Chapter Text
The scalpel you had been holding slipped from your hands, hitting the ground with a metallic clang. At the sound, your weary eyes widened, taking in the scene in front of you. “(Y/N)?” A smooth voice questioned as you finally realized what you had been doing. A patient lay on the table in front of you, and beside you stood Valdemar with an unimpressed look on their face. “You seem rather tired today, no?”
Valdemar eyed you as you stared at them. Your demeanor resembling that of a child who had been caught sneaking candy. "Me?" You responded, and Valdemar tilted their head.
“Who else would I be talking to? Our patient?” They gestured towards the table where a man in his mid-thirties was sprawled, his ribs displayed for the world, or rather, the dungeon to see.
“Very funny,” you said. As you bent down to pick up the scalpel, Valdemar's eyes followed you.
They set down the tool they had been using, “It wasn’t intended as a joke. Though, I can see how you would mistake it for one. Did you get enough sleep last night.” The question was phrased more as a demand. Without enough sleep, you'd be unable to do your work properly, and idle hands were not something that they appreciated.
You pursed your lips, wiping the scalpel down on your already dirty apron. “Not less than normal, I would say around two and a half-ish hours, give or take…” You trailed off, eyes finally landing on the task in front of you. “That’s not important right now, what is important is the job in front of us.” Glancing down at the scalpel you took a breath. “I’ll go.. Go get a new scalpel so this one doesn’t contaminate the patient.”
The Quaestor didn’t object as they watched you walk away. When had they started caring about the well-being of others? They picked up the tool that had previously been abandoned, and set back to work. Ever since you had arrived to assist them, their mind had been more active. If this interest in you had been in the medical sense, Valdemar wouldn’t have had any objections, but to put it plainly, there was nothing interesting about you. Of course, except the way your eyes seemed to brighten while you spoke of things that interested you. Or perhaps the way that your laugh echoed through the room when Doctor No.069 told you a joke. Sometimes Valdemar even wished that they had been the one to evoke such a response from you.
Their eyes followed you as you moved towards the cabinet to grab a clean scalpel, only to be stopped by Doctor No.069. Valdemar felt the way their mouth shifted to a frown as yours moved to a smile. Why were they feeling this way? Even as you moved back towards the vivisection table, their eyes remained on No.069, trying to puzzle out the great mystery of that man.
“Hey Doc?”
“Yes?”
“You’re stabbing the corpse.”
Valdemar’s gaze fell, only to be greeted by the sight of their scissors in the patient’s lung. “It would seem I am.” Gently, they removed the tool, setting it down on the table. “Perhaps it would be best if we both call it a day.” The Quaestor could practically hear your jaw hit the floor
“Are you feeling ok doc? Maybe you’ve caught the plague,” Suddenly, a hand was on his forehead. They froze, allowing the small gesture to pass, just this once.
As you removed your hand, Valdemar found themself missing the warmth that had emanated from it. “Sadly, I can’t catch the plague. It’s a terrible trick of nature.” Before you had a chance to respond to the odd phrase, they spoke once more. “After you clean up the area, you're free to do whatever for the remainder of the day. Though, as your boss, I’d advise that you get some rest. To put it simply, you’re no use to me if you’re dead on your feet.”
You gave a small nod to them, already beginning to gather up bloody tools onto a tray. “Can do doc, make sure you get some rest too! You seemed a bit out of it earlier.” The Quaestor turned around, clasping their hands behind their back and started to move away.
“I’ll do my best (Y/N), but I make no promises.” With that, they allowed for the soft clinking of tools to fade.
Valdemar shut the door to their office, rummaging through the pockets of his apron before digging out a key and locking themself in. With their safety secure, Valdemar collapsed in their chair, slowly they lifted their hands to the bandages wrapped around their head, removing them to reveal two horns. Why did they feel this way? When they made that deal with The Devil they thought that these pointless emotions would go away, so why did they feel so… conflicted? Valdemar was mad, this wasn't what they had agreed to, they would have to talk to The Devil about it later. For now, there was no point in letting these emotions fester within them, they had to find a way to fix themself. Valdemar stood up abruptly, knocking a few documents off of their desk in the process. They spun around to face a small cabinet on their wall and began looking through the things contained in it. Surely one of these medicines was the cure, one of the things that could fix their brokenness.
They began uncapping bottles, tossing the contents into their body with reckless abandon. Each empty bottle accumulating on the floor. Nothing was working. None of these damn medicines were working. They shut their eyes, taking a deep breath. Why was their chest so light when they thought of you? Why did the sight of you laughing with No. 069 stir such strong emotions in them. Was it jealousy? Valdemar laughed at that. Jealousy? Were they jealous of some insignificant doctor who would most likely die to the very plague they were researching. It was very likely the same fate would befall you. Why did that scare them? Your body on his own vivisection table, eyes bright red with the tell-tale signs of sickness. Valdemar recoiled at the thought. They recoiled... at the thought of examining someone who had died.
No. They refused. They would not grow attached to some bratty, insignificant, and idiotic human. You were replaceable. Everything was replaceable. When one assistant dies another comes along and it continues as such until the plague is over. In a last ditch attempt to quell the emotions rising inside them, Valdemar gripped one last bottle, greedily drinking every drop inside. Nothing. Your smile still made them feel nervous, and your flaws still charmed them. Collapsing on their bed, they shut their eyes, and for the first time since they made their deal, Valdemar slept.