I'll say now, this is more crack taken seriously and Dottolone than it is Tsarierro, but I had to get the thoughts down. 

Randal= spare segment that's basically the other segment's assistant, best at socializing. 

Prime= Webbs in the 'prime' of his life, basically second in command.

Zeta= Obligatory pink haired segment 

-----------

"Randal."

"Pierro? Sir?"

"Did your creator not get the memo?"

"Er- he did, sir- but elected to ignore it today."

Pierro's eye twitched. "Did he really?"

The segment shifted in his seat. "Yes. Zeta and Prime witnessed him look at it for a solid ten minutes before putting it into a blender and drinking it."

Pierro sighed and rubbed his face. "Where did he decide was a better place to be than the meeting?"

"Er- so you know how he never uses his bed but has specific height requirements for it? And always has a mini-mini fridge tucked away underneath it, and a fuck ton of weighted blankets even though he doesn't really sleep?" Randal began.

Pierro raised a hand to stop the nervous clone. "Yes or no Randal; is Webbs currently hiding away underneath his never-slept-in bed like it's a cave?"

"Yes."

"He is hiding there despite multiple warnings about what would happen if he didn't attend this meeting?"

"Affirmative."

"And he is stocked up to camp out under there?"

"Yep! And he has a bunch of blankets, so uh, he really wants to stay under there."

Pierro stroked his beard in thought for a minute.

"Sir, if I may?" Pantalone asked.

"Hm?"

"If he is acting like this, perhaps we should leave him alone."

Pierro snorted once. "Allow him to do it this time and he'll keep ignoring direct orders." He headed for the door, ignoring the Regrator's muttered 'your funeral' as he left.

How the actual fuck was it colder down here than it had been outside when Signora had died?! Pierro knew Webbs was antisocial, but this was another level of unwelcoming!

He made his way through the labyrinthine lab, ignoring the other segments' protests as they followed him.

"Sir-" tried Prime. He was shut up by an icy glare from Pierro.

"Pierro, or whomever you were before-" Zeta, the pink haired segment, stumbled into the Director's broad form when he froze at the mention of his past. "Listen, it is Ball-freezing cold right now because Webbs is trying to numb himself to mortal senses right now! You go in there, he's not going to be anywhere near the Mondstadt Party incident sociable, or even passably sociable!"

Pierro ignored him and marched to his doom.

The main quarters of Dottore were even colder than the rest of the lab, almost freezing Pierro's breath in his throat. The room was lit by a small lamp, casting the room in a warm orange. There was a larger bed in the middle of the room, surrounded by boxes and spare parts like he was getting ready to move. If he looked closely, he could see the edges of blankets and Webbs Harbinger cloak peeking out from under the bed.

He flicked on the overhead lights and ignored the hissing from the apparent nest.

"Webbs, will you come out soon?" He called to the darkness under the practically starch clean bed. What answered sounded vaguely like Hilichurl swears mixed with a Sumeru accent and garbled like a hissing cat.

"Let me rephrase that: Come out, we are having the meeting now." He began to approach the bed, picking his way through the ruin guard parts strewn about.

Webbs only growled at him from underneath, very much not happy with that idea.

Pierro decided to ignore everything and everyone and squat down by the bed.

"Come out now of your own free will or I will reach under and drag you out myself."

"... fuck off." The Director heard rustling from under the bed, presumably Webbs curling up tighter and adding more blankets onto himself to dissuade Pierro. Unfortunately, Pierro wasn't the eldest of the Harbingers and walked around on an almost permanently broken leg for nothing. He rolled up his sleeves and reached underneath, felt Webbs hair as he recoiled, and reached for the collar of his shirt.

Webbs growled and snapped at his hand, shark teeth tearing through his skin and flesh easily. He let go a second later, mostly because Pierro was yelling and tugging his hand away.

"SON OF A SLIME-" Pierro swore, holding his bleeding hand close.

Pantalone made his presence known with a small laugh, leaning on the doorframe with a smug smile. "What did Webbs say?"

Pierro glares at the Ninth and yanks the bandages Prime offers him.

There was more rustling under the bed, then a small note was pushed out from underneath, the gloved hand that placed it pulling back faster than most could blink. The eldest segment picked it up and handed it to Pantalone, who smiled and turned to the now-bandaged Director.

"Webbs says he would come out and apologize, but he is currently overwhelmed by any form of stimuli besides what he has under there. He also says he can't control when he gets like this, only becomes aware of it less than a day beforehand and only isolation for a time can help." He read aloud, not even hiding his smile when Pierro's scowl deepened.

"Does he also say when he expects to be back at work on that 3 by 4 inch piece of paper?"

"Not at all; I was paraphrasing."

Pierro snatched the piece of paper and somehow scowled even deeper.

The paper was quite literally signed in blood and was mostly emoticons and illegible scribbles. He looked up at the Regrator questioningly. The bastard only smiled.

Pierro squeezes his hand once- winces, forgetting it just got bitten by a man with shark teeth- and leaves, the segments trailing after him.

Red eyes peeked out from under the bed squinting against the fluorescent lights.

"Need anything, dear?" Pantalone asked.

Webbs motioned for the lights off and made a grabby hand at Pantalone.

"Love, I have a meeting as well."

Of course, the Doctor was prepared for this answer, and pouted, almost physically growing his eyes. Pantalone could only chuckle as he stripped his outermost layer and gloves.

"Darling, you are too cute for your own good."

Webbs grinned, teeth still flecked with blood.

———

The next meeting Webbs attended, Her Majesty made mental health days a recognized policy.

Pierro stared at his new gloves until that discussion was over.