Chapter Text
If he had been fully awake, Sunday never would have answered Aventurine's call. But the strains of Moonlight Gambler filled the room in the dark hours of the morning, bringing to mind a much happier time, and for a single, blissful moment as Sunday picked up his phone, he thought that maybe it had all been a bad dream. That he had never walked into their shared apartment to find Aventurine pressed against the kitchen counter by someone else, a man he'd never met before and would never meet again.
By the time reality rushed in again, crashing over him in a heartbreaking wave, he already had the phone to his ear, he was already saying hello.
"Sunday." Aventurine's voice was weary, ragged. "Hey. Sorry to wake you."
In the background, Sunday heard an odd, high pitched crying. It almost sounded like an infant.
"Please don't hang up," Aventurine continued, like he knew that was an imminent possibility. He drew in a shaky breath, a break in composure that was not at all like him.
No matter what had happened between them, no matter how angry or hurt Sunday had been, he would never be indifferent to the sound of Aventurine's distress.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I need your help. Please. I'll pay you anything you ask, do whatever you want but please, just…" A soft almost-sob. "I don't have anyone else I can trust."
Sunday knew he should say no. He should hang up the phone and block Aventurine's number and pretend as though they'd never met, as though Aventurine didn't still make him ache after all this time.
But he couldn't. Not when Aventurine was hurting and desperate.
"I'm on my way," he said. The strange wailing sound in the background was a little louder now. "If I take the space anchors I can be there in half an hour."
"Thank you." Aventurine sounded incredibly relieved. "Thank you, Sunday."
After they'd broken up, Sunday moved out of their shared penthouse and left it to Aventurine. He'd returned to the Astral Express to embrace the Trailblaze fully, though his heart still resided on Pier Point, with the gambler he'd bet on only to lose it all.
The camera at Aventurine's front door scanned his face and then the door swung open immediately, as though Aventurine had never removed his access privileges. Once inside, Sunday could hear the crying clearly; it was coming from the baby Aventurine held in his arms as he walked back and forth in front of the penthouse's enormous windows, murmuring softly to the wailing infant.
Sunday hated that his first impulse was bitter jealousy, for whoever the child's other parent was.
Aventurine looked up at Sunday, his eyes glassy with tears. "He won't stop crying. I don't know what to do."
Sunday stepped forward and held out his arms. From his time with Robin's children, he knew how to hold an infant, to cradle him gently and always support the head. He'd spent a great deal of time with her twin baby girls, after all, taking care of them while she was on tour and Acheron was tied up in whatever it was an Emanator of Nihility did.
As soon as the baby settled in Sunday's arms, he calmed, staring up at Sunday with enormous eyes the same gemstone shades as Aventurine's.
Aventurine let out a soft, incredulous laugh and sank down on the sofa, his head in his hands.
"My own son hates me," he said softly.
Carefully, Sunday sat beside him, rocking the infant gently in his arms. "He doesn't hate you. He's just curious about a new person."
"He's been crying all day. I can't get him to stop."
"Perhaps his other parent could take a turn." Sunday couldn't help the harsh, bitter tone of his voice. "Surely they should be helping you."
"There isn't anyone else." Aventurine scrubbed his hand over his eyes. "He doesn't have another parent. He's stuck with just me, because this universe is so fucking unfair."
There was a story there, but it wasn't the time to pry.
"When is he due for a feeding?" Sunday asked.
Aventurine lifted his watch, blinking blearily at the display. "About three hours. I have formula in the kitchen."
"Alright." Sunday smiled down at the baby. He was adorable, a mop of Aventurine's sandy blonde hair atop his head and those distinctive eyes, as beautiful as his father's. "I'll feed him when he's ready. You should get some sleep."
"You know how?"
"You may have read in the celebrity tabloids that Robin had twins a few years ago. I stayed with her for several months after they were born to help her care for them. So have no fear. I know what to do."
Aventurine covered his face with his hands, muffling a soft sigh. "Thank you, Sunday. I know I don't deserve it but… thank you."
After Aventurine retired, Sunday relaxed on the couch with a documentary playing low on the TV and the babe in his arms. Sorin, as Aventurine had called him when saying goodnight, cried whenever he was set down, but as long as Sunday was holding him he was calm and content.
A few hours later, Sorin began fussing, shifting restlessly in Sunday's arms and making low squalling noises that were clearly a warm up for something with significantly higher volume. Sunday heated up formula in the kitchen and sat on the couch to give Sorin the bottle. He noted the distinct lack of baby equipment in the apartment; aside from the formula and bottles there were none of the necessities for a new parent. He couldn't help but wonder about the child's circumstances and if there really was no one else in Aventurine's life who would have come to help.
Light was just beginning to show over Pier Point's blocky, distinctive skyline when he finally got Sorin to bed. In the living room, he opened the refrigerator and noted with displeasure that the only contents were a bottle of vodka and a few takeout boxes. Clearly Aventurine had not been eating well, and likely drinking more than he should. Sunday wondered about the man he'd caught Aventurine with that day, more than a year ago. If the child had no other parent, did that mean that man was no longer in the picture either?
"Morning." Aventurine's voice was sleep roughened, and when Sunday turned he couldn't suppress a smile at the way Aventurine's hair was sticking straight up, the bleariness in his expression.
"Good morning," he said.
"You're a miracle worker," Aventurine said. "I can't believe you got him to sleep."
"It's always a challenge at that age."
"I suppose so." Aventurine sighed, sinking into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "I guess I should tell you the whole story."
Sunlight fell in over him, lighting his hair and his sharp, handsome features. Sunday felt a pang of longing so intense he thought it might break him.
"I met one of the Genius Society members. Ruan Mei. She was fascinated with me. Called me the "scion of an extinct species." She got obsessed with the Avgins, told me we had something unique about our DNA. So I let her take some samples, no big deal. Then she tells me she can make a baby from what I gave her, a child that would be one-hundred percent Avgin just from my DNA. She said… I wouldn't be the last of my species anymore. And I just…"
Aventurine sighed, spreading his fingers over the table. Sunday wanted to take his hands, squeeze them gently in comfort. But he couldn't bring himself to bridge the gap between them.
"I wanted a kid. I did. I just didn't think about if it would be fair to them, having me for a dad. If we're born in this universe just to die, then how cruel is it that I caused someone to be born?"
"It's not cruel," Sunday said. "You obviously love your child very much. That is what's most important. But it's a lot for one person to do alone. You need to hire help."
At those words, Aventurine drew in a shuddering breath, as distressed as Sunday had ever seen him.
"I know. I know. But… when it happened… the Katicans killed infants like him. I remember babies bleeding out into the sand. And anytime I think about hiring someone, getting a nanny or— I just can't. I can't trust anyone with him."
"You trusted me."
Aventurine huffed a soft laugh. "Of course I trusted you. I'd trust you with anything."
Sunday knew his next words were unconscionably reckless, that he would likely live to regret them before the day was out. But he couldn't stop himself. Aventurine needed him, and he could not turn aside. And, selfishly, he wanted Aventurine's child to belong to him too, even if only in this little way.
"Let me help you, then. Our Trailblazing has reached a bit of a lull as they wait for a new stretch of the silver rail to be revealed. I find myself with time on my hands. And I was a caretaker for Robin's children when they were this same age, so I'm certain I'm proficient in the things you'd need."
"You…" Aventurine stared at him, utterly shocked. "You mean that? After… after what I did?"
"Yes. It doesn't mean that I've forgiven you, merely that I… I can't bear to see you struggle. If I can help, I will."
"Thank you, Sunday." Aventurine grabbed his hand and kissed it, before quickly releasing it as though realizing too late what he'd done. "Sorry. But thank you. I mean it."
From the moment Sunday said "I love you," standing on the deck of Aventurine's yacht in a white billowing blouse, looking like a dream come true, Aventurine had known it wouldn't last.
He began testing Sunday. It was like a compulsion, half subconscious, and although he hated himself afterwards, he couldn't stop. It started with little things, a hand sliding too far up Sunday's thigh in public, a snide comment about the Family. But from there it escalated, until he was showing up blind drunk to their anniversary celebration, throwing up on Sunday's shoes.
And yet Sunday endured it all with the patience of a martyr. Sure, he could be sharp-tongued and stern, but he didn't leave.
But when Sunday found him in the arms of a man whose name he couldn't remember now, that was his limit. Aventurine knew it as soon as he'd looked in Sunday's eyes. His love wasn't enough to overcome this test, and Aventurine was heartbroken, but also secretly relieved. Because now he knew. He knew the place where Sunday's love stopped. He wouldn't have to keep fearing the inevitable end.
Sunday's departure utterly devastated him. After Sunday packed up his things and left their shared apartment, Aventurine went on a week long bender he barely remembered, and only Topaz and Ratio's intervention brought him back from the brink. He'd been despondent ever since. One-night stands made him sick with regret and remorse, as though he were still cheating on Sunday even though they'd definitively parted ways. And yet he kept seeking them out, because it was so much worse to be alone.
He'd always wanted kids, but part of the reason he'd agreed to Ruan Mei's admittedly crazy scheme was that he hoped a child would fill the hole in his heart, that perhaps with someone to love, he wouldn't be so achingly, desperately lonely.
What a joke. He was so unsuited to fatherhood that it was almost funny. Sorin cried all the time, clearly miserable and discontent. Who could blame him? With only one parent, a irreparably damaged one at that, the deck was already stacked against him the moment he came into the world. Why wouldn't he wail as though his heart was broken, and refuse to be consoled even in Aventurine's arms?
Something about Sunday was magic, though. Even after he left, returning to the Express to gather the things he'd need for an extended stay, Sorin seemed content to sleep away in his crib. And when he woke, Aventurine held him for a long time just to feel his warmth, to watch his little face and feel the strength of his grip as he wrapped his fist around one of Aventurine's fingers. He was so impossibly beautiful, and he looked just like an Avgin, with Aventurine's same hair and his multicolor eyes.
It never rained on Herta Space Station, but it must have been raining on Sigonia the day Sorin was born, because he bore the blessing of Gaiathra Triclops just as Aventurine did. Aventurine had always wondered if Gaiathra Triclops was watching him, out in the vast reaches of space far from his home. He supposed that now he had his answer.
"May your blood be eternally pulsing," he whispered to Sorin, the prayer of his people coming easily to his lips even after all this time. "And your schemes forever concealed."
Then he laughed, brushing his finger along Sorin's cheekbone. "Except from your dad," he added. "Let me in on your schemes at least until you turn eighteen, okay?"
Sorin stared up at him curiously, and Aventurine couldn't help but smile.
"We'll do okay, you and me," he said, a foreign tendril of hope unfurling in his heart. "Sunday will help us. So it'll be okay, you'll see."
Sunday returned in the late afternoon with two large suitcases, one of them carried by Aventurine's assistant. Brina, once Sunday's most effective secretary and later poached from the Family's service by Aventurine, followed him into the apartment.
"Congratulations," she chirped, clasping her hands together. "Do I finally get to meet him?"
Aventurine got up to greet her. Unlike his previous assistants, all of whom owed allegiance to the IPC, he'd formed a personal connection with Brina. He trusted her with sensitive matters, like picking him up when he was nearly blackout drunk or discreetly removing every trace of Sunday from his apartment after their breakup.
"What a cutie," she cooed, grinning down at Sorin. She was smart enough not to comment on Sunday's presence, or cast a judgemental look at Aventurine upon finding out that Sunday wanted his things placed in the guest bedroom.
"He gets it from his dad," Aventurine said, with a playfulness and good cheer he did not feel.
Sunday's eyes flickered to him, but he said nothing. "Let's bring in the rest, Brina."
Sorin in his arms, Aventurine watched, nonplussed, as Sunday and Brina brought in half a dozen large boxes and several shopping bags.
"What's all this?" he asked.
"There are a number of necessities you are lacking," Sunday said. "I took the liberty of doing some shopping for the things we'll need in the coming months."
"Don't worry," Brina said, winking. "You paid for them, Mr. Aventurine."
"Great." Aventurine blinked at all the boxes, overwhelmed. "Thanks."
Part of it was gratitude, that Sunday was willing to go to all this trouble for him. But the other part of it… What a fuckup of a parent he was; he didn't even know what half this stuff was for.
"I'll let you get settled in," Brina said, and left after cooing a goodbye to Sorin and hugging Sunday.
Aventurine sat on the couch with Sorin in his arms, blinking back tears. How pathetic he'd become, reduced to a blubbering mess, a worthless parent barely able to care for his son. When Sunday sat beside him, he turned his face away.
"Are you hungry, sweet boy?" Sunday asked softly, extending his hand so Sorin could grab his fingers. Aventurine had never heard him use that exact tone of voice before, and the sound of it, the fact that it was directed at his own son, filled him with an aching longing he'd probably never know the end of.
"I fed him just an hour ago," he said, his voice thick.
"Aventurine. Are you okay?" Now Sunday's voice was soft with concern for the callous scoundrel who'd broken his heart. "What's wrong?"
"It's nothing." Aventurine took a deep breath. "Really. Why don't you… why don't you show me what all this stuff is?"
"It's clearly not nothing." Sunday put a hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps I can help. If you can't tell me, I could…"
He trailed off, but Aventurine knew what he was about to say. He'd done it before a few times, when Aventurine couldn't bring himself to speak his emotions out loud.
"Okay," Aventurine said softly. "But just this. Nothing else."
Sunday nodded solemnly, and Aventurine knew that he wouldn't break his trust. He looked into Aventurine's eyes and his halo glowed a warm gold that illuminated the room for just a few moments. He looked just like one of Gaiathra Triclops' angels, descended from heaven just to help Aventurine.
"Ah. You feel inadequate." Sunday's halo dimmed to its usual soft shine. "Aventurine, no one knows how to be a parent without being taught. I was as clueless as you at first. I only seem proficient now because I've done it before."
Aventurine huffed a soft laugh. "It was cruel and stupid of me to bring a life into this inherently unjust universe. But I… I can't regret it. Not when I look at him."
"Nor should you." Sunday smiled warmly at him, and for just a second Aventurine thought maybe the ache he felt in his heart was reflected in Sunday's eyes. But then Sunday turned his gaze to Sorin, the twist of his lips painfully fond. "When this little guy goes down for his nap, we can go through what I purchased."