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You were never one for the bone-deep chill of Snezhnayan winter. You should have expected it when you took up work there, and perhaps you’d assumed you’d grow used to it; but that had been ages ago, and save for your trips to Kresnik's Torch (which felt like the only times you were actually warm), you were perpetually freezing.
Of course, children seemed to be exempt from the cold altogether. It could be bitterly chilly, cold enough for your eyes to sting and water, and you would see parents trying to catch up to their little ones long enough to wriggle them into a hefty fur coat. And when you were in the capital, it was not uncommon to see children sledding or making snow fortresses or throwing snowballs at one another, for hours on end, when all you wanted to do was snuggle up beneath a heated blanket and nap until the mercury in the thermometer climbed back up.
Dottore’s youngest segment was therefore very, very lucky that you decided he was worth the venture into the cold.
He’d been begging you for days, now, after the past week had seen blizzard after blizzard. He was perfectly fine to go out and do as he pleased; he had (albeit sadly) grown used to independence and solitude, and he certainly did not need you babysitting. But he’d become so attached to you, so eager for you to watch him in action (even if said action was him quietly reading his favourite books) that you found it hard to say no.
And that’s how you found yourself all but swaddled in your warmest clothes, mittens tucked into the wrists of your sweater under a fur-lined jacket with your knitted hat drawn as far down onto your head as it would go, while the little Zandik barreled through the snow in his snowsuit, leading the expedition. He held a toy robot in his hands - it resembled a miniature Ruin Guard, courtesy of one of Dottore’s segments, who had passed it on to the boy under the guise of it “wasting space in my lab” - though you wished to believe it was a rare act of kindness.
Zandik swung the toy through the knee-high banks, undeterred by the wind and snowflakes blowing into his sparkling red eyes, trudging along deeper into the woods. Though this was a walking trail just by the sea and lined with forest, it was not unheard of for bolder types to stray from the path in search of adventure, evidenced by snowshoe tracks and the odd lopsided snowman, undoubtedly a child’s creation.
“You’re too slow!” Zandik suddenly whined, turning around only long enough to scold you. You couldn’t even deny it; you were marching forth as fast as your frozen limbs could carry you, but it was far from the speed and energy a young child could manage. You sighed and tried to hurry on, mittens shoved into your pockets, lest he see your displeasure.
At last Zandik found a spot he deemed worthy of his interest, kneeling into a lower patch of snow beneath a tall, shady tree. He carefully sat his robot down against the trunk and set about exploring. The occasional tittling bird or squeaking squirrel echoed through the woods, and Zandik followed the sound with keen ears, digging into his pocket and retrieving what looked like a handful of breadcrumbs. He stood, oddly patient for a child, as the sound of the birds drew closer, closer - but never close enough.
After ten minutes of this, where you remained at the sidelines and tried not to look miserable, you cleared your throat and sigh. “Buddy, I don’t think they’re gonna -”
You spoke a moment too soon. Just as the last word left your lips, a tiny black-crested songbird flitted towards the boy’s mitten - and left at the echo of your croaking voice.
Zandik looked over his shoulder and glared at you. “You scared him away!” he pouted, dumping the seeds onto the snow and crossing his arms defiantly.
Heat bloomed to your frozen cheeks, and you regretted ruining the moment for him no matter how cold you were. Memories of taking Zandik to the playground where he’d been snubbed by every child he dared interact with flooded your memory, and you licked your chapped lips, rubbing your arms up and down to try and pool warmth into them. “I’m sorry,” you said somberly, walking towards him and doing your damndest to appear warmer than you felt. “Is there something else you want to do…that I can help you with?”
Zandik chewed at the inside of his cheek and hummed, as if contemplating your apology. After a beat, however, he appeared to recover and said, “Okay. You can help me build a snow fort, then.”
Of all the things the kid could have picked…why did it have to be the one where you would be practically submerged in snow? But guilt for ruining his earlier moment overpowered annoyance, and you forced a grin and replied, “Of course. Let’s get started.”
The young segment clearly had an idea in mind, and his little brow furrowed with concentration as he hauled armfuls of snow underneath the neighboring tree; his miniature Ruin Guard stood watch nearby, sitting atop one of the hills of snow. Zandik carefully shaped each armful into a brick of sorts, and started lining them up in a circle. “You can bring me more snow,” he instructed you, very solemnly, and you did not dare disobey his precocious authority. At least the march back and forth to bring clumps of snow kept your blood moving, you supposed.
It wasn’t long before Zandik had a whole dome-shaped figure of a fort, using his mittens to smooth out the misshapen snow. You worried for a moment that, as he drew closer to creating a roof, the whole structure would collapse, but he had in fact taken care to pack it all securely enough to prevent it. Truly, even at such a young age, he was indeed the child segment of his late creator - meticulous and knowledgeable.
You had not stopped hauling armfuls of snow until Zandik was just finishing up the very top of the structure - tall enough that you could sit inside comfortably and not hunch over. He’d placed the toy Ruin Guard on the very top, where it was perched almost triumphantly like a sort of watchman - the only sign that a child had made this structure, and not a very architecturally-minded adult. Suddenly Zandik popped his head out of the fort’s entrance, the only part of the fort that was not completely blocked off from the outside world, and smiled, excitedly waving you in. “Come!”
How could you say no to that?
As you crawled into the space (which was very much designed for child-sized individuals, height aside) you remembered exactly why Zandik had dragged you out here. Far be it for him to want to make you miserable; you were, in many ways, his sole companion, his favourite playmate, and his entire family, all in one. The joy he experienced doing something as simple as playing in the snow was one he wanted to share with you.
You were mildly surprised to find that Zandik had reinforced the fort well enough that the whole space was, while not warm, pleasantly free of chill. At least the wind was gone, and since it was so cramped, much of your body heat stayed close. You nearly felt the urge to take off your mittens.
“Isn’t it awesome?” Zandik gushed, gazing around at his handiwork. “Thank you for helping me, _____!” He punctuated your name with a wrestle of his arms around your middle, and you froze for a beat…before patting his head with your mitten and smoothing back his baby blue curls.
“You’re welcome. You did a good job.”
He seemed to lighten up even more at your praise, and he stayed nestled against you for a moment, as if admiring his own creation, too. You both remained there for a spell, the sun melting to a brilliant pink and orange through the entrance to the fort, and you almost thought that the segment had fallen asleep with his head against your lap when you heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
You moved to stand, only for the approaching figure to bend down and peer into the structure - glistening gold and purple mask looking back at you, baby blue hair in long ringlets that matched the little Zandik’s. Dottore himself had come to find you, then.
“I figured it was best for me to make sure you hadn’t caught hypothermia out here,” he said to you, mocking your dislike of the cold. You resisted the urge to remind him that he had endured much the same fate after his youth living in the desert, but bit your tongue when he proffered you a large, insulated mug of what you could only assume (or hope?) was a hot beverage. “Spiced Sumeru tea. Strong, at that.” He passed along three paper coffee cups.
“Yay! Yummy!” the segment exclaimed, clapping his hands in excitement - apparently unfazed by the presence of his adult self, as he might have once otherwise been. Perhaps you granted him the confidence? The thought warmed your chest as much as the tea would…that the young boy cared about you as openly as his elder self seemed to care about you inwardly.
Inviting himself inside the fort - somehow, the three of you fit, with you sandwiched between the two versions of the man - Dottore looked over his younger self’s craftsmanship and hummed. “Ah. Very well constructed. Snow is a particularly good insulator in the right conditions. It traps air quite easily.”
“I knew that!” The little Zandik rolled his eyes. “_______ was cold, so I warmed them up!”
“How very…noble of you for ensuring they did not freeze to death.”
You couldn’t imagine Dottore speaking the word kind - though that’s entirely what the gesture was, as much as the gift of the hot tea. And as you poured yourself a cup of it, you realized that it was true what you’d concluded once, about the child segment offering you a broader picture of the elder Il Dottore: he was an undoubtedly mysterious and complex man, yet, seeing him side by side with his child self, he was so easy to read it was silly. He had never grown out of his desire for affection or acceptance, evidenced by his presence in, of all things, a tiny snow fort in the midst of the Snezhnayan woods.
You almost dared believe that the sight of you doting upon his younger self in such a way allowed him to unlock feelings he had long ago cast aside.
You recalled your earlier thought - that the young segment was lucky you cared for him enough to venture out into the winter with him. But you were mistaken; no, it was you who was especially fortunate. In spite of the cold and the snow and whatever else, you could not think of a place you’d have rather been. And perhaps you really would get used to the weather here, one day… if it meant more days like these.