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Observation is the most important virtue of a scientist, and Dottore adores watching in every regard. The most thrilling aspect of observation, he believes, is simply sitting back and letting it happen. What path will the lab rat choose? How will these chemicals react? What will a soul do when faced with imminent, grotesque death? These are questions Prime Dottore and his segments have faced hundreds, if not thousands of times over. Their answers have been logged and can be predicted fairly easily based on any given parameters.
Today's observations are far more entertaining. Pantalone is currently sat across from him in Dottore's office, which is his own "special kind of disaster," as the banker had put it some decades ago. Currently, Pantalone is lamenting about the bumbling fools they have stationed in Natlan who, apparently, lost a whole shipment of ammunition and rifles to… what was it again?
"A horde of Tepetlisaurs," Pantalone repeats and then reaches up and scratches at his neck, frowning, fiddling with the edge of his favorite turtle-neck sweater. Alpaca wool, dyed shades of purple with abstract swirling whites and greens. It's a custom piece, or, that's the story, one Dottore isn't bothering to remember right now. Pantalone wears it constantly when not in official settings, to the point that the neckline is getting loose and the fabric is starting to pill. Segment 8 likes to pick them off like a monkey preening its kin.
"Hm. Perhaps Tepetlisaur like to chew on bullets?" Dottore offers, grinning at his joke.
"What on Teyvat would possess a living being to eat gunpowder?" Pantalone hisses, tugging the collar away from his skin.
"It does have a fascinating taste and texture."
"When," Pantalone emphasizes, rubbing his fingers against his throat, "did you ingest gunpowder?"
"Oh, it is quite a fascinating tale, if you would allow me to entertain you. See, Segment 16 - he did not last long, far too volatile and hormonal, you never even met him, but that is likely a blessing, for he would have followed you around like a dog in heat - well, instead of finding a suitable test subject, 16 decided to … Are you quite well?"
Pantalone pauses scratching at his neck, and then throws his hands to the table, groaning, "I am unbearably itchy. The stress of this incident must be causing it."
Stress can cause physical ailments, and often does for his benefactor, but these symptoms do not align. Pantalone has his history of stomach ulcers and lung cancer, but those do not cause people to get itchy. Dottore tilts his head and scrutinizes the way the banker tries not to rub at his neck, balling his fists together. In the process, the sweater cuffs shift just far back enough that Dottore can see a concerning shade of blotchy pink and red on Pantalone's wrists, where they had grafted skin after the acid incident a year ago.
Dottore stands up from his seat and snags a spare notepad, ripping off whatever paper was on top and tossing it over his shoulder, then picking up a spare pen, putting it to paper.
"Red eyes, blotchy rash, excessive itching …" He logs while slowly circling Pantalone.
"I do not require a checkup, I need these grunts to regain the shipment - Upon my word! Dottore!"
The doctor ignores his patient's shout, continuing to yank the sweater up to expose Pantalone's spine. The rash spreads onto his back, wide and manifesting into about a half dozen hives.
"When did this begin?"
"After I got dressed, not that you were there, leaving me alone in the middle of the night, but that was the same time the report was delivered, so-"
Dottore drops the sweater and grips the back of Pantalone's chair for support as he starts laughing hysterically. The paper pad and pen slip from his grip as Dottore howls with elation, and even more so at Pantalone's furious expression, eyes alight with pure disgust, like he will snag one of the scalpels and chop off Dottore's tongue.
"How is this funny to you?!"
"Ha, ha, oh! Oh, after all this time - ha, you have an allergy!"
Pantalone freezes, and then his murderous intent curdles into mortification and disgust.
"No. No, I do not. I am two hundred and twenty one years old, I have never been and will never be allergic to anything."
Using the armrest of Pantalone's chair, Dottore pulls himself up and throws himself into the man's space, grinning.
"Allergies develop as people age, and you certainly are no spring chicken."
"Watch yourself, or I'll lock you out tonight."
Wouldn't matter, Dottore always worms his way back into Pantalone's bed either by force or sweet talk, but that's besides the point. Using those same techniques, Dottore gets Pantalone out of his coveted sweater and sat upon the exam table, so the doctor can see his patient better. Sure enough, the rash does not spread past the arms or torso. Thankfully, the skin graft on his forearm is not more inflamed than his regular skin, so if they treat this quickly, there will be no long-term scarring.
"Such a shame," Dottore begins, picking up the sweater and holding it aloft, "that we will have to discard such a precious belonging."
"Why?"
"You are allergic to alpaca wool. Obviously. I shall discard this and return with oral and cream antihistamines for your-"
Dottore does not even make it more than two steps before Pantalone is wrenching the sweater back, bundling it into his arms with a vice like grip.
"You will do no such thing!"
"Now, this is not the time to be stubborn."
"This is not about stubbornness! This is a priceless, one of a kind item - did you know that alpaca fleece is only used to make blankets for the Masters of the Night Wind in Natlan, using the same techniques as they do when weaving scrolls?"
"Oh, so it's about the price." Dottore rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. "I will buy you something of equal value, banker, to satisfy your expensive tastes. Come on. Hand it over."
Pantalone does not budge, aside from his eyebrows, which furrow deeper, imprinting a wrinkle in his forehead. The detail makes him looks older than forty, because he is. Pantalone has been his constant companion for the past two hundred or so years. They know each other so well, every aspect, every segment of Dottore and Zandik's persona, intertwined in all their collective sins against the authority of the heavens. Therefore, this absolute, illogical attachment to a simple piece of clothing, one that will disintegrate far before either of them reach death's door, is so idiotic that Dottore is about to quit, but not before Pantalone speaks up again.
"…They called this the Fiber of the Gods. Owning a piece of that…" Pausing to rasp a weak laugh, Pantalone shakes his head, his glasses and chains shimmering in the light. "I want to undo the laws of this world, but I can still enjoy it's bounties, can't I?"
Pantalone lifts his head, eyes misty and puffy, and he appears so incredibly vulnerable that Dottore's chest aches. Love and affection are annoying side effects of being mortal, ugh.
"…What do you want me to do to? Make you un-allergic to alpaca?"
Pantalone blinks rapidly, and then smiles as sweet as cough syrup.
"Is that too far out of your reach, doctor?"
"I am evolved far past the means of mortal medicine. Of course I can! Have you no faith in me?" Dottore stomps away to an intercom on his wall and smashes down the worn button. "Eighteen! Get your ass over here! Bring benadryl pills and cream! Now!" Then he spins back around on his heel to his chalkboard, which held scratchings of an equation for a new poison. Dottore wipes it off with the back of his sleeve and rapidly starts theorizing methods to neutralize the reacting antibodies and ….
Dottore continues his calculations until Segment 18 arrives. He has a small box of pink pills and several creams, and Dottore has the perfect experience of watching his eighteen year old self blush at the sight of Pantalone shirtless. Normally, he would laugh, but he's far too agitated to poke fun right now.
"This is not the time to be a horny shithead!" Dottore shouts at the segment, and then barks instructions, namely, to finish his equation and prepare the necessary materials for the experiment. Segment 18 nods jerkily and hands his other self the box, so Dottore can return to Pantalone and get to treating his current medical emergency
The banker smiles, far weaker now that time has passed. "You truly are the best in your trade. I knew I could count on you, as I always do."
"Have I ever abstained from your whims? Actually, I find this to be quite a fascinating challenge. Hm, it will take me time, though, so I do suggest you release the source of your discomfort."
Pantalone hesitates, even though his body shakes with agitation. Dottore holds out his hand, palm up and fingers splayed wide.
"Feofan," he whispers, "Give me the sweater."
Finally, Pantalone relaxes his body and hands it over. Dottore folds the sweater carefully, and then leans back in to kiss Pantalone's wrinkle, between his brows, feather light.
"Don't frown so much, my dear banker. Your face will stick that way if you do." The tease gets Pantalone to huff a laugh and roll his eyes. He takes the medicine with a glass of water, and keeps the banter light as Dottore rubs in the cream until Pantalone begins to sway, and the doctor guides him to lay down and rest with another tender, hidden kiss to his cheek.
Segment 18 completes the formula and administers the doses over the course of a month. He is an odd creature, still full of Zandik's arrogance and pride, but nearly forever struggling with the oddity of young adulthood. During their final check-up, Segment 18 blushes horribly when Pantalone tells him, "Thank you very much," in that thrilling, decadent voice of a man who oozes hard earned control and opulence. It's no wonder Segment 18 shivers in his seat and swallows loudly, before snapping the file in his hands closed and excusing himself, bolting out the door.
"Don't laugh at him," Pantalone chides as Dottore, does in fact, snicker as he strolls closer with a bag behind his back. "They are all you. How can you call yourself the best if you make fun of yourself?"
"Because I am in my prime, unlike my virginal counterpart. I can handle and appreciate your natural allure without popping a hard on every five minutes."
Pantalone points at the loose, long sleeve shirt he is wearing. "You think my pajamas are seductive?"
"You would look sexy in a potato sack."
"The fact that you could even envision that is abhorrent."
"I can envision you in anything. It's called imagination. But, I think we both would rather you have this back." Lifting up the bag for emphasis, Dottore enjoys watching the unrestrained glee, the kind that makes the banker's eyes wrinkle at the corner in the most beautiful way, as Pantalone snags the bag from him and digs inside.
"You-"
"Got your God Fiber turtle-neck dry cleaned, yes, I did."
Pantalone doesn't waste any time tugging the sweater on over his other shirt. The joy is unparalleled as he rubs his palms over the fabric, sighing happily, before reaching up and tugging his long hair out of the neck, throwing it over one shoulder haphazardly.
"Zandik," Pantalone sighs, "you are astounding."
"I know."
"And far more sentimental than you put on."
"Fuck off."
The office echoes with Feofan's tantalizing laugh, and it reverberates into Zandik's chest, as he's pulled into a warm kiss, always there, no matter what.