Archive of Our Own

There would be many arguments to follow, concerning the matter of where exactly it all began. Iota would begin to boast that a banquet he’d been sent to attend in his creator’s stead was the catalyst for it all, for it was only his own exceptional wit and inherent magnetism that could have stirred such emotions. Upsilon would casually call back to a chance encounter in the highlands of Fontaine, modestly suggesting that it was his candor - and his incidental dispatching of a few wandering vishaps in his path - that had captured an admiring eye quite effectively. Epsilon would simply grumble that it was none of these things, and that their would-be admirer was nothing but a few chickens short of a hen house; a hedonistic basket case that sought nothing more than the quickest way to some kind of messy, thrilling demise. And Omega… Though he did not say as much out loud, one did not need to dig too deeply to know exactly what it was he thought.

As for Dottore, he truly didn't have any idea where it all really began. And perhaps even the aforementioned admirer was not cognizant of the shift in intention. Perhaps it was not something that could be recorded down to the exact time or day; a phenomenon that existed beyond the vacuum of a single moment, still shifting and evolving even long after all these moments passed.

But for the matter of simplicity, as far as Dottore was concerned, it all began that day in his office - with what should have been a knock on his door.

But there was no knock to preclude that fateful intrusion, so Dottore was merely greeted with the turn of a knob and the creak of a door hinge. By the time he glanced up, the gears had already been set in motion. Through the veil of his mask, his eyes settled upon the one that had already swept into his life without warning, and would proceed to upheave the contents of the Doctor’s existence in every perceivable fashion. 

Though Dottore had no knowledge of any of that yet, of course. In the moment, there was not a single thing on his mind but annoyance. There was nothing more than that, not even anger, as he did not yet consider the Eleventh to be a figurehead worthy of his ire. All that being said, however, Dottore couldn’t deny that the display of sheer audacity immediately caught his attention. There was not an ounce of shame present in Childe’s eyes as he stepped fully into the room, even presumptuously letting the door fall closed behind him before Dottore had a chance to argue. He offered no humility, no apologies, and no respect; he offered only his arrogance as he stood tall before the Doctor, along with an offensively casual greeting.

“Good afternoon, Doctor.”

Dottore gave him nothing in return but an unseeable squint, his hand coming to stop over the report he’d just been in the process of penning. He paused for only a moment, allowing the intrusion to sink in while being careful not to appear awestruck or unreasonably incensed. The council of segmented consciousnesses within him, however, were already belying his indifferent facade.

“Oh? What do we have here?” Upsilon was the first to make his interest well-known, creeping to the front of Dottore’s mind as if to take a good, long gander at the burgeoning scene before them. He seemed to titter, further assessing, “A wandering child? It seems our good mayor has failed to impart on him a sense of direction…”

“Kill him.” Eta was the next to flippantly butt in, sparing not a moment of thought before graciously offering his suggestion.

“You want the Tsaritsa to come for your head, you dolt?” Epsilon snapped. “A quick blow to the kneecaps would do just as well, anyway… Maybe scare some sense into the brat.”

His younger selves were cheeky as always, though this time Dottore was tempted to take at least one of those suggestions. He wasn't particularly in the mood for any trifling business, and the fresh, young Harbinger struck him as nothing but trifling. But he ought to temper himself… He and Childe had not yet worked together to any great extent, and Dottore could not yet rule out the possibility that the Eleventh may be of some interest. If Childe was so eager to make himself known, it would be a good chance to feed into certain curiosities Dottore had developed since his induction. So he smiled after a moment, setting his pen down to give Childe his full attention.

“It would be more appropriate to knock before entering a superior’s office,” Dottore said coolly. “Don’t you think, Tartaglia?”

“Superior?” Childe parroted with a laugh, raising him a challenging eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re already throwing your weight around! We’re supposed to be equals now, aren't we?”

“One would assume so,” Dottore replied, lips curling back with a patronizing smirk. “Unfortunately, Her Majesty has taken to conscripting quite the array of insolent children into our ranks as of late.”

Formal events that called for the Harbingers’ collective attendance had indeed begun to feel more like an unruly schoolyard than a gathering of diplomats. As if it weren't bad enough catching that haughty little girl’s glares from across cathedrals and banquet tables, Dottore now had another set of eyes to worry about that cryptically followed him wherever he went. And at least the girl had enough sense to mind her own outside of those meetings.

Childe just hummed in thought, giving a nod of his head and a sly glimpse at Dottore from the corner of his eye. “Well, based on the rumors I’ve heard, I’m not sure you’re one to make cracks about child conscripts.”

Dottore’s smile fell, no longer in the mood to feign good spirits.

“On second thought,” Epsilon droned, “maybe Eta has the right idea.”

“And give the whelp the millisecond of satisfaction?” Iota piped up with a scoff. “Honestly, if he's trying to get a rise out of us, he has to do better than that.”

That was true, and it was not the remark in and of itself that made Dottore lose patience. It was hardly any secret that the Second often utilized juvenile subjects, and the implication that many would not approve of such practices was not enough to bring his whole world crashing down all around him. The comment was risibly petty, but was no surprise considering that it had come from someone who was not far from a child himself. Dottore could now only assume that Childe had come here just to goad him, like a rowdy boy might test his grit and courage by throwing stones at a sleeping tiger, and Dottore had no interest in playing such a role. It was a shame, really… Despite the few things about Childe that nearly managed to pique the Doctor’s interest, he continuously proved himself to be nothing but an unmanageable little boy in desperate need of humbling. But it was not Dottore’s responsibility or desire to be the one that served this comeuppance, so he just picked his pen back up with a sigh and continued writing.

“Very clever,” he said sarcastically, not bothering to look back up. “I will ask that you leave now. If I have to repeat myself, I will no longer be asking. Good day, Tartaglia.”

A beat of silence followed this. Much to Dottore’s regret, it was not followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

“What, that's it?” Childe asked after a moment, somehow having the nerve to sound offended. “You’re not even wondering why I decided to come in?”

“You had a reason? You mean aside from attempting to provoke me? I have neither the time nor the desire to engage in pointless squabbles with you, Tartaglia. I’m very busy at the moment.”

“You don’t seem very busy,” Childe sulked. Dottore could hear a rustle of fabric indicative of the boy crossing his arms over his chest. “And if you are that busy, maybe try keeping your doors locked.”

“I’m expecting someone,” Dottore said. At that, his head snapped back in Childe’s direction pointedly. “Not you.”

“But you’re not seeing ‘someone’ at the moment, right?” Childe shot back. “Well, if you’re just looking for a reason, I'll just come right out with it: I had a few hours to spare, so I thought I’d drop by the lab to see what you get up to around here. I actually haven't had a chance to look around down here since I’ve had the clearance to do so…”

“And who told you your position grants you such clearance?” Dottore challenged.

“Well, I suppose I just assumed, considering there are no limits imposed on any of our other colleagues. Besides that, you’d be hard-pressed to find a soldier with the nerve to turn me away at the door.” He laughed at that. Dottore did not. After a beat of silence, Childe’s expression softened, and he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “That’s really all it comes down to, though. I’m just… admiring the sights, let’s say. From what I’ve seen so far, you have quite an impressive setup down here! I don’t have a clue what I’m looking at, of course, but it certainly looks impressive.”

Dottore narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He was suddenly laying it on a bit too thick, wasn't he? He wanted something. There was no other reason for him to be here, otherwise.

In the network, Omicron merely let out a disparaging grunt. “Throw him out.”

“Oh, let’s not be too brash, now,” Upsilon tutted. “We have some time… Let’s humor him just a bit.”

“He might be up to something,” Epsilon warned. “If he is, we should nip this in the bud now.”

Eta scoffed loudly. “Bah, just listen to him. He doesn't even know where he is. What could he possibly be up to?”

“Well, either way, we won’t know if we don’t ask,” Iota remarked. “The real question is, do we even want to know?”

“I don't know…” Alpha’s voice came through quiet as a whisper. “He makes me nervous…”

Considerations, considerations. He simply did not have the information necessary to know if the Eleventh would be worth his time. But since Childe did come this far, and because Dottore did not have anything more productive to do in these few moments between meetings, he may as well give things a chance to develop. If Childe was going to waste his time with frivolous nonsense, this would indeed be the most ideal time to waste. Dottore sighed defeatedly, yet again laying down his pen.

“I’m assuming you haven't come here to ask me for a tour,” Dottore droned.

Childe chuckled a little coyly, but his jawline quickly hardened with arrogance, and a fresh grin broke out across his features. “Nope. In all honesty, I was just hoping to get to know you a little better.”

Dottore raised an eyebrow at him, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Is that so?”

“You act like that’s so strange. We’re colleagues, aren't we? And we haven't had any opportunities to really collaborate on anything yet. You don’t even bother sending me to run your errands like most of the others do.”

“I have no need for your particular services, Tartaglia,” Dottore said dismissively. That much was true, and not merely a result of Dottore’s dissatisfaction with their newest member. His operations did not typically involve the kind of grunt work the Eleventh was best suited for, and involving him in sensitive projects he was overqualified for would only be more trouble than it was worth. “Shouldn't you consider that a blessing?”

“Maybe I should,” Childe agreed with a laugh. “Still, you can't really blame me for wanting to know the people I work with, can you?”

“That all depends on the reason you want to know. So, what’s this really about, boy?”

“Mmm…” Childe hummed thoughtfully, shifting his weight around on his heels. “Rumors, I suppose. The ones I’ve already mentioned. Maybe a few others… I thought this might be a good opportunity to clear those things up.”

Dottore clicked his tongue in annoyance, tapping his fingers against his chin. Childe was just playing coy, dancing around the subject. But it only made Dottore more certain of just what “rumors” the Eleventh wished to clear up.

“I would have hoped you had better things to do than listen to the rumor mill,” Dottore said in a vague, withering tone.

“Oh, you know how it is!” Childe said flippantly. “It’s difficult not to hear these things.” He paused forcefully, shooting Dottore a toothy grin and a pointed, leading stare. “With how many ears you have planted in Teyvat, I’m sure you understand.”

It seemed the boy was too pleased with himself to keep up the dance. Dottore studied him carefully as his inner voices began to murmur.

“Cheeky, isn't he?” Upsilon remarked, sounding more delighted than disgruntled.

“I suppose that means the cat's out of the bag,” Epsilon grumbled in annoyance.

“Bah, what does it matter?!” Eta hissed. “We’ve already known that! What difference does it make?”

Based on previous interactions with Childe, it had become obvious that he somehow had the ability to identify when a Segment was acting in Dottore’s stead. The prolonged stares in their direction, probing questions regarding prior engagements meant to catch them in a lie; it happened too often to be coincidental. The Regrator once even coyly suggested that the boy may know far more than he let on, leading Dottore to suspect that Childe attempted grilling him for information - an effort which was thankfully futile, as frankly, the Ninth’s head was oft too far up his ass to discuss any topics that did not involve his own dealings. Pantalone, and most of the other Harbingers, for that matter, had very little interest in Dottore’s Segments. It seemed the only one that did had now finally worked up the nerve to find his answers right from their source.

“He can’t possibly know everything,” Omicron said flatly. “Though now, it may be prudent to investigate just how much he does know.”

“The boy could be right, you know,” Upsilon piped up again. “This may be a good opportunity to clear a few things up.”

Dottore quietly gnawed at the inside of his cheek. It probably made little difference what Childe did or did not know, but it also went against Dottore’s nature to simply leave a conundrum unsolved. The answers Dottore was seeking may very well leave him disappointed, but they would be answers nevertheless. One less thing to question.

“I’m not quite sure what you mean by that,” Dottore said flatly. But he was pushing - waiting for Childe to lay down his cards first.

“Uh huh,” Childe grunted with a scoff. He didn't believe Dottore for a second, and as a result, he grew even bolder. “You’re a real strange guy, you know that?”

“How so?”

“I just mean… with all the manpower you have at your disposal, you still choose to send out other versions of yourself to do your busy work for you?”

“Busy work?! Is that what he thinks we do?!” Eta exclaimed.

“Is it not?” Iota cracked.

“Well, God only knows what the hell you’re doing! I, for one, command countless integral affairs! You could not even fathom how many irons I tend to…”

“A stock of irons doesn’t do anyone any good when the furnace isn’t lit, Eta…”

“Quiet,” Omicron said. “Just wait. He’ll give us even more.”

Dottore did not respond immediately, simply leaning back in his chair and observing Childe carefully. Though the boy had taken the time to give the revelation dramatic flair, he did not immediately look to Dottore for a response. Instead, Childe grew thoughtful, his eyes falling out of focus as he pondered the matter further.

“It didn't make any sense to me at first… So I started figuring that there must be a reason for it I’m not seeing. Some additional benefit to the whole deal.” At that, Childe’s arrogance returned, and he flashed Dottore a cocky grin. “Am I right?”

Dottore grunted vaguely, pushing his hand under his mask to pinch the bridge of his nose. That boy’s attitude really got on his nerves. “I really wish you would have knocked first.”

“I knew you wouldn't let me in,” Childe laughed, beaming even brighter. “I can tell when it’s not you, you know.”

The certainty with which he spoke piqued Dottore’s interest. Though he’d been suspecting something along those lines, it did surprise him that Childe would lead with something as subjective as his own perception. Many of their colleagues could not even accurately distinguish Dottore from his Segments, much less at nothing more than a glance. Yet Childe didn’t exude even an ounce of trepidation… Was he bluffing? Was it all just a coincidence, and the boy was just foolish enough to believe that his intuition could be so exceptional?

“Can you?” Dottore questioned. There was no sense in beating around the bush now, so he felt no need to offer further elaboration, only leaning forward and propping his elbows on the desk in intrigue. “Explain the distinction to me.”

Childe pursed his lips in thought before giving an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

“I dunno, I guess. They just feel different,” he admitted. “It’s like how you can tell when someone’s looking at you when your back is turned, or how the air changes when you’re about to walk into an ambush. It’s difficult to put into words. But it’s in the air - you just know.”

An answer that was no answer at all; and yet, Dottore only found his intrigue rising. Such a vague response was indicative of ignorance, and yet the ability he described was one that few others in this world possessed aside from beings of paramount divine insight. Extraordinary elemental sensitivity was the easiest explanation, but Childe should have been exhibiting more signs of Abyssal influence for that level of acuity to even be possible… Strange.

“He’s a highly skilled soldier,” Omicron interjected. “It’s no surprise that he might possess heightened intuition. That could be all there is to it.”

“Yes, it’s not unlikely that men of his caliber might share such an experience in our presence,” Upsilon added.

“Most other men just wouldn’t be daft enough to jump to the conclusion without proof,” Eta scoffed.

“But what does our intuition tell us?” Iota asked. “That it surely can't be as simple as that, can it?”

No. As prepared as Dottore had always been to write the Eleventh off as the tactless cannon fodder he appeared to be, he could not deny that there was something below the surface that Dottore couldn’t see. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something that was hiding just out of sight…

“There’s something not quite right about him,” Alpha muttered.

As much as Dottore would have liked to simply strap him down somewhere in the lab and start investigating, he had neither the time nor the advantage to do so now. Childe may have been too eager to tread where he ought not to, but Dottore doubted he would give his body up so easily. But as Pantalone so often said, everyone had their price. And that price tended to come down quite a bit when the negotiators were on good terms. And here was Childe, already extending the olive branch for them. Dottore was a bit short on time at the moment, but there was no reason not to lay the groundwork for their working relationship here. And besides, what kind of scholar would he be if he did not facilitate a curious young mind’s thirst for knowledge?

Dottore smiled amiably. “So?”

Childe just blinked at him for a moment, his head tilting slightly to one side. “So what?”

“You have questions, don’t you?” Dottore reached inside his coat, pulling out a small silver timepiece from his inner breast pocket to inspect the time. As he slipped it back into its place, he  quickly added, “I do have a few moments to spare. So feel free to ask them now.”

“Uh.” The puzzled grunt was accompanied by an awkward shift on the balls of Childe’s feet, making the Fatui’s “fearsome vanguard” look more like a child than ever before. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Dottore replied curtly, his lips twitching downward. “Is there a problem?”

“I just-” Childe chuckled breathlessly and gave him a very sheepish grin, “-didn't expect you to play along that quickly.”

“Hmm,” Iota hummed flatly. “On second thought, maybe he is just an idiot.”

“He’s young,” Upsilon offered with a laugh. “Can you blame him for being starstruck in our presence? It’s a perfectly reasonable response.”

“And we shouldn’t be letting our guard down yet,” Omicron said.

“Well, either way, I suppose whatever’s rattling around in that empty head of his could very easily be ours for the taking,” Iota noted. “We’ll just have to see if it’s worth it.”

Dottore let out a sharp exhale, tapping his fingers together impatiently. He found no honor or enjoyment in playing cards with a child who did not understand the rules of the game. But, he needed patience… Patience, patience, patience. It was a virtue, as some said, and even Dottore could be virtuous when it might benefit him.

“I do not have all day, Tartaglia,” Dottore cautioned.

Childe recovered from his shock quickly and snapped back to attention, straightening himself out rigidly as if called on by a drill sergeant's order. But his eyes were wide with fascination and excitement, a child that unwittingly ran headfirst into a sweets shop spilling over with unheard-of morsels to sample. The hardness of his jawline said he was determined to make the best of Dottore’s graciousness, but the softness of his ponderous brow was unsure of how to begin. 

“So… what are they?” Childe finally decided, the slightest waver of trepidation clinging to the words. “Clones?”

“He really doesn’t have the slightest idea?” Alpha muttered incredulously. “Pantalone could have told him at least that much…”

“Hell, he could have gotten twice the information from graffiti scrawled upon an outhouse wall,” Eta retorted. “Does the boy live under a rock?”

“He came into this completely blind,” Upsilon said in amusement. “I wonder what makes him so confident in that intuition of his, to have come in at full swing like this despite knowing nothing.”

“No,” Dottore said curtly. Heaving a greatly exasperated sigh, he leaned back in his chair and added, “Though I doubt you even fully understand what constitutes a clone. May I suggest that if you wish for some clarity between us, you should ask questions that would truly facilitate your understanding?”

“I’m not stupid. I know what a clone is,” Childe said defensively. Finally, Dottore’s words seemed to stick in his craw, and he puffed out his chest haughtily. His faltering gaze and subsequent slump of his shoulders soon belied his bluster, however.  “I… think I do, anyway. Are you just making fun of me?”

“Not at all,” Dottore replied swiftly. He laced his fingers together, tapping them against his chin and fixing a serious eye on Childe. “You say you want to know me better, yes? Well, Tartaglia, the first thing you should know about me is that beyond my duties to this organization - and the discretion that must occasionally be upheld in light of those duties - I am a scholar first and foremost. And as a scholar, I too find value in clarity. But clarity is not something any man is owed, nor is wisdom something we are granted from birth. It takes a great deal of discipline and skill to achieve true wisdom. You must learn how to make knowledge play in your favor; you must ask the right questions.”

Childe pursed his lips in thought as he bore a hole into the toes of his boots. Still wounded, but burning with determination to speak wisely. Dottore was pleasantly surprised that he was making the effort at all.

“So you’re just going to spoon-feed it to him?” Epsilon hissed bitterly. “It’s not our fault if he’s too stupid to get to the point. He should be able to tell his ass from his elbow without our instruction! If he can't do that much, he’s not worth the trouble.”

“Children are very temperamental creatures; an excess of positive reinforcement is often necessary to get them to cooperate at all,” Upsilon said with a puckish tongue click. “You should know all about that, Epsilon.”

“Argh! I dare you to say that again, you limp-wristed son of a-”

“But that’s no excuse to go easy on the boy,” Omicron interrupted. “He’s not our friend. Don't give him a reason to think he could be.”

“Are they even human?” Childe asked. Dottore couldn't help but smirk, now observing him with marked interest. He was getting closer to the mark already. Arrogant as the Eleventh was, it seemed that he could be receptive when it counted.

“That greatly depends on what your definition of ‘human’ is,” Dottore answered. 

“Like me, then,” Childe clarified, gesturing to himself with a vague flourish of his arms. “Flesh and blood. Came into the world the same as any other regular person. That definition.”

“If that is your definition, then no, they are not human.”

Childe scrunched up his face in confusion. “And what other definition is there?”

“That’s too broad,” Dottore corrected, dismissing the question outright with a wave of his hand. “I don’t have the time to get into all that, nor do I think you're looking to talk philosophy. Now isn't the time to unravel that. It’s not the right question.”

Childe looked a bit stymied now, brow furrowing fiercely as he sought another avenue. “Are they machines?” he tried.

“Partially,” Dottore replied. “The bodies you see are an amalgamation of both organic and inorganic materials. They are meant to be perceived as human at first glance, and even closer than that. But dig deep enough, and you’ll find something closer to true mechanics.”

Childe let that sink in for a moment, but before long a devilish grin overtook his features. His lightless eyes did not spark, but instead grew darker as he cocked his head back challengingly and asked, “That an invitation?”

“Pah!” Eta scoffed loudly. “I’d like to see him try! Haeresys will have a new subject for the pits before he can lift a finger!”

“If he’d like to give it a go, I’d be more than happy to oblige,” Iota drawled. “It’s about time someone showed him how insignificant he really is.”

“It is not,” Dottore said calmly, but firmly. His own expression darkened, trusting the Segments could also intuit his disapproval. “Please refrain from testing the limits of my creations. It’s really not as exciting as you might think it is, and it will just give me an awful mess to clean up later.”

Childe pursed his lips in disappointment, though he did not push back - of course, Dottore suspected that no amount of forewarning or argument would keep the boy from doing as he pleased if that was his one great desire. But for the moment, that wasn’t his goal. It seemed the Harbingers’ budding young warlord finally desired something aside from senseless violence. Now, much to Dottore’s great approval, he merely sought enlightenment. And the Eleventh’s next question would be duly rewarded with such.

“You say their bodies aren't human,” Childe remarked after another pause for thought. “So what part of them is?”

Dottore could not deny how the question stirred something like pride within him. He was never one for teaching, even when such a career path was still theoretically on the table for him; it always seemed like too much trouble, and to teach in an academic environment was a waste of time no matter how you spun it. Some people simply could not be taught, and to imply that those types of students were obligated to the same level of counseling as their exceptional peers was nothing short of an insult to the very concept of wisdom. But it was moments like this that helped Dottore understand why some scholars chose to teach. As ignorant as Childe undoubtedly was - and perhaps willfully so - it was evident that he could meet challenges with something other than brute force when the matter necessitated it. For all his arrogance and small-town naivety, there was a shrewdness to him hiding just beneath the surface just begging to be tapped into. He’d gotten off to a clumsy start, but he’d reached the heart of the matter quite swiftly. Dottore had almost expected his line of close-ended questions to continue ad nauseam - are they human, are they machine, do they come from stardust or the salt of the earth? Quick, weightless tick marks were better suited for interrogation than analytics, evasive questions that could only beget evasive answers. But with no more than a bit of gentle guidance, Childe had realized this much quicker than Dottore expected him to. As such, the Doctor was content to cast aside his evasive maneuvers - for the most part, at least. 

“Now that, my boy,” Dottore chuckled, leaning over his desk eagerly, “is the right question.” 

Childe’s lips puckered into a surprised purse, freezing where he stood. Even with all his grandstanding, he clearly had not been expecting to be commended so openly.

“Aren’t you laying it on a little thick?” Epsilon muttered irritably.

“He barely even did anything. All you’re doing is leading him right to us,” Alpha huffed.

“Aw, are you two jealous?” Upsilon laughed. “Remind me next time I’m out your way, and I’ll be sure to give you both a good pat on the head to calm your nerves.”

The two young Segments began to bluster, but their elders quickly drowned them out.

“How amusing, that the boy can so blatantly fish for approval yet be so taken aback when it is given,” Iota sneered. “That only asserts that we still have the upper hand in this exchange, of course.”

“Just makes sure it stays that way,” Omicron cautioned.

Dottore stood up and began a leisurely waltz from behind his desk, deliberating on just how much information he was willing to share. A bit of discretion was still prudent, after all, if only to leave room open for further experimentation down the road. Dottore was eager to see just how far the Eleventh’s power of perception went.

“Though you’ve managed to intuit that their physical builds are quite unlike yours or mine, make no mistake, Tartaglia - they are no less myself than the body standing before you now,” Dottore began. “The entities you have identified are annexes of my own consciousness; fragments of my mind that I have recorded and preserved over the years at different points in my life. Existing in those physical vessels merely for convenience’s sake, these ‘Segments’ of consciousness serve as extensions of my influence and power over this world.”

Childe instantly shook himself from his stupor, eyes widening and body leaning forward in excitement. “How?” he asked.

Dottore watched him with a studious eye and seemingly oblivious smile. “How what?”

“How do they bring you power?” Childe clarified, growing more intent by the second.

Dottore could tell by the somewhat vacant look in Childe’s eyes that much of the explanation went over his head. That was to be expected, as the boy likely had no experience in matters of consciousness. But he did not need an advanced understanding of science or alchemy to receive the answer he so yearned to hear. Dottore could sense it in him now; what Childe was really interested in was power. He did not need to know what the Segments were made of, or how a consciousness could be captured and kept. He wanted to know what they brought - the all-important results that had come from his experiment. While Dottore was more inclined to focus on the experimentation process itself, he could not deny that results were indeed an integral and inevitable part of said process, so the boy’s enthusiasm still left him feeling quite pleased. Moreover, Childe’s palpable excitement spelled nothing but good news for their potential working relationship moving forward. People like him made useful test subjects. If Dottore could dangle the promise of power over the Eleventh’s head indefinitely, there could be no limit to what the boy would withstand for the sake of that result.

“Oh, he’ll be far too easy,” Eta remarked deviously. “There’s hardly any sport in it at all!”

“But isn’t it grand that he’s given the good Doctor an excuse to sing our praises?” Upsilon said with a chuckle. “We don’t often get to brag about ourselves to this degree… It would be a shame to let the opportunity pass us by.”

“Good sportsmanship is overrated, anyway,” Epsilon scoffed. “If he’s so eager to lick our boots, then let him be crushed under our heel!”

“In too many ways to list here and now,” Dottore said slyly, stopping at the front of his desk and leaning back against it. “But first and foremost, it is with these Segments that I have achieved paramount wisdom, by eliminating the constraints of time that human minds are usually bound to.”

“Constraints of time?” Childe asked, scrunching his face up in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

Dottore chuckled. “You may not be aware of this yet, being as young as you are, but it is time that serves as wisdom’s greatest enemy. Time fosters ignorance, short-sightedness, a fear of the unknown… It is only by breaking free of these binds that one can ever hope to achieve true wisdom.”

“How so?” Childe asked. He smirked, almost sarcastically adding, “Aren't you supposed to get wiser as you get older? That’s what everyone tells me, at least.”

“And is that something you truly believe?”

Childe earnestly considered that for a moment. “I don’t know. To a certain extent, I suppose. With age naturally comes experience, after all, and nothing really beats experience.”

“Your observation is correct. Your conclusion, however, is misguided. Experience is indeed an invaluable asset, but in the grand scheme of knowledge and wisdom, it does not outweigh all else.” Dottore gave him a pointed smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Whereas your youth fails you here, I’m sure you will agree that it benefits you largely in other areas. Even a child can sometimes offer sage advice; likewise, even our elders can fall victim to great ignorance.”

“Hmm.” Childe grunted vaguely, acknowledging Dottore’s words but still pondering them for himself. Dottore could tell he was still antsy, still looking for something more; waiting for that vague idea of power to be dangled just a bit closer within his reach.

“You see, Tartaglia,” Dottore continued with a chuckle, “time turns knowledge into something pliant and flimsy. It changes it. One’s ability to comprehend a subject can wax and wane over the course of no more than a few years. Perspectives can be dramatically altered in a relatively short time, and it is often difficult to retain a prior perspective once it has passed. And eventually, time will whittle away all these perspectives altogether. So, only by preserving these perspectives can one hope to reach true enlightenment. Enlightenment which surpasses even that of the ‘gods’ that rule this world…”

Dottore trailed off, suddenly finding himself feeling wistful. It had been a long time since he’d dwelt on any of these notions to such a degree, but the tangent was familiar and easy to grasp like an old worry stone in his back pocket - but there was also an undeniable dissonance there, like the hand worrying was not really his own. The Segments continued to offer their murmured pride in the back of his mind, and their voices grew more and more distant as the seconds ticked by. Dottore truly did trust in those ideals, but trust was merely a muscle memory he could not possibly hope to forget. It all just felt a bit strange to be speaking aloud now; perhaps even a bit morose.

But it was no matter. From the beginning, this speech had been brewing for Childe’s benefit rather than his own. As such, Dottore just picked up where he left off with a tempting smile and a pointed glance.

“That is what my Segments grant me - or rather, what I have granted myself,” Dottore concluded. “Knowledge. Indomitable, limitless knowledge. And knowledge, my boy, is where real power comes from.”

Dottore’s continued observation confirmed that Childe’s body would grow rigid at the mere mention of power; not out of discomfort, but vigilance. Muscles coiling, breath quickening, pupils dilating - whatever chaotic force dwelt within him frenzied at the idea of conquest, no matter what form it might take, and Dottore could see that more clearly now than ever before.

“Oh, what a valuable little guinea pig he could be,” Iota said with a devious chuckle.

“If we play our cards right, he’ll be at our every beck and call,” Omicron concurred. “There will nothing more he can hide from us.”

Childe seemed to catch himself then, reverting back to a more relaxed posture as he quickly averted his intense gaze. He looked embarrassed, perhaps realizing his body had reacted against his will and revealed too much. With an exaggerated roll of his head, he tried to laugh it off.

“That’s kind of difficult to wrap my head around,” Childe admitted, speaking a bit too quickly. “But the speech was certainly impressive. I think I’d still take strength over knowledge at the end of the day, though. Both are useful, but a good head on your shoulders doesn’t do much good if you can’t keep it there.”

“A fair assessment,” Dottore said with a roll of his eyes. “But I can assure you I possess enough of the former quality to get me by, as well. One need not limit themselves to one wheelhouse, and I will remind you that our rankings are certainly not for show.”

“Yeah?” Another awkward laugh burst out of him as he watched his own feet shifting weight. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“So?” Dottore prompted with a smirk. “I trust you are satisfied with the answer?”

Childe paused, mulling things over seriously. “Well… I guess I still don’t quite get it.”

“Specify.”

“I mean…” Childe trailed off. “It’s just that sometimes perspectives change for good reason, don’t they? Why go to all the trouble picking out each one, when one perspective could be worse than another?”

Dottore raised an eyebrow at him. Childe was invested enough in the details to attempt engaging him in a debate? Dottore hadn’t been expecting that, and he already wasn’t fond of the direction this discussion was going. He squared his jaw, gripping the lip of his desk and tapping his fingers irritably underneath.

“The causation between linear time and a perceived aggrandizement of perspective is a highly subjective matter,” Dottore said flatly. “And subjectivity has no place in intelligent reason. A narrow lens is what devalues perspectives. Eliminate that, and there is no definitive value that can be ascribed to them; meaning, there is no limit to their utility when unburdened by time.”

“That seems like a pretty subjective idea, too,” Childe rebutted. “Even the best battle strategies eventually wear out their use. Use one too many times without straying from the blueprint, and soon it will mark you. Your enemies start to see you coming from a mile away. That’s why the greatest warriors are the ones that prioritize adaptivity on the warfront. You have to be ready for whatever comes your way, because the tides of war are ever-changing; soldiers have to be ever-changing. So why not just take it all into account like everyone else has to?”

“A quaint comparison,” Dottore said sarcastically “But the only enemy I face is ignorance, Tartaglia. And ignorance never changes.”

Childe put his hands on his hips, and a simper twitched at his lips. “But a guy as smart as you ought to have good enough judgment to face it on his own, right?”

Dottore fell silent, and his expression darkened.

Yet again, and much to Dottore’s bitter chagrin, Childe had found the right question. Though this time, he would receive no praise for the feat.

Annoyingly, the voices within Dottore had fallen to a hush. It seemed they had no counsel to offer in this matter. All they did was hang there like a dense fog, only wanting to hear their creator’s response. Were they just waiting to see him waffle to a boy who had not even lived a quarter of his life? Or perhaps a few of them were secretly waiting for an earnest rebuttal from their creator - a solid defense, a sense of validation.

Dottore would not give them the satisfaction either way. Their collective silence was indicitive of a line unintentionally crossed with Childe, and that regrettable allowance would simply need to be rescinded immediately. He had not chosen to engage with the Eleventh to hear his smart-assed remarks on a subject he could barely comprehend. This was simply a discussion that would not be had. Dottore had no desire to debate a foolish little boy who would imply that the Doctor was hobbled when he wasn’t even cognizant of the invisible fetters clamped around his own ankles.

But speak of the devil… It felt right about time for the minutes to finally be on his side. Dottore recovered quickly, offering Childe a patronizing smile as he reached inside his coat for his pocket watch.

“I don’t expect you to fully understand at your… tender age,” Dottore said coolly, flipping open the watch with a flick of his wrist. He inspected the time, not bothering to look back up as he continued. “I would, however, advise that you avoid speaking out of turn in matters you simply cannot comprehend.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by an awkward laugh. “Did I strike a nerve or something? I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn. Just asking questions.”

“I’m sure,” Dottore said dryly. At least he could depend on his next unwanted guest’s prompt arrival to soon whisk Childe out of his hair. The man was exceedingly punctual, and almost passive aggressively so; you would not see him arriving even a second early or late to a scheduled meeting, and Dottore was very much counting on that now. It should be any minute now… He snapped the pocket watch closed, smugly stuffing it back into place. “Either way, I’m afraid your time for asking questions is up.”

“What do you mean?” Childe asked, looking crestfallen.

“I already told you. I’m expecting someone,” Dottore explained. “He should be arriving at any moment now, so you should really just-”

“Who?” Childe interrupted. His quick indignation left Dottore feeling a bit gobsmacked, and he could not even bring himself to reprimand the boy for cutting him short. Did Childe really think his unannounced presence took precedence over the Doctor’s regularly scheduled work?

“And how is that any of your business?” Dottore asked tersely.

“Oh, come on. It’s not a secret if they're meeting you down here, is it?” Childe crossed his arms petulantly. “Anyone could see them coming. And if you’re cutting things this short, I feel like I’m owed something of an explanation.”

Childe's utter audacity managed to clear out the stifling atmosphere that settled over the network, sending the Segments into a blustering flurry all at once.

“He thinks he’s owed an explanation?” Epsilon crowed in disbelief. “Oh, I’ll show him exactly what he’s owed-”

“He’s certainly switched gears, hasn't he?” Iota remarked with a low growl. “What happened to all that reverence? The nerve of this one…”

“It makes no difference,” Omicron interjected. “The sooner he’s satisfied, the sooner he’s out of our hair.”

As much as Dottore wanted to argue, he was now willing to tell the Eleventh damn near anything to get him out of his sight. The last thing he wanted was a witness to this ludicrous display… Dottore sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“If you must know, I have a meeting with the Rooster that does not concern you,” Dottore droned. Truthfully, he was not sure what subject Pulcinella wished to discuss; he had demanded an audience via telegram, simply stating they must address a “misuse of assets.” Dottore did not expect that engagement to be particularly pleasant either, and he would prefer to have Childe on his way out while his former guardian made his way in.  “So if you could just-”

“No way,” Childe blurted out. This time, Dottore did snap his head up to scold him for the interruption, but the invective stuck in his throat when he saw Childe’s face. The Eleventh’s expression puzzled him; his eyes were wide, and his entire body had gone rigid with some vague apprehension. “Pulcinella?”

Dottore raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes.”

“Coming here? Now? ”

“Yes,” Dottore snapped. He let out a shallow exhale, having nearly lost his last thread of patience. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

Childe winced, averting his gaze sheepishly. His hands were now balled into tights fists at his sides, and Dottore heard him gulp audibly. 

“Uh, it’s just… I’m… kinda supposed to be with him now. Right now.” He let out an abrupt, nervous laugh. “I, uh… kinda ditched him to come here, actually.”

“He’s not serious, is he?” Alpha asked, sounding more mortified than anything else. His elders did not follow suit, most of them exploding into an indistinguishable murmur of fury while Upsilon merely guffawed in the background.

“Oh, goodness me,” he tittered, voice strained as if his humor had reduced him to tears. “Her Majesty must be off her royal rocker to have let this one through.”

“I told you the boy was just an imbecile!” Eta exclaimed. “Look at him now! He didn't even have the foresight to cover his tracks before playing hooky!”

Dottore clicked his tongue irritably, but it was the absolute most fervor he could offer Childe’s admission. There was too much to unpack right there and there - the knowledge that Dottore had only moments before been forced to both commend and condemn the Eleventh’s supposed shrewdness when, in reality, he’d been speaking with nothing more than a misbehaving child - and Dottore suddenly felt drained of the energy required for doing so.

“Really, now,” Dottore monotoned, covering his forehead with his palm wearily.

“Shit,” Childe practically moaned. He looked to Dottore, perhaps for sympathy, but his stare was only regarded out of the furthest corner of the Second’s eye. Dottore had already turned heel, making the short trek back to the other side of his desk. “He’s gonna give me hell when he sees me…”

“How tragic.”

“Shit. Shit.” Childe's fretting did not cease, now muttering almost frantically to himself as he carded a hand through his hair. “If he’s already on his way here, then-”

A sharp rap on the door cut him short. Dottore paused at the side of his desk, looking back at the door with an exasperated look as a muffled voice boomed from beyond it.

“Lord Dottore,” the voice called. It was indistinct and unfamiliar, likely a soldier outside of his charge - not that Dottore could pick most of his own footmen out of a line-up. “I am here to announce Lord Pulcinella’s arrival; the Lord Mayor wishes to compel your audience on the scheduled matter.”

Dottore looked back at Childe, ready to dismiss him one final time. But by the time his eyes found him again, the Eleventh was already locked in on him too. Eyes wide and lips thin, he looked like nothing less than a rabbit caught in a snare. Cornered prey. And before Dottore could give his order, a panicked plea hit the air.

“Hide me,” Childe muttered desperately.

Dottore just blinked at him. It was one of those slow, shamefully stupid blinks that one could only offer upon encountering a phenomenon so utterly beyond their comprehension, like how a simpleton might gawk at neoteric technologies, or how a cave-dwelling beast might react to the sun’s light - how a man might look upon the individual frequently touted as the Fatui’s “fearsome, bloodthirsty Harbinger vanguard” after hearing him blurt out a phrase so blatantly craven and juvenile.

“He’s not serious… Is he?” Alpha’s voice, choked with disbelief and a tinge of pure horror, was the only one that rang through the network, the others stuck in their own mental blinks - because an elder mind was at a disadvantage when encountering the incomprehensible, Dottore distantly realized, because an elder mind was naturally inclined to follow lines of fact and reason before deferring to an emotional response. It was why Dottore was left gaping at the Eleventh like a stupid, frozen fish, and why Alpha was the one to begin anxiously picking apart Childe’s words first; searching for some hidden meaning, the joke of a punchline delivered prematurely, the context for the wake of laughter that only seemed to die down the moment he walked within earshot. It was why Dottore did not immediately opt straight for intolerance to compensate for his lack of understanding, and why, regrettably, the events that would soon follow were given a chance to transpire at all.

“Pardon me?” Dottore blurted out, suddenly worried that he’d misheard the Eleventh altogether.

“Let me hide here,” Childe hissed urgently. He approached Dottore’s desk, eyes quickly scanning the room for someplace to secret himself. “I’m serious!”

“The hell he is!” Epsilon blustered suddenly, predictably. He was searching too, sharp words and harsh tone a convenient cover for the slight tremble to his voice. “Wh-what the hell is he even talking about?!”

“Are you a child, Tartaglia?” Dottore snapped back at Childe. “What on earth are you saying?”

“Lord Dottore?” the voice at the door called again, louder than before.

“Oh, come on!” Childe implored in a desperate whisper-shout, lurching forward and clasping his hands together as if to pray for the Doctor’s goodwill. “I was supposed to go home for a few days after today. If the old man catches me like this, there’s no way he’ll just let me go now! I don’t want to deal with this right now. I didn't know he’d be coming here of all places...”

Finally, Dottore’s search for meaning bore fruit - a puckeringly underripe citrus yielding nothing but bitter pith. Dottore’s lips twisted and writhed until they finally set themselves into a withering scowl as the rest of the Segments fell into place clumsily behind their juniors, emotion and reason melding together like a split deck of cards in need of shuffling.

“The boy’s fucking daft!” Eta cried in outrage. “I knew we should have killed him!”

“He was nothing but a child from the very beginning! I can’t believe I…” Iota trailed off, the words that followed too damning to speak aloud. “Just get him out of here!”

“I do not care!” Dottore hissed. He kept his voice down as well, if only to prevent the others outside from hearing him speak so aggressively. He would not allow an audience to this childishness; Dottore scolding the Eleventh like a child, knowing now that he was a child, knowing that he had gladly entertained a child thinking him to be a man. “I have had enough of you, boy! This behavior is-”

“No, no, listen!” Childe begged, surging towards Dottore’s desk. “If he sees me here with you, it's just gonna put him in a bad mood for your meeting! You’ll be doing us both a favor, here! Just let me-”

“Lord Dottore?” the voice called again. The walls to Dottore’s office weren't thin, and the man had to be nearly shouting by now, no doubt making a scene throughout the entire lab. “Are you present, Lord Dottore?”

“No time for lectures,” Omicron warned brusquely. “Just toss him out on his ass.”

“And you better be quick about it, old man,” Upsilon teased.

But by the time Dottore could direct his attention from the door back to Childe, the boy had already leap-frogged over his desk, landing on Dottore’s side and getting ready to dash underneath it. Dottore charged to meet him, successfully grabbing his forearm just before he could slip out of reach.

“Tartaglia, get out of here this instant!” Dottore commanded. But Childe broke free from his grip with ease - disarming ease, and Dottore was unsure if the inability to account for such physical strength was his own fault, or if the Eleventh had suddenly exhibited a surge of strength that could not be accounted for. Either way, the Second Harbinger was caught off guard and the Eleventh was now unhindered, and the latter took the opportunity to dip down into the deep alcove under the desk. Before scooting further in, he flashed Dottore one last plaintive look.

“Please!” Childe begged. “Please. Just pretend I’m not here.”

“You-” Dottore could say no more, simply slapping one hand on the desk and hunching down as he prepared to drag Childe out by his hair. But at that moment, the door to his office swung open. Dottore froze, save for a stiff jerk of his head as he looked towards the broken boundary and the woefully familiar face that greeted him. 

Pulcinella stood at the very center of the doorway, with two guards at his side looking upon their master uneasily. Inevitably, all three pairs of eyes fell upon Dottore. The latter two exhibited barely restrained terror upon acknowledging the Second Harbingers, regard, quickly averting their gazes; the mayor, of course, did not harbor the same fears as his men, staring straight down the center of the room with glacial regard. His expression was neutral, but there was a gleam of smug entitlement behind his eyes that Dottore could discern even from across the room - though perhaps that was less of a testament to his vision than it was to the fact that he’d known the stout, mustachioed politician for far too long.

Dottore did not dare move a muscle, nor did he call attention to Childe’s presence or acknowledge Pulcinella’s. He looked inwards, where the Segments were already chirping away like indignant finches.

“Don’t just let him get away with this!” Iota blustered. “Drag him out by his ear and let the Rooster finish the job! This is absolutely absurd!”

“And call attention to him now?” Epsilon crowed, aghast. “And how exactly are we supposed to explain how he weaseled his way under the desk? That’s too humiliating!”

“That doesn't matter,” Omicron said lowly. “This insolence cannot be tolerated. I want him gone.”

“He- He has a reason to stay quiet,” Alpha pointed out. “Nobody has to know. Then once Pulcinella is out of our hair, we can do whatever we want to him.”

“Ooh, whatever we want, you say?” Eta cackled maliciously. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea, then… Pulcinella’s too soft on the boy. We should make sure his young ward is properly punished for his transgressions!”

“And Tartaglia wasn't wrong, you know,” Upsilon concurred, thinking quickly. “Pulcinella’s all business, so you know this meeting is happening one way or another. Why fan the flames if there’s no need? There’s no need to put him in a sour mood. We could keep this quiet. Quick. Painless.” A sly chuckle soon followed. “Well, quiet and quick, at least.”

Ludicrous. Fucking ludicrous. Was Dottore really supposed to just sit there and pretend the Eleventh wasn't stowed away under his desk like a child cowering from his father’s switch? Dottore did not fear losing face, nor did he fear whatever wrath may twist Pulcinella’s mood. He could end this all now. Swallow what remained of his pride and put this entire disaster behind him. But he just couldn't shake the feeling that there was a debt to be paid, and one that he did not want to relinquish to those insufferably complacent amber eyes scrutinizing him now. It was petty, probably unforgivably petty, but bitterness coated his tongue, and he could not help but pine for the sweetness of a long-awaited catharsis.

And there was something else, too, buried under the cacophony of their vocal collective that so often went unheard, unseen, unknown. A voice that always sounded distant when Dottore heard it, though it was difficult to tell who between them had manufactured the distance. Be that as it may, Dottore could hear it now - crystal clear, and impossible to disregard.

“It seems that he no longer considers the Rooster to be a keeper worthy of heeding,” Omega said. “So now, he can be ours to keep.”

Dottore wanted to laugh. Did he even really want to claim ownership of such a thing? Was dominion for the sake of itself not just an unnecessary burden to the domineer? Coming from that one, Dottore was only more tempted to end the charade right there. But…

Within a fraction of a second, Dottore closed his eyes. He assessed the situation. He realized there was no time to weigh his biases, no time to wonder if cutting off his nose would indeed be wiser than feeding that devil sitting upon his shoulder, and no time to waffle once he made his decision. So in a literal blink, he made his choice. He opened his eyes, forcing his body to relax as he gave Pulcinella a casual smile.

“Rooster,” he greeted amicably. He maintained his friendly candor but dropped his voice slightly before adding, “I don't recall giving you permission to enter.”

Resentment flickered behind Pulcinella’s eyes, imperceptible to all but those who knew him too well. With a wave of his hand and a quick order, he bid his men to remain on watch outside, soon stepping into the office while one guard closed the door behind him.

“I have a feeling that if I waited for that, I would have been standing outside that door all day,” Pulcinella said with a humorless chuckle.

Dottore sat down without any real thought, simply trying to maintain an air of nonchalance, which quickly proved to be a glaring oversight in judgment. Dottore was already in his chair by the time he realized that this put him in very close proximity to the little stowaway under his desk. The space underneath was large, but not large enough to avoid feeling the heat of cramped quarters and a brush of some type of extremity against Dottore’s knee. And he of course could not risk looking down to properly gauge the distance between them.  Damn. What an unpleasant situation… Though he supposed this was for the better. Pulcinella tended to meander during his speeches - wise and particularly verminous vultures only circled their targets from afar, after all - and the last thing Dottore needed now was for him to drift behind his desk far enough to catch a glimpse of Childe in this kind of position. If Dottore stayed in one place, he could keep the mayor at a respectable distance.

“You’re just too impatient, old friend,” Dottore said with a laugh just as hollow, though the term he used for the Rooster was perhaps the only humorous thing about this situation. He and Pulcinella were far from friends. The mayor was not fond of Dottore, for very predictable and perhaps even valid reasons, though he was also not fond of much in the first place. Pulcinella considered himself so far above the rest of his supposed “colleagues” that most of them became lost in the shadow of his monumental proboscis whenever he deigned to look down. But in addition to that, Pulcinella’s recruitment had come unfortuitously, his induction coinciding with the peak of Dottore’s dreaded madness - the Doctor could not well recall their first few interactions during those years, and he did not expect that they left a good impression on their mayor. Their working relationship was shot in the foot before it even had a chance to start. This was of no great concern, as Dottore had no need for a politician’s involvement, and it was all beside the point now regardless. As droll as their feigned civility may have been in another circumstance, Dottore was not in any mood for levity. Pulcinella, for one, merely scoffed at the remark, stopping in the center of the room and tapping his cane against the floor decorously.

“So it seems,” Pulcinella replied wryly. But he just smiled, his hands coming to rest atop the cane’s handle. “Forgive the intrusion, then, Doctor. I was just eager to get things started.”

“Then let’s get to business, shall we?”

“Well, there is no need to rush straight into business, now is there?” Pulcinella chuckled. “It has been some time since we’ve had an opportunity to meet like this. Diplomacy is not a discipline only practiced through international engagements. It is just as important to keep our internal relations well-fed. So, I trust your operations have been thriving?”

Dottore’s polite smirk sprouted teeth, perhaps looking closer to a grimace than a grin. “Indubitably. But I doubt that is what you’ve come here to discuss.”

“That remains to be seen,” Pulcinella retorted, looking down his nose at him. “Most circumstances do not exist in a vacuum. All of these matters can interweave with one another, and I find it very prudent to understand where they may intersect. That is why I’ve always thought small talk can often be more important than it initially seems... Wouldn’t you agree?”

Knowing it would go unseen, Dottore let his eye twitch.

“Ugh, here we go…” Epsilon said gravely. “He’s just wasting our time on purpose.”

Pulcinella always did have a flair for passive aggression. He did not often step out of bounds in a way that looked convincing on paper, but he was adept at quietly crawling under one’s skin until the other party broke those boundaries first - a trait that made him a detestably stellar politician.

“He’s not worth the trouble, especially not now,” Iota said. “We should get him out of here as quickly as possible.”

“Pulcinella’s no amateur, though,” Upsilon hummed. “We push back too hard, and he’ll dig his heels in. How many times has it happened before? If he knows he’s causing a fuss, we’ll probably never get him out of here.”

Dottore didn’t appreciate being played like a fiddle, but this time around, he was eager to give Pulcinella the upper hand. Anything to get him moving, so Dottore could then handle the matter of his disobedient ward in peace. The rankling feeling of Childe’s presence beneath Dottore did not abate, and it made his skin prickle. But he managed to relax his shoulders and soften his smile.

“Yes, that is an astute observation, mayor,” Dottore said, leaning back in his chair comfortably. “That being said, I’m sure you do not wish for me to bore you with all the grisly details… So just rest assured, our great organization knows no bounds when it comes to research and development. My experiments are fruitful as always, and the benefit of progress naturally continues to be inherited by the people of our great nation.”

Pulcinella’s mustache twitched with a smile dry and harsh as sandpaper. 

“That is quite charitable of you. Some might even call it unbelievably charitable,” he said with a pithy guffaw and a pointed stare at the Doctor. “Are you certain you do not wish to merely reap those rewards for yourself?”

Dottore’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, but the rest of his features remained placid. “Enlightenment is its own reward, Pulcinella. A scholar knows this. Though perhaps a politician does not.”

Pulcinella’s reaction to the remark went unseen. Dottore sensed movement, and his eyes immediately darted downward. There was only so much he could see without being able to move his head, but in his peripheral vision, he could see a little tuft of orange hair and a sliver of grey clothing shifting under his desk. How obnoxious… Childe seemed hellbent on making sure Dottore could not ignore his presence. If he was so concerned with being caught, couldn’t he keep from wiggling around? If Childe was feeling cramped, he should have thought about that before stuffing himself down there.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Pulcinella answered, and Dottore looked back up in time to see him gazing thoughtfully off to the side. “But that only means that I understand more than most what a tedious, unsatisfying affair serving the people can be.”

“What an unbecoming statement to hear from our mayor.”

Pulcinella gave a half-hearted shrug, looking unbothered. “I make no attempts to color myself as a saint, on or off the record. Sainthood is a different business, after all, and not one that often begets longevity. The simple fact is that men are selfish creatures, and a certain amount of selfishness is precisely what it takes to be an exceptional leader.”

In the middle of the mayor’s tangent, Dottore yet again sensed movement beneath him. Something brushed against his shin, and he could practically feel the heat of Childe’s breath against his knee. But by the time his gaze snapped angrily down to see what on earth was going on down there, there was nothing to see. Dottore couldn’t peer any further without conspicuously bowing his head.

“Is he stupid?” Eta barked. “If he keeps fidgeting around like that, he’ll get us both caught!”

“I certainly hope this is not how he behaves in the field,” Omicron said reproachfully.

“In all fairness, I get the idea his line of work doesn't often involve sitting still,” Upsilon said.

Dottore clenched his jaw slightly, his annoyance threatening to choke him. If this was Childe’s idea of stealth, he would have been better off clinging to the ceiling like a spider and crawling out of the room right over Pulcinella’s head. Was he truly a child? Could he not sit still for a mere few minutes without fussing? Dottore did not wish to accommodate such petulance, but at this rate, it behooved him more to keep playing along. He leaned back further in his chair with a nonchalant air, spreading open his legs a bit as he did. It was no doubt an unseemly angle from Childe’s point of view, but Dottore could not have him fidgeting around like that. He could only pray the ample space it left under his desk would be enough to pacify the boy.

“Is that so?” Dottore asked dully.

“Why, I would have assumed that you, of all people, would understand this very well, Doctor,” the mayor said with a chuckle and a smug glint in his eye. “It’s quite elementary. A leader’s greatest strength lies not in their selflessness, but in their ability to see their followers as an extension of their reach.” 

“I wish you would not presume to understand how I operate, Rooster,” Dottore interjected quickly. He narrowed his eyes, steepling his fingers in front of his face to mask a disgruntled twitch of his lips. Pulcinella clearly either sought to rankle him by holding Dottore in comparison to a bloodless politician like himself, or he meant to imply that the Doctor fell short in that regard. Either way, he was not in the mood for such commentary. Childe was still shifting around incessantly as they spoke, and Dottore was struggling to retain his patience.

“I only speak the truth,” Pulcinella insisted lightly, but his probing amber eyes were relentless. He turned to the side then, feet finally sending him to wander while his gaze remained locked on the Doctor. “What’s good for the geese is good for the gander, isn't that right? And what’s good for the gander-”

At the word “gander,” Pulcinella became engrossed with his own tangent, a short beat of silence passing between his words as his eyes drifted solemnly to the wall beside him - and it was nothing short of a miracle that this occurred at the precise moment the mayor would have otherwise seen Dottore’s body jerk with surprise as Childe licked a long, wet stripe up the front of his pants.

“-is what keeps the rest of the flock thriving.”

Dottore could not recall ever knowing such deafening silence. Not with those voices in his mind always chattering, always bickering, always looming over his shoulder and peering through his eyes to claim whatever business they could find as their own. Even before the network, his thoughts had always been ceaseless and ravenous, theses rolling into theses in an infinite sprawling loop of insatiable curiosity, never tiring, never waning, never stopping. But all at once, his mind emptied out. Even the insufferable vultures made in his own vulturous image, the ones that frenzied at the bones he had stripped bare himself, seemed to reel backward in shock, receding from his worn carcass and leaving him to fossilize in that barren expanse of disbelief.

All but one. 

With all else still and silent and staggered, Dottore was overtaken by the sensation of a sudden surge forward. The feeling was nauseating, dizzying, visceral, like someone had pushed his chair forward to send him hurtling towards the ground - like a rabid beast had thrown itself at the bars of the enclosure he’d been peering into, launching his heart into the back of his throat. So visceral and commanding was the feeling that it took hold of Dottore’s body and demanded he look down, Pulcinella’s presence be damned. The sight that met him was a shock of orange hair and two bottomless, insidious vortices of deep blue. Childe stared, tongue still lolling out of his mouth as his lips twisted at the edges. Smiling. Reveling. Watching.

Watching. Watching. Watching.

And the one that so desperately coveted that gaze suddenly released a breath held far too long, an envious exhale thick with instant, rueful recognition.

“Oh.”

And then that inclination to lurch forward suddenly slunk back into shadows like a cagey roach, and that was when the rest of reality came screeching back to meet Dottore. All but that recognition he’d just felt; it seemed that was not really his own, and the only bit of comprehension that graced him was the acrimonious, blood-curdling feeling of violation. Eyes still on Childe, he watched the Eleventh’s hands creep up the inside of his thighs as he dragged his tongue up the front of Dottore’s pants yet again, still disgustingly impudent - still smiling. Dottore’s skin crawled and opened and the Segments finally began to close in on his exposed bones again, an incensed murmur roaring in Dottore’s ears like blood. He could not make out any words. Only a collective desire for immediate retribution. One that Dottore was already planning to fulfill. 

He had his Delusion. The defense turrets squirreled under his desk mere inches from that detestable, dense orange head between his legs. His bare hands, if nothing else. It didn't matter. He’d wipe that smirk off Childe’s face if it was the last thing he-

“But perhaps I’ve digressed just a bit,” Pulcinella suddenly chirped.

It was only then that Dottore remembered where he was. Without thinking, he jerked back into a casual position - though surely now a tad severe in aura - like there was nothing out of the ordinary at all. A movement of pure instinct, unplanned and perhaps unwanted, but Dottore’s body took control where his mind yet could not. And the moment Dottore’s eyes met Pulcinella again, the mayor’s were returning to meet him as well. He hadn't been looking just then. He hadn't seen. What stupidly good luck…

“I do hope you can forgive my rambling,” Pulcinella said with a chuckle. “I just mean that there is no need for us to misunderstand each other…”

The mayor continued beyond that, but Dottore could no longer pretend that he cared a lick about why that pompous little hobgoblin was here, or what drivel he was currently spouting. Pulcinella’s voice faded to a low, steady drone as Dottore quickly looked back between his legs. He couldn’t risk moving his head to get a better look, but now he did not need to. Childe sidled further up Dottore’s lap, never taking his eyes off his prize. He stared down Dottore hungrily, pupils blown, looking like a stray dog pawing at a butcher’s doorstep as his hands crept inward and coy fingers teased at the buttons of his slacks. Dottore did not know when Childe’s thoughts had wandered into salacious territory, but it was now laughably evident that they had, and the young Harbinger was too eager to act upon whatever insipid erotic fantasy he managed to dream up. There was very little else beyond that Dottore could process; the when, the why, the how fucking dare - though none of that would have mattered even if he could swallow his contempt for long enough to ponder it. Dottore just needed to figure out what he would do now.

The Segments’ collective, frantic murmurs finally took on language, though it was sporadic and difficult to follow. They were all talking over each other, shoving their way to the front of his mind once, twice, even thrice over - a simple doubletake did not seem to be enough, and they offered Dottore nothing but extra noise to process. 

“Wh-what is he-” Alpha stuttered, voice cracking as Childe began boldly undoing Dottore’s buttons. The young Segment meekly slipped into the back recesses of their shared mind, likely hoping he would not be pulled back in. Likewise, the only thing Dottore wanted to do at that moment was reel back; he craved distance more than anything else, and even the idea of swatting those wretched hands away made his skin crawl with revulsion. But neither retreat nor assault was an option. Either movement would be certain to catch Pulcinella’s attention.

Childe suddenly broke into a cryptic smirk as he revealed the undergarments hiding under Dottore’s slacks. Did he find something amusing? Did he expect to see cotton instead of silk? Did he have any expectations at all, or had the thought not even occurred to him until this very moment? Regardless, Childe flicked his tongue out again, dragging it across the fabric and finding the outline of Dottore’s flaccid cock. Dottore could feel him shiver with excitement.

“Kill him, goddammit!” Eta barked discordantly.

“I can’t seem to find a reason to disagree with him this time,” Omicron concurred. His voice was level, but only through a tremendous amount of effort; if he’d been in his creator’s position, the deed would have been done before Childe even had time to pull his tongue back in his mouth. But was that really the best course of action now? Dottore had killed for less, and rage brewing in the pit of his stomach would boil over at the slightest break in surface tension. Now, it just sat there like a sleeping dragon, distinctly dreaming about what sort of face Pulcinella would make watching the Doctor blast his cherished young ward's head open to let the contents spill out over his desk. Of course, Childe’s head remained frustratingly intact as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Dottore’s underwear, watching intently as the Second’s listless member fell from its silken containment - except it was no longer quite as listless as Dottore would have liked. He chalked it up to general agitation, refusing to acknowledge it as anything else.

“What is he doing?!” Epsilon cried out furiously as Childe took it into his hand. “He can’t just-”

“Easy, now,” Upsilon interrupted. His drawl was lackadaisical as always, though notably lacking in levity. Even he could not mask his scorn, but he kept himself tempered nevertheless. “Keep your cool.”

“Start struggling now, and you’ll make a fool of yourself,” Iota added with a hiss.

A fool. The word echoed in Dottore’s mind like rancorous laughter, mocking him from every direction. Was his pride really worth all this? Had it ever been? What did it matter if he was caught with his pants down, even in the most literal sense? He was not the one at fault here, and he cared not for whatever rumors would come from lifting the curtain here and now. And, oh, he could see it all now; Pantalone’s derision, Scaramouche’s disgust, Capitano’s disapproval. But what did it matter? These were things he already experienced and disregarded in turn. It wasn’t worth it.

But, oh, he could see it all now - and that was the problem, wasn’t it? He could see every last decision laid out before him, follow all their twists and turns to every potential conclusion, like a vast tree of knowledge full of sprawling branches. And it was only he who could witness it all from the ground, only Il Dottore who possessed the vision to perceive every last limb, every last branch, every last negligible little twig, letting these blueprints guide him through his endless pursuit of discovery. 

But this branch had eluded him. Not a single part of him had been able to predict this outcome when Childe first stepped into his office. He missed this path, and at some point, misunderstood Childe’s intentions. And that brought him more shame than anything else could have. If his men or colleagues caught wind of this vile tryst and perceived him as a diabolical lech or an unscrupled heel, then so be it. But the one thing Dottore would not stand for - the true price he would pay if he let this all come out now - was having his perspicacity questioned.

So Dottore simply clenched his jaw as he watched Childe toy with him, fondling and admiring his limp cock. Inevitably, those blue eyes found Dottore again, and Childe licked his lips with anticipation. Dottore fought the urge to shudder as Childe finally took him into his mouth, revulsion twisting his stomach into knots. But what was there to do now? The only thing Dottore knew for certain was that in this position, Childe was now too close to broad daylight for his comfort. It was unlikely Pulcinella would stoop to approaching Dottore any closer, but he couldn’t take the risk of the mayor peering over and taking notice of the tufts of red hair hovering above his crotch. Cringing inwardly, Dottore scooted up closer to the edge of his seat, resting his elbows on the desk and firmly planting himself in the position. This forced Childe to recede further back into the shadows, and would shield him from any wayward gazes from the other side of the desk. Unfortunately, it also made for an all too welcoming invitation. Dottore could feel Childe digging his nails into his thighs in excitement, and he took him deeper.

“Archons above,” Upsilon blurted out with a laugh, humor returning to his tone. So ludicrous was the scene playing out before them that Dottore could almost picture him shaking his head in disbelief. “Well… may as well enjoy it as it lasts.”

As if he could do even that much! To say Dottore wasn’t in the mood would have been a grotesque understatement of the fact. But more to the point, he was not in any position to truly enjoy himself even if he wanted to. Did Childe really expect him to revel in his unwanted ministrations all while one of Dottore’s least favored colleagues stood a few mere feet away, drearily babbling on about leadership and diplomacy for no reason but to grind on the Doctor’s nerves? Perhaps Childe's poor judgment could just be written off as a result of an overactive libido characteristic of one his age, but… What was he thinking?

That was too difficult to gauge, especially like this. Whether Dottore liked it or not, stimulation was stimulation, and the wet heat enveloping him could not be disregarded or resisted. He was reacting, and maintaining a stoic exterior would only grow more and more difficult as time went on. Childe’s behavior was a conundrum Dottore wished to solve by any means necessary, but it would be unwise to focus his attention on that while Pulcinella was still looming over him.

“We need to get the Rooster out of here,” Omicron concurred. “We can sort the boy out later.”

Dottore swiftly fixed his gaze on Pulcinella, paying no mind to the tangent he was still in the midst of.

“What business do you have, Pulcinella?” Dottore snapped. He did not fear making his impatience known now, for it was Pulcinella’s express intention to wring his patience dry anyway. “I did not invite you here to receive one of your electoral speeches. I am a very busy man.”

Pulcinella stopped in the middle of his meandering, turning to Dottore with a withering twitch of his mustache. He studied the Second harshly for a few moments, and while he considered his response, his unseen ward conversely minced no actions. He suckled on Dottore like a nursing whelp, tongue undulating unsettlingly against the underside of his growing erection. Dottore was still in no mood to bask in the motions; the warmth was more reminiscent of the steaming viscera of a fresh carcass than anything pleasant. Unfortunately, thoughtless organs were not cognizant of such a distinction, though the arousal pooling in his gut dwarfed in comparison to the contempt rising in his breast, especially as he watched Pulcinella pettily ponder drawing out their conversation further still. But the mayor finally just sighed, his shoulders and browline growing rigid with severity.

“One of my squadrons recently visited a foreign facility of yours for an exchange of supplies,” Pulcinella explained tersely. “Does this ring any bells, Doctor?”

If Dottore cared to ruminate on the matter, it may have. But he was not in a position to recall such a paltry exchange, and a quiet, salacious hum from under the desk sent all thoughts screeching to a halt anyway. The sound was nearly inaudible, but the way it thrummed so clearly around his cock made him apprehensive.

“Not at the moment,” Dottore replied disinterestedly. Being careful not to let his body shift around, he picked up one of his heels and dug it unkindly into the meat of Childe’s thigh in warning. He could only hope that there was some limit to the boy’s audacity, and that the wordless caution would be enough to keep him from making another peep.

“It was on the outskirts of Fontaine,” Pulcinella continued. He resumed his pacing, his attention drifting as he seemed to recall the details. Dottore took the opportunity to return his attention to the head in his lap, wary of leaving him unchecked. “There were not to dwell there for very long... A quick in-and-out affair, you see.”

In and out. Out and in. Out slipped the head of Dottore’s cock from those flushed lips, a string of spittle connecting him and the tip of Childe’s tongue; back in it went, plunging back into that heat by the bob of the boy’s head, his fingers twitching against Dottore’s thighs. He sunk far down on Dottore’s length - dangerously far, perhaps misgauging the distance for how quickly Dottore’s arousal was swelling. Dottore could feel his cockhead just barely brush against the back of Childe’s throat, reacting swiftly by drawing his hips back as far as he thought he could get away with. Just as he pulled back, he could feel the flesh around him spasm with a catch in Childe’s throat. The near-disaster merely concluded with a quiet gulp, but Dottore knew if he’d been any slower, the boy would have gagged. He lifted his foot to prod Childe again, this time jabbing the heel of his boot into Childe’s hip. He saw Childe wince, but he made no noise as he detached himself from Dottore and gave himself a moment to breathe.

“He’s not very good at this, is he?” Upsilon remarked suddenly. He sounded thoughtful at first, but a wicked, unserious lilt inevitably crept into his tone as he added, “Alpha, what do you think?”

“W-why are you asking me?! Leave me out of this, please!”

Dottore ignored the banter, but Upsilon’s comment stuck in his craw. Looking at Childe now, he could not help but agree with the assessment, and that was not merely an opinion built off poor bias. He also could not help but note that Childe’s boldness had inexplicably begun to wane. He was moving slower, approaching cautiously. His movements were awkward and stilted as he took Dottore back into his mouth, though he still managed to haphazardly scrape his teeth along his length as he went down. Another jab to his side only earned Dottore another errant scrape of teeth as Childe flinched, and a pair of deep blue eyes looking up at him a bit apologetically. Dottore found his sudden, obvious trepidation rather odd. Childe was acting like the Doctor’s lackluster erection was a terribly cumbersome load to bear - like he’d half expected it to remain sat in Dottore’s lap like a dead fish the entire time. Like he’d gotten exactly what he wanted, but didn’t know what to do with it.

“He’s never done this before.” It suddenly clicked, everywhere and all at once, like a switch that commanded the lights of the entire house, but Iota was the first to breathe it in disbelief. “He’s never done this before, but he-” 

The rest was lost in a sea of curmudgeonly murmurs as Dottore tried to process this information on his own. Childe hadn’t done this before. Now that he made the connection, it was painfully obvious. The boy’s grasp on the situation he so wantonly thrust himself into was only as steady as whatever half-hearted grip he’d ever had on himself. But he’d never done something like this before. Dottore had unconsciously assumed that such brazen behavior could have only been the result of some level of familiarity - Gods only knew what a couple of pent-up, tactless soldiers could get up to during lulls in combat, after all, and it wouldn’t have shocked Dottore for the Eleventh to be one of those types. But at least in this area, Childe was completely green. He’d never fucking done this before.

“What- What could have possessed him to try this here of all places, and now of all times?” Alpha suddenly fretted.

Dottore blinked slowly, fighting off a surge of uneasiness that threatened to stir him from his chair. Perhaps in this particular area, trying to understand Childe’s reasoning was out of his depth; Dottore had not been particularly forward in his youth for lack of interest, and the fact that he wouldn’t have even conjured such an idea at the same age - let alone follow it through with such gusto, knowing damn well how far out of his element he would have been thrust as a result - was most likely an irrelevant factor. But still, the revelation did not sit well with him. Perhaps the Eleventh was nothing more than an overweening, hypersexual basketcase, and had simply bitten off more than he could chew in a fit of spontaneity as young people so often did. But Dottore couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to this. Something he was still missing.

“But it seems that a few of my men were lost somewhere in the exchange,” Pulcinella droned on. A scrutinizing amber gaze soon found its way back to the Doctor. “Apparently, our supplies were not the only things that your facility acquired that day.”

Childe let Dottore’s cock fall from his lips, perhaps to prevent another blunder. He took it in his hand instead, squeezing it lightly around the base before flicking out his tongue and offering the tip a few coy kitten licks - experimental tastes, as Dottore could now identify. He was like a child lapping at a lollipop… Dottore almost could not reconcile this with the devilish gleam he’d seen in Childe’s eyes when he first looked down.

“The other men tell me you just so happened to be present that day,” Pulcinella explained, coming to a stop with another rap of his cane hitting the ground. He raised a disparaging eyebrow at Dottore. “One of ‘you,’ anyway. Your presence reportedly left many of the younger recruits feeling quite awestruck. And they were quite taken in by your rhetoric. I believe it was something about.. ‘limitless power’ in exchange for nothing but their full consent?”

Dottore’s expression darkened, knowing exactly where this was leading. And what a horribly trifling matter it was, to have led to all this. He knew very well that his colleagues did not like to share their little toy soldiers, and even less so with the Second Harbinger; Dottore could not often return the things that he “borrowed,” after all. He was aware this did not earn him much favor among the Harbingers, so for the sake of avoiding confrontations like this, he typically avoided commandeering subjects that were already bespoken. The Segments, unfortunately, could not always be counted on to exercise the same amount of caution.

“It wasn’t me this time!” Eta piped up with a huff.

“A facility on the outskirts of Fontaine, hm?” Upsilon hummed. The vague but pointed accusation was met with a sigh.

“What?” Iota asked dully. Remorse was not a color he ever chose to wear, so he was merely annoyed that he’d been caught onto so quickly. “Who am I to refuse willing participants for an experiment? I figured nobody would miss a handful of foolhardy boys so eager to test their limits. More to the point, is this really what should be holding our attention now?”

He was, unfortunately, correct. With Childe's lips engulfing him once more, and with Pulcinella still hovering in the center of the room, Dottore didn't have the attention to spare to reprimand the Segment in earnest.

“Their senior officers, of course, knew better,” the mayor continued. “But there was little they could do when your seniority called for an impromptu transfer of command for your chosen participants. And normally I am not one to balk at calls that are clearly above my station. The only thing that troubles me is that none of those boys returned home. And as anyone else last knew, they were still under my charge at the time of their disappearance.”

Childe was getting bold again. Too bold. He sunk down until Dottore could feel the pressure of his throat squeezing around him. He was still moving slowly, carefully, but Dottore was all too aware of the danger zone they toed and the shudder he was forced to suppress as the boy’s tongue steadily found more confident purchase - and Dottore was fed up with Pulcinella’s grandstanding with or without the rest.

“So shall I send whatever pieces remain to their next of kin?” Dottore snapped tersely. He was finished feeding into their passive-aggressive banter. His Segments’ impudence was his own folly, and Dottore was willing to take his lumps as a result, but only within reason. 

Pulcinella faltered, but only for a moment. His expression flickered with something he most certainly would not have gotten away with in the Second’s office, but he maintained his stoic demeanor and simply fixed a supercilious gaze on his colleague.

“Doctor, I did not come here to try to beseech your sympathy, because I know you have none to offer,” Pulcinella said plainly. “The absolutely senseless demise of those boys clearly means nothing to you, nor did I expect it to. I also understand that you have no reason to concern yourself about public image. I, however, do not have such privileges.”

“That doesn’t concern me,” Dottore retorted. 

Childe started moving faster, and Dottore kicked him in the side yet again. This time, Childe barely even flinched. He just craned his gaze up and fixed those empty eyes on Dottore, almost black for the swell of his pupils, a shark swimming in an ocean of blood and drunk off the feed. And there was something else - Dottore just couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else he couldn’t see through that darkness.

“You see, Doctor,” Pulcinella said forcefully, all but ignoring the Doctor’s interjecting and going on too quickly for him to protest further, “when a soldier is assigned to the mayor's charge, there is a certain expectation that comes with that assignment, and one that I must meet to maintain the people’s favor. It is the expectation that I will keep them safe, just as I do our illustrious capital. Not from death, mind you - it is a soldier’s knowledge and power that their life may be given for the good of their country at any given moment. That, of course, cannot be avoided. No, the thing that the mayor shields his people from is corruption; outside sources creeping their way inside, perverting the very concept of patriotism. Leading them down a twisted path that ends with nothing but a senseless drop. To die for one’s country is an honor. To die for nothing is a poor reflection on what they once stood for.”

“Lord, does this man ever shut up?” Upsilon moaned irritably

“This attitude of his makes me want to vomit,” Eta spat. “The absolute gall of it, knowing he’s let his ward slip right out from under that crooked nose of his!”

And that was the worst part of it. All this talk of keeping “his people” safe, all while Pulcinella could not even properly keep them under his heel. Dottore had half a mind to rip the curtain off this farce once and for all, if only to see the look on his face when he realized his bluff could have easily been so easily called from the very beginning. 

“You’d think a politician would know well enough to cover all his bases before spouting principles he cannot adhere to,” Iota tutted in agreement.

…Yes. A politician should know that, shouldn’t he?

Oftentimes, puzzles were not two-dimensional. Sometimes it was not as simple as pieces of a jigsaw falling into place; sometimes it was like a puzzle box with solutions that could not even be seen. A conundrum that could not merely be pieced together, but a device that needed to be known. And what did Dottore know about Childe? Clearly, very little. 

But Dottore did know Pulcinella. He knew him to be an insufferable, self-serving little man who just so happened to be an exceptional politician. He was a man who kept his cards incredibly close to his chest, and never left anything on the table he wasn’t prepared to speak for. Political scandals involving their mayor were few and short-lived, and not because he was adept at silencing his naysayers - quite the contrary, Pulcinella would let such slander continue until it eventually ran out of steam. He never confirmed or denied either his alleged expediency, only ensuring that all damning claims could not be proven or disproven.

So, didn’t it seem strange that Pulcinella would come here now, guns blazing about ownership and command, when the matter of his runaway ward would have been so easy to uncover? As Dottore pondered this, the mayor stopped in the very center of the room, knowing very well where his feet had taken him. With a definitive tap of his cane, he faced Dottore head-on, his mustache as still and humorless as a frozen lake.

“I do not wish to be a poor reflection of someone else’s folly, Dottore,” Pulcinella said finally. “You see, I need to keep my people very, very close. Close enough to speak for. Close enough to shelter from meaningless corruption.” His expression darkened with an icy glare unbefitting the warm hue of his eyes. “Close enough to properly utilize.”

Dottore threaded his brows together in a stoic knot. Perhaps he and Pulcinella weren't so different after all. They both knew that they would be nothing without the masses of warm bodies under their heels; for Dottore, it was his test subjects, for no theory could be properly tested without a suitable sample size to experiment with; for Pulcinella, it was “his” people, for no governor could bear such a title without a thriving city to govern. A commander held no power if there was no one to command. So the Rooster was an exceptional mayor indeed, but only because he kept those considered to be “his” people on an exceptionally tight leash. Close enough to choke if they dared to pull at their collars.

“Would-” Epsilon stuttered, and Dottore’s thoughts stuttered with him. “Would Pulcinella have really let Tartaglia run off?”

It was perhaps a silly notion to ponder. A fittingly childish one for a mind as young as Epsilon’s, the idea that Childe could not have possibly wriggled his way out of Pulcinella’s watch, merely for fear of the fiercest of reprimands. A naive train of thought that could only be earnestly considered by one young enough to not have broken himself of the fear of his elders’ disapproval. But Childe was young, too. If Pulcinella had him under his heel, would he not feel it more acutely than anyone else? Would that not prevent him from unduly running asunder when the weight of his sins would weigh so heavily on his shoulders?

“The boy’s clearly proven himself to be unwieldy,” Omicron interjected. “Who’s to say he gave him a chance to balk?”

“He probably wouldn’t have,” Upsilon agreed. “But… What if Pulcinella had no reason to balk in the first place?”

Childe may have been young and naive, but naivety did not inherently imply unintelligence. And even now, Dottore could not confidently dismiss Childe as unintelligent. His first instinct had not been wrong; the boy was shrewd. Too shrewd not to know the recourse of biting the hand that fed him. Or at the very least, shrewd enough to probably know what was on that hand’s agenda for the day.

“I supposed he’s not much of a ‘boy’ anymore, come to think of it,” Iota remarked.

“Pah, nonsense! He’s a child, through and through!” Eta scoffed. “But it wouldn’t be the first time this particular fledgling has been pushed from the nest…”

What if there was no bluff to call? What if there was no sin to bear? Theories began to pile up in Dottore’s mind, and with them, there was a familiar mental shudder and an overwrought wariness that scratched at the back of his mind. Because youth was a thing that paradoxically inspired vague dread as much as it did reckless ambition; a young mind harbored obscure worries, things that escaped definition, and puzzles that had not yet clicked into place. 

So the young Alpha fretted, as he was wont to do, offering Dottore nothing but his apprehension; “Something’s not quite right about this.”

But even a child was capable of wisdom. And even that child’s elder could fall victim to the greatest of ignorances.

Pulcinella suddenly let out a forced exhale from across the room, wrenching Dottore from his thoughts.

“Needless to say, this whole affair has left many people quite shaken,” Pulcinella concluded with a half-hearted shrug. His tone and demeanor shifted abruptly, as if the contemptuous reptile who had just delivered those dire words never existed in the first place. The good Lord Mayor had returned in its place, amenable and equanimous and duplicitous as always. “To be quite frank, it’s not a good look for us. I would prefer if next time, should there be a next time - and at the very least - you try to communicate with me before snatching up my soldiers like loose lab rats. That will at least give me ample time to hatch up a decent excuse on your behalf, good Doctor. It behooves no one for the public to believe such corruptive influences may have already breached the walls of Her Majesty’s great city…”

The implication that the Rooster viewed Dottore as some kind of bad seed was quite clear. Not that any of that mattered; this entire affair was now racing to be the furthest thing from Dottore’s mind as he mentally poked and prodded at that nuisance of a puzzle box sitting front and center. Childe, likewise, had either not heard his former guardian’s weighty admission of insincerity, or simply did not care to fret over it. His head merely continued to bob up and down Dottore’s length, and the pace was growing more frenetic by the second. There was no sense in berating Pulcinella for insubordination, and no time. Dottore needed to end this.

“Fine,” Dottore agreed brusquely. “‘Your’ people will be kept at a generous arm’s length from this moment forward. I'll beat them off with a stick next time if I have to. Are you pleased with this?”

The Rooster was, indeed, all too pleased with Dottore’s rushed tone, assuming it to be a product of his grilling. A smirk twitched at his lips. “Oh, now… Why so testy, old friend?”

“Please, spare me the pleasantries,” Dottore snapped, flapping his hand dismissively. “I do not have time for them. Just trust that I’m not eager to have another meeting like this anytime soon.”

“That much, I do trust,” Pulcinella chuckled complacently. He nodded, picking his cane up off the ground to turn back towards the door. Over his shoulder, he added, “I’m glad we could reach an understanding today, Doctor.”

That was a funny word for it, considering just how little Pulcinella was actually aware of. But Dottore had not truly reached understanding, either. Even though Pulcinella  was at long last on his way out the door, the scholar in the Doctor was just short of satisfied.

“Pulcinella!” Dottore called quickly. The Fifth actually flinched a bit at the call of his name, turning back to Dottore with a quizzical look on his face. He was confused; he did not know that the puzzle box in Dottore’s hands required just a single click more to finally be solved. “Just one moment, please.”

Pulcinella gave him a cagey look. “Yes?”

Dottore’s eyeline dropped down to his lap. All at once, he felt bizarrely disconnected from what he found there - the lustful eyes trained at his chin, that thicket of orange bobbing up and down on his cock, the unavoidable arousal that it all stirred up. Dull was the sensation of pleasure, numb had he finally grown to the contempt rising his throat like magma creeping up the chute of an incipient volcano. This was the calm before the storm. This was nothing else but seconds before that long-awaited understanding.

“It has come to my attention that… your exceptionally gifted young ward has returned to the palace recently, is that correct?” Dottore asked calmly. 

With that, the bob of Childe’s head stuttered. Lashes fluttering, gaze faltering, nearly ceasing movement altogether. But he continued his clumsy ministrations even as his eyes filled with sobriety and apprehension. 

“Am I to assume you’re referring to Tartaglia?” Pulcinella asked a bit defensively. One of the mayor’s eyebrows had arched past the brim of his hat. It was clear he was wary about this change in subject, but Dottore could also easily recognize the look of morbid curiosity when he saw it. Pulcinella relented, letting it get the better of him. “He has. Why?”

Dottore feigned amiability with a gentle, closed-mouth smile, though the teeth behind his lips itched to bite. “Do you happen to know where he is at the moment?”

His eyes imperceptibly darted between Childe and Pulcinella, whipping between two sets of furrowed brows that suddenly seemed so humorously similar. They both looked at the Doctor as if he were an unattended snare poised to snatch up the next loose houserabbit that crossed its path, and the Eleventh was the rabbit in question. Pulcinella’s glare suddenly went hard.

“I sincerely hope you’re not asking for the reason I think you’re asking,” Pulcinella said lowly.

“ Where- ” the snarl died out in Dottore’s throat, unbidden and unwanted as it was, and he drove his teeth into the inner meat of his cheek to dispel the sudden rise in temper, “-is he? I may have some business for the boy to attend to. That is all.”

Pulcinella squared his jaw, looking unconvinced. Time slowed to an agonizing crawl as he considered his response, and Dottore could do nothing but wait. All thoughts, all feelings, and even all breath was held in suspense as he anticipated the answer, even the network growing deathly still and silent while the Rooster deliberated. Even Childe awkwardly came to a stop, and Dottore could feel his pulse quicken in the back of his throat.

Finally, Pulcinella let out a weary sigh. “He is not presently under my command, so I honestly don't have the faintest idea where he could be.”

The Rooster delivered this with a very lukewarm tone, almost sounding very disinterested by the fact. There was not a single errant twitch of his mustache, nor any scornful glimmer hidden behind his eyes; he spoke plainly, casually, and without the slightest hint of obscurity.

Pulcinella was a good liar. But he wasn't that good.

Dottore felt his blood turn to ice in his veins.

“He’s not exactly under my jurisdiction these days, you know. And isn’t he pleased as punch about it… The only reason I even know he’s returned to the city is because I’ve been rather curious about his dealings myself. I actually haven't had a chance to reconvene with him in quite some time,” Pulcinella continued distantly, blissfully unaware of his answer's tremendous effect on Dottore. His gaze drifted off to the side as he seemed to grow a bit wistful, unknowingly cementing the sincerity with which he spoke. “Knowing him, he could already be halfway to the Mare Jivari if the mood just so happened to strike him. Heaven only knows where he’s running about now…” Another sigh escaped him before he caught himself, his expression hardening with a scalding glare. “One can only hope he’s keeping himself on guard, if you’ve suddenly set your sights on him.”

“Hah!” Upsilon’s hearty guffaw rang through the silent network discordantly, all at once snapping the collective out of their shared stasis. “Oh, if only he knew.”

If only he knew. Oh, if only either of them had known.

But Childe had known. He’d known all along, and far more than he let on. He knew very well what had been on Pulcinella’s agenda for this day, and he also knew he need not fear what might happen should he decide to bite the hand that fed him - after all, there was never any hand feeding him, was there? Not anymore. He had not been with the mayor all day, nor had there ever been any intention for them to reconvene. Childe never had any reason to fear running into Pulcinella. He was lying.

“That little-!” Omicron blustered, sheer disbelief twisting his tongue into knots. “He planned this!”

It was bizarre, but Childe wouldn’t have had any other logical reason to lie about his circumstances. It seemed his sole purpose for doing so was to catch Dottore off guard, to incentivize him into compliance with bizarre behavior and misleading implications. He wanted Dottore still as a placid lake and quiet as a church mouse. So he gave the Second a good reason to do just that.

“He planned this?” Iota crowed. There were equal parts humor and annoyance to his tone, but the latter won him over as he let out a great harumph. “The idea poses more questions than it answers…”

And how frustrating it was, that solving the puzzle box had only revealed another cryptic little box to poke and prod. Even understanding the lengths of Childe’s deceit did nothing but create more conundrums. What reason did he really have to lie? Was it just to do this? Had that been his plan from the beginning, or did he have something else in mind? Just how much of this was premeditated, and how much was a result of his overweening, spontaneous nature? And if it was all premeditated… Just how long had this been going on? How long had this boy kept a hungry eye trained on him without his knowledge, licking his lips like a drooling jackal circling a lone pheasant perched upon a high branch? And Dottore had not even deigned to look down before that dripping maw was already closing in on him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Well, why don’t we show the mayor just what his poor, defenseless ward's ‘guard’ really looks like!” Eta jeered.

It was tempting. If only to feel some small sense of retribution. If only to color the boy as a manic fool in front of the one who had brought him up, to cement him as a recalcitrant child in the eyes of his elders. But-

“Archons above, not now!” Alpha cried, utterly aghast at the suggestion. Another fretful shudder shook Dottore to his core, and the young Segment added, “If we were going to do that, it should have been done a long time ago… We can’t possibly explain all this to anyone now.”

If Childe was a fool, then Dottore was just the old stooge who had fallen for a fool’s tricks. Alpha was right; Dottore had already lost his chance to tell all without damaging his own standing. Dragging Childe down with him would only be a meager solace now. Too meager. It wasn't worth it anymore.

“And he fucking knows it,” Epsilon bemoaned, his voice thick with emotion. It was rage, it was injustice, it was mortification - it was too raw for any of them to stand, but he couldn't seem to swallow it down. “He cornered us. He made us look like a goddamn fool.”

And Dottore had believed him. He truly believed that Childe had been hinged on his every word, that unspoken promise of power, the Doctor’s great influence that far surpassed his own. He made Dottore believe that he was someone who could be trained, honed like a dull blade that had not yet learned to truly cut. But Childe treasured his serrated edges, and had driven them deep into Dottore’s back before he could even register the bite of tarnished steel. His admiration was a farce, and his quest for understanding was nothing but a carefully constructed ruse. Childe did not thirst for enlightenment - just for another pound of flesh, to be collected by any means necessary.

He made Dottore look like a goddamn fool.

So Dottore just smiled. He smiled, offering it to Pulcinella with a quick nod of his head. He did not look back down at Childe, as the idea of doing so was nearly enough to make him physically ill. For just a moment longer, the Eleventh would have to wait.

“Indeed,” Dottore remarked with good humor. He nodded at the Rooster again, giving a dismissive little flourish of his fingers for good measure. “Goodbye now, mayor.”

Pulcinella regarded him suspiciously, but eventually disregarded whatever apprehensions he still harbored. Perhaps Pulcinella knew more than he let on, as well. Maybe he just knew Childe too well, and that some foolish little boys could not be sheltered from their own avarice forever. A truly judicious trainer would know well enough to cut a mad dog from the leash, after all; it seemed that on some level, he’d already done that long ago. He turned his back to Dottore once more, making his way for the door with nothing more than a disapproving twitch of his mustache.

“Farewell, Doctor,” Pulcinella called dully over his shoulder.

Dottore watched him unwaveringly. Watched his back slowly recede, watched him clutch the doorknob with a gloved hand, watched him cross the threshold to meet the two guards poised anxiously on the other side of the door - watched one of them reach behind the mayor to close the door in his wake.

Watched until that little strip of the world outside shrunk to a mere sliver, finally disappearing entirely as the door fell shut into place.

Dottore allowed the silence to persist for only the smallest of moments - when that passed, his hand shot down to his lap as quick as a whip. He fisted it into that irritating shock of orange hair and finally, at long last, yanked Childe’s head back to wrench him away. Without realizing it, Dottore threw his own body back in the process, sending his chair screeching against the tile floor with his retreat. Childe let out a muffled cry of pain that soon found itself unfettered as he was pulled off, and then there was nothing but breath; Childe’s poured out from between his parted lips heavy and humid like steam, while Dottore’s came billowing out from his flared nostrils as dragon’s breath, like there was a fire roaring in his belly just waiting to spew outward. And yet Dottore could not move beyond that position, his thoughts abruptly screeching to a halt the moment their eyes met. Flames without diction licking at the back of his throat, ice spreading out from his veins and freezing his limbs in place. There was nothing else but this fugue state of rage, no word that could be spoken or action taken - just breath.

And when Childe finally caught his, he just smiled. A wretched, lop-sided, toothy little grin. The look of a fox who had bitten off more than he could chew but knew not the humility to spit it back out. He held it in his mouth, those impudent teeth, and he licked his lips before finally finding his voice.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Childe asked. His voice was hoarse, but he laughed as he said it.

Dottore still could not react, but the Segments began to grow frantic in their fury. He was suddenly flooded with thoughts, not a single one of them truly belonging to him. They spat, fumed, hissed, all speaking over one another until Dottore could not even distinguish one consciousness from another.

“-insolent little snake-”

“-show him what happens when he crosses-”

“-kill him-”

“-better if he doesn't leave-”

“-won’t be anything left once I’m-”

“-kill him-”

“-too stupid for his own good-”

“-he was lying-”

“-kill him-”

“-a goddamn fool-”

“-kill him-”

“Kill him.”

“KILL HIM.”

A single, continuous drone of acrimony, a collective cry for vengeance. But Dottore could not listen. The din turned into a nondescript buzz in the background, like crashing waves pummeling his eardrums over, and over, and over again. It was deafening, incomprehensible, unrecognizable.

But amidst the chaos, there was calm. A lone buoy in a raging sea, drifting in from uncharted waters. There was no choice but to grab hold of it, his floundering limbs shooting out instinctually; no time to consider what would become of him upon grasping it, or to wonder where it would eventually carry him. In an ocean of white noise and black contempt, it was the only other thing that existed - the only voice that Dottore could pick out.

“He wants to play with fire,” Omega said. It was a rasp, just barely more than a whisper. The words twisted slowly in his mouth, as if a wicked smile were taking hold of them. “So let him burn.”

Let him burn.

Let him burn.

Let him burn.

Over the years, Dottore had spread himself too thin to retain any elasticity. He was a rubber band stretched to the width of a mere thread; limp and listless, cracked and yellowed with age. There was no neutral state for him to resile to when he was overburdened. The burdens merely became him, adding to the hollow breadth of his soul, until the only thing he had to fear was one day pulling himself so taut that he would simply disintegrate around those cumulative burdens without fanfare. There was no elastic left in him to break, no snap left in his haggard fibers - he’d known for a very long time now that he was nothing but ruins waiting to crumble.

But for the first time in centuries, something inside Dottore snapped.

Without consideration or warning, Dottore shut the chaos out. The Segments’ collective fury screeched to an abrupt halt, their invectives and lamentations soon nothing more but a dwindling echo reverberating between his ears. He did not give them even a moment to process their imminent exclusion, and he spared no thought for the outrage his actions would incite once he brought them back in. His future and past were now inconsequential to him; the only moment he existed in was the present. And with all else too far behind or ahead of him to see, the only thing that had his attention was Childe.

Dottore’s hand shot out, grabbing Childe’s face with a feral snarl rumbling in his throat. He dug his thumb and fingers into the hinges of Childe’s jaw, reveling in the yelp it elicited from the boy, the sound pained and unrestrained as Dottore’s grip forced his mouth open. With his other hand still fisted into the hair at the back of Childe’s head, Dottore unceremoniously yanked him forward. He spared not an ounce of force as he brought Childe back down on his cock, still disgustingly engorged and glistening with the boy’s saliva, earning another cry of pain that was quickly smothered out as Child’s mouth was overtaken. And he was spared no additional mercy, either - if Childe wanted it so bad, then he could have it. There was not a single coherent thought in Dottore's mind save for one: he wants to play with fire; so let him burn. It was not enough to send Childe on his way, or to reprimand him, or to even kill him. He needed to learn. He needed to know the sheer extent of his audacity like a brand to his skin, to know that the Doctor was not one to be so flippantly trifled with, to know that he was a stupid, stupid little boy who bit off more than he could chew - so if he wanted it so bad, he could fucking have it. Every last inch of it, ramming against the back of Childe’s throat until Dottore could feel the boy’s nose against his stomach, and the tender flesh inside spasming around his cockhead as he let out a loud, guttural gag. The response was so strong that he nearly succeeded in pushing Dottore back out, but the Doctor’s hands offered Childe no relief. Dottore merely forced him back down, bringing both hands to the back of his head to keep him still.

Childe dug his nails into Dottore’s thighs, shoulders heaving with every choked gag forced out of him, tears of strain prickling at the corners of his eyes. They spilled over all at once when the assault grew too much to bear, a particularly violent retch overtaking him as Dottore felt sudden heat rising from the back of Childe’s throat. Childe vomited, the bilious substance shooting from his nostrils and the precious little space that could be breached between the seal of his lips and Dottore’s cock. Sick and saliva dribbled down Childe’s chin and onto the floor, and Dottore grimaced as he felt the boy’s molars digging into the sides of his cock. Childe at least had enough sense remaining to not bite down deliberately, but inexperience and his involuntary reflexes were making it too difficult for him to keep his jaw still. That, coupled with the pungent stench of bile, managed to snap Dottore back into a fleeting state of lucidity. Childe’s was making too much noise like this, and the door to his office was still unlocked - too risky.

With a frustrated grunt, Dottore pulled Childe off. His head flew back in a perfect arch, exposing his throat and displaying the violent bob of his Adam’s apple as he took his first unhindered gulp of air. Childe choked on the mucous still clinging to the back of his throat, wheezing and coughing until he worked the phlegm from his lungs - but as his struggle tapered out, something even worse than bile began to bubble out of the back of his throat.

He laughed. Lips still glistening with vomit, tears still rolling down his cheeks, breath still not quite caught, Childe began to laugh.

“Aha… Holy shit,” Childe rasped. His eyes were drifting out of focus, but they still managed to find Dottore while a grin pulled at his flushed lips. “Are you gonna come?”

There was no sense in elaborating on the Eleventh’s deplorable presumptuousness, not even mentally. Dottore could barely even process how enraged the question made him, so he did nothing but stand in his chair while attempting to drag Childe up with him.

“Up,” Dottore barked, only gripping Childe’s hair harder as the boy failed to make it to his feet and stumbled with a cry of pain. “Up, up, up.”

The second try, Childe managed to scramble up with him, wincing as Dottore’s grip threatened to rip his hair out from the roots. Even so, he proceeded to gasp, “You can come on my face if you want to.”

“Be quiet,” Dottore muttered. It was certainly too favorable a fate for the likes of him. Only then did he release Childe, throwing him back against his desk while he fixed his eyes on the door beyond the boy’s shoulder. 

Dottore took a step back, his chair hitting him in the back of the legs - this was swiftly rectified by an impatient kick, the desk chair screeching back on the floor even further before the sheer force of the shove sent it off kilter, crashing to the ground loudly. He took his first step from behind his desk, looking to make a deliberate beeline toward the door, but his foot came down on the puddle of vomit and saliva that had formed under him and slid across the tile, briefly robbing him of his balance and dignity - he recovered quickly, not even sparing a second before making his next step, all the while carding a hand through hair that surely now looked unkempt. Nothing could steer him from his mission now, and the chaos kicked up in his frenetic wake all went disregarded. The boy would learn. One way or another, the boy would learn. 

“You’re not mad, are you?” Childe called hoarsely from behind him. “I can-”

“Quiet!” Dottore hissed. Already at the front of his desk, he spun around to face him. Childe was still leaning back against the desk, and it was all but the only thing still keeping him up on his shaky knees, but he still craned his neck back to meet the Doctor’s scalding glare with a delirious sort of look, half-lidded and desperate. Dottore jabbed a finger in his direction with a growl. “Do not fucking move.”

Without waiting for a response, Dottore turned heel for the door - and how ludicrous he must have looked, marching towards it with his cock out, the front of his pants soaked through with grotesque spew. But he didn't care. Somewhere deep down, he was scrambling, desperate to find some kind of foothold in the situation but still wary of what kind of serpent’s den he was stepping into. He flipped the lock on the door without another thought, turning back to Childe in preparation of what was to come, but in the back of his mind, he knew there was no real plan to follow. His office seemed to blur around him, losing shape, losing meaning, and soon the only thing that maintained its form was Childe. He was the only thing on Dottore’s mind, the only thing he could see, and that vision of him was tinged blood-red. It occurred to Dottore that he didn’t know what was going to happen next; it occurred to him that the fact should have bothered him, but these were just distant echoes of a voice of reason he could no longer truly hear.

As Dottore returned to him, Childe’s hands immediately caught his attention. He could not even fathom how the Eleventh had managed to undo his pants and pull out his cock so quickly, but there he was, standing right where Dottore had left him but now gingerly fondling himself with a quiet, drawn-out moan. He was absurdly hard, maybe even more than Dottore was, tip purpled and weeping as he took it in his hands almost admiringly. Childe moved to stroke it, but Dottore returned to his place before he had the chance, snatching the boy’s wrists and shoving them against his chest.

“Don't you fucking dare,” Dottore warned with a growl. “You don't get to enjoy this.”

Childe blinked at him with a wide-eyed, oblivious stare until Dottore pushed him again. His expression flicked through several emotions Dottore did not care to identify as his ass hit the desk and he was quickly thrown off balance, and he was not given the opportunity to catch himself before falling back against it. Finally, Childe’s features settled into a sheepish look; still much too complacent for Dottore’s tastes, but the vague flash of apprehension behind his eyes at least brought some satisfaction. Childe almost went limp, rolling his head back in resignation as Dottore shoved him back even further. When his feet could no longer touch the ground and his back was flush against the desk, he let out a rough, delirious laugh.

“You are mad,” Childe concurred breathlessly. He all at once sounded disappointed and enraptured by the realization, the words coming out floaty and incredulous like he was traversing a dream.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dottore snaped. His hands threatened to shake as he reached for Childe’s pants. He’d never felt so disconnected from what his own body was doing. Even reliving the experiences of his Segments sometimes felt no different than living them himself; he could often envision this body performing the same actions, and he sometimes felt it. But now, he was still numb. Dottore felt no sense of agency as he began to roughly shimmy Childe’s pants down around his hips, past his knees, over his shoes until one leg had come free from the angle of his boot while the other simply clung to the opposite foot and pulled the whole thing off with it. In the back of his mind, he was appalled by what his hands were doing - in the front of it, there was nothing but a blind, searing desire for vindication.

Childe laughed again, wiping the lingering filth from his lips with the back of his wrist. “I didn't know what else to do.”

Dottore clenched his jaw in annoyance. He let Childe’s pants fall to the floor to soak up the mess he’d made, as the Eleventh floundered weakly on his back like a turtle, seeming to have no idea how to position his legs. Dottore swatted them open impatiently, staring coldly at the sight in front of him - the Eleventh’s bare ass on his desk, and flushed erection standing impudently at attention. Whatever nonsense Childe was spouting swiftly went in one ear and out the other. The only thing that concerned Dottore was the sound of chattering when the boy ought to have been silent. 

“Tartaglia…”

“I thought you’d never-”

Dottore lurched forward, clapping a hand over Childe’s mouth before another word could slip from his lips. Childe let out a short, muffled sound of surprise that was quickly followed by a moan; Dottore had not considered that his surge forward would finally bring their hips together, his cock sliding against Childe’s taint. Dottore could feel him arch towards the feeling, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to grind against him. Dottore paid it no mind, snapping the fingers of his free hand to get the boy’s attention. Once he did, he brought a single finger to his lips, motioning for his silence. He then removed his hand and took a step back, much to Childe’s evident disappointment, his hips futilely bucking upwards as he tried to follow him.

And still, Dottore was numb. There was no sense of admiration as he looked upon Childe, legs splayed out and arching towards him and mewling like a shameless little whore. Even the rage burning within him had tempered into something hard and insidious like cooling lava, dark and encasing something dangerously volatile. Dottore stripped himself of his coat and gloves, the former being thrown back against the felled chair behind him and the latter being wrenched off with his teeth and spat somewhere off to the side. His eyes finally drifted down to Childe’s bare bottom and lingered there, observing his tight, puckered asshole with the first true surge of arousal he’d experienced since this all started. He may not have had a conscious plan to follow, but he’d unwittingly led himself to a point of no return. What else was he to do, with Childe in this position? Dottore took hold of his own cock, stroking it with one hand to regain some of the vigor that he’d inevitably lost with distraction and passing time. He brought his other hand to rest along the seam where Childe’s leg and hips met, thumbing at the boy’s entrance almost experimentally. It didn’t give in the slightest; he suspected Childe’s inexperience extended beyond just fellatio.

Dottore abandoned all sense of pride or propriety and sucked up all the saliva he could muster in the pockets of his cheeks before spitting it out, letting it drip thickly down to Childe’s underside. The boy flinched as it hit his taint, and Dottore’s thumb quickly swept it up and slathered it around his hole. This was a courtesy only for himself - Childe’s comfort was obviously of no concern to him, but going in completely dry would be no less an ordeal for Dottore. He rubbed the slick around only for a moment, dipping his thumb just beyond the tight ring of muscle before pulling his hand away. Cock still in hand, he poised it at the threshold of Childe’s heat and prodded the tip against him.

Childe had done nothing but let out feeble, muted little whimpers with every sweep and dip of Dottore’s thumb, but suddenly shifted around anxiously when he felt Dottore at his entrance. He tried to crane his neck up to see, his brows suddenly furrowing.

“I don’t-” Childe began, quiet to the point of sounding meek. 

“Not another word,” Dottore snapped quickly. He didn’t offer him more than a fleeting glance, returning his attention to the task at hand. 

And was Dottore chuffed by the boy’s obvious trepidation? Only slightly. There was still that numbness, a marked disconnect from his body as he pushed harder, further, forcing his way past that resistance until the sound of Childe’s broken cries and the searing friction surrounding him brought him some meager sensation. Alas, it was nothing but discomfort. Discomfort for the ears and discomfort for his overeager arousal, plunging deeper still into the chaotic core that sought to burn him alive. Childe was tight, tight - too tight to be pleasurable, too tight to have possibly been breached before - and he only grew tighter as he was forcibly entered, his hands slamming down against the desk and digging into the beveled edges hard enough to make the wood creak. His lips curled back into a grimace of pain like his teeth might split his face in two, and his hips no longer yearned for contact but instinctively shied away from it. But he stayed in place, and let out no sound of protest save for an involuntary shrill that eked out of his throat like escaping steam.

Then, finally, there was give. Release. Right before Dottore’s eyes, though it was the last thing he would have expected to see at that point, there was release, shooting out from Childe’s cock and onto the front of his jacket. He clenched around Dottore even tighter before the life seemed to drain out of him all at once with the last few spurts of his seed, and he threw his head back against the desk again with a loud thud. His whole spine curled in pleasure with the unfinished arc, and he let out a long, wavering moan as his body finally fell completely lax.

And then he laughed.

He laughed, the insufferable cur, his hands drifting blindly to the spent soiling his stomach and clothing and seeming to care little of the fact, only smearing it around and driving it deeper into the fibers of his fatigues.

“Oh, fuck,” Childe cursed with a guttural moan and an inconceivable grin. “Oh, fuck, that hurts.”

His voice was ragged with the pain, but drunk with the pleasure. Dottore found himself unable to do anything but gawk at the state of him, eyes uneasily darting up and down his frame. The beads of sweat already forming on his brow, the blissful grin eating at his features, the meandering hands feeling for his own essence, the blood that Dottore could now feel lapping at his cock as it dripped from Childe’s rim and eventually began to dribble onto the floor; none of these things made any sense strung all together, like a grotesque abomination spliced together with parts that had no rhyme or reason to be where they were. But Dottore was of no mind to attempt solving the riddle he posed. His shock was brief, and quickly superseded by a sense of injustice. He’d gotten Childe this far to teach him a lesson, and the boy had the gall not to learn it? To enjoy it, even against Dottore’s best efforts to make him suffer?

Dottore lurched forward with a fierce snarl, forcing himself even deeper, insertion now aided by the blood collecting around his cock. Childe gasped at the assault, letting out another cry that sounded caught between agony and ecstasy, hands shooting out to grip the desk once more. Dottore disregarded his own discomfort, the burning friction that seized him as he grabbed Childe by the hips and pulled him to him, slamming back into him with a mad fervor that could not be tempered. Dottore could see tears beading at the corners of Childe’s eyes as he continued to drive into him, the boy’s insides squeezing him too tightly to even bottom out. He settled for finding a quick, punishing rhythm instead of driving into him even further, knowing there wouldn’t be much deeper he could reach.

Dottore assailed him like a man possessed, and Childe in turn writhed and whimpered like a boy doubly encumbered. But still did his lips occasionally curl up at the edges, still did a sound occasionally woosh out of him that sounded like a rush of ecstasy, still did he sometimes shudder around Dottore’s cock in a way that welcomed him to plunge even deeper. His hands eventually wandered as if he’d given up on trying to keep himself tethered to earth - his knuckles were still blanched after he released his grip on the desk, hands clawing at whatever they could find near him on Dottore’s desk. Notes of which Dottore had long since forgotten writing were quickly ripped to bits as Childe clawed blindly at his surroundings, relentlessly vocalizing all the while.

“It hurts,” Childe moaned huskily. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, it hurts so bad.”

The absurdity of the dissonance nearly drove Dottore into a frenzy, and he leaned forward to once again slap his palm over Childe’s mouth. “Shut up! For God’s sake, shut the fuck up.”

Dottore’s center of gravity was disrupted; in this position, he could only maintain leverage by lifting his knee up onto the desk and wedging it under Childe’s ass, centering his weight over the hand that found stability at the Eleventh’s side. Childe looked up at him with wide, teary, wanting eyes and spoke inaudible gibberish against Dottore’s palm. That was fine. As long as Dottore couldn’t hear it. As long as he could drown it out. And drown it out he did, resuming the pound of his hips, barely missing a beat - at this angle, he only drove deeper with every thrust inwards, and soon the heavy pulse of his pelvis making contact with Childe’s ass was all he could hear. 

Dottore went until he could feel sweat pooling on the inside of his mask, until he thought he would drown in that exertion. Without thinking, he focused the brunt of his weight on the hand covering Childe’s face for just long enough to slap his mask away with the other. He heard it skid across the desk and clatter loudly against the floor, not bothering to follow its path through the air. His eyes were only on Childe, watching, desperately waiting for a spark of recognition. But all he got was a black-eyed stare and a moan against his hand, followed by the senstation of Childe’s desperate tongue lapping against the center of his palm. That was when Dottore took notice of Childe’s hands again; at some point, they’d found their way back to his groin. One was wrapped around his cock, the other dipping even further downwards, fingers pressed gingerly against his perineum and twitching towards the bloody place where they met. Dottore growled in frustration, trying to right himself as he readjusted his weight. He managed to snatch up Childe’s wrists and slam them against the desk on either side of his head, pressing down hard . He could feel Childe’s pulse drumming frantically against his palms and it matched the throb of the blood roaring in his own ears.

“What the fuck did I say?” Dottore hissed, and he could see spittle fly from his lips at the curse and hit Childe’s bottom lip. “You don’t get to-”

“I-I’m gonna come again,” Childe shrilled breathlessly. “You’re gonna make me come again, it’s too much, I’m gonna come so hard!”

Dottore fumed, every last breath driving nails into his head. Why couldn’t this boy just sit still? Why couldn’t he just learn? Why couldn’t he just be quiet? “Don’t you dare-”

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Childe moaned, throwing his head back with another delirious laugh. “I can’t stop. It hurts. It feels so good. I can’t stop. You’re driving me crazy.”

Dottore couldn’t keep any of it straight. Everything Childe uttered was incomprehensible, disconnected - pure and utter lunacy. Dottore didn’t know whether to stop or keep going. What would make him learn? What would make him be silent?

But Dottore didn’t know if he even could stop at this rate, and Childe continued to mewl at him incessantly. Dottore could feel an unmistakable heat pooling in his gut, and a fissure breaking across his mind like a blight reaching out across once-fertile valleys. He couldn’t take another second of this. He couldn’t listen to Childe for a single moment longer. He’d lose himself more than he had already.

With his hands still pinning Childe’s thrumming wrists to the desk, Dottore could only see one option remaining. His body jerked forward, down. He swept in and sealed Childe’s lips with his own without even a moment of consideration - nothing but a means to a silent end, taking advantage of Childe’s floundering mouth and shoving his tongue straight inside to tangle with the other. The boy’s bizarre pleas fell into his mouth without diction and were consequently swallowed whole. Childe’s lips still mimed language, but a swift snap of teeth made them soon fall slack. Dottore could taste blood and the remnants of bile when he went back in, bitter and acrid on his tongue, but it was no more bitter than his resentment. And now there was no speaking, no moving, no resistance. He could feel Childe grow rigid again with a keen that could not breach the seal of their lips, the tendons of his wrists straining against Dottore’s palms as he balled his hands into fists. He convulsed like a headless snake, twisting, turning, spiraling, and Dottore knew exactly what it meant - but then the boy went limp with a shudder, opening and unwinding, and Dottore could no longer bring himself to care. The boy’s tongue had been clumsily flapping against his own, but soon went dead in his mouth. Only the barest of twitches stirred it as Dottore overwhelmed him, proving just how untrained Childe really was, submitting to that which knew far better. Relinquishing control. Finally, there was a semblance of control.

But it was a cruel and fleeting feeling, slipping away from Dottore just before he could take it in earnest. He soon found himself hurtling towards his own release, caught by surprise through the dense fog of vengeance. It had hardly even occurred to him that such an outcome may prevail, even if he should have known how inevitable it was. Base instincts could only be denied for so long; the functions of humanity could only be eschewed for even less than that. He came up for breath just as it became too much to take, and Childe’s vocalization had devolved into nothing but punched-out little whimpers, piteous throat sounds that Dottore could barely hear over his own moans. At that moment, his hips lost their rhythm - he lost that control that was never really his in the first place.

Dottore hunched as he came, nestling himself as deep in Childe as he could manage, forehead drooping down and landing on Childe’s shoulder. His hips continued to twitch even after the last of his seed was drained from him, and Childe mewled sweetly with every movement. Gone was the shrill whine that had almost torn Dottore’s mind asunder, and for a moment, it managed to lull him into a false sense of security. His body went lax as his orgasm passed, and a release of the mind soon followed. 

There were a few fleeting seconds of something close to bliss. In that moment, where nothing existed but those moments, it felt like a conclusion. The room was still, silent, and weightless. Scalding vengeance and frigid contempt had passed; now, there was just warmth.

Dottore realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt true warmth.

But that piteously brief moment of afterglow absconded from the room within seconds, and Dottore’s eyes snapped open with a start. His thoughts, his senses, and all his unrealized vindication came screeching back to meet him all at once. All falls ended with a drop, and with any release, revelation would most certainly follow. Dottore perhaps knew better than most that if you were fortunate enough to resile from a “snap,” the resulting lucidity might just kill you instead; it was a tortuous, nauseating sobriety where hindsight became so glaring that it obscured the view of the present and future.  

And now, it was about as glaring as it could get: Dottore fucked up. There was no need to elaborate or over-explain it. He fucked up, plain and simple.

Dottore very slowly rose from that position, only because he did not wish to give Childe the satisfaction of watching him reel back in dismay - though there was only so much pride Dottore could hope to retain now. Regardless, he calmly righted himself, giving himself ample time to ruefully acclimate to his surroundings now that his head was clear. 

The room smelled nauseatingly of sex and blood - the latter, Dottore was more accustomed to, though he found it mixed unfavorably with the pungent aromas of human pheromones and semen. The vomit, surprisingly, did not manage to linger in the air, but Dottore could still taste it on the back of his tongue. He forced himself to look down at Childe, then, and soon the acrid taste of the boy's bile became indistinguishable from his own rising fresh in the back of his throat. The Eleventh was staring back up at him with a dazed, vacant expression, looking every bit as repellent as Dottore’s office now smelled. There were bruises already forming on his wrists where Dottore’s hands had been, and his lips were likewise purpled and swollen where they were bitten. Fresh semen was in the process of soaking into his clothing, along with what he’d spent before, and at long last his painfully erect cock now rested listlessly against his stomach, gradually shrinking in size and draining of color. And as for the place that they met… 

Dottore could not help but let his lips curl back in distaste, gingerly pulling himself out; it felt like dragging a wire brush across raw nerves, his dick sore and chafed and now growing tacky as the blood around it began to coagulate. When he finally freed himself, Childe’s rim briefly retained his shape. It looked unsettlingly closer to an entry wound than it did a natural orifice, and Dottore wondered if he really had managed to break him. But Childe simply moaned as Dottore pulled out, his gaping hole puckering once more as his hips twitched involuntarily. Dottore’s come began to slowly leak out of him, tinged pink with the thin, lingering stream of blood trickling from his abused entrance. It seemed Dottore had merely created a mess as opposed to an irrevocable injury; not that either outcome would have brought him any semblance of relief or vindication. With clarity returning to him, he was confident that even being broken would not be enough to invoke the boy’s contrition. Unsurprisingly, Childe’s brief grimace of discomfort soon morphed into a dreamy grin that let loose a hoarse laugh, and his eyes fell out of focus while his hands aimlessly drifted across his abdomen.

“Oh, holy shit,” Childe rasped. The words carried an awestruck lilt and bubbled as another incredulous giggle slipped out of him. “That was amazing.”

Dottore let his own eyes fall closed, threading his fingers into his hairline and raking his fringe back away from his face. He closed his eyes, breathing in through his nostrils, and out through pursed lips. Perhaps Segment Eta’s very first suggestion would have been the correct course of action, after all. Though that pretty little fantasy was tainted with hindsight now, too.  Dottore doubted that the Eleventh could receive even the barrel of a loaded gun with anything less than unbridled enthusiasm and a cocksure grin.

It was quite clear to him now that he's been fighting a losing battle from the moment Childe darkened his doorway. Dottore had heard of his insatiability for havoc on the battlefield, but had failed to imagine that that hunger could run so deep. And the reason for this hunger aside - for Dottore could presently only speculate on just what kind of devious corruption had taken hold of that boy - there was one thing that had become quite clear to him.

The boy was a goddamn lunatic. Sadistic, masochistic, manic, unwieldy, treacherous - put simply, there wasn't a single sane bone in his body. Childe could not be punished, because he craved violence and discord like a sunflower craved the light of the sun, craning his neck at all angles just for a chance to be blinded by such a sight. He could not be reinforced, because the delusional affirmations rattling around in his own head could not be overwritten, and it was he who determined what actions of his deserved praise. He could not be taught, because he would not be able to comprehend the lesson that need be learned - the boy could play with fire until his fingers were nothing but charred bones, and he still would not understand the bite of a burn. Dottore had wasted his breath, his effort, and his time. 

And even worse than that, he’d let the darkest part of himself get the better of him. That, more than anything else, Dottore could not forgive himself for.

Dottore opened his eyes again with a long-suffering sigh. He quickly stuffed himself back in his pants, not bothering to clean himself of the blood already crusting around his bruised cock. He would attend to that at a later time. For now, his aching thighs were begging him to sit - it had been a long, long time since he’d done something like that. He did not spare Childe another glance as he spun around and grabbed his felled chair, pulling it upright and sliding it a fair enough distance away that he would not be staring directly at the Eleventh’s gruesome undercarriage. He sat then, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Dottore grumbled dully. His eyes affixed themselves to a nondescript corner of the room, but he could hear Childe shifting around on the desk to look up at him.

“You don't want to go again?” Childe asked.

Dottore’s eye twitched, and he refrained from answering. Oh, what a tremendous fool he’d been, thinking the boy could have had any real interest in his work. Childe yearned for nothing but strife, and Dottore was simply his chosen vessel for receiving it. It was all so pitiable…

Blessed silence fell over the room, though Childe made no move to follow Dottore’s order. Dottore hadn’t really expected him to, but he had nothing left to lose by trying. He didn’t think he had the energy to berate Childe’s deaf ears any further. Perhaps if he just offered him no engagement, the Eleventh would lose interest and be off on his merry way. And if he refused to budge for much longer? Well, if Childe wanted to be that petty, Dottore had not quite taken the idea of killing him off the table. He would have hated to see the satisfaction on Childe’s face, even for a fraction of a second, but he couldn’t have him sitting bare-assed on his desk all day.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Childe suddenly blurted out. Dottore could hear the desk creak as he sat himself up, a sharp hiss escaping him in the process. After another beat of silence, he added, “I’ve been flirting with you for a while now. Did you notice?”

That managed to pique Dottore’s interest somewhat, albeit only due to the brief flicker of uneasiness the statement evoked. Because no - Dottore had not noticed. Without outwardly acknowledging Childe, he secretly wracked his mind for evidence of the claim. Their interactions were so few, and so insignificant… He couldn’t recall a single moment that had ever struck a chord with him. Perhaps it had been with one of the Segments? Would they have withheld such information from him? The odds of that were low; if one of them had caught wind of such an intention, he suspected most would be either too chuffed or too offended to keep it to themselves, and the rest would have acted on the information long before Childe could get his hands on their creator. Was Dottore truly that clueless? Had not a single part of him been able to identify the boy’s insipid little fancy?

Oh, why was Dottore even entertaining the idea? Childe had lied to him up to this point, so who was to say he would suddenly speak honestly now? If nothing else, there was surely something else teeming just beneath the surface. This was no matter as simple as a school boy’s crush. Though that only managed to stick even deeper in Dottore’s craw…

“I didn't think so,” Childe continued, despite Dottore’s lack of a response. He somehow sounded disappointed and complacent in equal parts. “It’s hard to hold your attention, you know. Seems like you don't focus on one thing for very long…”

Dottore stopped himself just short of a scalding response, but could not prevent his head from making the rapid rotation back to Childe. That arrogant attitude of his was grinding on Dottore’s last working nerve! But what sense was there in reprimanding him now? Childe had gotten exactly what he wanted, and there was nothing Dottore could do to take it back. And Dottore wasn't really interested in knowing whether or not Childe's alleged intentions were sincere, anyway, because Childe’s perception of sincerity was likely skewed beyond all recognition. It didn’t make a difference either way. Oh, but the goddamn attitude… Dottore couldn’t stomach the idea of letting him waltz out of here with his head held high, or killing him without seeing even a glimmer of humility in his eyes beforehand. 

“What the fuck was all that about, boy?!” Dottore hissed sharply. He no longer cared if Childe turned his scrutiny back around on him; the boy owed him a proper explanation, and Dottore would be sure to get one even if it came at the expense of his withering dignity. “What the hell were you thinking back there?”

Childe looked a bit shocked by Dottore’s sudden engagement, but still lacked the humility to receive it well. He didn't even have enough shame to cover himself as he perched pantless atop Dottore’s desk, giving him a saucer-eyed stare and a curious tilt of his head.

“I wanted you to notice me,” Child replied, as if the answer was obvious. His expression shifted then, his brow furrowing indignantly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I mean, really notice me. But you’ve always looked at me like I’m a little kid - if you can even be bothered to look at me in the first place, that is... I told you all along, didn’t I? I just wanted us to get to know each other.”

“You mean when you were lying to me?” Dottore retorted bitterly. The words carried more venom than he intended them to, but Dottore’s slip of tone unexpectedly worked in his favor. Childe visibly winced at the words, unfurling his arms and adamantly waving his hands in front of himself.

“I only lied about being with Pulcinella! Honestly!” He sighed then, shoulders slumping defeatedly as his gaze fell to his feet. He swung them to and fro like a child, looking strangely put out. “It’s not like I wanted to even go that far. I just didn't know what else to do. The best way I know to get to know someone is by sparring with them… But you’ve never even entertained the thought for a second!”

Dottore raised an eyebrow at him. Despite his better judgment, Childe was now speaking so plainly that he couldn't help but wonder if his frustration was genuine. Dottore could certainly remember being awkwardly propositioned for such a spar several times before this day… Was that the boy’s idea of “flirting?” Knowing what he did now, perhaps that shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“You don't fight,” Childe continued with a huff, sorely disappointed by the fact. “You just skulk around like all the others. So I figured that maybe I should try doing some skulking around too, for once; that maybe if I tried playing the game you were playing, we could actually start to get somewhere. I thought if you saw me as a dumb kid anyway, I could use that to my advantage. Then I could make sure you’d have no choice but to see me as something else.”

“So you put together that little harebrained scheme?” Dottore crowed in disbelief. Childe was speaking too plainly now! Could the boy even hear himself speak? Did he really expect to earn the Second’s favor through such blatant deceit?

“Well…” Childe trailed off, scratching his chin sheepishly, but a smirk still played at his lips. “Don’t get me wrong, I never had this planned out to the letter. I knew Pulcinella would be coming around, and I figured if I played my cards right I could stow myself away in the office before he got here… But honestly, I was just kind of hoping things would turn out in my favor. I didn't know how exactly it would go. I just got tired of waiting for it, so I decided to make something happen.”

“And what if things hadn't played out in your favor? What if I hadn't played along with your little gambit? What if I hadn't even sat down? What good would your cowering have done then?”

“I don't know, I guess. It was just a shot in the dark,” Childe admitted with a laugh. “See, desk guys like you and Pulcinella don’t ever come out and say when something’s wrong, even if it's not your fault. I swear, the old man would go out sunbathing in a blizzard just to avoid changing his itinerary! You follow different strategies than soldiers do, too. You don’t run for the high ground when the opponent closes in on you; instead, you get comfortable. I don’t think I’ve ever once seen Pulcinella take a meeting in his office standing up. He says that’s exactly how you stand your ground in those kinds of matters, but I never understood it… I was just betting that you might act similarly, at least when he’s around. And I figured maybe if I got far enough, you’d already be in too deep to turn back.”

How he could manage to say all that with a straight face, Dottore would never know. Childe’s demeanor felt so bizarre to him that listening to him speak slowly became more fascinating than irksome - though there was no doubt it was still plenty irksome. But Dottore was getting curious again. Just like the conversation they had prior to this mess, Childe exhibited an extraordinary power of perception that seemed mismatched with the air he put on. He looked clueless, he acted clueless, he even admitted outright to being clueless - but he possessed a level of intuition that simple cluelessness did not beget. To think that he’d gotten so far on assumptions and associations alone… And to think that he would only utilize such a gift for deduction for something like this.

Childe hummed complacently, breaking Dottore out of his thoughts. He turned his head to the side, then glanced back at the Doctor very coyly.

“And I was right anyway, wasn’t I?” Childe added with an obnoxiously smug air. “What sense is there in thinking about what could have gone wrong when it all went right?”

Dottore’s fingers twitched, fighting the urge to slap the boy across the face. With his luck, it would just get Childe riled up again. Moreover, Dottore quickly determined it wasn't worth the effort. His lingering curiosity aside, he realized there was no sense in feeding into whatever glimmer of brilliance the Eleventh possessed; it would do nothing but give Dottore a chance to bemoan the wasted potential, as it was clear to see that Childe would do nothing but squander it for the sake of even more trifling, hedonistic matters. 

And the worst part was, the boy was right. Dottore could not in good faith criticize Childe’s reasoning when the results spoke for themselves. He could neither foster nor reprimand the boy without demeaning himself even more than he already had. Childe had him at an impasse. He’d lost. But Dottore was too old not to have had his fair share of losses and failed experiments, and he understood that the best course of action was to drive forward regardless. And at this rate, the only way for him to move forward was to at long last get Childe the hell out of his office. He merely scoffed at the boy’s bravado, waving a hand at him dismissively.

“Just put your clothes back on and get out of my sight,” Dottore ordered curtly.

Childe’s smirk was wiped from his face, and he gave Dottore a puzzled look. “You mean you don’t want to go aga-”

“Do not test me any further, boy.”

Childe pursed his lips defiantly, but much to Dottore’s surprise, he finally slid off the desk and let his feet hit the floor. He leaned down to pick up his pants, gave them a grimace upon seeing the backside of them positively soaked in saliva and vomit - which was perhaps the only real satisfaction that Dottore would be able to glean from the situation - but proceeded to lightly shake them out and put them on anyway. What a display he would be, crawling back to wherever he came from… But at least it was preferable to him walking out pantless, and it seemed the boy had at least enough sense to draw the same conclusion. Dottore’s gaze shifted to the wall again, futilely hoping that this could be the end of it. But, of course, it wasn't.

“That was my first time,” Childe piped up suddenly. Dottore begrudgingly stole a glimpse at him, but Childe’s eyes were trained downwards. He was smiling now - beaming, more like it, his cheeks taking on a giddy flush. “For everything. I’ve never even kissed anyone before.”

…Hell. Dottore narrowed his eyes, the admission sticking in his craw more than he would have liked. When he assessed Childe as being inexperienced, he hadn't considered that he could possibly be that inexperienced. It left him with a sense of uneasiness that he could not quite define. Self-pity, he supposed, being unable to reconcile his behavior with how easy it should have been to retain the high ground with someone so far beneath him. Perhaps he even pitied Childe just a bit, knowing the boy was simply not cognizant of his cataclysmically tumultuous existence - though he certainly did not pity him enough to withhold the sardonic scoff that soon left his lips.

“I could tell,” Dottore said wryly.

At this, Childe looked back at him. His smile gradually faded away as the words sunk in, and he adopted a surprisingly wounded expression.

“You didn't like it?” Childe asked plaintively. The sheer insanity of the statement in light of circumstances only made Dottore let loose a dry, barking laugh that made Childe’s features twist in defiance. “You came, though.”

Dottore shot him a harsh, withering glare. “Reaction and enjoyment are two very different things, boy.”

The Eleventh jutted out his lower lip in a pout, looking more like a child than ever before. He reached down to grab his discarded boot sulkily, but met Dottore’s eyes again with a sudden surge of conviction.

“I can do better next time,” Childe said firmly, standing up straight and puffing out his chest. And perhaps Dottore shouldn't have been surprised at that point. It was evident that Childe did not feel the weight of his actions, and Dottore had not seriously anticipated this being the final chapter to their unfortunate association, even if he could manage to send him off today with his tail between his legs. But that boy really couldn't take a hint, could he? 

“Do you really think there’s going to be a next time?” Dottore asked incredulously, but the question was almost sincere. He was beginning to wonder just how far Childe’s delusions of grandeur could run.

“Why not?” Childe retorted in all seriousness. He grinned as he bent over to pull on his boot, an all-too daring flash of teeth. “It’s all in good fun. And we’re finally getting to know each other, aren't we? It would be a shame to let all this ‘knowledge’ get away from us now.”

“And if I outright refuse your moronic advances from this moment forward?” Dottore challenged, narrowing his eyes. “Do not forget that I know your tricks very well now, boy. And I have no intention of giving you a second chance - least not in that regard.”

Childe looked a bit wounded again, half-heartedly re-lacing his boot before standing up straight and leaning back against the desk with a few troubled clicks of his tongue.

“Well… If you really intend on fighting me, there’s not much I can do,” Childe said disappointedly - a bizarre sentiment, considering the boundaries he’d crossed thus far. But his overweening confidence returned swiftly, and he was back to grinning at Dottore without a shred of humility to his name. “But to be honest, now that I’ve gotten this far, I don’t really feel like calling it quits now. And I think you already knew me well enough even before this… If it comes to blows, I certainly wouldn’t be disappointed with that either!” 

He laughed heartily at that, placing a hand on his stomach in good humor. Dottore merely squared his jaw in irritation. That was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? The boy could not be dissuaded by typical means. Peril and pain were his lifeblood, and any retaliation Dottore could offer short of outright killing him would only spur him on further.

“I’ve had my fill of sneaking around, so I won’t lie to you anymore,” Childe continued once his laughter tapered out to a light chuckle. “It seems like those kinds of methods don't suit me, after all… But with all that out of the way, I think I can do things my own way now. So I’m going to get to know you however I can. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

There was not a shred of trepidation that tugged at the statement, nor any hint of uncertainty that flickered across his features; he truly didn't see anything wrong with the proclamation. Childe believed that simply desiring it would naturally beget him exactly what he wanted. But this couldn’t have possibly still been about merely “knowing” Dottore. And if the Eleventh was nothing more than a horny teenager looking for a cheap thrill, he could have gotten that from anywhere. No, there was something beyond either knowledge or pleasure he was seeking… Something Dottore couldn't quite see. 

Dottore rested his hand against his mouth pensively. It would be daft of him to assume that Childe was being candid with him now, but his scholar’s mind would not allow him to dismiss the notion entirely. Childe had said it himself; he had his fill of sneaking around, and he didn't intend to continue lying. And how could the utter insanity he was spewing be anything other than pitiably sincere, after all? If Childe really was being honest with him, Dottore could use that to his advantage. He needed to determine the Eleveth’s angle in this once and for all. If this boy was going to be breathing down the back of his neck in some capacity no matter what he did, then maybe there was still a chance that Dottore could get something valuable from him in return.

“Tartaglia…” Dottore began seriously. “What is it that you’re really looking to know?”

The conviction Childe had spoken with before made Dottore think the response would be immediate. It was not; Childe paused, tilting his head slightly askew as if turning the question over in his mind. He fell into silence, his gaze drifting pensively to the side as he considered his response. It was not to cook up some fabrication, or to imagine what phrasing would validate his reasoning to Dottore. It seemed like he was only trying to confirm the answer for himself.

“I want to know how you fit in all this,” Childe said finally. He looked back at Dottore, giving him a small nod as if to assert the statement as fact. “It’s easy to tell how people like the Captain or the old man get into positions of power; they both have their own role to play, and they play it well. Even if I have a long way to go before I reach the Captain’s level of martial prowess, or even if I know Pulcinella’s style of leadership ultimately doesn’t suit me, those are both positions I can understand. But you fall somewhere between the two, so it’s difficult to see where a guy like you fits in all this. At the same time, you’re still so far above me, above everyone… And I know Her Majesty doesn’t make decisions like that arbitrarily. Even if I don't understand her reasons, I have no doubt that she has nothing but the utmost faith in your abilities. And that’s always made me really curious, you know? I want to know what role you’ve taken up, and why you’re so good at playing it.

“And who knows?” he added with a laugh. “Maybe the kind of power you hold won’t suit me either. But I want to understand what you’re working with before I make that call. If It will help me reach my goals, I’ll take power wherever I can get it. That’s why I can’t just let this opportunity pass me by. If you have something to teach, I want to learn it.”

Dottore studied Childe all while he spoke, tapping his thumb against his cheek as he fell deep in thought. It seemed that in a way, Dottore had been right about Childe from the very beginning; it was the idea of power that really drove the boy. This was, of course, assuming that he could now be trusted, which Dottore was still a bit hesitant to do. But he could not deny observing that spark of determination struggling to be seen behind those dead eyes, the flush of excitement rising to his freckled cheeks, the way the Eleventh’s body seemed to slowly coil the longer he spoke of his ideals as if preparing himself to leap at them the moment they revealed themselves. Childe was all instinct, and his body did not tell lies as well as his mouth did. If Dottore could take what he was saying now at face value, then an association with him could still work in his favor. So long as he kept him close… Close enough to “properly” utilize. Of course, taking a page straight from Pulcinella’s book left a bad taste in Dottore’s mouth, but he could now see why the Fifth had taken so quickly to the young boy. 

Childe was born to be wielded - manipulated, honed, and used to secure its user's livelihood first and foremost. It could be risky, even lethal in unfamiliar hands, but that was just the peril of weaponry. If you could just withstand the bite of the blade, its ability would one day be yours to harness; the most invaluable tool one could have at their disposal. And that’s exactly was Childe was, and it was all he knew to be, which was why a character like Dottore had caught his eye. To him, the Doctor was merely a tool whose intended use was a mystery. But he knew how important tools could be, for his great arrogance would not tell him anything otherwise. Rather than assume it useless and disregard it altogether, he was instead driven to find its proper place. What if it was the most important tool he may ever find? What if one day, he could find just the right use for it? The temptation was too much to resist, so he couldn't squander the opportunity to find its purpose. 

Childe would ultimately be disappointed with his findings, of course; what he did not yet know was that Dottore was no tool to be wielded, nor any sort of person to do the wielding. Dottore was the one that created tools, and the one that held dominion over those who used them. Il Dottore existed far beyond the little shoebox that Childe perceived his world to be nestled in, and he would inevitably discover that his quest for power had all been for naught. But long before that happened, Dottore could very easily still have a chance to drain the boy of everything he was worth…

“Plus… I won’t lie,” Childe blurted out suddenly, bringing Dottore back to the present. He looked a bit sheepish, scratching his cheek with a single finger while an awkward laugh bubbled out of him. “I’ve been very curious about that for a while now. You’re pretty close to my type, so that just sweetens the deal! There’s no harm in mixing business with pleasure, is there?”

Dottore gave him a withering sort of look, letting a weary sigh pour out of him. So it was a matter of hedonism, as well. Perhaps that was just to be expected… For all that was clearly irrevocably wrong with the boy, he was dreadfully and giddily young from his toes to his tips. Probably too young to have a “type” like Dottore, for that matter.

“You’d do better playing with boys your own age,” Dottore remarked dryly. The statement slipped out unbidden, and proceeded to make the Doctor feel devastatingly old. The irony was also not lost on him that he would be the one to offer such a caution, which is why it did not surprise him when Childe just let out a raucous guffaw in response.

“I don’t really have any interest in doing that,” Childe laughed, wiping a budding tear from his eye. “What can I say? Experience is attractive, not to mention invaluable. Even this kind of experience… Well, it certainly wouldn't hurt anything to know more about this, either. As far as I see it, I’m just killing two birds with one stone. Especially now that you’ve given me a challenge to face off against.” His jaw squared with determination, his levity shaking itself from his shoulders to be replaced with steadfast determination. “So I’ll do better next time, if you give me a chance to. I’m more than eager to meet your expectations.”

Dottore pursed his lips and sucked his cheeks in, releasing them with a long, ponderous click of his tongue. The explanation was over, and well understood. Inaction was not presently an option, because Childe would sooner risk death than let Dottore deny him. So there was nothing left to do now but make a choice: Dottore could either forgo this association entirely by killing the boy right on the spot, accepting whatever consequences may arise from such a barbaric course of action; he could go for a softer approach, keeping Childe alive but denying the boy’s fancies outright, dooming himself to a relentless little shadow who could not be placated and likewise would have no reason to indulge the Doctor’s own curiosities; or, Dottore could swallow what little remained of his pride and choose the option most likely to yield him with satisfaction - vindication. The option that would help him see exactly what kind of tool he could create from these raw, volatile materials.

After a long time, Dottore just let out a disparaging sigh, letting his shoulders slump forward as he shook his head.

“I’m afraid you have a long, long way to go before you can possibly do that, boy,” he droned.

Childe blinked at him expectantly, awaiting a caveat to follow the statement. When one did not come, he visibly wilted. He reverted to that childlike petulance for a moment, looking down at his boots and kicking at a nondescript area of the floor. His disappointment was palpable, but soon followed by a surge of temerity. He picked up his head, looking at Dottore more expectantly still.

“So…” Childe trailed off, giving Dottore a lopsided grin. “What now?”

This time, Dottore offered him a patronizing smile in response. He’d known the question would come, and had already deliberated his response in advance.

“Get on your knees.”

Silence fell between them. Childe looked like an old oil painting, that smarmy little grin stuck frozen in time until the elements melted it down into something messy and uncanny. Mere words could not penetrate the canvas, but the heat of Dottore’s stare was slowly breaking through the facade. Childe blinked at him vacantly, features soon twisting in confusion around his dwindling smile.

“Huh?” he asked.

Dottore took a bit too much satisfaction in catching Childe off guard. It was no small feat, after all, given the Eleventh’s affinity for adversity. But in the end, Childe was right. Already, they’d gotten to know each other just a little bit better. It would be a shame to let more opportunities like this slip away.

“Well, it seems we both have a lot of work to catch up on, don’t we?” Dottore replied, gesturing to the scattered paperwork on his desk. None of the reports were integral to operations, of course, and many of them had been rendered to paper ribbons in Childe's frantic claws… But that was far beside the point. “So, on your knees. I do not have all day.”

Another blink was all it took before Dottore’s meaning was finally grasped. Childe slid down the desk in an instant, hitting his knees with an audible force that was almost enough to make Dottore cringe. Childe did not even think to resume smiling before he was already on the floor, positioning himself between Dottore’s legs just like before. But his unabashed triumph did not take long to shine through on his features; nor did that hunger, the one that blackened his eyes and made his fingers curl against Dottore’s thighs. Childe’s gaze fell on his crotch immediately, and it didn't seem like anything else could have possibly grabbed his attention. But that would certainly not do - before Childe had a chance to make his next move, Dottore grabbed him roughly by the chin, craning his head up to meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” Dottore ordered, waiting for Childe to fall still. “If you want to know my power so badly, then you will certainly know it. But that means that you cannot question it. Not until you know what it truly means.” Dottore dug his fingers even harder into Childe’s cheeks, making his lips pucker and eyes water. Dottore leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “So hear me when I say you will not touch yourself. You will not take rest. And this time around, I want you quiet as a church mouse for as long as you’re down there. I will be working, and I do not wish to be disturbed. And you will not move from this position until I decide you’ve finally learned something today. Do I make myself clear?”

There was a flash of fire within Childe that could not penetrate his lightless eyes, but still furrowed his brow with indignation. A part of him wanted to fight, as a fighter was wont to do. But that vague promise of power intoxicated him; it gripped him harder than Dottore’s physical body ever could. Made his features fall slack, made his gaze go soft and watery as he drank in that silent promise with hopeless desperation. 

“Yes,” Childe muttered. And this time, Dottore knew he need not second guess himself. Childe was done sneaking around, playing games, and telling lies. Now, he knew nothing but honesty. Now, his body could not bear to deny him. Now, he truly was Dottore’s to keep.

Dottore let his own features relax, quickly loosening his grip and moving to stroke Childe’s bruised jawline with his thumb.

“Good boy,” Dottore praised, and the shudder that tore through Childe at the words was too telling. Another little piece of knowledge to record, another method of staking his claim… Observations to be cataloged and experimented with at a later date. Dottore felt no need to overexert himself at the present. For now, he continued to tenderly stroke Childe’s face, watching with great satisfaction as the boy’s eyes inevitably began desperately drifting back downwards. Dottore did already quite enjoy watching him squirm, so he chose to delay the matter just a bit longer.

“You see, Childe, I am first and foremost a scholar,” Dottore explained with a purr. He let his thumb drift further back, massaging Childe's ear with practiced pressure and secretly reveling in the shivers that immediately shook the boy’s frame. “And as a scholar, my only real desire in this world is to eliminate ignorance. And you… Well, you are clearly very ignorant to the mess you’ve managed to land yourself in today. So you will need to be… educated.” 

Dottore pinched his fingers hard, digging his nails into the shell of Childe's ear. Once he felt the boy flinch, he moved back to cup his face tenderly. He brushed his thumb against the corner of his lips - and that was all it took for them to pop open in a silent gasp, and for Childe’s eyelids to flutter and stick into a needy, half-lidded gaze.

“Thankfully for you, education is my specialty,” Dottore reassured with a chuckle. He dragged his thumb along Childe's bottom lip, but pulled away the moment he felt the tip of boy's needy, twitching tongue flick out for a taste. He titled Childe’s head up even higher, his lips curling back into a devilish smirk. “So from this moment forward, listen very carefully. You have much left to learn.”

But what Childe would not, and could never learn, was that he couldn't possibly hope to harness the level of power that Dottore possessed. Dottore was not a tool with some secret use, or a swordsman made for serving edged steel its blood offerings. Dottore was no leader or follower, no weapon or wielder, and unlike their troublesome little Eleventh, he did not subsist upon destruction or slaughter.

Dottore was a creator. His power of creation surpassed even that of the Gods themselves, so what hope did a mere man have to emulate such power? A mere boy. Childe was a mite to a god, so laughably small and insignificant that Dottore did not even feel the desire to crush him to dust under his heel; the refuse would take up more space than the body itself did, and it was nothing but a waste of his attention.

Childe may have won this little gambit, and he may have won it well. It was not every day a mite could bite down hard enough to be noticed. But his triumph was also his folly; Dottore knew him now. He knew him just a little better, and one day, he would know him inside and out. And when that day came, Dottore wouldn't simply kill him. He would dismantle him. Piece by piece, bit by bit, and brick by brick. And once all the parts were laid out in front of him, Dottore could do what he really did best - he could make them into something better.

At the end of the day, it was easy to know that no matter what may come of this encounter, no matter how many games were lost, the ultimate victory would be his to claim. Because it was a very simple matter; Dottore was eternal, and Childe was too fleeting to possibly last. 

And one day, the boy would be nothing more than an old face to be forgotten.