Archive of Our Own

Childe makes himself at home.

He finds a candle burnt down to almost nothing sitting on the desk in the corner of the room, takes it, and fishes a box of matches out of the sea of half-finished notes and frantic parchment ideals surrounding it. He lights it and then looks at the scrawlings with marked disinterest. For his own piece of mind, he gathers up the loose papers and stacks them all together in some semblance of order. He places it neatly in the center of the desk, then turns his attention elsewhere.

He opens the window overlooking the bed in an attempt to air out the room; every breath inward leaves on his tongue the taste of sweat and desperation. The humid rainforest breeze does him no favors, however. Soon, the room is merely oversaturated in this unsavory flavor of obsession. It's thick and earthy, like drowning in sap. But despite this, Childe still thinks it's a pleasant evening. He decides to leave the window open anyway, even as the heat draws out sweat on the nape of his neck. He can hear cicadas chirping their love songs on the wind, and thinks that the ambiance is well worth the trouble. The cicadas here sound a little different from the ones so common to Liyue and Inazuma in the summer months. Those ones sound like a siren, a shrill head-song that calls for attention and vigilance. The Sumeran rainforest cicadas are bigger; their call is heartier, deeper, a somber kind of sound that vibrates through his mind with a solemn buzz. It's a sound that carries more with it than the white noise of their eastern counterparts. The drone gives Childe a sense of finality. It feels fitting, given the circumstances.

Childe removes his jacket, the fabric clinging to his skin as he slides it off his forearms that are dewy with humidity. He drapes it over the back of the chair sitting in front of the desk. He then sets the candle back down, and pulls the chair out to reposition it. He places it near the center of the room, facing the door. With nothing more to fuss with, he finally takes a seat, letting himself lean back leisurely. His elbows rest on either arm, and he brings his hands together in the center, steepling his fingers against his core. He lets his gaze drift over to the open window, a pensive sigh escaping him as his eyes focus on a point out in the forest beyond this room.

Then, he waits.

He isn't sure how much time passes before the door to the room clicks open. He turns his head just in time to see a tall figure step through the threshold.

The man at the door immediately stops as his masked gaze falls over the center of the room, frozen in place as he quickly processes Childe's presence. His hand grips the doorknob so tightly, Childe is sure his knuckles are going white under the gloves he is wearing.

Childe simply fixes a frigid glare on him as he watches the man silently weighing his options. His whole body is rigid in preparation for action. His eyes are obscured, but Childe can still imagine the deliberation within him. That primal, innate debacle that lies dormant within all men - fight or flight? Does he confront the danger sitting before him, or does he flee?

And as Childe witnesses this debate that cannot be seen by the naked eye, he too sees its conclusion. He had seen it before even stepping foot in this room, and now his vision takes form. The man's shoulders go slack, and a cocksure smirk twitches at his lips. Without a word, he takes another step into the room, and closes the door behind him.

It seems that Childe may still know Dottore after all.

He withholds the smirk that wishes to turn up his lips, and maintains a solemn air and neutral expression. Dottore does not approach immediately. They just stare each other down, waiting to see who will make the first move. 

Childe eventually gets tired of waiting. He speaks first, and the call of the cicadas outside nearly drowns him out.

"I'm sure you understand why I'm here," Childe says dully.

The man he once called his comrade pauses, before a malicious chuckle rumbles out of him.

"Oh, getting straight to business, are we?" He asks, tone light. "What's the rush, my boy? I believe proper etiquette dictates that introductions are in order."

Childe narrows his eyes at him, and does not reply.

Dottore takes his silence for validation. He chuckles again, and this time, his smile twists into a broad, toothy grin.

"After all," Dottore says, "it is so nice to finally meet you, Childe."

Childe bites the inside of his cheek. 

He does not return the sentiment.

The first time was an accident. Nothing more than a silly little twist of circumstance, and a chance few encounters in the grand halls of Zapolyarny Palace.

It was when Childe's title was still fresh, and he would cross paths with a young man just about his age, one too many times to go without notice. Though he really shouldn't have been anything worth noting. The boy was quiet - not the gentle, simpering kind of quiet, but the kind of quiet of one eternally disgruntled with the chatter around him. Prudent, but, in Childe’s opinion, rough around the edges where it counted. Even with the obfuscating Fatuus mask he wore, he was handsome enough to catch Childe’s eye, though probably not enough to catch anyone else’s. His cheeks were a bit sunken in, and his lips were always dourly pursed as he went about his business. And, oh, did he always seem up to his eyeballs in that. Busy - busy, busy, busy. Always busy, skittering from one corner to the palace to another as if his life depended on it, and always finishing off the end of his day by skittering right back to Lord Dottore’s office. So while this attendant of the Harbingers’ did have some surface-level intrigue to offer, it was honestly nothing special. With the gap in their positions, Childe normally would have simply let a little crush like that fall by the wayside.

But there was something else. There was always something else just under the surface - something Childe could never quite put his finger on. Something unknown. Something without definition. Something too intriguing to leave alone.

Childe did not waste time pondering the source of his interest. He did not take into consideration how one with such a reserved nature could so often brush elbows with one of the Lord Harbingers, or that his position in and of itself was utterly redundant. Childe just trusted his own instincts; that little voice of oblivion that so often whispered to him in a tongue no one spoke, the one that had shepherded him through the Abyss itself and continually urged him towards that which would be most righteously conquered. It was a warrior’s intuition, and it had yet to steer him wrong so far.

And for some reason, that intuition was telling Childe that this young man would be a challenge to face. He did not know why, and he did not know how. But Childe, of course, was never one to turn down a challenge.

Gradually, Childe made sure that the times they passed one another grew more frequent. He made sure to stop him every now and again, to shoot him a charming flash of teeth and a few honeyed words, contentedly watching the tips of his ears stain red as he marched away gruffly. But eventually, the attendant’s retreats would see him giving one last glance over his shoulder. Sometimes even two. Sometimes even a smile. Soon, Childe had bared his teeth and words enough that they were no longer perceived as a threat. 

After that, he had free reign to sink them in as deep as they could go. 

So once he had something to hold onto, he pulled the boy in. 

And he ripped him open.

The night Childe finally brought the young man into his quarters, he opened him in every way a person could be opened - mind, soul, and body. He carved a space into him, staked his claim there, and stripped him of every last resource. And the boy reveled in every second of it. It was not Childe’s first time, but he had never seen someone so frantic to be unraveled. Laying under him, begging to be broken, legs quivering on Childe's shoulders while bruised lips formed around silent, godless benedictions. He clawed at his back until it was a cross-stitching of pulsating red lines, gripping him as if it were the last thing keeping him tethered to this world. It was beautiful, Childe thought. What a beautiful little notion, that the most solid ground could be a lack thereof; that careening through oblivion could feel more like home than home did.

Maybe it meant that to find oneself, one first had to first be lost.

So Childe led him chivalrously into that darkness. He fucked him until they were nothing but sweat and atoms vibrating at the same frequency, until the things that were lost in between had no choice but to come crawling back to the hollow, spent husks they had once inhabited. 

And as Childe watched the young man sleep, skin still dewy and rosy and glowing with sex, he finally began to recognize the source of his intrigue.

That boy, so outwardly unassuming and so dreadfully misplaced…

That boy looked eerily familiar.

And that boy soon awoke to a Hydro blade pressed tight against his throat, and Childe straddling his stomach. Childe looked down at his wide, fearful eyes with a bottomless gaze straight from the end of all ends.

"I don't want to hurt you," Childe told him, and he really did mean that. The young man didn't believe him, crimson eyes shifting erratically from anguish, to terror, to rage, and to every emotion in between. But Childe didn’t want to hurt this beautiful boy. "So tell me what you are."

So he did.

And that was when Childe learned about the true Il Dottore. Not the stoic, calculated man that stood in the wings of his induction ceremony, disinterested and unaffected by the presence of all those around him. Not the man Childe had heard of in muted whispers amongst the soldiers, the malicious and ruthless one that lured lost lambs from their mothers' breast and led every last one to slaughter. Not the man that violated without distinction, the blasphemer that dared to pervert the Heavenly Principles of this world and in turn spit in the face of the Gods.

Childe learned about the Dottore that was somehow all of those things, and none of them all at once. He learned about the Segments; the droll little copies of himself scattered about Teyvat from so many different walks of life, and of the Prime component that kept them.

He learned of the Dottore that saw his own body as a temple to be desecrated. The one that wanted to be plundered, stripped bare, gored open from stem to stern to make use of the treasures that lie waiting inside - those little kernels of wisdom, the dusty relics that still held their shine when held up to the right light. A graveyard of glittering innovation.

And that was how Childe came to really know Dottore. As a hollowed-out tomb, with everything that had once given it meaning already pillaged by his own hands. Now repurposed and put on display as macabre little trophies to commemorate a sum greater than its parts.

But Childe, of course, couldn't help his curiosity upon learning all this. His father was an adventurer, and had no shortage of tales to tell about intrepid explorers plunging into the unknown depths of ruins and finding them long since plundered. But in the end, those adventurers - through grit and determination alone - would still reemerge from that dark with a priceless relic more profound than any other that had come before it.

It seemed that so long as one had the incentive to search, even ruins could still hold value.

He wondered what kind of prize could be waiting for him if he were to delve in even deeper.

Childe doesn't give Dottore the reaction he's looking for. He's stoic, looking straight through him with a cold gaze but lax features.

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Childe asks.

Dottore's grin falters. He's annoyed, and scoffs loudly as he saunters over to the desk. Childe watches him cross the room.

"Don't speak to me like a child, boy," Dottore hisses. He looks at his carefully arranged papers, and Childe can see a scowl twisting his expression in the flickering candlelight. "What exactly do you expect me to say, anyway?"

"Well, the Tsaritsa expects you to beg for mercy," Childe says plainly. "And perhaps if you do it well enough, she will feel kind enough to extend you some."

Dottore lets out a sharp laugh, like the bark of a haughty dog staking its claim on a fresh carcass. He picks up the stack of papers on the desk and begins leafing through them.

"You and I both know that's bullshit," Dottore replies dryly, not looking up. "And even if it wasn't, I wouldn't be caught dead groveling at that woman's feet."

Childe grimaces. "You're not really in a position to be making statements like that."

"Am I not? What makes you so sure?"

Childe sighs heavily as Dottore continues thumbing through his notes, slipping random pages out of the pile and putting them back behind other ones, clearly unsatisfied with the Eleventh's attempt to organize them.

"I'm not going to pretend to understand your reasoning, though I'm sure you think you're perfectly justified in it," Childe says. "But at the very least, don't play dumb. It's unbecoming of you, honestly. You knew what was at stake from the very beginning."

"Oh, yes. Something about treason against the crown being the highest punishable offense, isn't it?" Dottore finally glances up from his paperwork with a mocking sneer on his face. "The order for such a crime is 'swift and immediate execution,' if I'm remembering the terms correctly?"

Childe winces at how lightly he broaches the subject. "Dottore-"

"Then where is it?" Dottore interrupts.

Childe purses his lips.

"Where is what?" He asks cautiously.

"The execution," Dottore answers matter-of-factly. His expression hardens. "Despite what you may think, I am not an idiot. I have defected in favor of my own obligations, and I fully intend to interfere with Fatui operations so long as you remain in my way. So I am well aware of what the Tsaritsa's empire intends to do with me, should I fall into their hands. And here sits her proudest soldier. So why, exactly, would he make it this far only to hesitate now?"

A response doesn't come immediately.

A feeling grips Childe by the throat, and for just a moment, he thinks he might choke on the thick forest air closing in around them. He swallows hard.

That feeling.

It's-

After a bit of digging, Childe eventually discovered that the matter of Dottore's Segments was seemingly the worst kept secret among the Harbingers. Everyone seemed to have at least a vague understanding of these entities, though the details largely went unspoken. Childe was unsure if their choice not to illuminate him on the matter was meant as a personal jab, or if it was merely standard practice. Perhaps this itself was just another ceremony of initiation - an implication that such knowledge was a privilege, and not a right. The Tsaritsa may have been the one to give them their titles, but the real merit of said titles was something to be earned over time.

Either way, Childe didn't really care about whatever internal politics were at play. He was well aware that his seniors did not think much of him, nor did he think much of any of them. He did not feel obligated to earn a spot amongst them, not even upholding his position on any higher pedestal than what Her Majesty ascribed to it. To be a Harbinger simply meant to be one of the Tsaritsa's most valued pawns. But at the end of the day, a pawn was only a pawn. It did not matter how clever it was, or how many secrets it kept. A pawn's duty was to pave the way ahead for the sake of its kingdom. Childe had no doubt that when the time was truly upon him, he would fulfill this role superbly, with or without the support of his colleagues. In the meantime, his only concern was putting on the best show he could before they got there. And a playful dance around one of his fellow pawns would have certainly been quite the show to put on.

Through his own means, mere weeks after his encounter with the younger Segment, Childe came to learn that he'd never once met Dottore. Not in the literal sense, the way that most would have considered worthwhile. The mad Doctor he had caught a glimpse of as a recruit, the cold man with the disparaging glare that had stood in the wings of his induction ceremony, the boy he had stolen away to his quarters - none of these were the real thing. They were fat trimmed away from the meat. A snapshot in time that had been left behind to yellow with age.

None of them were the Prime Segment.

Childe couldn't help but feel a little annoyed by that. A new Harbinger to their ranks, and Dottore didn't even pay him enough mind to properly make an appearance during the entirety of his initiation process? Perhaps his pride was a bit wounded, but more than that, Childe considered it irresponsible. If these Segments were nothing but unruly proxies, why entrust them with so much? His daily operations, his standing with his colleagues, and even his favor with the Tsaritsa? But then again, Childe still didn’t know exactly how deep Prime’s connections to the Segments went. He couldn’t yet brush it off as flippancy or a foolhardy nature; he didn't have the information necessary to reach either of those conclusions. To make a decision on whether or not the Prime Segment was really worth his interest, Childe would have to do some more digging.

Prime himself, for the time being, was untouchable. If he had gone this long already without crossing paths with Childe, he wouldn't be so lucky as to stumble upon him now. The Segments that oversaw most of Dottore's operations in Snezhnaya - the ones that he had thought were the real Dottore - seemed similarly out of his reach. Childe assumed that they were probably too close to Prime to be interrogated so easily. They were elusive; they knew how to blend in with the shadows and keep out of sight. Known for being stoic and infallible, and the odds of winning even a shred of their favor when he was still so green were slim. In addition to all that, they were only marginally more present than Prime was. Being in the same place at the same time with one of them was already a rarity. Childe knew it would do him no good to go chasing around ghosts.

He would just have to start with a Segment that was a bit more… conspicuous.

The Segment overseeing operations at the Haeresys arena in Sumeru had a rather notable reputation amongst soldiers and researchers stationed there with him. This Dottore, his subordinates feared - though not for the reasons he most likely would have preferred.

This Segment was an unhinged, unfocused man, prone to manic outbursts followed by eerie, unsettling lows. To say he had a short fuse would have been an understatement. He was no short fuse; he was a pile of gunpowder in a room full of flint and steel. Liable to blow at even the most negligible spark, and leave nothing behind but a charred pit of destruction. He was petulant, unreasonable, and seemingly held no regard for his fellow man. Any meeting held in his company could very well be a soldier's last, should unsavory conditions be met - and his definition for what was unsavory seemed to differ by the hour. This, coupled with the stark contrast he made to the other Segments' collected nature in other stations, made Dottore seem utterly inscrutable. Like there must have been a method to such madness, despite how limitless and uncontained it seemed.

But later, Childe would discover that there was indeed no method to such madness. That Segment was not only the bane of his subordinates' existence, but to the existence of all other Segments that came before and after him. He would often operate above his station, partaking in diplomatic exchanges he had no business and no experience with, or wandering off-site entirely on some kind of meandering subplot. But he was never meant to leave the arena. His main purpose in Haeresys, unbeknownst to him, was to be part of the show; the experiments held there were put on in front of an audience, a vast collection of noble constituents that sought to fund such droll little displays. That Segment's eccentricity played no small part in their intrigue. He was meant to be as much of a spectacle as his macabre experiments were.

Childe was on an assignment in Sumeru already; it was easy to slip in under the guise of natural interest. At the very least, there were no soldiers or researchers that were willing to deny him entry given his status.

There, Childe met the man that was all but unrecognizable from the Segments commonly seen in the palace. A bit younger, though not as much so as the one Childe had taken to bed. His reputation preceded him, and he greeted Childe first with fuming ire at his unexpected presence, followed by a rather jarring transition to manic intrigue once the Eleventh made it clear he didn't intend to leave without something gained. He was so unlike the man Childe had grown to know during his years as a recruit, and even more unlike the young man that spurred him on in this journey of discovery. Childe vaguely found himself wondering how this little facade even managed to fool anyone at all. Though maybe it was just as simple as their subordinates believing that there were no other conclusions to be drawn. They had no reason to assume anything else was the case; especially not something so outlandish as what the reality was. In their eyes, what they saw standing in front of them was just Dottore - nothing more, and nothing less.

Once the Segment had chosen to take an interest in him, things happened quickly. This Dottore seemed to be nothing but impulse, and Childe picked this up quick enough to offer him a few impulses that he couldn't refuse. When he ogled, Childe gave him just a bit more to ogle at. When his hands began to wander, Childe made sure to give them plenty of space to wander about.

When he began eyeing him like a vulture circling around fresh meat, Childe leaned into his ear and asked for a personal tour of the site.

So Dottore offered him a seat in his own private viewing box over the arena. There, he bent Childe over the railing and fucked him until his legs felt numb and jellied, all while abominations below listlessly battled for their meaningless, agonizing lives. It was a little grim for Childe's tastes. But he found arousal pooling behind his hips regardless when Dottore leaned in close to his ear and urged him not to withhold his voice; their guests at the neighboring boxes had paid for a show, after all. This one would be as good as any other.

In the end, Childe didn't think anyone actually heard him over the gurgling screeches of the beasts down below. But it was still more than enough incentive to keep him going.

When they finished, and there was an intermission held for arena attendants to scrape what was left of the failed experiment off the floor, Childe asked Dottore what he knew of the Prime Segment. Dottore surprisingly, didn’t miss a beat, and merely guffawed at the query.

"Is that what you came here for?" Dottore scoffed as he tucked his shirt back into his pants. "What a useless little excursion you've made, then."

Childe winced as he was left to wipe away the semen splattered across his lower back himself, having no choice but to smear it on the inside of his jacket and just hope it would go unnoticed until he had a chance to change.

"I'm assuming that means you're not willing to tell me anything," Childe remarked. "Though you don't seem to be surprised."

"Of course, I'm not. Don't you dare take me for ignorant, boy. I'm already well aware of your wiles. So don't expect them to work again."

Childe raised an eyebrow at him. "So you do know what happened with the other one, then? Do they all know?"

"I'm not going to waste my breath explaining things you wouldn't understand," Dottore droned dismissively. "In layman's terms, I simply know everything that needs knowing. You only know that which you so fortuitously stumbled upon as a result of your whorish inclinations."

Childe laughed as he pulled up his pants, smirking at Dottore.

"Whorish inclinations?" Childe repeated humorously. "What a thing to say, after being so eager to fuck me in plain view of all our esteemed constituents."

Dottore glared at him. "Don't turn this back around on me, boy."

"You seem a bit defensive. Was being exposed to your junior not part of whatever grand scheme you had planned?"

"It's of little consequence. It makes no difference to me if the cat is out of the bag; it does nothing to impede my work here."

"And does Prime agree with that sentiment?"

Dottore's eyes grew dark. He scowled hard at Childe.

"It is a minor annoyance, at best," Dottore said through gritted teeth. Childe could just barely hear them grinding against each other. "That's really all you've been from the very beginning."

Childe sighed, sensing he wasn't going to get much further with this one. "So I take it that I should be on my way, then?"

"Do whatever you want, boy," Dottore huffed, throwing on his jacket. "If you're eager to waste your time here, then so be it. I have work to do, however. So you'll be doing it without my audience."

"And what if I choose to come back when you're unoccupied?"

"Don't make me repeat myself. I already said what you do has no effect on my work," Dottore snapped. Then, his mood abruptly shifted, and he fixed a crooked, mad grin on Childe. "Though if you're really so eager to put yourself forward, I have no qualms in welcoming you back at a later date.”

Childe crossed his arms and shot him a disparaging look. “For what, exactly?”

“Whatever tickles my fancy in the moment, I suppose,” Dottore hummed. “Who knows? Perhaps if you catch me in a good mood, I may be willing to answer some of those silly little questions on your mind. So long as you can earn my goodwill, of course.”

“And from the look in your eye, I would assume that I’ll be doing that from my knees?” When Dottore only cackled in response, Childe shook his head with a sigh. “I don’t get it, then. If you’re willing to give away this information for a price like that, is it even important enough to know?”

“You seem to think it is,” Dottore retorted. “Why else would you come this far?”

Childe bit the inside of his cheek, ruminating on his words. In any other situation, he would simply call this a new informant and accept his offer graciously. However, the matter of his existence complicated matters. How free-thinking were the Segments, really? Could they hide things from him? Could they lie to him?

And if they couldn’t, then what kind of game was this? If he was operating as a collective, representing Prime himself, then what kind of scheme was he planning?

Was there any possible benefit to exposing one’s own secrets?

Despite the whiplash these mixed signals gave him, Childe wasn't one to turn down such an opportunity. Especially when it could very well end up getting him exactly where he wanted to be. Because if this Segment had at least some manner of knowledge about what happened with his younger counterpart, it likely meant that all the others knew of it too. And by that logic, they would all soon know about this if they didn’t already.

Childe was beginning to suspect that perhaps this offer was not exclusive to this Segment alone.

“Well, at any rate, I’m the last person to turn down a good time for free,” Childe admitted with a chuckle. “I have to be honest, I didn’t expect you to be quite so… hospitable, given the circumstances.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find that I can be a far more gracious host than this,” Dottore tittered. “At any rate, this was… quite an amusing little experiment. I think seeing how far we can take it could be very… enlightening."

And that was how Childe got to know Dottore just a bit better. The Dottore that was impulsive, arrogant, and selfish - so selfish, he would even go so far as to withhold his own enlightenment even from himself. He thrived in his own obsoletion, yet paradoxically sought to leave a mark by any means necessary. Even if it meant sparking a powder keg in this basement of sin and to cause the cave walls to close in around him, entombing him in the rubble of his own pride.

Childe quickly recollects himself. His throat is dry when he speaks again.

"If I'm being honest, I wanted a chance to speak with you," Childe admits quietly.

This seems to catch Dottore's interest. His severe features soften somewhat, though Childe hesitates to call the smirk curling his lips soft. Slowly, he removes the avian-like mask from his face, setting it down on the desk to get a better look at him.

"Oh? Is that so?" Dottore asks. He sounds amused, as if Childe said something funny. Childe grits his teeth in annoyance.

"After all we've been through, I feel like I'm entitled to have this chance," Childe says.

"Entitled?" Dottore parrots with a scoff. "How egregious of you to say. Why should you be entitled to my audience?"

"Are you telling me you don't know?"

"If you're referring to the fact that you seem to see my Segments as garish little sex toys to collect for display on your mantle, then yes; I am well aware of the display you make of yourself," Dottore drones. He throws the stack of papers in his hand back on his desk with enough force to send some of them flying from the stack, creating yet another mismanaged pile of notes. He doesn't pay any mind to this, keeping his eyes glued on Childe. "My question was; why do you think this makes you entitled to meet me? Just looking to round out your collection, are you?"

"It's not like that," Childe shoots back. "I think you should know that by now."

"Don't tell me what I know, boy," Dottore says quickly, eyes narrowing.

"But do you not?" Childe asks. Then, he shoots him an almost playful smile. "Forgive me. You never have told me exactly how it works. Maybe I've gotten the wrong idea about it. Why don't you tell me what it is you do know?"

"And why would I do that?" Dottore snaps, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back against his desk lazily.

Childe doesn't answer him directly. Instead, a vindictive little smirk twitches at his lips.

"Do you remember it like it really happened to you?" He asks innocently. "Is it something you feel like you’ve experienced personally? Do you actually know what it feels like to have me?"

Dottore's eyes suddenly darken. "That's enough of that, boy."

"Or is it something entirely different?" Childe continues, chuckling. "Are they just relaying it back to you like some tawdry little romance novel? Is it your favorite part of their reports?"

"I said that's enough."

"Do you just have to imagine what it was like all those times? Does it drive you crazy not knowing? Being one of the only ones that doesn’t know?"

"I said-"

Childe barks out the rest, now all too eager to push his luck: "Do you remember what I feel like inside of you, or is it something you can only yearn for?"

"Enough , Childe!" Dottore abruptly slams his fist down against the desk as he shouts this, jostling a few sheets of paper out of the unkempt pile and sending them scattering to the floor. The flame on the nearly burnt-out candle flickers violently from the motion, threatening to snuff itself out; but nevertheless, it persists.

Childe doesn't continue, but doesn't let his smile fall. Dottore's brows are severely furrowed, and his fist shakes slightly as he brings it up off the desk. He looks so infuriated, for a moment Childe thinks he might sweep across the room and slap the grin right off his face. 

A part of him wishes he would.

But Childe's restlessness is not sated by Dottore’s ire, and the older man merely clenches and unclenches his fist with a scoff.

"I would almost say it's funny, how you think you have the upper hand here," Dottore mutters lowly, voice coming from deep in his chest. "But it's already gotten old. Your insolence is nothing but a hindrance. So if you have nothing better to tell me than the inane little obscenities, I would suggest you take your leave before my patience wears through."

"You know I can't leave without you, Dottore," Childe sighs, carding a hand through his hair. Finally, he stands up from his chair. "You're a liability to us now. Her Majesty expects your return to Snezhnaya. One way or another."

"And yet you've done nothing to follow through on that sentence, have you?" Dottore retorts. To his credit, he doesn't flinch as Childe starts slowly moving toward him. But Childe can see his shoulders tensing as he yet again crosses his arms.

"I wasn't going to ambush you here," Childe says with a frown. "I don't believe in methods like that. And I've already told you why I've tried being civil."

"This is your idea of being civil?"

Childe sighs. He stops a few feet away from Dottore, and continues: "However, if you intend to follow through with your obstinance, then I don't have any other reason to talk to you."

"Just like that?" Dottore scoffs. "You brute."

"I'm just fulfilling my duty to the Tsaritsa. Unlike you."

"What a simplistic way to rationalize it," Dottore says. As the candle burns down even lower, Childe can't very well read his expression in the dim, flickering light. "Too simple. Are you not the least bit curious as to what my reasoning is?"

"No," Childe says coldly.

"Not curious about what exactly I intended to do?"

"No."

"You'd be so willing to snuff out what could be the greatest spark of brilliance known to mankind? Innovation to rival the Gods themselves? No - a way to transcend godhood entirely?"

"No."

The low light dances on his features, catching his teeth as he scowls.

"How disappointing," Dottore tuts. "All this dalliance for nothing but a chance to elaborate on the smut that’s swimming around in that little mind of yours. Though perhaps I shouldn't have expected any better from you."

Dottore laughs then, low and malicious, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"All you've ever done is lose sight of the forest for the trees," he continues. "If you would only break free from the divine's shackles, you could have a chance to be everything you ever wanted to be. An unmatched warrior. The supreme conqueror of this world and the next. You would be utterly unstoppable. But you've developed some sick attachment to the very God that seeks to keep you tethered to inferiority. You've imprisoned yourself with your own ideals… This foolish idea of ‘honor’ you so strictly abide by."

Dottore grins wickedly at him. He shifts his weight around on his heels, shoulders swaying as his center of gravity changes.

"But you'll never fulfill your deepest desires by snatching up every little shallow bit of validation that comes your way. At this point, that should be clear to you. Just look at you now. So starved for true fulfillment that it seems your work has suffered for it. Wasting this much time, all because you’ve only now realized just how much time has already been lost. Your grand conquest of my Segments never amounted to anything; you never found the part of me you were really looking for."

Smug silence follows that final statement as Dottore simply lets it hang in the air for Childe to stew in. And for a few moments, he does.

But after a while, he finally smiles at him.

"But I did find you," Childe says. "I was the only one that could."

At that moment, the candle’s flame fizzles out. While Childe's eyes adjust to the darkness, he cannot see Dottore's reaction.

It’s a shame. It’s the one thing he would have loved to relish in.

Heavy quiet falls over the room, and they're left to blindly stare each other down until their eyes can take in the night.

Finally, Dottore just chuckles.

"So you want to know how they all work, is that it?" Dottore asks. "How droll. But, seeing as I've found myself to be a dead man walking, I suppose there's not really any harm in obliging you."

Childe narrows his eyes at him. " Now you're going to tell me?"

"Oh, why not?" Dottore replies, his tone light. He stands up straight, turning his body towards Childe. His arms are still crossed. His open coat catches a muggy breeze coming in from the window, and it billows out around him like he’s something ethereal. "I have nothing left to lose, it seems. And at the very least, I would like it if my scientific endeavors had a chance to outlast my measly little existence. If you're so willing to lend an ear, perhaps this is one thing that won't simply be written off as heresy."

Childe sees him step forward to approach. He lets him.

"Then tell me," Childe says flatly. "There's no point in delaying this any longer than necessary."

"Oh, relax," Dottore coos. He gives him a smile that's almost sweet. "Have patience, my dear. For you, I have nothing to hide."

Dottore takes another step forward.

His arms are still crossed.

"I'll tell you everything you want to hear," Dottore says gently.

As he suddenly uncrosses his arms, the hand that was concealed behind them slips out from under his coat.

He lunges forward.

After his experience with the Segment in Haeresys, Childe kept pushing forward. Time seemed to follow him as opposed to the other way around, like the solemn march of a soldier as he trudged onward towards war. The weeks melted into months, and the months into years. And through it all, Childe continued to seek out that priceless treasure concealed at the end of the barren path he'd set out on. He sought to brush elbows with every Segment within his reach; and more often than not, they ended up doing much more than that. And as he did, he came to know every last one of them - he came to know the fragments of what Dottore once was.

He knew the parts of Dottore that were so unfocused and frantic that his ideals had been all but forgotten, and he knew of the ones that were so diligent and unyielding that they had forgotten all else but. He knew of the fragments that knew that there was power in numbers, and of the ones that had selfishly disregarded all but themselves. He knew of the parts that lusted after him with such conviction that it had become their personal obsession - as well as the ones that would outright refuse to acknowledge just how many aspects of themselves were possessed by his presence.

But no matter how many new Segments Childe found - no matter how many he saw to bed, or how many would speak to him with something like fondness in their voices, or how many he'd seen at both their best and worst - the Prime Segment continued to elude him. Not once had Childe even come even close to the man who had started it all. 

Sometimes, Prime only seemed to exist as ghosts did; as the afterthought of a real thing, an inscrutable concept of a concept that was held together by nothing more than preconceived notions and fractured memories. 

However, it wasn't until the confiscation of the Archons' gnoses was underway that this paradoxical existence was truly brought under scrutiny.

The other Harbingers finally began to take notice of the Prime Segment's persistent absence. By the time Scaramouche absconded with the Electro Archon's gnosis, their concerns had risen above mere whispers. Those that were not as familiar with Dottore feared that this flighty nature could lead the Fatui to ruin; those that knew him well concurred that those fears were not unfounded. 

Childe, too, had long since begun to regard Dottore's supposed absence with suspicion. He suspected there must be a reason that Prime had been quietly reserving himself to the role of a ghostly observer over the years. Whether this was his plan from the beginning, or if it was simply a product of the nature of his existence now, Childe did not know. But it was no secret that Dottore did not think kindly of the Gods, and did not exclude the Tsaritsa from this judgment. He could have been looking for a way to slip out from under her thumb from the very beginning. Or, he had simply grown drunk with power with every subsequent version of himself that he set loose onto Teyvat.

Regardless, up until Scaramouche's betrayal, Childe had still been hesitant to even inwardly suggest that mutiny could be at hand. But he could no longer pretend that such an outcome was completely out of the question. Now was the time to dig his heels in and push even further than he already had.

The Segment present at Rosalyne's funeral was one that Childe had grown familiar with over the years. He was one of the newer Segments, perhaps even the most recent. He was the one that was most often seen in the palace, and the one that was most likely to be reporting directly to Prime himself.

Childe followed him back to his quarters once all half-hearted respects to the dead had been paid. Dottore, as he usually did, allowed it. But when the air in his bedroom felt heavy with the scent of sex, and their limbs were finally untangled, Dottore instructed Childe to leave for his own quarters. 

Childe leisurely gathered up his clothes, purposely fiddling with the assorted buttons and straps longer than needed as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"You know, I thought he could at least be bothered to make a proper appearance for something like this," Childe commented dryly. He glanced over his shoulder at the figure still laying in bed, back obstinately turned towards him. "Are you sure Her Majesty would be pleased to know that he couldn't be bothered to pay his respects to our fallen comrade?"

Dottore scoffed loudly, pointedly not turning over. "You act like it makes a difference. There would be no real respect to be paid regardless. Don't act like you suddenly care so much about Rosalyne's honor just to spite me."

"I'm not," Childe said. "I honestly couldn't care less about Rosalyne's fate, to tell you the truth. But I still think he ought to have been present himself. Regardless of what you think of Rosalyne, this was still important."

"And how do you suppose that?" Dottore droned with marked disinterest.

"Because it marks the real start of it all," Childe replied. "Everything up until this point has just been strategy. And it can't be said that those strategies have been truly implemented until something's been gained or lost. Now that the first pawn has been claimed… this is when our actions truly have weight."

"Is that so?" Dottore scoffed in wry amusement. "Well, just because this is all some big game to you doesn't mean that anyone else holds such value in Rosalyne's demise."

"Maybe not," Childe admitted. He looked over his shoulder again, narrowing his eyes at Dottore's back. "Or maybe at this point, you're just playing an entirely different game from the rest of us."

Dottore didn't respond immediately. Finally, he turned over with a grunt, fixing a stern glare at Childe.

"Whatever point you're trying to get at, I'm not going to entertain," Dottore said. "So I suggest you gather up the rest of your shit and leave. I have no obligation to humor you."

Childe's gaze didn't falter, and he wouldn't back down.

"Where is he?" Childe asked. At first, Dottore just laughed at him.

"You don't really think I'd tell you that easily, do you?" Dottore sneered. "You should know by now that this isn't how it works."

"What is he doing, then?"

Dottore's laughter quickly tapered off. All the derisive humor had drained from his face, leaving only annoyance behind.

"I do believe that's far above your station, Childe," Dottore replied coldly. "I don't answer to the Tsaritsa's precious lap dog."

"What if I'm not asking as Her Majesty's servant?" Childe asked, letting his expression soften. "What if I'm only asking as a friend?"

Those eyes that Childe knew too well briefly flashed with bewilderment. But it was gone as soon as it came; Dottore guffawed loudly, finally rousing himself out of bed as he did. He sat upright, scooting back against the headboard to get a better look at Childe, shaking his head.

"Then you're even more of a fool than I could have possibly imagined," Dottore said. "Maybe you value such frivolous little sentimentalities, but I do not. Don't give me that bullshit, boy."

"It isn't bullshit. I'm being serious, Dottore," Childe said gravely. "If you have eyes and ears in so many places, then you have to know what our colleagues have been saying. They're inclined to think your absence means you have something to hide; I'm inclined to agree with them."

"Oh, but can I be considered absent? I'd argue that I have been exceptionally present. Omnipresent, even." Dottore shot Childe a toothy grin at that, letting out a sinister chuckle. "Don't you see? I've never had anything to hide, Childe."

Omnipresence - a quality of the very divine that Dottore sought to overthrow. Childe clicked his tongue worryingly at his phrasing, fearing the worst. Perhaps that little taste of divinity really had gone to his head.

"Then tell me where he is," Childe urged.

"As I said before, that is far above your station," Dottore replied coolly. "It is not that it is something I wish to hide; it's that it's something you don't need to know. I doubt you would understand or cooperate with the particulars of our work anyway. So I'm not going to waste my breath explaining things you cannot comprehend. All you really need to know is that he is doing what needs to be done. Just as he has always done. Just as the Tsaritsa expects."

"Is that so?" Childe grimaced. "And what if he's left so much of himself behind in the course of his work that he's forgotten just what it is he's supposed to be doing?"

Dottore narrowed his eyes scornfully at Childe, lips curling up into a scowl.

"Watch it, boy," he hissed. "Don't fucking act like you know any better. Because there's one thing I can promise you: you do not. And you never will."

"I'm just saying," Childe scoffed, shaking his head. "The Tsaritsa is not someone you ought to make your enemy. You should know this just as well as the rest of us do. I'm simply concerned that spending so much time behind the front lines may make him forget just what a dangerous game that is to play. I mean, just how long has it been, really, since he's shown his true face around any of his colleagues? At least since I was inducted. Perhaps even longer."

A wild spark of malicious intent suddenly flashed across Dottore's face. He chuckled lowly, shooting Childe a condescending sneer.

"So is that what this is all about?"

"What is?" Childe asked warily.

"Yes, I do believe I see the issue now," Dottore tutted. Voice dripping with sarcasm, he continued, "You're lashing out, you poor thing. Feeling a bit neglected, are you?"

Childe kept a hard stare locked on him, but did not reply. He bit the inside of his cheek, and Dottore laughed at him.

"Has it finally become too much to bear, Childe?" Dottore asked, a disingenuous lilt to his words. "All these years of chasing after memories? Sifting through the scattered fragments of a man you think you ought to have known? Always just out of reach of the real thing. That one, single, unconquerable thing you yearn for. You have to spin all these senseless little notions and theories to save face; because the truth is, you don't actually know anything about him. And you never will.

"It serves you right, though," Dottore snorted in amusement, shrugging his shoulders half-heartedly. "It's pitiable, the position you've found yourself in, but I don't feel the least bit sorry for you. You've been long overdue for a very valuable lesson - that not everything is a prize to win in the course of your conquest. The Prime Segment is something… inviolable. Something far, far beyond your reach. That is the reality of the situation, Childe. So if you really want to save face, it would be best to simply be grateful for what you've been given. It shouldn't be a surprise, after all; you were never meant to stand tall enough to cast your own shadows. All you're good at is living amongst them."

Dottore finished with that, a smug look plastered on his face, leaving Childe in stunned silence.

But after taking a few moments to process his words, Childe merely laughed. He watched Dottore's expression instantly fall.

"What's so funny?" Dottore snapped.

"Sorry," Childe said, letting his laughter taper off as he shook his head in disbelief. "I'm just a little surprised, is all. I mean… are you all really so willing to think so little of yourselves?"

Dottore drew his lips back into a thin, tight line, saying nothing.

"I just find it strange," Childe continued, smiling sympathetically at the Segment, "that in the process of building yourself up, you only seem to tear yourself down. I mean… is that really how you all see yourselves? As shadows? Is that all you're really meant to be?"

Dottore glared at him severely as complete silence fell over the room. After a long, pregnant pause, Dottore finally opened his mouth to speak again.

"Get out."

The words were curt, and dripping with venom. His tone was chilling enough that Childe figured he shouldn't tarry any longer. He didn't expect to get any more information out of this one anyway - not now, at least. He finished buttoning up his clothes, taking one last chance to ponder the situation in the resounding silence that followed.

"I am sorry for laughing," Childe finally admitted, standing up from the bed and turning to face Dottore again. "Maybe that was a little cruel. I was just taken aback. I didn't really know how to react. But it's not really all that funny, thinking about it now. It's mostly just-"

"Get the fuck out of here, you miserable little shit," Dottore barked abruptly before Childe could finish, jaw clenched in anger. "I've had it with you twisting my words around to fit whatever senseless delusions are rattling around in your skull. I no longer have the patience to humor you."

Childe grimaced slightly. "I'll leave. But please, just remember what I said before: I didn't come here as a servant of the Tsaritsa. I came here as a friend. And I'm worried, Dottore. I don't want you getting into something you can't get out of."

Childe could see Dottore's hands clench into white-knuckled fists at his sides. His time was running short. If he pushed his limits any further, this Segment might do something drastic, or at least be completely unwilling to cooperate with him in the future.

But Childe couldn't quite help himself. He wanted Dottore to know he was speaking from the heart; that the concerns he had raised had been nothing but genuine.

Or maybe he was just trying to get the last word in.

"Sad," Childe said somberly, finishing the thought that Dottore had so fiercely cut short. "I think it's sad, the things you do to yourself."

He didn't bother looking back to see the expression it would bring to Dottore's face.

At that point, it didn’t really matter what it was.

Childe had been expecting his assault.

The moment Dottore makes a move, Childe's arms shoot out to catch him, one hand grabbing his wrist and the other enveloping the fist that had just been concealed in his coat; clutched tightly within it is a vial holding a red liquid vibrant enough to be glowing slightly in the dark of night. Childe cannot immediately identify the substance, and he doesn't intend to find out the hard way.

Physically, Childe is much stronger than Dottore. He suspects the plan had been to throw the vial at him, but Dottore's center of gravity is thrown off kilter as his attacking arm is held firmly in place. He stumbles slightly, wild eyes darting up to Childe's face angrily. His lips are pulled back into a snarl as he futilely attempts to yank himself free, but Childe has the higher ground in this position; a better footing, a cooler head, and more hand-to-hand combat experience. Dottore jerks backward as far as he can go, and Childe sees his free arm pull back. He watches it, knows that it will be brought forward again to either find another means of defense in his jacket or to take a desperate swing at his body. Childe would have the time to disarm him before he can get very far with the former scenario, and he can take a few punches if need be. He's prepared for this.

Dottore's free hand doesn't come swinging back at him, however. Instead, Childe hears something crack.

He doesn’t notice Dottore screwing his eyes shut tight until the vial in his hand has already shattered in his own grip - whatever highly reactive chemical was inside it sparks and combusts mere inches away from both their faces. Childe sees a searing flash of white, followed by an intense burst of heat, and he cries out in pain as he instinctively releases Dottore and throws his arms over his face to prevent further damage. 

Childe reels back blindly, counting his steps. One, two, three, then forces himself to stop there - it’s enough to put some distance in between them, but not enough to send him careening over any of the furniture he knows is behind him. 

He needs to think fast. He doesn't think any of the chemical actually got on his skin, and the minor burn from the burst of heat is easily soldiered through. But his ears are still ringing, and he didn't close his eyes quickly enough to prevent him from getting flashed by the explosion. He's going back into the fray deaf and blind. Maybe only for a minute or so - maybe not even half that. But even half a minute can mean the difference between victory and defeat. Between life and death.

Dottore is probably off his game too, but Childe can't take any chances. There are two Hydro blades in his hands before he takes his arms away from his face, not even bothering to open his stinging eyes to the room. Exposing them now would only bring him more pain, and a greater distraction to overcome. There is nothing else he can do but focus on the sensations he still has control over. 

He smells something burning. He worries that a fire has started in the room as a result of the small explosion, but quickly realizes that it's not that kind of burning. Not a spark or open flame catching wooden floorboard beneath them, or the thick parchment sheets still laying on the desk, or even the clothing on either of their bodies. It's the kind of burning that sticks to the roof of his mouth, dense and oddly rich in its aroma, so much so that it actually manages to make Childe's stomach turn.

It's skin.

As soon as he makes the connection, he feels something else; a sudden, unnatural flash of cold air in front of him. Childe has what he has to assume is a fraction of a second to drop his left shoulder in response, and something rigid and bitterly cold whizzes past him. It just barely misses him by a sharp scrape against the apple of his cheek. Then, he just has to guess - he's seen some of the Segments fight with Delusions before, and he knows they lead with their right, then follow through on left. Mapping out their positions in his head, Childe swiftly brings one of his Hydro blades to shield his right side. The second Cryo projectile aimed at his head stops short, piercing the elemental blade but freezing and sticking in it halfway through. 

Childe curses under his breath as he starts to feel the Hydro in his hands freeze over. Dottore is better at this than Childe thought he would be. There weren't many Cryo users - of either Delusions or Visions - that could manage to manipulate and freeze over pure Hydro energy. He probably can’t do much more than that, but Childe drops the freezing blade just to be safe; the last thing he needs is his own weapon turning back against his throat.

It shatters against the ground, and Childe realizes he can faintly hear the tinkling of ice skittering across the wood floor. His ears are returning to him. The persistent, high-pitched ringing begins to fade, and soon he can hear Dottore.

"Shit, shit, god fucking dammit, god fucking dammit, just fucking-"

Dottore's irate stream of obscenities turns into screaming nonsense, and then an agonized howl. Childe opens his eyes, vision still spotted with white, but the scene comes back into focus just in time for him to see Dottore doubled over in front of him, frantically struggling to remove the glove from his right hand. 

The burning smell is coming from him. There are a few charred spots on the floor from where the liquid in the vial spilled over, but it seems that most of it burnt off in the blast; what remained after that had evidently soaked into Dottore's glove. The palm of the glove is almost completely melted away; what little remains are a few lingering fibers now fused into Dottore’s skin, which is not only severely burnt from the explosion, but still smoking from whatever corrosive substance he let out. Childe doesn’t doubt that under different circumstances - with his hearing at its full capabilities and without the sounds of Dottore's screams to cover it up - he would no doubt be able to hear the sound of his flesh sizzling right off the muscle. As Dottore finally rips the glove off his hand, Childe sees a thin, raw sheet of tissue come away with it. Dottore throws it on the ground with a primal shout, indistinguishable from either triumph or agony, and immediately fixes his eyes back on Childe.

Childe moves to take a step closer, and feels ice at his heels. He stops short to avoid toppling forward as two thickets of Cryo spring up around his feet and impede his movement. He glances down at them, quickly recenters himself, and pulls at the icy constraints. He breaks free easily, looking back at Dottore, poised to strike, but-

"Do not fucking move!" Dottore barks suddenly. Childe acquiesces, if only for the sudden grim atmosphere that had inexplicably fallen over the room, and the new vial in Dottore's uninjured hand. This one is different from the first; it's an oblong shape as opposed to cylindrical, and the edges are sealed with two thick-looking metal caps. Between these pieces is the glass body, sloshing with a striking, sinister violet substance, swirling with stripes of pitch black that immediately make the hair on the back of Childe's neck stand on end. Dottore has his hand wrapped around it, and tightens his grip the moment Childe catches sight of it. He raises it up higher, as if he means to smash it against the ground.

"I break this one, it'll kill both of us," Dottore growls lowly. His voice is so hoarse from screaming that Childe has to strain to hear it. Other than that, and the sound of blood dripping from Dottore's limp, injured hand and onto the floor, the once cacophonous space has gone dead silent.

After a moment, the forest cicadas resume their song. Childe's thoughts buzz with them. The red substance in the previous vial was something Childe could not recognize. But this… while it cannot be said that he fully understands what Dottore is holding, something deep within him is giving him an idea. It's something that's not of this world. It's something born from a place that Childe once saw long ago. That hellish, liminal space that sought to wholly and utterly consume him in his youth. It is something final, and inevitable - it's something Abyssal.

And from the look in Dottore's eyes, Childe knows it's the last resort.

This, much to his dismay, is the one thing Childe has not anticipated. He knew some of his work involved tampering with Abyssal matter, sometimes even that which is extremely unstable. The kind of Abyssal force that violently desires complete and utter destruction, powerful and incomprehensible enough to swallow up all forms of existence in its path. Childe's folly was assuming that a man with such familiarity with these forces might have some modicum of respect for it. 

But Dottore has been backed into a corner, and he knows he has; he knows that he won't be getting out of this without a fight, and that in these circumstances, it is a fight he cannot possibly win. He has no other options, and his eyes are wild with desperation. Childe just didn't imagine he would ever be this desperate. But the fact that he even has that vial with him speaks volumes as to just how far he is willing to go.

"Dottore, don't-"

Childe takes half a step forward, and Dottore immediately raises the vial a little higher in warning. Childe freezes.

"Not another step!" Dottore hisses. "I break this, and this entire room is wiped from existence before either of us can even blink. Maybe even the entire inn; the entire forest, even. The point is, neither of us has any chance of making it out of here alive. Even you should be able to realize that's not any lion's den to go poking around in."

"Are you- Are you crazy?!" Childe gapes at him in disbelief, though he has no hopes that Dottore is bluffing. He knows what a man on the edge looks like - but more importantly, he knows the feeling of encroaching oblivion better than anyone else in Teyvat. The object in Dottore's hand looks like a grenade, and Childe has no doubt that that is exactly what it's meant to be - an unholy grenade of gluttonous dark matter. A statement that if Dottore can't have his way, then nobody will.

Dottore barks out a hoarse laugh, his face twisting into a crooked grin. "Oh, Childe, on the contrary; I do believe I'm the sanest person in this sorry little world. And that's exactly why I won't be coming back under the Tsaritsa's thumb. The work I'm doing is too important for any of you simpletons to possibly understand."

"So you would just throw it all away like that?" Childe snaps, unable to mask his frustration. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"I'm not throwing anything away, boy," Dottore sneers. "It doesn't matter how many Segments the Fatui manages to track down; there's always going to be more. More than any of you can possibly imagine. I'm no mere man anymore, and I've already far surpassed the Gods. I am infallible; I am omnipresence incarnate. There's no destroying my ideals now. The most pressing matter now is keeping the path to victory clear. And right now, the only thing in my way is you."

"Dottore, you can't-" Childe stutters, carding a hand through his hair in panic. Shit. This isn't how it's supposed to go. "Stop messing around! Just put it down and-"

"You are not the one making negotiations here!" Dottore spits angrily. "It's really quite simple, Childe: either you leave me to my work, and we both have a chance to see the results of what it will bring, or we both die a meaningless death here. It makes no difference to me. My plans will come to fruition regardless. It's your decision, Childe. Make it wisely."

Childe grits his teeth. "I can't leave here without you, Dottore. You know that."

"Is that your choice, then?" Dottore asks, raising the vial a little higher.

"No, no!" Childe shouts urgently, reaching a hand out in yield. "Just wait! Please!"

"I'm not screwing around with you any longer, Childe!" Dottore warns. "If you don't want me to go through with it, then you have no choice but to leave!"

"Dottore-"

"I'm not about to let everything fall to pieces now because of some arrogant, mindless little shit like you!"

"Dottore, please-"

"But this is your last chance to redeem yourself, Childe," Dottore chuckles maliciously. "Prove to me you're not as spineless as you seem, and I may manage to extend my forgiveness. If you turn back now, perhaps you can even manage to crawl out from under the Tsaritsa's heel on your own."

Childe draws in a sharp breath. He has to make a decision - and make it fast.

"I-" Childe lowers his voice in an attempt to talk him down. "I can't just-"

"You can't what?" Dottore snaps impatiently.

"I can't just leave, I-"

"You what? Can't stand the thought of thinking for yourself? Then you're just a fool."

"That's not-"

"You were never destined for any of those delusions of yours. You'll never overcome anything when you're so inclined to subservience. You can't even go against Her Majesty's precious orders . "

He's talking too quickly and growing more frantic by the second. Childe is quickly running out of time to reason with him, but he can barely get a word in edgewise. "You're not listening to-"

"I'm sick of listening to the same old thing over and over again!" Dottore barks. Then, his eyes narrow dangerously. "You say you want to conquer the world, but you'll never conquer a damn thing when it's in someone else's name. And now, it seems you'll never get the chance to try anything differently-"

"I'm here for you!"

As soon as the words have been urgently shot out of Childe's mouth, the room falls silent once.

At first, Dottore only looks annoyed at the interruption, hand still tightly closed around the vial. Then, as the words process, Childe sees his fingers twitch around it. He's still cagey; his stern expression does not falter as he almost imperceptibly raises an eyebrow at the Eleventh.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Childe's face twists itself into a mask of rueful frustration, and he clenches his free hand into a fist at his side.

"I was- I was never here for the Tsaritsa," Childe says, voice strained. "I… I came here for you."

His voice cracks at the last word, and Dottore seems taken aback by it. His severe expression drops entirely, catching somewhere between calculated neutrality and pure confusion. He tries not to let the latter show, but Childe can see his eyes darting back and forth across the room, frantically searching. He's looking for a trick, a twist. An easy explanation that does not involve him putting his trust in someone else’s feelings.

And Childe knows it's not something that comes naturally to him. So he lets the Hydro blade in his hand dissolve away, the moisture seeping back into the already oversaturated air. The cicadas are droning on as stoically as ever, and as if being orchestrated by their mournful, romantic calls, Childe takes a stiff step forward.

Dottore immediately bristles at his slow approach, body going rigid as his eyes snap angrily at him in warning.

"Stop right there!" Dottore orders. 

Childe does not heed him. He feels a hot, stinging pressure behind his eyes as he takes another step forward.

"Up until this point, I didn’t know what to do," Childe says meekly, voice little more than a whisper. "I've always intended to serve Her Majesty to the very end. I always knew her path was a righteous one, and that her hand would lead me to glory. But now I'm here. And I-"

Childe lets out a bitter laugh, and as he does, he feels a tear spill over his lashes and stream down his cut cheek. The tear seeps into the bloody wound and finds a home there instead of trailing down the rest of his face. It stings like salt.

"I've just been waiting for this for so long," Childe manages to croak.

Dottore is still trying to remain neutral, but is failing - as Childe goes on, he grows visibly uncomfortable. When he tries to order for Childe's compliance again, it doesn't bite in the same way it did before.

"Back off, Childe. I'm warning you."

"But you know, don't you?" Childe asks with a heavy, humorless scoff. "Don't act like you're clueless now. I've been looking for you for so long. And you’ve known that from the very beginning, haven’t you? You know how hard I’ve worked to make it this far. And now that I've finally found you - that's when you expect me to just leave?"

"Childe-"

"I can't do that. Not now," Childe says, voice wavering. "After all those years I spent chasing you… and for what? For it to all go to waste?"

Childe tries laughing again, but it comes out as a sob. He's openly crying now, and Dottore's eyes sheepishly avoid his gaze as the hand holding the vial gradually lowers. Childe continues walking toward him.

"It really hurt me, when I thought you would betray us. And then you actually did, and I didn't know what to do," Childe admits. "But now, I- I can't stand the thought of losing you now. Not to the Tsaritsa, or anything else. I've been looking for you for too long, Dottore."

He's finally close enough now to reach out to him. Childe outstretches his hand and places it gently on top of Dottore's - on top of the vial still held within it. Dottore flinches at the contact, but does nothing more. Childe successfully lowers his hand back to his side.

"All I ever wanted, from the very beginning, was this," Childe continues, choked with tears. "You understand, right? You can’t really want things to end like this. Please, just tell me you've been waiting for this too. That’s why you were going to give me a chance, right? And it must be why the other Segments have always been there; you left them there to lead me to you."

Dottore doesn't respond, but he draws in a sharp inhale, looking into Childe's sodden eyes scrutinously. Childe moves in a little closer and brings his free hand in to meet with the other. Gently, he slips the vial out of Dottore's fingers. Dottore does not offer any protest.

Childe sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, worrying at it as he slowly moves the vial to the desk beside them. He opens one of the desk drawers and gingerly sets it down inside. After closing it with the utmost care, he turns back to Dottore again, pleading eyes fixed on him. With as much trepidation as he handled the Abyssal matter, Childe reaches his hands up to Dottore's face. His fingers tremble lightly as they make contact with his jawline, trailing upwards until his palms are cradling his cheeks. This time, Dottore doesn't even flinch. But he's still watching every move. And something in his eyes is changing.

"I… I think I've known for a long time now that the moment I saw you, I would fall in love with you," Childe admits weakly. He strokes his thumbs against Dottore's skin, feeling the shape of him, as if to memorize his every pore, just to ensure that what he's touching is real. "And I have. And I really do - I love you, Dottore. I wouldn't have come this far if I didn't. So I'll be with you. I'll follow you wherever you go. Because I won't lose you again."

Dottore parts his lips slightly, as if to speak, but nothing comes out. His eyes are still locked on Childe's. 

But it seems that he's run out of things to search for; deep down, he knows he’s found what he’s been looking for.

Though Dottore’s expression still twists in uncertainty, Childe can see it, and he manages to crack a weak smile.

"Yeah. You know, don't you?" Childe asks softly. "I'll keep you safe. I won't let anything else get to us. All you have to do is stay. Just stay here with me."

Out of the corner of his eye, Childe can see Dottore's uninjured hand twitch. It's all the warning he gets before it's suddenly on the back of his neck, pulling him into a desperate, passionate embrace. Dottore practically growls as he wrenches his face out of Childe's hands, swooping in to kiss him hard and deep. They meet in a feverish clash of feral mouths brimming with biting teeth, tasting each other inside and out, as if it is both the first and last thing that will ever sustain them. They’re gluttons for each other, and it is the sweetest sin Childe has ever known.

They probe each other's mouths fiercely, tongues aching for more than they can reach as passions flare. Childe lets Dottore's fervor move him backward gradually, until he can feel his calves hit the edge of the bed. He smiles into their kiss then, slipping away from Dottore's desperate tongue just enough to seize his bottom lip between his teeth and bite down hard. Dottore's injured right hand flies up to grip Childe's waist - and quickly jerks back as he lets out a sharp cry of pain and a breathless curse.

Childe soothes him with little nonsensical coos and takes his wounded hand by the wrist to inspect it up close. It's looking grisly and angry, and though much of the blood has gone tacky, it still pools in his raw palm when turned up towards the ceiling. Childe briskly removes the scarf from his uniform, unfurling it from his neck and shoulders until the whole thing is draped over his fingers. His Vision becomes the only source of light in the room for a moment as he focuses his Hydro energy into the garment. The tips of the scarf soon turn into swirling wisps of Hydro, and he lets the element seep into the entire thing. He takes the Hydro-imbued scarf and gingerly wraps it around the worst of Dottore's hand. Dottore grunts in pain as he begins, but soon his shoulder sag with relief as the soothing effects of Hydro seep into him.

Childe makes sure the makeshift wrapping is secure before bringing Dottore’s hand even closer to his face, pressing a feather-light, apologetic kiss against his bandaged palm.

"Sorry," Childe mutters quietly. "You're okay, though. I'll take care of it. I'll take care of you."

He lets Dottore's hand fall off to the side as he grabs the front of his coat and pulls him in for another kiss. As they go, Childe gingerly starts removing Dottore’s top clothes, careful not to disturb the dressings as he helps him slide out of his coat. Then the straps around his neck and torso. Then the shirt underneath. By the time Dottore’s chest is bare, their positions have changed; Childe has spun him around, his back facing the bed. Childe lightly kicks at the pile of clothing behind him, pushing it far out of the way.

Childe uses his body to urge Dottore back against the bed, their lips never once parting. Only once Dottore is underneath him does he come up for air, standing up to get a hungry eyeful of the sight in front of him as he begins removing his own clothes. Dottore has no choice but to simply watch him, breathing heavily as Childe strips down.

"Hurry," Dottore says in a growl, restlessly palming the bulge in his pants.

"I am," Childe reassures with a laugh. His torso is already bare, and he just as quickly yanks down his pants, brusquely kicking them off with his boots. "But let's not rush too much. I don't want to miss a single part of this."

Completely naked, Childe gets back on top of Dottore, pressing their bruised lips together once more before quickly diverting his attention downwards. He peppers kisses along Dottore's jawline until he bares his neck to him, and then nips and sucks at his pulse point until he feels Dottore's nails digging into his hips.

"Hurry," Dottore repeats huskily, the vibration of his throat tickling Childe's lips.

Childe releases the suction he has against Dottore's neck with a wet pop , lapping at the bruised skin with an airy laugh.

"Don't make me skip past anything," Childe says, moving down to his collarbone and scraping his teeth against it. "Do you know how long I've waited for this? You taste so good. I want to savor every last inch of you."

Childe closes his lips around Dottore's nipple, and the man groans in pleasure below him. "Shit."

Childe flicks his tongue against the bud until it goes stiff, then continues his way down. A part of him wants to ask again, and in earnest: is this something that Dottore has known before, or is it something he’s only yearned for? But Childe’s lips are too busy to form them around the words, and in the end, he decides it doesn’t matter. Regardless of the circumstances, he intends to make this experience unique - unsurpassed, better than it’s ever been, so alight with fiery ecstasy that it will be burned into his own memory for the rest of his days.

With this goal in mind, he quickly sheds Dottore of his pants. He throws them behind him with the rest of his clothing and eagerly eyes Dottore’s cock. Childe settles in between his legs, taking hold of him and giving him a few cursory strokes as he wets his swollen lips. Dottore’s breath hitches as he rubs them up and down his length, letting out a groan of pleasure as Childe sucks the head into his mouth. Childe’s own cock is twitching like crazy. He feels high on the experience, and can’t even bring himself to come up for air as he begins swallowing down Dottore’s sex. He shoves two of his own fingers into his mouth alongside it without stopping, not even as he reaches behind himself with those slicked fingers to probe at his entrance, not when Dottore’s now fully engorged cock begins to make his throat catch. It only drives Childe to take him even deeper. He makes himself gag, his throat tightening and spasming around the head, and he can hear Dottore slapping his good hand over his mouth to stifle a shrill moan.

Tears sting at Childe’s eyes as he forces himself through the discomfort, makes it something he can use - the churning of his stomach simply blends in with the way his tumultuous arousal swirls behind his hips, and the sensation of choking only makes every minuscule breath he manages to suck in feel euphoric. With his throat already going raw and his fingers frantically opening himself up, pushing himself to and far beyond his limits, he feels used. And like the most capable tool at one’s disposal - like a proud warrior laying his soul on the line for the sake of his homeland - Childe never feels more powerful than when he’s being wholly and rightfully used.

Suddenly, there is a hand at the back of his head, fisting itself into his hair and trying to pull him back.

“Slow down,” Dottore gasps above him. Childe doesn’t react at first, the words barely even processing. His head continues mindlessly bobbing, until he sees Dottore’s injured hand twitching beside his face, stopping just short of attempting to wrench him off along with the first. “Oh, shit, slow down, slow down, slow down.”

His rising urgency finally breaks Childe out of his spell, though Dottore still has to drag him off his cock - when he's finally pulled off, they are connected by several strings of saliva trailing out from Childe’s wide open mouth. He wriggles out of Dottore’s unsteady grip to follow them back to Dottore’s erection, but manages to withhold himself from doing anything more but massaging his lips against it. But even this causes Dottore’s hips to buck, and he curses again.

“I told you to slow down, boy,” Dottore mutters, though he's so worked up already it merely comes out as a wheeze. Childe smiles up at him, nuzzling his tear-stained, spit-soaked face against him.

“You’re not going to come so soon, are you?” Childe asks with a breathless laugh. “I hope not. I feel so empty without you.”

Dottore looks down at him a bit disparagingly, though his eyes are dark with lust, and his lips are ever-so-slightly turned up in amusement. “That’s- hah- That’s just like you, isn’t it? Fucking yourself while choking on cock, and it’s still not enough for you.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Childe moans. He starts dotting kisses all along Dottore’s glans, reveling in the tiny twitches each and every one sends through the man. “It’s never been enough. That’s why I’m here now. I need all of you. Every last part.”

"Mm, pretty fucking whore,” Dottore praises roughly.

“So don’t come just yet. I need more. I need you to fuck me,” Childe whispers, voice thick and dripping with lust. “You’ll do that, right? My pussy’s been so lonely for you; I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

Dottore’s pawing at his hair as he speaks. At the last bit, he reaches down lower, digs his nails in between Childe’s shoulder blades and drags them upwards as if to beckon him.

“Hurry,” Dottore breathes, and this time it doesn’t sound domineering; it is merely strained with urgency, and from how intensely his erection is throbbing in Childe’s hand, it is not difficult to wonder why. “Hurry the fuck up. Now.” 

Childe grins, flicks his tongue against the base of Dottore's cock and drags it all the way up to the tip, then quickly pulls himself upright. He repositions himself over Dottore, straddling his hips in a squat. He doesn't bother with any more theatrics; he reaches around, finding Dottore's erection and guiding it to his waiting hole. They moan in unison as the slick head pushes inside, carving a space for itself as Childe wantonly forces himself to envelope him in one movement. The stretching and reshaping of his entrance is sudden and dizzying, and Childe reaches down to touch the aching place where they connect.

"Oh, fuck," Dottore hisses, back arching. His good hand digs into the meat of Childe's ass, mindlessly fondling him. "Fuck, you're tight."

"Ah, you're so hard. It feels like you're splitting me open," Childe marvels, letting out a high, airy laugh. "Hah. I want that. I want you to fuck my pussy open like this."

At that, Childe cannot keep himself still any longer. He starts bouncing up and down on Dottore's cock, supporting his hands on his shoulders as he feverishly fucks himself.

"Ah, I want you to come inside like this," Childe continues, moaning every time Dottore bottoms out deep inside him. "I want- oh, oh, I want all of it, I want everything. Fuck, I needed you so bad, you- You feel so fucking good."

Dottore can barely even meet him with his own thrusts for how relentlessly Childe drives himself down. His good hand is now as useless as the injured one, both hanging in mid-air and fingers twitching with every movement, almost perfectly in time with the sound of their skin slapping together.

"Slow- " Dottore's plea catches in his throat before he can finish it, and he throws his head back as a guttural, punched-out moan escapes him. Childe can feel his cock pulsating inside him, painting his tight inner walls with come. Childe moans as he feels it begin to seep out of his ravaged hole, grinning as he continues. He does not stop until there are tears beading at the corners of Dottore's eyes and his body starts to violently writhe underneath him.

"Stop, stop!" Dottore finally whines, his hand reaching out to claw at Childe's hip. "Please, please, too much - please!"

Childe forces himself to cease, even as his hips and cock are desperately twitching for release. He sits all the way down on Dottore's spent cock, taking a meager break there as they both try to catch their breath. But Childe soon grows too restless to keep still. 

He lets Dottore's softening cock slip out of him, revels in the way the man whimpers at the sensation. But Childe is still far from satisfied, even as Dottore begins to shake with overstimulation. Childe reaches back to touch his loose hole, coating his fingers in the semen leaking out of it. Then, he scoots back a bit. He puts himself in between Dottore's trembling thighs, spreading them open with his body. Childe feels Dottore jerk in surprise as he presses his come-slicked fingers against his entrance, both of his hands falling to the bed to instinctively push himself away - he fails to when his injured hand refuses any weight, wincing as he merely shoots an indignant look at Childe.

"Wh- What the hell are you doing?" Dottore snaps weakly. He moans almost woefully as Childe pushes a finger inside his puckered hole, his spine curling. "I- I can't, I just-"

Childe hushes him gently, smiling a little impishly at the sight of Dottore's supposedly spent cock twitching as he slips his finger in down to the knuckle.

"I already told you, didn't I?" Childe says with a low chuckle. "Tonight, I want all of it. Every last thing."

Dottore looks a little apprehensive at that. But instead of protesting, he merely grits his teeth as Childe pushes in a second finger, body going rigid. Childe clicks his tongue, reaching out to take his injured hand off of the bed, bringing it closer to his face. The scarf is still subtly thrumming with Hydro energy, and Childe kisses the center of his wrapped palm.

"Just breathe," he mutters soothingly. "We have a lot of lost time to make up for, wouldn't you say?"

Dottore doesn't answer. He drapes his arm over his eyes, letting out a shaky exhale as he tries to compose himself.

With any luck, he won't get a chance to.

Childe fights off the feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach. Instead of doing anything else, he just smiles at Dottore gently.

"Now how do you want it?" Childe asks huskily.

Something about the question makes Dottore choke out a rough laugh. He sounds completely spent, in more ways than one; though soon, he simply spreads his legs and lets them come to rest at the sides, opening his hips to Childe as wide as they will go. He lifts up his arm a bit, just enough to peek down at Childe from under it. For the first time since walking in on him, Dottore is smiling. Not that insidious, acerbic sneer that he dons in derision, nor is it the toothy, face-splitting grin of a lunatic that sometimes betrays him. It is simply a smile. A smile born of pleasure, fondness, and a comforting sense of security. A smile born of familiarity.

Dottore sounds distant when he finally replies; almost wistful, like he's about to slip into a dream.

"However you'll give it, gorgeous."

It was always funny to Childe, how it was the one thing Dottore never bothered to hide.

Maybe he considered it too simple to matter.

But in Childe's perspective, it was just too simple to disregard.

Sometimes it was spoken with all the reverence of prayer, a sinful psalm sung from breathless lungs.

Sometimes it had teeth, keen and sardonic, like an ironic little inside joke known only between two people.

And very rarely, sometimes, it was neither of those things; sometimes, it just was.

But regardless of the tone carried with it, Childe had come to know that word well.

"Gorgeous."

They all called him that.

There was only one who never had the chance to.

Childe is roused by the prophetic knell of the cicadas in the forest.

He lets his eyelids flutter open, and is faced with the wooden ceiling. He watches it for a while; just following the grain of the wood with his eyes, taking his time through every curve and knot in the pattern, all while listening to the solemn trill being sung to him from just outside.

After a while, he turns his head towards Dottore. He is on his back beside him, his injured hand hanging off the bed, and the other resting atop his bare stomach. He is still fast asleep.

Childe isn't sure how long they'd gone for. Not long enough for the sun to begin rising, as the sky was still black as pitch upon glancing out the open window. But long enough for Childe's body to already be aching from the overexertion, and long enough for Dottore's sleeping figure to look almost lifeless in front of him - hollowed out. He'd passed out twice in between, but quickly come to and simply told Childe to keep going. The third time, he didn't wake up again. Childe left him be then, and finally turned over to rest his eyes as well.

Now, he reaches out for Dottore's good hand. He squeezes the center of his palm and waits for a response. When none comes, he gently eases himself upright.

Childe carefully swings his leg over Dottore's prone body, straddling his stomach. As he settles in, Dottore stirs lightly. His forehead crinkles up, and his injured hand instinctively reaches up to touch his own face. Childe intercepts it before he has the chance to do any damage to it. With nothing more to hold him to consciousness, Dottore soon grows still again. Once he has, Childe studies his wounded hand, and the makeshift bandage still wrapped around it. The steady azure glow of Hydro can still be seen emanating from it in the dark of night.

Childe is no healer. He always chalked it up to not having the disposition for it; try as he might, it had always been the one aspect of Hydro arts that he'd never had the knack for. As a warrior, he never considered this to be a huge personal failing on his part. There was really no need for healing on the battlefield, so long as one was skilled enough not to suffer mortal wounds.

What Childe did learn, however, was another style of Hydro arts, one adjacent to but well separated from the methodology of physical healing; and that was the art of disrupting energy flow. 

Energy, ideally, was meant to be represented by the life cycles witnessed in Teyvat's bodies of water. Groundwater leading into a complex series of streams and rivers that had carved themselves into the land, these channels flowing steadily onward until reaching the point where they would amass into a greater form of energy; the lakes and rivers they bottomed out into. There, they establish themselves as a stagnant element that one could make use of, a self-sustaining life force for all other beings around it. As this greater form of energy was tapped into, it would eventually disseminate itself back into the world around it. Hollow and spent, but ready for rebirth. Ready for cleansing rain, and to rejoin with the groundwater that had once made it. This was the theory of energy itself; getting what you gave, and letting the cycle take its course within you. There were times, however, that this natural flow could be blocked - through debris damming up the river, or drought-stricken soil that drinks up all the rain before it can become groundwater. These were just some of the ways the world's energy could be disrupted, and it made for a devastating blow to the cycle.

Those who wield Hydro have an innate understanding of this cycle; as well as an innate ability to alter the course of this cycle in the channels of man, for better or for worse. They could unblock these instances of clogged energy, or they could create the blockage themselves. And the latter was never easier accomplished than when the user had direct access to the bloodstream, one of the most important channels of energy flow in the human body. And if one were to block a person's energy flow, many consequences could come of this. A dulling of the senses, perhaps even to the point where it masquerades itself as physical healing. It could even dull one's critical thinking skills, leading to indecisiveness or uncharacteristic spontaneity.

Disrupted energy could also lead to severe lethargy. Severe enough to make one difficult to rouse out of sleep.

Though all things considered, maybe he'd gone a little too far. Dottore was already exhibiting many of those symptoms from the moment he'd walked through the door. Childe wonders if he had merely exacerbated a problem that already existed - that perhaps, this all came from a disruption of energy that had been festering within him for a long time. 

Maybe Dottore would still be sleeping this soundly even without Childe's intervention.

Childe gently sets Dottore's injured hand down against the sheets.

He reaches over the edge of the bed, and he lets his fingers slip underneath the mattress.

As he pulls out the dagger he had hidden there - the very first thing he had done after successfully breaking into the room - his mind begins to wander.

Childe was never quite able to shake that Segment from his mind. That first one. 

The very first one, in every sense of the word.

After he'd confessed to what he was, Childe withdrew the blade from his neck and simply sat back down in bed. He still needed time to think about everything he'd been told; it was difficult to take in all at once, and he'd yet to form an opinion on the matter of Dottore and his Segments.

Truthfully, he'd expected the young Dottore beside him to scramble to his feet and storm out of the room the moment he was free. Childe would have let him go. He suspected the Segment had had his fill of him in more ways than one, and Childe did not assess him to be an immediate threat. Hurting him didn’t seem like the prudent thing to do anyway, but besides that, Childe genuinely did not want to. Despite everything else, he was actually going to be a bit sad to see him leave. Up until Childe’s instincts had taken hold, he’d truly enjoyed the boy’s company.

But it seemed as if the Segment had things he'd yet to process as well. When Childe got off of him, he simply continued laying in that position, staring up at the ceiling with a wide-eyed, vacant stare. His breathing was somewhat labored, due to the urgency with which he rattled off his explanation, and the rush of adrenaline that came with staring down the edge of someone else's blade.

But instead of hearing the sound of his breaths evening out over time, they only grew heavier and heavier as the minutes passed. Soon, Childe was taken entirely out of his own thoughts as Dottore took in an abrupt, shuddering gasp of air, as if something had him by the throat and was tortuously squeezing his airway shut.

"Shit," Dottore wheezed, suddenly slapping his hands over his face, cursing into his palms with rising urgency. "Shit. Shit. Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit, shit!"

Childe furrowed his brow in concern, watching the display pensively. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Wh- What-" Dottore stuttered in his hands, trying to wrap his head around the question. Once he did, he threw his hands down, abruptly sitting himself up to shoot a disdainful glare at the Eleventh. "What do you mean what's wrong?! Are you an idiot ?! Do- Do you have any idea-"

He was hyperventilating now, and sitting himself up so quickly seemed to have given him a head rush. The color rapidly drained from his face as he literally choked on his own words, hands clawing at a non-descript part of his chest. Unperturbed by Dottore's disparaging outburst, Childe instinctively reached out to him, placing a hand on his back and rubbing it firmly.

"Hey, hey, just breathe," Childe said gently. When Dottore showed no signs of calming down on his own, he gave up on reasoning with him, and simply threw his arms around the panicking boy in a sturdy embrace. Dottore's body was already completely rigid by the time Childe hugged him, so he couldn't tell how much he really objected to the gesture, but in his current state, he couldn't exactly protest. So Childe just held onto him as tightly as he could, even as Dottore's chest heaved and he began senselessly rocking himself back and forth. Eventually, his agitation began to subside. He got to the point where he was no longer gasping as if his head was being held underwater, and Childe could hear him muttering to himself again.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Oh, shit," Dottore said under his breath. "I'm fucked. I'm so fucked. I should have just- I'm so fucking stupid, I let you ruin everything, I let you-"

Dottore suddenly seemed to regain his senses, and he started violently jerking out of Childe's grip. Childe released quickly, not wanting him to get himself more worked up than he already was. Dottore glared at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, and he turned away from him in a huff. Childe heard his feet hit the floor as he sat on the edge of the bed, but instead of standing up, he merely seemed to wilt in that position, shoulders sagging as he held his face in his hands again.

Childe was taken aback by the accusatory look, and grew a little defensive. If the truth hadn’t come out as it had, maybe he would feel a bit more apologetic. But from his perspective, this kind of situation nearly felt like entrapment. How was he supposed to take the blame for this when Dottore was the one supposedly letting his Segments run amok across Teyvat? 

"If I've really ‘ruined everything,’ I'd at least like to know what it is I’ve ruined,” Childe said. “Because even if you hadn't told me everything, I would have discovered it on my own eventually. I certainly wouldn’t even doubt it if our colleagues have come into the same information one way or another. How could you really expect to keep something like this a secret between people like us?"

Dottore shook his head slowly, hands still covering his face.

"You don't understand," Dottore moaned miserably. "I shouldn't have- Shit. He's going to kill me."

This made Childe sit a little straighter. He tilted his head at Dottore's back inquisitively.

"Who? The Prime Segment, you mean?" Childe asked. Dottore did not respond, but Childe had to assume there couldn't be anyone else he was referring to. Childe crawled across the bed towards him, taking a seat beside the young man and trying to get a look at his face. "Would he really do something like that?"

"I- Well-" Dottore let his hands slide down his face, and they came to a rest in his lap as he gave Childe a nervous glance. "I- I don't know. But…."

"Why do something that drastic? If anything, I would assume your worth to him outweighs whatever minor inconvenience this may have caused."

Initially, Childe had assumed the Segments merely represented a place to store information. A conscious, thinking, self-preserving storage space - which also made them an extra pair of helping hands, as well as living monuments to a man whose ego was egregious enough to conceptualize such a thing. But though a bit grandiose, Childe could not deny that it was a brilliant, cunning accomplishment; so cunning, he found it difficult to believe that the Prime Segment would be the kind of man to go flying off the handle at something as small as this, like a child so unwilling to share his toys that he would sooner break his precious playthings in half.

The young Dottore grimaced as if in pain. His gaze faltered, and he looked sheepishly off to the side. "That's… you don't understand."

"Then help me understand," Childe urged.

Dottore looked conflicted. But ultimately, maybe he thought he had nothing more to lose; so he relented a bit more.

"It's… difficult to explain,” Dottore said slowly. “And I don't think I even should. But… I was the first one. It was right after he was recruited. Once he had access to the Fatui's resources, it was only a matter of time before he could put his theories to practical use. Eventually, I was the result; I was the first Segment.

"For a while, I was his greatest accomplishment. I was proof that his work could be utilized for something greater. So he kept working. He kept going, always moving forward - never looking back. He was always evolving. But that's the thing about evolution; if you go far enough with it, the foundations of the principle itself become… archaic. Obsolete. Those first few miracles of life… after a while, they're just useless."

Dottore fell silent at that. He hugged his arms tightly around his own chest, staring vacantly at the floor.

"He evolved. But I didn't," Dottore continued hoarsely. "I can't. None of us can. I… I think he hates us for that. But me especially, he… he says I've been around so long that I've 'outlived my novelty.' That's why he makes me stay here at the palace. He and the newer Segments can keep an eye on me like this, and just make sure I don't fall into anyone else's hands. But I can’t operate out on the field as his proxy anymore, and I don’t have enough experience to be of any greater use to him. There's no reason for me to exist anymore."

Childe furrowed his brows. "Well, if he's gone to the trouble to keep you by his side, why would he act so brash now? No offense; but if he could have killed you so easily, wouldn't he have done it by now?"

"I- I don't know. Sometimes I wish-" Dottore's mouth quickly snapped shut, deciding that whatever he was about to say - and the conclusion to that sentence was not difficult to draw - would be too much. Instead of finishing, he just let out a sorrowful sigh, and picked up on a different note. "I don't… I don't think he does it out of mercy. I think it's the opposite. But when he finds out I let this happen…"

Silence fell over the room as he trailed off. Childe didn't know what to say. The implications of all this information were far too much to take in all at once. And the Segment finally seemed unwilling to say any more. He would have to consider all this at a later date. But for now…

"So… what are you going to do now?" Childe asked quietly.

"I don't know," Dottore replied meekly. "But I… I can't go back to him now. E-even if he doesn't kill me, I don't want to imagine what he'll do in response to this . I'm- I'm a security risk now. All I had to do was keep to myself and I- I ruined it. Oh, Gods, I can't face him again. He'll- He'll-"

Dottore started to sputter off into nonsense, panic gripping him once more. He was digging his fingernails into his own arms so hard that Childe thought they might break the skin. He put an arm on Dottore's shoulder, causing the boy to jerk in surprise, turning his fearful eyes on him.

"Then don't face him," Childe said. "If you're that worried, then don't go back."

"I- I can't do that! I don't have anywhere else to go. And even if I did, he'd find me the second I decided to run, you don't-"

"Then stay here," Childe asserted. He raised his hand up to Dottore's face, pushing an unkempt lock of hair out of his face and behind his ear. "Just stay here with me."

"You-" Dottore's mouth floundered open in disbelief before he flinched back, slapping Childe's hand away. "Are you crazy?! You- you just tried to kill me!"

"No I didn't," Childe said matter-of-factly. "I told you straight away; it was never my intention to hurt you. I just didn't know what you were, or what kind of threat you may have posed. I had to figure that out before I could react appropriately. Can you really blame me? You would have done the same thing in my shoes."

"Oh, don't give me that!" Dottore snapped. "It doesn't matter, anyway! What good would staying here do?"

"Because I can protect you. I may not fully understand what's going on between you and the others, but I don't take kindly to cruelty for the sake of it. And if the Prime Segment is being needlessly cruel to you, I can't abide by that. I don't care what else is going on behind closed doors; if he makes you feel this way, then he's in the wrong. And if you ask me to, I'll keep you safe from him."

"You- You-" Dottore's face twisted up into a mask of anguish, and he hugged himself even tighter. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You were just holding a knife to my throat, you- you made me ruin everything! And now you're saying all this nonsense?"

"It's not nonsense. I mean every word."

"Stop! Just stop it!” Dottore's eyes went glassy again, voice quavering as he shouted at Childe. “I should have never come here! Don't act- Don’t act like you're any better than he is; you're exactly the same! You don’t even know what you’re saying! You don’t know what it’s like!"

He was right, and Childe knew it at once; so he tried to imagine it. He imagined what it must be like to be born of hope, but to never have a chance to feel it for yourself. He imagined what it must be like to represent a future that you were never supposed to exist in. He imagined what it must be like to be imprisoned by your own ideals - with your own mind serving as the judge, jury, and executioner.

Childe imagined being some small, misplaced thing in the cold, unforgiving dark.

And all at once, he knew everything he needed to know.

A tear spilled over Dottore’s lashes and rolled down his left cheek. Childe reached up to brush it away.

"I do know what I'm saying. Because I don't make empty promises," Childe said. "Everything I've said has been the truth."

"Don't fucking touch me!" Dottore cried out, swatting Childe's hand away. Childe simply brought it back without a word, wiping away another stray tear that streamed down his face.

"I didn't lie, Dottore. I brought you here tonight because I was interested in you. I did it because I liked you. And I still do. What you’ve said doesn't matter to me. I still really like you."

A sob escaped Dottore's throat, and he continued feebly slapping at Childe's reaching hands. "Get away from me! S-stop talking! Haven't you ruined enough?"

Childe abruptly grabbed Dottore by his flailing wrists, keeping him still. At that point, Dottore was too overcome with grief to keep fighting back against him.

"Dottore, I mean it," Childe said firmly. He leaned in closer to Dottore's face, making sure their eyes met as he continued. "All you have to do is stay by my side. If you don't do that, there's no way I can help you. But if you just stay with me… I'll keep you safe. I promise I will. I won't let anything get to you - to us. All you have to do is stay. Just stay here with me."

"Oh, don't say that, please!" Dottore wept. "Why are you doing this? I already feel stupid enough, and you- I can't take any more of this! Please, just leave me alone!"

With his hands occupied, Childe could no longer wipe his tears away. Instead, he leaned in closer, gently kissing the tears away from his cheeks. Eventually, one of those kisses landed against the corner of Dottore’s mouth. He lingered there for a moment - just long enough for Dottore to close the gap, sliding their lips together with a pitiful, needy whimper.

And though Childe would not realize it in the moment, or even all at once, that was when he truly came to know Dottore. The deepest, rawest part of him - surpassing even the marrow of his bones, the recycled energy of the earth, and the scattered stardust of the beyond that had made him.

It was the Dottore that contradicted himself at every turn; the one who revered himself beyond all reasonable comprehension, and dedicated his life's work to immortalizing himself as innovation and progress incarnate. The one that couldn’t bear the weight of his existence now for those very same reasons.

Dottore had quite literally put every last part of himself into those Segments. He'd desired to be something infallible, a man without expiration and without limitation. And in his blind desperation, he'd fostered his own obsoletion. The accomplishments and memories he'd once cherished so deeply had quickly become bitter reminders of his own shortcomings, and of the inevitable end he had so foolishly spelled out for himself.

And so, the man known as Prime had swallowed his own tail, and could do nothing more productive than chain a part of himself to an agonizing, static existence - the only part of him that truly did once represent a young man's prime.

Childe spent the rest of the night with that Segment, wiping his tears away and ravishing him like he was someone worthy of it, all while reiterating his promises: "I can take care of you. Just stay here. Don't go. If you stay by my side, I'll make sure no harm will come to you."

But when Childe awoke the following morning, it was to an empty bed.

Sometime while he was asleep, the Segment had left in the night.

After that, Childe would never see the boy again.

In the end, though, it didn’t really matter if the first Segment had lived or died.

Sometimes, Childe would try to comfort himself with the thought that he had absconded of his own volition. Maybe somehow, some way, he’d broken free of his shackles, and graduated to something new. Even if he was fated to never see that future he was meant to represent - maybe he had managed to find a new one.

Or maybe not. Maybe Prime really had gotten ahold of him first, and punished him for so profoundly exposing his each and every nerve - either through death, or a fate worse than that. Perhaps he was just festering somewhere in a situation even more dark and bleak than he’d been in before.

But regardless of what may have happened, it doesn’t matter what happened to him. Just like how it doesn't matter that the Prime Segment is laying in Childe’s bed now.

Because the thing that many people did not realize - the thing that even Prime left himself willfully ignorant of - was that there wasn't really any difference between Prime and his many Segments. From the very beginning, all there really was Dottore. Nothing more, and nothing less.

At first, it was easy to get swept up in the notion that this mysterious Prime Segment was an entity separate from the men Childe had come to know; that he was some cruel, illusive man that possessed some vague trait worth hiding. A thing that put him above all the rest, as the ultimate keeper of the very thing that had made them. It was easy to see him as a man that had been deceitful, that had lied to Childe as he did many others, pointedly avoiding the Eleventh's recognition to further legitimize his mystique. Like something untouchable and unknowable, something that Childe's green eyes were too unworthy to even look upon. But as time moved forward, and Childe came to know the many Segments he crossed paths with, he realized that this theory was erroneous at its core.

Many of Childe's colleagues considered him short-sighted. Small-minded, even. Childe has always been well aware that they spoke these words in derision, but often he would find himself considering their sardonic assessments. Perhaps if the majority considered him small-minded, then that quality was not as unsavory as it would seem to be. Because as he first began to grapple with the nature of Dottore's existence, Childe found himself thinking of others that were considered to be short-sighted and close-minded to the elite: all the soldiers and assorted staff of the Fatui, all the ones that were not aware of Dottore’s many eyes and ears throughout Teyvat. He thought about their willingness to accept Dottore's outwardly erratic behavior, and how they thought very little of how it dramatically shifted from one region to the next. It could have been argued that their ignorance was nothing but that - that their misconceptions of the Lord Dottore were born of pure obliviousness. Childe, however, eventually began to see it differently.

The fact that their underlings did not know any better was almost inconsequential; they did not know any better simply because there was no reason to know more than that. They accepted Dottore at what appeared to be face value because, in their ignorance, they had inadvertently discovered the true heart of the matter; that all those faces - whether they were young or old, angry or pleased, calm or irate - truly were all the same. The Segments they encountered, though many were vastly different from one another, were all cut from the same cloth. And it did not matter how many rags one cut from the same sheet of fabric. Nothing could change the fact that those scraps had, in fact, once been a part of that single sheet. And moreover, that original sheet could only be cut into so many times before it, too, became a rag.

So that, Childe had decided long ago, was the nature of Dottore's existence. All of the Segments, Prime included, were Dottore - and at the same time, they were something less than that. An identity that had been stretched so thin that it had been worn completely through; a man who had been so desperate to maintain his own individuality that he had made himself the most common person in the world.

Deep down, a part of Childe still wants to insist that Dottore brought this upon himself - that the promise he'd made to him hadn't truly been broken. Childe had been very clear, after all; he promised to keep him safe. All he had to do was stay. By that logic, Dottore was the real betrayer in this situation. He had never truly been with Childe, in either body or mind. He'd left him all those years ago, even when there was no reason for it, and most likely had been complicit in his own downfall as a result. And even now, though he may be physically present in front of him, Dottore was still running where he knew Childe could not follow. Childe cannot abide by treason, and more importantly, he knows he cannot truly help someone so unwilling to help himself.

But though all that may be true to a certain degree, Childe knows he shouldn't kid himself. At this point, it disgraces them both.

If he’s going to start making excuses now, he might as well not even be here.

Childe muses on everything for a moment, the somber trills of the cicada outside turning to white noise in his ears. He pokes the end of the dagger in his hand, vaguely studying the curve of the blade and the keenness of its edge. He'd genuinely been hoping not to have to use it like this. But he had also known that Dottore would probably not give him the opportunity for a fair fight. The only thing he had underestimated was just how far Dottore would end up teetering over the point of no return. 

Still… the whole thing leaves a bad taste in Childe's mouth. The crocodile tears, the misdirection, the false sense of security; he considers such methods to be disgustingly untenable. His colleagues may not have batted an eye at such an underhanded scheme, but Childe isn't like them. He lives and breathes a warrior’s honor, and believes that such executions should be carried out justly, and that it is the executioner’s solemn duty to let men die with dignity.

But Childe supposes that if he feels this sick over it, then it is all merely part of the process. He'd had a difficult time grappling with the idea of an outcome such as this, but he knows it’s something that has to be done. 

Because, unlike Dottore, Childe had not forgotten what defined him. Childe knew himself very well, and so did everyone else. Dottore had even said it himself, and despite Childe's conflicting emotions, he couldn't help the feeling of pride swelling in his chest when he heard the words.

"Her proudest soldier." That’s what he had called him. The Tsaritsa's proudest soldier. Upon hearing that, Childe had nearly found himself choked with emotion. How ironic, that some of the first words Dottore said to him were nearly enough to break him straight away - though not for the reason Dottore probably thought they might.

But he was right. Childe really is her proudest soldier. He holds immense pride in not only his own duties, but in the warrior empress he serves. He'd understood the Tsaritsa's true worth as soon as he set eyes on her. But his awe begged the question, and one that he found himself pondering in countless subsequent meditations after his induction: what really is the worth of a warrior? What sets them apart from the rest of the crowd, and what makes their conquest just and true?

It is not only her godhood, nor her experience in combat. It is not the frigid manner in which she rules, or even the loving mercy she extends to her most loyal subjects.

It is sacrifice. Sacrifice is what truly makes a warrior. And the Tsaritsa, like all great warriors like her, is no stranger to sacrifice. She has sacrificed the very essence of who she used to be for her mission. She wears that sacrifice solemnly, magnificently, like a heavy mantle upon her shoulders, and carries it with her everywhere. Without that sacrifice, there would be nothing else; no kingdom, no conquest, and no honor. Without that sacrifice, there would be no beauty in the art of war, and no valor to be had in the wake of limitless slaughter. It is all a product of what she had once given up for her cause. 

And so, from the moment she had dubbed him her soldier - her proudest soldier yet - Childe knew that to be a truly great warrior, he would have to one day find his own sacrifice.

He remembers the notion that he'd once had long ago, long before he’d come to the conclusion of the true nature of Dottore’s existence. Back when he had considered Prime to be a treasure to plunder - perhaps even the final frontier in his path of ultimate conquest. For what could be a greater feat than that of conquering one whose reach was so vast? What could be more admirable, more finite, than conquering omnipresence itself?

But looking at him now, Childe thinks that if this is the face of omnipresence, well… perhaps it is not something worth conquering after all. But strangely, this revelation really had made the Prime Segment a treasure to be collected.

With his arrogant mutiny, Dottore would serve as the sacrifice Childe had been looking for. He would be the thing to be conquered just for the sake of conquering it, and the infringement upon everything Childe had ever stood for. Out of necessity, and for the greater good, Dottore would become his first broken promise. The mantle he would wear with him for the rest of his life. The true mark of a warrior.

That is exactly why Childe has done all this; why he’d tried to break down Dottore’s defenses from the very beginning, why the dagger he’d brought with him was slipped under the mattress as opposed to anywhere else. It’s why Childe had panicked, and been forced to don the mask of a helpless, tearful lover when Dottore threatened to detonate the vial of Abyssal matter. Childe, naturally, had not feared for his own life - he had overcome the Abyss’s gluttonous darkness before, and he had no doubt he could do it again. But Dottore, on the other hand… Obviously, had he gone through with it, it would have instantly killed him. And it would have been a foolish, meaningless death.

And Childe, obviously, cannot let his death go without meaning.

It has to mean everything. It has to be branded on his very soul for the rest of his days. Childe’s pulse begins to race as he thinks about it; the culmination of every vile and wonderful thing he’s ever brought to that man, resting squarely on his shoulders from now until the end of time. His stomach twists in revulsion to think about what he is about to do, but knowing what it will bring is nearly enough to make him tremble in excitement. Even though he’s only been training in combat for a relatively short amount of time, it feels like he’s been waiting for a chance like this his entire life.

This will be the moment that makes him. This will be the turning point in his life.

This will be the first real step towards conquering the world.

Childe pushes his finger too hard against the dagger's point. He grimaces as it punctures his fingertip, and he quickly pulls it away.

He supposes he shouldn't push his luck any longer. Though he'd been hoping, at the very least, that Dottore would wake up on his own before this point. Perhaps that's a cruel sentiment, to wish for his recognition - that fleeting glint of realization, the devastation and betrayal behind his eyes as he takes his final breath. Maybe he thinks it would be even more significant that way. Or maybe he just wants to share in one last moment with him, even one as agonizing as that.

Childe wasn't lying to him about one thing, after all; he really does think he loves him. Every part of him - the first, the last, and everything in between.

He would not have come this far if he didn't.

Childe places both of his hands on the hilt of the dagger. The blood beading at the tip of his finger spills over with the pressure, and begins to drip down his fingers. As he watches the drop stream down the edge of the blade, the call of the cicadas outside suddenly becomes a cacophony of church bells in his ears once more. A deafening, sobering call to arms. A signal to the beginning of the holiest of sacraments, and to the end of a heretic's reign.

Childe raises the blade over the center of Dottore's exposed neck.

As he does, his own blood beads at the tip of the dagger. It swells like a tick, and lingers there like a beady, scarlet eye glaring up at him accusingly, before it falls from the blade. Childe watches the drop hit Dottore's skin, splattering outwards and creeping down the sides of his neck.

At that exact moment, Dottore opens his eyes.

And all at once-

The cicadas fall silent.