Miscreation

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/32186167.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Category: M/M
Fandom: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game)
Relationship: Il Dottore/Tartaglia | Childe (Genshin Impact)
Character: Il Dottore (Genshin Impact), Tartaglia | Childe (Genshin Impact)
Additional Tags: Psychological Horror, Tragic Romance, Emotional/Psychological
Abuse, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Violent Sex, Dubious Consent, Age
Difference, psychopathy, Sociopathy, Monsterfucking, Body Horror,
Dissociation, Character Study, Teratophilia, Switching, cosmic horror,
Existential Horror, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mind
Games, Tartaglia | Childe's Foul Legacy Transformation (Genshin
Impact)
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Miscreation
Stats: Published: 2021-06-26 Completed: 2022-01-15 Chapters: 15/15 Words:
215575

Miscreation
by adamsandlerbodypillow

Summary

In a land ruled by Gods, a heretic stands to defy their will. The fool who masquerades as a
wise man skulks through the land, seeking perfection, leaving nothing but profound despair
and corruption in his wake. One has to wonder: if he were to grasp the perfection he so
desperately covets, would he even know what to do with it? Or would it simply end up as
another one of his miscreations?

Notes

This story is being translated into the following languages:

Russian (Русский) - translated by Little Raven Assi Crowe (in progress)

Polish (Polski) - translated by -Doctor_Diablo- (in progress)
Italian (Italiano) - translated by Ayers_21 (in progress) [EFP alternate]

A few things before we start: first and foremost, I have made the decision to NOT tag this
as dead dove, because I personally would not consider it as such. I can always add it later,
but I'm hoping those who would be offended will just be smart and read the other tags like
"violent sex" and "gaslighting" and know that this probably isn't a nice place to play for
them. I will say though, this is probably at least... dead dove adjacent. So please read tags
 carefully, the work tags basically cover the main topics that will come up in almost every
chapter, and I will add additional content warnings before chapters when necessary.

Second of all, there's going to be a LOT of lore speculation in this fic, because I kind of
needed an actual story, and to be quite honest at a certain point I stopped worrying about
whether or not it was GOOD lore speculation. At this point, this is more like an AU than
even canon divergence, especially as the game progresses. So as this fic and the game
progress, if any canon lore directly refutes lore I have set up here..... Shh, just ignore it.
Any lore established in Miscreation is not going to be altered due to happenings in game.
It's already all set it stone. Can't really go back now *shrug*

See the end of the work for more notes

 The Sentinels' Keeper
Chapter Notes

this first chapter is rather innocuous, which means no porn, and very minimal fuckery.
I do apologize, I did have to get a LITTLE plot percolating before I can move on. But
its going to ramps up FAST. the tags will reflect the content very soon <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

There was no region in Teyvat that wasn’t crawling with massive, ancient automatons that gave
even modern day adventurers a nasty run for their money, and Liyue was certainly no exception. In
fact, most would say that the nation was positively teeming with the things. Dottore supposed it
was a matter of the culture in Liyue; these were a people that took great pride in their illustrious
history, in their long-lived Archon, and in the eroding structures scattered across the land. Not to
say that any other nation was without its history, or pride, but compared to nations as progressive as
Fontaine and as industrious as Snezhnaya, the landscape and atmosphere of Liyue seemed utterly
untouched. Some areas seemed to be stuck in time, the crumbling stone architecture and rusted
sentinels that guarded them the only indication that the nation had entered into a modern era.

It was almost a pity that the people were too ignorant to understand any of it.

But pity did not come easily to Dottore, as very few were deserving of it in the first place. He did
not pity the willfully ignorant, nor was it his responsibility to do so. His responsibility was to stamp
out their ignorance. By any means necessary.

This goal often intersected with his duties as the Third of the Fatui Harbingers; often, but not
always. Truth be told, the research he conducted at the automaton facility in Liyue was probably
not worth the expenses required to carve it into the landscape. Any amount of knowledge Dottore
could gleam from Teyvat’s ancient technology was useful to the Fatui to a certain extent, but he
would be the first to admit that their benefit alone was not at the forefront of his mind when he first
commissioned for the facility’s creation. Studying and enhancing the automatons was only
incidentally beneficial to them, and not as directly so as the Tsaritsa perhaps would have desired.

But Dottore couldn't always bring himself to be concerned with her whims, and he certainly could
not be bothered to heed Pantalone's constant griping over his haphazard use of Fatui funding.

Dottore had arranged for the construction of the Liyue facility for his own benefit, really. The
research he conducted with the Ruin Guards and Ruin Hunters in the area appealed to his own
personal interests more than they did to the interests of the Fatui.

If he had to put it in layman's terms, he supposed he just liked them.

Dottore’s Liyue facility was his sanctum, far removed from the frigid, buzzing atmosphere of
Zapolyarny Palace. It did not frustrate him as Haeresys so often did, with its lack of consistent
progress. It was not so tedious as feigning diplomacy in foreign lands, when he had neither the
desire nor the disposition to practice such a thing to begin with. But save for Dottore himself, and
the bare minimum of subordinates required to keep the place from collapsing on itself, there was
nothing in the Liyue facility but a handful of beaten-up machines. Working there did not require his
tact, or even any significant amount of innovation, for that matter.
Dottore would have his breakthrough one day, had already come closer to it than he ever could
have imagine, but for the time being he could not deny the fact that machines were much, much
easier to deal with than people. The machines, relatively speaking, were simple. They did not cling
to foolish ideals or let themselves be seized by irrational emotions. They did not hinder their own
progress at every turn, and place the blame anywhere but on themselves. The machines asked
nothing of Dottore nor did he require anything in return. The machines simply existed, each and
every one the same, their mechanical cores all imbued with the same singular, common goal in
mind. They did what they were designed for - nothing more and nothing less - and they did it as a
sum of parts that were delightful to Dottore in their uniformity and intricacy. He had long since
memorized every last gear and piston that held them together, the architecture that so perfectly
kept their essences operational even after eons of meandering across Teyvat. Dottore had grown so
familiar with the machines over the years that he could have disassembled and reassembled them
with his eyes closed.

And, unlike humans, the Ruin Guards didn’t make a fuss at the attempt.

So though he was technically making progress for the Fatui, he Dottore paid little mind to that.
More often than not, he only chose to retire to the Liyue facility when he required some time to
himself. It was a perfect excuse, and tinkering around with the machines - a nearly mindless
endeavor, at this point, with how much of it was just muscle memory at work - relaxed him. There
was nothing in particular to bother him there. Unless one counted the automatons themselves, or
his subordinates that guarded the area, there was no one around for miles.

That was how it had always been before, anyway. Which is why Dottore nearly dropped the chaos
core he had been fiddling with at his work desk the day that he suddenly heard a voice behind him.

“Greetings, comrade!”

Dottore’s initial shock quickly shifted into annoyance, recognizing the voice instantly. The bright,
eager, loud voice with a playful lilt that always managed to make his temples throb, a precursor to
the impending tension headache that would surely follow the interaction.

He whipped around to look at the younger man, but did not stand from his chair. If anything, he
hunched in on himself further, suddenly possessive of the notes and spare parts on his desk that he
knew the other party would have no interest in or use for. Honestly, Dottore probably didn’t have
much use for these things either. But they were his nonetheless, and just seconds before he had
grown complacent in thinking they were for his eyes alone.

But now that Childe - Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers - stood behind him, one hand resting
casually on his hip and the other throwing the Third an oblivious wave, Dottore’s sanctum had
been defiled.

“Who let you in here?” Dottore spat, without hesitation, without even asking why Childe was here
in Liyue at all, though that had certainly popped into his mind as well.

Childe had been grinning at Dottore from where he stood, and so he remained grinning, but he
seemed a bit wounded as his hand fell to his side listlessly. Dottore heard him sucking at the back
of his teeth, as if tutting himself for expecting a warm welcome.

“I let myself in, as a matter of fact,” Childe said, chuckling. “So, there’s no need to go chewing
anyone’s heads off after this. None of your men even saw me come in.”

Dottore narrowed his eyes. He didn’t necessarily believe him, knowing that if Childe had chosen to
throw his weight around even slightly, his subordinates would not have been able to willingly defy
another Harbinger’s will. Though it would have been in their best interest to do so anyway.

Dottore was not an altogether domineering superior, not as much so as the likes of Scaramouche or
Sandrone, but his subordinates were no strangers to his temper and how short the fuse required to
ignite it was. They knew him well as a man who required self-sufficiency and, most importantly, a
wide berth. Most of them were more than happy to comply with this. They did not speak unless
spoken to, and only sought him out in situations in which his counsel could not be avoided. So long
as they followed these rules, everyone was happy. They rarely ever had a need to disturb Dottore
without notice, and in turn Dottore chose not to terrorize them with arbitrary scare tactics.

Dottore felt that he asked very little of his personally appointed soldiers, especially the ones that
accompanied him to the Liyue facility, but this was an infringement that could not be ignored. It
made his blood boil, thinking of the utter incompetence that had led to Childe standing in the
middle of his facility like he owned the place.

But he would have to reprimand his subordinates later. For the time being, it appeared that it had
now fallen on him to drive the troublesome Eleventh out of his personal space.

"What are you even doing here, boy?" Dottore snapped indignantly.

Childe blinked at him innocently, as if the answer was obvious. "Well, it's my assignment, of
course. I'll be here in Liyue for a while."

"But why are you here?" Dottore repeated, getting impatient. "Was your 'assignment' to stick your
nose where it doesn't belong?"

"There's no need to get testy. You're the one that shipped me out here, after all," Childe said, a little
dryly. "Don't you remember?"

"I did nothing of the sort," Dottore snapped. Although, now that he mentioned it, he did vaguely
remember the decision being made to station Childe in Liyue. Though the Tsaritsa had given him
an actual reason to be there, both she and his seniors certainly had ulterior motives for keeping him
at an generous arm's length. Childe, with his uncanny ability to stir up trouble wherever he went,
could often be more trouble than he was worth. He had his usefulness, but the coming months
would require a tad more delicacy than the boy was capable of. It was necessary to give him a bit
of busy work, for the time being.

Although Dottore, in all honesty, had been paying very little mind at the time the decision was
made. He never did, in matters that did not concern him - which, in his opinion, ended up being
most matters. Now, of course, he wished he had paid a bit closer attention. If he had known how
close in proximity this would put Childe to one of his research facilities, he may have pushed a
little harder to pawn him off elsewhere.

Childe laughed in response, then continued as if he had read Dottore's mind. "No, I suppose you
wouldn't have, if you knew I'd end up here. That's your own fault, though. You should have known
I'd catch wind of this place eventually."

"I don't care if you catch wind of it or not." Dottore scowled, turning back to the scraps and notes
on his desk. Not that he would be able to pay any attention to them now, but he didn't want to
engage with Childe any more than he had to. "You'd do well to mind your own business,
regardless."

"You expect me not to investigate one of the Fatui's very own facilities in the nation I've been
ordered to oversee?" Childe asked. To Dottore's annoyance, he walked over to the desk, leaning
back against it leisurely and crossing his arms. "That would just be stupid, wouldn't it? I don't even
know what you do here. And I feel like I should at least know that much, seeing as the facility is
now within my jurisdiction, so to speak. The rest of you are always telling me to take my job more
seriously, and now I do and I'm being scolded for it? That's not fair."

"It's above your station, boy," Dottore grumbled. He shifted over a bit in his chair, trying to put as
much distance between them as possible. "And besides that, I don't care if you take the job
seriously or not. So long as you're not bothering me, you can run off skipping stones with the locals
all day, for all I care."

"Oh yeah?" Childe replied, and Dottore could practically hear the smug grin that must have broken
out on his face. "What are you gonna do then? Throw me out?"

"I may." Dottore did look up at him then, a severe, cautioning glare. "You should remember your
place in all this, boy."

Childe, who had indeed been grinning, almost pouted at that. "Oh, I'm just messing around. If I'm
annoying you, just say it. Don't try to scare me with formalities."

Dottore just sighed, looking back to his work. As much as he realized how egregiously out of turn
Childe was acting towards one of his superiors, the truth was, he really didn't care about that.
Dottore's status as a high-ranking Harbinger was merely convenient, at times. He didn't think of it
as much more than that. He didn't consider it a badge of honor as some of the Harbingers did; it
was merely one of many tools Dottore utilized when necessary. So even though he certainly could
have gotten Childe more than just a slap on the wrist for his insolence, Dottore really had no desire
to follow through on the threat. Childe had a way of sapping him of all his energy as it was, and it
wasn't like throwing his weight around would get the Eleventh out of his hair any quicker.

Childe knew this, too, which was a bother. He was capable of being downright saccharine and
borderline submissive with his more authoritative superiors, but he had eventually picked up that
Dottore did not have the energy to put on such airs. But although his behavior didn't necessarily
offend Dottore, it didn't make it any less obnoxious.

"Is it that easy, then?" Dottore asked, not looking up. "Fine. You're annoying me. Now leave."

"Hey, you didn't have to say it that quickly…." Childe actually sounded a little bruised. Then, to
Dottore's horror, he picked up a stray page of notes laying on the desk, bringing it up to his face to
inspect it. "Besides, I'm being serious. I should know something about this place, if I'm going to be
here most of the time. You must have more important things to do than to have to worry about the
facility when you're not here, don't you? Wouldn't it put your mind at ease to know I'll be
overseeing it?"

"No!" Dottore stood up from his chair, snatching the piece of paper from Childe's hand. "Do not
touch that! Don't touch anything. This is why you're not welcome here! You're always touching
things!"

Childe let his arms fall to his sides in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Oh, come on. I'm genuinely
interested."

Dottore sincerely doubted that, nor would it have changed his mood even if he was, but he was
getting desperate enough to drive the boy off that he finally relented.

"Fine," Dottore sniped. "I study the automatons in the area. That's it. That's all you need to know."
Childe pursed his lips. "I did see a lot of those on my way in. But those old things? Really? That's
all? What's so secret about that?"

"Nothing," Dottore said. "But it's still none of your business. But now that I’ve told you, are you
pleased, yet?"

The pensive look on Childe's face indicated that he was not. "So, just how many do you have
stashed away in here?"

"Several." Dottore responded through gritted teeth.

"You have to be doing something more interesting with them, right? Why come all the way out to
Liyue to just watch a bunch of Ruin Guards mill around?"

"It's nothing you would be interested in."

"Huh." Childe did sound like he was quickly becoming disinterested, which was a good thing.
Then, after a pause, he asked, "Do you have any I could spar with?"

Dottore pinched his mask where the bridge of his nose lay underneath. He would have been nearly
exhausted enough to give into the Eleventh's whims if it meant burning off some of his
insufferable energy, but he was familiar enough with the boy's martial prowess to know that there
would be nothing left by the time he was through. "No, Childe."

"Oh," Childe said, almost pouting. "What a let down. And here I was, hoping you were getting up
to something interesting out here."

"Even if I was, it would be no business of yours." Dottore grumbled.

Childe sighed. "I know, I know. I just can't stand this place. It's too quiet here. It gets me itching
for something exciting."

"That isn't my concern," Dottore said, glaring at him. "Now, get out of here. Before you break
something."

Childe looked away from Dottore with a huff, crossing his arms indignantly. “What’s the rush, if
you’re not doing anything important?”

“I never said I wasn’t doing anything important,” Dottore hissed. “Everything I do is important.”

“Oh?” This made Childe crack a smile, and he suddenly brought a hand up to his mouth to stifle a
laugh. It was certainly not Dottore's intention to amuse him, and he wasn’t even entirely sure what
could have warranted such a response, but he knew it was sure to be for a reason that would
infuriate him. The boy thought very highly of himself, though snickering at those he perceived as
lesser was immature even for him.

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” Dottore warned, tapping his fingers against the desk. “I would
hate to presume that you’re trying to belittle me.”

“I’m not. Honestly,” Childe said quickly, still poorly obscuring his grin behind his hand. He said it
with no sarcasm or deceitfulness that Dottore could detect, but he couldn’t imagine what other
reason Childe could have had for laughing.

It didn’t matter. Dottore was growing tired of this, and he had no desire to try picking apart
whatever moronic whimsies were rattling around in the Eleventh’s skull.
“Shoo,” Dottore said, reaching up to flick Childe against the temple. To his satisfaction, Childe
didn’t seem to be expecting it, and he winced slightly as he brought his hand up to his head.

“Ow.”

“‘Ow’?" Dottore echoed, mocking Childe's whiny, indignant tone. He then sat back in his chair
with a grunt, looking back to his things. “Don't act like a child. The fact that I’ll be here in Liyue
doesn’t mean I’m obligated to entertain you. Do whatever you want. Do your job, slack off, start a
war for all I care; it makes no difference to me. But do not, under any circumstances, bother me
again.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Besides,” Dottore punched the word out, purposefully cutting off Childe before he could have a
chance to argue. “This ‘quiet’ you detest so much could only be good for you. Maybe the Tsaritsa
wouldn’t have had to ship you off to live amongst the uncultured masses if you allowed a thought
to pass through that thick head of yours every now and again.”

Childe opened his mouth to protest again, but seemed to think better of it, only taking a step away
from Dottore’s desk with an exasperated groan.

“I get it, I get it, geez,” Childe said. He put a hand on his hip, looking put out. “Now that I know
what this place is here for, I guess there’s nothing more for me to do anyway.”

“You are correct,” Dottore said dully. He heard Childe sigh behind him.

“You know, I wouldn’t have had to pester you in the first place if you all didn’t make such a
conscious effort to keep me out of the loop.”

Dottore rolled his eyes at that. “You haven’t given us the slightest reason to include you. Not least
in my own personal affairs. If anything, go bother someone else about it. I'm not here to solve your
problems for you.”

Childe didn’t respond at first, and Dottore assumed he had succeeded in bruising his ego.

Then, Childe chuckled softly.

“Oh, so this place is a personal matter to you, then?” Childe asked, a devilish lilt to his voice. It
was too familiar, and too boastful, as if he had been intending to pounce on such a slip of the
tongue from the moment he stepped into the room.

Dottore froze.

It was not out of shame for misspeaking and getting caught, or anger at the Eleventh’s audacity, or
even shock from having expected anything but that sort of insolence to come out of his mouth.

Dottore's first thought was that it was rather curious. He kept still because the Eleventh's tone had
immediately intrigued him, as if one of his own specimens had just done something mildly
unexpected mid-experiment. Something just unusual enough that it had the potential to alter the
trajectory of his initial projections. It was these little deviations, the most miniscule flashes of the
unknown, that always led to invaluable breakthroughs. He was frozen because he dared not disturb
it; to disturb might mean not witnessing how far it could go.

But this was not one of his specimens, or one of his experiments, and would lead to no
breakthrough. It was only Childe, and he was only acting out of turn. His curiosity rapidly
dissolved, leaving him tired and disenchanted. He couldn’t even entertain the idea of dignifying
Childe’s comment with an answer, even though it was now starting to make him angry.

“Get out. Now.” Dottore’s tone was icy and severe. He did not look back at Childe as he spoke,
knowing that he would not need to. Childe was stubborn, but he was not dense. He could at least
identify a line once it had already been crossed.

The silence that preceded Childe’s exit was stifling. He left without another word.

Dottore did not expect him to return anytime soon.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Childe did return, the very next day no less, Dottore found that he was more surprised than
he was angry.

It could not be said that the Third and the Eleventh Harbingers got along well, not by any means.
They were perhaps, at the very least, better suited to working together than some of the others
were, though that wasn't saying much - there were some pairs of them that could scarcely find
themselves in the same room together without flying at one another's throats, and he knew this
because he had been a party to those pairs on several occasions. Dottore did not care much for
Childe, but the younger man did not often cause the bile to rise in his throat or his skin to prickle in
loathsome repulsion as the likes of some of the Harbingers did. Dottore did not regard him as a
trusted colleague, nor as anyone particularly abhorrent; he barely regarded him as anything at all.

He would have suspected that Childe had felt the same, especially given that he tended to keep a
generous distance between himself and all of his seniors when possible. Dottore had assumed the
exchange from the day before had occurred because Childe really had felt an obligation to visit the
site, for the sake of his new position in Liyue. To sate his own curiosity as well, no doubt, but
nothing more than that.

But Dottore had made the facility's intentions and his own intentions should the Eleventh decide to
darken his door again painfully clear, or so he thought he had. And yet he had come again,
knowing full well there would be nothing here for him but Dottore's ire.

It was more bewildering, than anything else.

Though that was not to say that Dottore wasn't angry at his presence. Oh, he was positively
seething.

“Morning, comrade!” That was the cheerful call that had grated at Dottore’s nerves like nails being
scraped down a chalkboard, his neck and shoulders tensing painfully at the sudden departure of
silence.

He hadn't allowed himself to be caught quite as off guard as the day before, now that he at least
was aware Childe was in Liyue. But it was enough of a shock to make him flinch, which was not
ideal, seeing as he had been elbow deep in the chest plate of a dormant Ruin Guard at that moment.
Dottore could hear delicate machinery inside become displaced before clattering around
somewhere within the depths of the hulking machine sitting before him. He slowly brought his
hands out of the machine, tersely contemplating ramming Childe’s head into the cavity in their
stead, but quickly realized that it would not be worth the trouble if he ended spilling the Eleventh’s
blood or spit over the already rusted components.

What to do, then?

“Childe.” Dottore didn’t turn around to face him, still just staring blankly at the Ruin Guard in
front of him. His voice was level, stoically calm for the time being. He was still mulling over just
how much of his wrath Childe was deserving of, and he was afraid if he turned around to see
whatever oblivious grin the boy had plastered across his face, he would lose his temper too
quickly. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, sorry to bother you again so soon. Hopefully I’m not interrupting anything.” Dottore could
have throttled him right there on the spot, but before he could make up his mind about it, Childe
quickly continued speaking again. “I was thinking about something you said yesterday, actually.”

Dottore took pause. He scrambled in his own mind for some sort of recognition, for anything at all
significant that Childe could have clung to aside from the insistence that he shouldn't return to the
facility, and found nothing. His presence here again was only growing curiouser still. Curious
enough for Dottore to momentarily shelve his anger.

Dottore looked back at him, raising an eyebrow that Childe wouldn't have been able to see.
"Something… I said?"

"Yeah," Childe replied, shifting his weight around a bit awkwardly. He nodded vaguely to the
empty space at Dottore's right side. "Can I sit?"

Dottore narrowed his eyes. Clearly, the boy had mistaken his reservation for familiarity. "No."

Childe didn't seem to know how to react to the blatant denial, only blinking at him vacantly before
clearing his throat.

"Okay. Anyway,” Childe began, remaining where he stood. “Yeah, it was what you said yesterday.
About the quiet being good for me.”

Dottore scrunched up his face, trying to recall. Yes, he had said something along those lines. Not
with any genuine intent; he didn’t really mean it, didn’t care enough to mean it, and he certainly
wouldn't have expected it to be something that Childe would dwell on.

Childe did not continue, his posture making it clear he was waiting for a response. That annoyed
Dottore, but he was just interested enough for the time being to begrudgingly play along.

“And?” Dottore snapped impatiently.

“And-” Childe cut himself off suddenly, looking oddly thoughtful, as if he were choosing his
words carefully. “Do you really like it out here that much?”

Again, Dottore was caught off guard. As much as he detested the Eleventh clearly dancing around
whatever subject he was attempting to breach, his inquisitive nature continued to get the better of
him.

“Why would you assume that I do?” Dottore asked, turning just a bit more towards Childe. Only a
bit.

“Well, to go to all the trouble of keeping this place running, and coming here yourself, no less; that
can’t all be for nothing.” Childe crossed his arms, looking at Dottore pointedly. “And quite
frankly, I’ve seen you throw away far more impressive things for much less.”

Dottore didn't like how astute these observations were, even for as interesting as it all was. Childe's
skills in battle were an undeniable and well-known asset to the Harbingers, but more easily
forgotten was just how cunning the young man could be. Dottore began to wonder if he hadn't kept
his guard up high enough around the Eleventh.

Feeling defensive, Dottore only partially conceded. "It's work, Childe. There's no liking or disliking
it. It's only a matter of getting it done. But… no, I wouldn't say I dislike my work here."

Childe grimaced slightly. He wasn't buying into Dottore's apathy. That was fine. He didn't have to.
"It's just surprising, is all. You wouldn't have struck me as someone to stand a place as boring as
this."

"Quiet isn't a bore, Childe," Dottore sighed. "It's just quiet. And I prefer not to be disturbed when
I'm working."

Childe didn't seem to catch the hint, or was just blatantly ignoring it. He just shook his head
emphatically. "No, no, I understand. I really do. I just found it interesting. But, on that note, that is
why I came here."

"Out with it, then." Dottore's patience had worn thin, and he gave Childe a hard scowl.

Childe looked apprehensive. It was an expression Dottore almost couldn't place at first, as he had
never seen anything even close to it so evident on the Eleventh's face before this point. But that
soon faded, and Childe gave him a friendly smile.

"I was thinking I could watch you work for a while," Childe said.

It was a statement, not a question. He was not explicitly asking for permission, but the suggestion
was not nearly as bold as Dottore would have otherwise expected it to be, coming from Childe.

Dottore was immediately perplexed by his words, but something had shifted suddenly in his mood.
He was no longer listlessly exasperated by this encounter, but nearly engaged by it. While he had
previously thought of nothing more than getting to the end of the exchange, he was now more
curious as to why the exchange was happening to begin with.

"I have no need for an assistant, if that's what you want," Dottore answered quickly. "Much less
you. You'd just find some way to level the whole facility."

"You might not be wrong," Childe said, chuckling. He seemed pleased. "I don't think I'd have the
patience for anything so meticulous. That's not what I had in mind, though."

"What do you want, then?"

"Well," Childe started, rubbing the back of his neck a little sheepishly. "You said so yourself; a
little quiet would probably do me some good. And after I thought about it, I thought it didn't seem
like such a bad idea. I could stand to remember how to meditate again. And you seem to keep this
place pretty quiet."

Dottore grimaced. "If I had known you would take that to heart and use it as an excuse to nose
around in my business, I would have cut out my tongue before saying anything. Besides, why
would you want to come here of all places? You have all of Liyue to 'meditate' in. Just go watch
the grass growing outside, if you're so eager to do nothing."

"But why not kill two birds with one stone?" Childe asked. "Wouldn't it benefit everyone if I could
get a better feel for what goes on behind the front lines? And I've always been so interested in the
work you do, you know. Getting a chance to watch you first hand sounds like quite the
enlightening experience. You wouldn't hold my curiosity against me, would you?"
Dottore scoffed loudly. He knew exactly what Childe was doing, as the younger man didn't seem
to be hiding the fact that he was just attempting to stroke Dottore's ego. Though he was laying it on
just a bit too thick, for Dottore's taste.

Annoyingly enough, though, it was kind of working. Dottore couldn't be sure if Childe was being
completely facetious, for he at least partially was, but the fact that he was going this far to get on
the Third's good side at all suggested that there was something that interested him here.

Something was certainly catching Dottore's interest, as well.

Still, Dottore did value his personal space. Sacrificing that for something that merely seemed
intriguing hardly seemed worth it.

"So, you just expect me to give you permission to shirk your responsibilities in my workspace?"
Dottore asked, crossing his arms. "If you had any bit of sense, you'd think twice before asking your
superior to encourage your bad behavior."

"Oh, come on," Childe groaned. He placed a hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow incredulously
at Dottore. "You said just yesterday that you don't care what I do. If I'm such a bother to have
around, just say it; don't talk to me like I'm a kid."

That actually made Dottore burst out laughing, and he turned to the Eleventh with a crooked grin.
"Oh, you shouldn't make it so easy for me to insult you, boy. It takes all the sport out of doing it on
my own."

Childe pursed his lips in annoyance. "Let's just be straight with each other, shall we? Don't act like
you're responsible for me. You're not."

Dottore’s grin fell into a thoughtful expression as he studied Childe, drumming his fingers against
his own arm. Whatever was driving the boy to make such a ludicrous request of him, he was
treating it seriously. Dottore couldn’t recall ever seeing him with such a serious look on his face,
save for the very few times he had witnessed him in the heat of combat. When he really thought
about it, he realized just how infrequently they ever had a need to work directly with one another,
and how little he knew about the Eleventh in general. Up until that point, Dottore had never had
any real reason to know Childe.

No reason except one.

Perhaps this could end up being even more interesting than Dottore had first imagined.

Besides, the worst that could happen was that Childe would stir up trouble for him, and Dottore
would simply have to throw the boy out on his ass for good. But he would have to do that if he
turned him down, as well.

“If you’re expecting an apprenticeship, I’m happy to quash the thought right here and now,”
Dottore said sternly. It still was not ideal that he would be giving up his personal space, after all.
Laying out some ground rules would be necessary. “You will not ask me any questions. I don’t
want to hear a peep out of you. If I so much as hear you sigh, I’ll stuff you into one of these things
myself and send it down the river.”

Childe briefly looked taken aback, like he hadn’t been expecting Dottore’s concession. Dottore
wouldn’t have, either. But then he gave Dottore an odd little half-smile, chuckling nervously.

“I’ll do my best to not… breathe, I guess,” Childe laughed. Then he brought a finger up to his lips,
lightly pressing it against them to mimic a hush. “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse. You have my word.”
Dottore only narrowed his eyes at him. “And do not touch anything. Not a single thing. Sit on your
hands if you need to. If I even seen one piece of scrap metal out of place-”

“Hey, hey, I get it,” Childe held up his hands in yield, looking dismayed suddenly. “Man, you must
really think I’m some kind of kid. I am capable of behaving myself.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Ah, loosen up just a little, comrade,” Childe urged, trying his best to look passive. “I definitely
didn’t come here to ruin the atmosphere. Just forget I’m even here. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even
start to grow on you.”

Dottore gave a scowl of disgust before turning back to the Ruin Guard in front of him with a terse
sigh.

“I sincerely doubt that, boy.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was difficult getting used to someone else's presence in a space that had previously been devoid
of any soul other than Dottore himself. Even for as far away as he made Childe sit - and the gap
was comically large, at first, even by Dottore's own standards - he couldn't shake the feeling that it
was like someone was breathing down his neck, and it made it difficult to focus.

But, much to his surprise, Childe did stay quiet. Quieter than Dottore ever would have thought him
capable of. He had mentioned "meditation" before, which the Third had initially brushed off as a
rather weighty exaggeration to make his case seem more compelling than it was, but there really
was something meditative about Childe's silence once he got settled in.

At the very least, it made him easy to tune out. Dottore was able to find his focus soon enough.

It went on like that for some time. Dottore would have to retire from the facility eventually, return
to Zapolyarny Palace or elsewhere for a spell, then return to Liyue some time later. Every time he
did, only a day or two would pass before Childe showed up at the facility as well. Dottore never
notified him upon his return, nor did he follow any sort of schedule that could have been picked up
on, and yet Childe always seemed to know when he arrived. Dottore suspected there was either a
leak amongst his subordinates, or that Childe had secretly dispatched one of his own to stake out
the facility. But Dottore found that the issue never bothered him enough to warrant investigation.

Dottore wasn't sure how much time had passed before the excessive gap he himself had established
between them gradually began to close. He wasn't even sure who had started closing it in the first
place.

After a while, he couldn't even quite recall when exactly Childe had gotten bold enough to break
their agreement on staying silent. He remembered it had irked him at first, but not as much as it
would have starting out. Childe still did not frequently attempt to strike up a conversation with him,
and when he did, Dottore found that if he simply disregarded it, the Eleventh would quiet down on
his own. But Dottore did not always find the need to disregard it.

Childe would often ask him questions about the automatons, wondering if there were any more
efficient ways to cut the machines down than what he already knew. Dottore chose not to enlighten
him, for fear that he would go on a gleeful killing spree with all his newfound knowledge and leave
Dottore with no parts left to salvage. He would simply tell him his method of slaughter was fine as
it was, and left it at that.
Childe would sometimes ask about how his work elsewhere was going. When it was going well,
Dottore was more than pleased to tell him so. When there was nothing to brag about, he would tell
him to mind his own business. When the latter response became more the norm than the former,
the younger man eventually stopped asking.

Childe also once told Dottore that he found watching him work on the machines to be relaxing. He
said that it reminded him of when he was a child, and his father would take him out to go ice
fishing. He recalled the feeling of peace and security that came with it, with a look on his face that
was so wistful that Dottore had thought that the boy must have momentarily forgotten he was still
sitting beside him.

Dottore did not know how to respond to that, so he did not.

But it wasn't until several months had passed that Childe said something that truly piqued Dottore's
interest.

"What does the Abyss have to do with your work, anyway?"

The question stopped Dottore dead in his tracks. He had been standing before a dormant Ruin
Hunter, tinkering with one of the mechanical limbs that had gone dead somewhere in the course of
its life. Repairing it was no small chore, but it was a relatively simple matter. Much too simple to
hold his attention after the question Childe had posed.

Dottore broke into a grin, turning around to face the Eleventh. Childe was sitting not far off,
perched atop one of the large cylindrical pipes that ran throughout the entire facility. He appeared
to have been watching Dottore intently, propping up his elbow on his knee, chin resting against his
hand. He looked at Dottore expectantly, awaiting his response.

"Oho, so you've finally noticed, have you?" Dottore asked, sneering slightly. "And here I thought
you'd barely been paying attention. What a good boy you are, being so observant."

Dottore saw Childe's eyes widen fractionally before he averted his gaze from the older man,
shifting his palm over his mouth sheepishly.

"Don't do that. I've noticed for longer than I've been coming here," Childe muttered.

"Oh? Please, do enlighten me."

Childe was flustered. Perhaps he felt he had painted himself into a corner with his words? Dottore
couldn't imagine what other reason there would be for the reaction. But whatever it was, Childe
quickly recovered from it.

"It doesn't take a master engineer to put two and two together, Dottore," the Eleventh remarked
snidely, looking back at him. "The Abyss Order always seems to be nosing around wherever you've
set up shop. Sometimes I think they may just be nosing around you in particular."

Dottore snickered. "Perhaps those silly little mages just enjoy my company."

Childe scrunched his face up in distaste, but his tone was playful when he quipped, "Who would?"

Dottore was tempted to shoot back that Childe himself did, but he wasn't sure why the thought
even crossed his mind to begin with. He felt his skin prickling with discomfort, and he decided to
redirect the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"Well, Childe, if you're so certain you have it all figured out, why haven't I heard anything about it
until now?" Dottore asked. "Not curious enough to go digging?"

"It's not that," Childe replied, sighing. "I've brought it up before, with some of the others. It seems
that either quite a few of us have been left in the dark, or nobody is too eager to let me in on the
secret."

Dottore knew for a fact that both statements were true. The Tsaritsa always insisted upon her
respect toward her Harbingers, but she was choosy about who knew what, for reasons that she
often did not divulge. Seniority played a certain part in it, but not entirely; Dottore didn't doubt that
there were matters even he was not privy to.

This was a matter that Childe had not yet been included in, and possibly never would be, and
Dottore would not go against the Tsaritsa's will. But not for her sake. In fact, if that had been all
that was at stake, Dottore would have enthusiastically told Childe everything right then and there.
But not telling him had the potential to be much more interesting. Perhaps this would offer him just
the leverage he needed.

"What a pity that is," Dottore tittered. "I think I'm not very eager to tell, either. Your intuition isn't
wrong though. These machines are as much products of the Abyss as the Order is. But, as you said,
that's hardly any secret at all. You've got me curious now, though; what exactly do you think about
all this?"

Dottore kept his eyes focused on Childe, watching for any changes in his expression with an
almost wild intrigue. But Childe's face was unreadable, and he only looked vaguely thoughtful as
he considered the question.

"I think the Abyss is a dangerous force for man to reckon with," Childe said finally, voice level. "I
would be careful, if I were you."

The response was disappointing. Dottore's smile nearly faltered, but he decided to dig in his heels
and goad Childe a bit further.

"Oh? Interesting, that you would say that," Dottore said, tilting his head to the side in mock
bemusement. "I wonder what experience you would have with such a thing, to speak so familiarly
of it."

They simply studied each other for a moment, expressions unchanging and stances unyielding.
Nothing but the sounds of whirring machinery and the hiss of steam echoed through the chambers.

Finally, Childe simply smiled. "I guess I wouldn't really know, would I?"

The frustration that clawed its way through Dottore was difficult to subdue, twisting his features
into a dour scowl before he could even think to push just a bit further. But he supposed the end
result would have been the same. He shouldn't have expected it to be that easy.

It seemed they both had their own secrets.

"Bah, you! Always saying asinine things for no reason at all," Dottore grumbled, looking back to
the Ruin Hunter in a huff. "If all you can do is point out the obvious, then don't bother trying to tell
me anything else. I don't have the patience to listen to you prattle on today."

"Aw, come on, don't be like that," Childe said, giving a light-hearted chuckle. "I was only curious."

"So should I assume you're only here to extort information from me, then?" Dottore snapped.
"That's an awfully long game to play for such an unsatisfying conclusion. It was hardly worth it,
don't you think?"

Childe didn't respond at first, for long enough that Dottore assumed he wouldn't at all. Then, he
spoke up again, sounding a little distant.

"No," Childe said. "That's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you?" Dottore posed it as a hypothetical question, not looking up from his work,
because he certainly did not expect an answer.

There was another long stretch of silence before Childe answered him anyway.

"I just like you."

Dottore stopped what he was doing. He could feel his blood suddenly running cold, though he
couldn't place why.

What an odd thing to say.

Dottore glanced back over at Childe then, just in time to catch him looking back. But no, Childe
was not looking at him, exactly.

The boy's eyes were trained on Dottore's hands, where they had suddenly stilled on the sleek,
bronze-plated outer casing that housed the sleeping sentinel. A mechanical marvel by Teyvat's
standards, a hulking, sophisticated war machine that few eyes had ever even seen in this modern
age, and fewer still that had seen it and lived to tell the tale.

This was the power that Dottore held in his grasp, and all Childe was looking at were the hands
which held it.

Dottore had caught him like this a few times before now. Watching just a bit too closely, following
his movements just a bit too intently.

Dottore found this odd, as well.

Childe's line of sight suddenly jerked upwards to meet Dottore's, and he immediately averted his
gaze. He looked flustered again.

Dottore turned away from him as well, to the work in front of him, to his own hands, trying to
figure out just what was so damn interesting about the things, when he realized that he couldn't
remember where he had left off. The machine's parts suddenly all appeared so dull to him, each
piece of metal indistinguishable from the next, and he couldn't remember what step of the process
he had been in the midst of when Childe had first spoken up.

All at once, Dottore realized that this Ruin Hunter no longer held his interest. It had been too easy
to lose focus, and he began to realize that his focus had been slipping for quite some time now. He
had been leaving projects unfinished, stopped taking notes, retiring to his quarters earlier than he
ought to have.

When had this happened? When did his interest in this facility start to wane? The last two visits?
The last three? More?

There was not much that could hold Dottore's interest for long, and this was no surprise. He had
commissioned and decommissioned his own personal research sites more times than he could even
recall. But never had his own disinterest snuck up on him like this. And now, the realization was
 hitting him like a slap to the face.

Dottore didn't know why he was still here.

At any rate, it was no longer for the sake of the machines.

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi

 Progress
Chapter Notes

okay now we're gettin places, the sex and other assorted debauchery begins

there's not chapter specific cw yet

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next time Dottore returned to the Liyue facility, he was almost hoping that his revelation from
before had been a fluke. Perhaps he had just been having an off week. He hoped this not because
he desired to remain invested in the site, but because if it was true, then he had no other
explanations as to why he had continued to be present there despite having grown utterly
unenthused about the place.

Dottore did not care for the unexplained, not when the solution seemed unobtainable. At the very
least, going back once more with a clear head might help shed a little light on the conundrum.

But when he got there, he had no such luck. He attempted to throw himself into his work to no
avail, quickly becoming disinterested in anything the automatons had to offer him. He simply had
no desire to fritter his time away on these machines any longer. What little curiosity he had going
into it had dwindled into nothing, and the personal satisfaction tinkering with the automatons had
given him was gone as well.

He was just bored of it, now. It was as simple as that. Or it should have been, anyway.

There was something that deeply bothered him whenever the prospect of never returning to this
place crossed his mind. And for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was.

He locked himself in his quarters until Childe inevitably arrived, at which point he decided to pick
his work back up again. It was only out of force of habit. And besides that, he worried that if he did
not put on the act that Childe had grown so used to seeing, it would only invite in the same grating,
troublesome youth that Dottore had known him to be prior to all these encounters. Childe was
easier to deal with when he was watching Dottore work. It subdued him, and he was not eager to
deal with the boy outside of these conditions.

Dottore trudged through the task he had chosen - at a loss for anything else to do, he simply started
reassembling one of the Ruin Guards he had just a few weeks prior dismantled for further study -
and Childe watched in silence, as he always did.

Then, the Eleventh managed to catch him off guard again.

"Dottore. Can I ask you something?"

Dottore's brows furrowed, and he turned to the Eleventh straight away. He was sitting on the edge
of the raised platform directly beside the one Dottore was working on, leaning back on his hands
and giving the older man a curious look. It was uncharacteristic of Childe to ask permission for
anything, let alone when they were together like this. He usually spoke his mind freely; often a bit
too freely, for the Third’s taste.
And yet, even as foreign as the words sounded coming from Childe, something about it struck
Dottore as familiar. He felt as though it left him on the cusp of unlocking a memory, but try as he
might, he could not place what it reminded him of.

"What?" Dottore asked, trying to shake off the feeling of déjà vu, seeing no point in pursuing its
origin any further.

"What is it you're really trying to do here?" Childe asked, looking at him thoughtfully.

Dottore opened his mouth to answer, but found he couldn't. He couldn't even begin to interpret
what Childe actually meant by the question, as there was clearly more to it than what lay on the
surface.

"What… do you mean by that?" Dottore responded, a bit guarded. Childe's features scrunched up
in discontent.

"Do you always have to answer my questions with another question?" Childe said, annoyance
straining his voice.

"Do I- That's a lot of nerve, coming from you, boy!" Dottore snapped defensively. "It's your own
fault! All you do is laze around here saying whatever pops into your head the moment you think it,
and then expect others to understand you straight away."

"Well, then," Childe began, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, "what do you think I mean
by it?"

He looked positively smug as he said it, and Dottore wanted to slap the expression off his face. He
might have, if he thought it would do anything.

He didn't want to answer Childe directly, mostly because he didn't know what the direct answer
would have been, so he simply scoffed.

"You know exactly what it is I do," Dottore insisted. He tried to turn back to his work, wanting to
look busy, but the components scattered around at his feet suddenly looked even duller and more
featureless than they had when he started. Merely the thought of pretending to be invested in this
made him want to grimace. "Even you're not that dense. You know what we're doing."

"I'm not talking about what we're doing for the Fatui," Childe corrected. He paused then, waiting
for a response. Dottore didn't want to give him one. He didn't want to continue what would surely
be another pointless conversation, he didn't want Childe acting so familiar with him, and he didn't
want to be any more distracted than he already was. He pointedly ignored Childe, trying to make
sense of the mechanisms in front of him that should have made sense on their own. What had he
been doing? Why did it feel like there was something missing?

After a long pause, Childe finally sighed.

"I'm not talking about what you do for the Fatui," Childe repeated, picking up from where he left
off. "I want to know what you're doing for yourself."

Dottore's jaw clenched, and he continued trying to pull himself back into his work. He didn't know
why he was having so much trouble doing so. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out where he
had left off. He thought he was still in the process of reconnecting the Ruin Guard's circuitry, but
there were no more chaos circuits for him to connect. He suddenly felt so scattered.

Childe’s incessant chatter certainly wasn’t helping matters. “I mean, I think you can admit you’re
not quite as dedicated to the cause as some of our colleagues. Not that I’m judging. I feel the same
way. But I am dedicated to the Tsaritsa. And you….”

Childe trailed off, and at that moment, Dottore finally relented. He whipped his head back around
towards Childe with a frown, but the look on the Eleventh’s face almost made him laugh. Childe
had grown almost apprehensive as he uttered the Tsaritsa’s name, looking away from Dottore
awkwardly. It was no secret that Childe was deeply loyal to the Tsaritsa, his faith so unyielding
that it seemed he could barely even acknowledge the matter of Dottore’s blatant distaste for the
Cryo Archon.

Oh, how Childe loved that miserable old shrew of a woman. It was pathetic, honestly.

Dottore, of course, knew when to hold his tongue and who he ought to hold it around, most notably
the Tsaritsa herself. He could be on his best behavior when it counted, but otherwise, he made no
secret of how little he thought of the gods. Even Her Majesty was not immune to his scrutinizing
eye, though he could at least admit she was certainly not the worst of the Archons. He simply
considered the Tsaritsa to be the lesser of all evils, which was a statement that would have been
sure to ruffle the devout Childe.

Dottore almost thought about teasing him for it, but his heart simply was not in the game at that
moment.

“Haven’t you been chatty lately?” Dottore asked sardonically through gritted teeth. Childe looked
back up at him, seeming a little pleased that the Third had finally responded.

“Well?” Childe asked expectantly. “If it’s not for the Fatui, and it’s not for Her Majesty, why put
so much effort into it?”

Dottore studied him coldly. He seemed to be asking genuinely, eyes wide and inquisitive, patiently
awaiting an answer. But Dottore wasn't sure why he would be so earnestly pondering this in the
first place. He found himself again feeling more surprised than angry by the boy's behavior.
Though that didn't mean he should indulge it.

He perhaps wouldn't have dignified him with an honest response in any other situation, but what
else was he doing? Was he really so spiteful that he would sooner send the boy off so he could sit
and stare at the walls than he would answer the question? It was not as if he was ashamed of the
answer. If he was, he wouldn’t have been doing any of this.

Dottore sighed, turning to take a seat on the edge of the raised metal platform he had been working
on, sitting across from Childe now.

"It's for progress, Childe," Dottore said, resting his elbows on his knees and meeting the Eleventh's
gaze.

Childe raised an eyebrow slightly. "Progress?"

"Yes."

"Progress in what?"

"In what?" Dottore grinned then, flourishing his hands in a vague gesture to the space around him.
"Why, in everything, my boy. Our industry, our technology, our very existence; all of it is capable
of progressing far past it's potential now. But the complacent masses are simply content to twiddle
their thumbs and just wait for progress to happen. We've kept Teyvat in the dark ages for far too
long, and there's simply no reason for it. Society's inaction has always been and will continue to be
its own downfall. But I, for one, am not content to sit idly by."

Childe hummed, watching Dottore speak intently. “Is that so? You’ve never struck me as someone
who’s in it for the good of humanity.”

“Ugh, it’s nothing as contrived as that,” Dottore scoffed, frowning. “It doesn’t matter if it does
anyone good or not. There’s just no sense in not seizing the opportunity when it’s within arms
reach.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean,” Dottore started, narrowing his eyes sternly, “there’s absolutely no reason for us not to
progress past where we are now. There’s no reason for us to remain as we are, cowering in fear of
gods and everything else beyond our control. There’s no need for it. There’s no need for weakness,
or ignorance, or even death. Why let those things persist, when you can stamp it out at the source?
Because it’s difficult? That’s no reason at all. It doesn’t make sense to leave things as they are.”

Childe’s brows shot up slightly, and a smile curled his lips. “So, you think even death is within
your control?”

His tone was not patronizing in the slightest. Dottore would have known if it was. Others had
uttered those words to him throughout his life with a mocking and sometimes fearful lilt more
times than he could count. Dottore smirked at him.

“Oh, of course. I know it is.”

Childe studiously considered this for a moment before chuckling to himself.

“Thank you, Dottore,” Childe said. “I think I understand you better now.”

Dottore scrunched up his face in bemusement. “Is that what this was about? I personally don’t
think it’s that difficult to understand in the first place.”

“I don’t think most people would agree,” Childe laughed, pleasantly amused for a reason Dottore
couldn’t quite grasp. But then, he continued: “For me, though, someone like you doing the work
you do has always struck me as odd.”

“And why would that be?”

Childe clicked his tongue in a pensive manner. “It’s just… as a warrior, you have to learn to come
to terms with death. I’ve never considered it to be anything but an inevitability. All things come to
an end eventually, and sacrifices have to be made in the name of conquest. That’s what I’ve always
considered to be the most down-to-earth reasoning. In comparison, the whole idea of
circumventing death, of eternal existence…. The ideal always seemed-”

Childe cut himself off abruptly. His gaze dropped slightly, and Dottore thought that for some
reason he wouldn’t continue. But the Eleventh simply sucked in his cheek and picked back up
where he left off.

“-romantic.”

Dottore furrowed his brows in confusion.

It was… strange. It was just a very strange thing to say. Dottore was so taken aback and perplexed
by the statement, he found he couldn't even be annoyed by the suggestion. He simply couldn't wrap
his head around it.

"Romantic?" The Third parroted with a frown.

"Oh, I definitely understand where you're coming from now," Childe said quickly, giving a nervous
laugh. "But from my point of view, that's how it seemed to me. It still does, in a way."

Dottore steepled his fingers together in front of his mouth thoughtfully, studying the Eleventh with
a careful gaze. “Does it, now?”

“A bit,” Childe said, an odd smile on his face. His eyes shifted back to meet Dottore’s. “Don’t you
think so?”

Dottore hesitated, both out of caution and because he truly had never even considered the idea. He
didn’t really like considering it now. But it was interesting enough to make him take pause.

“Not particularly,” Dottore finally answered. Childe seemed disappointed by the response.

“You really think so?” He asked. “I don’t know. There’s still something so idealistic about it. It’s
not a bad thing, though.”

That annoyed Dottore. “There’s nothing ‘idealistic’ about anything I said. It’s only the most
practical mindset.”

Childe didn’t reply to this straight away. He propped his cheek up against his hand, giving him an
almost coy tilt of the head.

“I think it could be both,” he said after a moment, sighing. It was an impatient sounding exhale, but
it did not match his expression. He smiled as he breathed out, his eyelids fluttering a bit as he did
so. Dottore’s fingers twitched slightly in discomfort.

“And what would it matter if it was, boy? You’re not making any sense.” Dottore snapped,
exasperation straining his voice. He had absolutely no idea where this conversation could possibly
be going, and the fact that he didn’t was quickly making him grow defensive. He suddenly
regretted engaging with The Eleventh at all, and he was too eager to change the topic.

Dottore hadn’t had any intentions of telling Childe about his plans for the facility before, but he
supposed it was as good a way as any to end this little exchange.

"Anyway, stop prattling on," Dottore said quickly, before Childe could get the chance to respond.
"There's something I suppose you should know."

Childe straightened himself up at this, his interest suddenly piqued. "Oh? What is it?"

"This facility has outlasted its usefulness to me." Dottore said it unceremoniously, unlacing his
fingers and leaning back on his hands. He didn't even look at Childe as he said it, letting his eyes
wander elsewhere in disinterest. "I'm needed back in Snezhnaya tomorrow, but after my business
there has concluded, I'll be coming back one last time to finalize its closure. Anything of any worth
I'm having shipped off elsewhere. Everything else will be decommissioned."

Childe did not answer him for a long while, so long that Dottore finally looked back at him in
annoyance.

Childe's smile had fallen, suggesting that he most certainly was not happy, but the expression on
his face now was so utterly vacant of any perceivable emotion that Dottore was briefly taken
aback. It immediately made his skin crawl with discomfort, and his shoulders tensed. There was
not much in life Dottore had ever encountered that could make him feel ill at ease, but the cold,
emotionless stare Childe was giving him now was so inscrutable that a vague dread began to grip
at his chest like a vice.

How strange, that the young man who only seconds before had contemplated the romanticism of
eternity was now staring at Dottore with a look as hard and unyielding as stone.

After what felt like an eternity, Childe finally spoke.

"So, what are you saying?" His tone was dull and too level, and he simply started at Dottore with
unblinking scrutiny as he awaited an answer.

"I'm-" Dottore felt the words stick in his throat, and he fought to compose himself before
continuing. "I won't be coming back here again, after all is said and done. I just thought it would
be… useful for you to know. You won't have to concern yourself with its security any longer."

Childe didn't react. He didn't break his gaze, didn't move, Dottore couldn't even see him breathe
for several beats of silence.

Then, all at once, it was over. Dottore felt as if he had blinked and missed something, with how
quickly Childe's features softened, a gentle smile pulling at his lips as he let a soft laugh escape
him.

"I'm not surprised. Nothing can ever hold your interest for long, can it?" There was no animosity
hidden behind the words, and Dottore would have even gone so far as to say it was fondness that
laced them, an affectionate lilt settling into his tone as if his contentedness had come easily to him.

Dottore wasn't sure if it was that or the expression that had preceded it that made him feel ill at
ease.

The Third narrowed his eyes at the boy, speaking tersely through a clenched jaw. “I don’t think
you should be speaking so familiarly with me.”

“Really?” Childe asked innocently. “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve come to know you quite well.”

He wasn’t wrong. Dottore was now thinking that might have been a mistake, on his part. He stared
down Childe for a bit longer before his own discomfort forced him to relent. He closed his eyes,
breathing sharply out through his nose before standing up.

“At any rate, I’ve decided to head out ahead of schedule,” Dottore said, walking back over to the
Ruin Guard still strewn about in pieces. “So I’ll be asking you to leave now.”

“Oh? Already?” Dottore could not see his expression, nor did he want to, but Childe sounded
disappointed. “That’s a shame.”

Dottore only grunted noncommittally. He heard Childe stand up.

“Well, can I at least offer you any assistance with your preparations when you get back? I’d be
more than happy to help.”

“I don’t need you,” Dottore snapped quickly. He scowled down at the automaton before him,
pointedly refusing to look back at the Eleventh. He was far too anxious to get Childe out of there
now, and he feared that continuing the conversation for too much longer would betray his
discomfort. His curtness might, as well, but he had few other options.
Childe did not miss a beat. “Well, then, I’ll at least come to see you off. I’d hate not being able to
properly give you a good send off after all the time, comrade. I’ll be very occupied here in the next
coming months; who knows when I’ll get to see you again?”

Dottore wanted to argue with him, but more than that, he just wanted him gone.

“Do what you want.”

“Good,” Childe said cheerfully. “Well, I’ll just see myself out, now.”

Dottore could feel the tension leaving his shoulders as he heard Childe’s footsteps on the metal
floor leading away from him, only for it to return when they abruptly stopped not more than a few
paces away from him.

“Oh, by the way,” Childe said, with such lazy insouciance that it made Dottore want to scream.
Why couldn’t the boy just leave? “I had almost forgotten. I found something laying around on my
way in. I know you don’t like me touching anything in here, but I couldn’t help but think it looked
too lost to ignore. Would you like it now?”

“I don’t care,” Dottore hissed, his patience running out. His mind was a storm, an indecipherable
jumble of thoughts of the facility, thoughts of Childe, thoughts of himself, and Childe insisted on
telling him about one spare part out of the probable hundreds of others littered about the facility? It
was infuriating. He frantically waved his hand behind him to dismiss the issue. “Just leave it on my
desk on your way out. Or keep it. It doesn’t matter anymore. Just leave. I have more pressing
matters to attend to.”

Childe was silent for a while. Dottore ground his teeth with every beat of quiet.

Finally, Childe hummed in amusement.

“I understand. I’ll just leave it in your office, then.” Childe said. Then, after a brief hesitation, he
started walking away again, calling over his shoulder as his steps gradually led away from Dottore.
“I’ll be sure to meet with you again, comrade.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

After Dottore's business in Snezhnaya concluded, he returned to Liyue swiftly, eager to have the
entire affair done with. It was tedious business, with his presence needed simply to inspect the
automatons and devices to determine which ones would be worth keeping as property of the Fatui,
and which ones would simply need to be reduced to a pile of scrap metal. He disliked the entire
process, as by that point he no longer had much personal stake in the facilities to be dissolved, and
it was necessary for his subordinates to constantly check in with him, as the final decision on
everything was his alone to make. Dottore was certain that this process was made to be deliberately
irritating, as it was Pedrolino and Pantalone who were so insistent that he be there to personally see
to any research sites he chose to shut down. It was no doubt meant to either deter him from
impulsive decision making or was an attempt to keep him from losing focus on the projects he
already had. It worked, to a certain extent, but Dottore was still wont to get ahead of himself.

When Dottore wasn't forced to attend to these matters, he had nothing else to do but to shut himself
in his quarters or his main office, almost desperate to squeeze out any bit of solitude he could from
this bothersome affair.

But as the days began to drag on, the solitude quickly lost the value it once had, as the reclusion
only served to make his head swim with intrusive, nonsensical thoughts.
Most notably, he just couldn’t shake himself of the observation that Childe had yet to show himself
at the facility.

It had first occurred to Dottore late into the second day, with very little fanfare or any investment. It
was only barely worthy of any note, only slightly curious because Childe had become predictably
prompt over the last few months. More often than not, it was the morning of the second day of
Dottore's stays in Liyue that the Eleventh chose to darken his door.

By the end of the third day, his absence had become a bit harder to ignore.

By day five, it had clawed its way from the back of Dottore's mind to the front of it, so
infuriatingly anomalous that the Third found himself unable to concentrate on much else.

He didn't know why it drove him absolutely mad, but it did. He realized just how difficult it was to
ignore Childe's absence, after being forced to adjust to the Eleventh's unmistakable presence for so
many months. Childe was a man that commanded attention wherever he went, even for the
uncharacteristic serenity he had adopted when within walls of the research facility. Every empty
space seemed emptier than it ought to have, every stretch of silence an agonizing eternity with no
end in sight.

It simply did not make any sense. Not once since the entire arrangement had begun did Childe
deviate from his whims, not once had he ever given Dottore the luxury to assume that he might
remain unbothered on one of his trips. The boy had even gone out of his way to assert that he
would be there to see him off, whether Dottore liked it or not, and still he did not come.

Childe had been showing up at his doorstep unprompted for nearly a year, and the one time
Dottore had actually told him when and where he would be, the boy suddenly couldn't be bothered
to make an appearance.

Dottore didn't know why it bothered him so much, didn't know why he couldn't stop thinking
about it, why it made him feel like pacing trenches into the floor of his facility. He simply had to
conclude that it was because it made no logical sense. There was no reasonable way to explain it
away. It made him feel like he couldn't properly wrap his head around Childe's behavior, and he
realized that he never really had over the course of those months that they shared company. He had
simply taken it all at face value, never once dwelling on the fact that none of it made any bit of
sense. There had been something he missed - something that was still missing.

Dottore detested missing pieces.

A quick look at his agenda told him that one of his last matters of business in Liyue was a transfer
of funds to be conducted at the Northland Bank. It was a trivial matter; in any other scenario, he
would have simply sent a subordinate to take care of it without a second thought.

But perhaps, just this once, a little fresh air might do him some good.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore swept into the bank like a storm cloud, dark and pulsating with a troubling energy
thundering just below the surface. That, coupled with the fact that a high-ranking Harbinger should
have had absolutely no reason to be there, was enough to turn every masked face white as a sheet
as he passed them. They all stuttered out a formal greeting, which Dottore blatantly ignored, and
this continued until he had approached the front desk to loom over the young woman standing
behind the counter. She, too, appeared visibly surprised at his presence, mouth floundering open
momentarily, but her lips quickly pressed themselves into a thin line as she composed herself.
"Lord Dottore," she said, nodding her head respectfully. "I apologize if we seem unprepared. We
did not expect to be seeing you here personally, today. My name is Ekaterina. Have you come to
handle the matter of your transfer, or is there some other way we may serve you?"

“Where’s the boy?” Dottore asked dully, completely disregarding her otherwise. He had no qualms
with belittling his colleagues in front of their subordinates as it was, but especially now, he didn’t
give a damn about any of these formalities. And he detested speaking to the soldiers. They were all
well aware of this. Ekaterina seemed taken aback at first, perhaps even offended, but she quickly
cleared her throat and gave him a prompt answer.

“Lord Dottore, if I am to assume you are speaking of Lord Tartaglia, I’m afraid I don’t know
exactly where he is at the moment,” she said, bowing her head apologetically. “I only know that
Lord Tartaglia has been very occupied as of late. I have not had the opportunity to report to him in
several days.”

“Is that so?” Dottore queried, scowling. He crossed his arms over his chest, drumming his fingers
against his arm. “And what seems to be occupying his time so much?”

“My apologies, my lord, but I am not certain,” she answered. “As I said, I have not had the
opportunity to-”

“Forget it. I’ve heard enough.” Dottore barked. The young woman’s mouth shut tightly yet again,
clenching her jaw slightly.

“If you had any business with Lord Tartaglia himself, he did not enlighten me on the matter. I
apologize for my ignorance, my lord,” she said dutifully. She bowed her head again, and lingered
there. Dottore could tell she was glancing up at him from her subjugated stance, and her voice
became a bit terse. “If you were to tell me the nature of your business, I would be more than happy
to tell Lord Tartaglia that you have a need for him.”

Dottore fixed an icy glare on her. “I do believe that any business of ours would be far above your
station, girl.”

She didn't respond at first. Then, even more terse than before, "Yes. My apologies, Lord Dottore."

The girl did not like him. That much was obvious, nor was it surprising. Most of his own
subordinates did not care for him either, though they were certainly better at hiding it. And the fact
that this was one of Childe's subordinates infuriated him. He knew Childe to be much too friendly
with his soldiers; clearly, it made them liable to speak out of turn. Dottore wanted to put her in her
place. If only to blow off a little steam.

Dottore let a wicked, malicious grin pull at the corners of his mouth, letting out a short laugh.

"Oh, I suppose I can forgive you," Dottore cooed. "What a forthright young lady you are. Much too
valuable a soldier to be wasted on serving that little whelp. Perhaps you ought to serve under me,
instead."

Dottore watched her freeze, and she finally paled as all the others had before her. It was a bluff, of
course; Dottore did not have the patience for insolence, and even if he did, he knew as soon as he
walked out the door this woman would no longer hold his interest.

But he was fully aware that his reputation preceded him amongst the underlings. His last assistant's
disappearance had not gone unnoticed - merely unacknowledged.

Ekaterina swallowed roughly. "I believe… Lord Tartaglia still has use for me here, my lord."
"Oh? That's a shame," Dottore said with a chuckle. "Although, I do out rank him by a significant
degree, you know. I'm sure I could overrule any claim he has on your services, if I so desired.
But… I suppose I'll just have to take your word for it, my dear."

Ekaterina wrung her hands together. "Yes. I understand, Lord Dottore. I… trust you are here for
your funds, then?"

"Oh, yes. That would be lovely. Be a dear and fetch that for me, will you?"

Ekaterina hesitated, mouth still drawn taut with discomfort, but she nodded.

"Right away, my lord." She paused. “Would you… still wish for me to tell Lord Tartaglia that you
were looking for him?”

Dottore frowned for a moment, considering this. He did not want her to tell him, but he suspected
she may anyway, or that the news would simply come to him from another source.

“Yes, you may.” Dottore conceded with a sigh, tapping his fingers against the counter. How
useless this trip had turned out to be. It seemed not even Childe’s own men knew what he was up
to. Despite his discontent, though, he did manage to give Ekaterina another crooked grin. “Perhaps
you can deliver him another message for me, as well.”

“...Yes, my lord?”

Dottore snickered at her compliant tone. “Please, do tell your Master to not treat his underlings so
amicably. It’s really quite troublesome for the rest of us. Wouldn’t you agree?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore immediately locked himself away in his main office upon returning to the facility, hoping
he would be able to maintain even a modicum of peace and quiet after his tiresome trip into the
city.

Unfortunately for him, his mind would not rest.

It was maddeningly frustrating, being so worked up over a matter which he barely even
understood. He was angry with Childe, absolutely livid, but he still couldn't quite grasp why the
feeling so nagged at him. A few months prior, he would have been thrilled to not be dealing with
the boy's presence. He still should have been. But back then, there had been nothing to their
encounters. Childe had simply just sat there in silence, which was a bit bewildering in and of itself,
but he himself was a negligible matter at that point in time.

But something had changed, recently. Childe now seemed to have a knack for confounding Dottore
at every turn, with this being no exception. Between his growing interest in Dottore's work, and in
his more personal affairs, he had been leaving the Third with nothing but questions, with
bothersome little curiosities that he could not help but ponder when there was nothing else to
occupy his mind.

Dottore thought about the last time he had seen him. How had he slipped so easily into letting his
guard down? He had been so distracted, so scattered at the time, but why? Why, when he told him
he would be leaving, did the Eleventh's expression fall so dramatically? And why did that look turn
Dottore's blood into ice, even just thinking of it now? And after, Childe had just-

As Dottore played those memories back to himself, sitting back in his chair, something suddenly
caught his eye. At first, he couldn't register why it did. It was a chaos circuit, the same as was in
every Ruin Machine, one of thousands others like it that lived in the facility.

It was only once his memories caught up to him that it hit him.

"I found something laying around on my way in…. I couldn’t help but think it looked too lost to
ignore. Would you like it now?”

Dottore had told him to leave it on his desk. He hadn't even been thinking about it, too desperate to
rush Childe out of the facility, and had completely forgotten about it only moments after Childe
had left. But that must have been what he was talking about. It was placed neatly atop a stack of
papers to his right, something he was sure he wouldn't have placed there on his own. It was so
insignificant, so commonplace, Dottore had been looking straight at it for the past five days
without even noticing.

He furrowed his brow at the thing, studying it carefully. As he did, he thought again about what
had led him to start the conversation with Childe in the first place.

He had been working on that Ruin Guard, but he was too disinterested to keep focus on it.

No, it was more than that. He was having trouble picking up where he had left off. He had thought
he was at one step of the process, but things weren't adding up in his head. Something had been off.
There had been a piece missing.

There had been a piece missing.

Dottore felt something like panic rise instantly in his breast, up to his throat, choking him. But no,
it wasn't panic. It was hotter than that. It was squeezing at his chest like a vice around his ribcage,
but it also burned, oh, it boiled within him. He stood up from his desk abruptly, snatching the
chaos circuit from his desk and storming out of his office with an urgent gait.

The feeling that still overwhelmed him was smothering, making his head swim as he swept through
the corridors of his facility. He was barely even conscious of what he was doing, or where he was
going, or what he was thinking. Only one thing echoed through his mind as he moved forward, a
single, incomplete riddle that would not yet conclude itself no matter how many times it was
repeated.

There had been a piece missing. There had been a piece missing. There had been a goddamn piece
missing.

Dottore soon found himself in the room that he had last seen Childe in, the collection of metal
platforms holding up lifeless Ruin Guards. The one he had been working on that day still lay in the
exact condition he had left it in. This section was one of the last to be catalogued, and nothing had
been touched since Dottore had left it in it's unassembled state.

It was ludicrous, what he was doing. Even if his vague suspicion was confirmed, what did that
prove? All chaos circuits were exactly alike, fitting exactly the same way into every single Ruin
Guard stalking across Teyvat now. Dottore still wouldn't have any strong physical evidence to
support his claim.

But he would know nevertheless, wouldn't he? Oh, he would know.

Dottore fell to his knees as he shuffled through the parts littered in front of the Ruin Guard, until he
found the circuit board that was meant to be docked back inside the automaton's torso.

It was missing a chaos circuit. With no other circuits to be found but the one he had nearly crushed
in the white-knuckled grip of his hand, he slowly tried connecting the two parts.

The chaos circuit easily fell into place. And when it did, so did everything else.

The feeling rising within him boiled over, and a strangled growl escaped his throat as he threw the
entire circuit board away from him, delicate machinery cracking and shattering across the metal
floor when it came crashing to the ground.

That little shit. That insufferable little shit. He had known. He had taken it out from under Dottore's
nose, because he knew. Oh, it was so obvious now.

All that time Childe had spent watching Dottore work on the automatons, and the Third had
foolishly assumed he hadn't been paying any attention. But he knew. He knew the steps that
Dottore took to reassemble the machines, he knew what every single component was for and when
it was needed. He knew Dottore had been growing distracted, and he knew exactly when to ask his
question, and when it would be answered in turn.

That was why he wasn't here now. That was why nothing he said or did had ever sat well with
Dottore. Why it all never felt quite right of him. It was because none of it had ever been genuine.

He had been manipulating Dottore. Everything that had ever left his mouth was as cold and
calculating as the expression he had let slip the last time he saw him. It was all a clever design, a
series of events meticulously laid out to appeal to Dottore’s ego and break down his walls.

And Dottore had played into his conniving little hands every step of the way.

Another enraged howl rumbled out of Dottore's throat, and he turned on the machine, ripping out
every last part he could get his hands on, the same parts he had just a few days prior taken the time
to put together himself.

How, how, how could he have let this happen? How had he so easily allowed Childe, of all people,
to manipulate him? It was humiliation, it was preposterous, it was foolish, it was absolutely
maddening.

He wanted to kill him. He wanted to tear him open from stem to stern and obliterate him, hollow
him out like the Ruin Guard he tore into until his fingertips bled.

He gutted that machine in a blind frenzy until there was nothing more to pull out, until he was left
panting on his hands and knees.

But as the rage emptied out of him, his sense began to return.

No, violence was too easy an answer. Childe was used to violence, and even in a world where
Dottore could say without a doubt that he'd be able to best the Eleventh in physical combat, it
wouldn't be restitution enough for what he had done.

He had made a fool of Dottore. Dottore had underestimated him, yes. He realized now how blind
he had been to do so. He was well aware that Childe's skills excelled beyond what he was
physically capable of, that the young man was as much a strategic mastermind as he was a martial
one. And yet he hadn't had the foresight to assume the boy could apply this outside of combat
strategy. That was his mistake. But he still would not take the blame.

The audacity that Childe possessed to believe he could do this and simply get away with it was
unforgivable. The Eleventh, as skilled as he was, had never learned how to pick his battles. He
never had to, in his defense, in the world of brawls. He had always bested every foe he had ever
come into contact with. But he was still only human, and as Dottore saw it, one day he would have
to learn this skill the hard way.

As such, he would have to learn that the same concept applied to battles of the mind, as well. And
Dottore was now more than willing to be his teacher. Because in that subject, Dottore gave as good
as he got.

What Childe had done to him, Dottore would unleash back at him tenfold.

Besides that, though it irked him to feel as such, as his head cleared, Dottore's curiosity began to
pique at the revelation.

The fact that Childe had been manipulating him was clear now. But what he hadn't quite figured
out was why Childe had chosen to do so in the first place. If he had gone to such lengths to take
advantage of him, it was surely not without reason.

Beyond all else, he wanted to drag the answer out of him at any cost.

But how to do it? That was the question, now.

"L-lord Dottore?"

Dottore whipped his head around towards the voice, to see one of his subordinates a few feet away
from him, standing straight as a board with a thick stack of papers clutched to his chest. Judging by
his flustered appearance, he had no doubt witnessed or heard Dottore's little outburst from before,
or at the very least noted the gutted Ruin Guard in front of him and had correctly assessed that this
was not an ideal moment to need something from his superior. Dottore was willing to bet that there
would be several other subordinates cowering just out of sight, ones that had auspiciously not
drawn the short straw as this man had.

"What do you want?" Dottore snapped, not getting up from where he knelt. The man visibly
flinched at his barked out response.

"I-I-'' The soldier swallowed roughly, trying to compose himself. "M-my apologies, my lord. We
require your signature for these itineraries. We are preparing the boats for your subjects to be
delivered to Snezhnaya. They will be setting out tomorrow morning. The transports to Haeresys
and the Inazuma site need to be reviewed as well, my lord."

He could barely even meet Dottore's steely gaze, and the Third sneered. He looked back towards
the empty shell in front of him, pondering his own matters yet again.

What to do? It was not a question of how he should do it; the obvious solution now was to remain
one step ahead of Childe at every turn. The question was, what did Childe expect him to do next?

Leaving the stolen chaos circuit on Dottore’s desk, and not showing up when he explicitly stated he
would, seemed to imply that he intended for Dottore to stew over his absence. Most likely, he
hoped that Dottore would request an audience with him outside of his regular duties at the facility.
Dottore could not yet determine whether or not he had meant to be caught in his schemes, but he
suspected he may have accounted for that, as well.

As much as Dottore was immediately enraptured by the idea of calling his bluff, of simply leaving
Liyue in the dust and never again giving Childe the satisfaction of his compliance, he did not feel
that it would potent enough of a punishment for him. And besides that, it would not sate his own
curiosity. There were still questions that had yet to be answered. Dottore fully intended to hold
Childe accountable for those.
The Third broke out into a grin, and started laughing maniacally. He could only imagine the look
of terror that probably twisted his subordinate's features at that moment.

But the man dutifully remained where he stood, waiting for a break in Dottore's laughter. "M-my
lord?"

Dottore let his chortle taper off into a chuckle, shaking his head as he did so. "Cancel it."

The man was silent for a beat. "P-pardon?"

"Cancel it." Dottore repeated, looking back at him with a wild grin. "Cancel the whole thing. I've
changed my mind."

The man only stared at him at first, looking dumbstruck at Dottore's sudden shift in mood. "C-
cancel it?"

"Oh, don't look so dull, boy," Dottore chided, getting annoyed at the way he simply parroted him.
Dottore looked back at the empty husk in front of him, giving a toothy smile at the machine. "It
seems that Liyue still has some value to me. It would be a shame to let it all go, now."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore was recalled back to Zapolyarny Palace for a spell, seemingly only to be chided for how
egregiously he had wasted Fatui resources with his last-minute decision to call off the Liyue
facility's dissolvement.

The lecture came as no surprise to him. After all, in Pantalone's own terse, exasperated words:
"This is outrageous, even for you."

And he certainly was not wrong. But the outrageous situation Dottore had found himself in
necessitated the use of outrageous measures.

Dottore did not mind being recalled to Snezhnaya, though. It simply gave him a chance to further
clear his head, to focus on what he would do next.

When Dottore got back, he didn't even bother attempting to preoccupy himself with the machines.
The facility was a mess, half taken apart and neglected from Dottore's lack of interest, but the
subordinates that ought to have been responsible for cleaning the place up were curtly instructed to
keep themselves sparse.

Dottore simply shut himself in his office and waited.

He did not have to wait long at all.

Childe sauntered in the afternoon Dottore had gotten in, and though the Third had been confident
of his prompt return in these circumstances, he was a bit taken aback by just how promptly he had
arrived. Dottore wondered if he was just over eager to see the fruits of his labor. Perhaps, even for
as capable of calculated patience as he clearly was, there still was a brashness to him that was not
so easily contained. That would be good. It was something Dottore could work with. Though he
would have to be wary of falling back into the comfort of assuming Childe was simply foolhardy.

"Greetings, comrade!" Childe called cheerfully, giving Dottore a little wave as he walked in.

Dottore didn't get up from his desk when Childe walked in, and didn't acknowledge him save for a
steely, scrutinizing glare pointed in his direction. Childe hesitated for a moment, waiting for a
response, but when he did not receive one he simply continued on unbothered.

"One of my soldiers tells me you were in the city looking for me, the other day." Childe said with a
friendly laugh. "You gave her quite the fright, you know. And everyone else, for that matter. I
think even I would have been startled to see it."

He waited again for a response. Dottore pointedly didn't give him one. He simply wanted to watch
him. If Childe really was so eager to see what his efforts had sown, Dottore wanted to see how far
he would go to get a rise out of him.

The stretch of silence was long, both men unyielding, until Childe finally crossed his arms.

"Is there anything wrong, comrade?" Childe asked, an air of innocence to his voice. He was still
smiling.

Dottore laced his fingers together and touched them to his chin thoughtfully. "Is there?"

Childe's grin faltered for a moment. It was only the most miniscule of twitches, something that
probably would have gone unnoticed by anyone else watching. But Dottore noticed.

Yet again, there was naught but silence. Then, after a while, Childe spoke again.

"I didn't expect to see you back here, you know," he said. His voice was ever-so-slightly strained.
"Didn't you say you would be shutting this place down?"

"I did." Dottore answered dully. "So why did you come?"

Childe's smile did fall, then, much to Dottore's supreme satisfaction. His lips pressed into a tight
line, and he blinked rapidly for a moment. It was all Dottore needed to stand up from his seat. He
crossed his arms behind his back as he took deliberate steps to the front of his desk, stopping in
front of it and turning to face Childe directly.

Childe did not answer - it was clear that he would not answer, and that was fine. Dottore had toyed
with him enough.

"Childe," Dottore began, a short exhale escaping him as he leaned back against his desk. "As you
are aware, I am a very busy man. A very. Busy man. And as such, I simply do not have time to
entertain whatever petty game it is that you're trying to play. I do not have the patience for it. So I
am only going to ask you one question: what do you want?"

Childe looked like he was frozen in place, and that same dull, vacant expression that Dottore had
seen on him the last time they met darkened his features. It no longer made Dottore's blood run
cold, because now he understood why he was seeing it.

Childe was recalculating. Things hadn't gone his way, and he was reevaluating the situation. It was
a slip of the mask. Dottore vaguely wondered if Childe even knew what he looked like right now.
If he did, he would have thought the Eleventh would have made a better effort to control it.

But he wasn't controlling it, and he fell deathly silent for a long while as he studied Dottore.

"I don't know what you're talking about." His response came in a monotone, his expression yet
unchanged. Dottore clenched his jaw.

"I said," Dottore said, punching the word out emphatically, "that I have no time for your little
games. Let's not play dumb. Now answer the question."
"I'm not playing dumb." Without warning, he slipped out of his eerie trance. His eyes widened and
darted around almost panickedly, and his mouth floundered open as he seemed to wither under
Dottore's scrutiny.

The audacity the boy had to attempt to sell that act to him was dumbfounding. Dottore's fists
clenched. "Do not test me, boy."

"I-I'm not-"

"Do not test me!" Dottore lost his temper with a snarl, bringing a fist down on his desk and sending
several devices and writing utensils clattering to the ground. Childe did not flinch, but he froze, and
his face went blank again. "Has it not been enough already?! Did you not enjoy yourself, wasting
my precious time with this nonsense? Did you not get enough of a thrill from stealing my things
like some kind of mangy, shit-covered street rat? If you haven't quite had your fill of it, oh, don't
worry yourself about that! I'm going to be more than happy when I inform the Tsaritsa that you
have not found her assignment valuable enough to prevent you from frittering away your time with
this! I think her reaction would be quite the thrill, don’t you?"

The last part was an outrageous bluff. Dottore would have sooner been buried than have to admit to
what Childe had done to him, what he had let him do. He was humiliated enough as it was, and
besides that, he doubted he would win the Tsaritsa's favor in this situation anyway. She did so
blatantly have her favorites, and Dottore was certainly not one of them. But he had wanted to goad
Childe by invoking the name of his beloved Archon, and as he saw the Eleventh suck in his
cheeks, he knew it had worked.

"Now," Dottore hissed. "Since you've insisted on causing so much trouble for me, I think the least I
am owed is an answer: what was it all for, Childe? I will not ask again!"

Childe was frozen where he stood, eyes dull and listless and yet desperately searching for a new
plan, a way out. The longer they searched, the more Dottore began to think that he had won.

But then, Childe laughed.

It was a breathy, sharp laugh, like it had caught Childe himself off guard. It pushed all the air out
of his lungs, and with it too left the rigidness of his body, and he swayed slightly on his feet like he
had grown drunk off of the little chuckle. He let his head droop down, shaking it back and forth
vaguely before looking back up at Dottore.

"You mean you really don't know?" He said it smugly, but not as much as Dottore would have
expected. There was something else there, something much more prevalent. Dottore knitted his
brows together in bewilderment.

Childe said it like he wanted him to know what he wanted.

Dottore honestly hadn't considered that. His first instinct had been that if Childe had spent nearly a
year meticulously inserting himself into Dottore’s life without making him fully aware of it, it was
because he wanted something that Dottore shouldn't have known about. But if that was not the
case….

Dottore had been obsessing over what he did not know, the things that Childe hadn't shown or told
him. But what had Dottore noticed?

Dottore was not sure if it was seeing Childe take a step forward that made him realize it all at
once, or if it was seeing the spark of recognition in the Third's eyes that drove Childe to take that
step in the first place. Dottore was honestly too dumbstruck by the revelation to make sense of the
passage of time. His mind was stuck in a limbo between the moment that Childe was simply
standing a few paces in front of him, to the moment that he had swept across the room and was
suddenly pinning Dottore's hips against his own desk, palms pressed flat against the wood grain on
either side of him.

Dottore was suddenly remembering the day that he had realized that he no longer had any interest
in Liyue, and what Childe had said while perched beside him, watching him with eyes that were far
beyond studious.

"I just like you."

What a strange, strange boy he was.

And he very nearly was a stranger before Dottore's eyes. This was not the Childe he had thought he
had known, and it certainly was not Tartaglia, the name that instilled profound dread in the hearts
of their enemies, the man whose existence seemed rooted in the tireless slaughter he performed in
the Tsaritsa's name.

The boy before him was feral in his desperation, and yet strangely apprehensive in his approach.
He had thrown himself over Dottore with all the ferocity of a wild animal, but he wasn’t even
touching him, quite literally holding himself at arm’s length even though he clearly wanted more.
Dottore could see the effort of his restraint making the veins in his forearms run thick, swollen
tracks up and down his skin, and his body seemed to pulsate as it hovered over Dottore’s, swaying
forward and then immediately jerking back before he got too close. He wasn’t even looking at him.
His head was almost bowed, looking at Dottorer’s shoulder with eyes out of focus.

Dottore was frozen where he stood, hands clutching the edge of the desk behind him as he urgently
tried to make sense of the matter. A part of him - a big part - was fighting insane revulsion, a
disgust so profound that he could taste bile rising in his throat. He was not being touched, but his
skin crawled at every point Childe eclipsed him. Everything, everything about that boy repulsed
him to a degree he could not comprehend, between his fitful desperation, the unsettling way he had
chosen the capture Dottore’s attention that still weighed heavily on his shoulders, the way he
simply loomed over him - close enough to smother him but not close enough to just fucking touch
him, already.

Dottore thought that if Childe touched him, he surely would be driven to kill that boy with his own
two hands. And yet, the fact that he wasn’t touching him was driving him to insanity.

“Dottore….” The boy suddenly whined his name, almost moaned it, and Dottore tersely looked
down at him. He was taller than Childe, not by much, but enough so that he wasn’t able to read his
expression with the boy’s head hanging so low.

He wasn’t expecting it when one of Childe’s hands came up and cupped Dottore’s masked cheek in
his palm. Dottore was surprised that he didn’t throw the Eleventh off of him right then and there.
He could not feel the touch, of course, but somehow it made his bare skin tingle nevertheless. He
so desperately wanted to brush his hand away. But he did not.

He hated the young man in front of him right now, but it was all so dreadfully fascinating that he
could not bring himself to stop him. Even as Childe’s hand shifted, and his fingers curled around
the glazed, plaster edge of his mask, and he did touch him then, his knuckles brushing against the
scarred skin of Dottore’s cheek - touching him in the most grotesquely intimate place he could
have managed. Dottore did not stop any of this, didn’t even think to kill the boy as he touched him,
as he initially feared he would.
He wanted to see how far this would go. Dottore didn’t know if he actually wanted this, and in fact,
the odds were good that he did not. But this strange, wild boy that had draped himself over him was
a foreign entity. He was something new, something to be experimented with. And Dottore had
certainly never been one to shy away from an experiment.

Childe cautiously lifted the mask from his face, and Dottore simply let him, as if it meant nothing.
And perhaps it didn’t. Childe placed it down on the desk gently. Only then did he lift his head up
and meet Dottore's gaze.

Childe practically swooned. There was no other word for it, as absurd as it sounded in Dottore's
head, and the Third thought the younger man was about to throw himself at him from the look in
his eyes. But still he hovered. He just leaned in closer, frustratingly close, so close that Dottore
could feel his breath coming out hot against his bottom lip. The boy’s trepidation suddenly
infuriated him, and he clenched his jaw.

"What do you want?" Dottore asked.

Childe let out an airy chuckle, eyes half-lidded and dark with desire. "You mean you still don't
know?"

"Say it." Dottore ordered. "Tell me. What you want."

A trembling exhale escaped Childe. He leaned in even closer. He was so close that when he spoke
again, his voice an obscene, throaty purr, his lips just barely grazed against Dottore's.

"I want you to ruin me."

Dottore heard a strangled, inhuman growl before their lips crashed together gracelessly. It would
not be until later that he realized the unrecognizable sound had come from his own throat, and that
he had been the one to finally close the gap.

Childe immediately let out a guttural moan, foregoing his self-restraint the instant their lips met.
He wrapped his arms around Dottore's waist and pulled them together so roughly that it nearly
knocked the wind out of them both, clinging to him like a lifeline. He ground their hips together
and Dottore could feel him, already miserably hard within the confines of his pants, rutting
senselessly against him for any sort of relief he could find.

The sounds that tumbled out of Childe were numerous and each more obscene than the last. There
was no tact to him, his lips and tongue dancing clumsily around Dottore's, moaning and
whimpering into the older man's mouth like a cheap whore. It made Dottore shudder, either out of
disgust or lust, but it made his cock twitch regardless.

Childe was pressing Dottore back hard against the desk as he licked into his mouth, pinning him
there before relinquishing the grip around his waist. His hands were almost trembling as he
fumbled with the buttons on Dottore's pants, but soon enough the Third's breath hitched as Childe
brought his cock out. He made much quicker work of his own pants, simply yanking them down
around his thighs. Childe moaned loudly as he took both of them in his hand, pressing their cocks
together, and began thrusting his hips forward erratically. Dottore winced slightly. If Childe hadn't
been absolutely dripping with precum, and if Dottore himself hadn't been too consumed with lust to
make more of a fuss, it would have been awful. It was too rough, too clumsy, and Childe was
nearly uncontrollable in his desperation.

Dottore had not moved his hands from the desk, wouldn't have known what to do with them up
until this point, and so he finally brought one between them to swat Childe's hand away, replacing
it with his own.

Childe had been sucking Dottore's bottom lip between his teeth, practically gnawing at it, and he
suddenly released it with a shrill, gasping cry. His hips suddenly stilled too, though they still
twitched with the desire to continue moving.

"Ohhh."

The euphoric, drawn-out groan suddenly made Dottore recall all the times he had ever caught
Childe staring at him while he worked. The way he so intently followed his movements, always a
bit too enraptured by it. Every time, it was Dottore's hands he had been trailing with an intense
gaze.

Ah. So that was it. Of course.

Fueled by this newfound realization, Dottore trailed his fingers up the length of their shafts, paying
particular attention to Childe's. The Eleventh gasped again, throwing his head back, and then
forward. He propped his forehead against Dottore's chest, looking down between them. He was
watching him. Still ever the attentive student, obviously.

Dottore dipped a finger lightly into the well of Childe's cockhead, gathering up the precum that
was still profusely leaking from him. He more evenly dispersed it between their cocks. Childe's
plaintive moans had tapered off into soft whimpers as his hands moved. His hips remained still, up
until Dottore began stroking, drawing another pitiful moan out of the boy and making his hips buck
forwards. But he soon matched Dottore's rhythm, moving in the opposite direction of the older
man's hand.

"Oh, fuck-" It didn't take much of that to send Childe over the edge, and the curse was all the
warning he could give before coming between them. Most of it had gotten on Dottore's jacket
before he was able to catch the last few spurts in his hand. Before he could even be annoyed by it,
before he could do anything at all, Childe grabbed him roughly by the wrist. Dottore tried to pull
away out of instinct, but Childe held it still, jerking his head up and sloppily slotting his lips
between Dottore's.

"I want you," Childe gasped, parting just long enough to breathe the words on his mouth before
bringing them back together with fervent urgency. Then he pulled back again. "I want you inside."
Another directionless, desperate kiss. Then, without parting, "Fuck me. Fuck me."

Dottore's mind nearly went blank with the unadulterated filthiness of it, unsure if it was lust or
mortification that left him in a daze, and unable to make the determination before Childe had
shoved him up onto the desk, quickly shaking his own pants down around his ankles in the
process. He kicked them off to the side, then effortlessly mounted himself over Dottore's lap,
hoisting himself up onto the desk on his knees. One of Dottore's hands flew out behind him to prop
himself up before he was pushed back by Childe's over eagerness, but the boy was still holding
tight onto the other hand, squeezing it so hard it began to ache.

Once he was over Dottore, he yanked the older man's hand back behind him, leading his hand
down along the curve of his ass. He had tangled their lips together again and was pleading into
Dottore's mouth now, with and without words, guiding him to his entrance and pressing one of his
cum-covered fingers against it. Dottore slipped it inside, and thought to himself it may have been
just a bit too easy to do so. He wondered, out of all of the other times he had ever seen Childe
during their months together, how many times had the boy just finished defiling himself before
coming to see him? What a shameless little whore he was.
Dottore wanted to say so aloud, but Childe would not have allowed for it, practically suctioned
onto his face as he was, rocking himself back onto the Third's finger. Dottore slipped a second and
third in immediately, seeing as the boy was so eager, forcing an ecstatic groan out from Childe's
chest.

This also did not last long, Childe quickly losing any modicum of patience he still possessed, and
he separated himself from Dottore’s probing fingers as he shifted forward over the older man's
cock.

Dottore already had his hand on his dick, but before going on, he gave Childe a stern glare.

"Control yourself, boy." It was the first time he had spoken since this had started, but somehow, his
voice had gone hoarse. Dottore barely recognized the deep, gravely tone as his own, and he wasn't
sure how he felt about that.

Childe, however, did not seem at all opposed to the growl in his voice, giving a shudder above him.
His hands were grabbing onto the Third's shoulders, and he gripped them tightly.

"I'll be good, I'll be good," Childe moaned, and Dottore's cock twitched in his hand. "Please, just
put it in."

Dottore exhaled, positioning his cock upright, pressing the tip against Childe's entrance. His hole
twitching in anticipation, Childe lowered himself as deliberately as he was able to given his
feverish urgency.

He was eager, but tight. He tried sinking himself down Dottore’s length, whining when it wouldn't
go in all at once. Dottore took hold of Childe's cock again, making him throw his head back with a
sharp exhale. His erection hadn't even had a chance to go fully down before he was hard and
throbbing in Dottore's hand again. Childe started bouncing himself slowly on Dottore's cock, and
as he did a laugh tumbled from his chest. It was giddy, borderline delirious, and he rolled his head
against his shoulder to look at Dottore.

"Ohh, you're gonna make me go crazy," Childe giggled, rolling his hips forward and taking
Dottore even deeper. "It's- fuck- it's so fucking good."

Dottore didn't answer him, just jerking his hips upwards, ramming himself inside to the hilt, and it
punched a cry out of Childe so reverent and shamelessly obscene that the the desire to coax it out of
him again - and again, and again, and again - was all that consumed him.

Dottore ravaged that boy mindlessly, one hand on his hip and the other on his dick, swirling his
cockhead around in his palm at an agonizing pace, but it just made Childe thrust into his touch all
the more desperately. This time there was no warning when Childe came into his hand for the
second time, just a keen that choked itself off and went silent, and he doubled over with the force
of his orgasm.

One of Childe’s hands dropped down to Dottore's, the one etching thin red lines into the pale skin
of his hip. He tried to hold it, but could only blindly claw at it.

When Childe's words returned to him, they were a strained wheeze, nigh unintelligible and
punctuated with every thrust that bottomed out inside him. "Oh don't stop don't stop don't stop
don'tstopdon'tst-"

Dottore released the hold he had on his hip, wrenching his hand away from Childe's, and he
grabbed a fistful of red hair at the back of his head, yanking his head forward and crashing their
 lips together.

He did this for no other reason than to silence him.

Dottore had no intention of stopping, anyway. He did not need to be told such.

Dottore came shortly after the Eleventh had, unloading into Childe with a series of throaty grunts.
He pulled Childe's head back as he did, almost unintentionally, but immediately reveled in the
drawn-out moan it brought out of the boy, the tendons in his throat straining against his skin.

When the last of Dottore’s seed had been emptied out into Childe's still-twitching insides, the
Eleventh let out a breathy laugh.

He took Dottore's wrist in his hand again, gentler this time, coaxing his fingers to release the hold
he still had on his dick. Dottore numbly complied, not quite lucid enough to protest anything yet.

Childe strained against the hold Dottore had on his hair, just enough so he could meet the older
man's unfocused gaze. He brought Dottore's hand up to his mouth, and started lapping the semen
off his hands with long, languid sweeps of his tongue. He slurped up his own cum loudly,
commanding attention, eyes half lidded but locked purposefully on Dottore.

He looked like a fucking dog. A proper bitch in heat.

Dottore felt the need to both toss the boy off him in an outburst of disgust, and to throw him back
on the desk and make him scream until he couldn't scream anymore. He didn't know which desire
was stronger.

But the Third would get his answer, once his hand had been cleaned but thoroughly coated in
saliva, and Childe brought one of his fingers to his lips and pressed a messy kiss to his knuckle.
Then, he brought it between his teeth, biting down hard enough to leave welts on the skin. Through
his teeth, he almost purred.

"Again."

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi

 The Doctor's Favor
Chapter Notes

ch3 cw/kink list:

mild gore mention, mild pain kink, thigh fucking, mild mechanophilia(?), possible...
voyeurism... implication(?)

idk this is right around where shit starts to get weird so just hold onto your butts,
basically

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"I love your hands."

The statement caught Dottore off guard, and said hands briefly stilled where they were. One of
them was pressed against Childe's inner thigh, keeping his hips spread open, though he would have
done that well enough on his own without it. The other had its fingers wrapped around the younger
man's erection, dripping with precum as it twitched with desire in his hand.

Dottore simply resumed his movement after a moment, giving long, tempered strokes to the length
of Childe's cock.

"I've noticed." Dottore's voice was thick with tired sarcasm. Childe had yet to have confessed the
fact before this point, but what did it matter if he said it aloud or not? It was so obvious that it went
without saying. The fact that he felt the need to say so anyway was simply annoying.

So much of what he did was annoying, such as the behavior that had led to their current position;
Childe stripped completely bare and seated in the older man's lap, and Dottore still fully clothed
and jerking him off with marked disengagement. Before this, the Third had been at his desk -
actually working, for once - and after the Eleventh had spent some time futilely trying to steal his
attention from his notes with conversation alone, he had undressed himself and plopped himself
unceremoniously into Dottore's lap. He had played with himself, moaning and chattering and
writhing against Dottore until the Third had finally relented in exasperation, ripping off one of his
gloves to provide Childe with what he had been begging for.

Dottore shouldn't have been encouraging that sort of behavior, and sometimes he did not. But he
had come to learn that it was usually much easier on him to just give Childe what he wanted at
times like these. The Eleventh was as stubborn as he was obnoxiously virile, and when he wanted
attention, he could nag Dottore for it tirelessly, for hours on end. The boy seemed to constantly
crave attention. In his mind, he needed it as much as the air he breathed. He grew almost frantic
when he was denied it. And sometimes, that was just all part of the game. Dottore found it
delightful to have a way of holding Childe's head underwater, without ever having to get his own
clothes wet in the process.

But the boy could not yearn for that which he never received, so there was a clever balance that
had to be maintained. Beyond that, Dottore had to admit there weren't always ulterior motives to
his reciprocation. He was, unfortunately, only a man. All men were inclined to think with their
dicks every now and again, and he supposed there was no reason for him to be the exception.
Now, however, he simply wasn't in the mood. He had just wanted that incorrigible little whore to
sit still for two seconds.

Childe did seem placated for the time being, sinking back into Dottore's chest with relaxed features
and half-lidded eyes. He had thrown his head back against the Third's shoulder and laughed at his
sarcastic response.

"No, you haven't." Childe said, a little smugly. He had one hand on Dottore's wrist - not to impede
the older man's movements as he stroked his cock, but just to feel him moving - and he tightened
his grip suddenly. "Not the whole time."

"Is that so." It wasn't a question. It was barely anything. He had no idea what Childe could be
talking about anyway, and he couldn't bring himself to care. He was just trying to tune him out
again.

"Mm hm." Childe let go of his wrist, then, moving to the still-gloved hand pressed to his inner
thigh and pulling it off of him. Childe brought it up to his neck, making the Third lay his palm
flush against the front of his throat. "I used to- Whenever we had meetings, I'd- uhn- watch you.
Sometimes you tap your fingers on the table and I'd- mm- I wanted to know how it fel- fuck."

Dottore grimaced slightly, not caring if Childe saw or not. The boy was acting as of wearily
drumming one's fingers against a table were something akin to stripping down nude and offering
Her Majesty a lap dance. Although the Eleventh's unabashed reverence for him did not go entirely
unappreciated, Dottore simply could not hope to understand it. Sex was one thing, but to be lusting
after someone in broad daylight over the most mundane details was a foreign concept to him. It
was certainly not a sentiment he shared.

But, oh, it was a thrill to watch that boy squirm over something so moronic. Dottore squeezed his
fingers around Childe's throat lightly. His thumb pushed against the younger man's pulse point, and
he could feel it throbbing rapidly beneath his fingertip. He did not push down hard enough to
impede his breathing, but Childe gasped anyway. Then, the Eleventh brought his head back up,
stealing Dottore's middle finger between his teeth and biting down on it, hard enough to get a hold
of the fabric and yank the entire glove off his hand. He spit it out of his mouth before immediately
sucking in Dottore's first two fingers, swirling his tongue around them languidly.

Dottore gave a patronizing chuckle. "So, you let your mind wander to that kind of thing in the
middle of what ought to have been a meeting of the minds? How disgusting. You never fail to
surprise me with what a shameless little whore you are. What would Her Majesty have thought?"

Childe only moaned in response, closing his eyes as he lewdly sucked on Dottore's fingers. The
Third pulled them out himself after a while, and they were reluctantly released from the suction of
his mouth with a wet pop.

"Imagine, getting yourself so worked up over something like that," Dottore tutted. His gaze briefly
landed on his own digits, now slick with saliva, wondering how they could possibly be so
appealing to the boy. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself? At the very least, was it
everything you imagined it would be, my pet?"

Childe's mouth fell open in a silent gasp, eyes still closed. But when he opened them, they looked
strangely thoughtful.

"I thought they'd be softer," Childe said, after some hesitation. He paused again, then added, "I'm
glad they're not."
Dottore just found it slightly offensive. "So what? You're implying that you took me for some kind
of smooth-skinned, limp-wristed debutant? You little shit."

"No, that's not what I meant," Childe said, laughing again. He did that a lot. It was always an airy,
giddy laugh, something that bubbled out of him as his pleasure peaked, as he was overflowing with
it. Sometimes the laughter was tinged with nervousness, or wont to taper off into a plaintive moan.

Dottore found it to be very distracting.

"If you want it so bad, keep quiet," Dottore grumbled. "And hold still."

Childe managed to do both as Dottore brought his hand down to the boy's twitching hole,
anticipating the Third's movements with bated breath. Dottore pushed his slicked fingers inside
him as Childe's cock throbbed in his hand. The breath Childe had been holding in was released
with a shrill hum of pleasure, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. When Dottore curled
his fingers against his prostate and rolled his palm around the head of his cock, Childe threw his
head back again.

"Mm, there," he gasped. His hips jerked open, and his hands flailed around blindly for any
purchase to grasp. One was brought up and tangled into a clump of Dottore's hair, the other simply
clawed into the meat of his own thigh, raking lines of red into the pale skin.

"I told you to hold still." Dottore said in annoyance. He tried to shake off the hand fisted into his
hair, but Childe wouldn't budge, and he quickly gave up. "Stop pulling."

"It feels so fucking good," Childe moaned, breath coming out hot against Dottore's ear. Whether it
was meant to be an excuse or if he simply wasn't listening was unclear, and he just nuzzled his face
against Dottore's scarred cheek with a quiet whimper. Dottore was not in a position to easily shrink
from the contact, so he simply didn't bother.

Childe remained like this for a few moments longer, writhing wantonly against Dottore and
mewling into his skin, before he spoke up again.

"Dottore?" Childe breathed, voice sounding hoarse and distant.

"What?" Dottore asked distractedly.

"What happened to your face?"

It made Dottore's hands still again, but only briefly. If anything, his pace quickened after that,
deciding that it would be easier to bring Childe to the point of being a wordless, raving lunatic than
to stretch this encounter out any longer than necessary.

"I thought I told you to be quiet."

Childe bit his lip to stifle the cry that escaped him as Dottore toyed with him with newfound intent,
head lolling back limply again. After a somewhat terse silence otherwise, Dottore heard him
swallow roughly.

"You don't have to tell me." Childe said, as if it needed to be said at all. The implied insistence that
it did annoyed Dottore, but he didn't say anything. The Eleventh was quiet for a moment longer,
then with a playful, lusty lilt in his voice, he added, "I think it's really sexy, though."

Childe followed this with a flick of his tongue against the Third's earlobe, clutching at the fistful of
hair in his hand a little tighter.
Dottore just rolled his eyes.

It was an outrageously inappropriate thing to say. Not that Dottore really cared; he was more
exasperated by the boy's incessant, abrasive come-ons.

Dottore neither agreed or disagreed with him, but at the very least, he objectively did not consider
the patchy tracks of scar tissue embossing much of the flesh on his face to be worthy of any
extraordinary note.

Dottore had not initially donned the literal mask of the Third Harbinger out of any sort of disdain
or self-consciousness for the scarring present on the left side of his face. Initially, it had only been
practical to wear it.

Dottore, in the course of his attendance at the Sumeru Academia, had not much made a name for
himself amongst his peers, not as much as his recruitment into the Harbingers would have implied.
This much was of no surprise, as both faculty and alumni alike were too ignorant to regard his
theses with anything more than quiet contempt, at best. His ideas were never treated with any
significant degree of seriousness, and he was simply written off as an egomaniac; a foolhardy
youth with lofty goals that would always be far from his reach. There were whisperings, certainly -
god-fearing gossip spoken in hushed tones throughout the halls. But gossip seemed to be all it was.
They neither feared or respected his words, and he doubted a single one of those cowards had ever
even managed to remember his name.

But while a name was easily disregarded, it was images that spoke far more volumes than trite
gossip could accommodate for. And that was what Sumeru Academia had given him: an image,
not a name. After a certain point, his peers began to chatter about him as if he were an old wives'
tale. It was difficult for them to shake the picture from their minds, the image of the strange young
man standing upon the lectern who proposed such grisly ideas, with a face that was even grislier
still. Unfortunately, much more easily forgotten were the ideas themselves.

Dottore had always been aware of this, and it frustrated him to no end. That was why, upon being
initiated into the Harbingers, he had eagerly donned his new, virtually faceless identity. It was
simply easier that way. There was no longer anything to distract those that were so easily
distracted. Since then, he had even enlisted many of the same scholars that had so quickly
dismissed him in their youth, with them seemingly none the wiser as to his true identity. Perhaps
they did know, deep down. And Dottore also did not delude himself to the fact that his newfound
status was something that sometimes forced one to listen regardless, even when they would rather
keep their heads buried in the sand. But one thing was certain: the image of that gloomy young
man had completely dissolved since he had been given his title. And with that out of the way, the
ignorant masses had no choice but to bend to his words alone.

Though, that wasn't to say that the mask he wore was only for the sake of practicality. After so
many years, it had started to become somewhat of a comfort to him. There was a certain part of
him that was still growing used to having it off during his and Childe's… activities. Though this
was certainly not the blame of the scars themselves, nor did his inherent discomfort outweigh the
fact that keeping it on during such acts would just be ludicrously cumbersome.

At any rate, Dottore felt nothing mild perturbation as Childe licked one of the swatches of scar
tissue on his cheek, forcing him out of his brief contemplative spell.

Knowing Childe, the boy was probably weaving some kind of outlandish story of his own design
based on the pattern of the burns and missing bits of flesh, thrilling himself with the idea that they
had been born from some kind of perilous engagement with criminals or monsters.
It would have almost been a shame to disappoint him. The actual story was underwhelming, at
best.

Childe had not ceased his writhing, and he was grinding back against Dottore like a man possessed.

"You're hard," Childe gasped into his ear, grinding his ass back against the Third's lap to punctuate
the statement. And so he was. Dottore had not had any intention of doing any more than this when
they started, but it seemed that his biology had gotten the better of him yet again. Or perhaps the
boy's fever was just contagious.

Dottore pumped his hand up and down Childe's length, swirling his thumb deliberately around the
head of his cock on every upstroke. "And?"

"Are you gonna fuck me?" Childe asked, desperation straining his voice. "I want you to fuck me so
bad. Fuck me, fuck me, please."

"And why would I do that, my pet?" Dottore teased, hands working skillfully to continue drawing
ragged gasps from the younger man. "I've already been so kind as to occupy you with this. You're
taking up so much of my time already."

Childe nearly sobbed in frustration, back arching. He was close. "Nooo, I need it, I need it. Fuck
me, just fuck me, please."

"You're such a greedy little whore," Dottore growled low in his chest, turning his head and scraping
his teeth against Childe's jawline. "Is this really not enough for you?"

"No!" Childe wailed it, yanking hard on Dottore's hair. As if to emphasize the point, his other hand
suddenly flew down between his legs, and his twitching fingers met with the ones already probing
his hole. He shoved two of them in alongside Dottore's, a guttural moan bursting from him as he
further stretched himself. "Noo, it's never enough it's never enough it's- "

His words turned incomprehensible as his orgasm finally tore through him.

Greedy as always, Childe was begging for more before he had even stopped coming. Dottore
shouldn't have encouraged that kind of behavior. But he did anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been several months since their first tryst - if one could even call it that much - in Dottore's
office, and in that time, the Third had observed several things worthy of note.

The most prevalent of which, of course, was that the boy was incessantly, infuriatingly noisy. It
was as if Childe had sensed Dottore's initial impression of him, the one he had before all of this,
before Liyue, that the Eleventh was nothing but a loud-mouthed braggart, and had resolutely
decided to show Dottore just how loud he could really be. There was no allowance for quiet during
sex with Childe, the boy filling the space with whatever moans, whimpers, mewls, and sighs he
could pull from his lungs. He would sob himself into hysterics and scream until he was hoarse
from it. He would babble on until the words all blended into one another, until the only thing
pouring out of his mouth was a string of vaguely reverent-sounding nonsense that would
eventually taper off into directionless sleep talk.

It was never-ending, his noise, and try as he might, it was beyond Dottore's capabilities to shut him
up. He had tried everything from gagging the boy with his own crimson scarf to smothering his
mouth with his hand, but these things only marginally muted the sounds that so persistently tore
from his chest. Not even bargaining Dottore's own time and services for the quiet worked, as the
boy would always end up breaking his vow of silence almost immediately. His proclivity for
thoughtless noise seemed to be the only thing he had no control over. The resulting punishments
Dottore had bound himself to dole out ended up just as dismaying to him as they were for Childe,
for as much effort as was required to follow through with them. Dottore simply gave up, after a
while, reserving himself to the fact that coitus with Childe would never be a peaceful, introspective
endeavor. But in the end, he supposed there was no reason for it to be. He eventually grew as
accustomed to it, at least as much as one could be when forcibly subjected to sounds not unlike the
squeal of livestock being processed through a slaughterhouse. Save for the occasional headache, he
had actually gotten quite good at drowning out the noise.

He had also noted during this time how abnormally virile Childe was. His stamina and pain
tolerance came as no surprise, given his reputation for his abilities in warfare, but what piqued
Dottore's interest was his sex drive. It was something that was certainly beneficial to Dottore's own
basest desires, but more than that, his endurance simply bordered on being inhuman. Even for a
young man almost half Dottore's age, there was simply no explaining just how long and how hard
Childe could go for if one were to adhere to the standards of typical human biology alone. Childe
liked it rough, and hard, and he liked it this way for hours on end. There was one particular day that
Dottore had been feeling particularly compelled to push the boy's limits; Childe had to have come
more than a dozen times over the course of only a few hours, though Dottore was sorry to admit
that he had lost the exact count at a certain point, the boy's wails soon drowning out any lucid
thought he could have possibly mustered. And after all that, the only thing needed was a scant
period of rest before Childe had simply sauntered off to his duties in the Harbor, seemingly no
worse for the wear, save for a bit of extra giddiness and a somewhat crooked gait.

Childe would beg to be touched and fucked until he was absolutely delirious from it, until his body
refused to move and any other man would have surely been rendered unconscious from the
agonizing overstimulation. He begged for it until Dottore himself had nothing left to offer him,
hands cramped and cock lifeless between his legs. To say the boy was insatiable was a gross
understatement. His appetite and endurance were simply not normal. And this, of course, was
terribly intriguing. For more reasons than one.

Somewhat less worthy of note, but something that Dottore found himself pondering anyway, was
how intensely enraptured Childe was by him. He had been for a while, according to him, though he
had never specified how long and Dottore never felt the need to ask. Dottore could admit that he
was a man whose pliancy improved with hearty praise and veneration, but the way Childe revered
him was downright smothering. There were a great many things Childe supposedly liked about
Dottore, and he was not afraid to voice these preferences at every turn; he liked his hands, he liked
his voice, he liked his mind, he liked his body, he liked his face, he liked his cock, and so on and
so forth. This praise, like his noise and his sexual appetite, was seemingly limitless.

Conversely, Dottore couldn't say there was a single thing he liked about Childe.

There were things about him that intrigued Dottore, certainly. If there weren't, he wouldn't have
bothered with the upkeep of the Liyue facility for something as petty as sex, no matter how good it
was. He couldn't simply just let the facility go completely untouched, after all. Some level of effort
had to be put in to keep the place running, otherwise it would quickly become obvious that the
place had become a front for something, and the last thing he needed was for anyone to have a
reason to go digging. Heaven forbid one of the other Harbingers ever found reason to utilize the
facility, only to find it covered in inches of dust, reeking of sex and rust. All of his subordinates had
long since been fiercely instructed to make themselves sparse and keep a generous distance from
the facility itself, so the maintenance now largely fell on Dottore himself. Although some days he
was able to rediscover a spark of genuine interest in the automatons, his affairs with Childe often
felt like more trouble than they were worth.
But there was still intrigue, nevertheless.

Childe had not been a virgin when he had first taken him, and was honestly the furthest thing from
what one could consider virginal, but he was oddly inexperienced for someone as insatiably driven
as he was. Early into their encounters, Dottore had once given an experimental tweak to one of his
nipples and had nearly driven the boy to delirium. Childe had confessed that he had never touched
or been touched there before, not like that. He then of course had begged for Dottore to toy with
them until they were raw, until even the slightest brush was enough to leave him a writhing,
gasping mess.

That excited Dottore. He was more enthralled by Childe's than he had ever been by anyone, more
than all of his previous flings combined. His previous experiences had been simple affairs, and
although not lacking in pleasure, they were simply not very engaging. Before all this, Dottore had
nearly forgotten he even possessed a libido at all. Sex did not particularly engross him, so he had
gone for several years without, the thought scarcely even crossing his mind. The act itself simply
had nothing new to offer him; it was as uninteresting as any other social engagement, and it had no
hope of holding his attention for long.

But with Childe, this was not the case. That boy was completely new, he was fresh. No, it was
even more than that: he was like a new element entirely, an untamed, volatile compound that quite
literally begged to be experimented with. Dottore's inquisitive nature, as always, had quickly gotten
the better of him. Childe's most unusual qualities were delightfully stimulating, bringing up
questions that Dottore simply could not let go unanswered.

What had this unstable, unpredictable entity been born from? What sparks could he offer it to make
it erupt like a powder keg? What could he do to harness that destructive energy, make it something
that was fully within his control? How much pressure could he apply to it before the properties of
it changed completely? And what would happen to it at that point? Would it simply crumble to
dust, or emerge as a diamond?

But at the very least, there was also the issue of his own vindication keeping Dottore involved with
the Eleventh. Dottore had not forgotten what Childe had done to him, the fool he had made of him,
and it still burned within him hotter than any carnal desire. He had yet to forgive Childe for that,
and didn't think he ever could, nor did he feel inclined to do so. Dottore still intended for Childe to
learn from his audacious mistake. The methods he now utilized to teach him such had simply
changed, and unexpectedly so. But it would no doubt be all the easier to deliver him his
comeuppance in this way.

That day that Dottore had first taken him, Childe had asked him to ruin him. Dottore could still
recall it vividly, the way Childe's voice had come out thick and strained with need, the way his lips
had ghosted against his own as he said it.

Dottore wanted to. He wanted to wholly dismantle that boy down to his core, strip him of his bare
essentials until the essence of him could be contained in the very hands he so cherished.

Childe would never be the same, by the time he was done with him. Dottore would make sure of
that.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore could so rarely find anything to occupy him in Liyue anymore aside from Childe, but for
some reason, he had been feeling particularly motivated to delve into his work that day. After a
few rounds with Childe for the sake of keeping him subdued, Dottore was actually eager to start
working on one of the Ruin Guards that had just recently been transported in from a secondary site
in Dragonspine. The machine still had power, but had otherwise been rendered immobile, as many
of the automatons in the area had been. They were ancient history, remnants of a sordid history and
a civilization smited by the gods themselves, and yet they still thrummed with energy deep within
their cores, and it took nothing but a little knowledge and skill to revive them to their full potential.
It was gratifying work. Much more gratifying than some of his other endeavors had been turning
out.

Childe had trailed after him wordlessly and simply settled in a ways off, looking intent to watch
him. He still seemed content to do this, occasionally, though not nearly as often as he had before.
After all, the boy had discovered other means of "meditation" since that time. Even for as rare as
the occasion came that Dottore was able to find drive to return to his more hands-on work, Childe
had become too easily distracted. In fact, daring to utilize his hands for anything other than defiling
Childe was just liable to work the boy up into a frenzy. But sometimes Dottore could still look over
and see glimpses of what once had been, of an uncharacteristic serenity relaxing Childe's features
and bringing him down to earth.

Though Dottore supposed it was too much to hope that his tamer nature would persist.

Just as Dottore grew complacent in the notion that perhaps his work would go undisturbed today,
he felt Childe's hands begin to creep up around his waist, and he had quickly snaked his arms
around his torso before the older man had a chance to prevent it.

Childe pressed himself flush against Dottore's back, leaning enough of his weight into him that it
nearly caught the Third off balance, and nestled his face into the nape of his neck. Dottore
immediately prickled in annoyance and discomfort, shoulders tensing as he tried to shrink away
from Childe's embrace. But the Eleventh already had his arms around him like a vice grip, and
Dottore's initial efforts proved futile.

"Get off of me!" Dottore snapped, slapping at Childe's hands. Childe only sighed dreamily,
unfazed by Dottore's palpable disgust.

"I'm bored," Childe muttered, securing his grip around Dottore's waist. "We should find something
else to do."

Dottore again tried to wrench himself from the boy's grasp with a frustrated groan. "If you're so
bored, then leave! I don't exist for the sole purpose of entertaining you, you little shit."

“I don’t want to leave,” Childe said. “I want to stay with you.”

“Then sit down and be quiet,” Dottore replied curtly. He stopped struggling for a moment, but only
to conserve his energy. Every muscle in his body was still tight with the desire to wriggle out of
Childe's grasp, repugnance threatening to send a shudder down his spine. “I’m trying to work,
boy.”

“We’re always working, though,” Childe moped. Dottore could feel him smiling against his neck.
“When you’re here, I don’t want to do anything else. I just wanna fuck. Let’s go again. Can we go
again? I want you to make me come again.”

Childe breathed these things softly against his skin, and as he did one of his hands slid down to
Dottore’s crotch. He fondled him through the front of his pants with a light squeeze. There was a
stirring in the pit of Dottore's stomach for a moment, but no longer than that. It was negligible. He
slapped Childe's hand away again with a growl.

"Stop that! Has it not been enough already?!" Dottore already knew the answer to this question, but
he had to voice it in exasperation anyway.

Childe just sighed. "You're cranky today."

"You-" Dottore blustered, attempting yet again to shake the younger man off of him. "I was in a
perfectly fine mood before you decided to paw at me! If you're so eager to rut against something,
go defile my desk like you're so fond of doing."

"That's no fun," Childe said, tittering softly. "What's the problem? Are you tired?"

"Yes!" Dottore hissed. He was, quite frankly, exhausted. He had only just arrived in Liyue
yesterday after a particularly grinding stint in Haeresys, only to be immediately accosted by Childe
both last night and first thing that morning. Normally, Dottore's pride would have prevented him
from confessing he was burnt out, but he was feeling desperate to peel the Eleventh off of him.

“Mm, I’ll do all the work for you, don’t worry. I promise,” Childe hummed flirtatiously. Dottore
scoffed in annoyance. The boy underestimated just how draining he was to others, especially in
these matters.

“I don’t-”

“Or….” Childe cut him off deliberately, and Dottore’s eye twitched in irritation. The Eleventh had
trailed off, hesitating before continuing. His hand slowly began inching back down Dottore’s
stomach, toying with the waistband of his slacks. “We could always do something different, if you
don’t have the energy.”

He punctuated this with a jerk of his hips. Dottore could feel his erection pressing against his ass,
and his Vision against his thigh. Both of those things made him shudder against his own will, for
very differing reasons.

“You always make me feel so good,” Childe purred, licking a stripe up the back of his neck. “I bet
I can make you feel good too. You want to? I’ll be so good, I promise. I wanna be inside you.”

He was suddenly being so forward that Dottore’s eyes widened, then quickly narrowed again so
that Childe wouldn’t have a chance to see.

Dottore hadn’t ever really considered letting Childe fuck him before. Not because he was
inherently opposed to the idea, but because Childe had so quickly proven himself to be an
incorrigible cock slut that the fact he may have wanted it any other way had never even crossed
Dottore’s mind.

Dottore considered it now, though. He could, of course, refuse Childe outright, but that usually
tended to make him more trouble than he was worth. At best, it would leave him mopey, and he
would hover, and Dottore could forget about trying to concentrate on his work with him skulking
around in a huff. Additionally, flat out denying him release when he was so clearly craving it only
made him more of a handful by the time he had Dottore's attention again. The Third could barely
keep up with him as it was, and it was usually much easier to indulge him as he went, rather than
allowing him to become even more pent-up.

Dottore grimaced, clicking his tongue in annoyance. It was nearly impossible to get any work done
around here anymore. It usually wasn't an issue, and unfortunately, Childe seemed to have grown
spoiled by how infrequently Dottore actually wanted to do his work. But presently, that could not
be helped.

"Do it, then." Dottore snapped.

Childe's wandering hands and rocking hips ceased then, and he seemed frozen solid where he
stood. "Wait. Really?"

"Yes!" Dottore replied, exasperated. "Don't make me repeat myself, boy! If you're so eager, then
just get on with it!"

Childe still didn't move. "Sorry, I just… I didn't think you'd say yes."

Dottore did not have the patience to chide him for being as asinine as to request something he
assumed would be rejected, so he just groaned.

"Well, I did. So get on with it."

"Right here?"

"Yes. Get it out of your system so I can work in peace!" Dottore said. They very rarely made it to
his quarters anyway, and the Third was not eager to drag this out any longer than it was already
taking. "And take that gaudy thing off, before you start."

Childe, breaking out of his trance and already privy to Dottore's inclinations, immediately
withdrew one of his hands, fumbling with the Vision hanging from his waistband.

"But you can't even see it." It was not a complaint, as he had no qualms removing the trinket and
seemingly tossing it on the ground behind him, but there was a hint of bewilderment to his voice, a
genuine curiosity as to what the source of Dottore's repulsion could be. The reasons were of course
too numerous to list, nor did he have any reason to explain these things to Childe.

"Just mind yourself, boy," Dottore snapped, gritting his teeth. "I won't take it lightly, if you make
me regret this."

"Okay, okay," Childe said. He sounded excited, and he finally released the hold on Dottore's waist,
grabbing the older man's pants and yanking them down around his thighs.

Childe spat lewdly into his left hand, making the Third's features twist up in distaste, before
bringing it back down and wrapping it around Dottore's cock. As he coaxed it to hardness, his other
hand dipped beneath the waistband of his own pants, and he pulled out his erection with a
pleasurable hiss. He was already hard, very hard as he squeezed the head of his cock in between
Dottore's exposed thighs, and despite his irritation, the older man could feel his own arousal begin
pooling in the pit of his abdomen. He wondered how long Childe had been pining for this. It had
clearly already gotten him worked up.

Childe moaned as he rolled his hips forward, thrusting himself between Dottore's thighs, and he
rested his cheek between the older man's shoulder blades. As if in response to Dottore's thoughts,
he breathed, "Fuck, I've been wanting to do this for so long."

In this position, Childe stuck the first three fingers of his free hand into his mouth, and Dottore
could hear how loudly he sucked on them, that wet sound of his tongue dancing around the digits
feverishly. Dottore groaned as Childe swiped his thumb over the tip of his cock, hips twitching at
the sensation.

"Funny," Dottore grunted, grinding back against Childe to elicit another moan from him. "You're
so adept at being a selfish little cocksleeve, I had thought you didn't know anything else."

Childe let out a breathy laugh around his fingers. He pulled them out and pressed a hot, sloppy kiss
against the back of Dottore's neck.
"I want you however I can get you," Childe panted. "I want everything."

Oh, it would be far too easy to break this boy down. That alone heightened Dottore's excitement,
cock twitching in the younger man's hand. Childe withdrew himself from between his thighs,
bringing his slick fingers down and pressing them against Dottore's hole. He rubbed against the
entrance almost tentatively, sending a shiver down Dottore’s spine. But his hesitance also irked
him.

“Go.” Dottore growled low in his throat, a hint of urgency to his voice. He still wanted to get this
over with so he could get back to his work, after all. Besides that, he was not fond of foreplay in
this position. He preferred for his own needs to be taken care of swiftly.

Childe complied with the order, pushing his middle finger inside him wordlessly. For once, he
seemed to be rendered speechless. If that was all it took to do so, Dottore might have to consider
offering this more often.

The second finger followed shortly after. The third finger as well, too soon, but Dottore wasn’t one
to complain about a slight twinge of pain. In fact, he leaned into it, rocking back against Childe’s
fingers with a drawn-out exhale. Childe’s hips jerked forward, his cock rubbing against the meat of
his ass and smearing precum across his skin, and the Eleventh cursed softly. His knuckles rubbed
against Dottore’s prostate, and a groan rumbled out of him.

“That’s enough.” Dottore said, after it definitely had not been enough. Childe was generously
endowed, and for it to be an easy fit would have required more time. But Dottore was not looking
for it to be easy. He was looking for it to be now. But, as Childe withdrew his fingers and eagerly
pressed the head of his cock against his entrance, Dottore realized there was one last thing that
needed to be brought up. He wasn't certain that Childe would remain lucid enough to heed him well
once they got started.

"Wait a second, boy." Dottore ordered, and Childe immediately stilled.

"What?" Childe asked breathlessly.

"Don't come inside."

Childe let out a sound somewhere between a guttural moan and a petulant child's whine. "Why?"

Dottore clenched his jaw in annoyance. It was because he found the very thought of it repulsive,
animalistic, so much so that he hardly liked doing it himself when Childe was on the receiving end.
But that was bearable, especially with how pliant it made the boy. This, Dottore couldn't even
stand the thought of. But Dottore was not obligated to explain any of this to him.

"Because I said so, brat," Dottore shot back. "Or would you prefer to stop now, if the conditions
don't suit you?"

"No, no," Childe answered quickly, breath coming out hot against the back of Dottore's neck. He
started grinding his length against Dottore's entrance wantonly. "I won't. I promise. I'll be good."

Dottore couldn't help but sneer at his obedience. "Then prove it."

He heard Childe's breath hitch as the tip of his cock was once again centered against Dottore's
hole, and he pushed himself in without another word.

Dottore moaned through his teeth. It was too much, it burned, but it burned good.
Childe, however, moaned even louder. "Fuck, you're tight."

He was nearly trembling with excitement as he thrust inside him, showing a level of restraint that
Dottore would not have thought him capable of. He was holding back, obvious by the way that he
was now clumsily jerking Dottore off, no longer concentrating on the movements. His other hand
clutched at the Third's hip with a white-knuckled grip, nails digging into the skin painfully. His
haunches were tense with energy that was not being utilized, and it drove Dottore mad with
frustration. He wanted to tell him not to hold back, but as hungry as he was for the full brunt of
whatever Childe had to offer him, he worried that giving him too much quarter would only make
him sloppy, with how keyed up he was. He wasn't about to let Childe have his way with him for
free. If his cautiousness was the one thing keeping him focused, Dottore did not want to discourage
it.

But Childe finally relented, and his hips suddenly snapped forward with a spasm that surely had
not had not occured of his own volition. It buried him inside Dottore to the base, and it forced a
punched-out, shrill noise out of Dottore that he immediately wished hadn't escaped him unbidden.

"Oh, shit," Childe groaned pleasurably. He lingered there for a moment, silent save for a few
shallow breaths, and then he tittered, drawing himself out slowly. He cooed at Dottore as his length
dragged along his inner walls: "That was such a sexy noise. Do you like it when I'm a little
rough?"

With that, Childe jerked his hips forward again, burying himself with one swift motion. Dottore
was able to hold his tongue this time, but his knees buckled slightly. His hands flew forward for
balance, finding purchase on the Ruin Guard he had been working on, still sitting motionless
before him, still subtly whirring with life just under the surface.

Dottore tried shooting an angry look at Childe, growing defensive. He didn't like his cocky tone of
voice, and he definitely did not like the sound the boy had just drawn out of him. Still wary of
giving him too much freedom all at once, he scowled.

"I like it when you behave yourself," Dottore warned sternly.

Childe just laughed again, but before Dottore could berate him, he started moving again.

With how nervously quiet Childe had been when they first began, somewhere in the back of his
mind, Dottore had held out the hope that he would not have to be subjected to the Eleventh's
typical yammering. But he had no such luck. Childe was soon melting into him, as gratingly loud
as ever, possibly even louder than usual. His lips and tongue dragged salaciously across the nape of
Dottore’s neck, soaking his collar in drool, as Childe moaned and hummed nonsense into his skin
with every thrust into him.

“You feel so fucking good…. Fuck, you feel so good….” Childe bit into the back of Dottore’s
neck, scraping his teeth against the skin. His hands had wandered, unable to properly focus on the
motions of stroking Dottore's cock anymore, and they now meandered aimlessly up and down the
Third's frame, lifting up his shirt and massaging his torso. “I wanna- Fuck, I can’t fucking- Oh,
fuck, fuck, fuck, you feel so fucking good, I-”

It was very distracting.

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t doing a good job, otherwise. Oh, he was doing a fine job, actually, more so
than Dottore ever would have admitted to him aloud. Every buck of Childe’s hips sent waves of
arousal coursing through Dottore as the younger man bottomed out inside him. But it was only
because it was good that Dottore soon realized just how easily he was losing focus.
"-fuck, you're so good. Does it feel good? Mm, fuck, I wanna make you feel good. I don't want-
Fuck, I don't wanna do anything else, I don't ever want to stop, I-"

It was too much. It was just simply too much. Dottore simply couldn't get back in the moment with
Childe's awful, useless chatter. He just wanted him to shut up, just fucking shut up already. Dottore
felt so close and yet so far, his body bending to the way that Childe feverishly thrust into him,
grinding against his prostate and making his insides spasm from the pleasure - but his mind had
wound up elsewhere, somehow losing itself in the cacophony of Childe's ramblings. He wanted
Childe to touch his dick again, to try and pull his mind back to the arousal and nothing more, he
wanted to order him to do so, but he felt like he wouldn't be able to get a word in edgewise. Trying
to make the effort would be pointless.

"-fuck, mm, fuck, you're so perfect, I-"

Dottore finally had to consider just touching himself, desperately trying to drown the boy out, but
as he focused on his hands, his wandering mind finally landed on something.

He could feel the immobile Ruin Guard under his palms, the subtle thrum of energy vibrating
through his fingertips. The core of the machine, the giant, unblinking eye set in the center, was lit
up. It had been this whole time, but only barely; the small pinprick of light in the center
continuously waxed and waned, flickering on and off as if its essence was pulsing and fighting
against time itself in an effort to cling to life.

That dying, emotionless gaze seemed to meet Dottore's. He suddenly couldn't shake the thought
that it felt like it was staring right at him.

Watching. Just watching.

Dottore's orgasm took him by surprise. A broken moan crackled out of him as he came, his seed
spurting out onto the machine's torso.

That would be… a troublesome cleanup.

Dottore was still trying to regather his thoughts when Childe nearly sobbed in his ear, pulling his
cock out of him and immediately grabbing Dottore's arm and swinging him around to face him. He
shoved Dottore back against the automaton, and before the Third could grasp what was happening,
his shirt was hiked up around his waist. Childe was furiously stroking himself with his other hand,
and in a matter of seconds he had come over Dottore's stomach, hot stripes of white painting the
exposed skin. Childe nearly collapsed over him as he finished himself off, forehead hitting
Dottore’s shoulder as he hunched in on himself, hips spasming through the last waves of pleasure.

Still slightly dazed from the sudden urgency and force of his climax, Dottore’s annoyance only
came to him gradually, and he couldn’t even gather the energy to shove Childe off of him.

“Just because I told you not to come inside doesn’t mean you get to do it wherever you please.”
Dottore muttered. It didn’t come out as biting as he wished it had.

“Sorry,” Childe panted, as breathless as if he had just run here all the way from the Harbor. His
body still jerked and swayed against his own will, and he had not stopped stroking himself, despite
how evidently it must have hurt by then, his features strained. “Sorry, I- fuck, you’re just so-”

Words were still beyond him, so he simply fell to his knees, slightly to Dottore’s surprise. He
started licking his own seed from Dottore’s stomach with long, passionate strokes of his tongue, as
if he were savoring every drop and every inch of skin. The slimy feeling made Dottore shiver. He
was still a bit weak in the knees, and they almost buckled. He wanted to complain, but at least
Childe was cleaning up after himself. Perhaps, if he was feeling so inclined, Dottore could get him
to clean up the Ruin Guard, as well.

That idea was… intriguing.

Dottore simply let him continue for a bit, pulling his pants back up and quickly tucking himself
back in before Childe's mouth had a chance to wander, before tugging at the hair at the crown of
his head.

"Stop. It's gone." Dottore said, pulling his head away from his stomach. Childe looked up at him
with a half-lidded gaze that was still clouded over with lust. He was still frantically touching
himself with shaking hands, cock only half-hard and an angry shade of red from being overhandled.

Childe's breathing came out shallow. "That was so- hngh. Can we-"

He cut himself off suddenly, biting the inside of his cheek. By the look in his eyes, he was
probably about to ask to go again, and had correctly thought better of it. His hand stopped moving
on his cock, but did not release it, and he still looked out of sorts. But that was no concern of
Dottore's.

"Get off of me." Dottore grumbled, yanking his head back slightly before letting go of his hair. "I'd
like to get back to work now."

"I will, I will," Childe mumbled in a daze. But his head simply drooped forward, his forehead
coming into contact with Dottore's thigh. He wrapped his arm loosely around it, grasping at it as if
trying to ground himself. "Just- just give me a minute."

Dottore scowled.

He didn't like how it was, after. Childe always clung to him like a wet rag after he finally
exhausted himself, limp and heavy, detestable in his neediness. He was always too close, always
too messy, skin tacky with sweat and sex. The boy's smothering, inescapable need always quickly
became repulsive, too repulsive for Dottore to allow it to persist for long. Especially now, with the
cold, unyielding feel of metal against his back, having Childe draped over him - burning hot and
far too malleable - made his skin crawl. He couldn't even touch him, hands dangling awkwardly in
the air before he finally just pressed his palms flat against the cool metal exterior behind him.

But he allowed it, for a moment, if only because he also didn't feel like he was quite in his right
mind yet, either.

Dottore was not aware that he had started staring into nothingness, nor was he sure how long he
had been doing so, when Childe suddenly spoke up below him.

"Do you remember the first time we met?"

Dottore couldn’t even process the question at first, as random and as sudden as it was, and he just
looked down at Childe in bewilderment. Childe now had his cheek pressed to his thigh, head tilted
up and looking up at him with a far-off, wistful expression on his face. It seemed like he had been
gazing at Dottore like this for a while.

“What?” Dottore asked dumbly.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

Dottore’s features scrunched together, both in distaste and in thought. It was an asinine thing to ask,
and he had no clue why the boy had chosen now of all times to do so, but now that the question
was out there, the Third could not help but try to recall.

He couldn’t, not right away. Nothing he could dredge up struck him as very significant, save for
the day that Childe had been initiated into the Harbingers. But he could only assume that that
couldn’t possibly be what Childe had in mind, as the only thing Dottore could remember about that
day was specifically choosing not to speak to or engage with their newest initiate - he could
remember how pathetic he found the pitiful, puppy-dog eyes the boy had given the Tsaritsa as she
bestowed upon him his Delusion.

It was nearly the same look he was giving Dottore, now.

“No.” Dottore said, a little cold in his reply.

Childe actually looked a little wounded by that. It was quickly masked by a small smile.

“Aw, really?” He laughed nervously. He sighed, fingers curling against Dottore’s thigh as he did.
“You really don’t remember?”

“I do not.” Dottore said dully. “What’s your point?”

“I don’t have one, I guess.” Childe’s gaze fell, focusing on nothing. “I was just wondering.”

He may have been waiting for a reply, but Dottore had none to give. After a moment, he started
talking again.

“It was right before I was initiated,” Childe recalled, eyes still vacantly trained off to the side.
“They were just getting the process started. I was operating as an agent then, so they started
assigning me under the others so they could observe me, for a while. I had to win their approval. I
wasn’t worried about it, of course. But then they assigned me to you.”

Childe laughed quietly then, his grip on Dottore’s thigh tightening a bit.

“I thought I blew it. It didn’t seem like it went well at all. Everything went fine with Pierro and
Capitano, but when it came to you- It was the only time I ever worried I might not make the cut.”

Recognition suddenly flashed through Dottore’s mind. Recognition that he was careful not to make
evident in his face.

Instead, he just narrowed his eyes down at Childe. “Is that so?”

Childe just hummed affirmatively, nuzzling his face into Dottore’s leg. “I guess I was just
wondering what you really thought of me, back then.”

“That was a long time ago, boy,” Dottore said with a scowl. “I can barely be bothered to remember
the names of the agents under me now. Why would I have remembered yours?”

Childe, again, looked a little wounded. This time, he didn’t laugh.

“Yeah. I guess you wouldn’t have.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

But Dottore did remember.

He truly hadn’t, at first, because the memory did not hold the same place in his heart as it did in
Childe’s. It hadn’t registered as what would have been their first meeting, because that in and of
itself had not been significant to Dottore.

But there was no doubt: it had been significant.

Pulcinella had approached him, back then, had plopped himself down on the opposite end of his
work desk in Zapolyarny Palace like it was something he ought to have done. And before Dottore
could bark at him to leave, Pulcinella had told him.

“That boy I’ve told you about. The prospective initiate. Do you recall those conversations?”

Dottore crossed his arms, tapping his fingers impatiently. “Vaguely.”

"Hmph. Good enough." Pulcinella looked annoyed at his lack of interest, but continued. "Well,
he's been doing exceptionally well. We expect him to continue moving forward at a generous pace.
So we've been moving some things around. Starting tomorrow, he'll be replacing the Lieutenant
agent currently assigned to you. For the time being."

Dottore narrowed his eyes. "I don't recall it being my responsibility to babysit your recruits for
you."

"You're not. This is being done for your own sake, Dottore."

"And how is that, exactly?" Dottore snapped.

"He's a prospective Harbinger, Dottore," Pulcinella reminded him, a bit impatiently. "And he'd be
joining our ranks having only been a soldier of the Fatui. It's called for some… careful evaluation
of the matter. Everyone is going to be given an opportunity to see him operate before any further
decisions are made."

"So far, you're not making this seem like any less of a chore."

Pulcinella sighed. "It doesn't matter if it sounds like a chore or not. Everyone is to be consulted on
this."

"And if I refuse?" Dottore asked, clenching his jaw.

Pulcinella did not answer him. Instead, he just gave him a hard, stern look. "This boy is favored by
the Tsaritsa, you know."

He said it as if that would sway Dottore. He should have known well enough that it did not.

Dottore supposed that was why Pulcinella had been acting especially insufferable the last few
weeks, strutting around like a peacock with hubris seeping from his very pores, speaking so very
highly of himself and the "martial prodigy" he had "brought up." If the Tsaritsa truly did favor that
boy, he imagined that Pulcinella believed he would share in that favor, seeing as it had been his lap
the lad had just so happened to fall into.

Dottore was almost compelled to shatter his delusions right there on the spot, but he found it more
amusing to think of it dawning on the Fifth on his own.

Still, Dottore was not eager for a sudden changing of hands amongst his subordinates, and he was
even less eager to be expected to watch over this boy like a hawk. “If he’s so favored, then what’s
the sense in even submitting him to me for approval in the first place? It seems as though the
Tsaritsa already has her mind made up.”

Pulcinella sucked in his cheeks slightly, expression inscrutable. “Her Majesty the Tsaritsa greatly
respects your input. She will dutifully take your observations into serious consideration before
making her decision.”

It sounded like a line, like he had practiced it no less than a hundred times before sauntering into
Dottore’s office. Knowing him, he probably had.

But, oh, he really did make things too easy for Dottore, sometimes.

“You mean like she did when you were initiated, Pulcinella?” Dottore asked, a wide, sardonic grin
twisting his features.

Pulcinella pursed his lips, tapping his fingers furiously against Dottore’s desk.

“Very funny.” Pulcinella said dryly. He stood up then. “Try not to be quite so ‘funny’ when Ajax
reports to you tomorrow. You’re only to observe the boy; not scare him off. And no, you don’t
have a choice in the matter.”

Dottore had simply resigned himself to those words, and the prospective initiate had arrived and
reported to him with very little fanfare. Knowing the boy's propensity for chatter now, Dottore
suspected that someone - either Pulcinella or one of his other subordinates - had informed him
beforehand of the Third’s distaste for being jawed at, and how strictly he imposed the rule of “do
not speak unless spoken to” on his men. He probably wanted to remain on his best behavior. Back
then, when the boy could only introduce himself as Lieutenant Ajax, he had been almost deathly
quiet whilst serving under Dottore. It certainly did not go unappreciated, but it did have the side
effect of making him forgettable, at first.

Dottore, as uninvested as he was to begin with, took very little notice of the boy. After all, Ajax
simply did as he was told, did it well enough that Dottore didn’t have to think of it again, and
minded his own business. The only times that Dottore ever regarded him as more than just another
agent was when he would find himself briefly bewildered as to why this was the boy that the
Tsaritsa favored so.

A few days had passed, and Dottore found himself in Fontaine on business. It was a simple matter;
there were potential investors in Waterfall City eager to see the industrious accomplishments of the
Fatui, and they desired to see the man responsible for it before making their decision. Dottore had
been obligated to acquiesce, and accompanying him were his assistant at that time, and Lieutenant
Ajax.

Dottore had let his assistant do most of the talking, as he usually did. Matters of diplomacy and
salesmanship were the only things he could not call himself naturally adept in. And as much as he
enjoyed talking about his work, this was also too slippery a slope for him to bother treading. They
were only operating strictly within what the Courts of Fontaine would allow, after all. The issue of
presenting these men with a false pretense of what their money would be going towards, and
whether or not they were aware of what it would actually be funding, did not interest Dottore in the
slightest. If he could not speak candidly of his research, he wanted no part of it. He was simply
there for appearances.

After his assistant had finished wooing the potential constituents, he had quickly ushered them
away to finalize the matter of their investments over dinner, insisting all the while that Lord
Dottore would join them shortly after, not to worry, sirs. This was a lie nearly as bold-faced as the
several others that had already been told to them. Dottore never saw those men again, and had
never even bothered to remember their names.

When they had gone, Dottore had taken a moment to decompress from the exchange, simply
turning to admire the presentation that had been presented to the investors. It had of course been a
dreadfully watered down version of the true fruits of his research, but the core concepts were still
there, and it was that which he took much pride in.

The presentation was made to highlight an idea of "everlasting ingenuity," and "advancements
made to withstand an eternity." He typically had no taste for the flowery sort of language that had
to be utilized when speaking with investors, but he was quite fond of the ring to those phrases, in
particular. It was as close as he could hope to get to the heart of the matter in these situations.

"Lord Dottore. Can I ask you something?"

Ajax had been standing there so dutifully silent throughout the entire presentation, Dottore had
nearly forgotten he was even there. When he spoke, Dottore started slightly, then turned to the boy
in annoyance.

Ajax was not looking at him. He was also looking at the presentation laid out before them, arms
crossed behind his back. He was looking at it so intently, the urge to immediately chide him for
speaking so forwardly left as quickly as it had come.

Dottore found it curious, his marked interest. Curious enough to bite.

"You may." Dottore answered dully, studying the boy carefully.

Ajax stole a glance at him, merely shifting his eyes to the side.

"I… find your work very interesting," Ajax admitted a bit sheepishly. He turned to him, offering a
nervous smile. "It's really a shame this doesn't really capture the full extent of what you’ve done for
the Fatui.”

Dottore narrowed his eyes coldly.

“Such is the will of the Honorable Judge.” His words fell heavy in the air, thick with venomous
derision. It was not directed at Ajax, but perhaps he thought it was, or perhaps it was simply
uncomfortable to hear the name of an Archon - she who had so graciously granted the boy his
Vision, no less - spoken with such animosity. Regardless, Ajax grew somewhat rigid, smile falling
as he turned back to the presentation.

“Anyway,” Ajax continued, clearing his throat. “The presentation got me thinking. The part about
‘withstanding an eternity,’ and all that.”

“Get on with it, boy.” Dottore said curtly. He looked away from Ajax then, growing disinterested
with his waffling, and his hands wandered to one of the components that had been showcased
during the presentation. He inspected it for a moment. It had been described to the investors as a
“transformative enhancement, capable of strengthening men’s ambitions and natural abilities both
physically and mentally.” In truth, it was just one of many components that had to be embedded
into the Skirmishers before they were ready for the front lines. Dottore certainly didn’t think that it
made any of them smarter, and the one of the first models issued had the particularly troublesome
side effect of occasionally making the men spontaneously combust. But the messes had been
mopped up, and the problem had been fixed, and the Skirmisher units had since continued to serve
their purposes well. That was all that mattered to Dottore.

“Yes, sir. I was just curious,” Ajax continued, “if you’re looking to ‘withstand an eternity,’ then….
Well, what would you do with an eternity, if it was given to you?”

Dottore suddenly lost all interest in the part in his hand. He looked back at the boy with
bemusement, to find him again looking in his direction. Ajax meekly averted his gaze as soon as it
was met. At the time, Dottore had thought he was simply studying the machinery in his hands.

Knowing what he knew presently, he was sure that had not been the case.

But Dottore had paid it no mind at the time, simply placing the part back on the table and
regarding Ajax with curiosity.

What a question that was to ask. The boy had hardly said a word to him since being assigned to his
retinue, and he finally opened his mouth and that was what came out of it? Dottore again pondered
what could possibly warrant the Tsaritsa's supposed favor for him. But it hadn't been until that
moment that he finally felt absorbed enough to discover her motives for himself.

Dottore considered all this for a moment, before a smirk began to pull at the corner of his mouth.

"Interesting." He remarked, chuckling. He said nothing more, and Ajax blinked at him.

"Lord Dottore?" Ajax queried tentatively.

"Oh, nothing," Dottore tittered. "I did say you could ask your question. I did not say I intended to
answer it, and I still don't, but it is interesting. So interesting, in fact, I would much rather hear your
answer to the same question."

Ajax looked dumbstruck at the statement, mouth floundering open slightly as Dottore kept a
studious gaze locked on him.

"Well, go on, boy," Dottore urged. "I'm not really asking, after all. So tell me: what would you do,
if offered eternity?"

Dottore would have thought Ajax would gape at him for longer than he did, but he soon closed his
mouth. A small smile lit up his face, instead. With a short laugh, he seemed to consider this,
staring ahead of him thoughtfully.

"It's funny," Ajax began, sounding pensive, but enthusiastic. "I've known exactly what it is I want
for a long time, now. I want to conquer this world. I want to best every foe I meet, until the very
end. But that's just it. I've always expected it to end, without even thinking about it. I just always
figured a warrior's death would have to come into play, eventually. I've never considered anything
else. So I'm not sure. What's left for a warrior, if every perceivable battle has been won? What's
after that?

"But I suppose, if I had to give you an answer now…." Ajax paused, closing his eyes briefly. He
opened them again, exhaling through his nose. "Well. It seems like life can be so cruel sometimes,
as it is now. Making myself stronger has made me realize this. There's so much weakness in the
world. And it's not necessarily always the fault of the weak. No, actually - I feel like most of the
time it's not their fault at all. I don't enjoy seeing their suffering. I would vow to protect them, if I
could. But that's not always going to be possible. That's why it all seems so cruel sometimes.
Everyone should possess a means of protecting themselves. They have to. Life's too unkind to
those people, otherwise.

"But if I was given an eternity - an eternity to conquer this world, and to win every battle laid in
front of me…. That would make me the perfect warrior, wouldn't it? I would have unlocked the
secrets to ultimate power. Nothing would be out of my grasp."
Ajax seemed to ruminate on this for a moment, going silent. He looked so deep in thought for a
moment that Dottore wondered if he had forgotten the Third was still there. But he shook himself
out of his spell. He turned back to Dottore then, his smile broadening into a grin.

"So, to answer your question," Ajax continued, "if I was given an eternity, I suppose I would have
no choice. The world is too unfair, as it is. I'd just have to make the rest of this world perfect, as
well."

Ajax said it matter-of-factly, without a single hint of doubt present in his voice. He spoke it as if it
were the simplest matter in the world.

Dottore watched him say it, scouring his expression. He looked into his eyes.

And in that boy's eyes, he suddenly found the Tsaritsa's favor.

Dottore burst out laughing. Ajax looked a bit startled by his sudden jovial turn, immediately
growing uneasy again.

"Lord Dottore?"

"Oh, it's nothing, boy," Dottore cackled, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Forget about it.
When we return to the Palace, report back to Pulcinella at once."

Ajax seemed to freeze where he stood. "Sir?"

"You heard me," Dottore said, stern but with a hint of humor still laced into his words. "I just no
longer have any use for you."

Ajax's lips pressed themselves into a tight line. He almost looked like he wanted to say something
more. But when he opened his mouth again, he only cleared his throat.

"Understood, Lord Dottore."

Upon his return to the Palace, it didn't take long for Pulcinella to storm into Dottore's office, his
frantic entrance not matching the icy, dull tone he was so clearly fighting to maintain as he spoke
to him.

"May I ask why you dismissed Lieutenant Ajax, not three days into the mandatory assignment
given to the two of you?" It sounded like he was scolding a child. At any other time, this would
have thrown Dottore into outrage. But he couldn't be bothered too much by it now.

"I've finished my assessment of him," Dottore said simply, giving him a disinterested look. "I have
no need to see any more. Why waste anyone's time any longer?"

Pulcinella glared at him. Dottore could see a stress vein start to pop out against his forehead,
despite his best effort to keep his expression level. He looked so desperate to argue, clearly
expecting trouble, but he only sighed after a terse silence.

"Well then. Please enlighten me. What is your opinion on inducting Lieutenant Ajax into the
Harbingers?"

Dottore smirked at him. "I think it's a fine idea."

The dumbfounded look that immediately fell across Pulcinella's face was enough on its own to
make everything worth the trouble.
 "What?" Dottore asked innocently, unable to keep from teasing him. "Were you expecting another
answer?"

He definitely had been, given that it was no secret that Dottore had no taste for most of the
members in their ranks. Perhaps he was even slightly bruised, knowing that Ajax was favored by
Dottore in a way that he himself had not been. But he quickly composed himself, clearing his throat
loudly.

"I- no." Pulcinella said, straightening himself out. "Her Majesty the Tsaritsa will be pleased to hear
of your approval."

"I'm sure she will," Dottore droned. He knew for a fact she would not have cared either way. But
he didn't argue, and simply gave Pulcinella a malicious grin. "I can certainly see why she favors
that boy, now. He's rather interesting, isn't he?"

The question had been a test, one that Pulcinella had quickly failed when he raised an eyebrow at
him in confusion.

"I… suppose so."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore remembered all of this well. More so than he would ever let on to Childe.

He had not immediately registered it as the first time they had met, as Childe described it. Meeting
Childe, when he was simply the agent known as Lieutenant Ajax, had not been significant to him
at all. He did not so vividly recall any of these things because it was simply the first time he
encountered he who would soon be known as the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers.

It was because it was the first time that boy had ever captured his interest.

And that was not because of how efficiently he carried out his duties, or because of his martial
prowess. It was not because he had inexplicably held the Tsaritsa's favor, when so few did. It was
not even because of the answer he gave to Dottore's question about eternity; though it was not lost
on him how closely that answer aligned with the one Dottore himself would have given, had he
been inclined to give it.

But none of these things had truly caught Dottore's attention. It was the boy's eyes that had done it.

Dottore could still recall the excitement that coursed through him when he realized it, looking into
that strange boy's eyes as he spoke of perfecting the world. Those deep blue eyes had been without
any trace of doubt or apprehension as he spoke of impossible goals. But they had also been without
hubris either, no burning ambition was behind those eyes as he spoke, the kind of gleam one would
expect to see in a proud, cocksure young man such as he was. Dottore had looked into those eyes,
and found neither uncertainty nor arrogance. But he had suddenly found the Tsaritsa's mysterious
favor. And more importantly, he had found his own.

In that boy's eyes, there had been nothing. Absolutely nothing.

They were as lightless and hollow as the Abyss itself.

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi
 Emperor of Nothing
Chapter Notes

cw/chapter kinks:

Lots and lots of world building, several graphic suicide mentions including self harm
and asphyxiation (nameless characters), graphic descriptions of corpses (nameless
characters), danger kink(?), facefucking, gagging/choking, very light bloodplay,
fucked against a wall, rimming, extremely painful sex, bleeding during sex, mind
break

then just do me a favor a reread the main tags on the fic, because I did add a few to
better reflect the direction this will be going in and also this is the point where all of
those will be EXTREMELY prevalent in almost every single chapter moving forward

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Dottore's obligation to the Fatui, as he saw it, should have been a simple matter. His duty was to
manufacture a force to rival the Gods themselves. Based on his theses and decades worth of
research, the end result was inevitable. The Archons themselves were a dying breed; even the
Tsaritsa recognized this, to a certain extent, which was the only reason Dottore was initiated into
the Harbingers in the first place. Somewhat more challenging would be matching the power of the
Gods residing in Celestia, but even that was not impossible to achieve. Far from it, the Archons and
the Gods alike, once broken down to their bare essentials, were no more extraordinary than any
other being in this world. Their forms were no more impressive than that of man’s, the creatures
they had created in their image, just versions of the same outline that had been honed over the
course of eons. They were divine creatures, certainly, but they were creatures nonetheless. They
had nearly succeeded in existing to their full potential; but just nearly.

Dottore did not fear the Gods, as so many did, and he certainly did not fear the Archons. Their
power and influence had never once dissuaded him from his work. In his mind, the very fact that a
power like theirs existed in the first place meant that it was something static, something obtainable.
And while it had taken those gods centuries, sometimes even countless millennia to clumsily
gather that power, to make it something they could utilize something to make themselves nearly
perfect, Dottore was determined to do the exact same thing in a fraction of that time. He did not
have a doubt in his mind: the Era of Gods would come to an end. And with it, the Era of Man, too,
would end before it could even begin. What lay waiting for them at the end of this would be
beyond both man and god. All paths were converging into one singular reality: soon, this would be
an Era of Perfection.

But while Dottore could see the end of the road with intense clarity, it was not within arm’s reach.
The prospect of surpassing the Gods itself would not be a complicated matter. What was much
more complicated, and frustratingly so, was the process of getting there.

Aside from his own wits, Dottore had two things at his disposal to aid him in reaching his ultimate
goal. The first, and most invaluable resource, was the Abyss.

Everything that existed on Teyvat now, from the sapient life forms inhabiting the land to the dirt
beneath their feet, was the creation of the Gods. This whole world was theirs, and as such, they
maintained a tight control over the very essence of existence. This was how the hierarchy between
man and gods had been enforced thus far; man could not hope to match the divine when their
means of doing so lay in the Gods’ hands alone. The Abyss, however, was outside of their control.
The Abyss was the antithesis of their creation - it was the antithesis of existence itself, and yet
existence itself could not persist if there was no force in opposition to it. The Gods had brought this
world to life, creating something from nothing, but would not have been able to do so without a
concept of nothingness. They feared the Abyss, for this very reason; they would not hold the power
they did without its persistent influence on this universe, and because of this, it always remained
just out of their grasp. They could not carelessly alter its properties, lest they alter the properties of
themselves. Because unlike them, the Abyss would continue to thrive with or without opposition.
The Abyss was the absence of existence, after all; it was not so much an entity as it was an
inevitability.

But Dottore had no fear treading where the Gods themselves wouldn't dare. The properties of the
Abyss could be harnessed, as evidenced by all the ancient machinery that had been left to aimlessly
wander Teyvat, and by the monstrous Abyss Order that also sought to usurp the Gods. Utilizing
this power for his purposes was as inevitable as the power itself.

But while Dottore had long since worked with the forces of Abyssal influence, and to some degree
of success, it was a finicky matter. Abyssal influence was a volatile, untamed element. It had to be
kept in check flawlessly - which was extremely difficult to do - or the results of imbuing man with
such a force were… undesirable.

One of the most frustrating parts of working with Abyssal energy was that, appropriate to the very
core of how men conceptualized it, it left very little in its wake when experimentation went awry.
Most of his subjects were reduced to ether almost instantaneously upon introduction of Abyssal
energy into their system, and those that weren't would simply fail without reason after months,
sometimes even years after the fact, just to meet with the same fate after cruel, tortuous deaths. It
was the nature of the Abyss to swallow up everything and leave nothing left over; no answers, no
evidence, and no bodies. Dottore’s work was a scientific process that necessitated much trial and
error, and yet the trials were always cut short, and the errors could not be explained. Dottore had
learned to adapt to this, to a certain extent, but the simple fact was that he could not efficiently
learn from failures that left nothing behind.

The second most valuable resource that Dottore had at his disposal was the Fatui's investment in
his research. Before he had been recruited as the Third of the Harbingers, his theories had merely
been pipe dreams. It was not possible for them to be any more than that, because the means to
conduct his research were so far from his grasp. Even Sumeru Academia, an institute lauded for its
devotion to progress and for all the bright, eccentric minds it fostered, outright refused to offer him
the resources he needed to move forward with his theses. The Fatui, however, gladly offered these
to him. Now, he had money, warm bodies, suitable workspaces; at first, it had seemed almost too
good to be true. It turned out, he was right. The Fatui's resources, unfortunately, were not limitless.

So when the soon-to-be Eleventh of the Harbingers had inadvertently revealed himself to him, and
Dottore had realized that he must have had some connection to the Abyss, a connection that could
lead to truly limitless possibilities, Dottore thought himself dreaming.

The Abyss was a force so unique, so transformative in its power over man, that once you knew
what you were looking for, it was not difficult to spot one that had been touched by Abyssal
influence. For Dottore, it had nearly become second nature. But even the densest of his colleagues -
Pulcinella, for example - had observed enough Abyssal energy at work to at least have an inkling
of what it looked like. They would know well enough for it to catch their eye, even if they couldn’t
quite put the allure of it to words.
Pulcinella was an overweening fool, but he would not have presented a mere recruit to the Tsaritsa
herself without reason, no matter how naturally skilled he was in combat. He must have had a hand
in training hundreds of recruits by now, and was familiar with the skills of men. Some were just
simply better fighters than others, some had more courage, some even possessed an inexplicable
bloodlust that could only be sated by warfare. These things were all commonplace with men. But
Ajax, as he had been known at the time, fell into none of these categories, despite how it seemed
like he might. If it had just been that, Dottore had no doubt that Pulcinella wouldn’t have been
compelled to bat an eye in his direction in the first place. But there had always been an inkling of
the boy’s mysterious, immeasurable connection to the Abyss. Even Pulcinella had known it
without words, without the actual knowledge of it. Dottore had the words, and the knowledge, but
he supposed that was probably why it had taken him so long to notice in the first place. He was too
familiar with the subject.

In the first few years of his service, Dottore had personally attended to most of the men that did not
survive Abyssal influence - the ones that suffered from it, and not the ones lucky enough to
instantly vaporize upon contact. He simply did not have the time for it now, but it did not happen as
often as it used to anyway, after some of the initial kinks had been worked out in his earlier work.
With these men, Abyssal influence had overcome them slowly. Very, very slowly. It sometimes
took months for the effects of the failures to take hold, and some subjects even went years without
exhibiting visible side effects. But when the effects did begin to present, they played out in more or
less the same fashion.

It took their minds from them, first. Dottore theorized it was because it had failed in taking their
bodies, for one reason or another. Some humans were simply more susceptible to their physical
forms eroding on contact with Abyssal energy, and some were immune to the effects entirely. But
the ones in between, the ones that were simply more stubborn than the rest, could not be swallowed
until long after their bodies had been dead. It took anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours for
disintegration to occur post mortem, in these cases. But in order to kill them at all, the Abyss first
had to seize control of their minds.

It started out slowly, nearly imperceptible. The subject's quality of work would begin to slip
fractionally, and they would grow somewhat forgetful, or simply trail off in the midst of a
sentence. They were things that could never be efficiently kept in check, as they were symptoms
that any one of their soldiers could exhibit just from simple stress or exhaustion, which did plague
many of them. But then, after an indeterminate amount of time, some of their symptoms would
gradually escalate. With their state of mind approaching the first stages of senility, the first
indicator Dottore had for the failed subjects was usually their insolence. The Fatui - and by
extension, Snezhnaya as a whole - was an organization that ruled primarily through fear. Some of
their soldiers were devout to the Tsaritsa and loyal to their homeland, certainly. But for the most
part, they feared their government, and they feared the wrath of the Harbingers, and more than
anything else, they feared their Archon. But as one's mind was forcibly whittled away, their fear
was one of the first things to dissipate. Uninhibited, they would forget their place at every turn;
they would brazenly ignore orders, or simply act out like children. They seemed to pay no mind to
the will of their superiors, and it was at this point that Dottore would begin to observe them. If the
issue was not simply treason - which it hardly ever was - he could then have them brought in for
controlled observation, though nothing more than that. By the time Dottore could get their hands
on them, it was only to watch things unfold, for the purposes of his own findings. The effects of
Abyssal corruption, after all, were irreversible, no matter how early it was caught.

The final stages of their mental collapse were by far the most varied. Some of them simply wept
for hours, even days on end without pause. Some entered a state of primal rage that even intense
sedation would not put to rest. Some of them seemed completely normal at first glance, but upon
speaking with them would only utter gibberish, seeming confused when they were not understood.
Dottore had just about seen it all, in the course of his research. But the most fascinating part, for
his purposes, was always the end. Despite the way the corruption ravaged their minds, the Abyss
still seemed to be unable to affect their physical forms in any way. So after a while, the affected
subjects would take matters into their own hands. They would typically seek out the most
straightforward methods, if available. If they possessed a blade, they would slit their own throats
without hesitation. If they were well versed in elemental magic, they could simply set themselves
ablaze or fill their own lungs with water. However, if Dottore provided them with neither weapon
nor elemental energy, then they would simply take more creative measures to get the job done.
There was once an agent he had observed that had simply beaten his own head against the walls of
his quarters until he had eventually fallen dead where he stood. His brain was reduced to a bloody
pulp, fragments of his own skull sticking out of the mess like a jagged rock formation jutting out
from a crimson coastline. A skirmisher, who had been reduced to speaking in tongues for several
days prior to his demise, had stripped down nude in the middle of the night and fashioned a noose
out of his clothing with which to hang himself with. It was barely enough to get the job done; by
the time Dottore's subordinates had gotten to him, he was dead, but it had surely taken several
hours for it to happen, hours that consisted of continually slipping out of consciousness, slipping
back in, and just trying again. His face had been purple from lack of oxygen, eyes blood red and
nearly swollen shut from all the blood vessels that had burst under his skin. There were no signs of
struggle, however, despite how long the process had clearly been. His hands were even resting in
his lap when they found him, as if he had been waiting patiently for the end to reach him. The most
fascinating by far, however, was a mirror agent that he had taken in shortly after she had begun
physically attacking her colleagues. She seemed to believe she was her own mother, and grew
violent when called by her name, asking why those people knew “her daughter’s” name. In the
course of her observation, she was one of the ones that was given nothing; she had no clothing, no
furniture in her observation room, her nutritional intake was carefully monitored to assure she did
not attempt to choke herself on her food, and was force fed when she attempted to go off
sustenance entirely. She was provided nothing with which to assist her in ending her own life. But
the one thing she did have, which was an oversight on Dottore's part, were a set of long,
meticulously manicured nails, a set that she had previously taken great pride in maintaining before
her eventual psychosis set in. With those nails, she eventually ripped open her wrists with her bare
hands. It was not an effective method of self-mutilation, however. It had taken several hours in the
dead of night for the blood loss to finally put her down, and in that time, she had busied herself
with using her own essence to scrawl all over the walls. The writing was not of any modern
language that Dottore knew of, and certainly not of any that the woman herself would have known.
His best guess was that the text was ancient Khaenri'ahn. So the writings had been recorded and
sent off to a few discreet scholars that had already been commissioned by the Fatui, the few
scholars in Teyvat that still dared to study the languages of ancient civilizations smited by the gods
themselves. But to his disappointment, their responses had been downright absurd. Much of the
text was indecipherable gibberish. But the parts that could be translated were of no use to anyone.
By the scholars' closest approximation, it appeared to be a recipe for a stew.

But while no two men's descent into madness ever happened in the same way, in the final stages of
their lives, there was always one side effect that remained consistent in all the subjects Dottore had
ever observed.

It was their eyes. Their eyes would become dull, bottomless voids of emotion, even as some of
them screeched and wept and fought to their last breaths. They were not much more than empty
husks at that point, operating only based on the source of their own corruption.

That empty, eerie gaze was one Dottore had grown very familiar with over the years; and it was the
exact same one that he had seen in the Lieutenant Ajax's eyes that day, and the same one that still
bore into him so often in the present.
Dottore could only imagine that he did not notice it straight away because he wouldn't have even
thought to be looking for it. Childe, obviously, was no raving lunatic. In fact, Childe was and
always had been exceedingly lucid. He was not only physically capable, but wickedly cunning and
keen. His strategic operations often surpassed those of his seniors, though such things would never
have been spoken aloud amongst the Harbingers, lest Scaramouche or Capitano feel the need to
start cutting out tongues for such hearsay. Childe's only downfall, really, was his lack of focus, and
his overeager nature. But those were both qualities that could simply be attributed to his youth. At
the very least, he was certainly not banging his head against walls or writing recipes in his own
blood.

Which is precisely what made him so delightfully fascinating. When Dottore had first made the
connection, he felt as if the boy had been hand-delivered to him as his own personal gift; a subject
had been so evidently touched by the forces of the Abyss, so profoundly, and who yet continued on
with his stable existence as a physical entity, mind untouched and body in peak condition. Just the
perfect kind of gift for Dottore to unwrap with his own two hands, so that he could gleefully
observe the contents inside that were keeping the boy alive.

Unfortunately, this, like Dottore’s initiation, proved too good to be true. Childe himself had quickly
proven to be a disappointment. For all his boasting and posturing, even going as far as to talk about
all the Abyss entities he had ever slew, he had never once mentioned the matter of the Abyssal
influence that was so obviously present within him, even when directly approached about it. He
always played dumb - far too dumb, a dead giveaway that he always knew exactly what Dottore
was getting at and was being purposefully facetious. It was baffling to Dottore. Though Childe was
always quick to make a spectacle of himself, he had never once implied that the source of his
abilities were of any extraordinary nature. Dottore, knowing this to be false, could not stand it.

He even began attempting to throw his weight around with the Eleventh, but this quickly proved a
futile effort. Childe paid no attention to the concept of seniority amongst the Harbingers; his
loyalty lay with the Tsaritsa alone. And as much as Dottore detested utilizing an Archon's influence
to get what he wanted, eventually, he had to concede that he had no other options.

It had not been the first time the Tsaritsa had disappointed him, and it certainly would not be the
last. His request for an audience with her had been granted, but he was simply met with an icy,
unyielding stare. His insistence that Childe's association with the Abyss would be an integral asset
to aid his research, and that it was in the Fatui's best interest to force the Eleventh to cooperate with
Dottore's whims, was only followed by a terse silence. Then, after a while, she responded.

"Tartaglia's fate is not bound to yours. Your fates are your own. It is not any duty of mine to
interfere in these matters. You must learn to endure, Il Dottore."

She had spoken to him as if she were lecturing a child. Like she was talking him down from a
tantrum, soft but unshakably stern, reminding him that compromises must often be made in life,
and that he would just have to learn how to share his toys with the other children.

Dottore lacked the diction to accurately describe how much he despised that miserable wench.

But after hitting nothing but resistance, compromises did indeed need to be made. Dottore had no
options left, so he simply had to reserve himself to the fact that what secrets Childe was hiding
would not be offered to him. And as tempted as he was to take matters into his own hands, doing
that was just likely to make things more difficult. He had no one on his side, and even if attempting
to dissect the Eleventh on his own wasn't liable to get him killed, the last thing he needed was to
fall completely out of Childe's favor. Childe's own cooperation, it seemed, would be his last hope
of uncovering the secrets of his connection to the Abyss.
But Childe's cheeky attitude was simply off-putting to him, and without the guarantee that he could
be useful to his work, Dottore had simply lost much of the drive to actively pursue the matter.
Likewise, he had never felt like he much hope of staying on good enough terms with the Eleventh
to warrant his cooperation. Appealing himself to others was never Dottore's strongest trait.

But luckily for him, it didn't have to be.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore sat on the edge of his bed, about to start the process of buttoning up his clean, if somewhat
wrinkled linen dress shirt, when a pair of hands slithered their way on top of his own, stopping his
fingers before he had the chance to continue. Childe was soon pressing his bare chest against his
back, bringing his mouth up to his left ear and humming beside it.

"What's the rush?" Childe asked, a dreamy lilt to his voice. "Stay here with me."

Dottore swatted both of his hands away. "Get off of me."

Childe responded with impudence, simply leaning more of his weight into Dottore and forcing
their fingers to interlace. He rested his chin heavily on Dottore's shoulder with a sigh.

"You're always so tense. Just relax." Childe pressed their cheeks together, and Dottore could feel
his lips against his skin shaped into a slight pout. "You're leaving tomorrow."

Dottore groaned in exasperation, trying to shake his hands loose from the boy’s grip. Childe just
held on tighter. He was obnoxiously strong, when he chose to utilize it. “I’m well aware of my
schedule without your help, thank you. What’s your point?”

Childe parroted the Third’s frustration with a groan of his own, stubbornly refusing to budge.
“You’re away so much lately. You’d think you’d be more eager to take it easy when you’re here.”

“I still have work to do here, you know,” Dottore groused, scowling. “This isn’t a vacation, boy.
I’m not here solely for my own benefit.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Childe droned incredulously. Before Dottore could scold him for the tone, he
added, “Why do you keep going back to Haeresys so often anyway? I thought your assistant was
supposed to be the one handling things for you over there.”

“She is.” Dottore snapped. “That doesn’t mean there’s nothing left to oversee. I have important
things that need to be attended to.”

“It didn’t always used to be like this, though,” Childe huffed. “And you’re always in an awful
mood when you come back from Haeresys.”

Dottore paused. It was an odd statement to make suddenly, and a worrisome one. Dottore himself
couldn’t recall being any more curt or strict with Childe upon his returns from Haeresys as opposed
to anywhere else, but upon reflection, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been. The research
that was conducted in Haeresys had nearly reached standstill, and for quite some time now. They
simply kept running into the same problems time and time again, and no significant progress
would be possible without a breakthrough. His current assistant was even exceedingly competent in
what she did, but the need for Dottore’s presence there had become unavoidable regardless of her
aptitude. They were simply running out of time, out of answers, and - most importantly - out of
warm bodies. In an attempt to extend the longevity of the subjects they had, their experimentation
process had to be slowed to a snail’s pace. If it was not, the demands for resources could not be
realistically fulfilled by their supply. There were only so many souls that could be whisked away in
the dead of night before Teyvat as a whole would surely take notice, with or without the Fatui’s
support. And who knew if he would even still have their support at that point, if it stopped being
quite so convenient for the Tsaritsa.

Dottore had suspected that Childe may have had an inkling of all this, and now he felt sure that he
had suspected correctly. It bothered him. He didn’t want Childe knowing this, and he did not want
him hanging off him like a cheap suit with something in his voice that sounded suspiciously close
to pity. But on the other hand, Dottore began to realize that his pity could prove useful.

Dottore had assumed that Childe's infatuation with him would make him much more compliant in
revealing the secrets behind his connection to the Abyss. But thus far, he had no such luck. He
certainly had not divulged any information to him on his own, and the hints Dottore had been
dropping in the meanwhile either had not landed or were still being blatantly ignored. But perhaps
dancing around the subject until Childe relented would not suffice. Despite some of Childe’s more
annoying tendencies, the boy had grown downright anxious to please him. He knew that if Dottore
was pleased, the older man would be much more willing to please him back. And if Childe was so
eager, perhaps he wouldn't object to pleasing Dottore in a way that actually mattered.

Although it nearly pained Dottore to do so, he leaned a fraction of his weight back into Childe's
embrace with a sigh. He could feel the boy's hands twitch around his in surprise.

"Progress in Haeresys is… not good." The words rose from his throat like bile, acrid and viscous
and burning to be swallowed back down where they belonged. Even if it was more beneficial for
him in the long run to say these things, the act of speaking so candidly around Childe made him
anxious. Considering what happened the last time he had been something close to sincere with him,
this was a dangerous game to be playing.

Dottore let the statement hang in the air for a while, glancing over at Childe to try to get a read on
his expression. He couldn't quite make it out, with as close as their faces were to each other, but
Childe wasn't looking at him. His eyes were trained pensively ahead of them as he mulled over the
words.

"Sorry," Childe muttered after a while, and there was that pity again, more pronounced this time. It
made Dottore sick to chase after it, but he knew he had to.

"Yes. Well, I've had to be more hands on with my research there. If I wasn't, I would have no hope
of moving forward." Dottore paused, then, considering his next words carefully. "I can't afford to
be frittering my time away on unproductive things anymore."

It landed just as he wanted it to. Dottore could feel Childe nearly flinch at the statement, body
going rigid around his, and for a moment he thought the boy might even recoil away from him. But
he retreated inwards, instead; he closed in on Dottore possessively, pressing even tighter against
him until there was not a single inch of his chest that wasn't flush with the Third's back. Childe's
grip tightened around his hands, hard enough that Dottore knew he had momentarily forgotten his
own strength as the boy’s nails dug into the center of his palm. He heard him exhale through his
nose, then he let go, bringing his arms up to wrap them across the older man’s chest. He buried his
face into the crook of Dottore's neck.

"I can help you here," Childe said, too quickly, with a bit too much desperation straining his voice.
He must have realized it, because it was followed by a smile and a quiet laugh. "If you don't
remember, I'm much more than just a pretty face. I have one or two tricks up my sleeve."

Dottore couldn't suppress the disdain that rose in his chest, and he spoke without thinking. "Yes.
I'm very familiar with your tricks."
Childe had the nerve to giggle, albeit somewhat nervously. A kiss to Dottore's pulse point followed
it, fleeting and plaintive. "You’re not mad about something, are you?"

Dottore's hands, since being freed, had dropped to his thighs, and he dug his fingers into the folds
of his slacks as he fought the urge to throw Childe off of him.

"What on earth could I be mad about, my pet?" Dottore queried, letting his tone turn tersely
saccharine, sweet enough to keep Childe enticed but too sweet to possibly be real. It was a stern
reminder that the Eleventh had been on thin ice since day one. Childe seemed to freeze
momentarily before dotting more kisses along Dottore's neck. It was desperation that led him to lap
at the wounds that he himself had left. Childe didn't say anything else, perhaps biding his time to
assure he didn't say the wrong thing.

"All I'm saying," Dottore continued, feigning nonchalance, "is that the tricks of yours I know of
have gotten old. I have no use for them anymore. If that's all you have to offer me, I'm afraid I just
have better things to do."

Dottore let him stew in that for a moment longer. Childe had gone completely still. Dottore
smirked to himself.

"But perhaps, if you had a new trick to show me, I could find something I could work with."

Childe was silent, and then an amused hum made his lips vibrate against Dottore's neck.

"You're funny." Childe said it sincerely, fondness softening the words as they were spoken upon
the older man's skin. It made Dottore's blood boil. It wasn't like he hadn't expected Childe to catch
onto his scheme eventually, but to be so brazenly patronized for it was too much. He finally gave a
rough shrug of his shoulder to spurn Childe's advances. Childe withdrew, lifting his chin off the
older man's shoulder, but just repositioned himself on the outer edge of it. He rested his cheek
there, head turned to get a better look at Dottore. The Third shot a glare at him.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dottore snapped.

"Nothing. I just think you're funny."

"I'm not stupid, boy." Dottore hadn't meant for it to come out so directly, but he was losing his
patience. Childe frowned.

"I never said you were."

"So you're just saying you don't have any other tricks, then?"

"I do."

The Eleventh's straight forward answer threw Dottore off. He knew Childe was still trying to play
games, but it was an admission, the first ever admission from anyone that there was more to him
than met the eye, and a rush of adrenaline shot through him.

"Then show me." Too eager, far too eager. It was a bad idea to lay so many cards out on the table
in front of Childe. But the boy didn't seem to take any joy in dashing Dottore's excitement, when he
finally did. He just blinked at him numbly as he spoke, expression vacant.

"I'm not going to do that."

Dottore pursed his lips in frustration. He had to pull back. Childe was too level, too unaffected by
how things were going now. He could not let this boy drive him mad again.

"Well, Childe," Dottore said evenly, "what good is a trick that is never used?"

"I haven't needed to use it," Childe replied. "That's a good thing. Trust me."

Dottore wanted to laugh at the last statement. He wanted to slap that calm, knowing look off the
Eleventh's face, or at least finally shove him off of him so he had some room to breathe. But he had
to be careful.

"I don't think you understand how important the work I'm doing is." Dottore said. "If you want to
help so badly, I would suggest that your first step should be not to withhold any information that I
could actually make use of."

"You couldn't." Childe said matter-of-factly. His gaze faltered then, and he unhooked his arms
from around Dottore. He was no longer really looking at him as he brought a hand up to pick
absently at the shoulder of his shirt, as if he had found a stray thread there. His other hand
sightlessly reached out for Dottore's, trying to snake it in between where the Third’s palm was still
pressed to his thigh. When Dottore did not let him, he just started ghosting his fingers across his
exposed forearms. "I wasn't lying, though. I'd like to help you, if I can. There's no reason to
abandon everything here."

There was desperation there still, and something else that might have been remorse. He made it
seem like he was not denying Dottore simply to be difficult, but that he was only speaking
factually. The implication that he knew better was driving Dottore crazy. But he still had to be
cautious. Childe was still just compliant enough that Dottore thought he could salvage the
situation, if he was smart about it. He pushed through his disdain and ignored the way his skin
crawled as Childe pawed at his arm, curling around it like a covetous serpent.

Childe had finally admitted to him that he did indeed have a "trick" to his name. He had that much,
at least. He also said that he had never found a need to utilize it. Which meant that there could be a
need for it.

Perhaps he had simply never been pushed far enough. Childe's talent for slaughter was no secret to
anyone. He was simply too good at it. Whether it was a natural talent or if that itself was an effect
of the Abyss's influence on him remained to be seen. But regardless, he had never had a need to
unleash his full potential since being initiated into the Harbingers. There was no reason for him to,
with how effectively he dispatched every opponent he faced. He only needed a reason.

Dottore's smirk found him again.

"Now that you mention it, I suppose there is something I could use you for here."

Childe perked up at this, looking back up at the older man's face quizzically. "What?"

Dottore met his eyes, those dull, vacant eyes that had taunted him for so many years and continued
to do so now, and he gave Childe a sly grin.

"Would you be interested in a spar, Childe?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

It took Dottore a while to get things set up, and Childe had intently watched him from a distance
the whole time.
Dottore had told him that since progress had slowed with his other ventures, it would be prudent to
spruce up some of the automatons here for the Fatui's own purposes. The Ruin machines could be
unruly, the ancient code they operated on too inscrutable to ever fully control them as they were,
but they were well suited for acting as a buff in security measures. It was easy to station them
where the Fatui did not want prying eyes looking, and if they were adequately reinforced they
would be difficult for even most Vision bearers to put down. It freed up the hands of their soldiers,
who could be stationed wherever a little more autonomy was required. So to make sure they were
prepared for the front lines, it was necessary to submit them to some "stress testing." That had not
necessarily been a lie. Dottore really would soon be required to bring something to the table if the
rest of his ventures continued to prove as abysmal as they had been, and this would be as good as
anything else.

He had also told Childe that if all else failed, it would be easier to have the Eleventh deal with the
dross, so he would not have to bother with it himself when the facility was shut down. That was
also not a complete lie; the Liyue facility, for the purposes of his research alone, had become
virtually useless. What little work he still did here was not really benefiting him, and it was
certainly not benefiting the Fatui to any significant degree. While he wouldn't admit it aloud, the
only reason he was still stepping foot in Liyue at all was because of Childe. It was to sate his own
curiosity, his vengeance, and the carnal urges that the boy had incidentally stirred up. But he could
ignore his urges, and he could find another way to enact his revenge. And as for his curiosity -
Dottore had grown weary of continuously hitting walls in his research. If he hit a wall with Childe,
as well, he would not have the patience to push through it. He had already been ready to
decommission the Liyue facility, and he would do it again without hesitation if things did not work
out in his favor.

But while he hadn't exactly lied to the Eleventh, Dottore had only said those things to encourage
his cooperation. He had given Childe a goal to work towards now, and another jolt of fear that
Dottore was nearly ready to leave him behind in the dust.

Although looking at him now, Dottore wondered if the extra motivation was even necessary.
Sometimes, The Third had to wonder if during their time together he had actually managed to
stupefy the Childe to the point of being nothing but a giddy, sex-crazed lunatic. The boy seemed to
be interested in nothing else when they were together. But it seemed like the battlelust within him
was still strong, because it hadn’t taken long for him to be chomping at the bit at the thought of
roughing up a few war machines.

Still, he was clearly exercising some caution with Dottore, either under the impression that it was
all too good to be true, or because he knew what the Third was ultimately trying to accomplish
even for all his posturing. It was probably a mix of both.

"So you're really gonna let me go all out?" Childe asked, not looking at Dottore at all, simply
looking down at the sleeping Ruin Guards set out before him. He was leaning over the edge of the
observation deck, hands clutching the wrought iron guard rail, eyes cooly darting across the large,
open chamber below.

Just looking at how eager he was made Dottore feel mildly exhausted, and he just sighed.

“Do what you want.” Dottore droned. “I have no real use for any of these things as is, so I don’t
care what happens to them, if that’s what you’re asking. Just try to keep the mess… contained.”

Childe studied the chamber for a moment longer before finally looking back at Dottore. “Is this all
there is?”

It was not an accusatory statement, and in fact was so earnest that it made Dottore a little nervous.
Even being familiar with Childe’s strengths, there was something foreboding about the fact that he
was willingly placing himself in the line of fire of five fully functioning Ruin machines, only for
one of his first questions to be “is that all?”

Dottore masked his unease with annoyance, crossing his arms. “For now. Think of it as a
preliminary run. I can’t very well improve on anything if I don’t have a baseline to work with. So
we’ll start with these.”

“I think I can manage that,” Childe chuckled. “This should be fun. Can I go now?”

Dottore sneered. “Yes, go. I don’t have all day to stand here and explain the concept to you.”

Childe laughed at him, shooting one last sly glance in the Third’s direction. “And you call me
impatient.”

Dottore bristled, but before he had a chance to protest, Childe turned back to the Ruin Guards.
There were stairs right beside him leading down to the chamber, but he simply vaulted over the
railing and jumped straight down into the arena below. Dottore rolled his eyes at the display, but
then stepped forward to where Childe had just been standing, peering over the edge of the
observation deck with an eyebrow raised. The machines began to whir to life as Childe approached
them, and Dottore just watched the events unfold.

He did not end up watching for long.

By no stretch of the imagination did he think it would be that easy to push Childe to his limit, or
even that he would succeed in getting the boy to properly break a sweat, but Dottore honestly was
not prepared for just how swiftly the Ruin Guards were dealt with. Childe was calculating,
efficient. He was aware of every threat around him no matter where they stood. He expertly
divided his time and energy between his targets in the most optimal way possible, to the point
where it looked like choreography, like he had planned all of this out in his head beforehand.
Thinking back to how he was looking down at the scene before him, Dottore realized he probably
had.

Then, there was the matter of his lethality. Just from witnessing the wreckage he left behind from a
distance, Dottore could see that there would barely be anything left to salvage. Childe was
practically ripping them to shreds, with a cold, deadly precision that struck them at their most
vulnerable point and sent them shuddering to the ground. Their parts shattered on impact and
scattered across the floor as if they were glass panes, leaving nothing behind but the splintered
remains of what had once been an ancient war machine, finally brought to the end of its long
existence by a young man who had simply laughed at this prospect beforehand, considering it
nothing more than good sport.

Dottore watched him dispatch those Ruin Guards, tapping his fingers against the iron railing
anxiously. He had not thought it was going to be easy to push Childe past his breaking point, but
now he was beginning to wonder if he had gotten in over his head. He had grown so confident in
the hold he had over Childe’s mind, he hadn’t considered that asserting control over the Eleventh’s
physicality would be another matter entirely.

Dottore worried at the inside of his cheek until it grew raw from the gnashing of his teeth, and he
just stared down into the chamber below, long after Childe had eventually finished off all five of
the Ruin Guards, and even after he made his ascent back up to the observation deck with him.
Dottore couldn’t even look at him as he heard his footsteps approaching, too consumed with his
own twisting thoughts, already considering the next several moves of this plan in advance, all
while inwardly cursing Childe for making things so difficult on him. He could barely even bring
himself to pay attention as Childe spoke to him.

“Did I do good?”

“Yes, yes,” Dottore snapped distractedly. He still wasn’t looking at him, just down at the boneyard
of spare parts below him, trying to piece them back together in his mind into something that would
actually help him. “That’ll be it, for today, I suppose. I don’t-”

Dottore was snapped out of his troubled state as Childe suddenly grabbed his wrist, yanking him
towards him roughly and crashing their mouths together in one swift motion. Dottore’s mask was
still on, so Childe was not able to fully overtake his lips, but he just hungrily mouthed at the little
space he could find, lapping at the exposed corner of Dottore’s mouth hungrily. Before Dottore
could react, he was shoved against the iron barricade, and Childe’s hands were everywhere all at
once.

“Was it good?” Childe gasped, tongue lolling against the side of Dottore’s mouth, until one of his
wandering hands finally found the Third’s mask. He swiped it away brusquely, letting it fall on the
ground beside them, and Dottore was surprised it did not shatter on impact with how
unceremoniously it had been tossed aside. Childe overtook his mouth then, flicking his tongue
against the older man’s closed lips breathlessly. “Was it good? Tell me I did good.”

“Wh-” The moment Dottore opened his mouth, Childe shoved his tongue inside it, pressing it
desperately against the Third’s with a shuddering exhale. Dottore’s hands went to Childe’s
shoulders, trying to push him off, but Childe simply dug in his heels and kissed him harder. He was
stronger than Dottore, much stronger, which was a fact easy to forget with how pliant he usually
was in these situations. As if to punctuate the realization, Childe wrapped an arm around Dottore’s
waist, keeping him still as he began grinding their pelvises together. He was hard. He was very,
very hard, and Dottore could feel him twitching in need even through the two layers of clothing.

Childe was frantic with how he rutted against him, but he was giddy with it as well, giggles
escaping him and forcing him to briefly break away from the kiss with a smile, which was the only
air Dottore was offered before the Eleventh quickly swooped back in on him. Dottore was still too
taken aback to properly connect the dots, too focused on just trying to peel the boy off of him in
confusion while also being infuriatingly overtaken by the stirrings of desire as Childe frotted
against him. Things hadn’t even been given a chance to make sense, not until Childe allowed their
lips to part for just long enough to let Dottore gasp for air.

“That was fun,” Childe purred, still laughing, pressing his lips to the side of Dottore’s mouth and
then letting them split open into a grin. “I like it when you watch. I saw you. You turn me on so
much. Do you like watching me?”

A baffling mixture of arousal and rage swept through Dottore. Not only did Childe dispatch his
Ruin Guards so effectively that it was sure to throw a wrench in his plans, but the little cur had
fucking gotten off on it. “You little fucking b-”

“Watch me more,” Childe moaned suddenly, still smiling, his teeth scraping against Dottore’s skin
before his tongue rolled out from between them and licked a long, slimy trail up his cheek. “I’m all
warmed up now. I want you to watch me more.”

Childe dropped to his knees without another word, hanging off of Dottore’s pants, pulling them
down until he had released his cock, and he had it in his mouth before the older man could offer
any protest.

Dottore hissed through his teeth as Childe wrapped his lips around him, his hands blindly reaching
for the rail behind him and gripping it tightly. Dottore couldn’t stop himself from bucking into
Childe’s mouth as his tongue swirled around the tip, and the way it made Childe gag sent a jolt
through him that was beyond his control.

Damn him. Damn that boy, damn every last bone in his body. Damn how he seemed to be mocking
Dottore at every turn, how the older man’s desperation was something trivial to him, only enough
to get his own rocks off and nothing more. And damn him for the way he thrust his tongue along
the underside of Dottore’s length, how he was so hungry for it he was making himself gag around
it, vile, heaving sounds coming from him as he spat up strings of thick, mucousy saliva around the
cock in his mouth. Damn it for how it made Dottore’s seething rage turn into an all-consuming
lust, and how it made him lose his composure, how he could do nothing but take Childe’s head in
his hands and hold him there while he fucked him hard, bottoming out in the back of his throat with
every thrust inward. Childe choked on it, gagged on it, tears streaming down his face, and Dottore
needed to see it, because making him look like that was the only thing that made him feel like that
he wasn’t being made a fool of, and that he finally had the upper hand again.

Dottore came as he was thrusting into him, and Childe did too - he had at some point taken his own
cock out and was stroking it through his orgasm, letting his cum seep between his fingers. Childe
gasped as he came, choking on Dottore’s release, and Dottore watched it shoot back out of his nose
as he struggled to regain his breath. It was satisfying, watching him come undone.

Until Childe started smiling again, even as he still coughed up semen and mucus, and the tears had
yet to dry on his cheeks. He looked up at the older man with a dreamy expression, and Dottore
realized that it was just what he had wanted. He had asked him to watch. And Dottore had, the
whole time, without even thinking about it.

Childe even had the nerve to thank him for it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

After Dottore returned from Haeresys, he had set up seven Ruin Guards for Childe.

Childe had done away with them swiftly, and afterwards had thrown himself on Dottore’s desk and
presented himself to him with legs open wide and body twitching with desire, begging to be fucked
until he couldn’t breathe anymore. But Dottore had only rendered himself breathless in the process
of trying.

The next time, Dottore did not let Childe see what he would be going up against before letting them
loose on him. It was another seven Ruin Guards, their weak spots doubly reinforced with some of
the best materials Dottore had to work with, with a Ruin Hunter thrown in for good measure.

It took Childe longer to make his way through the automatons, and it was done with slightly less
grace, but he cut through them all regardless. Childe had then pulled Dottore to the ground,
spearing himself on his cock and coming as soon as he had taken it to the hilt. The Ruin Hunter had
given him a comically small gash across the apple of his left cheek, and he swiped the blood away
with the back of his hand just to lick it off, proceeding to slot their lips together almost tenderly.
The taste of iron coated Dottore’s mouth, followed by more when he bit his own lip so hard in
frustration that he broke through the skin.

The time after that, Dottore gleefully set up a run of eleven reinforced Ruin Guards, two Ruin
Hunters that had been outfitted with deadly, ribbon-bladed lances on all four arms, and two defense
mechanisms that had been thawed out from the ruins of Dragonspine and rushed to Liyue on
Dottore’s request, specifically for this reason.
Childe decimated them all. It had taken time, and a great amount of care, but soon Dottore was
looking down at a room littered with split metal and sparking circuitry, and at the center of it was
Childe, a grin plastered across his face and a devilish look in his eyes as they met Dottore’s.

He had held Dottore up against the wall and fucked him there, and Dottore hated it. He hated how
Childe still had the energy to hold him up after all that, muttering sugary nonsense into his ear all
the while; he hated the feeling of not having his feet on the ground as was fucked, being at
Childe’s mercy as he hooked his arms behind the older man’s knees and pressed him hard against
the wall; and more than anything else, he hated how Childe knew just where to bore into him, the
place he hit hit that made Dottore’s vision tunnel, and forced guttural, punched-out sounds from
him that he couldn’t hope to hold in, nor could he ever take them back. So he just had to let them
out, trying to curse the younger man all through his own climax, only for the meaning of it to be
lost in the air before ever reaching Childe’s ears.

This wasn’t working. Dottore was not any closer to getting what he wanted, and somehow he had
managed to backslide so far that he no longer felt he had any control over Childe. Dottore nearly
considered just shutting down the entire facility after all, and washing his hands of the whole affair.
As with all of his other ventures, he was running out of time and out of resources. He didn’t know
how much longer he could repeat the same processes before going mad from it.

So eventually, he decided that the process would not repeat itself. Not this time. He simply would
not let it. He would get what he wanted, by any means necessary.

Dottore had a chance to return to Zapolyarny Palace again, and with his time, he began making
plans. The first order of business was to turn the Ruin machines he had into something he could
work with. He came up with a blueprint that was merely easy to reproduce, and would last long
enough to get the job done. The reinforcement and enhancement plans were a travesty to behold,
truthfully; they were nothing more than over-glorified glass cannons, and certainly would not have
withstood the test of time in any other situation. But what mattered was that they hit hard, and they
hit fast. And he could manufacture a lot of them.

He even personally commissioned a little something special to be delivered to the Liyue facility in
his absence, so it would be there waiting for him when he arrived. It would be coming from high
off the peaks of Dragonspine, and its transport was such a complicated matter that Dottore had
even taken care of most of the expenses from his own personal account. He didn’t really have a
choice in the matter. Manpower and influence he could abuse freely, but to have put it all on the
Fatui’s bill would have just been asking to be investigated for his suspicious behavior. If Pantalone
did not just simply drop dead on the spot from seeing such a receipt, he would have brought the
matter to the Tsaritsa’s attention immediately.

Dottore certainly could not have that. The finances didn’t matter to him anyway. He used his
money for very little else, and in the end, he would get something far more valuable in return for
his trouble.

He had to. That was all there was to it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

For once, Childe did not have to drag Dottore to bed as soon as he met him at the facility, as he so
often did. Dottore had complied to his whims easily, maybe even earnestly. He let him do
whatever he wanted, for as long as he pleased, until he had finally slumped against Dottore with a
blissful sigh. Then, it was Dottore’s turn to drag him around.

Dottore was already fully dressed before Childe had a chance to process what was happening, and
he just started half-heartedly putting his own clothes at the Third’s behest.

“Already?” Childe asked distantly, still in a floaty, euphoric daze. “We just got done. Can’t the
experiments wait?”

“There’s no need for them to.” Dottore said quickly. Childe faltered as he pulled his pants up, and
Dottore gave a sharp snap of his fingers to keep him focused. “We have work to do, and there’s no
time like the present to get it done.”

Childe frowned, searching around for his shirt on the floor of Dottore’s room. “I mean… aren’t you
tired, though?”

“Why? Are you?”

“Not that tired,” Childe responded. He sounded a little defensive, like he took the question as a
challenge, which Dottore expected he might. Dottore also knew that, for as different as their
definitions of “tired” may have been, Childe was, in fact, dog-tired. He could see it in him as his
eyelids drooped listlessly with every slow blink he made, in the way his fingers were still trembling
slightly as they fastened the buttons on his own shirt. More importantly, he ought to have been
tired, considering what Dottore had just let him do.

But Dottore, for once, did not feel tired in the slightest. There was surely a slight hitch in his step,
but aside from that, he was just itching for what was about to come next.

As if sensing this, Childe let out a breathy laugh, tinged slightly with exasperation. But he looked
mostly content, even as he begrudgingly pulled up his boots.

“You’re energetic today,” Childe said. This too hinted at exhaustion, but he beamed with a
fondness that gave his cheeks a pinkish hue. “Did something good happen while you were at the
Palace?”

Dottore tapped his fingers against his leg impatiently. “Not particularly.”

“Oh? Has your research taken a turn for the better, then?”

Dottore considered this. Then, a wide grin fell across his face. “Oh, I think it will be soon.”

Childe looked puzzled by the somewhat cryptic answer, but he was either too out of it to care or
wouldn’t have cared to begin with. Ultimately, he just smiled at him.

“I’m glad,” Childe said earnestly. “It’s nice to see you passionate about your work again. It gets
me all pumped up too.”

“Yes, yes, well… let’s not get too excited.” Dottore waved his hand dismissively. “Save it for the
machines, at the very least. Now hurry up.”

“Geez, okay. Give me a minute.”

Childe managed to put the rest of his clothes on straight, and by the time he and Dottore reached
the observation deck together, he had perked up significantly.

In order to prevent him from scoping out his best course of action beforehand, Dottore had rigged
the automatons to drop down from the conveyors at the far corner of the room, so the chamber was
empty when Childe jumped down into it, once again foregoing use of the stairs. Dottore sauntered
over to the edge of the railing, watching as Childe rolled his shoulder in its socket, limbering up for
whatever lay ahead.

Four Ruin Guards were rolled into the room, and Childe watched them with marked interest as they
dropped down. They were messy, and noticeably so. It was some of Dottore’s shoddiest work, and
in any other situation he would have sooner been struck down by the Gods then let Childe see a
design of his so sloppy, so hastily put together.

But it didn’t matter. They were designed simply to give Childe a run for his money. And they did,
for a while. They hit harder, more often, and with less distinction. Whereas Ruin Guards had been
designed by their original creators for more calculated war strategies, the things Dottore had
managed to turn them into were little more than overcharged turrets. They were meant to simply
bombard, and they did their job well for just long enough to keep Childe on his toes. He did seem
to work up a bit more of a sweat, swerving flaming projectiles from all sides, but eventually cut
down all of the units, and was soon standing in the center of the wreckage with twin Hydro blades
still clutched in both his hands.

He seemed to hesitate there for a while, eyes scanning the rest of the room, before he turned his
face back up to Dottore.

“New designs of yours?” Childe asked, laughing. The difficulty of the combat was significantly
scaled down from what he had grown used to, which is why he hesitated, why he was looking
around for what else could be lurking around the corner. But he was out of breath already. Dottore
sneered.

“They certainly are.”

“They’re… interesting,” Childe chuckled. He was smiling, but Dottore could see his eyes had not
stopped scanning the room. He also seemed a bit uneasy. He was a smart boy, after all; Dottore
had suspected he may start to suspect something early on. But his cockiness still prevailed, in the
end: “That’s not all you have, is it?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Dottore said, leaning his elbows against the guard rail and resting his chin in
his hands. “Just give it a moment. Patience is a virtue.”

As if on cue, the conveyor belt creaked back to life, slowly bringing in the next set of Ruin Guards.
Childe watched them drop down, still seeming ill at ease. Dottore watched him dispatch these units
as well, although it took a bit longer this time. And he had barely just finished before the conveyor
whirred back to life.

Childe looked back up at Dottore as the next set was slowly carted inside. He looked like he was
trying to smile, but it now only came off as a grimace. He was definitely growing suspicious of
something.

"Dottore?" Childe called, almost managing to sound upbeat. But something was beginning to strain
at his vocal chords, and his eyes had grown visibly dark even from where Dottore stood. "How
many of these are there?"

"Twenty-seven." The jolt that made Childe's eyes go wide was so delightful that Dottore felt like
swooning on the spot. Childe's eyes quickly narrowed, then, and Dottore simply continued. "I
would have loved to round it off with a nice, even number, but I simply didn't have the time. At
any rate, they should be coming through faster now, so it may be difficult for you to keep track
anyway. I hope you don't mind."

Childe's eyes were still searching, but now they were just searching Dottore. Perhaps he was
disarmed by finding nothing but a pleasant grin and relaxed posture, or perhaps he knew exactly
what he was seeing and took it as a challenge. But Childe just grinned back at him as the next set
of Ruin Guards was dropped down in front of him.

"Trying to get me to work up a sweat, huh? I'm fine with that."

"Oh, I know you are," Dottore chuckled. "That's why I actually planned a little something extra for
today's testing. Just for you, my boy."

Childe did not have time to react to this before the Ruin Guards began firing at him, and as he
started working to cut through the line of fire, Dottore let himself glance away momentarily. He
pulled out a small, silver pocket watch from the inner breast pocket of his vest, checking the time
with a smirk. He did not usually carry one on him, but it was necessary to do so today. There were
many things to keep track of, after all.

What he was doing should have required at least a dozen men to keep running smoothly, but
Dottore of course did not have the luxury of having so many hands on deck. So it had all required
very meticulous planning, a profound understanding of not only his own machines but of Childe
himself, narrowing down events to the very second they would begin and end. It was the product
of all the sleepless nights he had spent in Snezhnaya, the nights spent gnashing his teeth and
clawing at his own skin, pouring over notes and blueprints, with the only thing to break up all the
planning and seething was the occasional image of those dull, lifeless blue eyes, and the promise
that their secrets would soon be revealed to him.

He had calculated all of this, down to the second, assuring that it would take no more than a few
quick pulls of some levers before he had met Childe up on the observation deck, because that
promise was one he had made to himself. It was a promise to no longer let himself be kept in the
dark. Dottore did not often make promises, but this was one he was determined to keep.

After confirming the time, Dottore glanced over to the wide entrance on the main level of the
chamber that was behind Childe. Though looking wasn't really necessary, at that point. Dottore
could already feel a slight rumble beneath his feet before he had looked up.

Childe did not feel it, however. He could be forgiven for that, with how preoccupied he was with
the Ruin Guards, but it did earn him a nasty jolt as he was barely able to sidestep the hot, bright
beam of energy that was focused on him. He whipped around and saw it, the Ruin Grader, a
particularly pristine specimen that Dottore had spent so many resources to have plucked from those
desolate mountains, and the Third could see his nonchalant facade finally crumble before his very
eyes. But it did not crumble into fear, or hopelessness, or anything else so weak; oh, no. He was
angry.

"Dottore, you-" Childe did not have time to finish before the Ruin Grader charged at him, and
Dottore heard a growl of frustration erupt from his chest before a sound not unlike the crash of
thunder echoed through the chamber.

Childe had not utilized his Delusion until that point during any of these tests, had only used his
Vision when necessary, and seeing the electricity crackling through the air as he zipped out of the
Ruin Grader's path was an extremely gratifying thing. Childe turned his attention back to the Ruin
Guards, now facing them with new resolve as he used both his Vision and Delusion to incapacitate
them for long enough to cut through them. It was a bit ahead of schedule, Dottore noted as he
glanced back at his watch, but it didn't matter. The next batch would be rolling through in a few
seconds, and Childe was getting tired, Dottore could see it.

"Oh, Childe," Dottore called, feigning pleasantry, reveling in the way that Childe's eyes snapped
towards him, his composure from before utterly shattered. "Since you seem to have a few seconds,
I really think there's something you should know."

The conveyor belt began whirring again as the next round of Ruin Guards made their way into the
chamber. Dottore continued, "I made a slight adjustment to the Ruin Grader, as well. I'll spare you
the details and get straight to it: if you don't deal with it in a timely manner, it's set to self-destruct."

"What?" Childe barely had time to get out his disbelief before the Ruin Grader had him in its sights
again, the air humming with laser-focused energy that Childe again could barely evade. Dottore
thought that had he been standing any closer, he would have been able to smell the frayed ends of
Childe's hair burning off from being in such close proximity to the beam.

"Yes. I thought your performance might improve with a little bit of a time crunch. So I'd mind the
eye, if I were you." Dottore pointed at his own eye in a playful gesture, although he wasn't sure if
Childe was able to really see it. "Since it’s powered on, there's been a timer counting down to
detonation. And it won’t stop unless the machine itself is powered down. It's nothing too fancy,
mind you; not enough to put in a crater in Liyue, certainly, but enough to put down this facility once
and for all. Which would include the two of us, obviously."

Childe let out a choked noise that may have been the start to an actual sentence, but it was not
given time to form as the next round of Ruin Guards dropped down in the chamber.

"I gave it three minutes, just to be generous. Which would mean that now you have about," Dottore
glanced back at his watch, "two minutes to take care of the matter. But don't worry, I trust you to
handle things swiftly. There's no need for an evacuation contingency. You'll do what's needed, and
I'll be here to watch you. I know how much you enjoy it when I watch, after all."

Between the Ruin Grader and the four Ruin Guards continuously firing projectiles at him, Childe
did not have time to respond. But Dottore could see him struggling, breathing shallow and sweat
dripping down his temples, and he could see how dark his eyes still were, darting back and forth
between his targets and Dottore and desperately trying to calculate his plan of action.

The conveyor belt began whirring again, signifying the coming of the next round of Ruin Guards,
before the previous group had even been dispatched.

Dottore tittered to himself, probably not loud enough for Childe to hear through the din of the
machinery closing in around him, but the Third did wait for a break in the onslaught to continue
speaking.

"You look tense, my pet," Dottore cooed, loud enough to assure that Childe could hear every word
even as he focused on one of the Ruin Guards to disarm its defenses. "Now would be a very good
time to pull out any extra tricks you have hiding up your sleeves, now wouldn't it?"

A Ruin Guard's mechanisms were seized by pulsating Electro energy, and it went down, but the
next group had already been dropped down. Another automaton was cut down, but all the others
began to close in on him. Dottore glanced at his watch.

"Sixty seconds, Childe," Dottore called, impatience straining his voice. "It's time to figure
something out."

Childe froze where he was, but to say he froze also didn't feel entirely accurate, because in reality,
the exchange that followed only lasted a few seconds. Four seconds, to be exact. Dottore was
counting.
Childe just simply stood still as an army of war machines set their sights on him, and for those four
seconds, his eyes were only locked on Dottore. They were dark, impossibly dark now, and his lips
were pressed into a thin line. There was no fear twisting his features, no anguish or even doubt
clouding his eyes. He was not apprehensive of his own death, and neither was Dottore. It had not
even once occurred to Dottore that he might die in the midst of this, not while he set the explosives
behind the giant eye of the Ruin Grader, and not even as he counted down the seconds to the event
itself, knowing with razor-sharp precision exactly when such an event would occur. But he simply
knew it would not, and even if there had been doubt, it would have been washed away by meeting
Childe's gaze in that moment. It was not fear that had taken over him like a grim mask.

It was only disappointment.

Dottore was able to witness both Childe's Vision and Delusion flash simultaneously like twin
flares, as if they were igniting, before the light became too bright and the Third instinctively
blinked, flinching back slightly. In the milliseconds it took for his eyes to open again, it had
already happened.

Dottore was barely even conscious of how the pocket watch in his hands slipped from his fingers,
and did not hear it when it shattered into pieces on the ground below him.

Time had lost all meaning in an instant. Most things did, as his blood turned to ice in his veins and
his mind was seized by the clawing grip of disbelief. He could do nothing but stare vacantly at the
sight before him, at the lithe, towering entity that was occupying the space where Childe had just
been standing.

Dottore did not have a chance to blink a second time before it moved, impossibly fast, too fast to
track with the naked eye. The Third was not able to register the fact that it had summoned a
weapon - a dual-bladed polearm that crackled with elemental energy and something else entirely -
until after the Ruin Grader that had been in the process of charging it was suddenly sliced in two. It
was a diagonal slice across its torso, a wide berth having been made between the cut and its eye.
Dottore had not seen anything happen, but suddenly it was already over, and the top half simply
slid off of it mid-step, it's core going dark before either of its sections had even hit the ground.

It turned its attention back to the Ruin Guards, then, which now seemed such pitiable specimens in
their mindless assault. Whereas Childe had seemed so small standing amongst them, he now
surpassed them in height, and as the thought crossed his mind Dottore finally made the connection
that, yes, the thing before him was Childe, it had always been, and he let out a breath he didn't
know he had been holding in because he hadn’t been able to process the information before that
moment, because it was all too new and too overwhelming and it simply did not matter if the
perfect creature he was witnessing had once been someone or something else. But it was Childe, he
knew that now as the Eleventh cut through three Ruin Guards at once with an effortless slash of his
blade. It was Childe, but larger, faster, deadlier; inhuman.

And oh, he was so beautiful.

A numbness had seized Dottore, but all at once it was gone, his frozen blood thawing and head still
swimming but now swimming with a single thought: the thought that he was gazing at the most
perfect specimen he had ever witnessed, and that it was his, it was his Childe, and oh, he was so,
indescribably beautiful.

Dottore could only stand and stare as the rest of the Ruin Guards were dealt with, and before any
more could be dispatched from the conveyor belt - there were several more incoming, which
Dottore had forgotten, because why would a thing like that matter anymore - Childe simply tossed
his spear into the visible swath of gears and mechanisms that made it run. What metal hadn't
simply been pierced by the blade as it stuck into the wall seemed to warp around the object,
melting it all together into an anomalous, useless hunk of metal and preventing the belt from
moving any further.

And it was done. Dottore wasn’t sure how long it had taken, because time still meant nothing to
him. But all at once the strife had been dispelled, and hovering just off the ground in the center of
it all was Childe, new and unspeakably powerful.

Then, his single, mechanical eye met Dottore’s gaze with an unnatural flash of violet.

Terror was what clawed through Dottore as soon as Childe’s sights were set on him, a terror he did
not want to feel and yet could not control. It took control of his body, and he was reeling backwards
before he could stop himself, blindly retreating until he was stopped by his own desk sitting in the
center of the observation deck.

Childe was there, then. That was it - Dottore had not needed to blink for it to happen, and there had
been no transition from the moment the Eleventh had been standing in the center of the chamber to
when he was suddenly looming over Dottore. He stared down at him with that violet eye, now
made of nothing but light but still somehow lightless nonetheless.

If Dottore had not pinned himself back against his desk, he was sure his knees would have given
out at that moment. Childe was now nearly twice his size, and the otherworldly armor he wore
seemed to glitter even in what little artificial light the Liyue facility had to offer, not unlike the stars
in the sheet of constellations that trailed behind him like a cape. The mask across his face was
severe, unyielding, not betraying anything that could have been going on inside Childe’s head at
that moment.

Fear still gripped at Dottore’s chest like a vice, but there was something else, too. He was just so
beautiful. So perfect, such a breathtaking product of the Abyss unlike anything Dottore had ever
seen before. It was awe-inspiring and intimidating, and Dottore could not bring himself to move or
speak. He could only stand there frozen as Childe gazed down at him scrutinizingly, unable to
determine what sort of judgement was being made of him. It was either only seconds or countless
eons before the silence was broken, and it was Childe who did it.

“What do you want?” The voice was, somehow, unmistakably Childe, but it was also warped and
metallic sounding. It did not feel like it was coming from the physical being in front of Dottore, but
rather had been implanted in his head by it, and the act of simply hearing him speak was one that
felt so frighteningly intimate that Dottore started shaking. “Tell me.”

A million possibilities flew through Dottore’s mind all at once.

He wanted everything. He wanted to know what it felt like, even briefly, even if it was only a
fraction of what Childe was actually feeling. He wanted to know what it meant to be immaculate,
to be flawlessness personified, to be the center of everything and yet an emperor of nothing, to have
the limitless power to touch everything around you without ever having to fear being touched in
return. He wanted Childe on him, over him, in him, around him, occupying every perceivable
space Dottore had to offer him until he could even begin to understand what it all felt like. He
wanted them to grind against each other in a fitful, primal frenzy until they both whittled
themselves down to dust, until there was no distinguishing where one ended and the other began.

But Dottore could not say any of this. For a reason that was beyond his comprehension, when he
opened his mouth to speak, there were only two words that were able to escape his dry, paralyzed
throat.
“Kill me.”

Childe seemed to hesitate. But only for a moment. Then, he chuckled to himself.

It was the only warning Dottore got before he was thrown back on the desk behind him. The wind
was knocked out of him and soon he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process anything that was
happening but the fact that Childe was touching him now, and maybe that alone was why he
couldn’t find his breath. Childe had his palm spread out over his chest, pinning him down to the
desk like his fingers were a cage. He was not crushing him, and in fact was barely putting any
pressure against him at all, but Dottore had no hope of moving. He had no hope of doing anything,
not moving, not thinking, only turning into a rigid, shell-shocked husk the moment Childe had
advanced on him.

Dottore's pants were nearly ripped off of him, and Childe needed only a flick of the finger for the
Third’s mask to be tossed off to the side as well. Then, the hand wrapped around his chest began
drifting. It languidly moved down his chest, to where he had been exposed. Dottore was already
hard. He did not know how long he had been so. Dottore didn't know anything anymore, only that
the cold brush of a metal finger against his erection made his breath hitch, and that the armored
claw was soon trailing back up his stomach, under his shirt. The way it ghosted over his skin with
its razor-sharp point made him shiver. His shirt was hitched up until the tip of the claw was
peeking back up through his collar. Then, Childe jerked his wrist downward, ripping his clothing
open straight down the center, exposing him further.

Childe suddenly took a hold of Dottore's waist in his hands, curling his fingers around all of him
with ease, as if he were only holding a doll in his hands. Dottore felt so, indescribably small as his
hips were jerked upwards, forcing a yelp out of him, until only his upper back was making contact
with the desk anymore. He felt dizzy suddenly as he was manhandled and jerked around, and his
eyes briefly went out of focus.

He was able to focus back on Childe's face just in time to see him looking back at him from
between his legs, just in time to see what had appeared to be a mask split open in the center. It split
open and a set of countless, needley teeth were suddenly gleaming at him, and from between them
lolled out a thick, pointed tongue. It slithered from his mouth, impossibly long, and Dottore did not
recognize the sound of his own voice as a choked, shrill moan tumbled out of him. It was horror
that had brought it out, but arousal soon overtook it as the tongue wrapped itself around the length
of his cock. It curled around it and squeezed him lightly before withdrawing, trailing downwards
and eventually teasing at his entrance with quick, probing flicks.

Dottore could no longer control all the sounds coming out of him, as awful as they all were, and he
nearly screamed when Childe finally pushed his tongue inside. His hands, which had been
desperately clawing at the desk for some kind of purchase, so hard they left marks in the wood,
flew up to the monstrous hands holding his waist and clawed there instead. Dottore wasn't sure if it
was a desperate attempt to stop what was happening, or if he was simply trying to ground himself
to something. He couldn't do either. It was all too much, too fast, and he couldn't make sense of
anything that was happening. But his insides quivered as Childe lapped at his inner walls, inhuman
tongue ribboning and folding over itself inside him, thickly coating him with the salvia that
copiously dripped from his horrific maw. It was maddeningly invasive, and Dottore thought it
would drive him to insanity if it continued, but his cock twitched with need nonetheless.

Eventually, Childe dragged his tongue back out of him, drawing a shrill whine from Dottore as his
hips were gently lowered back down to the desk.

Dottore's eyes went wide as he felt something new pressing against his entrance, and his eyes shot
down between his legs to see that Childe had positioned himself between them.

The head of Childe's cock throbbed hotly against his hole. That part of him was inhuman now, too,
though unmistakable for what it was and what Childe intended to do with it. It was big enough to
drain all the color from Dottore's face, to unlock something primal within him that made him
struggle against Childe's hold with abject desperation, because it was surely going to kill him, it
would split him in two right there on his desk and bleed him dry in the most degrading way
imaginable.

But that was what he had asked for, wasn't it?

Dottore's body squirmed desperately against Childe’s hold, but he could not utter a single word of
protest as the Eleventh pushed his way inside.

The agony made Dottore’s vision go black and his fingertips go numb, and soon the only thing he
could process was the searing pain of being so thoroughly filled, fuller than should have ever been
possible.

And then, all at once, the pain didn’t matter. Dottore did not know if it was simply being numbed
by shock or if it was something else entirely, something that could not be explained in this world or
defined by words, but all at once, pain had become a distant, meaningless concept altogether. He
could still feel the intense pressure of his insides being intruded upon, the sensation of warm blood
trickling down from his stretched hole. But suddenly pain didn’t mean the same thing as it did only
seconds ago.

Childe started moving once he had entered Dottore as far as his body would allow, slowly, almost
tenderly at first. Dottore’s throat had been seized yet again, and he could barely even croak as it
happened. But when Childe picked up the pace, eventually burying himself down to the hilt, he
soon found his voice again.

Dottore had never come so hard or so quickly in his life. It tore through him like a missile, and his
back arched as his hands balled into fists at his sides and he came across the hands wrapped around
his stomach, just screaming through it. It was a broken, guttural bawl, pitiful enough for the noise
to break through the fog in his mind and make him feel an unspeakable shame for it. It was a sound
as grossly inhuman as Childe himself was, but with nothing to make up for it.

Childe only continued fucking him, and when the after waves of Dottore’s orgasm refused to abate,
his body persisting in its twitching and writhing with every thrust inward, the Third simply began
laughing. Dottore laughed until he was weeping, and wept until he was screaming, and screamed
until he went hoarse, and then the process began anew again. He didn’t know how many times he
orgasmed as Childe ravaged him, or if he was simply in the throes of a single, continuous one. It
didn’t matter. He didn’t want anything to matter anymore.

As if his mind was still trying to hang on to some semblance of dignity, when Childe’s thrusts grew
erratic and his cock began practically spasming within him, Dottore suddenly knew without a
doubt what was about to happen, and a dismayed sob escaped him.

“No no no no no no no no no-” It was the first actual word he had been able to form since they
started, and it pealed out of him in a repetitive, plaintive whine, one that went unheeded as Childe’s
release was pumped deep inside him. There was so much of it, too much to escape the feeling, too
much to ever forget it. It was so unbearably hot, so hot that Dottore deliriously thought he would
die from that alone, as if it was fire filling his guts and tearing him apart.

There was revulsion, then grief, and perhaps even a sense of betrayal. But then, there was nothing.
 Just nothing.

By the time Dottore regained a vague sense of his own surroundings, Childe had pulled out and
released his hold on him. In fact, the “Childe” that had just so wholly defiled him was gone
entirely. It was the other Childe now; not that one that had been so cold and steely and perfect, but
the other, the boy who felt as hot and raw as the seed that was still inside him, and who was so, so
deeply flawed. But who was Dottore to talk about flaws now? He found himself curled in a fetal
position on his desk, with Childe pressed against his back, an arm wrapped around the older man’s
waist and a hand stroking the crown of his head soothingly. He was pressing tender kisses to the
back of Dottore’s neck like he always tried to do, like nothing strange had happened at all, like he
hadn’t just torn Dottore apart from the inside out.

Dottore did not know why Childe insisted on doing it. Dottore also didn’t know why he was letting
him do it. He didn’t know how long they had been like that, how long they would stay like that, or
even if he would ever be able to pull himself off that desk again. But Dottore did know something,
at least; he knew why he was laughing, why he had been laughing since Childe had finished inside
him. It was an unhinged, gravely laugh that burned at his sore vocal chords, it was preventing him
from catching his breath and it made tears stream down his face as he lay there, cackling madly in
Childe’s arms. But he couldn’t stop. And it was because he had finally had one of his questions
answered.

Dottore knew what it was like, now. He knew what it was like to be the entity that Childe was, the
hulking monster that had encroached upon him. He had seen it. He had felt it. He had felt what it
was like to be complete, to be nothing and everything all at once. For a single, fleeting moment,
Dottore knew what it was like to feel perfect.

He wanted to feel it again.

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi

 Sacrifices
Chapter Notes

chapter cw/kink tags:

vomit, physical abuse, light orgasm denial, heavy woundplay/light guro, heavy pain
kink, bloodplay, light somnophilia(kind of?)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Dottore seemed to awaken all at once, suddenly overcome with panic and a pain that gripped him
from the inside out. Everything hurt. Every muscle and organ inside him throbbed in agony. It had
ripped him from unconsciousness with an all-encompassing jolt, and the adrenaline coursing
through him forced him to sit up straight, eyes darting around the space he occupied in a desperate
attempt to make sense of his pain.

He was in a bed. His bed; he could parse that much, at least. But he wasn't quite able to determine
where exactly it was, out of the many living spaces he had. But he knew it was somewhere familiar
to him, and he also knew that this did not offer him the sense of security it should have.

While he was still scrambling, still desperately attempting to remember how he had gotten here and
why he hurt everywhere, everywhere, he realized he was not alone. At his side was Childe. The
Eleventh looked up at him in a slight daze, as if he had just been woken up.

That was when Dottore remembered everything.

This came to him all at once, as well, just like consciousness had, and the realization hit him like a
tsunami. It ripped him apart in an instant, leaving nothing behind but mere splinters of thoughts
and emotions and a wash of nausea that rose too quickly to be swallowed down.

A hand flew to Dottore's mouth, his own hand, though he barely recognized it as such, and he
could barely even turn over before he vomited into it. The viscous bile squirted out from between
his fingers, and although he had already hunched over the edge of the bed to let it drip down onto
the floor, he held his hand there as if to keep in all in, like there was some way to take it all back
before he had to let himself spill out onto the ground. Eventually, he relented, pulling his hand from
his mouth when the acrid scent of vomit became too much to take.

He was vaguely aware that Childe had sat up during this time, but Dottore could only throw him an
occasional anxious glance behind his shoulder.

"You passed out." Childe said after a while. He sounded weary, and if Dottore had been even
slightly in his right mind, it would have sent him into an unfathomable rage. But he couldn't bring
himself to be angry. He couldn't bring himself to be anything. Dottore felt utterly numb, with the
exception of his body. His mind scrambled for some way to feel and found nothing in its efforts.
He couldn't process the audacity of Childe sounding tired, or the fact that his eyes looked even
duller than before, or that he wasn't even looking at Dottore.

Childe continued speaking, either in spite of or because of Dottore's stunned silence. "I brought you
back here. You were out for a while. It's morning."
Bizarrely, the first thought that crossed Dottore's mind was that the implication that Childe had
been present with him during this time meant that it would be the first time they had ever shared a
bed throughout the night. Their prior encounters always transpired in the light of day, and Dottore
would send him away once night had fallen. Dottore was entirely certain he had never once fallen
asleep in Childe's company, never even drifting off. He didn't know what to think of it now; the
abject mortification of the idea would not set in until later, when it would somehow feel more
violating than anything else Childe had done to him.

"You looked like you were having bad dreams while you were sleeping," Childe blurted out
suddenly. "Were you?"

How could Dottore be expected to remember that? What did it even matter? Why was Childe still
here? Why was he still talking? Dottore just wanted him to shut up. He was always talking. Always
making noise. Always intruding on Dottore's thoughts and taking them over, and what Dottore
needed now more than ever was to just think. His inability to do so felt like it was killing him,
because there was something gripping at his chest like a vice and he couldn't even assess the
source of it. He was drowning on dry land, and he just needed to think.

"What's it like?" Childe asked. "Dreaming, I mean. In your sleep. I don't remember."

What the hell could that possibly mean? What was he talking about? Oh, why wouldn't he just stop
talking?

"I don't dream anymore." Childe's voice was so devoid of emotion as he said it, Dottore finally
peered over his shoulder to look at him properly. Childe still wasn't looking at him, eyes trained
vacantly off into the distance.

Dottore couldn't even begin to process what he had just said, but hearing it and seeing him like
that, so unaffected by such an outrageous statement, made Dottore realize something.

Dottore had seen monsters. He had seen horrors beyond comprehension. He had given life to some
of those horrors himself, willingly inviting their existence into his life. He had seen men and
women twisted into fragments of what they had once been, both mentally and physically. He
watched it happen. He made it happen. But none of that compared the thing he had seen Childe
turn into.

It was wrong. It had been so profoundly, innately wrong. Dottore remembered the terror that had
initially overtaken him when that mechanical looking eye had met his gaze. It was a terror Dottore
did not think himself capable of, one that had surged from the primal depths of him and seized
control of his body. It had been pure instinct. His rational thought had ceased in that moment,
leaving him with nothing but to drive to stop looking, stop thinking, stop comprehending that thing
that had somehow been so indescribably wrong.

It was still there. Even though Childe was the same as he had known him, the same man that
Dottore had grown so accustomed to seeing, there was a wrongness emanating from him like a
thick, invisible miasma seeping out from his pores.

Childe looked over at Dottore then, meeting his gaze, and the Third froze.

"Were you dreaming about me?" Childe asked dully.

He didn't say anything more. He had a look on his face that Dottore wouldn't have been able to
read even if he wasn't still in the clutches of shock.
When Dottore found his voice again, he barely recognized it as his own. It had gone hoarse from
screaming, and all that was left was a gravelly rasp of a sentence he had not planned on saying.
They just came out on their own.

"Get out."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Weeks went by until they turned into months. And in all that time, Dottore did not once return to
Liyue.

When Dottore told Childe to leave, the Eleventh had done so immediately, wordlessly. He just got
up and left. After that, Dottore followed suit. He found fresh clothes, assured that no messes were
left behind - they were not, and he could only assume that Childe had been the one to clean
everything up - and then he powered everything down and left. He had not been back since.

Dottore barely even remembered the first few days after his return from Liyue. It was merely a blur
of fractured thoughts and a dull ache that permeated all throughout him. It was desperately trying
to appear as if nothing had changed, even though everything had. It was a retreat inwards, simply
letting muscle memory and habitual gestures get him through the days, while his mind remained
lost in the midst of dense fog with no light to be seen. If he had felt anything at all, he could not
remember what it was now. Once he emerged from the haze, however, he knew exactly what he
felt.

He was angry. Seething. Wrathful. The anger itself may have been the only thing that broke him
out of his dumbstruck trance to begin with, finally managing to grab him by the collar and shake
some sense into him.

Dottore had gotten what he wanted, but only at a cost. A cost too great to accept. Childe had not
only made a fool of him again; had violated Dottore in more ways than he could count, and the
Third was only left with more questions for his trouble. There was so much more than Dottore
didn't understand. It all went deeper than he could have possibly imagined. It haunted him
ceaselessly, day in, day out. He couldn't stop thinking, not when there was so much left
unanswered, not when he needed those answers in order to move forward, and not just in his work.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the madness that had overcome him when he had first seen it. The
terror that had seized him when it ought not have, how profoundly it had intimidated him when it
should have been no worse than the things that Dottore had created with his own two hands. But it
had chilled him to his core in an instant, and he hated that it did.

And he had felt so small. Not just because of their physical size difference; no, it went beyond that.
His very existence had felt so pathetically small compared to Childe’s, and that was no matter of
opinion. It simply was. It was a fact that could not be refuted, not even by a man who sought to
disavow the Gods themselves. He was the lesser being. The bottom of the food chain. He was the
dirt beneath that entity’s feet. But worse than the fact of his inherent inferiority was how he had
known it in the moment. But he didn't care. Childe had made him realize how small he was, had
manhandled him like a ragdoll, defiled him to his very core, hurt him in ways that he knew would
hurt the most. And Dottore just hadn't cared.

It had all been such ignorant, euphoric bliss; the pleasure, the pain, and everything in between. He
had been drunk with it. Stupid. Disgusting. And he reveled in every second of it.

He was angry because Childe had made him something so much worse than just a fool. He had
brought Dottore to the lowest point of his existence and turned him into something he couldn’t
stand. He was powerless to stop any of it, but knew that he wouldn't have done so even if he could
have. Although perhaps that statement in itself was a paradox. If he could have stopped it, there
would have been no reason for it to continue - if he could have stopped it, there would have been
no need to unravel, and he wouldn't be so stricken now with the memory of not being himself. But
it had been liberating, in a sense. He didn't have to think about himself, his work, his own body, or
anything. There had been nothing to him. He had been no more than an anomalous gap in his
stream of consciousness, a stream that so torrentially roared and boiled through him otherwise. But
all at once, it had been brought to a stop. Childe had made it stop. Dottore remembered almost
feeling at peace.

But the reality was that the encounter had been anything but peaceful. And that was the problem.
He was no longer an anomaly in his own existence. He was no longer drunk off of some other-
worldly euphoria. He was himself, severely sober, and he of course now knew that there had been
no peace. He had howled like a banshee and mewled like a whore, all but begging for it, and the
only reason he did not beg was because he lacked the diction for it. He had turned into something
even less than human, and there was no ignorant bliss remaining to keep him complacent. The
thought of it clawed at his lucid mind - like those sleek, giant claws had ripped through his clothing
like cobwebs.

Childe had seen him in a state that Dottore would have never dreamed himself capable of. But
Dottore had lived in the midst of that state. And now he had to continue living, knowing what he
had been reduced to. It all seemed unfathomably cruel to him now, that Childe had not debased
him enough to leave him in a perpetual state of senseless, wanton blathering. But he instead had left
just enough of Dottore's mind intact to ensure that the Third would be the one breaking himself
down.

Dottore hated him. Now more than ever, he wanted to exact his revenge on that boy. The problem
now, however, was that Childe now had something of substance to offer him. Although conjuring
up the memory of that thing made Dottore sick to think about, he still could not help his interest in
Childe's other form.

That entity had been absolutely teeming with Abyssal energy. Even in his borderline hysterical
state, that much had been clear to Dottore. It rivaled the intimidating auras of even the highest
ranking officers of the Order, and it certainly rivaled anything that Dottore himself had been able to
make from men alone. And just how had that come from Childe, a young man who, all things
considered, was physically and mentally unextraordinary? He was above in those regards, but the
average was still that of man. And with all that power bubbling just under the surface, he exhibited
no signs of Abyssal corruption, a force that was enough to bring even the divine to their knees. If
Dottore could just find out how it happened, it would be invaluable to his research. He had to
know. He would be a fool not to follow this trail back to the beginning.

But he didn't know what to do. He had not been back to Liyue since that day, nor could he even
entertain the thought of going back without being overcome with unrest. Every time he thought
about seeing Childe again, after all that he had done and all that he had seen, Dottore could only
imagine it driving him to madness. He didn't want to face him again. He had no idea what he
would do once he did.

Dottore knew, however, that the issue of trying to maintain his pride did not outweigh how much
he needed Childe now. He had already stripped away one layer of mystery. Childe’s secrets could
be breached. He knew this now, and if he could play his cards right, he hoped to do it again.

He supposed his pride was probably damaged beyond saving, anyway. It was not an easy thing to
swallow, but as time moved forward, Dottore found it easier to reserve himself to the fact that
perhaps it was just a sacrifice that had to be made for the greater good. What he was doing could
not be done without sacrifice, and it certainly would not be the first thing he had lost to his work.
But with any hope, it had a real chance of being the last.

A pathetic apprehension still held him back, though. So Dottore simply waited. He did not know
what he was waiting for, truthfully. Not until the day finally came that two of his subordinates
approached him in his office in Zapolyarny Palace.

After Dottore returned from Liyue, and he had recovered sufficiently enough to vaguely formulate
some plan of action, he had picked two soldiers to send off to Liyue in his absence. If they were to
be questioned by anyone, they would say they had been tasked with securing the perimeter of the
facility while its master was attending to other matters. Only they and Dottore would know what
they had actually been tasked with.

The two of them had been working under Dottore for a while before that, but he had not picked
them to monitor Childe's activity because he trusted them, per se. Most of the time, he could barely
even remember their names. They were some Snezhnayan nonsense that were too bothersome to be
remembered, something like Pyotr and Sonya - or, no, was it something closer to Olga?
Regardless, names weren't really all that important to him. And what he did know is that names
were not something these two valued, either. What they valued, above all else, was money. And
they were more than willing to obediently mind their own business for the sake of it. So Dottore
had offered them a very generous wage on top of the benefits they already received from
enlistment, in exchange for their vigilance and confidentiality. They reported back to him once
every few weeks, and thus far they had no significant news to give him. Childe had done nothing
worthy of note since Dottore had last seen him. He was simply carrying on with his duties as usual,
occasionally stirring up mild trouble within the Harbor, but nothing more than that.

Truthfully, Dottore had not even expected anything new when they reported back to him a bit
ahead of schedule. Capitano had been on a tear ordering that any unnecessary troops be withdrawn
from Liyue on the heels of Signora’s capture of the Geo Archon’s gnosis. It was meant to avoid
arousing suspicion, and to maintain diplomacy within the Harbor. Apparently the event had stirred
up a bit of a spectacle, one which Dottore knew next to nothing about. It was Signora’s business,
not his own. What she was doing did not concern Dottore, presently; the gnoses were to all be hand
delivered to the Tsaritsa herself. He had been working away from the Palace at the time anyway, so
he did not have the “pleasure” of witnessing Signora’s triumphant return. Although he suspected
Childe might have something to do with the mess, him causing messes was not unusual enough to
warrant Dottore’s attention. Nevertheless, Dottore had not recalled the two he had stationed in
Liyue, but he had expected trouble may find them. When he first saw them, he simply assumed
they had been strong-armed into withdrawing from their posts by one of Capitano’s officers. But as
it turned out, they had not been intercepted at all.

“Lord Dottore. Lord Tartaglia has breached the facility.” The agent delivered the news with his
eyes trained slightly downward, not quite looking at Dottore from where he sat in front of him. He
was experienced enough to know that direct eye contact was only liable to make the Third irritable.

Dottore could not keep his eyebrows from shooting up slightly at the announcement. He didn't
know what he was expecting out of Childe, even with all the effort it was taking to have him
monitored, but it had not been that. Dottore’s subordinates had never seen him go near the Liyue
facility even once since their assignment. Nor would Dottore have expected them to see it. What
reason would Childe have to go there, when he had no reason to believe Dottore would be there?
Especially now, when neither of them had been there in months. Dottore steepled his fingers in
front of his mouth thoughtfully, eyes narrowing.
"When?" Dottore asked.

"After Lady Signora seized the gnosis, Lord Tartaglia was recalled back to the Palace for an
audience with Her Majesty. This happened shortly after his return from Snezhnaya."

Dottore grimaced. So he probably did have something to do with the chaos in Liyue, after all, if the
Tsaritsa had called him back to the Palace. Dottore was glad he had not been there. "What did he
do?"

"We're unsure, my lord." The agent answered. "We were unable to follow. He was not alone."

"Not alone?"

"No. He was with an outlander we did not recognize. And a Snezhnayan child. We were able to
question some of his men, and they mentioned that the outlander was one he had dealings with in
the Harbor. No one seemed willing to speak of the child, though."

That was also not what Dottore had expected to hear. It was all… very strange, to say the least.

"And?" Dottore urged impatiently.

"They all left the facility," the agent continued quickly, "but not all at the same time. The outlander
and the child left after Lord Tartaglia. When Lord Tartaglia emerged first, he appeared to be
injured."

Dottore narrowed his eyes again. More oddities. He knew from experience that there was very little
remaining in the facility that had the ability to make Childe break a sweat, yet alone enough to
leave him visibly indisposed. But if it was true, this was an opportunity that Dottore would not be
likely to find again.

"Are you sure about that?" Dottore questioned. If the boy was weak, it would be wise to take
advantage of that. Dottore needed to pounce on any advantages he could find.

"Yes, my lord. And Lord Tartaglia has not been seen outside his quarters since that incident. His
men are not willing to disclose what his status is, and-"

A fit of giggles interrupted the agent as he spoke, and Dottore's gaze shot over to the mage that had
been standing silently beside him. Dottore hadn't realized she had yet to have spoken, nor had he
cared enough to realize that this was slightly out of character for her. Not until that bubbly laughter
began spilling forth from her, and Dottore noticed that the agent froze at the sound, eyes still
trained slightly downward and lips pressed into a tight line.

"The young lord's been too sick to play," the mage cooed, a giddy lilt to her voice. "What a shame,
what a shame. All broken and bent, sideways and upways, what a pity the little lord is-"

"Oksana." The agent barked suddenly, a stern warning that he looked to immediately regret. He
pursed his lips again, stiff as a board, not daring to let his eyes wander from the spot on the floor he
was currently boring holes into.

Dottore paid his outburst very little mind, however, and just studied the mage carefully.

Oksana. Yes. That was her name.

Dottore's eyes fell to her violet Delusion, pinned to her chest as if it were a brooch.
Though he was expected to monitor their effects on the soldiers that donned them, the Delusions,
of course, were not his own design. They were the Tsaritsa's, and she saw to it that they were
bestowed unto every soldier seen fit to wield them by herself personally, the Harbingers included.
Considering his involvement in their issuance, he knew frustratingly little about them aside from
what he had determined based on his own conclusions. The Tsaritsa was as cryptic as she always
was when it came to the Delusions, and all he was told was that they at least partially harnessed
Abyssal energy in order to operate. How the Tsaritsa managed this, Dottore did not know. Though
he suspected that her sordid past with both the Gods and her fellow Archons had something to do
with it.

Although it made them somewhat familiar, Dottore personally didn't care for the things. He had
his own, of course - a trinket masquerading as a Cryo Vision, no less, which Dottore found
distastefully possessive of her - and he did not fear it, but he very rarely utilized it. The very idea of
it left a sour taste in his mouth, and his creations were more than sufficient to get him out of any
scrapes he found himself in. The Delusions weren't really any more impressive than any of his
inventions; they carried with them the same benefits and, more prevalent to the present matter, the
same downfalls. The Delusions were no less likely to backfire than any other source of Abyssal
imbuement, and they were just as liable to do so with little to no warning.

Dottore looked back to the mage's face.

"Oksana." Dottore said, not calling out to her, but merely playing with the sound of it for his own
benefit, as if committing the name to memory. For once, he actually was. After that was done, he
nearly cooed at her, "Be a dear. Show me your face."

The mage's laughter was still tapering off, not quite subsiding completely, still finding humor in
some part of this situation. Still, she complied with his order. She reached up to remove her mask,
pulling the purple hood on her head down with it, and she met Dottore's scrutinizing gaze.

Her eyes couldn't quite focus on anything, and her pupils had blown out to saucers amidst pools of
green. But there was a playful glint to them, a spark that danced with the quiver of her iris. They
were not the eyes of someone whose consciousness had already been completely usurped by
Abyssal corruption.

They were not Childe's eyes, who was in Liyue now, his strange behavior almost beckoning to
Dottore to make his next move.

Dottore gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Thank you, dear. I trust you have nothing more of
note to tell me?"

The last sentence was directed at the agent, who nearly jumped out of his catatonic state at
Dottore's engagement.

"N-no, my lord," the agent said, recovering quickly. "Lord Tartaglia has sequestered himself in his
quarters since the incident. That is all."

"Hm. Very well." Dottore sighed, tapping a finger pensively against his jawline. "Neither of you
will need to return to Liyue, for the time being. I don't need any of Capitano's men sniffing around
you while tensions are high."

"Understood, my lord." The agent replied.

The mage, who had replaced her mask and hood, still tittered quietly beside him. "Yes, yes, yes,
my lord."
Dottore could see the agent wringing his hands from where they were crossed behind his back. He
still did not dare to look at either the Third or his colleague.

Oksana. Yes. That was her name.

Dottore would have to keep an eye on that one.

But for now, he had more important matters to attend to. At the very least, it could wait.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was not necessarily difficult getting into Liyue Harbor without attracting attention. The Fatui
enlisted no shortage of self-serving individuals who could easily be encouraged to look the other
way, given that their palms were sufficiently greased. There was really only one of them that had to
be dealt with using any manner of subterfuge - to Dottore's annoyance, it turned out to be that girl
that had so visibly taken offense to him at the Northland Bank all those months ago, before any of
this had even begun. She was known for being a refined, stalwart personality, the one Childe
seemed to regard as the most trusted in his retinue, and not without reason.

If it hadn't been for that, Dottore simply would have had her killed. But there was nothing messier
than disposing of someone who would be missed, and he couldn't afford to be messy. The girl was
simply led away from her usual station by other means, for at least long enough to assure that
Dottore would be able to get done what he needed to.

As for what exactly it was he needed to do, he was not sure. A sickening apprehension still claimed
him, lessened only slightly by the fact that he was likely to catch Childe off guard given his
weakened state. But nothing else sat right with Dottore; he did not know what had happened to
Childe, or how indisposed he actually was. He was also uneasy about heading straight into the
Harbor to meet with him directly. It felt desperate to Dottore, which he very well may have been,
but it could be disastrous to his plans if the fact was too apparent. But he didn't really have any
solid plans as of yet, and there was something a little satisfying about the idea of intruding on the
Eleventh's space without warning, as the boy had done to him countless times before.

Regardless, Dottore didn't have much choice. This was the best opportunity he had to catch Childe
while he was vulnerable, and he doubted the boy would seek him out on his own in such a
condition, even if he knew Dottore was in the Liyue.

Dottore could only hope that when he found him, the Eleventh was even half as vulnerable as
Dottore had been the last time they saw each other.

The soldiers that had been securing the area around the little cottage that Childe resided in were
simply not there as Dottore approached, as he had planned. It was also just outside the city limits,
so the Third did not have to worry about being spotted by the Millelith or any nosy civilians. The
cottage itself was a horribly drab little abode. The Harbingers, despite the air of unrest they carried
with them to so many in Teyvat, were typically received with offerings of the most lavish
accommodations for the sake of diplomacy, and Dottore would have expected no less from the
nation of Liyue. Though, perhaps they had offered it, and Childe simply declined anything of
excessive opulence. He did not hold much value in such things. Dottore didn’t either, but he took
what was offered to him regardless.

Dottore skulked up to the door, briefly steeling himself before placing a hand on the door handle.
He didn’t know how he would feel once he saw him again, but whatever it was, he had to make
sure that it did not show on his face. Any sign of weakness from him could be detrimental to
moving forward.
Dottore swung open the door. Nothing but a simple living space was revealed to him, devoid of
any inhabitants.

The Third was unable to process any more before a blade was pressed to his throat, one comprised
of concentrated Hydro energy. It exuded humidity as it came close to his neck, close enough for
him to feel the sharp sensation of the pressurized element start to cut into the first few layers of his
skin.

Dottore allowed himself a sharp inhale. But nothing more than that. He hadn’t known what to
expect, walking through the door, and this hadn’t necessarily been it, but he had already readied
himself to be prepared for anything that may happen. It took every fiber of his being not to flinch
backwards, and he simply stood completely still, his gaze immediately shooting to the side, where
the one wielding the blade stood.

For a split second, there was a look on Childe’s face that made Dottore realize why his name was
so feared on the battlefield. It was different from what he used to know him as, and even different
from how he saw him after their last encounter. His severe expression was ice cold, eyes sharp with
a focus so stern that it could have cut through Dottore just as easily as his Hydro blade could.

Childe had obviously not been expecting anyone. And he was prepared to deal with the matter with
deadly, swift precision if necessary. He would not have hesitated to do so.

But he had also not been expecting Dottore.

Dottore was able to see his hard stare drop instantly, brows furrowing and mouth falling open in
disbelief as a choked noise escaped him. It took his reflexes a little longer to catch up with the
realization, but when they did his arm jerked backwards, withdrawing his blade from where it was
poised at Dottore’s throat. It then disintegrated in his hand, a few stray drops of water dripping
onto the floor the only indication it had ever been there at all.

It made Dottore start to feel better about his situation. He had been apprehensive about how he
would react to seeing the boy again. The last time he had laid eyes on him, it had been with fear,
that deep, primal fear that felt so beyond control. He had never seen Childe in that light before, and
he was worried that he would still be carrying that aura with him, instilling a smothering sense of
dread into Dottore all over again.

But whether it was because Dottore really had caught the Eleventh off guard, or for some other
reason he did not yet understand, the choking miasma of doom had completely evaporated from
Childe. In fact, he looked smaller and more piteous than he ever had before. The look he was
giving Dottore now was pathetic. Childe was confused. His mind was scrambling. He was
searching for words that could not be strung together, and it so overwhelmingly frustrated him that
he looked like he might burst into tears. All of this was painted all over his face, too raw, too
candid for it to be a fabrication. Dottore could see Childe almost imperceptibly jerked forwards
slightly. He looked like he wanted to go to him.

But as quickly as all this had transpired, Childe’s expression leveled out, and he simply stood still
where he was.

“What are you doing here?” Childe asked dully. He looked like he was trying to stand up straight,
but attempting to ambush Dottore had apparently sapped him of his energy. His shoulders drooped
as if they were weighted, and he was having trouble staying steady on his feet. His slight wobble
could have been easily missed, but Dottore was watching for it, focusing in on every fractional
misstep and errant twitch of his body. He eyed the boy almost desperately, like a vulture circling
prey that had wandered just a bit too far from the rest of the herd, taking note of even the smallest
signs of weakness that were ripe for the scavenging. Dottore needed to hold onto every last detail
he could, because he was beginning to get his hopes up that he may be able to salvage his control
over Childe after all.

So Dottore did not look away even as he shut the door behind him, a harsh, stony glare set on the
boy.

“I’ve been told that you breached the facility without any prior authorization,” Dottore stated
coldly. He allowed himself to rub his own neck momentarily, wiping off a few excess beads of
moisture that had formed there from Childe’s blade. There was still the slightest throb emanating
from where it had just barely sliced into the first few layers of his skin. There was not even any
blood. He tried not to think about the fact that this was only because of how precisely Childe
wielded his weapon, and had he been any less precise - or had a reason to forgo his control
altogether - Dottore would certainly not still be standing in front of him.

Childe was taken aback by this. He either took a step back from Dottore or simply lost his balance,
wincing visibly as he did so.

“You’re here for that?” Childe asked, voice choked with disbelief. “Now? When you- I- You-”

Childe cut himself off, giving up of getting the words out, running a hand through his hair in
frustration.

Dottore simply continued glaring at him. “Yes. Would you care to tell me why you’ve done this?”

“Who cares?” Childe snapped in exasperation, getting overwhelmed again. “Do you know how
long it’s-”

“I care, boy.” Dottore interrupted. He took an experimental step towards Childe, and the Eleventh
took half a step backwards. This was going much better than Dottore had anticipated. It only had to
stay that way. His confidence was returning, so long as he did not let his mind wander far, but they
had yet to breach the subject of their last encounter. “I’m not going to ask again. Why did you go
there?”

“It doesn’t matter, where-” Childe did suddenly lose his balance then, probably because he had
gotten so heated so quickly, and his shouting died in his throat as he stumbled backwards. His hand
flew out to grab onto something, making rough contact with a small table that was near him in the
entryway, knocking a small porcelain figure off of it in the process and sending it crashing to the
ground. His other hand flew up to his own side, inhaling sharply as he pressed his palm against the
bottom of his ribcage. He managed to keep himself upright, but he still looked dreadfully unsteady
on his feet, head drooping low and teeth bared in a mixture of pain and frustration.

As satisfying as it was to see just how weak he had become, Dottore mostly felt alarmed. It was not
necessarily for Childe’s sake, however. Even before he had seen him transform, Dottore wouldn’t
have thought that there was much in the realm of Teyvat that would have the ability to reduce the
Eleventh to that kind of state. Let alone anything he could have encountered in Dottore’s research
facility, seeing as the most lethal of the machines in there had already been dispatched by the
Eleventh months before. It was simply inexplicable, and it piqued Dottore’s curiosity enough that
he could almost forget about everything else for a moment.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dottore asked, the question itself a stern demand for an answer. He
started to step forward, to see where Childe was grabbing, to see what had gotten to him, but
Childe jerked himself away and started trudging over to the bed that was sitting in the back of the
room.
“What do you care?” Childe hissed, although it may have been more from pain than anger. He
made it over to the bed and sat down on it stiffly, still holding his side. “None of you care.
Especially not you.”

The statement was just vague and confusing to Dottore, and he furrowed his brows, scowling at
him from across the room.

“What are you babbling about?” Dottore asked. Childe glared up at him.

“It’s Signora’s fault. And yours now, too.” Childe said through gritted teeth. “She took the Geo
Archon’s gnosis, but she- she didn’t tell me anything, she made me look like an idiot, and I had
to-” Childe didn’t finish this sentence, looking away suddenly. “And then those stupid machines of
yours-”

“Quiet down. You’re not making any sense.” Dottore snapped. He walked over to Childe, looming
in front of him as the boy averted his gaze almost meekly. Dottore had never seen him like this
before. He looked almost crumpled before him, hunched over himself and features scrunched
together in pain. “I can promise you I don’t care about whatever business you have with Signora.
So just answer my question. Why were you in the facility, and what happened there?”

Childe was just silent for a few beats, breathing slightly labored. Dottore gave him just long
enough to catch his breath before pushing again.

“Childe.”

“I-” Childe began, swallowing roughly, “I… had to transform.”

Dottore struggled to remain even-tempered. Even with how pathetically feeble Childe came across
as now, the mere mention of his full potential was enough to make Dottore’s stomach turn. It was
fear, anger, disgust, and awe all rolled into one sickening emotion. There was something else there
too, but it was something that Dottore dared not name.

Childe continued, “It was during the battle for the gnosis. Or… I thought it was. Signora had her
own plans. There… there was no point to any of it. It was all for nothing. I was just a pawn. That’s
all I am to any of you.”

“Get to the point,” Dottore cut in tersely. “I don’t see how anything Signora could have done to
you would be capable of leaving you like this.”

“That’s not it,” Childe argued, sounding frustrated. “She didn’t do anything to me. No one did. It
was…. That form takes a lot out of me. It’s hard to keep up, and when I change back, it’s…
exhausting.”

Dottore suddenly recalled what he had only vaguely noticed upon waking up and seeing Childe
after his transformation. He had looked tired, a fact which the Third had been unable to approach
logically up until that point. It had been such an off-hand and odd observation that Dottore had
even begun to assume that he had just imagined it. But apparently, it had been just as real as
everything else had been.

“That’s why I can’t… I shouldn’t be messing around with it,” Childe continued. “But after all that
was over, Teucer snuck onto one of the armory boats back in Snezhnaya. So he ended up here,
looking for me.”

“Who?” Dottore queried impatiently. Childe frowned, looking up at Dottore with a pathetic look
on his face.
“My little brother. I told you-” Childe interrupted himself with a scoff, eyes falling. “Whatever.
Nevermind.”

“So what, then?” Dottore followed up, crossing his arms. That would explain the child in the story,
and how unwilling Childe’s men were to breach the subject as opposed to how freely they
discussed the outlander. “Your brother stows away on one of our ships, and you decide to take him
on a sightseeing tour of my research facility?”

Childe almost looked sheepish now, trying to shift his weight around, only wincing as he
exacerbated his injury in the process. “Well, I mean… kind of.”

“Excuse me?”

“I just- It’s a long story, but I needed to keep him busy with something, and… that’s not the only
reason I had to go there, anyway. It was your fault.”

“My fault?” Dottore parroted, taking offense at the Eleventh’s sudden indignance. “How exactly
are your own ridiculous antics my fault?”

“Because you left!” Childe said, frustration straining his voice as if it were obvious. “You were
gone, and the Ruin Guards started walking around all over the place. It was drawing the Millelith’s
attention! They were going to find that place eventually, so I had to look into it. It was just… bad
timing, with Teucer showing up.”

All this made Dottore stop, and for a moment he could only blink dumbly at Childe. “Wait. They
were doing what?”

“They started wandering around on their own.” Childe glanced at him, a little bewildered at his
pause. “So I had to-”

“No.” Dottore interrupted, more to himself than Childe. He wasn’t even looking at Childe
anymore. No, that didn’t make sense.

“What?”

“No, no. That’s not possible.” Dottore asserted. This also was not really directed at Childe. “I shut
that place down before I left. Anything that was still operable was cut off from any source of
power. They wouldn’t have been able to move, let alone leave. That’s not possible.”

Childe raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, they did. It happened. I was there.”

“No, I-” Dottore started, a fog settling over his mind and swallowing up his words before he had a
chance to finish. He gritted his teeth and tried again, insisting, “I shut it down. I know I did.”

“No. You didn’t.” Childe replied. “It was all still running. So I had to take care of it.”

Dottore opened his mouth to speak again, but nothing came out. He had shut the place down before
he left. He was sure he had. He wasn’t stupid. The Ruin Guards would have been liable to wander
if left unattended for so long, that much was true, but the ones brought in for his own research
purposes could not function on their own if disconnected from the facility’s power. It was a
failsafe, mostly for convenience’s sake, to make sure none of the units would be capable of
regaining their autonomy without him being aware of it. Otherwise there would just be
uncontrollable automatons running amok all over the place. He knew this. He knew he shut it
down before he left.
But suddenly, a heavy cloak of doubt began to close in all around him, giving him a sense of
dizzying vertigo. Shutting down the facility, with the knowledge that he wouldn’t have been
returning for some time, should have been second nature to him.

But in the days after his experience with Childe’s other form, he couldn’t have even begun to
describe what his true nature was. He was a wandering husk of who he once had been. He could
barely even remember the trip back to Snezhnaya. And suddenly, he realized he couldn’t remember
powering down the facility, either.

That wasn’t good. That was dangerous. It could have easily gotten out to one of the other
Harbingers. Pierro had spies practically littered all around Teyvat, and if one of them had caught
wind that Dottore had been so careless as to leave one of his facilities unchecked for so long,
attracting the attention of the local authorities, the First would have dug deeper. It could have led to
an unpleasant investigation. And if Dottore was deemed a liability to the Fatui, his work would be
what suffered for it.

All at once, the confidence that Dottore had built up from seeing Childe in such a vulnerable state
was swept out from under him. All the things he had been actively trying not to think about were
now at the forefront of his thoughts. It was now impossible not to think about that day, and how
Childe had taken so much more from him than just his body. Dottore’s own mind could no longer
be trusted. Most days, it was the only thing the Third had left to trust. But not now. Not because of
Childe.

Childe had continued speaking in absence of any response from Dottore. “Anyway, I… ran into
some trouble in there. And I didn’t have a lot of time. I had to protect my brother. So I had to
transform again. I’ve… never done it that soon after the last one. It was too much. I pushed myself
too far, and-”

“So what?” Dottore blurted out abruptly. Apprehension had taken root in him yet again, and
suddenly he couldn’t bear to hear Childe speak anymore. The Eleventh’s pitiable demeanor had
somehow become nothing but a nasty reminder of what had happened, of everything that Childe
had made happen and all he had seen with his own two eyes, and Dottore could not stand to look at
him.

Childe looked dumbstruck by his interruption. Then, his eyebrows furrowed in anger. “So what?
What is that supposed to mean? You asked me, so I’m answering you! That’s what you wanted.”

“Why would I want this?” Dottore gestured at the boy a bit frenetically. Defensiveness rose in his
chest like a flood, and he found that his words left him with little thought ahead of the matter. He
knew he wasn’t making sense. He couldn’t stop. But he just let it happen. He would have rathered
to come off as unreasonable than as any of the other emotions that were threatening to crest within
him. “I did not ask for you to start sniveling some sob story at me like a child. I don’t care about
Signora, or your brother, or whatever it was you’ve done to yourself, and yet you’re prattling on
about it anyway.”

Childe was in disbelief, mouth floundering open. “Y-you- you literally asked me to-”

“What do you expect to get out of me? An apology?” Dottore barked out a laugh at that. “Did you
think crying to me about the situation would make me feel for you? Did you think I’d take pity on
you? Perhaps give Signora and the machines a stern slap on the wrists myself, just for your sake?
You’re pathetic.”

Childe’s gaze hardened, and he suddenly stood up to match Dottore’s level. He grimaced through
whatever pain he experienced in doing this, still clutching his side.
“Well, it’s clearly too much to ask for, but an apology would be nice,” Childe shot back, tone
venomous. “Seeing as it was your fault I had to go back there. Even if Teucer had never shown up,
I still would have had to clean up the mess you left behind.”

Dottore’s jaw clenched. “You’ve got some nerve, you little shit.”

“Why? Because I’m calling you out for your mistake? How else am I supposed to put it? You left
all of this, and you left loose ends that I had to take care of, and you-” The sentence broke off with
a loud groan, and Childe’s free hand flew up to his hair, grabbing a fistful of the ginger locks and
pulling at them in frustration. “You left me. You don’t know what it's been like. You just left.”

That was Dottore’s last straw. He could no longer reason with himself after hearing that, and
couldn't rationalize any value in dancing around the subject any longer. He was too angry. He had
been too angry for months now, with no outlet for it, and now it was all coming out at once.

“And whose fault do you think that is?!” Dottore shouted, loud enough to make Childe wince in
surprise.

Childe’s expression changed quickly, anger subsiding into an odd, nervous state that made his eyes
bounce around frantically in their sockets, desperately trying to look anywhere but at Dottore.

“I-I don’t want to talk about that.” Childe stuttered, voice warbling.

Dottore was left in disbelief at his sudden shift in tone, his demeanor, and what he said. His blood
was boiling. It felt like his vessels would all burst at any moment from the pressure of his rage, but
all he could do was laugh. It was a loud, venomous cackle, with no humor present in it, and it made
Childe flinch yet again.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Dottore parroted incredulously, hands clenched into fists at his
sides. “You don’t want to talk about it? You’ve got to be kidding me. After what you did-”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Listen to me, you fucking wretch, you insolent little bastard. Don’t you dare act like you’re the
victim in all this. You’re not allowed to dictate where this conversation goes, not after you nearly
split me in fucking two and bred me like some kind of fucking animal!”

Dottore felt nauseous as soon as the words came out. He regretted them as soon as they had,
because they were absolutely repulsive. They were too raw, too transparent. But there was no
stopping them now. He had finally let go of his pride. His sacrifice had indeed been made. And he
would be damned if he made it for no reason.

Child froze at the statement, unmoving save for his frantically wandering eyes. When he spoke, his
voice trembled so badly that he was stuttering. “Y-you…. You…. Y-”

Dottore was about to snap at him to stop yammering when Childe’s eyes suddenly ceased their
searching. His features hardened, and although he still either could not or would not raise his head
or straighten out his shoulders, his eyes finally met Dottore’s. The stare he gave him was chilling,
but it only momentarily cooled Dottore’s anger, because then the Eleventh opened his mouth.

“You wanted it.”

Dottore’s eyes went wide, but his vision tunneled with red. The rest was all reflex. He had not
consciously had the thought before it happened, but suddenly he was slapping the boy across the
face. The sound of it was enough to make Dottore’s own ears ring, so it certainly would have been
ringing in Childe’s. Dottore did not know if he had simply caught him off guard, or if he was just
weaker than the Third could have imagined, but Childe nearly crumpled once he was struck - the
Third did not think, even for all his rage, that he could have done that to the Eleventh in any other
situation. As quickly as he had hit him, Dottore’s hands shot out and grabbed Childe by the collar
before he could fall, pulling him up until their faces were nearly touching. Dottore would not give
him the liberty of crumbling just yet.

Childe looked dazed as he struggled to regain his balance, only just barely doing so. Dottore was
still holding up much of his weight by the time his eyes went back into focus. When they did, they
began to glass over with tears. His hands gripped Dottore’s wrists, and he let out a sob.

“I missed you,” Childe moaned, chest heaving and tears spilling out onto his cheeks. “I missed you
so much.”

He looked disgusting. Blubbering like that, saying the most ridiculous thing a person could
possibly say after being struck across the face.

Childe must have looked at least half as pathetic as Dottore had on that day, when the monster had
staked its claim on him, and he had simply wept in ecstasy as it defiled him beyond
comprehension.

Still holding onto Childe with one hand, Dottore brought the other up to fling his own mask off to
the side, and his lips were on Childe's before he had even let it hit the ground. Childe let out a
choked noise at the contact, instantly opening his mouth and letting Dottore do as he pleased.

Dottore was not thinking of anything as they began to desperately strip each other of their clothing,
lips locked tightly together even as Childe's sobs would not subside; he was thinking of nothing but
the drive to break this boy, to let him crumble only once Dottore allowed him to, to take all of his
weakness and crush them in the palm of his hands.

Childe's knees kept buckling, and his hands were shaking too much to successfully undo the
Third's pants, so Dottore finally let him fall. His knees hit the floor roughly, and it sent a painful
jolt through him, a guttural noise escaping him as his hand flew back up to his side. His shirt was
half hanging off of him, and Dottore could see the wrappings around his chest now, a thin line of
red breaking out against the white bandages running along the bottom of his ribcage. Dottore
simply sneered at this, undoing his pants himself and grabbing Childe by the hair to keep him
steady. Dottore pulled his cock out, and despite his apparent pain, Childe took it into his mouth
without hesitation, moaning shrilly around it. Dottore scoffed, shoving himself in deeper, thrusting
so hard that it shoved Childe’s head back against the bed, his spine bending backwards
uncomfortably from where he knelt. Fresh tears beaded at the corners of his eyes as he choked on
it, his throat spasming around Dottore’s cock and making him hiss in satisfaction. He did not relent,
keeping himself as deep as he could in this position, pinning the back of Childe’s head to the bed
by his hair.

“You have until I get tired of this to prepare yourself,” Dottore growled, meeting Childe’s eyes
sternly. “I’m not waiting any longer.”

Childe's eyes had gone wild, and for a moment Dottore wondered if he even understood what he
meant. But soon Childe was frantically pushing his pants down around his thighs. He was already
hard, and he gathered up what little precum had begun dribbling from his cock before straining to
reach between his legs. He let out a strangled whimper as he shoved his fingers inside himself.
Dottore couldn’t imagine that it was very comfortable, with how much he was already struggling in
this position, and how little he had to help ease his own fingers in. But Dottore, of course, was not
concerned with his level of comfort.
Dottore held his head still and started fucking Childe’s mouth, until long strings of drool were
hanging from the boy’s chin. His lips had taken on the slightest tinge of blue; Dottore would not
give him a chance to breathe, and he continuously choked on his own saliva whenever he did try to
take a breath. The thin line of red across the bandages on his chest had spread out a little more, and
Dottore finally pulled out of his throat. The desperate gasp inwards that Childe let out rattled him,
his chest heaving so violently that it exacerbated his injury, and every attempt to suck air into his
lungs only left him more breathless. He was nearly hyperventilating, but Dottore paid it no mind,
dragging him up onto his feet by his hair and practically throwing him on his back onto the bed.
Dottore gave him only as long as it took for the Third to finish stripping them both of their clothes,
and Childe was still wheezing by the time Dottore climbed onto the bed with him.

“Turn around. On your knees.” Dottore ordered.

Childe struggled, twitching and wincing in pain with every breath and every movement he made,
but he complied regardless. He couldn’t even get up on his hands, only barely keeping himself
steady on his elbows, but he spread his thighs and lifted his ass in the air like it was second nature,
like getting fucked took precedence over every other thing his body was trying but failing to do.
His cock twitched with desire between his legs, precum dripping onto the sheets below him.

Dottore roughly grabbed his ass cheeks and spread them apart, spreading him open and drawing a
whimper from the boy. Childe was still tight, almost too tight. But so long as it went in, it made no
difference to Dottore. He pushed himself in, slicked with Childe’s spit, which was only enough to
decently ensure his own comfort. But certainly not Childe’s.

There was resistance, but not as much as Dottore had been expecting. The boy’s wanton
desperation knew no limits, apparently. Childe groaned loudly, hands balling into fists in the
sheets.

“I missed you, I missed you, I’m sorry, I missed you so much,” Childe babbled through sharp
breaths and little cries of pain. He was already acting delirious, expression constantly torn between
agony and pleasure as Dottore started thrusting himself deeper inside his dry hole. “Fuck me, fuck
me so hard, I’m so fucking lonely, I’m sorry-”

“Shut up.” Dottore snapped.

“Ohh, it hurts, I’m sorry, you’re gonna make me come, I-”

“Don’t you fucking dare. If you come before me, I’ll make you regret it.”

Childe shuddered beneath him, letting out a dry sob as Dottore forced himself in, all the way to the
hilt. “I won’t, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I promise, I’m so fucking sorry.”

As Dottore continued thrusting and it became easier to move inside him, Childe’s cries of pain
started to taper off into more straightforward cries of pleasure. His cock was sopping wet with
precum, so hard the head had gone a deep, angry red. Driven by his own annoyance at the fact that
the little whore was simply just enjoying himself now, Dottore suddenly received a flash of cruel
inspiration. He could have simply found a way to withhold pleasure from him. But Childe had also
promised he wouldn’t come, and had so far followed through on that dutifully. He did always pride
himself on keeping his promises.

Dottore wrapped a hand around Childe's erection, and the contact alone made Childe's breath
catch. When he started to teasingly stroke his length, still moving deep inside him with a slower,
almost languid roll of his hips, Childe's entire body tensed.
Childe let out a shrill whine. “Oh... can I please come?”

Dottore swirled his thumb around the head of his cock tortuously. “No.”

“No,” Childe whimpered, shifting his weight forward as if trying to wriggle away from either
Dottore’s hand or his cock. The Third did not let him escape from either, simply snapping his hips
forward and forcing a grunt out of the boy as he pumped his cock faster. “Don’t, please, please, if
you keep doing that I’m gonna come.”

“Don’t fucking dare, boy.” Despite the order, a wicked grin fell across Dottore’s face as he
quickened his pace, reveling in how Childe clenched around him tighter and tighter with every
thrust. He knew Childe would not be able to withstand this, and he knew that setting him up for
failure would satisfy him much more than simply withholding pleasure from him.

Childe began to wail desperately, almost trying to scrambled away from him, but his body would
not let him. His thighs were quivering as Dottore offered him no mercy, and he started crying
again.

“Please I can’t hold it I can’t hold it I can’t do it-” His frantic cries broke off with a strangled shout
as he came, his release squirting onto the silk linens beneath him. Dottore stopped then,
withdrawing his hand from Childe’s cock. The boy was nearly hysterical before his orgasm had
even subsided, and he could barely keep his hips up anymore, thighs threatening to give out
completely with how violently they quaked. Dottore could barely understand him as he babbled
nonsense apologies and curses at him. He simply clicked his tongue at him.

“Always a disappointment, aren’t you?” Dottore sneered. “What am I supposed to do with a

disobedient whore like you?”

Childe groaned in frustration, still unable to regain his composure, voice hoarse and cracked as he
attempted to plead with Dottore. “I’m sorry, you made me, you made me do it I’m sorry don’t leave
don’t leave me don’t-”

Dottore licked his lips, cock twitching the more Childe sorrowfully pleaded with him, the
desperation in his voice nearly enough to make him shiver in satisfaction. Wordlessly, the Third
suddenly pressed both of his palms against the small of Childe’s back, forcing all of his weight into
them and making Childe finally collapse against the bed with a shout of surprise. He kept them
there, leaning against him so hard that he could hear Childe’s breath being forced out of him, and
he started thrusting into his hole as hard and as fast as he could.

Childe was reduced to nothing more than a grunting, screaming spectacle quickly. Dottore could
hardly understand him at all now, just barely able to make out every little “please” that he was able
to squeeze out. He was just begging, begging for something. Dottore didn’t know if he was
begging him to stop or to keep going, but it didn’t matter which it was. The point was, he was
begging, he was pathetic, he was absolutely disgusting, and it was all Dottore had been wanting to
see since the day he had been reduced to the same state.

Dottore continued like this until he simply couldn’t any longer, his energy nearly sapped, but at
that moment he noticed a deep crimson soaking into the linens next to Childe, a slick pool of blood
that spread out from underneath him.

Dottore sat back on his heels, pulling his cock out of Childe’s ass and taking his weight off his
back, but only to grab him by the shoulder and yank it towards him, forcing the boy to face him.
Childe yelped in pain, but managed to turn himself around. He even obediently spread his legs
open once he was on his back. But Dottore's attention was only focused on the wrapping around his
chest, now saturated in blood and just barely retaining their hold around him. Dottore ripped them
off the rest of the way, and the sight beneath them actually made him take pause.

The wound had been stitched up, but at that point, most of them had come undone. It was a large
gash that ran along the underside of his last rib, extending from his side all the way to the center of
his torso. From Childe's description of the incidents that had occured, Dottore had only assumed it
to be a battle wound. But it was not the clean, straight cut of a blade; it was rough, and jagged like
a set of dripping fangs. Some of the excess bits of flesh looked like pieces of a puzzle, as if Dottore
could have slotted them back together and formed a cohesive picture from it. It was not something
that had merely happened to him in battle. It looked as if something had grabbed the skin from
both sides and simply stretched it, until it had ripped him apart.

It was… fascinating.

Dottore was barely aware of his own actions as one of his hands drifted towards the wound,
stroking his thumb just under the torn skin almost tenderly. No amount of tenderness would have
been enough to keep Childe from hissing in pain, however, and his body jerked at the contact. The
gash was so deep and so open, Dottore could see the muscle underneath twitch with the movement.

Something snapped inside the Third, and he brusquely shoved his cock back into Childe's twitching
entrance. The moan the boy let out was cut short by a scream when Dottore shoved two of his
fingers into the open wound. Blood instantly began pooling around the digits as he applied pressure
to the inside, the torn flesh hot and throbbing against his skin. He moved them around slightly, and
Childe's jaw snapped shut, clenching painfully as throaty cries of agony seeped out from between
his teeth. His entire body went rigid, and his hands blindly scrambled at his sides for purchase,
finding only flimsy silk sheets. But he did not try to stop Dottore, nor did he even recoil from the
pain. He was just letting it happen.

When Dottore started fucking him again, blood started to squirt from between Childe's teeth with
every jagged exhale that Dottore forced from him; he must have bitten his tongue when his jaw
had first shut closed. He couldn't unclench his jaw, couldn't steady his breathing, but his cock was
hard again, and twitching with need. Dottore wrapped his other hand around it and started stroking
him, and Childe's back arched, his hips bucking erratically into the touch.

After a while, Childe's body relaxed itself slightly, his jaw releasing with a shrill moan of both pain
and pleasure, the two feelings indistinguishable to him now. One of his hands suddenly blindly
reached for Dottore’s hand, the one dug into his wound, and for a moment Dottore thought he
would try to pull him away. But Childe simply clutched him by the two fingers that were not
embedded into his broken flesh, squeezing his hand around his ring and pinky fingers with a needy
whimper.

He was trying to hold his hand. Dottore had his fingers shoved so deep inside the gash that he
could feel the exposed muscle spasming against his fingertips, and Childe was trying to hold his
hand.

Dottore thrust into him faster, digging his fingers deeper into the wound as if to hold him still by it,
but Childe was too far gone to react to it. Whether this was from his apparent ecstasy or simply
blood loss, Dottore did not know. It didn’t matter to him.

“I’m g-gonna fucki-ing pass out,” Childe babbled, stuttering every time Dottore bottomed out
inside him. He sounded distant, almost confused, eyes glazed over as his consciousness began to
slip from him. “I’m go-onna come…. If I c-come I’m gonna p-pass out….”

Dottore did not respond to him. He couldn’t. He was being overtaken by something, a desire so
primal that it stole his words from him, leaving him feeling like a senseless, grunting beast.

By the time he realized that something about that didn’t feel right, Childe’s body went tense
beneath him, and he came across his chest, mouth open in a scream that had no sound. Then, he
went limp.

Dottore stopped moving when he did, his senses finally returning to him. Childe really had passed
out. Blood loss had clearly been the primary culprit; the blood pooling all around him was nearly a
puddle by that point, a sickly crimson lake that stunk of iron in the center of delicate folds of fine
silk. But it was not the blood that made Dottore suddenly take pause, nor was it connected to any
concern for Childe’s well being. The boy was still alive, and would remain that way. Dottore did
not doubt this.

What made him stop was the realization of how empty he suddenly felt. Listless. Cold. He was still
hard inside Childe, but he could slowly feel his arousal slipping from him the longer he sat there.
And he didn’t feel anything else anymore, either.

He didn’t understand. He had never had a problem like this before. He still wanted to finish. He
needed to. He was desperate for completion, if only to have the sense of tying up loose ends, but he
suddenly felt so overwhelmingly empty.

Dottore had gotten what he wanted. He had wanted to feel like he had the upper hand with Childe
again. And if this wasn't having the upper hand, he didn't know what else would be. He had
brought the boy to his knees, made him beg for it, had been needlessly cruel in all the ways he
knew would hurt the most. He had control again, and more importantly, he should have had
catharsis.

So why didn't he feel any better?

Dottore brought his hand to his face in a daze. It was the one he had in Childe's wound, his fingers
still slick with blood and glistening crimson in the dim lamp light of the cottage. His apathy to
seeing it was confusing as well. It should have satisfied him. Dottore had made him bleed.

But Childe had been the one to make him bleed first.

Dottore was suddenly overtaken by an intense rush of arousal, his cock twitching back to life inside
Childe. But he pulled out. He suddenly couldn't bear to be inside of him any longer. Dottore
instead brought his blood-slicked hand behind him, craning back until he was pressing his bloody
fingers against his entrance. He pushed both of them through at once, the fingers slipping in easily,
both because of the blood and his abrupt desperation. He let out a pathetic, shrill moan at the
sensation, nearly doubling over in urgent desire. He rested his forehead against Childe's torso, but
only incidentally. It was not to seek comfort from the boy, still out cold beneath him. Dottore
closed his eyes as he wrapped his other hand around his cock, and as the acrid scent of the
Eleventh's blood filled his nostrils, he suddenly was not there anymore. He wasn't kneeling over
Childe's unconscious body, driving his own fingers into himself as deep as he could get them,
drawing ragged, needy breaths from himself.

Dottore was back at the facility. Dottore was back on his desk, underneath the other Childe, the
one that had torn his sanity to shreds in a matter of seconds.

Dottore could suddenly remember every last detail with intense clarity. He remembered the shape
of him, every movement, every breath he had taken and all the ones that Childe had taken from
him as he carved a space for himself into Dottore’s body. He remembered being stripped of
everything and somehow being made whole in the process.
 Dottore remembered feeling everything it’s purest form. He remembered what true catharsis was
really like. True pain. True pleasure.

He remembered what it felt like to be a part of true perfection.

Dottore was nearly sobbing when he finally came, his seed spilling onto Childe's unconscious
body. He writhed above him like a frantic animal in rut, moans of dismay creaking out of him as he
found his release and realized that it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough, now. Nothing
would.

He must have been losing his mind.

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi

 The Devouring Deep
Chapter Notes

hey, at least there's aftercare in this one

Also, just a heads up, next chapter might be a little delayed! I'm not sure yet, but I'm
actually in the process of moving right now so things are gonna be a little hectic and I
might not be able to get it out at the 2-week mark. Thank you in advance for
understanding! Please be patient with me!

chapter cw/kink list:

graphic gore, animal abuse(?), live predation, child abuse mention,
abduction/kidnapping mention, erotic and non-erotic asphyxiation, mind break

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Dottore did not have very long to regain his composure. His hands were still trembling as he rooted
around the cottage for supplies. While he couldn't imagine Childe going down from something as
trivial as blood loss - as illogical as it sounded - he had already lost a lot of it. Any more, and
Dottore would have an even bigger mess on his hands than the one he was currently set on
cleaning up.

The vodka was the easiest thing to find. A large bottle of the Snezhnayan Fire-Water had already
been sitting out in the small kitchen area. It was open. It seemed like Childe had already taken
quite a few generous swigs off it, but there was more than enough for Dottore's purposes. The
Third even took a mouthful of it himself before continuing his search.

While retrieving a small hunting knife, he found a humble little satchel sitting with a few of
Childe's other things, and in it was a needle and some thread. Dottore distantly found this odd. He
would have assumed that the pack had just come with the cottage, had it not been grouped together
with the rest of Childe’s belongings. It was bizzare to think about Tartaglia, the dreaded,
bloodthirsty vanguard of the Fatui Harbingers, being so mindful as to carry a sewing kit with him
on his travels. Although perhaps he only did it for moments like this.

Dottore grabbed all the spare linens he could find and went back to Childe then, and started by
shoving them up against his open wound and attempting to staunch the blood flow. Childe had still
been out cold up until that point, but the pressure made him stir. He groaned lightly. His eyes were
still closed, but one of his hands started blindly reaching for the source of his pain. It found its way
to Dottore's hands, and he loosely held one of his wrists. Dottore scrunched up his features in
annoyance, throwing the limp hand off with a flick of his wrist. He brought his hand up to Childe's
ear and snapped his fingers loudly.

"Hey. Wake up." Childe stirred again, but when it did not rouse him, Dottore followed it up with a
few firm slaps to the side of his face in quick succession. "I said wake up. If you're awake enough
to be a nuisance, you can make yourself useful."

Childe opened his eyes, but just barely. It was a mere sliver of blue through ruddy lashes, and he
couldn't seem to focus on anything, even when he looked down and saw Dottore. When he spoke,
he sounded distant.
"Wh-" Childe's voice had gone hoarse from screaming, and he quickly lost it as soon as tried to
talk.

"Wake up. Put your hands here."

"Wh…." Childe trailed off, and he raised a hand to his forehead, pressing his palm against it with a
groan. He shook it slightly, as if to clear the haze from his mind. "What... are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Dottore snapped in annoyance. "You're bleeding everywhere.
We need to take care of this. Now put your hands here."

Dottore didn't wait for Childe's reflexes to catch up with him, and simply grabbed both of his
wrists for him and pressed his hands against the bundle of rags soaking up his wound. Childe
hissed when Dottore forced him to apply pressure there, fingers twitching in protest.

"Press down. Hard." Dottore ordered.

"We should…" Childe still couldn't quite form sentences effortlessly, but when Dottore released
his wrists, his hands remained where they were, pressing the rags into his wound. "We should…
go get someone… else…."

"You're not going to get far like this," Dottore commented dully. "And how exactly are you going
to explain how you did this to yourself, sitting alone in your quarters? Don't be stupid."

Childe groaned, head rolling to the side listlessly as he bared his teeth through the pain. "You're
not even… a real doctor…."

Dottore scowled at him. "Oh, so you're awake enough to be funny, as well? Stay focused. Just hold
that there."

Childe just groaned again in response, and Dottore turned to the nightstand and grabbed the needle
and thread. He held them both in his hands, with the intention of guiding the thread through the eye
of the needle, and found his hands were still shaking. He needed to get a hold of himself.

"Did… did you come?" Childe asked suddenly, voice still floaty and distant. The abruptness and
absurdity of the question caught Dottore off guard, freezing where he sat.

"What does that matter?" Dottore muttered, trying and failing to thread the needle in his hand.

"Why… why didn't you come inside?"

"Don't ask stupid questions." Dottore watched with rising frustration as the quaking in his fingers
worsened, the thread repeatedly bending against the needle’s eye every time he attempted to push it
through.

Childe either misunderstood what he meant, or was simply going off on an incoherent tangent from
loss of blood, and he whimpered. "I'm… I'm sorry. I tried to…. I tried to be good…. You
wouldn't… let me…."

Dottore's hands would not still, and a growl of frustration escaped him. He ran his hands through
his hair, slicking it back with Childe's blood in the process, and rocked back and forth restlessly in
an attempt to center himself. He could only hope Childe was too out of sorts to notice the little
outburst, but he also didn't care enough to stop himself.

"Shut up." Dottore hissed.

"I wanted… I wanted to be good for you…." Childe heedlessly continued, now sounding like he
was on the brink of tears. "You wouldn't let me…. You wouldn't… let me…. I just wanted it to be
good…. I wanted-"

"Quiet!" Dottore whipped around to look at Childe. The Eleventh still had his hands where they
should be, still pressed against the rags staunching the blood flow, but his head still rolled off to the
side, eyes not focused at anything in particular. "You sound hysterical! Stop fucking blubbering,
for two seconds, so I can concentrate!"

Childe pursed his lips and said nothing more. Dottore turned back to his work with a grimace.

He just needed to focus. He needed something to focus on. If he didn't keep his mind busy, he
didn't know what it would wander to.

Dottore gave himself a short moment to breathe deep, until his tremors tapered off into just a few
errant twitches of his fingers, and he finally slipped the thread through the eye of the needle. He
tied it off, turning back to Childe, who was still awake, but just barely. All of his energy seemed to
be focused on holding back the flow of his own blood, his palms still pressed hard against the rags.

"Move. Let me see." Dottore swatted his hands away from their place, and peeled back the wadded
up fabric from his wound. The worst of the bleeding had ceased. It was good enough, at any rate.
Dottore used one of the rags to wipe away the worst of the mess from around the area and his
torso, specifically the grotesque, coagulating mixture of blood and semen that had pooled in the
valleys of his abdominal muscles. Then, he grabbed the bottle of vodka from the side table.

Recognition suddenly flashed through Childe's eyes, and he woke up a little more, almost
squirming away from Dottore. "Fuck… wait, give me… give me a minute…."

"No." Dottore replied curtly. "Bite down on something."

"Wh… Bite…. On what?"

"I don't care. It was just a suggestion."

"There's nothing to fucking… hold on, just give me a second-"

Dottore couldn't afford for him to get a hold of himself and start writhing around even more, so he
simply upturned the bottle of alcohol over Childe's open wound, letting just enough pour out to
cascade throughout the length of the gash. Childe's arm flew to his face, and he bit into the flesh of
his forearm with a terse, stifled scream. His whole body had gone rigid, flexing and writhing with
agony, eyes blown out wide as he jerked through the waves of pain.

When the worst was over, he unclenched his jaw, releasing his own arm. He had broken through
the skin in a few places, and there was fresh blood rouging his lips. Tears beaded at the corners of
his eyes as he bared his teeth at Dottore, groaning in frustration.

"At least let me have some of that, asshole." Childe snapped, reaching out for the bottle of vodka in
Dottore's hand. That had certainly made him snap back to some lucidity. Dottore shielded the bottle
from his grasping hands.

"Watch it. You can have it when I'm done with it." Dottore replied. Childe continued cursing and
grousing under his breath as Dottore poured more vodka over the threaded needle in his hands, as
well as the hunting knife, then over his hands themselves. Before he could do anything else, Childe
swiped the bottle from him. He propped himself up on one elbow, just enough to throw the bottle
back and guzzle down what remained. There had still been a fairly generous amount left, but he
swallowed it in one go. Dottore just glared at him as he pulled the bottle from his lips with a
grimace - seeing him throw back vodka as if it were water made the Third think the expression was
probably more from the alcohol hitting his bitten tongue than it was from the flavor.

Dottore gritted his teeth in annoyance. "Do you want gangrene?"

"I have more if you need it," Childe muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Forget it." Dottore spat. It was good enough. And Childe was sturdy, if he was anything. Now that
he seemed lucid, Dottore was half tempted to just leave him as he was, knowing that Childe had
probably gotten himself out of worse scraps than this. But now, he wasn't so much focused on
patching Childe up as he was with trying to give himself something to do. Something easy;
something that he could follow through from beginning to end while he parsed through his
scattered thoughts. "Just lie back and stay still."

Childe did, seeming to grow a little more subdued as the alcohol began to hit him, and as his
adrenaline waned. He even positioned his arm to be right where Dottore needed it, without him
having to ask; it was out of the way, but propped up in such a way as to not pull any of the skin
around his ribcage taut. He had mostly likely gotten used to the position from the first time
someone had to patch this up.

Dottore silently got to work, grateful for the momentary silence and for something to keep his
hands busy. These were not the best conditions to work in, but Dottore was no stranger to suturing
up wounds in less than ideal circumstances. It had been a while since he had to do it himself, but it
was something he could manage. It was going to be an arduous task; the wound was deep, and very
open. He would have to work in layers, only because if he didn't, there was no way the whole thing
wouldn't just pop open as soon as he was finished. Between the severity of the laceration itself and
all his previous stitches being ripped open, the whole thing was just an unsightly mess. By no
means would the end result look pretty; Dottore perhaps would have had the skill for that, but
definitely not the resources or the patience required. But it would work. What else mattered, aside
from that? He felt that Childe wouldn’t care about such shallow things either. Though, of course,
he didn't really have a choice either way.

Dottore only gave Childe the barest of glances once he started working, mostly because he was so
quiet as Dottore first drove the needle through his deep tissue, the Third had assumed he passed out
again. Most men would have, in his situation. Childe, however, was not most men - a fact that
Dottore had by then become intimately familiar with. He could not see Childe's face well, as the
Eleventh had slung his other arm over his eyes, but his jaw was clenched and shoulders tense in a
way that clearly portrayed his consciousness.

Dottore just focused back on his task, grateful for his silence. It gave him an opportunity to
remember how to use his hands for this kind of purpose, and by the time he had finished the first
few sutures, his muscle memory had returned to him. And with that, his mind was given a chance
to wander.

It had been a while since he had had to do this. The last time would have been many, many years
ago, closer to the beginning of it all. Back when there were not as many spare hands to utilize, and
less sophisticated instruments at his disposal. It would have been long before Childe, possibly even
before Pulcinella. Back during some of the first few trials of the Skirmisher units, when many of
the men who had pledged their service to their Archon were only destined to die under the knife to
a young man with wild eyes and inexperienced hands. And the time before that, it would have
been….

Dottore didn't know why his thoughts would drift to that, of all things. Perhaps it was just because
all other thoughts he could possibly conjure were at least twice as maddening in comparison. The
Third preferred not to dwell in the past for very long. But now, the present and future were also too
precarious to ponder.

Dottore did not think he had any pleasant thoughts left to think.

"It's never been this bad."

Dottore had been so consumed in his own troubles that he nearly flinched when Childe spoke, as if
he had somehow forgotten he was even there. He looked up at the boy in a bit of a daze. Childe
still had his forearm over his face, but he had brought it up just enough to peer down at Dottore.

"What?" Dottore asked, frowning.

"It's never been this bad before." Childe repeated. "Changing back. I don't know what happened."

It was then that Dottore realized that Childe was not looking at the Third, but at himself. The
Third's gaze drifted down to what he was working on, the jagged, menacing laceration outlining
the bottom of his ribcage. This seemed to be a confirmation that the wound had indeed not come
from battle; it was an effect of his transformation. The thoughts Dottore had desperately been
trying to push down now began to bubble up to the surface, and he felt his blood run cold.

He didn't want to think about that thing. If he started, he could no longer be sure of where those
thoughts would lead. But there was still intrigue; perhaps now more than ever, there was still an
intrigue that Dottore could not deny. Especially considering Childe had breached the subject
himself, Dottore knew that it would be foolish not to pursue his own curiosity. That damned
curiosity of his.

"What…." Dottore drifted off, suddenly becoming aware that he had been about to speak without
thinking. He should still be careful. Even more so now, knowing how deeply the topic would affect
him. But he was also tired of being careful. He was just tired in general. He could not stomach the
thought of feigning disinterest when it felt like all the unanswered questions were tearing him apart
from the inside out, so he relented with more transparency than he should have. "What is that
thing?"

Childe pursed his lips, and for a moment Dottore was afraid he would not respond. But after a terse
silence, he did answer.

"It's an Abyss technique." Childe said. "The Foul Legacy."

Foul Legacy. For reasons he did not understand, those words alone almost made Dottore shudder.
He fought the urge, and instead returned his focus back to Childe's stitches. He had just finished
tying off the last suture of the innermost layer of the wound, so he used the hunting knife to cut the
edges away, beginning on the next layer. He did not know what to say yet, so he said nothing,
hoping that Childe would continue on his own. He did.

"The Delusion makes it stronger. But I can do it without it." Childe paused, gritting his teeth as the
needle and thread once again were brought through his flesh, but Dottore did not think his
hesitation was entirely to blame on the pain. "I… learned it. Someone taught it to me."

Dottore tried to concentrate on the sutures, already reeling from what little he was being told. Aside
from his own personal investment in the matter - the full extent of which he still did not dare give a
name - just this information alone was enough to send his scientific mind spinning. The simplicity
of the idea that something like that had simply been passed down to him like some kind of
heirloom was dreadfully fascinating. If Dottore could understand how it worked, it would be
nothing short of a breakthrough. But it couldn't be that simple. It just didn't make sense.

"How?" Dottore asked. "Who taught you?"

Childe didn't answer at first. Then, to Dottore's dismay, he replied, "I can't tell you. I just learned."

Dottore stopped what he was doing to shoot a glare at the boy. His desperate exasperation showed,
he knew it did, but he could no longer bring himself to conceal it.

"That doesn't make any sense." Dottore snapped. "If I could just walk up to an Abyss Lector and
ask how they cast their spells, I'd have already done it by now. How were you able to learn it?"

Childe pressed his lips into a thin line. "I can't tell you. It doesn't matter, anyway."

"How would you know what matters and what doesn't?" Dottore questioned defensively.

"Because I know why you wanted to know." Childe said, sighing lightly. "And you're right. It's not
that simple. It’s complicated. Which means it's not something that could ever be recreated. Not
even by you."

Dottore ground his teeth in anger, focusing back on Childe's sutures, if only to have an excuse to
draw a painful hiss out of the boy when he roughly drove the needle through his skin.

"Why tell me anything at all if all you're going to give me is useless information?" Dottore
muttered under his breath. His hands began shaking slightly again, and entire body went rigid in an
attempt to still himself. He did not like the implication that Childe knew better than him in the
subject, and even worse, Dottore was beginning to believe that he might. But it couldn't be true. It
couldn’t be something unobtainable. It just couldn't.

Childe did not respond for a long while. Dottore continued to work in terse silence.

"I don't understand people." Childe blurted out abruptly. The statement was so sudden that Dottore
almost glanced up at him again, but he fought the urge and simply continued with the sutures.
Now, he just wanted it to be done. He didn't want to focus any more attention on anything else but
finishing this up, so he could leave. Childe just kept speaking regardless, though.

"I know how to act around them, but I don't even know why I'm doing it," Childe continued, voice
strained with both pain and emotion. "Seeing Teucer again after so long made me realize it. I
mean…. I love my family. I'd do anything to make them happy. And I know how to make them
happy. But I don't know why the things I do make them happy. I just don't get it.

"And as far as anyone else is concerned, I just… act how I think someone would act. And it works.
But it's never something I wanted for myself. When I'm out of combat, I'm just playing a role.
Nobody’s ever seen me for what I really am. I’ve never been myself. Even if I'm saying something
I would have said anyway, or doing something I already wanted to do, it's not really coming from
me. It's coming from what everyone thinks I am."

Although Dottore made his best attempts to drown out his inane ramblings, he had nothing else
better to occupy his mind, and the whole thing struck him as odd. Childe certainly did not come off
as a person who was overly eager to please the masses, not with how openly he disregarded the
opinions of his seniors, and how brazenly he refused to bend to their wills. But, no - that wasn't
what he was talking about.

Dottore remembered the inherent wrongness that had radiated off the Foul Legacy in waves, and
how it had carried over to the next day. How it had still settled over the boy, even though that’s all
he was. But the aura of a monster had still clung to him, as dark and as menacing as the Abyss
entity itself. So, was that the real Childe? Was the monster masquerading as a boy the entity that
he was concealing?

So that was it. Childe did not seek to impress those around him. He only sought to be seen as
human by them.

The implication that Childe was, by that reasoning, something far beyond human, made something
stir inside Dottore. It was excitement. Despite everything else, the fear, the doubt, the frustration,
and the overwhelming sensation of emptiness, it excited him. All he ever wanted was to have
something beyond humanity. Something he had created with his own two hands. Childe was not
the latter, but if Dottore could just understand him - understand the Foul Legacy - then it would
bring him that much closer to the end goal. This was what he had been working for nearly his
entire life. And it was simply laying there right before his eyes, prone and pliable in his hands.

Dottore could not have possibly brought himself to speak then, so overwhelmed by the urgency of
his intrigue, but thankfully, he did not have to. Childe continued on his own.

"But things are different with you." Childe said. "When I'm with you, I don't have to act like
anything anymore. You don't want what everyone else wants. You wanted me. You wanted me
when I barely even knew what ‘me’ really meant. Some day, I don’t know who I’m really
supposed to be. So… when I had to transform-"

Childe cut himself off abruptly. He was silent for so long that Dottore thought he would not finish
the sentence, nor was he eager to encourage him to do so. But when the Eleventh finally spoke
again, his voice was cracked with emotion.

"I just thought you wanted that part of me, too." Childe choked out. "I really did. And it- It really
meant a lot to me."

It made Dottore freeze, suddenly concerned that if he did not, his body would do something of its
own accord, and he did not know what it would be. It had already been uncomfortable enough
having to listen to Childe insist that he knew the Third wanted him, to impose those kinds of
feelings on him, as if he knew Dottore, as if he knew anything. It made him angry. But beyond
that, the more Childe said, the more his words instilled a cold, sickening dread within him. The
boy said that he thought Dottore had wanted the Foul Legacy. And up until less than an hour ago,
Dottore had spent the last few months vehemently assuring himself that he had not. Not in the way
that Childe had shown him it. Not like that.

But now, he didn’t know what he wanted.

"I-I was wrong about that, I guess," Childe continued unprompted, stammering. "I'm sorry. I don't
know what else to say. I just want to forget about all that. I just want everything to go back to how
it was before."

Dottore still did not answer him. He did not know how to. So he only furrowed his brow as he
finished stitching Childe up, cutting the ends of the final suture off and setting the knife and
threaded needle on the bedside table. He finally glanced back over to the Eleventh, then. Childe
was still staring at him from just under the cover of his arm.

"What are you going to do now?" Childe asked, his words coming out slow and apprehensive.

"I-" Dottore was so focused on trying to keep himself from unraveling under the strain of his
scattered thoughts that feigning complete composure was beyond him. He looked away, propping
his elbows on his knees, and let his head droop forward in exhaustion. He ran his hands through his
hair, which was already crusted and matted with dried blood. "I don't know."

"You're not leaving, are you?"

"I have to-" Dottore struggled to prioritize his situation. "I have to go back to the facility. Make
sure things are in order."

"You don't have to do that now, though," Childe protested, and he started trying to sit upright.
"You're exhausted. Please just stay here tonight."

Dottore groaned in exasperation, not even looking back at him. With no tenderness, he said, "Stay
still. I have to do it, Childe."

"Later." Childe insisted. He did not heed Dottore's warning, grunting as he propped himself up on
his hands. "I can go with you then. I can help. I still want to help you. Just don't go yet."

"I said stay still. You're not going anywhere like that."

"That's why you should wait. I'll be fine tomorrow. And I can help. Please."

"Childe-"

"I know, I know," Childe interrupted quickly, in an urgent, nonsensical coo. He let out a groan of
pain as he sat himself upright, but as soon as he was up, he brought a hand up to Dottore's cheek,
urging him to turn his head towards him. "Just wait a second. Please. Please. Please."

The feeling of his fingers on his face gave Dottore a nasty jolt, and his skin prickled in disgust. He
didn't even want to acknowledge him, let alone stay there, but the Third was afraid Childe would
throw a fit about it in his current state. Dottore did not have the energy to deal with such an
outburst. He also worried that Childe would pop open his stitches again in the process, ruining all
the work Dottore had just put into them. Dottore already felt like everything else around him was
unraveling; he could not take even a single suture coming undone on top of that. So he just let
Childe turn his head towards him, too lethargic to do anything else.

Childe's breath hitched before he pressed his lips against Dottore's. It was tender. More tender than
the Third would have ever thought him capable of. Childe's kisses had always been greedy -
whether feverish and desperate or deliberately slow and possessive, there was no masking how
profoundly he coveted the older man. But that was not what this was like. He was almost shy with
his approach. It was a surprise.

But it was by no means a pleasant surprise.

Dottore didn't know how to react to such tenderness, so he did not reciprocate. Eventually, Childe
let out a soft whine. His desperation had resurfaced, but he did not physically act on it. Instead, he
only spoke it against Dottore's stiff, unresponsive lips.

"Please. Please. Please."

Dottore finally relented to him, allowing their mouths to slot together, and allowing for Childe to
kiss him for as long as he needed to, his lips tasting of blood, vodka, and melancholy.

Dottore was too tired to do anything else.

And he relented yet again, staying the night once they had stripped the bed of it's blood-soaked
linens and thrown the few clean ones left atop the blood-soaked mattress. Childe had fallen asleep
quickly, sticking to Dottore like a wretched humidity, his torso flush with the older man's back and
an arm wrapped tightly around his waist. He had seemed to be pleased before he drifted off into
what the Third knew was a dreamless slumber.

Dottore did not sleep that night. He was not able to seek refuge from conciousness, or escape from
the scent of dried blood and sex that hung thickly in the stale air of the cottage, choking him with
every breath inwards. He did not have the luxury of an empty mind. His mind was not a void; it
was a storm. Awake or asleep, it would have been the same. It raged with thoughts that started in
the middle and ended nowhere, a delirious cycle of chaotic chatter that could not be deciphered.
There was only one conclusion he could draw from his restless thoughts, just one certainty alone to
show for his sleepless night.

He didn't know what he wanted. But it wasn't this.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore went back to the facility the next morning. He let Childe go with him. He didn't really
want to, but he didn't want to put up with the fuss the boy would have made if he had been denied.
Besides that, the fact that Dottore had not actually shut down the facility before leaving Liyue last
time, when he had been so certain that he had, still bothered him in a way he could not shake. To a
certain degree, it made him feel more secure to have Childe accompany him on the task, if only to
serve as a witness. It made Dottore sick, being distrustful enough of his own mind that he felt the
need to be chaperoned. But he didn't know what else to do.

Dottore didn't do anything but power everything down. He didn't have the energy to even see the
mess Childe had left for him, let alone clean it up. The Eleventh had quickly worked himself into a
tizzy as Dottore shut everything down, wondering aloud if Dottore was planning on leaving the
facility for good. Dottore told him he wasn't.

Truthfully, Dottore didn't know what he was going to do. He only told Childe that because he
didn't want to hear him whine about it any longer.

In an effort to uncover Childe's secrets, Dottore had been prepared to make sacrifices. He had been
prepared to sacrifice his time, his energy, and even his pride for the sake of what it could mean for
his work. He needed a breakthrough. He needed to progress. And now more than ever, Childe
seemed to be the key to everything, a veritable missing link in the chain of Dottore's research.

But the one thing Dottore did not think he could sacrifice was his mind.

He was losing control. He was losing control of his work, of Childe, and now he was even losing
control of himself. It was something that he could not deny any longer, nor could he try to pretend
that he knew how to bounce back from it. The Foul Legacy had taken something from him that
day, something Dottore couldn't put into words; it had left him an empty, confused husk, and the
more he thought about it, the more bottomless the feeling became. Every moment he spent around
Childe, he was only being hollowed out further. Dottore needed to think of the importance of his
work, but all he could do was wonder what would be left of him once he had been gutted
completely.

Dottore had told Childe he would come back, but in reality, the Third didn't know if he could bring
himself to do so.

He left right after he had concluded his business there, just barely managing to scrape the Eleventh
off his side with shallow reassurances. They were half-truths; he claimed that he would be busy at
the Palace for several weeks, that he shouldn't have even been here in the first place with how
much work he had, and that things had to be taken care of there before he could think to do
anything else. That much was true, to a point. There were a slew of new enlistees that had been
recruited ahead of the Fatui's schemes coming to a head, now that Rex Lapis's gnosis had been
seized and plans to confiscate the Raiden Shogun's gnosis were already underway. Dottore also had
to be responsible for a new series of experiments at the Tsaritsa's own behest. What she requested
was not much different than research he was already conducting at other sites, but he suspected that
she just needed these resources closer to home in the coming months, in preparation for what she
would do with the gnoses once she had acquired them all. But none of that was what drove Dottore
to leave so quickly. He was just looking for an excuse to put as much distance as he could between
him and Childe, and as fast as possible.

He just needed to think. It would do him no good to make brash decisions now. He had to try to
think about this. And he couldn't get any thinking done with Childe hanging off his arm.

Before Dottore took his leave, attempting to send the Eleventh off just outside one of the more
concealed entrances of the facility, Childe had stopped him. He looked like he wanted to touch
him, but he did not. He also still looked unconvinced by Dottore's previous attempts to assure him
he would be returning as soon as possible, which was to be expected. But he just simply stood there
for a while, just staring at him longingly, wringing his hands.

"I can fix it, if you let me," Childe finally said. "I can fix everything. I'll be better."

The statement was too vague, too sickeningly sentimental-sounding, and between those two things
Dottore could not even begin to make sense of it. But it also made his guts twist for a reason he
could not understand.

"Just go." Dottore replied dully. He was not overly malicious in his tone, nor was it domineering.
He was too tired for either of those things. At that point, it felt like he was all but begging him to
leave.

Childe pursed his lips, then opened his mouth to say something more. But whatever it was, it didn't
come out. Instead, he just leaned into him one last time and kissed him. He did not bother removing
the mask that Dottore had long since placed back on his face. He just pressed his lips to what he
could, to the very corner of Dottore's mouth that was still exposed. It was fleeting. Almost timid.

What had started as nothing more than a few uncomfortable flips of Dottore's stomach suddenly
exploded into unrestrained nausea. In any other situation, he would have written it off as revulsion,
plain and simple. But he realized now he couldn't say that with any degree of confidence. He just
didn't know. It felt like there was so little he knew now.

Childe looked like he wanted to cry as he pulled back, but he did not. He just gave Dottore a pitiful
but unyielding gaze. The Third could not meet it any longer, and looked off to the side. He could
only imagine Childe's expression when he spoke again.

"I'll wait for you."

~*~*~*~*~*~

After being back in Snezhnaya for about a week, Dottore recalled the two soldiers that he had
stationed in Liyue to keep tabs on Childe. That part of their duties was over, of course; Dottore had
no need for it any longer, even though he was still unsure of how to proceed with the issue of the
Eleventh. But what still bothered him more than anything was the fact that he had let the Liyue
facility go so dangerously unattended for so long. Things were more secure now that it had been
powered down - that much he was sure of, now that he had someone to attest to his actions.
However, he decided it would be best to have a few hands stationed there while he was mulling
over what to do with it. And seeing as it had been their cover story to begin with, it made the most
sense to send the two of them back out to discreetly monitor things.

He called them back to his office, barely looking up from his notes as they stepped in.

"I'm sending you back to Liyue," Dottore barked. "Forget about what you were doing before. I
want you on the perimeter of the facility. If you see any movement whatsoever, I expect to be the
first to hear about it."

"Understood, Lord Dottore."

Dottore looked up then, almost incidentally, but he ended up doing a double take when he finally
realized.

It had been the agent that responded, and he was expressionless as he stood before him, arms
folded behind his back and eyes trained slightly downward.

The mage was nowhere to be seen.

Dottore narrowed his eyes in annoyance.

"Would you like me to set out for Liyue immediately, my lord?" The agent asked. His voice
wavered slightly as he spoke. He was nervous. He should have been.

"Where's the girl?" Dottore asked.

The agent swallowed roughly. "Sergeant Oksana has… expired."

"I could guess that much." Dottore answered quickly. He was irritated, but not angry. Not yet. His
voice was level, probably eerily so, because although he had not raised his voice, he could see the
agent flinch slightly at his response. "That would be the only excuse for not following one of my
orders, wouldn't it? But I couldn't give a damn if that girl is dead or alive. That is not the question I
asked. So I will ask again: where is she?"

"Retrieval of the body was attempted, my lord." The agent replied swiftly, his words growing even
more unsteady. "It was- It was not possible."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Dottore snapped. "If nothing was recovered, how do you
even know she's dead? What happened?"

"She was only just… discovered. When you ordered for us." The agent explained, trepidation
straining his voice. "She had been on patrol in the mountains. When I went to inform her of the
orders, by the time I got there-"

The agent's words stuck in his throat, either out of fear or because he didn't know how to explain
himself. Dottore was running out of patience.

"Out with it." Dottore growled through gritted teeth.

"It was- we think it was her cicins, my lord," the agent finally said. "They were still in the vicinity
of the corpse, but she- it had been… picked clean. Down to the bone."
That was… certainly a new one.

Dottore was actually rendered speechless for a moment. Cicins could be dangerous in large groups,
but the mages generally did not keep more familiars than they could handle. They certainly did not
keep the amount of cicins that would be required to overpower a grown woman on their own.
Furthermore, the mages alone had complete control over their familiars. They could not have been
summoned by anyone else but a mage. Cicins were also scavenging creatures, to a degree. But for
an animal as small as that to so voraciously devour an entire human corpse, right down to the
bone? Dottore's first instinct is that she had simply starved them out. But that didn't make any
sense. She would have had to have been starving them for days, at least. Maybe even as long as the
last time Dottore had seen her. Maybe even longer. But she shouldn't have been that close to a
psychotic breakdown of that severity. Dottore had seen her. He knew how they looked before it
happened. He had seen it countless times before. He knew.

But had he missed something? Had he been so distracted the last time he saw her that the true
extent of her madness had simply gone unnoticed? A few months prior, he would have never even
entertained the thought. But now, with everything that had happened, he realized he was doubting
himself.

Though perhaps there was no reason to, even for as frighteningly legitimate of a possibility that
may have been. Though it was an easy explanation, there was another, far easier one.

Dottore had a certain reputation amongst his subordinates, one that was never spoken aloud, but
one that he knew circulated amongst them like spreading wildfire. They of course knew him to be a
man possessing passionate scientific curiosity, though he did not think most of them would
describe it as such. They considered it morbid. He only saw it as efficiency.

The Third's retinue understood all too well what would happen once their usefulness had run out. If
they became unreliable, indisposed, or simply did not meet up to Dottore's standards, he would
often be persuaded to take matters into his own hands. His research needed every warm body he
could get his hands on, after all. And those men's inadequacy was bound to get them killed sooner
or later anyway. Especially where victims of corruption were concerned, Dottore only considered it
prudent to find a proper use for them before the Abyss claimed them entirely.

He had personally put down enough assistants and soldiers under his order that all others had
quickly caught on. The news of their passing was always followed by a new abomination to set
loose in the Haeresys arena, or an experimental automaton for Dottore to quickly lose interest in.

Some of the soldiers considered it a fate worse than death.

It wouldn't have been the first time a soldier under Dottore's scrutiny had perished under
mysterious circumstances; ones that did not leave Dottore with anything he could make use of.
Some men were lost at sea during a storm that the rest of the crew insisted had raged through the
night, despite a lack of other casualties or damage to cargo. Some were burnt to ashes in fires that
had no reason to occur, and that had somehow gone unnoticed by patrolmen until it was too late.

Dottore was not an idiot, but their reasoning for doing these things was also beyond his
understanding. He was only making use of what had already proven itself useless. He was giving
them new purpose. A new meaning. At the very least, he did not consider anything he could have
done to that girl to be more grisly than incapacitating her in the mountains and letting vermin pick
the flesh from her bones.

But Dottore had no use for just bones. And his subordinates would have all been aware of this.
It was an explanation that did not offer much more solace than the other. He was not in a state to
write off his men's insolent foolishness as simply irritating. It only made him think of the rest of
his endeavors, and all the many failures he had encountered over the years. Especially over the last
few months.

He was always being left with nothing. No answers, no breakthroughs, no bodies. If they weren't
disintegrating before his very eyes, they were being taken from him before they even had the
chance to salvage anything. There was never any trace left. Nothing to show for it all.

Always nothing.

Dottore broke out of his stupor after a moment, studying the agent carefully. The man was frozen
in place, neck and shoulders visibly tense with anxiety. He still was not looking at Dottore.

He feared retaliation. That much was obvious. Dottore debated doing just that, if only to have
something. Anything, anything at all he could work with. But he had just lost one of his most
reliable subordinates; he could not afford to lose another so soon.

"Fine," Dottore groused, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. "Find someone else to go with you,
then just go. I don't care who it is. I just want eyes on the facility."

The agent's mouth floundered open for a moment, as if surprised that Dottore was dropping the
subject. But he did not hesitate long before graciously accepting the Third's apathy.

"Yes, my lord," he answered quickly, bowing his head slightly. He left Dottore's office swiftly,
leaving the Third alone with his own thoughts.

Dottore tried to focus back on his work, and found that he could not remember what he had been
doing. He racked his brain for a piece of recognition from the scattered notes littered across his
desk, and he came up with nothing.

Always nothing.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore did go back to Liyue. He, again, did not have any real plans going into it. But something
was nagging him at the back of his mind, something he could not ignore and yet also could not
dictate. Dottore had no desire to descend further into madness, but he had an inkling that simply
leaving things as they were would not be the thing to prevent it.

At the very least, he supposed he still had a few messes there to clean up. He would need to make a
decision about what to do with the site eventually. He didn't know why he was waffling in the first
place. The facility itself, and the resources within, should have meant nothing to him. But every
time he thought about decommissioning the facility, he realized he couldn't go through with it,
despite his inability to invest himself in the specimens within. But just simply letting it gather dust
forever was not an option. He would have to make a decision eventually. And if he did end up
decommissioning it, it would make it easier on him to start preparations now.

Childe was there within only an hour or two of Dottore's arrival. Dottore didn't ask how he had
found him so quickly. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to think about the possibility of a
leak in his subordinates, or that Childe may have dispatched one of his own to track his
movements, just as Dottore had done to him.

Dottore received him coldly, then simply put him to work. As long as he was there, he could clean
up his own messes.
The Ruin Guards from Childe's last foray into the facility were all curiously intact, though it was
not curious enough to hold Dottore's attention. He suspected that Childe was offering him an
explanation as he helped clear out the chamber; he was prattling on about something. But it was all
too enthusiastic, and there were too many details that Dottore cared nothing about. It was
annoying, and eventually all the sounds began to blend into one another. Dottore's distant, non-
committal grunts of response ceased after a while, and so did Childe's story softly taper off.

Then, it was onto the next mess.

Dottore had not been back to that chamber since his encounter with the Foul Legacy, when he had
frantically swept through the morning after only long enough to assure that there was no evidence
left of the grotesque connection they had made. That much, at least, had not been a fabrication of
his mind. There was nothing grisly to mop up on the observation deck; most of what was left was
the graveyard of machinery in the chamber below.

Dottore stood on the deck, leaning against the guard rail and taking in the carnage. Dottore
suddenly didn't know where to start. His mind slowly began to fog over, and he could only take in
what he was seeing at face value.

The Ruin Grader was the most intact automaton out of everything. It was still scattered across the
floor in two pieces. Sliced cleanly in half.

Childe began speaking again. Dottore only barely heard him.

"I don't know what you want to do with any of that stuff. I can try to help you move some of it, but
I don't know if we can get anywhere with the big guy on our own. Unless you just want to break it
down."

Unsalvageable. There wasn't a single thing that could be saved there. Eons of history and hours of
his own devotion. Scattered across the floor, no better than scrap metal.

"...So, what do you want to do?"

Dottore could not respond. His eyes wandered up to the conveyor mechanism in the ceiling, the
one that had dropped his sloppy, homebrewed automatons to their own doom.

"...It was weird, being in here again. Without you, I mean."

The warped wad of metal that had twisted itself around the Foul Legacy's spear was also
unsalvageable. He would have to rebuild the entire mechanism for this wing. He wouldn't be able
to do it on his own, but it wouldn't be an impossible fix. He could bring in extra engineers to get
the job done quicker-

"Before I had to bring Teucer here, I hadn't been back since the last time we saw each other."

-but what was the point? What would the point of any of it be? To better experiment with machines
he no longer held any interest in? There was no sense in that. No sense in-

"I didn't want to go back without you. It didn't feel right."

-trying to pick up pieces of a puzzle that could not ever be completed. There was too much missing
from the final picture. There was-

"I didn't have much of a choice, by the time Teucer came along. Not with everything else going on.
But I didn't like being here without you."
-nothing holding him here. There was nothing to salvage. Nothing to pique his interest. Nothing-

"This place is too special now. It feels like it's just for us."

Nothing. Always nothing.

"Are you listening to me?"

Dottore was suddenly aware that Childe had been at his side the whole time. The Eleventh let out a
gentle sigh and let his head rest against Dottore's shoulder. Dottore simply stepped away from the
railing, away from Childe, and turned around towards his desk. As he did, he felt something crunch
beneath his feet. He glanced down, and saw the silver pocket watch he had carelessly let slip from
his hands all those months ago. It was still in pieces all over the ground. Dottore kept walking.

He stopped at the front of his desk, simply staring down at the assorted loose leaves of paper and
spare parts sitting atop it.

"I really missed you."

Dottore was vaguely aware that Childe had followed him, and was still speaking. But Dottore was
only focused on the desk. The items remaining there were difficult to parse through. He didn't keep
things very organized. It didn't help matters that-

"I couldn't stop thinking about you. I don't think I ever could now."

-many of the notes that had been littered across that desk had probably been disposed of by Childe,
beyond saving after-

"I don't think I can live without you anymore."

At any rate, even if every last piece of paper that had been there before still remained on the desk,
Dottore doubted he would be able to pick up where he left off. There was nothing holding him to
it.

Childe's fingers interlocked with his own, and the boy rested his temple against his shoulder again.
Dottore could feel it. But just barely. It did very little to permeate through the haze that had settled
over him, so he did not resist it.

"We were- I think we were made for each other."

Something caught Dottore's eye suddenly. It was obscured beneath a pile of notes and mismatched
circuitry. Dottore used his free hand to brush it all off to the side.

"I wish it could be like this forever."

Jagged, staggered claw marks had been etched into the wood grain. They were his own claw
marks. He didn't know if Childe had been the one to cover them up, or if he had done it himself.
He couldn't remember. He suddenly couldn't remember anything. Nothing. Nothing but-

"Dottore."

-registering the pain of small splinters embedding themselves into his nail beds, only vaguely
registering it but registering it nonetheless, because every last sensation was too crisp and too
overwhelming to ignore and yet at the same time it was so laughably insignificant compared to-

"Dottore."
-getting fucked, he had held him down and fucked him like a wild animal in the throes of a rut, and
oh, how repulsively exhilarating it was to think of in terms like that, but that was exactly what
happened, he had carved his way through his insides without mercy, until Dottore was-

"Dottore."

-nothing.

Childe suddenly pushed himself between Dottore and his desk, knocking the Third's hand away
from the marred wood surface. Childe leaned back against it, facing Dottore. He met Dottore's
glazed-over expression with one of his own. It was glazed with something other than detachment,
however. Though at that point, Dottore's might have been too.

Childe didn’t say anything. He just started unbuttoning his own shirt, until his chest was bare. He
grabbed one of Dottore’s hands then, lifting it up to his face. Dottore did not resist. He pressed
Dottore’s palm to his own cheek and was overtaken by a sharp inhale as he closed his eyes and
nuzzled into the limp, unresponsive hand. Then, without letting the Third’s hand leave his skin
once, he guided it downwards. Down past his jawline, over the mound of his Adam’s apple, down
to his chest. He lingered there, for a moment, making Dottore’s fingertips ghost over his nipple. It
made the boy’s breath hitch as he leaned into the sensation, the pink bud quickly going erect under
Dottore’s touch. But when Dottore offered him nothing more than his lethargy, Childe brought his
hand down a little further. It was only then that Dottore finally noticed it.

The jagged scar from Childe’s old laceration was still prominent against his skin, but that’s all it
was; a scar. It looked like it had been there for months, not weeks. It looked like it had been
painted on his skin, not carved into it. It was almost seamless. It was almost beautiful. It had only
been a few weeks. It should not have been possible.

What was that boy?

Only then did Dottore’s fingers stir on their own. He could feel something else stirring inside him
as well. As he brushed his fingers across the mark, Childe let go of his hand. He slung his arms
over Dottore’s shoulders. The Third could not even look at him as the boy pulled himself in closer,
too mesmerized by the impossible scar under his fingertips. Dottore felt overwhelmed. Dizzy.
Confused. But he could still feel his arousal throbbing as Childe leaned into his ear.

“Let’s go to bed.” Childe whispered.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Childe’s nails dug into Dottore’s hips as his moans began to crescendo, the thrust of his hips
following suit as he pumped his cock inside Dottore from behind. He was already going at a
jackhammer pace, and the increase in speed nearly knocked the wind out of the Third. But it did
nothing more than that.

Childe pulled out at the last moment, and Dottore could feel hot streaks of cum painting his lower
back. It was already the second time Childe had finished. Dottore had not. He wasn’t even close.

He had wanted more. He had let Childe drag him back to his quarters, got on his hands and knees
like a desperate dog, let him open him up, let him go as fast and as hard as he pleased, because he
wanted more. And it still wasn’t enough.

Dottore panted into the rumpled sheets beneath his face, teeth gritted and eyes growing dark. Why
couldn’t it be enough? Why was this happening to him?
He only let Childe take him to bed to chase after a release. But release had only gotten further away
from him. It was driving him mad. It felt like his head was spinning. He couldn’t get a grip.

“Are you okay?” Childe asked suddenly, breathing still heavy. He brushed a hand across Dottore’s
back, wiping the cum off him. Dottore could hear him wiping it off on the sheets next to him. At
any other point in time, it would have annoyed him. But he didn’t care anymore. “You usually
would have come by now.”

Through his overexertion, Dottore could hear upset straining his voice. He could tell the Eleventh
was starting to feel self-conscious. For as much of a whore as he was, Childe had always disliked
his own needs taking precedence over Dottore’s. It always made him restless, if Dottore went
without being touched for too long. Childe wanted to reciprocate. He wanted to feel connected. He
wanted to feel desired.

It was interesting. Before this, Dottore would not have described himself as desiring Childe. Not in
that way. Not his body, or the way he fucked, or anything as straightforward as that. But he had
desired him; and he only knew that now because of the sudden absence of the feeling. There was
nothing left of Dottore’s desire for Childe as he was now.

Nothing.

“Dottore?”

Always nothing.

“Do you want to do something different?”

Something snapped.

Dottore could feel it. The sudden shift in his mind. It cleared out the fog and replaced it with
urgency, a blinding rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins and made his vision tunnel.
All at once, he was no longer consumed with his anxieties; he was high off of them.

Did he finally lose his mind? Was it only just beginning? Or had he been insane long before this?
Or perhaps the shift was not something snapping at all. Perhaps it was something falling into
place. Because Dottore suddenly knew exactly what he wanted.

Dottore would not be left with nothing ever again. He would not let another thing slip through his
fingers. Even if he was better off without it. Even if he was hollowed out in the process. He needed
something. Something.

Dottore started laughing. It was a low, throaty chortle that made his shoulders heave, made it
difficult for him to get back up on his hands and turn around to face a very concerned looking
Childe.

"Dottore?" Childe asked cautiously. His eyebrows were knit together in confusion. Sweat was still
beading at his forehead and temples, and his pale cheeks were flushed pink from activity. His eyes
were empty, bottomless, portraits of a hellish void the likes of which few had ever seen. But
Dottore had seen it.

"So, what good do you think playing coy does you?" Dottore tittered, a delirious lilt teasing his
words. "Especially after everything you've done? Everything I've seen? Do you think I still believe
any of it? Or does it just make things more fun for you?"

Childe's confusion did not abate. He could not even wipe the sweat from his brow as it dripped
down and pooled against his lashes, only blinking it away rapidly as he shrunk back slightly.

"Wh-what?"

The dumbstruck look on his face made Dottore's laughter cease and his jaw clench in anger. The
game was over, and still Childe would not show his cards.

"Then tell me this: what did you think you were doing that day?" Dottore droned, his voice coming
out eerily level to his own ears despite the rage starting to boil away inside him. "What did you
think you were doing? Surely, you couldn't have thought it would mean nothing. You couldn't
have thought that nothing would come of it. You're not stupid, Childe. I know you're not."

"What-" Childe shrunk back further, the same infuriating, clueless expression twisting his features.
"What are you talking abou-"

"Don't you fucking give me that, you little bastard!" Dottore barked, making Childe flinch. He had
been sitting on his heels, and was now sliding so far back on his palms that his ass was planted on
the bed. He was practically scrambling backwards now, looking like prey being driven into a
corner, like he feared Dottore. As if something like him could ever fear anything. It was so
patronizing, it was unforgivable.

"I-I don't-"

"The Foul Legacy, Childe!" Dottore hissed, spittle flying out from between his bared teeth. He got
on his hands and knees and started chasing after Childe, at which point the boy suddenly froze.
"What the fuck did you think would happen when it bent me over backwards at my own desk and
fucked me within an inch of my life? Did you just think it would be romantic? Did you think we
would just forget the whole thing ever happened? Did you think I could forget it?"

Childe's eyes began to glass over with tears. Yet another insult to Dottore's pride. As if it hadn't
already been long since torn to shreds.

"I-I didn't-" Childe was stuttering so badly that every sentence he began simply tapered off with a
shuddering breath. "I w-wasn't- Y-you didn't- You didn't l-let me-"

Dottore could only let it go on for so long before a snarl of disdain left him.

"I don't believe that you're that fucking stupid. I really don't." Dottore growled. Then, a malicious
smirk broke out across his face, toothy and wild, and he snickered. "But if you want to play the
ditzy whore a little longer, I'll tell you this much: I can't fucking stand to look at you like this any
longer. I've had my fill of having my ego stroked by the broken little boy you play so well. You
have nothing to offer me like this anymore. I would sooner burn this place to the ground with us
both inside it than let it go on for a second longer. I need more, Childe. I need what you really are."

Realization did not hit Childe straight away, his eyes still lost and terrified as tears began to bead at
the corners of his eyes. But by the time they spilled over, he had caught on. His eyebrows
furrowed, and he suddenly sat up a little straighter. He was angry. Good. Just that was enough to
send a rush through Dottore, a shiver down his spine that stirred up his arousal, more than anything
else they had done in that bed so far.

"You want that?" Childe croaked in disbelief. "Is that what this is about? Everything you put me
through the last few months, and now you're saying you want it now?"

"Why else would I still be here?!" Dottore shouted. His sudden transparency was a surprise even to
himself, and he started laughing again. He felt hysterical. But yes, he did want it. He wanted it
more than he wanted anything in his life. He wanted all of it. “Haha… you little bastard. I never
should have gotten involved with you. But I need it. Hahaha, I need it. I need it for the sake of my
work, for the sake of my sanity, for-”

“Your sanity?!” Childe interrupted. He started laughing too, then, the sound coming out as half-
sobs as tears continued to spill out over his ruddy lashes. He ran a hand through his hair, grabbing a
fistful of it, eyes unfocused as his chest heaved with disbelieving laughter. “I hate to break it to
you, but I think you don’t have to worry about that anymore. This is crazy. This is crazy. You’re
fucking crazy. First you want it, then you don’t, then you do again, and I- I’m not doing that. You
can’t even make up your mind about it. I can’t do that again. You’re acting crazy.”

“Hahaha, why are you so surprised? What did you think would happen? What the fuck did you
think-”

“I wasn’t thinking!” Childe snapped, pulling at his own hair in frustration. “You didn’t give me
time to think! I can’t believe you’re trying to blame all this on me when you’re the one-” A sob
tore from his chest before he could continue. “You did this. I can’t believe you. You tried to kill
me. You were going to kill both of us. I didn’t have a choice. You almost killed both of us, and I
forgave you, and now you’re-”

“But you didn’t die!” Dottore cut in. “I knew you wouldn’t! And you didn’t! Do you expect me to
feel bad for something that never happened? Something I was right about? Haha, don’t act like a
child!”

Childe practically moaned, shutting his eyes tightly as if to block out the entire scene from his
vision. “You’re insane. You’re fucking insane.”

“Oh, stop whining!” Dottore sneered. His laughter had finally tapered off to almost nothing, and in
its place came a severe coldness, one that darkened his eyes and lowered his voice. “Don’t act
innocent. Not now. As if you didn’t know what you were getting into from the beginning.”

“You-”

“You like to think you're better than everyone else, don’t you?” Dottore continued. “You look
down on all of us. I know you do. You can’t stand the others. You’ve always been this way. So
what must you really think of me, I wonder?”

“Th-that’s not…. You’re-”

“You do know what I do in Haeresys, for example, don’t you?” Dottore goaded, smirking. “I trust
you’re familiar with the full extent of my work there? I think you must. You’re not stupid. Oh, no,
you’re definitely not stupid.”

Childe did not respond. Suddenly, he was frozen again. Dottore had struck a nerve.

“So you do know what happens there! Good boy, paying attention so well!” Dottore sneered
sarcastically. “It happens everywhere, mind you. But Haeresys is by far the most interesting site.
Did you know that many of our constituents enjoy watching the testing in the arena? They treat it
like a proper outing. Like an opera. They dress up for it. They laugh.”

“I don’t want to hear anymore.” Childe’s voice was strained with something. Despair? Anger?
Dottore couldn’t tell.

“You seem to be fond of children, aren’t you?” Dottore cooed, his words sickly sweet. “I am too,
you know. They’re so interesting. They suck up information like sponges. Among other things.
They make the best subjects, for that reason. They’re so untouched. Most adults you infuse with
that much celestial essence simply corrupt within seconds. But not the children. They can take so
much more. And when you throw a few of them together in the arena-”

“Stop!” Childe blurted out suddenly. “Stop! You- You don’t mean that. That’s not what it’s like. I
know it’s not. You’re just… acting crazy right now.”

“Oh? But it’s all true. If you want, I could show you-”

“It’s not- It’s not like that. I know what happens there. But it’s not like that. It’s not needlessly
cruel. Her Majesty wouldn’t allow it. You just do what you have to. We all do. We’re only doing-”

Dottore scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes. “Her Majesty wouldn’t allow it? Please. She’s allowed
this and much worse. But is that what you always tell yourself? That we’re just doing what we have
to do? That’s so fucking pathetic, it makes me sick to my stomach. You should know better than
that, Childe.”

“Know better than what?” Childe snapped.

Dottore did not answer him directly. But he started snickering again. "Is that what you tell yourself,
though, really? Is that how you look down on all of us? Is that how you rationalize it? Is that what
makes you think you're better than everyone else? Oh, please! You're just as crooked as any of us!"

"I'm not like you." Childe said quickly, glaring right at him. It was clear he was referring to
Dottore specifically, and not the Harbingers as a whole. He was making it personal. Dottore met
his hard gaze.

"Oh, I know you're not. You're much worse. You’re so fucking twisted, you don’t even realize it,
boy. I heard about that little stunt you pulled at the Harbor. What if things hadn't gone according to
your plan? What's so honorable about leveling a defenseless, godless city?"

Childe's steely expression faltered. "That wasn't- Rex Lapis wouldn't have let-"

"Oh, is that example not prudent enough for you?" Dottore interrupted. "How about something
closer to home? How when you brought that boy of yours into this facility of your own will? A
facility full to bursting with mindless, rampaging war machines? And for what? Just for a fun romp
through the line of fire? If that's not insanity, I don't know what is!"

Childe's eyes grew wide and began darting wildly from side to side. "Th-that's not…."

"Not what?"

"I told you. I told you-" Childe sobbed. "I hadn't been back there since you left. I didn't go back, I
swear. It had been months. I-I didn't know what was in there. I had no way of knowing if Teucer
would be-"

"You knew exactly what was in there!" Dottore roared, exasperated beyond belief. "Don't give me
that! You knew better than anyone what was in there! So what if that hadn't gone to plan? Would
you have blamed me for that as well? If you had led that child into death, would it have been my
fault?"

"That- No, that- I wouldn't-" Childe was scrambling. He looked hysterical, both hands now pulling
at his own hair, eyes frantic and unfocused as he desperately tried to form a full sentence. "I
wouldn't let- Shut- Shut up. That wouldn't have- I never would-"
"Face it, Childe. If you think I'm insane, then so are you." Dottore cackled. He started crawling
towards Childe again, heart racing and adrenaline coursing through him. Childe was close to
breaking. He could feel it. He could feel the impending sense of doom laying thick in the air, he
could taste it. A mad titter escaped him as he advanced on Childe. "Oh, maybe you were right after
all. Maybe we were made for each other. We're so alike, aren't we? But at least I don't pretend to be
something I'm not. At least I wouldn't be so delusional as to lead someone I loved straight to their
own demise."

"Shut up."

"You do say you love them, right? Look at me. Fucking look at me." Dottore was practically
straddling him now, and he wrenched Childe's hands away from his face. Childe wasn't putting up
a fight. But he still was looking everywhere but at Dottore.

"Stop. Shut up."

"You do love them, don't you?" Dottore repeated. "How many of them are there, again? Five? Six?
Oh, haha, I bet you thought I never listened, all those times you prattled on about family. But it
was five, wasn't it?"

"Stop, stop, please stop, I don't want-"

"I told you to fucking look at me!" Dottore grabbed a fistful of Childe's hair, yanking his head up,
bringing their faces close, so close that Childe would have nothing to look at but the Third. "Oh,
and most of them are young, aren't they? Aren't they?"

Childe only sobbed in response. Words seemed to be beyond him now. He still looked so
frustratingly meek, sitting in front of him.

But his eyes hadn't changed. Not one bit. They still spiraled infinitely into oblivion. Dottore wanted
it. All of it. He would chase after that oblivion for an eternity if he had to.

Dottore licked his lips, breathing heavily against Childe's face, watching his own saliva hit the
boy's cheek as a delirious bark of a laugh escaped him.

"Just you wait. I'm going to pluck every last one of those little shits off the street myself. And I'm
going to make you watch what I do to them. Face it. They’d probably have a better shot with me
than they ever had with you."

Childe stopped crying. For a split second, his eyes widened. Dottore couldn't place what he saw
there. It wasn’t anger. But was it shock? Fear? Something else entirely?

The Third would never know the answer to that, because suddenly he was being shoved
backwards. It was so abrupt and done with such force that he couldn't even register where he had
been pushed, only able to gasp outwards as it knocked the wind out of him. He tried to breathe in,
and realized he could not.

Childe's hands were wrapped around his neck, and when his eyes came back into focus, the
Eleventh bore an expression that he had never seen him wear. His brows were furrowed steadily as
he locked his red, sopping eyes on Dottore. His lips were pressed into a line, tight and concentrated
as he focused his grip on the Third’s neck, most of the force coming from where his thumbs
pressed down on his trachea with deadly, calculated precision. Aside from the remnants of tears
that had all at once ceased falling, there was nothing left of the weepy, victimized boy that had just
been sitting in front of Dottore. Not a muscle on his face twitched out of place. It was like he was
made of stone, unmovable, unyielding, unemotional.

It was beyond anger. It was beyond darkness. It was beyond anything Dottore had ever seen. It
instilled a fear in him that could not be described. It was more terror than one human should have
been capable of eliciting out of another. But Childe was beyond human, just as his expression was.

Dottore’s body responded on its own, trying to flail out of Childe’s grasp, hands flying up to those
wrapped around his neck and clawing at them. Dottore was not a weak man, but his efforts were
futile. Childe had him on his back within seconds, and though Dottore’s nails raked lines of red
down his knuckles until blood bloomed from them and began to drip down onto his neck, the
Eleventh did not relent.

He wasn’t toying around with it. Dottore could not even wheeze for air as he bore down on his
throat even harder. Dottore thought that if the asphyxiation did not kill him, Childe would soon be
close to snapping his neck with as much force as he was exerting. The pressure was indescribable.
The pain was indescribable. Dottore blacked out.

It was only for a moment, though, or so he had to assume, his vision flashing white as his lungs
suddenly pulled deep for oxygen. It wasn’t much, nowhere near enough, but it was at least enough
to help him shift back in consciousness. When his vision returned to him somewhat, he realized
that one of Childe’s hands had left his neck. The other was still strangling him, holding him down
by the throat, and how weak it felt to be left at the mercy of that one appendage, to still be so close
to death while Childe might as well have had one arm tied behind his back. But that’s not where it
was.

Dottore realized his expression had changed again. It was still dull and emotionless, but there was a
vacancy there as well now. The unspoken intensity that had filled Dottore with terror was gone.
Now, he just looked distracted. Distant. Like the walking dead.

What did that remind Dottore of?

Dottore could not piece together his oxygen-deprived thoughts before a different sensation grabbed
his attention. It was also pressure, but not near as much as the pressure on his neck that was
making his head pound and his thoughts scatter in all directions.

Childe was pushing himself through Dottore’s entrance. His cock was going inside. He was
fucking him. When the fuck had that little fucking degenerate gotten hard again, anyway? Had he
been during their fight? Was it just from this? Was it watching the life slowly fade from Dottore’s
eyes that did it? The resolve seeping out of his bones? Ha. "I'm not like you," he had said. Not too
long ago. Or perhaps longer. Dottore could no longer make sense of time.

They really were so alike.

Dottore wanted to laugh, so he did. It was a gargled exhale outward, nothing more than the barest
of wheezes that sent strings of spittle flying from his mouth. It was a waste of a breath, because as
soon as Childe had buried himself back inside, his other hand rejoined the first. He wasn't bearing
down with quite as much resolve as before, his grip feeling distant like his face was, but it was
enough. Dottore knew it was.

Dottore knew that Childe was about to kill him. It was sending panic through him, but somehow
the panic felt dull. His hands still scrambled at his neck, scratching until Childe's hands and his
own skin were slick with each other's blood, intermixing, dripping down in warm tracks and onto
the sheets beneath him. He was acutely aware of being fucked, of the violent snap of Childe's hips
as he dragged his cock in and out, in and out, and he was also very aware that somehow, someway,
the sensation was still making his own cock twitch with need. His head felt like it was about to
explode, and the few ragged wheezes he was able to take in did not offer his seizing lungs any
relief. Every small gasp felt like knives being forced down his throat, and when Childe's grip
tightened and restricted his airflow completely, he was almost grateful for it.

Dottore's vision started to tunnel, and soon even the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin
faded into nothing. His senses were going. He was going.

Dottore was only vaguely aware of Childe leaning in closer to him. Dottore couldn't focus on any
of his features, even once their faces were almost touching. Then, Childe kissed him. He kissed
him on the lips, open and blue-tinged and spackled with saliva, kissed him so soft and tender that
Dottore was half-convinced it wasn't actually happening. It would have been absurd if it was. But
what did it matter, either way?

Dottore didn't want to die like this. He didn't want to die at all, but certainly not like this.

He couldn't even pray for a miracle. Couldn't even beg for salvation. All those that would have
been listening had already turned their backs to him long ago.

He was going.

He was going.

There was calm.

Then, all at once, calm was ripped away from him. The pressure was off his neck suddenly, and his
lungs drew from the air in broken, ragged gasps until it felt like they would burst from it, until the
inside of his throat was ravaged by his own desperation to cling to life. The pain had returned, his
head was screaming, he was screaming, he could feel himself doing it but could not yet hear it.
Childe was pounding away inside him at a speed that felt impossible, forcing out every gulp of
oxygen that Dottore was trying to take in, until his thrusts turned erratic, eventually tapering off in
a few uneven, hard bucks inwards, finally burying himself down to the hilt and lingering in that
position. He was coming. Dottore could vaguely feel it, the warmth pooling inside him, but it
didn't matter.

Dottore's vision returned to him first. It was still blurry, but he could see Childe's features
scrunched together in anguish. He was weeping. He was also saying something, but Dottore
couldn't hear it yet.

Dottore's chest heaved as he just lay there, staring up at Childe, trying to process what was
happening, until finally his hearing returned to him. Childe was caught in the throes of a bout of
sobs. Then, he looked at Dottore with a despair that was nothing short of bottomless. He opened
his mouth to speak again.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

Childe repeated this mantra until he physically could not, shoulders shuddering as he continued to
weep over Dottore.

Dottore couldn't think. It was all too absurd. Nothing made sense anymore.

But it still wasn't enough. Childe had brought Dottore teetering over the edge of death itself, and it
still wasn't enough. His was still hard, precum dripping onto his own stomach as his cock twitched
with need. He needed more. He needed it all.
Speaking was agony. Dottore could just barely get the words out, and they sounded inhuman, like
gravel and razors given language, like he wasn't even the one actually speaking them.

"Prove it."

Childe's sobs tapered off into nothing as he stared down at Dottore in disbelief.

Then, his eyes narrowed.

In one swift motion, he pulled out of Dottore, then grabbed the Third's arm and yanked him over
onto his stomach. Dottore didn't have time to react, and he simply flopped over feebly, face down
into the sheets. He picked his head up just in time to see a flash of light fading out from the corner
of the room. It was coming from Childe's Vision and Delusion, discarded along with his other
clothing on the floor.

Dottore tried to prop himself up on his hands, only to be immediately shoved back down. Metal
collided with the back of his head, hard enough stun him. For a second, he blacked out again.

When he came to, he was looking through the massive fingers of the Foul Legacy. He had him
pinned down by the back of his head and shoulders, holding the upper half of his body down while
he held his hips up with his other hand. The massive head of his cock was already pressing against
Dottore’s entrance.

The Third let out a long, shameless moan as he was entered. This time, there was no blood. No
struggle in being speared on the entire length of his cock. No pain aside from the almost
comforting pressure of his insides being completely filled with the Foul Legacy’s arousal.

Dottore knew none of this should have been possible. But it all felt too natural. Like he had
prepared himself for Childe’s entry with his mind alone. Like this was how it was supposed to be.
Like they really were made for each other. But only like this.

Childe circled his hips around slightly, still hilted, just poking his cock around Dottore’s guts
experimentally. Dottore’s hips spasmed at the feeling, his erection throbbing and breath catching.
Childe took his hand off the Third’s shoulders, then, but Dottore was frozen in place. He just
continued to lay there as Childe used one of his claws to brush a bit of hair out Dottore’s face. He
then ghosted the claw down his spine. He started in between his shoulder blades.

“I really do love you.” There was that voice again, that intimidating, metallic drawl that was being
transposed into Dottore’s head rather than spoken aloud. Childe continued wiggling around inside
him maddeningly as he gently ran his claw all the way down Dottore’s back, past his ribcage, past
his waist, down all the way to his tailbone. Dottore could only whimper, sucking in his bottom and
biting down on it hard. The Foul Legacy continued, “That’s why I’m going to give you whatever
you want. So-” once the claw had finished its path down his spine, he dropped it down, giving the
lightest of brushes to the head of Dottore’s cock with the dull side of his armored finger, making
Dottore moan, “-tell me how bad you want it.”

Dottore was so far beyond pride, his only hesitance came from how physically painful it still was
to speak.

“I want it,” Dottore croaked. Ragged. Desperate. Shameless. Things that didn’t matter anymore. “I
want it, I want it, I want it, I wan-”

Childe drew his hips back, his cock dragging out against Dottore’s inner walls. It was all it took for
Dottore to come. It exploded from him with more force than that of Childe’s first thrust inwards,
 making him spring to his hands as he shot his seed onto the linens below him. Tears stung at his
eyes as Childe just continued to fuck him through his orgasm, the pleasure not subsiding even after
it was finished.

Dottore really had lost his mind. He knew he had. He didn’t care.

It was all too perfect. Deliriously good. Euphoria in its purest form. This was what he had wanted.
And now, it felt like all he would ever want.

“I want it.” Dottore couldn’t stop saying it, even as it scraped against his aching throat and stole
precious air from lungs that had not yet fully recovered from being starved of oxygen. Even though
he didn’t need to say it anymore. He couldn’t stop saying it. “I want it I want it I want it I want it-”

Eventually, Childe brought one of his massive hands to Dottore’s face, covering it with his fingers.
Dottore’s entire head fit easily in his palm, the tips of his fingers and thumb comfortably touching.
He could have crushed it between his fingers like a grape. But he didn’t. He simply lightly covered
Dottore’s features, his eyes, his nose, his eyes, until Dottore couldn’t speak. He couldn’t see. He
could breathe, but just barely.

“Shh,” Childe hushed. “I know. I know. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything. Everything.”

Dottore could only let out a muffled keen as Childe ravaged him, until finally Dottore could feel
his release filling him up inside, hot and intoxicating. There was no disgust in the act this time, and
as the warmth of it all heated him through to the bones, Dottore came again.

His eyes rolled back in his head, and he opened his mouth to moan. As he did, his tongue rolled out
against the fingers holding back his wanton cries of ecstasy. He did not feel like his body was his
own as he started salaciously licking the armored digits, eyes still lolling back in his skull as the
last waves of his orgasm continued to rock through him.

For once, he didn’t care.

Childe separated his fingers slightly with a purr, one that felt like it was vibrating directly within
the folds of the Third’s brain matter, and Dottore shoved his tongue in the gap, greedily wrapping
his tongue around the digits, up and down, back and forth, wherever he could reach. He tasted like
ash and ozone. It was bitter. It was sweet. It was sterile. It was filthy.

Dottore didn’t care if his body was no longer his own. He didn’t want it to be. He wanted it to be
something better. Something divine.

He wanted it to be the Foul Legacy’s.

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi

 Reflections
Chapter Notes

honey, wake up, new dottore backstory just dropped...

chapter cw/kink list: mawshot, very weird tongue stuff, awkward blowjob, child death
mention, miscarriage mention, child neglect, mild religious trauma(kind of?), graphic
child death (MAN THE WHIPLASH OF READING THROUGH THIS I'M SO
SORRY I ONLY JUST NOTICED IT)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"What do you want me to do?"

"I- what?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing. Nothing. You can just… stay there."

"Like this is fine?"

"It's… fine, yes."

"...Your heart is racing."

Dottore's stomach flipped. He hadn't been looking up at the Foul Legacy anyway, and there was no
way he could now. His eyes darted this way and that, unsure of where to hold their focus. Childe
was right, and it was both bizarre and mortifying that he was. Dottore must have been standing at
least a meter away from him. Had he heard it? Was he just bluffing, trying to lead Dottore into
admitting it first?

"I can feel it." Childe said suddenly, as if offering an explanation. It did not make Dottore feel any
better. Childe paused. "Are you scared?"

Dottore didn't want to respond, mostly because he didn't know the answer.

The innate unrest that the Foul Legacy instilled in him had not subsided, despite how often he was
seeing it now. But the Third also didn’t know if he could describe it as fear any longer. Things
were different now. He was no longer working against his unease; these days, it only seemed to
fuel the wildfire within him. Like a thrill-seeking adventurer marching proudly towards mortal
danger, high off the rush of their own adrenaline, so too did Dottore continue to tread where no
man ought to have.

It had become almost routine again, his visits to Liyue, like it had been in the beginning. But he
was no longer feigning interest in the research facility. The game was finally over. He didn’t know
who had won or lost, and perhaps those concepts no longer applied to the situation. But regardless,
all that posturing was over. He only went there for one reason. There was no sense in denying it.

Childe needed a while between visits, which was most likely a blessing in disguise. Dottore didn't
know how much he would be able to physically withstand before his body would begin to
deteriorate beyond saving, and some days he worried that he would not have the self control to hold
back if there were no need for it. But there was; Childe had his limits to think of as well, and they
both still had their work anyway. Dottore still could not afford to shirk his own duties, nor did he
want to.

And so time went on, the Tsaritsa's plans moved forward, and the Fatui's influence extended across
the continent. This affected Dottore's work only minimally. The overthrow of the Electro Archon
meant that he now had easier access to resources such as Inazuman jade steel and other proprietary
weaponry. But jade steel was only so useful to Dottore, and he was far beyond the need for
enhanced weaponry. The Tsaritsa already had her army, many of them outfitted with more
impressive weapons than a blade. Accomplishing that much had been child's play. What Dottore
needed was to make them into something more.

Likewise, usurping the Dendro Archon and subsequently seizing control of Sumeru and all the
resources at the Academia did not excite him much, either. It was merely easier to get in and out of
Haeresys now. But what use did Dottore have for anything at the Academia; for all the books he
had already read, written by scholars who never went far enough; for the "ambition" of the
Academia alumni that did not know the meaning of the word? The Academia and most of its
scholars were beyond saving, in Dottore's eyes. Anything he could have used, he had already taken
by force. All that was left was the dross.

The spark his research needed would not come from anything the Fatui were doing now. It could
only come from within. He knew this, and so anything outside of himself and his work went almost
unnoticed. The Tsaritsa's plans were nowhere near their close yet. Until that point, the Harbingers
were responsible for nothing more than the individual parts they would play. So Dottore only
focused on his own role, paying everything else little mind.

It was all the same, anyway. It had been for a while. He would go to Haeresys, or the Palace, or
any of his other research sites, clawing at the heels of progress and continually coming up empty
handed. Then he would go back to Liyue. He would go back to Childe. Back to the Foul Legacy.

They would fuck until Dottore was absolutely delirious from it. It went on until he was more
unconscious than awake, until he had forgotten how to speak, how to think, how to distinguish the
ground below him from the heavens above. He'd let it take him to the brink of pure insanity, until
he could no longer remember all the failed experiments and halted progress that had been causing
him sleepless nights. And with nothing to hold him to existence as he knew it, only then could he
finally sleep.

It took both him and Childe several days to fully recover from what they did, both physically and
mentally, and they almost incidentally spent most of that time together, if only for a lack of
anywhere else to turn. Dottore had no reason to do anything but hole himself up in the facility. He
no longer entertained the notion of decommissioning the facility, as it had become the most
practical option for them. Between the need to accommodate for the Foul Legacy's size, the noise
that had to be contained, and just a general want for discretion, it was necessary to keep it up and
running. So he would occasionally try to fritter his time away with his work, or fiddle around with
the automatons just enough to give the illusion that the site was still being utilized, but he had
neither the interest nor the energy to truly focus on these things. He only did it to pass the time.
Childe, conversely, still had his duties to tend to in the Harbor. To the best of Dottore's knowledge,
he was still dutifully carrying out his work despite the ever-present exhaustion that still weighed
heavy on him after each transformation. Dottore wondered if he still led his men with the same
enthusiasm he always had - the Third had witnessed none of this, if so, as by the time Childe would
return to him at the facility after his day had concluded, he had already reverted back to a state of
lethargy. Childe's moods did not swing, but merely flopped listlessly from one side to another,
going from irritable to sickly sentimental at the drop of a hat, but without enough enthusiasm to
make the two emotions distinguishable from each other. The only thing that tipped Dottore off to
how he was feeling was usually his physicality. On his bad days, he stayed near Dottore, but would
not touch him under any circumstances. Dottore only took note of this for how bizarrely out of
character it was for the Eleventh. On the boy’s “good” days, Dottore could barely scrape him off
his side. He would cling to Dottore like he never had before, or perhaps it just felt that way
because the Third often did not have the energy to spurn his advances like he used to. Dottore
preferred his bad days.

But regardless of good or bad days, Childe would continue to seek Dottore's company for as long
as he stayed in Liyue. They didn't have sex anymore, aside from what they did while Childe was
transformed. They scarcely even spoke to one another, during the days after. They simply coexisted
in the same space, thoughtlessly and almost wordlessly, until it was time for the Third to leave.
Dottore did not particularly care for these days, but he let it happen anyway. By the time the lack
of personal space began to grind on his nerves, he was ready to return to his work elsewhere. It
reminded Dottore of how it had been in the beginning of things. It was when he still had an interest
in the machines he collected, when Childe's presence had been unmistakable but only incidental to
Dottore's own comfort there. The Eleventh's presence, again, was only an incidental thing. The
Liyue facility once again served as Dottore's respite in spite of him, not because of him.

No - it was not the nation or the facility that was his respite. Nor was it simply respite any longer.

It was the Foul Legacy he kept coming back for. And it was more than his respite. It had become
Dottore’s asylum.

The description was a dreadfully apt one.

For a while, it had kept him in enough ignorant bliss that Dottore couldn’t even entertain the idea
of exploiting the monster’s favor for the purposes of his research. It felt like he already had such
limited time with it. He had been too greedy, and far too desperate to have anything other than lust
on his mind the moment he laid eyes on it. But something had changed, recently. Dottore did not
know if it had somehow managed to become typical enough for his mind to adjust and return to
some normalcy, or if the pressure of his failing research simply weighed too heavy on him now,
but he had begun to realize that he was losing track of what had brought him to this point in the
first place. Dottore still wanted answers. He wanted progress. And none of that was going to come
to him if he could do nothing but let his most invaluable resource fuck him senseless.

Childe had yet to offer him any more insight as to how he had learned the Foul Legacy technique.
He wouldn’t budge on that, and Dottore felt that he never would. It was the only thing he seemed
to keep guarded, still insisting that it wasn’t something for him to tell, and that it would be of no
use to Dottore even if he could. Dottore didn’t fully believe that, but he at least believed that Childe
believed it. There was no sense in goading him any further, for the time being.

But Dottore needed to start somewhere. And Childe, thankfully, was still more than willing to
accommodate his whims in other ways.

Dottore realized that he had yet to witness the Foul Legacy when his mind wasn’t hazed over with
either terror or lust. He had never had a chance to really take it all in. To look, to touch, to study
with a clear head.

Now that he was here, he suddenly wasn’t sure if it was possible to do that.

Childe had transformed, then presented himself to Dottore willingly. He - a hulking, sinister Abyss
entity that could have snapped his neck with a mere flick of his wrist - had even kneeled in front of
Dottore without prompting, getting down closer to his level so he could actually reach him. But the
Foul Legacy certainly was not any less intimidating than it usually was, even in this position.
Somehow, it may have even been more intimidating. Even with Childe on his knees, Dottore still
had to crane his neck upwards to look at the hard, metal face that was staring back at him.

Dottore simply didn’t know where to start. It was odd, that after so many intimate moments with
this thing, it could still manage to overwhelm him when presented like this. He found that it was
almost as difficult to look at as it had been in the beginning, when Dottore had not been able to
control his terror. But he had long ago broken himself of that instinctual urge to fight or flee.
Perhaps blind fear had only metamorphosed into blind desire to keep him from looking at it like
this. Even now, he felt arousal stirring within him almost desperately, like it was screaming at him
to let lust take over, to stop so brazenly looking upon it in the light of day, to let his senses go and
leave them in the hands of the beast where they ought to have belonged. It screamed at him, shrill,
delirious nonsense, don’t waste any more time, don’t waste a second longer, these mortal whims
are not worthy of him, let him be something greater than what you can comprehend.

But Dottore shook the delirium slipping into him with an iron will. He couldn’t sit idly by and
watch his sanity continue to circle the drain. He wanted the Foul Legacy, but he wanted more than
that. He wanted him to be his muse that would lead him in the creation of a new era. The Era of
Perfection. He wanted to build it. He wanted to see it with his own two eyes. He wanted all of it,
now more than ever.

So Dottore swallowed the feeling down, the dizzying mixture of dread and arousal, and struggled
to look at the Foul Legacy with fresh, unbiased eyes.

As if sensing his trepidation - and Dottore suddenly realized he very well may have - Childe
suddenly reached his hand out to him, making Dottore flinch slightly at the movement. But all he
did was turn his palm to the ceiling, outstretching it to the Third. He tilted his head fractionally to
the side, as if in curiosity. It was such a strikingly human gesture, Dottore's breath caught in his
throat. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the Foul Legacy was something that originated from
Childe himself; this was not one of those times. Dottore didn't know how to feel about it.

Cautiously, the Third stepped forward and brought his own hand up to meet Childe's. He felt a
compulsion to place it in the center of his open palm, but he did not; instead, he only allowed
himself to graze one of the armored claws on the Foul Legacy's hand with his fingertips. He
gingerly tapped his finger against the pointed tip. It was sturdy. Razor sharp. But Dottore already
knew this. He knew it from all the times those claws had dug into his skin, in his hips, in the meat
of his thighs, in lines running down his back parallel to his spine. He knew that for every visible
mark they left, there were a dozen more that left no trace at all, spectres of impossibly feather-light
touches that were so impossible, damnably tender that-

Focus. He needed to focus.

Dottore touched him with both of his hands then, turning over Childe’s palm and running his
fingers across the metal ridges of his knuckles. Dottore's eyes wandered upwards, to the menacing
gauntlet wrapped around his forearm. That was cold, sharp metal as well. Most of it was. But his
gaze flickered to Childe's torso, the inside of his thighs, the spaces with a clear divide between
unyielding armor and the sinewy silhouette of a person. Dottore looked back to the armored claws
in his hands.

"Can-" It almost felt wrong to speak, and Dottore's throat had gone dry, so the words caught there
until he swallowed roughly. "Can you… take any of this off?"
Childe did not answer immediately. "No." It was spoken matter-of-factly, straightforward but not
curt. Dottore glanced up at the expressionless face with a raised brow.

"Why?"

Childe hesitated. "It's-" another pause, "-all part of it."

He did not clarify anything beyond that, but Dottore actually did not really need him to. It made
some modicum of sense; though the demarcation between organic and inorganic was evident, it
was likely that the concept of those two matters itself was something that had to be taken
subjectively. Most Abyss entities had perceivable forms - they could be seen, they could be
touched, they could interact with anything in the human world that other beings could. But to say
these forms were "physical" would not have been entirely accurate. Abyss entities were nothing
more than a nebulous phenomena of sapience, their self-awareness acting as the impetus for their
perceivable selves, as opposed to the other way around. What humans saw of them was merely a
construction of what men were able to comprehend. It was an absence of absence. Antimatter
masquerading as matter. A smoke screen. An Abyss Herald’s carapace-like silhouette was its body,
and there was no possible way to strip it away, but even if there was, one would find nothing
underneath it.

If the Foul Legacy was an Abyss technique, it would make sense for it to be something close to
that. It already bore a resemblance to the more advanced entities in the Order. It was just more…
solid.

What was more interesting to Dottore was how Childe was talking about it. There was hesitance to
his answers, but when they finally came out, they were delivered with a passionless certainty, as
plain fact and nothing more. It was as if the answers themselves were easy, but he simply had
never considered such things before being asked. It made Dottore wonder if Childe had even been
aware of the Foul Legacy's own… anatomy… before he had suddenly been compelled to make use
of it. It was a curious thought, but one Dottore did not voice, as he was afraid it would make his
mind wander to places he didn’t need it right now. At the very least, that was not of any importance
to his research.

But he found himself at a loss again, thoughts trailing off into stupefied numbness as he tried and
failed to take in what he was seeing with a calculating eye. The scattered observations he could
process only made his mind begin to reel. Childe's Vision shone on as it always did, the disdainful
little trinket pinned to his breast as if it belonged there, when Dottore wasn't even sure how he
could still possibly be using it in this form. The crystalline formations jutting out from his back
were practically humming, emanating with a raw, menacing power that Dottore recognized, and
recognized well. The cape of stars that always chased after him without wind and without reason
was showcasing constellations that did not exist. The Foul Legacy was somehow so strikingly,
unmistakably Childe, when he really looked at it. And yet, it also felt like a completely separate
entity. It was a foreign entity in places where Childe had become so familiar. It was cold in
instances where Childe was nothing but heat. It gave, when Childe only took.

It was perfect.

Dottore didn't know what to do anymore. The only reason he did not remove his hands from the
Foul Legacy's hand was because he feared they would be shaking when he withdrew them. It was
all too much. He couldn't make informed observations like this. He realized that his breathing had
become slightly irregular, and the frenzied drum of his heart felt like it was making his entire rib
cage pulsate. Without thinking, he suddenly was compelled to bring up his left hand to the Foul
Legacy's chest. It was shaking as he did so, until he pressed it against Childe's chest, opposite of
the Vision pinned just under his fur collar.

Dottore couldn't feel anything. He didn't know if it was because the armor was simply too thick to
allow him to feel anything, or because there was no heart to produce a beat to begin with.

"Wh-" Dottore's words had caught in his throat before he even realized he was going to speak. His
mouth had gone dry again. He could only croak the words out. "What does it feel like?"

There was that hesitation again. After some consideration, Childe answered, his steady, metallic
words making Dottore's breath hitch.

"It feels right."

He did not clarify what he meant by this, either. He did not need to.

Dottore felt something like disdain rise in his chest. It was an odd thing to feel towards something
he had just seconds ago lauded as perfection, but he didn't know what else to call it. Dottore let his
hands fall to his sides and took a step back, about to call the whole thing off, but the withdrawal
was interrupted halfway when his lower back made contact with something. Childe had snaked his
other hand around him while he hadn't been paying attention, and now it was pulling him in, until
Dottore's hips were flush with the lower part of the Eleventh’s stomach.

Dottore looked up at him, at first in indignance, but it quickly faded as Childe stared down at him
with that unblinking, inhuman indigo eye. He almost looked curious as he leaned in, bringing his
face closer to Dottore's.

"What else do you want me to show you?" Childe asked lowly. Dottore couldn't respond. He could
only let out a breath he had been holding in, suddenly not remember how long he had been holding
it for.

Dottore couldn't look away from the unmoving metal face locked on him, though just moments
before he could barely even aim a glance in his direction. He felt the hand pressed firmly against
his lower back, knowing that if he tried to scramble away, he would not be able to. So he did not
try. He didn't want to.

Dottore felt numb as he lifted both of his hands to the Foul Legacy's face, his actions no longer
dictated by thought, and he pressed his palms flat against the sides of the ridged maroon mask. The
lines were sharp. Hard. Unyielding. They betrayed nothing. Dottore's right hand slid downwards, to
the lowest ridge, the one that so deceitfully held one of the monster’s secrets behind it. The cold
metal exterior was no longer interesting to Dottore. That had been the problem, he realized. He had
lost focus because he was looking at parts that had no information to give.

"Open." The word left him as a gasp. He had lost his breath again.

Childe complied. The ridge that Dottore had his fingers pressed against began to split open. It did
so with a nauseatingly moist sound, the smacks of strings of saliva stretching and breaking as they
were pulled apart with the separation of his bottom jaw. The jagged rows of teeth revealed
themselves first. They were nonsensical in every sense of the word; they had no clear pattern, no
uniformity, no real reason to exist at all, other than to perhaps instill dread. They jutted out
menacingly from just within the edges of where the mask split, the jaws of the beast. As Childe
continued to open them wider, impossibly wide, Dottore could see they extended inwards for
several rows, until the lines of fangs dropped off into a seemingly bottomless chasm. The inside of
his mouth was almost pitch black, with nothing but the sheen of saliva to distinguish the hellish
well of flesh from pure nothingness. It was maddening to look into the dark depths of that gaping
maw, but Dottore could not look away. It was as if the Foul Legacy’s insides were swallowing
every light source. They even swallowed Dottore's attention, his sanity; swallowing him up whole,
from the inside out.

Dottore was no longer in control of his actions as his hands wandered on their own. He ran his
fingers up the slick, smooth surface of one of his fangs, from the base all the way to the tip. He
gingerly pressed his thumb against the point before swiping it across. It cut into the flesh easily.
Dottore only realized this after dully noticing his own blood begin to drip down the length of the
Foul Legacy's fangs. He did not register the pain.

Childe's tongue began to unfurl itself from within the depths of his mouth, slithering out from
between his teeth. It was a sickly, waxen grey color in the light. It looked like something cold,
something dead, but as it flicked its way between Dottore's hand and its teeth, it was nothing but
heat and life. It lapped at the blood Dottore had left behind before forcibly slipping itself into his
palm, rolling out further still until it was curling around his wrist. Dottore squeezed the powerful,
undulating muscle in his hand, just to feel the unrestrained energy pulsating against his skin. There
was hardly any give to the flesh; it was taut and unyielding, like the haunches of a predator set to
pounce on its prey.

The Foul Legacy's tongue squirmed out of the Third's grasp, and he leaned in even closer as he
brought it to Dottore's ear. He flicked the tip of his tongue teasingly against Dottore's right earlobe,
making the cylindrical earring that hung from it bob and sway against his shoulder. Dottore
shuddered when Childe probed further, shoving his tongue into his ear. A plaintive moan escaped
Dottore's throat when the sound of Childe slurping at the inner folds of his ear became too
maddeningly lewd to bear, and the Foul Legacy withdrew. He traced a languid path down
Dottore’s jawline, all the way from where it met with his ear to the tip of his chin.

Dottore's lips were already slightly parted. It had become too difficult to breathe without doing so.
It felt like he couldn't catch his breath, like the air had gone thin all around him, like the Foul
Legacy was swallowing that up, as well. It was dizzying. If Childe hadn't been pinning him
upright, his knees would have given out several times over. But despite how pathetically pliant he
already was, Childe only flicked the tip of his tongue against Dottore's lips. It was almost a
supplicative gesture. He was waiting for permission. He did not seek to take. He wanted Dottore to
give. Dottore did not think about what exactly he was giving up when he let his mouth drop open.

Childe slipped his tongue slowly between his lips, so slowly Dottore was sure he would go insane
from it. It filled him up bit by bit, seeming never ending. It pressed against his own tongue, his
teeth, the roof of his mouth, the back of his throat, and everywhere in between. It felt like it could
go on forever, like the Foul Legacy was going to occupy every perceivable space within him until
there was no distinguishing where he ended and Dottore began. It sounded too good to be true, like
pure bliss, and Dottore choked out a moan around the powerful muscle his lips were wrapped
around. His eyelids fluttered closed as he frantically tried to take him in deeper, his nails clawing at
the inhuman face he was still holding in his hands. It was a vile sight. It must have been. Him
sucking on that pallid, grey appendage while his cock throbbed and desperate tears stung at the
corners of his eyes, all while holding onto that monstrous mask as if it were something he was
worthy to cling to. As if this moment was precious.

Childe eventually withdrew his tongue, perhaps seconds later, perhaps hours. Dottore did not
know, only knew that their combined saliva was cascading down his chin in a sheet by that point,
that the inside of his mouth felt almost numb from being so thoroughly used, and that despite all
this, the Third felt disdainfully empty when Childe had withdrawn himself fully. It felt so wrong to
be so separate, it couldn’t have possibly been right - how could existence feel like this, what
ceaseless cruelty was at play if this was the empty agony he was expected to live? It didn’t make
sense, nothing made sense, Dottore knew he wasn’t making sense and that he had lost all focus and
that he must have been a vile, vile sight to behold, but all he could do cling to the Foul Legacy like
it was his last lifeline, even as he slid down to his knees in front of it.

He was not thinking of any of the observations he had made previously, not of debating the
meaning of organic versus inorganic and how it applied to the Foul Legacy, not even as he crossed
the divide he himself had made note of, pushing and pulling aside the parts of him that presented
themselves as clothing to get to the part that presented itself as flesh. This didn’t make sense either,
because it implied that nothing he was looking at was actually real, that it was not much more than
a figment of his deteriorating mind. But that couldn’t have been true.

The hot, throbbing arousal he took into his shaking hands was real. The ache in his jaw as he
desperately tried to take it into his mouth was real. The salt on his tongue that came from dipping
into the well of precum pooling at the tip of his cock was real. These things were real. They were
realer than anything else Dottore had ever known in his life.

It was too much. Dottore could barely even wrap his lips around the entirety of the head before the
tendons in his jaw screamed at him to stop, but the pain didn't matter. He needed it to be too much.
He needed how raw and debased it all felt, he needed to drink the Foul Legacy’s essence down to
the very last drop until there were no empty spaces left to fill.

Dottore was only vaguely aware that Childe’s hand had come to rest atop his head, gentle and
unassuming, a far cry from what the Third had suddenly become. It almost made Dottore bitter as
he tenderly swiped his clawed thumb across his hairline.

“Look at me.” Childe’s voice went low with the command. But Dottore could not obey. Not now.
Not like this. He just let out a garbled whimper around Childe’s cock. He expected reproach, or at
least to be asked again. But Childe did not react. Maybe he had taken pity on the tears that had
started streaming down Dottore’s cheek, brushing them away lightly with the edge of his thumb.
Maybe he was just waiting for a better opportunity to bend Dottore’s limits.

Eventually, Childe pulled Dottore off of him, a whiny, dismayed gasp escaping the Third as he did
so. It was done for his own benefit. Somewhere in his mind where his logic and reasoning lay
sleeping, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to take everything the Foul Legacy had to give. But
at that moment, such a thing didn’t matter to him. He could drown in it, for all he cared. Whatever
it took to fill the empty spaces, he would have done it.

But he only received what the Foul Legacy would allow him to. Childe came, letting the first few
spurts fall into Dottore’s open mouth and against the side of his face, before pointing his cock
away to let the rest of his release spill onto the Third’s shoulder and onto the floor. Dottore
swallowed what was in his mouth. When that wasn’t enough, he forced his head out of Childe’s
grasp, latching back onto him and sucking up what was still dripping from the slit of his cock. And
if that still wasn’t enough, he’d lick it up off the floor if he had to.

He felt insane.

But before he could debase himself further, Childe’s hand was back on him, just as tender as
before.

“I love you.”

It brought Dottore down from his lunacy just enough for him to knot his brows together.

This again.
He didn't like it when Childe told him that while transformed. He didn't like it in general, but
especially not now.

What a disdainful phrase to be spoken with the Foul Legacy's tongue. It felt beneath it. It was too
shallow a concept for something so overwhelmingly bottomless.

Love was a word that held no meaning to Dottore. He didn't understand it, and how it made people
act so foolishly, so weak, so irrational. He didn't understand why it kept Childe drawn to him even
when Dottore had never returned the sentiment, even outright belittling him for his feelings.

Dottore didn't like this thing that seemed to transcend reason, because it wasn't like the inscrutable
nature of the Foul Legacy. This was a man made concept. It was something that should have been
so stupidly simple that Dottore could easily brush it off. But Childe's continued insistence of the
matter, the soft spatterings of the phrase at every meaningless turn, had been bothering Dottore for
a while.

It made him wonder if it was something that had ever been within his grasp. It made him ponder
memories that he had kept locked deep within him for years, just to scrounge for any sort of
recognition he could cling to.

He definitely didn't like that. Dredging up ancient history only left him with more empty spaces
that would go unfilled.

But his mind persistently wandered regardless. It had been getting worse. Dottore was losing track
of the days. He was losing track of the weeks. He was losing track of everything.

He had lost so much, he had no choice but to sift through what little remained.

~*~*~*~*~*~

There was one thing that Dottore had never been able to rid himself of; it was the minute, almost
negligible twinge he felt whenever he had to step across the borders of Fontaine, or upon seeing a
Hydro Vision on the hip of its user. The twinge had once been fear. Now it was merely a flash of
instinct, the product of the over glorified old wives' tale told to him one too many times. Senseless
propaganda driven into him since he could remember, of the Archon that delivered swift justice all
while never knowing the meaning of the word.

Dottore no longer feared her, she who had such hubris as to title herself the "Honorable" Judge of
the Fontaine Courts, but it frustrated him that he ever had, enough so that the discomfort towards
her people and her powers had become second nature to him. He didn't even know why he ever
feared her in the first place. He had never really been in her sights, after all.

He had been born into a small village in Fontaine that hugged the border of Sumeru. It was a drab
little community stuck between the unforgiving Sumeran desert and Fontaine's expansive
wilderness. Looking back on it, it was almost eerily far removed from the dazzling, progressive
atmosphere of Waterfall City’s limits. There was no overabundance of sophisticated technology,
nor any outstanding appreciation for the arts. It was full of nothing but dreadfully simple folk
merely trying to sustain themselves. But though they asked for nothing in excess, they were granted
no quarter in their lives for their humble nature.

The village seemed to be stricken with misfortune even long before Dottore was even born. It was
a sorrowful, Visionless community that seemed to repel the grace of the Gods altogether. As it was
geographically sheltered from the opulence of Waterfall City and the wisdom of Sumeru
Academia, it likewise seemed to be sheltered from the Gods' mercy. Their history was one rife with
long eras of drought, of famine, of disease.

It was one such plague that took Dottore's father and older sister from him, when he had been far
too young to even remember their faces. He knew nothing of them, only that their bodies had been
burned to prevent the spread of the disease that persisted through the rot of the corpses, and that
their ashes had been spread out across the river that bordered the north side of the village, as was
the custom of their community. A makeshift "burial at sea," one fitting of the Hydro Archon's will.
The very same Archon that sat idly by as the lives of a father and a child were taken far before their
time.

That plague had left behind Dottore and his mother, who had gone mad with grief at their passing.
She had mourned for her husband, but more than that, she mourned for her young daughter.

Dottore, of course, being only a toddler at the time, knew only what he heard from the whispered
gossip that caught his ear over the years. His mother had apparently miscarried several times
before having her first daughter. So by the time she came along, oh, how she adored that girl. More
so than she seemed to have ever openly fawned over her second child. Her daughter was the sun
and the moon, the very center of the universe, an angel sent straight from Celestia itself. The
villagers spoke of it with a tear in their eyes, for the first few years after her passing, one that
always went unshed, until eventually their shallow sentiments had run too dry for even that much.

Dottore never knew if his mother's obvious favor of his sister was simply due to her being the long
awaited first, or if something else entirely was the reason for her bias. Knowing what he knew
now, he sometimes still wondered if the woman had sensed something off in him when she was in
her right mind. Perhaps he had always made her uneasy, as he made most other people in the
village uneasy.

But maybe Dottore was just over thinking things. The loss of one's own child, of course, was one
of the worst tragedies a human could endure. Even Dottore could understand that much in the
present. The anguish of seeing something of your own creation slipping right through your fingers,
by the inscrutable will of cruel gods; it was enough to drive anyone over the edge of insanity.

But oh, how he had always hated that miserable old cow. Dottore did not think he had ever once
loved that woman. She had simply never given him a reason to.

For the first few years after his father and sister passed, many people in the village apparently took
it upon themselves to watch after them. Dottore suspected that was the only reason he was even
still alive today. But eventually, their empathy waned, and most of them seemed to lose interest in
the whole affair. Dottore and his mother had been left to their own devices for as long as he could
remember.

Dottore quickly had to learn to fend for himself. His mother was not fit to raise a child. Her
madness made her mind wander to better days, and in her meandering insanity, Dottore was often
completely forgotten. If he did not tend to his own wounds, they simply wouldn't be tended to. If
he didn't solve his own problems, they would forever go unsolved. If he did not feed himself, he
most likely would have never eaten.

No - that last part wasn't entirely true. His mother was of sound enough mind to occasionally put
food on the table. But it was never for his sake.

He could still remember being a young boy, and all the days he would come back to the small
cottage they occupied after wandering around the village by himself. Sometimes, there would be a
plate of food waiting on the table. His mother would always be sitting beside it, staring vacantly
out the window. She wouldn't look at him as he entered the cottage, her attention only being drawn
to the scrape of the empty chair beside her being pulled back and sat in.

She would always look at him dully, with no trace of fondness.

"Have you seen Antoinette?" She asked him. "Her dinner's getting cold."

Dottore didn't look up as he pulled the empty plate over to him and started eating from it. "She's
still out."

Her vacant stare did not falter. "Do you know when she's coming home?"

"No."

Silence, then. Nothing but the occasional scrape of his fork against the plate. She turned back to the
window eventually, her interest in him already spent.

"I wish she wouldn't stay out so late."

And that's all there was. That's all there ever was.

Antoinette, of course, was never coming home. Antoinette had been the name of his sister.

His mother had apparently been doing that since shortly after the girl's death, and she continued to
do so throughout the rest of Dottore's childhood. She had not been able to cope with the loss of her
child, so most of the time, she kept herself blissfully unaware that the event had ever even
happened.

It was always Antoinette this, and Antoinette that. She was incessant with her fantasy, and if one
chose not to indulge her, she would either enter a fit of hysterics or ignore the notion altogether.
The village, eventually, stopped trying to gently steer her towards the truth. They assumed there
was no harm in letting a mad woman quietly live out her own delusions. Dottore had always found
it bizarre that they fed into such behavior so willingly, even from a young age. He didn't like it, but
he also couldn't deny that it was simply easier to indulge her.

"Have you seen Antoinette?"

No, they would all say, but they would be sure to tell her to run home as soon as they did.

"Did Antoinette play out by the pond today?"

She may have been, they would say, but they couldn't quite remember. They were sure she would
find her way home eventually.

"Did Antoinette do well with her studies today?"

A bright young student, they said, as she always had been, they were certain she'd be thrilled to
show her mother her report card as soon as she arrived home.

"Where is Antoinette?"

She was out playing.

"Where is Antoinette?"

He didn't know.
"Where is Antoinette?"

She would be home soon.

No. Dottore definitely had not loved his mother. He knew that it was something a child ought to
do. He always saw the other children with their own mothers, how they clung to their sides with
unspoken adoration, knowing they would be nurtured in turn.

But what did he ever have to cling to? A lethargic widow that no longer possessed the ability to
nurture? The rare instances of affection, of care, of a home cooked meal, all of which were only
bestowed upon him incidentally? Did it make any sense at all, to cling to the scraps of gestures that
were meant for a dead child, and not himself?

No. It didn't make sense. He could never find the sense in any of it. There was no reason to love
her. Just like there was no reason for her madness in the first place.

Most of the villagers spoke very highly of the Hydro Archon. They admired her watchful eye, her
stalwart nature, her swift delivery of justice.

But there was, objectively, no justice in the death of a child. There was no justice in the watchful
eye that had merely watched that girl's sodden ashes be swallowed up within the foamy rapids of
the very element that the Archon commanded - a healing element, even, the power of which had
never been bestowed upon a single soul in that ill-fated, isolated village.

Even from a very young age, Dottore could never find any logic in the peoples' blind faith. They
all seemed so eager to bow to the wills of the Gods, to ascribe to the Hydro Archon’s idea of
justice. But what exactly was the will of gods that allowed the innocent to die young, when it could
have been so easily prevented? What was the Hydro Archon's definition of justice if she had
simply sat idly by, allowing such strife to persist within her own nation - not because she couldn't
intervene, but because she simply chose not to?

When he was young, he thought there surely must be an answer to those questions that he just was
not seeing. One day, it would all make sense, just as it was supposed to, just as everyone else saw
it. One day, he would understand the will of the Gods, and maybe on that day he would discover
the true meaning of justice.

And so he did.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Down in the Haeresys arena, a fight for life was lost. It ended not with a bang, but with a whimper.
The figure that had been fully cloaked in a thick, black miasma all around suddenly came to a
complete stop in the middle of the arena before falling to the ground, seizing and undulating
against the stone floor. The other subject it had been pit against - a lesser Abyss entity, a mindless,
almost formless mass of tendrils and gnashing teeth and claws that had long ago been contained in
Haeresys just for these purposes - stopped in its advance as well. It seemed to quickly lose interest
in the other subject. In Dottore’s experience, it meant nothing but bad news. The lesser Abyss
entities were stupid, weak creatures, but they knew at least two things: they knew to consume, but
they were also well aware of their place. They were as eager to swallow up human victims as any
other Abyssal force, but they also knew to pick their battles wisely. If their prey was claimed by
another, more powerful entity, they would only bow to its will. They would not fight a battle they
could not win.

Sure enough, the prone, seizing figure’s outer form began to fold in on itself, convulsing and
shrinking until it revealed its host. The black miasma was retreating back inwards. It slithered into
every orifice, every pore, somehow expanding and contracting all at once. It was feeding itself to
its host, but it fed from it as well, like an ouroboros swallowing its own tail in an infinite loop. But
eventually, the host’s body gave out. As Dottore was being constantly reminded, a human’s
physical form could only stand the test of infinity for so long. The body slowly began to evaporate
before his eyes. Before it had been completely devoured, Dottore saw a flash of the host’s face. It
was a boy. His eyes seemed to have melted out of their sockets, nothing left of them but two lines
of blood streaming down his temples like tears, red mixed with the sickly black residue that the
miasma left in its wake. His features were frozen into a countenance of sheer terror. Dottore noted
that the boy couldn’t have been older than twelve, then wondered why such a thing would draw his
attention to begin with.

Dottore drummed his fingers against the guard rail he was leaning over, grinding his teeth. Shit.
Progress in Haeresys was as abysmal as ever.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It was all the same. For months now, it had all been the same. Not only was no progress being
made, but they were losing subjects at an alarming rate. There was no chance of resurrection, no
chance of rebuilding; in almost every case, the corruption simply advanced on them too quickly.
Subjects that had been hosting successfully for years were suddenly dropping like flies. Raw,
unfiltered celestial essence was a volatile compound, one that was constantly being pulled by two
opposing forces - the force of the defeated Archon itself that had left the remains trying to claw its
way to Celestia, and the force of the Abyss, that sought to devour the essence entirely so that the
Gods could not seize their power back. If the right balance was struck, the two powers essentially
canceled each other out. It became a pure source of energy that could be manipulated by those who
hosted it. But the key was finding that balance. The Abyss’s influence had to be greater than that of
the Gods’, but if it held too much control, the host’s powers would backfire on them and the
corruption would overtake them instantaneously.

But that perfect balance could not be found anymore. Even going back to old routines didn’t slow
the rate at which his research was dissolving right before his very eyes. Nothing was working.
Things were only getting worse.

Dottore whipped his head over to his right side, shooting a glare at the woman that stood there. Her
hands were crossed behind a back that she kept perfectly straight, shoulders back, chest out, chin
up. The only evidence that she was at all affected by the shift of Dottore’s scrutinizing gaze was the
soft, sharp inhale she let in as he looked at her. It sounded more exasperated than anything else.

“What was that?” Dottore spat, gesturing wildly at the scene below them. The woman kept her
expression stoic.

The woman, his assistant, went by Tsuji; one of the few names Dottore could actually be bothered
to remember out of those that worked for him. She also shared the significance of being Dottore’s
longest-employed assistant. After Dottore had to dispose of several of the ones prior to her, he had
thrown a sizable fit to the powers-that-be at the slack-jawed menials the Fatui consistently provided
him. He required much from his direct assistants, and if they weren’t up to task, they were better
off as fodder for his pet projects. Though they most likely just wanted to shut him up for a while,
some strings were pulled between Scaramouche, Pantalone, and Pierro at the Tsaritsa’s behest, and
eventually Tsuji was on a boat to the mainland from Inazuma. She had already been an incredibly
accomplished scholar in her nation, and at the time, it had been no small task to gain her
employment. The Raiden Shogun had allowed for the Fatui to continue doing business in Inazuma
while the Sakoku Decree was in ordinance, but she was very protective of her own people,
especially those of them that she deemed useful to vision. But a deal was struck somehow, one that
Dottore did not know the details of - although he knew that it was eventually broken upon the
confiscation of the Raiden Shogun’s gnosis - and he in turn received an assistant that actually
performed adequately. Tsuji had initially agreed to the proposal simply for a way beyond the
borders of Inazuma. Dottore sometimes vaguely wondered if she regretted that now that the
Sakoku Decree and her Archon had been rendered obsolete, anyway.

If she did, she didn’t show it. Other than her general competence, that was something Dottore used
to appreciate about her: she never batted an eye to pressure. She was not like so many of the other
pathetic cowards that had worked for him before, always waffling and squirming at the slightest
snap to Dottore’s voice. He always hated it when they squirmed. Now, though, he almost found
himself wishing she would. The level quality to her voice she was able to maintain as she spoke
now only annoyed him.

“Our subjects are still… deteriorating at an alarming rate, my lord,” Tsuji replied. “I’ve been doing
all I can to strengthen the constitutions of the hosts, but even our most stable specimens are-”

“I don’t need you to tell me things I already know.” Dottore snapped. “I know what the problem is.
What I don’t know is why you can’t seem to be bothered to fix it!”

"That's not-" Whatever argument she was about to make was clipped short by a tight press of her
lips. In the momentary beat of terse silence that followed, Dottore could vaguely hear the Abyss
entity in the pit below. He only noticed because he was already irritable. They made ghastly,
grating sounds, those things; he could feel a headache coming on. "Yes, my lord. I understand.
We're looking for ways around it."

"Oh, don't give me that!" Dottore hissed. He raised his voice, not only out of anger, but because he
suddenly felt like he couldn't hear himself think over the gnashing, feral thing gurgling away in the
arena below. "You should have done that before I even got here. I expect to see results here. Not
whatever this is!"

"I understand, Lord Dottore." Tsuji replied tersely, something straining her voice. It may have been
either anxiety or annoyance. Dottore wasn't paying attention. Why hadn't anyone done away with
that abomination yet? Why was Dottore so acutely aware of its presence? Of all the sickening
squelches and raspy croaks that came from it. "The Abyssal influence in our hosts has simply
grown too unstable to work with. I need more time to accommodate for-"

"We don't have time, you miserable wench!" Dottore barked. His voice was loud enough now to
echo through the chambers of Haeresys, but it was not half as loud as the noises coming from the
pit below him. It was scraping against the stone wall now; it alternated between sounding like the
screech of nails being dragged against slate, and sounding like a fabric sack of loose meat
smacking against a hard surface. The two distinct noises played back and forth with each other, as
if the entity could not decide between being a solid or a liquid, as if the sounds themselves were
trying to determine which of them would be more likely to send Dottore over the edge.

"Lord Dottore-"

"No more excuses! You need to-" Back and forth, the noises went, the wet slaps, the dry scratches,
until they were somehow indistinguishable from each other, until it was just a singular din that
drilled into the back of his skull, "-can not one of you incompetent shit-for-brains get that fucking
thing back where it came from?!"

This was not entirely directed at Tsuji as he whipped back around to the arena and glared wildly
into the pit. He could see several unrelated patrons jump at the boom of his voice and how it
echoed through the caverns. There was nothing in the arena now but the entity, but he knew that
there were soldiers just out of sight that would start to scramble at his outburst - they would if they
knew what was good for them, at least.

Dottore could vaguely hear Tsuji sigh in exasperation, which was too bold, to say the least, but he
was too focused at glaring daggers at the hateful little creature below him to pay much mind to it.

"Lord Dottore, we'll have to-" She was interrupted suddenly by someone calling her name, which
Dottore noted with only minimal interest. He could sense her walking away from him as he stared
at the entity in the arena. Why were they still letting it run about down there? They were usually
able to corral surviving entities back into containment by now.

He inspected the scene a bit more carefully. The mass of amorphous tendrils was not responding to
the usual lures. The lures in question were a series of devices that mimicked powerful Abyssal
influence. They were all flash and no substance, only able to hold up the illusion momentarily, but
it was usually long enough to keep the lesser Abyss entities where they were needed during
experimentation such as this. They were drawn to the energy like moths to a flame. It was in their
nature. Unlike how the natural order operated in the physical world, in the Abyss, the hunted did
not flee from the hunters. The entities sought assimilation. They wanted to be consumed. They
eagerly subjugated themselves to any superior entity or force they encountered. It was the nature of
nothingness. They all instinctually craved singularity.

But this entity paid no mind to where the lures were meant to lead it. Instead, it scrambled at the
east wall of the arena. It was the very place Dottore was standing. For a brief moment, the Third
considered the eerie notion that the entity might be trying to advance on him specifically. That was
nothing more than a paranoid notion, though. But still, the entity was scrambling for something. If
it really wanted Dottore, he suspected it would have already been halfway up the wall by now. But
it's frantic spasming looked like it was directed straight at the wall, trying and failing to dig
through the old stone surface.

Dottore suddenly remembered that the creature had stopped earlier during testing. He had just
assumed it was because its fallen opponent had lost its interest. But that was wrong, wasn’t it?

It hadn't lost interest. Something else had just caught it's attention. The same thing that was
keeping it from the lures now.

What was it looking for?

Dottore turned around to look behind him, just to try to put the pieces together in his mind, and the
first thing he saw was Tsuji and a few other researchers huddled in a half circle a few meters away.
Dottore could not hear what they were saying; the researchers spoke in urgent, hushed mutters.

Tsuji was saying nothing at all. The woman that Dottore would have described as unflappable up
until this point was standing there in silence, eyes unfocused and blown out wide, her pupils
nothing but pinpricks as she stared vacantly forward in what Dottore could only describe as abject
horror. He could see her hands shaking as the scholars continued to quietly explain something to
her.

Dottore felt his stomach drop.

In all the time she had worked for him, Dottore did not think he had ever once seen her this visibly
distraught. She did not scare easily, and yet here she was, quite simply frozen in terror before him.
If she was this scared, she was probably scared of him. And if she was that scared of him, there
was probably a reason for it.
Tsuji suddenly looked back over to Dottore. She visibly flinched when she saw him staring back at
her.

Dottore's teeth ached from the sudden tension he was now holding in his jaw.

"What happened?" He asked slowly. There was no need to clarify if something happened. He
already knew it had. He just needed to know what.

Tsuji's face went white as a sheet.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The entire east wing of the research lab was gone.

It was just gone. Every subject that was being researched there, every specimen archived, every
last resource down to the four researchers that had been last seen working in the area, and were
therefore now presumed to be dead. It was all just gone. All that was left in its place was a clean
line between the man made structures and what was now a gaping cavern deep below the Sumeran
desert.

Dottore had started laughing when he saw it. It was ludicrous. It was absolutely, unequivocally
absurd. It was all too fucking laughable to do anything but just that; laugh. The sound of his giddy
cackling echoed through the empty space for a long while. One of the researchers standing by the
scene began weeping in fear as he laughed. He found this funny, as well. What in the world could
she possibly have to sob about? What had she lost to that massive, inexplicable hole in front of
them?

Although, the space in question was not entirely unexplainable. Certain subjects and materials with
Abyssal qualities could be extremely volatile, if not handled properly. Spatial and temporal
disturbances were not unheard of, if two unstable forces were to come in contact with each other.
But all of Dottore’s work sites had long since been outfitted to avoid such an event from occuring.
Moreover, even if someone’s incompetence had led to an anomalous incident, the results should
not have been anywhere near as cataclysmic as this. A few subjects disappearing? Even a whole
room? It could have happened, certainly. But this was unheard of. That had been years worth of
labor, much of which had been Dottore’s own, all gone in what seemed to be an instant.

But Dottore managed to compose himself by the time he had returned to his office and called for
Tsuji. She too, seemed to have pulled herself together somewhat, in the short time they had been
apart. She stood in front of his desk, standing straight as ever before him, eyes cast only slightly
downward. But she was still more shaken than he had ever seen her before today. The color had
only just barely returned to her cheeks, and her jaw was set tersely in place as she steeled herself
for Dottore’s ire. But she did not receive any.

“So, Miss Tsuji,” Dottore started, resting his elbows on his desk and leaning forward. His voice
came out smoothly, without the slightest trace of impatience; it was a surprise even to himself.
Tsuji seemed downright unsettled by it, as if she had only been preparing for his rage and was not
equipped to react to anything else. But Dottore just continued like this, interlocking his fingers and
steepling them against his chin coolly. “Tell me: how are you going to rectify this situation?”

Whatever she had planned to say, if she even had anything to begin with, fell dead on her lips. The
only thing that left her was an incomplete, wavering stammer. “Rectify the-? W-well… Lord
Dottore, it’s-”

“Hm? Speak up, will you? I can barely hear a word you’re saying.”
“It’s just…. Lord Dottore, I-” Tsuji swallowed roughly, looking apprehensive. “I don’t know. We-
We just need some time. I need time here. Especially after-”

The end of that sentence was swallowed up in her own visible fear. What a nuisance. One too
many things had been swallowed up before Dottore’s eyes today. But he simply closed his eyes
briefly, letting an exhale out through his nostrils. When he opened them again, he kept them
narrowed at Tsuji.

“You know, Miss Tsuji, I always liked you. Have I ever told you that? I suppose it’s difficult to
appreciate what you have in the moment; realizations like that always seem to come to me after the
fact.” Dottore paused for a moment, cracking his knuckles. Just to have something to do with his
hands. Just to feel the sensation of the popping between his joints, the slight shifting of his tendons
and ligaments as he worked through his overworked hands. The sound seemed to shoot out through
the tense atmosphere like the crack of a whip. “Anyway, it’s the truth. You see, it’s always been so
hard to find good help around here. Before you came along, I’d yet to find a decent assistant that
could last more than a few months on the job. If they weren’t spineless little namby-pambies, then
they were just idiots, plain and simple. It’s always been frustrating for me, as I’m sure you can
imagine.

“But then you came along. Oh, I was quite pleased to get you, Miss Tsuji. You weren’t spineless at
all. And the experience you came with; a valuable asset, indeed. Although, that’s not to say you
didn’t come without any bad habits to break.”

Tsuji was frozen again, her resolve noticeably crumbling before his eyes. What a disappointment.
Dottore sighed, leaning back in his chair and drumming his fingers against his desk.

“You’ve always been quite familiar with the idea of ‘eternity’ in your work before this, haven’t
you?” Dottore continued. “Trouble is, you were only familiar with the Raiden Shogun’s idea of it.
And, well… we all know how that turned out, don’t we? Hm?”

Dottore looked at her expectantly. Tsuji opened her mouth to speak, and it seemed as if she
couldn’t. She only nodded stiffly.

“What I’m trying to say, Miss Tsuji, is that I think our understandings of the matter at hand have
diverged. Perhaps you haven’t completely kicked those bad habits of yours. Ascribing to outdated
ideas such as the Raiden Shogun set forth.” Dottore set a calculated glare on her. Everything was
ice. His eyes. The blood in his veins. It was the thing that kept his tone level, his mind a steel trap.
It felt like the only thing keeping madness at bay. “So allow me to make sure I’m being perfectly
clear. Your ideas, at their core, have always been wrong. You have potential, you always have. But
you have to realize that your idea of eternity is obsolete. Your Archon is obsolete. The things you
once considered timeless- Well, they have long since ran out of time. And so have you. Do you
understand me?”

When she could finally speak again, her voice was a mere croak. “Lord Dottore, I-”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Dottore interrupted, raising a scolding finger at her. “No more excuses! I’m not
asking you what you need to fix it. You already have all anyone can give you. This is not about
what you need. This is about what I need. And I need solutions. I need you to be of use to me
again, Miss Tsuji. And if you can’t prove this to me yourself, I will make you useful to me again.
By any means necessary.”

“Lord Dottore, I-” Tsuji was scrambling now, eyes wide with fear, and her tone even getting a little
defensive. It was a desperate, last-ditch effort to be heard. She probably wasn’t even aware of what
she sounded like. She wouldn’t have been aware of how it was making Dottore’s frozen blood thaw
with the beginnings of anger. “What you’re asking is impossible. Research has been difficult
enough as it is, and with this setback, I can’t just fix it. I need time!”

Dottore’s jaw clenched. He slowly stood up from his chair.

“I don’t think you truly understand,” Dottore droned, taking heavy, deliberate steps to the front of
his desk, “the gravity of the matter at hand. Are you just stupid, after all? Should I spell it out for
you?”

Dottore approached her at a menacingly slow pace, eyes locked on her in an unyielding stare. She
stood stock-still as he approached, even as he came to loom in front of her. She already had a small,
waifish figure, but now she seemed almost frail as Dottore glared down at her.

“I have placed the importance of my life’s work in your custody, Miss Tsuji. And from the way
you’re acting, I really don’t think you know what that means. It means that when I say I want
results, it’s not something to be taken lightly.” Dottore could see her hands trembling. He had to
fight to make sure his own did not do the same. “It means that I could use up every last fucking
inch of you, and you still wouldn’t have given up half as much as I have. So I would advise you to
do your best giving me the results I need. Your life means nothing to me, otherwise.”

Tsuji lost all her color again. Dottore waited for her response, but quickly lost his patience when
she simply continued standing there in a fearful daze.

“Have I made myself clear, by now?” Dottore snapped. The woman didn’t even flinch anymore.
Her eyes were unfocused, staring straight through him. But she at least managed to find her voice
again.

“You have, Lord Dottore.”

“Perfect. Then I have no need to repeat myself any further.” Dottore sneered, and then placed a
hand on her shoulder. He could feel her grow rigid under his touch before he simply spun her
around and shoved her back towards the door. “I’ll let you get to it, then. I do have other matters to
attend to. So I suppose you’ll have that precious ‘time’ you insisted upon, after all. But I do look
forward to seeing the progress you’ve made when I return again.”

Tsuji did not look back at him, but he could hear her swallow roughly before speaking. “Yes, my
lord. You won’t be disappointed.”

She even straightened her back slightly before walking out of his office. After she had left, Dottore
numbly walked back over to his chair, sitting down with a sigh. He took off his mask and set it
down on the desk, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and
forefingers.

What a headache it all was. Having to explain things that shouldn’t need explaining. Having to
impart how significant his work was.

His life’s work. That’s what it always had been, since the very beginning. Since that very first
spark. The spark of life. The true beginning of his life, igniting right before his eyes; everything
else was insignificant.

Dottore’s memories were resurfacing again. Why now? Why, after all this strife, would he force
himself to trudge through all these wretched scenes? Why did it feel like the only thing his mind
was good for anymore was wandering?

~*~*~*~*~*~
Due to the nature of his mother's illness, Dottore did not have much to do or anyone to answer to as
a child, and would therefore fritter most of his time away in and around the village by himself. This
aspect of his childhood he never minded; he had always preferred his space. The other children in
the village generally seemed not to care for him, and the feeling was mutual. If anything, he
preferred the company of adults, but even that did not hold as much value to him as solitude.

Throughout his early childhood, he spent most of his time just exploring his surroundings.
Studying the things in the village. Learning them inside and out.

Although the humble village was a far cry from the radiance of Waterfall City, Dottore would not
have called it a primitive community, not even by Fontaine's standards. They had technology; most
of the village had simply foregone the use of it for so long, they did not see the sense in
reintroducing it into their life. The farmers could tend to their crops just fine when there were crops
to tend to, and when famine hit, it didn’t make a difference if they had sophisticated tools or not.
So the broken-down irrigation machines and self-propelled reapers would simply stay broken. The
same went for the cameras, sewing machines, phonographs, and other novelty inventions that a
handful of the villagers had in their possession. The upkeep of these things outweighed what little
effect they had on the community's quality of life. Their worries could not be fixed with the click
of a camera lens or even a more efficient way to mend their clothing. There were many periods of
their lives where the people were only trying to survive. Nothing more, nothing less.

But being as young as he was, these things obviously did not concern Dottore. He found all the
technology to be fascinating, and he would spend most of his days toying around with any
dilapidated machine he could get his hands on. The delicate, precise mechanisms within them were
nothing short of awe-inspiring, especially when he had yet to understand it. How could so many
little parts come together into one cohesive whole? Into something that could serve a purpose,
things that could improve day to day life. After a while of toying around with the abandoned
devices with childish wonderment, Dottore had become dead set on wanting to rouse the dormant
machinery from its slumber. He didn't have much to help him with this. Most of the adults were not
well-versed enough in mechanics to offer him assistance, although he doubted they would feel very
inclined to offer such a thing anyway. They simply had no interest in these machines anymore. So
Dottore had nothing much to start with, aside from the few dusty old manuals with cracked,
yellowing pages he was able to find, and his own intuition.

But more than that, he had time. He certainly had plenty of time on his hands, if nothing else.

So he began pouring himself into every last bit of machinery he could find from a very young age.
It felt like the broken devices were always calling to him. They begged to be complete again, for
someone to slip their missing pieces back into place so they could once again serve their purpose.
So they could be complete. And after so many years of familiarizing himself with what this
completeness consisted of - assembling and reassembling parts in every order he could think of,
carefully taking stock of what little information he had at his disposal - it had all finally clicked.

Dottore could still remember the first thing he ever fixed. It was a camera. One of the other
villagers had given it to him, though Dottore was sure it couldn’t have been out of kindness. It had
merely been an afterthought, nothing but an alternative method to dispose of what they considered
to be unsalvageable scrap. Perhaps they pitied the boy who constantly meandered through the
village unsupervised when he was far too young to be doing so, but it could not have been any
deeper than that.

It had been an easy fix. It was nothing more than a lens out of place, and just like that, he had
finally done it. He had finally restored one of the outdated things in that dusty old village to its
former glory. Dottore may have even taken a picture with it in his excitement. He couldn’t
remember. What he did remember, however, was quickly disassembling it piece by piece after that,
just to put it all back together again.

As the years went by, his knowledge of such things improved through even more study and
practice. He started to develop a reputation in the village, beyond that which was simply the
product of his mother’s reputation, for his studious nature and natural aptitude for mechanics.
Some of them would even start bringing him their old, decrepit devices for him to tinker with. This
too, surely was not done out of much kindness. It was self-serving, at best, and condescending pity
at worst. But at the time, he did not care what the difference was, so long as he had no shortage of
playthings at his disposal.

But even with their contributions, Dottore got to the point where he was running out of things in the
village to fix. So he had to look for more. The young boy most of the village described as a
shrinking violet began to wander out further than most of the rest of them cared to. He needed more
than that place was able to offer him. He needed to find something else to learn from.

One day, he found it.

It was quite a ways outside the limits of the community, in the wilderness of Fontaine where the
woods were thick. They were in the midst of their rainy season - which had become so severe that
several of the cottages closer to the river had been flooded - and Dottore could still recall how the
spongy, mossy forest floor felt giving way under his feet with every step. He vaguely observed that
he was out further than he ever had before. But that was fine. He had nowhere else to be. No one to
notice his absence. His time was his own, and no one else’s.

Eventually he came across a clearing in the trees. Before he hit it, the first thing he noticed was the
change in his footfalls. He no longer had to shift his weight to account for the suction of the
marshy ground as it attempted to encase his feet in mud. When he stepped out, it was onto dry
ground. The clearing itself was eerily sparse. It was like a spot of blight, a dead, brown scar against
the lushness of the woods. There was scrap metal scattered around the area, and in the epicenter of
it all were a small group of crystal-like objects, tightly grouped together like quartz.

Dottore of course knew what those things were now. It was an Abyss material; one of the many
possible physical manifestations of its power. It was the same material that many of the Abyss
Mages had inlaid in their sceptres. It even looked similar to the material that jutted from the Foul
Legacy’s shoulder blades in two menacing, otherworldly growths. Dottore still utilized it in many
of his experiments. The crystals themselves were relatively innocuous; they more effectively
transmitted energy rather than stored it themselves, being only as powerful as the power they were
given. On their own, there weren’t much more menacing than a shard of an Electro crystal.

But Dottore hadn’t known any of this at the time. He only knew that it was something new.
Something enticing. The glowing, cornflower crystals seemed to pulsate as soon as he entered the
clearing, as if they were beckoning to him. But even for all his curiosity, he was too nervous to
touch them at first. So he simply observed them.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent, kicking around dust and circling those crystals like a vulture,
too scared to advance further. Eventually though, he started sifting through the random pieces of
scrap metal scattered around. He turned one around, and a large, black beetle skittered out from
under it.

Dottore had killed it beneath his feet. He didn’t really think anything of it. He didn’t really care for
the things, and insects were meant to be stepped on. But looking at its crushed, crumpled little
body after the fact made him start thinking. He kicked it towards the crystals, not entirely sure why
he was doing so. Perhaps he just wanted to see what would happen when another living being -
 although it was not really “living” anymore - came into contact with the mysterious crystals.
Maybe he was just acting out of boredom. Or cruelty. It didn’t really matter.

The only thing that mattered was the spark. As soon as the beetle’s hard exoskeleton clacked
against the crystals, there was a small spark. Just the barest pinpricks of light, of heat, of life. The
beetle appeared to be smoking slightly from it, a black miasma seeping from its dead body.
Suddenly, its crumpled form began fitting itself back into place. And then, after a moment, it was
like nothing had ever happened. It was just a living thing again. It crawled around slightly, and
Dottore could see its spindly antenna tapping lightly against the crystal’s surface.

Then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over. The beetle disappeared completely in a puff of
smoke.

Dottore knew this now to have been the result of corruption. It was something he would not have
been able to witness any other way. Those crystals would not have been powerful enough to
corrupt anything else that wholly or that quickly, nothing other than a freshly expired insect taken
out of its routine by the haphazardness of a child. But it was just right. Just the ideal situation for
the force to take over its victim, briefly giving it life just so it could snuff it away.

But none of this mattered to Dottore at the time, obviously. Not even a decade into his life, he
could not have even hazarded a guess as to what had happened. The gravity of what had happened
right in front of his eyes hadn’t even fully dawned on him, and wouldn’t until many, many years
later. If someone had asked him at that moment, he would not have been able to explain what he
had just seen. He simply didn’t know. But he knew that it had been terribly interesting. And he
knew that he wanted to know. He wanted to learn.

Dottore remembered approaching the crystals, then. He paid no mind to the fact that the beetle had
disintegrated right before his eyes, nor that fear still nagged at him in the back of his mind, an
instinctual urge to run back home and stay far away from the mysterious substance in front of him.

But running home would do him no good. There was nothing waiting for him there. There never
had been. It was all right here.

Dottore had touched the crystals gingerly, fingers just barely grazing against the smooth, glowing
surface.

There was another spark. This one just couldn’t be seen by the eye.

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi

 Cellar Door
Chapter Notes

chapter cw/kink tags:

graphic animal abuse/animal death (i know a lot of ppl REALLY don't like this so full
disclosure so you know what you're in for, it's BAD in this chapter, will be a little less
heavy in chapter 9, and then will never come up again), vomit, non-consensual
somnophilia

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It was quiet.

A few months ago, that would have been a blessing. Dottore would have all but dropped to his
knees and thanked his lucky stars for silence, for just a few precious moments to himself where
those moments had grown fewer and farther in between. But now, the silence had become just as
deafening as any noise. It was so stifling he couldn’t control his thoughts, so they simply controlled
him instead. And he couldn’t have that. They had gone unchecked for long enough.

Childe was already gone, by the time he had woken up that day. Dottore stayed in bed for a few
more hours until he had almost driven himself crazy with staring at the sheets. He managed to
rouse himself then, and decided to try picking up some of the research that he had long since
abandoned at the facility. There was no reason for him to. It was just something to do. Something
to think about.

It was so dreadfully quiet.

Dottore spent a few more hours in his main office, growing more restless by the second. He would
try to parse through his old notes, old journals, old blueprints, lose focus, and have to start all over
again. He truthfully did not know what he was looking for in these things; perhaps he was hoping
for a flash of inspiration from viewing old work with fresh eyes? But his eyes felt anything but
fresh, and his head and body were still wracked with a powerful ache all throughout, and maybe he
wasn’t really looking for anything, anyway. After a while, his efforts to leaf through the
unorganized mound of abandoned trains of thought were so unsuccessful that he couldn’t even bear
to sit still any longer. He stood up with a wince, and simply started pacing around the room.

He didn’t know what to do.

Dottore was still rattled from what happened at Haeresys, even after quite some time spent away
from the site. Not even being with the Foul Legacy the day prior was able to keep him placated.
Usually, he would still be too out of sorts to even think of meandering around the facility like this.
But not this time.

It was abysmal. All of it was. Having a huge chuck of his work swept away by the whims of
oblivion had made him realize just how bad things had gotten. He was running out of time. The
Tsaritsa had seized four gnoses now, and plans to infiltrate the inner machinations of the Fontaine
Courts were already underway and had been for quite some time. They were coming to the end of
things, and what would happen if they got there and Dottore had not completed his task? Men, as
they were born, were no match for the Gods. This was a fact that could not be refuted. That's why
he had to make them better than the Gods. Better than all of them.

The things he had accomplished so far, the things he had created; none of them were good enough.
All the progress he had made was being thrown back in his face the closer he got to the end, and he
was scrambling just to dig his heels into where he already stood. But it wasn't working. He was
being forced to take steps back. And without realizing it, he had taken so many steps back, the
light at the end of the tunnel was beginning to dim.

At that point, he was entirely convinced that the Foul Legacy was his last hope at a breakthrough.
It was everything. It was the image of perfection he had always had in his head, even before he
could actually see it. It was raw power in its purest possible form. And it was all within his grasp
now.

But was it, really? Dottore could barely even look at the thing without feeling like his sanity was at
stake. He had it at his disposal now, yes, but even with Childe's complete cooperation, he still
didn't know enough about it. He still didn't know if it was possible to recreate something like that.

Dottore ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake his head clear before that train of thought could
reach its easiest conclusion.

It was possible. He couldn't entertain any thoughts to the contrary. He just had to figure out how to
control it. Control the Foul Legacy. Himself. Everything.

Dottore trudged over to the front of his desk, leaning over it with a sigh, palms pressed flat against
the wood surface. He only vaguely took stock of the upside-down notes scattered in front of him, a
part of him wondering if they would make any more sense from this angle. They, unfortunately,
did not. He found himself to be oddly dismayed by the lack of results, despite knowing it should
have been ridiculous to assume he would find them that way.

There was a hot puff of air against the back of his left ear, and Dottore flinched, instinctively
clapping his hand over the spot and drawing a sharp inhale of surprise at the sudden presence
behind him. But by the time one hand had snaked its way around to hug the Third's waist and the
other pinned his right hand to the desk, Dottore already knew who the intruder was.

"Shit," Dottore hissed as Childe wrapped around him. He was cursing himself as much as he was
the boy, for being too distracted to hear him come in the room. "Don't fucking do that, boy."

"Do what?" Childe hummed. He came to rest his chin on Dottore's shoulder, pressing a kiss to the
tips of fingers that were still pressed to the tingling spot of discomfort behind the older man's ear.
Dottore yanked his hand away in annoyance.

"Sneak up on me!" Dottore snapped. "You scared the shit out of me! Don't you have somewhere to
be?"

"No." Childe answered plainly. He kissed the curve of Dottore's jawline. "I'm done for the day. It's
already well into the evening, you know. Did you sleep too late again?"

Dottore tried to swat Childe's face away, but his hand was merely swatted in return. Dottore
scowled, but was already losing the resolve to do much else. He supposed Childe was having one
of his "good" days, then. He was even chatty today. How irritating.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." Dottore grumbled.

"Give it a rest," Childe sighed, and Dottore bristled.

"You-"

"I missed you today." Childe interrupted. He started dotting more kisses along Dottore's neck,
going back until he was at his nape. He buried his face into the Third's hair then, lips pressed
against the base of his skull.

Dottore didn't answer him. He wasn't sure how to respond to things like that anymore. Moreover,
maybe if he played dead, Childe would just lose interest on his own.

But Childe just continued unprompted. "Did you miss me?"

"No." This, at least, he knew how to respond to. It came out quick and dull, with no trace of humor,
no trace of remorse, but also no trace of maliciousness. It was emotionless - a simple fact and
nothing more. Dottore made sure it came across as such.

Childe just laughed quietly. His breath on Dottore's nape made the hair on the back of his neck
stand up with a small shudder. Childe slipped his hand under Dottore's shirt then, and started
lightly trailing his fingers against his skin in small, circular patterns.

"You're so mean." Childe said. He said it fondly. The fact that he did made Dottore a little uneasy.

"Get off of me."

Childe ignored him. "What are you doing in here anyway?"

"Work." Dottore grumbled curtly.

"Yeah?" Despite the fact that he had asked the question, Childe sounded distracted, disinterested.
He pressed his lips to the back of Dottore's neck, again. It wasn't quite a kiss, lazy in its intent and
delivery. It also wasn't quite on the back of his neck, either. It was a little higher. The Eleventh’s
lips seemed to slot against the curve of his occipital bone, his lower lip pressed into the slight
hollow just below its bottom edge. Dottore then had to ponder why on earth he would make an
observation such as this in the first place. He suddenly grew uneasier still.

"Do you remember when you fucked me here?" Childe asked suddenly. The question had been so
abrupt and so unrelated to anything else that had been spoken that Dottore's breath hitched, mostly
out of surprise. Childe continued. "It was right here. The very first time. Do you remember that?"

Now he did. Yes. This was where they were when Dottore first confronted Childe. When Childe
had thrown himself at him. Asked Dottore to ruin him. Dottore vaguely wondered if he had come
close to that, yet. He also wondered why remembering this only stirred up more unrest within him.

Before he could think to respond, Childe was suddenly flipping him around. He shoved Dottore's
ass back against the edge of his desk, pinned him there with his hands on either side of him - it was
just like before, and Dottore could remember it all at once now. It was replaying right in front of
him, scene-for-scene, like no time had passed since that day. So why did it feel so strange now?
Why was being under Childe suddenly making his blood run cold with indecipherable dread?

"Maybe we should do that again." Childe giggled. He pressed a kiss to the exposed corner of
Dottore's mouth without removing his mask. Dottore was actually surprised at the suggestion. Ever
since he had been fucking Dottore as the Foul Legacy, he hadn't even hinted at wanting to have sex
outside of those circumstances. He just hadn't shown any interest. And now, without warning, he
looked just as ravenous for it as he ever had? The abrupt change in his demeanor was certainly
throwing Dottore, but that was not why he was so ill at ease.
Something… something was off. Something was wrong. Dottore couldn't put his finger on it, no
matter what he did. But suddenly he realized the situation didn't feel real. It felt like there was no
possible way that the scene playing out in front of him could really be happening. It was enough to
make him slightly nauseous, his head feeling dizzyingly heavy, and he couldn't quite get his eyes
to focus on anything.

But why? What was the reason? What was happening to him now was not only familiar, but a
literal recreation of a moment that he had already lived. So what was wrong?

Childe brought his hand up to Dottore's mask, curling his fingers around the edge of it, and Dottore
could feel it, he could recognize it as the exact same sensation that had made his skin crawl with
revulsion so long ago. That was the same. It was exactly the same. So what wasn't? Childe set his
mask down on the desk. Then, he brought the hand up to Dottore's scarred cheek, brushing his
thumb across one of the knots of scar tissue. He kissed him there. Then, he kissed his lips.

Dottore was frozen through all of this, desperately trying to collect his thoughts. Childe kept
kissing him despite his lack of reciprocation - his complete inability to do so - like he was trying to
suck the life from him, like he was an oasis in the desert and Childe was a man dying of thirst.
This, too, was familiar.

So what was different? What was different?

"Dottore," Childe breathed, only pulling back enough to get the words out before descending upon
his lips at the very next break. "Don't you want to fuck me?"

This was a question Dottore would not have been prepared even under normal circumstances. He
didn't know. But the answer didn't matter now.

"I-" Between Childe's assault on his mouth and the way the room seemed to be spinning slightly,
Dottore felt like he couldn’t even speak. He was just barely able to turn his head away in a meek
attempt to rebuff Childe's advances, even if just for a second. "No, I- Just shut up for a second."

Childe just followed his mouth, slotting their lips together obsessively. "I'll be so good for you."

"N-" Childe swallowed Dottore's protest before he could even get it out. It was a struggle just to
even momentarily slip away from him. "I- I'm being serious. Shut up."

What was different? What was it? Why wasn't this right? Childe finally forsook his advance,
pulling back a bit further, but only to gaze longingly at Dottore with half-lidded eyes.

"I love you so much." Childe breathed. Dottore looked up at him.

He looked up at him.

Up. Up. He was looking up at him.

Dottore finally found his resolve within a sudden jolt of alarm, standing up straight, bringing his
hands to Childe's chest and shoving him backwards roughly. Childe was forced to stumble back a
few steps, looking caught off guard by the action.

"Hey, you don't have to-"

"Shut up." Dottore interrupted him quickly, his head swimming as he sought to urgently investigate
the boy. He clapped his hands on Childe's shoulder and tried to push them back in an attempt to
straighten him out. "Shut up. Stand straight. Stand straight and look at me."
Childe blinked at him dully, with no recognition in his eyes, but he complied to the command
wordlessly. He straightened his back out at once, standing in front of Dottore with a quizzical look
on his face.

Dottore remembered now, the first time they had been in this position in this office. The very first
time. When Childe had been nothing more than a desperate boy to him; he had looked down on
him for that. Dottore had literally looked down on him, the top of the Eleventh's head just barely
reaching his eyeline.

Childe now stood in front of him at least two inches over his head.

The revelation was enough to make the room spin around Dottore. He tightened his grip on
Childe's shoulders, now in an effort to keep himself upright.

Childe still didn't understand. He raised an eyebrow at Dottore's vacant stare. "You okay?"

"You're taller than me." Dottore was not offering Childe an explanation. He was saying it to
himself. He was trying to process the fact, still wrapping his head around what he was seeing right
in front of his eyes.

Childe just seemed confused. "Okay? So what?"

Dottore was more thrown by his apathy than the issue at hand itself. He stared at him in disbelief,
still trying to fully come to terms with it.

"You're taller than me." Dottore repeated. "You aren't- You weren't. You've always been shorter
than me."

"Have I?" Childe asked. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. He still wasn't getting it.
How wasn't he getting it? As Dottore's initial shock wore off, defensiveness rose in his chest.

"You- Yes!" Dottore exclaimed. He found himself shaking Childe slightly, as if trying to jostle
some sense into him. Or maybe he was just trying to shake it into himself. "Of course you have!
You've always been! So wh- Why are you taller than me?"

"Calm down," Childe said, sounding a little annoyed. "I don't know. I guess I never really noticed.
Guess I had a growth spurt or something."

"Oh, fuck off!" Dottore snapped. It was too shrill, too telling, but he couldn't bother to hold in his
rising emotions. He was so confused. This wasn't making sense. And Childe’s willful ignorance
wasn't helping the matter. "Be serious! Don't say stupid things! You're a grown man! You didn't
have a fucking growth spurt! Why aren't you-"

"Hey, seriously, calm down," Childe cut in. He put his hands on Dottore's and removed them from
his shoulders. He set them down at Dottore's sides like he was soothing a child out of a tantrum,
and it made the Third bristle in disdain. "You're getting really worked up. Why don't you sit down
for a second?"

"I don't need to sit!" Dottore snapped, jerking his hands out Childe's grasp. "I need you to listen;
listen to what I'm fucking saying!"

"I am listening," Childe sighed. "I just think you're getting all worked up over nothing. I mean, I’m
not that much taller than you anyway. It’s easy to miss. Maybe you're just remembering wrong."

The insinuation hit Dottore like a slap to the face. It rang in his ears like a discordant symphony of
church bells, a death knell marking the expiration of his own perspicasity. The implication was
deafening, and Dottore could barely keep himself standing upright. He did desperately need to sit
down, but now he didn't want to. Not after Childe had suggested he should, with that disgusting,
condescending murmur and his brows furrowed in concern.

No. No, he knew he was right. He knew.

"Don't you fuck with me, boy!" Dottore shouted, bringing his hands up to Childe's shoulders and
attempted to shove him back again. Childe barely budged this time; he had been expecting it.
Instead, it just sent Dottore stumbling backwards slightly, until his ass had hit the edge of his desk
again. His breath was starting to come out in little gasps, too quick, too short, too humiliating. But
he was fuming. He couldn't reel himself in. "I'm not fucking senile! I know what I've seen!"

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Childe said, sighing again.

"Then what did you mean?"

"Nothing. I just think you're overreacting."

"I know what I'm saying!"

"No, no, I never said you didn't. I believe you." Childe sounded a little exasperated, his tone
dismissive, and Dottore wasn't convinced. "I guess I just don't get what the big deal is. So what, if
I'm a little taller? You act like that's the strangest thing that's ever happened to anyone. I mean,
look at what else you've seen me do. I think you're just blowing this out of proportion."

It was a senseless, patronizing argument, and Dottore opened his mouth to defend himself, but
quickly closed it again. For as much as the Eleventh's words enraged him, it made Dottore start to
think.

He knew, based on his own experience, that Abyssal influence was capable of altering a person
physically. He was no stranger to these things. He wasn't even a stranger to the concept of
spontaneous growth, specifically. Many of the soldiers that wielded Delusions experienced it. The
skirmisher units certainly experienced it. Some of them grew so rapidly, that in Dottore's first few
years with the Fatui, many of them were physically unable to keep up with the demands of their
rapidly accelerating metabolism, and would expire due to malnourishment in a matter of days. He
had found ways around the issue - it was possible to assist them with the transition via a specially
formulated nutritional substitute, one that had to be force fed to them through a tube for several
consecutive days, but it was generally just easier to install additional enhancements, thereby
leaving less biological components to waste away - but there was no way to actually stop the
growth process once it started. It was just another side effect of Abyssal influence. So Childe was
right, to a certain extent. The phenomenon shouldn't have been so strange to him.

But that still didn't make any sense. Childe had been under the influence of the Abyss for years. At
least as long as he had been enlisted. Those kinds of physical mutations the subjects experienced
happened within the first few weeks of embument. And how long had it been for Childe? At least
five years. Possibly even closer to a decade. Regardless, it had been far too long for his "growth
spurt" to make any sort of sense. So why would it be happening now? How long had it been
happening? How quickly had it come on? How had Dottore not noticed until now?

The Third’s mind reeled from all these questions, so much that he had still been speechless by the
time he noticed Childe approaching him again. The Eleventh reached out to him, and Dottore tried
to swat his hand away, but he caught him by the wrist and held it there.
"Hey. Calm down." Childe said. His tone still grated at Dottore's nerves, and he tried to pull his
arm back, but Childe wouldn't let him.

"Get the fuck off of me." Dottore hissed. Childe sighed, ignoring the request, and wrapped his
arms around him. Dottore thought it would be too generous to call it an embrace, with his one arm
hanging stiffly at his side and the one Childe had been holding now trapped between their chests.
More than that, it felt like the Eleventh was just attempting to hold him in one place, rather than
having the purpose of asserting any sort of affection towards him. Maybe that was why Dottore
simply let it happen, only giving the barest of jerks upon first being ensnared before simply giving
in. He was just tired.

“I’m sorry.” Childe muttered, his words not much more than a whisper against Dottore’s ear. “I
didn’t mean anything by it. I really do believe you.”

“Just drop it.” Dottore groused. Exhaustion set in on him suddenly, the aftermath of the quick burst
of panic he had just experienced, and he didn’t have the energy to argue. He wasn’t about to let it
go completely, but he realized digging deeper now wouldn’t help anything. Childe either didn’t
believe him, or was truly that unconcerned about the matter, and either way, Dottore did not think
he could convince him to change his mind. He had been right about one thing: it wasn’t the
strangest change the boy had ever undergone. And Dottore was willing to bet those stranger things
were the culprit for what was happening now. He couldn’t make any more sense of it beyond that,
but Dottore would just have to pay closer attention from there on out. He had no choice but to pick
his battles a bit more wisely, and to continue observing. It was really all he could do, without more
insight.

Childe let out a wistful exhale, still holding onto Dottore. “Do you want to talk about something
else?”

Dottore sighed in exasperation. “Feeling chatty, aren’t we?”

Childe chuckled quietly. “I’m just in a good mood today. We hardly ever talk anymore, anyway.
Don’t you get bored just moping around here by yourself all day?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Dottore groused. He was not about to admit that Childe was half-
right, although being “bored” was not an accurate description of Dottore’s problem. He didn’t get
bored. He got restless. A little boredom would have been a blessing, in fact.

Childe didn’t answer at first. He let go of Dottore then, just to sidle up beside him at the edge of
his desk. In one fluid motion, he hoisted himself up to sit on it, crossing his legs underneath him.

“I actually have something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. Something I wanted to ask you,
rather.” Childe admitted, looking pensive. Dottore only gave him a quick glance, though, before
staring ahead of himself vacantly. He wasn’t really interested in this. But he had been the one just
silently lamenting the quiet. How fitting that a little bundle of chatter should fall into his lap so
abruptly. He really should have known by now not to tempt the spiteful hands of the Gods with
frivolous complaints. There was always another finger on the monkey’s paw left to curl. But
Dottore really didn’t care anymore. At least if Childe got to jawing, it would be something to fill
the void.

“Don’t waste my time, then,” Dottore said dully, crossing his arms. Childe paused again.

“What’s your name?”

Dottore still didn’t look at him, but the question was a surprise. He furrowed his brows,
instinctively setting his jaw in preparation for his anger. But anger did not come. Dottore was
probably just too tired for it. The abrupt query was annoying, certainly, but more than that, it was
just curious.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, boy.” Dottore replied after a moment.

“Why is that a stupid question?” Childe asked in earnest.

“Because you know my name.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes you do.” Dottore asserted, glancing back at him. Childe wasn’t looking at Dottore, and had
taken to staring at the wall ahead of them as well. “You know the only one that matters.”

Childe let out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes. “I mean your real name.”

“Why would you need to know that?” Dottore asked, frowning.

“I don’t need to know it,” Childe answered. “I just want to.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to. I don’t know. I thought it would be nice.”

“Nice?” Dottore parroted, lacing the word with disdain. “That has nothing to do with it. We were
given our titles for a reason, boy. Isn’t it your precious Tsaritsa that goes on about ‘burning away’
our pasts for the sake of the future?”

"And you expect me to believe that you care about what she has to say on the subject?" Childe shot
back, giving a dry laugh.

Dottore scowled, looking forward again. "A broken clock still reads right twice a day, boy."

"Aw, come on," Childe urged, nudging Dottore with his shoulder. "You can't possibly care that
much about it."

"I don't." Dottore said. "That's why there's no point in it. It's worthless information."

"What are you so worried about?" Childe asked. "I won't use it, if that's what's bothering you. It
would probably sound weird to say, at this point. I just want to know."

"I'm not worried about anything." Dottore snapped, although that had been a reservation he would
not admit to now. But that just made the issue more baffling. There was even less point in knowing
a name you wouldn't use. Dottore didn't understand his fascination.

"Then what's the problem with me knowing? Is it just because you don't remember mine?"

Dottore was not going to admit that he did remember his name, nor would that have been the issue
anyway. "No."

"Well, it's Ajax." Childe said it with no hesitation whatsoever.

"Good for you." Dottore replied dully.

Childe groaned in frustration. "Come on. If you don't even care, what's the point in arguing about
it?"

"You tell me." Dottore shot a glare at him, to find that Childe was glaring right back. The Eleventh
crossed his arms petulantly.

"You always do this," Childe huffed. "You get all worked up over nothing just for the sake of
arguing. What's the point in that?"

Dottore didn't respond to him right away, just looking away with a scowl. He would have sooner
dropped dead than admit Childe was even partially correct, but he was. Even now, Dottore could
feel his resolve slipping from him, wondering what the harm could really be if he told him. What
was he really holding onto? His pride? His dignity? His privacy? Those were things he didn't have
much left of, anyway, as far as his relationship with Childe was concerned. And Dottore did not
covet his old name enough for it to be something to cling to.

Truthfully, Dottore was tired of arguing. If Childe wanted something that had so little value, then
he could just have it.

Dottore didn't look at him as he spoke. "Nicolas."

Childe went silent. Dottore was almost compelled to glance over then, just to see what was sure to
be a dumbstruck look on the boy's face at the Third's abrupt relention, but he fought the urge.

"Nicolas?" Childe was testing the word out on his own, playing with how it sounded. It was
clumsy, coming from his tongue, not quite how it was supposed to sound, but of course Dottore
was not invested enough to correct him.

"Yes." Dottore replied plainly. He sighed, leaning more of his weight back against the desk. At
least it was over now. Maybe that would keep him satisfied for a while.

"You're lying to me."

Dottore's blood ran cold. Without thinking, he whipped his head around in Childe's direction, eyes
gone wide. Childe was only frowning at him, almost pouting. He just looked put out. He didn't
appear to be aware of how rigid Dottore had gone, or how his nails were now digging into the
wood grain of his desk.

"What?" Dottore asked dumbly. He could not hope to compose himself yet. He could only try not
to let the statement get to him any more than it already had.

"You're lying to me." Childe repeated matter-of-factly. His arms were still crossed over his chest,
looking indignant.

Dottore had to remember himself. He couldn't let Childe realize he had rattled him. Dottore
struggled to regain an even expression, to relax every muscle in his body to something that even
vaguely resembled nonchalance. He raised an eyebrow at the Eleventh, bidding his voice to sound
level as he spoke.

"Why do you think I'm lying?" Dottore asked carefully.

Childe just blinked at him slowly. "Because I can tell when you are."

Dottore felt sick. He didn't know what made the statement worse; was it the fact that Childe had
said it so plainly, with a certainty he shouldn't have possessed? Or was it because it genuinely
hadn't even occurred in the moment that Dottore had been lying to him in the first place?
But he did lie. It had become so second nature, he hadn't even fully recognized it as one. But it was
a lie.

Nicolas was the name Pierro knew him by. It was the name that his fellow scholars at the
Academia would have addressed him as, if they could have been bothered to do so.

But that was not his real name.

Childe sighed, then, leaning back on his hands and letting his head loll backwards. He closed his
eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me, if it’s that big of a deal.” Childe said. He sounded disappointed. “It’s
fine.”

Dottore opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it. What could he say that wouldn’t just dig
the hole deeper? What did he want to say? That he wasn’t lying? Would Childe even believe it?
Would it matter now, if he did?

Dottore slowly turned his head away from him. He started staring at the wall again. He stared
through it. He stared through everything around him until it all began to lose meaning.

Yes. He had been lying. He remembered that now. Despite his best efforts, he was remembering
again. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to remember that name. The name of the boy from a too-
humble village on the edge of Fontaine, the one that had still pondered the meaning of justice and
what the Gods had in store for him.

That boy was dead. And there was no sense in knowing a name that had no use.

Dottore distantly heard Childe speak up again. His voice had gone dull. But so had everything else
around Dottore.

“Let’s just go to bed.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore couldn’t have been any older than thirteen when another plague swept through the
community with a vengeance. There had not been a sickness of that severity since the one that had
taken Dottore’s father and sister nearly a decade prior, and so the people were ill prepared to deal
with the disaster. To make matters worse, one of the first people taken by the disease had been the
village’s doctor; the only one the community had to their name. The mantle had to be swiftly taken
up by an old, retired adventurer - Dottore did not remember his name - the only one that had
anywhere near the experience necessary to do so from all his years administering impromptu
medical care in less than ideal situations. But he was overwhelmed with the sickly, and by that
point most of the able-bodied people in the community were either bedridden or had been sent out
of the village to track down the closest allogene healer they could find.

Eventually, the old man had found Dottore kicking around the village for scrap metal, and
promptly dragged him into the infirmary by the arm.

“If you’re so good with your hands, then make them do something useful.”

Dottore took offense to that. Moreover, he certainly did not wish to spend his time around these
disgusting, ill people. But being only a boy, and a somewhat meek one at that, Dottore could not
argue with him. And although it was certainly too ghastly an affair for a boy to be thrust into, he
did, indeed, make his hands useful. Too useful, it turned out. Even after the sickness had passed,
Dottore kept finding himself strong-armed by that old curmudgeon into assisting him at the
infirmary.

Now, of course, Dottore supposed the whole thing had been a blessing in disguise.

It was the first time that he had ever been given reason to take interest in people.

There were things about it he had liked. He liked learning that, in the grand scheme of things, all
humans were exactly the same. They had the same skeletal structure, the same nervous system, the
same organs that were all meant to do the same thing. Humans were not so unlike the machines he
had grown up tinkering around with. The outer casings were all vastly different from each other,
and yet the inner mechanisms were all meant to fit together the same. There were rules. It was
simple, once you understood them. And once everything was set right, they could live out their
purpose. But while machines had many purposes - to capture a snapshot in time, to harvest that
season’s crops, to play back a string of words or the tune of an instrument - humans seemed to only
have one purpose. A human's purpose was to live. That's what the body was made for; it was made
for breathing, for seeing, for feeling. Life was a function. The meaning of life was life in and of
itself. This is what Dottore had eventually discovered, and accepted without question. It only made
sense.

When it came to a human's parts, any deviations from the norm were defections. Dysfunctions that
had to be fixed, and made functional once more. And, like his many mechanical playthings, he
discovered that if the parts were broken, he had the ability to fix them. And this, he enjoyed. It was
satisfying, stitching up a laceration, or flushing out an abscess, or the process of resetting a broken
bone. To heal was to restore a human's purpose. He genuinely liked seeing his patients recover.
From something as small as a young child’s scraped knee, to the man that had once been rushed in
after having his calf gouged open by the tusk of a boar, Dottore was laser focused on every
challenge that came his way, and took great pride in the end result. The work was its own reward,
and it was worth far more than the village's gratitude for his services.

But while Dottore never needed or even wanted their gratitude, what he didn't like was the overt
lack thereof that he was often met with.

Humans should have been simple enough to figure out, but they were not. Humans were
unreasonable. Irrational. They didn't make as much sense as their bodies did, and it frustrated
Dottore to no end. Children would not take their medicine if it was bitter. Grown men would
whinge and wince at the prospect of a dislocated joint being popped back into place. They would
shy away from a suture, or forgo a health regimen if it was too much trouble, or sneak out for
frivolous activities when bed rest had been ordered. It was baffling to Dottore how often people
would turn a deaf ear to reason, or turn down treatment simply because they were apprehensive of
the methods.

Dottore never had any patience for their tears or reservations. He soon developed a reputation
around the village for this, and they had the gall to attribute his brusque nature to him being
unreasonable. He knew some people merely found it amusing. They chuckled about him, the
youthful medic's aid that had a bedside manner more disagreeable than that of an old retired field
medic. With others, it only made them wary of him. Further unease to fuel their inane gossip.

Dottore found both sentiments to be ridiculous. He certainly didn't find anything funny about how
often he had to scold grown men for childish whines of protest or reckless behavior that directly
contradicted the acting medic's orders. And he had never understood why so many people looked
upon him with such disquiet. Not when everything he did was only the most pragmatic course of
action. Their inability to comprehend basic logic was the only distressing phenomenon in that
village.

But regardless of any of that, there was value to be had in what he learned as the acting medic’s
assistant. Dottore inadvertently ended up inheriting most of the prior doctor’s estate; any medical
reference material that did not need to have a permanent home in the infirmary wound up in his
possession. Some of them were given to him by the acting medic. Some he had to steal away when
the man was not looking. Either way, once he had them in his clutches, he would pour himself into
their contents. He would do it over and over again, until he had memorized everything within. He
hardly ever had to return to any of the literature for reference, once he had gone through all that.
But he kept it all anyway. Somewhere he knew no one else would find them.

There was a cellar beneath the cottage Dottore and his mother resided in. It had been locked up
since Dottore could remember. His mother knew of it, but did not pay it any more mind than that.
The only mention she ever gave it was in the midst of her delirium, and the rare instances that she
would mention her husband within her ramblings.

“Did your father lock up the cellar after he came up? I’m worried Antoinette might fall through if
it’s kept open.”

Dottore assumed for a while that the key must have been lost somewhere in the course of his
deceased father’s sickness. He even wondered if he could have had it on him at the time of his
passing, and if it had traveled with him through the process of cremation. If that was true, the key
would have been long lost, rusted through and jutting out from the rocky river bed somewhere
along the river.

But that ended up not being the case. Dottore had found it. It had been swallowed up by the weeds
just outside the cottage, smelling of earth and plant rot and shedding little flakes of rust as his
hands grasped it. This was before the infirmary. Before his discovery in the woods. It was when all
he had was meandering aimlessly throughout the village, constantly searching but never quite
knowing what it was he searched for. Even after he had found the key, and tried it in the
mysterious lock that had been sealed away for all his life, he did not fully understand its value. He
had simply stood in front of the entrance with rust-smeared hands and an apprehensive mind,
curious as to what potential lay inside, but fearful of the black, yawning unknown that lay just
beyond the open cellar door. But he did eventually brave the oblivion. He always did.

That was where all his most precious belongings went. All the machines he had ever repaired, all
the ones in the process of repairing, the spare parts, the wrinkled blueprints, the yellowed medical
journals; and eventually, the Abyss materials, the ones that he had dug out of the ground with
nothing but a sheet of scrap metal and his own two hands, secreting the crystals back home in his
pockets. Dottore's entire life was contained in that cellar. Not out in the village, or within the walls
of the infirmary, and especially not in the living space that was directly over his head, separated by
no more than a few feet of dirt. Everything that had ever interested him and everything he ever
cared for went there. He never told anyone else about it. He doubted if there would be anyone out
of the villagers - his mother included - that would have cared even if he had. It was his own space.
It was quiet when the world grew noisy. It was his one and only respite in that godforsaken village.
And such as it was, it soon became his den of progress.

When he had first discovered the Abyss materials in the woods, he had no idea what to do with
them. He wanted them, and he coveted them fiercely for years, but in all that time he had never
been able to figure out why he did. It was something that constantly nagged him, the feeling of
incompleteness. It was the dread of fumbling around in the darkness for light, blindly searching for
a lamp that always seemed just out of reach. It was the feeling of being in the midst of a nightmare
and opening your mouth to scream, only for no sound to come out. It was ignorance so profound
that the tongue could not even begin to weave a question that would yield answers. So in his efforts
to find a starting point, he simply threw everything he could think of at the crystals, just observing
the resultant reactions or the lack thereof.

The material didn't seem to be reactive to his own presence, no matter what he did with it.
Likewise, the live insects that often skittered across and by it did not affect it either, nor did it alter
the creatures in any way. The only inanimate objects it ever consistently reacted to were items
imbued with elemental energy. He had noticed the pattern early on, but there wasn't much he could
do about it at the time. He only had access to materials that were far too weak to come up with any
enlightening results, like mist flower corollas, fire flower stamens, the occasional shard of an
Electro crystal; things he could either easily swipe from the infirmary or one of the people in the
village, or things he could forage for himself. But his findings from these little experiments did not
interest him. The elemental material in question would either end up bursting into pieces, or it
would simply wither away, the Abyss material very briefly radiating and sparking with its essence
before the force dissipated. While it was mildly intriguing to see this happen, and he certainly took
note of the reactions, it was not exactly what Dottore wanted to see. It was not what he needed to
see.

What was most interesting to Dottore is how it interacted with lifeless objects. Like the beetle that
he had initially witnessed reanimating before disappearing in a plume of smoke, any dead insect he
exposed to the crystals did the same thing. The dead husks would be imbued with Abyssal force,
and then the creature would spring back to life and scuttle around momentarily before
disintegrating before his eyes. And for a while, that was all he had. Dottore did not know what to
do from there. He knew there was something to be done, something missing, but he did not know
what. Things did not truly progress until after he had started working in at the infirmary. At that
point, after just a year or so of education - most of it self-motivated - he was finally able to take the
next step.

As he familiarized himself with the human body and realized that their intricately designed
structure made all men intrinsically the same, at a certain point he drew the conclusion that they
were also not much more different from any other living creature on earth. Even though the sum of
their parts were dissimilar, it was a blueprint that led to the same conclusion: life. So in a way,
humans were not much more different from animals. And animals were not much different from
insects.

It had started out small. There were mice in the cellar. He could occasionally hear them patterning
along the walls, nestled tightly against the corners in an effort to keep themselves concealed to the
shadows. But they got hungry, and if he was still enough, they would eventually forgo their caution
and wander to the middle of the room for some conspicuously placed scraps of dinner. He would
dispose of them the same way he did the insects, letting them fold beneath the weight of his boots.
They were about the same size as some of the larger beetles and spiders he had killed before, but
the sound was different. It was not the dry crackle of autumn leaves beneath one’s heel that
brought with it the light aroma of something earthen. It was a sodden squelch, like footfalls against
moss. It was a muted, moist crunch, like biting into a head of cabbage. It gave so easily, and yet
there was a force within it that willed itself to try springing back, a futile fight against gravity and
death itself. A few times, they would shriek before succumbing to the pressure. But they usually
didn't have the chance.

The mice yielded the same results as the insects had. It proved his theories correct, and encouraged
him to seek out other, bigger subjects to experiment with.

It was a bumbling effort, in the beginning. The insects and the mice had been easy, but anything
much bigger than that was difficult. Birds and vermin were harder to catch, and certainly harder to
kill. They were heartier. They could not be forced beneath the heel of his boot, and may not have
even perished to it even if he could have. So the process of finding new subjects, in and of itself,
had turned into an experiment.

A boy who had never even been part of a hunting party had no business killing things. He simply
had no idea how to All he had was a basic understanding of human anatomy, and the common
sense to know that the knowledge of the most vital points of said anatomy could be transferred to
beasts. The heart, the lungs, the brain; an attack on any of these points would be a fatal blow
against any creature. But he was still apprehensive about it. It felt foolish, even at the time, but he
was wary of spilling blood. He told himself it was because he didn’t know if a non-intact body
would work in the same way, and that after all the trouble he went through to catch these creatures,
it would be a shame to have it go to waste. This was half true, but only half.

So he set homemade traps and snares throughout the woods, far out of the path of the hunters’
usual hunting areas, and would return to them every few days and just hope that any creature that
had wandered into them had simply expired on their own. If they hadn’t, he had no choice but to
take care of them himself. He snapped their necks. The birds were easy. The rabbits were too, once
he had a good hold on them and could keep them fairly still. And they all sounded much like the
mice; there was a moist shift and a muffled crack in quick succession. Only this time, instead of
feeling the give of their flesh and bones through the sole of his shoe, he was feeling it in the palm
of his hand. It often made him nauseous with revulsion, excitement, and everything feeling in
between.

Applying this method to anything much larger than a rabbit proved more difficult, however.

There was one day that he happened upon one of his snares to find a stoat trapped within it. It was
still alive, and still kicking and screaming, no less, despite how the wire loop dug into one of its
legs with every flail, dripping blood and pus as it struggled against its restraints. Dottore had
merely grimaced at the sight, taking off his coat and throwing it over the stoat. Once that was done,
he released it from the snare, picking up the screeching, angry bundle and holding it under his arm.
He apprehensively tried to ascertain the best way to go about it. It was struggling more than the
other animals he caught usually did. And its neck felt sturdier under his fingers. But what else
could he do? With its body still jammed between his hip and his arm, he set his hand at its shoulder
blades to hold it in place, and the other hand wrapped around its covered head. He could feel where
the spine met with the back of its skull. He pressed his thumb there. He pulled away from himself,
extending its neck out. He kept pulling, until there was no further for it to go. He pivoted his wrist.
Pressed his thumb in harder. Felt the spine shift. A snap.

Then, there was pain, searing and sudden, and Dottore cursed as he dropped the stoat to the ground.
Its fangs had sunk into his fingers, leaving a constellation of puncture marks across his knuckles
that were already oozing with blood by the time he had brought it to his chest and held it there,
attempting to nurse the pain away.

The stoat, still wrapped up in his coat, screeched and thrashed from within its fabric prison, and
Dottore could hear fabric ripping as it finally shook the garment off of itself.

The stoat was still alive. It bounced around and continued hissing deliriously, backing up from
Dottore quickly, just as wild and unrestrained as it ever had been. But its head drooped to one side
limply, even as it spat fiercely at him and scrambled to shroud itself within the nearby underbrush.
The skin of its neck was unmarred, but Dottore could see the displaced cervical vertebra jutting out
from beneath its flesh, the joint almost completely dislodged from the spinal column. Almost. It
clearly hadn't been enough. The spinal cord was still intact. As it backed off into the bushes,
Dottore watched its head simply drag along on the ground beside it, parting the mildewy leaves on
the forest floor and leaving a grisly dirt scar in its path.

Dottore vomited. It was completely involuntary, surprising him at first, simply dribbling down his
chin for lack of any force behind it, dripping onto his shirt and bleeding hand. But he was soon
brought to his knees, chest and shoulders heaving until his ribs ached and his stomach had nothing
left to give. He could not remember if the tears he shed were the result of his violent retching, or if
they had started before that.

It didn’t matter. He knew it as well then as he did now.

That was why the tears had subsided shortly after the retching ceased. He had simply stood up
then, wrapping his injured hand in his ripped coat that was now useless for its intended purpose,
heading for the river to wash himself off before heading home. He wasn't going to bother trying to
chase after the stoat. Even though it surely wouldn't last for much longer in that state, the frenzied
intensity in its beady little eyes told him that it wouldn't make itself an easy catch. It was running
on pure, feral instinct. Dottore was not. He was tame. Lethargic. Tired.

What a waste it all was. A waste of a coat. A waste of a snare. A waste of a day. A waste of a
death.

He just had to do better. There was no need in delaying the inevitable. He knew at that point, he
had to learn how to kill. Not only that, but he had to learn how to do it well. He couldn’t afford to
be fumbling around. If he did that, he would never get to the end of the path he had set himself on.
He needed to do things more efficiently. With accuracy and precision; deadly precision.

He had to do better.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was cold.

It was so damn cold. Had the facility always been so cold? It was too fucking cold. Why was he so
cold?

Dottore's ears were assaulted with the roar of his own blood and the dwindling echo of animal
screams and whispered gossip from his past. There was black all around him, but that was because
he could not open his eyes.

He had been asleep. He was in bed. Prone. Exposed. He had broken into a cold sweat. He couldn't
move. Couldn't open his eyes.

All of these things came to him one by one, a clumsy progression of self-awareness as his
consciousness shifted back in. He could not draw any conclusions from the blind observations, but
they barraged him regardless.

His chest hurt. He could barely breathe. The clamminess on his skin felt like a frost, but he realized
it was only because something was burning. Something inside. He was on fire somewhere inside.
His lungs were choking on it. His mind was choking on it. It was that same, terrible feeling, the
one that had plagued him almost his entire life, of being in the midst of a nightmare and being
unable to scream. Something wasn't letting him. Something was always holding it in. Like the
weight on his chest now.

Dottore opened his mouth. Something came out. It was not a scream.

It was the low, throaty moan that rolled out of his throat that brought his mind screeching back to
reality, the fog shrinking away into nothingness in an instant. His body still would not cooperate
with him, giving only the barest of twitches at his abrupt awakening, but his eyes shot open.

Childe was straddling his hips. He had impaled himself on Dottore's cock, which was somehow
hard, somehow throbbing with need, and as the sensation of Childe fucking himself on it finally hit
him with overwhelming intensity, another aroused groan escaped him. It was pushed out of him.
Childe was bracing himself with his hands on his chest, pressing down on his ribcage, head
hanging low as breathless whimpers tumbled out of his throat.

Dottore's flash of clarity was already slipping away, dizzying confusion threatening to overtake
him again, but he clung to lucidity with every fiber of his being. He clawed at the anger rising
within him, bidding it seize control of his catatonic body and do something, anything. But his
muscles were still frozen, and all he could manage was to find his voice again.

"What the fuck are you-" Dottore's strained exclamation was cut short by a gasp, a sharp inhale
caught between pain and pleasure that itself was cut short by the weight against his chest. If only
he could just breathe, just fucking breathe, if only Childe wasn't smothering him from the outside,
the inside, every space inbetween, then he could just do something.

Childe stilled at the sound of his voice, burying Dottore's cock deep within his hot, twitching
insides. He looked up at him. He did not look surprised at the Third’s consciousness, nor did he
have any remorse or even sheepishness to offer him. His eyes were glazed over in lust, dark, and
growing darker still the longer Dottore looked at them.

"Why don't you want to fuck me anymore?" Childe asked, the words tumbling out in a whining,
shuddering sigh, like something was forcing the air out of his chest, as well.

Dottore bared his teeth at him, not thinking about the question or the answer, not even entertaining
the idea of pondering the implications it may have. He just needed to move, he wouldn't have cared
if it had been to throw the boy off of him or thrust his hips upwards into his heat, so long as he was
just moving, breathing, anything.

"Childe, get the fuck o-"

"I thought you just couldn't get it up anymore." Childe interrupted, still breathless, even as a laugh
pealed out of him at the statement. It was dripping with a bitterness Dottore could taste on his
tongue. "I thought that was it. That you're just a sad old man that can't even fucking get it up unless
you're being fucking torn apart. But you can. I did it. See? Look at us. You still want me when
you're not thinking it. But you're always fucking thinking. You never fucking stop."

Dottore couldn't even process what he was saying, didn't dare to because somewhere in the back of
his mind he knew the words would cut too deep if he did, and it was all just too much to focus on.
His mind screamed at his frozen limbs, and he hiccuped with relief when he was able to raise his
arms. They creaked with the effort, like he was a corpse in rigor mortis being forced into the
position by unseen hands. But he was finally moving, and he tried to wrap his hands around
Childe's wrist to alleviate the pressure on his chest.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Childe barked, so suddenly that it made Dottore freeze. He had never
heard Childe speak to him in that tone, with such unadulterated venom, and he was frozen again.
Dottore was losing hold of the lucidity he had been so desperately clinging to. What was
happening? What the fuck was even happening? Why were these things coming out of Childe's
mouth? None of it made sense. As if in response to his reeling mind, Childe laughed again, a
delirious, derisive giggle that made his shoulders heave.
"Don't you fucking dare." Childe repeated. It was softer this time, almost a coo, almost
affectionate. "Who do you think you are, anyway? You're not anyone. You never will be."

Childe finally took his hands off of Dottore's chest, and the Third gasped as the weight was lifted
off him. But his body still would not move. Childe took his hands, still hanging stiffly in midair,
and laced their fingers together. His palms felt too hot against Dottore's own. Burning hot. But still
he could move.

"I love you so much for that." Childe breathed suddenly, and it made Dottore's blood curdle in his
veins. Childe guided his hands to his hips, then, pressing them flush against the hot skin, tacky
with sweat. Dottore had no choice but to just stare at him dumbly as he did so. Childe’s hands
found their way back to the Third's chest, pressing down again, and he started moving again.

"I love you so much," Childe panted. "You'll never know. You'll really never know."

Even as he said the words, so sugary sweet and quivering with emotion, Dottore could still hear the
mocking lilt behind them. Dottore was no stranger to the tone. He never had been.

Dottore started moving again. He didn't know when it happened. He didn't know why he was
digging his nails into Childe's hips, rolling his own upwards to meet the boy as he frantically
fucked himself on his cock. Why was Dottore doing any of this, even as it felt like he was going
numb?

Childe let out a shrill, broken moan, and Dottore could feel his insides tighten around him and his
semen hit his stomach, but his climax did not slow him down. He kept bouncing himself on
Dottore's cock feverishly, and it only increased in ferocity. Childe was grunting and keening madly
now, nails digging into Dottore's chest as he rode his cock. In Dottore’s hazy delirium, he realized
it reminded him of the stoat he had just been dreaming of, the one with feral eyes and gnashing
teeth that knew nothing but to fight, and continue fighting even once there was nothing left to
defend. If Dottore were to snap Childe's neck, would he still remain standing? Would he retreat,
head dragging on the ground behind him to die on his own terms?

No. He would stay. For some reason, Dottore was sure of this.

Childe grew more desperate still, his head drooping forward listlessly, like he had forgone the
energy needed to hold it up in order to continue fucking Dottore at a breakneck pace. His nails dug
deeper into Dottore's skin.

"Oh, fuck, you're so close," Childe croaked. Was he? It didn't feel like it. But Dottore couldn't feel
much of anything anymore. He looked down, perhaps to look at himself, perhaps just to tear his
gaze from Childe's hunched form, but what caught his eye was Childe's hands, and his nails that
were embedded in the Third's skin. Childe, with another wanton bawl, started to curl into himself
further, dragging his nails down his chest with him.

But that wasn't what actually happened. It should have been. But as Childe's hands began to
gradually stutter down Dottore's frame, his fingernails did not follow. They peeled away from his
nail bed, some of them flipping up at the base and sticking straight out from his cuticle. Many
others remained in the indentations they had left behind on Dottore's chest. They stuck there and
loomed in front of his vision like gravestones, and witnessing that, the last of Dottore's sanity was
rent from him in one fell swoop.

"You're so close," Childe repeated. If he noticed what had happened to his body, he did not care.
He threw his head back suddenly with a gasp. Tears were streaming down his face. "I can feel it. I
can feel it! I can f-"
Dottore's eyes flew open as a sharp, violent inhale made his chest heave, and he threw himself
forward into a sitting position, vision still out of focus and unadjusted to the dark of the room.

It was cold again.

He was dripping with sweat, an icy sweat that clung to his tacky skin like dew to blades of grass.
But it was the only thing that clung to him.

There was no graveyard of disembodied fingernails littering his chest. There were no sticky strings
of semen painted across his stomach. Childe was not grunting and wailing above him.

Dottore felt a hand on his right arm, and he jerked away from the touch instantly, whipping his
head around towards the offender. Childe was lying there. One arm was folded up under his head
to prop it up, and the other was now loosely hovering in midair after Dottore had spurned its
advance. He was staring at him blankly. But that was all he was doing.

"Sorry." Childe muttered quietly. "You looked like you were having a nightmare. I didn't know
what to do."

A nightmare? A nightmare? A fucking nightmare?

Dottore suddenly snatched Childe's wrist out of the air, yanking him upright by it and forcing a
surprised yelp out of the boy. Dottore ignored the cry, seized his other wrist, and held the backs of
his hand to his face.

They were perfectly normal. Utterly pristine, fine and dandy, the picture of good health; Childe
was absolutely fucking fine. The nails were seated firmly in place, nestled up against his cuticles
and flush against his nail bed, tinged pink with the blood that flowed beneath his skin, only
blanching when Dottore pressed down against the tip of his nails and not stripping away like they
had before, no flakes of Dottore's own skin underneath them, no crescent-shaped indentations
remaining on his own chest, no mocking half-smirk on the boy's face, no glaze of lust, Dottore had
woken up hard he remembered it now but it was already going away the longer he looked at
Childe's hands and found nothing wrong with them, nothing, nothing, nothing, there was nothing
there, he was-

"Hey. Are you okay?"

Dottore finally tore his gaze away from Childe’s hand, and to his face. His eyebrows were
furrowed with concern.

“Dottore?” Childe questioned cautiously. “Hey, seriously. Calm down. Take a deep breath,
okay?”

At the suggestion, Dottore realized he was still gasping for air. His chest was still tight, and he
could still feel a weight there, the burn from where his palms had been pressed against him-

“Dottore? You’re okay.” Childe shook his hands free from Dottore’s white-knuckled grip. He
cupped Dottore’s right cheek with one hand, and the other went to his chest. He splayed his fingers
out across his pectoral, right over the Third’s racing heart. “Hey. Look at me.”

Dottore was. He was looking right at him. But he wasn’t seeing anything. He didn’t even feel
conscious. His mind was nowhere and everywhere at once.

“Dottore? Hey.” Childe tried to rouse him again, tapping his fingers lightly against his cheek. But
it was to no avail. Dottore felt completely and utterly numb. He still hadn’t caught his breath, was
 still dripping with sweat, could still hear his tachycardia roaring in his ears, but he couldn’t feel
any of it. After a long pause, Childe spoke again.

“You're okay now. It wasn’t real.”

Dottore could hear something straining his voice. Was it annoyance? No, it was nowhere near as
biting as that. It was just frustration.

Of course. He didn’t dream anymore, he had said once. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t
understand.

None of it being real was what Dottore had feared the most.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, logic was weaving its tales. It gently reminded him that he
hadn’t been sleeping well. Almost not at all, outside of his trips to Liyue. Stress and exhaustion
were liable to lead to sleep paralysis. It would not have even been the first time he experienced it;
his first year at the Academia was one rife with sleepless nights and parasomnias. But it had never
been like that.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Childe looked like, writhing and grunting over him like an
animal. The things he did. The things he said - oh, the things he had fucking said.

But the things that were said were never actually spoken aloud. They did not come from Childe’s
tongue. None of them were real.

It was just in Dottore’s head.

Dottore did not say a word in response to Childe at any point. Even if he physically could - and it
felt like someone had him by the throat, like attempting to speak would have just ended with his
trachea collapsing in on itself - he would not have known what to say. Childe eventually laid both
of them back down without another word, pulling Dottore in close, tucking the Third’s forehead
against his chest and resting his chin against the top of his head. He started running his fingers
through his hair.

Dottore wasn’t paying attention to any of this. His mind was elsewhere.

He had been through this all before with himself, but now more than ever, it beared repeating: he
could not afford to dawdle any longer. His lucidity was going faster than he could make progress
in his work. Childe was his last hope for any sort of breakthrough in his research. And so far he
had done nothing but let the opportunity waste away. And what a waste it was; a waste of almost
two years, and soon, a waste of a mind.

He had to do better.

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi

 Do Not Go Gentle
Chapter Notes

sorry this is just a smidge late! enjoy!

chapter cw/kink tags:

voyeurism (kind of), degradation kink, erotic electrostimulation, edging, premature
ejaculation, (WHIPLASH INCOMING) animal death/animal abuse

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Childe was groggy when he awoke, but he quickly perked up the moment Dottore had instructed
him not to stay where he was and not get dressed. The look on the boy’s face after Dottore had
returned from a brief visit to his office, fully clothed with a hefty stack of notes and journals under
his arm, was simply priceless. He had clearly been expecting something else to come of the
suggestion, and his bewildered dismay was almost enough to make Dottore laugh. Had he been in a
better mood, he might even have tried leading him on a bit longer. But in all honesty, Dottore was
too preoccupied to revel in it. He was trying to wrap his head around the fact that Childe seemed to
be returning to his old habits, suddenly acting more like his old self than he had in months. He was
acting needy again, desperate for Dottore's attention. It was obnoxious, but more than that, it made
the Third wonder how he could possibly have the energy to act this way. Ever since their
arrangements had turned into this, Childe had been acting nothing short of sedated in the aftermath
of the Foul Legacy transformation. It usually drained him of everything, especially within those
first few days after. And perhaps he still didn't look great now - there were dark circles under his
eyes, ones that hadn’t been present just a few months ago that had grown deeper still from lack of
sleep the night before. Childe's hand had eventually stilled where it lay against Dottore's head,
locks of blue still bunched between his fingers, but it had to have been several hours before it did.
He had not gotten to sleep for very long before Dottore grew too restless and woke him back up for
this. But even with his evident weariness, he still had a glow to him that should have been
inexplicable. What was the reason?

Dottore tried not to let himself grow uneasy, or dwell on the fact that he probably wouldn't be able
to survive a Foul Legacy that was operating on Childe's unbridled virility. Fear was nothing more
than a lack of understanding. Fear was ignorance. He would just have to find the answers to these
questions all himself.

"Is this really necessary? I think you've seen more than enough of mmuh-" Childe's protest was cut
short when Dottore seized his bottom jaw in his hand, pinching it tightly between his fingers and
thumb and forcing his mouth open. "Oo-ow."

"It doesn't hurt." Dottore snapped, tightening his grip when Childe tried to close his mouth. "Keep
it open."

Childe acquiesced with a groan, and Dottore had free reign to crane the boy's head around where he
needed it, quickly inspecting his teeth. There was nothing out of the ordinary there; they were all
there, all in pristine condition save for the top right bicuspid with a small chip in the front. He had
always had that, or for at least as long as Dottore had been involved with him. Dottore had at first
merely noted it in annoyance, because sometimes the jagged edge would scrape unpleasantly
against his own tongue.

Childe let out an exasperated sigh when Dottore hooked his finger against the corner of his mouth,
pulling his cheek back to get a better look at his molars.

"Dahttoreh. Thith ith weird."

"Stop talking." Dottore grumbled, pulling his finger out of Childe's mouth and wiping the spit off
on his jacket. "It's your own fault. I wouldn't have to be checking your teeth like a horse if you had
even the slightest sense of self-awareness. Who the fuck grows nearly half a foot in a few months
and doesn't even notice?"

Childe rubbed his jaw as Dottore leaned over the journal he had set on the bedside table, scribbling
down his findings on the open page.

"I don't know," Childe whined as he nursed his sore jaw. "I just think this might be a little-"

"How did you chip that tooth?" Dottore asked brusquely, not looking up.

"Huh? Oh. It happened when I was a kid. I got into a fight. I got pushed down and knocked my
teeth on a rock.”

“How old were you?”

“I don’t know.” Childe sighed. When Dottore started tapping his pen against the page impatiently,
he quickly added, “Eleven or twelve, I guess? Somewhere around there? Why does that matter?”

Dottore didn’t answer him, drumming the pen against the table thoughtfully. He stood back up,
giving Childe a once-over with his eyes. His gaze fell on the scar just under his ribcage, the spectre
of the wound Dottore himself had patched up not so long ago. It was still visible, but it was not
much more than that. The skin had smoothed out, and the crooked line of scar tissue was nothing
more than thin, white thread stitched into his chest. It shouldn’t have been possible for it to heal
that quickly; although Delusions and Abyssal influence could be utilized for healing to a certain
extent, they never did it this well. Not even a Vision would have been able to so seamlessly do
away with a wound of that severity. Dottore looked over the rest of his body, becoming lost in
thought. Childe just stood there, and he started rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Can I at least sit down?” Childe asked.

“No.” Dottore answered quickly. “That. That scar on your arm. What’s that from?”

"Huh?" Childe glanced at his raised arm, at the healed gash that was usually out of sight on the
underside of his bicep. "Oh. That… I was playing around with one of my dad's hunting knives, I
think. Got myself good. I was pretty young when it happened."

Dottore chewed the inside of his cheek pensively. His eyes fell on the next scar he could find, a
pattern of pale dots on his right ankle. "What about that one?"

Childe looked down. "Uh, dog bite. I was messing around with it. Just being a dumb kid, you
know? But, uh, why-"

"Quiet." Dottore muttered, trying to process everything. Suddenly, he reached a conclusion. Once
the realization hit him, it seemed so glaringly obvious that he was almost dismayed when he
followed up with, "Do you have any scars from since you were enlisted?"
Childe's eyes widened fractionally, and he looked down at himself as if he suddenly couldn't
remember the shape of his own skin. "Uh, not really, I guess. But, I mean," he looked back up at
Dottore with a smug little smirk, "I don't let myself get hit so easily anymore."

Dottore scoffed at the statement, though it was directed more at himself than it was at Childe. Even
if what he said was partially accurate, it was still bullshit. He was just exaggerating. The simple
fact was that Dottore was - and always had been - looking at a man who was constantly at the
center of battle and bloodshed, and yet had virtually no scars to show for any of it.

The Foul Legacy was healing him. Dottore could have hit himself for not realizing it sooner. He
tried to rationalize it by thinking that it didn’t make any sense; Abyssal influence could heal, but
for it to do it with such efficiency, and so consistently for so many years? It was counterintuitive to
what drove the forces of the Abyss to begin with. What little regenerative properties Abyssal
influence did possess wasn’t truly healing. If the Abyss gave, it was because something else was
being taken in return. It went far beyond anything Dottore had ever been able to accomplish in his
research thus far. It wouldn’t have been merely the result of the Abyss’s influence; it would have
been corruption. If the Foul Legacy had been keeping Childe scratch-free for this long, he would
have been too far gone to even hold a conversation. And yet the only thing abnormal about the
Eleventh’s cognitive state was how frustratingly unfazed he was by the condition of his own body.

It was killing Dottore, how the boy could stand there looking mildly disinterested with himself,
visibly bewildered at the Third’s investment in his anatomy. As if these things were normal. As if
his body, his mind, and the power he possessed weren’t anything to get excited about. As if he
wasn’t what Dottore had been searching for his entire life.

“Childe, do you-” Dottore started, stopping short when he heard the shrillness of his own voice,
even clapping a hand over his mouth as if to take the outburst back. He needed to calm down. His
emotions were still running too high. Between everything that had happened the day before, and
last night-

Dottore couldn’t stop looking at his fucking nails. Oh, it was absolutely maddening, more so than
anything else Childe had ever put him through, if only because it was the one instance in which
Childe was not actually to blame. Dottore was trying to shove it to the back of his mind, but his
thoughts were percolating at a high simmer; they were always just a few degrees away from boiling
over, and when they did, he would find his eyes at those hands again. Those goddamn impeccable
hands. Unmarred, fingernails intact, capable of feats far beyond that of mortal men - the hands that
had not ripped Dottore’s sanity from him in a grotesque sweeping motion down his chest. He didn’t
want to look at them, but he couldn’t stop. He needed to look, and he had to keep looking again and
again, constantly checking back, double checking and triple checking just to find anything at all
wrong with them. Dottore needed them to be wrong, he needed this boy to be broken, because if he
wasn’t broken, then that would just mean-

Dottore took a deep breath through his nose, dragging his hand up his face and rubbing his
forehead. He just needed to keep working. He had to get out of his own head and focus on the
present.

People had nightmares. It wasn’t so strange, and it was irrational to dwell on a night terror to the
extent that he currently was. He was overreacting. If anything, he should have been listening to his
own subconciousness; he just needed to stop fucking thinking. He was just blowing things out of
proportion.

"Just- nevermind." Dottore sighed. He scanned the room briefly and spotted Childe's clothes piled
in the corner, and he walked over to it with a stiff gait. "Where are your things? I want to see your
Delusion."

"Why-" Childe cut the query short, clearly thinking better of it. "Uh, it should still be in my pocket.
The pants."

Dottore sifted through the clothes pile and grabbed the tan slacks, just bringing them along with
him as he walked back over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. As he started wordlessly digging
through the pockets, Childe sat down next to him.

"Are you mad at me?" Childe asked. It was soft in how tentatively he spoke, almost a whisper.
Dottore's fingers found the Electro Delusion stuffed into Childe’s front pocket, opposite of where
he kept his Vision hanging, and he took it out, clutching it too tightly in the center of his palm. The
metal points of the Snezhnayan insignia surrounding it dug into the fleshy pads of his hand
painfully, and he forced himself to loosen his grip. He was mad, and usually had no qualms in
airing such grievances, but now he couldn't bring himself to admit it. Not because he had any desire
to reassure Childe, but because the more he thought about it, the more he realized there was no
good reason for him to be mad. Childe had been nothing but compliant to his whims thus far, aside
from some minor complaints. To admit that Dottore was still positively seething despite that would
have meant admitting that he was in the process of unraveling.

So Dottore didn't say anything as he popped the stone out of the insignia and flipped it over in his
hands. He could feel the Electro energy prickling at his fingertips like static. He wouldn’t be able
to utilize it to its full potential; it was not his own, and he wasn’t used to using the element imbued
in it. But the Delusions could theoretically be wielded by anyone, and what little control he could
exert over it would be sufficient enough for his own needs. Bringing himself into focus, Dottore
experimented by pulling one of his hands away from it, letting a few meager bolts of electricity arc
between the Delusion and his fingers. He let them linger there until the little jolts of energy
prickled at his skin too intensely for his comfort, and a shudder went through his spine as he let the
sparks die out.

It worked. It didn’t feel any different than any other Delusion Dottore had ever worked with. There
didn't seem to be anything unusual about it. The Third didn't think there would be, considering that
Childe had said that the Foul Legacy could be tapped into without it, but he had to at least check.
He had missed too many details as it was, and he couldn't afford to miss anymore. He had to act
like he was starting from the beginning. Where he should have started in the first place. He had no
more time to waste.

“Dottore?” Childe probed again. “Did I do something wrong? You’ve been acting weird since
yesterday. I mean- I know you got upset with me, but…. I’m trying to help you. I just don’t know
what you want.”

Dottore clenched his jaw, setting the Delusion back into the Snezhnayan insignia. “Don’t patronize
me, boy.”

“What? I’m not-” Childe let out an exasperated sigh, and it made Dottore’s mouth twitch in
disdain. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m trying to help. I even let you- Gods, I let you
look into my mouth for... whatever fucking reason. I’ve been trying to help you. I want to. You just
have to tell me-”

“Do you-” Dottore interrupted, his temper getting the better of him as he whipped his head around
to face the Eleventh. “Do you have any idea what that thing is doing to you? Can you even begin to
understand that you’re-”

Dottore shut his mouth again. Too much. Whatever the end of that sentence could have been -
anything would have been too much. Childe just looked at him with a somber expression, pursing
his lips.

“I’m not stupid, you know.” Childe said.

“Then stop fucking acting like it.” Dottore snarled back. Childe looked wounded by that. His gaze
faltered for a moment, looking down absently at his own Delusion still clasped in Dottore's hands.
He met the Third's eyes again with a jarringly abrupt resolve.

"I know exactly what the Foul Legacy has been doing," Childe said seriously. "It's making me
stronger. It always has been. That's not a bad thing."

"That's-" Dottore found himself scrambling for an argument, and found it too difficult to make one.
He set his jaw and tried again. “That’s not the point. You don’t have any respect for it.”

“Of course I do.”

“Oh, bullshit.” Dottore hissed. “It’s doing things to you, Childe, and you don’t even seem to-”

“Are you talking about this?” Childe interrupted, vaguely pointing to the scar beneath his ribcage.
“That was a one time thing. And yeah, it takes a lot out of me sometimes, but what’s so strange
about that? A good workout makes anyone tired. It’s the same thing. And besides that, it’s not even
that bad anymore. Honestly, I’ve never felt better than I do right now, and it was barely even two
days ago that I transformed.”

“You-” Dottore stuttered briefly before regaining his composure. So he did have more energy than
usual. But why now, without any sort of transition into it? It was too odd to not be concerning.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about! This isn’t some kind of game! The Foul Legacy isn’t a
fucking toy, and if it’s changing you - regardless of what it’s doing - you should-”

“So what?” Childe challenged. “So what if it’s changing me? As much as you’d like to think
otherwise, I do respect it. And when I respect it, it treats me well. Why would I question a change
for the better? All I’ve ever wanted was to keep improving myself, and I’m doing that. The Foul
Legacy is doing that. I mean-” the Eleventh trailed off for a moment with a disbelieving scoff,
running a hand through his hair, “-I just don’t get it, Dottore. I thought this is what you would have
wanted, too. Isn’t it?”

Dottore opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a short croak as the gravity of
Childe’s words nearly made his throat catch.

It was exactly what he should have wanted. That was the problem. Why was that the problem? The
Foul Legacy was the perfect specimen. Childe was a perfect specimen. Why was he just sitting
there, spinning his wheels in place and looking for something wrong when there was nothing to be
found? This was all he had ever been searching for. He could do great things with him. Why
wasn’t he even trying?

Dottore's eyes drifted to Childe's hands again. There was still nothing wrong with them. They were
intact. Steady. They were perfect.

So what did that make Dottore?

"You're not anyone. You never will be."

A cold, numbing sense of dread suddenly washed over him. His eyes went out of focus for a
moment, before his focus abruptly shifted. He was still looking at Childe’s hands, hanging loosely
in his lap, but suddenly, he was looking beyond them. Under his hands was his cock, laying mostly
flaccid between his legs, though not entirely. He had been partially hard since Dottore had started
inspecting him, something that had not been relevant enough to warrant the Third’s interest beyond
the barest of glances. But now, without warning, it did interest him.

He supposed some things never changed. And Childe had always liked to be watched.

“Touch yourself.” Dottore’s voice was a low rasp, words gravel that caught in the back of his
throat and dried him out from the inside. It sounded too loud to Dottore’s ears, even though it had
barely been more than a whisper. There was a pervasive numbness that felt like it was seeping into
every last nook and cranny of his brain, and it made him feel oversaturated. His head was heavy.
He saw Childe’s hands twitch in his lap.

“What?” Childe asked. His voice was not rough, like Dottore’s had been. It was soft.

The Third could barely string two thoughts together. He was thinking, but there was no transition
between one idea and the other. They clumsily bumped into one another as each new compulsion
was pushed to the front of the line, like flipping through a slideshow of unfamiliar photographs. He
could make sense of the images themselves, but with no commentary provided, he had no way of
knowing what their context could be. Why were they all together? Why were any of these things
happening like this? Dottore looked back up at the Eleventh’s face then, eyes narrowing
fractionally as he was met with an erotic gaze and parted lips.

“I told you to touch yourself,” Dottore said slowly, trailing off for a moment before the next words
gracelessly followed close behind, “you worthless fucking whore.”

Childe's breath hitched. Dottore could see his hands moving out of the corner of his eye, and he
watched them again. Childe hadn't grabbed ahold of himself yet. He was just grazing his fingers
over the sensitive skin, stroking up and down the length of his cock while it slowly twitched to life.

"Is that good?" Childe asked. The question carried with it a hint of something plaintive, a quiet
desperation buried beneath the sensuous timbre of his voice.

"Keep going." Dottore said sternly. He wouldn't indulge the boy just yet. If he wanted praise, he
would have to earn it.

A short whimper strangled Childe in the back of his throat. He wrapped his hand around his cock
then, holding it still as he bent over himself and spat on it. Dottore watched the foamy glob of
saliva fall from his lips and land on the tip of his dick. It dribbled halfway down his shaft before
his hand swept over it with a few drawn-out pumps, spreading the slickness out across his skin.

Dottore's attention was taken away when he noticed Childe leaning into him, eyes half-lidded and
lips in wanton slack.

"Don't fucking touch me, boy." Dottore hissed. Childe stopped with a jolt, like he had fallen face
first into a wall, but he did not withdraw. He just lingered there, looking at Dottore through his
lashes, their faces dangerously close - though exactly who this was dangerous for remained to be
seen.

"Don't you want to touch me?" Childe asked, another subtle plea. Their faces were so close that on
every shared exhale, their heads pitched forward just enough for the tips of their noses to brush.
They both noticed it, even though they said nothing. Dottore changed the rhythm of his breathing
every time Childe tried to synchronize his own to it, desperate for whatever contact he could get.
Dottore ran, and Childe would chase. The Eleventh chased until he was breathless from it, until he
had no steady rhythm of his own to follow. Dottore wondered how far the boy would have gone to
match his pace. Would it be far enough for Dottore to steal the breath from his lungs with his own?
If Dottore had stopped breathing entirely, would Childe have followed suit?

"No." Dottore muttered, not taking his eyes off him. "I want you to keep going."

Childe bit his bottom lip. "Can I suck you off?"

"No."

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

"No."

"Are you gonna fuck m-"

"No, Childe."

Childe let out another whimper. "What do you want?"

"I already told you what I want." Dottore replied dully. "I want you to touch yourself. If I wanted
anything else, I would have said it."

This drew out a whine, like the hiss of a tea kettle. It eked out of Childe's strained throat and did
little to relieve the pressure building up inside him. He had just barely gotten himself hard, and he
already looked like he wanted to cry. But he continued to stroke himself and chase after Dottore's
exhales, until his cheeks were splotched with a red flush and his hips twitched enough to make the
bed frame rattle. And Dottore just watched. He watched him, close enough to feel the heat of his
blush and to count each individual eyelash as they fluttered like butterfly wings in front of him.

Dottore had no idea why he was doing this.

It was need. He could at least ascertain that much. But it was not need for Childe's satisfaction, or
even his own. He didn't care if Childe got off or not. Dottore certainly didn’t expect to. Even if he
had enough stamina to get through any real sex - and he probably did not, after only a few restless
days between time with the Foul Legacy and now - watching Childe like this was not fulfilling him
sexually. He had felt maybe a twinge or two of arousal. But it had yet to stir him to a significant
enough degree to warrant turning attention to himself.

He needed to watch that boy coming undone. He was going to watch that boy fall apart in front of
him, no matter what it took. He had to.

After a few moments, Dottore glanced back down at Childe's lap to see him twitching with need,
precum dripping from his flushed cock.

"Lay back on the bed." Dottore ordered. "Don't stop."

Childe sucked his bottom lip between his teeth with a soft whine, but obeyed immediately. He
crawled backwards onto the bed, hand still gripping his dick, laying down in the center of the
mattress. Dottore stayed where he was while the Eleventh shuffled around. He looked down at his
lap absently. He still had Childe's pants and Delusion resting there. He tossed the pants
haphazardly on the ground, but considered the Delusion for a bit longer. After a moment, he
shoved it into the front pocket of his slacks. Not moving from the edge of the bed, Dottore just
turned his head around to where Childe was splayed out behind him. He watched him like this for a
few minutes longer, not quite invested in his movements, but not entirely disinterested, either.
Childe had his eyes closed, stroking himself in long, even pulls up his length. His free hand
eventually wandered. Dottore watched him squeeze the meat of his own thigh before dragging his
fingers slowly upwards. He caught the pronounced crease where his hips and abdomen met,
tracing it with his forefingers before letting them stutter over the boundary. He kept making his
way up, until he was at his nipple, and his thumb made little circles around the nub until it was stiff
with arousal. He tweaked it with a swipe of his finger, drawing a tight, closed-mouth moan out of
himself.

Childe was dragging it out. For once, he was taking things slowly. But only because he was
holding out for something more.

Eventually, his eyes opened again. They found Dottore and went glassy upon seeing him, still
sitting at the edge of the bed, giving him no more notice than one might give a dreary academic
lecture. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a creaking sound. He tried again.

"Please."

Dottore continued to stare him down from afar. "You're disgusting."

Childe hiccuped. "Dottore, please."

"What?" Dottore asked in annoyance.

"Can you touch me, please?"

"Why?" Dottore asked dully.

A trembling exhale rattled Childe's chest. "Because I need you."

Dottore didn't respond to this right away. Instead, he crawled onto the bed then, settling in next to
Childe on his knees. He was kneeling at the Eleventh's hip, being careful not to actually make
contact with his skin, and he simply resumed glaring at him as he sat back on his heels.

"You don't need anything." Dottore corrected sternly. "You just want to ruin yourself."

"No," Childe breathed. He didn't stop what he was doing with his hands, didn't make a move to try
touching Dottore, but his voice was hoarse with desperation. "I want you to do that."

Dottore scoffed at him. "Why me? If you're so desperate for it, you can get it from anywhere. I’m
sure there’s plenty of people that would be more than satisfied with cheap trash like you."

"N-no. I don't want that." Childe rasped. "I just want you. I'm just for you."

"Oh, please." Dottore expected to deliver this with more venom, but his voice remained dull. There
was no passion to his words. "A whore like you doesn't belong to anyone. You never will."

"That's not true," Childe said, voice cracking. His eyes were glistening with moisture, and finally a
tear spilled out from his left eye and streamed down his temple. "I've always been yours. I always
will be."

Dottore didn't answer him. Soon, a tear was spilling from his right eye, as well. Childe was
writhing beneath him now, hands still cautiously orchestrating his own pleasure.

"Please." Childe tried again, almost sobbing the word.

"You want me to touch you that badly?" Dottore asked.

"Yes."

"Where?"

Childe blinked slowly at him, and his hands moved. He brought two fingers to his lips and shoved
them into his mouth while he lifted one of his legs to his chest, hooking his hand under his knee
and holding it there. He took his fingers out and brought them down between his legs. He pressed
them against his puckered entrance with a whine.

"Here." Childe muttered.

Dottore glanced down at the wanton display with only mild interest. "And what do you expect me
to do?"

“I want-” Childe’s breath hitched when he pushed one of fingers inside. “I want you inside.”

“I don’t have the energy to bother fucking you.” Dottore replied shortly. It was the truth, but only
half of it.

“You don’t have to- Mm.” Another finger went through with too much resistance, Dottore could
see it in his face, but Childe drove them both as deep as he could manage regardless. “You don’t
have to- Just your fingers. Just your fingers. Please.”

“That’s all? That’s what has you writhing around like this?” Dottore scoffed at him humorlessly.
“You really are a shameless little slut, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh,” Childe panted. His cock twitched as he rocked back against his own fingers, gritting his
teeth with the effort, but unable to get them as deep as he wanted, as deep as he needed. Dottore
finally moved one of his hands from where he had rested them, palms-down on his thighs. He just
brought one forward, and just to the boy’s chest. He brushed his thumb over the nipple Childe had
been teasing, still standing erect. The noise it brought out of Childe was enough to finally send a
jolt of arousal through Dottore that could not be brushed off. It was a hoarse cry that sounded like
it had been punched out of him, and it tapered off into a shrill series of incomplete moans as
Dottore pinched the sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger.

“Look at you. Is this really all it takes?” Dottore rolled Childe’s nipple between his fingers and
watched his face straining through the stimulation. “Are you really that desperate?”

“Yes!” Childe gasped. He was either starting to catch on, or he had unraveled to the point that he
was just frantically trying to guess at whatever secret buzz word would bring him closer to his
release. “I need you. I need you inside, I need you to fuck me until I go fucking crazy. I’m a stupid
fucking whore and I need you to fill me up, please.”

Dottore wanted to push a little further. “And how do you want me to do that?”

Childe gritted his teeth and nearly growled in frustration. “Oh, put your fingers- Put your fingers in
my pussy, please, I need you to fucking break it, I want you to fucking break my pussy and make
me go fucking crazy-”

"Enough." Dottore snapped. He quickly swung himself over Childe's leg, the one that was still
flush against the bedspread, and straddled his thigh. "You're a fucking disgrace, you know that?"

Dottore brought two of his fingers up to his own mouth, and Childe watched him with an
expression that was just short of agony. He whimpered as Dottore started sucking on them. "I
know. I know. I don't care. I just want to be yours."
After a moment, Dottore popped his fingers out of his mouth. "Do you really think you deserve
that, boy?"

"I can-" Childe hiccuped, curling his fingers into himself. "I can be anything you want me to be."

"Really now?" Dottore queried, feigning interest. Or maybe he wasn't. The statement had nearly
sent a shiver down his spine. "Then fucking get ahold of yourself. If you can behave, I'll give you
what you need, boy. But only if you behave. You can do that much, at least, can't you? Don't you
want to be good for me, Childe?"

That made Childe shudder, and Dottore could feel his thigh shaking between his legs. "I'll be so
good. Please, I can be so good for you."

"Move, then." Dottore swatted at the hand Childe was fucking himself with, and he obediently
took his fingers out and got out of the way. Dottore expected him to touch himself again, but he
just brought his hand up and fisted it into the sheets beside his head. Dottore turned his attention
back to the Eleventh’s hole, and he pressed two slicked fingers against it experimentally. The
entrance was practically sucking him in already. He shoved the two in at once without hesitation.

Childe made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and Dottore saw his eyes roll up. He
rocked himself against Dottore’s fingers immediately, and the Third responded by curling them
against his prostate.

“Oh, Gods,” Childe moaned, back arched and cock twitching against his stomach. “Tha-ank you-”

“I told you to get a hold of yourself, boy.” Dottore snapped. He wrapped his other hand around
Childe’s cock, right where the shaft met with the head, and he squeezed it hard enough to make the
Eleventh cry out in pain. “Listen to me. You only get to come if I let you come. Understand?"

Childe whimpered, still wiggling around against Dottore's fingers. His eyelids fluttered closed.
"Yes. I'll be good. I'll be good."

“Will you, now?” Dottore mocked. He could still feel Childe’s Delusion in the pocket of his pants
when he shifted around a bit. He smirked to himself. “Well, let’s just see about that.”

Dottore had to shift his focus again. It was not like using his own Delusion, the one that had been
specially assigned to him. Though he didn’t care for the thing, using the Cryo Delusion was as
close to second nature as it could get. He barely even had to think about it. But this was different.
He had to picture Childe’s Delusion in his mind. He had to imagine it sitting inside his pocket, had
to see it glowing violet as it attuned to the willpower of its current user. It did not matter to the
stone whether it was being held by its owner or someone else. Delusions sought only to be
commanded.

And command it he did, as the Delusion began to emit a soft buzzing noise from within his pocket,
and again he felt the sensation of static tingling the tips of his fingers, the ones he already had
buried deep inside Childe's heat.

Childe's eyes flew open as the electricity started thrumming within him, and he opened his mouth
to cry out, but no sound came out. His entire body went rigid, spine curling back painfully. When a
sound finally managed to crawl it's way out of the back of his throat, it sounded like he was being
deflated, like someone was standing on his chest and patiently waiting for all the air to be forced
from his lungs.

"What the fu-" Childe's strained confusion was interrupted by another curl of Dottore's fingers. The
current running from his fingertips and into Childe was making his insides spasm, and his inner
walls expanded and contracted erratically around Dottore's fingers. He was pulling him in deeper,
forcing already probing fingers to dig mercilessly against his most sensitive spot. "O-oh-"

Dottore watched him carefully, squeezing his cock again. It throbbed back against his grip in need,
and Childe gave a guttural groan. "Control yourself, boy."

"Aah- I-" Childe looked like a twisting serpent, muscles nothing but tension as he coiled and
writhed beneath him. His thigh was unintentionally rubbing against Dottore’s crotch and bringing
the Third to full arousal. Dottore fought back a moan, shoving a third finger inside him
unceremoniously and driving into him again. Childe slammed his fist back into the mattress with a
gasp. He was trying to speak, but could not get the words out. "G-g-o-o-"

"You're squealing like a fucking pig, boy." Dottore sneered. He let up a bit on the Delusion's
power, watching Childe's face carefully. He was a little tempted to set the boy up for failure again,
like he had back at the Eleventh’s cottage, but simply forcing an orgasm out of him like this would
have been too quick an end to possibly be satisfying. Dottore wanted to drag things out a bit longer
than that. "Use your words, now."

Childe relaxed fractionally, but his chest was still heaving as he desperately tried to catch his
breath. "G-o-ood-"

"Easy, boy."

"-ing good." Childe's expression finally softened as his body began to adjust to the Electro current,
and Dottore could see his eyes welling up with tears again. "S-so fucking good. Oh, Gods, it's so f-
fucking good."

"Is that so?" Dottore teased. He started stroking Childe's cock almost absently as he spoke. "Is that
the warrior's way, now? To be so eager to have your own weapon wielded against you?"

Childe actually laughed at that, a giddy, delirious bark that made his shoulders jerk. Dottore hadn't
been expecting that, and it disappointed him a little. He focused more energy into his probing
fingertips to watch Childe's face scrunch back up into something close to pain.

"That doesn't- ah- doesn't matter," Childe panted. "Y-you can do whatever you want to me. O-oh, I
missed this."

Dottore glared down at him. He drove his fingers in deep, with a rough, careless thrust towards his
prostate, and Childe gasped softly. "Whore."

Childe met his eyes, readjusting the hold he had on his leg and opening up his hips even further to
him. "I love you."

Dottore didn't know how to respond anymore. So he just put everything else into what he was
doing, focusing on the Electro energy flowing from the Delusion and out through his fingers. He
made little circles around the outline of Childe's prostate while teasing the head of his cock with
his thumb, until Childe let out a strained mewl.

"Close." Childe breathed.

Dottore held back for a moment. Then he returned to his ministrations with his previous resolve,
until Childe once again babbled a warning of his impending climax. This process repeated itself,
until Dottore lost track of how many times he had brought Childe to the edge. His forehead began
to bead with sweat from the mental and physical upkeep of maintaining the foreign Delusion's
constant stream of energy, and Electro had been dully thrumming throughout his own body for so
long that Dottore felt disoriented, like he was gradually being vibrated into a formless slop of loose
atoms. He was quickly running out of steam, but thankfully, so was Childe.

Childe was growing almost hysterical, unable to speak, almost sobbing every time he was within
arm's reach of orgasm and growing frantic whenever release was withheld. He writhed and
twitched under Dottore, his thigh rocking against the Third's clothed erection and making him
shudder with pleasure. Dottore held off only minimally this time, knowing that if he pulled back
any farther, he would not be able to regain footing. Something had to give soon. But he needed
more. He needed to push it just a little further. He thrust his fingers against Childe's prostate
mercilessly, and the boy cried out something indistinguishable. A growl rumbled through Dottore's
chest as he let go of Childe’s cock and fisted his hand into the hair at the top of his head. He
yanked the Eleventh upwards as far as he would bend, forcing him to meet his eyes as he bore into
him.

"Tell me what you want, boy," Dottore panted. His voice was trembling slightly with the effort of
keeping everything up, but he didn't care. He didn't even know what he wanted to do with him.
Maybe he'd let him finish. Maybe he wouldn't. It didn't matter. All he knew is he wanted to hear
that boy beg for his release, beg just like he knew he would. Childe was so close, so agonizingly
close, and Dottore needed to hear him beg for it like it was a delirious prayer to the Gods.

Childe could barely even breath, let alone speak, and what came out of him was an incoherent
stuttering of consonants that fell from his lips like a psalm. Dottore gritted his teeth in frustration,
needing more than that, needing something tangible to sink his teeth into and take however he
pleased.

"Fucking say it, you-"

"K-kiss me!" Childe screamed it. He screamed it like it was the last thing he would ever utter, like
his entire life hinged on getting the words out, having them be heard, and once they were forced
from his lungs, he continued screaming them. He no doubt would have done so until he had no air
left to give. "Kissmekissmekissmekissme-"

Dottore fleetingly registered his own confusion, brief and unimportant. It didn't matter that it
wasn't what he had expected to hear; he simply latched onto it because it was the only thing left to
cling to. He was on Childe in an instant, without thinking, and just before crashing their mouths
together, he bared his teeth against the boy's lips and moaned one last word through his tightly
clenched jaw.

"Come."

Childe opened his mouth to receive him and be received in turn, wailing euphoric nonsense into
Dottore's mouth as he clenched around the merciless fingers ravaging him.

The next few moments, however long they even lasted, were trapped somewhere in a dense fog.
Like the scattered compulsions that had led to this, Dottore could not recall how the last scene and
the next connected, and did not even know why he was feeling so muddled until a nagging feeling
of discomfort brought him back to conscious thought. The first discomfort, the one that really
snapped him back to the present, was a sharp pain coming from inside his mouth, which at this
point he realized was still interlocked with Childe's. He had cut his tongue on the chip in his tooth.

More discomfort settled over him, and it spelled out his position more clearly than sight or spatial
awareness did. Somewhere in the time that was missed, Childe had thrown both his arms around
Dottore in embrace, and raked his nails down his back from scapula to waist. One of them had
gotten caught in Dottore's shirt, and had not only torn a long gash through the fabric, but had
broken the skin as well. Dottore could feel warm moisture trickling down the aching line and
making his cotton shirt cling to his skin, which was no doubt now scarlet with fresh blood. But that
was not the only uncomfortable wetness he felt.

Disbelief was the only thing on Dottore's mind, and he was still so disoriented that he almost
started laughing from the sheer absurdity of it. He fought off the nagging giddiness, which was no
doubt lingering due to the fact that he had just come in his fucking pants like a goddamn teenager.

Dottore couldn't even bring himself to feel embarrassed. If anything, at his age, he was almost a
little proud of it. Childe already knew; there was no way he wouldn't have been able to feel it, his
thigh still clamped between Dottore's legs and trembling against his crotch. There was no sense in
trying to hide it, but even less sense in paying it any more mind than he already had.

His head felt fuzzy. Everything was. Childe looked distant and featureless when he finally broke
away from their kiss and looked down at him, and he only vaguely realized that he was still lazily
moving his fingers in and out of his hole when the boy let out a soft whimper against his lips.
When Dottore withdrew his fingers, there was a numbness to the sensation, like his arm had fallen
asleep. He sat back up on his heels, and just stared at Childe vacantly.

It suddenly occurred to Dottore that he had no idea what had gotten into him. It also occurred to
him that this didn’t bother him as much as it should have. He furrowed his brow as he looked
down at the Eleventh, who wasn't quite focused on anything. He seemed to still be coming down
from his own release, the evidence of which was painted across both of their chests.

Dottore ran a hand - the cleaner of the two - through his hair as the fog gradually cleared from his
brain. As it did, he actually started to feel better than he had all morning. Dottore attributed this to
either a side effect of using the Delusion, or a simple case of post-coital bliss; the former
explanation was more familiar, and easier to accept. It was extremely common for new Delusion
users to enter a state of mania after utilizing the weapon’s powers. Dottore was certainly not new to
wielding a Delusion, and would not have described himself as feeling manic, but it was more than
reasonable to conclude that haphazardly toying around with an element he was not used to may
have been enough to push him up against the edge of euphoria. As for the latter explanation, while
it was not exactly an unfamiliar concept, Dottore would not have even gone as far to say he was
ever left in bliss after the things he used to do with Childe. It had certainly never been like this. Not
with Childe alone, anyway.

No. This was closer to how it felt with the Foul Legacy.

As Dottore watched Childe in a wordless vigil, something else occurred to him. There was
something about the Eleventh that was different. Maybe it was just setting in after staring so
intently at him all morning, or maybe it was seeing him in a position that Dottore hadn't really seen
him in for months, but he was a little different. He had filled out a little since they had first gotten
involved, Dottore realized. This wasn't as strange or alarming as noticing his change in height the
day before. It was subtle. Natural. It only showed a little bit in his shoulders and the swell of his
pectorals, and in the way his jaw naturally set itself when he was slack with fatigue. It made
Dottore remember just how young he really was - probably not even as old as Dottore had been
when he was first recruited - and how long it had been since this all had started. It was easy, in
theory, to just say that it had been nearly two years since the boy had first waltzed into the Liyue
facility, somehow managing to upturn every aspect of Dottore's entire life. But actually registering
the passage of time was different. It made Dottore feel a little bitter. But bitterness was not all he
felt.
Dottore felt like he could think again, and yet he couldn't make sense of any of it. It was
frustrating, but his own lucidity felt like such a rare commodity these days, so instead he just
focused on something he could wrap his head around, which was the matter that had been on hand
before they wound up in this position.

"Childe. Listen to me." Dottore said. He waited for Childe's eyes to come back into focus, vaguely
taking him in with a blank look on his face. "This is serious. If your body is undergoing any
changes out of the ordinary, you need to tell me."

"Wh- Huh?" Childe rubbed at his eyes as if to wake himself up. It must have worked, because
suddenly his features scrunched up in annoyance. "Ugh. Seriously, Dottore?"

Dottore pursed his lips. "Childe. This isn't a game. It's important. I need to know everything it's
doing to you, if I don't know at least that much, then I-"

"Okay, okay, I get it." Childe groaned in exasperation, rubbing his eyes. "I really do. Geez, just-
just give me a minute. You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

Dottore bit the inside of his cheek. The simple fact was that he didn't believe him. Childe could say
he "got it" all he wanted, but it didn't mean he really understood. He was hesitant to tell Dottore
exactly how old he was when he had acquired the Foul Legacy technique, but judging by his
history and how old he was when Pulcinella had enlisted him, it was easy to guess it had been
some time in his early teens. Dottore could lecture him to hell and back, but that wouldn't change
anything if Childe genuinely couldn't distinguish his abnormalities from the simple phenomenon of
puberty. If he had no frame of reference, his own self-awareness would be meaningless.

It made Dottore nervous, suddenly, thinking about what he could possibly be missing when Childe
wasn't in his sights. Even when they were in Liyue together, Childe still had his duties to attend to
in the harbor and ended up being gone for much of the day. Was there a way he could effectively
keep track of him outside of the time they spent together? He could try having him monitored by
his own subordinates. That was a risky gambit, though. Dottore thought back to the agent that was
still stationed here in Liyue, the one that had been tracking Childe before and was still keeping an
eye on the facility now. Dottore had entrusted him with the Eleventh’s whereabouts before, but
now… it would be nearly impossible to conceal the fact that they were seeing each other so often.
The agent would catch on. He wasn't a fool. But how much had he caught onto already? Maybe
Dottore was already in so deep, it didn't matter if he knew. Maybe the man already had his
suspicions, or had drawn his own conclusions.

As Dottore mulled over this, he dismounted himself from Childe’s thigh and started to back up off
the bed. But before he could get far, Childe suddenly seized him by the wrist and stopped him.

“Dottore, seriously. Hold on for a second. For the love of- Look at yourself.” Childe groaned,
squeezing his wrist tighter. Dottore suddenly realized that his entire arm was softly trembling. He
hadn’t noticed it, but it had been this entire time. He had fucked Childe so unrelentingly, the
overworked muscles in his arm felt like jelly. “Just stay for a minute.”

Dottore pulled his wrist out of Childe’s grip in annoyance, holding it in his own hand in an attempt
to ease his tremors. But he did not withdraw any further. “Why?”

Childe sighed as he twisted his body around on the bed, putting no more effort into changing his
position than a few limp lurches towards Dottore. He ended up curled in front of him in a fetal
position, and he pressed his forehead against the Third’s knee.

“Do you really need a reason?” Childe muttered, letting his eyes fall closed.
Dottore didn’t have an answer for him. Perhaps his head wasn’t as clear as he thought it was.

Dottore studied his face for a lack of anything else to do. The Eleventh’s hair was clinging to his
forehead and temples in sodden clumps, shellacked against his skin with both sweat and tears.
There was a tuft of hair caught in his eyelashes. It twitched with every unconscious shift of his
closed eyes. Everything else was still.

It bothered Dottore. That one little outlier in what was otherwise a perfect picture of serenity. It
was just a nuisance. That was all.

Dottore cautiously brought his hand to Childe’s face. Despite his best efforts, it was still shaking.
His fingers touched the root of the errant lock of hair clinging to Childe’s lashes. As soon as he did,
he felt the urge to pull back. But he followed through with the motion anyway, smoothing the
straying patch of red back in place with the grain of his hair growth. When he did, Childe’s eyelids
fluttered back open.

He just looked at him. Then after a while, he spoke again.

“Do you love me?”

Dottore furrowed his brow. The response came easily. “No.”

Dottore realized he had been expecting him to cry, though it wouldn’t have been his intention to
make him do such a thing. There was no malicious intent on his mind, no cruelty for the sake of it;
his reply had simply been stating a fact. But he had been expecting him to cry nonetheless, which
only occurred to him because he was surprised that Childe did not. The Eleventh’s expression
barely changed at all. He just continued gazing up at him, looking almost thoughtful as he
processed the word. He sucked in his bottom lip for a second, worrying at it pensively.

“Why not?” Childe asked. His voice was steady. It was lacking almost as much emotion as
Dottore’s had been.

Dottore didn't have an answer for that, either. But though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, it made him
register the likelihood that he truly didn’t understand the meaning of the word. If he loved him,
would he even know it? Would it even still be love, if he didn’t?

Dottore had just pondered whether or not Childe possessed any frame of reference for what his
own humanity should look like, but did Dottore himself even have any reference for this?

Maybe he did. Maybe he had loved once.

~*~*~*~*~*~

There had been a cottage directly across from the one he and his mother resided in. The two
properties were close, and nearly identical to each other. But the cottage next door was not
overgrown with weeds, as theirs usually was. There was not an oppressive air of unrest built into
the walls, as what emanated from theirs. It did not house one half of a broken family, as their own
did.

There was a girl that lived there. She was around Dottore's age. Though he of course knew of her
throughout his childhood, he didn't really grow familiar with her until they had gotten a bit older.

His mother had started taking a shine to her right after Dottore had found the Abyss material out in
the woods. It was right around the age his sister would have been when she died, or so he heard. It
marked the point in time when she had begun to gradually sink even deeper into her own delirium.
Between the profound deterioration of her mind and Dottore's inclination to keep himself out of the
house, over the years, mother and son had essentially become strangers to one another. Though it
could be argued that his mother had never truly seen him as a son, by the time Dottore had reached
his early teens, she had no interest in him whatsoever. At best, she always seemed mildly disturbed
by his presence in the house, like she could never quite remember offering him lodging to begin
with - which, in her defense, was something that had technically never happened. But aside from
that, she just didn't pay him any mind at all. She simply continued living what was merely half a
life, content to meander about the village and play pretend. And she obsessively coddled and
fussed over that neighbor girl like she saw her as a doll; a doll in a dead girl's clothes.

Dottore supposed it was simply pity that allowed for the woman's behavior to persist. The girl's
parents - he could not remember their names - did not seem particularly bothered by his mother's
attachment to their daughter, which had always seemed bizarre to him. Maybe his mother was just
such a pitiable creature that it didn’t warrant the fuss, even with how blatantly she sought to snatch
their child's affection right out from under their noses. Did they really have to worry about that, in
the end? And even if they did, what did it matter? So what, if their girl spent a few extra hours out
of the day nannying the village lunatic? Let the woman have her scraps, if she needed to. They had
nothing at all to fret over. They still had a daughter.

The girl herself didn't mind it, either. At first, her passiveness was simply the product of politeness.
She was too young to argue with the strange woman who had so suddenly started fawning over her
and saying strange things, so she simply did not. But as the years went by, it went beyond that.
Eventually, the girl seemed to take it upon herself to take care of the woman, and by some small
extension, Dottore. But that wasn’t that much of a surprise. It wasn’t like they were the only ones.

The girl was just nice. Everyone knew her as such, simply as a pleasant girl. She was polite,
helpful, and social, and there would not have been a soul in the village with anything bad to say
about her. Not even Dottore. As good as he had gotten at recognizing the patronizing tones and
shallow intentions of the people in that village, he had never been able to attribute any of these
behaviors to her. She gave without expecting, she bonded without excluding, and she sympathized
without pity.

She fancied herself an adventurer-in-training, spurred on by tales of her father's achievements in

the field. He was all but retired from the craft for as long as Dottore could remember, not having
much time for adventuring between raising a family and settling down in that dreadful little village
where everything that could go wrong seemed to do just that. But the girl treated his stories and the
creed of the Adventures' Guild as if they were gospel. She yearned to face the unknown and march
towards it with head held high, to overturn every last pebble in all of Teyvat and leave her mark in
its place. She wanted to be someone that people could depend on. Someone people could follow.

Though Dottore had never found much merit in the phenomenon of flighty personalities wandering
the countryside in search of odd jobs and calling it a career, he could at least appreciate one of her
values above all else: she wanted to move forward. And once she did that, she wanted to keep
moving forward. She wanted out of that miserable little town. Even if she never said it aloud,
Dottore had to assume she was thinking it. Who in their right mind wouldn't be?

But times were hard in the village, as they always were. If it wasn't sickness, it was famine, and if
it wasn't famine, it was a drought, and if it wasn't drought, it seemed to be the hands of the Gods
themselves keeping every last bit of misery contained in that pathetic, downtrodden community.
There were hardly ever enough resources to warrant unnecessary trips out to the city, or a trip
anywhere, for that matter. The neighbor girl quickly found herself an adventurer without any place
to venture. So, she simply put all her energy into helping out around the village where she was
able, treating every little chore as if they were as important as the most urgent of commissions. She
was always more than eager to help, and the task itself was its own reward. And Dottore could
understand that.

But where Dottore's resolve only granted him an unsavory reputation amongst the village, the girl's
earned her their admiration. She was well-known, and well-loved.

Dottore was simply well-known.

Though her natural charisma was difficult not to be taken in by, even for him, once in while she
annoyed him. She often struck him as a bit naïve. She was always around, too bright and too
boisterous, and always encouraging his mother's senseless behavior.

He remembered once when he was a teenager coming up from out of the cellar, absently fiddling
with a piece of machinery in his hands. As he locked the cellar behind him, the sound of voices
coming from the front startled him. He cautiously crept around the corner of the house, careful not
to be noticed, and peered around at the front door.

His mother and the girl were there, talking about something Dottore didn't really bother listening
to. His mother had a basket in her hands of what looked like eggs and a sparse selection of
vegetables, and she was smiling down at the girl fondly. He was catching the tail-end of the
conversation, and the only thing he did hear with clarity was his mother's farewell.

"Don't stay out playing too long, Antoinette."

Dottore bristled.

The girl grinned broadly, simply giving a little wave of her hand. "I won't! Have a nice day,
ma'am!"

Dottore's mother withdrew into the house, and as soon as the door was shut behind her, he stepped
out from behind the corner.

"Don't let her call you that."

The girl jumped at the sound of his voice, whipping around to face him. Upon realizing who it
was, she relaxed a bit. "Oh! Hi! Uh…." She took on a sheepish air, wringing her hands and shifting
her weight around awkwardly. "Sorry. I didn't think of it."

Dottore just sighed.

Antoinette, of course, was not her real name. His mother had simply taken to calling the girl that
shortly after she had grown so fixated on her. The fact that she was scarcely ever corrected
frustrated him to no end.

An awkward silence passed between the two of them, and the girl cleared her throat.

"Sorry," she repeated. "I know you don't like that, it's just… I can never bring myself to correct her.
There's really not that much harm in it, is there? It's just a name."

Dottore scoffed quietly. "But it's not your name. It's just stupid. There's no reason to go along with
it."

"I guess not," she responded, absentmindedly kicking at the dirt under her feet. It was not the first
time she had received the lecture, nor would it be the last. But then, she had simply shifted her
focus to his hands. "What are you working on?"
Dottore instinctively clutched the machinery he was holding to his chest, despite how innocuous
the device itself was. It was an old motor from a sewing machine. He wasn't interested in the
sewing machine, so he had taken the part with the intention of repurposing it. He would not have
been able to tell her what he planned on using it for.

"Nothing." He said. "It's just broken. It's scrap."

"Oh." She still peered at the device curiously, probably unconvinced at his response from the way
he possessively clung to it. He started to get nervous, but her expression abruptly changed, and she
beamed as she looked back up to his face. "Oh! Mama wanted me to bring some things over
anyway, but that's not the only reason I'm here! I wanted to see you!"

That threw Dottore off guard. He didn't know how to respond, so he just stayed quiet until she
started speaking again.

"Papa's taking me to the city tomorrow to register with the Guild!" She continued, too excited to be
discouraged by his silence. "I know you're always complaining that there's not much to do around
here, so I was wondering if you'd like to come with us? If anyone could make the best out of the
trip, it'd have to be you, right?"

She grinned at him earnestly, and he had to look away. The offer was jarring, and he didn't know
what to think of it. But it was also tempting. There were, however, several problems with it. For
one thing, the girl's father made no secret of his distaste for Dottore. It was obvious that he was
probably not privy to the invitation, and Dottore was not eager to spend the day with a man who so
frequently glared daggers at him whenever they crossed paths in the village, especially when his
daughter was in the vicinity.

But more than that, a trip out of the village was risky. Dottore had far too many things to leave
behind. Things that could not go unguarded.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Dottore said dully. He made a point to glance over to the front
door of the cottage. If his mother was good for anything, it was to serve as an excuse for his
outwardly reclusive nature. Sure enough, the girl followed his gaze, and pursed her lips.

“Oh.” She said. She sounded disappointed. But she looked back with a gentle smile. “Well, I’ll try
to bring you back something interesting, then! And if you change your mind, you can just let me
know before tomorrow! I might be out for the rest of the day, though. I told one of the younger kids
I’d help her look for her cat in the woods today. It’s been missing for a while.”

Dottore still didn’t meet her eyes. “If it’s been gone that long, the wolves have probably gotten to it
by now. It’s a waste of time.”

“Hey! Even if that’s true, you can’t just say that kind of thing to a kid…. It doesn’t hurt to at least
try.”

Dottore didn’t say anything else. It was not the first time “Antoinette” had gone gallivanting
through the woods, looking for lost animals that she knew she would not find, for no other reason
than to make someone feel like their troubles were being heard.

And it would certainly not be the last.

That summer, so many family pets had gone missing that the people in the village began to gossip.
The children whispered of witches and monsters; ones with dripping fangs and jagged claws that
crawled out from under moss-covered rocks, snatching up cats and finches for supper and eating
them whole. The adults busied themselves with more realistic concerns; the hunting parties kept a
watchful eye out for bear tracks or hungry packs of wolves. But while most people reasonably
looked out to the woods for answers, others did not. And the longer the forest yielded them no
answers, the more eyes there were to join them in looking inwards.

The hills on the border between Fontaine and Sumeru were lush with oleander shrubs. The flowers
were a brilliant fuschia and with soft, unassuming petals, while the leaves were shaped like
daggers, and made Dottore’s skin break out in hives wherever it touched. He used an old pair of
gardening gloves that he had once found in the cellar when plucking them from their branches.

The dogs were easy enough to deal with. They would usually wolf down anything that was
wrapped well enough in a good cut of meat. The cats were a little more difficult to please; Dottore
would have to grind up the leaves into a paste and mix it with mint and fish innards before they
would even consider touching it. He didn’t need them to ingest all that much, anyway. He only
needed them to eat enough to grow disoriented and lethargic. Once they started stumbling over
their own feet, they were pliant enough to transport under the cover of night.

He had gotten better. Though he could not remember when it had happened, he had eventually lost
his apprehension at the thought of spilling blood. It was only the most effective way to go about
things. A cut to both carotid arteries was more than enough to bleed out anything quickly, and it
went even faster if the jugular veins were severed as well. He grew very familiar with where these
vessels were located on most small animals and livestock. Their placement was never too
dissimilar from where they would be on a human. Dottore eventually began to wonder if he would
ever feel a man's blood seeping through his fingers like the mongrels’ blood did.

Things in the village got worse, as the years went by. The people grew cagier of him by the day.
On top of their typical woes, they bore witness to stranger and stranger things. It did not stop at the
missing pets. Sometimes, there were periods where the forests were inexplicably barren, and
hunting parties would come back hungry and empty handed - Dottore knew it was unwise to over-
reap the wildlife, but sometimes he forgot himself in his desperation to find more subjects.
Sometimes, the people would come across miniature graveyards of animal bones, or literal puddles
of blood just on the outskirts of town, thinking it to be an ill omen or even a curse laid upon the
community - Dottore tried to find the most isolated areas to dispose of any remains he had, but
sometimes he was so beyond exhaustion from so many sleepless nights spent locked in the cellar
that he could not make it far.

Sometimes, there would be a faint smell coming from the overgrown cottage of the madwoman
and her son.

It was that smell. It was that fucking smell, the one that Dottore could always catch on himself, the
one that never washed out, the one that hung in the air outside the house no matter what he did. It
was not of rot, because his subjects did not do such a thing. No matter how long he could
successfully reanimate them for, the Abyss would claim their bodies eventually, leaving him with
nothing but desperate memories and a page full of notes. It was not of gore, because he was too
careful to let any of it get out of his control. Blood was incriminating, so his workspaces were
immaculate; he'd get down on his hands and knees to clean up every last little splash of it, and
assure that no one would ever be able to see a drop of it on his hands.

It was the stench of death itself. It was indescribable, but unmistakable. It permeated the sinuses
like pollen, nestling into every nook and cranny and coating the lungs until they were saturated
with it. It was thick, and inescapable, and it filled him with dread. Not because of the smell itself,
but because of what it would mean if anyone else were to ever identify it. The people's unrest
continued to foster itself until what had started out as whispers on the winds had gradually turned
into a dull roar. A crowd of many people speaking at once, a disjointed cacophony of restless
mutters that were indistinguishable from one another, save for the instances that the words would
synchronize in an ominous hivemind.

"That boy's not right."

Children that Dottore had helped deliver were now being clutched to their mothers' chests as he
passed by them on the cobblestone paths in the village. It was instinctual. They would have an
almost feral look in their eyes as they did so, looking like nothing more than animals shielding their
offspring from a potential predator.

"He never has been."

No longer did people titter at the strange boy with dour disposition. Only humorless, discontented
mutters fell from their lips, an oppressive dialogue of a vague impending doom.

"Maybe he’s mad. He doesn’t even act human.”

But that didn't matter. None of it did. Because he was so close. He had come so far in his own
research, with his understanding of the Abyss material he possessed. He knew that splintering the
crystals greatly increased their efficacy, and embedding those splinters into his subjects gave better
results than external contact alone. He knew that they could be used as an alchemical catalyst, and
that allowing them to become imbued with elemental energy made them even stronger. He knew
that their energy could be transferred to both organic and inorganic substances in the right
circumstances, and if the two matters could be used in tandem, they would become almost
indistinguishable from each other. They worked together like a well-oiled machine. What was once
broken could be given new life. New purpose. And it could work better than it ever had before. He
could make it work.

"He's turning out just like his mother."

It was all within his grasp. He was moving forward. He was making progress.

When they were a little older, "Antoinette" had asked him once why he enjoyed tinkering around
with machines so much. It had caught him off guard, like most everything she ever said to him did.
He knew that he could never tell her the full extent of the truth, despite how she had never seemed
to catch onto the rest of the people's fearful gossip about his inclinations. For some reason, that
only made him more hesitant to consider saying it. But what did come out of his mouth had not
been a lie, much to his own surprise.

"They just make sense."

She had given him a curious little glance, perhaps waiting for him to say more. When he did not,
she just laughed.

"If you say so," she said, a pleasant, unassuming lilt to her voice. "I don't really understand a thing
about it, but I find it really interesting anyway! You should really take a trip out to the city
sometime. There's plenty of amazing technology there. I think you'd appreciate it more than anyone
else possibly could."

Dottore had looked down at his feet awkwardly. "Maybe."

"It's really not all that scary, I swear. It takes a little getting used to the crowds, but I think it's well
worth it. You might even fit in better than I do, honestly. People are old-fashioned here, but the rest
of Fontaine isn't like that. None of Teyvat is. I've been around enough to see it.”
She smiled widely at him then, eyes bright and freckled cheeks tinged pink with life.

It would be the last time he'd ever see them like that.

"I think it would really help you come out of your shell, once you see it. It’s amazing to see all the
things other people have been able to accomplish. I think the Gods must really favor forward-
thinkers like you, H-"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore was awake when Childe left for the harbor the following morning. The Eleventh had
kissed him on the cheek before he went, laughing at the sour expression on the older man's face.
He teased him with freckled cheeks and a broad grin that made Dottore feel old, made him realize
that they looked a bit too similar to ones that he had known since before the boy was even born.

But he didn't have time to think about that. He had more important matters to attend to.

Dottore had decided that he needed eyes on Childe, and if that meant leading his agent to finally
draw his own conclusions on the nature of the two Harbingers' relationship, then so be it. He had to
have had his suspicions by then, anyway. The agent had yet to catch Childe breaching the facility
since they had been seeing each other again - Dottore would usually arrive in Liyue and
immediately send the man to patrol the edge of the Dunyu ruins, further out from the facility, and
Childe knew better than to draw attention to himself on his way over - but realistically, Dottore
didn't think that could last forever. He had already incriminated himself enough, as far as his agent
was concerned. But so long as Dottore could afford the agent's discretion, he was sure it would
continue. If he had to pay a little more for his silence after this, he would deal with that as well.

Dottore waited a bit after Childe left, then immediately called upon the agent for an audience.
Dottore had outfitted him with an emergency beacon that the Third could activate through radio
signals whenever he needed to signal for him. It was meant to serve as an urgent call, a sign to drop
everything and make haste to the Harbinger for new orders. Dottore knew it would not be long
before his arrival, so he just waited in his office. He was feeling too restless to sit, so he was
standing at the front of his desk when the agent marched in.

The agent immediately met him with a salute, dutifully pulling his gaze downwards.

"Lord Dottore. Do you have new orders, my lord? There is nothing to report from the-"

Dottore waved his hand dismissively, scowling at the formality. "Enough. Listen. I'm reassigning
you to watch the boy."

The agent glanced up at him fleetingly, looking confused. "The… boy?"

"Tartaglia!" Dottore snapped impatiently. "What other little shits have I ever assigned you to track?
Use your fucking head."

"I, uh-" The agent faltered, clearing his throat. "Sorry, my lord. So you would… like me to keep
track of his whereabouts once more?"

"Yes, that's what I said." Dottore replied, getting annoyed. There was a hesitance evident in the
agent's voice that gave him the sinking feeling that the man was about to give him news he would
not want to hear. "Is there a problem here?"

"Well, my lord," the agent started, wringing his hands behind his back. "Are you… expecting me
to track him on my own?"
Dottore narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes. As per our previous
arrangement. I don't understand why this is so difficult to grasp."

"Well…. My lord, monitoring the facility is one thing, but-" He cut himself off, mouth floundering
open in a slight panic before he was able to pick back up. "You should know that Lord Tartaglia is
not the easiest subject to track. He is one of the Harbingers."

"You think I don't know that?" Dottore hissed in reproach. "I don't give you assignments because
they're easy, roach!"

"My lord, it's not just that," the agent argued. "Tracking him alone would be next to impossible
without being detected. He would know that he's being followed."

Dottore gritted his teeth, drumming his fingers against his arm. He certainly couldn't have that.
Aside from the fuss the boy would be sure to make of it, it would completely defeat the purpose of
sending the man out if he had no way of catching Childe unaware. He needed reports of the
Eleventh in his natural element, unfettered by Dottore's influence. If he had even the slightest
suspicion of his plans, it would all be for naught."So what you're saying is, it's something that can't
be done alone."

"I… I'm sorry, my lord." The agent sighed. "When Sergeant Oksana was on the assignment with
me, we were tracking him together. If we were both tracking him, we could remain at an ample
distance and corroborate our reports after the fact."

"Shit." Dottore hissed, his gaze drifting off to the side thoughtfully. It had taken long enough to
convince himself to involve one person with the matter, someone who was already vaguely aware
of the situation. It would be risky to bring someone else into the mix. He didn't have any other
subordinates that he had the same degree of confidence in. It might have still been worth the risk to
send him out alone. On the other hand, if Dottore was caught in his schemes, Childe would not so
easily be caught off guard again. He may only have one chance to make this happen. If it wasn't
done right the first time, it would be a disaster.

As he pondered this, the agent began speaking again. "Tracking Lord Tartaglia isn't a simple
matter, my lord. The tracking- we would have to track at ample distance and corroborate after the
fact.”

Dottore waved his hand again. “Shut up. I’m thinking. You don’t have to repeat yourself.”

“My lord, the tracking wouldn’t be ample of the fact of the track.”

“I said I’m-” Dottore stopped. He furrowed his brows.

It was interesting, how when hearing things that made absolutely no sense, the brain seemed
hesitant to even recognize them as nonsense. His first instinct had been to react. The simple act of
just attempting to process the words was just an afterthought. But as soon as recognition hit him,
Dottore looked back at the man. The agent was standing in the same position, expression
unchanged, wrists crossed behind a straight back. Dottore narrowed his eyes.

“What did you just say?” The Third asked slowly.

Dottore could see the agent’s head tilt to the side fractionally, as if he were confused. But he
quickly straightened back out. “It doesn’t do the fact to track tracking in the fact to tra- tract. Two
isn’t enough for the fact. It’s racking ample in the sense of things? Tracts in tracks after the fact-”

The man simply continued like this as Dottore’s mouth gradually fell slack in disbelief. An
accusatory eye fell to the agent’s fiery red Delusion pinned to the center of his chest, until red was
the only thing the Third could see. He forced himself to look away, his hands clenched into fists at
his sides.

Dottore had seen corruption thousands of times before, and even seen it exhibit itself exactly like
this with deteriorating subjects. They would spew meaningless word salad, often not even
recognizing it as such, until they eventually found a way to do away with their own lives. The fact
that it was happening, once he had time to process it, was not a shock. What Dottore couldn’t
believe, what he absolutely refused to believe, was that it was happening right here, right now,
right in front him within the blink of an eye.

Why now, of all times? Why now, when Dottore was already scrambling for purchase on his
agonizing climb upwards, when his retinue and his subjects were dropping like flies as it was,
when everything else felt like it was falling apart right before his eyes? Why would the Abyss
claim this man from him now, when he already had so little left to take?

Dottore turned to face his desk. Then, with a howled curse that was barely even distinguishable as
such, he slammed his fist down against the desk. He did it again. And again. He did it until the
pain in his hand finally became too much to bear, and he found himself nearly collapsing against
the edge of the desk, gasping shallow breaths.

“My lord? Tracking into it?” The agent sounded alarmed at his outburst. It only made Dottore
seethe.

“Shut the fuck up.” The Third hissed, voice gone hoarse. The man still seemed lucid enough to
understand him, so he went silent.

Dottore just let himself slump over the desk for a moment, his mind reeling. Obviously, enlisting
this man’s services was now out of the question. If he wanted to keep an eye on Childe - or even
just his facility now - he would have to look elsewhere. He would have to find at least one more of
his men that could be swayed to keep quiet given the proper incentive. But Dottore did not trust
easily, especially when the only thing he did trust was the weight of a man's greed. He and this
man had developed their own understanding over the course of several years. Dottore didn't have
years. He had weeks, at best. Perhaps not even that much. He was out of time. Out of bodies.

No, no, he was spiraling. He had to calm down. He needed to take this one step at a time. First, he
should- he just had to get rid of the agent. He could barely even stomach the idea of turning around
to look at him, for fear that he would attempt to communicate to him in that grating, inane
gibberish. He had to put it to rest. He thought about finding an actual use for him, but even that felt
like it would prolong that matter more than Dottore could bear. Maybe if his body persisted for
long enough, he could think of something. But he couldn’t brainstorm now. He just wanted to put it
down. Dottore's eyes drifted around the room tiredly. He didn't have his defense sentries with him.
There must have been something else he could use. Anything.

"You're just delusional, you know."

Dottore froze.

It was somehow so much more jarring to hear the agent say that than it had been to hear him
suddenly utter complete nonsense. His tone had changed, too. Before, he had sounded absurdly
casual, almost comically so. But not now. Now, he was speaking with purpose. Bitter, humorless
purpose.

With a tremendous effort, Dottore turned his head. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to
turn all the way around. He turned until he could just barely see the man in his peripheral vision,
not willing to look at him straight on.

"What-" The word caught in Dottore’s throat. "What did you say?"

"What's the matter, Nico?"

Dottore's blood ran cold. He was only vaguely aware that the air around him did, as well.

He dared to crane his neck back just a bit more, to see a malicious grin splitting the man's lips
apart, matching the way he had practically jeered the words at Dottore.

"Finally running out of steam, after chasing after your childish ideals for so long?" The agent
continued, sounding like he was barely stifling a titter. "You really expect me to feel sorry for you?
You're pathetic."

Dottore let out a sharp exhale, unaware that he had been holding his breath. When it came out, it
was with a dense fog that spilled from his lips like smoke. That didn't make any sense, but
suddenly, nothing did anymore. He realized this numbly, because everything had gone numb. All
he could do was just stare blankly at the man behind him, the one who had just lost all sense in the
blink of an eye, and yet suddenly was making too much sense to possibly bear listening to.

The agent let out a chuckle, then, giving a coy tilt of his head. "With our help, I think you'll be able
to achieve great things, Nicolas."

Dottore whipped around to face the agent head-on. He blinked as he moved. By the time he had
spun around and opened his eyes, the man had twin protrusions jutting out from either side of his
neck. They were icicles, unnaturally smooth, and they were embedded deep enough through the
skin for them to surely be puncturing both carotid arteries and jugular veins.

The man hadn't even had time to react before blood started pouring out around the ice impaling
him, still standing up straight with hands held behind him. Dottore watched his jaw drop open, and
a strangled noise escaped his throat. He lifted his hands up to grab his own neck, trying to register
his own injury. He didn't even make it far enough to clutch at the icy, blood-soaked projectiles
lodged inside him before his knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground with another gurgling
gasp. He twitched once. Twice. Thrice. And then he did not move again, blood continuing to rush
out of the holes in his neck, forming a puddle beneath his limp body. Dottore could still see his
chest expanding and contracting fractionally, but it was obvious that too would soon cease.

It took a moment for the Third to process what had just happened, for the numbness to recede from
his body and for him to realize that the coldness that had overtaken his limbs and seeped into the
air was stemming from a spot against his chest, almost directly over his own pounding heart. His
Delusion. He had it in the breast pocket of his jacket.

Startled, Dottore didn’t even bother taking it out of his pocket; he simply scrambled out of his coat
frantically, throwing it onto the floor and even taking a step back from it, as if it were a snake that
had just bitten him. As soon as he did that, the feeling returned to his skin, and the chill in the air
dissipated as quickly as it had come on.

He didn’t like that he had tapped into the power of his Delusion without realizing it. He really
didn’t like it. He hated it. But what he hated more than that was that the Delusion had simply been
doing what it was meant to do. The Tsaritsa had bestowed it upon him herself for that very reason.
It was created specifically to attune to his wants, his needs, to every visceral reaction he could
possibly feel in the heat of the moment. But the agent’s final words had been so deeply disturbing,
he couldn’t even immediately realize why they had been. It wasn’t until he was coming down from
the rush of adrenaline that he began to play through the scene once again with a clearer head, and it
all came rushing back to him.

The first few words had simply been eerie. Too eerie, outrageously eerie, but Dottore may have
been able to brush them off as coincidence if given enough time. But the last part… that was one of
the things Pierro had said to him, the day he had recruited him in one of the dark hallways of
Sumeru Academia. Dottore remembered it well. He remembered every word. But he remembered
more than that.

That had been Pierro’s voice. It wasn’t just merely his words. It was every last detail, the
particulars of his inflection, the timbre of his tone, the strange lilt the First had always had - the one
that sounded like half a laugh and half a eulogy, the rhythm of the sardonic melancholia the man
lived his life by. It was his voice that Dottore had heard. Not the agent’s.

But that wasn’t possible. There was no way for that to be possible. If his agent’s Delusion had
planted the roots of madness in him, he would have been liable to ramble. And if the words hit a
little too close to home, that was Dottore’s problem and no one else’s. But that was Pierro’s voice.
There was no way it was possible. It didn’t make any sense. Unless it was-

Dottore’s knees buckled, and he just barely resisted crumpling to the ground along with the agent’s
body by falling back against his own desk, clawing at the edge to keep himself upright. He was
stricken by a sudden wave of nausea, but he swallowed the bile back down. He thought back to
Childe. Not the real Childe; the dream Childe, the one that dug his fingernails into his chest and
had left them seared into his mind. Then, he thought about the bewildered look on his agent’s face
when the man had first started speaking nonsense. He looked like he had found Dottore’s reaction
to his gibberish to be peculiar. Like there had been nothing wrong with the words coming out of his
mouth. Like Dottore was the one acting out of turn.

It was over. The man was already dead. Dottore knew it was pointless to entertain the idea that
there was never anything wrong with the agent to begin with. But he did anyway.

As if to mock him further, Dottore could only watch as the man’s fresh corpse began to evaporate
away in a cloud of black smoke. The agent left nothing behind but a pool of his own blood and his
Delusion resting neatly in the center of it, scarlet on scarlet.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore had stared oblivion in the face so many times, there was not much in this world that was
able to phase him. He, who sought to seize control of the very foundation upon which the universe
was built on, the forces of Celestia and the Abyss alike, could no longer be swayed by the whims
of any man.

But if there was one human thing that Dottore was unable to stomach, it was the howl of a mother
who must bury her child.

Dottore could still remember with dreadful clarity the night he was awoken by that sound, jolted
from his sleep in the little old cottage he was raised in. When he sat up with alarm from his bed, he
immediately saw his mother standing in front of the open door, peering outside with her back
turned to him. Though he had risen out of bed quickly, by the time he got to his feet, he only
trudged over to her, dragging his feet every step of the way. He eventually got close enough to look
over his mother’s shoulder.

At the cottage across the way, a small crowd had already formed outside the front door. It was
 dark, so it was difficult to see, but Dottore could immediately make out the neighbor girl’s mother.
She was on her knees. Her mouth was hanging wide open, which was the only indication that the
alien sound cutting through the quiet night air was actually coming from her. It was an inhuman
screech that was also too strikingly human to forget. It tore its way out of her chest like it was
trying to hollow her out, scooping out every last breath from her lungs with violent, gutterual sobs
that shook her entire body like a seizure. It was taking everything from her, despite the fact that
there was nothing left to take.

On the ground before her was a mangled body that was so crumpled and lifeless that it was almost
unrecognizable.

Almost.

His own mother eventually turned to him. He met her eyes, which may have been the first time he
had done so in years. It was one of the only complete thoughts he could remember having that
night, along with the realization that it was probably not the first time she had ever heard such a
ghastly wail. The last time she did, it was just coming from her own body. He briefly wondered if
she would ever be capable of uttering a sound such as that again, and quickly realized what a stupid
question that was. She just looked at him vacantly, eyes dull. There was no recognition within
them. When she spoke, it didn’t even seem like she was speaking to him.

“I don’t think Antoinette’s come home yet.”

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi

 Adrift
Chapter Notes

hhhh this is an intense chapter I'm posting this with a stomachache because i'm so
nervous.....

also, one thing I wanted to announce: this is right around the point where the chapters
are going to start getting very dense and will probably all be pretty long as well, so
even though I'd like to try and keep on the same update schedule as much as possible,
this has gotten to be so much work that if one thing goes sideways IRL there's no way
i'll be able to keep up. So, instead of expecting updates every 1-2 weeks, i'd say to
expect them more in the range of every 2-4 weeks. Like I said, I personally would like
to keep it going at about every 2 weeks, but depending on life that might just not be
possible with the beast this has become, lol. So thank you for your patience and for
still sticking with me through all this! (also, I'd like to mention that i talk about
Miscreation A LOT on my twitter and that would probably be the first place to look
for updates on the status of new chapters... plus you can always DM me on there if
you're curious. The link to my page will be at the end of the fic!)

chapter cw/kink list:

suicidal thematic elements (implied/referenced only), fire, graphic description of a
human corpse, child/domestic abuse, burns, dermatillomania/self harm, (whiplash
again lmao) fisting

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Childe found him, Dottore was still in bed. He was fully clothed. Much of the linens, his
hands, the sleeves of his shirt, and the knees of his pants were encrusted with dried blood.

“Is it yours?”

Those were the first words out of Childe’s mouth. The fact that they were was a testament to how
the question need not have been asked.

Dottore had mopped up the mess in his office, disposed of the masterless Delusion, and hadn't
bothered to do anything beyond that. He just crawled back into bed and laid there until Childe
returned. He did not sleep. He had hardly even formed a complete thought that entire time, let
alone conjured up a way to possibly explain the state he was in. Dottore’s back was turned to the
door, and he did not look back or give him a verbal response. He just gave the barest shake of his
head, not caring that the movement was nearly imperceptible.

Childe just sighed. Dottore could not distinguish if it was out of relief or exasperation.

“Okay.”

Dottore probably should have been grateful that he left it at that. On some level, maybe he was.
But he couldn’t bring himself to care either way. He wasn’t thinking straight. He couldn’t think
straight, even if he wanted to. Why even bother trying?
The mattress shifted to account for Childe’s weight as he crawled in next to Dottore. The Third
could feel his chest hovering against his back, close, but not quite touching. Another sigh hit the
back of his ear as Childe tried craning his neck to get a good look at his face.

“Do you want to get up?” Childe asked softly.

Get up? For what? What reason did Dottore have to get up? To let himself be swept up by another
humiliating, senile rampage? No. There was no reason.

When Childe received no response, he started picking at the shoulder of Dottore’s shirt, like he was
pulling at a loose thread. As if that were the most troubling thing on the blood-stained garment.
“How long has it been since you ate?”

What did that matter? Dottore didn’t need to eat. The hunger gnawing at his stomach was not the
source of his woes. It was his mind. His mind was what was shrunken and emaciated, and yet it
continued to violently regurgitate whatever he tried to feed it. It was starving. Dying. And there
was nothing that could possibly sate the overwhelming emptiness.

Still, no response. Still, Childe persisted. “Do you want to take a bath?”

Useless. That would have been useless. What was the sense of washing the hands of blood, when
the stains had long ago bled through to his very being? Though maybe that’s why Childe didn’t
seem interested in where it had come from. Maybe he understood sullied hands better than anyone
else could. The source of the filth didn’t matter. The beginning didn’t matter. The parts in between
didn’t matter. Only the end results mattered.

“Hey.” Fingers against his temple. Bare. He had taken his gloves off. Childe smoothed the edges
of his hair back. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

Only the end.

The end.

And what would Dottore’s ending be? For the first time in decades, he truly didn’t know the
answer.

Childe still hadn't moved any closer. The only contact being made was through the soft rustle of
their clothing, and the hand that was making its way down Dottore's frame and trying to straighten
out what it could reach. It smoothed out the wrinkles on his shirt before coming to rest at the
angular curve of his hip. Childe lingered there, squeezing him lightly. It felt like there was a slight
tug to the grip, but maybe Dottore was imagining that. If Childe had wanted to pull him into an
embrace, he would have done it by now.

Why didn't he want to?

Why did that matter?

Childe found the hem of his shirt. He slipped his hand underneath it, but not his entire hand. Two
of his fingers lightly pressed themselves against Dottore's bare stomach. No, it was two and a half.
The third one was hanging off the waistband of the Third’s pants, the edge of it just barely making
contact with his skin. Dottore felt this with acute clarity, because suddenly those two and a half
fingers, so gentle and unassuming, felt like a punch to the gut. Their softness was an absurdity that
Dottore couldn't wrap his head around, because Childe could have done so much more in that
moment, he knew he could. Why didn't he? Why did that matter? Why was it suddenly the only
thing that mattered?
The half a finger withdrew with no more than a fractional shift of Childe's body, which had surely
been unintentional, and that almost knocked the wind out of Dottore. It wasn't what he wanted.
What did he want?

Childe exhaled softly. This Dottore did recognize as exasperation, and for some reason, that hurt. It
was another kick to the ribs in the form of a feather-light presence, and it made it difficult to
breathe. It made his heart ache. It made him agonizingly aware that they were so close he could
feel the heat coming off of Childe's chest against his back, but nothing more. Nothing else. It
wasn't what he wanted. What did he want? Oh, damn it, damn it, damn it all, what did he want?

Childe sounded distant when he spoke again. It seemed like he was close to giving up on trying.
"Are you still planning on going to Haeresys tomorrow?"

Haeresys? Tomorrow?

Dottore closed his eyes suddenly. Haeresys. Tomorrow. He rolled the words around in his brain,
and for some reason, they began to bring him back to the earth. Haeresys was a tangible fixture in
his life, something he could picture clearly in his mind. It was somewhere outside of this. It was
real. He had been there at its conception. And tomorrow was a set point in time. One he had
planned for before all this, before he only sought to slip back into bed and sink into the mattress,
the floor, the earth, the very core of the universe - whatever he could offer himself to to let swallow
him whole. But there was no future in that. There was no future in what he was doing now. The
future was tomorrow.

Dottore knew what he wanted. He wanted progress. He wanted his due results. And he wouldn't
get them by lying here, in the arms of someone he would only sink into.

His eyes snapped open, and in one fluid motion, he seized Childe's hand by the wrist and threw it
back at him, sitting up out of bed. He stood up and wordlessly left the room, not bothering to look
back at the Eleventh in his wake.

When he returned from the washroom, having stripped himself of his soiled clothing and washed
his hands of the blood, Childe had already changed the sheets for them. He was in bed, but he was
not sleeping. He didn't look up at Dottore as he walked back in the room, nor did he make any
move to turn around as the Third slipped in beside him.

They slept with their backs to each other the entire night. But that was an insignificant detail.
Dottore didn't focus on that. Tomorrow was his only focus now.

He just had to make it through tomorrow.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Maybe you shouldn’t go.”

Dottore stopped what he was doing, hand momentarily still at the cuff of his shirt. He didn’t look
behind him, just letting his gaze drift upwards to the mirror he was dressing in front of. It hung
from the wall directly across from his bed, and he could see Childe still laying down where he had
left him. He hadn’t moved from the position he slept in. It didn’t even seem like he had lifted his
head to speak. Dottore frowned, looking back down to finish fastening his shirt buttons.

"Don't be stupid." Dottore replied gruffly. "It's work. I have to-"

"I'm not being stupid!" Childe snapped suddenly. It was jarring enough for Dottore's eyes to fly
back to the mirror, just in time to see the Eleventh sitting upright with a jerk. His face was
contorted into a scowl, and he bared his teeth at Dottore's back. "Stop saying that when you just
don't want to listen to me!"

Childe wasn't one to lose his temper like that, not that hot, that quick, like a spark igniting a
powder keg. It was shocking enough that Dottore froze where he stood, and all he could do was
stare at him through the mirror's reflection. As a stifling silence fell over the two of them, he
watched Childe's expression gradually soften into remorse. He straightened himself out, scooching
back against the headboard and hugging his knees to his chest.

"You look like shit." Childe muttered. Dottore couldn't help the way his gaze flitted over to his
own reflection. He had eventually been able to drift off for an hour or two last night, but there were
thick, dark circles under his eyes that revealed how insufficient it had been. He looked sunken in,
hollowed out, like a mask of a man haphazardly fitted onto his own skull. The only bit of color to
his face came from the pink knots of scarring on his left cheek, his temple, the outer edge of his
brow. There was a sickly sheen to the keloidal tissue that stood out more than usual against the
dullness his unmarred skin exhibited. Dottore looked away with a scowl, grabbing the pin-striped
vest he had draped over the armchair at his side.

"Nobody asked for your opinion, boy," Dottore muttered, pulling his arms through the vest. "It
doesn't matter what I look like, anyway. I need to get back to work."

"I just mean-" Childe's voice had taken on a shrill tone, and Dottore could hear the words catch in
his throat. "You're tired. You can just stay here one more day. They'll survive without you for that
long, won't they?"

"Childe." Dottore warned. He buttoned up his vest, looking back up at Childe's reflection with a
dreary glare.

"You know they will." Childe argued, fisting his hands into the sheets. "You're not going to be any
good to anyone if you can barely see straight. Just stay here one more day, please. Stay here with
me."

"Childe."

"I'll stay too. I can make us some breakfast, and we can just-"

"Childe!" Dottore finally whipped around to face him, eyes going wide with anger. "What the hell
has gotten into you? Just what the fuck is it that you think we're meant to be doing? I don't have
time to be playing house with you, boy! Neither of us do! You're acting like a child!"

Childe pressed his lips into a tight line, and he just glared at Dottore. After too long of expectantly
waiting for a response that did not come, the Third merely groaned in exasperation.

"Get the fuck up. Get dressed." Dottore ordered, snapping his fingers at him and pointing at the
Eleventh's clothes pile on the floor. "I want you out of here at the same time I am. Heaven forbid I
leave you here to your own devices and come back to find the machines lined up for a goddamn
tea party. You're acting fucking ridiculous."

Dottore waited until Childe finally relented without a word, getting up and walking over to the
wrinkled heap of clothes. Dottore watched him pick up his pants and start putting them on, then
turned to the small wardrobe against the wall. He grabbed the first tie he saw, flipping up his collar
and draping it around his neck.

"I just have a bad feeling." Childe was behind him now. Dottore could feel his eyes drilling holes
into the back of his head, so he didn't turn around. He grabbed both ends of the fuschia bow tie and
started tying it.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dottore groused.

There was hesitation. Then came a soft, tentative, "Are you okay?"

Dottore's hands lost their place. He started over from the beginning. As much as he yearned to tell
Childe to mind his own business and leave it at that, Dottore was too familiar with him to think it
would have the effect he desired. If anything, Childe would just take it as defensiveness, and
Dottore couldn't let that happen, because that's exactly what it would have been. It was better to
humor him.

"I'm fine." It was a bald-faced lie, one that suddenly made Dottore realize how infrequently he ever
lied to Childe anymore. There were plenty of things that went unsaid, but the days of blatantly
deceiving him straight to his face had long since passed. That was when there was still a game to
play, a game that Dottore once thought he had a chance of winning. But he had lost. He
remembered Childe's admission the other day - "You're lying to me… I can tell…." - and couldn't
help but wonder if he ever had a shot to begin with. If anything, he certainly didn't have a chance
of getting away with it now.

"I don't think you are."

Dottore lost his place in the tie again. He had to start over from the beginning. "Why even ask, if
you're not going to listen to the answer?"

"Because I just want you to talk to me," Childe said dully. "I mean, I would have thought we were
both over bullshitting each other at this point."

Dottore's hands stilled. He clenched his jaw tightly. "You're such a little fucking hypocrite, aren’t
you?"

"Why?" Childe challenged. "I've been nothing but straight with you for a long time. I've been trying
to give you what you need, but you won't tell me what that is. I've been trying- Gods, I've been
trying so fucking hard, but I can't read your mind, Dottore. You have to start being honest with me,
or else I can't-"

"Oh, please!" Dottore snapped, spinning around to face him. "You're one to talk about honesty.
Exactly how do you remember all this starting, Childe? What reason do I have to believe a single
fucking word that has ever come out of your mouth?"

Childe just stared at him dumbly for a moment, mouth floundering open in confusion. Then, he let
out a short, humorless laugh, running his hands through his hair.

"Are you talking about-" Childe started, but another disbelieving laugh strangled him before he
could get the words out. “Are you seriously still hung up over me messing with you in the
beginning? Is that-”

“Save it.” Dottore interrupted curtly, turning his back to him again. He hadn’t planned on things
coming out like that, and he didn’t necessarily regret it, but what catharsis he had achieved from
saying it did not outweigh the fact that he was sticking his own neck out too far. To admit that the
Eleventh’s initial deceitfulness was still fresh in his mind when his mind was its weakest was
something he couldn’t possibly bounce back from. Dottore was now essentially cutting off his nose
to spite his own face, and the most dangerous part was that he was far too exhausted to care. By
the time he was able to bring his hands to start moving again, he had lost his place in the tie once
more. Back to the beginning.

Childe stammered incomprehensibly for a moment, scrambling for a response. “Dottore, look, I’m
sorry! I don’t know what else you want me to say, though; I mean, I was fucking flirting. And
maybe I was doing a shitty job at it- No, I know I was doing a shitty job, but I- I didn’t know what
else to do. I had no fucking clue how to deal with it, with anything. I thought you would understand
that by now. I thought you were the only person that could.”

Dottore sighed heavily, letting his hands drop to his sides. Every word was draining him of what
little energy he had left. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense, boy. Just what the fuck do you think
this is supposed to be, anyway?”

“What do you think it is?” The response was quick, biting, and it sunk its teeth into Dottore’s chest
before he had a chance to stop it. He sucked in a breath and found himself unable to let it back out.

He didn’t know the answer to that. So he just raised his hands back up to his tie, only to find a
foreign tangle of fabric in its place.

He would have to start back at the beginning. Again, and again, he would have to start the process
over. There was no progression. No moving forward. Again, and again, and again, he would be
stuck doing the same things again, and again, and again. He would be stuck in this fucking room,
in this fucking facility, trying to tie the same tie that he had tied hundreds of time before this. But
this time, inexplicably, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do just this one simple thing. Time itself was
frozen in place so long as things stayed like this. And he would have to just keep starting over from
the beginning. Again. And again. And again.

A hand on his shoulder almost made Dottore jump, and he probably would have if he hadn't
suddenly felt so disconnected from his own body. But all he could do was numbly turn around
when Childe's hand gently urged him to do so. Childe wasn’t looking him in the eye, instead
immediately focusing his attention on Dottore's tie. Both his hands settled on the garment and
undid the mess the Third made. Childe pressed the ends flat against Dottore's collarbone with a
sigh.

"You always think everyone's out to get you," Childe muttered. He picked up both ends of the
fabric and started tying them off. "They're not. I'm not."

Dottore could only stare at him in dismay. He distantly thought that the steady, deft movements of
Childe's hands as he accomplished what Dottore could not should have been a comfort. But they
were not. Especially given their recent disparity in height, it only made Dottore feel like an
incompetent child. No, it was worse than that; it made him feel old. It made him feel like a feeble,
senile old man that couldn't even keep the tremors in his hands at bay for long enough to dress
himself. Dottore could taste bile rising in his throat, and it was bitter.

"I love you." Childe said quietly, eyes still focused on his work. "You don't have to love me back.
But you have to at least believe it.”

“And what difference would it make if I did, boy?” Dottore asked. His voice had come out hoarse,
as if the tie Childe was fastening around his neck was a noose. Childe’s hands stopped moving for
a moment. But then they continued even after pause, further succeeding where Dottore had failed.

“Because then you’d know why I don’t want you to leave.” Childe replied. He finished, tying off
the final knot and adjusting the edges until they sat straight, but his hands lingered well after he
was done. He swallowed roughly. “You’re scaring the shit out of me. And you won’t tell me
what’s wrong. I want to help. But you won’t tell me what you need. It feels awful. I feel like if you
don’t just talk to me before you leave, then something terrible-”

His voice cracked, and he couldn’t finish the sentence. It was pointed, and more concise in its
meaning than any words that would have completed it. Dottore immediately bristled.

“What?” Dottore hissed. "You expect me to fly into hysterics like some kind of fucking lunatic? Is
that how little you think of me?"

"I didn't say that," Childe said quickly, but the way his voice wavered spoke volumes. And that
hurt more than it had any right to.

Childe finally looked him in the eyes, and it gave Dottore a tight feeling in his chest that made him
feel like doubling over. Childe gazed at him in a way that was candid and vulnerable in a way that
could not be refuted, and it made the Third sick to his stomach.

"Please." Childe said. His once steady hands were now trembling as he gripped the ends of his tie
tightly, rumpling the results of his own efforts. "Please. Just one more day. Stay with me one more
day. I can fix it, if you let me. Whatever it is."

As the pressure in his chest reached an unbearable peak, Dottore suddenly found himself thrust into
a state of limbo. It was a few seconds that felt like an eternity, as every last emotion that was
struggling to tear its way out of him was held in suspense. In that moment, with severe clarity,
Dottore realized he had a choice to make. The task itself was simple; it didn't require thinking
about whether or not he wanted to stay, or about the most damning question of all - what did he
think this was, really? The answers to those questions, if they were to be answered at all, could
come later. But for now, he only had one decision to make. Out of all the feelings making his tired
mind reel in a panic, which one would he let take over? Which one would he let lead him out of
this purgatory and into the waking world?

He could see Childe lean into him then, lips slightly parted and eyelids half-mast. He wanted a
kiss. Perhaps to try pulling him back in. Or maybe it was to say goodbye.

Dottore made his choice, then. He chose anger.

Dottore abruptly snatched Childe by the wrists, surprising him enough for his hands to release the
tie and his eyes to snap wide open. Dottore shoved him back at arm's length, eyes snapping to his
face in anger.

"I changed my mind." Dottore growled. He released his hold on Childe and quickly turned heel, but
not before he watched the boy's face contort into a mask of anguish. "Do whatever you want. I'm
leaving now. Tear this place apart, for all I care."

"Dottore, no, stop-"

"I don't give a damn what you think, boy," Dottore snapped, grabbing his coat from the back of the
armchair without looking up. "If you want to waste your time whinging about shit that doesn't
matter, then be my guest. But I won't have any part of it."

Dottore made a brisk path over to the bedside table and grabbed his mask off of it, and at that
point, Childe clamped his hand around his forearm and tried to pull him back.

"Dottore, please," Childe rasped, voice strained with emotion. He was gripping Dottore so tightly it
hurt, but now, it was the only thing that did. "You can't go. Don't leave like this, please-"
Dottore wrenched his arm out of his hand, and in turn he grabbed onto Childe's bicep and yanked
him forward until their faces were so close they were nearly touching.

"Listen to me. I don't want to hear another fucking word about any of this when I get back."
Dottore spoke with an icy deliberation that made every word come out like a drop of venom, and
every last bit of it fell into Childe's aghast, open mouth. "I don't have time to be playing house with
you, boy. I never have. And I never will. You are nothing to me. Absolutely fucking nothing. I'm
only here for the Foul Legacy. Not to be analyzed by some psychotic little shit like you."

With that, Dottore pushed him aside roughly and started making his way to the door. He heard
Childe hit the wall, and as he did he let out a guttural noise that was either a sob or a stunned
attempt to get one last word out. Dottore didn't turn back to look at the result of his words, to watch
the boy swallow the poison he had fed him, and was at the doorway by the time the Eleventh
started babbling again. Dottore purposefully tuned out his senseless begging, but there was one
thing that forced itself to be understood as he swept through the doorway, just before he left Childe
out of earshot.

"I'll do anything."

The dawning realization that Dottore believed him made his mind shut down, it was only muscle
memory that led him out of the facility. That was the hardest thing to swallow; that he believed
him, despite having no logical reason to. Childe lied. He lied to everyone. He lied, he exaggerated,
he made promises that couldn’t possibly be kept; that was who he was. It was all he was. He had
said so himself.

And still, Dottore believed him. He believed every last word.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore had hoped to regain a clear head during his trip, but he had no such luck. He spent the
hours slumped against the inside of the carriage, being jostled too roughly to hope to drift off,
vacantly watching the Liyuen cliffs transition to arid desert as he just continued seething. He could
do nothing but seethe, replaying the last few days over and over again in his head until every last
scene was seared into his memory like a brand. All the things he had done wrong, all the things he
had seen that had and had not happened, and Childe. Childe was a category all on his own, and the
way his fingers had combed through Dottore's hair in the aftermath of a night terror in which he
held the leading role. The way he had writhed beneath him with tears streaming down his face,
asking not for his own release, but for Dottore’s consideration, a stupid, insignificant brush of lips
and tongues. The way he had begged Dottore to stay with a senseless sentimentality that neither of
them were worthy of.

It was all pointless. It was so maddeningly pointless, and Dottore was infuriated that he had let it
carry on for this long.

No more. He had to get back to work, while he still had a mind to work with. He would use the
Foul Legacy as he pleased, for its power, its potential, its body, but no longer could he feed into
Childe's whims on the side. The boy was just a distraction. It was the beast that Dottore must feed.
Nothing more. Childe was just another test subject.

Dottore would figure out a way to reestablish boundaries when he got back. For now, he just had to
focus on moving forward. He needed to get back to Haeresys and immerse himself in his usual
patterns.

To avoid drifting around, as soon as he arrived, he had gruffly barked at his attendant to send Tsuji
to his office, barely even taking in his surroundings as he made a beeline there and shut himself
inside. He immediately sat down, taking stock of the random notes and journals scattered across
the desk. He scowled at the mess, and started trying to put things in order. It was not long before
the door to his office creaked open, and his eyes flew up to meet his assistant.

But it wasn't his assistant. It was one of the senior researchers, a man whose name and history had
never been worth remembering, and Dottore let his eyes fall back on his papers, not bothering to
stop what he was doing.

"Get out." Dottore growled.

There was a beat of silence. The man made no move to leave. "Lord Dottore-"

"Leave!" Dottore barked. "I don't want to see anyone until I've talked to the girl. If you want
something that badly, then tell her to hurry up."

Dottore was almost frantically rifling through his papers now, thrown off by the unexpected
presence, but through the shuffling he could hear the researcher take a few steps further past the
threshold, closing the door behind him as he did. "Lord Dottore, the g- Dr. Tsuji, I mean, she-"

Dottore gritted his teeth, still not looking up. "Do you have shit caked in your ears, you worm? I
said I'm not taking any visitors. Do not make me repeat myself."

"M-my lord, th-"

"What the fuck did I just s-"

"Lord Dottore, there's been an accident!" The words came out in an urgent stream, the sounds
clumsily running into one another and sounding more like the release of pressure from a steam
valve than actual words. But Dottore heard them. Understanding them was another matter.

"What are you-" Dottore stopped as he shot a glare back at the man. As he got a proper look at
him, the weight of his words began to sink in.

The man's face had gone white. He was drenched in a flop sweat that he tried to wipe from his
brow with the back of his trembling hand. He was trembling all over, Dottore could see it now. He
looked two seconds away from fainting on the spot.

Dottore froze. His thoughts stuttered to a halt, and all he could do was sit and stare at the man and
wait. The Third didn't even know what he was waiting for.

But that was a lie. He did.

The man seemed taken aback by Dottore's sudden silence, and it took him a moment to find his
words again.

"Lord Dottore, th-there's… there was an accident," the man repeated. "It- it was while you were in
transit to the site, that's why- We couldn't- We would have t-told you- It j-just-"

The man stuttered until he became incomprehensible, and he eventually trailed off, as if expecting
Dottore to intervene. But Dottore could not. He could not muster the energy to stand from his desk
and grab the man by the neck and scream at him to finish, like he wanted to. He couldn't even bring
himself to speak up, and tell him to get a hold of himself. He could only wait.

This only seemed to render the man more uneasy, and he wiped away another layer of sweat from
his forehead. "Th-there… there was a fire, my lord."

Fire. The researcher's voice had cracked on that word, as if calling attention to it, but he need not
have done that.

Fire. There was a fire. Of course there was. Dottore was no stranger to fires. The ones that were so
dreadfully inconvenient. But even worse was when they were far too convenient to explain. And
how convenient indeed that one should occur right after his team at Haeresys would have received
word of his impending arrival.

Dottore was still frozen solid where he sat. Waiting. Still waiting.

"I-it was c-confined to Dr. Tsuji's quarters, th-there- there we no other c-casualties-"

The man's stumbling cowardice was getting tiresome. It was like listening to an old, overworked
engine, sputtering awkwardly to life before the fire inside it would inevitably die out again. It was
unable to sustain itself. It either needed to be corrected, or put out of its misery. But Dottore
couldn't bring himself to do either of those things. He was still waiting.

"W-we haven't yet ascertained the s-source of the blaze, L-lord Dottore, but we- we- we will, and-
"

Don't bother. That's what the Third wanted to say, to avoid wasting any more time, his own, this
man's, the few living souls that were still alive on site. Don't bother, when everyone knew well
enough already. When there were plenty of Delusions and elemental phenomena lying about the
place, and plenty of helpful, sympathetic hands. Or at the very least, plenty of eyes to all turn in the
other direction all at once. But Dottore didn't tell him how worthless the efforts would have been.
He just waited.

"D-Dr. Tsuji has perished, my lord."

He knew that, by now. He wasn't a bumbling fucking moron. There was really only one excuse for
not following Dottore's orders, after all. And besides that, with all this pointless, driveling build-up,
how could he not know. That wasn't what he was waiting for. That wasn't what he was fucking
waiting for. He needed to hear it, he didn't know why he was suddenly so desperate for it, but he
needed to hear it out loud. He needed this stuttering, spineless, impotent, ineffectual, insufferable
fucking rodent of a man to get to the goddamn point, and tell him what he was waiting to hear,
because if he didn't hear it from someone else's mouth, his mind would refuse to wrap itself around
the meat of the matter, and Dottore would be stuck there for the rest of his miserable days in that
office, just waiting.

The man was floundering now, withering further with every stretch of Dottore's persistent silence.
He swallowed loudly under his scrutinizing gaze.

"R-recovery was not possible, my lord. It-it went on for too long. Th-there seemed to have been o-
other elemental anomalies at play, and- and- There was nothing left, my lord."

And there it was. Dottore's wait was over.

There was nothing left. Of course there wasn't. A desperate woman with no results - for surely,
there wouldn’t have been any reason to do it if she had something to offer him other than her body
- wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of burning herself to a crisp only to leave something behind.
That was the entire point, wasn't it? To leave him with nothing.

There was nothing left. There never was.

Dottore inhaled deeply through his nostrils, standing up from his desk. He must have done so quite
abruptly, because the man nearly jumped out of his skin, back hitting the closed door behind him
as a strangled moan of fear escaped his throat. It was a truly disdainful display, but Dottore didn’t
pay it much attention. Instead, his eyes fell back to his desk, and all the papers he had just been
trying to organize.

It was all meaningless gibberish. The words were no longer words, but a code with no key. There
was no meaning to them anymore. Nothing left of the thing they had once represented.

Nothing.

Always nothing.

Always-

Dottore slammed his arm down on the desk, and in one violent motion, swept every last
meaningless notation onto the floor. In a blind fury, his hands scrambled for anything else to lay
waste to. They only found the edge of the desk, so he simply seized the engraved wood trim in his
hands and upturned the entire thing. It fell to the ground with a loud, tinny crash against the metal
flooring, and the sound of wood splitting along the grain, and a ghastly, incessant howling loud
enough to strain his own eardrums. By the time Dottore realized that this howl was coming from
himself, he was in too deep to care.

He was screaming. He was just screaming. There were no words, no deeper meaning to the sound
that tore at his throat like razor blades. It was nothing but rawness, a rage that could not be soothed
and a suffering that could never be undone.

At a certain point, the researcher had left. Dottore hadn't seen him leave, and barely noticed his
absence at all. His focus was elsewhere, it was non-existent, it was in every last piece of furniture
that he frantically pulled to the floor and every scrap of paper his hands tore into shreds. Dottore
had no idea how long this went on for, only that by the time he returned to some semblance of
lucidity, he was on the ground. He was kneeling on hands and knees in broken glass, the source of
which he could not ascertain, and he had screamed for so long that he had lost his voice. He was
gasping for air, wheezing and grunting against the floor like a rabid dog. Nothing but wordless
ululations left his lips, and no thoughts crossed his mind except for one.

There was nothing left. There was nothing left. There was really nothing else left. The things he
thought he had, all the mangled refuse he was lying in the center of, every last shred of evidence
for the fruits of his labors; none of that was real. Haeresys was nothing more than a mirage in the
desert, vapor in shape-form that was bound to disintegrate right before his eyes in due time. All of
it would. It was madness to go through life doing the same putrid, menial things over and over
again, expecting things to go differently each time. It had always been like this, since the very
beginning. It should have been so simple, to do everything right, to set the world straight, but the
rising empire Dottore had built with his own two hands was turning to ash under his nails. Soon,
even that would wash away in the rising tide of fate. He would wash away. He had to. There would
be nothing else left to take.

He couldn’t breathe. There was no air left, either. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything.
Dottore blindly reached up to his neck in a panic, like he was being strangled. He dragged his nails
along the ridge of his spasming trachea, finding nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Nothing to
alleviate the discomfort. Nothing to put an end to the suffering. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing,
nothing, nothing, nothing-

Dottore’s fingers finally found the bow tie wrapped around his neck. He quickly grabbed ahold of
it and all but ripped it off of himself, despite the fact that it wasn’t tied tight enough to impede his
breathing. Once it was undone, he held it in his hand, looking down at the small fuschia garment in
a daze. He hadn’t even remembered it was there. He had no awareness of anything on or around
him, the rustling of fabric and its stifling closeness nothing but more fog, but as he looked down at
the strip of fabric, he remembered. He remembered where he was. He remembered who he was.

He remembered the hands that had tied it around his neck, and how it had felt to have one wrapped
around his forearm as he was begged to stay. He remembered those hands, and he remembered
what power they really held. He remembered Childe. He remembered the Foul Legacy.

He remembered the feeling of being stripped down to nothingness, and yet feeling like everything.

Dottore immediately scrambled to his feet, slicing his palm wide open on a shard of glass in the
process, though he barely registered the pain. He did not look back at the trail of blood he was
leaving in his wake through the ruined remains of his office, nor was he really looking forward as
he numbly marched back in the direction he had come from earlier, back to the carriage that he
knew would still be there.

If Dottore was meant to be swept away amidst raging tides, then he would do so on his own terms.
He would find something that was worth getting swept away in. He could make himself a part of
something greater.

This time, Dottore truly had nothing left to lose.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The loss of that young girl had been a tragedy. Not a single soul in the village would have argued
that, least not Dottore.

At the behest of a commission received from the Guild, “Antoinette” had gone out to the woods
that evening with her father to flush out a small group of slimes that had suddenly popped up at the
edge of the forest. But in their path, they had run into something far worse. From what little
description Dottore had caught wind of, and knowing what he knew now, he assumed it to be an
entity of the Abyss. Most likely a lesser beast, but still no match for two unprepared people bearing
no Visions. The entity had first advanced on the girl’s father. She had shielded him with her body,
and paid the ultimate price.

Her father had managed to hold it off long enough to abscond with his daughter, but by then, the
damage had already been done. The man had nothing to bring back but a tattered, bloody corpse.

The community’s collective anguish was amplified by the fact that they had been stricken by a
severe drought that summer. It was the worst that Dottore had ever experienced in his lifetime. The
riverbed was all but dried up, and there was barely enough to keep the village sustained. A
traditional “burial at sea” would not be possible. Even if the girl’s body was burnt down to ashes,
the people feared that the remains would contaminate the village’s dwindling water supply for lack
of anywhere else to flow. They could not afford a risk like that. The decision was made to bury her,
though it was not made lightly.

At the time, Dottore had considered it a sign from the Gods.

He and his mother were not present for the burial. They were never explicitly discouraged from
attending, but it would have been foolish to assume they would be welcome. His mother, for one
thing, hadn’t seemed to notice anything was wrong at all. She made no mention of the girl’s death,
the mangled corpse she had seen with her own two eyes. The only words out of her mouth since it
had happened were nothing but her usual brand of delirium: “When will Antoinette come home?”

But Dottore could hear keening carried on by the leaves on the trees, and he listened to the cries of
the rest of the village. He listened, and he noted which direction they were coming from.

He listened, and he waited.

The time waiting for dawn to turn to dusk, with nothing but a collective wailing on the wind,
stretched out for eons. The transition from dusk to the dead of night, when the moon hung as high
as it would reach, stretched out for even longer. Then, when the village went silent and the dark
was all there was, he left.

The mound of freshly displaced soil far out in the forest was still loose, and easy enough to clear
away. The shoddy, hastily constructed casket was easier still to take apart, a split gone through the
center of the wood from the weight of the dirt laid atop it.

They had prepared her for her final resting place to the best of their abilities, but undertaking was
not the village's forte. They had cleaned up the blood, and dressed her in fresh clothing - a humble
white gown of satin, now sullied with streaks of dirt and smelling like the beginnings of rot. But it
was a far cry from the girl they had all once known, who was so vibrantly teeming with life. The
color and elasticity to her skin had all long since departed. There was an unnatural, deep maroon
line of demarcation present against the back half of her body, where the fluid inside had pooled at
the mercy of gravity. Her eye sockets and cheeks had hollowed out, the skin sinking into the shape
of her skull. She had broken bones in several places; when Dottore lifted her out of the grave, one
of her legs had simply slumped over at the wrong angle, her knee completely disjointed, a shard of
her shin bone jutting out from the skin and just shy of breaking through completely.

But none of that mattered to him. In all those ugly little realities, there was potential. And in that
potential, he found beauty. To him, she was just as beautiful as she ever had been.

Dottore wrapped her up in the large tarp he had brought with him, knowing that it would not be
enough if he was spotted making his way back into the village. The people there could not possibly
understand; he knew this, and had always known it, and he knew that if anyone found out what he
was doing, they would kill him for it. Because humans feared what they did not understand, and to
them, the greatest terror of all was death. Death, and what laid beyond it. But Dottore knew, and so
he was not afraid. After all these years, Dottore knew death like an old friend. The only friend he
had ever known. He knew exactly what kind of power it held, but in turn, he knew how to take the
power away from it. He had seen it happen hundreds of times over the years, had seized control of
that power with his own two hands and made it his own. The people would not understand this, but
that was merely because they were ignorant. But Dottore could teach them. Now, he had a better
chance of teaching them than he ever did before. It was possibly the only chance he would ever
have to do so.

So Dottore took that girl, the one that spent her life giving and asking for nothing in return, and he
gave her everything he had.

He took her into that cellar, and he poured every last thing into her. Every last repurposed part that
he knew worked, and several that he had only theorized would; every last resource he had spent so
many years stockpiling, through theft and forage alike; and even the last of the Abyss material,
which at that point had already dwindled down to more than half its original size. He had not been
able to find any more since that fateful day in the woods, and for all he knew, he may never find it
ever again. But he didn't worry himself over it. He knew this was what they had always been for.
As firmly as he had ever believed anything else in his life, he believed that all of this had happened
for a reason. He knew he was doing the right thing.
And she was so beautiful, when it was all done. The most beautiful he had ever seen her.

The design could barely qualify as even that much; it was function over form, only for how
desperately he needed it to work. When she sat up from the table he had laid her across and opened
her eyes, they were still that of a corpse. Cloudy, dry, unfocused. Dottore had turned her head in his
direction, but there was no recognition upon seeing him. It was a vacant expression on her face.
She just looked distracted. Distant.

But now that she was actually up, alive, he could take care of that in due time. Now that she was
up, Dottore knew there were no limits to what he could do. If he needed to make her a little more
presentable, he could. He would do better. He would keep doing better.

Dottore could only stare at her for the longest time, mind reeling with all the possibilities she
represented. He didn't know where to start, or what to do next.

But eventually, his eyes drifted from her face. They fell down to where her arms hung loosely at
her sides. He didn't feel in control of himself when he slowly reached over to one of them, nor did
he understand why the compulsion had struck him so suddenly in the first place.

For a moment, he held her hand in his.

It was cold.

That was all that he could register before a shriek cut through the silence like a knife. His blood
curdled as his vision went blurry.

Dottore could not remember the rest of that night as a single cohesive event. What he could
remember, he did with agonizing clarity, but there were gaps in between the scenes, and parts to the
story that didn't make sense and probably never would. In his mind, it was only a series of flashes
that Dottore could only loosely piece together based on the context.

Too anxious to be thinking clearly, he had forgotten to lock the cellar behind him before going
down. His mother, who was liable to sometimes wander in the night, had found it. The moments
immediately following her scream of terror were missing; the only thing he could remember was
being back in the cottage with her some time after. She was still screaming even at that point, and
so was he. It was a jumble of words, imploring her to calm down, that he would explain everything
in due time, begging, just begging her to stop her incessant screeching so he could just talk, just
think for a goddamn second. She wasn’t listening, she was just screaming. Dottore knew someone
would hear her. That miserable old woman. How the fuck had she even had the sense to see the
reanimated corpse of a girl whose death she hadn’t acknowledged and react with fear? How was
she sane enough to see a patchwork of flesh and machine and find it abhorrent, as everyone else
would have, and yet too damaged to even think of feeding her own child?

And she had been up cooking, of all things. It was still pitch black outside, and she was fucking
cooking. It was not the first time her delirium had roused her from sleep and set her on the path of
nonsensical chores in the earliest hours of the morning. This time, Dottore just didn’t notice the
unattended pan in the hearth until it was far too late. She had left the flame unattended for too long.
It was close to blazing out of control, almost engulfing the pan entirely.

She was stumbling back from him, squawking frantically, and he had reached out towards her. He
did not remember what he intended to do in that moment, if he even had anything planned to begin
with, but he must have stepped forward too quickly for her liking. He watched her hands scramble
blindly around her for something to defend herself with, the first thing she could find.
Dottore had closed his eyes instinctively as something hurtled towards his face, so he could not
even process what it was until he heard his own ears ringing. But somehow louder than that was
the sound of his own skin sizzling against flame-licked cast iron. His mother was a frail woman;
there was too little force behind the motion for it to follow through and properly send him flying to
the ground, and in his body's blind attempt to brace itself against the impact he only stumbled
backwards, the surface of the pan lingering against his flesh to burn through deeper still. The scent
of his burnt hair and charred flesh assaulted his nostrils by the time he had reeled back far enough
to break contact, the pan crashing to the ground in front of him and peeling away layers of skin as it
went.

Dottore didn't think he even registered the pain. Whether it was due to shock or the fact that the
worst of it had burned deep enough to fry his nerve endings, he did not know. But he remembered
touching his face to his cheek in disbelief, his fingers coming away tacky with oozing, melted
tissue.

Then, he laughed. It was the first time he could ever remember genuinely doing so in his life. He
just stood there, laughing, digging his own fingers into damaged tissue, the sickening give to his
flesh offering him no pain and no sense of reality. His eyes went out of focus, and soon they
blurred with red as blood seeped out the gash above his brow that had split open with the impact.
Dottore wasn't not sure how long he laughed for before his eyes fell back to his mother. She was
splayed out against the ground, as if she were the one that had been struck. She was not screaming
anymore. Her mouth hung open in silent terror as she watched him cackle hysterically above her,
and it only made him laugh harder.

Eventually, he tapered off into a delirious stream of giggles, and he grinned at her. He spoke
without meaning to, and without knowing the meaning of his words.

"I thought you'd be happier, Mother," he jeered, clawing his fingers down his ruined face, feeling
bits of flesh lodging themselves under his nails in the process. "Don’t you see? Antoinette's finally
come home."

He watched his mother's eyes glaze over, and her mouth snap shut.

He grew bored of her vacant expression, and he simply walked back down to the cellar. He pulled
up a chair in front of the girl, who was still in the same position he had left her in, and he waited.

Eventually, Dottore heard a small mob clamoring into the cellar, and did not even bother glancing
up to see their faces. He heard a cacophony of aghast exclamations before a hand wrapped around
his forearm and wrenched him down to the ground. He knew who it was without needing to look.
Dottore was already on his back by the time the first blow landed.

Had the man been anywhere near his right mind, Dottore knew that the girl's father would have
killed him right then and there. But he was not in his right mind. He was hysterical as he beat his
fists against Dottore's face, weeping, and his wrists would crumple every time a punch connected.
Some of his blows didn't even land at all - although most of them did. As far as Dottore could
surmise through fragmented memories and the mottled patterns on his face, that was where most of
the scarring had come from. Cooked flesh that was already hanging on by a thread easily sloughed
off with each punch. His top lip was split almost to the nostril, his nose had been broken in two
places, and by the time the barrage had slowed to a point where Dottore was able to hold onto some
rational thought, his left eye was already nearly swollen shut. He heard some of the people in the
room encouraging the man. Some of them were imploring him to stop, to let the Courts have their
way with Dottore in his stead.

And although Dottore was barely even able to muster a complete thought through it all, and even
though he had known this would happen, had waited for it to happen, there was one question that
plagued him as he was beaten to a bloody pulp.

Why? Why was this happening? Why was he being brutalized by a grieving father when the man
no longer had anything to grieve for? When his daughter was right there, sitting less than a few feet
away from them, breathing, living? Was it simply because she looked a little worse for the wear?
Was it just because of those little bits of ugliness? He had done the best he possibly could have.
And he could have done better, if only he were given the chance. But nobody would offer him one.
He could hear them all, chattering through the ringing in his ears. They were calling him a
madman. A monster. And it was at that moment that Dottore knew they would never understand.
Their ignorance and cruelty knew no bounds.

Dottore’s arms were splayed out at his sides, and as he fought to maintain consciousness, he
reached out for anything he could find. His fingers brushed against metal, then a wooden handle.

Somewhere in the chaos, the knife that he had left on the table had been knocked off and had
skittered just within arm’s reach. Nobody else had seemed to notice.

He only needed a chance.

It happened so quickly, it felt like the knife had just suddenly lodged itself into the man’s neck.
Dottore couldn’t remember carrying out the motion of plunging it in, nor making the conscious
effort to aim for the carotid arteries. But deadly precision was already second nature by that point.
The man’s blood spilled over his fingers the same as every other mongrel before him.

A startled hush momentarily fell over the room, and that was his last chance. Dottore somehow
summoned the strength to scramble out from under the girl’s father and onto his feet, and he ran.
He could hear angry voices and feel hands at his back, but he just kept running. He ran all the way
out of the cellar, and kept running into the woods. He ran until the sounds of shouting gradually
subsided behind him, and kept running until long after they had ceased entirely.

Dottore had not known he was weeping until it finally stopped him in his tracks, his chest heaving
violently with ragged, burning gasps, and he collapsed to the ground and finally registered all the
pain. And it went beyond what had been done to his body.

He just didn’t understand. It should have been so simple. It should have all been so stupidly
simple.

He had brought her back. He had brought her back, and they almost killed him for it. But worse
than that was what they would have done if they had chosen to keep him alive. They would have
taken him to be judged by the Courts. They would have brought him before the Hydro Archon,
their precious purveyor of justice, to have him righteously punished for what he had done. But
what justice would there have been in that? What justice was there in punishing progressive
thought? What justice was there in letting the good die young? What justice was there in being
expected to sit on his hands and simply watch it happen when it didn’t need to happen at all?

It didn’t make any sense. None of it made any fucking sense. That wasn’t justice. The Judge was
wrong. If that’s what the divine stood for, then all of them were wrong. The Gods’ petty ideas of
right and wrong and the order of the universe were deeply, objectively flawed, and they had an
entire flock of mindless sheep at their disposal to perpetuate these myths ad nauseam.

Dottore wasn’t going to listen to them anymore. No longer would he heed gods that stood for
nothing. No longer would he heed to the sensitivities of the ignorant masses. No longer would he
try to teach. To heal. To help people who were unwilling to help themselves. He would continue to
move forward into progress, but not for the sake of the people it would benefit. He neither needed
or wanted their gratitude. He was only doing it because it was the most sensible thing to do.
Because it was right.

He was right. He was the only one that was.

Eventually, he lifted his head from the dirt and looked to the sky. Through swollen eyelids and a
film of crimson, he saw a murky, red dawn approaching. He stood up, and he followed it as far as
his legs would take him.

It was not until much later - long after his recovery at the hands of a small Sumeran community
that had thought him to be the victim of a violent hilichurl ambush - that he would realize that it
was not just his blood-stained vision that had made the dawn red.

He was so wrapped up in his escape, he had not heard the explosion, despite it apparently being
quite sizable. After becoming more familiar with elemental corruption and the volatile qualities of
Abyss material, Dottore theorized that the source of the blast had come from the girl herself.
Perhaps they had tried to burn her. Or maybe the unattended fire in the hearth had blazed out of
control and engulfed the entire plot.

The entire cottage had been leveled. The resultant flames leftover from the explosion spread
quickly; they had been in the midst of a terrible drought, after all. The rest of the village and much
of the surrounding forest eventually burned to the ground with it, the fire catching every single
house like they were mere piles of kindling. There were a few survivors that Dottore knew of, but
they were only the ones that had lived on the far edge of the village. They had not heard the ruckus
that his mother had stirred up, and no one in the immediate radius of the cottage had made it out in
time to spread the word of what Dottore had done. Dottore had initially been fearful that the Courts
would investigate the matter and go searching for him upon hearing of his suspicious behavior
from the surviving community members. But to them, there would have been nothing to search for.
There was no reason to believe he hadn’t been in the house as well. No reason to believe he wasn’t
just reduced to ashes.

It was just as well. By that point, he had already given himself his new name. And in a few short
years, after enrolling at the Academia, he would be given a better one. The old one was nothing but
dross. It was the name of a boy long since dead, a boy from a village that the Gods never touched.
A boy who died a stupid, ironic death, in the clutches of a blazing inferno - a product of a drought
that had occurred in the nation governed by the ruling Archon of water.

There was nothing left of that boy.

There was nothing left of Nicolas, who lived only a few measly, pathetic years under the boot of
his ignorant oppressors at the Academia.

And soon, there would not even be anything left of Dottore.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore didn't care who saw him. It was already dark by the time he swept into Liyue like a storm,
and if any soldiers were curious as to his presence there or why he was making his way to the
Eleventh Harbinger's personal quarters, they did not make themselves known. Dottore could not
see himself, but he knew that a man would have had to be a complete fool to even consider
approaching him in this state. That was why he didn't run into anyone on his way there.

Dottore was a man possessed. He had spent the entire carriage ride back in the throes of hysterics
while the attendant driving the cart dutifully kept his gaze averted. Dottore should have wanted to
kill him for what he saw. He should have wanted to kill every last one of them. But what was the
point? They'd all be taken from him eventually anyway. Everything would. It didn't matter. Only
one thing did.

This time, when he swung open the door to the humble guest house at the edge of the harbor, he
was not met with a blade to his neck. It was a good thing, because Dottore would not have had the
ability to stop short of the deadly edge this time. But Childe was no longer indisposed, and he was
not so on edge as to jump for the door at the first sign of activity from beyond it. Instead, Dottore
saw him standing in the kitchen area. He was leaning back against the table, drearily looking over a
stack of papers that were probably status reports from his men, and his eyes shot up towards the
intrusion at the door. Dottore watched his eyes go wide as spotted the Third in the entryway, mouth
floundering open before he could get a word out.

"Dottore, wh-"

Dottore was on him before he could even finish. He hadn't even stopped moving as he entered the
room, leaving the door open in his wake as he frantically stumbled towards Childe and grabbed
him by the lapels.

"Change. Now." Dottore's voice had just barely returned to him, and it came out as a painful,
shuddering wheeze. He nearly fell against Childe as he failed to correct his forward momentum,
and the table skidded backwards with a screech before the Eleventh was able to regain his balance
from the unexpected assault.

Childe's eyes darted in a panic from Dottore to somewhere just over his shoulder. "Dottore, the
door-"

"Now." Dottore repeated, pulling at the boy's jacket until their faces were nearly touching. "Now."

Childe glanced back at him, looking confused and fearful, placing a tentative hand on top of one of
Dottore's. "I- I can't now, you know I can't. What's wro-"

"Don't you fucking dare!" Dottore hissed, his voice going up in volume and pitch. "Not when I
fucking need you, you- you-"

It didn't take much for Childe to shake himself loose of Dottore's grasp, and he quickly nudged him
off to the side as he started rushing for the open door. Dottore instantly flipped around, his hands
scrambling for purchase again, clawing at the Eleventh's back as it escaped his reach. He tried to
follow him, but he had suddenly forgotten how to move. Dottore made a feeble attempt to step in
his direction before his knees buckled, and he fell back against the table. He started laughing. He
didn't know what else to do. It was fucking absurd. Dottore hadn't had a single moment of peace to
himself for the last two years, and now suddenly the Eleventh had better things to do? At a moment
like this, when Dottore was coming apart at the seams?

Childe quickly closed and locked the door before spinning back around to face Dottore.

"Dottore, what hap-"

"You said you would do anything," Dottore croaked through hysterical laughter. He tried to grab
onto the table to ground himself, but it screeched backwards again as he writhed against it, and
instead he held onto himself. He grabbed his injured hand and dug his nails into the gash on his
palm, clawing at the angry, ugly wound that he had already been picking at the entire way back.
He clawed at it like he had clawed at his own disfigured face so many years ago, driven to
hysterics by the arduous healing process, the memories, the anguish, the itch - that goddamn,
mind-rending itch - desperate for anything to take the feeling away, even if it was pain. But even
the pain felt so far away as he exacerbated the wound until it bled fresh again. There was no
escaping it all this way. There was only one way he could. "You- you- you said you would fix it, so
fucking fix it-"

"Dottore, stop doing that!" Childe flew back across the room and seized his wrists, wrenching the
older man's hand away from himself and holding them both against his chest. "You need to calm
down, I don't know what you're-"

"It needs to fucking take me," Dottore stammered, futilely fighting against Childe's grip and not
even knowing why. He wasn't in control of anything he was doing or saying, his body and his
mouth working of their own accord while his mind struggled to catch up. "It needs to fucking take
me, it needs to take everything, I don't have anywhere else to go if it doesn't, let it-"

"You're not making any sense!" Childe cried as Dottore continued to babble, deep blue eyes
frantically searching his for a lucidity he would not be able to find. "I-I can't transform right now.
It's only been a few days, I don't know what it will do! You need to calm down, please! Shit, just-
Come here!”

Still holding onto both his wrists, Childe suddenly yanked Dottore away from the table and
towards the kitchen area. Dottore had no choice but to stumble after him, still talking even though
the words had lost all meaning. Childe released the hold on one of his wrists to root around in the
cabinets for something, and before long Dottore's mask was hastily ripped from his face, and a
small glass was shoved against his lips.

“Drink. All of it.” Childe said firmly. Dottore was too frantic to ask him what it was, or why it
mattered at a time like this. He didn’t understand, and he didn’t try to. He offered no protest - but
also no help - as Childe eventually just tilted the glass into his half-open mouth, all but forcing the
clear liquid down his gullet himself. It was vodka. Probably about two very generous shots worth,
and tears stung at the corner of Dottore’s eyes as the alcohol slid down his raw throat like wildfire.
He managed to get it all down without choking, but gasped at the burning sensation once he was
done, throwing himself into a coughing fit. But it was a distraction, albeit not a very good one.
Dottore was forced to try to regulate his own breathing as Childe busied himself with grabbing a
rag from the kitchen counter and wrapping it around Dottore's bleeding hand.

"It's okay, it's okay," Childe muttered. It was an attempt to soothe him, but his voice was too
strained with urgency to achieve the softness he had intended for. Once he was done taking care of
Dottore's hand, he looked up at his face, and he winced as he watched the older man fight for air.
"Just breathe. It's okay. I'm sorry. Just-"

Childe cut himself off, suddenly throwing his arms arms around him in an embrace. He forced
Dottore's face into the crook of his neck, cradling the back of his head, and succeeded in pinning
his arms between their chests.

Unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything other than try to catch his breath and feel
the warmness of alcohol seep into his bones, Dottore started to wind down. But it wasn't enough. It
couldn't have possibly been enough. The room was spinning, the world was spinning with a force
that threatened to fling Dottore off into the ether. Because none of that was what he needed. Finally
reaching the point where he had coughed himself out long enough to speak, he gasped against
Childe's neck and fisted his hands into his shirt.

"You- you- you-" Dottore sputtered. He didn't know what he wanted to say. He wanted to be angry,
but the anger had long since run dry. He couldn't be angry anymore. He couldn't be anything. There
was nothing left to feel.

"Dottore," Childe croaked, holding him even tighter to his chest. "Tell me what you need."

"I- I don't-" Being poised with the question so directly made Dottore's mind go blank. What did he
need? That was the question, wasn't it? The one that he had come all this way to answer. But what
he needed he couldn't describe in words. He knew what it was, for the first time he finally knew
what he needed, but the concept of it was so foreign and cryptic that his tongue evaded it.

Childe only listened to him try to stammer a response for a moment, before trying again. "What do
you want?"

That made Dottore stop. The act of reframing it as simply what he wanted made his thoughts easier
to parse through, though not by much. He could much easier describe what he wanted, even if the
words weren't quite right. He suddenly remembered the first time he was faced with the Foul
Legacy, when it had also asked him to voice his desires and Dottore had mindlessly asked it to kill
him. But that hadn't been quite right. He hadn't wanted it to kill him. He still didn't. It was just the
closest thing to the heart of the matter, the closest approximation to it that his brain could conjure
up in the heat of the moment. This time, however, it was coming out differently.

"I- I don't-" It was so difficult to get out, the words he barely understood the meaning of. He was
speaking without thinking, because they wouldn't have come out any other way, but it made it hard
to string a sentence together. "I don't want- I don't-"

"It's okay," Childe whispered. Dottore nearly sobbed in frustration as the words continued to catch
in his throat, but Childe just held him tighter. "Just tell me."

"I- I don't want to be this anymore." Dottore’s knees almost buckled as he finally managed to blurt
it out. "Make me something else."

Dottore truly didn't understand what he meant by that. But he didn't need to. Because somehow,
Childe did.

Dottore heard him swallow roughly. He felt it, face still pressed against his neck, and he also felt
his pulse racing under his skin.

Without another word, Childe pulled back from their embrace, only to take Dottore's good hand in
his own and start leading him towards the bed in the center of the room. Dottore's knees did buckle
then as a wave of relief washed over him, the relief of knowing true relief was soon to come. He
could barely even keep moving forward on his own, and Childe ended up half-dragging him the
rest of the way there, his other arm wrapped around his waist. He helped Dottore sit on the edge of
the bed and started undressing him. It confused Dottore, and left him feeling frustrated and anxious
as he wondered why he was doing this now, when the Foul Legacy was more than capable of
ripping everything off itself, but there was at least a bit of urgency to Childe's movements. Dottore
frantically moved to help him, still too out of sorts to bother arguing, just wanting it done. Childe
did not undress himself fully, only taking off his gloves and his jacket, and he simply tossed them
with Dottore's clothes now laying in a pile on the floor.

Dottore's temporary relief withered away as Childe then started to turn away from him, and his
hands instinctively shot out and caught him by the shirt.

"Hurry," Dottore hissed, voice still broken and raspy. Childe didn't even try to wrench himself
from his grip, just continued to turn toward the bedside table next to them.
"Hold on for a second," Childe sighed. He opened up the drawer, fishing around through its
contents before pulling out a small bottle from within it. Dottore didn't know what it was at first
glance, and was too frenetic to offer it a second one, trying to pull Childe onto the bed. He just
didn't understand; his brain refused to think rationally or consider anything other than his rising
desperation.

"I can't," Dottore moaned miserably, urging Childe back with another helpless tug on his shirt.

Childe didn't even bother responding to that directly. His lips just fell into a terse frown as he
looked back down at him. "Just lay back."

Dottore just continued clinging to him until Childe had to push his shoulders back himself, and the
Third finally relented. He let Childe push him back, let him stand back up and fiddle with the bottle
in his hands. Dottore fought the urge to spring back up, eyes screwing shut with the effort. Why
was he making him wait so long?

Dottore's eyes flew back open, and a strangled sound of dismay escaped his throat as he felt Childe
press a slippery finger against his entrance, and all at once he understood what was in the bottle.
But the realization only made him feel more confused. They had hardly ever used any sort of
lubrication before, and the handful of times they had, it had been utilized very sparingly. Childe
liked it at least a little rough, he liked just a little bit of pain, and so did Dottore. It was baffling to
him that Childe would even have lube laying around in the first place; it would have been even in
his right mind. But now the bewilderment was so potent it was agonizing. Why now, when Dottore
was literally tearing himself into pieces just to be taken?

"No!" Dottore hoisted himself up on his elbow and tried to grab for Childe's wrist, eyes unfocused,
just reaching down blindly as a finger slipped inside him smoothly. "I don't want- Stop!"

"Dottore, relax." Childe responded tersely, swatting his hand away while he drove his finger in
down to the knuckle. It was too little, too dreadfully little and another strained groan rolled out of
Dottore's chest.

"Just change!" Dottore snapped shrilly. "Just fucking do it! Please, I can't-"

“I will!” Childe barked suddenly, his eyes snapping up to meet Dottore’s. His gaze was severely
stern, but not angry. “I will! I am! But we’re not doing it like that now. It won’t be right.”

The words sounded utterly cryptic as they passed through Dottore’s ears. “Wh- What are you- No,
I just want-”

“Dottore.” Childe reached up to push back against his shoulders again, and their two sets of
pleading eyes met. “Trust me.”

Dottore just blinked at him vacantly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that he did
trust him, but it also felt like he had no other choice. He opened his mouth to protest again, but
nothing came out. He had nothing left inside him, so he just laid back again.

It was absolutely agonizing, simply because it wasn't. It was good, and especially as time wore on,
it was probably the best it had ever been. The fact that it still wasn't enough was what threatened to
send Dottore over the edge.

Childe took his time, and the stretches of time between the addition of each new finger each felt
longer than the one preceding it. By the time the Eleventh slipped a second finger in, it felt like it
had been hours.
Dottore just wished he could understand. He didn't even know why he was unraveling anymore.
He didn't know why Childe seemed determined to unravel him further. He didn't know what he
was asking for or what he was being given, and he hated it.

Childe probed and scissored his fingers inside him for what felt like days before a third was added.
His other hand found Dottore's neglected cock, and he just barely brushed the tips of his fingers
along its length. Dottore fisted his hands into the sheets.

Dottore’s own ignorance was a slap to the face, a punch to the gut, a twist of the knife, and so
much more all at once. He had made it his life's work to know the unknown, to end human
ignorance altogether, and in all those years he had only grown more unhinged, more pathetic. He
was no different than the boy who had once been brought to his knees in the wilderness, not
understanding why the Gods had forsaken him as they did, because he still didn't understand. He
never would.

It was centuries before Childe's pinky finger slipped inside him. Dottore's back arched as he pushed
in down to the webbing of his thumb, and the sound that he let out as the younger man rubbed little
circles around the head of his cock was an alien one. Dottore could barely even attribute it to
something that had come out of his own mouth, because it didn't seem real. Nothing did.

Every additional finger made Dottore feel like screaming as his guts continued to coil tighter and
tighter around themselves with inescapable anxiety. With every little bit he stretched, with each
gradual increase of fullness, he only found himself feeling emptier and emptier. Because it still
wasn't enough. No matter how much it was, how close he was getting, he still didn't understand.
Things weren't getting any clearer, even as he started sobbing with pleasure, and it sent his mind
into a tailspin. Was he already beyond salvage? Were the hollow spaces within him too bottomless
to possibly be filled?

An eternity spent wondering this screeched to a halt as Childe slipped his thumb in between the
fold of his palm. He was saying something to Dottore, but he couldn't understand a word of it. All
he could process was the feeling of being driven deeper into at a painfully slow pace that lacked
any pain whatsoever. It was too easy, to open up to Childe, to feel himself pulling him in past the
second knuckle of his thumb. A guttural moan tore out of him, and that was too much. It was too
much because it still wasn't enough. He had everything, and it still felt like nothing.

Childe started moving his hand inside, curling his fingers into his palm and rubbing up against
Dottore's prostate, and as he did, he sucked the tip of his cock into his mouth. Dottore came
immediately, with nothing but a strangled keen to serve as warning. But Childe took it all, and he
took it well. It was pure ecstasy, and it was salt in the wound.

Dottore reached blindly for Childe, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling at it as the swipe of his
tongue and the rocking of his hand did not cease.

“No, please!” Dottore wailed, trying to crane his neck down to look at him. “I can’t, I can’t, stop, I
can’t. You have to- Oh, I can’t anymore, please.”

Childe let his dick slip out of his mouth, looking up and meeting his eyes. He pursed his lips. He
looked disappointed. Maybe he was hoping that this would be enough. Or maybe he knew it
wouldn’t be, and was just trying to delay the inevitable, because he wordlessly pulled his hand out,
standing back up straight and regarding him somberly.

"I know." Childe said softly.

Dottore had to tear his gaze away when it happened, as he always did. It was something he had to
come to terms with long before this; no matter the circumstances, something always compelled
him to look away when the transformation occurred. It was something too bright, too intense, too
otherworldly to witness, and the binds tethering him to this mortal coil would not permit it. He
hated that. He hated it more than anything else. He would have given anything to watch the
metamorphosis happen right before his very eyes.

But the crushing reality of his own mortality did not linger long in his mind as he was suddenly
being overtaken, fully enveloped and enveloping in turn, and instead his mind emptied out.

It was almost ridiculous, how big he was, in every sense of the world. The Foul Legacy barely
even fit within the confines of the Liyuean cottage, and Childe would not have even been able to
stand upright at all. But he didn’t need to, because he was kneeling on the floor, settling between
Dottore's legs and pushing the head of his cock through his slick, prepared entrance. That was
ludicrous too, because he could take him so easily now; easier than he could have ever
comprehended. It felt second nature, like it was an inevitability. This was where both of them were
meant to be.

Childe did not fully sheath himself inside as he normally would have. Instead, he carefully bent
forward until his torso was just hovering over Dottore's, propping his elbows up on the bed on
either side of the man. Because of their difference in size, the Foul Legacy had to nearly double
over in on itself and crane it's neck downwards for their faces to meet with each other. But he did it
anyway, despite the tremendous, unnecessary effort it took to make it even remotely close to
Dottore's level, and he started moving like that.

He went at an excruciatingly slow pace, carving a space for himself with tender, purposeful pushes,
and lingering drags back out. This time, the Foul Legacy was not taking. It was giving. That would
have bothered Dottore a few moments ago - or perhaps it had already been a lifetime ago - but even
though anxious urgency still plagued him to his core, he found himself growing numb to it. The fog
of his mind hadn't dissipated, it had simply grown thicker, so thick that it now choked out even his
baser instincts at the source. They were all still there, but heavily obscured.

"Fa-" Dottore was amazed he had even mustered up the sentience to speak out loud, but his hazy
state of mind almost didn't allow him to finish. When he did, his voice rang with confusion,
because he could no longer fathom why he was talking. "Faster."

"No." The voice was gentle, but stern. There was no arguing with that. Not that Dottore would
have been able to argue further anyway.

Dottore was drifting away. He could feel it, more acutely than the pleasure shooting through him
with each careful rock of Childe’s hips. It was like riding a ferry over the river and watching out
the window to see the scenery whizzing past, and then closing your eyes. It was the slight sense of
vertigo from being stationary and yet feeling yourself in motion. Things were changing all around
him, all over him, but he was simply stuck somewhere else in space and time. His hands were
wandering, and they found their way to the Foul Legacy’s face, and combed their way through the
mane of hair coming out from behind the mask. It felt too soft between his fingers, like a synthetic
fiber. There was no porousness to them, no microscopic little barbs to catch on his fingerprints and
shift around by the chaotic whims of chance. It was just soft. It just flowed. Like how it was
supposed to.

“You can’t lose something you never had to begin with.”

The familiar, unnatural voice spoke suddenly, but it did not take Dottore by surprise. He knew
Childe was going to speak before he did, he thought - and that didn’t make sense. He would have
had no way of knowing that. But he did, and it just was, and he was listening. He was just hearing,
not understanding any of the meaning behind his speech, but it was still listening nonetheless.

“If you want to be a part of something greater, you have to be a part of it.”

The voice that had always been so steady and unyielding sounded like it was quavering with
emotion. Dottore opened his mouth, not to speak, or to moan, but just to breathe. The shaky exhale
rattled his chest. He brought his legs up, hooking them against the Foul Legacy’s hips as they
softly rolled into him, the product of water’s surface disturbed by only the lightest of breezes.
Dottore vaguely wondered what he looked like now, drifting away into nothingness, face
illuminated by the dim violet glow of its watchful eye.

“It won’t bow to you. It never will. But if you go, it follows. It’s always following.”

Dottore let his un-injured hand fall from his hair, leaving the two-toned tresses behind him, and it
drifted down to his arousal. He was throbbing with need as he tentatively wrapped his hand around
the head, giving it almost a distracted swipe of his thumb. It dawned on him that it was the first
time he had ever touched himself while being with the Foul Legacy. He never had before, simply
content to have the pleasure forced out of him, as if his own desires could not be attributed to him
if he kept his hands clean of the evidence. But now, he wanted proof of it. He wanted to coax them
to the surface with his own hand. They had been shrouded in the darkness for long enough.

“You can’t control it. So don’t.”

The weight of those words and his sudden ability to understand them, coupled with the surprise of
his second orgasm sneaking up on him, momentarily ripped Dottore away from the innermost layer
of fog he resided in. His entire body went rigid, spine arching back and hips jerking towards
Childe’s cock, a scream of ecstasy spilling out of him that was surely ravaging his overused throat.
But he couldn't feel anything but the pleasure, and soon his limbs fell limply to his sides as he let
himself sink into it.

Childe stopped moving for a moment. He brought one of his hands to Dottore's, the one that still
lay twitching against his stomach in the aftermath of bringing himself to climax. He took him by
the wrist, the metal claws impossibly gentle around it, and he brought it up to his face. His jaws
creaked open, and out slid his tongue, and he languidly lapped up the release covering Dottore's
hand until it had all been licked clean. Childe's tongue withdrew back into his gaping maw, and
then he lingered there for a moment. He softly dragged his thumb against Dottore’s skin, from the
pulse point on the man’s wrist to the center of his palm. He pressed down gently. The tenderness
was so potent, so foreign to skin that had never allowed for it, that Dottore wanted to cry.

And maybe he was, as he could only lay there, looking up at the Foul Legacy's face in pure and
simple reverence, wrapping his fingers around the massive digit feebly. He wouldn't have been
able to tell either way. He was already drifting again. He couldn't control it. So he didn't.

Dottore had never understood humanity's unyielding faith in the divine forces they had no
understanding of. But now, all at once, he did.

His enlightenment regarded him with a gaze that bore no expression, but said enough to
memorialize everything existence encapsulated. Childe's voice rang through him like rapture itself.

"Keep going."

So Dottore did. He finally let himself drift off into oblivion.

~*~*~*~*~*~
 When Dottore regained consciousness, it was still dark. He opened his eyes to find them trained on
the ceiling, on his back. The mattress creaked slightly below him as he shifted his weight around.
He was still in bed. The covers had been pulled over him up to his chest. Although he couldn't
remember it happening, he felt the evidence of the Foul Legacy's release still inside him, though
not as much as there should have been if the mess had been left completely unattended. Next, he
processed a dull, painful throbbing in his right hand. He drowsily turned his head to where it lay
splayed out beside him. The rag that had could remember being hastily wrapped around it had been
replaced by proper bandages. There was a small spot of brown, dried blood peeking out from his
palm, but other than that, the bleeding appeared to have been held at bay for a while.

Childe was lying there, just beyond Dottore’s hand.

He was not asleep. His eyes were closed, but too tightly. His eyelids were twitching as his face
scrunched in on itself painfully. He was hunched into a fetal position, hands curled up against his
mouth and knees brought up to his chest. He was very obviously doubled over in pain, and it
forced Dottore to finish processing the events that had occured over the past several hours. As
much as was possible, anyway. All his faculties had returned to him, and now his mind was fogged
over with nothing more than sleep, but there was still so much that went beyond explanation.
Unspokenly, he knew it was because it did not need explanation. To attempt to explain those things
in language would be too dreadfully insufficient to even think of.

But what was clear was that Childe was in pain from what he had done to himself. No - it was what
Dottore had done to him.

Dottore turned on his side and looked at him. He couldn't see much from how Childe was doubled
over in on himself, but considering the results of the Eleventh’s last erroneous use of the Foul
Legacy, he came to the conclusion that if something like that had happened again, the evidence of
it would be showing scarlet against the sheets. But they were clean, which was an outstanding
relief, but still did little to assuage the sudden onslaught of guilt that weighed heavy on Dottore's
shoulders.

Guilt. That was something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time. Guilt was dangerous,
for a man like him. But he no longer felt like the man he once was. Not entirely.

Dottore brought his hand up to Childe's face. He cupped his cheek lightly, and as he did, the
Eleventh opened his eyes.

They were as dull as they ever had been. There was no light, no real feeling in them. He was
hollow inside, especially now that he was in the throes of agony. His pallid skin was tacky with
cold sweat. He looked sickly. He was an ugly, broken mess, and that was the reality of the
situation.

But in all those ugly little realities, there was potential that Dottore already knew existed. And in
that potential, for the very first time, he found beauty.

Neither of them said anything. Dottore felt compelled to move again, and he knew exactly why. He
let his hand fall from his face.

Dottore held Childe's hand in his.

It was warm.

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi
 Behind Closed Doors
Chapter Notes

hhhhhh this is a long one, sorry, there was a lot of ground to cover in this chapter
*sweats*

cw:
suicide mention

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Dottore allowed himself one day. Though truthfully, to say he had "allowed" for it would have
been a very generous word for it. It had been a necessity, after the night he had. It was a day he and
Childe both spent mostly sleeping, and Dottore was still so out of sorts that what few scenes he
could recall of his own consciousness were difficult to distinguish from dreams. He did not think
about the other things he had to do elsewhere. He did not think about the events the day before. He
simply stayed there, and waited for himself to gradually drift back down to earth. Then, once he
had, he went back to Haeresys the following morning.

The few soldiers and researchers who had seen his undoing dared not breathe a word of it. No
comments were made on his absence, and he reported in to hear the abysmal reports brought back
to him as if nothing had happened. Then, Dottore started the process of finding a new assistant. In a
few days, he half-heartedly appointed the first one to crop up, an absolute dullard of a Liyuean man
who had done some manner of thesis on the ruins in Dragonspine, and who would jump at least
half a mile out of his skin whenever Dottore walked up behind him. But his blatant inadequacy
didn't matter much anymore. Dottore didn't expect this one to last very long, just like how none of
the others had, and he found himself finally reserved to the fact. The man was just good enough to
handle the things that Dottore couldn't be bothered to attend to, and that was enough.

Once the most urgent matters were taken care of, he went back to Liyue.

Dottore distantly registered that it wouldn't have been long enough to expect another
transformation out of Childe, especially not given the strain that the last one had put on him. He
more acutely registered that there were better places for him to be. It would not be easy to catch up
with the other items on his agenda if he went back again so soon. But regardless of these things, he
still went back.

Dottore didn't even really know why he was there until Childe finally walked through the door of
his office. The Third had been sitting at his desk, just staring off into space, and his gaze lifted to
meet the Eleventh upon noticing his presence.

When Dottore had left Childe, he was still rigid with agony and lethargic with exhaustion. He had
been a shell of his former self. Now, the Eleventh lingered in the doorway, leaning up against the
frame with a casual stance. The color had returned to his face, and there was no longer a hunch to
his shoulders. He looked better. He looked like himself again. And that, Dottore realized, was the
reason he had come back. To wipe the image of that crumpled boy from his memory. To have a
better image in its place. The pale and feeble creature that he had created was not the well of
untapped potential that Dottore knew him to be. It had made him sick to his stomach to have it
seared into his brain like a brand. But although what he saw now was far better than what he had
seen last, Dottore couldn't help but feel like it wasn't enough. But that begged the question: what
would be enough? What exactly was he looking for now? Why did it suddenly matter so much that
he know these things?

How had one night managed to make everything seem different?

Childe first looked at him expectantly, wearing a small smile. But when Dottore just stared
vacantly at him, he shuffled around uncomfortably. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze
faltering.

"Hi." Childe said. He almost sounded shy. It didn’t suit him, and Dottore felt guilt again. It was
still an emotion foreign enough that he had trouble giving it a name, but he suddenly realized it had
been eating him away since that night. He had spent so many decades pushing that feeling back
that now it felt like it was trying to catch up with lost time. He couldn’t get away from it now. "I
wasn't expecting to see you back so soon."

But he had come anyway. It had taken a few hours longer than it usually did, but he was still here.
Dottore tore his eyes away, then, swiping a hand over his face - he had taken his mask off long
ago. He could no longer find any reason to wear it within the walls of the facility.

"I-" Dottore hesitated. "I wasn't supposed to be."

Silence. That was all that hung in the air between them, until Dottore heard Childe approaching the
desk. He sat atop it, half-on, half-off, his body turned towards Dottore but his head drifting off to
the side. There was a dissected chaos device on the desk, and he started picking at it
absentmindedly. He still did not say anything for a while. Neither did Dottore.

"I can't-" Childe started suddenly. His hand briefly stilled at the edge of the component. "I can't
right now. You know."

Dottore had known that. But he had come anyway.

He also knew the answer to the question he suddenly blurted out. He knew it just from looking at
him. There was no reason to ask it. But he did anyway.

"How are you feeling?"

He saw Childe's eyes widen fractionally, and it dawned on Dottore that it was definitely the first
time he had ever asked him that. It seemed like such an outrageous oversight to him, suddenly.
Dottore did a better job checking in on the status of his test subjects than he ever had on Childe.
And it was only a practical question, considering what they did here, considering how important it
was to understand the Foul Legacy's effects on his body.

But Dottore had not asked it to be practical. The realization hit him all at once, along with another
wave of guilt, and he suddenly stood straight up from his desk, the legs of his chair screeching
deafeningly against the metal floor amidst stifling silence. It was fast enough to give himself a head
rush, but he couldn't stop moving even as his legs wobbled and threatened to bring him to his
knees. He paced over to the side of his desk, running a hand over his face again.

Childe seemed startled by his sudden movement, quickly sliding off his desk and straightening up.
He perhaps mistook the gesture for impatience, because he sounded a bit panicked when he finally
responded.

"I-I'm fine." Childe said quickly. "I'm fine. Really, I am."

Dottore heard him, but just continued to pace around in a troubled stride. He didn’t even know
why.

But that was just the thing; he did know why. He knew exactly why he had come back, he knew
exactly why he had asked the question, and he knew exactly why he had been wracked with guilt
for nearly a week uninterrupted. Everything was laid out in front of him clearer than it ever had
been before, and yet reaching to define the answers was an agony akin to pulling teeth. He knew
what he was here for, he knew what he wanted, but it was as if quicksand had swallowed him up to
the neck, his ribs cracking under the weight of gravity. It was still so difficult. Why was it so
difficult?

But he knew the answer to that question, as well. Guilt was dangerous for a man like Dottore. But
so was everything else. And he had let go of something that night, opened a floodgate of emotions
that he had never allowed himself to feel, but it felt like his body was still going through the
motions of holding on. It was the muscle memory of self-preservation that had already been proven
ineffective. It was stupid. Why was it suddenly so difficult to be standing here, when he knew it
was where he wanted to be? Why was every fiber of his being screaming at him to stop short of the
next step?

A hand suddenly slipped around his own, and Dottore froze. Childe had come up from behind him.
So the Third slowly turned in his direction.

Childe’s brows were knit together in concern, but when their eyes met, a gentle smile made its way
back to his face. Dottore’s hand was still limp and unresponsive in his own, but he still gave it a
light squeeze.

“I’m just really happy you’re here.”

The weight closing in on Dottore’s chest forced the air from his lungs in a shuddering exhale.

It had always seemed so easy for him, hadn’t it? Childe never seemed to have any qualms saying
things when there was no reason for it. Doing things when he didn’t understand why, and Dottore
could see that he didn’t, now; that deep down in those empty eyes, the thing he had just said
baffled him as much as anything else did, the things he had to just to seem human to those around
him. But he said it all anyway. He did it. And he felt it. He always had. Not so long ago, that aspect
of him had only made Dottore bitter. Even longer before that, he had looked down at him for it.

But now, it was Dottore’s port in a storm. It was his light in the darkness, hidden away in pools of
blue that swallowed all light itself. It was an oxymoron, and it didn’t make any bit of sense. But
suddenly, it didn’t need to.

All at once, the hand wrapped around his own had become the lifeline he was looking for. Though
maybe it had been for a while. Maybe it had been building up for far too long, and Dottore just
hadn't been able to see it from the bottom of his own downward spiral. But the Foul Legacy had
intervened before his descent took him too deep - Childe had intervened. He could finally see it
right in front of his eyes, and now, all he needed to do was fight the quicksand long enough to take
it.

But quicksand wasn’t supposed to be fought. You’d never get out that way. The best way to free
yourself was to take it slow. Breath deep. Let the body’s own natural buoyancy float you to the
surface. You couldn't fight it. You just had to let go.

So Dottore breathed deep. He let go. And in doing so, he squeezed Childe’s hand back.
It was stupidly ironic. A metaphor so disgustingly idealistic, Dottore should have laughed at
himself for thinking it. But that didn’t seem important to him anymore. In that moment, like a
switch turning on, only one thing did.

Dottore suddenly pulled him forward, forcing the Eleventh to take a stumbling step towards him,
while his other hand flew up to the back of Childe’s head. A small sound of surprise fell from
Childe’s mouth into the air between them, unfinished. There was no time for it to come to
completion before Dottore had already swallowed it between his lips. Childe didn’t even hesitate in
opening to him, moaning as his hands flew up to Dottore’s shoulders and gripped them hard
enough to hurt. But the pain was dull, distant, negligible compared to the sudden roaring in
Dottore’s ears as his own pulse pounded mercilessly through his veins. He wrapped his arm around
Childe’s waist and pulled him in, bringing them together, tilting his head to probe deeper into the
boy's mouth as he cradled the back of his head with his hand. It was so unlike Dottore to chase like
this. He was throwing himself at the Eleventh so earnestly that Childe was nearly caught off
balance, body hitching backwards as the older man kissed him harder. Every movement, every jolt
of energy it sent through him was a foreign entity. Dottore was a stranger to himself. And he liked
that.

As quickly as their mouths had slotted together, Dottore had him pushed up against the desk. And
as quickly as that happened, they were both half-undressed, a tangle of limbs on top of an
assortment of notes and blueprints that Dottore hadn't even bothered pushing aside. Dottore's knees
were already aching from kneeling against the hard, flat wood, and the desk creaked under their
combined weight as if it were going to give out underneath them at any second, but he didn't care.
Childe had hastily kicked one leg out of his pants, and didn't waste time in removing them any
further, just fumbling for the coat that Dottore had forgotten he was still wearing in the middle of
trying to throw it off. The Eleventh fisted his hand into it, tugging it further down his arm as the
Third was trying to wet his own fingers.

"No, please, just put it in now!" Childe whined, hooking his legs around Dottore’s hips and trying
to pull him in. “I’ll take it, I’ll take it, please!”

So Dottore just let his coat fall off the rest of the way before spitting into his hand, slicking his
erect cock with it. He was already throbbing, dripping, twitching, anguished with lust as he pushed
the tip of his cock against Childe’s hole. Childe had been waiting for this, he could remember now
how long it had been, how long this boy had been made to endure Dottore’s own folly. It was far
too long to excuse. He wouldn't allow him to wait any longer. Dottore pushed in just slow enough
to give him meager time to adjust, but Childe was so desperate for it that he started rocking himself
back against him wantonly. He let out a shrill cry as he did, and Dottore inhaled sharply as the tight
ring of muscle clenched around him.

"Relax," Dottore hissed, but not out of anger. It was a hiss like an urgent release of steam, shallow
and breathless. Childe whimpered, feebly reaching his hand out to him, just barely grasping the
fabric of Dottore’s shirt and giving it a tug.

“Come back, come back,” Childe panted. “Kiss me again.”

Dottore’s bones felt like they were liquifying as he practically fell against him, propping himself on
one elbow and retaking his lips. Childe shuddered, and his hands found Dottore’s lapels and tried to
pull him in even closer, even though there was not any closer they could get. Dottore started
moving, slowly driving his way deeper inside with each roll of his hips. Childe was pulling him in
at both ends, hungry for anything, everything, his inner walls hot and tight around Dottore’s cock
as his mouth sucked and licked at lips, teeth, and tongue in a feverish stupor. Childe’s back arched
as Dottore finally sheathed himself inside. The Third snaked his arm around his lifted waist,
pulling their torsos together, and he bore into him like that. The younger man gasped into his
mouth, a punched-noise leaving him every time Dottore thrust deep enough for their pelvises to
meet.

“Oh, right fucking there,” Childe moaned, his hands fumbling with the buttons on the Third’s shirt.
His voice came out thick, utterly oversaturated with desire, and it sent tingles all the way down
Dottore’s spine and stirred up the building arousal pooling in his gut. Childe started ripping his
shirt open, then, giving up on the buttons entirely, and his guttural pleas continued coming hot
against Dottore’s lips. “It’s so much, it’s so good, you’re so good, I’m gonna fucking die, it’s so
fucking good like that-”

Childe’s hands finally fell on the Third’s bare chest, and it felt like fire, electricity, like every
element in existence and several unknown were coursing through the tips of his fingers and
through Dottore’s heart, and the Third let out a strangled moan as it brought him too close to the
edge.

“Oh, shit-” Dottore's hips jerked forward roughly as he came deep inside Childe with a series of
rough, broken moans, unable to hold himself back. He wasn't even able to keep himself still, not
even once he had emptied into him entirely, nor when the moist heat he was sinking into soon
became overstimulating to the point of being excruciating.

Childe shuddered beneath him as he was filled, throwing his head back with a breathless laugh,
and it had been so long since Dottore had heard that that he nearly choked from it. It was just like
how it used to be, back when Childe had been new and brimming with potential; but now he was
familiar, and the potential Dottore coveted was different, and it was better than it had ever been.
He couldn’t stand it back then, the sound of Childe’s laughter, and it made his stomach lurch now
to remember that. For the life of him, Dottore couldn’t figure out why it would have offended him
so, how such a rapturous song could have elicited such an intense feeling of discomfort from him.

Maybe it was because he hadn't known what he was looking for. He had lost all focus, somewhere
along the way, especially as far as Childe was concerned. Since the day they had met, Dottore had
been obsessed with finding the edges of where Childe ended and where his power - the Foul
Legacy - began. They had always been one or the other, obscuring and impeding one another's
existence, and trying to draw the line between them had driven him mad. But now, he finally
realized that a divide wasn't what he was meant to be looking for. Dottore had come close to
realizing it once or twice, but it wasn't until he had let himself be carried off into the space between
coexistence and non-existence that he could finally understand.

There was no end. There was no beginning. Those concepts were meaningless, and the only thing
that had ever stood before Dottore, regardless of the form it took, was a single concept. It was the
thing that Dottore had spent his entire life working towards, the thing he envisioned that could
never be seen, the seamless integration of mortality and everything beyond it. It was perfection. It
wasn't just the mold of what perfection could be; it was the very definition of it.

Childe was perfect. Not in spite of the traits that had never fit into the image in Dottore’s head, but
because of them. He was perfect in every way, even like this. Especially like this.

Dottore didn't know how he had missed it. He didn't know how he had almost let it slip away time
and time again, losing sight of the forest for the trees until he had almost lost everything. But
Childe had shown him the way. Oh so gently, with a patience nothing short of divine, he had
shown him. He was still showing him. Dottore only needed to let him go on.

So the Third kept moving. He caught the swell of Childe’s Adam’s apple between his lips and
flicked his tongue over it, until the Eleventh shivered again and scraped his nails against his chest.
“Oh, you’re still-” The vibrations of his trachea made Dottore’s lips tingle, and he licked a stripe
up the boy’s chin until he could catch the edge of his jaw between his teeth. “Don’t stop. Please
don’t stop.”

Dottore didn’t answer him, just withdrew his arm from the Eleventh’s waist and reached up to
catch one of his hands by the wrist. He laid it out above Childe’s head, palm to the ceiling, and
then he laced their fingers together. A whimper eked its way out of Childe’s throat at that, and he
looked into Dottore’s eyes, his own glassy with tears. He squeezed his hand back so hard that
Dottore could feel the tendons in his hand shifting around under the pressure.

“Don’t let go,” Childe breathed, a mere whisper kissed against Dottore’s lips.

Dottore’s breath hitched as he struggled to find his voice. It was still difficult, the last bit of
resistance his body had to offer, but in the throes of euphoria, it was easier to stop thinking. He just
let it come out how it wanted to. “Never again.”

Childe let his eyes fall closed for a moment, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. He opened
them again, and his free hand found its way to Dottore's face, and he cupped his scarred cheek in
his palm.

"Come inside me again," Childe muttered, stroking his thumb against the corner of his mouth. "I
want to feel it again. I want to come while you're filling me up. I'll take it all."

Dottore knew he would. And he would let him take everything. But the Third could barely even
breathe, let alone speak. He opened his mouth, sucked Childe's thumb inside it and savored the salt
of his skin on his tongue. When he released it, his words came out as a wheeze. "Such a good boy."

Dottore felt Childe clench around his cock as his hips bucked against him, and the sharp inhale he
took in rattled his lungs with a shudder. He locked half-lidded eyes onto Dottore's, lips parted.

"Say it again," Childe moaned softly.

Dottore briefly slotted their lips together, not breaking his gaze away. "You are such a good boy."

"Again." Childe's hand fisted itself into his hair. He tugged at it lightly.

"Good boy."

"Again."

"You're so good." Dottore increased his pace, obscene grunts forcing their way out of him with
every desperate thrust inwards.

Childe pulled Dottore’s hair harder, and he started to writhe underneath him, coming alive like a
wildfire catching dry underbrush. He kissed him with passion unbound, and it was barely a kiss at
all, merely a brief confiscation of the Third's bottom lip before his voice came out again as a shrill
whine. "A-again."

"So fucking good."

"Oh, again."

"Fucking perfect." Dottore could no longer summon the wit to form complete sentences. He drove
into Childe in a daze, only vaguely aware of the obscene slapping of skin against skin reaching a
crescendo where they connected, only focused on those infinite blue eyes, which were now spilling
over with tears, and the look of intense pleasure that overcame the boy when he had exactly what
he wanted. Dottore did not think he had blinked once since locking eyes with him. He couldn't bear
to miss one more second. "Fucking gorgeous. My gorgeous boy. So good."

"Ag- oh, fuck-" Childe's eyes suddenly went wide, and he threw his head back, rocking himself
back against Dottore's cock with a desperation that made his voice go shrill with urgency. "Oh
fuck, go faster, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come so fucking hard, give it to me give it to me give it
to me-"

Dottore could only mindlessly oblige him, his words failing him, his thoughts failing him, and
soon all control failing him. He had no need for any of those things anymore.

The guttural scream that Childe let out, which was nothing but nonsense ecstasy devoid of
language, was more sublime than words could possibly describe. Dottore took it into mouth,
clumsily locking their lips together as Childe's heat tightened around him. They reached their peaks
as one, Dottore emptying deep within him for the second time as Childe's release coated their
chests in white.

When their lips parted, Childe was sobbing. He wrenched his hand out from under Dottore's, joined
it with his other one as he flung his arms around the Third's neck and pulled him in close, burying
his tear stained face into the crook of his neck.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," Childe gasped, words wet and muffled. His sobs soon melded
together with laughter, overwhelmed, hysterical, euphoric. He did not stop, half-weeping, half-
giggling, a delirious hymn being composed against Dottore's skin. "I love you, I love you, I love
you-"

Dottore could only slump against him wordlessly, exhaustion finally overtaking his mind and body.
He wrapped his arms around that boy and held him back, held him like he should have been doing
all along. He held him like he was everything, the only thing, the very last thing, because he was.
He always had been.

Childe was still laughing, like it was all too blissfully absurd to believe.

And for the very first time, Dottore laughed with him. Because it was absurd. It was bliss.

It was perfect.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Hydro Archon’s gnosis had been successfully taken into the Fatui’s possession.

It was news urgent enough that it warranted the correspondence be sent via drone directly to the
facility in Liyue. Childe had already gone out for the day. Dottore was alone when he received
word.

Dottore had always expected this moment to bring him nothing short of elation. He had expected it
to send him into a fit of delirious glee, to set him off laughing all the way to the Courts to witness
just how far they had fallen from their self-proclaimed pillars of justice. At the very least, he
expected to be happy about it.

But Dottore didn’t feel much of anything.

Maybe he was just getting too old for things like that. The novelty of a good jeer wore off quicker
than it used to, when there was not so much at stake and less to prove to the suffering party. Maybe
the news just caused his stomach to lurch because now, it was nothing but pressure; it was another
push towards the end, a stern reminder of all the things he had yet to accomplish. There was only
one gnosis left now. And while the Goddess of War would certainly not relinquish her control
easily, it would come in due time, just as all the others had.

But maybe his lack of investment wasn’t really a bad thing. At least, it didn’t feel like it was.

It had been several months since Dottore's undoing - and subsequent reawakening - and in that
time, the Third had observed several things that should have been unworthy of note.

One such observation was that, as spring rolled into summer, the scattered freckles present on
Childe's forearms would bloom into a much denser constellation of tawny dots, coaxed to the
surface by the persistent daylight that licked at the parts of his skin that were most often exposed. It
happened on the apples of his cheeks and the curve of his collarbone, too, though not nearly to the
degree that his arms freckled. Dottore would look at them curiously, how they consistently
multiplied more and more with each time he returned to Liyue until they eventually reached their
peak, and he absently wondered why he had never noticed it before. It was just such a simple,
obvious change that he was a bit baffled how he could have ever missed it. He also wondered how
long it would take to watch them gradually recede again with the coming of winter.

He observed that the Eleventh's eyes were never closer to lighting up than when he spoke of home,
full of enthusiasm as he would recall stories from his childhood. Dottore still couldn't be bothered
to listen to most of them in great detail; there were too many names to remember, too many
nostalgic plots that he had no way of relating to. When he tried to listen, it only made him recall the
day that he had mindlessly threatened the sanctity of those memories while deep in the throes of
madness. He had watched Childe's eyes go darker than he had ever seen them, that day, and it
made him wonder why the boy still entrusted him with such stories. He didn't like how that felt to
think about, so he didn't really listen all that well. But as Childe spoke, he always watched. Lately,
it felt like all he could do was watch.

So Dottore watched, and he also observed that when he would take Childe's hands in his own,
several things would happen at once. The boy would stop everything he was doing for a moment.
He would pause in the middle of a sentence, any and all movement would cease, and for a brief
second, the world seemed to stand still. His pupils would dilate slightly, and sometimes his
shoulders even slumped. Then, he'd blink slowly. His eyes would linger like that, just barely shut,
before he would resume whatever it was he had been doing. Letting him hold, and holding back. It
relaxed him. It brought him to a state of serenity that Dottore realized he hadn't seen him in for
quite some time, not since the days when the boy would watch him work on machines, sharing a
space and nothing more. It also made Dottore realize that he hadn't really understood the true value
of serenity then, only appreciating it for the silence it brought. But it was more than that. It was so
much more that it was still a bit too far outside his understanding, always just out of reach. But
Childe never had to reach that far. So Dottore would let him take it. And he just observed.

None of these things were very important. Not in the grand scheme of things, and certainly not in
the work Dottore was doing. But he made note of them regardless. It had become increasingly
difficult not to take notice. After that night, Dottore had begun to feel like a blind man who had
been given the gift of sight. It hadn't dawned on him just how much he had missed until it was
suddenly laid out before his fresh eyes, and even the insignificant details provided new context to
the world around him. He didn't want to miss anything now, not just for the details themselves, but
simply because it felt like a waste not to see them. Dottore had never liked being kept in the dark;
he just hadn't understood until now how much could be brought out to light. It made him feel more
at ease, to see these things, to know them inside and out.
But it wasn't like the things in his life had gotten any better. In fact, if anything, they had only
gotten worse.

Every site under his command was coming up empty handed. There was another spatial
disturbance in Haeresys, taking with it half the arena, at least a dozen subjects, five researchers,
and three onlookers who had been dressed to the nines for the "show." All of it, gone in a flash; the
decades worth of work, the centuries worth of history, the veritable fortune's worth of fine Liyuean
silk and precious gemstones imported from Natlan and set in tacky bevels that turned the skin
green. There was nothing left of any of it. Haeresys was not the only place going downhill, either.
There was an avalanche outside of the Dragonspine site, killing at least a dozen soldiers and
quickly encasing much of what had been excavated in several feet of ice. It took weeks to recover
just a fraction of their work. At the facility in Natlan, one of the skirmishers who had been
guarding it lost control too quickly for anyone to notice, and he set off an explosion that wiped out
most of the unit and several test subjects. He took care of the rest of his fellow soldiers then, before
turning the rifle’s sights on himself. Back at Zapolyarny Palace, one of the Abyss entities housed in
the laboratory had devoured its keeper - under mysterious circumstances, one of the ones that was
all too convenient for comfort - and went on a rampage through the halls. Pierro himself was the
one who ended up dispelling it, so Dottore, of course, had yet to hear the end of that little
catastrophe.

But these were all things that were out of Dottore's control. As far as he was concerned, there was
no longer any point in trying to squeeze diamonds out of a steaming pile of shit. Not so long ago,
that fact would have driven him past his breaking point. And while he couldn't say he was
completely at peace with the idea, it was a little easier to just swallow the medicine and move on.

That was it, he eventually realized one day, while contemplating how bizarre and foreign his own
complaisance had become. Things were far from better; they were just easier. It was easier to grin
and bear it through every colossal failure, just like how it was easier to see all of the insignificant
little details he had always missed before.

It was easier to want, and to be wanted in return. Easier to touch just for the sake of touching, to
talk when there was nothing much to say, to share company when there was no reason for it.

The Foul Legacy was no longer the impetus for Dottore's presence in Liyue. It was still a part of it,
but not in the way it had been. Before, when Childe would first meet him in the facility upon his
return, the transformation would happen almost immediately, and every moment thereafter was
simply a product of the energy they drained from one another. It was simply a job to do, a scab to
unceremoniously rip off so they could spend the remainder of their time waiting for the wound to
close over again.

Dottore had been impatient. He had been so terrified of losing time, losing his grip, losing
everything, that he had let fear lead him blindly through the motions. But there was no fear
anymore. No misunderstanding. He knew what he had, and he knew what he had to do with it.

Now that he had curbed his short-sighted obsession, he had made peace with the fact that the Foul
Legacy itself was something unattainable. Childe had said it himself, and Dottore had believed him
for quite some time, but coming to terms with it was another matter. Before, Dottore had just not
been seeing any other alternative to strive after, so he clung to the only thing he could. But the
Third's ability to see things right in front of his face had improved.

With hindsight being as clear as it was, he couldn't believe he had made things so complicated. The
problem in his research was not the power that would be contained - all the parts were there
already, and otherworldly forces knew no other way to operate than the way they ought to - but the
container that needed to house it. Dottore was not in the business of creating perfection; that was
already something that existed out in the world. No, it was not possible for Dottore to be the
architect of perfection - he only needed to facilitate it.

The Foul Legacy was without a doubt outstanding, because of course it was. It was a force beyond
what most mortals could possibly comprehend. But what had always been within comprehension
was Childe himself. The vessel that had never been one to begin with, Childe was seamless
integration personified. The secrets he supposedly held that had once driven Dottore mad were
non-existent, because the boy never had anything to hide in the first place. His value to Dottore's
research did not lay with the Foul Legacy. It had always just been him.

So that became the focus of most of Dottore's energy. He still conducted his experiments with the
Foul Legacy, both those that were scientifically inclined and otherwise, but now he was looking to
Childe. To all the things he had missed.

For he had missed just how profoundly the Foul Legacy changed his body. He knew of the after, of
the pain, the exhaustion. But he had been too blind to see anything else. It hadn’t even fully set it
just how extreme the effects were until the day their experiments one day led them to try
something new. Childe had told him once that the Delusion he wielded gave the Foul Legacy
improved power. But he also said it didn’t need the Delusion. So one day, Dottore asked him to
change without it. And with no Delusion, no Vision, no outside influence whatsoever, he had done
it. Dottore had been excited, as they prepared, in more ways than one. He thought it would be
something new. Something enlightening.

And it was enlightening, but not in the way that Dottore expected. Because it most certainly had
not been new. It had been, in essence, exactly the same as always. There were negligible
differences, more insignificant details that Dottore could not help but notice. It was a bit smaller,
though not possibly more than half a foot or so. Its armor, which always had the feel of steel, felt
eerily organic to the touch; it had more of the sensation of a carapace, like the shell of a tortoise or
the elytra covering a beetle’s wings. When he spoke, the tinny quality to its voice had gone, and the
surreal, echoing drone sounded more human, but somehow also less. But other than these small
details, it was very much the same. That was when Dottore fully understood just how remarkable
the transformation was, the very act of it, and not just the final product. He just as well understood
now the reason for Childe's agony and exhaustion in the aftermath. It was reshaping and distorting
him to an absurd, dangerous degree. It would have been akin to lifting a weight ten times one's size
straight up over your head with no preparation, and being expected to set it slowly back down
without disturbance.

But like any physical activity, it only grew easier with practice. They were still careful, but more
than Dottore's own drive to understand Childe's body, the boy himself was filled with newfound
resolve after the night he transformed too soon for the Third's own benefit. The first time he had
pushed himself like that, when the power of the Foul Legacy had seemed to hook a claw
underneath his bottom rib and tear him open, it had scared him. Childe admitted that to him
eventually - he said it like it was shameful, as if watching oneself being ripped apart by a force of
oblivion was something a child should be able to withstand. But although the second time around
still left him in immense pain, his unmarred body became a source of ambition. Like any martial
art, any stretch, it was getting easier over time. He wanted to keep practicing now. He wanted to
keep getting stronger. He wanted to be perfect.

Dottore did not yet possess the nerve to tell him that he already was. Words like that were still only
for the heat of the moment, when passions ran high and his inhibitions could melt away under the
flame of desire. There were many things that had gotten easier, things that could be understood as a
lack of understanding, but proclamations such as that had not.
Childe still told him he loved him at every opportunity, and the words had been breathed against
Dottore's skin so many times that they had been tattooed onto the very fiber of his being. He knew
it to be true, and he knew it to be right. But he couldn't shake the feeling that neither of them really
knew the meaning of the word, and the only difference between him and Childe was that Childe
transcended definition. Childe was a creature that could create something out of nothing, and any
attempts Dottore could make to achieve the same feat would only come up hollow in comparison.
Dottore could not love Childe, because he still lacked the ability to attribute meaning to the idea.

Dottore did not yet know love, but what he did know now was Childe. He knew that he was
everything. He was the axis upon which Dottore's world turned, and for the time being, that was all
he needed to understand.

So he just continued to watch. To observe. And every time the boy returned from the Foul Legacy's
clutches, Dottore would ask him how he was feeling. Just because he wanted to. Not because he
didn't know the answer. Because the answer rang through loud and clear, every time the same as
the last. Childe would just beam at him, the apples of his cheeks rising as a broad grin broke out
across his face. He spoke the words as if they were obvious, and so Dottore had no choice but to
assume they were. That Childe knew better, looking upon him with a reverence that Dottore would
have thought he didn’t deserve. But the answer was always the same:

"I've never felt better."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore had been roused to half-awakeness by the shuffling of fabric and the little tingle of metal
embellishments softly brushing against each other. It was negligible enough that he had already
begun to drift off again, but then a creaking of springs and weight shifting on the mattress behind
him jostled him back to consciousness. He still didn’t open his eyes, just furrowing his brow and
trying to sink deeper into the sheets under him.

“You’re too goddamn loud.”

Childe just hummed in amusement, laying back down beside him, pressing himself flush against
the curve of Dottore’s back and wrapping an arm around his waist. Dottore could feel that he was
already fully dressed, but he still curled around him as if it was where he was meant to be, as if his
only plans for the day were to drape himself over the Third like a blanket.

“Mm.” Childe buried his face into the back of his neck, and Dottore could feel him smile against
it. “We should leave together.”

That made Dottore open his eyes. “You woke me up for that? Beat it. I don’t have any business in
the harbor until this afternoon. You should be there now.”

Childe just pulled him in even tighter when Dottore tried to wiggle out of his grip. “You can get a
head start, then. You sleep too late, anyway.”

“How could I, with you around?” Dottore groused, reaching a hand back and waving it in Childe’s
face. “Get up. Go to work. That thing’s poking me in the ass.”

“That just means I’m happy to see you.”

“Ugh, not that, shithead,” Dottore groaned. He felt back behind him until he was touching Childe’s
Vision, and he shoved it back roughly and finally squirmed out of his arms. He flipped over on his
stomach, burying his face in the pillow with a discontented grunt.
This ended up being a mistake, because Childe simply swung his leg over him, hoisting himself up
and straddling Dottore’s ass between his thighs.

“Come on,” Childe urged, with a tone that surely indicated a pout had risen to his lips. “When have
we ever had an excuse to both be in the city at the same time? Or anywhere, for that matter?
Nobody would think twice.”

“Bullshit, they wouldn’t,” Dottore muttered, pulling his face from the smothering confines of the
linens and trying to crane his neck back at Childe. “Those soldiers gossip worse than maids. Pierro
would either be sending us termination letters or a fucking housewarming gift by dusk.”

Childe just laughed at that, then he leaned over Dottore and placed a kiss behind his left ear. He
lingered there, his breath tickling the sensitive skin and making a shiver run down Dottore's spine.

"Come on. I think it'll be fun. I could show you around the city," Childe said softly. There was
humor to his voice, but a slight yearning that was all too clear. He didn't have the same relationship
with his job that Dottore did. He may have gladly taken a termination letter. And he definitely
would have taken a housewarming gift.

Dottore just sighed, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. "I've seen it. It's nothing but dust and
tacky baubles. Don't you have better things to do than play tour guide, anyway?"

"Just a meeting or two." Childe hummed, kissing him again. "Nothing I couldn't blow off."
Another kiss, further down against the back of his neck. "And I'd be at the mercy of my senior if he
had any more pressing business matters for me to attend to, wouldn't I?"

Dottore tried to wave him off again, but Childe just laced their fingers together mid-gesture and
pinned his hand down against the sheets, still leaving a trail of languid kisses down the curve of his
neck to his shoulder. Dottore didn't try to stop him. He curled his fingers around Childe's with a
light sigh.

Truth be told, Dottore had reached the point where the suggestion didn't sound as absurd as it
should have. He wasn't interested in any sightseeing, but other ideas began to bloom as the little
tingles Childe was sending through him started to culminate behind his hips. But even as the idea
of their relationship being discovered bothered him less and less with each passing day, he still
knew that blatantly acting out in such a way would only lead to a nuisance, at best. Even if their
soldiers didn't possess the mettle to eat them alive for it, the other Harbingers certainly would. And
at worst, it would not leave Dottore in any of their good graces. He knew they had long since been
whispering of his many failures over the last year, and if they had even an inkling of the fact that
he was off canoodling with the Eleventh right at the climax of the Tsaritsa's grand schemes, they
might decide to cut him out of the loop while they were still ahead. And while Childe may not
have had a need for his status anymore, Dottore, unfortunately, did. He was acutely aware of this,
that even the meager amount of resources he had remaining at his disposal were still better than
nothing. And besides that, the reports he was set to hear in the city that day did not seem to be ones
to be taken lightly. It was a meeting with some scholar that had been appointed in the wake of the
first incident at Haeresys, with information had been recommended to be treated as so highly
classified that Dottore hadn't even been given the details of what they entailed. Only that their
findings were critical knowledge to the future of his research, and to the plans of the Fatui as a
whole. The full extent of the reports were only to be given to Dottore face-to-face, and schedules
were simply forced to align to arrange for the meeting to occur today at the Northland Bank. It was
by no means how things would have been handled unless the straits were dire enough to warrant it.
Dottore couldn't afford to be distracted today.

"That's not going to work," Dottore grumbled half-heartedly. "We can't just go skipping off to the
market like there isn't a care in the world. There's too much going on."

"I know," Childe finally relented with a huff, resting his cheek against Dottore's shoulder. "I still
don't get why everyone's decided I'm not to be involved in whatever you're doing today. You're
going to be in my city. Utilizing my soldiers for security."

"Don't," Dottore warned. "You have no reason to be a part of this meeting. For all anyone else
knows, you shouldn't even know I'm here. So I better not see a single hair on your head today."

"You're no fun," Childe whined. "I can play it straight, anyway. You know I can. Come on. You're
really not interested in seeing me in work mode? I bet you'd think my serious face is pretty sexy."

Dottore rolled his eyes. "Yes. You've caught me. I'm quite liable to find myself overcome with lust
at the sight of a man doing the bare minimum of what his job description entails."

Childe laughed against his shoulder. "Did you just crack a joke?"

"What? Is that a crime, suddenly? I'm better at them than you are, anyway."

Childe responded to this by biting into the meat of his shoulder, hard enough to catch Dottore by
surprise.

"Agh! Little shit!" Dottore reached back to swat at his face, but Childe had already withdrawn, and
quickly bounced off the bed with a devious snicker. Dottore whipped around to face him, propping
himself up on his elbows and shooting a scowl in his direction.

"I'm serious! Just go do your job, and I'll do mine," Dottore grumbled, rubbing at the wet welts left
on his shoulder. "You'll still see me tonight. Just behave yourself today."

"Fine," Childe sighed, rolling his eyes. But then, he swooped in again, catching Dottore's lips in his
own before he had a chance to protest.

Not that Dottore would have. It had gotten easier, to just accept it. To not think about it, because it
was the one thing he didn’t have to think about anymore. Childe seemed to do all the thinking for
him, because in matters like this, he knew better. Dottore had finally learned how to admit that to
himself, and it was more liberating than anything else could have been. It even made it a little
easier to let him go, watching his back disappear behind the doorway, even when there was a part
of Dottore that wanted to give into his whims and forget about what loomed on his agenda. It was
necessary, but he was in no way looking forward to more sobering news.

He’d still see him tonight. As much as Dottore had said that to reassure Childe, deep down, it had
just been a reassurance for himself. Because at a certain point, it didn’t really matter what news
these scholars could possibly have to bring to him. At the end of the day, he would still have his
most valuable asset at his side. He would still have the Foul Legacy. He would still have Childe.
And because of that, he would have everything he needed.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Northland Bank was not often used as a front for reasons beyond that of the Fatui's financial
dealings, because the Liyue Qixing were already so wary of its existence. In an effort to maintain
diplomacy and remain in good standing with the city, they kept things quiet. Not even Childe had
much control over what happened there, much of the jurisdiction falling to Pantalone to ensure a
solid economic foothold within the city of commerce. The fact that the business Dottore would be
attending to today had gone over both the Eleventh and Seventh's heads spoke all too well of its
urgency. But though matters such as this were uncalled for, there was a private meeting room
within the walls of the bank that had thus far eluded the Qixing's audits, and that was where
Dottore was led to after he had discreetly made his way into the city.

Dottore was brought in to meet a pudgy, nervous wreck of a man that was already sweating
through the drab Liyuean garb he was wearing, and two agents posed at the door as guards - he did
not recognize them as his own, and assumed they were part of Childe's team in the city. They
immediately saluted as Dottore walked through the door, followed gracelessly by the scholar as he
bolted up from his chair, knocking several leaflets of paper from the table as he did so.

Dottore just scowled at him, taking a seat at the far end of the table.

"Get ahold of yourself, man," Dottore grumbled, leaning back and tapping his fingers against the
arm of the chair restlessly. "I won't have my time wasted today."

"Y-yes, of course, Lord Dottore!" The man stammered, quickly picking up papers off the floor. "I
beg your pardon; we've had a bit of-"

"I don't care." Dottore interrupted dully. "Say what you need to say and nothing more. I was made
to believe this was important."

The man stammered an apology, introduced himself - Xueyou, a name Dottore would only bother
to remember for as long as they were stuck in this room together - and promptly dropped some of
the papers he had just picked up. Dottore clenched his jaw. Scholars were a flighty bunch, and he
did so detest being as much at their mercy and they were at his, but even the most chickenhearted
of researchers did not act so blatantly terrorized before the Third unless they knew they had bad
news to deliver. The display did nothing to set Dottore's mind at ease.

"My apologies, Lord Dottore. I, ah- perhaps I should start from the beginning."

"Please." Dottore held up his hand to silence him. "Don't bother. Just get to the point."

"Ah- yes, of course." Xueyou cleared his throat roughly, clearly attempting to steel himself for
what he was about to say. "Well, Lord Dottore, simply put, it's a matter regarding the incident that
occured at the Haeresys facility."

Dottore raised a cautionary eyebrow at him. "Which one?" He asked, almost sarcastically. Though
the question rose to his throat like bile, the clarification was necessary.

The man coughed into his hand. "Well, ah- specifically, the initial incident that occured while Dr.
Tsuji was overseeing. S-she was the one that assigned me to investigate the matter. But that's just
it, my lord; this isn't just in regards to the first incident. It's all of them."

"All of them?" Dottore parroted, narrowing his eyes. There had only been two events that had
occurred within the walls of Haeresys.

Xueyou seemed to lose his nerve again, stammering nonsensically to himself as he shuffled
through the disorganized files sitting in front of him.

“Y-yes, Lord Dottore. In an effort to determine why the subjects at Haeresys have grown
increasingly unstable, we had turned our attention to outside reports of spatial and temporal
anomalies, and there-” the man swallowed audibly, straightening out the handful of papers he had
gathered up and walking them over to Dottore, “-there was a trend.”

Dottore glared at the man a moment longer before turning his attention to the notes being held out
to him. He snatched them out of his hand, and started reading as the scholar continued.
“Over the past year, there’s been a steady increase in the frequency of large-scale, Abyssal
phenomena,” Xueyou explained, meekly taking a step back. “Though many of the incidents have
been minor spatial disturbances, at least relative to the Haeresys instances. Prior to this, several
events were simply written off as hearsay by the locals. Before the disturbances at Haeresys, we
wouldn’t have even been able to corroborate the occurrences as related events. But once we were
able to procure enough evidence to conclude that there a pattern existed with the facilities-”

"What is this?" Dottore interjected, furrowing his brows and looking back up at the scholar,
slapping the back of his hand against the reports given to him. "This is suggesting that all of my
facilities have been compromised. Why wasn't this reported to me sooner?"

"We couldn't do that, my lord!" Xueyou said quickly, shrinking back another step as if Dottore had
raised his voice, which he had not. "Due to the nature of the events, we only just gathered enough
evidence to build the report. W-we suspected an event was what lead to the incident at
Dragonspine, but we couldn't confirm it until they had excavated the entire site, a-and with the lack
of witnesses, it took weeks to analyze the wreckage in Natlan and disprove that the corrupted
soldier had started the explosion; it happened before that. And-"

"Enough." Dottore snapped suddenly, his eyes falling back to the reports in his hand. He didn't
need to hear the man's shrill defenses. At the very least, he could read, even for how sloppy and
disorganized the notes he had been handed were. Dottore could soon see why it had taken so long
to be brought to his attention, despite the urgency of the matter. Many of the incidents were so
insignificant, they had been brushed off as human error - a mishandling of material here, a
miscount of inventory there. Missing items and seemingly random acts of nature that could not
have possibly been linked unless there was reason to go digging for one. But they had dug. And
what they had dug up was that every single site under Dottore's command had been compromised.

That in and of itself was a disaster. If the information got out beyond his retinue, it would be sure to
cause unrest in the nations they resided in. Most of Teyvat was essentially under the Fatui's thumb
by that point, but staying in the good graces of the general public was still necessary, and if word
got out that his facilities were in a cataclysmically unstable state, swallowing up time and space
itself with no distinction, diplomacy would simply no longer be possible. But even worse than the
thought of opposing forces coming into this knowledge was the thought of the remaining
Harbingers sniffing it out for themselves. And he certainly hadn't done much to win any of their
favors lately, with the obvious exception of Childe. And Childe's word - which was possibly even
less favored than his own - would unfortunately not count for much if the others were to decide
Dottore's usefulness had been wrung dry.

But it didn't just end there. Dottore could see it in the man's uneasy, faltering eyes, and in the stacks
of reports that were far too numerous to account for just the Third's research sites.

Xueyou eventually coughed in an attempt to break the stifling silence that had fallen over the room.
"M-my lord, I- Ah, forgive me, but there is… the matter of the facility here in Liyue."

The glare that Dottore shot in his direction must have been pure ice, because the man nearly
choked as he tried to quickly clarify himself.

"We are of course aware that you've chosen to take on sole responsibility for the facility's
undertaking!" Xueyou sputtered. "And that you are more than capable of doing so! But that of
course means that it's the one site that we have been unable to account for in our reports. So, I'm
afraid I must ask-"

"The Liyue facility is uncompromised." Dottore cut in curtly. The last thing he needed now was a
bunch of scholars digging around the place, even if it was in his absence. Perhaps it would have
been wise to let them do so, for the sake of the investigation, and it did seem odd now that there
hadn't been any anomalous events to account for. Perhaps it was just because it had gone
untouched for so long? Dottore couldn't even remember the last time he had powered on any of
those machines, only utilizing the wing wherein his main office and living quarters were located.
Which, of course, was not information he would be willing to share. Even if it did not extend
outside of his own retinue's privy, and even if he could only assume that they were already
suspicious of his insistence that he be the only one to step foot inside the walls of the facility, it
was best not to unravel that particular ball of yarn.

"Is- is that so?" At his response, Xueyou actually seemed thrown enough for some of his
cowardice to melt away. It was a brief spark of intrigue, that thirst for knowledge capable of
momentarily overthrowing a scholar's weak will. "That's… interesting. Perhaps it would be
beneficial to our investigation if you were to let our team take stock of the subjects there?"

Dottore gritted his teeth. He understood scientific intrigue, and it was one of the few things that
made his team of researchers vaguely tolerable to work with, but the man's initiative was
unwelcome in this circumstance. He would have to coax the fear back out of him.

"I do hope you're not implying that I would be incapable of identifying anomalous phenomena with
my own two eyes," Dottore cautioned with a low growl.

That was enough to get the job done. Xueyou quickly reverted back to his feeble, stuttering state,
wilting under the scrutiny of the Third's hard stare.

"I- O-of course not, Lord Dottore," he mumbled, wringing his hands. "A-at any rate, it would no
longer be necessary to investigate the Liyue facility in order to complete our reports. We've
compiled enough evidence from across Teyvat to substantiate our theory."

The theory in question seemingly being that Abyssal influence on a large scale had been
inexplicably growing more volatile than it ever had been before. In layman's terms, it meant that
Dottore was fucked. It meant that the many failures in his research were not just isolated incidents.
Something had changed. Was it Teyvat? The Abyss itself? Did it have something to do with the
overthrow of the Archons, and the gnoses that the Tsaritsa kept so closely guarded? There were too
many unknowns.

"Outside of your facilities, the trends seem to be fairly consistent," Xueyou continued, grimacing as
he spoke. "Mostly rural regions. Areas with very few reliable witnesses. Not many casualties,
overall. But beyond that, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to the severity of the events. We are
still in the process of investigating this further, of course."

Dottore finally threw the papers in his hand down on the desk in frustration. "Fine. What else do
you have? I would like to assume you must have more to show me than this half-assed chicken
scratch."

Xueyou started stuttering again. "I… y-yes, of course, Lord Dottore, none of these are the official
reports, we have more for you, it's just-"

"Then hand it over." Dottore snapped. Xueyou simply floundered for a moment, and as he did, one
of the agents standing behind Dottore abruptly spoke up.

"Lord Dottore. If I may?" The man asked. Dottore didn't say anything, just turned to look at him
with a terse nod, so the agent continued. "The appointed liaison charged with the official reports
that were to be presented to you has… not been seen since this morning. The documents are
uncompromised; they were locked away in a safe on-site that is heavily guarded, and it has been
undisturbed since their arrival. But for security reasons, the liaison was the only one with access to
the code."

"What do you mean they haven't been seen?" Dottore barked, slamming his hand against the table
in frustration. "What kind of piss-poor excuse is that?"

Xueyou cut in suddenly. "I-if anything, our team can simply put together the reports again, in a
manner more suited to your means, my lord!"

"So you've brought me here for nothing; is what I'm hearing?" Dottore spat.

"Our deepest apologies, Lord Dottore." The agent spoke up again, bowing his head slightly. "We
are working on extracting the files through other means, in the event that-" He stopped short
suddenly, as if he had misspoken. Dottore noticed the other agent stiffen as he did. They both
seemed to freeze for a moment, which was slightly curious. But the agent speaking caught himself
quickly, and Dottore did not have much time to dwell on their hesitance. "At any rate, we should
have them extracted in a matter of hours. If you would like to wait for more news, we would gladly
show you to the executive office in the building. It is secure, and should be more to your liking, my
lord. In the meanwhile, we have agents attempting to track down Lieutenant Ekaterina as we
speak."

That made Dottore pause. He so infrequently remembered names, that the act of recalling one was
always a bit disarming, and he had recognized that one. It took him a moment to remember why.

It was that girl. The one that had given him lip when he had gone looking for Childe at the bank so
long ago, and the one whose loyalty could not be bought when he sought to sneak into the
Eleventh's living quarters unnoticed. She had been a thorn in his side, small and easily plucked out,
but sharp nonetheless. That made Dottore slightly uneasy, given the circumstances, but treason was
not a crime to be taken lightly in the ranks of the Fatui. Even if she had no taste for Dottore, it was
strange to think that a soldier as highly regarded by her own commander as she seemed to be would
stoop to something like that out of the blue. More to the point, he knew that Childe was a better
judge of character than that. He was more relaxed with his retinue than most of the other
Harbingers were, but he was still sharp as a tack. He would not have trusted this woman without
having good reason to. Which made things all the more curious. If treason was not the answer for
her absence, then what else could be? As always, Dottore could only think of one other excuse.
And how unfortunate that would be, if she had joined the ranks of all the other soldiers that had
ever perished when they were needed. Unfortunate for him, anyway. He almost preferred to
contemplate the idea that she was alive, and simply shirking her duties out of spite. It would make
things simpler. But Dottore couldn't be that lucky.

“Goddammit,” Dottore hissed through his teeth, just looking off to the side distantly. What a
shitshow it all was. He didn’t even know where to begin, especially when he didn’t have all the
information in front of him. He just wanted to go back to the facility and think about it there. It felt
like the only place he could think, these days. But still, it would be preferable to come away from
this exchange with as much information as he could get. It wasn’t like he would have anything to
do other than stew until Childe returned, anyway. He rubbed his hand against his mouth, scoffing
into his palm. “Fine. Give me what you have that’s vaguely presentable, and I will wait to hear
your next report on the matter. But do not keep me waiting long.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The office Dottore was escorted to exuded opulence from floor to ceiling. It was far nicer than he
had been expecting, and it dawned on him that this “executive” office was probably not meant not
for the executives of the bank, but for the Harbingers themselves. There was not much inside but
showy, untouched fluff, and Dottore expected that the only two that would have ever had a need to
use the space were Pantalone and Childe. And Pantalone did not often have a need to travel outside
of Snezhnaya for any of his business, and Childe certainly was not the type suited for habitual
office work. But the air was not quite as stale as it had been in the meeting room. Dottore
wondered if the staff had quickly spruced the place up upon realizing there would be a need to
keep him busy while they scrambled for solutions.

Dottore tried to sit down and leaf through what files he had been provided, but they were rough and
unpolished. The information was there, but it would be a hassle trying to bring everything together
into a single, cohesive plot in his mind. After a while, he gave up, just tossing them on the desk
with a huff. There was no point to it, anyway. He knew the extent of the plot, from where it stood
now. Simply put, they knew next to nothing. They could only see as much as what lay in front of
their own faces - or rather, what was no longer there - and everything else was still up in the air.
Dottore had not been brought here to be briefed on a series of incidents and presented with a plan
of action. There was no foreseeable way to respond to something like this. No, this had not been a
briefing. It had been the delivery of a grave prognosis. The subject of which was his own life's
work.

Dottore leaned back in his chair with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. What was he even
waiting for? A more formal account of his downfall? What would the point be? Maybe he should
have just gone back to the facility, after all.

But as he was mulling things over, the door to the office opened suddenly. His eyes shot up to the
intrusion, already steeling himself for more bad news - because regardless of whether or not their
efforts had been successful, that was all he would get - but he found himself standing up in surprise
when his gaze landed on Childe.

The Eleventh had already shut the door behind him and was in the process of locking it when it
occurred to Dottore that he was relieved to see him. Rationally, he knew he shouldn’t have been. If
anything, it was an absolutely dreadful time for whatever urge could have brought the boy here.
Dottore was far from in the mood for any conversation, let alone sex. And the fact of the matter
was that Childe was now standing in front of him when Dottore had explicitly asked him to stay
away. There were so many reasons for him not to be there; it was the wrong time, wrong place, the
wrong thing to do no matter how many ways Dottore spun it. But for a brief moment, before his
thoughts had a chance to catch up with him, he was only glad to see him.

But the feeling didn't last long as Childe gave him a devious, half-lidded gaze, a little smirk finding
its way to his face.

"Hey there, stranger," Childe said coyly, sauntering his way over to him. "I was looking for you."

"Childe!" Dottore hissed, voice low. "Keep your voice down! What the hell are you doing here?"

"No one saw me come in," Childe responded, pointedly ignoring the question as he leisurely
strolled around the desk, standing right next to him. "I was hoping you'd still be around."

"Childe, I told you not to-" Dottore couldn't finish as Childe shoved his hand against the center of
his chest, pushing him back down into the chair. Before he had a chance to argue, Childe had
shoved his way between Dottore's knees and the desk. It was a tight squeeze, and in the process he
nudged the desk back slightly, and the Third watched some of the loose leaflets of paper he had
just been perusing fall onto the floor. Childe quickly sat himself down in his lap, straddling his legs
around Dottore's thighs and setting his hands firmly on his shoulders.

Dottore's hands flew to his waist, trying to push him back. "What are you-"
"Are you not happy to see me?" Childe asked suddenly, a little smile still playing on his lips despite
it not mirroring the disappointed tone of his voice. It made Dottore hesitate, and his hands merely
lingered at Childe's hips with no force behind them. He couldn’t truthfully tell him no, and that had
thrown Dottore off. Sentimentality was still foreign enough that it was not a color the Third wore
well. He donned it awkwardly, gracelessly, and he found that his train of thought had been
derailed. Indignance had momentarily melted away, and his expression softened.

Dottore’s eyes flickered off to the side. "It's… not a good time."

"No? I'm sorry," Childe said softly, but he made no move to fall back. Instead, one of his hands
found its way to the corner of Dottore's mask, and he smoothly slipped it off as he continued.
"Maybe we could make it one."

Dottore would have had time to protest in between the end of Childe’s sentence and the point
where he brought their lips together, but he did not. With the day he had been having, the
suggestion was a bit too tempting to turn down straight away. But Dottore soon regained some of
his senses, and he had to tug his bottom lip out from between Childe's teeth in order to speak again.

"Childe. It's really not a good time," Dottore warned, trying to firmly push him back again. "I'm not
done here. You need to go."

"Why? It's technically my office, you know," Childe huffed, kissing him again. "Why should I
have to leave?"

"I'm waiting for someone, Childe," Dottore said, desperation beginning to strain his voice. He dug
his nails into Childe's hips a bit. It was out of frustration, but more than that, he was hoping it
would ground the Eleventh. Over the last few months, Dottore had come to realize that Childe
tended to get exceedingly clingy like this when something was bothering him. And acting out like
this was a little too brazen, even for him. The Third tried to read his expression, and it was slightly
vacant. Whether this meant he was pensive or just unspeakably horny, Dottore did not yet know.
“You know exactly why, anyway. What's gotten into you?"

"Not enough, that's for sure." This was delivered with a little chuckle, and Childe set Dottore's
mask down in his lap so he could take the Third's face in both his hands. He kissed him again.
"I've been thinking about you all day."

"Childe-"

Childe stole the protest away in his lips. "It's been driving me crazy, thinking about you being
here." Another kiss, a punctuation to each sentence and an assurance that Dottore wouldn't be able
to get a word in edgewise. The Third continued to try anyway.

"It's not-"

Childe laced his fingers into his hair, pulling him in again. "You've just been right here all day."
He barely even pulled away after the next kiss, his mouth just resting against Dottore's as he
breathed his words against them. "Without me." Their noses brushed as he sucked Dottore's top lip
between his own. "I can't concentrate on anything else." Breaths intermingling, his tongue rolling
against Dottore's lips. "I just want you all to myself."

Dottore was rapidly losing the motivation to stand firm. The next kiss was one he could not help
but meet, and it lingered too long. He flicked his tongue out against Childe's, and he could feel the
Eleventh smile into the kiss.
"Mm hm." Childe hummed, briefly pulling away to let out a giggle. "If you're just waiting around
anyway, let's do something fun. Or better yet, let's get out of here."

And, oh, how difficult it was to deny that it was what Dottore wanted. He didn’t want to be in this
stuffy room, waiting to receive an abysmal report of something that was beyond anyone’s control.
He didn’t want to hear about how his facilities were steadily being eaten away by the Abyss when
he had already all but given up on them anyway. He didn’t want to go through the ordeal of being
alone - and he realized, suddenly, just what an ordeal it had recently become - when he didn’t have
to be. Dottore was quickly running out of reasons to say no.

“It’s your own fault that I’m stuck in here, anyway,” Dottore muttered, almost absentmindedly.
There wasn’t much conviction behind it, although maybe he was just looking for an excuse to
delay the inevitable, holding onto the last bit of resolve he had to simply do what needed to be
done. “That mouthy lieutenant of yours threw a wrench into my plans when she decided to up and
vanish into thin air.”

“Mm.” Another soft hum. Then, he kissed Dottore again.

That was it.

Dottore did not reciprocate this time. Suddenly, the movements of Childe’s lips and the heat of his
breath were not as distracting as they had been mere seconds ago. Because somehow, something
else had commanded Dottore’s attention.

He had hummed. Just hummed. No real response, no acknowledgement; nothing. Just an absent,
non-committal little hum.

It made Dottore uneasy in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. So he took pause, and tried to
think. He turned his head to the side just enough to break his lips away from Childe’s.

“Did you hear what I just said?” Dottore asked, looking into the Eleventh’s eyes again. They were
half-lidded, and glazed over with desire. He still couldn’t read him.

“Mm hm.” Childe hummed again, bringing his face back and kissing him again. Another one.
Same as the one before it. Disinterested in anything else. Distracted, even.

This time, Dottore moved his hands up to Childe’s chest, gently but actively pushing him away so
he could speak again. “Is that all you have to say?”

Childe’s gaze finally went back into focus as he looked back at him. A small noise fell from his
parted lips, a soft, exasperated little exhale. “What else do you want me to say?”

Dottore didn’t know. But the odd, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made him press onward.
“Did you know that?”

“Yes. Of course I did.” Childe raised an eyebrow at him, looking baffled at where the conversation
was going. But there was nothing more to latch onto. His eyes were still dull with disinterest.

Dottore hesitated, just staring at him, waiting for his troubled thoughts to fall into place. “Do you
even care?”

“Well, I- Not right now.” Childe replied, annoyance pulling at the words. He sighed, running a
hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t want to talk about work right now. Why do you care so
much, anyway?”
That was a fair question. And truthfully, beyond the missing lieutenant’s relevancy to Dottore in
this particular situation, he didn’t care in the slightest.

But Childe probably should have.

Childe was well respected by his retinue, not only for his tactical abilities, but for his demeanor
towards them. He was no pushover, and could be stern when necessary, but what really earned the
men's favor was something Childe did better than any of the other Harbingers; he related to them.
He was friendly with them, made them feel like something beyond a simple extension of the
military, and in return it earned him a different kind of loyalty than what a domineering attitude
could offer. Dottore had found this frustratingly plain to see in his previous efforts to try shaking
the foundation of that loyalty. His men were warier to give out information, more hesitant to accept
bribes. Because a man's loyalty did not come cheap, and sometimes, charisma could be worth more
than its weight in gold.

Most of them liked him. It was as simple as that. They liked him, because he made them feel
valued. And here was their commander now, after his right hand had mysteriously vanished,
implying that he hadn't given it a single thought all day.

But perhaps it wasn't so strange. Dottore already knew Childe to not be as amiable as he appeared,
at least not genuinely so. Maybe Dottore was reading too much into it. But something felt off,
suddenly. He couldn't shake the feeling, and it made him uneasy enough to take him out of the
moment. At the very least, it was a stern reminder that they both had better things they ought to be
tending to.

"It's- It's nothing," Dottore answered finally. He pushed a little harder against Childe's chest. "You
just need to go."

Childe blinked at him slowly, then scoffed. “I really don’t. Trust me. Come on, I’m being serious.
Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m being serious,” Dottore shot back, starting to lose patience. “This isn’t the time, Childe. We
both have more important things to be doing.”

“Really?” Childe asked incredulously, with enough bite to be a little disarming. His brows
furrowed, and Dottore could see him set his jaw in indignance. “So what? Ekaterina fucked up, so
now you’re punishing me for it? I don't know what you want me to do about it. I'm not even
supposed to know you're here, remember?”

Dottore did not bring up that high-ranking Fatui officers did not frequently “fuck up” in their line
of work, or that it was incredibly likely that this girl was missing because she was dead, or that
Childe should have been well aware of all this as well. Any of those points would have just made
Dottore uneasier still, and he didn’t need to feed into his own impending sense of doom.

“That’s not- I’m not punishing you for anything,” Dottore argued. “There's just no time for this
right now."

"Says who?" Childe shot back. "What's so important? You said so yourself that you're just sitting
here waiting. And I don't get why you're being so weird about my business, just because I don't go
flying off the handle whenever the slightest thing goes wrong."

The implication of those words hit Dottore like a slap to the face, sharp and unwarranted. It
actually made him wince backwards, his hands coming off of Childe's chest and just hovering over
him awkwardly. The Third opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It just floundered
open hopelessly.

Childe's expression went blank, for a moment. Then, he closed his eyes, groaning as he slapped a
hand across his mouth, dragging it up his face and covering his eyes.

"Fuck. Shit." Childe muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. Look-"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dottore blurted out. He expected the words to have a little bit
of venom, and they probably should have, but the closest he could come was an aghast tone that
only signified how genuine the question was. Because this just wasn't like him. None of it really
had been, since the moment he walked into the room. As desperately as Dottore wanted to brush
off his own discomfort, the fact stuck to him like tar.

"Hey. Hey. Look." Childe gave a coo that was thick with remorse as he took Dottore's stiff hands in
his own. "I'm sorry. Okay? I didn't mean that. I'm just- I'm stressed out today. And I don't want to
think about it. I just want to be with you right now. Please?"

"I-" Dottore squeezed his hands back out of reflex. But then, he just closed his eyes, pushing them
against Childe's chest. "I just need you to go."

When Dottore opened his eyes again, Childe had a dismayed look on his face. "Dottore, please, I'm
sorry. I just really think if we got out of here, we could-"

"No. Get off." Dottore shoved him back a little more forcefully. His throat was tight with a feeling
that he did not want to give a name, because it may have been anger, but it felt like something else.
And Dottore had not been truly angry with Childe in a long time, and anything else he was not yet
ready to handle out in the open. Maybe back in the facility. But not here.

Childe looked like he was about to cry from frustration, but he finally picked himself up out of
Dottore's lap, standing up with an incredulous scoff.

"Okay. Fine." Childe said tersely, eyes looking anywhere but at Dottore. They seemed to dart
around the room sheepishly, like he was wracked with guilt. Or maybe he was just pissed off.
Dottore couldn't quite tell still, and he didn't want to think about it anymore. But Childe still
lingered beside him for a moment, long enough that Dottore finally had to wave him off.

"Childe. Just go." Dottore urged desperately.

Childe bit the inside of his cheek. Then, he leaned down, placing a lingering kiss against Dottore’s
hairline.

“You know I love you, right?” Childe asked, breathing it against his forehead.

Dottore let his eyes fall closed for a moment. He didn’t answer. But he knew.

Not receiving a response, Childe let out a quiet sigh, standing back up straight. He made his way
back to the door, turning the lock. He paused there, but didn’t look back at Dottore.

“I’ll see you tonight.” He said, sounding somber. And with that, he swept out of the room as
suddenly as he had come. As soon as he was gone, Dottore slumped forward, putting his head in
his hands.

He didn’t know what to think about any of that. He didn’t want to think about any of it. All he
knew is that the exchange had only succeeded in making him feel worse about everything.
As Dottore sat there, his eyes fell upon the papers that Childe had knocked off the desk. The files
now held none of Dottore’s attention, but for a lack of anything else better to do, he started picking
them back up. One of the sheets had fallen half under the gap between the floor and the bottom of
the desk, raised up an inch or so on top of ornate wooden feet. As he reached for it, his finger
caught the edge of the paper, pushing it completely under and out of sight. Dottore cursed to
himself. He was tempted to just let it be, but thought better of leaving classified documentation
laying about a strange place, and begrudgingly knelt down beside the desk. He blindly reached his
hand underneath it until the rogue sheet of paper was under his fingertips. He pressed it against the
floor to prevent it from drifting off again, pulling it out from there.

When he lifted it up to inspect it, he became aware that something else had rolled out with it. The
object had gotten caught underneath the paper as he withdrew it, and was left behind on the floor
for Dottore to notice out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t tell what it was at first. It was dirty.
A rust-colored crust covered it in patches, but underneath the filth was a conspicuous ivory sheen.
No longer regarding the paper he had in his hand, Dottore peered a little closer as he reached down
to grab it. Just before his fingers closed in around it, he processed what he was about to pick up.

It was a human tooth.

The realization hit Dottore all at once. Because suddenly, it was obvious. So strikingly obvious.
There was nothing else it possibly could have been. But it had taken several moments for it to
register.

Dottore’s hand froze for a moment, instantly overtaken by a sense of dizzying, blood curdling
dread. Not because of the object itself, but because of how out of place it was. His vision tunneled
as he stared down at it. But then, he continued, his mind a blank slate as he picked it up between
his thumb and forefinger.

It was a molar, roots and all, completely unmarred save for the splotches of dried blood covering it
- the blood was easy to identify, because like the tooth itself, there was nothing else it could have
possibly been. But it wasn't completely dry, upon closer inspection. Little spots of it were still
tacky, clinging to his fingertips as he rolled it around between them. Dully, numbly, Dottore's eyes
fell back upon the piece of paper he had just retrieved from under the desk. There was now a
sizable scarlet streak running down the center of the page, obfuscating the scrawl written upon it
that suddenly held no meaning.

Dottore's limbs felt asleep, like they were not his own, like someone else was controlling them as
he dropped both the objects in his hands and grabbed the lip of the desk, shoving it back. The wood
screeched against the tile in a shrill whine that made Dottore's stomach lurch. Though the
unpleasant sound was far less nauseating than what he had revealed underneath.

There were two more disembodied teeth. Another molar and a canine, both also sullied with half-
dried blood. They were sitting in a small pool of blood, thick enough to still be sticky, and
disconnected by a clean line just under where the edge of the desk had previously been, as if there
had been more to the stain that had already been wiped away. There was something else there, too,
something odd and out of place; it was a small, thin, cylindrical object, appearing to be half of
something that was once whole, as it was perfectly smooth and polished save for the jagged end
with a flakey, broken appearance. It was probably actual ivory, if Dottore had to hazard a guess
based on its texture and pearlescent sheen, but as to what its original purpose was, he had no idea.
The stick-like object was too innocuous and featureless to give him any sort of hint. But even for as
strange as it was, it paled in comparison to the rest of the image before him. Dottore just started
down at it all, trying to find rationale somewhere in that grisly, menacing pile. He could not.
For some reason, he felt compelled to cover it back up. He did so, pulling the desk back into its
previous position, nudging the tooth he had displaced back underneath it with the others. He stood
up numbly, bringing the bloodstained paper with him and shoving it back into the file he had been
given. His hands were shaking slightly.

He needed some air.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was already dusk by the time Dottore stepped out onto the front balcony of the bank. The
lanterns in the city had all been lit in preparation for nightfall, and the guard Dottore had passed on
his way in had been replaced by a young woman who started slightly when the Third had swept
through the door, standing straight and giving a terse nod of acknowledgement. He paid her very
little mind, just walking over to the railing and letting his eyes go out of focus over the cityscape.

Dottore patiently waited for his thoughts to straighten out, as there was not much else he could do.
But the shock gradually dissipated the longer he took in the fresh air, and it set his mind's gears in
motion. Another wave of nausea hit him, then, not because the thought of what he had just seen
made him feel squeamish, but because the unbelievable absurdity of the scene had finally hit him
in full force.

It was not the particulars of the small pile of gore that had bothered him; it was the why. Why had it
been there, tucked away in that pristine, seemingly untouched office? As Dottore mulled over the
most logical explanations, it stitched together a disjointed, bizzare patchwork quilt of a story that
the Third could still make no sense of.

The blood had been fresh enough to still be sticky in the places where it had laid thickest.
Something like that couldn't be more than a day old. Most likely, it had come from sometime
earlier that day. Maybe around late morning. Which was when the agent said that the missing
Lieutenant Ekaterina had last been seen.

So what did that mean? That it was hers? That would have been the easiest explanation, given the
circumstances, but that still didn’t make sense. If it was evidence of foul play, it still begged the
question of why it had occurred there, of all places. She herself probably would not have had a
reason to be in that office unprompted in the first place, and to assume she had been led in there by
another officer - for security measures were too strict to entertain that someone outside of the
organization would have managed to make it inside unnoticed - would be too far of a reach. The
majority of the Fatui could not be considered forthright, but to kill a high-ranking soldier in what
was essentially broad daylight - and in such a grisly way as to leave behind nothing but
disembodied teeth to scatter under tables - would be akin to a suicide mission. If someone from
within had it out for the girl, they would have had to have handled the matter more discreetly,
otherwise the offender would have been caught by now. But two people with no reason to be
present there would not have gone unnoticed.

So who did have a reason to be in the executive office at the Northland Bank? The Harbingers.
Pantalone, for one. But he couldn't have been there. Even if there was something going on behind
the scenes, Dottore couldn't see him acting so brazenly. Pantalone was as shady as any one of them,
perhaps even the shadiest, as far as Dottore was concerned, but the Seventh was also good at
keeping his nose clean. He wouldn't have come to the harbor knowing that there would be not one,
but two other Harbingers present in an area where diplomacy with the government had not yet been
reliably solidified. And he certainly would not have risked it just to do away with another
Harbinger's soldier for seemingly no good reason. Dottore didn't even know why he was spending
time pondering the idea.
Maybe it was just because the other option was somehow more difficult to wrap his head around.
Maybe he had wanted to ponder it from the moment he saw the grisly evidence, and maybe he
could attribute most of his shock to the fact that there was a part of him that did not want to let the
thoughts come to fruition.

But it was Childe's office, too. The Eleventh had confirmed it himself. And as Dottore remembered
that, he remembered something else that suddenly made his blood run cold.

When Childe had come onto him, acting so subtly unlike himself, he had asked Dottore to leave
with him. Three times, he had asked him. With a vague sense of need straining his vocal chords
that Dottore had taken for desire.

Childe had wanted him out of that office. Desperately.

So what did that mean?

The next conclusion should have been easy to come to. But it was not. It rose within Dottore like
bile tickling the back of his throat, but he swallowed it back down. He had spent so long now,
keeping Childe in his sights, holding silent vigil over his very existence, taking note of every little
thing that he had ever missed, that it was now impossible to not fit together the puzzle pieces that
had been laid out before him.

Dottore wished that wasn't the case. Suddenly, he yearned for his own ignorance again, wishing
that he could have missed all of it. Not because of whatever happened to that woman, or even the
implication that Childe may have been involved in it. It was because it would mean that there was
something Childe wasn't telling him.

Dottore grimaced to himself, running a hand through his hair. He needed to calm down. He was
jumping to conclusions that need not be reached. This, in all probability, had nothing to do with
him. There may have been something else going on he couldn't possibly be privy to. Childe didn't
like to talk about work, and Dottore didn't either beyond that which was necessary to discuss
during their experimentations with the Foul Legacy. It was probably none of his business. And it
wasn't as if Childe had lied to him. Dottore had not asked him anything to lie about.

Dottore's nerves were frayed, after the news he had been given. He was simply letting his unrest
transfer over to insignificant matters. He just… needed to get out of there. Now. Somehow, even
the outside air of the harbor was stifling to him now, the salt breeze calcifying in his lungs and
making every breath an arduous task. He didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted to go back to
the facility. He could make sense of everything there. He could talk to Childe there. Everything
would be easier to take in once he was there. He was sure of it.

Dottore spun around, looking back at the door disdainfully. He didn't even want to go back inside.
He had the files he needed to bring with him. The rest could wait.

He then turned his attention to the guard standing by the door, who was dutifully staring straight
ahead.

"You." Dottore barked. The girl flinched slightly, but to her credit, she simply turned her head
towards him with a quick nod.

"Yes, Lord Dottore? Are you in need of something?" She asked. Being just a night guard, she
probably was not aware of the situation, or even why he was there to begin with, but he didn't care.
He took a few steps forward, just enough to lower his volume slightly.
"Go in there and tell whoever's running things that something suddenly came up," Dottore ordered.
"I'm leaving. Tell them to send whatever reports they scrounge up straight to the Palace. I'll take
stock of what they have when I return to Snezhnaya."

That would be enough. He was scheduled to return to Zapolyarny Palace within the week. He
would have time to sort through things there.

"I, ah-" The guard faltered, most likely because she had no idea what he was talking about, but
thought better of waffling. She simply nodded respectfully in his direction. "Yes, of course, Lord
Dottore. Would there be anything else?"

"No. Just tell them-" Dottore was going to clarify that they should not attempt to contact him
beyond transmitting the reports to Snezhnaya, but at that moment, the door to the bank swung
open, and Dottore's mouth snapped shut instinctively.

"Greetings, comrade!" The voice rang clear through the evening air, instantly recognizable, but
before Dottore even had a chance to glance over to its owner, he noticed something odd. His eyes
were still on the girl, and he was able to witness her hand fly up to her chest as a sharp, deep inhale
momentarily seized control of her body, making her jump backwards half a step. For a split second,
she looked to be in the throes of a heart attack. The gasp had been audible, and Dottore wondered if
the intruding party had noticed it, as well.

Dottore's gaze then shot over to Childe, who was standing in front of the entrance with a broad,
casual grin on his face, giving Dottore a little wave of his hand. If he had noticed his guard’s
adverse reaction, he did not show it. Gone was the dismayed expression that had contorted his
features not so long ago, and also the uneasiness that had weighed heavy on his shoulders. He was
back to playing his role as the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, and nothing more. A very
convincing performance, all for the benefit of the third party standing beside them. He looked
confident. Relaxed. But what he did not appear to be, at least not in that moment, was overly
intimidating.

By the time Dottore glanced back at the night guard, she had returned to a formal posture, back
straight and wrists crossed behind her back. Staring straight ahead, expressionless, not meeting
either of their eyes.

It was another one of those things that Dottore wished he had missed. If he had missed it, he could
have written it off as the woman having been startled by the door suddenly swinging open. But no.
This woman, who had no more than twitched when the Third had suddenly barked for her attention
unprompted, had nearly jumped clean out of her skin at the mere sound of her own commander's
voice. It had been obvious. As obvious as the two agents that had suddenly gone rigid when they
feared saying too much, and as obvious as what ultimate fate had befallen Lieutenant Ekaterina.

Dottore clenched his jaw, looking back at the Eleventh stoically.

Not waiting for a response, Childe spoke again. "I wouldn't have expected to see you here,
comrade."

"I could say the same of you." Dottore couldn't help but spit it out through his teeth. It didn't make
sense, because why wouldn't he have known that the Eleventh might pop up in the very city he was
overseeing, but suddenly, maintaining their charade did not hold as much importance as it once
had.

"Really?" Childe just chuckled lightly, giving him a little smirk. "Well, I was just on my way out to
handle some business in the area. I didn't mean to barge in on anything." It was an explanation,
shrouded in vague pleasantries. He must not have had a chance to leave the building yet. He
probably really wasn't expecting to meet Dottore at the entrance. But still. The boy had some kind
of nerve, after what they had just gone through in the office.

"Then don't let me keep you any longer." Dottore replied dully. He gave him a careful glare, one
that should have told him not to push his luck. Childe, unfortunately, was not one to back down
from a challenge.

“I am a little curious now, though,” Childe laughed, shifting his weight around on his heels. “I
wonder what kind of business you have in the harbor that I wasn’t made aware of?”

Dottore took a sharp breath in through his nostrils. The boy had some kind of fucking nerve,
indeed.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your concern, Tartaglia.” Dottore was able to muster up just enough
venom to be convincing, and to get his point across. He saw Childe’s gaze falter almost
imperceptibly.

“I’m sure it isn’t.” Childe replied with a light chuckle. He shrugged then, and started to turn away.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” The Eleventh paused for a moment, then briefly regarded the
night guard with a friendly nod. “Uneventful evening so far, Nadia?”

The girl - Nadia - just nodded stiffly. “Yes, Lord Tartaglia.”

“Hm. That’s a shame,” Childe remarked with a thoughtful hum. He looked back to Dottore one last
time, shooting him a smile. “Well, until next time, comrade.”

Dottore didn’t answer him. He didn’t even watch him go. Instead, he focused his attention back on
the night guard. Her shoulders noticeably slumped as Childe left, though they soon went tense
again as she became aware of the Third’s gaze on her.

Dottore’s unease had not lessened. It had only gotten worse. Something definitely wasn’t right.

Finally relenting under Dottore’s inscrutable gaze, Nadia cleared her throat and timidly turned her
head back towards him. “Is… is there anything else, Lord Dottore?”

“How much?” Dottore blurted out without thinking. The girl looked taken aback by this, her
professional posture melting away with a flash of confusion that she wore plainly on the visible
parts of her face.

“How… much? I… ah-” Nadia let out a little grunt of discomfort, and she crossed her arms stiffly
in front of her chest, as if to obscure her bust, in a gesture that Dottore didn’t immediately
understand. “H-how do you mean, Lord Dottore?”

After watching her shift around uncomfortably for a moment, it suddenly dawned on Dottore how
vague he had been, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to think that she wouldn’t be sharing them.
He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please.” Dottore said sarcastically. “Nothing like that.”

Nadia grew a little flustered, but she let her arms fall back to her sides. “Then-”

“I want your information.” Dottore clarified quickly, narrowing his eyes at her. “So I’m asking
you: how much do you want in exchange for it?”
 “I-” Nadia froze, her lips pressing into a tight line. Her eyes fell to her feet in thought, and Dottore
could see her biting the inside of her cheek. He could immediately tell that she knew what he was
getting at now, but something was still holding her back. She looked back up at him after a while,
and the steadiness of her gaze was honestly commendable. Her voice, however, was not quite so
unwavering. But she was careful. “What.... What do you want me to tell you, my lord?”

Dottore set his jaw. The word made its way out through his teeth, as if the sensation of lockjaw
was his body’s last attempt to hold it all back. But this was not something that could be swallowed
back down.

“Everything.”

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi

 Tooth and Nail
Chapter Notes

In an effort to keep some of the suspense going through the end, I am going to start
making the content warnings externally hosted, with the recommendation that you do
NOT take a gander at it if you do not think you need to. Any specific CWs going
forward will not be far outside the realm of what is already in the main tags (so read
through those again, if anything) and/or topics that have previously been touched
upon. But, of course, if it would make you more comfortable to have some sort of idea
what's coming, feel free to check it out here:

cw/kink list

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"Are you sure you're not hungry? I can make you something." Childe gave him a gentle smile from
the doorway as he pulled off his gloves, bunching them together in one hand.

Dottore glanced up at him from the papers he hadn't really been reading. He had given it his best
effort, if only to keep himself distracted, but it didn’t work. It only made him think about how the
file was one page shorter than it ought to have been, after he thought it best to do away with the
paper that had been stained crimson, thereby spoiling any further attempts to peruse the documents.

"I'm not hungry." Dottore replied distractedly. He brought together all the papers in his lap,
resetting them in the file and laying it all on the bedside table next to him. He then wrung his
empty hands, not knowing what else to do with them. He found it difficult to look back up at
Childe.

The Eleventh didn't respond at first. Dottore just heard him approaching, then the sounds of him
placing some of his effects on the table, fabric rustling off his shoulder as he removed his jacket,
and his boots being kicked off his feet. After a while, the mattress shifted under his weight.

He didn't say anything as he crawled over to Dottore, nor as he straddled his lap and sat back on his
heels. He grabbed at one of Dottore's hands, taking it in his own and gently picking at his cuticles.
He wasn't looking at Dottore's face. But Dottore was watching his.

"You want to talk." Childe said. It was not a question. He already knew the answer. And even
though he was right, Dottore found that when he tried speaking, no words would come out. After a
while, Childe finally looked up at him.

"Are you mad at me?" The Eleventh asked softly. Dottore's gaze faltered.

"No." And that was the truth. He wasn't. Dottore sighed then, running his free hand through his
hair. "We just… can't do things like that anymore. It's not smart. It's not feasible to think that we
can just go gallivanting around in front of everyone like-"

"I know that," Childe said quickly. He sounded a little defensive. "That's not why I did it. I don't
want anyone to find out either. I want this to be just for us."

Childe grew quiet, perhaps waiting for a response. But Dottore didn't know what else to say. So he
let his attention fall back to Dottore's hand, still in the clutches of his fidgeting fingers.

"I had an awful day." Childe muttered.

Why? That's what Dottore should have asked. But when he opened his mouth to do so, it just hung
open in silence.

Childe continued on his own. "It's hard enough, having to act like everything's normal when you're
here at the facility. All I want to do as soon as I step into the city is come back home, you know?"

Home. That simple little phrasing hit Dottore hard, and it hit him deep. Is that what this place had
become? A home? Dottore didn't think he had any right to confirm or deny that assessment. It was
a concept almost as foreign to him as love, because he had no frame of reference as to what a home
could be. He only knew that it was supposed to feel like something, and more than just an
oppressive atmosphere and stifling silence. Dottore had never felt more than that in the cottage he
grew up in. Not in the infirmary of the Sumeran village that had taken him in. Not in the
dormitories of the Academia. And certainly not any of the other living spaces he had scattered
across Teyvat now, never able to linger in any one of them for too long. But right here, right now -
this was a feeling. He couldn't identify it, and at that moment, it only felt like a distant, aching
pain. But Childe probably knew better than him what a home was supposed to feel like. So Dottore
could only assume that what he said was correct. That it was right. That it was the truth.

"I don't think I realized how much harder it would be to know you were in the city," Childe went
on. "And when I had to stop in at the bank, I realized you would probably still be there, and I-"
Childe cut himself off, looking pensive. His fingers brushed over a hangnail on Dottore's middle
finger. "I let it make me a little crazy, I guess. I wasn't thinking about anything else. I just wanted
to be with you. It's hard, not being with you."

Dottore believed that. He believed it because he felt it, too. And it felt good, to believe that the two
of them were bound in synchronicity, sharing the same thoughts and the same feelings. It felt good
enough that Dottore suddenly was not eager to ask any of the questions that had been on his mind.
He didn't say what needed to be said. He said what he wanted to say.

"I know."

Dottore noticed Childe's eyes drift over to the unmarked file sitting on the table. He lingered on it
pointedly. "Do you want to talk about what happened with work?"

"No." Dottore replied. That was the truth, as well. He had contemplated quite long enough the
thought of the Abyss slowly eating away at the very fabric of the universe. How it probably should
not have been the surprise it was, as the Abyss was wont to consume all it came in contact with.
Especially the things that Dottore held most precious.

Childe just looked back at his hand. He brought it up to his lips, not even kissing it, just pressing
Dottore's fingers against his mouth as if he were trying to stamp his fingerprints against his skin,
like he was memorizing the shape of them. "Me neither."

Another pregnant pause settled in the air. It only reminded Dottore that he should have been asking
Childe why he didn’t want to talk about work. He was almost relieved when Childe spoke in his
stead.
"It makes me nervous, when you get all quiet like this," Childe muttered, his lips brushing against
Dottore's fingers with every word. He chuckled a bit - nervous laughter. "It makes me worry that
you're thinking too hard about something."

Why would that be a bad thing, Dottore should have asked. Instead, he just sighed lightly.
Disapproving, but avoidant. "You ought to give it a try, sometime. It keeps me from making an ass
of myself."

Another little laugh bubbled out of Childe, more lighthearted than the last in response to Dottore's
wry tone. "I could probably argue with that last part, but you're not wrong. Sorry." Childe did kiss
his knuckles then, his thumb finding its way back to the hangnail and absentmindedly fidgeting
with it. His voice came again, softer than before. "Sorry."

What exactly was he sorry for, Dottore should have asked.

"It's fine." A somewhat clipped but ultimately forgiving response. Perhaps too forgiving.
Sarcastically, Dottore added, "I probably should have known better than to think you'd be capable
of keeping your fingers still."

Childe hummed in amusement, smiling against his skin. "Can you really blame me? You always
look so sexy when you're all focused on your work. The second I saw you, I couldn't think about
anything but slipping under the desk and sucking you dry."

So why was he so adamant about getting him out of that office, Dottore should have asked. "Should
I assume that's a customary way of greeting a diplomat in the harbor, then? How droll."

"Only for our most honored guests, of course," Childe laughed. He was almost hiding behind
Dottore’s hand now, flashing him a sly gaze. “In addition to several other amenities, if you were so
inclined to indulge.”

What had happened in that room before he had gotten there, Dottore should have asked. “If you’re
trying to be coy, might I suggest tittering behind your own hand? You’re not coming off quite as
demure as you might think you are.”

Childe tucked into his hand more, still giggling. He let his teeth scrape against Dottore’s nails as he
broke out into a grin, shooting the Third an impish look before seizing his hangnail between his
teeth with bizarre precision. It had already just barely been hanging onto the cuticle, so when he
reared his head back, it popped out easily. It was no more than slight pull and a meager twinge of
discomfort, but it made Dottore’s face scrunch up in distaste.

“Ow.” Dottore pulled his hand away then, bringing it up to his face and briefly inspecting it, as if
he expected to be worse off. He was not, of course, so he just rolled his eyes as he shook his fingers
out. “What the hell was that? Do they not teach Snezhnayan children the simple etiquette of not
fucking biting other peoples’ nails?”

With a minor level of disgust, Dottore noticed that Childe did not spit the little bit of skin out -
though this was certainly not the strangest thing he had ever done, nor was it even the most
unsavory thing he had ever swallowed. Childe just licked the front of his teeth salaciously, giving
Dottore a pointed, half-lidded stare.

"Maybe you should teach me some manners," Childe suggested lowly.

Why were they acting like nothing was wrong, Dottore should have asked. But like all of the other
things he should have asked, he did not.
"You're ridiculous," Dottore chided half-heartedly, a sigh escaping him. He let his eyes drift off to
the side, away from Childe's expectant expression. "I'm… tired."

There was silence, and Dottore did not look over to see what disappointment was surely present on
the Eleventh’s face. But after a while, Childe just took his hand again.

"That's okay," Childe said quietly, squeezing the center of his palm. "I love you."

Dottore bit the inside of his cheek. "I know."

After a moment, Childe let go of his hand. His arms came up around Dottore's neck. He pulled
himself in close, nuzzling his face against Dottore's scarred cheek. He pressed a kiss there. It was
tender. It lingered. Then, his lips ghosted across his skin until they got to his ear. Dottore would
have expected another kiss there, maybe even a daring flick of the tongue against his ear lobe, one
last attempt to push things a little further. But there was no advance for Dottore to spurn, just the
sensation of gentle breaths caressing the inner folds of his ear.

"Have you ever thought about just leaving everything behind?" It was almost less than a whisper,
something that Dottore had to strain his ears to hear despite it being spoken directly next to them.
Childe's voice suddenly sounded so distant, so desperate to close a gap between them that didn't
physically exist. "I know we can't. But have you ever thought about it?"

Dottore could not bring himself to reply. It was not for lack of an answer. He knew his answer.
Right now, he knew it far more intimately than Childe could possibly understand.

Unable to speak, Dottore just wrapped his arms around the Eleventh's waist and hugged him until
their bodies were flush with one another. The small, felicitous exhale it drew out of Childe kissed
the shell of his ear and made him shiver.

After a second, Childe whispered to him again. "I want it to be just us. I want us to be the only
thing that matters. I wish we could be."

Dottore swallowed thickly. "There's still too much left to lose."

"I know," Childe breathed. He hugged Dottore's neck a little tighter, but his mouth stayed right at
the Third's ear. "But if it ever came to that, you know I'd take care of you, right?"

Dottore's heart caught in his throat. He tried to swallow again, but it wouldn't go down. It just stuck
there, aching in his trachea, choking him, smothering him. Dottore dug his nails into Childe's back,
and the younger man must have felt it, he must have known what it meant, because he just gently
hushed him.

"It's okay," Childe cooed. "I'll take care of you. No matter what happens, I'll always take care of
you."

Dottore believed him. With every fiber of his being, he believed those words.

He knew Childe meant what he said. Despite everything else that had gone unsaid, he knew that
much was true. He did not know anything of love, or of home, or what it meant to truly be taken
care of, but Dottore knew Childe. He knew his word was good, and that it was right, and that it
was the truth.

Dottore knew everything was going to be okay.

~*~*~*~*~*~
If they had been asked to pinpoint when the changes began, most probably would have said it was
about three or four months ago. Right around the time of Tsuji’s death, the event that had sent
Dottore scrambling back to Liyue Harbor in a frenzy. Though this, of course, was not known by
anyone but himself. To the rest of the soldiers stationed in the city, it was just a nondescript point
in time, and apparently not even one that they all would have agreed on. But regardless of when
exactly it had started, the men were now all unified in understanding one simple truth; something
was not right with the Eleventh Harbinger.

This is what Dottore was told, the following day, at a small inn just outside the city. It would not
have been wise to have such a conversation outside the bank, so he and the night guard, Nadia, had
arranged to meet here when she would be off duty. There was not much traffic there, and Dottore
had taken the liberty of greasing the innkeeper's palm to assure that the eyes of the staff would be
turned in the other direction. It was just the two of them out there on the terrace, as Dottore leaned
over the railing, staring vacantly out at landscape that was rapidly becoming featureless and blurry
at the edges. There was nothing to interrupt the girl's story, and Dottore listened to all of it, even as
the leaves on the trees slowly lost their definition.

At first, their commander just seemed distant. Maybe even a little forgetful. The names of soldiers
that he had known for years seemed to slip from the tip of his tongue. He was sloppy in missions
with not much at stake, and eventually he would forgo these kinds of missions entirely, leaving
them solely in the care of his subordinates. It hadn't always been like that; he was usually known to
take on duties below his station, simply to assure that they were done. Anything to keep things
running smoothly. Maybe even just to lift the weight off of someone else's shoulders. But
somewhere along the line, he had seemed to grow disinterested in the comfort of his own retinue.
He was unresponsive to any concerns that were raised in regards to their work environment, and
eventually, he cut off contact with all but his highest ranking, closest officers. He would only
accept correspondence through them, and even then, he had apparently grown testy about being
brought anything that he did not consider “need-to-know” intel. In the wake of all this, he barely
spoke to anyone in his retinue anymore, beyond one or two distracted sentences in passing. Some of
the soldiers hadn’t even seen him in weeks. As a collective, they sometimes didn't see him for days
at a time. Nadia said that before yesterday, no one had seen him in a week.

Dottore had arrived in Liyue two days prior to his meeting. Childe had still gone out for those days,
same as he always did. But it wasn't as if he had lied straight to Dottore’s face. Childe never said he
was going to work. And Dottore, of course, had not asked.

Nobody knew where he went in his absence, only that it had become a blessing compared to his
presence. His mood had been shifting wildly, swinging from morose and irritable to downright
manic at the drop of a hat. A few weeks prior, they had received a new batch of recruits from
Snezhnayan. Childe had been brought in to officially initiate them, and unprompted, had suggested
a "friendly" spar to get them warmed up. The new recruits had only considered it an honor to see
the Eleventh in action, up close and personal. But more than that, they knew they could not decline
him. Nadia said some of them had been young. Even younger than Childe himself.

That "friendly" spar had ended in half the recruits being unfit for duty. The luckiest of them were
able to walk away from it with no more than minor head injuries or a few cracked ribs. Some were
not so fortunate. One's tibia had been snapped clean in two. Another one's collarbone had been
fractured. And another one had received a blow to the head so severe that his eyeball had been
partially dislodged from the socket. He survived, and was now preparing to be sent out onto the
field again, after being cleared as having no lasting traumatic brain injuries.

He had been one of the younger ones, Nadia said. Couldn't have been more than sixteen. And as of
her retelling of the story, he had yet to regain the sight in that eye.
Childe seemed to think it all in fair sport. After all, he didn’t think he had misled or taken
advantage of them; he had said beforehand that he did not intend to hold back. And he certainly
hadn't.

The outbursts hadn't started until more recently. The Eleventh's soldiers knew him to be a man
without a temper. He didn't run hot; at his worst, he was only ice cold. When his authority was
threatened, he had a quiet, stony glare capable of sending grown men running for the hills, but
even this was infrequently witnessed. He had never had a fuse, let alone one that was so short that
a mere spark was enough to set off an explosion. He just didn't blow up. He didn't act out.

But not anymore. Now, he was a ticking time bomb. He had sent his fists through more walls than
could be counted. He would send his own subordinates flying, for no more reason than a minor
misstep or even an errant cough. He would tear through their enemies like tissue paper, with such
unbridled scorn that even the soldiers most familiar with his penchant for slaughter claimed that
they had never seen anything like it. He was not the commander they had once known. He was
someone else now. He was something else.

Every soldier stationed in Liyue knew this by now. They had all learned to tread carefully, to keep
their distance. Lieutenant Ekaterina was one of the few of them who was not so cautious. She was
aware of the changes overcoming him, but she could not bring herself to be as wary as any of the
others were. She had a longer history with him than Dottore had even realized. Apparently, she had
been recruited alongside him, from the bunch of prospects that Pulcinella had overseen that day he
found Childe. Ekaterina and Childe had trained together, fought together, risen through the ranks
together until the prospective Harbinger had eventually risen far above her. But she held no
resentment towards him for this. She had seen firsthand the kind of man he was, and believed in
the unparalleled, stalwart blood of a warrior that flowed through his veins. She deeply respected
him. She knew him. She trusted him.

The other soldiers were all certain he had killed her. No one had seen it happen; there had been no
false pretense there. Ekaterina had simply vanished that morning, and had still yet to be found or
recovered. There was no real basis for the accusation, other than the fact that their fears were not
unfounded.

But they knew. They knew that the Eleventh had inexplicably started down a path that he had yet
to veer from. One that he most likely would stubbornly refuse to veer from. He was unhinged. He
could not be contained, or held back. And they knew how dangerous that made him. They knew
that if anyone were to stand in his way, he would crush them beneath his feet.

It wasn't until hearing it all that Dottore finally understood the hushed words he had shared with
Nadia the night before, just before making his way out of the city and back to the facility.

She had told him that she didn't want his money. She wanted something else. She wanted a way
out. Two ways out, to be precise.

"That's no kind of bargain, girl," Dottore had hissed, bristling at the thought of being unable to
secure her loyalty with Mora. "Desertion is not something taken lightly in the Fatui. I have no way
of guaranteeing you won't eventually get caught."

Nadia had just shaken her head adamantly, lowering her voice further. "We don't need a guarantee.
We just need a chance."

Dottore was not eager to accept such a deal, knowing how likely it was that she and whoever else
she intended on bringing with her would simply be captured and tortured for information on their
little escape. It would come right back to him, without a doubt. But she wouldn't budge. And
Dottore had been desperate.

Now, having finally reached the end of her account, she sucked in a sharp breath. She hesitated for
a moment, perhaps waiting for Dottore to speak, but he would not. He only stood there numbly,
staring off into nothingness, trying to straddle the thin line between letting every little detail settle
into the grooves of his memory, and yet trying not to think about a single part of it. If he
contemplated it too much here, he had no idea what it would do to him. Though it certainly would
not be something he wanted an audience for.

"Vlad and I have already made requests for transfer," she blurted out suddenly. That was a new
name, and Dottore could only assume that Vlad was the other party he had agreed to ship off with
her. He did not ask for clarification. He did not care. "Several of them. And we're not the only ones.
But we just never hear any word back. It just seems like the correspondence never goes through.
We think he's been intercepting the orders. That's why…."

She trailed off. She was quiet for a moment, seeming pensive.

"We… we're all beginning to think he's trying to keep us all in the harbor," Nadia said finally. "We
don’t know why. Maybe he’s just trying to keep everything concealed. But nobody can seem to get
out of Liyue. Vlad tries to make it seem better than it is. He says that as long as we keep our heads
down, everything will blow over in due time, but-”

Nadia gulped audibly before continuing, and when she spoke again her voice had gone hoarse. “I
think he’s going to get us all killed. One way or another, something bad is going to happen here. I
can feel it. Nothing is right. That’s why…. That’s why anything is better than this.”

Dottore grimaced, still not looking back at her. “I’ve already made some arrangements.” Dottore
said lethargically. “I can get you an excuse to leave your post and an unmarked boat to Inazuma.
Nothing more. What you do from there isn’t my problem.”

“Thank you, Lord Dottore.” Nadia muttered.

“You can’t ever go back to Snezhnaya, you know,” Dottore droned, and he glanced over at her
then with a cold, listless gaze. He was still uneasy about their arrangement, given how easy it
would be for it to come back and bite him in the ass. Money was always easier. It could be written
off as something else, or written off entirely, and what the other party did with their wealth was
their business - or their folly - alone. Once the money was out of his hands, he was no longer
obligated to claim ownership to it. But this, in essence, was just his word. And if things went bad,
his word was something he could not avoid owning up to. So he narrowed his eyes at her in
warning as she wrung her hands anxiously. “If they go looking for you, that’s the first place they’ll
go.”

“I know,” Nadia muttered. Her tone was morose, but it did not match her expression. That had gone
distant, suddenly, just as his had just been, but there was a soft wistfulness to her features as she
breathed a gentle sigh. “We… we can figure that out. It’s not like we have any better options. But
we’ll find a way. We just need a chance to start fresh. Everything will work out from there. We’ll
make it work.”

Dottore bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste iron. It was bitter. It stung. He tried to
convince himself that it was the only thing that did. He looked off over the horizon again with a
scowl.

“Spare me the details.” He muttered curtly. He steepled his fingers in front of his face, tapping
them against the bottom of his mask.
There was silence again. Dottore didn't know what else to say, or what else could have been said.
But just as he was about to send her off, she spoke up suddenly.

"Are you going to kill him, Lord Dottore?" Nadia asked. For the first time since she had started
speaking, her voice wavered. Dottore shot a glare back in her direction, but she did not appear to
have the courage to meet it. She just stared ahead of her, seemingly frozen in place.

Dottore did not answer her.

"I-" She stuttered. "I would hope that you wouldn't."

That threw Dottore off, enough that the venomous, disregarding response he had planned stuck in
his throat. As he processed those words, he watched her blink rapidly, as if breaking herself out of a
trance. She gave a nervous glance in his direction, shaking her head slightly.

"I…. My apologies, my lord," Nadia said quickly. "It's just- I… don't think Lord Tartaglia is a cruel
man. Perhaps that's foolish of me to say, at this point, but…. I could always understand Ekaterina's
faith in him. B-before all this, he would come visit me at my post some nights, just to check in on
things. He… we would talk. He noticed that I often got letters from my younger brother back
home. He liked hearing about that. He told me he also has a brother around his age. Anthon. He
told me all about him. He said he thought Anthon and my brother might get along well. And- Well,
it was… it was just very nice, to be able to talk about family. I really felt like he understood. Like
he really cared about all of it. He was…. He was-"

Nadia's voice had become thick with emotion, and she cleared her throat before pressing her lips
into a tight line. It took a moment for her to compose herself. But when she spoke again, her words
still quavered.

"He is not in his right mind, Lord Dottore," Nadia croaked. "He really isn’t. I don’t know what
could have happened to him, but something must have. It’s been too horrible, to watch it all turn
into this. He is- He was a great man. So I would…. I pray by Her Majesty’s grace that he is still
able to regain his senses one day. That is all. I do not mean to second guess you, my lord. It
certainly is not my place to pry.”

She cleared her throat again, looking away a little sheepishly. She probably did not expect a
response. And she shouldn’t have.

Dottore would not have been obligated to give her an answer. In fact, it would have been wiser to
stay silent. But a reply slipped from his lips anyway.

"I'm not killing him." It was delivered too defensively, with a bit too much conviction, but he had
nothing to prove to that girl. It had been for his own ears. Without even thinking about it, the
reassurance had left him unbidden. Dottore did not think about the implications of that.

Nadia was surprised at his response, glancing over at him, jaw hanging slightly slack.

"I-" Nadia hesitated, worrying at her bottom lip. After a moment, she simply gave a little bow of
her head. "Thank you, Lord Dottore."

Dottore looked away again, standing up straight and giving a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Enough. Tonight, an agent will approach you at your post. He will take over your station and
instruct you on meeting with the ferryman in the harbor. Beyond that, it's out of my hands. I'm
going to assume you will be capable of wrangling the other one yourself."

"Yes, of course, my lord." Nadia said, bowing again. "I… cannot thank you enough, Lord Dottore.
We will be eternally in your debt."

Dottore scoffed bitterly. "There is no debt to be paid, girl. You should have just taken the Mora.
You're a fool, as far as I'm concerned."

Nadia just looked at him blankly for a moment. Then, the barest of chuckles escaped her lips. It
was clipped, and almost humorless. But that dreadful wistful look made its way to her face again,
and her eyes drifted out to the Liyuean scenery.

"Yes, my lord. I probably am." She did not look displeased to be saying that. Dottore could have
almost been compelled to slap her across the face for it. Instead, he absently followed her gaze out
over the terrace. He was disinterested in the dull, formless shapes he found there.

The world seemed to have lost its color.

~*~*~*~*~*~

None of it had really sunk in until Dottore was back at the facility. He had pointedly not given it a
chance to, being in the presence of a stranger, and an inferior to boot. He had kept his mind, and
therefore his expression, blank.

That turned out to be his own folly, as processing the information just told to him could not happen
organically. The recognition instead hit Dottore like a freight train, suddenly and all at once, and it
brought with it a wave of nausea that sent him running for the washroom. After narrowly avoiding
vomiting all over himself, Dottore turned the faucet to the sink, letting the water run and wash
away the evidence of his dread. He hunched over it, a cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck
as he attempted to recollect himself. He watched the contents of his stomach spiral down the drain,
wishing that the rest of him could be swept away so easily.

He needed to get a hold of himself. He was literally imagining himself spiraling downwards.
Dottore tried to breathe deep, focusing on the white noise of running water and attempting to
soothe the cacophony of information that began to make his head throb.

He did not entertain the fact that the girl could have simply been lying to him about everything,
because if he started doing that, he knew he would go crazy from it. It was too tempting to try
convincing himself that the girl could have just been lying through her teeth - as humans were wont
to do, and oh, how painfully aware of that fact he had become - so Dottore pushed the thought out
of his mind. It didn’t make much sense, anyway. Desertion was no meager crime, and he sincerely
doubted she would go through with something like that for no good reason.

So, assuming that everything he had heard was the complete, unadulterated truth, where did that
leave him? What did he know beyond a shadow of a doubt, what conclusions could be reached
without speculation?

To start, it was now exceedingly likely that Childe was losing his fucking mind.

It wasn't like the things he was doing would have bothered Dottore on their own. The Third did not
delude himself; he had done just as bad, if not worse in his time as a Harbinger. Some of the others
were even worse than that. The Fatui was not some kind of halfway home for wayward souls. It
was a military commanded by an Archon whose blood ran ice cold. It was a ruthless empire that
had been built on the backs of the Tsaritsa's loyal followers. Dottore had helped set that very
foundation. He knew better than most what was at stake. Bloodshed, no matter how senseless, was
simply part of the process. He knew this, as did all the other Harbingers.
But that was just it. The other Harbingers knew this, but Childe was not like the rest of them. He
had always been the black sheep. He did not consider his duties a cross to bear, but a medal of
honor. His blood was not ice, but a roaring, exultant flame. He was ruthless only to those that
opposed him. To all others, he extended mercy. He had never been without mercy.

He was not like this. He had changed. Something had changed. And it had happened fast, and
seemingly without warning. But why?

The only answer that made any bit of sense was the one eating away at Dottore's throat in the form
of lingering stomach acid. He knew better than anyone what was happening, and had understood it
from the moment he had stepped out of that bank the day before. But he had stubbornly pretended
as if he didn’t, like he wasn’t intimately familiar with those signs, which were now far too obvious
to ignore. Between what he knew already, and what he had learned today, it could only be the
result of corruption. It was all so dreadfully by the book, it could be read no other way. The change
in personality, the mood swings, the mania. The changes with his body. The growth spurt - Childe
had grown another inch in the time between Dottore’s breakdown and now, a fact that the Third
could do nothing but simply take note of for lack of any other means of action to take. That made
Dottore feel stupid, now, wondering if he had just made more of an effort to intervene, maybe he
could have seen something.

But what could have been done? What the fuck was he supposed to do about that? Cut him off at
the ankles and simply pretend the inches weren’t there? There was nothing he possibly could have
done, nothing to relate the phenomenon back to to warrant significant concern, and he had been
looking, this time he had actually been fucking looking and somehow he had still missed
everything. There had been nothing else wrong, he didn't know, Childe hadn't-

Childe hadn't said anything. Not one word. Why? Why was that?

Maybe he didn't know. That's how it went, sometimes; sometimes they didn't know they were
going crazy. But if that was the case, why hadn't he exhibited any of this behavior in front of
Dottore? Why had he not seen even the slightest inkling of any of it?

Dottore had been looking. That was the thought that threatened to swallow up all else, the one that
seized Dottore by the throat and squeezed for all it was worth. He had been looking. For the last
several months, he had done nothing but look. He had kept that boy in his sights above all else,
every hair on his head, every freckle, every movement, every laugh, every last breath, every time
he ever looked at Dottore and told him he loved him - nothing had been unaccounted for. And he
had still missed it.

He should have seen it. Why hadn't he just fucking seen it? He should have known. He should have
known. He should have-

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Dottore forced his body into motion, stiffly bringing a shaking hand under the stream of running
water. He brought it up to his mouth, swished it around to rid it of the film of bile still clinging to
his taste buds, and spat it back into the sink. He got another handful of water and splashed it
against his face.

He was panicking. He needed to calm down. He couldn't afford to panic. There was no need to
panic. He could figure this out. Childe was not every other man that had ever succumbed to
corruption; he was a special case. The Foul Legacy was different from his own devices or the
Delusions. Dottore just didn't know the whole story. He couldn't possibly know. Only Childe
would know.
The soldiers gossiped worse than maids. Again, Dottore told himself this. And even if everything
was true, he had already established that the things Childe was doing, in and of themselves, were
not necessarily the problem. It was the unknowns that were a concern. It could have been as easy
an explanation as Childe having run himself ragged as the Tsaritsa's agenda reached its climax,
like Dottore had, like all the Harbingers had. He could have just picked up worse habits from one
of his seniors. In fact, it was extremely likely that he had simply picked up these habits from
Dottore himself. The Third did not delude himself; he was in no place to cast judgement on the boy
for cruelty or deception. And it wasn't as if he had lied. Dottore simply had not been asking the
right questions.

But Dottore could rectify that now. He knew the questions. He just needed the answers.

There was no need to panic. He just had to talk to him. Once he talked to him, then he could figure
out the next course of action. Childe was still out, still out somewhere, Gods only knew where at
that point-

Dottore splashed more water on his face. Stop. That didn’t matter. Childe would come back. He
always came back. And when he did, they could straighten everything out from there. He just
needed to talk to him. Then, Childe would set everything straight. He knew he would. And his
word was the only word Dottore needed. Childe would tell him everything he needed to know. And
he would believe him.

Dottore doused himself with more water. He watched it all spin down the drain. Gurgling
downwards, being swallowed upon by the yawning void in the center, down into the pipes that
were too dark to see the bottom of.

He would believe him. He had to believe him. There were no other options.

"Dottore?"

Dottore sucked in a sharp breath, whipping around towards the door hard enough to bruise his hip
on the edge of the sink.

Childe was standing in the doorway, brows already knit together in concern, and he immediately
held his hands up in yield at the Third's surprise.

"Ah- Sorry." Childe said softly, like he was trying to soothe a startled animal. Dottore could only
imagine that he probably didn't look far off from that. "I didn't mean to scare you. What are you
doing?"

"Shit-" Dottore gasped. He had a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the sink, silently cursing his
heart for pounding so incessantly against his ribs. "I- Nothing. Nothing."

Childe's eyes briefly fell to the running water behind him. Then, he looked back up, clearly
unconvinced by the claim. "Are you… okay? You don't look so good."

"I-" Dottore reached behind himself blindly, scrambling for the faucet. He turned it off,
swallowing roughly. He didn't know why he did it as if he had been caught in the midst of doing
something wrong. He didn't know why his stomach refused to uncoil and his breathing failed to
steady, even though the shock of being caught off guard should have started to wear off already.
This was what he had wanted. Childe was here now. Dottore could be up front about his concerns.
He could get the answers he needed. But when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing but a vague
explanation crawled out of it. "I'm- I'm just not… feeling too well."
"Oh." Childe gave him a sympathetic look, walking over to him with a hand extended. He pushed
back the hair clinging to Dottore's damp forehead before pressing his palm against it. "Do you need
anything? Have you eaten yet today? I could make you something."

Dottore had not eaten since yesterday, and the mere idea of having to force something down his
throat in this state almost caught his gag reflex. He swallowed again, almost frozen under the
Eleventh's touch, trying not to meet his eyes.

"I'm fine," Dottore said quickly. That was a blatant lie. The first one in a long time. The
significance of that did not go unnoticed, and it made his stomach turn again. But it opened the
floodgates, and in an effort to appease him, more lies poured out unbidden. "I- I ate earlier. I don't
need anything. I just got a little light-headed."

Childe grimaced slightly. But if he didn't believe the Third, he chose not to vocalize it. Instead, he
took his hand away from Dottore's forehead, and in its place he leaned it and pressed his lips
against it. They lingered there, in a tender, nurturing gesture that made Dottore's eyes flutter closed
as his throat suddenly tightened. In spite of himself, the frantic pace of his heart began to temper
itself.

"You feel okay." Childe said this pensively after withdrawing. He brushed more hair out of
Dottore's face, giving him a small smile. "You want to just lay down for a minute?"

No. He didn't. He couldn't. There were too many things to tend to first, too many questions on the
tip of his tongue that doggedly would not leave it for reasons unknown. His mouth floundered
open for a moment.

"Why are you back so early?" Dottore blurted out. It wasn't a question that needed to be asked, but
it was a start. Childe gave him a quizzical little look. He was still absently smoothing the edges of
Dottore's hair back.

"There just wasn't much I needed to take care of today," Childe answered. "So I left. I'd rather
spend time with you than sit and twiddle my thumbs for no reason. Why?"

Childe was practically just petting him, now. There were no more hairs out of place to straighten
out, but his fingers just continued languidly brushing against his hairline.

"Where were you?" A question as abrupt as the last. It would not have been possible for Dottore to
gracefully lead into it. It was closer to what he needed to say, but not close enough. Still, hearing
himself ask it aloud made his stomach drop.

Another funny look made its way to Childe's face, his features scrunching up in bemusement.

"Uh. The harbor?" Childe responded, as if it was a silly question to ask. "Where else?"

Dottore suddenly realized that he should have asked Nadia if Childe had been seen today. But she
was the night guard… would she have even known if he had been? Did he really need to ask her at
all? Maybe it was a silly question. There was no way for Dottore to confirm or deny his answer.
But did he really need to? Dottore should have believed him. He did believe him. He had to believe
him.

"Dottore, come on," Childe said suddenly, and Dottore felt his hand being pried off the edge of the
sink. His eyes snapped back into focus instantly, after not even realizing they had gone out, and
Childe was looking at him with brows knit together again. "Let's go to bed. You really don't look
very good. You seem kind of out of it."
This, Dottore believed. He could feel the remains of a cold sweat clinging to his clammy skin,
made even more obvious by the warm, steady hands that were soon holding his own. Childe
tugged him away from the sink, gently, as if he were concerned too much force would cause the
Third to go toppling over.

Dottore's feet refused to budge. He had to talk to him. He knew he did. He needed to straighten
everything out in his head. That was why he looked so terrible. That was why he felt terrible. He
needed to stand firm.

But more than that, Dottore needed to keep believing him.

The mere thought of possibly not believing the words coming out of Childe's mouth almost made
Dottore's knees buckle. But somehow, he was able to let himself be led out of the washroom.

Why couldn't he stop moving forward? Why couldn't he speak? Why was it so easy to let Childe
take him to bed?

Because it was just that simple; it was easy. It was easy to let him lead, and it was easy to feel a
comforting squeeze around his hand and thoughtlessly squeeze back. It was easy to believe Childe,
when he did not have to give Dottore any answers that could be disbelieved.

Even in the thick of overwhelming doubt, Dottore knew that the days of missing things as they
occured right in front of his face had long since passed. He knew that now, if Childe gave him a
reason not to believe in him, Dottore would see it. He wouldn't miss that. He would know.

Cowardice. That was the thing gripping Dottore's chest like a vice, he realized. Because believing
Childe was now far too easy. It was second nature. He had become the only thing he could believe
in.

Dottore was not yet prepared for just how hard not believing him would be.

So he went silent as Childe brought him over to the bed. Childe invited him to take off his shoes
and coat, and he did so without question. Childe urged him to sit down, and Dottore did. His body
would not allow him to do anything else but acquiesce. His throat had turned to cotton, as if to filter
out any questions that might dare to try making it through to his lips.

He was a coward. That was all there was to it.

Childe waited for him to settle in before leaning over him, smoothing his hair back again.

"Hey. You can relax now," Childe cooed. His hands moved to Dottore's shoulders, and he started
massaging them. "You're so tense right now. What's up with you?"

Dottore swallowed, and it felt like gulping for air and only taking in sand. He still couldn't meet
Childe's eyes.

"I'm-" Dottore choked, voice coming out hoarse. He tried swallowing again, the results as
unpleasant as before. "I think- I think it's all catching up to me."

That was not necessarily a lie. He was counting them now, for reasons beyond his understanding.
He would not count this one, for how vague it was. He caught the way Childe looked at him then,
his eyes brimming with understanding.

"Work?" Childe asked softly. Dottore pursed his lips before nodding tersely. He would have to
count that one, now. Somehow, someway, despite the last remaining rationale Dottore had that told
him how ludicrous it was in these circumstances, the lie sent a pang of guilt through him that made
his shoulders stiffen further. Childe clicked his tongue, still trying to rub the tension out of him.
"I'm sorry."

Dottore gripped the edge of the mattress tightly, making Childe's efforts worthless. He started to
feel sick again. It hadn't really left him in the first place; it only waned, ebbing and flowing like the
tide, and the imagery conjured up by that thought made him more nauseous still. It was a sense of
vertigo with his feet flat on the floor. It wasn't as if the room was spinning. He was spinning. If it
kept going, he would soon spin out of control.

But then, Childe's hands stilled. He leaned down a little bit further, and as he did, one of his hands
came up under Dottore's chin. He tilted his head up. All it took was a meager lift of his finger;
Dottore did not need to be urged further. When he was finally forced to meet Childe's eyes, Dottore
saw desire there. But there was more than just that. It was sympathy. Understanding. Wisdom.
Nurturing. Boldness.

Dottore wondered if that was what love was. If it was all those things put together, or if those
elements were just incidental. If those things were love, then Dottore had never been further away
from it. He may not have been sure what it was, but he could guess what it was not - and it
probably was not cowardice.

Childe leaned in closer. He squeezed Dottore's shoulder.

"Why don't you let me take your mind off things?" Childe suggested in a low, sultry tone.

And that was the easiest thing of all. It was so easy that Dottore's hands, which had been frozen
stiff at his sides, were at Childe's lapels before he even realized what he was doing. But he didn't
stop, fisting his hands into his jacket. As Dottore urgently closed the gap between them, a small,
pathetic sound escaped his throat, caught between a whimper and a growl. It may have been a last
attempt to dislodge all the things he needed to say from his craw, or simply a cry for help.
Regardless of what it was meant to be, it died out against Childe's lips.

Childe met his vim tenfold, letting their tongues slide together between their open mouths,
immediately urging Dottore to lie back. He pinned him back against the mattress with a grunt,
bringing one knee up on the bed at the Third's hip, while he positioned the other between his
thighs. Dottore could feel him there, the heat of him, and his hips began to move of their own
volition, grinding against him as his hands sought to fist themselves in Childe's hair. He was
already writhing against him like some kind of wanton whore, letting Childe taste his teeth and
tongue and whatever the hell else he wanted with strangled, guttural moans, and he didn't care. He
didn't want to think about what he looked like now, and he didn't want to think about the after,
even though logic dictated that the after would have to come eventually.

After a while, Childe finally was forced to come up for air, despite Dottore's best effort to drag him
back down for more. It was dangerous, parting their lips, because Dottore knew exactly what was
still bubbling just below the surface, threatening to boil over, but Childe's hands were already
working to unbutton the Third's shirt.

"Oh, fuck," Childe laughed breathlessly. He leaned back in as he undid white cotton shirt, and
Dottore shamelessly opened his mouth to him, expecting another kiss. Instead, Childe let out a
devious chuckle, sucking Dottore's presented tongue between his lips before releasing it with a wet
popping sound, giving it a playful lap with his own. "I'm gonna fucking eat you alive, if you keep
acting like this."

It made Dottore's breath hitch, and Childe seized his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down
hard. The moan this elicited out of Dottore was obscene, and his hips bucked upwards, desperate to
meet Childe's. But Childe was already moving again, not even stopping to nurse Dottore's bruised,
swelling lip. He was making his way downwards, dragging his tongue down Dottore's neck,
scraping his teeth against his collarbone, catching a nipple between his lips a sucking it into his
mouth, each moment fleeting, meager distractions in the way of what he really had his sights on.
His fingers made deft work of the belt cinched around Dottore's waist, not even bothering to undo
anything else before yanking the Third's pants and underwear down around his thighs brusquely.
Childe took his cock into his mouth like he was starving for it, like his only purpose on this earth
was to draw his tongue along the underside of his length as he pulled him into the back of his
throat, to drag even more filthy, debased groans out from Dottore.

And Dottore was desperate. He didn't think he had ever felt so desperate in his life, and not just for
the throbbing arousal pooling within him that made him twitch within the hot suction of Childe's
mouth.

Childe wanted to help him take his mind off things, and now, Dottore was more than willing to
allow it. In that moment, he would have been more than willing to stay like that until the end of his
days, and never have to think about anything else ever again. But his mind had yet to empty out
completely. There was still more there. Still a nagging understanding that out of all the things
Dottore should have been doing now, this was not fucking one of them. The feeling felt like it was
eating away at his trachea bit by bit, making his head swim in delirium as he was torn between
blind lust and devastating guilt. He choked, and was not sure if it was bile or words that he choked
on. He screwed his eyes shut, thrusting his hips up into Childe's mouth erratically, trying to let go
of everything, trying to just feel that and nothing else.

After a moment, Childe let his cock slip out of his mouth, immediately taking it in his hand and
pumping his length steadily. He did it a little slowly, too slowly, and Dottore bucked up into his
grip with a whine of frustration.

"Look at me," Childe breathed suddenly. His other hand got caught in Dottore's pants, which had
since pooled around his calves. Without missing a beat, he quickly tugged them down the rest of
the way, shoving them off to the side before dragging his tongue from the base of Dottore's cock to
the very tip in one long, languid stripe. "Look at me. Watch me fucking gag on it. I- ah- want you
to be watching when I make you come. That's what you want, right? Mm, you wanna come all over
my pretty little face? Oh, I want it all over. I want- ngh- I want you all over. I want you dripping
down my fucking face, oh, fuck."

Shit. Fucking goddamn shit. That almost did the trick right then and there, both in clearing out his
mind and in bringing him to orgasm, but Dottore sucked in a sharp breath and just wordlessly
obliged him. He propped himself up on one elbow and craned his neck downwards, and the sight
before him made his breath hitch.

But it was not because Childe was beautiful, or because he was obscenely alluring, even though he
was both of these things, and it was still nearly enough to make Dottore forget everything else. It
was not for the way that he locked eyes with him, nuzzling his face against his weeping cock and
lavishing it with soft, almost chaste kisses, as if it weren't the most deliciously filthy thing Dottore
had ever seen in his life, like Childe was simply kissing a lover's cheek.

It was because Dottore didn't miss things anymore. And he could not miss the fact that Childe
didn't look quite right.

His eyes were dull, not just glazed over in lust, not the same subtle, lightless gaze he usually
sported, but duller than Dottore had seen them in a while. Despite this, his pupils were blown out to
an absurd degree, almost completely swallowing up the dark pools of blue that surrounded them. If
he hadn't been currently sucking the Third off with a fervor that suggested his life depended on it,
Dottore would have thought he looked sedated. But he wasn't listless, he wasn't subdued, and he
didn't even look tired. It was like something was missing. Like there was some part of him that
wasn't all there.

Childe took him back in his mouth. Dottore's body couldn't catch up to the cold dread that settled
over him, tightening his grip on the fistful of red hair he still had laced between his fingers, unsure
if he meant to pull him off or push him down. His hips would not stop moving, and waves of
pleasure continued to roll through him with every thrust into Childe's spasming throat. He was
choking and retching around him, but the Eleventh would not stop, simply closing his eyes as
strained tears pricked at the corners of them.

Dottore sat up a little more, mostly out of reflex as a sudden, intense pang of arousal made his
abdomen tighten, but he was also at odds with himself, just trying to get upright in an effort to clear
his head. Something wasn't right. This wasn't right. He needed to stop.

"Ch-Childe," Dottore croaked with tremendous effort. Childe just moaned, the vibrations of his
mouth making Dottore's cock twitch. Dottore gasped, but tried again. "Childe."

It wasn't grabbing his attention. Of course it wasn't. It was a dreadfully feeble attempt on Dottore's
part, and he clenched his jaw and tugged at the handful of hair in his grasp.

"Childe, w-" Childe’s tongue swirled around the head of his cock, and it drew a shuddering exhale
out of Dottore. "W-wait-"

Childe slowed his pace, almost imperceptibly, maybe just assuming that Dottore wanted to drag it
out a little longer. But he did not stop, and Dottore had to pull his hair even harder.

"Childe. Childe. Childe, wa-" Dottore let out a low whine of frustration as the words caught in his
throat again, and he punched his free hand against the mattress. He just had to fucking speak. Why
was that suddenly so hard? It felt like his throat was closing up on him, but he finally mustered
enough will to let something of substance force its way through. "Childe. A-are you okay?"

"Mm hm." Childe didn't stop, just letting out a distracted, salacious hum, and it sent more tingles of
pleasure through Dottore's aching cock. Dottore gritted his teeth through it, forcing himself to sit
up the rest of the way.

"Childe, Childe, wait, please," Dottore begged, panting. He continued tugging at Childe's hair, and
brought his other hand to his forehead, pressing against it in an attempt to urge him off. "I-I'm seri-
Look at me. Look at me, please."

Childe stopped then, but only partially withdrew, Dottore's cock still half in his mouth when he
finally opened his eyes back up. His eyebrows had knit together quizzically, but his eyes were the
same as they had been; not quite right. Seeing them again both stoked Dottore's resolve and simply
helped nudge him out of the mood, as his dread finally began to outweigh the desire coursing
through him.

"Childe," Dottore pushed him back with a bit more force, and Childe somewhat begrudgingly
released him. "Really. Are you- are you okay?"

"Mm hm." Another vague hum. He still wasn't catching the urgency to Dottore's voice, as
evidenced by the way he turned his head to nip at the inside of Dottore's thigh. "Come on. I want
you to finish on my face."
"Childe, please, I-" Dottore let out a quiet hiss as Childe's hand found its way back to his erection,
swiping his thumb across the head teasingly as he sucked at a bit of skin on his inner thigh. Dottore
covered his hand with his own, trying to get him to stop, but his wandering fingers were relentless.
Dottore grimaced, clinging to his newfound resolve and blurting out the first thing that came to
mind. "What- what did you do in the harbor today?"

It was a question, at the very least, but one still dripping with cowardice, so far from the heart of
the matter that it just made Childe snort in amusement. "Nothing worth talking with my mouth full,
I promise you."

"No, that's not-" Dottore struggled, pushing Childe's head back again, only for him to come back in
and press his lips against the side of his cock. "Childe, you need to listen to me, I need to know-"

"Dottore, come on," Childe sighed lightly, licking and sucking his way from shaft to tip. He was
doing it a bit frantically now, and Dottore could see him rocking himself, maybe just to gain some
friction against the inside of his own pants. "Just relax."

"Childe, just let me talk-"

"Later." Childe breathed again. Annoyance was beginning to pull at his tone, and when he gazed
back up at Dottore, he looked exasperated. "Later. I need you to come for me now."

"It's not- it's not a fucking parlor trick, Childe, I just need-" Dottore was getting frustrated too, but
with himself moreso than with Childe. This was pathetic. It was ridiculous. He was acting like
Childe had him shackled to the bed, when all he had to do was just fucking speak, just tell him
what he needed to say and what they needed to do and shake off the awful guilt that was drilling
little holes all through his chest. "We- we really need to talk about s-"

"We don't." Childe snapped suddenly. He wore his annoyance plain on his face now, which was
just bizarre considering how desperately he was still lapping at Dottore, his tongue and lips
ravishing him with all the tenderness of a passionate kiss. But his face had gone dark, matching his
eyes, and it made Dottore's stomach turn.

It was enough. He couldn't let it go on a moment longer. He grabbed onto Childe's shoulders, and
he roughly shoved them back.

Childe didn't budge an inch.

"Childe." Dottore warned quietly. "Enough."

"Dottore." That sounded like a warning as well, almost bone-chillingly so, but his voice softened
into light exasperation by the time he spoke next. "Just relax."

"Childe, no." Dottore insisted, trying to push him again, but he didn't have the leverage or the
strength necessary to do so. A new kind of dread began to set in, and he just kept pushing. "Move."

"Dottore," Childe sighed, like he was scolding him for something foolish.

"Childe, I'm serious," Dottore said, voice starting to go shrill in urgency. He could feel panic rising
within him again. "Get off."

"Dottore." Stern. Unyielding. Chilling.

"Childe, stop."
"Dottore."

"I said you need to fucking st-"

The rest of the sentence was lost as Childe suddenly swallowed him back up, taking him down to
the base in one abrupt, jarring instance. Dottore's breath hitched in surprise, and he cursed himself
for the way the heat of Childe’s mouth still sent a shiver up his spine, his tongue spreading out
along the underside of his cock hungrily. Dottore's hands flew to his head, grabbing twin fistfuls of
hair and pulling at it hard.

"Childe!" Dottore shrilled. "What the fuck is wrong with y-"

The words died out as Childe pulled back his tongue, only to extend it outwards again. But it
wasn't for the jolt of arousal it sent through him, though those were still frustratingly persistent.
Dottore's words had failed him because as Childe's tongue reached down toward the base of his
length, it hit its limit.

Then, it reached out even further.

Dottore could feel it all. He could feel it changing, stretching out further than should have been
possible, slithering its way down to the base of his cock, meeting with where his lips were
suctioned around it. Then, it started wrapping around it. It slid all the way around him, looping
around and meeting with itself back at the beginning, and Dottore could feel it squeezing him like
a snake coiling around its prey.

Dottore's mind ceased functioning. He opened his mouth to speak again, only for an obscene moan
to escape his lips, as there was no room now for anything else but the pleasure Childe brought him.
He couldn't think about anything else, not the unmistakable sensation of Childe's tongue spiraling
around him, pumping his cock with nothing but the length of the muscle. And it was unmistakable
in its familiarity; it was not an unknown feeling, strangely enough. But not like this. Never like
this.

Another guttural moan rattled out of Dottore's chest, and he doubled over on himself, only vaguely
aware that his hands were still clenching Childe's hair, still trying to pull him off even though he
was not conscious of doing so. As he leaned over, his eyes met with the Eleventh’s again. They
were still dark. Darker than dark. Emptier than empty. He was looking up at him with the face of
oblivion, and only then did he withdraw, letting Dottore's cock slide out of the back of his throat.
But as he moved, his tongue stayed in place.

It was impossibly long, at least thrice the length it should have been, and as he slowly drew his lips
back, he revealed that it was curling, ribboning all around Dottore. The color was off. It was a
sickly pinkish-grey hue. But this too, was familiar. It was too familiar. Too clear to be missed, as
every inch of it throbbed and undulated against his twitching erection.

It was the Foul Legacy's tongue. It was the Foul Legacy's tongue, coming straight out of Childe's
mouth, revoltingly too large for it, spilling out from between his teeth like a fish out of water,
floundering, fighting against its container, fighting to exist. It didn't seem real. It shouldn't have
been real. Dottore could only gape at the sight before him, feeling himself too close to the edge as
Childe let his tongue hang out of the side of his mouth, the length of it still stroking and fondling
Dottore's cock, slick and dripping with saliva.

Childe gazed up at him like this, eyes still dark.

Then, he smiled. A clear twitch upwards at the corner of his mouth.

Dottore could register nothing but pure terror as he looked down at him.

Then, Dottore came. The fact that he did so immediately brought him nothing but shame.

Childe must have seen it about to happen in his face, because his right eye closed just in time for a
spurt of cum to cover his lashes, and another one against his temple. He shifted his tongue around
to catch the remainder of it in his mouth, moaning as he pumped Dottore dry. When Dottore had
nothing more to give, Childe slowly started unfurling his tongue from around the Third's softening
cock. But he did not pull the muscle back into his mouth yet, instead letting it slither up his own
face. He lapped up the seed clinging to his lashes and the drips thickly sliding down his temple,
and only then did he let it recede back into his mouth. As it did, it seemed to just compress into
itself, fitting snugly back inside against all odds; it was changing again, right before Dottore's eyes,
and by the time he had pulled everything in, closed his mouth to swallow all of the Third's release,
and opened it back up, it was a normal, human tongue again. It was as if nothing strange had
happened at all.

Dottore's thoughts came screeching back to the front of his mind all at once. He shoved Childe
back by the shoulders again, and this time, the Eleventh teetered backwards slightly, as if there was
nothing else he could have done, like he hadn't just spent the last few minutes staring down
Dottore and silently reminding him that he was not to be overpowered - immovable and
unstoppable. Inevitable. But he let himself get thrown this time, putting space between the two, and
Dottore used the opportunity to scramble further back onto the bed.

"What the fuck was that," Dottore asked, almost moaning, the question coming out as a trembling,
breathless stream words with no real emphasis on any particular one. He was panicked, confused,
angry; it felt like he was having a fucking heart attack from how violently his heart stuttered in his
chest. He pulled himself so far back that his hand eventually fell through open space over the side
of the bed, and the only thing that made him catch himself was an instinctual urge to stay upright,
to keep his eyes laser focused on Childe no matter what else happened. "Wh-what the fuck was
that, what the fuck was that, what the fuck is wrong with you, oh Gods, what the fuck is wrong
with you, what was that, what the fuck was that, Childe, what-"

"I don't know." Childe's collected, steady tone cut clearly through Dottore's inane drivel and made
the Third’s stomach lurch forward. Childe just blinked at him a little vacantly. There was the
slightest hint of bewilderment there, like he couldn't quite understand the intensity of Dottore’s
reaction.

"What the fuck do you mean you don't fucking know?!" Dottore shrilled. His anxiety only
worsened at Childe's even temper. Dottore’s stream of consciousness spilled out from between his
lips without discipline. "Y-you told me everything was fine, you never said- You said you would
fucking tell me what was happening, I told you how important it was, you fucking knew I needed
to know and you still-"

"Dottore, calm down," Childe interrupted. He had gotten up while Dottore was babbling, and now
he crawled onto the bed and tried to outstretch a hand towards him. "You're freaking out. Let me
talk for a minute."

"Don't fucking touch me!" Dottore swung his arm out in front of him almost blindly, swatting
Childe's hand away in the process. He then held his hand out straight in front of him, to assure he
stayed beyond arm's length. "Don't- do not fucking touch me. Don't. I just need to- Sh-shit, I just
need to- You didn’t- You didn't fucking say anything, why didn’t you just-"

"Dottore, listen," Childe urged. He spoke quicker, now, to get his word in before Dottore had a
chance to intervene. "I wasn't keeping anything from you. Nothing like that has ever happened
before. I don't know what it was. I just got really worked up and it just… happened. If something
like that had happened before, I would have told you. But that was the first time."

Bullshit. Bullshit. Dottore first wanted to scream it to the heavens, but he immediately lost the will
to raise his voice. He didn't believe it, not for a second, and the realization of that suddenly sent
everything crumbling down around him. An indistinguishable sound tumbled out of Dottore's
throat. He did not know if it was a sob, a yelp, a laugh, or an attempt at language. Another one
stuck in his throat, and he bit it back, tearing his eyes away from Childe in spite of the vague fear
of what might happen when he did.

"Dottore?" Childe's voice was soft, and it felt like a slap to the face. "I'm fine. See? Nothing is
wrong. I feel-"

Dottore's hand, still reaching out to hold him back, shook wildly in his direction. At the same time,
Dottore pursed his lips and shook his head just as frantically, letting out a terse grunt. Childe
seemed to catch on, falling silent.

Dottore just needed to think. He needed to ignore the pressure behind his eyes, making his sinuses
swell and his vision go blurry; ignore the sensation of falling when he knew he was still on solid
ground. It only felt like the earth had been taken right from under his feet. He couldn't let it get to
him right now. He just needed to think.

Dottore gave himself the slightest bit of leeway; he still let himself believe Childe, one last time.
He decided that it was fine to believe him, because regardless of whether or not he was telling the
truth, it still landed him in more or less the same position. For Childe to seemingly consider this
only a minor event, barely even worthy of notice and certainly not worthy of raising one's voice,
when it was supposedly the first time such a thing had ever occurred was a scenario that didn’t
make sense. Even for a man like him, who regularly experienced his own body being reshaped and
contorted by the forces of the Abyss. If he were in his right mind, that would have definitely
elicited a significant reaction out of him.

But he probably wasn't in his right mind. Nadia had said it point blank, and Dottore had heard it, he
knew it to be a probability, but coming to terms with it was a different story.

Childe didn't see any significance in what happened because he couldn't. It was corruption, plain
and simple. That in and of itself was… horrendous to process. It made Dottore's insides twist, made
him want to sink into the floor and feed the weeds with his flesh and bone, forgoing all else just for
the opportunity to pretend it wasn't happening. But at the same time, it put things in a different
perspective. He knew he could work with this. He knew corruption. He knew what it could do to a
person, and how to handle the symptoms. He knew better than anyone else on this earth, and
because of that, he knew he had to do something.

He didn't know what. That too was nauseating to realize, but he knew he had to start somewhere.
Letting it lie was not an option. He had to figure out where it started, the source of Childe's
undoing, and he would have to figure out everything else from there. Dottore reached deep inside
himself for one of the questions that had been swallowed one too many times, pulling it out into the
open by force.

"You killed that girl, didn't you?" Dottore asked hoarsely. He looked back at Childe then, even
though it pained him to do so. Childe was looking at him blankly, eyebrows furrowing in
confusion.

"Killed- What?" Childe droned in disbelief. He started trying to crawl towards Dottore again.
"What are talking ab-"
"You know what I'm talking about!" Dottore snapped, flailing his arm between them again to keep
him at bay. "Your lieutenant, Childe! The one that went missing!"

Childe blinked at him a few times before it clicked. " Ekaterina?" He crowed incredulously. A
laugh escaped him, humorless and bewildered, and he shook his head slightly. "Is that who you're
talking about? Why are you asking me that now? What does that-"

"You did, didn't you?" Dottore cut in abruptly, his voice cracking. He tried to compose himself, to
not see Childe's avoidance as an attack, but it stung too much, and he started rambling again.
"They've all seen it, they- Every single soldier in that harbor has seen it, how you've been acting.
You've been acting like a fucking lunatic, and they all think you killed her, and you did, didn't
you?"

"Wh- What are you- You…." Childe sputtered, aghast confusion still written on his face. But he
trailed off in the middle, and suddenly his face twisted into something new. There was pain there,
but mostly anger as he spat out, "What, have you been fucking spying on me or something?"

Dottore was actually a little shocked at how the accusation made his stomach drop. The jolt of guilt
was immediate, and it made his mouth flounder open helplessly as he tried to regain his footing in
the conversation.

"I- I-" Composure felt so far away, Dottore's mind scrambling for defense. He sounded more angry
than he would have liked to when he started up again. "Well, it's a good fucking thing I did, after
seeing all this! I- You- Childe, something is fucking wrong with you, the Foul Legacy is doing
something to you, you might be corrupted, we have to-"

Childe let out a sharp, barking laugh, loud and jarring enough to stop Dottore in his tracks. The
sound of it in light of what they had been saying made his blood run cold, colder than it had
already been. Most of it was now ice that his frantic heart struggled to push through his veins.

"Corrupted?" Childe parroted. He almost sounded offended. He just chuckled again, shaking his
head at Dottore as if he were a child. "Dottore. I'm not corrupted. You're overreacting."

"You don't-"

"I won't be mad at you, though," Childe said quickly, pointedly not giving him room to speak. "I
think I get it now. I'm disappointed, but not mad. It's okay. You thought you were doing the right
thing, because you didn't understand. It's okay, though. I love you. I'd never let something like this
get in between us. Everything's going to be okay, Dottore."

Childe tried reaching out for him again. Dottore grimaced, breathing shallow, but he couldn't bring
himself to move. After tentatively inching closer, Childe finally took Dottore's hand in his. He
squeezed lightly around his fingers, giving him a gentle smile.

Dottore wanted more than anything to believe it. Believe all of it. But the time for that had already
passed him by.

Dottore swallowed roughly, shooting a stern glare at the Eleventh. "Childe. I need to know what
happened. I need to know everything. Did you. Kill. That girl?"

Childe's eyes widened for a moment. Then, they narrowed. He dropped his hand immediately,
letting it fall to his side with a soft flop against the mattress. His eyes could have swallowed
Dottore whole, for how deeply empty they were.

"I did."
Time seemed to stand still as the words fell matter-of-factly between the two of them. For a brief
moment, Dottore even assumed he had misheard him. He vaguely wondered if his inability to
process the words were due to a lingering, subconscious desire for it to not be true, or simply
because he hadn't been expecting such a quick admission.

Dottore opened his mouth to respond. But it only hung open in silence.

Childe was looking at him expectantly now. After a while, he raised his eyebrows at him. "Didn't
you want to know why?"

Dottore didn't know how to respond to that, either. But he managed to at least close his mouth,
giving a small, terse nod. Childe waited a second longer, perhaps waiting to see if he would speak.
When he didn't, he just continued.

"I'm not corrupted," Childe insisted again dully. "I don't know what you're picturing in your head,
but I'm not some kind of unhinged lunatic. Everything I do is for a reason. Ekaterina died because
she deserved it. She came to me that morning to brief me on the agenda that day. She reminded me
that she would be occupied that afternoon with whatever business she had with you. That's how
you came up in the conversation.”

Childe’s gaze drifted off to the side, pausing in thought. "We had always been pretty close, me and
her. Did you know that? I'm sure it came up while you were digging around. It wasn't a big secret.
We trained together, back when I had just been recruited. We always had a good relationship; the
bonds men and women build in bloodshed are always the strongest, after all. I really liked her. We
respected one another. We trusted each other.

"She knew about us.” Childe glanced back up at Dottore then, as if expecting a significant reaction
from this. Dottore could not muster one. The way Childe was simply lethargically droning on
about all this had rendered him frozen where he sat. It was eerie. It threatened to make his mind go
blank. So he just didn’t react at all. Childe continued. “Not everything, of course. But she was
smart, and incredibly attentive. And she was one of the few soldiers that had the authority to report
to me in my quarters, in the event of an emergency. With how often I’m not in my quarters in the
evenings, she would have noticed something eventually, so I was pretty up front with her from the
beginning. She just knew that whenever you were in Liyue, I would go to meet with you. As far as
she was told, what we were up to was all strictly business on a need-to-know basis only. But I
never really kid myself. She probably knew there was more to it than that. But if she did, she never
let on. She knew better than that; she knew her place. Ekaterina wouldn't have nosed around in the
business of Harbingers. At least… I never thought she would.

"She asked if she could speak to me as a friend that day. I allowed it, of course - we were friends,
after all. I really valued her opinion, and trusted her input. But then, she started talking about you.”

Childe looked back at him with an emotionless expression. "She told me that the soldiers under
your command have been talking about you. Morale is at an all-time low. About what a mess
things are. The things that have happened at Haeresys. And everywhere else. And they're not all
that happy that you haven't seemed very invested in any of it, the last few months. Apparently, they
all think you've lost it. She said no one wants to be around you anymore. They call you the blight
of the Harbingers. They think you're just going to lay waste to everything in your path.”

None of this really came as any surprise to Dottore. These were all things he would have assumed,
if he had been asked about it. But there was something about hearing it like this - out loud,
delivered in a matter-of-fact monotone and with a stony stare. It made Dottore’s breath hitch, and
he wanted to fall again. A blight, they called him. After everything he had done. Everything he had
sacrificed to get to this point. Everything he had lost. Things he may have been in the process of
losing.

"She told me all that,” Childe continued, “and then she said that I shouldn't associate myself with
you anymore. She said I was a better man than you, that you would only find a way to bring me
down with you, like you do with everyone else."

Childe paused then, and started laughing, shaking his head in disbelief as he did. It was an awful,
delirious sort of cackle, and it made Dottore's heart leap to his throat.

"All those awful things she said about you, when she didn't even know what the fuck she was
talking about," Childe remarked, almost in awe, his laughter finally tapering off morosely. He
smiled at Dottore then, sickly sweet. "None of them do, you know. They just don't know you like I
do. No one does. They don't even know what kind of man you can really be. They shouldn't be
saying anything at all.

"Anyway… it goes without saying that it really pissed me off." Childe's smile dropped abruptly.
He looked off to the side. "But more than that, she had violated my trust. It really soured my
opinion on her. Saying such terrible things, when she didn't know the whole story. If anything,
behavior like that is really irresponsible. It could get you into trouble, in our line of work. And it
just wasn't her place to speak like that. She should have known that. The fact that she didn't would
have reflected poorly on me. You understand that, right?"

Childe regarded Dottore again, waiting for a response he would not receive. After meeting the
Third's shell shocked gaze for a moment, he just sighed.

"So I killed her." Childe said casually. He almost sounded bored. "She was wrong. She was wrong
in every single way. She violated my trust in her, she failed in her duties, and she tried to deface
one of the Harbingers. It really was unforgivable. I don't think anyone else in my position would
have done anything any differently. But that's why I couldn't say anything. Do you see, now?
Everything I do, I do for a reason. I was trying to protect you. Do you think this was easy for me,
telling you all the things she said? Why I had to do what I did? It isn't. I wish I never had to. But it's
okay, now. You just didn't understand. But you must understand now, right?"

Childe smiled at him again, a somber, listless twitch of his lips. It looked like there was no feeling
behind it. Nothing at all.

"I'm not corrupted, Dottore." Childe continued, a hint of amusement to his voice, as if he were still
reveling in the ridiculousness of the notion. "I just love you. Everything I do, I do for you. For us.
Do you see that now?"

He stopped. He finally stopped, closing out his tirade with nothing more than dead eyes and a dead
smile.

Dottore still couldn't speak. His mouth had gone too dry for that, his throat too tight, blood rushing
through his ears too loudly to concentrate. All he knew is that he couldn't believe him anymore.
For all he tried, only one truth presented itself to him.

This was not the Childe he once knew. It was not the boy that had first approached him so long
ago, asking to share a space and nothing more. It was not the man that Dottore had been watching
so closely for the past few months, the one that had taught him how to share so much more than
merely space. The man kneeling in front of him now was indistinguishable from what he knew.

He might as well have been a monster. A monster of Dottore's own creation.

The worst part of hearing of the soldiers' hearsay had not been the echoes of his own retinue, of
those he worked closest to. It had been the echoes of what Ekaterina had said to the Eleventh, in
confidence, before being callously cut down. The implication was that Childe was too good for
him. That association with the Third could only lead to his own downfall.

Dottore couldn't help but wonder if she had been right.

After a while, Childe's expression went blank again. On and off like a switch, like the shifting of
theater masks, stilted and unnatural.

"You still don't believe me." Childe said. It was not a question, and all the softness had left his
voice. His features were severe now, and he looked like he was preparing to scold him. "We've had
this conversation before, you know. Do you not remember? Anything the Foul Legacy is doing to
me, it's supposed to be doing. It's making me better, Dottore. That's what you always wanted, right?
That's what we both want."

"No." Dottore blurted out. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, shaky and disoriented. It
made him sound weak. It made him feel small. "This… isn't better."

"It is." Childe assured. "You just have to trust me."

Dottore felt like he was going to be sick again. It was enough to make him force his limbs back
into motion, to remember where he was, and he simply turned around and stood up from the edge
of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Childe asked. Dottore did not turn around to see his expression.

"I don't…." Dottore's voice slowly dwindled into nothing, like extinguishing a flame in an oil
lantern with a turn of the knob. Every time he would try to start back up, the result was the same. "I
just…. I need a minute. I just… need a minute. I can't…. I just can't…."

Dottore continued to try stammering a response. He simply stood there faltering for a moment,
already forgetting the nauseous urge that had made him stand up. He couldn't think. He just needed
to think about all this, but he couldn’t. Not here. He needed to finish processing everything he just
heard. Somewhere else.

Dottore vaguely registered the fact that he was still half-naked and clung to the observation, not
knowing what else to cling to. He made his way around the front of the bed, back to Childe's side,
where he knew his pants would be. He wasn't sure why putting them back on suddenly mattered to
him. Maybe it was just to grasp for some feeling of normalcy. He pointedly kept his gaze at his
feet, numbly picking up his clothing when he got to it, refusing to look at Childe. He didn't want to
be in the same room as him anymore, so he just turned and made his way to the washroom.

A hand wrapped itself around Dottore's arm mid-step, and roughly yanked him back. Dottore let
out a small yelp of surprise, unable to do anything but follow the momentum of his body. He spun
around, and came face to face with Childe.

Childe had his arm in a vice grip. His face was still without emotion. He looked down at Dottore
with the eyes of a stranger. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he started speaking. Dottore only
registered the movement of his mouth, at first. The words themselves only sunk in after he was
already done.

"I didn't finish."

Dottore could only blink at him dumbly. He genuinely had no idea what he meant by that. "Wh-"
That was all Dottore had a chance to get out before being flung back towards the bed. It happened
so abruptly, his knees buckled out of shock. He was able to catch himself with his hands, but it only
somewhat softened the blow of his knees hitting the floor, a shockwave of pain shooting up
Dottore's spine and temporarily rendering him immobile.

Childe didn't even bother trying to reposition him. He simply fell to his knees with him, kneeling
between Dottore's legs and pressing his chest to his back. A hand flew to Dottore's head, slamming
him face first into the mattress, hard enough to make his vision blur and his head spin.

Dottore didn't even know what was happening. He hadn't been given a chance to even begin
processing what was happening, what it meant, until he felt something pressing up against his
lower back.

Childe was still hard. He was hard, and slick with precum, but nothing else. This was more than
evident as the head of his cock pressed against Dottore's dry hole, forcing its way through despite
the resistance it was met with. Searing pain shot through Dottore like a bullet, and he instinctively
tried to pitch his body forward, a muffled cry tearing out from his throat and into the bedding
smashed against his face, but Childe had already gone too deep. Before he could try again, Childe
threw his other arm around Dottore's waist, pulling them together, burying himself in to the hilt,
drawing another broken howl out of the Third.

Dottore's head was released, and he came up from the sheets gasping for air, still screaming.

“What are you-” Dottore’s guttural cry was cut short as Childe’s other arm wrapped around his
chest, pulling him into a headlock, until his lips were touching Dottore’s left ear.

“Just relax,” Childe muttered, his breathing shallow. He started moving, slowly, but not slow
enough. Dottore gasped in pain as he went, and Childe just held him tighter.

“Childe-”

“After everything I said, you still don’t get it?” Childe droned, words interspersed with small
grunts as he drove into him. “You can’t just leave me like this. I can’t get you out of my head.
You’re all I think about. Everything has been for you. Everything.”

“Ch-” Dottore tried to speak, but the pressure Childe kept around his neck was too much. His hands
went to Childe’s arms, his fingers fumbling to get around them, trying to tug them off. But Childe
was too strong. Dottore knew this, but now it hit him with devastating reality. There was no
possible way for Dottore to overpower him physically, and his blood curdled upon realizing it. His
nails still dug into Childe’s skin desperately, a strangled sound coming out of his throat. Childe
loosened his hold around his neck, only enough to let him take a gulp of air.

“I just need you,” Childe moaned, nestling his face into Dottore’s neck. “I’ll take care of you, I
really will. I just need you right now. You can’t just leave me like this. I don’t know what I’ll do if
I can’t have you.”

Dottore fought for air, desperately trying to get him to listen even as the pain threatened to render
him speechless. He babbled whatever came to mind, something, anything he could say. “Oh shit,
fuck, you’re not fucking right, Childe, you’re not fucking right, please listen-”

“I’ll take care of you,” Childe panted, smashing his lips against the crook of Dottore’s neck, letting
his tongue roll out against his skin. “Just relax. I love you so much.”

He continued like this, ravishing Dottore’s skin with his mouth and thrusting into him without
care. And as it got easier, as soon as the agony had dulled to a distant throb and Dottore was able to
concentrate on anything else but the pain, he found his hold loosening on Childe’s arms.
Eventually, his unsteady hands just found their way back to the edge of the bed, digging his fingers
into the mattress to brace himself against the way Childe pitched him forward with every thrust.
He felt dizzy, and his mind began to wander to half-finished thoughts and nonsensical sentiments.

He had taken worse. He knew he had. Even this was no comparison to some of the things the Foul
Legacy had done to him, the way he used to let himself be ripped apart by that thing. Childe was
just worked up. He had worked himself up. He wasn’t thinking straight. He just had to get it out. It
wasn’t that bad. It had been worse. There was no chance of stopping it. It was better to just let him
get it out. Once that was done, once passions died down, once the emotions weren’t so fresh, they
could start again. They could figure something out. Dottore would figure something out. Even
though he had yet to figure it out over decades worth of research on the very subject, he would
figure something out. It wouldn’t have to be like this.

With every fiber of his being, Dottore tried to convince himself that everything was fine. That there
would be a way to come back from this.

He felt he had almost succeeded, up until Childe bit into his left shoulder.

He bit hard. He had been biting before, too, but just little negligible nips. Now, he dug into
Dottore’s shoulder hard enough to send his mind screeching back to reality, and the Third tried to
jerk away from the assault with a cry of pain. Childe let go on his own, but he had broken the skin.
Dottore could feel blood start to drip down his chest.

Childe gasped in his ear, immediately swooping back in on the wound and lapping up the trickling
blood. His hips hitched mid-thrust, and he lost his pace as he sucked at the mark he made.

“Oh, you taste so fucking good,” Childe moaned. He rocked against him erratically, breathing
heavily against bruised skin. “I just want- ngh, fuck, I just-”

Childe’s hold on Dottore tightened, and he buried his face harder into his shoulder, the Third
wincing in pain as he mercilessly rubbed his lips against the fresh wound.

“Shit. Shit. Fucking-” Childe’s voice sounded oddly strained, suddenly. He sounded like he was in
pain, despite how he continued writhing against him like an animal in rut. “Oh, fuck. Don’t look.
Don’t fucking look at me.”

The order and the severity of its delivery was bizarre to Dottore, even in the disoriented, floaty
state he was in. But he didn’t think about why he said it, at first, only knowing that he didn’t want
to look anyway. He kept his eyes in front of himself, bleary and out of focus.

But warmth began to trickle down Dottore’s shoulder. Too much warmth; too much to be his own
blood or Childe’s saliva. He looked down at his own chest to find crimson now cascading down
his chest in sheets. He hadn’t been bitten that hard. It wasn’t coming from him. Dottore’s vision
blurred at the edges as his mind swam in confusion.

Then, something else came down. It tumbled down his chest, sending little droplets of blood flying
as it spiraled downwards, finally clattering against the floor between Dottore’s legs.

It didn't take as long to process the object as it did in the office. There was only one thing it could
possibly be.

And another one soon joined it. Before it even hit the ground, two more rolled off his shoulder.
Dottore was so stricken with bewildered horror, it felt like time had slowed to a crawl. There was
already a pile of eight teeth on the ground below him.

In a split second of horrific clarity, he noted that one of them - a bicuspid - had a chip in the front
of it. It was only then that Dottore finally managed to turn his head.

He could only see Childe out of his peripheral vision, but it was enough. He could see blood
pouring out of his mouth as teeth fell out of it. But they weren't falling. They were being pushed
out. They were being forced out of his mouth, and in their place sprouted jagged rows of pointed
fangs, too long, too big for the space they were occupying. An inhuman, growly caterwaul had
begun to spill from Childe's lips as the strange fangs forced themselves into place - but no, they
weren’t all that strange, were they? Just like how that tongue hadn’t been. It was the same. They
were the Foul Legacy’s. Childe was thrusting faster now, mercilessly bearing into Dottore, but the
Third could barely feel it. Suddenly, everything had gone numb.

"Ohh-" The moan of sheer terror that bubbled out of Dottore's throat was cut short as Childe
suddenly shifted his hold on him, shoving his hand in the Third's mouth roughly. The meat of his
thumb now sat between Dottore's teeth, and he couldn't even bring himself to fight against it, let
alone understand why he had done it.

"It's coming," Childe groaned, breath hot against Dottore's bruised flesh. Dottore could feel his
dripping fangs scrape against his skin, and it made him shudder in revulsion. "I'm coming, I'm
coming, I'm coming I'm coming I'm-"

The sound that ripped through his chest was nothing short of a roar, something inhuman, untamed.
Childe's mouth opened wide to account for it. Then, it clamped down on Dottore's shoulder.

Unbearable agony cut through the numbness, and Dottore's muffled scream quickly wore his throat
raw as uneven rows of razor-sharp teeth buried themselves deep into the meat of his shoulder. He
bit down instinctively, and it was only then that he understood the hand that had been forced into
his mouth. If it hadn't been there, Dottore had no doubt he would have bitten through his own
tongue. His body pitched forward in response, but that only exacerbated the tearing of his flesh.
Childe wouldn't let go, and he only seemed to dig in deeper with every passing second, teeth
gnashing into him, ripping, goring, eviscerating. Tears spilled from Dottore's eyes, and his teeth
ached from how hard he bit into Childe's hand. He could taste blood now. Childe didn't seem to
notice, or he didn't care.

There were a few more moments of unspeakable pain that made Dottore's vision go white. Then,
there was a release. But it was not a release of Childe's jaw; that was still tightly clamped together
as he jerked away, throwing his head back with a drawn-out, feral groan. He was wheezing, he was
so out of breath, teeth gnashing right next to Dottore's ear, assaulting him with the sounds of wet
smacks and a persistent gurgling as he growled around the fluid pooling in his throat. He heard him
swallowed thickly. Then, Childe resumed gasping for breath. Dottore numbly turned his head
again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw what had been done to him. It was a well that was
overflowing with blood, a jagged valley of flesh carved out of the meat of his shoulder. The tissue
left behind was like the macerated pulp of a fruit, glistening with moisture and shredded beyond
recognition.

Dottore was already numb again by the time Childe abruptly backed off, unsheathing himself and
standing up, leaving Dottore in stunned silence as he took a few stumbling steps back. He had
come inside; Dottore was distantly aware of this, but it made no difference. He could barely feel it.
He could barely even feel the chunk that had been taken out of his shoulder anymore.

Dottore heard Childe start to retch behind him. The Third slowly turned around, one hand still
 white-knuckled against the edge of the bed, and caught sight of him just in time to witness him
crumpling, falling into his knees as he vomited on the floor. It was a ghastly river of red that
sprung from him, thick with chunks that could not be identified, either undigested bits of food or
flecks of Dottore's own flesh. Interspersed in the mix were more teeth; the Foul Legacy's teeth, this
time. Dottore could see him changing again, the needle-like fangs falling from his open mouth and
dropping to the ground like pins. In their place, human teeth were already in the process of
replacing them.

Childe gagged. Then, with another thick heave, he vomited again. There was less liquid this time,
and in its place, Dottore could see his throat forcing something up, and it eventually shot out of his
mouth and landed with a grotesque plop into the puddle of gore beneath him. Dottore registered it
as the majority of what had been taken out of his shoulder, the part that Childe had swallowed
whole in his fervor.

Dottore felt cold. He wondered if it was from loss of blood, or something else entirely. He didn't
know. He didn't care. He couldn't seem to care much about anything. It all felt so far away, now.
His vision was blurring at the edges, and as he watched Childe cough and sputter against the floor,
the younger man’s face became featureless. He looked like a faceless puppet, being commanded
on strings by mad hands. He wasn't real. None of this was. It couldn't have been.

Dottore was trembling violently by the time Childe's struggles waned, as he simply stood up
slowly before walking back over to the Third. The source of Dottore’s tremors were a mystery, as
well. Shock? Pain? Fear? He didn't actually feel any of these things, though. It was odd. Thinking
about it made him feel tired.

Childe took off his jacket as he crouched down in front of Dottore. He bunched the garment up into
a ball, and he shoved it against the hole in Dottore's shoulder. It should have hurt. But it didn't.

Childe was smiling at him. Then, with his lips still slick with blood, vomit, and chunks of flesh, he
kissed him. Dottore just let him. He couldn't think about doing anything else. He couldn't think
about anything. He was just tired. Numb. Done. Childe separated their mouths, just enough to give
himself room to speak.

"You can go to sleep, if you want," Childe cooed against his lips. "You don't have to worry. I love
you. I'll take care of you."

How easy it was, now, to fall into those words. Dottore's eyes were still open, but he wasn't seeing
anything. Everything had gone dark. But perhaps that meant he was just looking into Childe's eyes.
Maybe they just really had swallowed him whole.

That didn't matter right now. He was so tired. Tired of everything.

"I'll always take care of you." Childe continued. He kissed Dottore again. He was still smiling. He
drifted away with a light chuckle. "Even after there's nothing left of us."

Those were the last words Dottore heard before he finally closed his eyes to sleep.

He believed him.

Chapter End Notes

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi
 Something Borrowed
Chapter Notes

cw/kink list (Reminder that I do NOT recommended look at this before reading if you
don't feel you need it. The main tags more or less cover anything you'll be seeing!)

Also, be sure to subscribe to me if you haven't already, and if you enjoy the story,
because in the next few days I will be publishing a companion piece to Miscreation
that you can read immediately after this chapter! Once it has been published, I will
include a link to it here. Keep your eyes open for it!
(UPDATE) The companion piece has been published! You can find the link on the
series page, or at the notes for the end of this chapter. It is HIGHLY recommended
you finish this chapter before moving onto Heirloom.

Very special thanks to connections for holding my hand through this entire fic and
ESPECIALLY this chapter. I have been incredibly nervous to finally publish this ;w;
(This, in addition to being busy with Dottore Week, is also why I couldn't manage to
respond to any comments for last chapter. Sorry about that, but know I appreciated
every last one!)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The pain in Dottore's left shoulder was immediate. It jerked him out of the depths of
unconsciousness, and his eyes flew open as he drew in a sharp, shallow gasp of air at the sensation.
Disoriented, unable to register anything but the agony, his hand instinctively flew up to grasp at its
source.

“Don’t touch.”

The sudden bark from his right side made Dottore freeze. A chill went through him, but for a
moment, he could not yet remember why it did. His hand hovered over his throbbing shoulder as
he wordlessly tried to process his surroundings.

He was in bed. He was in bed, and he was at the Liyue facility, he remembered this.

Childe was beside him.

Like jumping into a freezing lake, his comprehension had suddenly enclosed in around him,
smothering him, shocking him into drawing a wheezing gasp inwards. If memories had tangible
fluidity, he would have drowned in them right there.

"Don't touch." Childe repeated. Dottore glanced up at Childe nervously. The Eleventh wasn't
looking at him. "Don't mess around with it. It'll start bleeding again."

Dottore's hand still hovered in mid-air. He could tell now that the wound on his shoulder had been
tightly wrapped in bandages and that, for the time being, they were clean. But he doubted that
anything beyond that had been done to tend to the wound, and even if it had, it would not have
stopped the mind-numbing ache that made him feel like his entire body was pulsating against his
control.
Dottore didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. His memories had greeted him upon rising
from sleep, but understanding had not. The scenes in his head did not make any sense, and had it
not been for the incriminating throb of his wounded shoulder, he would have assumed that it had
all just been a dream. No man in his right mind would have assumed that the images branded into
his very being were real.

"It's morning." Childe said after a while, startling Dottore back to the present. Childe brought a
hand up to his face suddenly, started chewing at his cuticles. Dottore took note of the wound on his
hand that had gone unbandaged; the bite marks the Third had left behind there. More somber
evidence that the hellish pictures in his head had not been hallucinated. Though Childe had
obviously been the one to bandage Dottore’s shoulder, for some reason, it seemed he left his own
injury completely unattended. Dottore could see that he had broken through the skin in several
places. The gashes were red and inflamed, and still caked with dried blood around the edges of the
punctures.

Dottore supposed that should have made him feel recompensed. It did not. It only made him sick
with grief.

Dottore dared not move a muscle, dared not speak, tried not to even breathe. He didn't know where
to go from here. Where would one even start, in his situation? Where the fuck should he even
start? What was he meant to be doing now? How could he be expected to handle this?

Childe turned his head. His lips were pursed into a tight line, but he wore nothing on his expression
- no affection, no remorse, no anger, nothing.

He spoke in a raspy, monotone growl. It sounded like his throat was raw. "You should really go
take care of that."

Childe just looked down at Dottore's shoulder pointedly. Then, he turned away again to resume
chewing on his nails.

And that was it. You should take care of that, he had said. No explanation. No appeals. No
apologies. No real concern. It wasn't even an order. He said he "should" take care of it. It implied
that the choice was up to Dottore. That it would make no difference if the Third simply chose to let
it fester until it filled up with maggots.

It was beyond all belief. It was fucking absurd. It made Dottore's head spin with how surreal it all
was, and he had to ponder again if any of it was even real.

But it obviously was. Dottore had more than enough proof.

Eventually, Dottore just began sitting up out of bed. It took a tremendous effort to get even that far,
and not just due to the pain in his shoulder - as he moved more, he quickly became acquainted with
sore knees, a crick in his back, and a dull throb in his ass. He was an absolute mess. It felt like by
the time he stood up, he would simply crumble to pieces all over the floor.

Childe did not offer to help him up, nor did he even glance over to watch him struggle. He was just
staring ahead of himself with a vacant, distant look on his face. He sat completely still, save for the
rhythmic gnashing of his teeth against his own nails.

The anxious gesture was so dreadfully uncharacteristic of him. He almost looked like a stranger.

Suddenly, letting the hole in Dottore’s shoulder fester and rot didn’t seem like such a terrible idea.
Suddenly, he wanted to rot with it.
But he stood up anyway. And somehow, he did not crumble.

Logically speaking, Childe was correct.

He really should get it taken care of.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore went to Haeresys. It was simply because it was the first, closest place he could think of.
When he got there, he snatched up the first researcher he could find that he knew had medical
experience and told the man he would buy his time, and his silence. The man nodded cautiously,
then followed Dottore into his office. He was a younger man, probably only a few years Childe's
senior, one of the fresher recruits that had come in after the Fatui seized control of the Dendro
Archon's gnosis. Dottore didn't know his name. He didn't need to. It didn't matter. None of it
mattered.

He would have taken care of the issue himself, but given the severity and location of the wound,
he knew that would not be possible. But Childe had been right. He just needed it taken care of. And
lips could always be tightened with enough Mora.

Dottore locked the door to his office, and with his good arm, hastily swept the contents on the desk
onto the floor. Something broke. That was no concern, either. In their place, he set down some of
the supplies he had already gathered from the lab downstairs; some disinfectant, a suture needle
and thread, local anesthetic. One of the scholars assigned there had walked in halfway through his
search, and simply watched him wordlessly as he rifled through the supplies and took everything
back up. That also did not matter. Between when he left Liyue and now, blood had soaked through
the bandages that Childe had packed against the wound. It had also soaked through his shirt and
jacket, leaving a bright, crimson stain there that surely could not have been missed by every single
person he passed on his way here. It was fine.

It was all fine. What did it matter, if they saw? What did it matter, if someone had watched him
pilfer his own supplies? What would it even matter if he had not offered to buy this man's
discretion, if he left this room and told every last person he would ever meet from this moment
forward of his foreboding encounter with the Harbinger?

Dottore didn't even wait for the man to finish processing what he was meant to do before the Third
urgently drew up the anesthetic himself. He stuck the full syringe in his teeth, a pained grunt
slipping out around it as he yanked his jacket off his left arm. Too fast. But his hand did not slow,
and he scrambled with the buttons on his shirt, only undoing them about halfway, just enough to
gingerly slide it off of his shoulder. He tentatively felt the bandages packed against the hole in his
shoulder to try shifting them aside, and the rush of searing agony that threatened to buckle his
knees made him realize he shouldn't even bother. He gritted his teeth, set his sights on a bit of
uncovered flesh close in proximity to the gash, and he plunged the needle into it without hesitation.

Dottore could almost feel the sensation of the blood rushing out of his face in the wake of fire
forcing its way through bruised, eviscerated flesh. He bit back the scream, bit back the tears, bit
back the urge to succumb to syncope; nothing made its way through his tightly clenched jaw. It
was fine.

Everything was fine. Everything would be fine. Childe would-

"By the Seven." The researcher's voice suddenly butt into Dottore's thoughts, and the Third glared
up at his exclamation in disdain. "Lord Dottore, wh-"
"When I asked for your silence, I meant for silence," Dottore hissed hoarsely.

The man's mouth snapped closed, and he held up his hands in yield. "O-of course. You just… you
really should sit down, my lord."

Dottore must have looked as close to toppling over as he felt, maybe even more so based on the
man's urgency. Dottore had no choice but to oblige, finally letting his knees give way as he sat
stiffly back into his chair. The pain quickly began to dull where he had administered the anesthetic,
enough for him to take a shallow breath inwards and reach for the bandage. He was able to unwrap
it with unsteady hands, but minimal discomfort. He revealed the swollen, angry wound still
weeping crimson from its depths. He grimaced, then glared back at the man he had brought in.

"Don't just stand there," Dottore rasped, throwing the syringe down on the table and running a
hand through his hair. "I'm sure you can put two and two together."

The man just nodded tersely, unsticking himself from where he stood and approaching the Third.
He started sorting through the supplies Dottore had slapped on the table, and wordlessly got to
work. There were two or three more sharp pricks of pain as more anesthetic was injected into the
tissue Dottore had not been able to reach, and by the time that was done, his discomfort had quieted
down to a dull roar. It should have been enough for Dottore to begin regaining some clarity, but the
floaty, distant feeling did not subside. He did not want to acknowledge this man, especially not as
he began his best attempt to stitch up the gaping gash, so Dottore just turned his head away,
reaching for the distance his mind sought to create.

He had not let his thoughts wander far on the trip here, for fear that trying to parse through his
troubles would meld undesirably with the pain and cause him to lose consciousness. He may have
fallen far with his men these last few months, but the last thing he was willing to do was faint on
his feet in front of his attendants like some kind of flustered debutant. He could only imagine what
they would think of him then.

A blight, they called him.

As he let the memories start trickling in, that phrase darkened his mind. He quickly glimpsed at the
man struggling to stitch him back together - he should have been seeking more treatment than just
a few sutures for a wound of this severity, Dottore knew that, but he didn't have the luxury to think
of seeking proper medical attention. The man was occupied with his duty, and didn't seem to notice
the glance. Dottore wondered if he was one the men who called him such a thing when his ears
were turned away. He must have been wondering what had happened to Dottore, if only for the
sake of curiosity, even if he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut as he worked. But what was
he really thinking? Did he think the Third the victim of some kind of attack? Was there any
concern? Maybe not the kind that came with sentimentality, but merely the instinctual dread that
came with seeing another human gravely injured? Or perhaps he felt nothing at all. Perhaps even a
primal fear response was not enough to endear Dottore to these people. Maybe this man thought
that regardless of what had happened, the Third deserved it.

And maybe he had.

Dottore set his jaw, propping his elbow up on the arm of his chair - the good side - and brought a
closed fist to his mouth. He rapped his knuckles pensively against his mask.

He couldn't put off thinking about it any longer. There was nothing else to distract him. There was
nothing to be said aloud, the pain was no longer debilitating to think, and there was nowhere left to
run from it. He was going to be stuck here for a while.
His vision began to tunnel. He let it. He continued to lean into the distance his own mind wanted,
the one that made his head feel numb and his limbs feel heavy. He kept his own thoughts at arm's
length as he sifted through them, because it would have been too difficult to do anything else.

Dottore tried to imagine that Childe was just another test subject. That he was standing over the
arena in the very facility he had arrived at, and that Childe was just a faceless entity writhing
around down below him. He went through the catalogue of his memory like that, and through this
method, he observed his behavior. He nailed down the problem, and began forming his hypothesis
based on what he saw there.

Childe was not well. His mind, his body; they seemed pristine, at first glance, but Dottore had
witnessed enough to know that this was simply not the case. He had undergone such a drastic shift
in behavior, he was almost indistinguishable from the subject he had been before. And although his
body still seemed to inexplicably bounce back from the physical metamorphoses he was
experiencing, they were hurting him. Those had been cries of pain that were breathed against
Dottore's ear when he-

Those had been cries of pain, when his teeth had been forced out of his own skull by the whims of
the Abyssal entity he harbored inside him. It was doing things to him he couldn't control. Things
his body couldn't handle in the moment. Perhaps the Foul Legacy was healing him after the fact,
but for that stretch of time before it could rectify what it had done, there was only so far a human
body could be pushed before it might break.

To say it was a problem would be an understatement. It was disastrous. Corruption was something
familiar to Dottore, but he had never seen anything like this. If this was left unchecked for much
longer, it would kill Childe. And that couldn't happen. He couldn't afford to lose his most prized
specimen like that. Childe was the last hope Dottore had for the success of his research. He was the
last hope for everything, as far as Dottore was concerned. If Celestia was brought to the ground
before he had a chance to accomplish his goal, there would be no hope for mankind. They were
still naught but men in the shadow of the divine. And perhaps the Tsaritsa would get what she
wanted. Maybe she would bring the Gods crumbling down around her feet, but so would humanity
crumble in the process. And what would there be then, once the dust settled? They would still be
living in an age of Gods, and Dottore's work up until this point would have all been worthless.
Childe was the last hope he had in surpassing all of them, in ushering in a new era altogether. He
was the missing link. He was the answer. He was his muse. He was the only thing that made
Dottore's work worth pursuing. He was all Dottore had left. The only reason he had not succumbed
to madness long ago. He was everything. His confidant. His friend. His flame. His rock. His boy.
His sweet boy. His gorgeous boy. That was his boy, the one that had been gripped so tightly by the
throes of primal, arcane delirium that he had taken him and-

Dottore balled his hands into tight fists, and squared his jaw so intensely his teeth began to ache.
There was no way the researcher wouldn't have noticed it, not from the position he was in over
Dottore.

He couldn't do this. Not here. Not now. He internally scrambled for distance again, and released
some of the tension building up in his shoulders.

Dottore just had to get a grasp on what could have led to this. But that was the problem. The only
reasonable explanation was easily within his reach, but closing his fingers in around it kept
bringing him right back to the pits of despair.

Based on the timeline Nadia had given him, it made the most sense to assume that his errant
transformation the night Dottore's assistant died had been the catalyst for his sudden symptoms.
That was when the Eleventh's subordinates began noticing the changes. That was when things had
gotten worse.

But perhaps it wasn't just that. Maybe that was just what had pushed it over the edge. His
physicality had been changing before that. He had already sprung up right before Dottore's eyes.
But even so, why had these things only begun happening after Dottore had gotten involved with
him? Why had nothing of significance happened between his recruitment and then?

Childe had once told him that before that day in the facility, when Dottore had first encountered
the Foul Legacy, he had only transformed two times prior to that. Two times, in his entire life.

Dottore had lost track of how many times he had transformed in the last year. Just for the sake of
sating the Third's curiosity. For the sake of feeding into his shallow urges. For the sake of his
pleasure, his pain, his sanity.

No matter how he twisted it around in his head, Dottore could only reach one conclusion. Dottore
had been toying with a force he did not understand. But what he had failed to realize - at least not
until it was far too late - was that Childe had never understood it much more than he did. He
wouldn't have known what the transformations would eventually do to him, that tapping into
oblivion one too many times might suck him down into its depths.

But Dottore should have known. He at least should have had an inkling of it. This was his life's
work. The effects of Abyssal influence had been his bedfellows for longer than Childe had even
been alive.

It was his fault. All of it was. He had pushed him too far, one too many times, and had encouraged
him to reach for the thing living inside him until it had finally reached back. The Foul Legacy had
a hold on Childe now, and it was not letting go. Its grip was gradually tightening around him like a
vice.

Dottore had finally found his vision of perfection. But in the time it took him to realize it, he had
already let it spoil. He had laid waste to that image with his own two hands, long before he knew
what he was wasting.

Dottore could feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

Not here. Not now. He could only hope that with his head turned away and his mask obfuscating
his expression, the researcher would not notice the glassy sheen to his eyes, or perhaps even brush
it off as pain. A pain that he most likely considered well-deserved, along with all of Dottore's other
men.

The blight of the Harbingers, they called him. A disdainfully apt assessment of what he had
wrought.

Dottore had blighted that boy. His boy. His everything.

Dottore deserved every last ounce of pain that had been inflicted on him. That was his divine
retribution, from the only source of divinity that mattered.

Distance. He needed to find distance again.

But Dottore didn't know what to do. In all his years of searching for an answer, he had yet to find a
way to bring a subject back from the throes of corruption. He was traversing into unknown
territory. He was at a loss.
But leaving things as they were was not an option. Letting Childe die was not an option. He had to
do better. Now, more than ever, he had to do better.

"Ah… Lord Dottore?"

Dottore's eyes snapped back to the researcher angrily. "I told you to be silent."

"I…. I know, my lord," the researcher said quietly. "But it's done."

Dottore forced himself back to the present. He glanced over at his shoulder, and found the man's
words to be true. It was shoddy work, but Dottore hadn't been expecting much better. He could see
his skin straining at the edge of the sutures, indicative of the fact that there had not been quite
enough tissue to spare. There had been too much missing. Too much left behind in a bloody pile of
sick on the floor of his facility. Dottore fought off a grimace. He needed more than this, but it
would have to do for now. He didn't have any more time to spare.

He had no more bandages, so he simply re-centered his shirt and started buttoning it up, standing
up as he did.

"I'll have your payment transferred to you by tomorrow evening," Dottore said dully. He did not
look at the man as he readjusted his clothing. "If you say anything in the meantime, I'll kill you."

The threat had no conviction behind it. Dottore didn't know if he meant it or not. He wasn't sure
killing him would be worth the trouble, even if he did speak.

"I-" The man attempted to help Dottore with his coat, but was treated to it simply being thrown in
his face as the Third decided that that, too, wasn't worth the trouble. It would have been too much
effort to take it on and off in his state. "Lord Dottore, are you leaving already?"

Dottore didn't answer him. His impending absence would be evidence enough. Shirt buttoned, he
wordlessly made his way to the door. The researcher spoke again, and Dottore could barely hear
him.

"Lord Dottore has… has something happened?"

There was fear there. The Third's men had all grown uneasy of the temporal disturbances plaguing
his facilities. They all felt the unrest in the air. They knew something was coming. They knew his
research was getting out of hand. It only reminded Dottore that he had to move faster.

Dottore said nothing as he swept back out of his office, already prepared to make the journey back
to Liyue.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore had not even known if Childe would still be at the facility when he arrived. They had not
spoken beyond the brief exchange they had that morning, so he didn't know if the Eleventh would
have been anticipating his return so soon.

He certainly had not expected to be greeted the moment he walked through the entrance.

Dottore came face to face with him before he even had a chance to process what was happening.
Childe seemed to be all but waiting at the door, and as soon as Dottore was in his sights, he
practically jumped on him in excitement.

"You're back!" Childe exclaimed. There was no surprise to those words - no relief, no hint that he
had possibly been expecting him not to come back. He was simply content. He was alert, but at
ease, a broad grin painted across his face as he approached. He said it as casually as if he were
merely welcoming him in from the other room.

He raised a hand without saying another word, and Dottore flinched at the gesture, taken aback by
his unperturbed demeanor after what he had last seen of him. Childe seemed to pay no mind to this,
and he simply removed the mask from Dottore's face without a word. He let it fall haphazardly to
the ground before taking Dottore's face in his hands, and he kissed him. Dottore was too stunned to
react. When Childe withdrew, he was still smiling.

"I missed you," Childe said softly, absentmindedly stroking his thumbs against Dottore's cheeks.
"I'm glad you're finally back. Are you hungry? Should I make dinner?"

Dottore was too dumbstruck to even be upset.

The Eleventh was acting like nothing was wrong. He was acting like nothing had happened. The
shoulder of Dottore's dress shirt had gone stiff with the thick, conspicuous crust of dried blood, and
he hadn't even acknowledged it. Childe was just looking at him expectantly, waiting for a response.

"I-" Dottore didn't know where to start. "I- Have you been here the whole time?"

Childe looked at him like he had asked something silly. He laughed softly, kissing the corner of his
mouth. "Of course I have. I've been right here all day, waiting for you. I didn't want to go
anywhere. What if I had missed you? Anyway, what do you want to eat?"

Childe slotted their lips together again, and Dottore let him. His thoughts were still too muddled to
think of shying away.

What was he talking about? Was he trying to ignore it? Did he not think it was serious enough to
warrant conversation? Was it possible that he had completely forgotten about the whole thing?
Going through the options made Dottore's stomach churn, and he finally managed to raise his
hands. He placed them tentatively on top of Childe's, just holding them there, trying to look into his
eyes.

"Childe, I- I don't want to eat," Dottore said. He spoke soft enough to make his own heart ache, in
an attempt to bring Childe back from the depths of whatever denial he was stuck in. "We have to-"

"Hey, don't be like that," Childe interrupted lightly. "You haven't eaten since yesterday, have you?
You're probably starving. I can fix you something."

"Childe, no," Dottore urged, removing his hands from his face. "We need to talk. I need to-"

Dottore stopped short, then, as he took notice of Childe’s hands. With a mind-numbing realization,
his eyes stuck to his right one, the one that had been injured and unattended to that morning. Now,
there wasn’t a scratch on it.

Dottore sputtered out a failed attempt at language as he started turning both his hands in his own,
checking front to back, all ten fingers, every last square inch of skin, trying to come to terms with
the fact that there was absolutely nothing wrong with them. Childe seemed unbothered by his
obvious distress.

"You need to eat something," Childe lectured, his tone more stern than it had been previously.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself. You have to take care of yourself, or let me do it for you.
You're hungry, aren't you? Let me help."
"No, I'm not fucking hungry!" Dottore shrilled, abruptly dropping Childe’s hands as if they had
bitten him. Dottore pressed his palm against his forehead, eyes wide, just trying to think. Given
what he had seen up until now, his hands weren’t that tremendous of a shock, though the fact that
they weren’t only made Dottore want to sink deeper into panic. Childe’s lackadaisical whims were
not helping, but this he should have expected. And he had. But it was hard to be in the face of it, to
be so excruciatingly aware that he would have to serve as the solitary voice of reason. Dottore had
already grown too accustomed to a life not spent in complete solitude. He drew in a shaking breath.
"Oh, this- This is ridiculous, we need to talk about-"

"No, no, no, it's okay," Childe soothed. His hands were suddenly rising back up to his face quicker
than the Third could react. But for how fast they had flown back in their place, they cupped his
cheeks just as gently as they had before. "We can talk later, okay? Just let me take care of you
now. It's okay."

"You-" Dottore croaked, but he could not finish as he was forced to meet Childe's eyes. The
Eleventh still had the same smile on his face, but his eyebrows had knit together, making him look
like he was pleading with him. There was a vague desperation in the look he gave him, and it made
Dottore's breath hitch. The thought of denying him of such a nonconsequential request suddenly
didn't sit right with him. Dottore had immediately assumed his blatant disregard to be a sign of his
declining mental state. But maybe his mind had cleared. Maybe he just wanted to make the most of
it, while he had the chance to - terminal lucidity in the process of circling the drain. Dottore didn't
want to think of it like that, but he couldn't take back the thought once it was out. It made it more
difficult to protest.

"Fine. Fine." Dottore relented. His voice cracked.

Childe beamed then, and promptly took him by the hand. "Good! Come on, then! I'll make you
something nice."

Dottore was soon dragged along to the small kitchen area adjacent to his quarters. It barely even
qualified as a true kitchen, being little more than an obligatory hole in the wall with a stove that
barely worked and a small, flimsy metal table that had been covered with dust by the time Childe
had first dragged him over to it for a meal. He had never expected to stay at the facility for long
enough to warrant its usage, only utilizing the pantry to hold enough rations to get him through a
hasty meal or two. Childe had previously taken the liberty of breathing a little life into the space,
whenever he had the urge to make Dottore a proper meal, but the air was still stale as he plopped
the Third down at the table and contentedly made his way to the stove. He grabbed some fresh
ingredients from the pantry - things that he had brought over himself for such an occasion, Dottore
remembered him saying something about it when he had first arrived in Liyue that week - and got
to work.

Dottore just sat numbly at the table. His eyes fell on a bottle that had already been sitting there
when they walked in, but his gaze soon went out of focus. The smell of food gradually filled the
air, and it made him nauseous.

This was absurd. Barely a day prior, Dottore had been in the next room over; he had watched
unspeakable things happen to Childe's body, unspeakable things had been done to his own body,
and now he was just sitting there, waiting for the Eleventh to finish cooking a meal he did not
want. It was sick. It was some kind of sick joke. Dottore didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He
did neither, simply sitting there in shocked silence and letting his mind go blank, until a plate being
set down in front of him jerked him back to reality.

Childe sat down in the chair across from him, resting his elbows on the table and watching him
expectantly. He had not made a plate for himself. Dottore looked down at his own. It was some
kind of stir fry. He could make out vegetables, and some kind of meat glistening with a thin sauce.
Dottore looked back up at Childe, searching his expression for any sort of self-awareness. There
was none there. He simply stared on with an amicable smile.

Dottore made an audible gulp. "Aren't you going to-"

"Not hungry." The answer had come so abruptly, it was almost startling. But Childe's relaxed
posture had not changed. "But you are. So go ahead. Eat."

Dottore opened his mouth to speak again, and quickly closed it. It was clear that Childe wouldn't
be satisfied until he humored him. Dottore looked back to his plate. He picked up the fork, and he
took his first bite.

It was probably good. Most of the things Childe made him were. He was good at whipping up
something palatable from basic ingredients. He could always make something out of nothing. But
Dottore couldn't taste the food that he brought to his mouth. He could only taste the bile that rose
to his throat after every tortuous swallow.

Why was he doing this? Why was he pretending that every last bite wasn't making him sicker than
the last? Did he fear what would happen if Childe didn't get his way? He didn't know what to
expect from him anymore. He didn't know what could possibly set him off. Or was he just trying to
make him happy? Did the thought of never again seeing that sweet, satisfied smile on his face
make Dottore's ribs ache with unspoken anguish? Did he think it would be the last opportunity to
let it happen?

Was he just doing it for himself? Maybe if he was able to swallow the food down, and swallow his
own sick, he could swallow down everything else. If Childe got what he wanted, then by
extension, Dottore could get what he wanted. It could all be forgotten. Everything would be fine. It
would be taken care of. He would be taken care of.

But Dottore couldn't stomach any more. He set his fork down against the plate with a clatter - no, it
fell out from between his fingers, his hands were shaking - and he looked back up at Childe.

"Childe, listen, we have to-"

"Are you done already?" Childe cut in quickly. He pursed his lips, tilting his head to the side. "You
have to be hungrier than that. Why don't you have a little more?"

"Childe, listen to me," Dottore begged. "We have to talk."

"Talk? Sure, we can talk. Why didn't you ask sooner?" Childe chuckled lightly, as if Dottore's
silence had been the product of bashfulness, and not due to the fact that he had barely given him
the chance to say anything. "How's your arm feeling?"

The simplicity with which he asked it was enough to make Dottore dizzy. He truly did not know
how to respond to the blasé recognition of the very wound he had so brutally inflicted upon him,
and before he had the chance to try, Childe spoke again.

"I am really sorry about yesterday, you know," Childe said with a frown. "It really upset me, all
those things you said. But it's okay. I know you thought you were doing the right thing. And I'm
sure you understand by now that you just made a mistake, right?"

Dottore's mouth floundered open in disbelief. He blinked rapidly, trying to calm the sudden feeling
of vertigo that had come over him. Why was Childe suddenly acknowledging all of it? And why
like this? Did he ever hear himself?

Dottore took a gulp of air inwards. His voice trembled when he finally mustered up enough
courage to speak. "Childe, you- you're not well."

Childe scrunched up his nose quizzically, then laughed. "I'm feeling fine. You, on the other hand,
don't look good at all. You should relax. Maybe eat a little more."

"I-I don't-" Dottore stuttered, urgency rising rapidly in his breast until he clenched his trembling
hand into a fist, slamming it down against the table in frustration. "I don't need to fucking eat!"

Childe didn’t even flinch. He just looked disappointed, jutting out his lower lip slightly. "Hey,
calm down. Why are you so worked up?"

"Why am I-" A sharp, bitter laugh escaped Dottore's chest. Nervous laughter, for the situation was
anything but funny. But to his chagrin, more laughter started to spill out of him, and he ran a hand
through his hair anxiously. "You don't- After everything you did- And you still-"

"Dottore, what's wrong?" Childe asked him. The sudden look of concern that had flashed across his
features made Dottore want to vomit, and he had to avert his gaze as he continued to laugh
uncontrollably.

"Do you not- Do you even remember-"

"Just breathe." Childe urged, voice still level. "Are you sure you're remembering things correctly?"

Dottore's laughter caught in his throat. The room was spinning, and his eyes fell back on the bottle
of vodka sitting at the table in an attempt to ground himself to something.

Was he remembering things correctly? Is that really what Childe had asked?

Was he? Was any of that even real? Was any of this? It didn't feel real. Nothing did.

Dottore fought to compose himself. He kept his eyes focused on the bottle.

The bottle of vodka.

Suddenly, Dottore realized something. He didn't keep alcohol in the facility. Much less vodka. He
didn't even like vodka. And yet, there was a half-empty bottle of it, sitting right in front of his face.

"What is that?" Dottore asked hoarsely, eyes still locked onto the object.

Childe went silent for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"That." Dottore gestured to it vaguely. "Did you bring that over?"

"Uh, yes," Childe replied, sounding confused. Then, his voice took on a defensive tone. "What, am
I not allowed to?"

"Did you bring that over today?" Dottore asked, his head suddenly snapping back up to meet
Childe's eyes. Dottore hadn't been in the kitchen today or yesterday, but he had the day before that.
It wasn't there then.

Childe looked taken aback by the line of questioning. "Yes. What's the problem?"

Dottore just stared at him for a moment as his thoughts fell back into place. "You said you've been
here the whole day."

Childe froze. He just blinked slowly at him, and as he did, the indignant look on his face shifted to
a vacant expression.

"Yes." Childe said. His voice had dropped, too. He was almost speaking in a monotone. "I was
here all day, but I went out to grab some things from the cottage. That's it."

"That- that isn't what you said." Dottore ran another hand through his hair, his eyes going out of
focus again. "Wh- Why did you lie to me about that?"

"Oh, for-" Childe scoffed loudly. "I wasn't lying to you, Dottore. Don't be so dramatic. It just
wasn't worth mentioning. What, am I not allowed to want a drink once in a while? Should I have
asked for permission? I'm an adult, you know."

"That's not-" Dottore's head hurt. He pressed his thumb and middle finger to his temples and
started rubbing them. He didn’t know why he would lie about something like that. Something so
insignificant, something that shouldn't have mattered. There was no reason for it. If he had been in
his right mind, he should have known that. But he was clearly lying. He had put so much emphasis
on the fact that he had been here the whole day, as if guilting Dottore for it, and now suddenly he
was waffling on the details.

Dottore groaned. He couldn't think straight. But he had to get to the point. He had to get Childe to
realize what was happening to him.

"Childe, we can't do this," Dottore said woefully, his face still buried in his own hand. "Something
isn't right with you. We- I have to do something about it. Please, just listen to me."

“Dottore, I am listening, you’re just not making any sense,” Childe said in a strained tone,
groaning in frustration. After a second, he started again, speaking softly again. “Look, let’s just
focus on something else for a while. We…. Well, we haven’t done any training with the Foul
Legacy this week yet. Why don’t we do that? We can both blow off a little steam, and then we can
talk about this later.”

“Childe, that’s… that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Dottore set his palm down on the table
with a troubled sigh. Having to talk to the Eleventh as if he were a child made Dottore cringe, but
he was running out of other options to try and get him to listen to reason. “The Foul Legacy…. I
think it’s hurting you. I-I think we need to stop doing that. At least for now. I don’t know- I don’t
know. You can’t toy around with it any longer. If you keep feeding into it, it’s not going to stop.”

Childe’s eyes widened. There was a terse lull, then a quiet, “What?”

Dottore grew uneasy. Something had suddenly changed. Childe was looking at him like he had
slapped him across the face. Dottore couldn’t tell what exactly had upset him, and although it made
his stomach drop, it also gave him some hope that he had actually started listening.

“You shouldn’t be transforming right now,” Dottore clarified carefully. “I don’t- I think we were
wrong. I think I was wrong. It’s not good for-”

“Are you serious?” Childe exclaimed suddenly, his voice rising in anger. Dottore flinched at his
sudden shift in demeanor. The glimmer of hope he had seen had already been burnt to ashes right in
front of his eyes. And in its place, fear began to bloom. He still didn’t know what had set him off.
But even as Dottore’s heart started to race, he knew he had to stand his ground.

“Yes, Childe. I’m trying to-”

“No! You’re joking, right?” Childe let out a sharp, humorless laugh, suddenly standing up from his
chair. “You don’t want me to transform all of a sudden? So you’re changing your mind again?!”

Dottore instinctively leaned back in his seat in an attempt to put distance between them, but even as
he withdrew, his chest began to ache. It was his fault. That was why his temper had flared so
suddenly. Dottore had spoken carelessly. He had always spoken too carelessly, and now he was
paying the price for it. He tried to talk the Eleventh down from his ire. “Childe, it’s- it’s not like
that. You don’t understand, you-”

“No, you don’t understand!” Childe shot back heatedly. “You’re the one that started this in the first
place! You know that, right? You’re the one that brought it out! You brought it out, and then you
didn’t want it, and then you wanted it again, and you- you-”

Guilt drove itself into Dottore with every stutter, nearly enough to knock the wind out of him.
“That wasn’t- That was differe-”

“No!” Childe interrupted with a shout. Dottore could see his eyes going glassy as his temper rose.
“You’re the one that convinced me to bring it out, every single time! And now that it’s finally
helping me, now that it’s making me stronger, you’re changing your mind again! Have you even
been listening to me?! I’m perfectly fine!”

“Childe, you’re not fine!” Dottore retorted, matching Childe’s fervor if only to be heard above his
din.

“I am!” Childe argued. Tears were already spilling out over his lashes, streaming down cheeks
flushed red with anger. “You’re the one that’s fucked up! You’re the one that started everything!
You can’t take it all back! I’m finally being who I’m supposed to be! You can’t fucking do this to
me!”

Without warning, Childe grabbed the edge of the table with that last cry, and he upturned it in a
single, sweeping motion. Dottore reeled back in his chair, quickly standing up as the table was
thrown to the side, sending the plate and bottle crashing to the ground with resounding shatter. The
pungent scent of alcohol filled Dottore’s sinuses as it sloshed out onto the ground, and the slight
sting was the only thing that kept him from falling flat on his face from the dizzying unreality of it
all. Was this the kind of outburst that his men had been witnessing these last few months? The hot,
uncontrolled surge of wrath, so sickeningly unlike him in every way?

Childe’s breathing was shallow, and after a few wheezes, a sob escaped his throat. Several more
followed suit, only increasing in intensity, until one finally brought him to his knees. Dottore could
only watch on in abject dismay as he collapsed in on himself.

“Childe….” Dottore’s voice cracked, and he trailed off. He couldn’t think. This was all too much.
He had no idea where to begin. Desperate, Dottore could do nothing else but try again. “Childe,
you have to look at yourself. You’re not right. I have to help you. But you need to listen to me.”

“This is your fault!” Childe wailed, not even looking up at him. He was doubled over now, holding
his own stomach. “The Foul Legacy hasn’t done anything to me. It’s you! You’re the one that
keeps doing this! Oh, Gods, why do you keep fucking doing this? This is what you wanted! It’s
what you always wanted, and now I’m the one that’s wrong again?!”

Dottore's mouth fell open to speak, but he could not say a word.

Could he have really argued with him? He wasn’t entirely wrong. This is what Dottore had wanted.
He had been the one to keep bringing it out. And for what? Experiments that were always destined
to fail? A good fuck? Disgusting. What a vile, disgusting man he was, for bringing this boy to his
knees.

He didn’t know what to do. It was all his fault, and he didn’t know how to fix it. All he could do
was wordlessly gape down at what his avarice had wrought.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Childe sobbed. His hands were balled into fists, and he
pressed them hard against his eyes as if to keep the tears back. But they just continued to spill forth
unbidden, shoulders heaving with every miserable gasp he let out. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Dottore wanted to step forward, wanted to reach out to him, but he felt frozen in place. He couldn't
move, couldn't tear his gaze away even for how much he wanted to. Childe was quickly hurtling
towards hysterics, and it was more agonizing to witness than words could describe. He didn't look
anything like the young man Dottore had come to know. He didn't even look like the young man
Dottore had once thought he had known. He used to see him as broken, but now, he was beyond
broken; he was crumbling down to atoms at his feet.

Dottore swallowed around the lump forming in his throat. His voice came out as distant as
everything else felt. "Childe, I'm not-"

"No!" Childe shrilled. He jerked back in Dottore's direction, locking eyes with him before they
twisted shut with another guttural sob. "Why? Why? Why are you doing this to me? After
everything I've done for you. After everything I've fucking done-"

The guilt just kept coming down in torrents that battered Dottore to his core. It felt like he couldn't
breathe. "Childe, I-"

Childe just hid his eyes behind clenched, clawing hands, starting to rock himself with every heave
of his chest. "I gave you so much, I- I- I stayed. I stayed with you, even after everything. I- I
forgave you when you almost killed both of us, I kept coming back here to clean up after your mess
after you tried to leave everything behind, I- I let you fucking tear me apart. I gave you everything
you wanted when you wanted it, and now you're doing this?"

Dottore's mind went blank as the scene suddenly became too surreal to process. Childe just
continued to weep, losing the ability to properly dictate his words. But they kept pouring out
regardless.

"E-everything I did- E-everything-"

Dottore tried to speak again, but his throat had seized up. He couldn't think. Why had he suddenly
grown so disoriented? Why couldn't he just say something?

"After- After all- Y-you can't even-"

Dottore was sick. He was a sick, sick man. He was sick, ill, his head was swimming in a sludge of
unrecognizable pestilence. He could barely even process the fractured statements spilling forth
from Childe's lips.

"I-I l-love you, and you- you can't-"

The only thing Dottore could process was that the world had gone wrong. The world had suddenly
gone wrong. The echoes of what Childe had just said rattled back and forth between the inner walls
of his skull like a curse. After everything I've done for you.

"I still l-love you, a-and you-"

After everything I've done for you. Why was it all wrong? Why couldn't he think about anything
else but those words? Why was this happening? I stayed, after everything, he had said.

"-you c-can't even fucking s-say it back-"

After everything.

I stayed.

After you tried to leave everything behind.

I kept coming back.

And all at once, a thought burst forth from the sludge his wits had been trapped within. Dottore felt
the sensation of violently snapping back to reality so acutely that it nearly knocked him off his feet.
He once again became aware of the smell of spilt alcohol that still lingered in the air. The alcohol
that Childe had just brought over just today.

The lie he had told for seemingly no reason at all.

"What did you just say?" Dottore blurted out.

Childe quieted down, looking up at him in surprise. But the surprise did not distract him for long
before another sob tore out of him.

"Wh- What?" Childe whined helplessly.

"Just now. What did you just say?" Dottore repeated, his urgency rising.

Childe started crying even harder. "Wh-what the f-fuck are you talking about? I- I don't-"

"Childe. Just now." Dottore's voice went hoarse. He knew what he heard. He already knew. But he
needed to hear it again. His desperation reaching its climax as Childe just continued sobbing, he
simply started talking over his sobs. "Childe. Just now. You said I tried to kill you. After that. You
said I disappeared after that. You said you kept coming back."

"Y-yes!" Childe snapped through his tears, potent frustration straining his voice. "I-I showed you
the Foul Legacy and you- you freaked out, and you left the facility behind! And I- I- I- had to take
care of everything! I ha-had to keep coming- coming back so you wouldn't-"

Dottore's blood ran ice cold.

"You told me-" Dottore almost had to shout it to be heard over Childe's weeping, but his voice
cracked before he could finish. Childe was caught off guard again, enough to make him go quiet.
He only gave a few shuddering gasps and sniffles as he looked at Dottore in dismayed
bewilderment.

"Wh-what are you-"

"You told me you hadn't gone back."

Those words were followed by more quiet. For a moment, neither of them said a word. The only
sound was Childe's soft, lingering whimpers.

"You- you told me you hadn't gone back." Dottore repeated, if only to hear himself say it again.
For it to cement itself in reality. "Back then. When I came back to find you."
Dottore did not have the best memory. He had always known that, deep down, but it had always
been a difficult thing to admit to himself. But that, like so many other things, had grown easier to
own up to.

Childe still didn't say a word in reply. He had a dumbstruck look on his face, numbly letting
Dottore continue.

"You told me. You told me you hadn't gone back."

Dottore didn't have the best memory. But he remembered this. Oh, he remembered this.

"You told me you couldn't go back. You told me."

The memory stuck to him like tar, making his limbs heavy and his chest tight. He remembered.

"That was why you had to go back with your brother. You told me. The machines were walking
around on their own, because the facility hadn’t been shut down."

Dottore remembered this. Because while he had always subconsciously known his memory to be
unreliable, that instance was the first time he had ever come to doubt himself so drastically.

"You told me. You told me they were up because no one had shut it down."

Dottore had known, on some level, that he was liable to misplace memories. Scenes would go
hazy, or evaporate completely. But never before had it been like that. Never before had he so
clearly remembered something, only for it to be proven false.

"You told me. That's how it happened. No one had been back since the day we both left. You told
me."

Dottore knew he shut the facility down before leaving Liyue that day. Even in his frantic, shell-
shocked state of mind, he knew it. He remembered it. He was so sure of it. And Childe had brought
his self-assuredness crashing to the ground, with nothing but a few careless words. And Dottore
remembered that, he remembered the feeling, he remembered every last second of doubt.

He remembered it because it was the first time he had felt as if he was truly losing his mind.

And it was the first time Dottore had been forced to trust Childe's words over his own thoughts.

Childe was in front of him now, still softly weeping, but speechless. Dottore could only stare at
him as the last pieces of his fractured thoughts finally fell into place.

"You told me. You lied to me." Dottore repeated. His voice wavered as he spoke, thick with
emotion. He swallowed, and the world seemed to stop. "Why… would you have lied to me back
then?"

Childe hiccuped, tears spilling down his face as his shoulders heaved forward with a sob.

Then, Childe stopped crying.

He just stopped. One second, his body was still seized by his own misery, features twisted up in
anguish, hands quivering in front of his face. And then, it just wasn't. In an instant, his shoulders
unhunched, his back straightened, and his face fell completely flat, save for the displeased furrow
of his brow. The only evidence of his unbecoming were his red-rimmed eyes, and tears that were
already drying to salt on his cheeks.
"That's what you remember?" Childe snapped. He did not stutter. He did not falter. All at once, he
was unbroken. "Out of everything, you're telling me that's what you fucking remember?"

Time froze. The world was pulled out from under Dottore's feet, but he was too stunned to even fall
from it. He simply lingered there, hovering in space. In less than a second, with no explanation, the
atmosphere around him had changed. His head went numb. He tried to breathe in, and it was too
difficult. The air was thin.

He didn't understand.

Dottore stared at Childe, unblinking. "What?"

What? Had he said that? Had Childe? Had it actually been said aloud at all? What was happening?

Childe wiped away the remnants of his tears. His mouth had fallen open, and Dottore realized he
was laughing. There was a delay between the movement of his lips and the sounds of his words.
That was probably all in Dottore's head.

What was happening?

"That just figures, doesn't it?" This time, Dottore could recognize that the words were actually
being spoken aloud, and that Childe was the one saying them. The Eleventh let another
incredulous laugh spill from his lips, still out of sync. He wasn't looking at Dottore anymore. His
gaze had drifted off to the side. He seemed annoyed. "I guess none of this is really worth the
trouble anymore, anyway. There's no point in dragging it out, if it's just more work for me."

What was happening?

"What's happening?" Those were Dottore's own words, somehow. It didn't feel like they were, but
he knew they had to be. It was just the two of them, and Childe's lips were no longer moving.

Childe looked back at him then. He regarded him with a dull, emotionless expression for a
moment, before a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. He chuckled.

"Oh, I wish you could see your face right now," Childe said. He hummed in amusement. "Are you
confused? You really seemed like you had everything worked out, for a second there. You need
some help?"

What was he saying? What was he talking about? Nothing he was saying was making any sense. It
made no sense, and yet it instilled Dottore with bottomless dread. He could not respond. Childe
waited for a second before sighing lightly.

"You were right," Childe said. "I was lying to you. A while after you left, I was worried you really
wouldn't come back. So I went back and turned everything back on. I went back a couple times,
just to make sure that there was still enough movement to be noticed. Trouble was, I didn't think
you'd be foolish enough to withdraw all of your agents from the perimeter. And I guess I was a
little too good at covering my tracks on the way in there. So you didn't notice until I had no choice
but to make a much more conspicuous entrance." Childe grimaced suddenly. "That was really
obnoxious, by the way. If I'd have known you were already that obsessed with me, I could have
just torn the place apart from the very beginning."

The words were going in Dottore's ears, but they may as well have been gibberish. It was an
overabundance of information, each dry addition more jarring than the last, and Dottore couldn't
understand a word of it.
"Why…." Dottore blurted out, but the sound died in his throat. Childe cocked his head to the side
slightly, a smirk finding its way back to his lips.

"Why?" Childe parroted, a little mockingly. "Because I wanted to make sure you came back,
obviously."

"No…. Why…." Each word seemed to fight not to be delivered, fading away the moment Dottore
flicked them off his tongue. "Why… did you… lie?"

"Because I needed you to feel like you were going crazy.."

The reply came matter-of-factly, and without hesitation. It shot through Dottore like a bullet. He
was stunned into silence again, and Childe just watched him futilely try to process the information.
Still smiling. Another little giggle suddenly bubbled out of him.

"I guess it worked, didn't it?" Childe asked. There was a mocking lilt to his voice, a cruelty that
Dottore would have never thought him capable of. He had never heard him talk this way before.
Dottore had never seen him like this before. He exuded ice from every pore, his being blanketed in
a killing frost as he regarded Dottore with wry bitterness. He looked like a stranger. He must have
lost his mind.

Or Dottore had. He could no longer assess which option was more likely.

For a while, Dottore could only stare at the unfamiliar face in front of him. Then, his legs started to
move.

"Are you leaving?" Childe's voice again, though he had already escaped Dottore's field of vision as
the Third stiffly turned heel and started trudging towards the door. There was no urgency to the
Eleventh's question, and if anything, he still sounded rather amused.

Was he leaving? Is that what Dottore was doing, as his feet seemed to move on their own? That's
what he was doing. He was leaving. He had to leave. He didn't know where he was going, but he
had to leave, didn't he? He had to leave, to get away from the stranger that had suddenly appeared
before him, saying things that only made his body ache and his mind reel.

What was happening?

"I-" Dottore started speaking, in an attempt to explain himself - he was doing it as much for his
own benefit as he was Childe's. Why couldn't he just understand? Why did each step forward feel
so heavy and unpracticed? "I- I just have to-"

"You don't have anywhere else to go."

Dottore felt like the statement had punched him in the back of the head. He stopped dead in his
tracks, knees locking it place as an unseen shockwave reverberated through his bones and made
him go rigid. His ears rang with those words.

He didn't have anywhere else to go? That wasn't true. That wasn't possible. He was Il Dottore. He
was a Harbinger. The entire world was under his thumb.

A world that was falling apart at the seams.

If he did leave, where would he find himself? At one of the other facilities that had been hollowed
out by the Abyss? At the palace, where the other Harbingers and perhaps the Tsaritsa herself only
sought to quietly push him out of the way? Would he be greeted by more failed experiments, and
more men that only considered him an ineffectual madman?

Was there nothing left? Was this all that was left?

Did he have nowhere else to go?

Dottore felt light pressure against the small of his back. Childe had gotten to his feet, and
approached him. Dottore didn't react. He didn't even look over as Childe leaned in closer.

"You look like shit," Childe commented dryly. He chuckled. "What's wrong? Speak up. I know
you can talk."

Dottore swallowed, but his throat had gone completely dry. It just hurt. Speaking hurt. It hurt him
down to his atoms.

"Wh-" Dottore's lips were numb as the words slipped past them. "Why… did you… do… that?"

Childe let out a pleased hum. "See? Good job. You can ask the important questions, when you
really set your mind to it. Come with me, though. You seriously look like you're about to pass out.
And honestly, I'm tired of hauling your ass around this place."

More chilling, unwarranted coldness from the only source of warmth Dottore had ever known.
More surrealism to render him useless, as Childe looped his arm around the Third’s and took a step
forward, silently urging him to do the same. Somehow, Dottore started moving, even though he
couldn't feel his legs as they started moving forward, nor did he know where they were taking him.
He could only stumble forward at a snail's pace as Childe steered him in the right direction, letting
him go at his own speed.

"Let's see…. How do I put this in terms even you would understand?" Childe mused as they
walked out into the hall. He paused for a moment, then laughed. "Oh. Right. You thought I was
corrupted."

He stopped talking, as if waiting for Dottore to cut in. Dottore could not. He was listening, because
it was the last thing he had to cling to. But that was the only reason. He couldn't say a word, so
Childe just continued on his own.

"I guess that's true, in a sense. It doesn't quite fit, though. It really just underplays the whole
situation. The problem with that is that what you understand of corruption is too short-sighted. You
seem to think that it’s something you could turn off and on, right? Like if you managed to find
whatever magic words could control it, you could switch it off, or stop it from turning on
altogether. But that’s not how it works. It’s always on. The moment the Abyss first touches them,
it’s always on. The men that you see corrupted by your experiments or the Delusions are just lambs
for the slaughter. They're too weak to not succumb straight away. But it isn't some kind of special
phenomenon that you're side stepping through trial and error; corruption is just speeding up a
process that was always supposed to happen. Those people were always supposed to go back.
Everyone is. You've just always been there to speed things along."

Childe tittered at that, and Dottore's breath hitched. The hallway around him had blurred into an
indistinguishable mass of greys and coppers. It was nothing but a liminal haze. It was formless. It
threatened to swallow Dottore up at any moment. He wished it would.

"Mm, you don’t look like you’re hearing a word of this.” Childe clicked his tongue. “Maybe I
should just start from the beginning. I know you've been itching to hear about it from the very
start, anyway.
“With how long you've researched the Abyss, I bet you've never even been there, have you? That
seems foolish, to put all of your time into something you know nothing about. You really have to
see it, if you want to properly understand how it works. And I have more than enough experience
on the subject; trust me. I was there for a long time. A little over three months."

That made Dottore's knees buckle. Childe was able to keep supporting his weight somewhat,
easing him to the ground and lessening the impact on his joints, but the pull to his injured arm sent
an excruciating jolt through the Third’s body. Dottore gritted his teeth as the sensation forced him
back to some lucidity.

That wasn't possible. A human wouldn't have been able to survive the conditions of the Abyss for
that long. It should have been an unlivable environment. He should have been devoured, or
reduced to drooling, babbling lunacy. Childe would be dead if that had really happened. He should
be dead. So why was he still alive? Why was he still alive, telling Dottore these things that made
no logical sense? What was happening?

Childe merely chuckled at him as he fell to the ground. He kneeled down next to him, keeping
their arms locked. "Woah, there. Take it easy."

Childe brought his other hand up and started absentmindedly stroking the center of Dottore's palm
as he continued speaking. It was too tender, eerily so for how starkly it contrasted his malicious air.
It was so tender, it should have been comforting. It still almost was, and it made Dottore shiver.

"It was just a few months before the Fatui recruited me," Childe went on. His voice took on a
different tone. It softened, and it grew a little distant. "He was out in the woods. He thought he got
lost, but that was wrong. The truth is, he was chosen for it. The Abyss chose him."

Dottore's face scrunched up in confusion. What the hell was he talking about now? Who was "he"?
Dottore finally glanced over at Childe then, and was somehow able to summon language, and it
came out in a strangled sound that eked out of his tight throat.

"Wh-who…."

Childe looked back at him, almost a little annoyed at being interrupted. "Ajax."

The delivery of the name - his own name - was so bizarrely dry, as if it should have come as no
surprise to the Third, that Dottore sucked in a sharp breath and held it there. He couldn't let it back
out. His lungs had been seized with unspeakable dread. Childe didn't seem interested in his horror.
He went on just the same.

"He's not here anymore, obviously. Not really. He fell into the Abyss, and my master found him."
Childe found a smile again, his eyes nostalgically going out of focus. "Her name was Skirk. Before
the cataclysm, she was a knight of the Khaenri'ahn kingdom. She was one of the few survivors.
And she had been chosen, too, once Khaenri’ah fell. She's the one that sent Ajax away, because she
had to. A human soul couldn’t have survived the trials of the Abyss for that long, so she… made it
so he wouldn’t have to. So something stronger could take his place; so I could take his place. I’m
what Ajax’s soul left behind. His body and his will were still strong, so I had to… borrow him. Just
for a little while."

Childe's gentle smile fell, then, and for a moment he just looked troubled. He soon seemed to shake
himself out of it, and he turned back to Dottore.

"Come on, get up. Don't make me carry you." Childe urged sternly. He started standing up,
bringing Dottore's arm with him and sending another jolt of pain through the Third. "We're almost
there."

Dottore somehow managed to make it to his feet, knees wobbling all the while. He didn't even
know where they were going. He barely even understood half the things that were coming out of
Childe's mouth. He felt like he was dreaming. He must have been dreaming.

They continued walking. Childe didn’t elaborate on the absurd statement he had just made, just
continuing on with the rest of his story.

"After I came out, Skirk trained me for those three months. She was the one that really made me
what I am today. She trained me to survive on my own. She trained me to be a great warrior, like
her. But more than that, she was training me in preparation for something even greater. She was
training me to inherit the Foul Legacy." Childe paused. "Do you want to know what the Foul
Legacy really is? It's more than any other Abyss entity. I'm sure you already knew that, but… you
probably have no way of realizing just how big it really is. The Foul Legacy is the essence of war.
It's not just an entity; it's conquest itself. Skirk was given the duty of passing it down to someone
who was worthy of it, for the sake of the inevitability of the Abyss. It had to be given shape, so its
ideals could take form in the mortal world, so it could conquer life from the inside out. So the
Abyss can take everything back."

Childe finally stopped moving, and it was only then that Dottore realized he had taken him to his
room. They were in front of his bed. Childe spun him around carelessly and let go of his arm,
which sent Dottore toppling back onto the bed. He just sat at the edge of it, staring numbly at the
doorway they had just crossed through. Childe sat down next to him with a sigh.

"But anyway… I won't get really into all that," Childe said, leaning back on his hands. "You
couldn't wrap your head around that even on your best day. You don't really need to know all the
particulars, anyway. It's a little dull, if you ask me. But I just wanted to give you a better idea of
what I'm here for. I guess if you want to simplify things, you could say I'm a vessel for something
important. That's really all you need to know. The only problem is, it's so important, it's a little…
delicate.

"When the men you oversee get corrupted, it goes after their minds, right? The Abyss has to get to
that before it can claim anything else. That's always kind of been the idea with me, too. But since
the Foul Legacy is so different from any other entity, it's a delicate process. Skirk was able to pass
it down to me, but it was still up to me to make sure it could integrate itself into the human world.
Abyssal entities and physical matter don't really mix well, as I'm sure you're aware. And when you
have a force that powerful and unstable, well…. I mean, you've seen what it used to do to me. If I
wasn't careful, that thing would have torn me apart before it even had a chance to really take root.
And it wouldn't have been able to, if it wasn't able to take over my mind. But the problem with that
was…."

Childe scoffed then, tapping his own temple with a disapproving look on his face. "Well, there's a
reason why Skirk had to send Ajax away, and why I had to come out. The trouble is, I can't really
go crazy like other men. It's the one thing I can't do with ease, I suppose."

He let out a hearty laugh at that, and it rang in Dottore's ears.

"So that's been my goal, ever since I made it out of the Abyss with the Foul Legacy," Childe
continued. "I had to make myself go crazy. I had to find something that could break me down, so
the thing I'm carrying could start filling in the gaps, so to speak."

Childe trailed off, and he suddenly looked over at Dottore again. He gave him a warm smile, and
he raised one of his hands. He poked the side of Dottore's head playfully.
"And that's where you come in, Dottore," Childe chuckled. "This is the part you were waiting for,
right? I know it's hard for you to focus when the conversation isn't on you. But I hope you were
paying attention, for once. It's kind of important for you to understand."

Dottore just stared at him blankly as Childe let out a wistful sigh, tilting his head to the side a little
coquettishly.

"Oh, I knew you were perfect from the moment I laid eyes on you," Childe said dreamily. "I just
knew we'd end up tearing each other apart."

Childe brought his hand up again. This time, his fingers brushed against a stray lock of hair at
Dottore's temple. Dottore instinctively winced away. The Eleventh sighed again, letting his hand
fall back to his side.

"I knew I needed a challenge," Childe continued. "And I needed to take something. The thing
inside me; that's all it ever wanted. That's all the Abyss wants. They want to take it all back. Every
last thing. So I had to find something to take."

Childe gave him a malicious grin suddenly, and a laugh bubbled out of his throat. "I had to take
something that no one else wanted, and that never wanted anything in return. And it had to be hard.
The hardest thing I'd ever do. Not only that, but I had to make it let me take it. After all, I can have
whatever I want, if I take it by force. That's no challenge for the essence of war. That's what I'm
made for. No, I had to be more careful than that. It had to happen naturally. And it did, didn't it?
Did you feel it, Dottore? That night that you told me to make you something else? Because I felt it.
That's how I knew."

Dottore's pulse stuck to the back of his throat. He looked on in abject horror, his dread unfounded
but slowly intensifying, still not fully understanding what was being told to him. It was too much at
once, the implications too abhorrent to wrap his head around, his mind stopping just short from
learning that which could not be unlearned.

"Wh-what... are you… saying…." The words continued to die out in his throat. Every last one was
a question that did not want to be asked. Childe frowned, looking annoyed.

"Come on," Childe groaned. "Can't you pull your head out of your ass and think just for two
seconds?"

Such harshness still sounded foreign coming from those lips, and Dottore didn't know how to
respond to it. His gaze sheepishly fell to his lap. Childe clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"You want me to talk to you like you're a baby? Fine." Childe snapped. "It's not like I haven't been
doing it this whole time, anyway. Look at me."

Dottore didn't want to, but he could feel Childe boring a hole through him with his hard stare, so he
wordlessly complied. Childe's features were stern. His eyes were dark.

"I needed you to let me take you, Dottore," Childe droned emotionlessly. "I needed you to trust me,
so you would let me take control. That's why I lied to you. That's why I've been lying to you this
entire time."

And with that merciless delivery, Dottore let out a shuddering breath he hadn't known he was
holding in. Lies were a concept he could bring himself to understand. Betrayal was something he
could grasp, even for as much as he didn't want to.

Dottore suddenly spoke without thinking, as if anger sought to break through his numb shock, but
the words were delivered without conviction. "You… son of a bitch…."

Childe burst out laughing at that, a hearty guffaw that made his head roll back over his shoulders.

"Oh, you don't know how right you are," Childe chuckled, meeting his eyes again. "But don't act
like you're so surprised. You did this to yourself, really. Deep down, you've always known what I
could do. You knew it from the very beginning, remember?"

It took a moment for the recognition to hit. When it did, Childe must have seen it in his face,
because he snorted in amusement.

Dottore had known. He had known it when Childe had stolen that ruin guard component out from
under his nose. Dottore knew he had been trying to manipulate him. But then-

"I mean, did you really just think I wanted to suck your dick so bad that it made me stupid?" Childe
interrupted condescendingly, as if finishing Dottore's thoughts for him. "And that made sense to
you?" Childe barked out a bitter laugh. "You're such an asshole. I was just trying to cover my ass. I
didn't think you'd catch on that quickly. I was still trying to figure out what you wanted, and what it
would take to get you closer to me. But fucking you was kind of a blessing in disguise, I guess.
Because I finally figured it out. And now, you finally have what you always wanted, right?"

Dottore's mouth floundered open in ignorance. "I don't… what I… wanted…. Wh-why would I-"

Childe cut him off with a snort. "What? Do you still not know? I'll give you a little hint, Dottore:
you certainly don’t want to be happy. You've never wanted to be happy. You just want to be
fucking miserable."

Dottore wanted to protest, but something made his mouth snap shut. The words seemed to echo
inside his head, forcing his muddled thoughts to make space around them, forcing them to make
sense.

He wanted to be miserable? That made no sense. Why would he ever want that? Why wouldn't he
want to thrive? To succeed?

And then Dottore started thinking back. Back to the very moment Childe had walked through his
door, all the way to now. He realized that up until recently, he had spent so much of his time
vehemently convincing himself that Childe was not a thing he wanted. That he couldn't possibly
want such a broken, desperate boy in his life. And Dottore had spent the last few months coming to
terms with the fact that he had been in denial about that. He thought he had pushed for that
distance, only because he feared what would happen if he got too close. He thought that he hadn't
wanted to open that door, because if he were to, so many more would have opened in the process.

But that wasn't it at all. He hadn't been in denial.

Childe was never what he wanted.

But he always somehow managed to be what he needed.

When Dottore needed something to look down on, Childe was there to lie prone at his feet. When
he needed something to rely on, Childe was there to lead him through the darkness.

He was always there, impossibly always there, filling whatever role he needed to. He was there
when Dottore needed something to hate. When he needed something to feel superior to. When he
needed something to take weight off his shoulders. When he needed something to worship.
When he needed someone to love him.

Dottore suddenly thought back to all the times Childe had ever told him he loved him. From the
very first time, to the very last, and every instance in between.

For all those times he said it, Dottore had never once asked him why.

He had taken it at face value, even when there was no reason for him to. He didn't question it, even
though it never made any sense.

If he had asked, would Childe have even had an answer for him?

Dottore wasn't sure how much time passed before Childe started speaking again.

"Starting to get it now?" Childe jeered. "It's not really that hard, honestly. I needed you to trust me.
I needed you to depend on me. And I needed you broken. So I did whatever I had to do to get you
there."

That sent a shudder through Dottore. Now that his frigid shock was beginning to thaw, his mind
started racing. Memories flooded him, and now each and every one was brought into question. He
needed him broken? Like how he had been after the first incident at Haeresys?

"The… the facilities," Dottore sputtered, looking at him in dismay. "Did… did you-"

Dottore couldn't finish that sentence, just helplessly stuttering in Childe's direction, and the
Eleventh regarded him with an unkind, bewildered look on his face. Finally, something seemed to
click, and he just scoffed loudly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"If you're asking me if I've been messing around with stuff outside of what's in here, don't flatter
yourself. You really think I don't have anything better to do than follow you around and make sure
your life is falling to pieces? Please. You do that well enough on your own. Your facilities are
coming apart because you've been messing around with forces you don't understand. You're losing
men because you never cared what happened to them in the first place. Your assistant killed herself
because you're fucking insufferable."

That sent Dottore into somber silence yet again, the weight of his accusatory tone too much to
bear. Childe watched him for a moment, then rolled his eyes.

"You're awful, you know that?" Childe hissed. His tone had changed. His derision had made way
for rising anger, and he was suddenly getting heated as his voice gradually increased in volume. "It
really pisses me off. Just once in your life, can you realize that not everything's about you? That's
not what any of this is about. That's not the point of this story. That's why you'll never fucking-"

Childe let out a growl suddenly, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He leaned
forward and propped his elbows up on his knees, holding his head in his hands. He started
bouncing one of his legs anxiously as he sat there, and Dottore couldn't do anything but watch.
After a while, Childe crowed a humorless laugh.

"This is what made me crazy, you know that?" Childe queried bitterly. "Do you know how hard it
was to get you to act like something halfway human? You had to almost kill yourself just to even
think of letting me in. You had to think you were losing your mind. And the only way to do it was
to feed into it. That's what drove me crazy. Having to pretend that it was all about you. Having to
work so hard for it, just to have you. And now that I have you, I don't even want you."

He spat the last sentence out at Dottore like a dagger, and it struck him straight through the heart.
Childe straightened out, another wild laugh pealing out of him. "It's so fucking stupid. It's so stupid
that it worked. I hate it. But you want to know the part I hate the most? All you've ever wanted was
to be miserable. You just wanted to be a fucking victim. You never once deserved it, but you
wanted to be a victim so bad you would have killed yourself for it. And I-"

Childe scoffed, looking back at Dottore with a mad grin and dead eyes. "I had to make you one.
You never deserved to be one, and I had to do it anyway. That's the worst part. You finally got
what you fucking wanted, Dottore. And now you can't be anything else. I can't be anything else. So
we're stuck like this. We're both stuck like this, because of you."

Dottore looked into his eyes, and it felt like he was falling into them. His organs had lodged
themselves into his throat in the course of his descent, and there was nothing to reach for on the
way down.

Dottore felt himself going numb again. A last attempt at staving off his own comprehension.

Childe sighed after a moment, and stood up. Dottore did not follow his movements, stuck staring
blankly at the space he had been occupying. Suddenly, there was a hand at the center of his chest.
He was pushed back, and could do nothing but let it happen. As soon as his back hit the bed,
Childe was over him, straddling his hips. He sat on his heels, and he just looked at Dottore like
that for a while. His eyes were full of disdain.

"Yep," Childe muttered. One of his hands drifted down to Dottore's. He picked it up, and seemed
to inspect it for a moment. It was limp and unresponsive as he laced their fingers together, pressing
their palms together. He squeezed it lightly. "Until it's time for things to happen, I don't really have
anything else better to do. And you most certainly don't, either. So we're just stuck like this, I
guess."

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. When they opened again, he had started smiling. He
looked down at the shell-shocked Dottore almost sweetly.

"You get to be a victim for just a little bit longer, Dottore," Childe cooed in contempt. "Aren't you
happy? Until the Foul Legacy is ready to come out, you get to be my little victim for just a bit
longer."

Dottore didn't understand what he meant by that. But suddenly, he didn't care.

"You don't look very happy," Childe commented, a mock pout making its way to his face. "I can't
imagine why. I spent all this time giving you exactly what you wanted. Not to mention, you've
played a pretty big role in all this. You should be proud. You've done so much more for the future
than you ever could have on your own."

More words that didn't make sense. More words that didn't matter. More words to be driven
mercilessly through his chest. Dottore's vision tunneled. Soon, Childe was all he would see. He
was all there was.

Childe looked thoughtful for a moment. He took Dottore's other hand.

"But that being said… I don't want you thinking this is something you did." Childe lifted both of
Dottore's hands then, pinning them next to his head. He leaned over him like this, holding him
down. Dottore did not resist it. "You would just love that, wouldn't you? If you thought I was just
another one of the little monsters you made. No - the last thing I want is for you to get away with
thinking that.
"So don't go thinking that this is about you, too. You played a part, sure. But this was always my
story. It was bound to happen this way. These things are inevitable, you know? If your research has
been worth anything at all, you should know that, at the very least. So…."

Childe trailed off. Then, a malicious grin spread across his face.

"Don't act like you're responsible for me. You're not."

He said it pointedly, and all at once, Dottore knew why.

He had heard those words before. At the very beginning, Childe had said those exact words to him.
He was borrowing them now, as he had apparently “borrowed” the body he inhabited. He did it for
a reason. He did it so that Dottore would understand, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this entire
time, he had been lied to.

Dottore had always known he did not have the best memory.

But suddenly, all he could do was remember.

Laid out before him, completely open, completely seen, Dottore started laughing. It started out as a
few awkward, breathless hiccups. He could not even lend his voice to them.

All he could do was remember now. And he remembered every last moment.

Childe just kept smiling down at him as Dottore’s laughter intensified. It started making his
shoulders heave, and each movement sent waves of excruciating pain through his injured arm. But
he couldn’t stop himself.

Dottore remembered every word. He remembered every look. He remembered every time he ever
distantly thought that it was never quite right.

Dottore’s crazed laughter did not peak. It just kept rising and rising, until he couldn’t breathe or
think, until all that was left was to remember.

He remembered every touch. Every kiss. Every moment of pleasure. Every moment of pain.

Dottore didn’t even have a chance to gasp for air when the first sob left him. Tears were streaming
down his temples. He laughed again, then sobbed again. He sobbed, then he laughed. He laughed,
and he laughed, and he wept. He did this until the sounds coming out of him could not be
distinguished as anything, until they were nothing more than the incoherent, feral wails of an
injured beast.

He remembered feeling safe. He remembered feeling taken care of.

He remembered feeling loved.

Dottore couldn’t stop remembering. His own mind mercilessly played through these memories,
replayed them all at once, even as the rest of him was lost in the clutches of hysteria.

He remembered all of it.

And now, he knew that it had all been a lie.

Childe just stayed there the whole time, staring down at him. Smiling. He didn’t look away, not
even once, not even as Dottore started to writhe beneath him. He tried to move out from under him,
but Childe didn’t budge. He wanted to be unseen, unmade. But Childe wouldn’t let him. Dottore
 didn’t have anywhere to hide. He had nowhere else to go.

Finally, Childe tilted his head to the side slightly, as if fascinated by him. His features finally
softened, looking almost sympathetic.

“Aw. I know, huh?” Childe cooed. He had to raise his voice just to be heard over the sound of
Dottore’s weeping. But he was very careful to do so, to make sure he was still being listened to.
“Life’s not fair, is it?”

Dottore went limp, unable to continue struggling. All he could do was cry, and let Childe watch
what he had so carefully wrought. Childe just chuckled at his pliancy.

“It’s okay, though,” Childe assured, looking down at him affectionately. “There was one thing I
wasn’t lying about, Dottore. I said I was going to take care of you. And that was the truth. I’m
going to take care of everything. Because I’m taking it all back. Every last thing. The entire world.
That’s what it was all for. That's what I was made for. And soon, everything will be taken care of.
You just have to be a little patient. We both do.”

Suddenly, Childe let go. He took his hands off of Dottore’s and leaned back slightly, and without
any warning, the Third was free.

Dottore had flung his arms around Childe’s neck before he even knew what he was doing, before
he had registered the panic that swelled within him the moment he couldn’t feel the weight of his
hands anymore. He was pulling him back in with a desperation he had never felt before in his life.
He physically could not speak, but if he could have, he would have been begging. He would have
begged him to come back. He would spend the remainder of his days begging.

Because Dottore didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Childe just let Dottore cling to him as he sobbed into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around
him in turn. He hushed him, rubbing his back comfortingly as he held him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.” Childe reassured him softly, breathing it against his ear. Dottore could
feel him smiling as he spoke. “We’re going to fix all of it.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dottore knew that those words should have instilled terror
within him. He knew that Childe spoke of something far greater than the two of them; he spoke of
the end of existence. He spoke of the end of times. The fall of the entire world.

And it was inconsequential.

Dottore's world had already fallen.

Chapter End Notes

For more story, check out Heirloom next, a Miscreation companion piece!

Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi

 Anticlimax
Chapter Notes

cw list

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"Pierro's dead."

The cup in Dottore's hand slipped from his fingers.

The resultant shattering of glass against the floor made Childe glance up from the report he was
reading in surprise, and a scowl quickly found its way to his face.

"Ugh," Childe groaned, looking disdainfully at the glass shards and puddle of water at Dottore's
feet. "You're so dramatic."

Dottore, suddenly numb from head to toe, too stunned for the response to even sting, just stood
frozen in place.

"Wha-" Dottore's voice cracked as he tried to wrap his head around the statement Childe had just
made, as casually as if he were delivering a report on the weather. He couldn't have heard him
correctly. "What did you say?"

"You heard me." Childe shot back curtly. He had been quiet that morning, but now it seemed like
Dottore's transgression succeeded in souring his mood. He looked back to the report without
another word, leaving Dottore to process the information on his own.

But he was right. Dottore had heard him, loud and clear.

Pierro, the First of the Harbingers, was dead.

Dottore swallowed down the bile that had risen to his throat. "H-how?"

Childe let out a heavy sigh, throwing the notification down on the kitchen table. "Find out for
yourself. You can read, can't you? It's your report, anyway."

Dottore looked at the stack of papers now resting atop the table, dread closing in on him as he
contemplated confirming that Childe’s words were true. There was a chance that Childe was just
lying to him, and a part of Dottore wanted to cling to that thought.

"What are you so worked up about, anyway?" Childe groused. "You never even liked him."

And again, he was right. Dottore didn't like Pierro. He may have been the man that sought him out
and plucked him from the Academia's clutches, but Dottore had never been a man to be so easily
swayed by circumstance. The truth was, Pierro frustrated him. Dottore had always thought him to
be a man of great vision, but he seemed to squander his own potential with his own zealous faith in
the Tsaritsa. Pierro was positively enamored with the Goddess, and in his eyes, her word was law,
and he was naught but her humble emissary. And it was only through fortune that the Tsaritsa's
"law" so often fell in line with Dottore's own ideals. But Dottore considered this nothing but
convenient happenstance; for every hand she extended, another was pulled back. Throughout the
course of Dottore's research, she was as much a hindrance to his work as she was an asset. Because
of this, he had never understood Pierro's unshakable loyalty.

But more than the man Pierro was, Pierro represented a life outside of the one Dottore lived now.
Pierro had been the man that knew him before he was inducted as a Harbinger. Pierro had not just
known Dottore; he had known Nicolas.

Pierro was the link that held Dottore's identity together. He had known him before the life he lived
now.

And more importantly, Pierro had known him before Dottore knew Childe.

And now, he was gone.

The revelation brought along with it several more. Dottore clung to that idea: he had known
Dottore before Dottore had known Childe. Who else had known him before he knew Childe? The
people in his hometown were all dead, and what few remained thought of the strange boy they
once knew as a ghost. The scholars at the Academia, if most even remembered him at all, probably
didn't think much more of him. He had just disappeared that day that Pierro had found him.
Nicolas, too, was nothing more than a ghost. And the other Harbingers-

What was left of the Harbingers.

The cold dread that settled in Dottore's bones made him shiver.

Pierro was dead. But he was not the only one.

Signora had been the first. She was executed at the foot of the Raiden Shogun's throne.

Scaramouche followed soon after. He had stolen the Electro gnosis, and tried to absorb its power
himself. He hadn't known what it would do to him.

Columbina had perished in the wake of the Lesser Lord Kusanali’s fall. Sandrone had been next, a
casualty of the overthrow of the Fontaine Courts.

And now Pierro was dead, too.

And Dottore had known all this. He had read every last report, had seen every last detail with his
own two eyes. So why did it feel like he was realizing it all now, for the very first time?

He remembered reading those reports. He also remembered throwing each one down upon his
desk, for the somber obituaries to be lost beneath whatever meager documents came after them.

And after every single one, he went back to Liyue. He went back to Childe.

It was insidious, what had been done to him. Dottore had already come to know the extent of the
damage, but it weighed on him heavier now than ever before.

Childe had never liked talking about work, especially not his own work. Dottore couldn't even
recall the last time one of the other Harbingers' names had ever come up in conversation. He talked
about Dottore. And he talked about himself. But nothing more, unless it could not be avoided.
Dottore was always vaguely aware of his aversion to such topics, but had merely brushed it off as
the Eleventh's own self-centeredness. Maybe even a bit of possessiveness. But that was wrong.
Dottore could see it now.
Childe had seen his chance. Dottore had already been too eager to keep his failing research and
abysmal prospects to himself. He also did not want his association with the Eleventh reaching
beyond the walls of the facility. Childe only needed to further isolate him from the outside world.
He had forced himself into the center of Dottore's universe carefully nudging him away from
anything the Third still had a connection to. And when Dottore inevitably began to stray from the
waking world, he was always there with a little positive enforcement. He baited him with pleasure,
flattery, an unspoken promise of greatness in their futures.

He had been training him like a fucking dog.

Dottore remembered hearing of the fall of their colleagues, and he remembered each time feeling
the encroaching inevitability of the end. It had stricken him with dread. He wanted to panic. He
wanted to wallow. Perhaps he even wanted to mourn. But he couldn't have done any of those
things. It would have been too unpleasant a distraction. Those feelings would have only gotten in
his way.

He had considered himself lucky to have a much more pleasant distraction to focus on.

Dottore's stomach was turning now, shame and indignance burning up his neck. For once, it was
enough to compel him to act out. He snapped his head towards Childe angrily.

"That isn't the point!" Dottore hissed in reply. Childe didn't react to his outrage. He just had the
same dull, unperturbed stare on his face, and that made the Third burn even hotter.

"Is it not? What is the point, then?" Childe shot back. He did not wait for Dottore to answer. "You
just want to feel sorry for yourself. If you're going to whine about something, do it about
something in better taste. There's not any sense in mourning a man you have no business mourning.
You didn't even really know him."

Dottore's temper flared, and he bared his teeth at him. "I knew him better than you!"

"No." Childe's voice had gone low, but he almost shouted it. The sudden conviction he spoke with
made Dottore freeze. "You didn't."

Something about the certainty of the statement made Dottore's blood run cold, and he was rendered
speechless. He wilted under Childe's hard, unyielding stare.

Pierro had always been a man that wore the secrets he kept plainly on his face. He was always
just… smiling. A gloomy, eerie smile that never faltered, like every word out of his mouth was
nothing more than a silly little witticism to amuse himself with. He knew more than he let on.
Dottore knew that. Everyone knew it. It was not a surprise that there were things about Pierro that
Dottore didn't know. But he had also assumed that everyone else was being kept in the dark, as
well.

The look Childe gave him now made him think he was wrong.

"What do y-"

"I'm leaving." Childe cut him off quickly, breaking eye contact as he stood up from the table.

Dottore almost said more, but suddenly thought better of it. His momentary flare of indignation had
already cooled. He just felt numb as he watched Childe move from the table.

Childe stood up straight, then faltered almost imperceptibly. It was a slight hitch in his posture, an
errant spinal column that didn't want to fall into place right away. The barest of groans escaped his
lips. And then it was over. He was upright, and he looked at the broken glass at Dottore's feet in
irritation.

"And pick all that up before I get back." Childe barked, not even looking at Dottore as he started
off towards the door. His tone had changed again. It wavered slightly as he spoke. "I'm sick of
cleaning up after you."

~*~*~*~*~*~

The night of Childe's admission, when Dottore had finally found his words again, the first thing he
did was get on his knees and beg for the Foul Legacy.

After he had wept until he had nothing left to give, after the mind-numbing shock had begun to
wane, in its place had settled a frenzied, inescapable dread. It was filling him from the inside out. It
was choking him, smothering him, killing him. Desperately, breathlessly, Dottore had begged for
it. He told Childe he would do anything for it. He told him he could do whatever he wanted to him.
He told him that if it didn’t take him away, he would die from it. If it didn’t try to kill him, he
would never sleep again.

Dottore had not even felt any shame for it until the morning after, when he awoke in the festering
remains of what they had done. The Foul Legacy had fucked him into unconsciousness, and
possibly even beyond that. He had done whatever he wanted. And Dottore had slept. At the cost of
what little he had left, he had slept.

But that didn't matter, Dottore realized, the longer he sat in the grotesque slurry of bodily fluid that
they created together. It didn't matter that he had torn some of the stitches on his shoulder, or that
the scent of blood and sex hung so thickly in the air that Dottore thought it would suffocate him.
The shame was subsiding. Apathy had already started to take its place.

It was the apathy that carried Dottore through the days. The other feelings would still occasionally
wax and wane, persistent as the chill of winter that settled into his aging bones most mornings and
made it too difficult to rouse himself from bed. But no matter how often the anger and despair
would return, it always came back to the absence of feeling. A stoic relention of his anguish -
because no matter how hard he fought against his situation, the end result would still be the same.

After all, it was just as Childe said: Dottore was stuck. They were both stuck.

Dottore simply didn't see the point in leaving him. He could have at any time. But he just didn't.
Likewise, Childe never showed any express interest in breaking things off either. He never
discouraged Dottore from staying at the facility, and no matter what business he had that dragged
him out during the day, he would always come back. He always came back to him.

Some days, Dottore wished he would just kill him. Anything to put an end to the maddening routine
they had developed. The days when Childe looked upon him with nothing but unadulterated
disdain, now outweighed all else. It was these days when he would have no qualms in telling
Dottore all the things he detested most about him, and enlightening him to all the sweet nothings he
had ever uttered that were nothing but bald-faced lies. He kept Dottore at arm's length, but was still
inclined to loom over him like an impending storm. He would give him no quarter. He would not
let him forget. Not for one second.

But far worse than the time spent feeling like a prisoner crushed under the warden’s boot, were the
days spent falling back into old habits. It was when neither of them had the energy to spare to play
such a cruel game. Childe's ire ran dry. Dottore’s apathy would dress itself up as forgiveness. It
was when the quiet was all that was left. It was when they retreated back into each other, only for a
lack of anywhere else to go.

It felt like things were back to normal, some days. Childe would hold him. He would run his
fingers through Dottore’s hair, bring their foreheads together and breathe in his breaths, lace their
fingers together and close his eyes and give a wistful sigh, like it still meant something to him, like
the Third was anything else but the only port in a storm. And if Dottore closed his eyes tightly
enough, if he feigned ignorance until ignorance really was all he knew, he could pretend that it was
true. He could pretend that nothing had ever changed, and that the arms wrapped around him
would never let him go. He could go on thinking that Childe was his sanctuary. His savior. His
friend.

And then, Dottore would open his eyes.

And in those moments, anguish was all he knew.

~*~*~*~*~*~

As time trudged forwards, Dottore did not have a reliable way to gauge the passing of the days.
They all began to blur into one another, an indecipherable collection of monotony interspersed with
abysmal moments of clarity. He found himself losing large chunks of time, unable to parse through
the memories and pinpoint where they stood on a linear timeline. Some days, it felt like they had
spent a lifetime as they were now. Others, it felt like a fresh wound; like Dottore could simply turn
his head towards the day before and witness a better life just behind him.

Dottore only remembered ever once bringing the time into question; it was a day when the wound
on his shoulder had caught his eye. It had begun to heal into an ugly, jagged lump of scar tissue.
Dottore had just stared at it blankly, all at once forgetting why the scars commanded his attention
in the first place, and he asked Childe how long it had been since it happened.

Childe had thought for just a second, and then, with an icy confidence that made Dottore shudder,
he replied: "Fifty-two days."

Dottore almost asked him why he was counting the days. But he realized he did not want to know
the answer.

But before that, the Dottore’s had been an arduous process. The night after Childe's admission,
when several stitches had come undone in the wake of the rough encounter with the Foul Legacy,
Childe had drawn a bath for them. Dottore was still in a haze as he was led to it, numb and listless
while Childe wordlessly got them settled in.

Childe sighed heavily once they were both in, and pulled Dottore closer to him. Dottore was too
dazed to offer any protest until Childe placed a hand on his shoulder, and the pain made him hiss in
reproach. But the pain quickly subsided, and Dottore looked at the bruised wound to see Childe's
hand imbued with the blue glow of Hydro energy. At first, Dottore was so thrown by the sight, he
had no idea what to make of it.

"What are you-"

"I'm healing you." Childe snapped. "Stay still."

Childe's stern tone made Dottore freeze, but the statement confused him. After a few moments, the
realities of the world they lived in began to fall into place. He was healing him. He was an
allogene. Allogenes could heal, especially those with command over Hydro. But-

"Wh-" Dottore's voice caught in his throat, almost too fearful to speak, but he was so disoriented
that he couldn't help but finish his bewildered train of thought. "Why didn't you just… do that
before?"

"Because I didn't feel like it." Childe shot back. He wasn't meeting Dottore's eyes, but he looked
annoyed. Dottore fell silent, unsure of what else to say, and after a moment, Childe gave a weary
sigh. It was hard to tell if he regretted his tone, or if he just sought to discourage any more
impending interruptions. "It's not exactly easy, you know. It takes a lot out of me. And I'm not
good at it. It was better for you to handle it yourself so I could have a chance to think. But there's
nothing left to think about now. And you still look like you can barely see straight. If I let you run
off now, there's no telling what you'll do."

Dottore, yet again, found himself speechless. Each statement only seemed to bring up more
questions than the last, but for some reason, what disarmed him the most was Childe's quick
admission to his own ineptitude. Dottore didn't think he had ever heard him sound so acquiescent
with his own shortcomings, leaving no room for any argument, as if he had no interest in honing
himself any further. It was uncharacteristic of him.

But Dottore didn't really know anything of Childe's character, did he?

The thought made him slip back into mind-numbing apathy, and he sat in silence as Childe
continued to work on him.

But he had been right. He wasn't good at it. It wasn't enough, not by any standards - barely even
more effective than the healing capabilities of a Hydrogunner's equipment, which was not really
anything more than an over-glorified, heavy-handed dose of stimulant. In the back of his mind, he
found it curious. He vaguely thought back to some of the studies he had long ago parsed through in
regards to the allogene's perspective on healing with the elements. He had always found it to be a
grating, dreary subject, because speaking in terms of the efficacy of such methods, it always
seemed to come down to the same ideal: that one's ability to heal was merely the product of the
will possessed to do so. The results of your efforts depended upon the strength of your soul.

Dottore had never found much merit in such an idea, especially not after his own research got off
the ground, but he found himself pondering that now as Childe finally withdrew his hand, revealing
a wound that barely looked any better than when he had started. He met a tired, lightless gaze that
regarded him with nothing but distant irritation. And he remembered how those eyes looked upon
him when Childe had ripped out Dottore's world from the roots.

Dottore had never seen Childe heal before because the efforts outweighed the results. Because
perhaps he was missing a key component necessary to facilitate the success of such a gesture. If it
was one's soul that healed, maybe a soul was a more tangible entity than Dottore thought. And
maybe Childe's consciousness didn't qualify as one.

But Dottore didn't have much interest in ruminating on such an idea. Whether or not there was
merit in such a vague concept was inconsequential to what had become glaringly obvious: he had
never seen Childe heal himself because the Foul Legacy did it better. And he had never healed
Dottore because it had never been worth the trouble.

That thought stuck to Dottore throughout the following days, every time Childe had a need to heal
him again. Because it simply wasn't enough. The wound was in a tricky enough spot to begin with;
even the barest movement was enough to strain at the skin desperately trying to heal itself, the
scabs forming over it falling too quickly and leaving the grotesque, gaping hole open to the outside
world.

Sometimes, as Childe healed him, he would scold him like a child for the things beyond Dottore's
control. Sometimes, he wouldn't say a word. He would work in stoic silence, reserved to the fact
that he was Dottore's last remaining lifeline. It was either this, or leave him to rot.

But it didn't really matter if he said anything or not. The message, from the beginning, had rung
loud and clear in Dottore's mind.

He wasn't worth the trouble. He never had been.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sometimes, even through the fog of senseless resignation, Dottore couldn't help himself.
Sometimes, he had to ask.

"Why me?" Dottore asked quietly. It cut through the silence like a knife.

They were eating dinner. It was something Childe had made. Neither of them had touched it yet.
Childe was just glaring at his food, fork in hand, as if he had forgotten the meal he just prepared
was even edible. He looked up at Dottore dully.

"You already know why."

Dottore stared at his own hands. Suddenly, they didn't feel like his own. "That can't be the only
reason."

Childe shifted around in his seat. Finally, he speared a chunk of meat with his fork and brought it
to his mouth.

"I'm going to give you some advice, Dottore." Childe said plainly. He took a bite of the meat,
speaking around gristle. "Don't ask questions when you don't really want to know the answer."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Every now and again, in accordance to some schedule that Dottore was never made privy to,
Childe would make him leave. The first time it happened, he had awoken him out of bed.

"They're expecting you somewhere else right now, aren't they?"

Dottore didn't answer him. He was wrapped up in blankets, and he just tucked his chin against his
collarbone. He heard Childe scoff above him, and suddenly the blankets were carelessly ripped off
of him.

"You have to go. You can come back after."

Dottore retreated further into himself, a dreadful chill crawling under his skin like maggots. "Why?
Why should I go, if there's no point to any of it?"

"I never said there wasn't any point in what you're doing." Childe replied, sounding weary. "There's
a point to all of this. There always has been. It's just not what you thought it was. But that's why
you need to go."

Dottore felt like he was being lied to, but he didn't have the energy to argue. He begrudgingly got
up and got dressed.

Childe still helped him with his tie when his fumbling fingers failed to finish the knot.

Dottore spent a few scant days at Zapolyarny Palace, skulking to and from his duties like the
walking dead. His men would ask him questions, and he would answer as he was meant to, each
response as hollow as the last. He made his appearances until it became too much to bear, and then
made the trip back to Liyue.

The seas were rough coming back from Snezhnaya. The ferry rocked and swayed at the whims of
the harsh winter winds. As a result of his unsteady passage, he had ripped open the wound on his
shoulder after being thrown against the walls of the ship one too many times.

When he returned, Childe was waiting for him. He tended to the angry, gaping gash with a look of
disdain plastered on his face.

Dottore didn't think there could have possibly been a point to any of it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The matter of Childe's undoing very quickly proved itself to be one of the only things that hadn't
been manufactured.

Childe was most certainly not well.

Dottore didn't know if he had simply hidden it too well, or if the issue was getting worse, but his
physical and mental well being was rapidly deteriorating.

Dottore asked him why, once, and Childe had just laughed bitterly and asked him why he cared.
Then, he sarcastically commented, "Some things have to get worse before they get better."

Dottore didn't think Childe knew why, either.

But the worst part of it was that Dottore did still care. He knew he shouldn't. There should have
been no reason for him to still be invested in Childe's state of mind, or in his health. Some
moments, he could even manage to watch it all unfold with a sickening sense of satisfaction. He
could claim ownership to the sorry state Childe was in, and feel as if it was some kind of cosmic
retribution for what had been done to him.

But the ownership of what he saw would inevitably become too much to shoulder. It was wrong,
anyway. Childe had said as much. It was all far beyond Dottore's control.

It was as if the Foul Legacy was toying with his body. For seemingly no reason, Childe would start
falling apart at the seams, only to be rapidly stitched back together by the whims of the entity
residing in him.

He would start pulling out his hair by the fistfuls, plucking it out as easy as goose down, only for it
to grow back in a matter of hours. Dottore would find teeth in the sink after Childe had already left
for the day, only for the Eleventh to greet him with a full set of them upon his return. He would
scratch his own skin, and it would all slough off under his touch as if nothing was holding him
together, and by the time all the blood was wiped away, he was perfectly intact. There was no
indication of the trials his body went through, save for the ghastly gore left in his wake.

One day, as they sat down for a meal, Childe started almost anxiously picking at his own nails.
With no more than a few light nudges, they began to dislodge themselves from the nail bed.
Dottore could only watch in silent horror as Childe wordlessly stripped them all away before
excusing himself from the table. By the time Dottore followed him into the bedroom, they had all
grown back.

It made Dottore remember the night he had been awoken by the image of Childe's nails sticking up
out of the indentations on his chest. When Childe had held him after it was all over, and reassured
him that it had been nothing but a dreadful night terror.

Dottore almost asked him. But he remembered what Childe had told him before.

Don't ask a question when you don't really want to know the answer.

And Dottore knew anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Childe was not the one initiating sex anymore. It was always Dottore.

It was when the quiet closed in all around him like ice water, leeching all the warmth from his
bones and all the apathy from his still-reeling mind. It was when reality would set in, and reality
had become too much to bear. He would crawl towards him on hands and knees, pliant, mewling,
begging for his own thoughts to cease, begging for release in mind and body. Like an infant who
had not yet learned to self-soothe. Like a revolting, wanton whore willing to chase fleeting pleasure
to the ends of the earth.

Childe would always indulge him, eventually. But Dottore did not delude himself into thinking it
was for his benefit alone.

"You have to stop doing this, you know," Childe told him once, after Dottore had crawled into his
lap and started rutting against him senselessly.

Dottore just hiccuped as he desperately pulled Childe's half-hard arousal from his pants, letting out
a sorrowful moan as he held it against his own and felt their heats intermingling. He held them
together as his hips jerked forward erratically, body going rigid as the friction between them sent
him into a frenzy.

"You need to calm down," Childe breathed, but made no moves to stop him. "You're going to hurt
yourself."

Dottore sobbed, the sensation of them throbbing together as one feeling like pain. "I can't."

"This is why," Childe muttered, taking his face in his hands, and Dottore sobbed again, because it
was so tender, so comforting, the cruelest touch he had ever felt. "This is why. You can't do
anything but hurt yourself. We just hurt ourselves, over and over again. That's why you can't
leave."

"I can't," Dottore keened. Something broke. "I can't I can't I can't-"

Dottore came in between them with a broken wail, and by the time his head cleared, blood had
begun to dribble down the front of his chest. He had torn open his shoulder again.

Childe didn't finish. He just dragged Dottore over to the washroom and started healing him again.

Childe was tired. The circles under his eyes were a deep purple as he worked on Dottore's shoulder.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore hated him. He hated the things he said, and the things he did, how everything was
designed to make Dottore feel small and helpless, and how it worked, how it had always worked.
He knew he would never forgive him, even if he were given an eternity for it.
But often, he still found himself desiring something different. And more often still, he found
himself wondering what exactly it was he desired.

It was how things were before. When sharing company was a simple matter, a time when Dottore
could hold him in his arms and know that what they had was unshakable kismet.

But what kind of kismet would that have been? If Dottore had what he wanted, he would have a
boy that loved him against all odds. Against all better judgment. He would have a complicit shell of
a boy that adored him despite having no reason to. He would have a boy that found sanctuary in his
touch, despite how often that touch had sought to ruin him. He would have a boy that never once
swerved in his devotion, despite all of Dottore's best efforts to direct him off of the path. He would
have a stupid, helpless, broken little boy that loved him unconditionally, asking for nothing in
return. And Dottore would have spent the rest of his life giving him just that - nothing.

What Dottore yearned for was just as empty and despicable as what he had now. He yearned for
blissful ignorance. He yearned for something he hadn't earned.

Dottore didn't deserve a better life. This is what he deserved.

He deserved to spend almost every night in the arms of a man that had let him down in too many
ways to count.

And he deserved knowing that he had been the one to let him down first.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was cold. Cold enough to suddenly send a shiver through Dottore, and with it came a sudden
twinge to his left shoulder. He instinctively reached a hand up to touch it, then stopped short. It
wasn't quite pain. It was-

"Lord Dottore?"

Dottore snapped back to reality in an instant, without realizing he had even fallen out of it.

But he was at the Palace. One of his senior researchers had been speaking to him. He had drifted
out of focus halfway through.

The woman was looking expectantly at him now, puzzled. She had clearly asked him something
and was now waiting for a response. Dottore didn't have the slightest clue what she could have
said.

"What?" Dottore asked dumbly, not even possessing the mindfulness to be mortified by his
ignorance. The shame would not come until later, and even then, it would be a dull ache in
comparison to the rest of his woes. Neither his head nor his heart were in feigning interest in his
work, and he cared little for what his subordinates or colleagues might think of him now. He was
only there for one reason: because Childe wanted him there, whatever his motivations were.
Though at that point, Dottore was beginning to suspect he just wanted him out of his hair for a few
days.

The researcher blinked at him a few times before clearing her throat and continuing. "I… I said that
Xueyou's team has been requesting correspondence with you again. They say the matter is urgent."

Dottore scrunched up his face, not from her words, but from another twinge emanating from the
closing wound on his shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair, if only to keep himself from
touching it.
"I don't have the time," Dottore said dully. "Send them to Haeresys to speak with my assistant
about the matter."

The woman's mouth fell open then, and she merely gaped at Dottore for a moment. Dottore
watched her expression with vague confusion before she seemed to remember herself, coughing
awkwardly and glancing away.

"Lord Dottore, that's-" The words seemed to catch in her throat. She looked at the ground. "Th-
that's not possible, my lord."

Dottore felt a flash of annoyance. "And why not?"

Her mouth floundered open. "Lord Dottore... H-Haeresys is gone. Dr. Yingtai was lost with it. I
gave you that report several weeks ago."

Oh.

Right.

There had been another temporal anomaly. The last one. Because after the event, Haeresys was
reduced to nothing more than a massive, empty hole in the earth. The area that had been swallowed
up had been so devastatingly enormous that it had caused one of the outlying wings of the
Academia to collapse with it.

Dottore registered that the lapse in his memory should have brought him unspeakable shame.

But it just didn't.

Dottore only grimaced slightly. "Then figure something else out."

The woman looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn't argue. Maybe she knew there was
no point to it. Even if she had begun speaking again, Dottore already wouldn't have been listening.

The sensation in his shoulder soon took up all of his attention. It wasn't quite pain. In fact, at that
point, the wound had almost completely scabbed over. It had been quite some time since anything
had happened to it. That was good. It was healing on its own now. Without Childe.

But it was starting to itch.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Every time he caught himself in the mirror, Dottore could see his own follies etched into the claw
marks scarring his face. They nearly outweighed the damage his mother and that girl's father had
done to him - a result of his own devices.

It was the itch. That goddamn itch. The itch of flayed skin attempting to stitch itself back together,
the crawling sensation of an overabundance of new cells scrambling to fill in the gaps left behind.
Stretching out, crusting over, going dry and ashy in that dreadful, arid climate in that Sumeran
village he had been taken in by after fleeing from his hometown. Back then, it would drive him to
madness, and some days he would do naught but weep in that infirmary as he fought the urge to
claw his face away from his skull, to peel away the pins and needles being mercilessly driven into
him. In the waking hours, he found success in keeping his hands still. But when sleep overtook
him, his unconscious mind could not fight his urges.

Eventually, much to the Sumeran medic's somber remorse, there had been no other option left but
to strap that poor, stark-raving foreigner to the infirmary cot at night, so his hands would not have a
chance to wander in his sleep. That was a madness in and of itself, but at the very least, it had
worked. After too many sleepless, agonizing nights to count, the itch had eventually subsided.

Dottore did not have the foresight to consider such a deterrent now. Not until it was already too
late.

He awoke to the scent of blood, and to gristle under his nails.

Dottore got out of bed without disturbing Childe, took himself to the washroom, and desperately
attempted to staunch the flow of fresh blood from the wound on his shoulder, clawed open by his
own doing.

And Dottore wept. He cried silently at first, as to not rouse Childe, but eventually, he could not
stop himself from sobbing until his throat went raw.

It was still the same, after all these years. After all he went through, after all he thought he had
accomplished, he was still that same pathetic, deranged little boy he always was. The boy who
cursed the memory of the dead for scars they had not given him; he vehemently insisted that he
was not at fault for the blood on his hands, not his, not anyone else’s. He thought himself
blameless. He kept his mortal soul intact, just for an excuse to tear himself apart.

But he was not blameless. He never was, not even as that pitiful lunatic of a boy that had to be
restrained like a wild animal, lest he tear himself apart even further. Nothing had ever changed.
And now, Dottore had nothing to show for his years but the creak of his bones and the lines on his
face. He had been given everything he needed to succeed, and he had squandered all of it. He had
ruined himself. Childe was not merely the cause of his undoing; he was just a result of it.

Dottore had just been looking for someone new to blame. And, oh, he had most certainly found
him. And the cruelest irony of all was that Dottore no longer had the will to point his finger
elsewhere. He finally had someone to rightfully blame, and he couldn't even go through with it in
earnest. He was too tired. He was too weak. He needed someone to take care of him, because he
was too foolish to do it himself.

And there was only one person left to turn to.

Dottore vaguely registered that Childe had come into the washroom, and was now looming over
him, staring down at the Third as he sobbed against the ground. Dottore didn't even look up. He
couldn't.

Dottore told him he was sorry. Through tears and wheezing gasps and bile rising in his throat and
shame too great to bear, he told him he was sorry. For the hole in his shoulder, the one that Childe
had carved into the Third himself, Dottore said he was sorry. He was sorry because Childe would
have to waste his dwindling energy on something that had never been worth the trouble. He was
sorry that Childe had no choice but to tend to him, because Dottore wouldn’t have been strong
enough to do it himself. He was sorry that he had no one else to turn to but Childe - no one else
because he had been meticulously isolated from the rest of the waking world, with no more than a
charming flash of teeth and a promise of loyalty.

Dottore told him he was sorry, and the worst part was, he really meant it.

There was no hope left for him anymore.

Childe just stood there in silence for a long time. Finally, he knelt down. He laid on the ground
beside him, wrapped his arms around him, and held him close.

Dottore just kept weeping, and telling him he was sorry. There wasn't anything else he could say.
He could feel Childe's breath against the nape of his neck as he held him tighter. When he spoke, it
was nothing but a muted croak. It sounded like he had nothing left to give.

"I know."

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Why didn't you want a friend?" Childe asked him once, in one of the quieter moments. He had his
head resting in Dottore's lap. He said he had a headache. He had been getting those a lot lately.

Dottore was running his fingers through his hair. His hand stilled. "I don't know."

"I could have been anything you wanted. Why did you want that?"

"I don't know."

"I don't- I don't get it. I still don't get it. Why are you like this?"

"I don't know."

"Don't you know how to say anything else?"

"...I'm sorry."

"I just don't get it. I could have been anything." Childe screwed his eyes shut tight. Dottore could
see tears beading at the corners of them. He wordlessly resumed stroking his hair. "I could have
been anything."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Childe woke up with a headache one morning that would not let him leave the bed. Throughout the
next few hours, it only worsened. The pain intensified until he was nearly screaming from it. Then,
at its crescendo, he started bleeding. Blood was pouring out from the left side of his face from his
eye, nose, and ear. He took himself to the washroom when it started and simply let himself bleed
into the sink.

An hour passed. Then another. Then another. After five hours, Childe grew tired of sitting around
in the washroom, and he numbly returned to bed. Not once did the bleeding stop or even slow since
it first began. And as Childe resigned himself to bleeding in the bed, Dottore watched the blood
pool around his body and started to feel ill. It was not from the sight of the gore, or even from the
overwhelming, inescapable scent of iron that seemed to be saturating the air and seeping into the
walls, but from the image that conjured itself unbidden of Childe being bled nearly dry, only to be
filled again by the Foul Legacy's whims. Dottore imagined all of Childe's veins emptying out,
while new blood continuously manifested itself out of thin air. A seemingly endless, meaningless
game of push-and-pull, a cruel cycle from which there was no escape.

Panic rose within Dottore's breast as he attempted to fawn over him, growing desperate to find
some way to make it stop. He had gotten the last clean towel from the washroom, and was holding
it up to Childe's face, but it was already almost completely soaked through.

"What do you want me to do?" Dottore asked, voice shaking.

Childe tried to wave him away with his hand. He wasn't even looking at him. "I don't want you to
do anything."

"Childe, please," Dottore urged. "I don't- I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix it. I just
want to-"

Suddenly, Childe slapped his hand away with force, enough to make his wrist burn and for the
scarlet-soaked towel to fall from his hand in between them. Childe jerked his head towards
Dottore, his eyes snapping angrily at him.

"There's nothing!" Childe bellowed, and Dottore could feel splashes of his blood splattering across
his face as the Eleventh shouted at him. "There's nothing you can do! Nothing is going to fix it! It's
happening whether you like it or not! So stop trying to make it better! It's never getting better!"

Dottore could only stare at him in stunned silence as Childe glared daggers into him, chest heaving
from his outburst. A lump formed in the back of Dottore's throat, and he wasn't sure if it was
nausea or anguish that left it there.

But after a while, he swallowed it down.

"What-" Dottore's voice cracked. "What do you need?"

Childe's shallow breathing hitched. His chest stilled, and gradually, his severe gaze began to soften.
For a moment, he just looked confused.

He didn't answer Dottore. He just slowly crawled closer to him, until he was resting his head
against Dottore's chest. He curled up into a fetal position there, and then he was still. Dottore
slowly wrapped his arms around him and held him there.

He held him in silence, even as blood soaked through the front of his shirt and down all the way to
his knees. Even as blood pooled below them, fully saturating the linens and even the mattress
underneath.

The bleeding stopped seven hours after it had begun.

They slept on the kitchen floor that night, wrapped up in a tarp that Dottore had taken from the
closest research wing. It was the only place left that hadn't been soaked through with Childe’s
blood.

~*~*~*~*~*~

They were eating again. They were eating without ever taking a bite, a congealed mess of leftover
foodstuff going ice cold on their plates.

And Dottore decided he was ready to hear an answer he had been dreading for so long.

"Why was it so important to do this? Why, when you're just bringing everything to an end?"

Childe didn't answer for a long time. He wasn't even looking at him.

"Because it needs to end." Childe answered finally, his gaze still trained on his plate.

"Why?" Dottore asked, voice wavering. "Most days, you don't even seem like you want it. You're
angry."

"It's not a matter of wanting it or not," Childe said plainly. "It's a matter of doing what needs to be
done. You know this already. It's inevitable."

Dottore bit the inside of his cheek. "You don't like it."

"What does it matter? This world is on borrowed time, Dottore. The Eclipse Dynasty was meant to
be the beginning of the end. It was going to cast a shadow over existence itself, and take everything
else down with it. But the Gods wouldn't allow for it."

"The-" Dottore blinked, quickly feeling a little dizzy from the information suddenly being rocketed
at him. He struggled to pick out something he could recognize, and managed to unearth a memory
of studies that had once mattered to him. The ruling monarchs from an ancient civilization that was
snuffed out far before its time. Or so it would appear. "This is about Khaenri'ah?"

"Yes." Childe said. "Khaenri'ah's undoing was meant to be the undoing of everything. The
cataclysm was meant for the world. The one that the Gods brought forth was an act of war. That is
why it had to happen like this. The Abyss couldn’t sit idly by and watch the divine try to plead
ignorance to their supreme fate. To return to the Abyss means to reach the pinnacle of existence -
because to live means to die. The Gods have forgotten this, but the Abyss does not forget.
Everything goes back eventually. One way or another."

Dottore needed time to process it. He didn’t really think he possibly could, at least not entirely, but
he spoke again anyway, voice cracking. "Why did you have to go through with it, though? You
said you could have been anything. What if you hadn’t let the Foul Legacy get stronger? What if
you just hadn't gone through with any of this?"

"That's not how it works."

"Why not?"

Childe went silent for a long time. Then, he smiled. He raised his head, looking at Dottore for the
first time since sitting down.

His pupils were so dilated, his eyes were almost jet black.

"Don't be afraid of it," Childe chuckled softly. "When the time comes, we know you'll understand."

Dottore's blood curdled. He looked at the young man in front of him, with his dusting of freckles,
his charming show of teeth, the flash of copper hair resting atop his head, and the eyes that
consumed all light around them. And Dottore was looking at the same person he had been looking
at for the past two years.

But that was not Childe.

Dottore's mouth fell open as his heart leapt to his throat. "Childe?"

Childe just held his gaze for a second longer. Then, all at once, his smile fell. As it did, his eyelids
fluttered close, and his shoulders swayed as he suddenly sucked a sharp breath inwards. When his
eyes opened again, his pupils had shrunk down to pinpricks. His breathing had grown shallow,
panicked, chest heaving as he wobbled in place. Dottore watched all the color drain from his face.

"Wh-what-" Childe's eyes were out of focus, darting around the room and landing on nothing in
particular, and he gripped the edge of the kitchen table with white knuckles. "What- What is...
happening?"

Dottore could only watch in stunned silence as Childe's frantic gaze finally fell upon him, as if only
just then realizing the Third was sitting just in front of him. Confusion was all that was written on
his face, until something finally clicked. Dottore wondered if he actually remembered what
happened, or if his own aghast expression simply spoke volumes.

Childe's face twisted into a mask of anguish, and he started shaking.

"No, no, no," Childe muttered, voice wavering, "No no no no no no no-"

Childe chanted this as he slowly folded in on himself. He fisted his hands into his hair, pulling it,
staring through the food on his plate with wide eyes.

"No no no no no." Childe whispered, loud enough for Dottore to hear. But he was not talking to
Dottore. "Don't you fucking talk to him, don't you dare talk to him like I'm not around, I'm still here,
I'm still here, it's still mine, it's mine it's mine it's mine, let me have this one thing, I'm still here,
don't make me think I'm not, I'm here I'm here I'm here I'm here I'm here-"

This went on until the words tapered off into gibberish, and until that tapered off into silence. After
sitting with his head against the table for a few minutes more, he finally looked at Dottore again. In
a monotone, he said they should go to sleep.

They had just woken up. It was still early morning, so they had the whole day ahead of them.

But Dottore said it sounded like a good idea.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Childe wrapped his arms tighter around Dottore's neck. "You'd do it all again if you could,
wouldn't you?"

Dottore let out an indistinguishable noise, something caught between a sob and a moan. He didn't
know what to say, so he said nothing. He was already buried too deep inside Childe's heat, so he
just kept moving.

"Oh, I know you would," Childe gasped. He sucked Dottore's earlobe in between his teeth and bit
down hard. "If someone gave you a second chance, you'd do everything all the same. I know you
would. Don't lie to me."

Dottore's hips stuttered, and his chest started to burn. "Y-yes."

"Don't stop. Just like that. I know you would. I would too. If I had a chance to change my mind, I
wouldn't do it for the world."

"Oh, Gods."

"Faster. We're stuck like this. Oh, we're stuck like this. Tell me you know."

"I-I know."

"Tell me you'd do it all over again."

"I would."

"Every time?"

"Oh, more than that."

"I know you would. I know you would." Childe took his face in his hands, and he forced their eyes
to meet, swollen red lips parting open as he gazed hollowly at him. "So tell me something else."

Dottore felt like he was floating away from him. "Wh-what?"

"Tell me something else." Childe dug his hands into his skin. "Tell me something better."

"I- Oh, I don't-"

"Tell me something better. Fuck me, fuck me and tell me something better. It's almost here. It's
almost here, so just say it."

"Childe, what-"

"Say it. Say it. Say it," Childe chanted in a croak, eyes glassy and desperate as he held on hard
enough to make Dottore's face go numb. "Goddamn you, just say it. Why is it so hard? Just say it,
tell me, tell me tell me tell me tell me-"

Dottore was too overwhelmed to understand what he was being asked. He just whimpered
wordlessly as his thrusting carried him over the edge.

Dottore tried to help Childe finish, but the Eleventh had already shut down by the time he had
come down from his orgasm. He rolled over on his side and didn't speak for the rest of the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"....getting closer. There is no reason to stay."

Dottore would eventually awaken to these quiet words one night, but as he opened up his eyes,
Childe was not lying beside him. He instead felt a presence at his feet. He looked down to the end
of the bed, and Childe was sitting cross-legged at the edge of it. He had his back turned to Dottore.
He was just staring at the wall.

"It’s foolish," Childe continued to mutter. He was not speaking to Dottore. “He” was not really
speaking at all, though. It was like that day in the kitchen. He was looking at the same person, but
something primal within Dottore told him that wasn’t really the truth. It only looked like Childe.
He kept speaking, the words coming out a little too fast, slightly jumbled. Dottore had to strain his
ears to understand him. "This is not where we will be. This place is meaningless. It’s home.
Lingering here only delays the inevitable. It has already been delayed long enough. It is enough.
There is nothing left for you in the present. The scars have long since ceased healing. There is
nothing else; it only needs to be wiped clean from this world. So we will leave. That is how it
must- He's awake. It's scaring him. That doesn't matter; he knows. He has always known. I'm tired.
Our enlightenment will come. It is almost over."

Dottore's body had gone so rigid that it made his muscles ache. Finally, he couldn't listen anymore.

"Childe?" He called quietly.

Abruptly, Childe fell dead silent. For several minutes, he didn't say a word, didn't move an inch.
Finally, Dottore saw the barest twitch of his head.

"Skirk?" Childe asked. Despite the name he called, it was clear that he was speaking to Dottore this
time - or at the very least, he was speaking to the space that Dottore occupied. He was hoarse as he
spoke, eyes wide as they stared off into nothingness. "Sometimes I don't hear myself anymore."
Dottore didn't know what to say to that. Childe appeared to be waiting for a response, but when he
didn't receive one, he just spoke again.

"Skirk? Can I go to sleep now?"

Dottore had never felt so powerless in his life.

"Yes. You can go to sleep now."

Childe soon crawled back into bed with him. Dottore held him close to his chest and buried his
nose in his hair.

He didn't even smell the same anymore. He smelled like iron and rotting earth. He smelled like a
thunderstorm buried six feet below the ground.

He smelled like death.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore didn't bother reading the report on Pierro's demise. He didn't see how it could possibly
matter. It didn't even make a difference if the First was really dead or not. Dottore had all but
forgotten about his existence up until this point, anyway. Childe was right; he had no business
mourning that man.

But still, Dottore felt the compulsion to grieve. If not for Pierro… well, he could certainly come up
with something. And perhaps he had no business doing that, either, but Dottore was nothing if not
egregiously entitled to the things that were far beyond his worth. He was too weak to fight it off. A
part of him wanted to, but it was a voice softer than a whisper. He stood nothing to gain from
fighting. It was easier just to give in.

So Dottore wanted to grieve. But he only knew one way to do it.

He had practically thrown himself at Childe the moment he stepped foot back in the facility that
evening. Dottore begged for the Foul Legacy. Childe dully obliged.

Encounters with the Foul Legacy had been happening more often lately. Dottore couldn't be sure
how much more, unable to mark the passing of the days, but could at least vaguely take note of the
effects that lingered after these encounters, and how sometimes there would still be a distant ache
throbbing in his muscles and joints by the time the Foul Legacy took him next. It had been
happening more, and it had been getting worse.

Gone were the moments the Foul Legacy held him like something precious. Gone even were the
moments of fervent passion, when all that existed was pleasure, and pain was something to be
disregarded until the flames had died out.

It was robotic. It was quick, and careless. Like a job that only needed to be done quickly.

Dottore didn't entirely mind it that way. Usually, it was over before he even had a chance to feel
nostalgia for days long gone. The Foul Legacy had become an over glorified sedative. In due time,
the pain and discomfort would make way not for pleasure, but for release. He could still let go of
everything with the Foul Legacy. And when he woke up after being inevitably fucked unconscious,
he would nearly be a new man. He could dust himself off and soothe his aches after all was said
and done. So it didn't matter how bad it was.

That was what Dottore tried to tell himself. Tonight, however, was proving difficult to sit through.
Dottore wasn't sure how long it had been since they started, but it eventually dawned on him that it
had been too long, and neither of them had even come yet. By now, the friction alone should have
done the trick for at least one of them. But something was different. Dottore had been trying to
ignore it, to block out everything else and just wait for release to sweep him away, but it wasn't
possible. It was the worst it had ever been. Childe's movements were stuttering and erratic, hips
hitching between every other thrust and stopping altogether for long periods of time. His hulking
form was hunched over Dottore, like he couldn't keep holding himself upright, and the Third
finally noticed that there was a shallow pool of saliva building on his chest as it dripped from the
Foul Legacy's open mouth uninhibited. Something was wrong.

Dottore gritted his teeth through the Foul Legacy’s haphazard thrusts, trying to find his voice.

"Ch- Chi-" Dottore croaked, unable to catch his breath. He put his hands against Childe’s chest and
pushed - not to push him away, because that would not have been possible, but just to get his
attention. "Childe." It finally came out as a wheeze, too quiet to have possibly been heard through
the entity's inhuman grunting.

But the Foul Legacy came to a dead stop. Suddenly, it was so alarmingly still, a sense of unreality
made Dottore suck in a sharp breath and hold it in his chest. It was as if time itself was frozen in
place. The only evidence that it still marched forward was a thick string of saliva dribbling down
the Foul Legacy's fangs. It stretched out towards Dottore until it snapped in the middle, plopping
against his shoulder with a sickening, heavy wetness.

Dottore thought he would choke on the surreal silence between them. He swallowed audibly. "Chi-
"

There was a massive, armored hand against his throat before he could even finish saying his name.
Dottore's voice fizzled out in a gasp as the Foul Legacy's thumb pressed lightly against his trachea,
the point of the claw poised under his chin as if he intended to drive it straight through his neck - or
worse. Dottore imagined it flicking upwards and popping off his head like a cork off a bottle of
champagne. He shuddered. These days, he sometimes found himself yearning for death. But the
sobering reality of such a grisly and humiliating one being so close at hand was devastating. Terror
had seized control, and Dottore lay frozen in place as the Foul Legacy stared down at him with its
cold, violet eye.

“If it’s such a bother,” The Foul Legacy droned, pressing its claw just a little harder against his
throat, “then be done with it.”

Dottore couldn’t make sense of the words. But he didn’t think they were for him. And he didn’t
think they were from Childe. It was the same, bone-chilling sensation that Dottore had experienced
countless times by this point, after all the times he ever walked in on Childe and found him talking
to himself, the nights he didn’t sleep and simply babbled at the wall until Dottore shook him out of
it.

Childe was losing himself. And something else was taking his place. That was the thing that held
Dottore’s life under its thumb now.

But the Foul Legacy seemed just as frozen as Dottore was. It didn't move an inch, simply poised at
his throat, poised to kill.

Dottore wanted to scream. But he couldn't. All he could do was stare up at the thing with fearful,
pleading eyes that were sure to be disregarded. But Dottore wasn't looking for the Foul Legacy’s
mercy. He was hoping to find someone else's.
"Childe. Please," Dottore managed to croak. The bob of his throat made his skin strain against the
Foul Legacy's claw.

For a moment, he was only met with silence. A vacant, inhuman stare. A vision of a gruesome,
meaningless end.

Then, there was a scream.

A scream was the closest approximation to the horrifying, eldritch sound that the Foul Legacy
emitted over him, but in reality, it was as far from a human scream as could be comprehended. It
was all at once metallic and animalistic, and it gripped Dottore with a fear so primal that it made
his ribcage ache as his heart pounded violently against it.

Without warning, as it howled above him, the Foul Legacy released the hold it had on Dottore's
neck. What little remained of his self-preservation quickly took over as soon as he saw the
opportunity. His rigid body forced itself into motion, and he urgently scrambled out from under the
entity until he was cowering back up against the headboard. The Foul Legacy was hunched over
itself now, clawing at its own chest blindly, the screech of metal against metal making Dottore
wince. Suddenly, there was a flash. Dottore had to close his eyes.

By the time he opened them, Childe was in front of him. His hands were still at his bare chest,
clawing at nothing, clawing at something, and they left lines of angry red in their path as they
worked their way up to his throat. His mouth was open in a silent scream, not even gasping for
breath, and it took a moment for Dottore to realize it was because he couldn't breathe. But before
the Third could think of reacting, Childe abruptly retched. Doubling over, he leaned over the edge
of the bed, and he vomited onto the floor.

What spilled from his lips was a viscous, jet black substance that immediately filled the air with
the nauseating scent of pure rot. It was as if someone had left the whole world to decay - man,
beast, nature, civilization, and everything in between. Like it had all been decaying deep within
him since the beginning of time, and now it was spilling out onto the floor beneath him. It was
almost enough to make Dottore mad with revulsion, but he could do nothing but watch on in
stunned silence as Childe continued. Bile rose in his throat, but he was too frozen in horror to even
retch with him. The waste the Eleventh spewed seemed endless, each heave of his chest only
yielding more of the substance than the one before it, until it was even forcing its way through his
sinuses, black ichor shooting out from his nose and the corners of his eyes. Dottore didn't know
how long it was before the foul fluid finally stopped flowing out of him, but eventually, his
guttural gags came up dry. There was nothing to do now but for him to wheeze for the breath that
had been lost.

"I-I don't-" Childe's voice was hoarse when he started speaking, barely able to get the words out
through the panicked hiccups he had no control over. He was crying. "Wh-where- where are-
where are- where are- y-you-"

It was almost shameful how quickly that wavering, plaintive voice made Dottore lurch towards
him. In an instant, all else was overridden; fear, disgust, self-preservation, every sobering memory
of all the ministrations that had been used to bring the Third's foundation crumbling under his feet.
All at once, none of these things mattered to him. All at once, it was just him and Childe. He was
still the axis upon which Dottore's world turned, and he needed him. But even as Dottore
desperately scrambled towards him, his gaze couldn't help but drift over to the pile of sick on the
floor. The Third was almost paralyzed again as he realized that it was moving. It looked like a pit
of bubbling tar on the metal floor, undulating and hissing as if in reproach to the open air. There
were little tendrils reaching up from it, reaching towards him and Childe, but they seemed to
collapse beneath their own weight before making it too far, fizzling back into the collection of
black ooze pooling on the ground. Dottore did not dwell on this, simply because he could not. To
spend one moment contemplating the mystery of what the fuck had just come out of that boy would
have sent Dottore spiraling, and he couldn't do that now. Childe was still hyperventilating, even as
Dottore clamped a hand around his wrist to get his attention.

"I- I don't- Wh-where-" Childe sobbed. He looked up at Dottore. "Where are- where are you?
Where are you?"

Dottore drew in a sharp gasp. It was not because of how small and helpless Childe looked, calling
for him even when it was looking right at him. It was because of his eyes. For reasons Dottore
could not comprehend, Childe's pupils had warped. The borders seemed to have collapsed, or they
were extending their reach outwards like the grisly ichor on the floor below them; they peaked on
four sides, like the points on a compass. They looked like stars. But that wasn’t really what left
Dottore reeling.

There was a light in his eyes. Even through the grey fog of inky bile that had settled over them,
Dottore had spent far too long dwelling over these eyes to not notice the difference. They were
deranged with fear, unfocused and sightless. But there was a light. It was-

There was too much going on. The hissing below them abruptly grew louder, and it ripped
Dottore's attention from Childe down to the black pile on the floor. Suddenly, a dark fog was rising
from it, an unmistakable mark of Abyssal decay. It was starting to evaporate away.

"Help me, help me, help me ," Childe's panicked wheeze commanded his attention again, and
Dottore's head snapped back. He was still looking straight through the Third, his hands blindly
grasping for something he couldn't seem to find. "Help me help me help me -"

Dottore's eyes welled up with tears, but he was too overwhelmed to even shed them. "I-I don't- I
don't know how-" Dottore stammered over him.

Finally, Childe screwed his eyes shut tightly and let out a guttural cry, wrenching his wrist from
Dottore's grip, just to join their hands together clumsily. He squeezed it too tightly, hard enough to
make Dottore's fingers throb in pain. But it was what Dottore needed to understand. He quickly
snatched Childe’s other hand in his own, until both their hands were clasped in a desperate union,
and he squeezed back as hard as he could.

Dottore just held on. It felt like frighteningly too little, but he held anyway, and eventually,
Childe's frantic babbling tapered off into distant mutters. As the Eleventh seemed to calm himself,
Dottore's eyes wandered back to the ground. The sludge Childe expelled had completely
evaporated. But the smell still lingered in Dottore's nostrils, a ghastly wraith of what he had just
occurred. It was the only evidence left of it, now.

Childe suddenly fell deathly silent. Dottore looked back at him, and his head was drooping
forward, obscuring his face.

"Childe?" Dottore called fearfully, shaking his hands a little to catch his attention.

Childe lifted his head then, and opened his eyes. They were the same as they had always been.
Two round pupils in the center of deep pools of blue.

There was no light behind them at all.

It made Dottore's heart sink.

Childe abruptly shook his hands loose from his grip. Dottore just let him, too shocked to do much
else. All he could do was stare at him, a dumbstruck expression on his face.

"Childe?" Dottore tried calling him again, unsure of how else to proceed.

"Water," came Childe's raw, raspy voice. His eyes were still not in focus, though now it seemed to
merely be the product of exhaustion. His expression was dull. He still had black vomit staining his
skin, clinging to the corners of his mouth and steaming down his face in lines from his nose and
eyes, and it just made him look paler than had already gotten. Dottore pursed his lips and quickly
got up from the bed.

He came back from the washroom with a glass of water and a rag. He handed Childe the glass,
trying not to let his hand tremble as he held it out, and the Eleventh quickly swiped it from him,
downing the whole thing in one go. He tried to set it down on the bedside table, but only made it as
far as the edge. The empty cup slipped from his fingers and shattered against the floor. Neither of
them made any moves to tend to the mess. Dottore then attempted to wipe some of the vomit from
his face, but Childe listlessly swatted his hand away. He started moving back towards the center of
the bed, pushing past Dottore on his hands and knees. He crumpled onto his side, head hanging
half-off the pillow, and simply stared off into the distance like that.

Dottore hesitated. Then, he followed him, sitting up beside him and trying to clean his face again.
He didn't know what else to do. Childe waved his hand away again. When Dottore persisted, he
sighed quietly, brusquely yanking the rag out of his grip. He started wiping his face clean himself.
The Third's hands fell uselessly at his sides.

The quiet was heavy. Heavier than it had ever been. It persisted for a long time. Dottore sat over
Childe, unable to do anything but watch him as he tended to his own mess. He waited for him to
say something. Childe did not. After a while, it became obvious that he wasn’t going to. So
eventually, Dottore found his own voice.

"Are you-" Dottore caught himself before asking if Childe was alright, deciding that it would be in
poor taste. He wasn't. That much was obvious. "What… what happened?"

Childe still laughed humorlessly at the question. It was an awful bark, dry as a bone in every sense
of the word. "Hell if I know,” he responded, disarmingly glib. He seemed to think about it for a
moment, though. “I pushed myself too hard, I guess."

The statement instilled Dottore with dread. "What do you mean?"

Childe rolled over on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He had succeeded in cleaning most of his
face, but a bit still clung at the corners of his mouth. Dottore felt compelled to wipe it away, but
did not, for fear that he would only be brushed away again.

"That was…." Childe trailed off in thought. "The fourth time I transformed in a week. Fourth? No,
fifth, I think. It was the fifth time."

This too, was spoken far too casually. It took Dottore too long to process the gravity of the
confession. "What?" Dottore crowed in aghast disbelief. "What do you-"

"I just keep thinking…. I just keep thinking. I thought that if maybe- if I just let go, maybe it will
get better. So that's what I've been trying to do." Childe laughed dryly again. "It didn't work, I
guess."

Dottore’s eyes went glassy all over again as guilt swept through him. "You… you didn't have to-"
"I know I didn't," Childe snapped quickly, shooting a cold glare in Dottore's direction. "It wouldn't
have mattered if you had asked me to fuck you or not. I would have done the whole thing over
again tomorrow, anyway. Everything would have been the same. You don't make any difference.
So don't-"

Childe cut himself off with a loud scoff. He draped an arm over his eyes.

"So don't fucking look at me like that." Childe muttered curtly. But most of the venom had already
left his voice. He just sounded tired.

Dottore didn't know exactly how he had been looking at him, but he didn't question it. And even
though Childe had obscured his own vision, he also tore his gaze away shamefully. Dottore started
staring at the wall ahead of him, his hands blindly reaching for the covers so he could pull them
over his lap for some semblance of security. He suddenly felt too exposed. Too open. Helpless.

There was another long stretch of silence. This time, Dottore did not intend to break it himself. But
eventually, Childe did. It was with a sigh, at first, drawn out and weary.

"Dottore?" Childe called weakly. Dottore was still hesitant to look over. He caught a glimpse of
him out of the corner of his eye. The Eleventh's eyes were still covered by his own arm, and his
lips were drawn back into a tight line.

"What?" Dottore replied quietly.

Childe took another deep breath, letting it out through his nostrils. "Did you ever love me?"

The question left Dottore breathless.

There was the sobering implication that Childe was well aware that Dottore certainly could not
hold any love for him now, which…. Well, of course that was the case. Why wouldn't it be, after
everything he had done? But he said it with more confidence than Dottore would have been able to,
somehow, and that made his stomach churn. But Dottore considered the question. He thought
about that vague, inscrutable feeling that he had no understanding of, the one that had been spoken
to him too many times to count from lips that only meant to deceive. But he thought about how he
had felt in those moments.

What had been going through his mind? What had ever been going through his mind, every time
Childe professed his love to him? Was it nothing at all? Something he couldn't have possibly hoped
to define? Was he happy? Or had he just been too amenable to his own discomfort?

It was too much to think about. Dottore couldn’t keep his thoughts straight, and every second of
introspection only seemed to lead him further from the path of understanding himself. He had no
idea what he had wanted before all this. To say anything otherwise just wouldn’t be right. But
Dottore couldn’t just sit there in silence. A lump was forming in the back of his throat, and tears
stung at his eyes, but eventually, he came up with the best answer he could. The only one he knew
would be the truth.

"I-" Dottore's voice cracked, and he swallowed roughly around his rising despair. "I wish I had
when I had the chance."

A beat of silence followed that statement. It hung heavy in the air, until Childe finally moved his
arm.

"What?" Childe asked, voice rising in the middle. Dottore looked back to him, and to his dismay,
he found the Eleventh glowering at him viciously, a scowl making its way to his face. "What the
fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Dottore meekly averted his gaze as Childe started sitting upright. His tears finally welled up over
his lashes, and they streamed down his cheeks as he started stuttering in confusion. "I-I don't- I was
just-"

"No, no, I'm serious, what kind of half-assed answer is that?!" Childe interrupted, already shouting
now. "It's not even an answer at all, Dottore! It wasn't supposed to be hard! All you had to say was
yes or no!"

"I… I don't know-"

"I'm so tired of hearing that!" Childe snapped. He sat up straight, wincing as he did so, but it didn’t
stop his tirade. "Just make a decision! For once in your fucking life, just make a decision!"

Dottore's mouth floundered open helplessly, and he bit back a sob. He just didn't understand. What
did he want from him? Did he want him to love him? Hate him? Dottore didn’t know what the
right answer was. "It… it's just the truth-"

"The truth?!" Childe barked in disbelief, a scoff escaping his throat. He crawled onto his knees,
advancing on him angrily. "That's the truth?! That doesn't even make any sense, why would you-"

"I don't-" Dottore's voice suddenly rose, defensiveness taking over and giving him a monetary
flash of indignant ire. "What the fuck were you expecting?!"

"I was expecting you to lie to me!" Childe spat, practically lunging forward as he said it, shouting
in Dottore's face. Dottore, ever for his brief burst of impudence, quickly wilted away from him.
"All the lies you've ever told in your life, and now you're so concerned with telling the truth? Like
you think that it'll suddenly make you the good guy, or something? Because it doesn't fucking
work like that! It never will! You'll never be the good guy, Dottore! Neither of us will!"

The words hit Dottore hard, and he couldn't reply. He scrunched his eyes shut tightly, trying to
keep him emotions at bay, but it only made more tears spill forth unbidden. Childe growled loudly
in exasperation.

"I can't believe you! I'm sitting here, dying, and you give me that cryptic bullshit?" That statement
was a twist of a dagger that had already been lodged between Dottore's ribs, and though it made
him burn with shame, a sob finally escaped his throat. It was ludicrous, how Childe’s blasé
assessment of his own condition could catch him so off guard, when it was such an obvious
observation to make. Whatever would end up happening to the Eleventh, one thing could no longer
be denied; Childe, as both himself and Dottore knew him, was slipping away. The dissolve was by
design, so of course only one outcome remained. Childe knew that. And Dottore had known that
too, deep down inside. But hearing it said aloud was different. It was beyond gut-wrenching.

Childe continued as Dottore quietly cried next to him. "Well, if you're so obsessed with the truth,
suddenly, then I guess I won't hold back, either! There hasn’t been a reason to lie to you since I told
you everything, so I won’t start now. I never loved you, Dottore. Nobody ever could. And this is
exactly why."

That, too, was something that should have been more than obvious, but hearing it said with such
venom was pure agony. Dottore opened his mouth, maybe to speak, maybe just to sob again, but
nothing came out. His grief had become too overwhelming to vocalize. It had seeped into his lungs,
and all he could do was choke on it.
"You're so- I could have been anything!" Childe cried, his furious diatribe seeming neverending. "I
could have been anything, but now I'm just this, and it's all because of you! I was supposed to have
a purpose for being here, there was supposed to be a reason, but you made it all worthless, you
make it fucking worthless and now we just- just-" Childe stuttered briefly, before groaning loudly
in frustration, fisting his hands into his own hair. "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Dottore flinched at the outburst, blinking in confusion. "I-I'm not-"

"I'm not talking to you!" Childe bellowed immediately, teeth gnashing as he threw his hands back
down in frustration. "I'm not fucking talking to you! Not everything's about you! After all this, you
still don't get it! Not everything's about you! Just this once, it was supposed to be about me!" His
face started twisting up in pain, and Dottore wasn't sure if it was from physical pain or from the
words he spoke. But his tone had suddenly changed. His rage gradually fizzled out as he continued
speaking, voice cracking and shaking until he spoke in a shrill rasp that Dottore could barely
understand. "I was supposed to have a reason! That was the whole reason I was brought here; I was
supposed to have a reason, and that’s what would make it all worth it. It was supposed to be worth
it! I was- I was going to have something to show for- I was going to have a reason for being alive!
That was the whole point! And now I'm just-"

Childe went to make a vague, sweeping gesture with his hand, but he jerked around too quickly.
His shouts died out in the air as a guttural groan tore through him, and his hands flew up to his
ribcage. It was clear that his pain could no longer be disregarded. Dottore watched Childe crumple
before his eyes, doubling over on himself as a string of senseless obscenities spilled from his lips.
Dottore was compelled to reach out to him, but stopped short of the movement. He was too afraid
to. Childe looked too fragile like this, but he also looked too dangerous. His edges had points sharp
enough to kill, and everything in between was as transparent and brittle as spun sugar. Dottore
thought that if he were to touch him, he would only hurt them both in the process. Childe would
collapse on the spot; Dottore would simply be cut clean through.

Childe eventually just slumped back down on the bed, first laying on his side and curling into
himself in a fetal position. That didn't seem comfortable, and after a moment he hissed through his
teeth, throwing his hands over his face in frustration and rolling onto his back. He came to stop like
that, just trying to steady his breathing. His chest heaved, and Dottore could see every muscle in his
body go rigid with each ragged gasp. But he still wasn't done.

"I knew it was all ending," Childe said weakly. He had grown considerably more quiet. His temper
was cooling, and all that was left was bitterness. "I knew. But I thought I’d be great for it. I thought
if I did everything like they told me to, it would be worth it in the end. I thought I would get what I
wanted. I thought I’d fulfill my purpose, not just the Foul Legacy’s. But I….”

Childe trailed off. Then, a dry laugh escaped his throat. “I don't know why I'm telling you this.
You don't care. You can't even lie when it counts." He paused, briefly chewing his bottom lip.
"Even when it's the only thing you're good at. But you can't even lie when it really matters. Not
when it's for someone else."

He was not appeased, but he fell silent anyway. There was nothing else left to say.

Dottore stared at him for a while. Then, his gaze drifted to the tangle of sheets fisted in his own
hands. Every last word he had been berated with settled over his mind like a dense fog. But he kept
coming back to one thing, over and over again, until the phrase seemed to lose meaning. He
repeated it to himself like a mantra, long after the tongue it had been uttered in stopped mattering.
It was no longer language; it was just an idea adrift in the ether.

Not everything's about you.

At face value, they were words meant to wound. It was a jab meant to stick where it hurt most, an
affront to all the decades Dottore had lived, all he had ever sacrificed up until this point. If none of
it was about him, not a single part of it, then what was even the point of his life? It was a notion too
cruel for him to wrap his head around.

But maybe it was true. It didn't matter how long he sat there, lamenting over the wasted years, the
time he had spent searching for something more only to find that there was nothing beyond what
had already been written in stone. If the world was falling, then he was always meant to fall with it.

From a young age, Dottore had always thought that the meaning of life was to live. But perhaps
there was no meaning to life whatsoever. And if there was, it was not to live. It seemed now that
life existed simply because it must end. There was nothing more to it than that. His losses were
numerous to count, and they haunted him wherever he turned. And he took them all to heart,
because if he didn't, it would become all too obvious how small and meaningless his miserable
little existence had been. So he pretended that it was all part of some greater plan. He pretended
that he had any say at all in the things that happened around him, whether they were good or bad.
And it was better that way; it was better to pretend that he was a part of something more than just
the end.

But from the moment Dottore knew him, Childe had known. From the moment he had stepped out
of the throes of the Abyss, he had known. He had known what he carried with him, that he was a
vessel for the encroaching inevitability of the end, and he had spent his precious few years in this
world knowing that, all while dutifully feeding into Dottore's delusions that there was something
greater waiting for them beyond oblivion.

And damn him for dismantling that fantasy in the cruelest way imaginable. Goddamn him for
every last lie he had ever told, for making Dottore more than he ever could have dreamed, only to
tear him down to the least he had ever been. But he had lied for a reason. He lied because he knew
it would make everything better. He knew, better than anyone else, just how bottomless the reality
really was. It was what had broken him down. It was what was killing him now. In lying to him,
Childe had given up his chance to pretend.

And he was right about Dottore. Dottore had spent his entire life lying. He had lied to the people in
his hometown, he had lied to the scholars at the Academia, he had lied to every man and woman
that had ever willingly submitted themselves to his insidious experimentations - he had lied to
himself. Lying was second nature to him. So why start telling the truth now? Was he as foolish to
think that dying an honest man would somehow make it all better? It wouldn't. There was no
amount of truth that could outweigh the things he had done, even just the things outside of Childe,
the needless destruction he had wrought before that boy was even born. And even if it could, what
was the point? To appeal himself to divine forces he held no reverence for?

It was far too late for any of that. Dottore could not be forgiven. He could not repent for who he
was. There was no way to take it all back.

He didn't even have the spine to lie when it really counted.

Dottore remembered that glimpse of light he had seen in Childe's eyes, and the pitfall of grief it had
so quickly plunged him into when he realized it had gone as quickly as it came. He mourned that
loss of light now, a fleeting peek at the young man that could have been, the one that had been left
behind in the Abyss so many years ago. And it was tragic that it had happened, undeniably so. But
like Pierro, Ajax was not a soul Dottore had any business mourning. And yet, he was quicker to
grieve the loss of a boy he had never known than he was to mourn the one withering away right in
front of him. The one that was withering because he had given every last scrap of himself - the
good and bad - to Dottore.

Dottore knew it wasn't something to laud. He wasn't exactly singing his praises, but he still knew
how warped the reasoning was. But to that degree, the opposition to the argument was just as
twisted. Maybe he should have merely despised Childe for his life of lies. Dottore probably would
have been better off, if he could find some will left to hate him.

But that would have only made Dottore feel better. And this wasn't about him.

For once, it would be about someone else.

Dottore looked back at Childe. He was still supine, head in hands. There was no part of his face
visible, nothing for Dottore's eyes to latch onto. Instead, his gaze drifted to the shallow rise and fall
of his chest. His breathing had evened out somewhat, but he was anything but soothed.

Dottore let one of his hands wander. Even though it still scared him, he touched him. He laid his
palm out flat against the left side of Childe's chest. He just rested it there, taking care not to press
down. As he splayed his fingers out over the surface of his skin, Dottore closed his eyes briefly. He
felt Childe go a little stiff at the contact. He hadn't been expecting it. He relaxed quickly, though
whether this was out of comfort or resignation remained to be seen. Dottore thought it was
probably the latter, but for now, that was fine. He could feel the vague sensation of life under his
fingertips, but it wasn't what had compelled him to reach out, and he furrowed his brows in
frustration.

Dottore took his hand away. He leaned over instead, and rested his head in its place. He was
cautious about this, too. He was supporting most of his weight on his hands. He only pressed
against him hard enough for his cheek to softly brush against Childe's bare skin, his ear flush with
his chest.

There it was. Dottore could hear the faint pulses of his beating heart. He listened. He counted
them, for a while. They were steady, but just a little too fast. Despite this, it was a soothing rhythm.
A familiar one, Dottore quickly realized. He thought of all the times he had ever drifted off to
sleep while listening to that sound. All the times it had given him a sense of security, even if he
hadn't been aware of it in the moment.

He thought about never hearing it again.

He quickly pushed that thought away. If he didn't, he'd never get back up.

Dottore eased himself back up, just enough to turn his head, and looked back up at Childe's face.
The Eleventh had let his hands fall limply to the side, but he was just staring vacantly up at the
ceiling. When Dottore shifted his weight around, his blue eyes flickered downwards. They met
with the Third's for a moment, and then they drifted away again.

"Don't look at me like that," Childe said quietly.

Dottore lightly rested his cheek back against his chest. "Like what?"

Childe's features seemed to strain under the question. He swallowed roughly. "Like I'm already
gone."

Dottore knew he wasn't. He closed his eyes, listening to the gentle, rhythmic reminder of his
presence. Then, he sat back up.

When he descended again, it was on Childe's lips. Childe made no move to resist, but he didn't
reciprocate, either. Dottore just continued gently kissing his mouth, down to the corners that were
still speckled with the black-tinged saliva that Childe had missed. Dottore flicked his tongue out
against it. It didn't taste as bad as he thought it would. It only really tasted of spit and nothing more,
but even if it hadn't, it wouldn't have made a difference. Dottore still would have cleaned off every
last bit with the soft motions of his lips and tongue, would have drunk down every last bit of him,
gritting his teeth through instinctive revulsion and a sour catch in his throat. He would have lied.
He would have kept lying until his dying breath. One of his hands drifted down Childe's side,
fingers just lightly ghosting down his frame, and finally, the Eleventh's breath hitched. His lips
parted with it, and after a moment of hesitation, he slotted them back together with Dottore's.

They kissed like that languidly, like they had all the time in the world for it. Their tongues slid
together in a tender dalliance in the space between them, until Dottore probed deeper, lapping at
the faded remnants of sick in Childe's mouth until there was nothing left but the taste of their
essences intermixed. Dottore counted all the lies he was telling him without sound: his hands
traversed the soft curve of his hips like they belonged there; he let Childe hold onto his shoulders,
hard enough for his nails to leave welts in his skin, like Dottore was his; he cared for him like he
was made of thin porcelain, like something small and precious and irreplaceable.

Childe let out a whimper. It was not of pleasure, but despair, and Dottore parted from the kiss just
enough to give him some breathing room. Childe's eyes shone with unshed tears, and he gasped
against Dottore's mouth.

"Oh, make it stop, please," Childe begged, gripping his shoulders tighter. "Make them stop, please,
I can't- I can't hear myself think."

Dottore's breath hitched, and he buried his face into the crook of Childe's neck. He dragged his lips
against his skin, breathed in a scent that was no longer familiar like it was all he had ever breathed
in his life.

"How?" Dottore rasped.

"Make it just for us," Childe whined desperately, deliriously. "Make it just for us, please, please."

Dottore moved, and that was a lie, too. Because he moved like he understood. The truth was, he
didn't, he couldn't possibly understand a single part of this, and it was tearing him apart from the
inside out. But he had to keep lying. Now, it was the least he could do. He kissed all the way down
Childe's neck, until he reached his collarbone, ravishing every last inch of the bony protrusion with
his lips. He went down the center of his chest, lingering just over his heart again, going down
further still until he was past his ribcage, past his navel, settled in between Childe's legs. He paused
there, sitting back on his heels, looking down at him. Childe groaned as he hooked his hands under
his knees and pulled them as close to his chest as he could. But it hurt. Dottore knew it did. The
Eleventh couldn't mask the grimace on his face, or the stiffness of his movements. Dottore's hand
pressed lightly against his inner thigh. He was already trembling from the effort. His fingers then
drifted inwards, until they ghosted over his dry hole.

Dottore didn't want it to hurt. He doubted they had any lubricant left laying around anymore, and
didn't want to leave him to go look for it, leave him with whatever ghastly forces were threatening
to overtake him, but he didn't want it to hurt. He was already hurting enough.

Dottore hastily grabbed one of the pillows from the head of the bed, and carefully pushed it under
Childe's open hips, helping to prop his lower back up off the mattress. Once he was settled, it didn't
seem to bring him any more discomfort, so Dottore readjusted himself to dip his head down
between his legs. He caught the head of his stiffening cock between his lips and fleetingly sucked it
into his mouth, running his tongue under it and listening to Childe's moan of approval. But he let it
go then, letting it fall against his stomach, kissing it down to the base. He turned his head slightly
to gently nip at his inner thigh, his eyes darting up to Childe face. He wasn't looking at him, head
lolled off to the side, eyes screwed shut tightly as terse moans fell from his lips. He couldn't relax
himself yet.

Dottore's fingers brushed against his puckered hole again. He kissed the soft skin on his thigh one
more time, before dipping his head lower. Lips and tongue descended on his entrance without
hesitation, and Dottore heard Childe draw a sharp breath inwards as he gently probed against the
tight ring of muscle with the tip of his tongue. His body briefly went rigid before sagging, and the
air came back out of him in a long, shuddering moan. One of Childe's hands came to rest at the top
of Dottore's head, and he ran his fingers through it.

Dottore lapped at the small folds of sensitive skin until Childe was pliant enough for his tongue to
slip just past his rim. He dragged his tongue in and out of him until Childe's toes were curling in
the air, gentle sighs and mewls of pleasure now spilling forth from him unbidden. He was opening
further still, and Dottore drove deeper inside until he came to the extension of his reach. His nose
pressed up against his perineum, and Childe nearly sobbed from it. Dottore thrust his tongue inside
him, and he thought of a time long before this, back before he had found his light in the darkness,
and far before that light had been snuffed out right in front of his eyes. It was a time when he would
have reeled in disgust at the mere thought of doing such a thing as this, something so crude and
debasing. To do something so selfless, so intimate as to taste the softness of his inner walls,
devouring the essence of his core - to live for it, to moan from it, to feel his own cock twitching in
time with the throb of Childe's insides.

Dottore stayed nestled in his heat until the desire became too much to bear, and he withdrew his
tongue, swirling it around Childe's hole once more before pulling back. Saliva thickly coated his
mouth now, and he sucked three of his own fingers into it as he sat back up. He brought them back
down to Childe's slick entrance. The first breached through with ease. He followed it with a
second, fitting it in slowly as he looked back to Childe's face. His features were nearly slack, but
his eyes still shone with emotion, as as their gazes met, Dottore saw his bottom lip quiver slightly.

"Come back, please," Childe whispered meekly. Dottore complied immediately, sinking his fingers
in deeper, gently scissoring inside him as he leaned back over Childe and kissed him. Childe met
his lips with desperation, like he had been waiting to taste himself on Dottore's tongue. Dottore let
him take what he needed, slipping a third finger inside him as Childe dragged his tongue along the
underside of his molars. The Eleventh hiccuped then, and Dottore pulled back slightly, brows
furrowing.

"Does it hurt?"

Childe's face contorted into a mask of despair. "Everything does."

Dottore's hand stilled. "Should I-"

"Not there," Childe said quickly. "Please don't stop. Please, please."

Dottore grimaced slightly, but continued nonetheless. He curled his fingers against Childe's
prostate, kissing the corner of his mouth as it made him whimper.

"You're doing so good," Dottore muttered. He kissed him again. "You're such a good boy."

Childe's breath caught. He blinked his eyes rapidly, and with the motion, tears finally came spilling
over. "No, I'm not."
And he was right. It was another lie. Dottore was still counting them. But he just joined their lips
together again.

"I don't care," Dottore said softly. "You're still my boy. You always will be."

Was that another lie? If it wasn't, was the first part even a lie to begin with? Dottore realized he
could no longer tell the difference between the truths and the lies. He stopped counting.

Childe sobbed at that. He suddenly reached down and grabbed Dottore's hand by the wrist.
"Please, let me feel you inside. I-I need it, please, I can't think straight."

Dottore wiggled his fingers around carefully, feeling the give of his heat around them, deciding it
was enough. He pulled them out and sat back on his heels again despite a whine of protest from
Childe.

Dottore's cock was already dripping with precum, and he spread it around on himself with a few
quick strokes. He spat in his hand for good measure, slicking himself further before pressing the
glistening, maroon head against Childe's entrance. He soon felt Childe pressing in around him on
all sides, warmth enveloping him, and it was enough to make him shudder. He wanted to collapse
against him, let him take all of him - but that would have been just for Dottore. It would not have
been gentle, and it would not have been light. It would have hurt. Dottore buried himself deep
inside, going slow and letting him feel all of it, but he did not sink into him like he yearned to.
Childe could not afford to bear anymore weight.

Childe's features were twisted up, indistinguishable as either pain or pleasure, and the Third put a
hand on his stomach softly.

"How do you want it?" Dottore asked.

Childe gritted his teeth. "I don't kn- Just go slow. Everything- Just go slow, please."

"I will."

"A-and don't touch me yet. Don't- I don't want to come yet. I don't want- I don't want it to be over."
Childe let out a whine, letting his head fall back against the bed. "I don't want it to stop, I don't
want it to ever stop, please, don't let it end, I-"

He was babbling, growing tense under Dottore's touch, and the Third hushed him. "No, relax. I
won't."

If Dottore had still been counting, that would have been another lie. They both knew it had to end
eventually.

But Dottore moved. He went slow, like Childe wanted, he disregarded his neglected arousal, like
he wanted, and he just focused on the roll of his hips as he descended back down on him and
kissed his quivering lips. Dottore gave him every last ounce of tenderness he had left to give, and
somehow it was enough, and somehow it felt like they did have all the time in the world for it, and
somehow it was good.

Somehow, Childe was still so, so good.

It was wrong, how good he was. It was wrong, how much he still revered that boy, how he could
let him sweep him up in feelings he had never known before. It was the cruelest twist of fate, how
it felt like the first time, the last time, every time in between - the only time he had ever spent on
this earth, the only time he would ever exist in again. His depths, his skin, his lips, his breath; it
was home. The only home Dottore had ever known.

Dottore's chest was tight, and his emotions seized his throat and choked the life out of him, made
his eyes sting and his body ache, but he would not cry. He wouldn't cry for the loss of his home, for
the loss of the last real purpose he had to cling to. He would lie. Until his dying breath, he would
keep lying.

He would make them the only two things in the world.

And for a while, he could almost even fool himself into believing that was true. But eventually,
Childe sobbed beneath him, half-pleasure, half-grief, and he wrapped his arms around Dottore's
neck desperately.

"Oh, I-I can't hold it anymore," Childe whined woefully. "I can't, I can't, don't go-"

"I won't," Dottore croaked. He fought to keep the rhythm of his hips tempered. He was almost
there with him. At the edge of a cliff, peering down into the bottomless chasm below them.
Nothing behind them, nothing ahead. All that was left was to jump.

"Just don't stop, don't stop, don't ever stop," Childe wailed. Dottore could feel himself falling. With
the last of his wits, he wrapped his hand around Childe's weeping cock, and he keened from it. The
pain wracking his body seeming all but forgotten, his legs hooked around Dottore's hips and his
arms pulled him in until their foreheads were touching. He clung to him like the last thing he would
ever cling to, and he cried. They were words devoid of language, and overflowing with sorrow.

Dottore just called his name. It was all he could say, over and over again, as they climaxed as one,
and in the throes of delirious ecstasy, Dottore realized they had both been wrong; there was
meaning to life, after all. It was the name he couldn't shake from his lips. It wasn't the words
themselves, but what they represented. It was this space of time, the one that felt impossible - a
rapturous moment that felt like it would never end.

And then, it ended.

Childe came out of his orgasm weeping. Dottore tried to hush him, stroking his hair back, kissing
the salty tears away from his temple, but he could not be soothed. He found his words again, and
Dottore made himself hear every last one.

"I don't want to go!" Childe wailed, shoulders heaving violently with the sobs that had overtaken
him. "I thought it would be worth it. I thought I was born for it, and it would be worth it. It isn't. It
isn't, it isn't, it isn't. Nobody even knew I was here. There wasn't a reason. I don't want to go. I'm
scared. Don't let me go."

Dottore didn't know what to do.

Part of him wanted to tell him that he loved him. It would have been a lie, which is what Childe
needed. But he would know now, that a lie was all it was. And maybe he already knew that all the
other things were lies, too. But after everything they had been through, it still didn't feel right. It
felt patronizing. It felt empty.

But he still needed to be lied to.

So Dottore told him the most ridiculous lie he could think of.

"You're going to be okay," Dottore rasped. His throat was cotton, and he couldn't breath. It hurt.
Everything hurt. But he pet Childe's hair, and he breathed it against his skin as if it were the truth.
"You'll be okay. Everything's going to be okay."

Dottore repeated this like a prayer throughout the entire night. Because after they had finished,
Childe simply wept. It was an awful, haunting howl, one that surely filled the entire valley with it's
mournful discordance. A keen more devastating than the one of the neighbor girl's mother which
Dottore remembered too well; more deranged than Dottore's own sobs from the night his world
had been torn to pieces. Childe wept so fiercely that he could not even let himself be soothed, just
writhing around in the throes of indescribable agony, too stiff to hold, too restless to still.

It was the sound of despair in its purest form. It was a world's worth of sorrow, spilling out of him
in an unending stream of misery.

They did not sleep.

Dottore did not think he would ever sleep again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The following day, Childe told him they couldn't stay in the facility any longer. He told Dottore to
go back to the Palace. And he told him never to come back.

Dottore just stared at him in stunned silence. Childe was sitting at the edge of the bed, not even
looking at him. He had reached for his Delusion before speaking, and he was now turning it
around in his hand as if there was something curious about it.

Dottore's heart had leapt to his throat. He swallowed it back down. "Why?"

"You don't need to worry about anything," Childe said. His tone had no bite to it, but it was clear
that the matter wasn't up for debate.

He seemed energetic now, despite not sleeping all night. Maybe even a little peppy. He was still
studying his Delusion with a hint of bemusement on his face, as if it were a novelty. He popped the
violet stone out of the Snezhnayan insignia, haphazardly tossing the metal frame onto the floor.

Dottore sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. "Are you going to be okay?"

That made Childe pause. The Delusion seemed to lose his attention, and he let it come to rest in the
center of his palm. After a moment, he chuckled lightly. He turned to Dottore, and he smiled at
him casually.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Childe asked. His fingers curled around the Delusion in his hands. He
squeezed it.

He kept squeezing.

Sparks of electricity suddenly flew out from between his fingers, and it made Dottore flinch. Then,
he heard a crunch. Like a shard of glass cracking under a heavy boot. The Electro energy
dissipated, and Childe opened his hand back up to reveal a broken Delusion within it.

Still smiling, Childe simply upturned his hand and let the purple shards clatter onto the floor. He
wiped his palms against each other, as if merely shaking some dust off.

"Don't worry about it," Childe said, laughing lightly again. "I've never felt better."

~*~*~*~*~*~
By the time Dottore arrived back in Snezhnaya, the reports were already on his desk.

The evening prior - the eve of Dottore's departure from the facility - the Liyue Qixing were in
attendance at Yuehai Pavilion for a meeting. The details of said meeting were a highly classified
matter; none of the Fatui's agents had been able to recover any intel of the prospective topic
discussion. It was rumored that they were making a move to finally oust the Snezhnayan diplomats
stationed there out of the nation.

Childe had single-handedly infiltrated the Qixing's meeting. He had cut his way through security,
leaving thirty-two dead Millelith officers in his wake, and he had forced the Qixing out onto the
terrace, in front of the public eye.

He gave them a choice. They could either relinquish control of Liyue in peace. Or he would take
each one of their their shares by force.

Not many of the Qixing were willing to submit.

It was no better than a public execution. The glaze lilies on the terrace were stained crimson with
the blood of those that governed over the prolific nation, and what few Qixing remained regretfully
swore their fealty to Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa.

It was not how things were supposed to go. The rest of the Harbingers were appalled. They were
furious. But Childe's impudence was quickly disregarded. Because as odd as it was, the only one
who had no disapproval to offer was the Tsaritsa herself.

But maybe it wasn't so strange. They were fast approaching the end of the road. The Pyro Archon's
gnosis had yet to be confiscated, but it was only a matter of time. And things would proceed
quickly from there. And in the end, the Tsaritsa still had the results she wanted. The Qixing had
been overthrown. Power over the Harbor now rested solely in the Fatui's hands. At that point,
nearly all of Teyvat was theirs.

So with that, Childe had finished his assignment. There was no reason for him to remain in Liyue
anymore. He was coming back to Snezhnaya with the rest of the Harbingers.

Two days after that report, Dottore received another one.

The Liyue facility was gone.

There was no warning. Nothing left behind. An event of catastrophic proportions, come and gone
as quickly and quietly as a field mouse. One moment, it was there. The next, it was nothing but a
hole in the ground, and it had taken nearly all of the Dunyu Ruins with it.

Dottore read the report that had been left on his desk, fell to his knees, and wept. It must have been
loud enough to shake the entire Palace, all the way from its foundation to the tip of its tallest spires,
but he didn't care.

If anything, it could not compare to the mournful wails that still echoed in his ears from his last
night with Childe.

The last night they would ever spend there.

Dottore thought about that place. All the things he had ever forgotten there, and all else he wished
he couldn't remember. He remembered feeling so sickeningly isolated there that it made him sick.
He remembered the euphoria of feeling like there was nothing else in the world but that place, and
the two of them inside it.
 He remembered all of it.

And he knew there had to be a reason.

He thought he had made his peace with things, but that peace had been wiped from existence in one
fell swoop. What he had laid to rest had been callously exhumed and taken back from him. The
blood and sweat that had seeped into the walls of that place had been stripped clean. There was
nothing to show for his trials.

There was nothing to show for Childe's.

And so there had to be a reason.

There had to be something more than this. There had to be something that could be done.

This couldn't be all there was.

Dottore had nowhere else to turn. The efforts of his work had been all but wiped off the face of the
earth. His colleagues only wished for him to follow his research into the grave. Childe was slipping
too quickly into oblivion to be intercepted.

Dottore had run out of options.

There was nowhere left to look.

So for the very first time, he looked up.

Not to the heavens, per se. But to the frigid throne room that had always been quietly looming over
his head.

Chapter End Notes

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 Essence Preceded, Existence Followed
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It was no easy task to gain an audience with the Tsaritsa. Not even for the Harbingers. Unless she
called for one of them first, they were unlikely to speak with her face to face. She was very
particular about the matters she attended to herself, and in all his years of service, Dottore could
still count the number of times he had ever personally spoken to her on both hands.

Previously, Pierro was the sole party responsible for Her Majesty’s affairs. He was the liaison
between the Tsaritsa and her Harbingers, doling out her assignments and bringing only the most
pertinent information to her attention. If one had a need for her guidance, it was to go through the
First before anything else. If it was decided that the matter was worth her precious time, only then
would the other Harbingers be granted an audience. But with Pierro's passing, the responsibility
naturally fell to the next in line - the Second of the Harbingers, Capitano.

She did not seem too pleased with the assignment.

"She's not seeing anyone." Capitano told him curtly. She was standing before the Palace war table
as she said this, not even looking up from the maps and figures laid out before her. Her brow was
furrowed, sharp creases drawn into her forehead as she studied it.

Dottore narrowed his eyes. "That's not good enough."

Dottore could see her hands gripping the table hard enough for her fingernails to leave welts in the
aged wood. There was the barest twitch of her head. Almost imperceptible.

"She's preparing for the siege on Natlan," Capitano said, speaking through her teeth. She suddenly
raised one of her hands, swatting the air next to her ear. There was nothing there. "She needs to
conserve her strength for what comes after. There's no time, Dottore."

"She’ll have to make time."

Dottore saw the Pyro Delusion pinned to her breast flash, and in a matter of seconds she had drawn
the sword at her hip. As it screeched out of its sheath, flames spilled out with it, and soon the fiery
blade was thrust out over the war table and poised over Dottore's throat. Close enough to feel the
heat of the flames reaching out for him like the tendrils of a creeping vine, itching to lap against his
skin. He didn't flinch.

Capitano's eyes sparked angrily at him. In the light of the energy imbuing her weapon, Dottore
could see her face was considerably more drawn than it had been the last time he saw her. There
were deep purple circles under her eyes. She stood still in that position, glaring at him from across
the table.

"Give me one reason why anyone should waste their time on you, Dottore." Capitano spoke in a
low growl. Her free hand came up and swatted at the air next to her again. There was still nothing
there.

For the last several months, Dottore had been a senile husk of the man he once was, and the issue
had only gotten worse since his final return from Liyue. If he hadn’t worn out all his use before, he
certainly had by this point; he couldn’t even remember the last orders he had officially given out to
any of his men, and in fact, he could not even recall the last time any had even bothered to come
looking for his direction in the first place. It was no secret now - the Third was just as directionless
as any one of them. He had no wisdom to offer, so none went digging for any. But Dottore’s one
saving grace, he had quickly realized, was that he was not the only one acting unlike himself.

As their numbers dwindled, and they got closer to the end, the remaining Harbingers seemed to be
falling apart at the seams. Pantalone, who had always valued keeping a pristine appearance, now
often skulked through the halls with a messy, unkempt look to him, and more than just a few hairs
out of place. Pulcinella didn't seem to be able to maintain eye contact with anyone for more than a
scant few seconds, his gaze constantly darting this way and that, as if he expected the walls to
come crumbling down around him at any moment. Dottore had now several times walked in on
Arlecchino in places he had no business being in, frantically muttering to himself until the intrusion
of another soul sent him skittering away to the next door he would darken.

Capitano was a meticulous and unfaltering general - unflappable, known well for her steady hand
and dry disposition. But it was no secret to anyone that she heard voices; the more zealous of the
soldiers lauded her for this, and she herself took pride in the fact. It was said that since she was
young, she had been commanded by the "word of enlightenment," and that the voices that followed
her had led her all the way to the Harbingers. Through their guidance, she would shepherd their
military towards the stainless dawn that Her Majesty promised. The men who did not know any
better spun stories of her visions, proposing that the voices had come from the divine will of the
Tsaritsa herself - or perhaps even higher than that. At best, Dottore had always thought they were
looking in the wrong direction. At worst, he could only theorize that she was just full of shit.

But now, at least, it seemed that she was hearing something . And whatever it was, it was running
her ragged. Embers fell from her blade unbidden, singing the maps and contracts splayed out on
the table. She either could not notice it, or did not care. Her head twitched again.

Even under normal circumstances, Dottore would have been wary of the position he put himself in
by coming to her. Capitano did not act out of turn, but she also detested the ineffectual, and was
known to rid the ship of dead weight before it even began sinking. And if she had a loose hold on
her wits, it only worsened Dottore's chances of making it out of the room the same way he had
come in - in one piece.

But her visible struggle with whatever disembodied voices plagued her just made Dottore think of
someone else. So he didn't budge.

"I need an audience with her." Dottore said, meeting her wild gaze with one that was far too dull in
comparison. "I'm not taking no for an answer."

Capitano narrowed her eyes at him. "You've got a lot of nerve. You think too highly of yourself,
Dottore, if you think you have enough worth left to us to warrant any accommodation."

Dottore sighed wearily. He had been hoping for less fuss, but knew that may have been a foolish
thing to hope for. He hadn't wanted it to come to this. But he didn't have much choice in the matter.

"It's about Tartaglia."

Capitano's eyes widened. He noticed that the creases on her forehead persisted even after relaxing
her brow. Then, a scowl made its way to her face.

"I knew it," she hissed. With a flick of her wrist, she withdrew her blade, bringing it back to her side
and shaking off the last remaining embers before sheathing it again. She kept her eyes trained on
him the whole time. "What in the Tsaritsa's name did you do to him?"
Dottore pursed his lips. "I didn't do anything." He said stiffly. He no longer knew if that was the
truth or not. But it was the truth as far as any outsiders were concerned - far from the easiest
explanation. Furthermore, it was the only answer that Capitano needed to hear. But the Second let
out a dry bark of a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

"If you think I believe that, you're a fool," Capitano said disdainfully. "I could have you executed
for treason, if you talk like that. I could do it right here. No one would even bat an eye. Pantalone's
already spearheading a campaign to have you ousted from the Harbingers, you know. I didn't think
it would be worth the trouble, this late in the game, but now I'm reconsidering."

"I didn't do anything," Dottore repeated. "But I need the Tsaritsa's audience."

"I'm not stupid, Dottore," Capitano snapped. "None of us are. Did you really think you two were
fooling anyone?"

Not so long ago, the implication of that accusation would have wounded him. Because for a while,
he genuinely thought they were. In a short-sightedness that had been painstakingly facilitated for
him, he really thought no one had been any the wiser. Looking back on it now, he started to realize
that was merely his own ignorance at play. Ever since Childe's return, Dottore was acutely aware
of the suspicion being silently cast in their direction. Perhaps none of them were anywhere close to
knowing the full extent of the matter, but they had one thing right: the Third and the Eleventh had
been up to something for a long while. And considering what they thought of Dottore, it was easy
to assume who they speculated to be the primary party at fault. But Dottore didn't care what they
thought. He had no more shame to offer anyone and he had long since grown used to being proven
a fool.

"You can threaten me all you want." Dottore droned. "You won't get anything out of me you want
to hear. This is a matter for the Tsaritsa's ears alone."

Capitano's jaw clenched tightly, and her Delusion flickered again. But while her hand remained on
the hilt of her sword, she didn't make any moves to come at him again. She just glared at him,
fiercely yet carefully, as if weighing her options.

Dottore just gave her a closed mouth grimace. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this, as he knew
that admitting he had any knowledge on the matter whatsoever was a risk, wherein Capitano may
decide to take matters into her own hands. But he also hoped it would be the ace up his sleeve. It
was dangerous to admit that he knew anything about what was going on with the Eleventh; but far
more dangerous than that, in his colleagues eyes, was Childe himself.

If his slaughter of the Qixing hadn't been enough, nobody would have been able to turn a blind eye
to everything else. There was the fact that Childe now stood at least a head taller than everyone he
crossed paths with. The other Harbingers had not had the luxury of being lulled into a false sense
of security through constant immersion with the boy. Most of them hadn't seen Childe in nearly a
year - since his last return to the Palace, when he had shared his homecoming with Signora to
bestow the Tsaritsa with the Geo gnosis. Some of them had not seen him since he was stationed in
Liyue. The transition was not gradual for them; suddenly, the foolhardy, rambunctious youth they
thought they knew had appeared before them as a hulking, menacing man with a crooked smile
that held too many secrets. But more than the obvious physical changes he had undergone, it was
impossible not to feel the aura he now carried with him. Ever since he had gotten back, there was
something eerie about him. He was not bustling with energy like he once was, nor was he
frighteningly unpredictable as he had been in Liyue. As Childe swept through the halls of the
Palace now, he was nothing but calm before a storm. He always had a gentle, inscrutable smile
plastered on his face, one that was a stark contrast to his emotionless eyes and looming posture. His
presence was overwhelming. He was no longer the colleague they had once known. He was barely
even the person he once was. He felt like something else. Something that was biding its time,
carefully sizing up the livestock in its killing pen, waiting for the best opportunity to strike.

It was only Dottore that knew that, in spite of all this, Childe was still the same boy they had
always known. They did not have to worry about a stranger in their midst; not yet, at least. But the
Third had already bore witness to Childe's slip of consciousness one too many times. He knew
what it was like to look into his eyes and realize he was no longer there. And Dottore had not
witnessed such a thing since Childe's return to the Palace. They had not spoken once since he
arrived - they merely passed each other in the halls when it could not be avoided. Dottore tried to
avert his gaze, but usually could not. And Childe would simply glance over, giving the barest nod
of acknowledgement, and give him a smile. An empty, cold smile. But it was still his own.

But the other Harbingers, of course, could not see this. They had no idea what had happened to
him, though they obviously suspected foul play on Dottore's part. With his history of insidious
experimentation on unwilling participants, it was not an unreasonable conclusion to leap to. But in
their eyes, Dottore's wicked schemes came as no surprise. The main issue was not what had already
come to pass, but the results they were left with. They were scared of Childe. They wanted their
control back, before he had a chance to prove their fears founded. Which is why Capitano suddenly
let out something close to a snarl, shaking her head in frustration.

"Fine. Have it your way." She hissed. "But don't misunderstand me. The only reason I'm humoring
you is because Tartaglia is a far greater liability than you are. That little stunt he pulled in Liyue
did more harm than good."

Dottore didn't respond to that. There was nothing more to say. Not to Capitano, anyway. She glared
at him a moment longer, looking irked at his silence, then merely scoffed.

"I will inform Her Majesty that you seek her council," Capitano said. "But that's it. If she denies
your request, that will be the end of it. And if that is the case, you'll be answering to me. One way
or another."

Her hand was still firmly planted on the hilt of her sword. The implication of her stance was clear.

The Harbingers no longer saw any worth in the Third's presence amongst them. If the Tsaritsa
dismissed him as well, it would send a message to strike while the iron was still hot. At best, he
could expect quick excommunication. But that could be messy for them. It left him a frayed, loose
end in the midst of their mission.

Dottore knew well enough what happened to loose ends in the Fatui. They were quickly trimmed
out of sight.

So Dottore simply left the Second without another word. And he waited. He waited to see what
fate the Tsaritsa would choose for him.

He did not have to wait long.

~*~*~*~*~*~

An icy chill permeated through the air, even far outside the door to the throne room. It had been a
long time since Dottore last walked through this hall, but he couldn't help but think that it was just
a little colder than it had been in the past. As he was escorted by Her Majesty's guards, Dottore
noticed the exhale of their breaths kicking up vapor well before the massive double doors were
even in sight.
The guards opened the doors for him, the hinges creaking as the movement splintered a thick sheet
of ice that had built up over them. Dottore stepped over the boundary between the hall and the
throne room. Once he was just inside, the doors were promptly closed behind him. The guards
remained on the other side. Dottore alone stepped before the throne sitting in the center of the
room. But he was not really alone.

She sat upon blue velvet and silver embellishments, all meticulously hand-crafted and cared for by
the countless generations of men that had once sworn themselves to their frigid ruler. Laced within
the crevices of the intricate metal framework, and reaching outwards like claws grasping to free
themselves from shallow engravings and silver lattice, was ice - sharp, severe, unmelting. As was
the powerful Archon sitting in the center of it all.

Dottore suddenly thought back to the very first time he had been brought here. He had been
stricken with an awe that he did his best to stifle; for it was only natural to be overcome by the
sight. It was back when he still knew very little about the wonders and horrors of the world, when
all he had to his name were a few insipid little experiments, and when the name of the Judge and
her vow to justice was still enough to make a shiver run down his spine.

Dottore had long since seen what true horror looked like. He had seen justice fail, and gods fall. He
had seen something beyond the concept of mere divinity.

So he didn't know why the Tsaritsa still held the same power over him.

But dread, colder than the air around him, colder than biting frost that never thawed, settled in the
pit of his stomach as he approached her. The Tsaritsa only regarded him with a stern, scrutinizing
gaze. When he came to a stop before her - the furthest he knew he ought to go, still several paces
out of reach - she still did not move, looking as frozen and keen as the icicles surrounding her
throne.

Then, after a moment, she gave the slightest nod in his direction.

"It's been a while, Il Dottore."

Dottore narrowed his eyes. Her tone couldn't be read; it was not exactly cold, but it was by no
means friendly. It was somewhere in between. Somewhere calculated. Somewhere careful. He
would have to tread just as carefully. He nodded too - the barest twitch of his head, unable to
muster up anything more supplicant.

"Your Majesty," he greeted stiffly. He didn't say anything further. He waited for her approval.
There was a beat of silence before she spoke again.

"You've requested my audience." Still as a statue, the movement of her lips was the only indication
Dottore had that she wasn't just that; a cold, unyielding statue, a sentinel in somber vigil of its
domain. "So tell me: what news do you bring?"

Dottore opened his mouth to speak. For a moment, a breath of fog was all that left it.

He hadn't really been fully conscious of everything that was going on around him since he got back
from Liyue. Truthfully, he wasn't even sure how long it had actually been since that point. How
long had he been senselessly skulking through the Palace, the days all melding into one
indistinguishable mass of wasted time, just frittering the hours away before this moment could
come? And in that time, had he actually considered what he would say once he got here? What
exactly did he mean to do?
Perhaps he just meant to beg for mercy. It slowly dawned on Dottore just how far he had fallen,
and had he been the man he once was, it would have driven him to madness right there at the
Tsaritsa's feet. Because here he was: after all the years he spent belittling the divine's name, both in
action and spoken word, after so long of dedicating every last scrap of his soul to proving them
errant and obsolete, he was running back to a god's arms like a lost child. He was praying for
salvation, same as all the other men he looked down upon, those who laid to rest their own
autonomy for the sake of Her Majesty. He was no different from the ignorant masses now. He was
a fool. He was weak.

But it couldn't have all been pointless. The things he had been through, all he had seen, the
mournful cries that still rang in his ears from when they had rattled a Liyuean valley that no longer
existed - there was no way it could amount to nothing. But Dottore himself was powerless to
change anything. He knew that now beyond a shadow of a doubt. What little remained of his work
was useless to him; he had been toying with forces that only sought to be his undoing, as well as
their own. His vision of an Era of Perfection was unobtainable. It always had been. But if the
Archons really were the penultimate form of existence, then maybe his vision didn't have to be
something within reach. There could simply be a better one to reach for.

The Tsaritsa did not want the Abyss’s future. She had not spent centuries building an empire just to
have it all swept away without a second thought. She was cold, and often cruel, but it was not
without reason. It was hiding something else, something that had been put to rest beneath a thick
layer of ice; idealism. She had once been the Goddess of Love, long before Dottore had been alive,
and it was the love for her people that had moved her to harden herself for the greater good. She
had known that the Gods in Celestia would keep man stifled. She knew that one day, her people’s
lights would be snuffed out entirely. That was the reason for everything. That was why she sought
to bring Celestia to the ground. Even if much more was lost in the process, she knew that there
would be no future for anyone should the Gods be allowed to rule over Teyvat unchecked. And
that's what she was fighting for - a future.

The Abyss’s “future” was nothing of the sort; there was no future in the things Childe spoke of.
There was no hope. No growth. Nothing to make the sacrifices worthwhile. It was just the end.

The Tsaritsa wouldn't want that. Dottore knew she wouldn't. If she could put a stop to it, she
would. And if she couldn't…. Dottore tried to let faith lead, but it had been too long since he had
been able to entertain such an ideal. However, he had no other options left. He had nowhere else to
turn. If he had to get on his knees and beg, reaffirm his initial half-hearted vows at the foot of her
throne, he would. If there was anyone left that could help them, it was the Tsaritsa.

If there was any hope of saving Childe, it rested with her alone.

Dottore set his jaw. Then, he opened his mouth again.

"It's about Tartaglia." The same words he had spoken to Capitano a few days prior now seemed to
hold a different weight. Dottore fought not to let his shoulders slump with the statement.

The Tsaritsa did not appear to be affected in the same manner. Her stance was unchanged, and her
gaze did not falter. She simply nodded again, signifying that Dottore had the right to continue.

But, oh - where to even begin?

Dottore reached for distance. If he did not, he would not be able to make it through. He decided not
to start anywhere near the beginning. The only prudent thing to do would be to start where it really
counted.
"It has come to my knowledge that Tartaglia has been-" Dottore tried to come up with a word that
would not be too difficult to get out, "-compromised."

The Tsaritsa did not even blink. She was still calm. Inscrutable. "How so?"

Her even tone began to grind on Dottore's nerves, but he held his tongue.

"He's…" He was being overly cautious for lack of any other options, his delivery stiff and clunky
in an effort to sound impartial. "He's changed."

Dottore let himself trail off. He waited for the Tsaritsa's reaction, but she still had none to offer.
Her expression was eerily neutral as she continued regarding him with meager interest. She was
listening. But that was about all she did. After a moment, she spoke up again.

"You are not the only one that has attempted to bring Tartaglia to my attention. The others have
grown wary of him," the Tsaritsa commented flatly. Pausing, she added, "But they think you are
responsible for his supposed condition. Did you know that?"

Dottore grimaced. "Yes."

"So are you?" It was unaccustory. Simply a theory that needed to be proven or disproven. She
asked it as if she wouldn't have cared what his answer was, and Dottore was a bit taken aback by
that.

"I-" He stuttered for a moment, inwardly cursing himself for doing so. It shouldn't have been a
difficult question, not after the answer had been so callously spoon-fed to him. He sucked air
through his teeth, getting back into focus. "No."

The Tsaritsa's stony demeanor did not wane, but she seemed genuinely curious when she asked,
"Then how do you know what has happened?"

Dottore nearly flinched. There was nowhere to begin that would allow him to stay on his feet.

"He… told me." It was a feeble reply, his avoidance agonizingly obvious even to his own ears.

The Tsaritsa did not say anything for a while. She studied him carefully. Dottore was apprehensive
that she would ask for further clarification, but when she finally spoke again, she did not.

"So tell me, then, Dottore," the Tsaritsa began. "As a man such as yourself: do you really believe
that these changes are not for the better?"

That made his chest tighten. That question was also asked without accusation, and to an outsider
looking in, it would have been a reasonable one. But instead, it was just a slap to the face.

"No," Dottore said hoarsely. "You don't understand-"

"I understand." She cut him off quickly. "I have seen it."

Dottore was left dumbstruck, mouth hanging open at the claim. That didn't make any sense. The
Tsaritsa had not seen anyone since Childe returned from Liyue, with the exception of Capitano,
who would have had to feed the Archon her Harbingers' qualms. But she wouldn't have seen Childe
directly.

"You've seen it?" Dottore crowed in disbelief. "How could-"

"I see all of you, Dottore." The Tsaritsa said, curtly interrupting him again. Her words made the
blood in Dottore's veins turn to ice. "My eyes may close, but that does not mean I am not aware. I
can sense all of you within the Palace. And I do not see any reason for concern."

Her chilling proclamation was undercut by the absurdity of that final statement, and Dottore's
indignance began to flare. How could she have the audacity to say she "saw" them and then say
there was no need to fret? How could she "see" that and not understand what it meant to do? No,
she was wrong - just as blind as any mortal man.

"You can't be serious." Dottore spat disdainfully, momentarily forgetting himself.

The Tsaritsa was unaffected. "He is getting stronger. He's serving his people well. That is all I see,
and that is ideal."

"There's more than what you're seeing!" Dottore argued, raising his voice.

"Then I am still listening, Dottore." Despite her encouragement, her tone harshened. "So get
straight to the point."

Dottore gritted his teeth. He recollected himself. "It's the thing that's changing him. It's a powerful
entity of the Abyss. A far greater force than we've ever encountered before."

Still, the Tsaritsa's interest was not piqued. She received his caution without fanfare. "So you do
have an understanding of what this entity is, then?"

Her stubborn neutrality started to make Dottore's stomach churn. The hairs on his neck were
already standing up from the pervasive chill in the air, and now he was so on edge that the
sensation was painful. Every follicle felt like it was sprouting pins and needles. He drew a sharp
breath inwards, and it made his chest hurt.

"I… do not," Dottore admitted. Because for all intents and purposes, he did not. He could have
stood there and parroted all the things that Childe had told him, but all it would have been was a
vague echo of things beyond Dottore's grasp. And it would have been too difficult. He could only
tell her what he really knew for himself. "But it's…. It's taking control of him. It's changing him.
And whatever it is, it will undermine what we've done here; when Celestia falls, it will make sure
the rest of the world falls with it. It's working in the Abyss's interests; it's going to make sure they
consume everything. They're trying to end existence as we know it."

Dottore stopped there. He watched her. He waited. He waited for what he knew would come, a
twitch of her finger, or the blink of her eyes - the recognition that her empire was in grave danger.

But none of those things happened.

Her hands were crossed gently in her lap. Her back was straight against her velvet throne, and her
head was held high.

She didn't even bat an eye. She just continued looking down at him, everwinter personified,
impassable as a Snezhnayan blizzard. And she simply asked, "Is that so?"

Dottore's eyes widened. He sucked in another breath that he couldn't let back out. The words
seemed to echo throughout the throne room, making the crystal-clear talons of ice surrounding her
tremble before his eyes. Or maybe it was only in his head. But regardless, he heard those words
again.

Is that so?
Dottore was suddenly struck with a sensation of déjà vu so jarring that it made him sway on his
feet. But suddenly, the feeling crawling under his skin was all too familiar. It was the feeling of
being back at the facility in Liyue, and seeing Childe on his knees, weeping, still the broken boy he
always had been. It was the exact moment it had all been washed away - the tears, the uncertainty,
the lies. All gone in a second. Leaving Dottore with no familiarity. No recognition. An empty,
bottomless space in time, where the world had all at once ceased meaning. It was the eye of the
storm. A liminal place between knowing one thing, and then learning another.

Dottore couldn't respond. He simply stood there, dumbstruck, desperately trying to pull his
thoughts back together. She just watched him, for a moment. Then, and only then, did her eyes
close. She sighed lightly.

"Dottore." The Tsaritsa declared, opening her eyes again, regarding him evenly. "It seems you've
brought this to my attention with the expectation that I will interfere. Is that correct?"

Dottore still hadn't taken a breath. When he finally exhaled, it came out as a startled series of
sputters.

"You- I-" Dottore gritted his teeth. He felt anger rising within him, blasphemous rage, but he let it
boil over, let himself snap at her as if she were just a mere woman, and not the paragon of
omnipotence that she was. Anything to overpower the wounds still fresh enough to antagonize him,
the sickening familiarity of panic settling in his chest. "Of course!"

She showed no qualms with his evident frustration. "And how do you presume I would go about
such a thing?"

Dottore was nearly rendered breathless. He just continued to stutter. "I- I don't-"

"You don't know?" The Tsaritsa asked. It was almost gentle. Patient. It made Dottore's insides coil
with disdain. But it was too difficult to talk. He couldn't properly voice his discontent, and as such,
he began to feel it slip away.

"I-I don't know." Dottore stammered, damnably meek.

"If you do not know," the Tsaritsa said, yet unperturbed by his distress, "then why would I?"

"You-" Dottore's voice stuck in his throat. Panic. That's what held it there. Panic. Blind panic.
Shameless panic. It made him even weaker. It made him gaze up at her with plaintive eyes -
desperate, desperate, so desperate to understand what didn't want to be understood. "You have to do
something."

His plea fell dead at her feet. The Archon still would not stir.

"Why?" She asked calmly. Too calm.

"Because you-" Dottore shrilled. He was floundering. He let his indignance flare again, another
attempt to stifle the dreadful sinking feeling inside him. "Have you been listening to a word I've
said?! He's- He's-" distance, he couldn't afford to lose his wits again, he had to treat it like a job,
like it was merely his duty to bring it to the Tsaritsa's attention, and not because it was something
that was slowly killing him, "-he's a threat to the mission! He's dangerous! He's going to lay waste
to everything! What he did in Liyue should make it obvious enough that-"

"What Tartaglia did in Liyue yielded sufficient results." The Tsaritsa interrupted him suddenly,
shorter than she had been before. But it was still not unkind. It was not for lack of patience. It was a
stern redirection while he was in the midst of scrambling. "The Qixing needed to fall. And thus,
they have fallen."

"That wasn't- It wasn't meant to end in a massacre!" Dottore crowed in disbelief. "Even I knew
that!"

The Tsaritsa finally moved. It was a nearly imperceptible tilt of her head. She regarded him almost
quizzically. "And what were we meant to do?"

"It was to be handled with diplomacy!" Dottore shrilled in frustration. "Liyue was meant to be
handed over to us, not taken by force! That was the plan! That was your plan! That-"

"My plan, Dottore," the Tsaritsa cut him off again, and this time it was nearly a boom, enough to
startle Dottore into silence, "was to seize control of the seven nations of Teyvat. I meant to have
these seven nations in my grasp. And we are nearly there. You can see it yourself, can't you?"

Dottore gaped at her, mind reeling. "But that doesn't make any sense!"

"Why?" Her tone had leveled out again. She still sounded a bit curious, and nearly encouraging, as
if she were trying to lead him somewhere; somewhere Dottore wasn't sure he wanted to go.

But he couldn't stop. The words spilled out of him carelessly, because if he kept talking, maybe he
could find some understanding on his own. Maybe it wouldn't have to be thrust upon him like it
had the last time - the last time he had been suspended between the world he knew and the
wreckage it would leave behind.

"Because-!" Dottore spat, shoulders lurching forward with the weight of his frustration. "If you
wanted to take the world by force, you could have done that from the very beginning! If we take
these nations by force, what will be left after? When we have nothing but disgruntled people that
hold nothing but a grudge against us? The Fatui cannot stand based on that! We'll collapse beneath
our own weight! That's why you- Childe-"

The name fell from his lips unbidden. And with it, he lost grip on his diction. He was spinning his
wheels again, aimless in his speech, and the Tsaritsa simply watched him struggle for a moment
before intervening.

"So tell me, Dottore," she said. "If what you say is true, then what will be left once the Fatui falls?"

Dottore bared his teeth in anger. Was this all some kind of game to her? What was she looking for?
Where was this leading? Where was any of it leading?

"Nothing!" Dottore bellowed. "There won't be anything left! There's going to be-"

A gasp swallowed up the rest. It was involuntary, painful, like he had been punched in the gut.
Recognition had hit him suddenly, and all at once.

And in the blink of an eye, he was out of the eye of the storm. He had stepped over the boundary of
limbo, and come into a new wreckage to sift through. But his tired mind trudged through it
sluggishly, and he could not speak.

The silence between them was deafening. The Tsaritsa did not falter, even as Dottore did. Even as
she watched realization sweep over him and pull his head underwater. Dottore's eyes soon went out
of focus, and drifted to the floor.

After a while, she addressed him again.

"Go on, Dottore," the Tsaritsa said quietly. Her tone was too gentle - salt in a new wound. It made
his skin crawl in discomfort.

She was still leading him to understanding. Like any good shepherd, she would lead her little lambs
right where they needed to be.

If she had to, she would lead them all straight into the slaughterhouse.

Dottore let himself be led regardless. He tried to swallow, but his throat had gone bone dry.

"There's going to be nothing left," Dottore muttered hoarsely.

He looked back up at her then - perhaps just for lack of anywhere else to look, or maybe he was
searching for once last chance to be proven wrong. He was met with a gaze colder than any he had
ever seen. The Tsaritsa's eyes were dull as she met his, and she did not blink. She did not falter.
Dottore knew now that she never would. She only gave him the slightest of nods.

"Everything that has happened was meant to happen, Dottore." She said flatly. "Nothing more. And
nothing less."

And with that, the last of Dottore's hope was snuffed out before his eyes, smothered in an
unyielding grip of ice. The keen, frozen claws surrounding her throne now seemed to be beckoning
for him to follow it.

She knew.

Dottore didn't know how, but her frigid, calculated glare was suddenly too telling.

She knew. She had known it from the very beginning. From the moment Dottore had been brought
here for the very first time, to make a hollow pledge of fealty to the throne, she had known.
Through every last victory, every misstep, every casualty, every empty promise of a brighter
tomorrow, she had known - she knew exactly where it all would lead them.

She had spent centuries directing her people towards a stainless dawn, all while never enlightening
them to what it would cost to wipe the slate clean. Her vision of a pure future was not white and
clean, like virgin snow settling across the Snezhnayan landscape. Her vision was of a black
oblivion. It was born from the knowledge of what would inevitably come from the divine's
downfall.

It was nothing.

Dottore could only gape at her from where he stood, mouth floundering open. He tried to process
the weight of her words, and the harshness of her stare. But his mind would not allow him to. He
knew what she meant now, couldn't avoid knowing it, but it refused to find a place in reality.

Denial rose to his throat like bile. "You- no. I don't believe that."

The Tsaritsa had not yet lost her patience. Her voice was still steady. "Why not?"

"You- that's not what you wanted," Dottore stammered. "That's not what anyone- It's not what
anyone wanted. That's-"

"It's not a matter of wanting it, Dottore," the Tsaritsa said quickly. "This is simply what was meant
to happen."
The words were too familiar, too unforgiving, and it made his heart leap to his throat as
desperation squeezed his chest like a vice.

"You- You have to do something." Dottore said, panicking, the words coming out as a shrill
squeak.

"You only want me to further delay the inevitable. I cannot do that."

"Yes you can !" Dottore suddenly shouted. He fisted his hands into his hair in frustration, pulling
it, teeth gnashing, eyes wild. He lunged forward a step, nearly snapping his jaw at her like an
animal. "What good are you, otherwise?! What good are any of you?! What good was any of
this?!"

The Tsaritsa didn't flinch. But she narrowed her eyes carefully. "Steel yourself, Dottore."

"No!" Dottore cried angrily, taking another step forward. "What good did any of it do?! What was
the point of any of it? Why did you even bring me here? What was it all for, if you knew I was
going to fail the whole time?"

"You did not fail, Dottore." The Tsaritsa said calmly. "I brought you here because we desired the
same thing. We both desired to spread the message of an inevitable future free of sin; free of
weakness; free of flaw. And I allowed you the opportunity to do just that. I have given you what
you always desired. Your word has spread. And we are nearly there, Dottore."

Dottore drew a sharp gasp inwards, but it was too shallow. His chest was seized with fierce
anguish, and he couldn't steady his breathing. He started wheezing, swaying on his feet as he
unraveled further.

"No," he gasped. "That's not- that's not what I wanted. That's never what I- And you knew, you
knew - Oh, you bitch, you fucking knew -" The blasphemes fell freely from his lips now, and he
knew that if it was her will, she could kill him for it. He started laughing. That awful, maddening
laughter that brought him over the edge of hysterics - the encroaching unreality of the situation, of
standing before a god and only seeing her as a common whore, and knowing it was true, because
she had no worth to him as she was now. She had no worth to anyone. She was as worthless as
everything else was.

But, oh , how he couldn't stand that to be true. He clung to every last scrap of denial he had left,
because it couldn ' t have been real, he wouldn't be able to survive if it was left at this.

"That's not what I wanted," Dottore babbled, not even trying to curb his mad laughter. "That's not,
that's not- There has to have been a reason for it, for everything I- And Childe! Childe . You knew,
didn't you? You knew what he was, that was why- That was why you picked him, wasn't it?"

"Tartaglia had his role to play in all this," the Tsaritsa droned. "The same as you did. The same as
everyone. This, too, was inevitable, Dottore."

"You killed him!" Dottore wheezed. Tears started stinging at the corners of his eyes. "No, you
killed him. You were killing him the whole time! It didn't- It couldn't- It didn't have to happen like
this! None of it did! You-"

"Dottore."

Her sudden, stern warning fell on deaf ears. "You let him come here! You led him and that thing
right here, you let him come to us, you let him come to me , and I- I-"
That was too much to take, and Dottore's speech failed him. He was just senselessly rambling on, a
tongue without language, and he couldn't be stopped. Even as he realized how futile it all was - his
tears, his gibberish, his curses, his pleading, his-

The Tsaritsa suddenly stood up from her throne. She started walking towards him.

Dottore saw this, and froze.

"Dottore." She said again. As she stepped against the frozen floor below her, the clack of her shoes
against ice was deafening. It was the only sound to cut through the silence that had suddenly
choked him and made his woeful tirade stick in the back of his throat. She approached him with a
slow, deliberate gait. The temperature around them dropped with each step forward. "There's
something you must understand."

Dottore couldn't speak. He couldn't move. The room had suddenly grown so freezing, he thought
for a moment that her advance had literally frozen him in place. The cold quickly seeped in
through his pores, down to his muscles and bones and squeezing around every organ, numbing him
from the inside out. Her discontent was palpable; it instilled him with a dreadful, shocking clarity
that told him she would not let his transgressions go unpunished. And all he could do was just
stand there and wait for what punishment would be meted.

He wanted to shrink back as she came to stand in front of him, but he just couldn't. She was around
the same height as him; their eyes were level, and her stare was unbreakable.

"What you need to understand," the Tsaritsa said, "is that Tartaglia was never meant to endure this.
His very existence is rooted in that; he was never supposed to withstand this world. He was always
going to fall."

Dottore was too stricken in fear for the words to even sting. The Tsaritsa only regarded him coldly
as she spoke.

Then, something in her eyes changed.

She raised her left hand. Dottore could not even flinch back from it, though he immediately
expected to be smited on the spot. He thought, surely, that his tampering with the divine goods and
ultimate evils in this world were finally catching up to him. He stood before one of the gods that he
had so brazenly cursed throughout his life, and now, with a flick of her wrist, she would wipe his
measly little existence from the face of the earth. And perhaps that was how it ought to have been.
Perhaps it would have even been mercy.

But she didn't do that. Instead, she brought a hand to his face. She curled her fingers around the
edge of his mask. They brushed against his bare skin, and it stung like frostbite.

She removed his mask without a word. She let her hand drop back down to her side, and she just
held it there, looking at him with an expression Dottore was too shocked to identify.

"But you." The Tsaritsa said quietly. She did not finish the thought all at once. She just stopped
there, and then raised her right hand.

Bottomless horror swallowed Dottore up from the ankles as she brought her hand up to his face.
She brushed the backs of her fingers against his scarred cheek. It was a frighteningly tender touch,
as if the wounds were still fresh, but it still burned. It burned more intensely than anything else he
had experienced in his life.

"But you." She said again. What followed was a sigh. And Dottore finally recognized the look on
her face. It was written all over her somber expression, from her downturned brows to the tight line
her lips were drawn into.

It was guilt.

Bewildered by the realization, Dottore still could not move even as she cupped her palm around his
cheek. It was frigid hellfire against his skin.

Her features softened. When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly. "But you were always going to be the one that would have to endure,
Henri."

The world, quite suddenly, seemed to go dark. The sound of crackling ice and a whistling wind
coming from outside the Palace walls fell on deaf ears. The pain of killing frost against his cheek,
with all the tenderness of a mother caressing her child, no longer felt like anything. These things
were still happening all around him, and Dottore knew this very well. But he was no longer there
with it.

He just found it strange, at first, how hearing the name of a boy who should have been dead could
so quickly bring him back to life. But in the blink of an eye, there he was. He was standing right
where Dottore had been, the same as he ever was. The same boy who would come up from that
death-reeking cellar so many years ago, and hear that very name on whispers in the wind. "That
boy of hers isn't right," the people in the village would mutter with a nervous glance towards the
madwoman's cottage. "He has a strange manner. That Henri - he'll bring nothing but misfortune to
us."

And here he was again. A sordid harbinger of misfortune - not one for the Tsaritsa, meant to
harken in a new era. Henri was only ever a prelude to destruction. And with a single utterance of
his name, like a ghastly incantation spoken to summon him from the depths of hell, he had brought
the destruction back with him. Through death and rebirth, he had carried over a grim omen to place
upon the entire world.

And Dottore could only wonder: why?

Why bring up this dead boy now? Why fish him out from the weeds and a layer of ash to put him
here? Why speak the name that had gone so long unspoken, a name that not even a god should
have on her tongue, not when he had been long since forsaken by those that would have granted
him sanctuary?

Because she was leading him somewhere. As any good shepherd would. Dottore suddenly thought
of the Cryo Delusion stuffed into the breast pocket of his jacket, the one the Tsaritsa had bestowed
upon him when he had no want or use for it. He could feel it now, where it bulged out through the
fuchsia silk lining of his coat, like it was being pressed against his chest, burned into his skin, his
soul, his very being.

It was a brand for one of her lambs. One that had already been in the maw of the beast by the time
the iron was hot. But he was still hers. She had made sure to claim him as such anyway. Dottore
could see it in her eyes now - that even an old, lame sheep was better than no livestock at all.

She spoke that dead boy's name because she knew him. Just like she knew everything else.

She knew.

She knew.
She knew.

The Tsaritsa had been expecting his outrage. Dottore had not.

By the time Dottore finished lunging forward, he was already being held back. The Tsaritsa had
stepped away without a word, and in her place sprouted large pillars of ice, sticking up out of the
ground and crossing over each other, wedging Dottore's outstretched arms in place as he fought to
fling himself at her. He threw himself forward without sight, hurling obscenities in her direction
that he could not hear, caterwauling and clawing against his frozen pillory until his throat was torn
raw and his fingertips were slick with blood.

Because she had known. She knew exactly what the divine's negligence had wrought. She had
watched it happen. And she had brought that maimed lamb right back into her clutches anyway.
And he didn't understand. He still didn't understand. But he had asked her why he brought him
here, and so she had led him to the answer.

She was finishing what had been started. She had branded what should have been hers in the first
place.

The Harbingers were merely messengers for their keeper, and as such, the Tsaritsa was no different
from the rest of them - she would leave no loose ends untrimmed.

Her eyes had hardened again, and she merely watched him, as she always had - watched him kick
and scream and futilely try to claw his way into something better, something with meaning,
something that made sense.

And again, she watched him fall.

"Steel yourself, Dottore," the Tsaritsa said sternly. Gone was her tenderness. Gone was her regret.
Gone was the guilt for everything she had done. "The time is almost here. We will endure the rest.
Only then can we burn away what is behind us."

Still, Dottore tried to scramble forward. But his hands found nothing but ice.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore did not remember making it back to his office. But when his sight returned to him, he was
there, in the midst of feverishly tearing it all apart. Reams upon reams of torn paper were already at
his feet, years worth of research notes and official reports - all rendered worthless even before his
desperate, clawing hands had gotten ahold of them. But he didn't care about any of that. The
futility of his existence as evidenced by the dross he stood in was not what violently thrust him
back into the present, clarity feeling like acid washing over him and eating him down to the bone,
bittering his tongue, sucking all the air from his lungs. What brought his thoughts screeching back
to him was naught but a single question; a nagging, needling, disgusting little question, one cried
out in a pitiful, plaintive tone that stole from him the last few ounces of pride he had to his name.

Had he not endured enough?

She said she wanted him to endure. She said that he was always meant to do so. But had he not
endured enough?

If she had watched him, if she had known him, if she had seen that pathetic little boy let his
humanity slip through his fingers like fine sand, why wasn't it enough? Why had he not won her
favor? Why would she wait until he was already sullied to claim him as her own, with a half-
hearted brand that didn't mean anything at all, a brazen mockery of the gift she could have
bestowed upon him?

And it made him sick to think of it. To be yearning for her grace, to wonder what would have
happened if he had only been one of the chosen few.

How much more loss would it have taken? How much more was he expected to endure?

If she had known Dottore - if she had known Henri - why didn't she save him?

What was the point of any of it?

Dottore could feel anguish swelling within him, and with a guttural cry, he grabbed another fistful
of notes from his desk and swept them onto the floor.

He went back to do it again, and something caught his eye.

He didn't know why it did. Maybe it was because of its inherent heft, the weight of the parchment
under his fingers, thicker and larger than the sheets of papers used for his notes and reports. Maybe
it was simply bolder than his own messy scrawlings were, the ink strokes on the document thick
and purposed, with loud footings and notes in the margins pointing to areas of interest.

It was a map. It was a map of Teyvat, buried under months worth of other business had neglected.
He pulled it out of the pile carefully, unsure of why he felt compelled to do so. It was partially
opened, folded carelessly across itself in the wake of his outrage. He opened it, and spread it out
across his desk.

At first, he didn't know what to make of it. It was a normal map of Teyvat, with areas of attention
drawn in with lopsided circles of ink. He looked at some of the notes in the margins.

Upon reading them, he was instantly taken back to the day he spent at the Northland Bank. The
day that had nearly lost all significance to him up until this point, and what little remained was
reserved for marking it as the beginning of the end. It was the day that he had found the grisly
remains of something sinister hiding under Childe's desk. It was the day that he had first been
brought the report of the anomalous Abyssal activity plaguing Teyvat, the void slowly eating away
at their world.

The map was part of the official documents they had been trying to give him, the ones he had
requested be sent off to the Palace for his perusal. But after all that had happened, he never had the
chance to look at them. The matter had lost all importance. And maybe it still wasn't important. But
looking at it now, something immediately caught his eye. It was the largest boundary on the map,
notated for its significant impact, and for the fact that it pre-dated all other activity that had been
uncovered up until that point.

The scrawlings in the margins identified it as a tentative ground zero for all other activity. A
massive welt in the earth that had nearly gone unnoticed, hugging the border between Fontaine and
Sumeru. It was off-handedly labeled as a rural area, a heavily wooded space that was not often
traveled. That, supposedly, was why it had gone so long overlooked.

But Dottore knew the real reason. Nobody had ever given it a second glance, because it had
already been considered a wasteland. It had once been nothing but an unforgiving forest, nearly
unfit for human life, constantly stricken by natural disasters and persistent misfortune as if it had
been forsaken by the Gods.

The epicenter of the event had once been a small, humble village nestled in the middle of it all -
long since abandoned, even before the estimated date of activity, after the community had been
burnt down to the ground.

And Dottore knew all this. He knew it better than the very men who had written up this report.
They probably thought it was all non-circumstantial. A random whim of the Abyss, to swallow up
so many barren acres unprompted, simply another cruel act of nature. They probably didn't
understand.

And Dottore didn't either. Try as he might, he looked at the information in front of him, tried to
deduce what it could all mean, and found that he could not.

He didn't understand. He still didn't understand.

He didn't think he ever would.

But he thought again: why had the Tsaritsa taken him in, but only once there was no hope for his
salvation?

Dottore looked at the map in front of him, the one that pointed to an empty chasm where the first
part of his life had once been, and wondered just how long he had been beyond saving.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dottore was alive. He knew that much, at least.

But that was it.

It was at that point that he realized just how frightfully subjective such a thing as existence was.
How the clock could cease turning when you could no longer hear the tick of its hands, when you
could no longer conjure up the image of the little gears and springs inside that made it click by.
How the walls around you no longer marked the space you resided in when your mind could not
recognize them as something tangible, something that could be touched if you just reached for it.
But the things he touched offered him no sensation. The faces he passed possessed no features for
him to latch onto. The life he was living had no reason to be lived.

So he stopped trying.

His body was moving, but he was not with it. Time passed it by, but he paid it no mind. Life was
still there - he just had lost the ability to recognize it as such.

There was simply nothing left.

But once in a while… there was something. The only thing. A flash here, a mutter there. The only
evidence that Dottore was still walking amongst a living world, and that the end had not already
swept them all up in its eternal oblivion.

"Hey. Are you listening?"

The first time it happened, it was almost too bright, and Dottore was suddenly brought back to the
waking world after an indeterminate amount of time out of it. He was in his office. He could feel
the hard, cold ground underneath him, and the uneven surface of his wooden desk at his back. He
was sitting on the floor, still in the wake of torn papers and broken furnishings, though he had no
way of knowing how long he had been like that. It may have been only minutes after he had seen
that map of a half-consumed Teyvat, the last thing he could remember before the black closed in
all around him. But minutes and days were one and the same now - simply time he was not existing
in. The space from one waking moment to the next was inconsequential. It didn't matter. All that
mattered is that he was no longer alone. There was someone sitting next to him. He just couldn't
quite see it. But he could hear it.

"You don't have to say anything. You can just listen."

Dottore didn't feel right. Nothing did. He wondered if it was really happening, or if he was just
dreaming. It felt like both, or neither one. But maybe there wasn't a difference anymore.

The voice beside him sighed.

"I think I understand now."

Dottore spoke without really thinking of it. He heard it, an unpleasant ring in his own ears, but it
didn't feel like he was doing anything. "What do you mean?"

"It's getting easier to understand. Not all of it. But things look different now. They feel different."

Dottore shuddered suddenly. "I don't understand anything."

"What's missing?"

"I don't-" Dottore scrambled for just a bit more clarity. He could feel something warm in his hand.
The mounts and plains of another palm pressed against his. For a moment, he thought he saw a
flash of copper out of the corner of his eye. "What was the point?"

Another sigh. "I don't think we were ever supposed to know."

Dottore heard it, but he couldn't process it. His thoughts began to wander. "Was it my fault?"

"Some of it was. Some of it wasn't. But that's how it is for everyone, I think. I guess neither of us
are all that special, when you think of it like that." The hand enveloping Dottore's squeezed him a
little tighter.

Dottore closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were somewhere different. There was snow.
But it didn't feel real. It may have been a dream. But he kept speaking, as if it wasn't, as if no time
had passed from one moment to the next. Because it hadn't, really. There was no space in between,
when only one space held meaning.

"Do you think we ever could have been happy?" Dottore asked suddenly.

The warm reds and cool blues in front of him hesitated to answer. "No. I don't think that was for
us."

Dottore closed his eyes again. He leaned into the sound of the voice. "That's not fair."

"It isn't."

"So is that it?" Dottore asked, and they were somewhere else again. This time, he had no way of
knowing where. He just knew it was different.

"Is what it?"

"Everything. Does it all just stop there?"

"No. It doesn't stop. It just goes back."

"What does?"

"Everything."

"That's-" Dottore screwed his eyes shut. Fingers brushed against his temple, pushing back a stray
lock of hair. "I can't think straight."

"It's okay. I'm right here."

It didn't feel like it, but Dottore was in no place to argue. He wouldn't have been able to tell one
way or another, anyway. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I think I should still be lying to you."

"You don't have to. There's not really any reason for it anymore. Just say what you mean."

"I don't know what I mean."

"Then just say what you want."

Dottore thought about that. When he was finished thinking, they had already changed positions.
They were in a bed. He did not know whose bed it was. "I miss you."

"How it was before, you mean?"

"No."

"I haven't left, though."

"I know."

"Why, then?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I think I've missed you my entire life."

He chuckled lightly. "That doesn't make any sense, you know."

"But do you understand?"

"Maybe." He rolled over on his back, staring up at the ceiling, but he inched closer until Dottore
could feel his hair tickling his nose. A hand came to rest on Dottore's cheek, but somehow, that
sensation was less noticeable. "I wish I had time to figure you out."

"I don't think there was ever going to be enough time." It was almost funny, but Dottore didn't
laugh. It was only humorous in how absurdly factual it was; that some things were never meant to
be.

"Yeah." He hesitated before speaking again, for so long that days may have passed between one
word and the next. "Can I ask you something, though?"

"What is it?"

"Who's Antoinette?"

"What?"
"You used to talk in your sleep sometimes. I think you were having nightmares. most of it didn't
make sense. I kept hearing that, though. That's the only name you ever said."

"She's… someone from before."

"Did she die?"

Dottore didn't know how to respond to that straight away, even though there was only one correct
answer. For some reason, it made him sad. "No one ever let her."

"Why not?"

"It was easier to hold on."

He hesitated. Then, perhaps hearing the tinge of remorse to Dottore's words, he said, "Even if it
was easier, I don't think holding on is such a bad thing."

"It doesn't feel like it anymore."

"Why?"

"...Nobody ever missed her. She never left, so nobody had a chance to miss her."

He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, and he worried at it for a moment. "Is that really worse
than having to actually miss someone?"

"I don't know anymore. But for a while, it was just easier."

"Is it still?"

"No. Now I'm just tired." Dottore tried to touch his cheek. He couldn't feel it under his fingers.
Before he could think about what that meant, things were different again. He just couldn't place
how.

But that voice was still there, as if it had never left. An on-going conversation, persistent even
through the passage of time and the backdrop of a dreamscape. He was thinking about something.
Finally, he asked Dottore, "Do you think it's peaceful?"

"What?"

"Letting go."

Dottore thought about that for a while. "I think it might be."

"You do?"

"I didn't used to. But I think I'm almost ready."

"...Yeah. I'm tired too."

"I know."

"It's hard, though."

"I know."

"But I think that will get easier, too."

Dottore hoped so. If the scenes were still changing, he could no longer keep track of them. But
something else changed. A sudden swell of emotion, almost too great to bear after what felt like a
lifetime spent in apathy. Tears beaded at the corners of his eyes, and he screwed them shut in an
attempt to keep the sensation at bay.

"I'm so tired, Childe."

Childe was there. He was the only thing that ever had been. He pressed their cheeks together
lightly. Dottore could feel his eyelashes brushing against his temple. "I know. I am too."

"When will it be enough?"

"Soon. We can let go soon."

Dottore thought that might be for the better. But something inside him still fought. Against all odds
and all better judgment, it still wanted to hold on. Dottore blindly outstretched his arms until Childe
fell into them. They wound together too tightly. They always had. "I'm scared."

"Don't be. We'll let go together."

"Can you promise?"

Childe didn't answer right away. For one horrific moment, time suddenly had meaning again, and
Dottore was afraid he'd never answer. But then, more sure than anything else Dottore had ever
known, he responded: "I promise."

Dottore started to fall away again. He was losing his sight, his touch, and the anguish that had
nearly swept him off his feet. The effort of keeping track of these things now was just too much to
bear. A sob escaped his throat, but it felt hollow.

All he knew now was that, eventually, he would have to let go. Maybe the encroaching darkness
was just a way to make it easier, when the time came.

But now, Dottore just let out a shuddering sigh as the world once again faded around him. He was
only vaguely aware that Childe was still wrapped up in his arms. He spoke again, while he still had
the chance.

"I miss you," Dottore whispered.

"...I'm still right here."

"I'll always miss you."

Childe fell silent for a long time. The last feeling Dottore registered before he grew too numb to
feel any more was the heat of a tear rolling down Childe's cheek, and onto his.

"I'll miss you too."

~*~*~*~*~*~

There was only one thing that brought Dottore back to reality after that.

It was the day the Gods fell.

~*~*~*~*~*~
The Pyro Archon was overthrown. And with her defeat, possession of the last Gnosis was
relinquished to the Fatui.

Things progressed quickly from there. Far too quickly to possibly process it all. But Dottore was
forced back into the waking world, still numb from shock, and before he knew it, he was sitting in
the Harbingers' meeting chamber with the rest of his colleagues.

What was left of them.

The first thing that Dottore noticed with distant unrest was that Pantalone was not seated with
them. Nobody else seemed to take any note of it, so Dottore quickly had to assume that he had
fallen sometime between his meeting with the Tsaritsa and now. Dottore didn't bother wracking his
brain to see if he remembered it; he knew he wouldn't, and there was no point to it anyway. He had
only really noticed his absence upon the grim realization that there were more empty chairs than
not.

Arlecchino's expression was completely vacant. He looked more like a statue than an actual
person, almost unblinking, shoulders visibly tensing more and more the longer their meeting
progressed.

Pulcinella, conversely, couldn't seem to sit still. His eyes darted back and forth wildly as he sat
there, shifting his weight around and wringing his hands. He looked at Dottore. Then, he looked at
Capitano. Over to Arlecchino. Back at Dottore. Capitano again. Dottore. Childe. Dottore. Childe.

Following the Fifth’s frantic gaze, Dottore glanced over at the far end of the table.

Childe was sitting up straight in his chair, hands resting on his thighs. He was alert. Attentive. But
he looked relaxed. Far more relaxed than any of the rest of them. And a small, unperturbed smile
was playing on his face.

None of them seemed to be paying any mind to Capitano, who was standing up from her chair
immediately to Dottore's right. She was saying something, but Dottore wasn't listening. He still
couldn't. He had been brought back to the present, but the present now felt like a foreign space. He
wasn't used to being here anymore. He didn't want to be here. Especially not like this.

Finally, Dottore’s eyes fell on the Tsaritsa. She was sitting at the head of the table, not seeming any
more interested in Capitano's briefing than the rest of them were. Her features were a frigid
wasteland, devoid of any emotion that could be read. Her eyes were hard as steel. If she had been
staring down the table with any more intensity, she would have bore a hole straight through the
walls of the Palace.

She was the one that had seized every last Gnosis, as was always her plan. Dottore had known that
from the very beginning, but being here now, looking at her harsh gaze, knowing what her actions
would bring forth, it weighed on him heavier than ever before; the Tsaritsa had been the one to
bring Celestia down to the ground. It was through her doing that the Gods themselves would be
brought to their knees.

And here Dottore was, bearing witness to it, seemingly for no good reason at all.

A shudder ran through him, and he didn't care if the others saw it.

What a colossal waste it all was, to be here, at what was surely the beginning of the end - to be
barely conscious of it, not listening, not feeling, not even really seeing. He didn't even know how
she had done it. Maybe he was never supposed to know, maybe that was part of the same senseless
design that had brought him into her clutches. But he had been too infirmed to even follow the
story from start to finish. He had skipped over the climax, and was now trying to piece together all
he had missed.

But there was no possible way he could. It was far too late for any of that. All he could do was sit
and wait.

Dottore looked back over at Childe. The Eleventh’s eyes were fixed somewhere off in the distance.

Then, as if sensing him, he turned his head towards Dottore. As he met his gaze, his smile fell. He
looked at him almost apologetically.

Before Dottore could ponder why, the Palace shook.

It was enough to nearly knock Capitano off her feet, and to shake Pulcinella and Arlecchino out of
their respective trances as they grabbed the table for support. The only ones not fazed by the
sudden tremor were Childe and the Tsaritsa.

Capitano cursed at the interruption, but before she could say anything more, the door to the
meeting room was suddenly flung open. A frantic, disheveled soldier stood in the doorway,
gasping for breath, looking at the table with an aghast grimace on his face.

"Your Majesty! My Lords!" The man wheezed. "The- the Palace has been compromised! They're
in the-"

Before he could finish, another tremor ran through the building, sending him to his knees. But as
Dottore braced himself through the quakes, he suddenly realized that the man had no need to
complete his report.

The shaking was coming from directly below them. They were not on the ground level; the source
could have come from anywhere. But all at once, with all the anguish that had been pushed to the
side quickly rising in his breast, Dottore knew where they were.

If there was one thing his miserable little existence had taught him, it was that he was a man meant
to be stripped bare. Throughout his life, the forces of heaven and hell alike had converged to make
sure he was left with nothing.

It should have come as no surprise that they would follow this through to the bitter end.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The lab in the Palace had been the very last thing. All of his other facilities were gone, or simply
hollowed out by the cruel whims of the Abyss.

And it made perfect sense. In the back of Dottore's mind, somewhere in the recesses of his
tumultuous anguish and vanity, he could disconnect himself from the laws of this world and he
knew that it only made sense. The Gods were targeting the Tsaritsa now, scrambling to regain a
foothold in the ideal hierarchy of the divine by weakening her stronghold. But more than that, what
the Gods really feared was the means by which the Tsaritsa intended to see them fall - the Gods
feared the Abyss. And what place in all of Zapolyarny Palace contained more Abyssal activity than
Dottore's research lab, hidden away in the bowels of the Tsaritsa's domain?

So of course they would start there. They would have no other choice but to start there, to
dismantle the means of their ruin at the source. It wasn't about Dottore, or his silly little
experiments. It never had been.
But that wasn't how it felt.

As Dottore swept into his lab, and bore witness to one of the Gods themselves in the process of
leveling decades worth of progress, leaving naught behind but twisted metal and smoldering ashes,
he could do nothing but wonder why he ever existed in this world at all. Why, when it had never
wanted him there? Why, when every perceivable force in the universe was united in bringing him
nothing but everlasting misery?

Dottore saw a table upturned, its content spilling onto the floor and catching scattered embers that
drifted and swirled in the air from the fires already roaring around him, and he didn't think. He
lunged for the pile with a primal scream, throwing his body over it possessively, cradling it in his
arms like something precious, like a loved one, like a child. He didn't even know what it was. He
couldn't identify any of it, didn't care to, but he clung to it regardless. He wept over it, even though
he knew it was worthless - his life's work had amounted to nothing, meaningless by design, and he
knew this too agonizingly well to think anything else, but suddenly, that meager armful of false
knowledge and spare parts meant everything to him. They were half-finished and flawed beyond
repair, but they stood for a time when he once had hope. He had once held these things not with the
desperation of a madman, but with a steady hand and strong will. He had fought to break out of the
vicious cycle he found himself in the center of, the tedious, clawing give-and-take, always fighting
for something more. Against all odds, he had always fought.

This lab was the last thing left of that man. The man he had once been. The one who never took no
for an answer, for better or for worse. A man who would have laughed in the face of these Gods,
because he knew something they didn't; he knew that he was right. Gods be damned, he was right,
and he would tear through heaven and hellfire to prove it.

But heaven and hellfire had spared him no mercy. And that man had perished long ago in their
crushing grasp.

Il Dottore was dead. Just like Henri. Just like Nicolas.

He didn't know who he was now. He no longer recognized this small, feeble old man, crouching
over trash like some half-starved animal - mourning it, curling around it in all his covetous
desperation, just because it once belonged to someone greater than he was. But he wouldn't let
them have it. He couldn't. He would sooner die for these stupid, worthless things than see them
vaporized right before his eyes. Because after that, it would just be him; just a pathetic, sniveling
fool facing the end of the world alone.

Dottore felt a hand fist itself into the back of his jacket, and it tried to yank him to his feet so
suddenly that it jostled his mask out of place and sent it skidding to the ground. He refused,
wailing, throwing all his weight against the pull, frantically scooping up a few loose leafs of paper
that had spilled from his arms in the process. Over the din of his own howls and the wrath of an old
God, he heard a voice speaking to him, shouting.

"Dottore, you have to leave it!" It was Capitano. She had followed him down here. He could hear
Arlecchino too, but his words were drowned out by the chaos unfolding around them. Capitano
grabbed him by the arm this time, trying to drag him up again. "There's no time! We have to-"

Arlecchino suddenly shouted something, and Capitano's grip loosened as her attention seemed to
be drawn away. Dottore seized the opportunity to wrench himself free, hugging his belongings to
him fiercely. He heard Capitano curse at him, but she did not have a chance to grab him again
before a voice boomed at them.

"So in the end, Shax merely sends out her hounds after us?" The God spat in disdain. Dottore
glanced up from his things fearfully. The God was slowly advancing towards them, eyes burning
with fierce intent. "Your master has most certainly forsaken you, mongrels. It's a pity. But if that is
the case, her ignorance will be paid for in your blood."

Dottore heard Capitano let out a feral growl, and with it, she drew her sword. He could feel the
heat of its flames at his back.

"Don't just stand there!" Capitano shouted, away from Dottore, seemingly in Arlecchino's
direction. " Move! "

Dottore did not look back up as he heard her lunge towards the God, nor as he heard Arlecchino
join her in the fray. He did not bear witness to the cacophony of crossed swords and terrible surges
of energy that rang out not more than a few paces next to him. He could only wheeze as he
frantically continued to gather up every last thing he could, holding it to his chest with guttural
sobs.

He didn't care about the battle. He didn't care about the outcome. He just knew that he couldn't let
these things go. He would not live in a world where the man he once was had died in vain, not even
for a second, not even less than that. He had to keep holding on, no matter what the cost. He
couldn't let go, he couldn’t let go, he couldn't-

There was a hand at his back again, and Dottore instinctively shrank away from it, curling around
his hoard even tighter. But this hand did not tangle itself into the fabric of his coat. It did not seek
to drag him back to his feet, and into the horrific scene happening around him. It just lingered
there, palm flat against the curve of his spine. Then, someone knelt down beside him. Dottore
slowly turned his head, still too fearful to unravel himself from the knot he was in.

Time seemed to stop around them. Dottore could no longer hear the struggle between man and
God, nor feel the heat of divine flames slowly encroaching all around them. He couldn't see the
destruction of the present, the follies of his past, or the grisly future that lay waiting for them.

All he could see was Childe. The shock of ginger hair at the top of his head; piercing, deep blue
eyes capable of swallowing him down to the marrow with nothing more than a single glance; a
light speckling of freckles dusting his cheeks, matching the faded remnants of dots that had, in
fact, receded back with the come of winter; lips that had uttered both the kindest and cruelest things
Dottore had ever been told in his life, and that were drawn into a somber line as he looked upon
him now.

He was everything. He did not merely exist in Dottore's world - he was the world itself. He still
was. He always would be.

Neither of them said anything for a while. They just looked at each other, and as they did, Dottore's
breathing began to even out without thinking of it. Only once some semblance of calm had settled
over him did Childe do anything else.

"Can you do something for me?" Childe asked softly. It was too soft; it should have been
impossible to hear him with everything else that was happening. But Dottore heard every word. He
clung to each syllable, picking up the familiar cadence of his voice, the sounds he had already
memorized front and back, and he committed them to memory further still. Dottore tried to speak,
but found he could not. His throat was too tight. Instead, he nodded mutely. Childe swiveled around
then, facing him head on. He lightly pushed against Dottore's shoulder, urging him to do the same.
Dottore did so immediately, and they were suddenly face to face. Dottore vaguely noticed some of
the papers still cradled in his arms slip away as he moved.
"I need you to hold onto this." Childe said. It was only then that Dottore noticed he was holding
something in his other hand. He held it out to him.

Dottore dropped the things he was holding onto without a second thought. He didn't even watch
them fall away, didn't see what Childe quietly slipped into his hands, too transfixed on his face to
look anywhere else. Childe placed the object into his palms, and gently closed his fingers around it.
He lingered there for a moment, hands on top of Dottore's, gazing at the contact of their skin
through pale lashes. He looked back up at Dottore then, and bit the inside of his cheek.

"I lied to you." Childe admitted quietly.

Dottore's brows knit together in confusion. He found his voice. "What?"

"I lied to you. Right after I said I wouldn't anymore." Childe clarified, growing a bit hoarse. "I'm
sorry."

"I-" Dottore struggled to understand, but everything felt distant. It frustrated him. His eyes started
to well up with fresh tears. "I- I don't-"

"I said I never loved you." Childe said quickly, but not impatiently. His own eyes were getting
glassy. "That was a lie. The truth is, I do love you. I love you so much that it made me want to
stay."

Dottore was left breathless. He just sat there for a moment, mouth floundering open, tears spilling
down numbed cheeks.

"Why?" Dottore finally asked in disbelief.

Childe hesitated at first. Then, he let out a gentle, airy laugh. He shook his head slightly, as if he
was reeling from it as well. For a brief moment, Dottore was afraid he had upset him. But when he
focused back on him, his face was nothing but kind. He was smiling at him - and, oh, that smile.
Dottore wanted to kiss it, he wanted to touch it, he wanted to hold it in his hands and sing its
praises through the end of this world and into the beginning of the next. That smile was what made
the world turn, it was the reason poets waxed their lyrical interpretations of the mundane, why
artists laid down their brushes on plain parchment to pay tribute to moments passed.

"This life didn't give us a reason," Childe said simply. There was a hint of melancholy to his voice,
but more than that, he sounded proud. He laughed again, and it felt like he was laughing at
existence itself. "So I made one up on my own."

It was still so hard for Dottore to understand. He sobbed. "What was it?"

Childe's smile faltered as his lips began to quiver lightly. His bottom lashes glistened with
moisture, until a tear finally rolled out of his left eye and over the apple of his cheek.

"Because you made me feel like a person."

Dottore let out a pained noise that rattled his chest - suddenly, everything hurt.

You made me feel like a person . What a silly, simple little reason that was. How absurd, when
Dottore had always wanted him to be so much more than that. He wanted it for both of them; he
remembered a time when he would have sacrificed the rest of the world to put the two of them
above it all. But that was never going to happen. No matter how much they fought, it was never
going to be enough.
And for the first time in his life, Dottore didn't care.

Dottore sobbed again, clutching the thing in his hands to his chest.

"Oh, I love you."

The phrase tumbled out of him gracelessly, waterlogged and frayed at the edges. And it wasn't a
lie, like he once thought it would be. But it wasn't quite the truth, either. It fell somewhere in
between, haphazardly, limbs all akimbo in the space between fiction and reality, dangling
precariously by a thread of what could have been and only just out of reach of what was. But that
didn't matter. Not in this insane, rapturous break in time they had created, where man's futile battle
with existence and mortality carried no sound. So he said it again.

"I love you so much," Dottore wept. "I love you, I love you, I always will."

Hands clasped around an unknown object, held to his chest, he almost looked like he was in the
midst of prayer, so he spoke it as if it was one. Even though it was sick, even though it was wrong,
even though the only reason for it was too simple and fleeting to mean anything. But the world had
not given them anything else to cling to. So in one final act of defiance, they had come up with the
reason that they had been denied. They were forced into a battle they had no hope of winning, the
victory of purpose always dangling just beyond their faces, and now they knew; they would never
rise above their destiny, or live to see anything beyond.

But they would be two people at the end of the world that had given themselves a reason. Two
simple people, and nothing more. Significant only for their insignificance.

And what an insignificant, beautiful little reason it was.

Childe's breath hitched. His lips trembled, and he raised a shaking hand towards Dottore's face. He
hesitated, almost fearfully, but any reservations he may have had soon fell by the wayside. He
wrapped his hand around the back of Dottore's neck, brought their faces together, and kissed him.
It was a clumsy mashing of lips, desperate gasps intermingling and saturating the space they had
created. They moved just barely out of sync, and it was messy, so far from perfect - and it was
theirs alone. But in its imperfection, it could only last for so long. Childe was the one to pull back
first, and Dottore was too forlorn to even chase after him. He simply sobbed from lips that now felt
naked and incomplete, knowing that they would remain that way until his final dying breath.

"No, don't go," Dottore cried out feebly. "I'm not ready, I'm not ready, don't go yet."

Childe let out a shuddering exhale, the remnants of a sob that had just barely been bitten back. He
rubbed Dottore's neck comfortingly, tears still falling freely from his eyes.

"It's okay. I'm not going yet," Childe assured. "But you have to stay right here. Hold onto that, and
stay right here."

Childe stood up then, and Dottore let out a sorrowful moan as his hand slipped from his neck. But
it was with his absence and his request that Dottore finally looked at the object that had been
carefully placed in his hands, unfurling his trembling fingers from around it.

It was Childe’s Vision. Shining and royal blue, carefully cradled by the sharp metal frame
surrounding it. Dottore furrowed his brows in dismayed confusion, looking back up at Childe with
pleading eyes.

Childe swallowed thickly. He started taking a few steps back.

"Don't let go, okay?" Childe said, voice cracking, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Not yet. Not
until it's time. Just hold on a little longer for me."

Dottore didn't know what he meant. But, throat clenching, he just nodded with a jerk, squeezing his
hands around the Vision protectively. Childe nodded back at him.

Then, he smiled. He smiled, even as their special world began to melt away, giving way to the
sounds of chaos and conflict happening just behind him. He smiled, even as tears continued to spill
over his lashes. He smiled, even though he was never given any reason to.

He smiled, and in that moment, Dottore knew it had all been worth something.

"Dottore." Childe called gently. He let out a soft chuckle as he spoke, smile never faltering. "You'll
come find me, won't you?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

Dottore's vision whited out as the stone in his hands and the young man before him grew too
radiant to witness.

By the time his sight had returned, the Foul Legacy stood in front of him, and their world had
finally dissolved away.

Dottore could now see and hear the battle raging on just beyond the entity, Capitano still fiercely
engaging the weakened God, looking nothing short of a woman possessed as she fought a battle
she was destined to lose. Arlecchino was with her, but poised further back from the heat of the fray,
fearful and tentative. He was close enough to the other two Harbingers to feel the surge of power
that the Foul Legacy's transformation had given off, and Dottore saw him turn his head back
towards them.

Arlecchino took one look at the entity, and he ran. He did not speak, did not think, and didn't even
react beyond turning his back to the conflict at hand and swiftly absconding out of the lab. Even if
Dottore had been in his right mind, or even half the man he used to be, he wouldn't have blamed
him. He vaguely wondered how much further Arlecchino's insight would take him. Further than
the rest of them. But probably not far enough.

The God noticed the Foul Legacy's presence shortly after. She faltered. Capitano, driven mad with
desperation, noticed not what had frozen a God dead in her tracks; she only saw an opportunity.
She advanced on the God with a bellow, ready to strike.

Capitano never even saw it coming. But as quickly as the Foul Legacy had appeared in front of
Dottore, it flashed out of sight, and all the Third's naked eye could comprehend was the entity
suddenly appearing just behind Capitano and the God, holding a long, jagged sword at its side.

Blood began leaking from a straight line running diagonally across Capitano's back, from the curve
of her shoulder down to the bottom of her ribcage on the opposite side. It seemed to be coming
from nowhere at first, until the upper half of her body began to slide away from her torso. She had
been sliced clean in two where she stood, and for one horrific moment, Dottore could clearly see an
intact lung slip out from the open space under her shifting ribcage, spasming with an agonal gasp
before both halves finally collapsed onto the floor.

At the same time, the God's mouth fell open into a perfect "O" of horror. It froze like that, even as
her head rolled off her shoulders, landing on the floor with a heavy thump , like a melon tumbling
off a rickety cart and being carelessly thrown to the ground. From her broken parts, no gore or
scarlet leaked out; it was only gold. Her body quickly began flaking away like layers of rust, bright
and sparkling, fluttering away on thermals of air from the blazing fires around them until they
disappeared altogether. As her body deteriorated where she stood, so too did Capitano's remains
begin to eke Abyssal smoke. Both the slain forms quickly dissolved into nothingness - no more
than black and gold dust being carried off into the ether, never to be seen again.

Then, only two figures remained.

Dottore hadn't moved a muscle. His tears had dried up, breath caught somewhere between his
lungs and his throat, held in suspense as he bore witness to the scene, burgeoning terror rising with
him. It had all happened so fast, he couldn't even process it all. Only one thing took precedent in
his reeling mind, and despair settled in around him.

One second, Childe was there. He was standing right in front of him. The next second, he was
gone.

He was gone. He was just gone. He was gone. He was-

Dottore suddenly heard something snap, and with it, sparks were flying in front of his face,
snapping him out of his trance. He flinched in surprise, immediately looking towards the source of
the commotion: the Vision still tightly nestled in his hands. He saw it, and he gasped sharply.

The Vision had splintered straight down the middle. A Vision - a mystical gem that few people had
any real understanding of, but was well known for being the hardest substance in the world,
identified as unbreakable without ever once being proven otherwise - was split almost cleanly in
two.

But it was still going. It had not faded to the eerie, foggy grey characteristic of a masterless Vision,
a grave reminder of the lost soul that had once wielded it. It still had depth, radiant and royal blue,
even with its hairline fractures and uneven face. It was still going. Even when it had no reason to.

Dottore's breath hitched.

He looked back up at the Foul Legacy in disbelief. It had stood up straight again, and was now
gazing straight at Dottore. It didn't move. It didn't say anything. It merely loomed there, looking
more inhuman and more unfamiliar than it ever had before, all of the features that could once be
attributed to Childe's influence gone. It was truly a thing of the Abyss now; the essence of war. A
herald of death and destruction. The one who would conquer all existence.

Dottore suddenly realized why he was holding this Vision. It was because without it, he would
have had no other indication that the thing standing in front of him was still something to cling to.

Because Childe was not really gone. Not yet. There was still something left; something
unbreakable in the process of breaking. He could see the evidence resting sweetly in his palms - a
parting gift of sight.

The light behind the Vision flickered softly.

It was no surprise. Not anymore. Dottore felt himself flicker with it. Fresh tears started streaming
down his face, but he barely noticed. His skin was suddenly numb, all the way from his head and
down to his toes. The Vision sparked again, and he could clearly see an ember land on his skin and
fizzle out there, but he did not feel it.

It suddenly occurred to Dottore that he had seen far too much in his life. It was a dull, almost novel
realization - not so important, not from where he was now, just a meager dose of enlightenment. He
thought about Arlecchino, how he had looked at the terrible entity that had sprung up from
seemingly nowhere, and how it had been enough to take his body somewhere else without a second
thought. His retreat had been rooted in the most primal kind of self-preservation; he was protecting
himself, mind and body. But Dottore had never let his body take him where it needed to go. He
kept driving it forward, stretching it beyond its limits, bearing witness to sights that no man should
have seen; not in ten lifetimes, much less one that would remain half-finished. And his body had
finally been pushed too far.

Dottore hiccuped as his skin seemed to grow cold and distant. Like he was already starting to
unravel, and it was slowly peeling off of him and exposing his nerves to the open air. He curled his
fingers around the broken Vision, making sure not to let any shards spill, and he brought it to his
chest. Dottore looked back to the Foul Legacy with worshiping, pleading eyes.

To anyone else - to an outsider looking in, and certainly to anyone who knew the kind of man
Dottore had been - the scene would have seemingly spoken for itself. It would have looked like
karmic intervention by a force his own wicked hands had fostered. He would have looked like a
madman, and the Foul Legacy his monster. A man of overweening pride and egregious ego,
standing before his final miscreation, his vision having far surpassed him by unimaginable leagues
- a cautionary tale, a grim reminder of man's mortality, and the cost of hubris.

Though that wasn't right. Dottore had not created the thing that stood before him now. And in a
different time, that knowledge would have left him reeling in despair; that such a somber,
inevitable force had not been his own doing, that he would be powerless to it right until the very
end. It would have made him feel stupid, small, and helpless.

But though Dottore once struggled to build gods, the only thing he would ever end up making was
a person. Just one insignificant little person; small enough to be held in the palm of his hands, and
fragile enough to splinter as he held it against his stuttering heart. And Dottore laughed suddenly -
a hoarse, delirious bark - because he knew that it was worth so much more than something divine.
If he were given an infinite amount of time, he would never make anything better.

There was nowhere else to go. Dottore’s life work had come to fruition right before his eyes. It was
beautiful. It was by his own design, and no one else’s. It was perfection incarnate. It would forever
be imprinted into the cosmos as his greatest work yet.

And now, he was tired. They both were.

"Childe," Dottore called, still caught between a laugh and a sob. "You can go. We'll both go. It's
okay. I love you."

The Foul Legacy stirred. It started walking slowly towards Dottore, sword still held at the ready.
Dottore could hear more sparks flying and the sound of glass cracking from the Hydro Vision. He
knew it was hurting him, but he didn't let go. It wasn't quite time yet.

Dottore didn't know what else to say. Maybe there was nothing more to be said. But he spoke
anyway:

"I love you. "

With the entity's every step forward, he repeated himself:

"I love you. "

Like he was making up for lost time, for time that they never would have been given in the first
place:

"I love you."

With his heart beating in time to the erratic, dying pulses of the Vision at his chest, he said it until
it became the last law the universe would ever know. The Foul Legacy still slowly advanced.

"I love you so much, I love y- "

Dottore blinked, and he missed it. The only evidence that anything had changed was the brief,
white-hot flash of searing agony that had caused his breath to catch and his body to double over
with an ugly jerk.

But as quickly as it had come on, it was gone. The numbness of his skin quickly seemed to seep
into the rest of his body through the fresh gash that had been deftly carved into his chest. Dottore
looked down at it as he realized, saw the long Abyssal sword that was now lodged in his torso,
deep enough to surely be sticking straight out through the other side. He registered this only dully,
as if it were nothing of consequence. As his eyes shifted in and out of focus, he looked back up at
the Foul Legacy, which was now kneeling in front of him, its right hand still clutching the weapon
it had driven into him. Its left hand had come up to steady Dottore around his shoulders,
presumably to brace him for the impact. But with all said and done, it still lingered there. Dottore
could see a shift of its wrist out of the corner of his eye; a change of intent, a flash of its clawed
thumb coming up to gently stroke his cheek. Dottore didn't feel any of it, but that didn't bother him.
Now that the pain had subsided, nothing did.

Dottore’s head was foggy. He still hadn't quite made sense of what happened to him. He just tried
to pick up where he left off - "I l-lo- " - and found that he could not. The words were cut off with a
gurgle as blood bubbled up from his throat and started pouring out of his mouth.

He supposed there really was nothing left to say. But that didn't bother him, either.

Dottore let go - just with one hand. Just to blindly reach for the blade sticking out of his stomach
without thinking about it, realizing it was cold and hard and unpleasant to the touch, and reaching
for something else instead. He managed to find the Foul Legacy's hand, still cradling his head
gently. That was cold and hard too, but somehow not quite so unpleasant. He left it there, but it was
already starting to feel too heavy.

Dottore let his other hand go limp against his thigh, and his head drooped down to follow it. He
looked at the Vision he still clutched between his fingers. Now, it was more cracked than not, little
lines and fractals running through it like fissures in ice. It was still glowing blue in the center, but
slowly - very slowly - it was starting to turn grey around the edges. Or perhaps it was Dottore's
own vision tunneling. Maybe it was both.

It was both. Two lights fading in tandem, like perfect clockwork, like it was all they were ever
meant to do. It was a somber, cruel fate, for all their trials to hold so little value, to flicker out right
before the very end of the plane they had existed in. Never to even see it through to the very end;
for in due time, all life as they had known it would certainly cease. An icy empire would fall,
mountains would crumble, and the oceans would run dry. Existence would swallow its own tail
like a foolish, covetous serpent, folding over on itself until its fangs would close in on its own head.
Then, it would stop as quickly as it had begun - with one final spark of intrigue. A flash
encompassing a single idea: something in the place of absence. And as a pit of fire and primordial
ooze had been born from that idea of something, so too would it seep back into the ether, back into
the nothing, seemingly for no reason at all. But in its aimless intent, something had existed
nonetheless. Its reason for being was no reason at all. It simply was; as it had been, and as it
 always would be.

So Dottore watched that little blue circle shrink down to the size of a pinprick, his vision following
with it. That insignificant, defiant little spark. His life. His love. His very last reason. The only
reason he would ever need.

And as it all faded to grey-

a promise kept to the very end

-he finally let go.

Chapter End Notes

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I'd like to take the time, finally, to thank everyone who stuck through to the very end
for making this an absolutely AMAZING experience. I've never tackled a project this
big and seen it through to the very end, and I don't have enough words to possibly
express my gratitude to everyone who followed me through this journey.

Because this was such an incredible experience, I'd like to take the time now to say
that - probably to your relief - I'm not quite done yet. As of right now, the Miscreation
epilogue - Katalepsis - is available for reading, and in progress to be finished! I'll just
be expanding on a few plot points that could not be addressed in the main story, and
hopefully shedding a little extra light on things up in the process. You're still getting
the full experience just from reading the main story, but just think as the epilogue as
something beyond the full experience.

I cannot thank you all enough for seeing this through to the end.... Miscreation will
always hold a very special place in my heart after all this, and you readers make up no
small part of that.

Until next time...

End Notes
 Follow me on Twitter @adamsandleryaoi

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