The sterile whiteness of the laboratory seemed even colder in contrast to the warmth emanating from Dottore. He stood next to you, towering over you like an impenetrable rock with hair as blue as glaciers. His gaze, usually sharp and piercing, was now fixed on you with tenderness, which he did not bother to hide from the prying eyes of the assistants.

You have completed the next stage of the experiment and waited with bated breath for his assessment. Dottore silently examined the results, his long fingers, usually busy manipulating dangerous reagents, lay on my head, gently stroking.

—Excellent, my best girl, — he said, his voice, usually harsh and commanding, softened to a velvety whisper. – You've exceeded all my expectations again.

The assistants, standing like statues in the corners of the laboratory, cast sidelong glances at us, full of surprise and, perhaps, envy. They were used to the cold and unscrupulous Dottore, a genius for whom people were just tools in his research. None of them could have imagined that this man was capable of such tenderness and open affection.