Book of One-Sh!ts

[Dottore x Pantalone] Do you ache for him?

The heavy doors opened and promptly slammed shut as he entered. He covered his nose with a handkerchief and stared at the wandering clones. Each one working on a separate project. In the center of it all was the base clone's desk, if one could call him that. There had been so many copies and mishaps and experiments. Who was to say he was the original?

"You're doing it wrong, let me." 

"No, you have that experiment over there." 

"What happened to version 7?" 

"#18 went to Inazuma." 

"That wasn't what I asked!" 

"Where is Dottore?" Pantalone asked. Each of the clones paused and stared as if asking 'which one?' He cleared his throat and placed the cloth back into his pocket. "I know each one of you knows which one I mean."

"He is out right now, do you have some business with him?" One of the versions with the half-moon mask dressed in white leaned forward with a shark-teeth smirk. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stood up straight, staring up at Pantalone. "I'm sure you'll find we're all the same when it comes down to it," he snickered. "That's what you're here for, no?" 

"I'm not here for that..." Pantalone admitted. 

"Then I have no interest in you!" the clone tossed his hands up into the air and turned around. The younger depictions of Dottore, the more difficult to handle. Sometimes it was better just to let them be. 

"How may I be of service?" one not too far from Dottore's current self stepped forward. Perhaps he would be able to answer the question. 

"Is Dottore in love with me?" Pantalone asked, placing his hand over his heart. The man in question was hard to read and would never answer straightforwardly. He had to resort to asking the clones instead. They all paused again, staring at him, wanting to ask 'which one' but didn't say a word. 

The version Pantalone spoke to stepped forward, tall enough to look down into Pantalone's eyes behind his mask. "If you're asking could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Could he perhaps feel a pang in his chest when you're far away? Could his mind be clouded by the very thought of you that he must create and create and create because the only thing to distract him is the ceaseless pounding of the machines?" The clone paused for some time before answering, "Yes. But do you...ache for him?"

Pantalone opened his mouth but the gust of cold air from the heavy doors behind him silenced his words. He turned to see Dottore's arms outstretched, supporting both doors, as he stood in the center. His mint-colored hair reflected the light in the hall but he did not enter. Although his eyes were hidden behind the mask, Pantalone could tell he was staring at him, frozen in time. 

"Forgive me for disturbing your work, Dottore," Pantalone spoke with his pleasant customer service smile. 

"As if you're truly apologetic," the younger clone from earlier scoffed. 

Dottore entered to allow the doors to slam shut and walked past Pantalone, past the desk in the center, and toward the door to the office he never used. He opened the door and stood aside, waiting for Pantalone to walk in. It wasn't until he did that Dottore entered. It wasn't until the door closed that he spoke. 

"To what may I assist you with?" 

Pantalone stared, turning sharply. Do you have business? How may I be of service? To what may I assist you with? They were all different clones but their questions were similar. Same base materials, after all. 

"Are you connected to your clones? Do you see what they see and hear what they hear?" 

"They're machines. They report back when needed," Dottore answered and took out a vial from his jacket. He stared at it, swirling the liquid.