Work Text:
Clack, clack, clack.
4:45 PM, the clock above him, his watch, and the corner of his screen reads. Aventurine sighs, double checking all three once more before leaning back in his chair until he can see the ceiling of his office.
It’s days like these that seem as if they’ll never end. The kind where his brain goes on autopilot as the stacks of paperwork on his desk only seem to get bigger and bigger. Whatever. The time would've passed anyway, he thinks, as the hollow ticks of the clock seem to dig into his skull like strikes of Qlipoth’s hammer. What's that thing Topaz keeps saying to the new transfers? ‘Money is a means, not an end?’ ‘Work should make you happy?’
He chuckles to himself. Then he'd keep working. He’d be the best damn cog the machine's ever had.
Clack, clack, clack
4:52 PM. The cog sighs dejectedly, reopening his neglected spreadsheet. Maybe if he stares at it long enough, it'll fill up.
He spends what feels like hours doing so. In reality, it's only been seven minutes.
The spreadsheet doesn't fill up, but the room eventually does. Topaz herself walks in, a cardboard box of files precariously balanced in her arms. Numby obediently joins close behind, carrying a stack of smaller boxes, though the Trotter immediately abandons them in favour of sniffing at Aventurine’s golden rings and watch.
“Stay a little longer to help me file these?” Topaz states more than requests, though she still tilts her head as if it were a question. “I’ll put in a good word with Lady Jade.” She adds, as if that'd sweeten the pot. In reality, Aventurine's answer wouldn't have changed even if she promised an audience with Diamond:
“No thanks.” Aventurine replies, with a tight smile he knows is insufferable, if Topaz's souring expression is any indication.
“I’m not asking. You owe me after I covered that report for you last Thursday, Aventurine.” Topaz grumbles, her brow furrowing. Numby, as if reading her mind, also lets out a noise sounding remarkably like a sigh and returns by her side.
“And I’m declining oh-so politely, Topaz . No thanks.” Aventurine says, copying her tone. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.” He adds slyly.
“...With Doctor Ratio.”
“Yep.” He replies, popping the ‘p.’
It was weird, being so open about it. A couple of years back, and he'd be avoiding even insinuating the guy was his Strategic Partner. By now, though, it was pretty much an open secret between both his department and the doctor's that they were at least some kind of item. Even Madam Yabuli had dropped by his office to give him her regards (which, frankly, had scared the hell out of him. The woman could be more terrifying than Jade.)
They fell into somewhat of a rhythm, the two of them. Something like a friendship, something like a petty antagonism shared between two people who bothered each other beyond words, something like a phenomenon shared only between lovers. Whatever “something” they were, Ratio just got him like no one else in the universe could ever hope to. Neither of them had to say anything about it, had words to define whatever the hell coming home to the other almost every night had to mean, so they didn’t, and they were fine not doing so.
And, so, it became routine for the sight of one Veritas Ratio to meet him after work on days when the man had his own with the Guild. A mere coincidence they’d crossed paths, of course, as Ratio would always tell him as they’d walk side by side out of the building. Ratio had to think he was an idiot if he genuinely expected him to believe that, though. He’d sigh dreamily if he didn’t have his infuriatingly smug work face on.
Thankfully, Topaz’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts.
“...The Doctor Ratio who is, in fact, not in the lobby on the main floor waiting for you to clock out.”
“Yes, Topaz, that-”
Wait, what? Aventurine thinks.
“Wait, huh?” Aventurine asks.
“Yep.” Topaz replies, popping the “p” in a similar fashion, oh, that bitch. “One of my subordinates forgot her purse in my office, so I headed down to the transit dock to catch her before she left. Wanna know who I saw boarding a ship? He was in quite the hurry to leave, too.”
So he wasn't even on the planet anymore? Damn Intelligentsia Guild. Aventurine grits his teeth, totally not because he’s jealous by the mere thought the Guild stationed Ratio with some inadequate fool if not him, nope.
“...Quite the underhanded tactic to use to attempt to trick me, Topaz.” Aventurine narrows his eyes, keeping his conspiratorial grin in an attempt to seem unbothered. “You’ve grown ruthless over the years.”
Topaz merely pinches the bridge of her nose. “...Numby, show him what you found by the gate.”
Numby lets out a few chirps of acknowledgement, obediently trotting up to him. Eventually, they less than elegantly spit out a piece of jewellery, looking back up at Topaz as if they’d performed a trick. He picks the object up with a sigh of defeat.
“That’s…” Ratio's ring. He traces his thumb over the sun imprinted into gold.
“His? I noticed Numby choking on it, and I realized I’d seen it somewhere before.” Topaz explains, running her fingers through Numby’s coat as the Trotter lets out a slightly guilty whimper. “Well, do you believe me now?”
Well, he didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. He nods with a smirk. Oh, he believed her, alright. He couldn’t let Ratio hog all the fun while out on a mission without him, could he? Whatever lackey they’d sent with the doctor would surely thank him for tagging along.
“Yeah, I do.” He grins, grabbing his briefcase and turning towards the door with a flourish as he strolls past her. “Though, unfortunately, friend… I’ve more pressing matters to attend to. Seems I’m suddenly in possession of a missing item to return.”
“You…!” Topaz huffs, letting out a loud sigh as she watches him leave.
(“Fine, go get your man!” He swears he hears her call out from his office.
“Oh, I fully intend to.” Aventurine replies, unsure if he’s even within earshot.)
Getting to the ship dock is easy enough, he finds, it’s wading through the sea of grunts and salarymen alike as he makes his way out of the elevator that’s the hard part. He sighs amongst the crowd, checking both his watch and phone, one for the time, the other for the weather.
5:13 PM, expect sunny skies following a heavy deluge. (Blah, blah, something about barometric pressure, bear in mind the solar flare cycles of your nearest star, beware of cosmic wind storms if travelling. He looks up at the already darkening clouds, he’s running too low on time to read or care for the rest.)
Eventually, he’s able to cut through the crowd and make a beeline for the terminal, pleased to find the area relatively sparse compared to the rapid stream of employees strewn about headquarters. He taps his keycard against a scanner and discreetly enters the private launch bay away from the larger, public transit terminal. Privatized and rapid space travel, simply one of the many ozone-layer-thinning perks of being a high-ranked official, he supposed.
His confidence falters slightly as he peers over to the ships in their docks and notices the only one missing is a model with a single-person capacity, but he ignores the resulting feeling that settles in his stomach as he begins to chart the route. With the swipe of a finger, a map is pulled up, the display of countless galaxies and star systems suddenly projecting as a dim hologram. Now all that was left was up to luck. Thankfully, that was his area of expertise. Epsilon, Thalassa System… He mouths inaudibly as he scrolls down the list.
“Laurus Nobilis.” A voice says aloud, as if it hadn’t just snuck up on him and startled the living hell out of him. Jade continues to run her fingers along the scales of her snake in a motion Aventurine assumes is meant to be affectionate.
“That’s the galaxy he’s headed to.” Jade continues, an unspoken understanding between the two of who ‘he’ was. “Seems he’s already en route to Seikilos. He left half an hour ago.”
“Seikilos…” Aventurine echoes, the hologram already beginning to chart an optimized route to the planet. Despite their relationship, the doctor wasn’t exactly liberal with the amount of details he’d share with him about his personal life, but Aventurine knew just enough from tabloids about the man that Seikilos was Ratio’s home planet. Now, the question was, what was he doing there outside of the University of Veritas Prime’s academic term? “Madam Jade, I’ve got a simple numbers game for us to play, will you kindly hear me out for just a moment? Say, hypothetically, I were to also pay Laurus Nobilis a visit…”
“Child.” Jade chides, the smallest, imperceptible amount of gravity to her knowing gaze. “I suggest not treading waters you aren’t prepared to traverse.”
Aventurine is undeterred, and doesn’t miss a beat. “When have I ever been fully prepared, Madam? And when has that ever failed me?”
Jade smiles, a thin, wry thing. “If you find yourself fortunate enough to warp now without delay, you’ll reach Seikilos a mere ten minutes after his ship arrives.”
Aventurine raises an eyebrow, but provides her a practiced smirk. “Oh? And how do you suppose that, Madam Jade?”
“A myriad of things can happen to delay a ship’s arrival… Weather conditions, poor crew scheduling…” Jade trails off, her gaze shifting elsewhere before returning to his. “...Unavoidable space traffic.”
There’s something dangerous in her stare, yet she continues to smile as if she hadn’t said a thing. Aventurine gets the memo.
“Now, hurry along, child. We wouldn’t want you to be late, would we?” Jade says, not asks.
“No, ma’am. No, we would not.” Aventurine replies smoothly, turning on his heel and straight into the cockpit of the ship behind him.
…
Aventurine bites into the sweet flesh of a fig as he strolls past sturdy pillars and arches scattered across the bustling city, his ship silently making its departure back towards headquarters. The planets he’d visit for work had all blurred together into one muddled experience at this point, something practically in the job description of being a Stoneheart, to become numb to the marvels that lay beyond the stars as you cause them to crumble to dust. However, Seikilos was beautiful beyond description, he’d admit. Ratio had once told him that on his planet, rather than by using a specific time frame within its calendar, seasons were instead quantified by the bountiful harvest of fruit. Summer was instead the season of sweet grapes and their wine, the smell of which permeate the entire city with a pleasant aroma.
(Ratio had the slightest smile on his face as he told Aventurine that. (At least, his jaw had twitched imperceptibly in the facsimile of one, but he could tell by now when Ratio was genuinely amused, and it was a very “Ratio” smile.) Aventurine remembers, because the words “On my planet, we had two seasons, drought and famine.” had caused it to leave as soon as it arrived.)
He continues his walk through the city, quietly cursing under his breath for not thinking to procure a map for himself, or at the very least have some points of interest pointed out to him by a local. Fortunately, he more or less looks the part of a lost citizen rather than a tourist, having purchased what he assumed was befitting of a native to wear soon after landing (and perhaps some souvenirs, being the shopaholic he was, but that was neither here, nor there.)
Were Jade’s words to be true, Ratio couldn’t be far, he just had to know where to look. The University of Veritas Prime comes to mind, though what business the man could have there outside of an academic term, Aventurine has no idea. Still, it’s as good of a lead as any, considering he’s not sure what work the Guild could possibly have for him here either, unless they count soaking in warm rays of sunshine to be research. The universal hand signal for hailing a taxi doesn’t fail him this time, a cab looking remarkably like a horse-drawn chariot drawn by a severe lack of horses soon stopping by the corner he’s standing at.
“University of Veritas Prime, if you will, my friend.” Aventurine says cooly, stepping inside the vehicle.
The charioteer simply provides him with a smile in reply that is friendly enough in nature, nodding in understanding before starting the ignition. By the time they’re off and coasting down the road, it becomes abundantly clear the man is most definitely attempting to artificially inflate the fare, and Aventurine isn’t even familiar with the area. Still, he can’t find it in himself to mind the deceit much, not when the sight of stone towers and olive orchards are what meet his eyes. At the very least this was the “taking the scenic route” form of meter fraud, rather than the “purposefully merging into traffic” kind he was used to on missions. So, he simply doesn’t comment on it, graciously leaning back into his seat as clouds begin to colonize the sky outside the window.
It seemed storms had a tendency to follow wherever he went, go figure.
They stop at a red light, the dull thrum of the car’s exhaust filling his ears with a hum. He’s about to zone out staring out at the divinely crafted architecture of the city, until he notices it out of the corner of his eye, or rather, through the side-view mirror of the cab. Aventurine leans forward as subtly as he can to get a closer look, and sure enough, the view that meets him in the mirror is staring at the red light, clearly irked, holding his palm outward in an attempt to hail a taxi. More importantly, the view that meets him has a laurel hair clip and a perma-frown forever etched into the handsome stone of a marble bust. Bingo. Aventurine is about to ask his driver (and thief) to pull over, until he notices something else.
And his heart drops.
Because Ratio’s wearing a suit.
Like, a proper suit. Black, no chest cut-out, no arm cut-out, no waist cut-out (and the doctor called his outfits flashy!), red tie, his shoes are even black and closed-toed. Which isn’t out of the ordinary by itself, no, many of the doctor’s outfits when dealing with the IPC were similarly boring and similarly not him at all. It’s what Ratio’s holding in tandem with all of these things, in tandem with the circumstances behind Aventurine following him here, that makes his stomach fill with apprehension.
Ratio is holding a bouquet of roses.
While wearing an ironed black suit. After having taken a private warp back to his home planet. While hailing a taxi, as to keep the nature of his meeting private in a way bringing a car of his own wouldn’t. After having “accidentally” discarded his most salient ring.
Oh. He realizes.
Oh.
Ratio was here because he was going on a date.
While wearing a proper, ironed black suit. While seeming to not have noticed Aventurine realizing all of this at all.
Oh. Aventurine swallows, his throat going dry.
…He wasn’t expecting that. He’d always thought Ratio was a good guy.
Well, he still was a “good guy,” wasn’t he? Despite… This? Holistically speaking, of course, because nothing had really changed about him at his core, had it? At his core, he was still what he’d always been: the clinical yet resolute beacon in the dark who spared the tiniest sliver of his light for even the ugliest of humanity to follow when at their lowest. He’s still the climber of the ivory tower who bothered to look back at the stragglers behind him to extend a hand. He’s still the man who has eluded Aventurine for years in his refusal to wear his alabaster bust around him, the man who brings him meals sometimes when he’s simply had a shit day, claiming to have misjudged how much to prep for the week, as if he’d ever be so incompetent. He’s still the man who risked everything, their plan, his own cherished philosophy, to simply tell him to live.
Ratio is still his friend. The man who’s seen the worst of him. His partner.
(Aventurine repeats this to himself. Many times. His left hand shudders, as does he, because he’s not becoming any more convinced.)
The fact of the matter is, he’s still Ratio. If a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it, then the resounding crash it probably made might’ve very well never happened in the first place. But Aventurine was there, and he saw . No matter what he thinks, Ratio’s here at this intersection with what he knows must be an impatient furrow in his brow, adjusting his tie with his bouquet-less hand as Aventurine swallows back bile.
Ratio didn't pursue things that didn't interest him, Aventurine knew that much. So he shouldn't be surprised, shouldn't feel his rings dig into his fingers as he balls his hands into fists by his side to stop their tremble. Because this was an inevitability, right? Ratio getting tired of him was an inevitability, surely something he should’ve already accounted for, given that his strategies were his one and only virtue.
So why does he feel like curling up into a ball and dying?
He spots a similar chariot-like taxi to the one he’s currently wallowing in finally pull up beside the doctor in his peripheral vision.
“-You will take me to this location and you will be discreet about this. Have I made myself clear?” Stupid fucking Ratio all but demands, holding up a piece of paper Aventurine can’t see to the driver as he gets in the vehicle himself. He’s sure he missed part of their conversation in his daze, but he can’t find it in himself to care much. “Go, and make haste. I am already far too late as it is.”
“Y-Yes, sir…” The driver stammers out, before shakily starting the ignition. Aventurine can’t help but wonder if the man would dare to pull a similar stunt to what his own charioteer seems to think he’s getting away with, but Aventurine’s sure that the doctor, much less appreciative of a good scheme than he is, would probably call him out for it right away. Not like it mattered.
Because as soon as he caught up with Ratio, he’d kill him.
(Even though he wanted to kill himself more. Perhaps he could do that instead, save them both the embarrassment.)
(No, he’d kill him. He’d kill him, and then the lonely, cold part of his heart would make him lay across his chest, like he'd gotten so foolishly used to doing in a home that was warm, until Ratio’s heart stopped beating in time with his own. He’d kill the doctor, and then his own heart would kill him too, unable to withdraw from the man whose life he forced himself into and couldn't part from.)
Come on, Aventurine. A voice he distantly recognizes as his own chides in his head. Pull yourself together, this is pathetic even for you. Can’t even wait until you’re back on company time to mourn your somewhat-relationship? Talk about inefficiency.
…He had to figure out a way to kill his inner monologue too, because it was not helping.
“Friend,” Aventurine calls out, the driver of his own cab startling. How cute, Aventurine idly thinks to himself. The man probably thought he’d just been caught in his fare manipulation, as if the gambler hadn’t known all along. Instead, Aventurine simply reaches into his pockets and files his fingers through a stack of credits, counting out enough to be nearly quadruple the fraudulent amount on the charioteer’s meter. He flashes the amount in the front-view mirror, a taunting smile on his face as he fans out bills. “I’m willing to forgive all of your past misgivings if you can help me out… Would you be so kind as to follow that taxi?”
The man nods sheepishly, understanding that Aventurine was, in fact, not asking, and steps on it as the light turns green.
He leans back into his seat as wind from the open window tousles his hair. To give his driver some credit, the man was diligent when he wasn’t scamming someone. The man isn’t exactly being discreet about following the doctor’s vehicle, but he had to commend the guy for going well above the speed limit trying to catch up to the other cab.
The taxi swerves right as its rival does, as Aventurine bitterly digs fingernails into his palm. He’s cried too much in this lifetime to will himself to spare tears, so he keeps staring out of the window at nothing.
The taxi swerves to the left to merge into another lane. What part of him did Ratio tire of, he wonders? His scheming, the persona he put up, all of the lies he held onto, the sharp ladder of ribs that poke through his malnourished frame, his eyes?
The taxi swerves back to the right as if it were a pendulum, moving back to tail Ratio’s cab as Aventurine curses under his breath, because fuck Ratio regardless. Too arrogant and ambitious for his own good, too desperate for the glance of an Aeon that simply didn’t care all while being too dense to understand the sheer scale of just how much the masses back on the ground adore him. With all of the nerve to make him feel wanted and like there was someone out there in the universe who could possibly understand him and care, genuinely care. Because someone like Ratio had to have understood what he was getting into caring for someone like him, to break his shields down to dust to let him rebuild himself anew. He’s watched his family die, his people die, he’s watched in futility as he rose to unfathomable power only for it to be too late to save them or anyone else who’s ever stood by him in his time of need. He’s reshaped and helped burn entire galaxies to the ground alike, he’s lived through all of the pain and he’s died, and yet he still came back because of Ratio, because it was Ratio who defied everything just to tell him he was there, it was Ratio who was supposed to care, because he’s the only one who’s ever given a damn and stayed in his life to face the consequences of it.
And now all Aventurine can do is stare at the back of his head through the window of a cab as he watches his relationship slip through his fingers.
There are houses in the neighbourhood they’ve just begun to rush past, he distantly registers. Warm homes with lights on, running water, people inside who are smarter than he’ll ever be. Ratio’s taxi will pull into the driveway of one of them. He’ll happily take off his mask for someone who is not Aventurine, smile at someone with half the emotional baggage and neither of his Avgin eyes. He’ll laugh dryly at the jokes of someone who can keep up with him intellectually, because they’ll certainly have gone to school as a child, and he’ll hand his flowers off to someone with eyes to appreciate them that aren't a record of a civilization turned to ruin.
Except, no. That, in fact, does not happen.
That doesn’t happen, because Ratio’s taxi doesn’t stop at the neighbourhood at all. Much to Aventurine’s confusion, it drives right past it and towards an area no one seems to live in at all, as does his own cab. They continue to drive through the outskirts of the city, and for a moment Aventurine thinks that perhaps the doctor’s cab driver finally had half a mind to realize that they were being followed, and this was a simple diversion to get whoever was following them off their trail.
…Until the rival cab takes a right turn, and a small cemetery comes into view.
… Oh.
Oh. Aventurine thinks dumbly, as Ratio exits the car and pays the driver a larger sum of credits than what is necessary compared to the relative length of the ride, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot as his own cab stops an inconspicuous distance away.
Oh. Aventurine thinks dumbly, as Ratio walks past graves and eventually settles upon one. The doctor precariously rests the bouquet against the headstone and stares in silence, while Aventurine sort of wishes he were similarly buried deep in the ground instead of watching slack-jawed out of the window.
“Oh.” Aventurine says under his breath, dumbly, as he pays his own driver the promised amount and steps outside while his partner isn’t looking.
Fuck, doctor. I’m sorry. He thinks. Because storms had a tendency to follow wherever he went, a peal of thunder rumbles in the distance as he walks out, the tell-tale patter of rain cold against his scalp. Unconsciously, he pulls his umbrella out of his briefcase amongst the deluge. You hear me out and you’re always there somehow and I can’t understand why and the one time you’re in just as vulnerable of a position I still can’t trust for shit and I’m so fucking sorry.
He doesn’t say any of that, because he shouldn’t even be here, nor does he have any way of explaining himself for any of it, anyway. His fist tightens around the umbrella held in his left hand, only turning back briefly to watch as his cab departs for the city.
…He should leave.
He’s caused enough of a commotion as it is even coming here. It’s not his business to stay, and this isn’t a view he has any right to be privy to.
But Ratio’s soaked.
So, Aventurine hesitates. He hesitates for far longer than he should, even if it feels like hours rather than seconds of him staring out over the horizon from a place he shouldn’t even be. It’s only when he shifts his gaze back to the doctor that he startles ever so slightly, sucking in a sharp breath.
Because, oh. Ratio’s staring at him.
“Gambler.” Ratio calls out flatly, as if he hadn’t caught the other man by surprise. Without his face in view, the doctor’s body language is difficult to read, but his posture is rigid in a way that’s unlike him. The man hesitates before saying anything else, though he eventually breaks his silence with a deep sigh. “Your thoughts are incredibly loud. Stop hiding. ”
Aventurine opens his mouth to speak. He had something to say, he thinks, something along the lines of Why?, but then Ratio gives him a look as rain drips off the statue head’s cheek and down the incline of its jaw.
He quickly thinks better of it. He presses his lips into a thin line and obliges with a curt nod.
The rain hammers intensely against his umbrella as damp grass brushes against his legs. He quietly curses his choice to wear sandals with every step, but by the time he and Ratio are side by side, the cool sensation against bare skin doesn’t feel as awful. His arm strains slightly due to their gap in height as he raises the umbrella to cover Ratio’s head, but at the very least it doesn’t seem to be an unwelcome action, judging by how the doctor crouches slightly to accommodate him in turn. The silence that washes over the two of them is far from comfortable, but at the very least neither of them are getting any more damp underneath the deluge.
“...I believe this is yours, professor.” Aventurine eventually says, reaching into his breast pocket for the troublesome ring that had led him here to begin with. He waits for the doctor to mirror his action of opening his palm, staring up at the other man expectantly.
Ratio simply stares at the object, something unreadable in his expression as he accepts it from Aventurine’s hand without saying a word. He slowly slips his ring back onto his middle finger, his hand closing into a fist at the side not facing Aventurine. Even as Ratio tries to obscure the motion, Aventurine doesn't miss how the knuckles of his left hand turn white as the alabaster of his mask.
Neither of them say anything for a while, the downpour around them filling the silence instead as the rain just doesn’t seem to let up.
Did the doctor simply need an umbrella? Is that the reason why he called him over? Why he hasn’t asked him what the hell he’s doing here, intruding upon something so personal?
He’s far past the point of outstaying his welcome. He should leave now, shouldn’t he?
But… Ratio hasn't told him to. Hasn't pushed him away, even as they stand side by side in a place Aventurine knows damn well he doesn't belong. Even if Aventurine just doesn’t understand why, Ratio’s done nothing to imply he wants him gone right now.
So, he stays by his side, as does he continue to hold onto the umbrella, even as thunder cracks faintly from afar. If Ratio has anything to say about it, he makes no indication, his gaze trained on something Aventurine can’t quite see.
It takes another stretch of weighted silence before he decides to speak again.
“...You knew them.” Aventurine finally states instead of asks. Of course he did, it was hardly befitting of someone of his stature to simply visit his home gravesite for nostalgia’s sake.
But Ratio doesn't call him out for how dumb of a statement that is as he should, simply staring downwards as rain continues to patter against their shared umbrella.
“He did not suffer.” Ratio replies after a while, tersely. “At his age, it was an inevitability. It is as much of a tragedy as any life lived should be considered.”
“That’s not why you're here, though.” Aventurine replies without missing a beat. “To consider it equal.”
Aventurine’s mind drifts to his family, his people. Reduced not even to a statistic by the IPC. Simply ashes scattered in the wind, barely remembered by the history books. And yet, he never could purge them from his mind, even after learning he’d never be able to save them.
“If that were the case,” Aventurine continues, swallowing. “You'd be running laps around every grave littering this place, rather than dwelling right here.”
Ratio sighs. “Quite possibly the most unflattering metaphor I've heard come out of your mouth. I'm inclined to offer you a mark for it.”
There’s an edge of harshness to his words, but the emotion within Ratio’s voice isn’t hatred, it never is. So Aventurine keeps his tight grip on the umbrella, even as they devolve into silence again. It takes even longer this time for either of them to speak, the words breaking the quiet being from the doctor rather than Aventurine.
“If I were to show you something, would you be willing to spare me a moment? It should not take more than five minutes.”
“'Would you be willing’, he asks,” Aventurine shakes his head, an incredulous chuckle escaping him that he simply can’t help. “As I stand next to him, thousands of lightyears away from Pier Point, soaking wet.”
“That,” Ratio emphasises the word, unamused. “Is not an answer. Also, I trust I need not tell you how unfathomably large of an understatement ‘thousands of lightyears’ is, gambler. If not for the sake of the universe at large, then for the sake of my own temporal lobe.”
“A conscious decision on my part, don't you worry, good doctor.” Aventurine replies with a dismissive wave of his unoccupied hand. Ratio isn’t even facing him, but Aventurine can tell he’s not convinced. “Show me. I’ll watch.”
The fact you felt the need to ask just goes to show how dense you can be sometimes, Doc. He doesn’t add, because Ratio’s left hand is still balled into a fist by his side. Ratio merely nods wordlessly in reply.
In a flash of blue light, the doctor’s signature chalk stylus is suddenly clutched in his dominant hand, Imaginary energy thrumming under his fingertips as he grips the object tightly. Aventurine thinks he’s about to throw it at something, but the man actually begins to write, the soft light emitted from the equation suspended in mid-air bouncing off falling raindrops.
It’s all jargon to Aventurine, as it would be jargon to someone who actually went to school. However, it doesn’t exactly take a genius level of perception to tell that the speed at which Ratio is solving implies he’s done this exact series of motions many times. Letters disappear and turn to numbers, half the problem vanishes at some point after the doctor does an odd trick involving parentheses, and symbols Aventurine is sure belong to some dead planet’s forgotten language are introduced and destroyed all with a few swipes. Soon, Ratio lowers his hand, the only remnants of the complicated equation being a solution and its surprisingly succinct proof.
Ratio says nothing, though he does finally lift his chin the slightest bit, not in the search for a response out of the other man, but rather to survey whether or not he was watching.
Aventurine was. A raindrop briefly causes the projected light of the hologram to falter slightly, but still, Aventurine reads the solution over curiously, tilting his head as if the change of angle would suddenly make it comprehensible.
“No possible solutions for any value of ‘n’ greater than two. Infinitely many solutions for ‘n’ equals one and ‘n’ equals two.” Aventurine squints.
He’s sure to the doctor, his comment is no more insightful than saying ‘the sky is blue,’ ‘it’s raining,’ and ‘I’m holding an umbrella,’ but Ratio hums with satisfaction at his response, nodding. “Correct. A rudimentary proof to Rond’s conjecture, yet an indisputable rendering of its truth nonetheless.”
“So it is a proof,” Aventurine muses. “Someone should tell that Rond fellow that that makes it a theorem, not conjecture.”
“I said the same upon first solving it,” Ratio replies, shaking his head. “However, the professor was… Insistent. I, too, had vehemently rejected his request to call it the ‘Ratio-Rond conjecture’ prior to my paper’s release. I suppose the name may be considered some form of compromise.”
“The professor,” Aventurine repeats in acknowledgement. The soft glow of the equation suspended mid-air gently bounces off of the cellophane packaged roses laid gently against the headstone at their feet, and it doesn’t take long for him to connect the dots. “...I take it that Rond was a colleague, then?”
“...No.” Ratio immediately replies. “My professor.”
Rain continues to patter against their umbrella. Aventurine nods, a look of understanding washing over his own features. He’s experienced loss, of course, enough to fill the quota of several lifetimes many times over. An education, though, he’s never experienced.
Ratio, on the other hand, has lived a life of it; of academia and achievement. Education and knowledge are embedded into the very philosophies he lives by, into his dedication to treat the universe’s greatest ailment.
To lose someone, and to live with the fact that a piece of them still exists, just inherently embedded in you through what they’d taught you. In an odd way, it doesn’t feel all too unfamiliar.
As if reading his mind, Ratio clears his throat. “If I must repeat myself, he did not suffer.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” Abruptly, Aventurine turns towards him, staring into the impression of eyes chiselled into stone. “That he didn’t suffer.”
“...Is it not an important distinction to make?” Ratio retorts, not meeting his gaze.
“Oh, it is,” Aventurine says with a shrug of his unoccupied shoulder. “It simply seems to me that it’s a distinction you’re making for yourself, rather than to state a fact. Call it intuition.”
“Intuition. A fool’s errant method of forming their rationale.” Ratio replies, not a hint of argument behind his voice. “And what kind of conclusion has your ‘intuition’ led you to?”
“I think it’s you that’s suffering.”
Death, he had tried to convince himself in his youth, was simply akin to falling asleep.
Or, perhaps, upon dying, everything simply stopped entirely. A statuesque kind of tranquility, in which people are frozen in the moment of death forever and ever. Not entirely a comforting thought, but it doesn’t cause him dread, either.
Completely still, his parents wouldn’t have felt the fear creep up on them as they met their respective ends, his sister would’ve finally experienced a moment not wracked with worry over him for once. Aware of what’s coming, but not feeling the pain of their end. This, he thinks, is what the appeal of the Nihility is, fading away without the cognizance to watch. There’s a kind of peace to it, isn’t there?
They did not suffer. He would repeat to himself, now far from famine, conflict, and slavery, yet still reliving it in his dreams. He’d flop onto his side late at night to stare at the wall, the afterimage of bodies still in his vision. They did not suffer.
Ratio’s jaw tightens, but no retort comes. The sound of rain is the only thing to fill the silence, the flat expression of the other man’s stone face doing little to prove Aventurine wrong in his assumption. The doctor finally lets out a deep sigh, turning to face Aventurine.
“...There are no less than a dozen biographies written about me.” He says, an annoyance seeping into his voice. “I detest them all, both as narrative works, and as fiction, as so many that have deigned to forgo any research entirely deserve to be called. You know this, yes?”
“Of course, doctor.” Aventurine replies. I hate them too. He doesn’t add.
“‘Wisdom as a Privilege’ is considered the most comprehensive of them all, despite never providing the reader with a single compelling viewpoint.” Ratio shakes his head, as if he’d gotten off track. “Still, most notably, it… Is how I learned of Rond’s deteriorating state.”
“Dementia?” Aventurine supplies.
“Yes, among other ailments that exacerbate with age, such as arthritis.” Ratio sighs, tilting his head back. “The author himself had taken it upon himself to visit Rond in person. Though, personally, I would call such a thing far more akin to harassment, demanding details from a man who could no longer speak. ”
Ratio does that odd chin tilt again, like he thinks that if he meets Aventurine’s gaze fully, it’ll scare the other man off. If anyone has ever proved Ratio wrong before, though, it’s Aventurine, so he continues to stare back at the doctor anyway. “Details. What was he looking for?”
“Information concerning my upbringing. I was merely a pre-teen under the man’s tutelage, thus, with the influence he had upon my youth, Rond’s insight would’ve supplemented a unique perspective previously unseen in other works. That is, if the author had the brains to know what to do with any of it.” Ratio scoffs, crossing his arms noncommittally.
“When his attempts to communicate this to Rond proved futile, he turned to his students and past colleagues. Next, immediate family: Rond’s wife and their children. Eventually, the man had somehow procured the original copy of my letter of recommendation to Veritas Prime, written by Rond long ago. The rest is history. A full transcription of the letter can be found within the book’s first few pages.”
Ratio’s gaze falls upon him again, though there’s no expectation of a response behind it, merely observation as he falls silent again.
Three possessions. That’s all Aventurine and his sister had. Their father’s shirt, their mother’s lucky charm, and their mother’s necklace.
Even after he’d lost his sister, he could never bring himself to rid himself of that shirt, because time had reduced the last record of his father to a rag. Even on his last legs, he could never bring himself to sell Mama’s last two pieces of jewelry, because never would there be a third piece.
“Taking it like that.” Aventurine swallows. “...That’s unfair.”
“Is that your take on the matter?” Ratio asks.
“Is it not yours?”
“...That letter is more than twenty years old. The parchment it was written on was long ago yellowed and worn, a victim to the inherent properties of lightfastness, yet remarkably well preserved for its age.” Ratio replies, keeping his arms crossed. “Its transcription in that book was its preservation. Though no longer a private matter, would I ever again feel the need to read it, it can readily be found within the pages of any banal tabloid. Do you not, then, consider such a thing a non-issue?”
“You had to hide right under the noses of those savages, you and Big Sis, playing dead, drifting in all that bloody water.” He remembers the Harmony’s illusion taunting back on Penacony. “Completely ruined that shirt. Shame. Wasn't that the last one Dad left behind?”
“It wasn't ruined. I've always kept it.”
“Come on. It's a rag. It's not like you can ever wear it.”
“Rationalization. A fool’s errant method of turning a blind eye to their own intuition.” Aventurine says, practically boring his eyes into the other man in an attempt to gaze at him fully. “I wasn’t asking for facts, Ratio. How do you feel about it?”
If the other man says anything in reply, Aventurine doesn’t hear, not when the deluge around them doesn’t let up for a second. Rain trickles down the canopy of the umbrella, blurring the skyline Ratio is staring beyond.
“Doctor.”
“-I do not know ,” Ratio repeats with a heavy sigh. “How I feel .”
Aventurine shakes his head, a wry chuckle escaping him that he simply can’t help. Ratio finally turns to face him completely, as if to ask what the hell, but Aventurine has the nerve to stare into stone even further.
“Apologies, good doctor, but unfortunately, I don’t quite believe you. I think you know perfectly well.”
Ratio gives him a look, neither cutting nor confirmative.
“...State your reasoning.”
“Because, doctor.” Aventurine answers. “You haven’t told me I’m wrong.”
“You-”
“You can deny it, hide behind the façade of rationality, behind the façade of that mask.” Aventurine continues. “But you haven’t told me I’m wrong.”
Ratio’s gaze is a curious thing, somehow capable of breaking his carefully held shields down to dust in its search for answers, yet a gentle thing in its own right. Somehow, Aventurine suspects his own gaze is having a similar effect on the other right now.
Neither of them says anything, and the rain once again does its job of filling the void. Aventurine thinks that perhaps he’s overstepped, until Ratio lets out a long, drawn-out breath.
With the touch of fingers against his chin, the doctor dismisses his bust, small fragments of light dissipating into the air as he does. Finally, finally, does the man turn to look at him completely, sharp eyes of carmine and gold meeting his own.
And Ratio looks terrible. His bangs stick to his forehead uncomfortably, his eyeliner smudges down his pale cheeks.
Aventurine is many, many things, but an asshole is only sometimes one of them, so the I told you he thinks never comes.
“He cared for me. As did I, him, deeply. Yet, such an admission will never be reflected in any body of work, present nor future. So, yes, it infuriates me.” Ratio swallows. “It infuriates me that the man to whom I could attribute my every accolade has been reduced to a mouthpiece. That I am the reason he could not rest in peace.”
The man sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth, a brief pause. Aventurine, unconsciously, steps closer until their shoulders brush, umbrella still clutched in hand. The doctor sighs, making no move to pull away.
“Did you ever tell him?” Aventurine asks. “That you cared. You called caring for him an admission.”
“You, of all people, should be acutely aware of my… Nature. When it comes to disclosing such things. I severely doubt he knew.” Ratio replies, a guilt to his tone as he looks at him. “In addition, visiting home outside of my obligations with the university is not an activity I partake in often. Nor is it one I enjoy.”
Sigonia-IV wasn’t destroyed when Aventurine’s people had died. If he wanted to, he could chart a route to it at any time to pay his old home a visit.
Aventurine does not do that, even if the Sigonia-IV in his memory is flawed and desolate. Even if all he does on its surface in his dreams is run. The Sigonia-IV in his memory is imperfect, but it is recognizable. It had his family on it.
(“Why?” Aventurine asks, a little too quickly. “No folks? Old friends?”
“I have parents.” Ratio answers. “Though, we have not spoken in years.”
“But they’re there.”
“...Gambler. I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“But they’re there.”
It’s only until Ratio places a hand on Aventurine’s shoulder does he realize he’s shaking. He sighs, dropping the subject.)
“He had to have known.” Aventurine states.
Ratio scoffs, though upon hearing him he turns to look at the other a little too quickly to truly have meant it. “What is it that has made you so sure?”
“Well, what did he say about you in that letter that the author thought was so significant?” He asks.
Ratio’s brows knit together uncomfortably, as if caught off guard. “He said that I was brilliant. Talented.”
“He didn’t just say that.”
Ratio would be terrible at poker, because the doctor audibly swallows in apprehension. He meets Aventurine’s knowing gaze and sighs in defeat.
“He said that he enjoyed the time we spent together.” He hesitates, as if there’s some bitter pill in his mouth he struggles to speak around. “He likened me to a genius.”
“Your dream.” Aventurine posits. “Does that, then, not sound like he knew, Ratio?”
The other man sighs. “He vouched for me on account of his own fondness of me, not mine of him, gambler.”
“Do the two truly have to be separate?” Aventurine asks, shrugging noncommittally. “He knew what you wanted more than anything. It seems to me he wanted to make you happy, because you made him happy. He might as well have known.”
“Is that your perspective on the matter?” Ratio replies, not critical, just quiet. “Such a deduction is simply naïve at best, and willful ignorance at worst.”
“And yet, you haven’t told me I’m wrong.” Aventurine says.
And Ratio continues to prove his statement, because he doesn’t. Ratio says nothing, his lips pressing into a line as they continue to stand side by side in silence. Yet, it is not a silence born out of feelings of conflict, nor an apprehension to say anything further.
Aventurine almost doesn’t notice it, but soon their umbrella feels a little lighter in a way he can’t ignore. The almost imperceptible pause between drops of rain eventually decrescendos into a murmur, until a dark veil no longer colonises the sky and it is truly, truly silent between them, no loose tapping rhythm to fill the void.
With a sigh, Aventurine reaches his free hand up and onto the umbrella’s latch, intending to simply collapse the umbrella and shake it dry onto the grass, but-
“Don’t,” Ratio interjects, placing a hand over Aventurine’s wrist before he can close the umbrella. “Keep it over my head just a little longer. Please.”
“Of course.” He replies, because never has he been one to deny doctor’s orders, and stops.
“...Thank you, gambler.” Ratio says quietly, and they both know that keeping the umbrella open isn’t the reason why.
…
The ribs of the umbrella collapse inward as Aventurine wrangles the umbrella shut, the damn thing simply refusing to cooperate in tandem with the wind. Droplets of water flick off its edges in lazy arcs as it’s briskly shaken dry, like tiny diamonds scattering about that refract the warm sunlight now peeking over previously oppressive clouds.
Ratio is clearly less appreciative of such a view, opting to simply roll his eyes at Aventurine’s haphazard method as water gets on both of their shoes. The man is far from unamused, though, idly resting his hand upon the other’s shoulder as he watches. His gaze occasionally flicks from the offending umbrella in question to the gambler’s clothing in what is clearly an ill-concealed attempt to appear as if he isn’t paying it any mind. Aventurine, of course, immediately takes notice.
“How do you rate my outfit, Doc?” Aventurine asks with a playful smirk. “You’re pretty terrible at pretending not to stare.”
“Apologies, though I would hardly consider the act of finding one’s partner wearing the traditional clothing of their home planet appealing to be the outrageous matter you imply.” Ratio counters.
“Oh? So the good doctor admits I look appealing.” He teases.
“It is not an admission if not once have I deigned to conceal such a truth, dear gambler.” The doctor replies, as if they were merely debating something like the weather. “Though, your fibulae is askew.”
Aventurine raises a brow, glancing downwards.
“...The bone?”
Ratio sighs, letting out a dry chuckle as he gestures towards the pin fastening the robes by Aventurine’s right shoulder. “The brooch, gambler.”
“Ah,” Aventurine replies. He smiles up at the other man, motioning towards the umbrella in his dominant hand. “Help me fix it?”
“Certainly.”
It’s… Oddly domestic, Aventurine thinks, seeing Ratio gently unclasp the pin by his shoulder and bunch the ivory fabric by his side until it’s secured and snug. Terribly endearing in a way that makes his heart ache in the best way, and yet Ratio narrows his eyes as he attempts to tuck the sharp end of the brooch into its clasp without nicking the other’s skin as if the closeness of it all hasn’t crossed his mind at all.
“I’m terribly fond of you.” Ratio eventually says quietly upon fastening the pin, a little too abruptly and a little too focused, like a man stumbling through cobwebs. “I quite like you.”
Aventurine laughs softly, and remembers that they’ve always been similar in an odd way. He pats the doctor’s back, pulling him into something that could probably constitute as a hug despite the man’s wet clothes, only with an arm fewer.
“I’m ‘fond of you’ too, Veritas.” Aventurine replies, Ratio letting out a contented, shuddering sigh at the other’s understanding.
Arms are wrapped tightly around him in reciprocation, and for a moment Aventurine thinks of home. The shelter that exists in his memory with the mother and sister he has far outlived, or a flat with Ratio and the three critters that keep them company, he isn’t able to recall, but it is a home, and by the Aeons does it feel warm thinking about it, so he continues to.
In neither scenario are the circumstances necessarily perfect, for there are parts he simply can’t omit; the war, the famine, the Katicans, the IPC forever looming behind their most precious aventurine. But it is his in its imperfection, something he can go back to.
Aventurine hears himself speak before he can feel the words come out of his mouth and possibly stop himself.
“...Ratio, you have to call them.” Aventurine says, a little too quiet in comparison to his usual bravado. “Your parents. Please.”
“...Gambler.” Ratio warns, before letting out a sigh, something gentler as he turns to look at him. “It’s… Complicated. If I must repeat myself, I do not know what I would say.”
He thinks back to Mama’s warm embrace, to her face that he cannot remember. He thinks of the stories Big Sis would murmur to him in the dead of night, her soft hair tickling his face as she whispers to him tales of heroic princes in a tongue he lost the ability to speak long ago. He thinks of Papa, the father he never got to meet, buried in an unmarked grave before he was even born.
“Something.” He says, maybe with a little too much desperation. “Say something, anything so that they know you’re there.”
A look of recognition spreads across the doctor’s features, and for a second Aventurine thinks perhaps he’s broken a boundary as the arms that wrap around him are suddenly gone, the chill of the wind replacing their spot surrounding him.
But Ratio turns around to look back at him, he always does, and extends out a hand.
“Come.” Ratio says. “They are not far. I know that much.”
A small smile slowly creeps its way back onto his face. Aventurine takes it.
…
“Your parents, would they… Y’know…” Aventurine starts, suddenly tugging at his collar slightly awkwardly in his attempt to bring up the obvious, the two of them sitting side by side in a taxi thankfully not driven by any familiar scammers. Ratio turns to look at him, his seat a little too small for him, while Aventurine’s own passenger seat feels much too large.
“...Like me?” He decides upon. Ratio gives him a flat look, to which he provides a sheepish smile in response.
“That depends.” Ratio says in a way that very much indicates the question only has one answer. ”Do you intend to show up on their doorstep with a pulse?”
“Sure hope I will, doc.”
“Then they’ll adore you, as they would with any other piece of evidence that their son isn’t a total recluse.”
Aventurine lets out a sigh of relief as their taxi comes to a stop outside of a house, a warm home with lights on. Ratio walks up the steps as if by second nature.
“For the sake of transparency, I’ll tell you, doctor…” Aventurine says, placing a hand on the railing just behind Ratio’s. “I, uh, thought you were being unfaithful with me before I found you here.”
Aventurine nearly bumps into Ratio as the doctor abruptly stops walking. He can almost see the cogs in the other man’s head turning as he seems to connect the dots, the doctor’s jaw momentarily gapes slightly as his eyes widen.
“...Immediately drawing a conclusion on the basis of negativity. Zero points, gambler. Yet, I have a similar bad habit, so I suppose in my hypocrisy I cannot truly condemn you.” Ratio eventually says upon recovering from his shock, turning back to look at Aventurine in earnest. “A foundationless hypothesis, regardless. For where else in the universe would I find someone who agitates me to no end like you?”
“Are you calling me special?” Aventurine smiles. “I’m flattered, professor.”
Ratio jaw twitches at the use of his title, though it’s undoubtedly in the facsimile of a smile, Aventurine can tell.
Wordlessly, the doctor turns to ring the doorbell, staring back at his partner as he adjusts his tie. “...Heh.”