Chapter Text
Liyue Harbor is far too humid.
The hot summer sun beats down on Pantalone as he exits the carriage that took him to the bank, multiple people vying for his attention at once. Perhaps he should feel overwhelmed by it all or be exhausted after his long boat ride from Snezhnaya.
But no, his only emotion is an eerie sense of calm.
He smiles icily, refusing to entertain anyone here as he shoves inside. The cool air of the bank provides much-needed relief.
“This is—” the woman in the front stops, then sputters. “Lord Regrator. I-I didn’t know you were in Liyue.”
“I just arrived. Looks like in the nick of time too.”
“Ah—yes. Everyone is upstairs.”
“Thank you.”
Tartaglia’s assault that nearly wiped Liyue Harbor off the map happened three days ago, and today is finally the meeting with him. Pantalone almost didn’t come. Dottore was close to denying him because his body was still in active recovery from his last surgery. But the fact the Northland Bank got under fire necessitated it.
And how could he turn down a chance to finally become face-to-face with the God he reviles the most?
He can hear voices as he ascends, but they’re quickly drowned out by approaching footsteps. Pantalone pauses, eyes narrowed as a young blonde man comes into view, tense, while some humanoid seelie creature floats behind him. He instantly recognizes the man from the reports about who bested Tartaglia in combat. But thankfully, he and his seelie-pet are too distracted to notice him; the last thing Pantalone wanted was to invite a conversation. He’s too focused on the voice currently speaking.
“—which concludes the rest of the contract.”
Rex Lapis.
Pantalone’s body burns with pure fucking hatred as he enters the room. Signora is next to what looks like a shell-shocked Tartaglia as the Geo Archon calmly faces them both. In Signora’s hand is his Gnosis.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” Signora purrs after they all turn to him.
“I was in the area.” He was not. “After I learned what Tartaglia did, I knew my presence would be required to restore the good word of the Northland Bank.”
Tartaglia shoots him a glare. Poor Tartaglia—used in both Signora and Rex Lapis’s ploy. The mission the Tsaritsa had sent him out on was initially in good faith, but after Signora retrieved the Anemo Archon’s Gnosis, Rex Lapis reached out to her to make a deal, which altered everything.
Learning of the plan change made Pantalone’s skin crawl. He would have preferred the original, albeit the more difficult one to achieve—Rex Lapis beaten into submission. But at least seeing his Gnosis in Signora’s hand brings some pleasure.
“Yes. Childe did create quite a show,” Signora says. “I’m certainly glad I’m not the one being left to clean up the mess.”
“Fuck you,” Tartaglia sneers.
“Oh, now with the bad language? You were so much more polite earlier with that blonde rat in the room.”
The Geo Archon is staring right at Pantalone. “I apologize for the part I played in ruining the good name of the bank. I hope it won’t be too much effort to restore it.”
Pantalone has to do everything in his power to keep his expression neutral and not sneer at his utterly empty words. How disgusting that he’s masquerading as a normal man—a funeral parlor consultant. “We are working directly with the Qixing, so that should resolve any issues.” His Liyuen accent almost slips through—a byproduct of him using it earlier to gain more favor with the Qixing—and he turns to Signora to prevent any of them from lingering on it. “We should debrief next steps before you report to the Tsaritsa.”
“Agree. I’m taking a boat back tonight, so it needs to be before then. Do you have an office here? Is it the one Childe was using?”
Tartaglia mutters something.
“I do have one, and it’s specifically for myself,” Pantalone responds.
“Wonderful. Let’s meet in there.”
“In that case, I will take my leave,” Rex Lapis says. “I do extend my apologies again, Childe.”
Tartaglia doesn’t even look at him.
As Rex Lapis walks by, Pantalone envisions shooting him in the head. He clasps his hands and smiles to cover up the thought.
“My office is over there,” Pantalone says when the Archon is finally gone. “You may join us, Tartaglia.”
“No,” he spits. “I think I’m good.” He doesn’t move, though. Perhaps because there is a chance he would run into the Geo Archon otherwise.
“Childe was operating under the assumption the Geo Archon was a normal citizen named Zhongli. He even postured him as his friend,” Signora says, laughing after they enter Pantalone’s office. It’s information Pantalone already knew—Dottore dug up anything available on Rex Lapis for him.
“Something to pity indeed.”
Signora places the Geo Gnosis on the table. “This thing is truly something magnificent. You can feel the power as soon as you touch it.”
“May I?”
“Go ahead.” Then, she pauses. “Or, hm.”
“What?”
“Nothing. You just have a track record of making these kinds of things explode.”
Pantalone glares at her. “My delusion has been stable.” Especially now that parts of his humanity are gone. Disgusting that geo was the most compatible with his body. Dottore was at least able to make it look as far from the element as possible, equally excited and nervous when he presented it to him. He was cocky about his craftmanship but, while justifiable, almost overbearing in how hesitant he was for Pantalone to try it out. Though it was sweet seeing—
No, Pantalone cannot let his mind wander.
He picks up the Gnosis. Signora was right—holding it instantly sends a rippling of power throughout his body. He stares at it—proof that the Geo Archon is weaker, proof that their plans against Celestia are well underway.
He places it back on the table. “Is the Anemo Gnosis already with the Tsaritsa?”
“No.” She takes it out of her coat and puts it on the table. Pantalone scans it over. “But I will deliver both directly to her hands.”
“Make sure Tartaglia doesn’t steal them.”
“Hah. The brat worships her more than me at times. Truly an accomplishment to behold. He won’t do anything.”
Well, good because any further idiotic actions from him would require additional negotiations with the Qixing. Is the paperwork they requested even in here? He believes he filed it properly.
“How long do you think you’re here for?” Signora asks, bringing him out of his thoughts.
“Probably for two weeks. It depends on how further discussions with the Qixing go about reparations. In my brief conversation with them when I arrived, I was able to placate them by using my full Liyuen accent, so hopefully, I can work out everything in our favor.”
“My, two weeks? Quite a long time to be away from the palace.”
He knows what she’s implying. “Dottore can live.”
“I bet he tried to dissuade you from coming, didn’t he?”
“No comment.”
Signora laughs, seeing through that. “That man is like an anxiety-ridden dog whenever you leave the country.”
When Pantalone blocked Dottore from accompanying him, Dottore tried to send Omega instead, and Pantalone had to argue with them both that he’d be fine. He misses him already, but Dottore here, segment or otherwise, would only distract Pantalone and get in the way.
And also, maybe a bit sadistically, he likes the thought of Dottore getting worked up over missing him.
“Anyhow,” Signora says. “Since you’re here, I was hoping to discuss my next mission to Inazuma and its funding if you have the time.”
“I do. Outline what you need.”
**
Signora leaves after an hour of discussion. Following it, Pantalone organizes all the documents the Qixing requested, then gets ready to debrief with his assistants.
What he’s not expecting is for Tartaglia to be in the same spot as before when he leaves his office.
“There is a boat—” Pantalone starts.
“I am not taking the same boat back as the witch.”
Okay then.
“What, though, are you here to mock me too?” Tartaglia sneers.
“I was on my way to speak with my assistants and then negotiate with the Qixing, so no.”
“Don’t fucking lie. I saw the pity on your face. Was I the only one who didn’t know Zhongli was Morax!?”
“For the plan to work—”
“Hah! So that is a yes! Great! Wonderful!”
“Your role was important—”
“Save your breath.”
Pantalone sighs. “I’m not quite sure what you want me to say, then. Coddle you? Lie? You served your role well, and now it’s over. The Tsaritsa will be proud.”
Tartaglia throws up his hands, opening his mouth to say something but stopping when he winces in pain. He laughs, it coming out as a wheeze. “And now there’s this. Bested in combat. Even more of a reason to mock me. You know what happened yesterday? The medic I saw told me my injuries were something the Doctor should look at.”
Ah. Well. “He unfortunately still stands by his word.” Pantalone does pity the kid, but it’s still a fair consequence for the attempted murder. It’s a compromise that he’s even alive. If Dottore had his way, he’d be dead by now.
Tartaglia’s skin is pale. “Right. Of course.”
“Well, I will see you at Zapolyarny Palace,” Pantalone says, walking away after he makes no further comments.
“You know, each time I see you,” Tartaglia calls, “something about you is even more inhuman than before.” His tone is vitriolic. “At our next visit, will you still need to breathe?”
“As someone whose body is so marred with Abyssal energy that the blood you gave Dottore for your delusion was, quote, ‘foul and disgusting,’ I think you are the least qualified to comment on the choices I make with my own.”
Pantalone leaves before Tartaglia can engage him further. He’s clearly in a rough mental state right now and is just looking for a fight. Perhaps one day, they’ll be able to repair what is clearly now a strained relationship. But for now, Pantalone will ignore him. A shame, really. He did run the bank well.
It’s funny, though—none of the other Harbingers have appeared to notice any difference in Pantalone. Or at least they haven’t mentioned anything to his face or treated him differently. Pantalone can barely tell himself. His synthetic blood has given him no noticeable effects, and the fake eyes, something he was expecting to be especially alien, have been just like his ones before but with clearer vision. Gods, Dottore was so fixated on improving his vision; it was almost amusing how afraid he was that Pantalone would suddenly wake up blind. Pantalone went along with his concerns and consented to that surgery, and he’s happy he did. Seeing clearly does provide a new level of convenience. He enjoys the subtle new eye color too, though they’re so similar to his old that he can hardly remember what they looked like at times. He can always go check—Dottore kept them in some fucked up test tube as a ‘keepsake.’
Pantalone’s also recently gotten an infusion to his bones. That was an admittedly painful surgery that took him longer than anticipated to fully recover from and was why Dottore didn’t want him to go to Liyue. But that hasn’t resulted in him feeling inhuman either. Dottore did say a full infusion will supposedly have a noticeable effect once completed, but they’re not at that point yet.
Regardless, it doesn’t matter; he made this choice.
He chases away any further thoughts when his mind threatens to wander more, making his way to where his assistants are waiting.
**
Admittedly, Liyue has been the country Pantalone has avoided most for business trips, electing to send assistants in place of him for certain meetings. But the bank here is where he first joined the Fatui.
So, there are faces he recognizes.
Many of the people he used to work with as a non-Harbinger have either moved ranks, moved branches, or are dead. But some are still lurking, most too cowardly to approach him directly.
Until that is, it’s Pantalone’s final day in Liyue.
He’s enjoying a well-deserved drink and book when there’s a knock on his office door.
“Yes?”
Who opens the door is not one of his assistants, as expected—they are all currently packing his belongings. Instead, it’s one of the men he first worked under.
“Well, this is a surprise,” Pantalone says. The man never was particularly close with him, and he only paid any real attention to Pantalone after Pierro took an interest. “Who even let you up here?”
“How impolite. As this place’s previous bank manager before you so rudely moved me to Chengyu Vale, I still exercise a certain amount of privilege.”
“Do understand that choice was because of the Tsaritsa’s orders.”
His stare bores into Pantalone. “You know, you sound like all of them now—that Snezhnayan tongue.”
“Is there any particular reason you’re here? This is my first bit of free time in two weeks, and I would like to enjoy it.”
“I didn’t realize it was a slight to want to say hello.”
“Mm.”
“You rarely even come to Liyue, and I was in the area. I merely wanted to say hi.”
“Let’s not play games. You clearly look like you want to ask me something.”
He receives a glare that’s quickly wiped away into a more neutral expression. “When Lord Pierro took interest in you as a Harbinger, our team had many meetings where we discussed the overall structural changes we would make at the Northland bank.”
Pantalone remembers those conversations. They were genuinely valuable suggestions. “Yes, and I have honored most. The bank is thriving more than ever.”
“But you haven’t honored the most important one.”
“Pardon?”
His old mentor’s face turns red. “You have completely failed at roping in any activities of the Second.”
His vitriol isn’t out of left field—they all constantly discussed how Dottore was a drain on the economy. But his anger is misplaced. Pantalone has fixed Dottore’s budgetary issues, no matter who tries to accuse him of favoritism. “If you look at the publicly available budget reports—”
“I don’t give a shit about those!”
Pantalone’s eyes narrow.
There’s now a crazed look in his eye. “You’ve folded and broken. That psychotic abomination—you were supposed to put him in check and stop—”
“Do you even hear yourself? Of course I didn’t make him stop. His experiments are the lifeblood of the Fatui. I got his budget under control, and that’s what was—”
The man pulls out a gun and points it at Pantalone’s head.
Pantalone sighs. “What are you doing?”
“I should have been the one to become a Harbinger. I would have taken him out—stopped him from stealing our own for his insane experiments that benefit no one.”
“That last bit is simply wrong—”
“Instead, what did you do? I’ve heard rumors that you’re fucking him—”
Pantalone shoots a geo construct right through his chest, killing him instantly and splattering blood everywhere. Great. Specks are on his antique desk and clothing, and now he needs to find another bank manager.
He sighs, kicking the body aside as he goes to alert one of his assistants and fire whoever let the man up here. This is why he was right to avoid Liyue.
**
When Pantalone first set foot in Snezhnaya, he never thought he would get used to the weather. But now, after dealing with Liyue’s sweltering heat, the cold sting of Snezhnaya’s air feels like a relief.
A homecoming.
Which is a rather amusing thought. Growing up as an orphan on the streets, he never felt like he had a home before. He wasn’t expecting to get one out of joining the Fatui and becoming a Harbinger. But then again, he also wasn’t expecting to fall in love.
His body is buzzing at the anticipation of seeing Dottore, but he contains himself. Business needs to be wrapped up first.
**
“—which then concluded any further discussions,” Pantalone finishes.
The Tsaritsa looks pleased. Pierro’s face wears the same neutral expression it always does.
“Considering how the plan deviated and caused more destruction than anticipated, that is a favorable outcome you achieved, my Ninth.”
Pantalone bows. “I am happy to have served well.”
“Ah, but before you go,” she says when he starts to turn. “I heard there was an attempt on your life. Did you suffer any injuries?”
“I killed him before he could even attack.”
The Tsaritsa manages a smile. It’s utterly off-putting. “That is good to hear. I’m happy you and the Second found a delusion compatible with your body.”
Pantalone still gets cagey whenever she mentions him and Dottore in the same sentence. “I as well.”
“I won’t hold you for any longer. Thank you again.”
“My pleasure, Your Majesty.”
**
He finds himself in his office for the following hour and a half, polishing a few reports and dictating work to his assistants.
It’s when he’s finally alone, getting ready to leave, that Dottore tears open his door.
“You’ve been back for hours now, and you didn’t come to see me?” he says, slamming it behind him and ripping off his mask.
Pantalone returns some files to their shelves. “I had to finish a few items first, and you would have only distracted—”
Dottore yanks the file from his hand, tosses it to the floor, then pushes Pantalone into the wall and crashes their lips together.
He smells like antiseptic and the cologne Pantalone likes best on him—a sweet and earthy scent. It drowns out his annoyance at the now scattered papers, and he sighs, locking his hands behind Dottore’s neck and meeting the aggressiveness of his kiss. When he bites Dottore’s lip, he breaks off in a gasp, his entire body shuddering.
“My, you’re extra sensitive right now,” Pantalone purrs. “You’re not even connected right now.”
Dottore presses his face into Pantalone’s neck, breathing in. His ring presses into Pantalone’s chest—the marker of how he belongs to him. It makes the greedy animal within him sing.
“You haven’t been gone for this long in a while. That’s why,” Dottore gets out, heart beating rapidly against Pantalone’s chest.
“It was only two weeks, Love.”
“Shut up.”
Pantalone rubs circles into the back of his head, pleasure pooling in his stomach as Dottore chases his touch.
“Well, I’m back now. Everything is taken care of with the Qixing, and the bank’s name is cleared.”
Dottore’s breath warms Pantalone’s neck. “Did you run into any issues?”
“Mm. Not many. Well, I had to kill someone, but besides that.”
Dottore lifts his head and pulls back a bit to look at him. “Who?”
“A bank manager.”
“A direct subordinate?”
“No. But he was someone I used to work for.” Pantalone pauses. “He got all worked up and aimed a gun at my head.”
Dottore tenses.
“Obviously, I’m fine, Love. He didn’t even get a shot out.”
“…How did you kill him?”
“I skewered him with geo constructs, right through his stomach.” Pantalone lowers his voice. “Your delusion worked perfectly. It’s like I had a piece of your power at my disposal.”
Dottore swallows.
“I thought of you when his blood splattered all over my office—how you would take glee in the killing.” He can feel Dottore’s heart rate pick back up, see his eyes darken. “I thought of you a lot.”
“I—”
Pantalone cups his face and kisses him, savoring the taste, and Dottore responds in kind, making a noise of protest when Pantalone pulls away to remove his gloves.
“I want to properly touch you,” he breathes. “Give me a moment.”
Dottore’s chest is heaving. Pantalone smirks at the sight—they’ve barely even done anything. “I thought of you a lot too—when you were gone,” Dottore says.
“Oh?” Pantalone responds, setting his gloves and rings on the shelf, only putting the red one back on.
Dottore’s eyes are trained on it. “Constantly. Every waking—”
Pantalone rubs his bare fingers over Dottore’s scars, and he shuts his eyes and whines. The noise goes straight to Pantalone’s groin.
“What projects have you worked on the past two weeks?” he murmurs, brushing Dottore’s hair behind his ear.
Dottore swallows. “We mostly focused on analyzing the Gnoses.”
“Oh? Elaborate—”
Dottore breaks him off in a kiss, nipping at his lip until Pantalone tastes blood. A sharp stab of heat pools in Pantalone’s gut when he feels the hardness of Dottore’s length against his own. He pulls away, much to Dottore’s protest.
“That wasn’t a response,” Pantalone murmurs.
“Gods, I don’t want to talk about work right now.”
“But I like listening to you talk about it.”
“You’re infuriating. Let me kiss—”
“Not in here.” Pantalone has to catch his breath. “I don’t want to ruin these pants either.”
Dottore’s pupils are blown out. “You and your fucking expensive clothes.”
Pantalone steps away, immediately mourning the contact. He picks up the papers and puts them back in the folder, Dottore’s eyes trained on him the entire time.
“Coming?” he asks after he puts his glove and rings back on, handing Dottore his mask. His voice is low.
“You’re making it very hard for me not to press you into the wall right now.”
“Behave. There are still people milling the halls at this hour.” It’s only early evening, after all.
Dottore groans and follows him after he puts his mask on.
He stays close to Pantalone’s side as they walk, always touching him in some way. The contact sends pinpricks of pleasure throughout Pantalone’s body. He remembers six years ago, when they danced around each other, played that game—how maddening it was to want nothing more than to take Dottore’s hand. Now, he can touch Dottore as much as he pleases. Claim him as much as he wants.
Well, within reason. The hallways are off-limits. That, they’re reminded of, when they pass Sandrone, who does nothing but roll her eyes.
“Oh,” Pantalone says when they enter his quarters, instantly smelling the aroma of tea.
Dottore takes off his mask. “I was in here brewing you a pot, thinking you hadn’t arrived yet, only for Omega to tell me he heard—”
Pantalone pulls him into an embrace. Dottore lets out a breath.
They stand there, rocking back and forth, neither making the move to pull away first. Pantalone sighs in contentment, his body finally releasing the remaining bit of tension he was holding from work.
“You know,” he murmurs, “what’s been playing in my head for the past week?”
“I don’t think I want to.”
“…the Doctor, the Doctor, he’ll come for you. The children, the children, what will they—”
“Stop.”
“I can’t help it. It’s stuck.”
“Well, get it unstuck.”
“They see him at night in droves of two—”
“That is not what I meant. Gods, you’re as infuriating as the first day I met you.”
Pantalone smiles. “You love me.”
Dottore kisses him in response.