Preventive Measures? What Preventive Measures? | Sicktember 2023
Ao3 Link
I am very late to this, but in my defense, I got a block halfway through writing it and couldn't work on anything else until I did finish.
Prompt(s): [1] Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care [5] Preventive Measures (Not Taken) [25] Confused/Disoriented
Fandom: Genshin Impact Character(s): Il Dottore, Pantalone, Capitano Relationship: Capitano/Il Dottore/Pantalone (not specifically mentioned) Warnings: None.
"Where in a certain banker stayed out in the cold snow for a bit to long, and didn't take any measures of keeping himself warm enough during or after that point in time."
Pantalone is only mildly irritated, yet not surprised, when he wakes up shivering heavily, instinctively tugging the comforter further up to tightly wrap around himself. He spends but a minute drowsily trying to blink away the sleep from his eyes before he reaches out from his little cocoon, fumbling around his bedside table for a short moment in search of his glasses.
When he does eventually find them, he pushes himself to leave his bed, rushing to pull on his usual clothes to hopefully stave off the cold a bit. Even when dressed with his usual fur coat, his shivering doesn’t lessen even slightly. However, he doesn’t spare much time to be confused over that - he has a lot of work to catch up on today, considering he had spent far longer than he meant to out in the field the day before.
Instead, he simply reaches into his medicine cabinet to take some basic cold medicine - just in case if he’s actually coming down with something - before moving to migrate to his office. Which is, unfortunately, relatively the same temperature as the rest of Zapolyarny Palace, but there’s not much he can do for that besides make sure the windows are shuttered and the fireplace lit.
Those two, of course, are the things he does first upon reaching said office of his. He struggles longer than usual with lighting the fire though, his hands trembling from shivers as he tries to light a match, but soon enough there’s a steady fire going to hopefully warm the room up at least a bit.
Looking over at his desk, Pantalone quietly sighs to himself and organizes a few things throughout the room before finally sitting down, pulling over one of the papers from yesterday that he missed due to his outing.
“Regrator, I have a proposition!”
Il Dottore - the Prime, this time around - slams the door open, grinning widely from a combination of his new, phenomenal idea - of which he’s going to need funding for, of course; why else would he be here? - and having completely terrified the guard standing outside the room prior to bursting in as he has just done.
When he actually catches sight of the other Harbinger, he frowns at the absolute lack of any sort of cutting retort, as the other usually tends to do. Instead, the Ninth seems to be staring down blankly at a sheet of paper - probably some nonsensical monetary report, maybe the Eleventh spent ten million mora on a meal in Liyue again!
The Doctor strides towards Pantalone, curiously leaning down to catch his eye once he’s close. They’re glassy, which is certainly an odd deviation from how the banker usually presents himself. Always so fastidious about himself, from his appearance to his evident attention - most of the Harbingers know to simply come to him if they missed something in a recent meeting; even Tartaglia, the youngest and easily the most naive of them all, has learned how to be roundabout in netting any required information during one of the Ninth’s heretic rants.
Disregarding that matter for the moment though, Dottore’s frown only deepens when Pantalone snaps out of his little haze, the man barely moving beyond the shivers he’s been under this entire time, as well as slightly rotating his head to look at Dottore.
“You were… quick today, Dottore..” He fully scowls when the man struggles to pick up his pen - it’s just a pen, and an easy one to hold, at that! - reaching out to stop the Regrator from moving any further. He recoils slightly when he feels how cold Pantalone is - just slightly, for his lab is also rather freezing, though he certainly didn’t expect to feel that same relative temperature on the skin of his dear banker - but doesn’t stop holding his wrist. Cold, very cold; shivering; clearly disoriented and tired; an inability to easily grab onto things..
“Ignorant imbecile,” Dottore sighs, tugging Pantalone’s chair away from his desk. The Doctor ignores the other’s belated protests as he hoists him up into his arms - for all the Ninth tries to struggle, it’s a rather pathetic attempt, as he doesn’t even cause Dottore any issue as he carries him out of his office - once again scaring the guard stationed outside it half to death.
Rather than bring him to his lab - which certainly won’t be any help at all, not with how cold it is in there - Dottore takes Pantalone over to one of the warmest rooms in the palace, second only to the gardens and installed by the very banker within his arms. Who, it seems, has given up on trying to get down and has instead resorted to occasionally - yet weakly - attempting to punch him. Which, of course, does nothing in regards to freeing him.
When they’re almost there, Pantalone sighs quietly and completely gives up in any escape attempts. Dottore grins and immediately deposits him onto the couch, pulling a blanket over him with all the flourish that is expected of one of his younger segments - a bit too energetic for anyone else to deal with; not that he cares, of course.
“Stay right here, Regrator, and I shall be back!”
He cackles as he strides off towards the kitchen, leaving the freezing banker to uncomfortably doze, shivers wracking his body as he absentmindedly fumbles with pulling the blanket closer to himself. It takes a long time for him to even think of responding, and even with no one else around to hear he sounds pathetic.
“As if I can even move..”
It hasn’t been long enough for the Doctor to finish whatever-it-is he’s doing in the kitchen before somebody else disturbs Pantalone, as he feels something heavy, yet warm, drop onto him - nigh on knocking the breath out of his body - and someone sits next to him.
Blearily opening his eyes, he glances to his right and only gets slightly startled at the hulking form of Capitano, who is supposedly staring right at him - not that he can really tell, considering the Captain’s helm and its solid darkness. But, it is pointed in his direction, and it’s generally the thought that counts anyway.
“Regrator.”
“C-Captain.” Mentally, Pantalone curses his shivering, as his teeth chatter lightly.
“You’re cold.” “Maybe so, yes.”
The silence that comes after their very brief conversation is a comfortable one, rather unlike most silences that Pantalone has with his other fellow Harbingers - those silences tend to be rather awkward, full of words that none of them will say. Mostly because they’re either spiteful ones that need not be stated within their positions, or terms that need not be said for already being known and understood.
Of course, that’s not to say that there aren’t outliers, but Pantalone prefers to put Dottore and Tartaglia into their own little group, rather than factor them into his internal comparisons.
He’s startled out of his thoughts when Capitano places a surprisingly warm hand on his head, effectively mussing up his hair. Hesitating, he eventually just sighs and burrows deeper into his blanket - and apparently Capitano’s coat, too - cocoon. If today’s the day that everyone decides to be all touchy-feely with him, then what power does he have to stop them; especially considering he can’t even hold a pen, for Tsaritsa’s sake!
While Pantalone begins to lightly doze again, the Captain keeps a hand on his head, and they remain like that even when Dottore returns. With more blankets. And a steaming cup.
Pantalone grunts when Dottore haphazardly drops all of the blankets onto him, leaving either him or Capitano to figure out placements - more likely Capitano, since the doctor then shoves the steaming cup - of tea, apparently. He didn’t realize that Dottore could make tea without burning the water - into the Ninth’s hands; when he protests due to the heat, said doctor merely replies, in false cheer, “Good to hear that you’re more aware, dear Regrator! Now, drink up!”
“I-” “Drink.”
Pantalone sighs, but does as ordered with obvious reluctance, only to immediately let a grimace cross his face the moment the liquid touches his tongue.
“It’s scalding,” he complains, holding the cup away from himself with all the delicacy of the rich, picky banker that he is.
“And you’re freezing.” Dottore shoves it back at him, nearly causing it to spill over him. At this point, Capitano finally reaches over to put a hand between them, plucking the cup from Pantalone’s hands to spend a brief burst of cryo energy - courtesy of his vision - in order to cool the cup slightly. Only slightly, so that it’ll still be hot, but not so much that Pantalone would have to burn his tongue.
“Drink the tea,” he commands, handing the cup back to the banker - who carefully takes it in his hands and does as asked, only to be pleasantly surprised at how the tea is, in fact, no longer burn-his-tongue hot.
“Oh, so you’ll willingly obey the Captain, but not me, the literal Doctor. I see how it is.” Dottore openly sulks, laying it on thick as he sits on the coffee table without a care for how dirtied he’s making it. However, he squawks in a completely undignified - when did he ever have proper dignity, though? - manner when he’s abruptly plucked up off of said table and set on one of the many plush armchairs spread throughout the room. He cranes his head up at the first chance to glare at Capitano, for who else would have done that?
Of course, his glare isn’t as effective as it could’ve been, considering his mask, but it’s thought that counts - or, at least, that’s what Pantalone always says.
Once they’re a bit apart, though, both the Regrator and the Doctor finally stop sniping at each other. As Pantalone quietly sips at his drink, buried under at least half a dozen blankets, Dottore pulls out a small chaos core and begins to fiddle around with it - pulling it apart and rearranging it - and Capitano silently heaves a sigh of relief from having nipped that small argument in the bud.
