Work Text:
Silver Chariot can cut through or stab anything. Fire, the air, water, and of course, solid things that could conceivably be pierceable.
So why in the world is it so hard for Polnareff, Silver Chariot’s own user, to thread a needle?
“I wouldn’t exactly call those related skills,” Avdol muses from the kitchen. “It’d be more applicable to call the actual sewing more like stabbing. Threading is simply threading.”
“It’s stupid is what it is.” Polnareff licks the tip of the thread again. He’s gonna find strings in his mouth when he flosses he can already tell. “I can crochet just fine, I don’t see why this is so difficult. This needle must be bent or something.”
“Again, I don’t think crocheting and sewing are similar enough for those skills to transfer over.” Footsteps outside Polnareff’s room, and Polnareff drops the tools back in the box and throws the blanket over his lap to hide the project. Avdol knocks at his door, but doesn’t let himself in. “If you would let me help—”
“I can’t! It’s a surprise!”
Avdol sighs. Polnareff can practically hear Avdol’s eyes roll. “At least let me thread the needle. For the sake of our tempers, if nothing else.”
“Absolutely not.” He can’t risk Avdol piecing together a part of the picture of his gift with the silver thread spooled in his lap.
Avdol sighs behind the door. Polnareff grins from ear to ear. Avdol’s always been a curious bastard. He’s probably banking on Polnareff letting him see any glimpse of his present.
“Looks like you’ll have to wait until it’s done!” He throws the blanket back off and picks up his tools again. “It should be ready by after dinner!” If he can get this fucking thing—
“Assuming you can get the thread through the needle, of course.” Polnareff can hear the smile in Avdol’s voice. Damn him. Polnareff knows that the fortune teller thing was just a cover, but it’s times like this he thinks his husband might’ve actually made a pretty penny in the business.
Polnareff bites his lip. He really does need this to be finished by tonight. Avdol’s flight leaves tomorrow. He’d be willing to stay up as late as he needs to finish, but Avdol won’t be as awake in the morning to get excited about his present.
“The offer’s still on the table,” Avdol calls through the door. “I may not be the fencer Silver Chariot is, but I can guarantee I’ve threaded more needles than he has.”
“No, no, I have to get it.” Not only is this about Avdol’s surprise, but this has tripped Polnareff up too much. It’s a matter of pride now. Silver Chariot’s skill may not—
…
Wait.
If Silver Chariot can stab through anything… If he can…
Ah, screw it. Polnareff doesn’t need to work out the whole logic of it to try. It rarely helps with stands anyway.
His stand answers his call, sword up and at the ready. Polnareff holds up just enough thread for it to be able to stand up and not flop over.
Silver Chariot closes one eye. It takes a second to line its foil tip up before thrusting it forward, nabbing the end of the thread on the very tip of its foil.
Polnareff grins wide. One out of two. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he’d get this far. Sure, Silver Chariot can stab anything, but thread is… thin.
Footsteps walk back down the hallway. Polnareff huffs a laugh.
“How much longer until dinner?” he asks.
“Worried you won’t be finished in time?”
Polnareff barks a laugh. “As if!” He holds up the needle by the point next, careful to not let his fingers get stabbed by it. “More like how much extra time I’ll have to brag all about your surprise.”
Silver Chariot lines up the thread tip with the eye. Honestly, with the ability to stab anything, it shouldn’t especially matter where it pierces the needle so long as the thread stays put, but Polnareff would rather not ruin Avdol’s sewing stuff if he can help it.
With a dora! (whispered to match the size of the target, but with the same intensity it always has) Silver Chariot makes its move. Just the tip of the foil gets through, and the thread swings like a pendulum on the other side of the eye.
“Finally!” he pumps a fists in the air.
“Congratulations,” Avdol calls from the kitchen. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you.” Polnareff nabs the end of the thread and pulls Silver Chariot back. He knots, double-knots, triple- knots this piece of shit thread. It is not getting out of this fucking needle, if Polnareff has any say in the matter.
“Do you still want to know how long it’ll be until dinner?”
“I’m all good!” He pulls the familiar red fabric up onto his lap and gets to work. There’s a soft laugh from the kitchen, but Polnareff ignores it and focuses as best he can.
“Okay, okay,” Avdol says. The familiar clawed hands of Magician’s Red cover his eyes. “Happy? Now what is all this fuss about?”
His fingers fidget on his sleeve where he’s crossed his arms. He’s practically bouncing on his toes.
Polnareff tries not to laugh. He can’t believe he used to think this man was cool like James Bond. Now, he’s more like Neo from the Matrix.
“Keep yourself together for another few seconds.” Polnareff lifts the box onto his lap. “I’ve almost got it.”
He takes the lid off and reaches in with both hands, making sure to grab at the edges.
“Okay, you can look now.”
Magician’s Red takes its hands away from Avdol’s eyes, and Polnareff stands, letting the box fall to the floor.
He flourishes Avdol’s robe as it unravels, watching the edges to look for the shimmer of the thread along the edge as it moves.
“Ta da!”
Avdol blinks. “My old robe?”
“Not just the old robe!” Polnareff brings his hands close along the hem and pulls taut. He shoves it under Avdol’s nose. “Look!”
A corner of his mouth raises with his eyebrow. He reaches up and pushes Polnareff’s wrists back enough to see.
His expression goes blank. Polnareff’s cheeks hurt from smiling.
“You resewed the hem?” He reaches up and runs his thumb and index on either side of the dashed line.
“You’re going on that trip with Jotaro to Japan soon, right?” He shakes it like a matador as much as he can with Avdol’s grip on it. “Since I have the job in Italy and can’t go with, I wanted you to be able to bring a little piece of me along with you. Get it?” Polnareff lets go with one hand and points to the shimmery thread. “It’s me!”
Avdol blinks. He gingerly slides the robe out from Polnareff’s grip. He feels along the sparkling dashed line. It’s subtle—he might not even have noticed it had Polnareff not pointed it out, but that’s the beauty of it. It’s a gift Avdol can’t miss now, but won’t ruin the original look of his classic robe.
“Well?” Polnareff asks. He leans forward. Avdol’s expressions are like Monet works: best from either really up close or at a distance. “What do you think?”
“This is incredibly thoughtful of you. Thank you, Jean-Pierre.”
Polnareff bounces on the balls of his feet, chest feeling like an overfilled champagne flute pyramid.
“Try not to get it too fucked up while you’re gone! That’s me, y’know, and I’ll make sure you don’t hear the end of it.”
Avdol carefully folds the robe and drapes it over an arm.
He reaches with the other arm and takes Polnareff by his good fingers. He lifts Polnareff’s hand up to his lips. “I’ll take good care of you.” He plants a kiss on Polnareff’s knuckles and stands strait, looking down at Polnareff through lidded eyes. “My knight. It’s the least I can do.”
Polnareff is pretty sure he’s blushing hard enough to give the neon in Vegas a run for its money.
“In fact…” Avdol walks backwards, leading Polnareff along. “Let me show you how well I’m determined to take care of you.”
Polnareff grins wide and uses a hand on Avdol’s shoulder to keep him from walking straight into the door frame. The two head down the hallway together, Avdol only stopping on the way to hang the robe in their bedroom closet for safekeeping.
Polnareff wakes up when something is draped over him in the bed.
“Mmhrmmff?” he asks. That ‘what the fuck’ felt a lot clearer in his head.
“Sorry,” Avdol whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Polnareff cracks his eyes open. The cloth draped over him—cold in comparison to Polnareff’s insulated heat—is Avdol’s robe. Avdol stands over him, hands frozen in place where they must’ve been shifting the cloth.
“Wha’r’youooing?”
Avdol’s mouth presses into a smile.
“I had a thought that it might be a good idea to wrap it around you while you were asleep.” He unfreezes, moving to rub behind his neck. “I was hoping it might… catch your scent. So it might smell like you too, at least for the flight.”
Polnareff blinks. He’s not awake enough to process what or how much that makes him feel, but it’s good. He loves Avdol.
Polnareff grabs the end of the robe with his sleep-heavy hands. He scoots back on the bed and holds it open for Avdol.
“C’mere.”
Avdol blinks. He smiles and chuckles under his breath.
“I’m not quite sure that’ll hold the two of us,” he says, even as he lowers to sit beside Polnareff on the bed. He reaches down and grabs the covers from around Polnareff’s knees and pulls them up around their shoulders.
“Doesn’t need t’.” Polnareff wraps his arms around Avdol. When the robe strains against the motion, he lets go. He nuzzles into Avdol’s chest. “G’night. Love ya.”
Avdol chuckles. He lifts Polnareffs head and tucks his bent elbow under the pillow below them. He drapes his other arm over Polnareff’s bicep and rests it on the span of his back between Polnareff’s shoulders. He kisses Polnareff’s forehead.
“Goodnight, my knight. I love you too.”