#timidghostbird

“Doctor,” you greeted. His expression did nothing to you, didn’t even make you flinch as he scoffed. “How have you been?”

“Get lost.”

The rough words didn’t do anything to you. Perhaps Eliasz might’ve been intimidated by the harbinger’s most dishevelled or unhinged segment, but not you. Alpha was the first, you had heard, the first to be created and therefore the most faulty one. At least that’s what Omega had said.

“Why are you sitting on the ground?” You asked him gently, frowning. “And why are you out during the day? Don’t your eyes hurt?”

He stared straight at you. You could see the shake in them. All of the segments shared the albinism that Zandik possessed, even though he had once vaguely mentioned it as one of the reasons he had been treated “differently” in the first place. You weren’t sure why. Sometimes, it seemed like he preferred to bear the title of a heretic like a badge, stone and burn himself before anyone else could, because what Zandik disliked the most was letting someone else wound him first.

“Stop asking so many useless questions,” Alpha snapped. Then you noticed his arm, which he had been holding to his chest. “And stop looking.”

“You’re at my door, sweetheart,” you pointed out. “It’s quite hard not to. If you came here, it must’ve been for a reason.”

It seemed that he wasn’t particularly willing to answer this. He only huffed a little, letting white steam fall from between his lips as he somehow curled up a little more, defensively. Like he was a stray dog, expecting to get kicked for latching onto a bone.

“Not willing to talk? Alright then.” You grabbed your keys, letting them ring in the silence was you opened the door. “The least you could do is walk in so I can check that arm of yours.”

You didn’t help him up, nor did you watch if he followed—you knew he would. After draping your coat over the nearest chair and freeing yourself out of your outer layers, you heard the door click shut behind him.

Alpha eyed your place. He had been here many times before, probably more than he admitted to the others. You kept his secret.

He shed his cloak, putting it on the hanger, keeping his arm to his chest at all times. You really did wonder how far the others could’ve gone this time. It wasn’t unusual for Alpha to come back bearing a few bruises, but a potential broken arm? Were his other versions really capable of such cruelty, even towards himself?

“Come here, darling.”

Alpha sent you a look that was annoyed at best, but then his feet led him to where you stood, by the heater that was near the couch. You had a fireplace in your bedroom upstairs, but it was a pain and a cost to use it.

“Sit.”

He did. His blue hair was usually mussed, and he was the segment that wore Howie coats the most. You couldn’t discern his exact age—he seemed older than both Gamma and Beta but younger than Theta—but the various scars and cuts he had made him look older, more rugged. When you took his wrist and pushed his sleeve up, you could see said scars on the pale skin of his forearms. He said they had been from work.

After another sigh, you opened the door and let a few snowflakes wander into the warmth of your workshop. The doorway seemed to split the world into two, one black and white, the other golden and colourful. The one that stood before you was someone you knew well already.

His blue locks were combed back, though the trek here certainly made a stray strand fall upon his forehead. His square glasses slid down his nose, sometimes making it harder to see how his red eyes danced from side to side ever so slightly. While the segments of Dottore were different in age, style and often attitude, nystagmus was something all of them shared. Some of them just hid it more than others.

“The outside blinds me,” the 25 year old segment said after a moment. Beta, he had been named. “Am I allowed in?”

Immediately, you stepped aside. His cold demeanour was familiar to you. Out of all of them, this one seemed to resemble a robot the most, competing even with Omega.

“It’s a long time since we’ve seen each other,” you greeted as you shut the door and watched him unbuckle his cloak. “Busy with work?”

“Naturally. I wouldn’t entertain myself with foolish affairs, unlike Omega,” he remarked with a hint of bitterness. Beta blinked, turning to her and adjusting his gloves. He was wearing a blue button up and a lighter, cyan tie. His outer lab coat was nowhere to be seen, which immediately made you suspect the reason for his visit.

“Omega? What has he been doing?”

Beta flicked his hand dismissively before pushing his glasses up with his index. “Whatever do you expect from him, apart from needless curiosity about outsiders and a superiority complex. I haven’t come here to gossip, madam.”

“Of course not.” You walked deeper into the workshop and let him follow. “I’ve noticed you aren’t wearing your usual lab coat. Is that the issue?”

“Yes. It tore. Kappa’s doing.”

A hint of a smile appeared on your face. You missed the eight year old version of the Doctor a lot. “Do you need me to mend it?”

“No. I’d prefer it if you made a new one, madam. I dislike imperfections.”

“Ah, complaining about the quality of my work, are you?” You said as your hands grazed over a roll of white cotton—it was usually Dottore’s preferred material. “That’s not very polite, sweetheart.”

Beta’s fingers curled around the folder he had procured from his coat, because of course he brought his work with him. “Not quite what I meant, madam. I will just know the tear was there, and that is enough to bother me.”

A laugh escaped you. You teasing was always in good will, yet you couldn’t help but enjoy the segments reactions. Some of them would get even more irritated, others would get stiff, and others would laugh. Omega, for example, always found it amusing when you said something witty in response to his arrogance.

“Mhm, sure. Come here, then. Would you like it loose?”

“No. The laboratory requires controlled amounts of material. Anything loose could accidentally catch a flame or get in the way.”

Your fingers wrapped around the measuring tape as you grabbed a spare notebook to note down everything you needed. As much as Beta liked to preach about nothing but efficiency and objectivity, all of Dottore’s versions enjoyed style. After all, it was you who designed the crow upon Omega’s shoulder and the intricate tailcoat Theta often wore (those two were as similar as twins, even though the logistics didn’t match up). You usually saw Beta with a surgical mask, but that was meant for the lab, and not your workshop. His hands were covered by long black gloves that almost reached his elbows, and nearly every inch of his white skin was covered. Perhaps that, along with the mask the others wore, was the reason some didn’t notice his albino features.

“Are you going to do that while I take measurements?” You asked as he flipped the report open. He nodded once, but raised his arms so you could work properly. “Even the others can put down their work when they’re here.”

“I’m not the others.”

“Naturally.”