SERENITY THROUGH THE GLASS
Old!Dottore x Reader x Pantalone
Header credit: @your_whitesilk
As he grows with age, Zandik finds himself musing over the mundane that is often ignored in his youth. Hot tea and fine music, the magnificent tall glass windows of the Zapolyarny palace witness all the anecdotes of bliss and surrows.
Even Snezhnaya’s harsh weather can bring out the land’s beauty. Personally, you prefer a little bit after noon since the sun is warm enough and the cold is just right. It is also Zandik's favorite time for tea.
And so, a tradition is formed, where hot tea and pastries are already served on a table in a little corner of his lab, facing the tall glass windows. The corner is away from any equipment and is strictly for tea time. During the busy hours when the segments occupy most spaces in the lab, an old man like him prefers to sit by himself with a cup of tea in hand, observing both the outside and inside.
Although it is undeniable that the tea is of high quality as well as the treats, the list of guests can be counted in one hand. Today, the number even goes down by one. At the very least, you are not the missing guest. Bringing the cup close to your mouth, you gently blow air into it to cool the tea before finally feeling the warm water soothes your throat. You place it back down with a clink.
His now worn out fingers flex on the head of the cane. Zandik lets out a deep hum, one that you can feel the vibrations in his chest but equally gravelly.
“Looking at the dry branches, I can't help but feel the inevitability is coming for me too.”
You refill his cup and let out a sigh.
“Those novels from Pantalone have turned you awfully somber.”
He lets out a laugh under his breath, one hand reaching for the cup you just refilled.
“Don't go pinning it on Feofan so quickly. The thought stems purely from my own observation. It is only natural for my age.”
“Even so, it's not good to think about defeat when defeat has yet to come.”
Before he can answer back, a small hand tugs at his arm from the side of the cozy chair. Zandik is met with the sight of his eight-year-old self fresh from crying, hugging an aranara plushie the size of his head.
“I didn't mean to break Feofan's gift.”
Zandik carefully retracts his hand from the tea to hold the aranara plushie offered to him. There is a long slit at the aranara’s stomach that causes the inside cotton to spill out. Short fingers grip his sleeve.
“Do you think you can fix it?”
Letting out a sigh, he tilts his cane slightly outward with the hand already resting there the whole time.
“Go fetch the sewing kit.”
The kid quickly runs off after nodding. He places the arana on his lap so his hand can finally bring the tea cup to his mouth. You chuckle after he places the cup back down.
“It goes without saying that the Second Harbinger works tirelessly.”
There is a faint huff but you pretend not to hear it. Zandik holds the aranara up to inspect it. A few specks of snow clings to the plushie’s left side.
“He must have fallen somewhere. Luckily, I saw no injuries.”
Right on time, little Zandik returns with a small sewing kit. You pat your lap to call him over after he places the kit on Zandik's thigh. The kid turns his head to the side to watch the old man working while munching on a pastry on your lap. Your eyes have already scanned him for injuries and found none. You tuck a few loose strands behind his ear.
“No need to beat yourself up for something like this next time. You won't get into trouble unlike what 18 said.”
Even you find yourself watching Zandik work diligently too. One steady hand guides the needle to loop under the cloth then emerges with a new stitch formed. The other holds the aranara in place. Like always, you catch on the slight trembling whenever his hands or fingers move. It was not a good sight but not unpleasant. Little Zandik tilts his head over to the much older one.
“Are you sure you got this?”
Still hunching over the aranara, he replies with a raspy voice.
A black gloved hand with rings suddenly ruffles the kid’s hair. Pantalone’s voice can be heard next to you.
“Ah, it seems I missed quite the event being late.”
Little Zandik turns his body to Pantalone.
You nudge the gloved hand away to fix the hair back in place.
“Did the meeting go smoothly?”
“You know The Mayor, spilling words all over the place as always.”
Giving little Zandik one last pinch on the cheek and you a firm pat on the shoulder, he strides over to the chair next to the older Zandik, shrugging off his clothes and places it on the backrest. He sits with one leg crossed, resting his chin on his hand to watch the old man who has not bothered to lift his head up the whole time. A faint smile on his worn out face.
Zandik finally sits up straight again after finishing his last stitch. He grunts since he has to lean his body over to give his excited self on your lap the aranara. After getting himself comfortable again, he looks over to Pantalone.
“The meeting is over earlier than I expected. I thought you couldn't make it on time.”
Pantalone laughs breathily.
“I tried to resolve matters as fast as I could. How could I leave my dear friends disappointed?”
You can't help but thread your fingers in the kid's hair.
“Dear friends? You’re full of flattery today.”
“And how crude of you to accuse me of such a lie.”
A deep grumble from Zandik puts a stop to the banter.
“Why can't you just enjoy the tea?”
It is a nice afternoon indeed as the chatter goes on until evening. Little Zandik wiggles his legs sitting on your lap. He is quick to hop off and offers to help clean the cups with you three.
At his age, Zandik's eyes are no longer as sharp as he’d like. The monocle is one glaring evidence. His fingers can no longer accurately perform a clean slice with the scalpel anymore, as every move is met with a slight tremble. Something he desperately tries to hide but little details like that never escape his friends. And so, he doesn't mind the fact that his fingers are currently not playing this song at its intended pace , or his fingers are too tired to reach out to the difficult notes. Because no one is here right now in this sunlit room, just him and the piano.
His temporary peace is interrupted by a creek of the large door. Your shadow is stretched out on the floor, reflecting on the tall glass windows. Even though it seems like he is not looking at you, his posture straightens up a bit and his fingers fasten their movements. You stroll over to the arm chair behind him and sit down, smiling fondly at the sight of his back. The two of you remain unchanged like that for a long time without exchanging any words. Only music echoes against the walls of the room.
When the music dies out, your hand reaches out to pour yourself a cup of tea.
“There’s no need to overexert yourself. You know I already like the way it is.”
Zandik turns his head half way to glance at you.
“I’m just playing the way I like it.”
“And your work is phenomenal as always.”
He briefly turns away from you. Once again, you pay no mind to the faint huff, choosing to walk over to the bench and settle down besides him. His wrinkles are clearer up close, especially on his hands. Yours get into position on the keys besides his.
“Do you remember the first song we played together back in Sumeru?”
“There are too many to recall. But I remember you played the flute back then.”
“Hah, well, I can still replay most of the song.”
Your fingers get to work and he does too after letting out a hum. In your view, playing an instrument is no different than dancing, just in a different font. You need to move at the right moment, control your pacing and pay attention to the tone. A duet is like that of a waltz. The waltz between you and Zandik has been going long enough that you don’t mind slowing down a bit this time.
Zandik brings your hand to his lips once the song ends. Your skin is a stark contrast to his. The sight unnerves you when you let your mind wander too far. He puts your hand on his lap, hugging it with his two palms.
“I wonder what my mother would say now after spending so many years teaching me to play.”
“She’d appreciate your growth.”
He lets out a series of chuckles, squeezing your hand.
“It may be odd to say this but, in a way, I believe it was better that I left home early. If my mother had seen how much of an old man I’ve become, I’m not sure how to face her.”
What could you possibly say to respond to that? Zandik's mother was an enigma. You knew her. She occasionally invited you for lunch or called you both to go inside when the sun got too high. A headstrong woman for her family. But she is not without flaws. Although Zandik never tells you anything, you’ve always sensed the suppressed feelings behind his eyes at the mention of her. You only squeeze his hand back. He gives you a soft hum. The pad of his thumb caresses your skin.
“Sorry to let you bear the grievances of someone like me.”
“Would you care to join me for a dance?”
Closing your eyes temporarily, you let out a sigh.
“It’s always unpredictable being with you.”
His chest rises and falls as he laughs. Zandik slowly leads you over to the middle of the room for more space, one hand on your waist all the time. The dance starts like a leisure walk under the sun with both parties preferring to take as much time as possible. Zandik rests his head on your shoulder and you do the same. His nose takes in your scent. It is hard not to admire the snow covered pine forest under the gentle sun outside the glass windows.
Little sniffles in the cold halls halt your steps. You quickly make a turn at the direction of the sounds. The sunlight from the tall glass windows reflects on Pantalone’s glasses. He is carrying little Zandik on his arm as the kid hugs his neck, eyes and nose red from crying. 18 is standing in front of them, arms crossed. Although his back is facing you, a stubborn look is certainly on his face. You quickly come to join the conversation. Pantalone lets out a smile as soon as he spots you, tilting his head slightly. The older Zandik crosses his arms and adverts his gaze out to the windows. You look over to the kid on Pantalone's arm.
“Is something the matter?”
Pantalone gives the kid a pat.
“How about we let the insiders explain?”
The youngest one grumbles, hiding his face in Pantalone's neck. Your head turns to 18.
You loop your arm around his.
“We’re not gonna judge anything.”
“Hmph. It was trivial anyways. 8 asked me to deliver his project proposal to Pantalone because I was on the way there. I gave it a quick read and told him the plan was inadequate. That's all there is to it.”
Little Zandik points an accusing finger at the older Zandik. Tears still cling onto the corner of his eyes. He shakes his head.
“That's not true! You even hid my notebook and I still haven't got it back!”
“I’m only doing you a favor. A kid like you better stay off from this so the fund stops draining up for the actual important projects.”
He only sniffles and goes back into hiding. Pantalone adjusts his glass, seemingly trying to hold back a laugh. The corner of his mouth lifts up a bit. You rest your head onto 18’s shoulders.
“Why must you insist on being so strict to your youngest self? Wisdom comes in a plethora of ways. The curiosity of a child is one such way.”
Even though he is still crossing his arms, his eyes lose their sharpness, drooping downwards. You hold his wrist and guide it to reach out to 8. The little kid doesn't bother to move but only glares at the hand.
“Come now. A handshake can't be above the two of you. And I’m sure 18 is more than happy to return your notebook after he apologizes.”
You turn to look at the older Zandik. The muscles of his arms have relaxed under your touch. He is finally willing to look directly at the kid.
“I…should have considered my words more carefully. Your notebook is in my study.”
Short fingers reach out to wrap around slender ones. They retract their hands back to their side after a small shake. 8 is no longer hiding in Pantalone's neck anymore.
The older Zandik clicks his tongue.
“That wasn't an apology.”
A wrinkled hand reaches out from behind and ruffles 18’s hair.
“Finally getting along, I see.”
He slaps away the hand, clicking his tongue again. To which, the old man only replies with a chuckle.
“Don’t be too harsh on yourself. I have read the documents on both of your projects and the ideas align. Why don't you form a collaboration this time?”
Pantalone tilts his head to the side.
“I’d be more than happy to approve the funding. As long as the results are promising, that is.”
18 turns his gaze to the glass windows again.
He puts 8 down carefully, giving an encouraging pat on his back. Little Zandik holds his hand out.
“I accept the collaboration proposal.”
You hear a little huff from the one you're still looping arms with.
“I haven't even mentioned a proposal anywhere yet. But, it is alright regardless.”
This time, the handshake lasts longer and you even catch a little squeeze at the end. Pantalone clasps his hand together.
“Alright, everything’s settled then. Why don't we go out for lunch this time? A change of scenery is one good way to clear the mind and heart.”
You tilt your head, thinking.
“Oh, that reminds me Zandik still has not collected his tailored suit from the store yet. We’ll have to make a visit on the way.”
Zandik leans into his cane.
“I almost forgot about that. Though, getting a new suit just for attending an opera is a little flashy.”
Pantalone adjusts his glasses again. They gleam under the light.
“You’re not serious about wearing that old thing at an opera house, are you? It's gonna make you look like our butler at this point.”
“It doesn't sound so bad if you think about it.”
Zandik rests his hand on 18’s shoulder.
“You can attend too if you like.”
“No, thanks. I have better things to do at the lab. Besides, I can't really stand old people’s jokes.”
“Pantalone, he is saying we’re boring.”
“I wonder why you keep calling me by my title.”
Ignoring the out of nowhere comment, you tug on 18’s arm.
“Anyways, we better get going. The snow is getting heavier.”
The light from the glass windows make your shadows elongated on the cold marble floor, forever imprinted.
Guilt creeps up in your chest to see a single Sumeru rose lying on the freezing snow covered ground. Such frail being in a foreign land. But Zandik wouldn't like it if you plucked a whole bouquet of flowers from his garden, especially to put it in front of his grave under grey sky. A single headstone impaled to the ground. He used to tell you it was cruel to have the leaves stray away too far from the mother tree.
The harsh wind blows your hair in the grave’s direction. It almost takes your umbrella along. You struggle to keep the thing in place until a gloved hand takes it from you, holding it firmly. Pantalone is standing besides you, just a bit in the back.
“You left without telling me.”
Dusting the snow off your clothes, your eyes keep their focus ahead, not particularly on the headstone.
“You were sleeping so I let you be.”
He doesn't say anything but pulls out a handkerchief. Leaning down a bit, Pantalone wipes the wet specks of snow off your face.
“At this point, we’re both going to catch a cold.”
“More reasons to go to the doctor.”
After carefully folding it, he puts the handkerchief back inside. A faint familiar smell of smoke evades your scent. You briefly revel in the faint warmth from his lighter seconds before it leaves.
“You’re not looking for another scolding, are you?”
A long pause to answer a simple remark. As if not being able to find anything witty, his voice comes out fainter than a whisper, more like a breath.
Silence eats away at the atmosphere again. Your wandering eyes can't help but notice the ever increasing grey hair strands mixing in with his rich black.
“You have been skipping on the elixir, have you? Do you know how much effort I put into producing them?”
You fix your coat that has been slipping off your shoulders for a while.
He reaches a hand down to help you fix it too.
“Shouldn’t you say that to yourself? Overworking and skipping on meals. I rarely see you outside of your quarters.”
It is cruel to have the leaves stray away too far from the mother tree.
