Archive of Our Own

Pantalone was a lucky man for once in his impossibly long life.

The gods had never favored him, so he could only attribute his newfound blessings to his own merit. To think Dottore  now spent the majority of his nights in Pantalone's bed, looking so very rumpled and human in silken nightwear, content to cuddle. Dottore claimed he hadn't bothered with pajamas since he was a child, and what a shame it was. It truly suited him.

And with how cold Pantalone's private quarters were, Dottore always crawled into his arms one way or another. Besides his room, Pantalone himself naturally ran cold, extremities tinged blue and wounds slow to heal. Dottore loved to remind him how abysmal his circulation was, so sharing body heat was a welcomed proximity. And really, he just liked holding the man, and being held in return, pressing his nose into the side of his neck and feeling warm skin against his face.

"Is your hearth only for show?" Dottore muttered one night, emerging from the adjoined bathroom. Leaving the humidity of a post-shower bathroom, the bedroom must feel all the more frigid in comparison.

The steam gave his face a lovely flush, and the hem of his towel—borrowed, but more like stolen—trailed on the floor, just a couple inches too long. Pantalone didn't own any piece of clothing, towel robe or not, that wasn't tailored exactly to his measurements. Snobbish, perhaps, but that's how he liked it. Who was to judge how a man spent his fortune?

Dottore crossed the room, the ends of his hair dripping water, and shamelessly ransacked Pantalone's closet. He had carved out a space for Dottore's nightwear over the past few weeks. Dottore threw open the doors and unceremoniously dug through the collection. 

He slipped off the towel, and while Pantalone would've loved to admire the tantalizing expanse of bare skin, he truly was very sleepy. It had been a long day of meetings, and Pulcinella was, as usual, a stingy piece of work. Cough up the money? Give him a break. For such a small man he could be such noise pollution.

So instead, Pantalone slid down the bed, having been sitting against the headboard, and fluffed his pillow. One of many pillows.

"I could light it, if you'd like." He reached over and plucked the pyro delusion off the dresser. 

Dottore waved his hand. "Don't bother. I was being rhetorical." He left his mask on the dresser, setting it beside the delusion, and slid into bed.

With a pleased little hum, Pantalone rolled onto his side, happily winding an arm around Dottore's middle. He pressed a kiss to wherever he could reach- his neck, his jaw, his cheek, right under his eye. His hair was still damp, smelling of luxury shampoo. Pantalone should've known Dottore would take the liberty to shamelessly use his things. Of course, he didn't mind one bit. It made the possessive part of him, carefully managed in the recesses of his heart, preen.

Dottore stiffened, and Pantalone knew it wasn't because it tickled. "Aren't you supposed to be tired?" He drawled.

Pantalone pressed one last kiss to the corner of his lips. "I am, but not to the point where I can't muster the strength for this much." He stifled a contradictory yawn. "Mm. Or not. Good night."

Dottore's hand settled over his arm. "Good night."

When Pantalone woke the following morning, Dottore had slipped out of his grasp and rolled over to the other side of the bed. Curiously, after he rubbed the sleep from his eyes (Dottore often reprimanded the habit. It scratched the cornea, he said. But Pantalone didn't see what was so bad—he trusted Dottore to repair his corneas whenever needed), he noticed Dottore didn't look particularly rumpled, the way people usually were after a night's rest. And especially in Dottore's case, having migrated halfway across the bed.

His suspicions only worsened when, after sitting up, Dottore's eyes opened with perfect clarity. 

Pantalone retrieved his glasses and peered down at him. The other part of his brain happily took in the sight of his eyes, committing them to memory.

"Have you been awake this whole time?" He asked, voice rough from disuse. "You needn't wait on my account, I'm sure you have a busy day ahead of you."

Dottore was silent for a moment. "I only just woke up myself. Besides, I wouldn't dream of leaving you to wake in an empty bed. That would be rather uncouth of me, would it not?"

Pantalone shook his head, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Who knew The Doctor was the spitting image of chivalry?"

"Why would you assume anything less?" Dottore smirked, and his smile only widened as Pantalone laughed.

-

Pantalone didn't want to jump to conclusions. He was a methodical man, and that didn't change just because he was investigating something so domestic. He purposefully stayed awake one night, having made sure to drink coffee beforehand as a boost, and observed. Dottore was still as a statue, breathing evenly, their legs tangled beneath the sheets. 

It was harder to stay awake than it seemed. Truly, Pantalone had been getting plenty of sleep lately, he almost couldn't remember what it felt like having insomnia. The countless nights spent staring at his ceiling—vaulted, custom fresco—the slow and silent agony of waiting for the sun to rise. Pantalone distantly wondered if Snezhnaya's climate had something to do with it. Mornings were hardly brighter than nights, the shift was subtle at best. If he were to make a public poll, would he find that the majority of Snezhnayan adults suffered from sleep-related issues, one way or another? Somnology was hardly his field of study, but perhaps Dottore, being the generalist scholar that he was, could help.

Well. Dottore could help once he cured his own evident insomnia. Priorities. 

Pantalone ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth. He was a little parched. He must have added too much sugar. Normally, he took his coffee black, but he could spare some indulgence every now and then.

An idea came to mind. 

He shifted minutely. Dottore remained still.

If it turned out it was all in his head and Dottore was really sleeping, then so be it. Dottore was a rather light sleeper from the few times Pantalone was sure the man was unconscious, so it was a fine line to tread. 

And Pantalone would be lying if he claimed he didn't feel slightly ridiculous. Perhaps he was simply bored, and decided the best way to alleviate his boredom is to investigate his partner's sleeping habits.

With painstaking caution, Pantalone extracted himself from their tangled limbs, sitting up in bed. He hardly made a sound when he swung his legs over the bed and stood, sliding into soft slippers that muted his footsteps. He made it perhaps four steps towards the door when Dottore stirred.

"Where are you going?"

A harmless question, an incriminating tone. Dottore didn't sound the least bit groggy.

Got you.

Pantalone glanced over his shoulder, the picture of ignorance. "I'm getting water. Go back to sleep."

Dottore soon joined him across the bedroom, fingers digging into the edge of his sleeve. "I'll handle it. Let me play caretaker, hmm?"

Perhaps playing coy would get him nowhere. Would communicating directly speed things along?

That answered that. And so it began.

-

It'd been a while since 18 saw Pantalone in person. And to think the one time Pantalone sought conversation, it was to ask for Omega! The nerve. Pantalone always spent more time with the older Segments. Something to rectify in the future- 18 may look the part of a youthful teenager, but there was nothing the other segments did that he couldn't. It was pure visual bias. It seemed even Zandik's beloved banker had his flaws.

Ah, then again. There was that new development he forgot about. Omega was entangled with him now. 18 supposed Omega should feel grateful— after all, it was him and 45, who forced him to attend the gala. If not for that event acting as a catalyst, Pantalone and Omega might still walk on eggshells to this day! Really, Omega should be thanking him, swearing his undying loyalty! Was it strange to imagine an older version of himself down on one knee? 

A pipe dream.

Segment 18 rapped his knuckles against the door to the lab's break room.

Technically, it was a shared space for all the segments, a modest room furnished with beds and stocked with light reading material. It functioned similarly to an on-call room, except whenever Omega, or as he preferred, Dottore occupied it, he always locked the door. How infuriatingly selfish. He wasn't the only overworked segment who wanted a nap! If he wanted privacy, he should've used his own private quarters. Was the trip up the elevator truly such a hassle? 

Then again, all the segments suffered from rather fractured sleep cycles, so maybe tucking oneself in an actual bed was a bit overkill.

"Open up," he said loudly. He was met with silence. "I know you're awake."

Crickets. He had to be ignoring him on purpose.

"I'll have this door removed if you don't open the door." 18 tried again. 

There was another long pause, before Dottore finally responded. "What do you want?"

Despite the door between them muffling his reply, his voice was unmistakably grouchy. 18 rolled his eyes. Aw, what a poor thing, having his midday nap interrupted. Please.

"I've got a letter for you." 18 said. He glanced at Pierro's distinct print. It seemed serious, but also terribly boring.

"Is that all?" Dottore said, unimpressed. "Leave it on my desk. And since when did you deliver letters? Was I not made aware of a recent demotion?"

18 growled. He considered leaving it at that, just to spite him, but decided against it. Unfortunately, there wasn't a segment alive who didn't want to stay in Pantalone's good graces. 

 "I'm not done. Pantalone's also asking for you, he's in his study."

Hook line and sink, the door swung open. Dottore looked a little tousled, his lab coat wrinkled, the back of his hair flattened and sticking up. So he really was sleeping. To think he actually used the room for its intended purpose, and not to brood mysteriously. 18's impressed he managed to doze off at all. Of course, mid-day crashes were a common enough occurrence among the segments, fragmented sleep schedules did that to a person. Only 8 managed to get decent sleep.

Dottore wore an impressively deep scowl on his face. "You should've led with that." He said, a little scathingly. "Clearly, speaking in order of significance eludes you."

18 rolled his eyes again, this time to let Dottore know of his flippancy. Get the mood across. "Whatever." 

He moved to push past Dottore, and startled when the man tried to shut the door on him. He didn't think Omega had the capacity to be so petty. He jammed his boot into the door frame before he could succeed. "Hey, let me in! Did you think I came all the way down here just to play messenger?"

Dottore's scowl morphed into a grin. "My apologies."

With a huff, 18 slipped inside and climbed into his usual bed, the one farthest from the door. The measly hope that an extra meter of distance from the outside world would help him sleep deeper, was not very effective. Still, the placebo might work in the future. Nobody had bothered to furnish the break room with proper beds, and so they simply used leftover medical cots. In his peripheral, he watched Dottore attempt to fix his hair, give up, and slip away.

-

Pantalone glanced up from his files when he heard the tell-tale knocks on his door. Sharp, familiar. He recognized who it was immediately. While Dottore always knocked in a short, quick succession, Sandrone tended to take liberties with the term knock and instead bang insistently with her fists. The more hysterical the fit, the louder the blows. Columbina, on the other hand, often announced her presence with slow, meandering taps against the door, with barely enough force to be heard. If not that, then she'd simply sing until he let her in. Pulcinella- don't get him started.

"Come in." he said. 

Dottore entered his office, shutting the door with his boot, and stalked up to his desk with a curious smile. Pantalone took in the unusual messiness of his hair, so unlike his usual poise (for a mad scientist, he did clean up nicely), and felt a wave of endearment. He made a note to look into accredited painters in the area. A portrait would be nice. No, he'd hire from overseas if it came down to it, mora was hardly an issue. 

"You summoned me?" Dottore asked with an bird-like tilt to his head. 

Pantalone chuckled. "You make it sound as if I'm your commanding officer. I simply wanted your company."

"My projects are currently on hold, no thanks to those halted trade routes." Dottore sniffed. Ah yes, he wasn't too happy about the recent pause in his research supplies. "So I'm happy to keep you company in the meanwhile."

"As I've said, we're working on it." Pantalone chided as Dottore took a seat across from him. And by we, he meant Pulcinella, and Pulcinella alone. The poor soul. "Is that why your hair's a mess?" His eyes flicked over the doctor's locks, and a small part of him compared the sight to a crow with its feathers ruffled, "Going stir-crazy, my dear?"

Dottore twirled the dangling lock framing his face, inspecting it himself. "I assure you, there were no rogue explosions." His expression soured slightly, as if he'd regret what he was about to say. "I took a nap earlier today. You'll be chagrined to know my peaceful slumber was rather rudely interrupted by your call." 

He then waved his hand, flicking the lock back. "See? I do sleep."

Pantalone blinked. That changed things, but not by much.

"At irregular intervals, so as to make up for your chronic sleep deprivation. I'm not sure mid-day naps compensate all that well." Pantalone said, hazarding a guess. He wasn't the medical professional between the two of them, but the logic seemed clear as day. 

"You don't believe I can train myself into becoming nocturnal?" Dottore drawled. His wit was charming, but it wouldn't fool Pantalone. It never did.

"Archons, it's like talking to an attractive brick wall." Pantalone sighed long-sufferingly. He stood, and Dottore watched as he moved about his office, preparing them a pot of tea. 

Ever so perceptive, Dottore spoke up when a sweet scent filled the office. "Not your usual blend?"

"No. This is a custom chamomile blend I picked up in Liyue during my last business trip." Liyue's Northland Bank branch needed a lot more visits following Tartaglia's reckless actions. "I've been told it helps with sleep."

Dottore sat a little straighter. "I see where this is going." He stared at his cup skeptically, as if it personally offended him. Pantalone blew on his own cup, steam rising from the liquid, and took a sip. It tasted vaguely of apple and honey, a comforting combination.

"It's evening." Pantalone said, glancing out the window. "Perhaps the calming effects will kick in by the time you decide to retire."

Dottore impassively drained his own teacup. He hadn't even waited for the tea to cool. "That's up to you. These days, I tend to retire when you do."

Pantalone smiled. "You really are sweet."

Dottore's ears reddened ever so slightly. "Not as sweet as this tea." He made a face as he finished the last drop. "How much sugar did you dump in?"

"Not a single cube. I suppose this is simply how this particular blend tastes."

"It's horrible. Don't expect me to drink this every night."

So picky. Pantalone thought it was rather nice and tart. Then again, Dottore wasn't a sweets person to begin with. He found even vintage champagne- from when Pantalone passed it from his mouth into his- to be overly saccharine. A delicate palette.

Pantalone smoothed things over by leaning over the desk and kissing him, and when he heard a pleased hum against his lips, he knew his forgiveness was won.

That didn't stop the tea from being utterly useless. Now that the ruse was up, Dottore no longer pretended to sleep at night. He simply laid there with his eyes open, drawing idle shapes and equations on Pantalone's back, occasionally playing with the longer side of his hair.

"No good?" Pantalone mumbled.

"Unfortunately so." Dottore shifted up the bed to hold him more securely and pecked the top of his head. He wasn't a particularly tender man; he must have picked that up from Pantalone himself. "It's no matter. Don't mind me."

Pantalone was too sleepy to resist. The tea had worked wonders on himself, ironically enough.

-

With simple herbal remedies out of the question, Pantalone looked elsewhere for solutions. Then when a glaring thought came to mind a couple days later, Pantalone nearly dug for his pistol to punish himself for his utter stupidity. 

Pantalone sat up in bed, retrieved his glasses, and smoked a cigarette while Dottore complained and buried his face into the pillow in an attempt to escape the stench. When the smoke dissipated and soothed the worst of his hysterics, he flicked it into the ash tray on the night-stand and flipped Dottore onto his back, caging him to the mattress.

Dottore's expression, unmasked and unguarded, quickly went from disgruntled to eager.

"Oh?" Dottore rasped. Despite not sleeping, his voice was as rough as anyone who neglected to speak for an entire night. "Was smoking first thing in the morning your way of plucking up your courage?" 

Pantalone pressed a kiss to his cheek, but didn't go much farther than that. Dottore caught on quickly, and frowned. "What a ruthless interrogation, holding me hostage in my own bed."

Technically, it was Pantalone's bed, but knowing he thought of it as theirs made his face heat up. He cleared his throat hastily.

"Save the melodramatics for later." Pantalone teased. "I just had a sudden epiphany, that's all. The smoke was unrelated. Recreational."

"You really know how to wound your physician." Dottore said flatly. "Go on then, enlighten me."

"Do you remember the tincture you gave me, perhaps four months ago? The one that helped with sleep? It was held in a small glass vial shaped like a teardrop."

Dottore blinked. "I do."

Pantalone furrowed his brow. "Why don't you use it yourself? Does it not work on you?"

Dottore shrugged, gaze sliding away. Was he embarrassed? "I gave my last vial to you. Admittedly, I've been procrastinating, but the blend I use requires a particularly elusive herb from Inazuma. The hassle of having it harvested and shipped is more trouble than its worth. Besides, it's not a necessity. I'm perfectly fine without it."

"I can't say I agree." Pantalone said. "I heard you snapped at Columbina yesterday. You don't usually lose your composure so easily, especially over— what was it? Teaching math?"

"She's a hopeless case." Dottore retorted. He tried to sit up in his sudden haste, and Pantalone pushed him back down. "You would understand if you saw how she tried to solve inequalities. A regular professor wouldn't even know where to start grading." He paused, and muttered, "Although in her case, they would only need to draw one glaringly large X—"

Pantalone tried to steer the conversation away. He didn't mean to set him off on a tangent. "The only inequalities I'm worried about are financial, I'm afraid. Your words might have flown over my head."

Thankfully, his redirection worked. Dottore's scowl eased up. "Ah, yes, the trade routes. How has it been coming along?"

"Well enough. They'll be restored any day now."

"Thank the Tsaritsa. You know, my lab has never been more barren- nnh!" 

Pantalone dragged his knee between Dottore's legs, and he seized up with a surprised noise.

"I thought this was an interrogation." Dottore grinned, voice strained.

"That was entirely your own assumption, my dear." Pantalone mirrored his smile. "I never said I didn't want to play around. I just had more pressing questions to ask first."

A flush was steadily spreading across Dottore's cheeks. Pantalone wanted to take a bite. "You got your answers. By all means, have your fun."

What a kind invitation. Safe to say they clocked in at their respective workplaces abnormally late.

-

The miraculous sleep serum was gone, too. It almost felt like the man was intentionally evading sleep. Pantalone wouldn't put it past him- his pride worked in mysterious ways at times. It only made things all the more difficult for him. 

Dottore's worsening temper slowly became more and more apparent. It was harder to notice when it was simply the two of them, as affection, or perhaps the better term was the honeymoon phase, smoothed over any bad moods. When Pantalone was just an unknowing bystander, however, it was an entirely new world.

Pantalone paused when he heard familiar voices floating down the hall.

"For all your pride in being Alain's greatest creation, however ludicrous of a claim, you're certainly more brat than girl." Dottore snapped. "If you spent the same amount of time you spend complaining following through on your countless discontinued projects, you might actually have a breakthrough. As it is currently, I don't see any of that happening in your near future."

"Urgh!" Sandrone was possibly the best Harbinger to pick a fight with. Her temper was truly entertaining in its intensity. "I don't need to hear this! I don't care who pissed you off, get your shit together! It's not as if I want to work with you either, so you can save your breath." She grumbled under her breath before her words became decipherable again. "To think you'd even bring up Alain... You're so unfathomably lucky I don't know who your parents are. I would've ripped them a new one!"

"Oh yes, I'm sure you would." Dottore drawled, and Pantalone could practically hear the sardonic smirk that accompanied his words. "I'm afraid such an endeavor would be pointless. I'm not the sort of fool who gets offended on the behalf of others."

"Is that right? Hah, your denial is even worse up close!" Sandrone exclaimed, "I'm sure if your dear Regrator were to get insulted, you'd come running to his rescue-"

How funny would it be to appear now? He had to know.

"Oh my, am I interrupting?" As Pantalone rounded the corner, he took in the visual he'd been missing all this time while eavesdropping.

Dottore and Sandrone stood at odds with each other, carrying identical folders, the fatui insignia stark against the dark leather. Sandrone's folder was tucked rather defensively under his arm, her other hand holding her hip, while Dottore held his folder in the air, as if he were waving it around to emphasize his point.

Pantalone put on his winning smile. "Good day, Doctor, Marionette."

Sandrone didn't seem very embarrassed at having been caught mentioning him. Her lip curled with unabashed disgust, and she turned her face away with a huff as if she couldn't bear to look at him for a second longer. Dottore was the opposite- he hadn't glanced away since Pantalone's arrival.

"Hello, Regrator." She said delicately, actively managing her temper. "Speak of the devil."

"Yes, I've seemed to have somehow found my way into your line of conversation." Pantalone chuckled. "You two were bickering loud enough for the entire wing to hear, you see."

Dottore rubbed his fist briefly along his mask, which Pantalone assumed was his equivalent of pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"I have better things to do." Dottore said tersely. "Unlike some people."

Sandrone bristled. "Are you trying to provoke me?"

Dottore turned on his heel without another word, and after glaring venomously at Pantalone, Sandrone stormed off in the opposite direction. The decision was obvious; Pantalone followed after Dottore. In what world would he chase after anyone else.

Once Sandrone was out of earshot, Pantalone asked, "What happened?"

Dottore sighed. "A regrettable lapse in composure, nothing more." He paused, and then the floodgates opened. "Being forced to conduct research with her is a nightmare."

"I imagine so."

"Her methods of research are outrageously outdated, and her presence in my lab seems to make Columbina believe she can barge in as she pleases. You'd think Columbina has a tracker on her with how acutely she seems to be aware of her location. And once that girl joins us, any chance of focusing is ruined. They're practically joined at the hip. I wouldn't mind doing it on my own, but it's impossible to concentrate when the lab is filled with chatter."

"Is that right?" That must have been the catalyst for Columbina's spontaneous math lessons. Imagining Dottore being dragged from his work to entertain the ladies was a charming image. Dottore's lab was never a quiet environment though, all things considered. There was always the hum of machinery, always at least one segment muttering to themselves in a manic daze. Not to mention the constant foot traffic of subordinates coming in and out. 

"I have half the mind to take it up with Pierro and have her reassigned elsewhere. It's not like she's contributed anything of value. I'm more than capable of taking over."

"There is no doubt in my mind." 

Pantalone reached over and grasped Dottore's hand, which had been gesturing emphatically in the air this whole time. Dottore stopped mid-sentence and glanced away, as if just realizing how he'd been rambling.

"I digress. You get the idea." Dottore huffed. He squeezed back when Pantalone interlocked their fingers, which was a nice bonus.

Pantalone hummed thoughtfully. "I wasn't aware your irritability was this bad. You're practically turning into Sandrone."

Dottore tried to wrench his hand away, but Pantalone held steady. "The nerve! Don't compare me to her."

"It's an accurate assessment." Pantalone shrugged. He stopped once their aimless walk reached a secluded corridor, and reached over to push Dottore's mask back. Dottore blinked at him. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent, but not anything out of the ordinary. That almost made things worse.  

"You have to admit it's getting ridiculous." Pantalone said, shaking Dottore's shoulders slightly. "How long has it been since you've slept at night? Two weeks, maybe more? I'm not certain how long it's been going on, considering I only caught on recently." He shook his shoulders again for emphasis. "You started using my bed around four months ago." He shook him again. "Has it been that long?"

Dottore glanced away. "Perhaps."

"Have you always been this way? You don't make a habit of losing your temper. Even Sandrone noticed your recent changes."

"Pantalone." Dottore sighed, brushing his hands off. "I'm accustomed to these things. In fact, I've made my greatest breakthroughs in the dead of night. Your precious elixir comes to mind. The Fatui delusions, too."

"But it's been getting worse." Pantalone pointed out.

"That, I can't deny." Dottore crossed his arms. "The reason eludes me. And it's not as if I can prescribe myself with the usual medications; such mild drugs have no effect on me. I'd need a dosage high enough to knock out a Rimehorn Deer, and at that point the risks outweigh the benefits entirely."

Pantalone wondered whether Dottore was aware of how much inconvenience he was causing himself by modifying his body. Did he run out of cadavers?

He grimaced slightly. "It's not very pleasant sleeping beside someone I know is wide-awake. It would give me much peace of mind if I knew you were also getting proper rest."

Dottore paused. "There is one way, I suppose." 

-

Having sex every night without fail for the sole purpose of knocking Dottore out was wholly unrealistic! The sly vixen.

Pantalone ruminated on this as Dottore slept peacefully in his arms, sated and flushed and undeniably smug, a hint of a smirk still visible on his lips.

He could feel the edges of sleep tugging at his own eyelids, threatening to shut; he never boasted much stamina to begin with, and his bed was so very comfortable.

-

"Is there a reason why you're been lounging around my office for the better part of the day? Don't you have work to do?" Pantalone asked. He'd burned through the massive pile of paperwork on his desk, and when he glanced up from the sea of words, Dottore was laying across his sofa, just as he'd been when he followed him in that same morning. 

Dottore's boots are kicked up onto the armrest, to Pantalone's chagrin. 

"Is it so wrong for me to want to observe my lover in his natural habitat?" Dottore smirked, and Pantalone rolled his eyes, even as his face heated up. Dottore sighed. "And to answer your question, no, I find my schedule miraculously empty. The joint research with Sandrone was short-lived." 

He rolled onto his stomach, peering at Pantalone as he propped his chin on his folded arms. "No thanks to you."

Pantalone huffed. No offense taken, though he was toeing the line. "I told you, I'm doing all that I can. You'll get your shipments in due time."

"I thought I, of all people, would be exempt from your empty promises." Dottore laughed. "You really are indiscriminate."

"Please, you get plenty of special treatment. In fact, I ordered a sleeping mask and weighted blanket specifically for you."

Dottore stared at him incredulously. "You're still on about that? Don't you feel like you're wasting your mora?"

"I have more than I know what to do with." Pantalone shrugged. "Spoiling you seems like a perfectly appropriate use of my wealth." He then peered at Dottore, smiling slightly. "Doctors truly make for the worst patients. It would help if you'd stop resisting my loving efforts."

Dottore's lip curled in disgust, but that seemed to have gotten through to him, as that night he begrudgingly slipped under the weighted blanket and adjusted the silk eye mask over his eyes. Perhaps it was a testament to Dottore's fondness towards him, that he was willing to indulge in his many fruitless endeavors. The notion was appreciated.

Pantalone used a separate, ordinary comforter. Weighted blankets were a great aid to many people, hence the product's popularity, but he wasn't a fan of it himself. The weight was just shy of claustrophobic. For Dottore, however...

"How is it?" He asked, nudging the humanoid lump under the covers.

"Unremarkable." Dottore shifted until his head emerged from the covers, and pulled at his eye mask. "I can't say I enjoy having my vision obscured."

Pantalone flicked his forehead lightly. "Maybe that's just it; you have to turn off your hyper-vigilance and relax. I'm quite certain there aren't any assailants in my bedroom. That's what the guards are for."

He had a feeling Dottore rolled his eyes under the mask. 

Pantalone shifted closer in the morning, carding his fingers through Dottore's tousled hair. Dottore hummed and leaned into his touch.

"Well?"

Dottore all but ripped the eye mask from his head. His gaze was perfectly clear. "I almost considered lying to you."

A bust.

A week later, the trade routes were sorted out, and Dottore's precious resources finally made their way to his lab. Dottore disappeared into his lab, eager to make up for lost time. It was heartwarming to see him all fired up again. Or, well, perhaps the more accurate term would be hear. He hadn't seen him all day. 

Pantalone half-expected Dottore to skip his perfunctory visits to bed altogether and pull an all-nighter. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but he knew how Dottore got during these fits of inspiration. Like a finely-lit candle, he would work in a manic daze until the flame worked through the wax entirely, before dropping dead. A chaotic cycle that Pantalone was keen on remedying once he finally showed his face again.

To his surprise, Dottore turned up to his private quarters perfectly on-time. 

"Caffeine is starting to feel pointless." Dottore said as he briskly walked past Pantalone, yanking open his dresser and rifling for clothes. "Even direct injections don't yield results anymore. Perhaps this is a sign for me to concoct my own stimulant."

"You sound like an addict." Pantalone sighed, joining him by the dresser and pulling him into his arms. He pressed his nose into warm skin. "Have you considered simply letting your body run its course naturally?"

"That's what I'm doing now, isn't it?" Dottore changed out of his lab attire and joined Pantalone in bed. The weighted blanket had been pushed to the foot of the bed, the eye mask hanging precariously by the edge. Evidence of his efforts.

Dottore's breathing slowed, his lashes fluttered. His fingers, which usually dance along Pantalone's skin tracing invisible shapes, were still.

To Pantalone's pleasant surprise, and disbelief, Dottore was asleep within minutes. 

Ah.

"How foolish of me," Pantalone murmured, barely above a whisper. He ran the back of his hand over Dottore's cheek. "I should've known. All you needed was work to curb your restless energy." He doubted Dottore himself realized this, considering he spent all his free time in Pantalone's office rather than looking for errands to run. And perhaps this revelation could act as an incentive to actually help Pulcinella for once and prevent such ordeals from happening again.

Pantalone was the one who stayed awake for once. He sat against the headboard with Dottore curled halfway across his lap, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest with growing fondness. The moon rose high in the sky, silver light peeking through the cracks in the blinds. Dottore looked younger in his sleep, as if he were a different segment altogether. He carded his hands through soft curls and waves, mindlessly sectioning his hair into quadrants, painstakingly detangling knots accumulated from hours spent in the lab. Restless scratching from the day's events had no doubt tangled it.

Sometime in the night, Columbina's gentle singing, distinctly Nod-Kraian, passed by the corridor outside his room. She was making her nightly trip across the palace to Sandrone's quarters. Pantalone was usually asleep by this point. 

Pantalone's hand stilled in Dottore's hair as he listened to her sing.

As if subconsciously aware of his split attention, Dottore mumbled something inaudible and turned his head, tucking his face into the flat of Pantalone's stomach. He chuckled and redoubled his efforts.