Chapter Text
The room was furnished similar to his, except a bit more bare and dark. It was also missing the key component that Tartaglia's room had, which was his own blood staining the floor. There was a single lamp that did the poor job of illuminating the room sitting on a large desk meant to fit a person of Capitanos stature, next to a stack of paperwork with sheets sprawled everywhere. A small detail that didn't mean anything, but he had always expected the man to be highly organized and neat, especially when it came to work. It seemed like the right idea considering the way the Harbinger carried himself. There was a large - everything in this room seemed to be modified to fit Capitano - bed that was tucked into the corner next to a window covered in gray drapes, adding to the entire gloomy aesthetic. Only a sliver of light made it into the room, the rest of it illuminated by a measly lamp.
'Secretly a vampire' was tucked away into his mental files. The fact that Capitano sensed the blood on him supported this hypothesis and more evidence would be great.
Surprisingly, there were no mirrors present in the room, as he swiveled his head to take in everything. The walls were blank, no pictures of anything hanging on the walls. Another check for vampire. He kept an eye out for a coffin, probably hidden away somewhere in a secret cellar. The only wall decoration was a singular clock. This was something younger Tartaglia fantasized of everyday. He dreamed of entering the older Harbingers room, seeing where his idol - no better word for it - resided, and now it was actually coming true. Not under the best circumstances but still. He couldn't deny the shock of fulfilling a childhood dream of his, even if the room was a bit disappointing. But, well- its not as though he didn't expect this from the mysterious Harbinger. It wasn't as if he expected to walk into the brightest place on earth, neon popping from every corner, maximalist to the core. It definitely suited its owner, perfectly on brand. It was a reflection of the man if anything.
Tartaglia stopped analyzing the room as Capitano walked over to the desk and reached into one of the drawers. Pulling out a dark box, he gestured with his head to the bed. He quirked a brow.
"Bed already? Surely this is a bit fast."
The response was immediate, a loud sigh threatening Tartaglia's cheeks to burst into a huge smile. He swallowed his laughter and obeyed, walking towards the bed and sitting on it, twitching at the pulse of red hot pain. Everything hurt so bad that he wanted to sink his teeth into the nearest thing, living or not, and tear a chunk out of it. He wondered how Capitano would react if he asked to bite him. He couldn't guess his responses anymore and the feeling of being unaware threw him off.
"I see Liyue hasn't taken everything away from you."
The little mirth he was feeling vanished, his eyes hardening on the large man. He couldn't even see the others' facial features, and yet he felt stuck in a predator's gaze. He met the Harbinger with one of his own. The older man just stood above him, holding that damn box, silent. After a few moments, it was his turn to grit his teeth.
"If you think I'll tell you anything, you'd be mistaken."
He knew what the Captain's intentions were. It wasn't as if Tartaglia held no self awareness. If anything, he prided himself on being extremely aware of his actions. The way he was acting clashed with the Tartaglia the Harbingers knew before Liyue. The change must have caused them all whiplash and they definitely had questions.
Questions he was sure they were dying to ask, but wary of him losing it like before. Good. It's what he wanted.
"I apologize if that's what it seemed like. Clothes? Before you say anything, I just need to tend to your wounds."
A laugh tumbled out of his throat before he could stop it, freezing on the spot. Cold panic at how the other could cause him to show more emotion than anyone has in the past year crept up his spine. Fucking hell, its like his subconscious knew who they were talking to, that buried admiration for the Harbinger coming out against his free will. Taking a deep breath, - this was no place to start getting anxious - he reached to tug his blood soaked shirt off. The dried blood clung to his skin, wincing at the material tugging at it. He threw the shirt somewhere on the ground, waiting for Capitanos' reaction.
Oh, how his younger self loved those reactions.
There was a sharp intake of breath from the larger - beast - man. Tartaglia was sure Capitano had seen worse than him in his years as a Harbinger. His scars and wounds were probably miniscule compared to what the Captain had seen. Tartaglia had hundreds upon hundreds, if not thousands, of scars piled on top of each other. He had keloids so deep they could be felt through his clothes, with knife scars dotted all over his chest and abdomen, unsure as to which were self-inflicted and which weren't. Burn marks laid in patches on his skin, gained from run-ins with Pyro users. There were dark lighting strike scars traveling up his chest and ending at his collarbone, courtesy of Electro users. He wouldn't even start going into the scars gained from the abyss, because it'd take days to complete.
The man was deathly still and Tartaglia didn't even take his pants off yet. Damn.
"Tartaglia…"
The boy in question raised a brow when he didn't go on, gesturing in pain for the Captain to continue. It definitely sucked that Tartaglia couldn't see what expression Capitano was making, but he had the ability to read his body language and voice due to him being masked. And right now, Capitano was coiled tight, his broad shoulders tense and unmoving.
"Did you do this to yourself?"
Ah, the inevitable question. Tartaglia knew it was coming and, well, it was obvious really that he'd done it himself. He had mixed feelings on how to respond, because honestly, he wasnt looking for some fucking pity or therapy. No, this was just a coping mechanism that helped him. An embarrassing one at that, because what Harbinger gets sad and starts taking it out on themself? One with low self-esteem and a habit of self destruction he'd say - definitely not speaking from experience. Tartaglia didn't like the thought of Capitano pitying him. He was supposed to be the battle hungry warrior who got hurt in battle, not by himself.
"And if I did? What then, Capitano?"
The man's shoulders dropped slightly, as he pulled a bottle of who knows what out of the dingy looking box. As Tartaglia looked closer at the contents, the box was a first aid kit, difficult to recognize due to the nonexistent red cross or any sign of it being what it is. He looked closer at what the Captain was holding with his gloved hands. It looked like saline, ready to clean any dirt and debris out of his wounds.
"Then nothing. Do you believe I will judge you for such an act?"
Tartaglia scoffed. "Why wouldn't you? It's a show of weakness, as ironic as it is."
Capitano tilted his head, an act that Tartaglia now recognized as habit when he did not understand something. It reminded him of a curious cat, except it was a large deadly cat that could definitely kill you with its bare hands. The room felt as though it was closing in on him.
"I don't think that."
He laughed mirthlessly, throat closing up. It felt like he was under Dottores microscope, being pulled apart and analyzed by the dark mask watching him. "You don't say much either."
"Pot to kettle, don't you think? You haven't exactly been the chattiest nor the most forthcoming as your younger counterpart was."
Tartaglia scowled at the mention of his past self. He was reminded of how much he sucked up to Capitano, following him around and hoping the older would agree to a fight. He would spend hours chatting and talking about all kinds of things while the Harbinger stood silent. He would even take a grunt as a response, and therefore a win. "I know what you think of me, and I know you compare me to him. But that isn't me anymore so you all can stop fucking looking for any signs of him."
"You speak as though your younger self is a separate entity."
"But isn't he? He was weak, defenceless, an easily replaceable pawn that was in over his head."
Capitano shook his head. "You were in over your head because you were a child."
Tartaglia ignored his words. "Alright, I signed up for medical service. I didn't know it came with therapy."
Capitano fell silent at his words and began to soak a cloth in the saline solution before reaching for him.
Tartaglia moves before the cloth is pressed against his clotted wounds and looks into the masks eyes. "Dont you think this calls for removing the gloves? I mean, who knows where those have been."
He was testing the waters. He wants to know how much Capitano will do, how much he's changed, how far he could push it. Tartaglia has never once seen Capitano without the gloves. All but once.
He remembers years ago when a wave of attacks by the Abyss Order were launched against the castle and the immediate deployment of the older Harbinger to defend. Childe, being the Childe he was, had followed him into battle. He could still remember the roar of Capitano to 'fall back' and 'get back to the castle' but, how could he be weak and turn tail to run to safety? No, Childe disobeyed a direct order to exit battle and continued to fight by Capitano's side. The scent of blood had permeated the castle grounds for days after it ended. Young Childe had been too headstrong, fighting on his own instead of alongside Capitano, and he let his guard down at the wrong second. A blade had swung towards him, aiming for his throat when Capitano had all but saved his life. Tartaglia remembered how Capitano had grabbed the blade with his gloved hands, snapping it before ending the enemies life. And he especially remembered how Capitano took in the sight of the ripped gloves, moving like a madman to cover his hands up with the cloth of his cape. Childe didn't know what there was to hide.
But Tartaglia wondered. He wanted to know Capitano's every secret. He wanted to get on his nerves, to see him in a different light so that Tartaglia wasn't the only changed one. It seemed so miniscule. I mean, gloves? But he wanted. Oh, he wanted a lot. He couldn't see under the mask, under the layers of armour. So he wanted this.
Capitano breathed a large sigh in response before he set the saline solution on the bed and worked his gloves off. Tartaglia held his breath in anticipation. This was the equivalent of a victorian man seeing ankles.
Capitano's hands were- smooth? They looked like a humans, mostly. His fingers were long but nimble, with a light dusting of miniscule scars, so unlike his own. Tartaglia squinted his eyes in the dimly lit room and saw pulsing movement under his veins. Which- sounds like what veins should do but Capitano's veins were black. Black with what looked like shadows, or a black smoke, moving up and down his hands. Tartaglia knew to an extent, all the Harbingers were not fully human. If they were, they wouldn't exactly be special or different enough to earn the Harbinger title. It reminded him of the Abyss, where mara-stricken monsters had black markings all over their bodies, which pulsed and moved as one. Capitano's hands were both beautiful and haunting at the same time. He wore gloves for these? He couldn't even peel his eyes off them.
Capitano's voice broke him out of his stupor. "Now that we're both undressed to some extent, may I start tending to your wounds?"
"Wanna take the mask off next?"
"Tartaglia."
He laughed. Fuck, joking with the Second Harbinger. What had his life come to? "Man. Well, it was worth a try. Go ahead."
Capitano nodded, chuckling to himself as well. The sound entranced Tartaglia. He was seeing a completely different side of the being.
Tartaglia zoned out as Capitano worked a damp cloth along his wounds to soften and clean the caked up blood. Wordlessly, he watched the man work. The Harbinger was a bringer of death, the epitome of fear and destruction but the sight of him right now with Tartaglia would make anyone scoff. Destruction? When the man makes sure to lessen the pressure every time Tartaglia winced? And the way he ran gentle swipes up and down his arms, moving in a calming, massaging motion almost. He was hypnotized by the smoke that thrummed under the Harbingers veins and how his hands moved gently, but precise and swift. He watched as the other swapped the now bloody red cloth out for some sutures and a thin needle.
Capitano lifted his head from where he finished threading the needle through. "I have to stitch up the deeper wounds. This might hurt."
Tartaglia lifted a brow and looked down at himself before looking back up. Capitano just shook his head.
Capitano was careful with his hands and Tartaglia was happy to watch him work. The stitches stung but it was nothing compared to the actual act of cutting oneself and he could ignore it. The room went silent with nothing but their breathing. It was… odd. He felt a bit at ease and a little trancelike. For the situation he was in, one would think differently but the presence of Capitano had a sort of calming effect on him. Maybe his body finally understood that Capitano was no immediate threat. He could've fallen asleep with his mind at rest like this. He was letting Capitano take the control, something he hadn't let anyone do since- him.
"Tartaglia?"
He opened his eyes- when had he closed them? "Hmm?"
"Oh, I believe you dozed off," His eyes widened. Dozed off? "I have finished with your stitches and have completed bandaging your wounds."
He looked down at the white gauze and saw the proof before his eyes. No way he fell asleep while sitting up… no way he fell asleep and put his guard down?
"You seem in need of rest, Tartaglia. You may sleep here if you'd like."
His head snapped upwards, a 'no' ready on his tongue. But, something in him hesitated. A part of him wanted to lean back against the shockingly comfortable bed and fall back asleep. He was bone tired and his limbs felt sluggish. Another part of him was screaming to put his guard back up and scurry off to his room to review the events of the past- hour? More? He didn't know. Time felt weird. Capitano sat silent as Tartaglia combatted with himself.
The words felt sticky leaving his mouth, weird and unused. "And you? Where will you go?"
The Harbinger stood up. "I can leave the room if you'd like," Tartaglia immediately shook his head. He wouldn't take his bed and kick the Harbinger out of his own room. "But I was planning on finishing up some paperwork. The stack of papers will not review itself."
Tartaglia felt the way Capitano attempted to make it easier for him. He swallowed over a lump, his throat feeling tight. He didn't know how to say the words.
He looked up, attempting to make contact with Capitano's equivalent of eyes, to try and make him say it for him. And- it worked.
Capitano huffed a small laugh. "Rest now. I will be here keeping watch if you need me."
And he reached out to ruffle his hair.
Tartaglia paused. Capitano paused. The room paused.
And Tartaglia leaned into it. He felt warmth radiate through him for the first time in a long fucking time. His idol was petting him like a cat and he was letting him.
It was probably delirium that made him so loose and pliant. Yep, for sure.
The hand withdrew before he could do anything embarrassing and he was glad for it. He watched Capitano turn and make his way to the desk before settling down.
With the attention off of him, Tartaglia made himself comfy in the large - it was really big - bed.
He didn't know how long it took before sleep captured him, but the last thing he felt was the warm presence of Capitano in the room, blanketing him in a protective cover.