Chapter Text
It’s a bleak midwinter night in the empty library. Ilya is huddled by the fireplace, desperate for light to read by and any warmth the dying fire can provide. He alternates warming one clawed hand while the other flips through the book’s pages.
He’s been here for hours researching. All the other doctors have gone home or to their own quarters in the palace. Even his Master Asra has left.
But Ilya had to stay. He had to research. He was so close to finding a cure for the plague, he was sure of it! This book has to have something.
It would make Asra so pleased with him if he found a cure. He could help so many people. He would—
“The library is closed.” A not unkind voice pulls Ilya from his fantasy and he lets out a squawk in surprise.
It’s the court librarian. He can’t recall their name. They’re standing so close… When did they get so close? How long were they standing there?
“Doctor? Are you alright?” The doe-eyed librarian has always been so kind. He wishes he could remember their name.
“Oh! I-I’m right as rain. I’m…” he swallows under their intense stare. “I’m… peachy.”
“It’s a little late for peaches.” They kneel next to him—they’re very close now—and with a wave of their hand revitalize the dying fire. “And a little too cold for rain.”
Ilya is frozen in his spot but his mouth won’t stop running.
“Nonetheless, I’m just fine. J-just doing some work. Burning the midnight oil, as it were.”
He helplessly continues to ramble and Vida —that was their name!— doesn’t stop him. Instead they lean forward to pick up the book he dropped. He feels them press up against him and they’re so soft.
Do they know how low cut their shirt is? No, he should be looking at their face. Not their… he should be looking at their face.
“You’re reading the wrong book.” They sigh at the cover.
“I beg your pardon?”
“This is about blood borne diseases. The plague isn’t passed through blood. You’d have lost more leeches if that were the case.”
Ilya’s pale face is drained of what little color it has.
“Oh.”
He’s wasted all this time. Of course it was the wrong book! How could he be such an idiot not to realize it sooner? His precious babies thrive on the plague victims’ blood. He was such a stupid—
“I think you’re close, though, Dr. Ilya.” They turn the book over in their hands and Ilya tries to ignore the affection he feels at the librarian using his name.
“There’s red in the water, but I’m not sure if the plague is water borne either.”
Vida stands up from their kneeling position and bends forward under the pretense of adjusting their skirts. That’s… a very low cut blouse for how they’re positioned.
Whatever doubt Ilya has that Vida is doing this intentionally is obliterated when he forces himself to make eye contact with Vida and they straighten up with a wink.
“I think I have the book you need, but it’ll take me some time to find it. Can you come back tomorrow night, Doctor Ilya?”
“I’m… not sure. I would have to ask Master Asra.”
“Of course.” Vida offers a nod and a gentle smile. “In the meantime, I do need to lock up.”
“Oh! Yes, I’ll be—“ Julian goes to push himself up only to see his discarded gloves on the hearth.
Had they seen his hands? Make there’s a chance they hadn’t. It is dark. Maybe they thought his blackened, scaley hands were gloves? But his gloves are on the hearth and why would he need two sets of gloves indoors Ilya you incompetent wretch how could you fuck up so much in one night—
“Ilya? Are you stuck on the floor?” Their laugh isn’t cruel, and the look on their face reminds him of Asra in their kinder moments.
“Erhm, no not exactly I just… really… like the… masonry…” the lie dies on his lips as Vida notices the gloves on the hearth.
It’s that moment his heart stops.
He’s done for. Either the librarian calls for a guard and he’s thrown out and branded a demon, or they use this information to blackmail him into some form of depraved servitude.
Although that second option doesn’t seem so terrible. But what about Master Asra?
Unless they shared him?
He’s brought back to the moment when Vida clears their throat. They begin to take off one of their long black gloves. At first Ilya thought the glove was getting longer, but no. Their forearm is as black as their glove. And at their wrist scales cover the back of their hand. Each finger ends with a shiny trimmed talon.
Vida offers their hand to him, still smiling warmly.
“Soy igual que tú, Cariño.” They say when he puts his clawed hand in theirs and they help him to his feet.
The doctor grabs his gloves and the librarian places a hand in the middle of his back as they walk him out.
“Get some rest and come back for the book when you can. I’ll be here. Goodnight, Ilya.”
“Goodnight, Vida.”
As he walks to his quarters, the only sounds in the hall are his solitary steps and the library locks clicking into place.