my hands. Our men caught him, but… well, you can see for yourself.”
Dottore grimly crossed his arms over his chest.
“Was there really no one who could have given you first aid?”
Pantalone gave a sad smile and stepped out of the bathroom.
“I didn’t want anyone to see my hands.”
Dottore pursed his lips and followed him into the room. But halfway to the desk, Pantalone stopped abruptly, as if he’d gotten dizzy, and held onto the wall.
“Oh, shit…”
Dottore hurried to help Pantalone sit down on the sofa and sat next to him.
“I swear, the moment I look away, something happens to you. Maybe I should start escorting you from home to work and back every day now?”
Pantalone didn’t answer. He was clearly still feeling dizzy, but instead of leaning back against the sofa, he leaned lightly on Dottore.
“Do you mind?”
Dottore said nothing, feeling the warmth radiating from Pantalone. His dark hair was soft and smelled very nice, and Dottore caught himself deliberately inhaling the scent.
“So, he was arrested?” he asked, tilting his head slightly so as not to tempt himself with that strangely pleasant scent any longer. But his willpower didn’t last long, and he returned his head to its original position.
Did you always smell so good?..
“Yes, now that bastard will face his punishment. Everything’s fine.”
“Everything will be fine when he has the same scars on his hands.”
Pantalone looked up at him and smiled.
“It’s very rare for the Doctor himself to take such an active role in justice. Have you really run out of test subjects?”
“I’d be happy to take him on as a test subject.”
“I never doubted it,” Pantalone laughed, and quite unexpectedly, Dottore felt his warm hand on his cheek. Pantalone remained silent, gently touching his skin, as if the sensation were helping him cope with the pain in his hands.
“Do you want me to give you some painkillers?” Dottore asked just in case, not even knowing how to react to what was happening.
Pantalone closed his eyes.
“No. I’ll just sit here like this for a little while, if you don’t mind.”
They sat side by side until Pantalone began snoring softly, as if he had fallen asleep. Dottore tried with all his might to calm the unfamiliar feeling inside him that was simultaneously reminiscent of a storm yet indescribably comforting. And at some point he, too, felt an overwhelming urge to sleep. He leaned back against the sofa, still feeling Pantalone’s warm, gentle hand on his face.
I’ll have a chance to deal with that scoundrel later, and I’ll have to put my experiments on hold, too. I’ll also need to stop by and buy him some new gloves—exactly the same as these torn ones. I remember where that store is since I was the one who bought those gloves for him. I wonder why they’re his favorites. What’s so special about them?..
Unable to resist, he buried his nose in Pantalone’s dark hair and relaxed.
All right, those are questions for another time. But for now…
“Sleep well, Feofan.”