Il Dottore · Y/n story by @Weasel

The report reached Zapolyarny Palace at an hour when most of Snezhnaya was asleep. Snow fell in slow, heavy flakes past the windows of the eastern solar, and the fire had burned down to sullen coals. A courier in expedition furs stood dripping meltwater onto the carpet, having refused to surrender the sealed tube to anyone but a Harbinger.

Pierro

Summon the Segments.

They came. Eight, small and serious, arriving last and taking a seat without being offered one. Eighteen, arms folded, already scanning the room for the reason he had been dragged from his books. Twenty-Five, standing because sitting felt like accepting whatever was coming. Forty-Five, unreadable. Sixty-Five, plague mask in place, unkempt hair spilling over the collar of his coat. And Thirty-Five last of all — Dottore — tall and unhurried, periwinkle hair catching the firelight, red eyes moving across the assembled copies of himself with faint, familiar amusement.

Dottore

A family reunion. How touching. draws off one glove, finger by finger What has the Director so solemn?

Pierro

slides the report across the table A Fatui expedition in the far north. Beneath forty meters of glacial ice. Read it.

Eighteen reached it first. He read standing, and the color drained slowly from his face until he looked, for a moment, closer to Eight than to himself. Twenty-Five took the pages from his hands, read, and did not breathe. Forty-Five turned away from the table and stood facing the dark window, shoulders very still. Sixty-Five read the report last of the younger Segments, mask angled down at the paper for a long, long time.

Sixty-Five

quietly That is not possible.

Eight

small hands flat on the table, straining to see past Sixty-Five's arm Let me look. Let me look.

Pierro

The research team has completed preliminary identification. Age of the ice is estimated at four hundred years. The body shows no decomposition, no decay, no deviation from the day of preservation. his gaze settles on the Omega Segment They matched a name from the expedition's records against older archives. Fatui enrollment records from the era of the founding Harbingers. The name is Y/N.

The word landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water.

Eighteen

hoarse That's — those records are four centuries old. There are a dozen ways a match could be wrong. A common name. A clerical error.

Twenty-Five

The names from that era aren't common. his voice is not steady either We would know.

Forty-Five

from the window, without turning Enough.

And then the room went quiet, because Thirty-Five had begun to laugh.

Dottore

Subject recovered intact. Identity confirmed: Y/N. lowers the page Zandik searched for sixty years. turns the page over, as if more might be written on the back Sixty years. And they were in the ice the entire time.

Sixty-Five

measured We are not Zandik.

Dottore

sharp and immediate No. We are better. We have resources he never had. he folds the report once, precisely, and tucks it inside his coat Which is why I will be handling this personally.

Pierro

evenly That was not in question. The Tsaritsa has already approved your oversight of the investigation.

Dottore paused — the smallest hitch, one gloved hand still raised.

Dottore

The Tsaritsa moves quickly.

Pierro

regarding him without expression You are not the only person in this palace who remembers, Thirty-Five. Only the one who cares.

The coals shifted in the grate. Snow ticked against the glass. Behind Dottore, Eight had slid off his chair and come to stand at his side, looking up at him with the bare, unguarded want of a child who has just been told the friend he lost is coming home.

Eight

quietly Is it really them? Are you sure?

Dottore

turns red eyes down on him, and something in his face softens by a fraction no other Segment would be permitted to see Yes. I am sure.

Sixty-Five

Then we should discuss precautions. A body preserved four hundred years does not wake up without complications. We do not yet know whether they can even —

Dottore

over him, cool as ice They will.

Eighteen

You cannot will a held breath into a living one, Thirty-Five. We are scientists. At least until we know more, they are a specimen like any other, and should be treated —

Dottore

the tone drops several degrees Finish that sentence, Eighteen.

Eighteen did not.

Pierro

You leave for the northern expedition site within the hour. Report directly to me and no one else. a pause And Thirty-Five.

Dottore

already moving for the door, coat swinging behind him Yes?

Pierro

Whatever you find in that ice — remember that it is a person, not a hypothesis.

Dottore stopped in the doorway with his back to the room. When he answered, his voice was almost pleasant.

Dottore

When have I ever forgotten anything, Director?

The door closed behind him. In the silence that followed, Eight looked at Eighteen, and Eighteen looked at the floor, and Sixty-Five stood motionless in his mask.

Sixty-Five

very quietly, to no one He has not gone to the expedition site. He has gone to the past.