Archive of Our Own ^beta

Pantalone is looking at the heart-shaped thing in front of him with a straight face, one eyebrow rising on his face with every second that ticks by. It is, indeed, a heart. The human organ. It’s lying on his desk lifelessly; unmoving and deflated since it’s been thoroughly drained from blood as to easier preserve it. Truly, he can’t understand what his partner sees in this thing, why Zandik considers this the pinnacle of romance.

He’s half-expected to be gifted gory presents throughout their relationship, so it’s more surprising that the organ in front of him doesn’t come from the destested laboratory, instead from a sterile and —for the most part— perfectly ethical clinic built from Pantalone’s money as a fun side project. Perhaps it’s his poor layman’s knowledge, but Pantalone couldn’t even tell the difference if this heart had been tampered with or hadn’t, meaning he’d have to ‘trust’ his workers on the issue. He can’t ask the doctor like he’d do under normal circumstances, since the heart on his desk is meant as a present for Zandik, a present he wouldn’t want to spoil.

Pantalone has always been great at giving gifts: He knows how to read people to know what they want, he can wager prices and he has all the money in the world —quite literally— on his hands to buy even the silliest and rarest presents. He’s always been confident giving business presents to remain civil with influential personalities, that is, before he himself became influential and became the receiving end of the exchange. However now, staring at the unmoving, red bunch reeking of sterile cleanliness, he isn’t so sure in himself anymore.

The human he’s.. borrowed this heart from had been special, no doubt, the kind of human Zandik had complained about not being able to study since they, for one, were too sparse, and two, the few ones that didn’t hide, were guarded too securely. Even a man like the doctor, who could tear down the metaphorical walls keeping him from a subject with brute strength, wouldn’t be able to get further. Meaning this was a manner of money and connections and diplomacy. A manner Pantalone excelled with, for even human life had a price he could pay easily. This is why he’d been appointed a Harbringer, after all; enough monetary and political influence could even weight out the fact that he was visionless —he’s placed above Tartaglia for good reason, since brute force doesn’t settle everything and the Eleventh doesn’t have more to offer yet.

And yet, despite his strengthened ego, Pantalone is nervous. He hasn’t given Zandik anything else physical but enlarged fundings since they’d started seeing each other, and this occasion is a rare one. He’s sure Zandik doesn’t think of the date like this, anniversaries meaning nothing to him and his inhuman life span. The doctor probably doesn’t even know it’s the anniversary of him joining the ranks of the Harbringers, as well as that of his and Pantalone’s agreement to be business partners, and if he does, he doesn’t care. Nobody does, neither the other Harbringers nor the Tsaritsa. Pantalone, though, Pantalone has always cared. And now he finally has an excuse to honour the day.
Perhaps it has to do with his knack for numbers, but sparse occasions like these mean much more to Pantalone than they rationally should. Even his own anniversaries, he keeps check of, celebrates them a little if there are good memories attached to them and distracting himself through various means if there aren’t. Perhaps celebrating Zandik’s joining ceremony is just an excuse for Pantalone to distract him of a memory that’s happened around this time, many years ago.

He’ll never find out, since, even if it isn’t meant as a distraction primarily, Pantalone’s thoughts are all about his lover. So he puts the heart in a suspiciously inconspicuous black box, which he wraps tidily with a teal bow, matching Zandik’s hair. Pantalone puts on one of his better coats before heading out of his chambers, heart beating out of his chest while he’s holding this non-beating heart in his hands. He feels surreal, somehow. Like this is not a situation he should be in. It’s not his gut feeling which is usually right, but it feels similar, making Pantalone hesitate for just a second before he scolds himself for his cowardice and firmly steps down the flight of stairs leading him to the dungeons.

They’d apparently existed even before Zandik had joined the Fatui and Pantalone doesn't know of their original purpose, but since his partner, the Second Harbringer, needed a space to fuel his research, the Tsaritsa had graciously allowed him to expand his laboratory all over the dungeons. He’s in her favour right now, having obtained two gnoses for her, so he’ll soon be asking Pantalone for money to expand even further, which he will be forced to give out by her majesty. Not that Pantalone wouldn't fund Zandik anyways, loving the way the man’s eyes light up when he talks about his research, no matter how gruesome it is.

Still, Pantalone does not like this place. It’s cold and gloomy, and no matter how thick the doors are, sometimes screams of agony still make their way into the hallways and up the stair, echoing off the high ceiling and stony pillars. The air here seems even more freezing than in every other space in the palace, his breath a white cloud in front of Pantalone’s face. He doesn’t look forward to his glasses fogging once he steps inside the main laboratory Zandik is most active in.. that is, if he’s even invited inside. It’s usually not a smart idea to disturb a ‘doctor’ while he’s working, no matter if he considers you dear. Pantalone still goes for it and knocks, shivering not only from the negative temperatures he can never get quite used to.

The words: “Dottore, it’s me, Pantalone. I’m here to offer you.. a deal.” accompany his knock, using a moniker now unfamiliar to his tongue since all walls have ears but the ones where Harbringers work and reside. There’s no response for a few seconds which is expected, so Pantalone waits patiently. However after half a minute passes, he grows worried, not only for himself. The lab is silent, so there’s not the excuse of Zandik working on something and therefore either not hearing his knock or not having the time to answer the door. And Pantalone knows for sure his partner should be inside. So he knocks again, with more urgency this time but still trying to seem calm and collected to eventual watching eyes. The box in his hand shakes.

“Doctor? Please open the door, this should be beneficial to you as well.”, he tries again, “I know you’re in there, and where else could you be so there’s no excuse you couldn't give me, your generous supporter, a minute of your day.” Seconds tick by without anything happening, and Pantalone’s frustration is only barely swallowed by his anxiety. He’s so stressed and it’s not healthy how his stress manifests in irritation that will eventually turn to anger when even slightly triggered. He’s far from being as mentally stable as he acts, which doesn't pair well with his powerlessness.

Just when he retracts his hand in defeat, the door opens and an arm clad in white darts outside, grabbing Pantalone harshly and pulling him inside. The hall he finds himself in is dimly lit, but he recognises the doctor's frantic expression nevertheless. He's not wearing his mask and his eyes have a haunted look to them, which is new. He's shivering as well, as though he just woke up from a nightmare. Pantalone moves his present away while he untangles his arm from Zandik's grasp, who didn't even seem to notice he was still clinging onto the banker.

"What's wrong, my dear?", Pantalone asks with honest concern, putting the box on the nearest shelf so he can close the distance between them and smooth out his partner's lab coat. There's blood on it, but it doesn't smell human. Not completely. "..I'm making new ones. It's terrifying every time, but it's nothing I'm not equipped to handle. No need to worry about me." He doesn't have to say the word out loud, Pantalone is horrified all the same: "You're continuing?! You said you wouldn't!"

They're talking about Zandik's clones. After sacrificing all of them to get back to the palace alive, well, and with two gnoses in his inventory, he'd originally told Pantalone he'd leave it at that. He didn't need them anymore, could take on the workload alone, he'd said. Pantalone still firmly wants to believe that wasn't a lie, but why the hell would Zandik would make new ones if he didn't need them. Even more so since creating 'life' artificially seems to take such a toll on him!

At his accusation, Zandik turns his head away, unable to look at Pantalone when he answers. "I fully meant that when I told you, I swear. I didn't plan to make new ones and I didn't want to lie to you," he turns his body fully now, and walks further into the laboratory while gesturing Pantalone to follow him, "..I'm really not sure why I felt the urge to make new ones. Still afraid of dying, I suppose, despite my mortality being only partial." He shrugs helplessly, knowing how horrifically irrationally he's acting but still not stopping.

On the other side of the laboratory, huge test tubes are lined up the wall, so high they reach the ceiling. Their creepy glow fascinates Pantalone in a way that's uncomfortable to admit. He thinks he sees something move inside the one furthest to the left, and his interest is piqued, though some part of him doesn't want it to be. Pantalone knows how harmful this procedure is for Zandik, though he's not aware of the details, but he can't deny that he's wondered about the creation of his partner's clones.

The steps that he takes towards the tube are made unconsciously until the palm of his hand touches the glass in front of him. From this close, it's not just a vague movement that Pantalone sees, but a figure turning which resembles a human baby only somewhat, and that makes the sight in front of him that much creepier. Dread rises inside his gut and Pantalone's day keeps getting worse by the minute. Not letting it show, of course, he turns towards Zandik who's staying at a safe distance away, twitching in mortified anticipation. "And what are you going to call this one? You already arrived at Omega with the last batch, so which alphabet will you use to number these ones? Kh’anriahn?!”

He scoffs, watching with a dangerous mixture of pleasure and disappointment how Zandik cowers in front of him. Pantalone has never wanted to make his partner feel bad about himself because of him, but this decision is so stupid he can't help but to reprimand Zandik for it. Especially because it obviously hurts the Second and Pantalone has been meticulously about eliminating who- and whatever made the doctor uncomfortable. This is simply another point on his list which he intends to cross off it before the evening. "Hey, Pantalone, listen I know this was a bad idea—", Zandik starts to justify his action, but Pantalone is already done with the topic. The fact that the human figure lightly nudges against the glass where his hand still lies helps his decision as well.

With a disgusted expression he rips his hand away and demonstratively wipes it on his coat, aware of Zandik's eyes following his motions with a hurt expression. After all, Pantalone is disgusted by 'him'. "Never mind, I'll just leave it to you to figure it out and hurt yourself more. Though I thought I'd finally gotten you to care about your own comfort at least half as much as you care about mine.", Pantalone announces with an air of finality as he struts towards the exit, only stopping in front of the door when he hears Zandik hastily coming to a halt behind him. "Pantalone wait, don't leave!", he pleads, a part of his deranged nature showing through his voice. Pantalone does indeed stop with his hand on the door knob, but he's planned to do so long before.

Manipulation is his forte, it's the way he became the richest man in Teyvat. So it comes as little surprise that he's even able to foresee and manipulate a madman with godlike powers. Especially since said man adores him. So he lightly pokes the teal bow of the box still waiting innocently on a shelf next to him, guiding Zandik's attention to it. "Don't be shy, darling, open it. I wanted to give it to you under.. happier circumstances but it's not exactly good for it's contents to stay in these temperatures for long."

Zandik's gaze is unsure when he looks back at Pantalone as if he suspects the Regrator would leave the second he looks away from him. A reasonable worry. But the doctor also can't hide the curiosity shining through. After one other encouraging nod from Pantalone —though not accompanied by a slight smile like usually— Zandik finally reaches for the present and opens it with surprisingly delicate movements. Scarred hands start trembling at the sight inside, a researcher's intense stare immediately recognising the gift as what it is yet waiting for Pantalone's confirmation, which he gets, added by a false smile.

"The heart of a descendent of an important Kh’anriah bloodline. Possibly the only one the world will ever see." He waits for Zandik's overwhelmed stutter of a thanks before dropping the bomb and calculatedly crushing his partner. Not completely, of course, just enough for him to reconsider his recent decisions. A predatory smile forces itself onto Pantalone's lips as he gets into his role of a Fatui Harbringer, a title he usually leaves outside once he's inside Zandik's chambers, and he looks the man up and down.

"Since I can't give you my heart in any way but metaphorically, I wanted to at least give you aheart as a sign of my devotion to you. But, well, since it doesn't do me any good putting my heart into the hands of a man who hurts even himself in his rush to escape a death he won't face, see this gesture as a present for your anniversary of becoming a Harbringer. And, coincidentally, also that of our partnership. It's a pleasure doing business with you, doctor, but I will take my leave now." His face betrays nothing, a better mask than Zandik's has ever been, and Pantalone isn't held back when finally, he leaves the dungeons.

..At least not immediately. Pantalone counts the seconds it takes Dottore to register his words and run after him, and after 12 seconds and after Pantalone has already climbed the stairs and took a turn, he hears modified boots slide over the frozen ground behind him. The doctor is so out of it he doesn't seem to care about the way he slams against a wall thanks to his haste, and also seems to disregard his dignity —and Pantalone's by association— as he shouts through the hall. "Pantalone, what the fuck?!", is vague enough for any Fatui hearing the echoes to not understand the context of their situation, but the way Zandik's voice cracks gives away way too much.

Pantalone stops in his tracks abruptly, the smile wanting to form on his lips disappearing immediately. This isn't.. right. Zandik is going off script, he shouldn't be this affected by Pantalone's nudge in the right direction of stopping to try and clone himself for insignificant reasons when it clearly affects his health. "Regrator, are you—" his voice grows quieter, if for discretion reasons or because he can't hold it up for longer, it doesn't matter. In Pantalone's ears, it echoes obscenely loud. "—Is this your way of telling me you're ending our agreement?"

Time freezes, or it slows, but in any case, Pantalone's mind is completely blank which hasn't happened for.. he can't remember the last time his head wasn't brimming with thoughts, memories, ideas and regrets. He can merely observe Zandik, and though he's metres away and is holding his mask in front of his face after not having time to fasten it, it's so easy looking past his defences and expose his visible distress. The hand holding his mask trembles so much it exposes some of the scars on his forehead, his mouth is distorted comically, lips trembling.

He doesn't actually.. think Pantalone is breaking up with him, is he?

Pantalone doesn't get to voice his question —if he were capable of forming words, that is— for Zandik keeps talking, seemingly not caring about the fact that everyone could see or hear him in this state. Anyone with a brain could draw the correct conclusions from that and use it against the doctor, but the man isn't even considering that. "I'll destroy them, all of them and I'll never make new ones!", he shouts in Pantalone's face, who still hasn't moved in shock, "Just don't.. don't go.." The end of his plea is more of a whimper, and if the Regrator didn't know better, he'd say it sounded like Zandik was crying.

But finally, he's able to move again. His beloved's words break his stupor, meaning not only has he regained control over his body again, but also his mind. His expressions shifts as well, though in horror, and also partially in anger. Thoughts of: 'fuck, I actually upset him!' and less healthy thoughts of: 'how dare he be offended by his own accusations?!' flood Pantalone's brain, his expression stuck between terrified and furious. Knowing that it’s his own irrational mind provoking his agitation but not knowing how to stop it, Pantalone tries to shut that part of his brain up when forcing his legs to walk towards Zandik.

His strides are horribly irregular, the echoes of his steps loud but not loud enough to drown out the harsh breath Zandik sucks in when Pantalone closes the gap between them. “Say something, you coward!”, he spews once he’s caught himself, visibly spiralling and failing to mask his insanity. Insanity Pantalone might usually not mind and more often than not indulges in, but which now seems so out of place he wants to snap at Zandik for it like the hypocrite he is. “Don’t just show your fucking pokerface Regra—”, and there it is; his voice breaks fully for the first time, “Regrator, talk to me. Pantalone. Please.”

Pantalone stands in front of him, hands coming up on their own to keep Zandik’s mask in place when he notices ruined hands failing to do so. Irritatingly, he notices his are shaking too: even hidden through the cloth of his gloves, they are shaking. Without touching Zandik in any way, Pantalone yearns to do just that, but there’s an adamant part of the more logical part of his brain keeping him from simply reaching out further. He’s never acted logical in all aspects Zandik, so this is an unwelcome first Pantalone can do nothing but fight and lose against. His emotions are simultaneously all over the place and neatly organised, he feels calm and frantic at the same time. Something is so very wrong but Pantalone cannot pinpoint what it is, with all his perceptiveness and all.

There are many things he wants to say, ranging from quiet comforts to shouts of anger, and he doesn’t know where those are coming from or what he would even say. All his ideas are silenced though, by a sound that makes Pantalone remember everything. Where they are, who they are and how incredibly noisy they are being. Hurried footsteps are coming their way, guards alerted by the Second’s unmistakable voice screaming around. For this, at least, Pantalone’s logical thinking is of use as he hurriedly tidies the doctor’s mask and coat up, and then distances himself from Zandik despite the pained noise that escapes his partner.

He turns a corner not a moment too early and is greeted by his own two door guards almost bumping into him in their haste. “We’re deeply sorry, Lord Regrator!” Shaan exclaims, followed by Reseon’s: “We heard Lord Dottore shout your name, and he sounded upset so we expected the worst! We’re glad you seem unhurt.” The rage is still boiling inside him, and letting it out on his already useless guards is way better than letting it out on one of the only people that still matter to him. So he shoos them away with threats he doesn't bother to hide like usual, and specifically orders them to tell all other Fatui Agents stationed nearby to not enter the doctor’s area of the palace.

When he returns to face Zandik, thinking he’s at least partially back to normal, Pantalone is greeted with an ice cold expression as Zandik has taken his mask off. Whenever he’d done so around Pantalone before, he’d only shown some kind of content expression, so the sight startles the Ninth enough for Zandik to have the first word in the second round of their argument. “Your delusion.”, he says darkly, switching the topic, and just the mention of it makes it’s weight in Pantalone’s pocket double. “Give up on it.”

Dread fills him, an emotion he’s supposedly sworn off when he became the most influential person in terms of political and financial climate. “What? No! Why should I?!” The words stumble out of his mouth not nearly as organised as Pantalone would’ve liked, but for once he couldn't care less about his composure. Zandik’s lips twist into a mean smile, and while they still tremble occasionally, it’s a clear sign he, as well, has lost his composure, though this means something so different for the doctor than it does the Regrator. No, Zandik’s sanity, and that majority of his brain that still functions correctly even after the hundreds of years of his life, have been corroded by the withered thing he usually calls his ‘parasite’. Pantalone knows he won't get his Zandik back anytime soon, and since it’s his fault, he just stands there and takes it.

”You say I should give up on the segments because they hurt and drain me. So go on and return your delusion to me, we both know it does the same even if you don’t use it. And don’t tell me it doesn't work that way, I made them. Even though I tried minimising it’s negative effects for yours since you unfortunately matter so much to me, I can’t stop them completely. It will kill you, sooner or later, so why are you insistent on keeping it, anyways?”

All his words hurt, even though they don’t seem to be intended as being mean or upsetting him. Rather it’s the opposite, it’s Zandik still caring for him, even in this state, that destroys Pantalone, fully aware that the initiator for their fight had been him being concerned about Zandik, though going about it in an infinitely less gentle way. How could it be that the coldblooded murderer, centuries-old, clinically insane second Harbringer is acting more rational than the Regrator who’s whole business is rationality?! Pantalone’s head spins from questioning, from guilt and regret and anger that won’t leave, even though it’s now directed at himself. He feels sick, and what or who of, he’s not sure.

“I can’t.. I’ll be helpless without it.”, he clutches his delusion in his coat pocket while trying to reason, with Zandik or with himself or them both. The glass is warm even through his gloves, the false electro in it tingling on his skin through the cloth. Previously, he’d found the feeling comforting, had thought of it as protective even, whereas now it simply makes him shudder. The thin hairs on his neck stand up. “You’re helpless with it too, Pantalone. Don't you see? You're so weak not even the pinnacles of science can be of help to remedy it. This is still Celestia’s punishment to you for your worthlessness!” Zandik lets out a delighted giggle as if he’d reach enlightenment with his words, and something goes very very wrong.

In a fit of desperation or fury or whatever else emotion he’s lost control over, Pantalone grabs his delusion tightly and throws it at Zandik, his facial muscles jumping while he does so. Zandik, who couldn't have predicted this as Pantalone didn't either, only has enough time to raise his forearms to shield his face from the impact. This results in fragile glass meeting genetically modified bones, and therefore, the glass expectedly shattering. Contrary to popular belief, this doesn't happen in slow motion, and that's why Pantalone only reacts when the delusion is long broken, it's purple light flickering one last time before diminishing fully.

He stares at the ground where the remains lie in a sorry state, and Zandik probably does too. For a second, there’s complete and utter silence. And then Zandik laughs. It’s such an ugly, crazed laugh, fit for a sadistic mad man like him, and it grates in Pantalone’s ears until the sound consumes him whole. “Shut up!” he cries out, at the same time as Zandik shouts: “Oh thank you, Regrator!” in glee. If it’s mocking or genuine, Pantalone can’t tell. He can’t tell anything, there’s blood rushing in his ears and it’s the only thing he can hear, his sight becomes blurry and his cheeks wetten. Oh. He’s crying.

When was the last time he really cried? He can’t remember, and since he prides himself in his extensive memory, he must've repressed that memory purposely. His childhood, then. Zandik’s hair becomes a turquoise mass framing his face which is a greyish blop, and despite everything, that devilish laugh that won’t stop forces it’s way into Pantalone’s ear. “You’re crying?!”, Zandik chokes out, delighted still, “I didn’t think I could make you care that much. Warms my heart to..”, he stops once again, voice losing it's edge. If Pantalone could see properly, he’d see the subtle shift of expression on the doctor’s face, the crease of an eyebrow as he’s hit with realisation, “..to see you cry..”

It’s a swirl of colour that Pantalone sees next, blues and whites and two piercing red eyes that move in front of him hurriedly, sharp and harsh movements in Zandik’s strides and yet when he embraces Pantalone, the action is so tender as though Zandik thinks he’d break him. Maybe he would, Pantalone feels so hideously weak and small, and he makes no move to push his partner away. He doesn't return the hug either, body in a stasis once more but this time he’s stopped moving consciously. It’s self preservation until he knows how to act around Zandik. If the man has fought and won the battle within his mind, or if he’s not back yet. Pantalone knows of these outbursts only from Zandik’s explanation, had never seen one himself and especially not been involved in it.

“You’re crying, Pantalone, you’re crying!”, Zandik repeats with wonder, almost childlike but it’s not amused wonder anymore, he sounds stressed, terrified. As if Zandik had seen something he wasn’t supposed to see and is now awaiting the horrible consequences. He has, but the consequences never come. Pantalone is too exhausted to be angry or hurt, he’s simply a shell of himself. But at least the doctor seems to have let go of the sadistic streak his insanity brings. That he’s still not back to his usual self is obvious, but it’s alright because Pantalone isn’t either, and strangely, that thought brings him comfort.

They’ve both never been complete in the way good people are, never been satisfied when they should have been, so seeing them together at presumedly their worst is comforting, in a strange way. Less lonely. “A-and your delusion. You destroyed it!”, Zandik whisper-shouts in Pantalone’s ear, making the man chuckle humourlessly. His voice is surprisingly steady considering his still leaking eyes, a feat he’s always prided himself in. “Obviously. Didn’t my superior order me to give up on it?” The doctor reacts in squeezing him tighter and burying his head in Pantalone’s shoulder. He’s a bit shorter than Pantalone, but like this, he seems genuinely tiny.

Weak. They’re both so weak and vulnerable in this moment, in this state. And neither of them apologises, not knowing how to but aware that an apology won’t change or better anything. Words don't cut it, and so Pantalone just waits for his tears to stop ruining his makeup and fall onto Zandik’s neck. It happens eventually while the doctor’s body is still plagued by tremors, faster than expected and yet later than hoped for. Pantalone sighs, hand coming up to pat Zandik’s hair which is usually a gesture that helps the man regain conscience. Pantalone doesn't know why, and Zandik had never elaborated.

“I.. only was this mad about your planned new segments because I worried about you. Both your mental health and physical state suffer from it, and it’s simply not worth it. Is it so hard to accept that I care this much, or was it something else that upset you that much? ..If it’s just the way I went about it, I’d understand.” Having a genuine conversation with the doctor has never been this hard, not even when they were still strangers, but he doesn't consider it a chore. It’s inevitable they talk about this, sure, and the wound also couldn't be fresher, but Pantalone doesn't want to part without having gotten a satisfying conclusion. “I literally gave you my— a heart as proof only minutes before as well.”

Zandik merely chuckles humourlessly at that, and when he talks still doesn't lift his face from Pantalone’s shoulder, meaning his words are a bit muffled. “And what a gift that was.. must've cost a fortune in money, effort, time and the like. All for a gesture that got overshadowed by this misled argument that only really happened because both of us care too much for the other yet are hypocritical enough to hurt ourselves in the pursuit of power. A shame, truly.” Pantalone’s second sigh comes from so deep inside his body Zandik must feel the vibrations of it. “It’s so like you to analyse a problem so throughly you can summarise it down to it’s base without effort, yet still let that part of you get the better of you.”

“I was overrun by a myriad of contrasting emotions, and we’re both to blame for my and your state. It probably won’t happen again.”, Zandik deflects quickly, and sounding a bit more like himself again. Knowing this is as good as he’ll get since his partner doesn't make promises he can’t keep to him, Pantalone lets it go, also relieved by the shift in Zandik’s tone. “Then, when you promised you wouldn't create new segments.. did you mean that or was that also merely a burst of contrasting emotions?”

“..I won’t lie, I did say that without thinking because I was overly emotional, but I meant it. My desperation only made me say it quicker and less composed than I’d liked.” Pantalone’s legs give in. He’s already been trembling before, but the sudden surge of relief filling his body and replacing the adrenaline brings him to his knees at last, and it’s only his partner’s quick reflexes that keep him pressed against Zandik. “My, Regrator,” Zandik says, and oh how he’s missed that teasing, borderline condescending tone of voice, “Seem’s like someone’s exerted himself both emotionally and physically. Let’s get you somewhere where you can sit down.”

That place turns out the be his laboratory once again, though Zandik guides him through a different door this time so Pantalone doesn't have to see the tubes in the main room. He’s sat down at an unorganised desk and the doctor excuses himself for a second, leaving a financial genius with nothing to do with all his expense reports and unrecorded experiment documents. Pantalone has half the mind to think of the other as foolish before reaching for the nearest paper, as the silent sound of flowing liquid disturbs him. Zandik’s private quarters and therefore bathroom should be further away and the walls between the two dungeons are soundproof, so how..

Zandik is back before Pantalone gets the chance to stand up and check. Nothing in his appearance is amiss, though his pupils are darting around the room, which Pantalone assumes is an after effect from before. It always takes the man a while before his body catches up with his mind, which could be from both his condition and age. It’s not hard to forget he’s older than the Regrator by centuries, nothing betraying his age except for these rare moments. And then Zandik talks, and everything is obvious. “I eliminated the ones in progress, and destroyed the container holding the knowledge of my unblemished DNA. I will not be able to recreate any more versions of me like this, at least none that could survive on their own. From now on, there will only be me. Does that suffice, my love?”

He grins at Pantalone, but it can’t fool him, who’s seen the same expression on Zandik every time he’s been unsure and wanted to hide his anxiety behind courage or pride. Kissing that grin comes as an decision so easy Pantalone doesn't even really think about it, lips meeting lips so disgustingly sweetly it’s out of character for both of them. But when Zandik tightly grips his arms and presses himself as close as physically possible against Pantalone, he doesn't care about what’s on brand for him or not, just kisses back deeper and with more desperation. He needed that, he then realises, the comfort and the love and the feeling of how dependent Zandik is on him.

He’s clinging onto the doctor like a lifeline —how ironic and yet somehow so truthful— and his movements are feverish, desperate, needy. Still, his emotions are jumbled, thoughts racing and slowed at once. Perhaps having make-up sex now, which appears to be the most probable outcome to their situation, would be counterproductive to Pantalone’s initial plan of talking it out and getting closure through words alone, but somehow, he doesn’t care anymore. Zandik feels too good against him, closeness is calming to him and, well, it’s still an anniversary of theirs.

Even though he didn’t need to justify himself to.. himself, now that Pantalone’s done, his decision has been made as he hastily presses Zandik against the desk, jostling the papers on it even more and making them fall to the ground to make space for one or two bodies. Though they seemed important, Zandik hardly cares and so Pantalone doesn't either, occupied with kissing down his neckline. “Happy five years of working together, my dear.”, he mouths against reddened skin, chuckling when his response is a mere unamused groan from a man who’s never cared about time since he defies it.

“Oh come on, humour me a little, won’t you? I wanted to end the day on a good note.” Zandik rolls his eyes at that, but doesn't object, seemingly more pliant after overexerting himself. Pantalone knows how exhausting emotions are to the doctor, with them having dulled through time and feeling them this strongly being something unnatural to his body. “I’ve done nothing but humour you and your greedy hands, darling.” The comment makes Pantalone chuckle with how much truth it holds and he kisses Zandik’s temple, a praise to his genius brain. “But you love those hands~ I see how you eye them on the rare occasions I’m without gloves.”

“You're too observant.”, is all Zandik says as a response, no denying or showing any shame, as expected, and then shuts up Pantalone’s building laugh with a heated kiss. The intensity is telling of how Zandik is far from being over their fight, him trying to cope unhealthily through sexual aggression. But Pantalone isn't better because he lets it happen, craving the violence and pain and frustration he knows his partner has to take out on someone, preferring it to be himself.

They're both equally as unhealthy, they're rotten creatures destined to die a gory death they bring upon themselves through their stubbornness. But that day has not yet come, and so Pantalone indulges himself in his mortality and the hot tongue making its way down his body. The only death he’ll die today is that of his mind when he loses it in pleasure, and that is something he looks forward to.