Chapter Text
Freminet POV
Freminet hated cold floors.
Especially ones made of stone, marble or ones made out of metal, like in the fortress of meropide. Didn't matter if they were just a little clammy or downright frigid to the touch. Whenever he'd walk on them, their low temperature would claw at his naked or even socked feet, making them numb and so, so cold.
The floor he was currently walking on was ice cold as well. The floors here were made of white marble, matching the white tiled walls. Everything was so clinically white and ice cold around here. The floors, the air, just ... everything.
Freminet was following one of the fatui Skirmishers “Father” sent with him on a secret mission. He hadn't been told what his role was gonna be. All he was told was to follow their instructions without question.
And that's what he did.
When he was told to put on a blindfold halfway through their journey, he took the cloth he was offered and tied it to cover his eyes.
When he was told to wait in front of what he assumed to be the entrance to a bunker or lab, still blindfolded while carrying his heavy luggage, he did just that. Even if he stood there for what felt like an hour in the cold, unforgiving snowy terrain of Snezhnaya, during a blizzard nonetheless.
And after being led through the lab and into a locker room, told to leave behind all of his luggage, take off his clothes and put on nothing but one of those off white hospital gowns, he did what he was told, without fail.
He always followed “Father's” instructions.
Freminet only hoped that whoever was responsible for relocating his stuff to his new cabin, wouldn't just carelessly throw his bags to the ground. Pers might be made out of metal, and sure, he didn't get scratches or even bumps that easily, considering how he uses him during combat, the mechanisms inside pers weren't accustomed to the freezing temperatures of Snezhnaya. The oil he normally uses to keep Pers running smoothly, could freeze up and who knows what that would do to his joints? Make them more fragile, that's for sure...
The boy kept his mind occupied with all sorts of meaningless worries and questions as he kept on following that big Skirmisher. They have been walking for a while. He was not sure how long, but his numb feet told him that it must have been at least ten minutes since they departed from the dressing room.
And he still wasn't told what his mission was.
Not like he would dare to ask. He was strictly forbidden from doing so. But normally the boy could at least somewhat guess what awaits him halfway throughout their trip. He wasn't even told what he had to take with him. He wouldn't have even taken his winter coat with him if it weren't for “Father's” side comment of the weather potentially becoming "unforgiving" halfway through the journey.
"Keep your vision with you at all times. Don't even take it off your person for even a second, unless you're told to do so."
Those were “Fathers” parting words on the way to his ride after the twins hugged him goodbye. An odd order...
Freminet always kept his vision on him. Aside from when he was going to bed or taking a shower of course. But a vision is an extension of one's person. A tool, only handed out to people the gods had high hopes for.
A tool to help him carry out the Tsaritsa’s every order.
Of course he'd take it with him. Why would father feel the need to tell him that?
Before Freminet could finish this thought, the Skirmisher came to a halt in front of a big iron door, almost double the size of the agent. The man knocked on the door five times in a distinct pattern, probably a code or some sort.
"Ugh, a moment! I'm still working!" A muffled voice shouted from within. It sounded male, agitated by the sudden disturbance. That's all the boy could make out at least.
The Skirmisher let out a deep huff, playing around with a Fontainian cryo vision. Freminet's vision.
When Freminet had been done putting on the gown, trying to figure out whether or not he should carry his vision with him or leave it with the rest of his belongings, the man snatched the vision out of his hand.
"You'll get that back later. Now get moving!" The Skirmisher grumbled as he went ahead, not even looking back to see if Freminet was following him. Because of course the young agent was following him. Those were his orders.
Now the two stood in front of the metal door, waiting for the man inside to let them in. Having nothing better to do, the boy just looked now at his feet, which had become so cold, they felt like they weren't part of his body anymore. Like a foreign object attached to him. Even when he tried to move his toes, the movements were rigid, like cogs, turned round for the first time after an eternity. But they still worked.
The Skirmisher suddenly turned around, the vision dangling between two fingers as he held it up to focus their attention on it before speaking with a low, gruffy tone. "Say, how'd you get this thing again?"
Slightly caught off guard being addressed out of nowhere, Freminet whipped his head up to look at the vision, then to the man holding it. It took a moment for him to answer, unsure if the operative wanted the full story or just the short version.
The young agent decided to stick with the short version, since not a lot of agents have the patience or time to listen to long stories. If they wanted details, they'd ask.
"Uhm ... ... I was on a diving mission with some of my comrades when I noticed something was off. I signaled everyone to dive back up, noticing that it was our diving equipment malfunctioning. Just before I passed out I heard a voice call out to me. That's when I suddenly regained my strength to keep going and get everyone to safety. When we reached the surface, I suddenly had a vision attached to my diving suit." He answered timidly, yet clearly. He intentionally left out the part where he had already given up and had prepared to die right then and there, ready to be claimed by the Fontainian sea. If the Skirmisher wanted the details, he'll have to ask.
The man eyed him for a second before looking back at the vision. He kept it dangling in his hand. "That it? You suddenly heard a voice, saved your comrades and found the vision attached to ya? What'd it say?" The Skirmisher asked, as if saving an entire group of kids was worth nothing.
Freminet nodded. "Yes. It called out my name." He answered, now too eyeing his vision as his thoughts drifted away to
“That day…”
If it hadn't been for that voice ... he would've died right then and there, not even putting up a fight. Would “Father” have seen this as a simple failure? Or would she have seen it as a betrayal? As a child from the House of the Hearth, you're supposed to give it your all until you die. Not whenever you feel like giving up. Then again, even if he hadn't let himself sink and instead fought for his life and at least tried to swim up to the surface, he wouldn't even have gotten high enough to see the sun.
But that voice ... who's was it to begin with? And had it really come from the heavens or had it all been in his mind entirely? Would've made more sense at least. No oxygen, the high pressure from the depths of the sea ... they do say that the brain can come up with some weird stuff if you're close enough to death. Though, most people with near death experiences talk about seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. Why was it a tunnel though? You'd think everyone's experiences are different, but-
"Hey! I asked you a question!" The deep voice of the cryo Skirmisher brought him back to reality.
Ah, had he really been that deep in thought? Startled by the sudden disturbance, Freminet twitched away from the Skirmisher, eyes refocusing on the man in front.
"Ah, I'm sorry ... I didn't catch that." He answered nervously, subconscious running his hands up and down his bare arms.
The cryo Skirmisher scoffed but didn't comment on Freminet's daydreaming. "I asked who was calling ya. The Tsaritsa? Celestia? Or did your dying brain come up with it?"
"I'm not sure. It was so quiet I barely heard it call out to me." He replied, making direct eye contact with the man.
“Besides, how am I supposed to know what the Tsaritsa or Celestia sound like without an introduction?”
He thought, keeping that side comment to himself. He only recently tried out sarcasm, and only because Lyney thought it could help him socialize and "blend in".
Sarcasm probably wasn't the best way to befriend any of the Fatui.
The Skirmisher stared back at the boy through their blue goggles for a while before he turned back toward the door, ending their conversation.
Though, the young agent could've sworn he heard them mumble something about "Useless youth nowadays".
The two stood there for a couple more minutes in complete silence, save for the sound of the vision still being toyed with.
The silence was suddenly cut by a loud clicking sound, followed by the creaking of un-oiled, rusty hinges.
"The door is open. Hurry up, I don't have all day."
The man from before answered, sounding a bit clearer now that the door had been opened.
The Skirmisher opened the door and stepped aside, nodding in the direction of the opened door. "Doctor’s waitin' for ya."
A doctor's visit before his mission...
That at least explains why he was told to wear nothing but a hospital gown. Still, he had already been to a Doctor before this mission even started for a regular checkup. Why was he sent to another one then? He was fairly sure Fontaine had one of the best Doctors in Teyvat, so technically there was no need for this.
But he didn't ask questions. He followed orders.
Freminet nodded and entered the room, looking for whatever doctor was gonna do a checkup on him.
When he walked inside, the boy wasn't greeted by a doctor, not even another Fatui agent. There was no one at first glance. This room didn't even remotely look like a doctor's office. There were cages, haphazardly covered up by big, torn and filthy blankets. There were only a few lamps in this room, and most of them were directed at long, wooden tables that stood at the very center of the room.
Aside from disorderly notes, books strewn across both the floors and tables, there were glass bottles filled with suspicious looking liquids everywhere. Some glowing, some colorful ... definitely not safe looking.
And then there was the smell.
Aside from the acidic smell- that, if Freminet had to guess, came from said chemicals- the strong scent of blood and rot filled the room, making even the strong willed, young agent break character and gag, barely able to keep his own bodily acids down his throat.
How could anyone stay in here for longer than a few minutes without passing out?
There were no windows, and if there was a ventilation system, it wasn't currently active.
This reminds Freminet more of a test lab if anything ...
But if that's the case, why was he sent here?
The boy was just about to take another step forward to see if the aforementioned doctor may be kneeling behind one of the crates or cages, when he was held back by the shoulders.
Two black, leathery, gloved hands held him firmly in place, each placed uncomfortably close to his neck. Freminet froze instantly, not even allowing himself to blink. A shudder ran down his spine when the fingers dug into his flesh, not hard enough to hurt, but so, so uncomfortably deep.
"Welcome to my lab, young agent!" A voice, smooth, yet sharp like a scalpel, whispered right beside his ear.
It was the man from before. The doctor, apparently.
"I've waited for a while for the knave to finally send me one of her subjects. However, I thought it would be one of her failures. Though, I'm certainly not upset about this gem she let me borrow instead." He hummed, sounding far too excited for the boy's liking.
But Freminet didn't slap away their hands. He didn't tell them off. He didn't even flinch.
He was ordered not to resist. And he would listen.
He would stay.
The man let go of the young agent's shoulders as suddenly as he grabbed hold of them. But he didn't vanish like before. He continued talking.
"A young agent, a talented diver. Obedient, smart, crafty and most importantly, a vision holder." The Doctor stepped away, the sound of heavy boots hitting the marble floor echoing from the walls.
"And not just any vision!" Freminet heard the sound of gloved fingers snapping.
A different set of heavy duty boots hit the floor, the cryo Skirmisher, moving as ordered by a simple finger snap. What followed was the sound of rustling papers and a metal object being handed over. Freminet could guess what one of those things were.
"A cryo vision. A gift by the Tsaritsa herself." The doctor purred, satisfied with what he had been given.
The sound of fine metal chains echoed through for a moment before the Doctor let the Skirmisher know that he was dismissed. The door closed, a lock shut, and then they were alone.
As the man approached Freminet again, the shuffling of paper could be heard. The Doctor read through the small stack quickly, carelessly throwing the documents onto the ground, paper by paper, until there was once again only silence.
"Hm ... you have quite the backstory, my dear Freminet." The Doctor's voice cut through the uncomfortable quiet, the boys name tested upon the man's tongue to sound it out syllable by syllable. Freminet recoiled internally, but didn't do so much as blink in response.
The man started walking up and down, his eyes glued to the newcomer. "Not a chatty one, are you? Not that I mind. I'm quite used to being the one taking the lead in a conversation. You only have to answer. Casual chit-chat is optional." The Doctor informed the boy.
Not like it changed anything.
The man went from walking around in circles aimlessly to turning on his heel, heading over to Freminet’s side and finally showing their face. Or rather, half of it.
Curly, mint blue hair was draped around a black and white mask, covering the upper half of the man's face. A wide, toothy Cheshire grin spread across a pale, flawless complexion. The man wore a lab coat and comfortable black pants with knee high boots, all adorned with all sorts of accessories only Celestia knows what uses they had, if any.
But what really caught Freminet’s attention were those piercing, blood red eyes, staring him down through the empty eye sockets of the mask. They eyed him with some sort of raw hunger and untamed excitement, the kind that would strike fear into even the tamest dog you've seen.
"How rude of me! I haven't even introduced myself. I apologize for my behavior." The Doctor took another step, now standing right in front of Freminet, barely two feet away from the boy.
"The name is Il Dottore. Though my colleagues either call me Doctor or just Doc. Choose whatever you're most comfortable with." Dottore extended his gloved hand in a gesture to shake the other’s, as if they were equals.
The mention of the man's name alone struck fear into Freminet. The children of the Hearth would rarely talk about the second harbinger. But whenever his name did leave their lips, it was always followed by a list of horrible deeds and crimes he'd supposedly committed.
Lyney and Lynnette never really talked about the man. There was no reason to do so. But they would always listen to the stories the other children dared to share. Whether they were true or not was up for debate. But it was already telling how there were no boundaries when it came to the atrocities the children connected to the Doctor.
There had been rumors about how Lyney apparently met the Doctor once, when out on a mission. Freminet found out about it a week later, after he himself had just returned from one of his own missions. When he had asked his brother about it directly, Lyney only shook his head dismissively and denied all those allegations.
"Me? A lowly Fatui agent meeting 'the' Il Dottore? What a captivating story that would be indeed! There's simply no way I'd ever get to see the Doctor himself." He had replied in good old Lyney fashion. Overly reactive and blowing everything out of proportion for a good show ... or act.
"No, but seriously. The Doctor has better things to do rather than meet up with someone like me. Nope! Those are all just some funny rumors the kids came up with. You know how wild their fantasies are, Fremi."
Back then, Freminet just nodded, mumbling a quiet "mhm..." before he had gone back to tinkering with Pers, pretending as if he was sucked back in by his work mentally.
But they both knew that Lyney hadn't been telling the entire truth. It's just that there was no use in trying to pry it out of the magician's hands, when Freminet attempting to do so would most likely only end in an argument.
One argument between the two had been enough for the diver for a lifetime.
The point is, no matter who you are and what you know, or think you know about the Doctor, you never want to meet him in person.
It's too late for Freminet now though. Not like he ever had a choice in this. But even if he did, would he have been able to refuse one of Father's orders anyway?
The young agent's eyes were locked onto the Doctor's hand, which was still extended towards him, waiting to be met with a handshake. Freminet swallowed, slowly reaching out a shaking hand, returning the kind gesture of the Doctor.
"Its an honor to meet you, sir." The boy croaked, surprised he managed to get those words out of him when faced with the man that he knew had tortured hundreds of children from the past, and probably in the Present as well.
After they finished trading pleasantries, Freminet tried to retract his hand from the others. But Dottore didn't let go.
Instead, the man doubled down, gripping the boy's hand tighter as he leaned forward to force eye contact between the two of them, still grinning at the boy. "We have a lot to discuss. Follow me, dear Freminet."