Doubts Beneath the Mists of Snezhnaya
6.6 spoilers
Another ver of A question for Dottore because I'm curious bc I want it:)
Notes: Reader or Y/n will be replaced by 'Yyn' bc it's more comfortable to say; Dottore x Reader, SFW
Here we go. Dig in, Dottonation.
Cold, rainy days always fill any idle, lingering moments with a hazy, melancholic feeling. Rain in Snezhnaya is even more so.
Outside the exquisite arched window, a curtain of drizzle drifted by, accompanied by cold winds whistling through the crevices of the frame. Inside the room, you curled up in a large armchair placed right by the window, the long, soft hem of your nightgown draping over the edge. On the small tea table nearby, a hot cup of cinnamon tea steamed quietly, using its meager warmth in a desperate attempt to comfort the girl lost in a trance, staring blankly into the void.
Individual raindrops clung to the transparent glass, making the garden - already buried under white fog - look even more blurred. Unconsciously, you watched those water droplets grow denser and intertwine, forming a larger drop that rolled down, dragging smaller ones along its path, tearing through the illusory shroud of mist on the windowpane.
The heat within the teacup was limited. It exhaled its fragrance in a futile, selfish desperation, unable to warm a soul sinking deep into a dreamlike reverie.
Occasionally, the wind howled in sharp, violent gusts. The rustling branches of the birch trees collided with each other, making a harsh, clattering sound. As romantic as the birch trees appeared by day, watching them sway helplessly in the bleak dimness before dawn instilled a profound sense of despair. Even knowing that a warm sun would eventually rise after this darkness, one couldn't help but wonder: in this nation of the Cryo Archon, would the sun truly ever rise?
"Yyn."
A low, deep voice pulled you out of the silence. You startled, slowly turning your head toward the person who had just called your name.
Although the palace corridors always kept their windows tightly shut on cold, gloomy rainy days like today, the sudden opening of your bedroom door allowed damp, stray gusts of wind to slip inside, making you shiver slightly.
The man who stepped in seemed completely soaked in the outside moisture. His Harbinger cloak was darkened by streaks of night frost. His pale blue hair even bore a thin, faint layer of mist. The familiar bird-beak mask concealed his blood-red eyes... He tilted his head slightly, watching you in silence.
You blinked. Ah, right, it was Zandik. No, maybe he should be called Dottore? Or perhaps another segment entirely?
He took off his coat, which was drenched in the biting cold, draped it over the coat rack, and casually brushed back his damp hair before striding toward you.
"Why the blank stare? Our sleeping beauty woke up a whole four hours earlier than usual today." His voice was raspy, perhaps because Snezhnaya's cold spared no one, or perhaps because he had just spent nearly seven sleepless nights in the research lab.
"You're back." You smiled faintly, resting your chin on your hands as they propped against the armrest of the chair. My lover is back. Your eyes had been fixed on him from the very moment he stepped into the room. It was always like this, except today your gaze was bleaker than usual, and you yourself were uncharacteristically quiet.
The brilliant doctor naturally noticed this abnormality. The motion of removing his gloves hitched for a brief second before returning to normal. He picked up his pace toward the armchair, casually placing his mask down beside the cup of tea that had long gone cold.
He sat down heavily next to you, draping his arm over your shoulder in a habit repeated a thousand times before.
"You stayed up all night." It wasn't a question; it was a firm assertion.
Leaning your head against his sturdy shoulder, you blinked, trying to play innocent as you looked into his ruby-red eyes, replying in a hazy voice laced with a raspy dryness from keeping your mouth shut for too long:
"I just woke up."
"You've even let yourself get sick. Your eyes don't know how to lie." He frowned and grumbled, his free right hand reaching over to cup your cheek, which was flushed red from the cold. The hand that was usually hidden inside a leather glove turned out to be so incredibly warm—warm enough to make your nose sting with unshed tears.
You gazed infatuatedly into those blood-red eyes that were filled with worry meant solely for you. Those eyes had once been cold and ruthless to the entire world, but now, in front of you, they wavered with deeply human emotions. You snuggled deeper into his chest, reaching up to smooth out the crease between his knitted brows. The skin beneath your fingers wasn't as burning hot as his palm, but bore a slight, dull chill characteristic of someone who worked in the shadows.
"Has everyone... finished the research?" You skillfully avoided the topic of your health, shifting to another matter. About Zandik. About the original body.
"Not entirely. But the urgent part is done, so I came back to be with you for a bit. As expected of the original, his body holds immense potential for a breakthrough. If successful, we will truly save a considerable amount of time. It's a pity 45 claimed the brain first; that guy is indeed quick-handed."
Dottore carefully lifted your chin, tilting it left and right to inspect the face he had been away from for an entire week. He allowed your fingers to play across his forehead, calmly recounting the dissection of his own original body as if speaking about a mundane weather project.
"You should get some rest." You caught his hand, playfully tracing his slender fingers, which bore slight calluses from handling lab instruments, and whispered.
"...You are strange today. Did something happen? Or did the servants try to cross the line while I was away for a week?" He brought his face close to yours, trying to find a clue for his lover's peculiar behavior. Was it that time of the month, causing her mood to be unstable? No, you had just passed that period not too long ago.
"Mm..."
You lowered your eyes in silence, the fingers tracing his face slowing down. You bit your lip slightly, looking entirely timid as you leaned your weight completely into his chest. Your hand, which had been stroking his brow, moved to play with a blue lock of hair falling over his forehead.
Suddenly, Dottore's large hand caught your restless one, enveloping it entirely within his palm.
"Speak." His calloused fingers lightly caressed the back of your hand. He began to employ the commanding tone of a superior Harbinger.
Even though you loved everything about him, your rebellious streak had been nurtured by this very man, growing from a tiny seed into a sturdy, towering tree. And right now was the perfect moment for it to act. You pouted slightly, leaning forward to bite his neck gently, succeeding in startling him into loosening his grip, allowing you to pull your hand back safely.
"Hmph. It's just that I... well. Even though I started with you, and obviously you are the most important to me, that other segment is also you. I don't know how to face this dissection business. And after this, I don't know how I'm supposed to face the other segments either..." Your voice trailed off, turning soft. "I've hidden this question beneath a pink silk shroud for so long. Now, I'm afraid it will kill me, Dottore."
The scent of antiseptic and the distinct aroma of chemicals from prolonged lab experiments had long melded with Dottore's breath, and now it enveloped your entire body. The very scent that would normally terrify and drive ordinary people away became, at this moment, the gentlest sedative to soothe your trembling heart.
The arm around your shoulder tightened, pulling your slightly shivering body flush against his warm chest, as if he wanted to use his own body heat to dispel Snezhnaya's wretched dampness that was besieging you.
"Are you jealous of me, or are you mourning a man who is me, yet isn't me?"
His question cut through the air, breaking the long-standing silence. He tilted his head, his deep, warm voice carrying that familiar, mesmerizing magnetic pull.
You looked up at him, your lips pursed as if you still couldn't find the right answer. Dottore saw right through the turmoil in your ruby eyes. Releasing his hold on you, he turned to pick up the cold cinnamon tea on the table. A surge of warm elemental energy fluctuated from his palm, and within seconds, hot steam began to swirl upward again, carrying the sweet, sharp spice of cinnamon to warm their small space.
He pressed the teacup back into your hands, forcing you to cup it with both palms, before he finally spoke in a measured tone:
"Don't use the logic of ordinary people to define my existence, Yyn. It is true that I am one of us, but each of us possesses 'a certain degree of autonomy'. For instance, they can feel my affection for you; they know how vital a girl named Yyn is to this me..."
Dottore leaned down slightly, his slender fingers gently stroking your cheek, which was regaining some color, his gaze locking onto your face as if to carve it into his mind:
"...But I have blocked their access to our private memories. They will never see the image of you resting in my arms right now, nor will they ever know what it feels like when you bite my neck or act spoiled. He - the original - or any other segment, has absolutely no right of ownership over those things."
He grabbed a thick wool blanket draped over the back of the chair, carefully wrapping it around you, bundling you up like a warm little cocoon.
"The one who possesses your love, and the one spending his rare patience to soothe you right now, is only one. Your pink silk shroud won't be able to steal you away from me; he died because we chose to be indifferent, not because we were powerless, have you forgotten?" He tapped your forehead gently, his tone bearing his usual touch of arrogance, yet entirely reassuring. "Now, drink all of this tea, and close your eyes to sleep for me. You have stayed awake long enough to overthink useless things, darling."
You pressed your face against his chest, inhaling the scent of chemicals blended with the warm aroma of cinnamon tea. The invisible dread that had weighed heavily on your chest all night was, in an instant, completely shattered by his coldly analytical yet boundlessly indulgent words.