Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            “You win this round, Doctor.” Aventurine’s voice is two shades more languid than usual, annoying Ratio into opening his eyes to give his unwanted companion a withering look. “I’m throwing in the towel. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

            “I wasn’t aware that we were competing,” Ratio says dryly.

            “Why? Because we weren’t wagering on it?” Aventurine gives a lazy chuckle as he eases himself out of the hot spring. “It’s common knowledge that your favorite hobby is lounging in tubs of steaming water. You have far better endurance than me. Why would I make a bet that I knew I would lose?”

            “Why would you show up somewhere you weren’t invited?” Ratio counters. “You don’t make choices based on logic.”

            “Not invited isn’t the same thing as not welcome though, is it?” Aventurine returns with an infuriating smile as he wraps his towel around his waist.

            Ratio scowls in return. “I came to this facility for the sole purpose of relaxing,” he says pointedly.

            “And I crashed your vacation to come relax with you. Or are you saying that you find conversing with me too stimulating?”

            “Weren’t you leaving?” Ratio reminds the infuriating gambler.

            Aventurine laughs. “Yes. I was. I’ll leave you to your relaxing. If you feel like company, once you’re done, you can find me in the hotel bar.”

            “I’d advise you against drinking alcohol at the moment, if I thought you would actually listen,” Ratio tells him. “Spending time in environments warmer than one is used to promotes dehydration – even if those environments are hot springs. Consuming alcohol compounds the effects of dehydration.”

            Aventurine’s hypnotic eyes light up and Ratio braces himself for a jest related to Ratio caring about his wellbeing. None comes, however. For whatever reason, the gambler lets him off the hook. “I’ll start with a bubbly water then. I can wait until you join me to have a real drink.”

            “You’ll be waiting for quite some time then,” Ratio vows.

            Aventurine just smirks. “Enjoy your bath, Doctor.”

            Aventurine fully intends to follow Ratio’s advice and start with something other than alcohol. Much to his chagrin, he’s feeling the effects from staying in the hot springs for too long. What’s even more embarrassing is the fact that he’s certain the good doctor noticed it too. The water was just so nice though, and the company even better. Staying in a bit longer was worth the slight amount of dizziness that plagues him now – especially since it will clear up as soon as he cools down.

            The changing rooms are warm, so as not to be too jarring to spa guests who’ve just gotten out of the baths, but the lobby will be cooler, and the bar is sure to have an assortment of icy drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic in nature. Ratio picked a nice place to spend his downtime. The facility isn’t dripping in luxury but it’s still very much high class.

            Not the kind of place someone expects to see slaves, though. As Aventurine passes a trio of other guests, he notes how they take note of the brand on his neck. Then the murmurs amongst the small group ensue.

            Something about them puts Aventurine on edge. He’s too far from them to hear exactly what they’re saying, but he can tell that it’s more sinister than the usual pearl clutching reaction he gets when someone realizes what those numbers on his neck mean. His instincts tell him that group is trouble. Best to steer clear of them, so as not to ruin Ratio’s daytrip. He’ll never hear the end of it if he ends up dropping a couple bodies in this changing room and getting Ratio caught up in some kind of mess.

            So, he wastes no time sliding his locker key into its slot to retrieve his clothes, and he dresses as quickly as he can without coming across as frantic, all the while keeping the trio of potentially problematic people in view, out the corner of his eye.

            He’s just slid his coat on when they decide to approach him – and though Aventurine would much rather deal with them with the appropriate amount of violence that fools like them are due, he turns to make a hasty exit.

            More fool him.

            “Signonian.”

            Huh. So they recognize him for what he is. Still, Aventurine doesn’t stop walking. At least not until the man speaks again, and his second word freezes him in his tracks.

            “Lambda.”

            Shit. Fuck. Not good.

            Panic wells up in Aventurine. It costs him precious seconds – and he has no idea how much time he has. His mind is going to blank before the key phrase’s end.

            “Avgin.”

            There’s only one card that Aventurine has to play. One possible way out of this for him.

            “RATIO!” Aventurine screams, as loud as he can. “RATIO!”

            He does have enough sense of mind to clap his hands over his ears. To try and block out the words, but the speaker raises his voice, and Aventurine hears them all the same.

            “Vesperia!” the man says, loudly, and more quickly as he reaches the end of the key phrase. “Eonia!”

            And with that, Aventurine’s breath catches. His arms drop limply to his sides and his mind fills with static. Everything suddenly seems so far away . . . and all Aventurine can do is stand there helplessly, awaiting orders like the thrall he is.

            “RATIO!”

            At Aventurine’s scream, Ratio immediately jolts upright. He’s standing, clamoring out of the hot spring, and knotting a towel around his waist, even as Aventurine screams for him again.

            “RATIO!”

            The sheer terror in the gambler’s voice makes his heart jump into his throat. It doesn’t occur to him for a moment that this might be some ploy, some trick – Aventurine’s fear is too pure, too genuine.

            Whatever’s happened, Ratio intends to put a stop to it. Immediately.

            But anything that Aventurine can’t handle himself, let alone something that makes him sound like that, is something to be approached with extreme caution. So, while Ratio makes all due haste, he uses his head as he does so.

            More likely than not, the something that has terrified Aventurine is a person rather than a beast. This is a relatively safe planet, with little to no recorded Fragmentum activity, and they are in the heart of a city. While there is always room for anomalies to occur, it would be an amazing coincidence if it was a monster that appeared before Aventurine.

            Aventurine is a match for most humans, but there are plenty who can cause problems for him, especially if they attack him in numbers while he is alone. If the enemy he’s facing now is in fact a person, then they’ll be on the lookout for help arriving, both from the baths and the lobby. Likely, they’ll be casing both of those entrances to the locker room.

            So, Ratio does not enter the changing room via the door. He spies another point of ingress – a narrow window, meant to let the light in, and vented to let the worst of the changing room’s humidity out. It’s too high off the ground for most to think of it as a viable way into the locker room, but Ratio is athletic as well as possessed of exceptional problem-solving skills. He quickly moves a laundry bin on wheels, meant for used towels, directly beneath the window, flips it over, then with its aid, scales the side of the building and climbs through the window. A conveniently placed bench beneath it keeps him from having to drop all the way to the floor, and makes his landing a bit quieter. He then proceeds on full alert, seeking out his gambler and whatever fool has dared threaten him.

            Voices lead him to the far side of the room, past stand after stand of lockers, which obscure him from view, and allow him to sneak up on his enemies. He can’t hear exactly what they’re saying until he’s closer – the acoustics in the locker room are dreadful. It’s not until he cautiously turns a corner and comes up behind the small gathering that he can actually make out their words.

            Even then, however, it takes a few seconds longer for their words to register. His attention is stolen by Aventurine himself. The moment he lays eyes on the gambler, he’s struck by a sense of wrongness. Aventurine stands there so still that he could be petrified, his expression as blank as a doll’s. It’s uncanny how different he looks without even a shred of emotion on his face – lifeless in a way that Ratio’s never seen him before and never wants to see him again. He moves only when he’s moved – when one of the men before him takes his chin and turns his unresisting head to the side, giving him a better look at the serial number branded on Aventurine’s neck.

            “And they said my neural reprogramming wouldn’t hold – that the subjects would outgrow it and their brains would fix themselves. But this one . . . this one couldn’t have been more than seven or eight when he went through the procedure. And here we are, over a decade and a half later, and my conditioning’s still holding strong.”

            The man’s back is to him, so Ratio can’t see his expression, but the way he puts his hands on Aventurine makes his stomach turn.

            “The IPC were fools,” the other man says. He, at least, is at an angle where Ratio can see his face in profile. He flashes an ugly, greedy smile. “What say we take this thrall off their hands?”

            “Hm. While we came here for pleasure rather than business, who am I to ignore an opportunity like this? Signonians are in short supply these days. And this one’s eyes are exceptional.” The first man reaches up to caress Aventurine’s cheek in a way that makes Ratio certain that selling him for his eyes isn’t all he has planned for the gambler.

            Ratio’s heard enough. He summons his book to hand, steps forward, and grabs the first man, spinning the disgusting cretin around to face him. Then he strikes him so hard in the temple – the weakest point in his skull – that a traumatic brain injury is all but inevitable. The disgusting slaver goes down without a sound. A second strike and his companion joins him. Then Ratio moves on to what’s really important.

            “Aventurine.” He moves to stand in front of the gambler and searches for some sign of life in his face – something, anything, to let him know that Aventurine is in there. “Snap out of it, gambler.”

            Aventurine doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch. His expression remains frighteningly blank.

            “You – Aventurine! Wake up!” Ratio snaps his fingers in front of the shorter man’s face. “Do I need to throw some water on you?”

            Footsteps. Ratio turns toward them and readies himself.

            “Well, whoever he was calling for either didn’t hear or didn’t care,” a third cretin says carelessly, stepping into view. “That said, leave me out of whatever shit you’re planning. I came here for vaca –”

            He has just enough time to take in the sight of his two friends bleeding on the floor before Ratio grabs him by his throat and pins him against the lockers.

            “What is this?” he demands of the cretin. “How do I fix this? Tell me right now.”

            He keeps his grip too tight on the disgusting man’s throat for him to speak though, for a good fifteen seconds before relaxing it – not completely. Just enough for the fool to choke out the necessary words.

            “I don’t – I don’t know! There’s a key phrase but I don’t know it. Fleitch does, but –”

            His eyes flit to the human scum that is currently on the floor, bleeding from a headwound. He won’t be waking to tell Ratio anything anytime soon. Even though he has information Ratio needs, Ratio can’t find it in himself to regret his actions. There are certainly other solutions to this problem. Ratio just needs to find them.

            “Well then.” Ratio raises his book, intending to send this third man off to sleep too.

            “Wait! I know how to make him obey you! I know that much!” the man says quickly. “You put your hand over their serial number for sixty seconds! Then their programming kicks in and they have no choice but to obey you! At least that’s what Fleitch always said –”

            “Good to know.” Ratio lets his book descend. It collides with the talkative cretin’s forehead with a shade less force than he used for the other two – and at a part of his skull that is considerably thicker. He’ll probably wake with no permanent adverse effects. Probably.

            That dealt with, Ratio wastes no time in putting his fingers against the brand on Aventurine’s neck – his serial number. He’s never touched the mark before – never had reason to. Now that he does, he is careful. Realistically he knows that it won’t hurt Aventurine – that it’s a scar, and one that healed over long ago, but he’s gentle all the same. The last thing he wants is to cause him pain.

            The sixty seconds that it takes to secure Aventurine’s obedience is more than enough for Ratio to figure out the most optimal course of action, as well as three alternate methods of breaking him free from this neuro-reprogramming and getting him back to himself. Unfortunately, all three methods take time, resources, or both. Ratio intends to start with the simplest, least invasive option. That involves getting out of here, and quickly, before he can become entangled in any legal rigamarole or have assault charges levied against him.

            “Put on your sunglasses, gambler,” is the first order he gives Aventurine once the requisite time spent programming him to obey Ratio has passed. And obey Aventurine does. He’s fully dressed already, though slightly unkempt – collar not straightened, shirt untucked, and cuffs unbuttoned, as though he was trying to make himself decent as fast as possible and get out of here in a hurry. For all the good it did him. Now he slips his sunglasses out of one of his coat’s pockets, mechanically opens them, and puts them on his face.

            The tinted glasses do nothing to keep him from looking like an Uncanny Valley version of the gambler Ratio knows. His face without expression, without even a gleam in his eyes, will never not look alien and wrong. However, the sunglasses will help to make him slightly less recognizable on surveillance footage, and possibly keep others who don’t know him as well as Ratio from realizing that something is very wrong with him.

            “Good. Follow me,” Ratio says, and when he begins quickly walking to the locker where his clothes are stored, Aventurine follows, keeping pace.

            He dresses quickly once he retrieves his garments, but takes time to make sure that his appearance is all in order. Then he takes a moment to straighten up Aventurine’s clothing, buttoning his cuffs for him and tugging his collar into its proper position. It only takes a few seconds, and it could potentially keep someone who might take note of them from paying them undue attention.

            “Alright. Keep following me. Stay close.”

            They make it out of the hot springs resort and back to the space port where the Astral Express is parked without incident. Ratio is certain that they managed to avoid being captured by any security cameras on their way out. He, at least, did not have a room booked for the night – the Astral Express is scheduled to depart this evening, and so he paid admission for a day visit to the hot springs only, no identification needed. Unless he is struck by the most extreme ill luck, it will take far longer than half a day for the city or planetary authorities to even consider him a person of interest related to the incident in the locker room. By then, he’ll be long gone, never to return to this backwater rock, and never to recommend it to any friends or colleagues for a vacation after seeing some of the bottom feeders that makes up their clientele.

            It’s a slow morning on the Astral Express – Ratio is able to make it to his guest room with Aventurine in tow, without encountering any fellow passengers. Once inside, he locks the door behind them so their privacy will be assured, then turns to the gambler.

            “Sit down on the bed,” he tells the smaller man. Aventurine moves to obey but Ratio doesn’t bother watching. He still finds it disturbing to see him in this state – so expressionless that he might as well be a stranger. He busies himself with searching through his luggage, particularly the bag containing his provisions. He comes up with two bottles of water, one of which he presses into Aventurine’s hands. “Drink. At least a quarter of the bottle.”

            He pulls the chair at the guest room’s desk over to the bedside as Aventurine rehydrates, and watches with mild interest as, having finished, Aventurine replaces the cap on the bottle without being told to. A sign that he’s coming out of his trance? Or simply a certain amount of common sense built into the neural programming? It’s impossible to say without further observation and research. The mere thought of both make Ratio feel vaguely sick to his stomach, however. He takes the bottle from Aventurine before giving him his next order.

            “Lie down.”

            Once again, Aventurine obeys. When he’s flat on his back, Ratio takes it upon himself to remove the gambler’s sunglasses and transfer them to the nightstand. He’s certain they’re expensive, and it won’t do to let him break them in his sleep if he rolls over. That taken care of, Ratio reaches out to place two fingers against Aventurine’s throat to take his pulse –

            – and nearly recoils as he feels how horribly, dangerously fast his heart is beating.

            This won’t do at all. With his heartrate elevated to this extent, Aventurine is in clear and present danger of having a heart attack or stroke. Is this a side effect of his conditioning? If it is, Ratio will need to get him to a medical facility so he can be stabilized. It’s a miracle that he managed to even walk here with his pulse racing like this . . . unless . . .

            When the obvious alternate explanation occurs to him, Ratio wants to kick himself.

            Of course . . . How could he be so stupid?

            He knows Aventurine’s past. It’s the whole reason he’s in the situation that’s he’s in right now – enslaved, his free will stolen, and now with his very mind turned against him to shackle him further . . . Ratio doesn’t know everything that happened to him during that dark chapter of his life. Nor does he need to. Whatever he was forced to endure won’t make Ratio see him as any less . . . and who knows, maybe with his insane luck, he was spared the worst of the fates that tend to befall beautiful slaves? But the fact remains that he would have been very aware of the threat of them.

            And Ratio just brought him to a secluded, unfamiliar room and ordered him into bed.

            “Aventurine,” he says, trying to adjust his voice to a comforting pitch. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve been remiss in keeping you abreast of what I’m planning. I apologize. I have a plan to help you return to normal. In fact, I have four plans. But I believe that the simplest one is best. I believe that simply by falling asleep and naturally waking up that your REM cycles will reset your mind back to its normal state. So, I’ve brought you to my guest cabin on the Astral Express. This is probably the safest place on this planet for you at this time – and it is scheduled to depart this evening. I trust you have no objections to getting off this backwater world?”

            Aventurine can’t answer, of course. His expression doesn’t change . . . but beneath Ratio’s fingers, his heartrate slows drastically. Ratio internally cringes at the distress he caused his colleague.

            “I’m going to take off your shoes. And only your shoes,” he adds, in case the gambler needs the reassurance.

            He keeps his movements steady and careful, taking his time with the laces so Aventurine won’t have any sense that any of his garments are being removed roughly or too fast. Once that is done, Ratio unfolds the spare blanket at the foot of the bed and spreads it over Aventurine. More to comfort him than keep him warm, as the Astral Express’s cabins are kept pleasantly cool, but not cold. It’s Ratio’s hope, however, that the blanket will make Aventurine feel more secure. Like he’s being taken care of.

            When he takes Aventurine’s pulse again, he finds that it is nearly normal for an adult of his size. A little high, but still dropping. Ratio can work with this.

            “Now I’m going to give you a mild sedative. It won’t put you under in and of itself, but it will make it easier for you to fall asleep,” Ratio tells him. “I have never been in your position before, but I assume that returning to your normal state of mind as fast as possible is your priority. Forgive me if I’m mistaken.”

            Aventurine’s heartrate doesn’t spike again after Ratio reveals his intent to sedate him. It’s as close to consent as Ratio can get at the moment. He opens his luggage again, retrieves his medical kit, and selects a vial of a sedative with enough kick that Aventurine should drift off in less than a quarter of an hour, but that will work its way through his system quickly and won’t artificially keep him under.

            Then Ratio preps Aventurine for the injection, taking very deliberate care – firmly tying a tourniquet to ensure he finds a vein. Sterilizing the injection site with a piece of gauze and a few drops of rubbing alcohol. He chooses the syringe with the smallest needle in his kit, even though he doesn’t think Aventurine can see it – his beautiful eyes are staring sightlessly toward the ceiling. Then again, he’s a bit more aware than Ratio had given him credit for, and as Ratio doesn’t know if the gambler has an aversion to needles, he does what he can to make the experience less traumatic for him.

            “This will only hurt a moment. Your arm may feel cold afterward – the injection has a slight numbing property,” Ratio says once he’s filled the syringe and cleared it of air bubbles. He takes Aventurine’s pulse once more and finds it still beating at an acceptable rate. Then, satisfied, he gives him the injection. Once that’s finished, he removes the tourniquet and puts away his med kit.

            “I feel as though there’s something that I should be saying,” Ratio says as he sinks into the chair beside the bed. “Often, however, I find that words I say with the intent to comfort have the opposite effect, and I don’t wish to cause you further alarm or distress. So, I will say only this: that I hope you rest easy. And that I will remain here, by your side, to monitor your condition until you awaken. Completely. If this doesn’t restore you to your normal self, then we will move on to the next possible solution. And . . . once we’ve found it . . . if you like . . . I will help you rid yourself of this condition completely.”

            For the first time since this whole mess started, Aventurine makes a sound. It’s like a sigh. Ratio is nearly certain the noise is deliberate – and perhaps a sign that Aventurine is managing to shake off his conditioning already. He doesn’t think that the bastard who programmed him to be this soullessly obedient would have allowed for his slaves to sigh at will.

            He watches with clinical – and perhaps personal – interest, as Aventurine’s eyes slowly close. As they do, a tear escapes from each one and runs down the sides of his face, and Ratio finds his jaw clenching. He uses another piece of gauze to wipe them away on the chance that the sensation of tear tracks on his skin is an annoyance that will keep Aventurine awake. Then he takes Aventurine’s hand out from under the blanket and clasps it in both of his own, holding it steady as well as pressing two fingers against his pulse, which has dropped again. If Aventurine isn’t already asleep, he will be soon. Good.

            Ratio keeps hold of Aventurine’s hand as he shifts slightly in his chair, settling in for a long wait.

            Aventurine comes to slowly – at first. His mind is clouded and everything feels so far away. He’s comfortable though. Somewhere nice and cool. Laying on something soft – presumably a bed. Covered with a light blanket. He’s not in the room he calls his own, but he still has the sense of being safe. There’s a comforting warmth surrounding his hand and wrist that confuses him. It motivates him to open his eyes and turn his head toward the source.

            When he does he sees two hands, much larger than his own, cradling his. One props it up. The other has two fingers pressed against the vein in his wrist, monitoring his pulse. Aventurine raises his gaze to find Ratio looking down at him with mild concern.

            That’s when everything comes back to him and he’s jolted completely awake.

            With wakefulness comes a myriad of emotions – gratitude, shame, affection, embarrassment . . . He coughs and does his best to deflect.

            “Give it to me straight, Doctor. Am I going to live?”

            “Good to see that your sense of humor remains intact,” Ratio says dryly. He releases Aventurine’s hand then, and Aventurine feels a confusing wave of disappointment. A moment later, though, Ratio hands him a bottle of water. “Drink. At least half of what remains, if you please.”

            Aventurine pushes himself up into a sitting position so that he can obey – because he wants to, not because he’s compelled to. He hates that Ratio saw him like that – will-less. Helpless. Nothing more than a mindless thrall.

            Trying to remember what happened while he was in that state is like trying to remember a dream. It feels so far away . . . but when he tries hard, he can recall Ratio’s heroic rescue of him, and his impressive display of violence toward the slavers. How he got here . . . and where he is . . . those memories elude him. But he remembers being ordered onto the bed and suddenly being scared. Not because he thought Ratio would do anything to him. Not really. It was more ingrained instincts. Ratio must have realized that, because Aventurine remembers his assurances now too. His promise to help Aventurine awaken from his trance – and his vow to help him rid himself of his neuro reprogramming for good.

            Aventurine isn’t used to being taken care of. Isn’t used to being protected. He doesn’t even know what to say. “Thanks for keeping me from being resold to even less ethical people than the ones who own me now,” somehow doesn’t seem adequate.

            “How are you feeling?” Ratio asks once Aventurine’s finished draining the entire bottle of water.

            “Uh . . . Okay, mostly. A little dizzy, but other than that alright.”

            “No headache?” Ratio asks. “Or other adverse effects?”

            “No. I don’t think so. Thank you,” Aventurine says as Ratio hands him another bottle of water.

            “Dehydration almost certainly accounts for the dizziness,” Ratio says clinically. “At least in part. You would know better than I would if it’s a side effect of your conditioning . . . ?”

            Aventurine makes a noncommittal noise as he twists open the water bottle. “It’s been so long since it was last activated, I don’t remember.”

            “I see.”

            “Ratio . . . Thank you. I ruined your vacation. I’m sorry, I –”

            “You don’t need to apologize, gambler,” Ratio cuts him off. “Or thank me. I was happy to help you.”

            “Ratio . . .” Aventurine feels his cheeks coloring. To distract himself – and the good doctor, because the last thing he wants is Ratio taking note of his flush and thinking it’s another side effect – he casts his gaze around until his eyes land on the window. Its curtains are closed, but he thinks he cans see natural daylight through the cracks between them. “Where are we? Is this –”

            “The Astral Express. We are still planet-side, at the moment, but will be departing for Herta Space Station in a scant few hours.”

            “I see.” Just a few hours then, until they’re off this rock. Safely away from the man who’d reprogrammed his brain, in his early days as a slave, and the consequences of Ratio violently assaulting that bastard and his friends. “I suppose that’s where I’ll disembark too. If you have no objections.”

            “On the contrary, I would prefer it,” Ratio says. “The space station is the ideal place to begin research on how to undo whatever conditioning was done to you. Of course, your consent is required before I begin any such research. I hope you know that my goal will be only to remove it, not to exploit –”

            “I know,” Aventurine says quickly. “I trust you.”

            Is it his imagination or are Ratio’s cheeks flushing a bit now. No, it’s not, Aventurine realizes. That is definitely a blush, and for some reason Aventurine can’t help but feel a surge of elation at the sight of it.

            A teasing comment is on the tip of his tongue, but Aventurine reins it in. It’s probably quite bad taste to provoke one’s savior this soon after waking up from being saved and cared for by them. Aventurine takes another drink to buy himself a few moments to think of what to say next. To his surprise, the water bottle feels unnaturally heavy, even after he’s partially drained it. It slips through his numb fingers and rolls off the bed right after he manages to clumsily replace its cap.

            “Ah . . .”

            “No matter.” Ratio quickly retrieves it.

            “Sorry, I . . . I think I’m still very tired . . .” Aventurine confesses as the realization sets in.

            Ratio nods pensively. “The sedative that I gave you should be out of your system now, but you’ve had a stressful day. Not to mention you are dehydrated, though you’ve taken steps to curb that. The best thing for you now, I believe, is more sleep. Unless you think you could eat something?”

            Aventurine gives his head a slight shake. “Food doesn’t sound good right now. Sleep does though. If you don’t mind?”

            “Of course not.”

            Aventurine eases himself back down. “What will you do now then, Doctor?”

            “Continue monitoring your condition,” Ratio says, as though it should be obvious.

            Aventurine frowns. “You’re not tired yourself? You had a stressful day too, having your vacation ruined, having to beat the crap out of those slavers, then having to watch over me.”

            “My day has been much less stressful than yours, I assure you,” Ratio tells him, “and unlike you, I was neither adversely affected by the hot spring or subjected to an unethical madman’s mind control.”

            That’s fair. But still . . .

            “Rest,” Ratio says, leaning down to lift up the blanket covering the lower half of Aventurine’s body, and pulling it up to his neck. “I will wake you in a few hours for takeoff. I presume you would prefer that to being strapped down to the bed?”

            “You presume correctly,” Aventurine says. Then, on a selfish whim, he takes a small gamble. He reaches out from beneath the blanket to seize Ratio’s hand as the doctor sinks back into the chair beside the bed, so they’re in the same position they were in when Aventurine woke up. Mostly. He bets that Ratio will indulge him, inconvenient though it may be for him to only have the use of one hand. He really shouldn’t be causing more inconveniences for the doctor . . . but he really wants to anchor himself to the one who saved him the hellish fate he faced today. Ratio makes him feel safe.

            A slight look of surprise crosses Ratio’s face, but Aventurine wins his selfish little bet. Ratio doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lifts Aventurine’s hand slightly to rest it in his other hand, then shifts his grip with the first hand that Aventurine seized, so that his fingers are back against the veins in Aventurine’s wrist. Aventurine’s not sure why. Certainly Ratio knows that Aventurine’s not in any danger of his heartrate altering drastically . . . but perhaps being able to feel Aventurine’s pulse is reassuring to him, just as being able to hang on to him comforts Aventurine.

            Satisfied with his current situation and his life in general, Aventurine flashes Ratio his top shelf smile before closing his eyes and settling in to sleep.

Chapter Text

Apologies to the people who bookmarked this fic as complete. ^^; I’ve decided to turn this oneshot into a full length fic.

            When it comes to trying to remove the neural programming from Aventurine’s brain Ratio is, unfortunately, at a loss as to where to begin – aside from the obvious starting point. Research. Funnily enough, he is actually currently in the perfect place to start his hunt for the relevant knowledge. The Astral Express’s databank rivals the Intelligensia Guild’s and, Ratio has discovered from past perusal, even contains knowledge on topics that are highly regulated by any IPC-adjacent organization. He would head to the archives to begin his search immediately . . . if his hands were not otherwise engaged.

            The gambler puts on a good act. So good that Ratio is tempted to think it might not all be an act – that perhaps he actually has begun to feel safe again . . . Ratio would certainly like to think so. But for just a moment, a gleam of desperate pleading shone through his façade of playful whimsy. Ratio doesn’t think Aventurine meant for him to see that. He’s almost certain that the gambler was unaware of his other tell – the hammering of his pulse beneath Ratio’s fingers when he placed them over the vein in Aventurine’s wrist. He probably would have stayed here to hold Aventurine’s hand, as Aventurine so clearly wanted even without that, but being able to physically feel how much distress he was in . . . well, if Ratio wasn’t decided already, that would have done it for him.

            Ratio actually doesn’t mind doing this for Aventurine. Temporarily not having the use of his hands is a minor inconvenience, and nothing compared to Aventurine being stripped of his free will. Besides, Aventurine wasn’t asking for much. Ratio is well aware that many people take comfort in physical contact and gestures such as hugs and hand holding. After what the gambler had been through, Ratio would certainly not deny him something so small. Especially since this won’t be for very long. The Astral Express will be departing from this planet in only a few system hours. Until then, Ratio can use his mind to plan, make lists, and organize what information he already has.

            He’ll need space on Herta Space Station to conduct his own research once they’re there. Not much, but it will have to be arranged for. He has a room that’s kept reserved for him, but Aventurine will need quarters as well, and clearance. Ratio will register him as his research assistant. That should prevent a great number of questions from being asked. He’ll go directly to Lady Asta to ensure that he is able to get what he needs with the least amount of complications and hassle.

            The amount of equipment he will need is negligible. Early on he will want to use the med ward’s magnetic resonance imaging equipment to get a scan of Aventurine’s head. He wants to be absolutely certain that the cretinous maniac who experimented on him didn’t leave any foreign objects in his skull that could cause Aventurine problems now or later on down the line. The scan will also reveal any scar tissue that he otherwise would never be able to see. Knowing if Aventurine’s skull was ever cut open at all could be helpful in figuring out how to free him from his programming as well.

            Other than limited access to the med ward for that, however, Ratio won’t need much. Some sedatives. A cot to keep in their research space. Ratio wants to keep their research and residential spaces strictly separated. It will be far better for Aventurine’s mental state if he feels like he can leave the facility where he is being treated, and that he has somewhere else to go.

            There is also the not-so-small matter of medical consent forms. Ratio intends to do this by the book and make certain that he doesn’t overstep, at all. As there may be times when Aventurine is unable to advocate for himself or even speak during the trials that lie ahead of them, a conversation – possibly several conversations – need to be had ahead of time, and contingencies must be planned for. So, plan for them Ratio does as he awaits the Astral Express’s departure time.

            As he plans, Ratio also keeps an eye on Aventurine. Though he knows that the masses do, in general, consider it unsettling to have someone watching you while you sleep, he thinks that this case is an exception. Aventurine figuratively anchored him here, after all. Certainly he knew that there are only so many directions that Ratio can look in, and even fewer in which he can look in comfortably for long stretches of time. Besides, Aventurine deliberately dresses in ways that draw attention to him. Ratio has the feeling that he would be disappointed if he ever suspected that Ratio wasn’t watching him now. For those reasons, Ratio is spared from any guilt or internal embarrassment over letting his eyes fall where they are naturally drawn – on the handsome gambler clinging to his hand.

            He won’t deny that Aventurine is very nice to look at. As one who has an appreciation of the arts, and of sculpture and the human form in particular, Ratio likes to think that he has an eye for beauty. Aventurine looks as though he was created by a sculptor who adored him, with his sharp, perfectly symmetrical features. Unlike a sculpture, however, he exudes life. No medium could ever replicate the warm tones of his skin and hair. And that is to say nothing of his eyes. When they’re open, they have an almost hypnotic ability to draw observers in.

            However, even with those eyes closed, Ratio finds time slipping away faster than he expects. When his own eyes fall on Aventurine, he finds his thoughts drifting and has to forcibly pull them back on track. It seems like almost no time passes between when Aventurine drifts off and when the hour of departure is at hand.

            Ratio regrets having to wake the gambler. Aventurine looks peaceful, and after the stressful morning he had, dreamless sleep like this is most certainly good for him. However, the Express’s crew is doubtlessly now actively preparing for departure, and Aventurine expressed an aversion to being tied down to the bed during the warp. Besides, he needs to eat something. Ratio isn’t sure if the smaller man has actually eaten anything yet today. Even if he had breakfast, he missed lunch, and it’s nearing dinner time now. On top of that, he needs to continue rehydrating.

            “Gambler,” Ratio says gently. “It’s time for you to wake.”

            Aventurine gives no outward signs of waking for a moment, but holding onto his hand, with two fingers pressed against his wrist, Ratio can feel when he regains awareness. His expression doesn’t even twitch, but his pulse picks up, rising to a waking level. Intrigued Ratio watches and waits, observing. Then, a moment later, Aventurine takes a deep breath and opens his eyes slowly, almost lazily. He blinks twice, then zeroes in on Ratio and smiles. “Good morning, Doctor.”

            “It is now late afternoon. Nearly evening,” Ratio informs him. “The train will be departing soon. It’s time for you to get up.”

            A teasing gleam enters Aventurine’s eyes. “Five more minutes?”

            It’s on the tip of Ratio’s tongue to tell him to take all the time he desires if he doesn’t mind being tied down to the bed. He realizes how callous saying that would be just in time. Considering the condition that Ratio is aiming to correct for him, and the procedures that probably inflicted said condition on him, and all that those procedures involved, making snide comments in jest about tying him down to the bed would be the height of impropriety.

            In the same vein, Ratio realizes that it’s best not to divulge what he just learned about Aventurine – that he has the unique ability to wake without moving a muscle or giving any physical tells. He does not want to think about the conditions under which Aventurine developed that ability.

            “The Astral Express has a schedule to keep,” he says, opting to soften his approach rather than just giving his usual brusque rejection. “As guests, it would be inordinately rude for us to ask them to deviate from it – nor would it benefit us, considering why we wish to make a hasty departure from this planet.”

            “Ah. Right you are.”

            “Naturally,” Ratio says. Regretfully, he removes his fingers from Aventurine’s wrist and releases his hand. “They also need to be informed of your presence on board, out of courtesy, and you need to drink some more and have, at the very least, a snack. A full meal would be better if you can manage it. I believe the conductor intends to serve us one after we are underway.”

            Aventurine nods then smirks. “Fair warning . . . dinner may be a bit awkward.”

            “Perhaps. From my experience, however, I have found the crew of the Astral Express to be forgiving and unjudging to a fault. I sincerely doubt that they will harbor enmity over your . . . past encounter with them.”

            “Huh,” says Aventurine, eyes lighting in a way that lets Ratio know that a teasing quip is inbound. “That’s the first time you haven’t referred to that incident as my ‘borderline psychotic scheme’ or by any other colorful and derisive terms. Aren’t you being nice today?”

            “The less said about that incident, at this time, the better, is my line of reasoning,” Ratio tells him. “And please do take that advice to heart.”

            “Right. Hey, is there a bathroom anywhere around here?” Aventurine asks.

            Ratio nods toward the cabin door. “Go out and turn left. It’s the last door at the end of the hall. When you’ve finished, make your way to the parlor car at the front of the train and wait for me there if I am not there already. I will now go and inform our hosts of your presence on board.”

            “Right. Ah . . . and Ratio? Thanks again. For everything,” Aventurine says, making eye contact with him, all levity evaporating. “You . . . I . . .”

            “I’ve already told you that you don’t need to thank me,” Ratio says. “I would not knowingly or intentionally fail to help anyone in the situation you found yourself in. Let alone a friend. But you are welcome, since it seems that you need to hear that.”

            There’s a moment of awkward silence between the two. Ratio breaks it by standing and starting toward the cabin door.

            “I will see you soon, in the parlor car.”

            Aventurine doesn’t need to relieve himself so much as he needs a few minutes to himself. He has dehydration to thank for the former, while his whole sordid past is responsible for the latter. Nevertheless, he heads to the restroom since that’s where he told Ratio he was going, and since it’s the only place he actually knows how to find on this train.

            The Astral Express is pretty, he thinks, as he makes his way down the hall. Sleek and elegant and trimmed in gold. Cool colors offset by warm wooden panels. It looks tasteful and high class enough that even senior IPC managers would consider this to be traveling in style. If Aventurine had seen this place as a child, he probably would have thought he’d stumbled into the halls of the gods.

            The bathroom is as nice as you’d expect it to be, done up in white marble with shiny brass fixtures. There are two toilet stalls with dark wooden doors that actually go from floor to ceiling, and what he assumes at a glance are two shower stalls, each with their own connected changing areas. Aventurine finds his gaze lingering on the showers longingly. Even though he had a bath this morning . . . he can’t help but feel disgusting and dirty.

            “Hm. While we came here for pleasure rather than business, who am I to ignore an opportunity like this? Signonians are in short supply these days. And this one’s eyes are exceptional.” 

            Aventurine’s fists clench. The memory of that man’s smarmy smile . . . and the feel of his fingers brushing against his face. It makes Aventurine’s skin crawl even now. He manages to walk calmly toward one of the twin sinks rather than to lurch toward it. Then he turns on the tap and cups his hands beneath the spigot, letting them fill with cold water to wash off his face.

            He doesn’t do a very good job of it. In fact, he makes a bit of a mess with the water. His hands are shaking too much.

            “Come on,” he tells himself, glaring at his reflection. “Keep it together.”

            He steels his nerves and tries again. It goes a little better this time. He manages, at least, to press the water in his cupped hands against his face this time before it all slips through his fingers. At least he feels like he managed to wash off that slaving bastard’s greasy touch. He has to grip the sides of the sink though, so he doesn’t fall in as dizziness swamps him.

            Behind him the door creaks. Aventurine frantically struggles to pull himself back together and raises his gaze to see whoever has come in behind him in the mirror.

            “Ah, Miss Stellaron . . . and Miss March. Uh . . .oops . . . I didn’t by chance stumble into the ladies room, did I?” Aventurine forces an embarrassed smile onto his face. It’s the best he can manage right now.

            “No,” Stelle tells him, looking at him with almost uncomfortable intensity.

            “The bathrooms on the Astral Express are all gender neutral,” March says. “We just ask that you make sure you’re decent outside of the stalls and showers.”

            “Will do,” Aventurine promises. Then his eyes flit to Stelle, who is approaching him – who is stepping far closer than she needs to, right into his personal space, and Aventurine doesn’t think it’s his imagination or his nerves being frayed by this morning’s ordeal. No, it’s definitely not. Stelle steps so close that their chests are nearly touching. “Er – Miss Stellaron . . . ?”

            The next thing he knows, Stelle’s phone is thrust into his hands.

            “Do your thing,” Stelle tells him solemnly.

            “Oh.” Aventurine forces a laugh. “Why certainly.”

            “Stelle, don’t be rude,” March chides, even as Aventurine presses his finger against the button to do a ten pull.

            “This is important,” Stelle tells her. “The banner ends tomorrow, and I don’t have the limited time character yet.”

            “Well, you do now,” Aventurine says, handing back Stelle’s phone as an orange glow lights up the screen.

            “Yes!” Stelle pumps one fist in triumph. Then her eyes widen and she looks at him in disbelief. “Three five stars?”

            “We saw Dr. Ratio on our way here,” March says, giving Aventurine a sympathetic look. “He said you weren’t feeling well. Is there anything we can get you?”

            “Ah – thank you, but I’m feeling better. The good doctor was kind enough to let me take a nap in his cabin while waiting for departure.”

            “He also mentioned that you ran into some trouble this morning, which is why you’re catching a ride out of here with us. But knowing you, I think it’s more likely you caused the trouble. So . . . what’d you do? What’d you do?” Stelle sing-songs, much to March’s clear annoyance.

            “Stelle! You’re failing at being a good host!”

            “It’s quite alright,” Aventurine says to stop a potential budding fight. “I think she’s entitled to drag me a bit, after . . .”

            Belatedly, he remembers that Ratio told him not to bring up how he kind of tried to kill the Astral Express crew. In a dream. Which might or might not count as a genuine attempt on their lives.

            “That’s water under the bridge,” Stelle says, saving Aventurine from an awkward pause. “But if you have a guilty conscience about it, you can pull me some more five stars in the future.”

            “I’d be happy to. Just stop by Herta Space Station – that’s where I will probably be spending quite a bit of time for the foreseeable future.”

            Now that he’s thinking about it, Aventurine will need to make some arrangements. Fortunately, his schedule is fairly light for the next few months, and what is on it can easily be rearranged. That won’t stop the occasional annoying high priority task from cropping up, but Herta Space Station is a decent central location to work from. Being based there instead of on Pier Point should not be a problem. He doesn’t know how one goes about booking a stay on the space station, however. It’s probably difficult without research credentials, but very possible with the amount of funds Aventurine has at his disposal. If he knows Ratio, however, the doctor’s probably already on top of it.

            Further conversation is stalled by an announcement over the train’s broadcast system. Their conductor orders them to the parlor car to standby for warp. Stelle and March lead Aventurine there, where he finds Ratio already seated and waiting. With a nod to the ladies, Aventurine peels away from them and slides into the seat next to the doctor. He tries to think of a witty quip to announce himself, but comes up with nothing, and the lack of said quip seems to alert Ratio to the fact that all is not as well as Aventurine is trying to pretend it is.

            He looks up sharply and frowns. Aventurine forces another smile to try to reassure him and deflects with a plausible excuse for the no-doubt sorry state that he knows he appears to be in. “Did you say that there would be dinner after the warp? I’m famished. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve eaten yet today.”

            Some of the worry recedes from Ratio’s gaze. “There will be a meal. Conductor Pom-Pom seemed pleased to have an extra guest. They intend to prepare a guest cabin for you for the night. Tomorrow morning, we should dock at Herta Station. I am making the necessary arrangements for our stay and research there.” The good doctor glances back at his phone, where he seems to be having a conversation via text with a vaguely familiar looking redhead. If Aventurine remembers correctly, she is friends with Topaz, though they’ve never had the pleasure of meeting. Or possibly displeasure. Because now that he’s paying attention, he can see that Ratio is annoyed and not by him.

            “Something the matter?” he asks.

            “No,” Ratio says a bit too quickly. Then he sighs and elaborates on what’s bothering him. “Only that there will be a larger than usual number of people on Herta Station, coming and going for the next few months, as they have scheduled back-to-back symposiums. Securing space is proving to be more difficult than anticipated.”

            “I thought you had a room permanently reserved for you there?” Aventurine remembers Ratio mentioning as much once.

            “A dorm room,” Ratio tells him, “and on a space station, where square footage is a precious commodity, dorm rooms are approximately the size of small walk-in closets. Those on Herta Station hold a desk and chair, and a loft bed above the desk, but no room for anything else – not even a cot. Not even if we removed the desk’s chair.”

            “That’s what they gave you?” Aventurine asks, a surge of anger burning through him at the thought of Ratio being disrespected to that degree.

            “It is no slight,” Ratio assures him. “It is standard accommodations on a research station, and all that a researcher truly requires for the night. I had hoped to secure a similar room for you, but there is not a single one that has not already been claimed.”

            “So, I’ll be sleeping on the floor is what you’re saying?” Aventurine asks, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t worry. I’ve slept in far worse places.”

            Ratio’s phone beeps. He looks at the message that just came through and seems satisfied but at the same time slightly annoyed. “No,” he tells Aventurine. “That won’t be necessary. Lady Asta and I have found a solution.”

            “Oh? What’s that, if every room and research facility is booked solid?”

            “I have secured us plenty of space . . . in an area of the station that is not accessible to the station’s other guests or residents. You and I will be staying in and sorting out your problem in an area called the Seclusion Zone.”

Chapter Text

            Ratio does not think that the meal is as awkward as Aventurine feared it would be. He himself actually finds it enjoyable. The Astral Express crew contains a fair number of intellectuals, and even those of them who are lacking in higher education all have more common sense than is actually common. They are excellent hosts and the conductor’s culinary skills are top notch.

            He would enjoy it more if there wasn’t a vague sense of dread in the back of his mind about the task that’s before him. Only after thinking it over does the gravity and reality of the endeavor he’s undertaken truly hit him. Trying to remove the neural reprogramming from Aventurine’s brain is going to be much easier said than done. This is unlike anything he’s ever attempted before. More than that . . . the materials that he’ll need to consume regarding what was done to Aventurine to make him like this . . . reading them is going to be far from pleasant.

            He continues to keep an eye on his friend throughout the meal. From the way Aventurine is acting, you’d never know that anything was wrong with him. It makes Ratio wonder now how many times something was amiss, something was tormenting him, and Ratio himself never picked up on it. Because Ratio knows that Aventurine is still shaken by what happened, and now he knows that his friend is far better at concealing his troubles than Ratio ever even suspected. And . . . Aeons help him, he is going to have to interview Aventurine about what happened to him all those years ago as part of his research.

            Aventurine is a primary source of information about the problem that Ratio intends to help him with. That can’t be ignored. Ratio knows this. He would be calling any other researcher a sentimental fool for even thinking of forgoing such an important step in the information gathering process. The fact remains, however, that the mere idea of broaching that topic with Aventurine makes Ratio feel sick.

            At least, he thinks as he monitors the gambler during dinner, Aventurine is committed to his act of being okay. He cleans his plate, accepts seconds when they’re offered to him, and still has room for dessert and coffee. The food does seem to genuinely help him feel better, though. The change is subtle, but Ratio notices it. Aventurine’s eyes seem a bit brighter, and his smiles a bit more genuine.

            The meal ends too soon, and when Ratio leaves the dining carriage, it’s alone, as Conductor Pom-Pom wishes to show Aventurine to his own guest cabin. That apparently does not take very long, however, because Ratio has barely begun to access the archives when Aventurine shows up.

            “Planning on sleeping in here, Doctor?” he asks, eyeing the half made floor bed in one corner of the room.

            “That sleeping mat belongs to Dan Heng,” Ratio informs him, “but I have the feeling you already know that.”

            Aventurine gives a soft laugh. “Yes. The conductor may have mentioned it. Interesting place, the Astral Express. Full of interesting people. I like it.”

            “It has its charms and amenities. The databank being one of them. I will be perusing it for quite some time,” Ratio says. “You may wish to occupy yourself elsewhere for the time being.”

            “I’m fine keeping you company,” Aventurine tells him. “Let me just pull one of the chairs from the hallway in.”

            “Keeping me company isn’t necessary,” Ratio says stiffly. “I truly believe that you will be more comfortable elsewhere.”

            Aventurine pauses and his gaze sharpens. “You need to interrogate me though, right? About what happened to me, about what I know? That’s part of your scientific method, is it not? Research into the problem.”

            For a man who grew up on an uninitiated planet, amongst a destitute group of people, never attended school, and was forcefully enslaved in his early teen or pre-teen years, Aventurine is remarkably learned. He puts on a good show of being carefree, sometimes even borderline vacuous, but is surprisingly knowledgeable about a very wide variety of topics. Ratio often wonders how he managed to not just absorb but understand as much information as he clearly does. Lately he’s found himself wondering what Aventurine could have been if he’d been born on a more stable planet. Who would he be now if he’d actually had the chance?

            “You are correct,” Ratio answers him, tearing his mind away from the possibilities that have long since decayed. “I do need to ask you questions. But I would prefer not to do that here and now.”

            “No time like the present though,” Aventurine says, looking mildly confused.

            “No,” Ratio says firmly. “This is not the time or place. Gambler – Aventurine . . . what we are about to undertake is going to be very difficult. I want to be certain that I have everything in order before I begin working with you. Interviewing you will involve dredging up terrible memories – assuming that you are indeed able to remember them. I don’t wish to taint any part of the Astral Express for you. Questioning you about what happened is something best done on Herta Space Station, once we have set up a room specifically for our work and experiments there.”

            “Oh, I see. Like mental compartmentalization?”

            “Yes.”

            “So you don’t want me here now because you’re worried I’ll distract you? Or because you don’t want me to see what you pull up on your screens?”

            Ratio sighs. “The latter,” he admits. “I don’t know what my research will turn up. It could be nothing. Or it could be horrifying. Either way, it’s not something you need to see. If I have questions or something seems relevant, I will ask you about it once our research station has been set up.”

            “Okay. But do you mind if I stay here with you anyway? I won’t look at the screen – I’ll turn my chair so it’s back-to-back with yours. I just already told everyone that I was joining you here. Don’t want to look wishy-washy or desperate for company now, do I?” Aventurine tries for levity and pulls it off quite well. Ratio only sees the hint of something brittle behind his eyes because he’s looking for it.

            He interprets it to mean that Aventurine doesn’t just want company – he wants Ratio’s company in particular. Just like when he latched onto him earlier today, before his nap. Once again, Ratio finds that he cannot deny him. If Ratio’s mere presence gives some comfort to his friend who has clearly survived horrors most people will never know, then of course Ratio will make accommodations for him.

            “Very well,” he says. “But please do keep your back turned. As I said, I don’t want to taint the Astral Express for you.”

            Aventurine flashes a smile, then steps into the hallway to retrieve one of the chairs that are set up out there, by the window. He drags it back in, positions it back-to-back with Ratio’s chair, then takes a seat in it. He’s pulling out his phone as Ratio turns away.

            Ratio expects a bit of chatter – at least an inane remark or two – but to his mild surprise, Aventurine stays silent and lets Ratio research. So, research Ratio does.

            He has a starting point – a name, a timeframe, and knowledge that this particular neural reprogramming project was scrapped and deemed a failure. That seems odd, considering how it still has a hold of Aventurine, even years later, but Ratio is certain there is a reason behind it. Perhaps Aventurine is an outlier – a rare case of lasting success, but alone not enough to justify the program’s continued existence and expenses. Either way, Ratio begins his search of the Astral Express’s databank with what he knows, and he is not surprised when it brings up a fair amount of information. More information than he can possibly read in a single night, but not more than he can copy to his tablet.

            So, for the next few hours Ratio busies himself with downloading everything that looks even marginally relevant. Some of the files, if he’s not mistaken, look like official notes and documentation from the Jacobin School of Mathematics and Science. Unfortunately, it would not surprise Ratio in the slightest to learn that institution approved research into such an unsavory field of study. They have never been known for their ethics, after all. The majority of their funding stems from the IPC, which is the case for many organizations, the Intelligentsia Guild included, but at least the Intelligentsia Guild has no qualms about turning down the IPC’s money when too many strings are attached to it, or the IPC’s askings are too morally grey. The Jacobin School of Mathematics and Science draws no such lines.

            Ratio will read everything he finds in depth once he is at the space station. For now, he just saves it all, since his time here is limited. Dan Heng will want his room back before too long. Ratio needs to sleep tonight as well. While he’s no stranger to pulling all-nighters, tomorrow is going to be a busy day.

            Two hours in, Madam Himeko comes by and offers them tea. Not coffee, Ratio notes, and recognizes the subtle hint that he should not continue for too much longer. So, he presses on for one hour more before calling it a night.

            True to his word, Aventurine kept his back to Ratio the entire time. He didn’t even bother him once. He only looks up from his phone when Ratio stands and steps beside him.

            “Finished?” he asks. “Did you have any luck finding intel?”

            “I downloaded everything that looked relevant,” Ratio tells him. “Now that I have copies, I can read them on the space station. Tomorrow, after we arrive, we’ll set up an area for our research, and an area to use for sleeping and living quarters. I have rooms in mind for both places. The Seclusion Zone makes up a large section of the space station, but only a select few parts of it are suitable for habitation. The others are infested with Swarm spawn and snacks, and to be honest I’m not certain which is worse.”

            “Snacks?” Aventurine asks as he tucks away his phone and stands.

            “Snacks,” Ratio confirms. “You’ll see when we arrive. They’re crawling around everywhere in that part of the space station and Lead Researcher Asta refuses to allow anyone to thin their numbers.”

            “Huh.” Aventurine looks mildly bemused but doesn’t elaborate on his confusion. Likewise, Ratio doesn’t bother to clarify. Aventurine will indeed see the plague that those snacks have become tomorrow.

            They return the borrowed chair to the hallway, where it belongs, then make their way to the passenger car that holds the guest cabins. Ratio is not surprised to find that Conductor Pom-Pom assigned Aventurine the one right next to Ratio’s own.

            “Thanks for letting me join you in the archives,” Aventurine says as they part ways. Considering his reasoning for joining Ratio in the archives, Ratio might expect him to show signs of reluctance at going to his own cabin for the night. He cannot detect any, however, and hopes that is a good sign.

            “I hope you did not find it to be a waste of your time,” he answers.

            “Nah, I got some work done on my phone. Shuffled a few appointments around, arranged for one of my go bags to be shipped to Herta Space Station, so I’ll have clothes and such. Let my superiors in the Strategic Investments Department know I’ll be based away from Pier Point for the foreseeable future. It was a productive enough use of a few hours.”

            “I’m glad.” Ratio pauses in his own cabin’s doorway. “Do try to get some sleep, gambler. I understand that it may be difficult, since you already slept a good portion of the day, but tomorrow will be busy and will involve both physical labor and fighting.”

            “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can manage to catch at least a few winks,” Aventurine says. “But you should follow your own advice.”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “I know how you are when you have new reading material to devour. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the times you stayed up all night reading before, during, and on the way home from missions,” the gambler teases.

            “The times that I have stayed up all night reading before and during missions have always been necessary,” Ratio says. “Right now, rest is necessary.”

            Or so he says.

            But it seems that Aventurine knows him better than Ratio thought.

            Ratio does intend to follow his own advice. He truly does. He takes a quick shower to clear his mind and relax his muscles, then towel dries his hair and changes into his pajamas. He even climbs into bed and turns off the lights . . . but his tablet, and all the information on it is right there within arm’s reach. Ratio knows he needs sleep and that he should leave it until tomorrow. He does have a tendency to overdo it with reading . . . but there is going to be so much to do tomorrow. Getting a jump on it now might a good idea after all. Certainly reading for just one hour before he truly turns in can’t hurt anything. With that mentality, Ratio reaches for his tablet.

            It turns out to be a mistake. Because the first thing he opens are the research files from the Jacobin School of Mathematics and Science. They are the rival university of Veritas Prime, his own alma matter and alternate employer. Despite his work for the Guild, he makes it a point to teach several courses each year and he has a certain amount of loyalty toward his school. He knows that he should not allow pettiness to color his judgement, but even so, he finds it all too easy to believe that Jacobin’s researchers were involved in the unethical mess that he needs to look into now, and proof of that theory turns out to be in the very first document that he opens. Because it is a collection of dossiers on their project’s test subjects. Each one with a cover sheet containing the subject’s name and photograph. As Ratio flips through the digital copies, intending only to skim through them, a familiar face stops him dead.

            He would recognize Aventurine anywhere.

            Even younger. Even emaciated. Even with his scraggly hair a mess and an expression of primal fear on his face, Ratio recognizes his friend.

            Aventurine’s eyes will always be a giveaway for him. Even amongst other youths who have blue eyes or violet eyes, as are common on Sigonia-IV, the combination of the two are rare, and the proportions of the colors in Aventurine’s eyes even rarer. Ratio thinks that he would know it was him even if the photograph was in grayscale, however. Because that’s his friend’s face.

            That’s his friend’s face frozen in time, with an expression of terror.

            All of a sudden, Ratio doesn’t know how he’s going to get to sleep tonight.

            He knew that during this research he would likely have to process some very disturbing information, but this . . . He never truly expected to find something so haunting on such a personal level, or for it to hit him this hard.

            It’s cold comfort to know that he is on the right track – to know that even if every other document he downloaded from the Astral Express’s databank turns out to be a dead end, he still has a lead, an organization that he can go to directly and leverage for information.

            Ratio closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. Then he returns to his reading. Horrifying as looking into Aventurine’s past may be, it is necessary to help him now, and after seeing that photograph Ratio is determined to succeed. He’ll undo whatever these cretins did to his gambler and ensure that it can never be used against him again.

Next chapter will be Aventurine's point of view. And will have more Astral Express Family!

Please leave a comment on your way out! ^^

Chapter Text

Important message from Dr. Ratio, regarding certain comments left on this fic: https://x.com/StrangeDiamond5/status/1815108785737699720.

(Just a little something fun I put together for you guys. ^^)

            Aventurine manages to get a few hours of sleep during the night. It’s not easy since he was asleep most of the day, and his mind is whirling, churning memories from his dark past with his recent scare from that morning, but he promised Ratio that he’d try.

            The knowledge that Ratio is right on the other side of the wall helps. It’s the only reason Aventurine manages to get so much as a catnap. He’s just not tired though and laying there not sleeping is boring. He ends up spending more time on his phone than he should, but leaving his cabin and wandering the Astral Express would feel like going against Ratio’s wishes.

            Finally, morning comes. When Aventurine deems the hour late enough, he makes up his bed, puts back on the clothes that he folded and left on the desk before trying to sleep so they wouldn’t get wrinkled, and ventures forth from his room.

            Delicious scents waft through the hallways all the way from the dining carriage, so that is where Aventurine heads. He finds that, despite his best efforts, he is actually the first one there aside from the Astral Express’s industrious conductor, who is hard at work in the kitchen section of the car.

            “Good morning,” Aventurine calls to him from the doorway.

            “Ah! Mr. Aventurine. Good morning,” Pom-Pom says cheerfully. “You’re up early. I’m still preparing breakfast.”

            “Anything I can do to help?” Aventurine offers. He’s not the universe’s greatest chef, but he’s made it a point to learn his way around a kitchen. He learned real fast after Jade took him in that he can’t just light a fire and char up roots and meat the way he could back home. Eating out all the time is too draining, and while getting ready made stuff from the stores is an option, Aventurine was determined to learn how to cook for himself. The more capable he is at feeding himself, the less food can be used against him or to control him.

            “No need, no need. You’re our guest,” Pom-Pom says. “Here! I’ll fix you a plate of what’s ready now and you can get started –”

            “No, no,” Aventurine says quickly. “I didn’t mean to cause you extra work or trouble, my friend. How about I start carrying some of the dishes you have finished to the table for you?”

            After a bit of back-and-forth Pom-Pom relents. Once all the dishes they’ve finished preparing already are on the table Aventurine even manages to wrangle toaster watching duties from them. By the time he’s accumulated a sizable enough pile of toast, everything else is done and he and Pom-Pom take the final few dishes out to the table together.

            “Thank you for the help.” Pom-Pom beams up at him. “You’ve been a pleasure to have here aboard the Astral Express. You’re welcome back anytime!”

            “I’m in your debt for giving me a lift. And for taking such good care of me on this trip.” Aventurine finds himself taking a genuine liking to the diminutive conductor. Most of the people he deals with are humanoid species – and in that category he mentally includes the Intellitrons, who model themselves after humans, whether it’s politically correct to include them in the humanoid species category or not. He’s never come across anyone who looked like Pom-Pom before . . . and he remembers hearing once that the conductor of the Astral Express may be the last of their species. The person who mentioned it was hardly an authority on the topic, but that stuck with Aventurine all the same. He wonders now if it’s true . . . and if Pom-Pom feels lonely as the last of their kind.

            The latter of those two unvoiced questions is quickly answered, however. Because soon the rest of the crew of the Astral Express begins arriving and, well, lively doesn’t even begin to describe them over breakfast.

            Pom-Pom spends half their time fretting over their people and half their time pressing food on them. They sulk over Professor Yang’s desire to read the morning paper – insofar as the news can still be considered a paper when it is a digital copy on his phone – instead of eating the plate he’s filled for himself while it’s hot. They chat with Miss Stellaron as she wolfs down her eggs and hot cereal with as little attention to table manners as she can get away with. They cajole Dan Heng for insisting on finishing a cup of tea before he even starts to eat, and they pout when Miss March spends more time photographing her food than consuming it.

            Aventurine has heard members of the Astral Express crew refer to their group as the Astral Express Family. He just hadn’t realized . . .

            He finds himself smiling, happy for them all. Because he genuinely believes that the Astral Express Family is made up of good people, and that they deserve good things.

            Speaking of good people, the good doctor comes to breakfast late. One look at him tells Aventurine why. There are shadows both under his eyes and in his eyes, and when he lays sight on Aventurine, he can’t quite hide the complicated emotions swirling within him. If Aventurine was a betting man – which he is – he’d put money down on Ratio having stayed up all night reading, because he found something relevant and damning. Something that’s given him a pretty good idea what those scientists put Aventurine through as a child. Aventurine has mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, it’s necessary for Ratio to know, to figure out how to fix Aventurine’s brain. On the other . . . Aventurine doesn’t want him to know. Aventurine would prefer that he never learned what happened to him. He doesn’t like the way that Ratio is looking at him now.

            So, he blatantly ignores it and flashes the doctor a smile. “Good morning, Ratio. I hope you didn’t stay up all night reading?”

            “Not all night,” Ratio says.

            “Just most of the night then?” Teasing is always good for a distraction, especially with Ratio. Most people are too intimidated by his intellect and afraid of the verbal retaliation that will be unleashed upon them if they evoke the professor’s ire. Aventurine, on the other hand, is more than used to Ratio’s tongue lashings and considers them more than a fair price for the fun of riling Ratio up. It’s good for the doctor to have someone whose feelings he can’t hurt to vent on now and then.

            Today, however, teasing seems to fail. Whatever Ratio read is still fresh in his mind and the look he gives Aventurine . . . the only time he’s ever looked at Aventurine like that before was back on Penacony when he brought up Aventurine’s heritage and upbringing during that little staged argument of theirs, and the way Aventurine responded made him think his remarks had stung. It surprised Aventurine how fast Ratio backtracked. He’d wondered it that had been part of Ratio’s act too, or a break in character, but never really found out. They don’t really talk about what happened on Penacony.

            Before Aventurine can figure out how to redirect the conversation, Ratio does something that surprises him. He reaches out and grips Aventurine’s shoulder. Just for a moment. Just long enough to give it a quick squeeze, but not long enough for the Astral Express family to take note of his odd behavior. Then he releases Aventurine and looks away as he steps past him and takes a seat.

            Aventurine blinks at his friend then gives a mental sigh. He takes this to mean that Ratio’s learned, well pretty much everything that happened in that lab. He tries to tell himself that this is a good thing but can’t quite believe it. And just like that, the warm homey atmosphere that had been gracing breakfast with the Astral Express Family dissolves like mist in the sunlight, at least for Aventurine. Most of the others don’t seem to notice anything amiss, though he does notice Pom-Pom shooting him concerned looks.

            Aventurine excuses himself shortly after that, even though Ratio is still eating. He pulls out his phone and starts typing into it as he leaves so they think he needs to step away because of his work. He takes the opportunity, however, to order an embarrassing number of thank you gifts for his hosts – all tasteful selections, of course. Or tasty selections, which are guaranteed to be well received. If there’s one thing that is always certain to lift Aventurine’s spirits, it’s picking out gifts to send to his friends.

            Ratio finds him in the Parlor Car around the time that the Astral Express pulls into Herta Space Station – not that Aventurine was hiding or anything. He was in one of the most obvious places to be waiting, after all. Ratio still has that grim, haunted look in his eyes, but to Aventurine’s relief, he does not speak of what he read or make any other uncharacteristic attempts at comforting Aventurine again.

            “We will make a reconnaissance trip to the Seclusion Zone first,” Ratio tells him. “We’ll clear the Swarm spawn out of the hallways so that we can bring in our supplies and luggage later today, without being beleaguered by those annoying vermin. As for the other noxious creatures we’ll be dealing with, we are not permitted to harm them. I don’t believe that they have yet invaded the areas that I have in mind for our living quarters or our work room, but if they have, we shall have to evict them.”

            “The snacks?” Aventurine asks, remembering the name Ratio gave to the mysterious menaces yesterday.

            “Yes. The snacks,” Ratio says witheringly.

            The name of that creature makes Aventurine smile. He assumes that they’re an animal that he’s never seen before, endemic to some planet he’s never been to, which is why his synesthesia beacon isn’t translating their name for him. Like Tuskpirs. Creatures that are only known by that one name. It’s a funny coincidence that their name just so happens to be the Sigonian word for snack, but it explains why Ratio seems to be using that word for creatures that can’t be killed and eaten.

            Before getting off the train, Aventurine gets a notification that the go bag he had shipped to Herta Space Station arrived just before the Astral Express did, and that it is being held by the Implement Arts Department. Aventurine has always had the habit of keeping a stash of supplies and belongings so that they’re ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. It used to be because he never knew when he was going to have to grab what he could and run for his life. Then it was because he never knew when he was going to have to grab what he had and hope that his captors didn’t care enough to take it from him wherever they were sending him. After being taken in by Jade it became more because he didn’t know when he would be sent on a mission to another star system without so much as a chance to run home and pack a change of clothes. Aventurine much prefers his latest reasons for maintaining the habit to his old reasons. Honestly, he would still be keeping up with his habit even without a reason, but it’s nice to have a pretty excuse for it now if someone asks.

            He’ll retrieve his bag from the Implement Arts Department later, he decides as he and Ratio bid the Astral Express Family farewell and hop off the train. He’s wants to have both hands free while they’re fighting the big bugs, and he’d rather not get insect guts all over his expensive luggage.

            “Due to both the invasive nature of the True Stings as well as the persistence of the dolts who insist on worshiping the snacks, certain security precautions have been put into place for accessing the Seclusion Zone,” Ratio explains as they take the elevator from the Supply Zone to the Storage Zone. “The elevator will only stop on the level of the Seclusion Zone if taken there from the Storage Zone.”

            “Isn’t that the section of the space station that’s still crawling with Fragmentum?” Aventurine asks.

            “Yes. Thus, why stopping on this floor is a precaution. Most of the researchers are noncombatants, and even devoted as they are to the snacks, most do not want to be in an elevator whose doors must open to Fragmentum before taking them to the annoying critters’ habitat. In theory, it should also help to detain the Swarm should they breach the Distribution Center and make it onto the elevator, but somehow I do not believe that the insects should be relied upon to be so obliging as to get off at the elevator’s first stop and get themselves killed by Fragmentum.”

            Aventurine chuckles. “Yeah. The Swarm isn’t exactly known for being obliging, that’s for sure.”

            There’s no Fragmentum creatures waiting to jump them when the elevator descends to that level and the doors open, however. Ratio hits the button labeled Distribution Center then, and when the doors close the elevator begins to rise. When they open again, it’s onto a beautiful atrium-like area with a great view of the stars through huge windows made of triangle-shaped panels of glass. The Blue is visible too and seems to give off light of its own. The sight is breathtaking and Aventurine can’t help but think that this area would be great for a restaurant or event venue. Instead, however, it seems to hold four abandoned research stations, all of which Ratio ignores. He stalks through the room with purpose, and Aventurine has to move quickly to match pace with his wider stride. Moments later they enter another elevator and begin descending again.

            “Be on your guard,” Ratio tells him. “We are about to enter a hallway where the True Stings spawn. They’ve been confined to the hallway but attempts to permanently root them out have all ended in failure thanks to the insects’ annoying propagation abilities.”

            “Yeah, I’ve read how hard they are to get out of an area once they’ve settled in,” Aventurine says. “How those spores are actually cystic egg clusters that can remain dormant for years, so even if you clear them all out, they can pop back up without warning and start breeding with their siblings – or via parthenogenesis if only one hatches. You know, there was a zoo on Vosnasia-VII that thought they were safe because they were just keeping one.”

            “What?” There is disdain and barely suppressed laughter in Ratio’s incredulous query in equal measures.

            “Yeah,” Aventurine says, flashing him a smirk. “They ended up having to burn the whole facility to the ground and irradiate the area.”

            “Idiots.” Ratio shakes his head.

            “Yep. I’m curious as to how they ended up infesting this space station though?” Aventurine lets his voice lilt slightly to make it a question.

            “The same reason,” Ratio says, his tone growing dark. “Because of an idiot. One who thought it would be a good idea to play God.”

            Aventurine decides not to press. “Well, Madam Herta’s lucky her space station is so compartmentalized. Otherwise, the bugs would be running the space station. You know, I actually saw an imersia with a plot similar to that . . .”

            He trails off as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open onto a dark hallway.

            “Huh. That’s funny. Because the spaceship in the imersia also had long, dark, decrepit hallways with sparking wires hanging out of the ceilings.”

            Ratio gives him a withering look and opens his mouth.

            “No – you don’t have to say it,” Aventurine says quickly. “Time to get serious. I know. I’ll follow your lead.”

            “Please do. And keep your eyes peeled. I’m sure you are aware of their cloaking abilities.”

            Ratio begins walking. Aventurine stays about a step and a half behind him and slightly off to the side so they’re not bunched up together. He double checks that his shields, which he always keeps up on instinct, are covering Ratio as well and stays on full alert.

            They run into a trio of the bugs almost immediately, but with the True Stings’ weakness to imaginary power combined with the synergy that Ratio and Aventurine have when they fight together, the insects pose no problem. After that, they encounter no more vermin on their way to their destination – what is apparently a safe zone in the middle of this mess.

            “This area should be secure, but stay on guard just in case,” Ratio tells him as they enter. “At least until we ascertain the condition of the snacks. If they are fine then the True Stings have not breached this area.”

            They seem to have entered on a balcony overlooking another large, expensive room with an amazing view of the stars. A greenhouse of some sort, Aventurine thinks. There’s a ton of plants in here, at least. And amongst them, he sees a number of brightly colored creatures that are strangely circular in shape. The snacks?

            “The snacks are safe,” Ratio confirms a moment later. “So, we should be too. Though it would be appreciated if you kept your shields up for now.”

            “It’s actually more trouble to take them down,” Aventurine tells him. “As long as you stay within throwing distance of me, I’ve got you covered.”

            Ratio gives him a grateful nod then leads the way down a flight of stairs. On the landing is a single door. Stepping in front of it triggers the sensor into opening it and they enter.

            “This,” Ratio tells him, “I believe is the best place to set up our living quarters. Where we will sleep, eat, and spend whatever downtime we wish to spend here.”

            Aventurine can immediately see why he chose this room – or this set of rooms. There are two of them. The one further in looks like some sort of lab. Through the clear glass wall Aventurine can see a giant glass cylinder that he thinks is a research pod, but even as he peers into that room, the glass darkens and turns opaque. A glance at Ratio shows the reason why – he’s connected his tablet to it and reprogrammed it so it looks more like a wall than a window. With no other windows, this room can actually be made dark, unlike the greenhouse, with its huge windows, which permanently let in light. Sleeping will be much easier here in this room, and the fact that it’s mostly empty will make it easier to set up to meet their needs. There are only a few potted plants and some padded benches, and unlike every other room Aventurine’s seen in the space station so far, this one actually has a full wooden floor. That makes a big difference – makes it feel more normal instead of like part of a cold, stark facility.

            “We will need to use these benches for sleeping. At least for the time being,” Ratio continues. “With the symposiums occurring, there is not a single unclaimed bed, cot, or sleeping mat on the entire space station. They might not be what you are used to, but I assure you they’re suitably comfortable.”

            Aventurine gives a slight smile. “I grew up sleeping in the back of a wagon. Or sometimes just on the ground. If this was a hotel or resort, of course I’d be complaining just to keep up appearances. But honestly, this is fine. I can buy us beds though, if you want. We haven’t talked about the details of this operation yet, but it goes without saying that I’m funding it. So, whatever you need, whatever you want, go ahead and order it.”

            Ratio nods a bit tersely. Funding is always a sore point for him. He hates how the Intelligentsia Guild is reliant on the IPC and no doubt sees this little side project as a microcosm of their working relationship. Not much Aventurine can do about that, though. There’s no way he’s letting Ratio foot the bill for helping him.

            “We can discuss that a bit later – in the room that I intend for us to use for our work. This way.”

            Aventurine then follows Ratio back out of the room that they’ll be living in for the next few months and down another flight of stairs to the greenhouse. It is then that Aventurine gets his first good look at the snacks.

            “Aww . . . Ratio! Those are the snacks?”

            “Yes, gambler,” Ratio says, and though his back is to Aventurine, Aventurine can tell he’s speaking through his teeth. “Those are the snacks.”

            “They’re cute.” Aventurine usually isn’t one to fawn over animals. He’s indifferent to the menagerie of small fluffy creatures Topaz is always running through the Strategic Investment Department’s headquarters. She’s brought in so many that they’ve all started to look the same. There’s something appealing about these snacks, though. Maybe it’s their odd shape. At first glance, from above, he’d thought they would be something like turtles. Up close, he sees that they’re like no other animal he’s ever laid eyes on. Their faces are vaguely cat-like but their bodies are so adorably round. Or rather cylindrical. He wonders if they bite, or if they’re safe to play with, but decides to hold off on asking, at least for now. Ratio is clearly annoyed by these critters’ very existence, and he very obviously wants to keep moving. So, Aventurine puts his desires to learn more about the snacks on hold and follows Ratio into another hallway.

            “This section of hall should be safe,” Ratio tells him. “It connects the greenhouse to what was once the botany room, but is now a stomping ground for the snacks. Between them, however, is this room – I believe it was once used for administrative tasks.”

            They enter another room – this one much bleaker than any of the others Aventurine’s seen in the seclusion zone so far. It’s darker and borderline depressing, but Aventurine sees the practicality in choosing this room for their work. Leaving this room will mean completely changing scenery. Psychologically, it should help him feel like he’s leaving whatever he has to go through for this project behind once he steps out of this room.

            Like their living quarters, there’s not much here, but it feels like that’s more because everything useful that wasn’t nailed down was stripped from the place a long time ago. What remains seems to be an assortment of junk.

            “Yes . . . this will do,” Ratio says, and there’s a slight change in his tone that makes Aventurine wary – that lets him know Ratio has just gotten serious. “Before we begin setting up our spaces however . . . I need to ask . . . Aventurine, are you certain that you want to do this?”

            “Absolutely,” Aventurine says with no hesitation.

            “Please just consider for a moment,” Ratio says solemnly. “At the very least what we are about to embark upon will bring up horrific memories for you. It is, unfortunately, very necessary. Some of the things that we may end up trying as treatment could be extremely unpleasant. Others we may have to turn away from because they are too dangerous. Or morally grey. All of this will be experimentation. There is no guarantee that it will work. It could all be for nothing in the end. I could fail to find a solution – not every problem has an answer.”

            “But if there is one, you’ll find it,” Aventurine tells him. “I have faith in you.”

            “And I am grateful for your trust in me, which is why I must make absolutely certain not to betray it. I do want to help you with this. But I need to be certain that, understanding the risks and what this will put you through, that you still want this.”

            Aventurine takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, Ratio is still watching him intently. Waiting for Aventurine to convince him that he really wants to go down this path.

            “You know, I know you. Better than you would like, I think,” he tells Ratio. “And you like me better than you would like to. I don’t think you ever actually intended to become friends with me. But here we are. And we are friends. And we do know each other. Well enough to know what the other is going to do, or wants us to do, even without having to talk about it. So now I’m asking you to try to see things from my perspective. Because I know that if you were in my position, you would be making the same choice that I am.” Aventurine thinks that he is doing a good job of keeping his voice steady. It only has the slightest waver, but he thinks it’s still suitably convincing – especially since he means every word that he’s saying. “It is not a good feeling to know that there’s this weakness inside of me – something that can be exploited or used against me in the worst possible way. Something that can make me completely helpless or turn me against my friends. Something that was put there by the absolute worst people in this universe. And I want it gone. I want to be fixed. So please . . .”

            Ratio, mercifully, does not keep him begging. “Alright,” he says. “You have my help. For as long as you want it. I cannot promise you that I will find a way to fix this. But I can promise that so long as you want me to keep searching for a way, I will not give up.”

            Then, like at breakfast, he reaches out to clasp Aventurine’s shoulder . . . but unlike at breakfast, he doesn’t let go so quickly. This time he holds on.

            It feels good, Aventurine thinks as he manages a shaky but genuine smile for Ratio. It feels safe.

            “Well then,” he says, sounding much braver than he feels. “Let’s get started.”

There will be more cat cakes. I promise! I see from the comments how much everyone wants them, and I want them too! And Aventurine wants them even more than we do. ^^; He had a vested interest in not annoying Ratio too much this chapter, but they are coming!

Chapter Text

            Getting started means embarking upon a daunting list of menial labors. First and foremost amongst them, a thorough sweep of the entirety of all infested areas to clear them of True Stings. This is a task, Ratio warns Aventurine, that they will be engaging in daily. When the Swarm spawn settle into a space, they do so tenaciously, and to the point where one must almost raze the entire invaded area to get rid of them. In fact, Ratio is not certain that they’ve ever completely been cleared out of anywhere they’ve invaded without doing just that. This is a problem that Herta will ultimately have to solve sooner or later, lest her entire space station be overrun, but at least for now, with daily purges of their numbers, Ratio and Aventurine will be buying her time. Incidentally, that is also the price they are paying to use her facilities, as per his agreement with Lead Researcher Asta. Ratio considers it a fair trade.

            The True Stings can’t breach Aventurine’s shields. Even the ones who charge him in suicide attacks. So, once they have completed their first sweep, Ratio has no qualms about setting Aventurine to his next task and letting him undertake it alone. His job is to collect what furnishings they’ll require for their living and working quarters. Nearly everything they need to start with should be able to be found in the Seclusion Zone. There are even carts to aid him in transporting the furniture. So, with only a warning not to touch the research pod if he ventures into the room connected to their living quarters, Ratio sends him off to his task.

            Then, Ratio himself gets to work in the room that he selected as their workroom. For him, that consists of typing, and paperwork, and the tedium of turning the lists that he made in his mind into lines of digital text that can be sent or printed out. What he needs Aventurine to procure and what he needs Lead Researcher Asta to approve. All he needs to work on this, is his tablet, and he begins by sitting on the floor. He does not stay there long, however – it’s only minutes later that Aventurine comes by with a chair for him, as well as a desk lamp that he courteously brought along to give Ratio a bit more light.

            “I’m going to work on our living space now,” he tells Ratio. “I know you prefer to work without interruptions. I just thought you’d appreciate having an actual chair to sit in.”

            “I do. Thank you.”

            Aventurine beams like a child given praise then makes himself scarce before he becomes a nuisance, allowing Ratio to return to his work. Once the supply lists are finished, he moves on to medical consent forms for Aventurine.

            Those prove even more tedious, and nerve wracking on top of that, as Ratio must think ahead to what they might encounter on this project, and make certain that he has answers from Aventurine about what he is okay with Ratio doing in each situation. For instance, using the key phrase to activate Aventurine’s conditioning will be necessary. Exactly what the key phrase is was not in any of the project notes that Ratio read, however. Neither was the phrase to release him from the conditioning, assuming that there is one. He hopes that Aventurine knows both phrases, but if he does not . . . well, figuring out the phrase to activate it will be difficult. Figuring out the phrase to deactivate it will take even longer, and might very well not be plausible. It almost definitely is not something that they will be able to achieve in one sitting. That is where the consent forms come in. With those, Aventurine will give Ratio permission, in advance, to sedate him, or full out tranquilize him.

            That is the most obvious example of what he needs medical waivers for, but not the only one by any means. While Ratio does not foresee any medical emergencies occurring as a result of their research, they must be prepared for in advance all the same. Moreover, Ratio needs them on file with the space station’s Med Department in case he himself is incapacitated as well, for any reason.

            Despite how much he finds himself loathing this work, Ratio applies himself diligently and makes good progress. Time passes more quickly than he expects it to. He only realizes this when his stomach gives a growl of protest, signifying that it is probably well past when he normally eats lunch. He realizes, as he tucks his tablet away, that he has not heard from Aventurine again in all this time and decides that checking in on him is overdue.

            He could text, but Ratio expects to find him where he himself wishes to head anyway, so instead he starts back toward the greenhouse – and their new living quarters. Almost immediately, however, he is given pause, as he nearly walks into several pieces of furniture that Aventurine left in the hallway, right outside the door. Another chair, a bench, and a shelving unit. He must not have wanted to disturb Ratio, which was why he left them out here. Ratio moves each one inside the workroom before proceeding. The chair is easy enough, but the shelving unit and the bench leave him just slightly winded. He has no doubt, however, that Aventurine had no trouble with them. Small in stature he may be, but Ratio is well aware that he is exceptionally strong.

            He finds more evidence of this when he reaches their living quarters. They have been rearranged as well. The padded benches have been moved so that one of the longer ones is in the corner, under the two screens, and one of the shorter ones has been placed at the end which is not pressed against the wall. That one is clearly meant to serve as Ratio’s bed since the other one, which is parallel to it but approximately a meter away, is just a single longer padded bench, without a smaller one at its foot. Aventurine only needs the one for himself.

            A small rolling cart is positioned between the two beds, against the wall like a shared nightstand. A desk lamp rests atop it, and in front of the lamp a small clock that Ratio recognizes as Aventurine’s travel alarm. Despite his dedication to appearing frivolous, the gambler always sets two alarms when he has important business or travel plans.

            On the wall closer to the foot of their beds, Aventurine moved a two-tiered shelf. His go bag sits on the floor beside it, and Ratio spies his tablet charging on the lower shelf. Ratio’s own luggage rests on the floor at the opposite end. Aventurine must have talked the crew of the Astral Express into releasing it into his custody and brought it here for Ratio.

            The potted planters that were already in the room have been moved so that provide a bit of a divider and separate their sleeping quarters from the rest of the room. Aventurine also brought in a triangle-shaped table and two chairs so they have somewhere to sit and take their meals if they wish to eat in the Seclusion Zone. There’s not much else besides, however. At least not right now. If Ratio knows Aventurine though, more furniture and amenities are on the way. He will be extremely surprised if Aventurine hasn’t, at the very least, ordered a mini-fridge, a coffee maker, and some sort of counter-like table.

            The gambler himself is nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t in the greenhouse either. It’s not outside the realm of possibilities that he’s left the Seclusion Zone – he had to have at least stepped out to fetch his go bag from Implement Arts – but Ratio doesn’t think that he would have left for any significant amount of time without checking in with him. He could text Aventurine and find out . . . but Ratio decides to check a few more places first.

            He finds Aventurine in the Botany Room playing with the snacks.

            Ratio can’t exactly say he’s surprised. Nor, he realizes, can he actually object. Because Aventurine looks more at ease than Ratio has seen him since this whole mess started. Which was only a day ago, Ratio knows, but it feels much longer.

            He watches as Aventurine swishes a long-stemmed leaf back and forth in front of one of the cat cakes. The unwieldy little creature attempts to chase after it, resulting in it moving in an awkward wiggly, wobbly sort of way that is admittedly highly amusing, if not very fast. It is persistent, however, Ratio will give it that.

            “Almost got it! Don’t give up!” Aventurine encourages the critter. “You can do it!” Then, when next he moves the leaf, it’s deliberately slower, so that the cat cake is able to pounce on it before it gets away. “There you go! You did it!”

            Ratio does not intend to interrupt. He knows that he likely does not have much time before Aventurine detects his presence, if he hasn’t already. It is surprisingly difficult to actually catch him unawares – something that Ratio has learned from all the time they’ve spent working together. Though perhaps it is only surprising if you don’t actually know his past and what he’s been through, and the multitude of reasons why he likely cannot ever truly drop his guard. Either way, Ratio suspects that Aventurine already knows that he is there. He does not mind waiting to be acknowledged, however. Not in this case. It is good to see Aventurine enjoying himself.

            As expected, however, Aventurine doesn’t keep him waiting long. He looks up only a few seconds after the snack manages to wrest the leaf out of his lax grip. There’s a slightly sheepish smile on his face, like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar – or the cat cake jar, as it were.

            “I promise I haven’t been slacking off all morning, Doctor,” he calls to Ratio. “I just needed a break.”

            “I’m aware that you have not been slacking. I just came from our living quarters and saw the progress you made,” Ratio tells him as he approaches. He gives the cat cake that Aventurine was playing with a look that he hopes is only mildly dubious. “While I don’t understand your desire to spend your down time with these creatures, I cannot criticize on account of how much work you’ve done.”

            “Wow, high praise.” Aventurine gives the cat cake one final pat and stands. “What exactly are these guys though, Ratio? An intelligent species? I’ve heard them talking though they don’t make a ton of sense. At least not to me, but I don’t actually know anything about them, so –”

            “No. They do not make much sense in general,” Ratio assures him. “And I would hesitate to classify them as an intelligent species. In truth, they are a species that should not even exist.”

            Aventurine frowns, and there’s that brittle look in his eyes again. Realizing his misstep, Ratio hastens to clarify.

            “They are the creations of Ruan Mei. Number 81 of the Genius Society.” Ratio knows that his contempt for the woman is creeping into his voice but can’t bring himself to care. “She took it upon herself to create several new species, basing their appearances on snacks, and to some extent, their genetic makeup as well. To paraphrase a certain renown Doctor of Chaos, she was so preoccupied with whether or not she could, she never stopped to think if she actually should.”

            Mercifully, the brittleness dissolves from Aventurine’s eyes. He still looks slightly confused, however.

            “There would have to be extreme extenuating circumstances for me to believe that a naturally occurring species should not exist. I hope you know that,” he says to his friend.

            “Yeah. I know. Though I’m sure you can understand why you saying that took me by surprise. Since I didn’t know that these little guys aren’t naturally occurring.” Aventurine looks down at the snack at his feet. “I don’t think they’re bad though?”

            “‘Bad’ is a very subjective term, dear gambler,” Ratio says with a sigh. “Rest assured I have no desire or intent to mass euthanize these creatures. Lead Researcher Asta would not allow it even if I did. I do however question the wisdom in establishing a population of them – especially a potential breeding population. Because as you may have surmised by listening to their conversations, after creating them, Ruan Mei lost interest in them. She abandoned them without doing her due diligence in studying them. Virtually nothing about their life spans is known, let alone health conditions that may crop up amongst them during those life spans. Creatures that are bred for specific physical traits tend to have a lot of those.”

            “You think they’re going to get sick?”

            “I was referring more to structural issues,” Ratio explains. “Take dogs, for example. On nearly every planet where canine species are domesticated, there are certain breeds that have been bred selectively for aesthetic traits – squashed faces, sausage shaped bodies, or stubby legs, for instance. Those breeds are notorious for developing health issues as they age. For some of those breeds it is already a foregone conclusion that their old age will be spent paralyzed, in pain, or struggling for every single breath. One of my chief reasons for believing that these snacks should not exist as a species is that they may well have been created just to be condemned to a life of pain and suffering.”

            “Not so different from humans then,” Aventurine mutters. “But I see your point. I don’t necessarily agree with it. They exist now. If you think you have the right to make a species go extinct –”

            “I don’t,” Ratio says quickly. “Me believing that they should not have been so carelessly created is a far cry from me intending to eradicate them.”

            “Ah, I know. I meant ‘you’ in general, not as in ‘you’ in particular.”

            This conversation is entirely too dark for Ratio’s taste – especially in light of their reason for setting up a research station in the Seclusion Zone in the first place. In addition to that, Ratio knows that it’s not just the snacks that Aventurine is thinking of. Not when he may very well be the last of a race that someone decided no longer had a right to exist.

            There’s something he should be saying. Or at least Ratio feels that there is – for the second time in as many days. His mind won’t form the words, however. But there’s something he should be saying, so he needs to at least try. He may very well end up sounding like an idiot, but Aventurine isn’t likely to hold it against him.

            “Gambler –” he begins, but then cuts off abruptly as he sees something launching itself at Aventurine. “Watch out!”

            Aventurine’s reflexes are better than Ratio’s – if the speeding object was coming at Ratio, the most he could hope to do would be to deflect it and keep from getting hit in the face. Aventurine, however, raises his hands and catches it with both hands right before it collides with his face – and they then see that it is the cat cake Aventurine had been amusing himself with.

            “Play with me!” it warbles as Aventurine holds it suspended in the air. “Pay attention to me!”

            “Obnoxious creature,” Ratio gripes, though he supposes that it is marginally better than Swarm spawn, like he originally thought it was when it charged, and he is not at all secretly grateful to it for its timely intervention.

            “Aww, be nice, Doctor.”

            “I’m afraid that your escapades with the snacks must be put on hold, gambler. It is past time for lunch.”

            Ratio was able to schedule a slot to use the Med Department’s MRI equipment this evening. In the few hours between lunch and that appointment, however, he intends to finally interview Aventurine about what he went through in that abominable research project he was made a subject in. Ratio has been dreading that perhaps more than anything else. Reading about what those despicable people did to his friend was bad enough. Having to hear the story in Aventurine’s own voice and see his expression as he recounts it . . . Ratio only hopes that he can keep himself composed during the ordeal. He must. For Aventurine’s sake. And because how would it look to Aventurine if he didn’t?

            He does not tell Aventurine their afternoon plans. He knows that the gambler has been dreading the interview too, though he had been of the opinion that it was better to quickly get it over with. Well, now he’ll get his wish, but in the meantime there’s no reason to ruin lunch for him too.

            Aventurine is extremely astute however, and perhaps Ratio is not as subtle as he intends to be. His loss of appetite is probably indicative of what’s to come, because though Aventurine doesn’t comment on it when Ratio struggles to finish the small amount that he put on his tray, he does look at Ratio knowingly.

            So, when they leave the space station’s cantina and return to the Seclusion Zone, to their workroom, Aventurine is ready. He flops down into one of the chairs, the fakest smile in his repertoire on his face, and beams up at Ratio.

            “Ready to pick my brain, Doctor?”

            While Ratio does not care for that way of phrasing it, he lets it go. “If you are ready then I am.”

            “Right. Let the interrogation begin.”

            That, however, does make Ratio internally cringe. “Interview. Let us refer to this as an interview, please. Not an interrogation.”

            “As you wish.”

            “I am serious, gambler,” Ratio tells him. “This is not mandatory. I do not intend to wring answers from you. There will be no punishment or negative consequences for staying silent or refusing to answer questions. I ask that you do not lie to me, for the sake of allowing me to gather factual knowledge so that I can better help you with your condition, but if you feel that you can no longer continue and need a break, or simply have had enough and wish to cease this altogether –”

            “Okay.”

            Ratio pauses for breath – and to let Aventurine speak, if the gambler has more to say. Aventurine waits for a moment, then takes it as the invitation that it is intended to be.

            “I trust you, Ratio. I know that you’re trying to help me. And I have a general idea of what your playbook is, so I know why you need to do certain things. Why you’re interro – why you’re interviewing me after you apparently already found plenty of pertinent information. Why you might have to ask some less than wholesome questions about what happened to me. I get it. And I can take it. I survived that project, after all. What’s talking about it compared to that?”

            “Being forced to remember or speak of traumatic events can sometimes be as or nearly as traumatizing as the events themselves,” Ratio says softly. “I do not wish to cause you anguish.”

            Aventurine gives an almost gentle laugh. “Do you know that you’re the only one in the universe who could tell me that who I’d believe?”

            “Then you understand why I must never give your belief a reason to falter.” Ratio resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He has debated with the greats – members of the Genius Society as well as others of immense knowledge or talent who, in their own field, are geniuses in their own right and eclipse the society members when it comes to certain subjects. Never before has any back and forth been as high stakes or nerve wracking as this. Because to misspeak here, to use one wrong turn of phrase, could cost him so much more.

            Yet, oddly enough, that old familiar thrum of excitement Ratio gets when he debates is still there as well. That feeling of matching wits with an equal. Ratio relishes it. And feels bad for relishing it. Nothing about this should be fun. He is asking someone who he cares about to relive some of the worst experiences of his life. Ratio must treat everything about this with the gravity it deserves.

            He clears his throat and pulls his thoughts together. “If ever you do not understand why I am doing something and wish to, please simply ask,” he tells his friend. “You deserve to know.”

            Aventurine nods, equally solemn. “I will.”

            “Then . . . are you ready to begin?”

            Aventurine nods once more – then surprises Ratio, who was expecting more bravado, perhaps another quip about finally getting started. Instead, he shifts slightly in his seat, taking on a less languid, better balanced position. “I trust you,” he tells Ratio again.

            Ratio clenches his fist around his stylus and opens his tablet to the list of questions that he drafted for this. “Alright then. Can you tell me what you remember about the project that did this to you? Starting from the beginning.”

I realized as I was wrapping this chapter up that it probably feels like it ends in the same place that you thought last chapter ended. ^^; Sorry about that. Next chapter, though, the interview begins, and with it . . . angst!

Chapter Text

            “Alright then. Can you tell me what you remember about the project that did this to you? Starting from the beginning.”

            “The beginning, huh?” Aventurine casts his mind back to those dark days. “Well, I don’t have exact dates for this stuff happening. I was a kid at the time. But I guess the whole lab nightmare started a few months after the massacre – you know the one I’m talking about. The IPC said they’d protect my clan from the Katicans, but they lied, and every Avgin who stood their ground was slaughtered. We didn’t trust the men in black from beyond the skies completely, I guess. Our children and elders were sent into the wilds to wait the battle out. That was how I survived. Lucky me.”

            Ratio’s jaw clenches. Aventurine makes a note to tone down his twisted sense of humor and sarcasm. The good doctor, learned as he is, is clearly not accustomed to real world tragedy – and Aventurine is glad for that. Today, at least. There are days that he hates every single person in the universe who wasn’t there, who wasn’t debased and dehumanized like he himself was, everyone who did nothing to help him or his people . . . but today, at least, he’s in a good enough place to remember that not everyone is to blame for what happened to him. Today he’s a good enough person to be glad Ratio has always lived a safe and protected life.

            “I don’t know how long I held out in the wilderness – a couple weeks, maybe. A month or two at the most. I didn’t have much contact with the other Avgins – there was no safety in numbers. Especially after it became clear that someone was hunting us. The more of us that grouped up together, the more signs of our passage that were left. I hid out for as long as I could, but eventually, they caught me. They being another Sigonian tribe. Funnily enough, that tribe also no longer exists. See, the IPC got some intel that there were untapped energy sources in that tribe’s lands and went there to secure them. Tragically, those alleged energy sources were said to be in their holy ruins. Fights broke out. Peace treaties were signed. Ironically, all the survivors became life-long contract employees of the IPC. Last I heard they were all shipped off world. Funny how that happens sometimes. But yes, back to my story . . .”

            Aventurine throws those details in to remind Ratio that he himself is not a good person. Ratio knows this full well, of course. He’s worked with Aventurine long enough to see firsthand what he is capable of, and has no doubt heard rumors of a number of other scandals that Aventurine was involved in, or allegedly involved in. Orchestrating the downfall of fellow Sigonians for enslaving him is barely a drop in the bucket.

            “Right. I was captured. Bound up in a net, dragged back to civilization – insofar as you can call anything about it civil – and sold. Not to the men in black. It was the men in white who bought me first. They were the ones who broke my brain.”

            “Do you know who they were?” Ratio asks.

            “Nope. I never did learn. I was young and stupid back then, Doctor. You would have looked at me and sneered. It was my first contact with people from off world, my first time being transported in anything other than a wagon, and my first experience with technology. Not that I knew what technology was. I thought it was magic, and that they were evil shamans.” Aventurine feels his lips twisting into an ugly smile at the memory. “My people had legends about monsters like them – immortal fiends who would kill you and bind your soul in your body, so you couldn’t reunite with your family under Kakava’s aurora. You’d be trapped in your own decaying flesh until it fell apart, forced to do their bidding, not able to move a single muscle without their say so. I thought that’s what was happening to me.”

            “You defined your experiences through the lens of what you knew,” Ratio says, his tone remarkably mild. He almost sounds gentle. But his hand is clenched around his stylus so tightly that his knuckles are all white. “You were ignorant because you were from an uninitiated planet, and ignorance is a curable condition. You were not stupid.”

            Aventurine shrugs. “Either way, there’s a lot I don’t remember from that time. I know that’s where I picked up my synesthesia beacon. One of the jabs they gave me must have had the implant, because suddenly I could understand what the evil shamans were saying. Makes sense, in hindsight. They couldn’t really have a mind control program full of kids who couldn’t understand their orders. And I think there were lots of drugs involved. I remember answering their questions even when I didn’t want to. Telling them my name, which was taboo. Everyone knows you never tell an evil shaman your name because that’s how they trap you.”

            “According to the project notes I dug up, you were given an anesthetic that is often used for outpatient surgeries,” Ratio tells him when Aventurine lapses into silence. “One of its side effects in the young is the inability to hold one’s tongue or avoid truthfully answering any question. That effect is greatly diminished in those who have undergone puberty, but you were young enough then that it was essentially truth serum to you.”

            “That was in whatever you found in the Astral Express’s data bank?” Aventurine asks.

            “Yes. Amongst other things. Such as the name of the university conducting this study . . . and the names of the researchers.”

            “I see . . .” Aventurine’s gaze falls to Ratio’s tablet, where all the documents he downloaded from the Astral Express are stored. Ratio, naturally, takes note of even his most minute gestures.

            “Do you wish to know the researchers’ names?” Ratio asks after several seconds. His voice is slightly strained, and Aventurine knows why, and what it took for Ratio to offer to tell him – and that question is an offer.

            “Nah,” Aventurine says. “I’m not saying I won’t go digging for the information myself at a later date when I have some free time, but for now I can let it rest.”

            Ratio is doing a lot for him, after all. No reason to make him feel like he’s complicit to murder for giving Aventurine all the intel he needs to find whichever of those evil shamans are still left alive. Especially not when Aventurine knows where he can find the intel for himself. He’ll have to go visit his Nameless friends again real soon.

            Doubtlessly Ratio knows that’s not going to be the end of it, but he seems relieved to be left out of it. “Alright . . . what else do you remember about your time in the lab?”

            “Er – you might need to start asking specific questions if you want to know something,” Aventurine says. “Most of it’s a blur, but let’s see. I have no idea how long I was there. It felt like years. Maybe it was. There were other Signonian kids there with me. Some of them were other Avgins. Some of them were Katicans. They kept us in individual cages because they couldn’t tell the difference between us and didn’t want us trying to kill each other. That privilege was reserved for the evil shamans. They jabbed us with tiny knives that made our brains swim and brought us under their control. That gave some of the kids fits. Watching that was terrifying. I know now that those were seizures, but . . . I didn’t know then. Um, what else?  Ah, the shamans were always mad. Especially near the end. I remember lots of screaming about getting shut down in the weeks leading up to them selling me off to a maze.”

            “A maze?” Ratio asks.

            “Yeah, you know, a fighting maze. They throw a bunch of people in, tell them to fight to the death, and lock the doors. Only one person comes out, and they usually have some big, hungry animals on standby in case things get too quiet, or in case it comes down to a group of friends who refuse to fight each other being the last few standing.”

            Ratio looks like he wants to say something – actually opens his mouth and moves his lips but no words come out. He promptly shuts his mouth. Then he stares at Aventurine with so much sorrow in his eyes that Aventurine actually feels a stab of guilt for dumping all this on Ratio – even though Ratio literally asked for it.

            “Are you alright, Doctor?” he asks, trying not to sound sarcastic. “I guess it can’t be easy to hear what some of your fellow academics are capable of. If you need a break –”

            “I am so very sorry.” It takes a lot for Ratio to get that out, Aventurine can tell.

            “Not your fault,” he says quickly. “The evil shamans didn’t come from your university, after all. I would have remembered a phrase as silly as ‘Veritas Prime’ if I’d heard it back then.”

            “No. Veritas Prime would not condone research on unwilling human subjects,” Ratio tells him. “I can assure you of that much . . . The university that was responsible for that project was the Jacobin School of Mathematics and Science. They are a rival university to Veritas Prime and we strive to be better than them, both academically and ethically.”

            “Well, the one’s not hard at least.”

            “Would you like me to summarize what I learned about the project?” Ratio asks. “It might . . . might help certain things make sense for you. To put them in perspective, now that you are old enough to have perspective on what happened.”

            “Sure.” Aventurine knows Ratio won’t be naming names, but that’s fine. Because Ratio is very good at making things make sense. To Aventurine, at least. He knows some people struggle to understand the good doctor’s explanations, but Aventurine rarely has that problem.

            Ratio gives a curt nod and flips to a page of notes in his tablet, where he probably has the gist of what he wants to tell Aventurine already written down.

            “The program that you were conscripted into participating in was code named Project Mind-Shackle. Its purpose, as you have likely surmised, was to replicate the neural reprogramming results that Dr. Primitive was rumored to have achieved in experiments during his university days. The Mind-Shackle team sought to imbed conditioning in their test subjects that would make them mindlessly obedient, and could be activated with a mere key phrase. The methods with which they sought to achieve this were a combination of drugs and hypnosis.”

            “Hypnosis?” Aventurine frowns. “Isn’t that just a carnival trick?”

            “Hm . . . Yes and no. The hypnosis you see take place on stage and in shows is widely performative, often exaggerated or a full out hoax. Yet true hypnosis does exist. It is essentially mental manipulation on the subconscious level. Difficult to achieve, and even more so when the subject is aware of what the perpetrator is doing. The researchers from Jacobin used drugs to attempt to bypass your mind’s securities.

            “They met with mixed success. You and your fellow Signonians were not their first batch of subjects. Based on the records I managed to acquire, you were their fifth and final. Because while their early results seemed promising, the conditioning did not hold. By the time the project was terminated every member of Test Group 1 had broken free from their conditioning, and their neural programming could no longer be activated, and multiple members of Test Groups 2 and 3 were following suit. It was rapidly becoming apparent to the project’s sponsors that Mind-Shackle’s methods were flawed and rendered null, either by the test subjects undergoing puberty, or the programming simply collapsing by itself over time, though brain chemistry analysis suggests the former.”

            “But . . . then why am I still . . . ?” Aventurine can’t keep stop his voice from lifting like he’s begging Ratio for an answer. Hell, maybe he is. At least Ratio’s not in a judging mood today.

            “I do not have a definitive answer for you, but I do have a theory,” Ratio tells him. “Based on the photographs of the test subjects . . . it seems that at the very least the lab that held you was feeding you regularly.”

            “I guess. I don’t remember ever being starving there, at least.”

            A slight grimace crosses Ratio’s face at that remark, but he presses on. “The older photographs for the Test Group 1 subjects show them to have arrived in similar emaciated condition as you did. But those who survived being dosed repeatedly with the multitude of drugs used by the researchers were fed regularly enough to put on weight. Some of them actually almost look healthy in their final photographs for the project.

            “You, however . . . I don’t mean to be insensitive . . . but am I wrong in believing that you experienced malnourishment all through your childhood and well into your teenage years?” The look Ratio gives him is so saturated with pity that it makes Aventurine grimace.

            “My family did the best they could,” he says, defensive on instinct, “but . . . yeah . . . Food was always scarce. And it only got worse after I got sold to the maze. So, you think that’s why my brain didn’t fix itself? Why I never grew out of the neural reprogramming?”

            “I think it’s a distinct possibility.”

            Aventurine pulls his knees up to his chest in his chair, and wraps his arms around them feeling defeated. Did he miss his chance to ever break free from the conditioning? Or rather, did he never even have the chance? Is he going to be stuck with it now, forever? Granted, it’s not the worst thing in the world. As far as he knows, the people who know that he has this weakness are limited to him, Ratio, and those three bastards from the hot springs. What’s that old saying? Two people can keep a secret when three others are in the grave? Aventurine knows that’s not quite right but thinks it’s close enough. Ratio is the one person in the universe that he actually trusts not to use this against him. The other three, Aventurine will just have to hunt down and take care of – along with any other researcher attached to the project while he’s at it. Even though they would probably assume that his neural reprogramming dissolved like the other test subjects’ if they ever saw him and recognized him. Better safe than sorry. Besides, they all earned their place on his list.

            “This does provide us with a starting point in trying to cure you,” Ratio says, interrupting his scheming.

            “What?”

            “Puberty, in most humanoid species, is characterized by an increase in numerous hormones in the brain.”

            “Er –”

            “Growth hormones and the like, gambler. I intend to analyze the compositions of the cocktails of the drugs they gave to you and see which growth hormones likely had a hand in undoing the long-term effects that those drugs caused the subjects of the earlier test groups. Then, if safe, we can try administering doses to you.” Ratio’s enthusiasm wanes slightly here, but he steels himself and resolutely presses on. “In order to know if we have achieved our desired results, however, we will need to attempt to activate your neural reprogramming. I assume that you know the activation phrase?”

            “Uhhhhhh . . .”

            “I understand your reluctance to share it,” Ratio says gently. “I do. And I would not be asking for it unless it were absolutely necessary –”

            “I don’t . . . I don’t know the whole phrase, Ratio,” Aventurine admits. “I know the first few words . . . but I don’t know how many words there are. It blanks my mind before whoever’s speaking it gets to the end.”

            “I see. Well, that’s another thing that we shall have to figure out, but it is not, by any means, an insurmountable obstacle.”

            “Isn’t it?” Aventurine asks. “It could be anything. Unless your plan is to go find that guy from the hot springs and see if a starship battery and some connector cables can get him to talk? Which I am not opposed to, for the record.”

            “That is a route that I would prefer to avoid. Especially since, if you have the first few words of the activation phrase then we have a definitive starting point. It cannot be a particularly long phrase – I reached you quite quickly after you called to me for help. I highly doubt that it is longer than ten words, and am nearly certain that the words that make it up are not random.”

            “How could you possibly know that?”

            “Because the amoral imbecile who I gave a traumatic brain injury to was not an extremely intelligent man. According to my research, his curriculum vitae is absolutely devoid of any notable achievements, and he graduated in the bottom tenth of his class. It is extremely unlikely that a man like that could remember a string of random words, in the correct order, ten or more years later. Thus, I am confident that there is a pattern to the words, and patterns can be decoded.”

            “Fair enough,” Aventurine concedes.

            Ratio grows solemn again. “Will you trust me with the words that you do know? I promise you that I will never write them down, reveal them to another soul, or use them in a way that I believe will adversely affect you.”

            “I know. Yeah. The words . . . the ones I know . . . Signonian . . . Lambda . . . Avgin . . .”

            Those are all the words of the activation phrase that he knows. Aventurine intends to tell Ratio that those three are it, but all of a sudden his throat seizes.

            “I see . . . Hmm . . . I believe I see the beginnings of a pattern – are you alright?”

            Aventurine tries to speak – tries to inhale, then tries to exhale . . . but he can’t. It’s like his lungs have just been paralyzed. He shakes his head and makes a clawing gesture toward his throat – the universal signal for not being able to breathe.

            “Gambler – what is it?”

            Desperately, trying to stave off panic, Aventurine pulls at his shirt. Unbuckling the fastening at his collar. Like that will really do any good. But maybe it will, maybe it will make Ratio see . . .

            “Are you having difficulty breathing?” Ratio is on his feet now, looking alarmed.

            Aventurine thinks he manages a nod right before the world goes grey and falls away.

So.  How was everyone’s weekend? ^_^

Chapter Text

            “Aventurine!”

            When Aventurine falls out of his chair, Ratio just manages to catch him before he hits the ground. With his friend in his arms, he can actually feel his struggles – feel his body convulsing, his chest jerking oddly as he struggles to breathe.

            It is extremely strange – he makes no sound. It’s almost as though his lungs have completely seized. At first Ratio thought that Aventurine was having a panic attack, but he quickly realizes that this is something else. He guides Aventurine to the ground so that he's in a seated position, then keeps hold of his forearms as he shifts so he’s in front of his friend – so Aventurine can see him.

            “Aventurine – look at me. Don’t – fudge!”

            Aventurine’s consciousness slips away right before Ratio’s eyes. He sees the moment that Aventurine’s own eyes roll back into his head, and his muscles give out. If not for Ratio’s hold on him, he would have slumped to the floor.

            “Damn it!” With nothing else that he can do, Ratio lowers Aventurine so that he is laying flat on his back, then presses two fingers to his neck.

            Mercifully, his heart is still beating. He’s just not breathing Ratio sees when he moves his hand to let it hover over Aventurine’s mouth and nose. That, of course, means that his heart will stop beating soon enough, if its supply of oxygen is not restored. Ratio is not going to let that happen, but he realizes how woefully prepared he was for something like this. He did not have the foresight to stock their workroom with emergency medical supplies beforehand – he intended to get to that, of course, but never expected to be met with a situation like this when they were merely talking, merely going over background information. He does not have a single Life Transmitter or Simple First Aid Device here now. No preloaded syringes of adrenaline. Nothing but his wits and his multiple medical degrees, and Ratio is determined to make them suffice.

            He begins rescue breathing for Aventurine – something that he has never actually had to do for any patient before, but it’s his only option right now. He tilts Aventurine’s head to the proper angle to ensure that his airways are open, then pinches his nose shut so that the air he breathes into him won’t flow right back out. Then Ratio presses his mouth to Aventurine’s – over Aventurine’s – firmly enough to form an airtight seal. Then he breathes for his friend.

            Were Aventurine conscious, Ratio knows that he would be at the mercy of the gambler’s off-color jokes. “Trying to take advantage of me while I’m asleep, Doctor? You could have just asked, you know.” Ratio can hear the damned gambler’s voice in his mind now. The truth, however, is that though this might look like kissing, might look romantic, it is far from anything so pleasant. The truth is that it’s harrowing. It’s exhausting and terrifying. Because if he fails, Aventurine dies.

            Ten to twelve breaths per minute. That is the target number, Ratio remembers. So, one breath every five or six seconds. He pays particular attention to the first two, and is pleased when he sees them cause Aventurine’s chest to rise. After breath number five, Ratio removes his mouth from Aventurine’s and checks his pulse again. His heart is still beathing. Steadily, even. Odd – he doesn’t seem to be anywhere near cardiac distress. That reinforces Ratio’s belief that this is not a panic attack. That this is something else – and he thinks he knows what. The mere thought of it, however, fills him with rage and Ratio cannot afford any distractions right now. Not with Aventurine’s life in his hands. He forces himself back to the here and now and places his lips back over Aventurine’s to breathe for him again.

            When he reaches breath number eleven, Aventurine gives a rasping cough. Ratio cannot remember ever being happier at hearing anything before. Relief floods his veins as he sits back, as Aventurine begins to breathe on his own again.

            “That’s it, gambler,” Ratio encourages him. “You’re going to be okay. Just keep breathing . . .”

            He monitors Aventurine’s condition to ensure Aventurine does just that. Sitting next to him, he takes Aventurine’s hand in his own and presses two fingers to his wrist. Being able feel his pulse beating steadily . . . being able to see his chest rise and fall as he breathes . . . It helps Ratio put aside the sense of dread that struck him when Aventurine began showing signs of distress.

            The entire episode lasted barely two minutes, with Aventurine only being unconscious for one of them. His reason for falling unconscious in the first place . . . he should have been able to go for longer than just one minute without breathing, indicating that the reason he fell unconscious was because of something else. That solidifies it in Ratio’s mind – his hypothesis for what just happened – and he finds himself beginning to tremble with rage.

            Movement from Aventurine forces Ratio to shove back his fury, at least momentarily. He was too preoccupied. If Aventurine regained consciousness and took a moment to ascertain what his situation was before letting on that he was awake this time, Ratio missed it. Ratio focuses on him again though as Aventurine shifts his hand slightly so that he can lace his fingers with Ratio’s.

            “Ratio? What happened?” Aventurine asks, staring up at him with glassy eyes. His voice is barely more than a whisper.

            “Indulge me for a moment, please, and just rest,” Ratio requests. “I will explain . . . but I would like for you to be conscious and stable for a few minutes first.”

            Aventurine looks confused but gives a slight nod. He shifts his gaze to the ceiling as he waits – and in all likelihood is probably trying to remember what happened on his own. Ratio can’t exactly fault him for that. It’s likely Aventurine can’t even help it. He waits patiently, however, and does not broach the topic. It’s Ratio who breaks the silence once he deems enough time has passed to actually do Aventurine good in the case that he relapses and stops breathing again once they begin talking.

            “Before you collapsed, you told me the three words of the activation phrase that you remembered,” Ratio tells him. “Then, you stopped breathing. At first, I thought that you were having a panic attack, but your symptoms . . . they were not consistent with what constitutes a panic attack. Not even the way you stopped breathing.”

            “So, what happened?” Aventurine asks. “You’re going to have to spell it out for me, Doc, because my head feels really foggy right now.”

            Ratio untangles his fingers from Aventurine’s and returns them to his wrist so that he can feel his pulse again. “I believe that the researchers created a safeguard to prevent you from giving the activation phrase to anyone else. I believe that they essentially booby trapped your mind.”

            “Oh.”

            Ratio clenches his jaw and looks away.

            “Oh,” Aventurine said. Like this isn’t horrific and invasive and utterly abominable, like he is used to it – because he is, Ratio knows and that – that just incenses Ratio even more. There is nothing right about this! No one should be used to such atrocities, least of all someone who he cares about! Aventurine should not be so accepting that someone just – just set up a failsafe in his mind that could kill him like they had any right at all to do so! Ratio was too kind to Fleitch in that locker room. He wishes now that he had crushed that monster’s skull and trodden through his grey matter just to see how he liked someone violating his brain!

            Once again, it’s Aventurine who pulls Ratio back to the present.

            “You’re shaking,” Aventurine whispers.

            Ratio turns his attention to his gambler. “I’m not surprised,” he admits, his voice miraculously level. “I am furious right now.”

            Aventurine’s glassy eyes widen. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t know –”

            “No, not with you,” Ratio rushes to assure him. “Never with you.”

            Aventurine gives a huff that is probably meant to be a laugh. “Liar.”

            Despite himself, Ratio feels his lips twitching. Not actually into a smile – something like a twisted parody of a smile, perhaps. “Allow me to amend myself then. Never with you about anything related to this,” he tells him. “Nothing about this is your fault. This – what’s wrong? Aventurine?”

            Aventurine’s expression crumpled for just a moment. He has his mask, or at least a shaky facsimile of his mask, back in place by the time Ratio voices his question but Ratio saw it – his true face. Or rather his true feelings.

            “Nothing.”

            “Gambler . . .”

            “It’s really nothing,” Aventurine tries to assure him. “Just . . . I just . . . I . . .”

            Ratio watches him struggle to come up with a plausible lie – something that he could do as easily as breathing any other time – and feels something inside of him give at that thought. “It’s alright, gambler. You don’t need to tell me. Your thoughts are your own and it should always be your right to keep them to yourself. However, I hope . . . that if there is something that you need to get off your chest . . . something that you might feel better about if you talk with someone about it . . . I hope that you know . . . that I am here for you.”

            Aventurine stares up at him with eyes that are suddenly overbright. They shimmer with a glaze of tears that spill over when he blinks – though Ratio only gets a glimpse of that before Aventurine pulls his hand free from Ratio’s and rolls onto his side so his back is to him.

            “Thanks, Ratio . . .” he says, his voice only trembling slightly. “I’m just really tired.”

            Ratio starts to reach out to touch his shoulder then stops himself. He withdraws his hand and scoots back, minutely, but enough that he is not touching any part of Aventurine or his clothing now. As much as he would like to lend his friend comfort, Aventurine clearly needs space and Ratio will not violate his autonomy.

            “Understandable,” he says. “I think . . . I think we have done enough for today. I am going to reschedule your MRI appointment. That can wait another day or two. We are both tired. We had a busy morning and neither of us slept well last night. Why don’t we fetch an early dinner from the cantina, bring it back here to eat, then turn in for the night?”

            Sleep, Ratio knows, is probably one of the few things that can make Aventurine feel better right now. Food might be another, but his exhaustion, both physical and mental, is nearly palpable. Moreover, ending today will help make ending this nightmare of a session feel more final. It will put it behind them, firmly in the past.

            “I want to take a shower first,” Aventurine says, still laying with his back to Ratio. “I feel disgusting. Like my head is full of filth.”

            “There is a locker room with the necessary facilities that we can use just off the botany room,” Ratio tells him. “I will accompany you there when you are ready.”

            “Thank you.”

            It takes Aventurine five minutes to find the energy to move again. When he finally begins to try, his motions are slow and jerky, as though his muscles have been strained to their breaking point. The stress that today’s session has put on his mind may very well have had adverse effects on his body as well, Ratio realizes. He will need to make sure that they are fully prepared before continuing. That their workroom is chock full of equipment and supplies that can sustain his life in the event that there is another medical emergency like the one Aventurine faced today. More than that, Ratio needs to take more precautionary measures. He needs something that will allow him to monitor Aventurine’s vital signs, at the very least.

            For now, he extends his hand to his friend when he sees that Aventurine is having trouble picking himself up off the floor. Aventurine takes it gratefully and allows Ratio to pull him up – and to brace him when he stumbles.

            The hot water crashing down over him feels like heaven. Aventurine closes his eyes and tips his face into the cascade, wishing that it could just wash away all the darkness in his mind. His head still feels foggy – it has since he woke up. His thoughts are scattered and hard to pull together, but he’s present enough to know that this shower feels good, at least.

            The facilities in the space station’s locker room are about what Aventurine was expecting, aesthetics-wise. The water temperature and pressure are surprisingly above par, but it seems that few expenses that could be cut when it came to cobbling the locker room together made it through. Unlike the Astral Express’s bathrooms and shower stalls, with their floor to ceiling doors and partitions, the ones here seem frankly skeletal. There’s a two-foot gap beneath the floor and partition all around, and the tops of everything are cut off somewhere around Aventurine’s eye level. In the next stall over, Ratio was visible from about his neck and up before Aventurine turned away and focused on the water.

            Aventurine understands Ratio’s reluctance to leave him alone for even a minute. He’d just spontaneously stopped breathing, after all. Aventurine can imagine how he’d feel if the situation had been reversed. He’d probably have been a lot more panicked than the good doctor who has studied life saving measures for years and has a lot of fancy framed papers to prove it. To be honest, Aventurine is actually grateful that he’s here now. It surprises him a bit – he expected that he’d want some alone time to just process everything, but . . . well, Ratio still makes him feel safe.

            “If you find yourself feeling dizzy and need to sit, do let me know,” Ratio tells him. “I’ll fetch a chair for you, so you can sit while you shower.”

            “The water will ruin it,” Aventurine points out. All the chairs he’s seen in this section of the space station are padded office chairs.

            “I don’t care,” Ratio says flatly. That makes Aventurine feel good. Feel warm. To be prioritized over space station furniture. Perhaps he should have higher standards, but he kind of has the feeling that Ratio wouldn’t prioritize most people’s whims over the chair’s condition.

            There’s no soap in the showers for public use. Aventurine noticed some hand soap dispensers as they passed the sinks when they came in, but he’s not desperate enough to try using that stuff right now. Besides, the reason he feels disgusting is psychological. Aventurine knows it. If the water doesn’t help, soap isn’t going to, so there’s no reason to risk a rash or drying out his skin with whatever bargain basement brand Madam Herta wants her people sterilizing their hands with.

            The water is helping though. Aventurine feels better now that he’s under it. After a few moments, he shifts slightly, turning his back to the stream so it’s no longer pelting his face, and raises his hands to card his fingers through his hair, going through the motions of washing it, even though he’s really only just rinsing it. That makes him feel better too.

            He does his best to be mindful of Ratio’s time, even though he doubts that Ratio would deny him any reasonable request right now. Still, he knows that Ratio isn’t having a good day either, and probably doesn’t want to spend an hour just showering because of Aventurine’s psychosomatic belief that his brain is disgusting, and that water can actually cleanse it. So, he keeps his shower down to about ten minutes, give or take. He thinks that’s a reasonable amount of time. Well, maybe not on a space station. Aventurine doesn’t know how strict they are on water usage here, but Ratio doesn’t seem antsy or guilty about it, and stays in the shower as long as Aventurine does, only getting out when Aventurine is finished.

            He expects that he’ll have to put back on the clothes he’s been wearing all day, at least until they reach their new living space, but Ratio surprises him by going to a locker and keying in a combination.

            “Since Ruan Mei rendered this section of the space station unusable by the general public, I have been taking advantage of the solitude when I visit,” Ratio says by way of explanation. “It is exceedingly wearisome trying to shower amongst the fools on this station who worship genius as though it were a religion.”

            Aventurine makes a noncommittal noise in lieu of answering. It’s all he can really manage at the moment. He accepts the towel that Ratio hands him though, dries himself, then wraps it around his waist. Ratio does the same with another towel, then he takes a moment to gather their clothes before leading the way to the door.

            The walk back to their new living space feels like it stretches on for miles. Twice, Aventurine stumbles and Ratio has to grip his arm. The third time, Ratio keeps hold of him.

            “If I am making you uncomfortable, please tell me,” Ratio says as he adjusts his pace to match Aventurine’s much shorter stride. “I do not wish to cause you any distress.”

            “This is fine . . . Thanks.”

            The final flight of stairs almost does Aventurine in, but he manages to scale them, leaning heavily on Ratio for support. Ratio helps him all the way to the bench that is now Aventurine’s bed then looks toward Aventurine’s go bag.

            “Can I bring you anything from your luggage?”

            “No. Thank you. I’ll get it myself . . . in a minute.”

            Ratio makes a slightly disgruntled noise and simply brings the whole bag over for him.

            “Ah. Thank you.”

            “You have never before been shy about asking me for favors, gambler. Do not begin now,” Ratio says, sounding almost tolerant.

            “I’m kind of imposing on you right and left lately,” Aventurine says ruefully. “You’ve had to save my life twice in two days. So, I’ll try not to –”

            “Aventurine. Stop.”

            Aventurine does stop. In mid-sentence, even. Because he’s never heard Ratio sound quite like that before.”

            “There is no debt that you owe me for saving you, because debts like that do not exist between friends,” Ratio says in a voice that is almost stern, but not quite, because his tone is too sincere.

            Aventurine swallows and suddenly finds it hard to meet Ratio’s eyes.

            “I find myself humbled by the trust you are willing to place in me and in awe of your strength,” Ratio continues. “I – you . . . if I can help you, then please let me. And if you find yourself holding back on asking because you don’t wish to trouble me, please ask yourself if it would bother you, were our situations reversed. Because I am well aware that there is precious little you would not do to help me were I in need.”

            Aventurine thinks, right then, that there is nothing he wouldn’t do to for Ratio. He can’t even explain to himself how Ratio makes him feel. Like he means something to someone again. Like he has worth beyond his role as Jade’s hound, or the handful of red copper coins that were the marker on his life. If he’s not careful, he’s going to start crying for real. Not just a couple stray tears that escape when he blinks but full out sobbing like he hasn’t done since he was a child. That is something that he wants to avoid at all costs. He has it on good authority that he is an ugly crier, and he doesn’t want Ratio to see him like that . . .

            “Thank you,” he says, and it takes everything he has to school his features and put on what he hopes is a gentle smile. He casts out his mind for something small – something extremely low effort that Ratio probably needs to do anyway. That should distract Ratio and help him believe Aventurine took his words completely to heart. “I . . . there is something.”

            “Yes?”

            It takes just about all the strength he has, but Aventurine pushes himself off of his bench and drops to his knees beside his go bag so he can access the compartment near the bottom.

            “I have . . . these.” He comes up with two packages of instant comfort food. “You said we could go to the cantina for an early dinner . . . but there’s no way I’m going to make it. I don’t know why I’m so tired, but I am.”

            “Stress. And a morning of physical labor, preceded by a sleepless night,” Ratio supplies.

            Aventurine nods. “But I have these. Can we please eat here?”

            Ratio, Aventurine knows, will be very loath to leave him alone, even for the time it would take for him to fetch dinner from the main part of the space station. Aventurine wouldn’t be going anywhere either if it was Ratio who’d suddenly stopped breathing. He would want to stay close in case he spontaneously stopped again. So, of course Ratio agrees.

            “As you wish,” Ratio says, and as Aventurine expected, he actually looks a bit relieved to have dinner taken care of without him having to leave Aventurine to go get it. He accepts the two packages with a slight smile. “Instant comfort food. I haven’t had these since I was attending Veritas Prime as a student.”

            For some reason, that catches Aventurine’s interest. “You ate these as a student?”

            “Many times,” Ratio tells him. “We all did.”

            “Huh.” For some reason, Aventurine is having a hard time seeing it.

            “They are cheap, convenient, and provide balanced nutrition. They are a staple for many a university student,” Ratio says. “In fact, in my university days, not only did I consume many packets of instant comfort food, I also learned how to upgrade them.”

            “Upgrade?” Aventurine’s head is still a little foggy. The first definition of that word to come to mind involves computers and software. Doubtlessly, however, Ratio means the next one Aventurine is able to recall – the one that involves adding things onto a meal, or substituting one part of it for something else and paying a bit extra for it.

            “Yes,” Ratio says. “In fact, would you believe that I became very, very good at upgrading comfort food?”

            There’s a slight catch to his voice that gives away what he’s doing. Not to mention the fact that he left the door wide open for Aventurine, to try and bait him into responding. Even with all the fog in his brain, Aventurine sees what he’s trying to do clear as day. So, with the same fake it til you make it attitude that has gotten him this far, he forces a smile and gives Ratio the answer he was fishing for.

            “Hm . . . I don’t know. Nope, I can’t see it.”

            “Then I shall have to prove it to you, gambler,” Ratio says almost ominously. “Not right this instant, of course, but at a later date. After I have acquired the necessary ingredients for said upgrades. I shall make you rue the day that you doubted me.”

            “Oh? So confident, Doctor? What say we make a wager on that, then?” Aventurine suggests.

            Ratio shoots that suggestion down, as he always does when Aventurine tries to pull him into gambling. As Aventurine knew he would, which is good, because he has no idea what the terms for such a bet would be and can’t think well enough to figure them out right now. No doubt Ratio picks up on the fact that Aventurine’s mind is lagging as they banter, but Aventurine is sure he can see that he’s trying, and that Ratio’s efforts are helping . . . and that sooner rather than later, Aventurine is going to be okay.

            So, they banter a bit more. Then Ratio finally makes the noodles for them – using water from a bottle of glacial spring water from Cristobel-III that was also in Aventurine’s go bag. They eat them in their pajamas, then call it a day.

            Aventurine has both a blanket and a large towel in his go bag. He tries to give Ratio the blanket, since the towel is almost big enough for Aventurine to cover himself with, but Ratio won’t stand for that. He insists that Aventurine use the blanket for himself and goes so far as to tuck him in once he’s laying down.

            It’s nice having someone here to watch out for him, Aventurine thinks as he closes his eyes, right before he drifts off. Nice to have someone take care of him. It’s kind of like having family again.

I don’t know about you guys, but I could sure go for some domestic fluff after that. ^^;

Please leave a comment on your way out!

Chapter Text

            I should be nicer to him.

            The thought crosses Ratio’s mind as he sits on his own bench and watches as Aventurine drifts off almost instantly. Which is good. It means Ratio does not have to wait long to fold Aventurine’s towel into a smallish rectangle and slide it under his head so he can use it as a pillow.

            It’s a strange thought. For Ratio, at least. Because it is unusual for him to think that he ought to behave differently around someone than how he currently does. He has no desire to change his brusque manner or waste time with inane conversations, but it is a fact that he adjusts how he acts to certain people, showing more patience with, for instance, the young, or to those who never had the benefit of receiving an education.

            He has known almost as long as he’s known Aventurine that the gambler’s early life was wrought with difficulties and strife. By the time he learned just how great the horrors of his past were, their way of interacting with one another was already well established. Changing it would have been odd – would have made it seem like he was pitying Aventurine, which he knows Aventurine would have hated. All the same, Ratio realizes he should have made some sort of effort and moved them toward a new normal. Coddling Aventurine will never fly with the gambler, and that isn’t exactly in Ratio’s nature either, but Ratio does believe that he would be remiss not to find ways to be kinder to him now.

            Ratio lets one hand rest on Aventurine’s forehead for a moment. To check and make sure that he is not running a fever. The stress of the past two days could very easily begin effecting his immune system. He’ll need to make sure they go at a quiet time when they do go to the Med Department for his MRI, to ensure the facility is nearly empty and none of the ignorant masses pass on any infectious diseases to his friend. Thankfully, for the moment, Aventurine’s forehead is cool, indicating that he is fever free. Ratio takes a moment to smooth a few stray strands of hair out of his face, lest it bother him as he’s sleeping, then starts to step away.

            Aventurine makes a sound of protest that has Ratio looking back at him in concern – did he wake his friend? But no . . . Aventurine is still asleep, though he jerks slightly as though trying to roll over. Ratio sighs.

            This is not his first time sharing a room with Aventurine. It is not a common occurrence since the IPC foots the bill when they travel, and Aventurine’s status means they fly on private shuttles or in first class and stay at only top of the line hotels – at least where hotels are available. Sometimes, however their work takes them to remote regions and forces them to stay in private homes, IPC housing, base camps, or other rustic accommodations. The two of them have gone on jobs together so many times and keep getting teamed up with one another because of their stellar results . . . and because of the fact that most people cannot tolerate either one of them for long. So, even if only a small percentage of their trips involve sharing a room, over the years those times add up.

            Meaning that Ratio is well aware of Aventurine’s tendency to sprawl out in his sleep. He’d hoped that by tucking Aventurine’s blanket around him that it would restrict his movements and keep him from rolling off the bench that is his bed. It may yet still – he’s noticed that heavy covers do tend to keep Aventurine from tossing and turning so much as he sleeps. Perhaps Ratio should add a weighted blanket to Aventurine’s shopping list.

            For now, at least, Aventurine should be alright. He’s close enough to the floor that if he rolls off the bench he won’t hurt himself. Ratio turns back for a moment to tuck the blanket a little tighter around him, then retreats to his own makeshift bed.

            Ratio intends to do a bit of work before turning in. He truly does. All he manages to do, however, is cancel Aventurine’s MRI appointment. Then he sets his tablet down on the nightstand and lays down – just for a moment . . . but he wakes the next morning, with Aventurine’s blanket tossed over top of him and Aventurine’s towel under his head like a pillow.

            “What? Fudge . . .” Ratio mutters as he comes to. A glance at the alarm clock shows him that he’s been asleep for over fourteen hours. With a groan, he forces himself to sit up. Aventurine is nowhere in sight.

            So, naturally Ratio goes in search of him.

            He finds his friend in the greenhouse, seated on a crate he’s pulled up to the table near the bottom of the stairs that was set up to accommodate the snacks. Three of them are there with him now, one in his lap, that he pets absently as he stares out the window, at the stars. He’s still in his pajamas, and his hair is still mussed from sleep, but his eyes are bright and alert when he turns them on Ratio, and he looks . . . better. It’s hard to explain how. Ratio just knows. His friend is feeling better this morning and for that he is glad.

            “Morning,” Aventurine says with a soft smile.

            “Good morning. Did you . . .”

            “Sleep enough? I’d say so. I don’t remember what time I went down, but I haven’t been up too long. I’m still on my first can of coffee. Want some breakfast?”

            Looking closer, Ratio sees that Aventurine has, in front of him, the aforementioned can of coffee and a half empty package of Tuskpir Wrap cakes. A second can of coffee is set is set at one of the other sides of the triangular table, as though waiting for Ratio. Aventurine slides the remaining Tuskpir Wraps toward it. Ratio rubs his eyes in an attempt to clear the rest of the sleep haze from his mind, then pulls up a crate to sit on and avoid the indignity of perching on the toilet reminiscent life form ovens.

            “I have some things on order for us,” Aventurine tells him. “Healthier food. So we won’t be eating so much highly processed stuff. I know there’s the cantina, but I figure there will be plenty of times we don’t feel like trekking all the way there for a meal, if the way things are starting is anything to go by. So, how are you feeling?”

            Ratio pauses in the act of opening his coffee. “That is what I should be asking you.”

            Aventurine gives a slight laugh. “Yeah, well, I know you too, you know. Yesterday was hard on both of us. I can’t imagine it’s very fun to have your friend just up and stop breathing on you.”

            “No. It is certainly not.” Ratio sighs. “I would prefer we keep our discussion of the matter to a minimum until I secure us emergency medical supplies in case our conversation triggers another ill effect – but I do owe you an apology. I am very sorry that I did not foresee that. There was no indication in the project notes that I read –”

            “It’s fine, Ratio. It’s not your fault. There was no way you could have known that the evil shamans programmed my brain to stop me from breathing if I tried to give away the activation phrase,” Aventurine says. “And I know you prefer to only discuss this in the workroom, so I won’t say much more. Except that I’m okay. It was a nasty surprise, sure, but it’s hardly one of the worst things that has happened to me. And I’m honestly feeling a lot better this morning. Amazing what a good night’s sleep can do.”

            He sounds genuine, so Ratio is willing to take him at face value that he is feeling better. He already surmised that Aventurine’s condition was improved before this conversation even began. So, Ratio is content to let the matter drop for now. It is, he believes, the best thing for him. As much as Ratio would like to rage against the injustice of it, or ask him how he can possibly be alright after yesterday’s episode, he knows that will do no good at all. The fact is that Aventurine’s horribly unjust life has made him amazingly resilient, and as much as Ratio hates it, it is benefiting him now. So, he lets it go.

            “I will need a few days before we begin again. I intend to take every precaution I can think of to keep you safe, going forward,” Ratio tells him. “And I have a good idea of a direction for the research to go in. But you are right. For now, it is better to let this rest.”

            Aventurine hums in agreement and takes a sip of his coffee. Ratio finally opens his own and follows suit. While canned coffee is not among his favorite beverages, the brand that Aventurine keeps stocked in his go bag is actually quite good.

            “By the way, what do these snacks eat?” Aventurine asks. “I want to pick up some treats for them too. I feel bad eating in front of them, but I don’t want to accidentally poison them with human food. They’re not begging at least, so I don’t feel too bad, but . . .”

            “You really like them,” Ratio observes, watching as his friend continues to pet the one in his lap.

            “Don’t worry, I promise not to join the researchers’ snack cult or bring them into our living space,” Aventurine says, “but yes. I like them. They’re cute.”

            “I believe that Lead Researcher Asta has automatic feeders set up for them,” Ratio says, “but I will make inquiries about what they might like as a special treat.”

            Aventurine beams. “Thanks, Doctor.”

            The rest of breakfast is a pleasant affair, despite the fact that breakfast is canned coffee and highly processed snack cakes. Ratio attributes it to the company. He knows that it surprises all who learn, but he honestly does like spending time with Aventurine, even when they’re not working. Aventurine annoys Ratio far less than most people, is both intelligent and intuitive, and he . . . well, he just fits. Ratio doesn’t have much experience with friends, but now he realizes that that’s what he and Aventurine have been for some time, and defining him as such now helps it make sense.

            After they finish eating, Ratio finishes the list of supplies he needs to start with – updated to include first aid equipment and life sustaining supplies. He has Aventurine order multiples of everything, so their workroom, their living quarters, and the locker room will all be stocked, and so they can set up stations with the supplies in between those three points, just in case. Probably overkill, he knows, but after yesterday’s incident he doubts anyone would fault him for it.

            Aventurine dutifully orders everything on his list, and no doubt a few things extra, as is his way. After he’s finished, they go back to their living quarters to get dressed, then make a sweep of the Swarm infected hallways to clear out the True Stings.

            They part ways for a bit after that – Aventurine has some packages that arrived at the Implement Arts Department, and Ratio wants to pay his dorm room a visit to collect a few things. Namely, his pillow and the blanket from his bed. He did not miss them last night since he was so exhausted, and he is certain that Aventurine has ordered new, top of the line bedding for him, if not a whole new bed, but Ratio expects that will take a day or two to arrive. Having a pillow and blanket will help him sleep more easily tonight.

            When he returns to the Seclusion Zone, he drops off his belongings in their living quarters, then heads to the workroom alone. Though he’s put a halt on any research with Aventurine until they’re better prepared to deal with emergencies, there are still many, many files that Ratio downloaded from the Astral Express’s databank that he has yet to read. That is how he spends the rest of the morning.

            Just before noon, he receives a text from Aventurine.

            Lunch? the gambler asks.

            K, Ratio responds. A nice, succinct answer that wastes absolutely no time. He powers down his tablet then locks it in one of the drawers of the workroom’s built-in desk. He knows that, in the past, petty theft has been a problem amongst the residents of Herta Space Station – as has theft of data and research itself. Though it is very unlikely to occur in the Seclusion Zone, Ratio prefers to cut down on unnecessary risks.

            His phone pings again as he enters the hallway. Another text from the gambler.

            Meet me in our room.

            That makes Ratio frown, but only momentarily. It would make more sense for Aventurine to meet him outside of their living quarters . . . but it is on the way to the elevator. Ratio supposes Aventurine has something he wants to show him. At least he hopes Aventurine has something he wants to show him, and that he doesn’t want to eat more of the provisions from his go bag. He knows that Aventurine has the habit of stocking his luggage with well-preserved, high-energy foods – a habit that has served both of them well many times on their missions together. After having them for two meals in a row, however, Ratio would prefer something a bit less processed.

            All the same, he indulges his friend and goes to their living quarters to meet him – and finds the space transformed.

            Aventurine’s been busy, not just setting up, but also cooking. He put in a kitchen area right next to the entrance. There is a hutch that seems to already be half filled – Ratio can see pantry staples and dishes through the clear doors of its cabinets, while a microwave, toaster oven, and coffee maker adorn its counter. A kitchen cart is set up to provide extra prep space, and there is also a small refrigerator and a portable sink connected to tanks holding both clean and used water. The table that Aventurine brought in yesterday is set for two, with an electric hotplate in the center, and atop the hotplate is a skillet of penne pasta in a creamy sauce, thickened with ground meat and vegetables.

            “I thought it would be nice to have our first real meal in our new home. Or our home for the time being, at least,” Aventurine says. “I hope you’re not too disappointed that you won’t be rubbing elbows with the space station’s other researchers over lunch.”

            Ratio smiles at him. “This is very appreciated.”

            Aventurine beams back. “I figured after two meals you were tired of stuff from my go bag.”

            “Your hospitality was also appreciated,” Ratio assures him, “and your foresight in always packing provisions has benefited us on many missions. But I confess, I would have preferred to brave the cantina than eat a third meal comprised of them.”

            “Me too,” Aventurine admits. “Please though, help yourself.”

            Ratio needs no second invitation. He spoons a large portion of pasta onto his plate and selects a roll topped with seeds from the small breadbasket Aventurine brings to the table.

            This isn’t the first time Aventurine has cooked for him. There have been plenty of other times, on missions where they’ve been away for weeks, and both are of the opinion that eating out too much gets old. Aventurine’s culinary repertoire doesn’t seem to be extremely varied, but what he knows how to make, he knows how to make well. It’s an enjoyable meal, both in taste and in company, and as it sinks in for Ratio that this is what his future is going to be like for the next few months, he starts to realize that this isn’t going to be all bad. The research itself will be stressful and trying, but the time in between . . . he thinks that he is actually going to appreciate it.

            “I’ve been wondering,” Aventurine says after a few minutes of eating in silence, pulling Ratio out of his thoughts. “What’s our cover story? I know you didn’t submit an application to Herta saying you were trying to remove the neural reconditioning done to one of the Ten Stonehearts back in his slave days. Some guy at the Implement Arts Department was being nosy, so I dodged the question, but I thought it would be good to get our story straight.”

            Ratio suppresses a grimace at the realization that he slipped up on something so important. He and Aventurine are no strangers to cover stories, subterfuge, or even engaging in acts of espionage. He can only blame the chaotic nature of the past few days for his oversight.

            “I meant to consult with you on the topic,” Ratio tells him. “To see what you were comfortable with. Lead Researcher Asta approved my request for research space and resources without me actually filling her in on what it was. She is grateful for assistances that I previously rendered Herta Space Station, which affords me some leeway, but I will need to submit a form to her sooner rather than later. Do you have any –”

            “Research into recovering suppressed memories. Ostensibly to see if you can glean any information on those potential energy sources that didn’t pan out for the last crew who went looking on Sigonia. You suspect, based on several offhand comments I’ve made over the years, that they may yet actually exist, and if they do, you can reopen the investigation with the IPC and have them reimburse you for your research and troubles. But the below the surface reason will be for your anthropological studies,” Aventurine supplies without missing a beat. “After working with what might be the last surviving Avgin for years, you’ve finally managed to wear him down and convince him to open up to you. Now you can become the academic world’s sole authority on Sigonia’s lost tribe, write paper after paper, publish a book, whatever you academic types do.”

            Aventurine is a big fan of having layers to his lies – of having surface level reasons which may or may not be believed, and below them, more self-serving or less scrupulous reasons. Once the people trying to dissect their stories find the second layer of lies, they tend to stop digging.

            “For whatever it is worth to you, Lead Researcher Asta is far kinder and more benevolent than most of the population,” Ratio tells him. “I actually believe that if we were to tell her the truth about what we are doing –”

            “Out of the question.”

            “ – that she would assent to letting us use these facilities for our already agreed upon services,” Ratio continues, raising a hand to hold off further protests from Aventurine. “But I am no more inclined to actually test that hypothesis than you are. Like you, I am of the opinion that the fewer people who know about your condition, the better.”

            Aventurine gives a curt nod. “Yeah, no offense, but even if you trust her, I don’t. I don’t know her – though I do know of her. Multiple IPC connections and more money than the Aeons . . . Friends with Topaz, and on good terms with the Astral Express though . . . and you speaking highly of her too means that she’s probably a decent sort, but this isn’t something I want anyone else to know about.”

            “Understandable. And I amenable to using your cover story. I never intended to say that we should tell Lead Researcher Asta the truth of our research, for the record. I merely –”

            “I get it,” Aventurine says with one of his easy smiles. “It’s fine.”

            Ratio nods. “One thing I should point out in regard to our cover story is that –”

            “That I’m actually going to have to teach you a bit about the Avgins?” Aventurine says for him.

            “Yes.”

            “Well, I have no objection to that,” Aventurine tells him. “As long as you don’t. Because I know how you are about doing due diligence to any research topic you undertake. Don’t feel like you have to actually write a book about my people.”

            “Would you object if I did?” Ratio asks. “Write a book about them, I mean.”

            Aventurine gives a soft laugh. “You really are dedicated, Doc. Like I said, don’t feel like you have to . . . but if you actually wanted to, then no. I wouldn’t object. It might be nice, actually. Might keep their memory alive a little longer.”

            “And perhaps help quell ignorance amongst the more open minded,” Ratio says. Such a book has the potential to stir up a bit of trouble for the IPC, whose treaties condoned the Avgins’ slaughter. Humanizing Sigonia’s lost tribe and shining a light on their plight will make the IPC look bad. Not irredeemably bad, but it likely will make Ratio some enemies. That, however, concerns Ratio less than Aventurine’s thoughts on the matter. The very last thing he wants to do is to come across like he’s trying to take advantage of the Avgins’ plight. If Aventurine nixed the idea, that would be the end of it in Ratio’s mind . . . but Aventurine trusts him.

            He’ll need time to organize his thoughts on the matter of this new line of research. Aventurine knows him well and lets their conversation drop off to give Ratio the opportunity to begin thinking everything over . . . and Ratio can’t help but internally marvel at just how well the two of them fit together. Work together and understand each other. Now, with a second research project before him, and one that he’ll actually enjoy, the next few months suddenly seem like they’ll be so much brighter.

            The rest of their lunchbreak passes pleasantly. They speak little more during the meal, but once it’s done, Ratio lingers for a bit, enjoying the respite from his very dark reading material. He briefly quizzes Aventurine about his wellbeing just to make sure that the gambler isn’t suffering from any ill effects, but Aventurine seems perfectly fine despite yesterday’s ordeal. He promises to stop what he’s doing and text Ratio if he even feels so much as dizzy or short of breath.

            Right before he returns to the workroom, Ratio’s phone dings. He picks it up to check the text he just received, then looks at Aventurine thoughtfully.

            “I intended to put this off for several more days, but you seem to be in both good health and good spirits . . . So, do you feel up to making a trip to the Med Department for an MRI this evening?”

            Aventurine nods. “Sure. I’ll be okay to do that. Just out of curiosity though . . . what is an MRI and how much will it hurt?”

            “It won’t hurt at all, dear gambler,” Ratio is quick to assure him. “An MRI is a scan using magnetic resonance imaging. Similar to an x-ray – ah, do you know what an x-ray is?”

            “Yes, I do know that,” Aventurine says. “Jade made me get one once.”

            Ratio vaguely wonders what for, but since Aventurine doesn’t volunteer the details, he does not ask. “MRIs are similar to x-rays, but give you a better look at soft tissues. I actually intend to do a full body scan of MRIs and x-rays on you, just to be on the safe side. If you have questions about why this is necessary, I will answer them, but please wait until we are at the Med Department to ask them, in case the questions or the answers trigger a reaction from your programming.”

            “Right. Just let me know what time I should be ready.”

            “I’ll reschedule your appointment then, and let you know when it is confirmed,” Ratio promises, and stands. “Thank you for lunch.”

            “You’re welcome, of course.  See you at dinner. Or when we go to get my MRI. Whichever comes first. Unless, of course, we can do them both at once to save time,” Aventurine says cheerfully, and the absurdity of the suggestion tugs the corners of Ratio’s mouth.

            “We cannot,” he tells his friend, on his way out.  “Though it would be humorous to see you make the attempt.”

            “The idea almost made you laugh though,” Aventurine tells him.  “Admit it.”

            Ratio does no such thing, though his expression does devolve into a smirk.  He raises one hand in a wave as he strides through the door of their living quarters.  Then he waits until he’s made it to the bottom of the stairs to let out a single, solitary chuckle.

I HC that Aventurine is the only one who can make Ratio laugh. ^^

Chapter Text

            As it turns out, the MRI comes first. Aventurine’s not sure if its because that’s something better done before a meal, so whatever he’s eaten won’t be extremely visible in his stomach on the scans, or if it’s because Ratio wants to get their dinner to go so he doesn’t have to sit amongst the other researchers. Or if it’s a combination of both. Not that it matters much to Aventurine. He’s pretty indifferent to getting an MRI, and right now he prefers taking their dinner back to the Seclusion Zone to eat in peace anyway.

            The Med Department is quiet when they arrive, which is no surprise. Ratio goes out of his way to schedule things at times when other people won’t be around to annoy him, even if that means going at odd hours. Aventurine’s never minded that habit of his, though. He himself hates standing in lines and would rather take pains to avoid it. So, teaming up with Ratio has always worked for him.

            Aventurine is given a thin white robe to change into and instructed to remove all of his jewelry. There’s a mesh box that he’s apparently supposed to put all of his articles in, but Ratio takes custody of Aventurine’s jewelry himself, which Aventurine appreciates. He’s rather attached to his accessories and they’re all difficult to replace.

            The robe isn’t horrible, at least. It’s not something he would ever normally wear, even to bed, but it covers him decently enough. Some hospitals Aventurine’s landed himself in over the years forced their patients to wear extremely ugly gowns that weren’t great about covering up some places people generally prefer to keep covered.

            “We’ll be using this module,” Ratio tells him once Aventurine’s finished putting on the robe and divesting himself of his jewelry. He leads Aventurine to one of four seemingly identical box-like structures. “Are you familiar with medical pods?”

            “Can’t say I am. If I’ve ever been in one before I wasn’t conscious for it,” Aventurine says, trying not to look or sound uneasy, because these medical pods look an awful lot like cages.

            Naturally, Ratio picks up on his discomfort anyway, or possibly intuited it before they ever got here. He immediately goes into explanation mode, and that helps. Things that Aventurine knows are always less intimidating.

            “As you can see, they have three walls and a ceiling. The side which you enter the pod from is open and cannot close, as it has no door. On the pod’s ceiling is an apparatus that emits the frequences we need for this scan, while the pod’s walls are made of a special mesh fitted with receptors to capture the data. You will need to lie on the reclining chair that you see there in the middle – and that is all that you will need to do. The scanning process should last no more than ten consecutive minutes, but if you need a break we will of course take one.”

            “I think I can manage not to screw up lying still for ten minutes,” Aventurine says and does his best to give an easy, self-depreciating smile.

            Ratio remains mildly concerned, however. Which makes sense, considering he was the one who had to deal with it when Aventurine spontaneously stopped breathing yesterday. He doesn’t call Aventurine out on his acting, however – not that Aventurine is really acting. He’s a little less comfortable than he’s pretending to be, but only because that pod looks so much like a cage.

            Aventurine shoves his wariness aside, heads to the bed-like chair in the center of the pod as instructed, and hoists himself up onto it, glad that he’s in this robe rather than a horrible hospital gown that puts his ass on display when he tries to maneuver himself. The robe keeps him nice and decent. The chair, however, is atrociously uncomfortable. Aventurine tries not to look too dubiously at an apparatus containing several suspicious looking tools attached to it.

            “Do ignore those,” Ratio tells him. “Those are for procedures unrelated to the one we are here for today.”

            “Right. So, I just lay here now?”

            “Yes,” Ratio says, “and after I give the word, try to move as little as possible for the next ten minutes. I will let you know when it’s done. You may close your eyes if you wish, or keep them open. Whichever you prefer. Please stay awake, however, as we both know your proclivity for flinging your limbs in odd directions and sprawling out in your sleep.”

            “Right,” Aventurine says, smirking. “Am I allowed to talk, or does that constitute as moving?”

            “If you need something, of course let me know. Otherwise, it is best if you do not move your jaw.”

            “Alright, got it. Lay here and shut up. Can do.”

            “Are you ready to begin?” Ratio asks.

            “Yeah – oh, but can you give me a heads up at the halfway mark?” Aventurine asks.

            “Alright.”

            “Thanks. Okay. I’m ready.”

            “Okay,” Ratio says, his tone changing slightly as he gets down to work. “Beginning the scan . . . now.”

            Aventurine quickly closes his eyes. Better, he thinks, to just rest with his eyes closed and not have to worry that he’s blinking too much, or be tempted to look around him. He is slightly at risk of falling asleep, but is sure that if he concentrates, he can keep himself from napping. Aventurine is tired, though. Not so much from hauling all his deliveries from the Implement Arts Department and putting together multiple pieces of furniture. It’s the stress that’s leaving him weary – the worry about what’s to come . . . and how it might change the way Ratio sees him.

            He tells himself that it will be okay, that it won’t make Ratio think differently of him. Logically, at least, it shouldn’t. Ratio has seen the very worst of Aventurine. He knows just how much blood is on his hands, and they’ve been on not one but two missions together where things got so bad that Aventurine was sure he’d seen the last of the good doctor – was certain Ratio was going to quit and walk away from the Intelligentsia Guild, the IPC, and everyone who reminded him of it for good. Why he didn’t, Aventurine may never know . . . but at least Aventurine knows that he’s got someone who has seen just how horrible a person he can be, and who, incredibly, cares about him despite that.

            There is, however, a big difference between being an aggressor and a victim. Even if Ratio is not put off by Aventurine being the former, his opinions of him may shift if he comes to see Aventurine as the latter.

            To Aventurine that’s just as bad. Maybe worse. He can stand being loathed or looked down on, even by people he respects, for the things he does of his own volition. For them to change their perception of him because of the things that were done to him though . . . Aventurine thinks he prefers to be thought of as a monster. He can’t stand people looking at him with pity. He hates them knowing how dehumanized he’s been.

            Ratio already knows, Aventurine tells himself as he lies there, lost in his own thoughts. He hasn’t looked at me like I’m too pitiful yet, at least. He’s helping me, fixing my brain so no one can make me a helpless thrall ever again. We’ll be fine.

            From across the room, Aventurine hears a slight mechanical noise – the sound all the space station’s doors make when they open. At first, he doesn’t think too much of it. Someone entered or someone left, and since this is a clinic, he’s sure that neither is an odd occurrence. But then Ratio speaks.

            “Lead Researcher Asta.”

            “Dr. Ratio. Such a pleasure to see you again.” Lead Researcher Asta speaks with a soft voice and a slight drawl. She does sound genuinely pleased to see Ratio, which is not exactly common. Without seeing her expression and body language, however, Aventurine can’t tell if she really is, or if she’s just good at talking politely.

            “Yes . . . I must thank you for agreeing to let me use the Seclusion Zone for my research,” Ratio says a bit stiffly, but in a tone that Aventurine recognizes as one he uses with people he actually does respect. “The space fits my needs perfectly. And I am aware that I’ve been remiss in completing the formal paperwork for my project. That is an oversight on my part, and one that I will correct before I retire for the evening.”

            “I’m happy to be able to help you,” Asta says, “and please don’t feel the need to rush on the paperwork. With you, it’s little more than a formality. After all, you’re one of the ones who come here to help solve problems, rather than cause them. I’m pretty sure I still owe you one or two dozen for the last few times.”

            “Nevertheless, your aid and generosity are appreciated.”

            “Though again, you’re doing more for us than we are for you,” Asta says. “Keeping the True Stings under control is no small thing. Space Station Security was planning to put it on the back burner, what with the multiple conferences and seminars, but I was worried about what they would come back to when they were finally able to make the rounds again. It would have been simply horrible if they breached the safe zones and harmed all those adorable snacks.”

            “Yes, deplorable. If the snacks were harmed. Not the snacks themselves.”

            Aventurine fights back a laugh. He can just imagine the expression on Ratio’s face.

            “I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable while you’re staying in the Seclusion Zone. I am very sorry that we weren’t able to accommodate your . . . patient? Research partner?”

            “Research partner,” Ratio tells her, and Aventurine makes a mental note that that’s how he’s to refer to himself going forward, in the context of this project.

            “I’m sorry that we weren’t able to accommodate your research partner, in the dorms,” Asta says. “Every single room is spoken for, for the next few months, but if you’re still here after that, we should be able to move him into his own room. Your room, of course, is reserved for you.”

            “Thank you. We’ll see, when the time comes. For now, we are turning the old waiting room into our living quarters, and are setting them up so they are decently comfortable.”

            “If you need anything, please don’t be shy – oh. What in the . . .” Asta trails off sounding shocked.

            “What?” Ratio asks. Then. “Oh.”

            “Those lines . . .” Asta sounds both fascinated and worried at the same time. “I’ve never seen lines like those on bones before. Dr. Ratio, what –”

            “Growth arrest lines,” Ratio says grimly but calmly. “They are caused by extreme stress during bone development. In this case, I believe from severe malnutrition.”

            Aventurine hadn’t been sure that they were talking about him when the conversation changed. Now he is, but since Ratio doesn’t sound worried, neither is he.

            “Is he alright? I suppose not, if you’re here in the Medical Department. What do you need? I’ll ensure that we’re fully stocked –”

            “Thank you, but it is quite alright,” Ratio tells her. “You haven’t met my research partner, and work partner yet, I don’t believe. Mr. Aventurine of Stratagems is of the Ten Stone Hearts, just like your friend Ms. Topaz. And just like Ms. Topaz, he began life on a less than advantageous planet and has risen above the circumstances of his birth. He is in good health now. I am doing research into his culture and his planet, however. This scan is part of our research.”

            “Oh . . . I see.” Asta still sounds shaken. “It’s hard to believe that there are still planets, in this day and age, that are so bereft of either resources or moral character that they let children go so hungry that their bones look like that.”

            Lead Researcher Asta doesn’t know the half of it.

            “Yes.” Ratio coughs awkwardly, then speaks to Aventurine. “We are at the five minute mark, Aventurine. The scans are halfway complete and so far I see nothing that is currently a cause for concern.”

            Aventurine hums to signify that he heard. It’s about the only sound he can make without really moving.

            “Ah . . .” Asta sounds awkward, like she didn’t realize that Aventurine could hear her. “I . . . need to get going. Something’s come up that requires my immediate attention. I hope that we can talk again soon, Dr. Ratio – and I hope to meet you properly next time, Mr. Aventurine.”

            “We bid you adieu,” Ratio speaks for both of them. Moments later, the Med Department door opens again to allow her exit.

            After that, it’s five minutes of waiting, mostly in silence. It’s not too bad though. Ratio gives him a heads up at the three-quarters mark. It feels like very little time passes between that point and when the scan is finished.

            Aventurine sighs dramatically when Ratio gives him the all clear to move again, and rolls off the reclined chair unceremoniously. “Really not long enough to take a nap,” he complains.

            “You can sleep after we eat dinner, gambler,” Ratio tells him.

            Aventurine dresses quickly, gets his jewelry back from Ratio, and puts it back on, where it belongs. As he does so, Ratio finishes up whatever tech-nerd stuff he needs to. Then they head to the cantina.

            Dinner is nothing special by the standards of an IPC cafeteria, and probably isn’t out of the ordinary by Herta Space Station standards either. Herb roasted fowl of some sort, that’s a little gamier than chicken, baked root vegetables that he’s pretty sure are potatoes, topped with big pats of butter, a rather colorful salad with thinly sliced red cabbage, grated carrots, dried berrypheasant berries, diced boiled eggs, and some sort of toasted seeds on top of a bed of lettuce, crusty bread rolls, and for dessert, chocolate pudding pie. Good food, but normal food for most people. Maybe it’s because Sigonia is on his mind, but Aventurine can’t help but think how the premade tray that he carries out of the cantina would be considered an unbelievably extravagant feast back in the Giathra Berth. Not just for his people, but for anyone who was born and bred there.

            “When we were lucky enough to get a bird,” Aventurine says as he and Ratio enter the elevator, and begin to descend to the Storage Zone, “it immediately went into the stew pot. On Sigonia, I mean. We plucked it and cleaned it, then jointed it – cut it up, that is. Then it went into the pot, bones and all, to be steamed until the meat fell right off the bones. Whatever organs we removed while cleaning went in with it too, if they could be eaten. Later, the bones were pulled out, and crushed and boiled, and the water they were in made the base of another dish – our breakfast soup. Then the bones were crushed even finer and boiled one last time, until they were a gelatinous goop that we ate on our bread. Cooking a bird like this would have been unthinkable. You always lose some of the fat to the fire when you roast it. And that’s saying nothing of the bones which are just . . . getting thrown away.”

            Ratio says nothing, but when Aventurine looks up at him, there is a pensive expression on his face.

            “Since you need to learn about the Avgins. For your research,” Aventurine tells him.

            “I see. Food is a good focal point for beginning to study a culture.”

            They fall silent for a moment as the doors open onto the Fragmentum infested floor. Ratio hits the button to take them to the Seclusion Zone.

            “It’s strange . . . our food wasn’t exactly good. I thought it was back then since it was all that I knew. Since then, I’ve had some of the finest foods in the universe. On Pier Point I can order up the most expensive delicacies known to man and have them all at my apartment within the hour. Fatty bird liver that melts on your tongue. Rich, buttery cheeses. Pastries so light that if you peel off a single layer and let it go, it will float for several seconds in the air. Sugary confections that will make you swoon. And fruits from every corner of the galaxy. I can have them all, every day . . . and I miss the poverty fare of Sigonia. I have all the delicacies in the universe at my disposal and I want the one thing I can’t have. I miss my sister’s cooking.”

            “Would it help to try cooking it yourself?” Ratio asks after a moment. “I don’t know if you know the recipes –”

            “They were more processes than recipes. We didn’t write things down or measure things out. We cooked what we had and we used all of whatever we could find. Except . . .”

            “Except?”

            “Our bread. We traded with another tribe for flour. I think that was the one thing we made where proportions mattered – the ratio of flour to water.”

            “That would make sense,” Ratio tells him. “Baking is different from cooking. Though many people never look into the science behind it, it involves chemical reactions to achieve the desired result. Altering the amounts of the ingredients can throw off the reactions.”

            Aventurine looks up with interest. “Is that why our bread was chewy?”

            “Quite possibly,” Ratio says. The elevator doors open to the Seclusion Zone. They step out and into the decrepit hallway, then Ratio continues speaking. “I will confess that I am not much of a baker, but I understand the concepts and many of the techniques. How did your people cook their bread? In an oven of some sort? Or in a pan over the flames?”

            “In clay bowls,” Aventurine remembers. “Placed at the fire’s edge.”

            “That may have affected the texture and made it . . . chewy, you said?”

            “Yes. Crusty on the outside. Gummy and chewy in the middle.”

            “As I said, I am not much of a baker . . . but if you wish to attempt recreating the recipe for your peoples’ bread . . . and you would like my assistance, then you have it.”

            Aventurine’s lips tug into a smile. “Thanks, Doctor. And don’t listen to all those people who call you an antisocial egotist. You’re doing just fine.”

            Ratio snorts.

            “In all seriousness though, I may take you up on your offer,” Aventurine tells him. “It might make a nice side project to destress when we’re not working on our main line of research . . . and it would be good to have Signonian bread again."

Interlude

            When Dr. Ratio’s research proposal form comes through, Asta makes time to read it, even though she already preapproved it. Once she’s finished, she leans back in her seat and stares at her screen blankly, no longer seeing the words. Everything that Dr. Ratio submitted is sound . . . but something about it just feels off to Asta.

            Maybe it’s his topic of choice – a line of research that focuses on the past rather than the future. Most of Ratio’s studies and achievements are geared toward helping humanity better itself, and while understanding the past is certainly integral to that . . . Asta just can’t feel like this is in line with the genius’s usual endeavors.

            And Dr. Ratio is a genius. He may not be a card-carrying member of the Genius Society, but Asta would rate his intellect right up there with the smartest of them. He’s accomplished so much more than many of them, and more than that, he’s rational, sound, and unselfish. He spends his time solving problems – or preventing future problems from ever actually becoming problems – unlike most of Herta’s Genius Society member friends who run around creating disaster after disaster, left, right and center. A combination of anthropological study and research into suppressed memories . . . well, Asta could see how one could argue that Ratio is trying to prevent future problems like the ones that occurred on Sigonia . . . not that Asta is completely in the loop on all the problems that planet faced. The main problem with that, however, is that he would have to present his findings in a way that swayed the people with the power to actually make changes. Namely, the higher ups in the IPC. Unless he believes that by educating the masses he can convince them to sway those in power . . . but that is not at all Ratio’s modus operandi. He would never put his faith in the masses acting in the universe’s best interest.

            Asta sits for several minutes and mulls the situation over in her head. She does trust Dr. Ratio not to be up to anything troublesome, even if he’s not being completely truthful about his research purposes. It wouldn’t hurt, however, to just . . . take a peek at what he’s up to every now and then. If she had done that with Ruan Mei then maybe, just maybe, the Seclusion Zone wouldn’t be full of True Sting spawn now.

            So, Asta refocuses her vision on her computer screen and brings up the menu that lets her access the space station’s security cameras from her personal terminal. She flips through to the Seclusion Zone then skims each feed looking for signs that Ratio is setting up a workspace in any of the rooms. She finds it, funnily enough, in the very room that she, Mr. Screwlum, and Dr. Ratio once grilled Stelle for information in, during the incident in which one of Herta’s puppets was attacked. Ratio hasn’t made too many changes . . . only moved in some furniture, it seems.

            Asta then rewinds the footage, going back to earlier today. She keeps rewinding, even when Dr. Ratio appears on the screen, as it is clear that all he is doing is work on his tablet. All afternoon. There’s a break time stamped around noon – probably for lunch. Then rewinding even further, shows him doing the exact same thing most of the morning.

            Since there should only be one other day worth of footage, Asta decides to check it as well, just to be thorough. She expects that it’s still too early in their project for Ratio to have done anything that might give away what he’s really up to. Most likely all she’ll find is footage of him working on his tablet all day yesterday, and possibly moving in the furniture.

            Her eyebrows rise sharply as suddenly, Aventurine appears on the screen, on the ground, Ratio crouched over him, protectively, then Ratio performing rescue breathing on him, then Ratio sitting in a chair before him – all these instances progressing in reverse order, as they do during rewound footage. Asta manages to hit the Play button just as they return to their seats.

            “Will you trust me with the words that you do know? I promise you that I will never write them down, reveal them to another soul, or use them in a way that I believe will adversely affect you.”

            “I know. Yeah. The words . . . the ones I know . . . Signonian . . . Lambda . . . Avgin . . .”

            “I see . . . Hmm . . . I believe I see the beginnings of a pattern – are you alright? Gambler – what is it? Are you having difficulty breathing?”

            Aventurine falls from his seat to the floor. Asta hits rewind again, going further back. She has no context for what she just saw, but now she most definitely needs some if she is to allow Dr. Ratio’s research here to proceed. She wants to believe he isn’t doing anything bad, but now she has to be certain. What happened in the footage is just so strange . . .

            She ends up rewinding past the point where the conversation starts and has to fast forward again a bit. It clips off the first bit of their conversation, but what Dr. Ratio is saying at the point she lands on convinces her that she’s found a decent enough place to start.

            “Alright then. Can you tell me what you remember about the project that did this to you? Starting from the beginning.”

            The conversation that follows makes Asta’s eyes grow wide and has her clasping her hands over her mouth. Words said in confidence to a trusted friend, never meant for her ears. A horror story the likes of which no one should ever have to live through, let alone a child. The revelation of a damning defect, implanted into Aventurine’s brain that could be used against him in the worst possible ways . . . They have Asta in tears by the times she reaches the end of the interview. It’s almost a mercy when Aventurine collapses, clutching his throat, or it would be if it wasn’t just another part of the nightmare that he lived through, that he’s still living through.

            Yet somehow Asta can’t tear her eyes away.

            She watches as Ratio immediately springs into action to save his friend. Watches him breathe for Aventurine. Breathes her own sigh of relief when Aventurine begins breathing by himself again, and another when he awakens. Then she listens to Dr. Ratio’s theory about what just happened and her heart breaks for that poor boy all over again.

            Asta hits the pause button then. She can’t take anymore of this tragedy . . . and yet the image on the screen provides her one small measure of relief. Because the frame she freezes the footage on shows Dr. Ratio clearly. In it, he’s looking down at Aventurine with such a soft expression. Asta finds one hand moving to rest over her heart, and she can’t help but give the image a watery smile.

            “So that’s how it is.”

            For several minutes after that, Asta simply sits there, digesting what all she’s learned and contemplating her next move. Then she makes her decision. She deletes the security footage from Dr. Ratio’s workroom in the Seclusion Zone and she double checks and makes certain that it’s erased permanently. Then she grabs a ten second clip of footage of the room as it is now – empty of people, but with the furniture Ratio and Aventurine moved in. Using a few underhanded programming techniques, she feeds that clip into the live footage so that it’s on a loop – so that no new footage of their sessions will be recorded, and no one in the monitoring room who might glance at the security feed from that part of the space station will have reason to suspect anything. Then she wipes away the last traces of her tears and stands, her task complete.

            Confident that she did the right thing, Asta decides to call it a night and heads toward her room. She half wishes that she’d thought to take a snapshot of the footage with her phone – just of that one image, that one frame that the footage froze on when she hit the pause button. The one of Dr. Ratio looking at Aventurine so tenderly.

            She knows, however, that it’s for the best that she didn’t. Oh well. She’ll just have to keep an eye on those two and wait until another opportunity presents itself. She’s certain that she’ll see Dr. Ratio looking at Aventurine like that again.

Yep.  Asta ships ‘em.

*Another note - I will try to update this fic next week as usual, but I can't guarantee that I'll manage to. Work this week is going to be busier than usual, Natlan is launching in Genshin Impact, and then in the US we've got Labor Day and Labor Day weekend (a holiday that makes traffic, grocery shopping, and running errands much worse than usual. -_-) I'll try to post on my Twitter if next week's chapter is postponed. (https://x.com/StrangeDiamond5)

Chapter Text

            Ratio expects to have a good half a week of downtime before all the equipment and supplies he requested come in. It seems, however, that he underestimated the influence of a Stoneheart. Aventurine lets him know the day after his MRI that everything he ordered for him has arrived.

            Ratio then takes one more day to get everything in order – checking the equipment, setting up first aid stations in their living quarters, their workroom, the locker room, and at regular intervals in the hallways between them, and finalizing his preparations for what’s to come next. Aventurine uses that time to assemble beds that he ordered for them, as well as a large shelving unit to screen their sleeping area from the main area in their room. Thanks to his work, their living quarters look less like a requisitioned waiting room converted into a living area on the fly, and more like a studio apartment. It reminds Ratio a bit of his days at the University of Veritas Prime, and not just because Aventurine stocked the kitchen with more instant comfort food. It’s more because of the aspect of taking a rather stark and bleak space, like a dormitory room or a cheap apartment and converting it into someplace that feels like home.

            He almost brings that up to Aventurine but decides against it. He doesn’t want Aventurine equating this with university life, on the off chance that the gambler ever decides to pursue higher education – or any formal education. He doesn’t want the research that they’re conducting now to put him off the idea, or prevent him from enjoying it as much as he could have if Ratio didn’t link the two in his mind. Enough opportunities and experiences have been stolen from him or soured for him. Ratio would rather not add to that list.

            They have breakfast and lunch in the Seclusion Zone again – nothing fancy. Just cereal and fruit for breakfast and leftover pasta for lunch. For dinner, they venture to the main part of the space station once again, and this time actually eat in the cantina, for a change of scenery. They arrive early to avoid the rush and manage to get a table by the window, so they have a nice view of the stars on the opposite side of the space station from the ones that the windows in the greenhouse look out on. Without the Blue’s glow essentially acting as light pollution, they’re able to see several smaller planets that share the Blue’s sun, and the celestial clouds that swirl in the space between them.

            The cantina’s food that day is subpar. They’re served a heavily bastardized version of Xianzhou Alliance cuisine, consisting of thin strips of overcooked red meat with broccoli and mushrooms, swimming in far more soy-based sauce than is healthy, and bowls of over-fried rice. Dessert is the high point of the meal – flower-shaped pastries filled with sweet bean paste. Ratio can’t hold back a smirk as he watches Aventurine eye his dubiously, as it no doubt brings his beloved cat cakes to mind.

            “Try it,” Ratio encourages him. “If I’m not mistaken, it was imported directly from the Xianzhou Alliance. Mass produced in one of their confectionary factories, but shipped here completed so the space station’s cooks had no chance to ruin them.”

            “Are these what Ruan Mei modeled the snacks after?” Aventurine asks.

            “Yes. The feline-esque ones, at least. The others, I believe, were modeled on shumai.”

            Aventurine takes a tentative bite and finds it to his liking. Ratio would have been surprised if he didn’t – didn’t try it or like it. Ratio’s never known him to balk at eating anything, though he has noticed Aventurine tends to avoid seafood when he can.

            As the cantina begins to fill up with other researchers, finished with their own work for the day, Aventurine and Ratio are just finishing up their meal. They stack their trays on the counter then shoulder their way through the thickening crowd, to the exit. Lead Research Asta is waiting for them just on the other side.

            “Dr. Ratio. Mr. Aventurine,” she greets them with a smile. “Good evening.”

            “Lead Researcher Asta,” Ratio says with a nod.

            “Lead Researcher Asta. A pleasure to finally meet you,” Aventurine says, and Ratio belatedly remembers that the two haven’t been formally acquainted. That not-quite meeting in the Med Department doesn’t really count, as Aventurine was under orders not to move while getting his scans, thus the two have neither spoken nor made eye contact.

            Asta gives him a smile that seems a little bit forced. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Topaz, Mr. Aventurine.”

            “Good things only, I hope,” Aventurine says, then raises his eyebrows teasingly to let her know that he knows his hopes are in vain.

            “Oh. Ah . . . I prefer to form my own opinions about people after I meet them,” Asta says, and again, her smile doesn’t meet her eyes. Ratio wonders just what Topaz has told her friend about Aventurine – and as he is aware of Topaz’s tendency to gripe about Aventurine’s very existence, he hopes this won’t be a roadblock in their path, and that it won’t affect the deference Asta has shown him – shown both of them – on this project so far.

            “Always a good practice,” Aventurine says graciously.

            Then Asta turns back to Ratio. “I just wanted to let you know, Dr. Ratio, that I reviewed your research application last night and personally approved it.”

            “Many thanks.”

            “I also arranged for research clearance for Mr. Aventurine.” Asta’s hand goes to her pocket, then she falters. She pats another of her pockets then looks confused for a moment before putting one hand to her forehead. “Oh dear, that’s right. I left it in the Monitoring Room. Would you mind accompanying me there to get it?”

            They agree, as they have no reason to refuse. The Monitoring Room is close by and picking it up now will save them from having to make a trip back for it later. As they make their way there, however, Ratio can’t help but notice a change in the atmosphere. After so many missions together, he’s gotten to know Aventurine rather well. Even without him saying anything, Ratio can tell that he’s tense but isn’t quite sure why. Lead Researcher Asta on the other hand, avoids eye contact the whole way to their destination.”

            “Oh, Arlan. Hello,” Asta says as they enter and find her young charge seated at a desk, skimming an entire wall of monitors.

            Arlan quickly stands. “Hello, Lady Asta. Dr. Ratio, good to see you again.”

            Ratio nods. “And you.”

            “Mr. Aventurine, this is Arlan, head of our Security Department.”

            “Oh, is that right?” Aventurine nearly purrs, putting Ratio on full alert, even though he sounds perfectly amiable.

            “And Arlan, this is Mr. Aventurine. He’s a friend of both Topaz and Dr. Ratio, and is working with Dr. Ratio on a special project in the Seclusion Zone – and helping keep the True Sting population there down.”

            “Thank you,” Arlan says politely. “That is going to be a big help.”

            “We’ve seen on our cameras that there are usually about six True Stings roaming the hallways in the Seclusion Zone at any given time. Or at least there were before you two moved in,” Asta says, wandering over to a wall where, to Ratio’s surprise and horror, there are monitors showing images of the Seclusion Zone, including their workroom.

            The world falls momentarily silent, as it often does when Ratio receives a nasty shock. Adrenaline spiking, he knows. A useful side effect to being startled, because the silence helps him think – something he needs to do very quickly now. He needs to ascertain how much, if any damage has been done and how to fix it. Ratio hopes that he’s not giving a visible reaction, but fears that his face has gone pale.

            “I was under the impression that the security system in the Seclusion Zone shorted out during Ruan Mei’s True Sting experiments,” he says, trying to gauge the situation once the adrenaline surge subsides.

            “Oh, it did. But we revamped it, right before all this crazy conference stuff happened,” Asta says. “So, you don’t have to worry. We can keep an eye on the True Sting situation there too, and if we see something worrisome, we’ll let you know. The waiting room that you’ve made your living space though, isn’t covered, which I’m sure you don’t mind. To be clear, it was covered, before you reprogrammed the sliding door and wall to be opaque. There are two cameras in the life pod room whose ranges included the waiting room when the wall was clear.”

            “Lady Asta . . . you really don’t need to let them know where every camera in the space station is,” Arlan says, sounding slightly uneasy.

            “Don’t worry, Arlan. Dr. Ratio has my complete trust,” Asta says. “You remember how much he helped us only a little while back.”

            “Yes . . . but still . . .”

            Ratio hears the conversation as background noise, as his eyes skim over the wall of monitors. He quickly ascertains that there is only one screen projecting feed from the room that he and Aventurine have set up to use as their workroom. His mind is whirling as he tries to come up with a scheme to retrieve and delete the footage of their first disastrous session, as well as countermeasures to take for the future, but an errant detail on the screen gives pause to all those thoughts.

            The first aid station he set up just that morning should be clearly visible, next to the built-in reception desk. Instead, it is nowhere in sight. A glance at other monitors show the first aid stations in the hallway, the greenhouse, and right outside the men’s locker room . . . the only one missing is the one in their workroom. Which Ratio knows for a fact is there, as that it the most crucial one.

            Suddenly, the past few minutes make sense as Ratio’s mind arranges the puzzle pieces into place in the most logical manner. Lead Researcher Asta knows what they are really doing. She saw that session. Aventurine picked up on the fact that she knows about him – he probably didn’t know exactly what she knows, but he could tell she knew something of his past. That explains Asta’s mannerisms and strained expressions too. She has probably been trying not to cry this whole time. Aventurine was no doubt braced for a trap when she brought them here . . . but Asta brought them here to covertly give them the information that she needed to. To let them know that she has doctored the footage from their workroom. To let them know that Aventurine’s secrets are safe with her.

            “I think it’s important for them to know that they have privacy where they need it,” Asta is telling Arlan when Ratio zeroes back in on the here and now. “After all, every other researcher is assured of it in their dormitories, and Dr. Ratio is far more competent and trustworthy than most of them. Especially Madam Herta’s guests . . .”

            “Thank you for letting us know,” Aventurine says softly. “It is appreciated.”

            Now Asta does make eye contact with him – and Ratio sees he is correct in his hypothesis for why she was trying not to before. Her eyes are shimmering, glazed over with tears. “Of course,” she says, giving him a bright, sunny smile anyway, determinedly playing her part. “Of course. Oh, that’s right. Your research clearance . . . now where did I put it? Ah, right.”

            She retrieves a researcher’s badge from a drawer and holds it out to him. Aventurine bows slightly over the badge as she hands it off.

            “Thank you,” Ratio says, because he needs to tell her too. His voice is a bit gruffer than he intends it to be. He gives a slight cough and makes an effort to smooth it out. “Your assistance is very much appreciated.”

            “Happy to help,” Asta says, beaming at him.

            “Oh, lookie! Level Two Research Clearance,” Aventurine says excitedly. “Did you use your influence for me so that I could skip Level One, Doctor?”

            A lifeline. One that will keep this situation from devolving into pathos. Ratio seizes it gratefully.

            “Research Clearance at Herta Space Station starts at Level Two,” he says in the weariest tone that he can manage. “Level One Research Clearance is reserved for guests and the rare juvenile dependent of temporary researchers. Those badges give you clearance to nowhere but the cantina and the public bathrooms.”

            “Aww. And here I thought I was special.”

            Banter with Aventurine is effortless. It has gotten them out of far worse situations than this one. While it does go a bit against Ratio’s new resolve to be nicer to the gambler, he knows that Aventurine is aware that his barbs are only said as part of the act.

            Either way, for now it carries them through the rest of their impromptu meeting with Asta, until they find the opportunity to make their excuses and leave. They keep it up a little longer, just out of habit, but fall silent by the time they reach the elevator and stay silent all the way down to the Seclusion Zone.

            “I apologize for my carelessness,” is the first thing Ratio says to Aventurine, once they reach what he determines to be a blind spot in the camera footage. “I was remiss –”

            “We both were,” Aventurine cuts him off. “I should have ordered some counter surveillance devices. I’ll do that tonight. We’re lucky you were right about Asta.”

            “Yes. Very,” Ratio agrees. How many people would have been less scrupulous in the same situation? Information on the Stonehearts sells at a premium, and any intel regarding such a damning weakness that one of them has, even incomplete information, is worth a small fortune. Asta does not lack for wealth, but she could have very easily leveraged her intel for power or status, or if she were less intelligent, casually spilled it to Topaz as a bit of gossip, and if Topaz were to learn, then Madam Bonajade most assuredly would soon after. Ratio doesn’t even want to think of what might follow were she to learn. “I am truly sorry, gambler. I never meant to put your secret at such risk.”

            “It’s okay. We know now, so we can adjust. I take it you memorized the cameras and their angles on those monitors too?”

            Ratio nods curtly.

            “It looked like the hallway between the greenhouse and the botany room has zero coverage,” Aventurine says. “So even if anyone pays undo attention to us, they won’t know that the footage in our workroom is rigged unless they actually come down to the Seclusion Zone to check on us themselves. They’ll probably assume that we decided to set up shop in the hallway to avoid the cameras.”

            “Would you prefer we do that?” Ratio asks.

            “Nah, I think we’ll be okay after I get the counter surveillance tech,” Aventurine says. “Even if space station security catches on and gets that camera back online, my devices will completely scramble both the audio and the visual. I’d be using them even if we set up in the hall. I should have thought to use them before. This is on me too.”

            “We are very fortunate in a multitude of ways,” Ratio says. He knows that such sentiments are making the conversation somewhat circular, but he can’t help but express them at least once more anyway. “Not the least of which is Lead Researcher Asta being the one to catch our mistakes. I will do better going forward. I will keep you safe.”

            A strange look crosses Aventurine’s face. For a moment, he almost looks surprised. But the moment is gone so quickly that Ratio isn’t quite certain it ever actually happened.

            “Equipment is ordered,” Aventurine says, putting away his phone. “It should be here tomorrow morning. So, we can get started then, as planned.”

            “Very good,” Ratio says, even though the prospect of beginning again gives him a slight sense of dread. Because he knows that the worst is yet to come. What they’ve been through so far is only the tip of the iceberg . . . and he is fairly certain from the polite façade of a smile that graces Aventurine’s face that the gambler knows this too.

            Aventurine doesn’t sleep well that night.

            He probably wouldn’t have managed to get any sleep at all if not for the fact that Ratio lies in the next bed, only several feet away. As much as Aventurine wants to get rid of the programming in his brain, he is not looking forward to what they’re going to have to do in order to scrap it. Ratio hasn’t filled him in on his plans – hasn’t really talked at all about what they’ll be doing next since Aventurine spontaneously stopped breathing during their last session – but Aventurine can guess what a few of his strategies are likely to be.

            After several cycles of lying awake for roughly an hour, dozing off for an hour or two, and waking restlessly to repeat the circle, Aventurine checks his phone and deems it late enough to get up. He quietly rolls off his bed and heads into the kitchen, still in his pajamas, determined to put his time to better use.

            Meal prep seems like a good idea – especially if today’s session goes as swimmingly as the last one. They’re definitely not going to want to go get meals from the main part of the space station, since that will mean dealing with other people. So, Aventurine starts pulling ingredients to make both breakfast and lunch for him and Ratio, with enough leftovers for dinner.

            Quiche, Aventurine decides, is good. Good for any meal of the day, or as a snack. He doesn’t have enough butter to make crust for it though, and isn’t feeling adventurous enough to try substituting oil. He knows swapping one kind of shortening for another works sometimes, but can also be disastrous, and he would just as soon Ratio not see one of his catastrophic cooking fails. So instead, he uses a hollowed-out loaf of bread, like Jade’s favorite coffee shop on Pier Point does. He mixes together eggs, cream, grated cheese, and spinach, pours it into the repurposed bread crust, then gets it into the toaster oven while he starts on another dish.

            For lunch, he makes pasta again. Because it’s easy and because Ratio loves pasta. Or at least Aventurine assumes he does, since he orders it so often when they’re out at restaurants. He prefers the pasta from cuisines that don’t use a lot of soy sauce, Aventurine’s noticed. Ones that use olive oil, tomatoes, cheeses, and lots of green herbs. So, Aventurine boils a pound of spiral shaped pasta and makes a sauce for it out of olive oil, very finely chopped sun-dried tomatoes, capers, and red pepper flakes. He tosses the pasta and the sauce together, so the pasta can start absorbing the sauce’s flavor, then sets it aside to cool while he grates some sharp white cheese to go with it when they eat it at lunch.

            Then his meal prep is mostly done. His quiche is still cooking, but there’s no rushing that. So, Aventurine ends up killing time on his phone, waiting for it to finish baking.

            “Did you sleep at all?” Ratio asks when he wakes up a few hours later, around eight, and sees both lunch and breakfast on the table.

            “I slept,” Aventurine tells him. “I just woke up early and decided to be productive. The quiche didn’t turn out quite right through.”

            A wry smile plays on Ratio’s lips. “You do know that when a recipe calls for you to bake a filling in crust, they generally don’t mean to steal it from a loaf of bread?”

            “I know.” Aventurine smiles back. “But I didn’t have butter, didn’t want to risk substituting something that could go so wrong, and I’ve seen this done before. Quiche cooked in hollowed-out bread, I mean. There’s a restaurant Jade makes us go to a lot that does it this way. They serve it in neat little slices, next to a salad made of really feathery looking lettuce. But the bread crust on theirs is . . . it’s like toast. Crunchy, but not too hard. Mine turned out too hard. Like I overcooked it, but I had to cook it that long for the eggs to set.”

            Ratio considers the problem for a moment as he takes a seat. “If you try this again, it would probably work better if you let your filling rest until it reaches room temperature before you fill the bread and bake it. It might also help if you wrapped it in foil to keep the bread from browning too fast.”

            Aventurine can’t help but give a slight laugh. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

            “Many things,” Ratio tells him. “But when I come across one, I endeavor to educate myself, so it is no longer something that I do not know.”

            “Reliable as always.”

            Ratio gives a slight cough that might or might not be his way of trying to hint that Aventurine should change the topic. Aventurine decides to take it as a hint and slides the plate of quiche to his friend so that he can help himself. Ratio selects a slice and sits down.

            It would be nice to have one last leisurely breakfast before getting back to their research, but neither of them really feel like relaxing. Aventurine figures that there’s even odds that he has dark circles under his eyes. Meanwhile Ratio looks a little green, and Aventurine knows it’s not from his cooking. The quiche’s crust might be very hard, but it’s not burnt, and the filling turned out just fine. It’s what’s to come that Ratio has no stomach for.

            So, they don’t dawdle. They eat, then clean up. Then they head out.

            First to clear out the True Stings. Then to get Aventurine’s packages from the Implement Arts Department. Then back to their workroom, where they test the anti-surveillance devices Aventurine ordered. One emits a high-pitched frequency inaudible to the ears of almost every terrestrial race, including humans and Foxians, as well as the audio sensors Intellitrons use, unless they’ve got some extremely expensive custom work done. Though their ears can’t pick it up, recordings can. In fact, when the device is on, that frequency is all that audio recordings can pick up. To prevent any visuals from their workroom from being photographed or recorded, Aventurine makes use of another device that looks like an ornamental lantern. It casts a slight blue-violet light for maybe a ten-foot radius that Aventurine can barely notice, though he’s heard people more artistically inclined than he is bitch about it making things look weird. Look weird to the naked eye, that is. To a camera lens of any sort, it whites out everything, which is kind of the whole point of it.

            They do a few tests with their phones and make sure that their counter surveillance is working. Then, once that’s done, Ratio announces that they have a bit more housekeeping to do. Aventurine is momentarily confused until Ratio hands him a stack of forms.

            “Ah, yes. Absolutely nothing can be done without paperwork.”

            “Please read them, gambler. Don’t just blindly sign them,” Ratio says crossly when Aventurine begins to do just that.

            “If you insist,” Aventurine says, suppressing a sigh – and a multitude of complaints. He doesn’t see the point in all these consent forms – and that is what they mostly are. Aventurine is willing to consent to whatever Ratio deems necessary to get rid of his programming. Yes, he understands that this is an unprecedented situation and that he is essentially Ratio’s test subject, but he’s been an actual test subject before. Ratio is experimenting on him to fix him, not to hurt him. And yes, he realizes that there may be side effects to the drugs or supplements Ratio may prescribe to him – both long and short term. Some of those side effects could potentially shorten his lifespan, make him more prone to heart attacks, cancer, hair loss, and a multitude of other things. Aventurine would rather take his chances with those than gamble on never crossing paths with someone who knows his programming’s activation phrase again. Moreover, he knows that Ratio will be fastidious in researching everything he prescribes to him. Ratio is the one person in the universe who Aventurine trusts completely. So, if it makes him feel better for Aventurine to read all his boring, wordy, tedious paperwork, Aventurine will read as much of it as he can stand.

            “That form is for this – the bio monitor I had you order.” Ratio holds up a slender glass vial with something suspended in clear liquid inside. It looks like it’s about the size of a grain of rice, but it’s probably smaller – the liquid magnifying it and all. “I would strongly prefer that you consent to it, but if you are not comfortable –”

            Aventurine signs the form and hands it to him. Ratio looks like he wants to face palm.

            “You should read that,” he says a little too patiently.

            “You feel strongly about me consenting to it, and that’s really all I need to hear.”

            Ratio sighs. “As you would have learned if you read the form, this is a state-of-the-art bio monitor. It needs to be surgically inserted, and once it is, will be completely powered by electrical impulses generated by your body. Its purpose is to monitor your heartrate and the oxygen levels in your blood . . . as well as fifty-odd other indicators that are irrelevant to our research. Your heartrate and blood-oxygen levels are what most concern me, however, considering what happened in our last session. Should we unwittingly trigger some other trap that the Jacobin researchers left in your mind, this monitor could potentially save your life. If the response is delayed, for instance, and you collapsed when not in my presence. The monitor will be keyed to my phone, so I will know instantly if you are in danger.”

            “Sounds good,” Aventurine says. “I take it you can implant that in me yourself, since we haven’t booked another trip to the Med Department.”

            “Yes. I can even do that while you continue signing forms.”

            Aventurine laughs, then stands so that he can peel off his coat. “Shirt off or on?”

            “Off, if you please. I can perform the procedure with it on, but as your garments tend to cost more than I make in a month . . .”

            “Fair.” Aventurine quickly unbuttons his shirt and divests himself of it. Then he sits back down and continues reading and signing forms, doing his best to ignore Ratio as he gets to work.

            That is easier said than done. Medical procedures of any sort always make Aventurine uneasy, thanks to his initiation into the civilized world. So, he is very well aware of what is happening on his left side.

            Ratio uses a square of gauze and rubbing alcohol and sterilizes a far larger portion of Aventurine’s arm than he likely needs to, but the doctor is always a stickler about preventing the spread of germs and infections. Then he uses some sort of topical pain reliever to numb a poker chip sized spot just below Aventurine’s elbow. So, Aventurine barely feels when Ratio gives him a shot of something stronger to completely dull the pain. After a several minute wait for it to completely start working and two more forms signed off on, he sees Ratio get back to work, out the corner of his eye. He doesn’t feel the scalpel make the necessary incision. Nor does he feel when Ratio inserts the bio monitor into his arm. He does smell medical glue, however, and is pleased that the cut is small enough that he doesn’t need stitches. He hears the crinkle of a medicated plaster wrapper and then the whole process is done – as is the last of the forms.

            “Finished,” he tells Ratio, and hands the stack over.

            “Same,” Ratio says. “Unfortunately, that was the easy part.”

            “I know.” Whatever comes next, Aventurine will endure it. Just as he’s endured everything else life has thrown at him. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Text

            Ratio is once again reminded just how powerful a force the human mind is. He is dreading the task before him so much that it is making him feel physically ill. He swears that he can feel his stomach turning as he opens his tablet to show Aventurine his MRI scans.

            “Next item of business is –”

            “Wah!” Aventurine’s reaction catches Ratio completely off guard. He flings up a hand to block his view of the tablet and reels away. “Is that my skull? Ratio!”

            “What’s wrong?” Ratio asks, alarmed.

            “Why would you show me that?” Aventurine asks. “That – that’s what I’m going to look like when I’m dead. Are you trying to curse me?”

            “Curses do not exist, dear gambler,” Ratio says slowly.

            “Agree to disagree.” Aventurine seems genuinely upset at having been shown the image of his skull. He pointedly looks away from Ratio and his tablet – which Ratio lowers and turns over, so Aventurine can no longer see the image on the screen.

            “Is it only your skull that you have an aversion to seeing? Or would you prefer not to see any scans of your other bones or muscles?” Though Ratio knows that Aventurine’s superstition is only that – superstition – he will respect his beliefs.

            “Just my skull. It’s too much like looking in a death mirror.”

            “Alright, then.” Ratio flips through the images until he finds the next one he wanted to show Aventurine. “I assume that you’re then willing to take my word for it that the scans of your head showed that it is perfectly fine. There are no foreign objects inside of your skull, and there is no remodeling of the bone that indicates it was ever cut open to give the Jacobin researchers or anyone else access to your brain.”

            “Good.”

            “Yes. Though it would be much easier to get rid of your mind control problem if it was caused by a device inserted in your brain, I believe it is better overall that your brain was not physically altered or tampered with in any way. The scans did reveal several other foreign objects inside of your body, however. One of them is your synesthesia beacon, which is no cause for concern. The other two are tracking devices. One of them is embedded in your thigh. That one appears to be older and localized – meaning that it can only trace you when whoever is trying to track you has their tracking equipment on the same planet as you. The other one is inside of your chest, fused to the inside of one of your ribs. That one has interplanetary tracking abilities.”

            “Yeah,” Aventurine says, barely giving the scans of the trackers a glance. “That one’s Jade’s. She likes to protect her investments.”
            Ratio scowls. “And the other one?”

            Aventurine shrugs. “I don’t remember. The smart money is that I picked it up sometime during my slave days, but I couldn’t tell you when.”

            “Both of them can be removed if you like,” Ratio tells him, “but doing so will require a separate procedure for each one, that I do not have the equipment to perform here. I actually am not comfortable removing the one in your chest myself – its placement makes extracting it deliberately difficult, and I am only an adequate surgeon – but I can recommend several surgeons who I trust to do the procedure if you like.”

            “I’m not really bothered about the one Jade gave me,” Aventurine says, and Ratio feels like face palming. “I currently have no plans to desert. If that changes, it’s probably best to get rid of it right before I go and use it to send her on a wild goose chase when she comes hunting me. Unless, of course, they send you after me, and since you now know the plan, it might be better to keep it with me, so you’re not sure if it’s a bluff or a double bluff.”

            “I wouldn’t – argh, never mind,” Ratio cuts himself off. “What about the other one?”

            “I should probably get rid of that one, but I don’t think it’s urgent,” Aventurine answers. “I’ll get it taken care of when I’m back on Pier Point, after this is all over. I can probably squeeze a sick day or two out of it.”

            Ratio snorts. “Alright, then. Moving on . . .”

            He opens a brief case containing about a million credits worth of shiny new tech – an assortment of electrodes that can sense and record brain waves, and the monitor that they are synced to. Ratio then opens a tube of electrode gel and moves to kneel before Aventurine.

            “What are you doing?” Aventurine asks as Ratio applies gel to one of the electrodes then carefully sticks it to his left temple.

            “A moment, please,” Ratio requests. “I have a reason for holding off on answering this question, which I will tell you in short order.”

            Aventurine accepts this and stays perfectly still so that Ratio can apply another electrode to his other temple.

            Then Ratio boots up the monitor that the electrodes are synced to.

            “This is specialized equipment which allows us to observe your brainwaves,” Ratio explains once the screen is lit up. He turns it to show Aventurine the data that is being transmitted from the electrodes in the form of what appears to be a moving wavy line on a graph. “I believe that the key to unravelling the remaining few words of your programming’s activation phrase lie in this technology. I wanted to wait until you were hooked up to it before explaining. This way, if we trigger another trap left by your programming, at least we will have recorded some data.”

            Aventurine makes a confused sound, so Ratio elaborates.

            “All thoughts emit brain waves. I can explain in depth or provide you with reading material if you wish to learn more, but for now suffice it to say that different types of thoughts and actions produce different types of waves. The brainwaves you generate while dreaming, for instance, are different from the brainwaves generated while exercising. Brainwaves generated while listening to music are – well, there is so much to say on that topic that I best not start, lest I go off on a tangent that I am loath to drop. In short, I believe that when your programming is triggered, each word of the activation phrase will produce the same sort of brainwaves when said in the proper order. Your subconscious clearly knows the full phrase, even if you are unable to remember the two missing words.”

            “Two missing words?” Aventurine asks.

            “Ah, yes.” Ratio fights a scowl. “I was on the verge of telling you before . . . before your episode. You remember what I deduced about the activation phrase before you told me the first three words?”

            “That it’s short and that there will be a pattern to them,” Aventurine recalls. “Because that guy Fleitch was too stupid to remember a long string of random words.”

            “Yes.” Ratio sets down the brainwave monitor next to his phone and makes sure both are away from the edge of the table, so if he has to move quickly and suddenly, he’s not at risk of knocking over and breaking either. They are edging back toward dangerous territory and could well trigger another trap in Aventurine’s mind. “I theorized that the activation phrase is no more than five or six words. Then I noticed the beginnings of a pattern in the words that you remember. The letters of the first three words are S-L-A.”

            He waits a moment, keeping an eye on both the brainwave monitor and his phone, which is synced to Aventurine’s bio monitor. Fortunately, neither show anything out of the ordinary. Aventurine’s brainwaves shift slightly as he tries to mull over the puzzle. Then they spike as he figures it out, drawing Ratio’s eyes back to his friend’s face, just in time to see the look that flashes across it. Defeated, humiliated acceptance. It makes Ratio’s heart clench.

            “S-L-A-V-E,” Aventurine gives him the answer to the puzzle. “The missing two words start with V and E. How’d I do, Doc? Do I get ten points?”

            “Apologies,” Ratio says. “I should have just told you rather than have you ration out the answer like it was a test. I –”

            “No need to apologize,” Aventurine says. “It is what it is, and I don’t need the kid gloves for this. So . . . your plan is to have me lay here while you read off the stupidly long list of words that start with V that you’ve prepared, and monitor my brainwaves to see which ones are the right ones? After, of course, reciting the first three words, so you can make sure the brainwave pattern is a match. Then rinse and repeat with E words.”

            “Correct.”

            “Er – I think you’re going to need a drink to help you get through all that reading and reciting,” Aventurine tells him, “and I don’t see one here.”

            “Ah,” Ratio realizes. “You’re right. I didn’t think of that.”

            “Actually . . . are you feeling alright?” Aventurine asks.

            “Quite. I am simply – and naturally – disgusted by what these cretins did to you. Rest assured, that will not deter me from this task. I will undo their work.”

            “I know you will. So, what happens next? After you figure out the activation phrase?”

            “The first time we figure it out, which may very well take weeks, but once we do, once it happens, I want you to try to fight against the programming. Try to wake up from it and act on your own. It may be that you can break free of its hold all on your own now that you are older – that you simply have to learn how. I would like for you to attempt to do so for one full hour. After which, I will sedate you, to help you go to sleep and reset your mind.”

            “Ah, right. That consent form I filled out, enabling you to sedate or tranquilize me at your discretion,” Aventurine remembers cheerfully. “One thing, though – would you mind ordering me back to our room before you knock me out?”

            “If you wish,” Ratio says. “May I ask why?”

            Aventurine gives a half shrug. “I don’t know. I just think I’d rather wake up there than here. I think it will make it feel more like the nightmare is over. Oh, maybe you’d prefer not to drug me in our home. Would that be bad for you, since we’re trying to compartmentalize and all?”

            Ratio almost smiles at his consideration. “The sedatives I intend to use on you are administered via medicated patches. They take longer to work than drugs administered orally or via needles, but I deemed them safer than having you swallow something while you are essentially hypnotized, as I do not want you to choke. Nor do I want to repeatedly be sticking you with needles, which will leave marks. And with your request, these patches will work well. I will simply administer one to you here, then order you to return to our living quarters, where you may fall asleep.”

            “Sounds good.”

            They take a short break before continuing, so Ratio can grab a drink. The refrigerator in their kitchen is now well stocked with juice, milk, iced coffee, and bottled water, packets of lunch meat, several blocks of cheese, eggs and assorted vegetables, three jars containing Ratio’s three favorite types of olives, the pasta Aventurine made for their lunch, leftover quiche, and a dozen snack-sized cups of pudding. Embarrassingly enough, that makes it better stocked than the refrigerators in either of Ratio’s two residences usually are. Granted, he spends as little time as possible at his apartment on Pier Point, on account of hating the whole damn planet where the IPC is headquartered, and he also spends so much time away from his house on Veritas Prime because of work that it doesn’t make sense to keep too much food on hand. There’s something appealing, however, about opening this refrigerator and seeing that there’s plenty of everything he’ll need in the immediate future within. Working and traveling with Aventurine has always meant Ratio is awarded plenty of amenities but this . . . this is different, somehow.

            There’s no time to really dwell on it, however. Ratio didn’t intend to take a break this soon, now that they finally have everything they need to safely proceed with this research. He selects a bottle of water and a juice then heads back to their workroom, collecting Aventurine who is playing with the snacks on his way. Then he begins the arduous task of trying to figure out the last two words of the activation phrase.

            Ratio does have a list of words he thinks are more likely to be the ones they’re looking for than others, based on the ones that were used for the first three words. Two of the words are related to Sigonia. One is a letter from the alphabet of one of the keystone civilizations that shaped their universe. So, that makes it more likely that the remaining words are either also related to Sigonia or classical languages.

            Likely. But not definitely.

            Ratio quickly exhausts the shortlist he made of his best guesses for the missing word beginning with V, then moves on to the longer list of words he assembled. Near the end of the first hour, he gets lucky. “Vesperia,” the word for a sung evening prayer from a classical language that is a sister language to the one from which “Lambda” stems, triggers Aventurine’s mind to produce the same errant brainwaves that the first three words of the activation phrase do. Reasonably certain that is one of their missing words, Ratio moves on to words beginning with E.

            There his luck dries up.

            He quickly crosses out all the E words on his shortlist. Two hours later, he’s tried and marked off every word on his longer list as well, his throat is aching, and his voice is starting to grow rough from overuse. His drinks ran out some time ago. Annoyed, but determined, he purchases and downloads digital copies of dictionaries for both of the classical languages whose words were used in the activation phrase previously, and would have begun testing each word in turn, going through the entire E sections of both dictionaries if Aventurine didn’t insist on breaking for lunch.

            “You’ll damage your vocal cords,” Aventurine tells him with a worried look. “Don’t do that for my sake. I don’t want that.”

            Reluctantly, Ratio follows him back to their living quarters, in a foul mood. He knew that this might take a very long time, but there was a part of him that was certain he would have cracked the code, so to speak, in a scant few hours. That arrogant part of him, so sure of his own intelligence and superiority to bottom feeders like Fleitch and his research team. And he is superior to Fleitch and his research team in every possible way – Ratio is still certain of that. Fleitch’s ability to pick obscure words does not in any way make him intelligent. Any primary school student with an intergalactic dictionary on Veritas Prime could do the same!

            “I’m not hungry,” Ratio snaps when Aventurine dishes up a bowl of pasta and places it before him. He immediately feels bad for his outburst when Aventurine . . . simply moves the bowl of pasta toward his own place setting without even batting an eye. “Apologies. I did not mean to speak sharply to you. And I am certain that your pasta is delicious. I just don’t seem to have much of an appetite right now.”

            “I have some Izumo Miso if you want me to make you some soup,” Aventurine says neutrally.

            “Perhaps for dinner.”

            Aventurine hums then bustles around the kitchen for a bit. Minutes later, a mug of steaming citrus scented tea is set in front of Ratio instead.

            “ . . . Thank you. This will be helpful,” Ratio admits. He glances toward the hutch. “Do you by chance have any honey?”

            “Yes. But that’s honey-citron tea, so it’s already got honey in it. You might want to taste it first, just to make sure you don’t make it too cloying.” All the same, Aventurine retrieves a jar of honey from where he has it stored in the hutch – a large clear jar of it with chunks of actual honeycomb suspended in the golden liquid. “This is my favorite kind of honey. Made by bees who live in fields of red clover, according to the label. Not the most high class or expensive type of honey, but it’s what I like.”

            “More expensive doesn’t necessarily mean better, especially in the culinary world,” Ratio says. Normally, he would elaborate and give some examples, but his voice cracks at the end of the sentence and he decides to forgo saying anything extraneous. He tastes his tea and finds that it is already very sweet, but he adds another spoonful of honey anyway, hoping that it will help sooth his throat more effectively. The rest of lunch is mostly spent in silence.

            Once they’re back in the workroom, Aventurine offers to make a list of every Sigonian word he knows that begins with E. Or that might begin with E. He admits that he wasn’t actually literate before he left his home planet, and that he is uncertain on their methods of spelling. Ratio turns down his offer. Dictionaries of Sigonia’s main and lesser languages are likely to be more accurate when it comes to spelling, but Ratio doesn’t think that the final word will be a Sigonian word anyway. That batch of test subjects was no longer on Sigonia when they were experimented on. Fleitch was clearly no expert on the peoples or the culture, and Ratio already tried the more obvious words linked to Sigonia that begin with E. Most likely, Fleitch drew from what he knew – classical languages.

            So, they begin again. Ratio says the first four words of the activation phrase then goes through the dictionary, trying a new word that begins with E after every single recitation. He brings with him a fresh cup of tea, another juice, and a six pack of bottled water, determined to power through the entire afternoon if he has to – and he very nearly does. His tea, the juice, and two waters have been drained by the time Ratio finally stumbles upon the final word of the activation phrase.

            “Sigonian, Lambda, Avgin, Vesperia, Ennui . . . Sigonian, Lambda, Avgin, Vesperia, Eon . . .” Ratio is keeping a close eye on Aventurine’s brainwave monitor, despite the tediousness of his task. So, he notices when, on the fifth word, Aventurine’s brainwaves start to spike but level off when he pauses after finishing the word “Eon.” That’s when Ratio feels it – how close he actually is to solving this puzzle. He’s almost there. He knows it. He is almost certain that he has the root of the word. The first syllable of it. The ending is just slightly off, but he almost has it. “Sigonian, Lambda, Avgin, Vesperia. Eona . . . Sigonian, Lambda, Avgin, Vesperia, Eonesa . . . Sigonian, Lambda, Avgin, Vesperia, Eonia . . .”

            There!

            Aventurine’s brainwaves spike – then level out in a new way, taking on a pattern that Ratio has never before seen, and Ratio knows that he’s done it. He feels a surge of triumph . . . until he actually turns to look at his friend.

            Aventurine sits there in his chair, as he has all day, but unlike every other time when Ratio looked at him, he doesn’t meet Ratio’s eyes, doesn’t look back at him, or give a slight smile of encouragement, or a look of worry. His expression . . . it’s that exact same horrible blank expression that he wore when Fleitch activated his programming at the resort. Empty. Soulless.

            But this time it was Ratio who did this to him.

            All of a sudden, Ratio’s stomach rebels. He lurches toward the waste basket and wretches into it, all triumph and exaltation gone in the face of what he has actually done. He knows that it’s temporary – he does – and he even had Aventurine’s permission to do this, as well as a signed form to prove it, but somehow that doesn’t make a bit of difference. It doesn’t make it feel any less wrong, and it doesn’t alleviate Ratio’s disgust at the whole situation, and especially at himself. Because he snuffed out Aventurine’s personality. He put that emptiness on his friend’s face.

            “Sorry,” Ratio manages to choke out, nearly a full minute later, once he’s certain that he’s finished throwing up. “My deepest apologies, Gambler. But I think . . . we need to make a change in our plans.”

            Only now does Ratio realize – or actually acknowledge – that he is physically unwell. If he’s honest with himself . . . he’s had an inkling since this morning that he was under the weather. He tried to pass it off as disgust for the task set before him. As much as he would like to keep trying to believe that and soldier on . . . Ratio realizes that he has reached his limits for the day. Now that he’s admitted it to himself, he feels even worse. Of course, emptying the contents of his stomach into the waste basket didn’t help at all, but he truly can’t pretend anymore.

            “I think I need to end today’s session,” he tells Aventurine. Because even though Aventurine’s expression is as blank as a corpse’s, he knows that Aventurine is still in there somewhere. “I know that I told you that you would have an hour to fight your programming, but . . . I cannot continue for today.”

            He sanitizes his hands with antiseptic from his med kit, and dons a mask before approaching Aventurine, to place a sedative patch on his neck, right over his artery, so the medicine will be absorbed into his bloodstream faster and more efficiently. Then he takes a moment to check Aventurine’s pulse – even though his bio monitor shows all systems are normal. Ratio just knows he’ll feel better if he can feel Aventurine’s heart beating for himself.

            “Alright,” he says, after indulging himself for a good fifteen seconds. “Stand up.”

            Aventurine obeys and Ratio finds himself facing a whole new wave of self-loathing. It was one thing to give Aventurine orders when they needed to make a fast getaway from the hot springs resort, but now . . . It just feels so wrong. He doesn’t want to give his friend orders that he has no choice but to soullessly obey. Doing so may very well cause Ratio to be sick all over again.

            “Sorry,” Ratio says again and grimaces. Then, after only a moment’s consideration, he picks Aventurine up so that he can carry him, princess-style in his arms. Aventurine gives no resistance. Ratio imagines that any other time, he would be kicking his feet like a petulant child. Or maybe not. He’s always been very good at taking things in stride, especially when Ratio tells him that something is necessary. That makes Ratio feel a bit better as he carries him out of the workroom and back toward their living quarters. Makes him feel like he . . . like he has Aventurine’s permission to subject him to this small amount of indignity.        

            He does his best not to breathe directly on Aventurine as he takes him back to their room. It’s probably already too late – Aventurine has most likely been exposed to whatever bug Ratio picked up – but Ratio at least makes the effort. He carries him up the stairs, back to the room they’ve made their home, and lays Aventurine down on his bed.

            “I apologize again,” Ratio tells him. “Even more so if I have made you ill as well. I should have realized sooner. Instead, I denied it until I couldn’t anymore, which naturally occurred at the worst possible time. I . . . I am sorry. That is all I can say. Please rest for now. I think that I need to do the same.”

            He removes Aventurine’s shoes and tosses a blanket over him, but that takes up the very last of Ratio’s energy. He ends up staggering the final few steps over to his own bed and collapsing on top of it. Though he knows he’ll be more comfortable if he manages to get under the covers, it suddenly seems like far too monumental of a task. So, completely exhausted, Ratio closes his eyes and allows himself to rest.

Ratio can't stand seeing Aventurine like that. ;_; And can't stand giving him orders when he's under the mind control. It physically makes him sick. (Though he was actually already sick and denying it. Activating Aventurine's mind control, and his horror and disgust about what he'd done just pushed him over the edge.) Figuring out a way to break Aventurine free from his programming is going to be hell for both of them . . . but at least it means lots of Ratio physically carrying Aventurine home at the end of the day. ^^;

I should have another chapter ready next week, but the week after that is up in the air.  Work is being very difficult lately. To the point where I'm looking for another job. -_- All comments are appreciated - they sustain me through the work week, as I sneak glances at my phone.

Chapter Text

            It’s hard for Aventurine to explain how it feels when his programming activates. It’s like dreaming, but at the same time not. His mind goes fuzzy, but not too fuzzy. Things seem far away . . . almost like they’re memories, even though they’re things that are happening in the present.

            It’s somewhat unexpected when Ratio finally activates it even though Aventurine knew it was coming. He had complete faith that Ratio would figure it out. It’s just that after over a thousand failed attempts, Aventurine was far past the point of thinking that the next try could be the one.

            Then his mind goes blank.

            Well, semi-blank.

            At times it seems like his mind actually skips. At least when it was activated in the past, including the last time. Like he’ll blink and multiple minutes have clearly passed, sometimes more. That kind of happens this time. Because one minute, he’s just sitting there, in his chair, listening to Ratio’s voice, worrying that all this talking is giving his friend a sore throat . . . then he’s frozen in place, his head full of fog, watching Ratio vomit into the waste basket that Aventurine found for their workroom when he was collecting furniture from around the Seclusion Zone.

            Confusion and concern swirl together in his mind. Aventurine remembers . . . remembers being . . . worried. That Ratio wasn’t feeling well, that maybe he was sick. But was that today, or . . . longer ago? Well, it takes a backseat in importance to the fact that Ratio is sick now. That he needs . . . looking after. That he’s feeling bad, throwing up even, and he should be resting, not helping Aventurine. Aventurine should be helping him.

            But Aventurine can’t move. Can’t stand. Can’t lift a finger to help his friend.

            He tries.

            He tries so hard. But he . . . he just can’t move.

            His thoughts start to scatter as he tries. Aventurine is almost certain that he would forget just why he was trying so hard to move if not for the fact that Ratio is being sick right in front of him.

            “Sorry,” Ratio says finally, when he manages to get himself under control. He looks pale, exhausted, his brow beaded with sweat. “My deepest apologies, Gambler. But I think . . . we need to make a change in our plans. I think I need to end today’s session. I know that I told you that you would have an hour to fight your programming, but . . . I cannot continue for today.”

            Aventurine is glad that he’s throwing in the towel. It would be far too like Ratio to push himself to stick to their plan. It’s a bit of a two-edged sword since the fact that Ratio isn’t trying to carry on means that he must feel like complete and utter shit, but the sooner he knocks out Aventurine to reset his mind, the sooner Aventurine can wake up from his mind control and make sure Ratio is okay.

            Things go fuzzier for a bit despite Aventurine’s best efforts to stay focused. The next thing he knows, Ratio is standing in front of him, wearing a medical mask, gently touching his throat – placing a sedative patch on it, Aventurine knows. Perhaps taking his pulse too, since Ratio seems to be in the habit of doing that. Time seems to slow. Or maybe Ratio is taking a really long time placing the sedative patch. Either way, it feels like a very, very long time before Ratio finally finishes and rises.

            “Alright. Stand up,” he orders Aventurine, and Aventurine feels his body begin to move, to follow Ratio’s order.

            Shame and humiliation swamp Aventurine. He’s been reduced to nothing more than a puppet. He hates Ratio seeing him like this and he hates Ratio being the one pulling his strings. This is so much worse than he expected it would be. Even though he gave Ratio permission to give him orders . . . this is just fucking horrible.

            As Aventurine stands, however, Ratio seems to go green. He covers his mouth with one hand like he thinks he might vomit again and is trying to stave it off. All Aventurine can do is stand there waiting . . . for another degrading order . . . that never comes.

            “Sorry,” Ratio says with a grimace. Then, to Aventurine’s surprise, he crouches slightly and scoops Aventurine up in his arms, as easily as if Aventurine were a child. He shifts Aventurine’s weight slightly, and Aventurine, unable to move, ends up with his cheek pressed against Ratio’s chest. Then Ratio begins to walk with him – to carry him back to their apartment.

            Aventurine’s eyes sting with tears. How did Ratio know? How did he know that Aventurine couldn’t bear being ordered about by him? Even sick, he’s taking such good care of Aventurine.

            It’s a short walk back to their home. Ratio moves a bit slower than usual, probably on account of not feeling well. Aventurine knows that he shouldn’t enjoy the feeling of being held by him as much as he does, especially right now, now that Ratio is ill . . . but he can’t help it. It just feels so good to be in his arms . . . Their commute is over far too quickly. Only two minutes later, Ratio is lying Aventurine down gently onto his bed.

            “I apologize again,” Ratio tells him. “Even more so if I have made you ill as well. I should have realized sooner. Instead, I denied it until I couldn’t anymore, which naturally occurred at the worst possible time. I . . . I am sorry. That is all I can say. Please rest for now. I think that I need to do the same.”

            Yes. Go rest, Aventurine thinks at his dear friend. He feels a stab of exasperation when Ratio takes the time to remove Aventurine’s shoes first. Then Ratio unfolds Aventurine’s spare blanket – the one from his go bag, that he put on the shelf after the new bedding he ordered for them arrived. Ratio spreads that blanket out overtop of Aventurine, draping him with warmth. Then, finally, Ratio steps out of Aventurine’s field of vision and Aventurine hears the sound of Ratio’s mattress creaking slightly as Ratio’s weight settles on it.

            Only then does Aventurine allow himself to rest – allow his mind to drift and stop resisting the sedative that’s slowly seeping into his system from the patch on his neck. The sooner he falls asleep, the sooner his mind resets and this damned brainwashing session will end. Then he can return the favor. He can be there for Ratio, now that Ratio needs looking after.

            He awakens three hours later, groggy, but with enough wherewithal not to move until he has taken stock of his situation the best he can without opening his eyes. This time, at least, it does not take him long to realize where he is. The air on space stations is always very dry, and there’s a lingering faint hint of the sundried tomato and caper sauce Aventurine made that morning for the pasta. The duvet beneath him is comfortable, but the fabric is slightly stiff because it’s so new. He’s in his bed, in his and Ratio’s new temporary home.

            That determined, Aventurine opens his eyes and sits up. A glance over at the other bed shows that he is not alone. Ratio is sprawled out on his back, eyes closed, his face slightly flushed. It’s that sight that helps Aventurine remember the afternoon’s events.

            He rises, carefully making sure that his muscles are working the way they’re supposed to, and that dizziness won’t swamp him when he tries to stand. Then he closes the distance between his bed and Ratio’s and reaches out to feel his friend’s forehead.

            Hot. Ratio is running a fever. Aventurine doesn’t know how bad of one. He’s not burning up as badly as Aventurine’s mother was, from the illness that took her, at least. And they have access to the best medicines in the universe. So Aventurine isn’t panicking as he once would have. Diseases don’t automatically mean death in the realms of the gods and evil shaman and the men in black from beyond the sky, but he doesn’t like seeing Ratio like this either way. He needs to do something to help him.

            Just as Aventurine starts to withdraw his hand, Ratio’s shoots up and grabs him by the wrist.

            “Easy,” Aventurine says quickly. “It’s just me.”

            “Oh . . . Gambler . . .” Confusion swirls in Ratio’s glassy cognac and amber eyes. Then he seems to remember. His grip on Aventurine’s wrist slackens then slips away. “My apologies.”

            “You’re sick.” Aventurine knows Ratio does not like people stating the obvious, but this seems like a fact that needs to be acknowledged.

            “Yes. I hope that I have not also infected you.” Ratio grimaces – from a sore throat, Aventurine guesses.

            “I think I’ll probably be okay,” Aventurine tells him. “I’m a Stoneheart. They immunize me against everything that you can immunize a human against. Yay for getting stabbed by tiny knives every other month.”

            “Even so, you should . . . should wear a mask.” Talking clearly takes a toll on Ratio. Just the few sentences that he’s spoken so far seems to have exhausted him. He closes his eyes, but his breathing doesn’t change – so, still awake, just conserving his energy.

            “I’ll find one, if it makes you feel better,” Aventurine promises. “You just rest for now. Can I get you anything?”

            Ratio gives a grunt that Aventurine takes to be a negative. Which means absolutely nothing to him, because of course Aventurine is going to find something to give him to help the situation.

            He starts with his blanket – the one from his go bag that Ratio previously draped over him. It’s a really good blanket, and a marvel of modern engineering. Thin as a bedsheet, soft as silk, and somehow keeps you cool in hot weather, but warms you up in cold weather. Perfect for any situation, especially this one, since Ratio just flopped down on top of his bed and didn’t bother getting under the covers. Aventurine covers his friend with his blanket. Then he folds one edge of the duvet that Ratio is lying on overtop of both him and the blanket, and the other edge over that one, so he’s rolled up like a wrap sandwich. Ratio voices no objections, which is more testament to how bad he’s feeling than anything he might say.

            So, Aventurine gives him some space while he goes and finds something else to do for him. Fluids. Aventurine knows those are key to recovering from illnesses of all sorts. He remembers praying for rain, back on Signonia whenever someone from his tribe was ill. Their family members would come to him because more often than not, Kakavasha’s prayers were answered. They wouldn’t be answered now, he knows – there’s no rain in space, and this whole little scientific city is enclosed in metal, so essentially they’re in a building. A building with running water and a Med Department, and a million other amenities besides.

            He brings Ratio a bottle of water, nice and cool from the fridge to start with, and leaves it on the nightstand with a bottle of fever reduction pills from his go bag. He lets Ratio know that both are there but doesn’t press him to take either one right now. For all he knows, Ratio may have already taken some medicine, and he’s only just gotten bundled up in warm blankets, so Aventurine can understand him not wanting to sit up immediately. Aventurine then heads back to the kitchen to make some tea. Once that’s done, and poured into a heat retaining thermos, so that it will still be hot if Ratio wants it anytime within the next twelve hours, he returns to the bedroom and is pleased to find the bottle of fever reduction pills moved from where he originally placed it, and a quarter of the water bottle drained.

            “There’s tea here, if you want it. It’s in a thermos, so there’s no rush to drink it while it’s hot. I’m going to make some soup for dinner, but if you’d rather have something else, let me know. We don’t have a ton of ingredients here, but I’ll see what I can do.”

            “Many thanks.” Ratio’s reply is muffled and he doesn’t sit up or roll over to look at Aventurine. That’s fine though. Aventurine would rather he be comfortable . . . and would rather him not see that Aventurine neglected to find a medical mask, as per Ratio’s wishes. He doesn’t have any in his own stuff. There’s probably extras in Ratio’s bag, but Aventurine’s not about to go through his luggage, with or without permission. He hums, then heads back to the main area of their apartment to get started on the aforementioned soup.

            There’s nothing difficult about making miso soup. Aventurine keeps a jar of Izumo Miso handy in his kitchen at home for that reason too. He boils some rice to go with it, so the meal will be more filling, but when he checks on Ratio to see if he’s up for food, he finds the good doctor is asleep.

            Probably for the best, Aventurine thinks. There’s not much else he can do for Ratio now, unfortunately. He likely needs sleep more than food, and even if he has no appetite while he’s sick, Ratio is rational enough to eat at regular enough intervals so that he won’t weaken. So, Aventurine heads back to the kitchen again and covers Ratio’s dinner. He fills a bowl with leftover pasta for himself and eats at the table, honestly glad for a little bit of alone time.

            Having his programming activated again felt horrible. And Ratio is going to have to activate it again. And again, and again. That’s how experiments work, Aventurine knows. That’s what he signed up for and that’s how he’s going to beat this. Just because he wasn’t able to break free of the mind control this time, in the few minutes that he had, doesn’t mean that he won’t be able to with more time and practice. He will be free of this. With Ratio on his side, there’s no doubt in Aventurine’s mind that they’ll succeed.

            He’s just very not looking forward to everything that’s going to happen in between.

            He checks on Ratio again once he’s finished eating. Ratio is still sleeping, but he must have woken briefly because the level of water in the bottle is lower than it was when Aventurine was last in here. Aventurine swaps it for another bottle, fresh from the refrigerator, so Ratio will have cool water when next he takes a drink. He puts the half empty one in the freezer, for now.

            Then, Aventurine heads out to take care of the task he was putting off. Cleaning out the waste basket in their workroom. The task itself, he doesn’t mind so much – he’s lived in filth, chained and caged, been covered in blood, and guts, and on a few memorable occasions, the gray matter of his enemies, so cleaning up a little bit of vomit doesn’t bother him at all. It’s going back into that room that puts his nerves on edge.

            He spends as little time in there as possible – grabs the waste basket, checks to make sure there’s nothing else that needs cleaning, then hurries back into the hall. As soon as he’s back in the hallway he feels so much better, it’s insane. Ratio definitely knew what he was doing when he set up their research – picking a room to contain it to, so they could compartmentalize better. Once he’s finished washing out the trash can, Aventurine leaves it in the hallway outside the workroom door, rather than going back in.

            Then . . . he can’t really think of anything to do. At least anything that he wants to do. Sure, there’s always office work he can do remotely, but he’s on vacation, and he doesn’t feel like it. There’s no more cooking or meal prep that needs to be done – he’s going to be eating pasta for the rest of the week, since he was counting on Ratio’s help to eat all that he made. Making meals for Ratio in advance isn’t a good idea right now, since there’s no telling when he’ll be hungry or what will sound good to him when he is. There’s no furniture to assemble, nothing else that needs cleaning. There’s not even laundry to do since the space station has a laundry service for its residents, and today is neither drop off nor pick up day.

            So, with no necessary tasks to complete, Aventurine decides to take a walk – which might sound strange considering he’s on a space station, and there’s no outside to go to, but the Distribution Center is pretty, and has a great view of the stars. He doesn’t end up making it there, however. A wandering snack blocks his path on the stairs, and the next thing he knows, Aventurine is sitting on those stairs instead of climbing them, a cat cake in his lap, purring contentedly.

            It’s nice, holding a small, soft creature like this. It’s soothing. Today sucked, but somehow having this animal being affectionate toward him, and accepting affection in turn makes things feel so much better. So, Aventurine forgoes his walk in favor of petting the cat cake. As he sits there, his thoughts drift.

            The day’s events are the last thing Aventurine wants to think about, but he finds his mind settling on memories of Ratio carrying him. How nice it felt to be in his arms. The way Ratio felt both strong and gentle. How warm his chest was against Aventurine’s cheek . . . though that was probably, in large part, due to him having a fever, so Aventurine probably shouldn’t be remembering that fondly. Not that he should be remembering any of this fondly. But those few minutes in Ratio’s arms . . . those were the bright point of this bad day, and Aventurine just . . .

            Aventurine is just confused.

            He does know that it’s a bad idea to dwell on that memory too much. He knows where it’s going to lead. To be honest, he’s known for a while. Even though he’s never really been in love before, the way Ratio makes him feel checks off all the boxes. At least according to the shows Aventurine’s watched and the books he’s read – and since those have taught him pretty much everything else he’s needed to navigate the cruel, bizarre world beyond the skies of Sigonia, he has no reason to think that they’re steering him wrong now.

            If he’s not careful, he’s going to fall in love with Ratio.

            And Aventurine knows that won’t end well.

            So, he tries not to think about it, once he realizes what he’s doing. What he has now with Ratio is enough. It’s more than most people will ever get. After all, how many other people would Ratio drop everything for, potentially for months, just because they needed his help? Ratio barely gives the time of day to most people. He’s notoriously difficult to get along with – before Aventurine came along, he went through work partners at the IPC at an alarming rate. That was a trait that Aventurine himself shared. People must have thought it was a big joke, making the two of them work together, but Aventurine and Ratio got the last laugh, as well as stellar results on their operation together. Somehow, during the course of it, Aventurine didn’t scare Ratio off, and Ratio didn’t write Aventurine off. One team up led to another, then another . . . and somehow, over time, they became partners, then friends.

            It’s tempting . . . so very tempting to try to take another step. Aventurine knows that most romantic relationships end in failure, and the risk pulls at him, making the gamble all the more appealing. He wants to bet on him and Ratio making it, being that rare couple that stays together, that works, that ends up being in it until the end . . . but . . . he just can’t.

            For one thing, there’s no guarantee Ratio feels the same way about Aventurine, or that he ever will. If he doesn’t, things will be awkward forever after, and maybe even fall apart without a horrible breakup. For another, even if Ratio does reciprocate his feelings, when Aventurine screws it up, as he’s sure he would, then he’ll be left with less than nothing. To risk damaging his relationship with the one person who he trusts implicitly . . . well, there are some risks that even Aventurine realizes that he can’t afford to take. Losing Ratio would be like losing a chunk of his soul, and after pawning off so many pieces of it already just to keep himself alive, Aventurine doesn’t think he could survive that.

            A sigh escapes his lips but gets lost in the woosh of their apartment door opening, and despite everything, Aventurine can’t help but smile as Ratio steps out.

            “Hey. Feeling better?”

            Ratio turns toward him slowly. It seems like he has trouble focusing on Aventurine, but his eyes aren’t as feverish as they were when last Aventurine saw them open. “Thanks to your fever suppressants. Though you really should not have those in your possession.”

            Aventurine blinks. “Why not?”

            “Because they are a controlled substance, gambler.”

            Aventurine lifts the cat cake out of his lap and sets it aside so that he can stand. “Huh. No one told me that. I’ve never actually used them, though. The SID Med Department puts together our med kits, so I just assumed they were high end but standard medicine.”

            “High end is putting it mildly,” Ratio tells him. “That bottle costs more than I make in a year. If I’d thought better of it at the time, I wouldn’t have taken one.”

            “Well, I’m glad you did,” Aventurine says. “You look like you’re feeling better, which is what matters to me. I don’t care about the cost.”

            Ratio closes his eyes for a moment. “I did not mean to seem ungrateful.”

            “Don’t worry, you didn’t.” Aventurine hurries down the stairs to stand closer to him. He’s right in front of Ratio when he opens his eyes again.

            “Ah – I forgot to remove the electrodes,” Ratio realizes.

            “What? Oh.” Aventurine belatedly remembers the tiny metal beads Ratio stuck to his temples earlier that day. He starts to lift his hands, intending to peel them off, but stops when he sees Ratio reach out to do that same task.

            “How are you feeling?” Ratio asks as he carefully moves aside several strands of Aventurine’s hair so that he can detach the electrodes from his temples. “Any ill effects from . . . today?”

            “None that I can tell,” Aventurine answers honestly.

            “No headache or nausea?”

            “None.”

            “Good. I’m glad. I don’t wish to cause you any more discomfort than I must during this research project.”

            “I know. But I’m more worried about you right now,” Aventurine tells him. “Are you hungry? Did you see what I made you for dinner? Would you rather have something else? I can make eggs, or instant comfort food, or another type of soup if you prefer?”

            Ratio looks slightly green at the mention of food and shakes his head. “Thank you, but I don’t seem to have any appetite right now. I need to use the restroom, and was thinking of showering while I was there.”

            “I’ll go with you. My turn to make sure you don’t fall on the way there or back. Just let me grab my stuff.” Aventurine sees, now that he’s looking, that Ratio has his pajamas and towel folded under one arm.

            He carefully steps around his friend and hurries into their apartment to grab what he’ll need for a shower. It doesn’t take long since he doesn’t need much – just his pajamas and his towel, like Ratio. Since they’re the only two people in the Seclusion Zone, they’ve started leaving things like soap, shampoo, and their washcloths in the locker room.

            Ratio is on his phone when Aventurine comes back out, less than a minute later. The look on his face is grim, letting Aventurine know that he’s just received bad news.

            “What’s wrong?” he asks, worried that something’s come up and Ratio’s being called into the Intelligentsia Guild for work while he’s sick.

            “Lead Researcher Asta just messaged me with a warning that comes a bit too late,” Ratio tells him. “Several cases of burning star fever have been reported on the space station, including amongst the Med Department’s staff. My symptoms, I’m afraid, are a match.”

            For a moment, Aventurine is swamped with dread. Memories rush back – memories of being caged during an outbreak and watching his fellow slaves die slowly as fever cooked their brains. Huddling in a corner, as far away from the corpses as he could get. Wondering how long it would be before it infected him.

            Those dark memories are quickly chased by anger. The knowledge that he’s gained since leaves him simmering with fury. Because burning star fever is very, very treatable. Any fever suppressant will do. The poor make do with just a few doses of them, used when their fever is at its worst. Hell, it can even be survived with the right herbs or tea if you’re on a planet where something like ginger or willow trees can grow. The hell that Aventurine lived through was because those miserly maze masters couldn’t be bothered to treat their slaves.

            At the time, Aventurine assumed that he’d managed to avoid catching it because of pure dumb luck. Now, he thinks that amongst all the shots that the Jacobin researchers gave him when they first got their hands on him, he may have been administered a vaccine for burning star fever. He’s definitely been vaccinated against it since, and given regular boosters.

            More importantly, Ratio has definitely been vaccinated against it. He probably just hasn’t kept his boosters up to date, but having been immunized against it in the past should make the case he’s come down with now milder. And they have fever suppressants. Really good ones, apparently, courtesy of the Strategic Investment Department. Aventurine can think of no better or more strategic investment than giving those pills to Ratio now. Suddenly, he doesn’t hate his job nearly as much as he did before, and the years spent selling off scraps of his soul all seem worth it.

            “You’re going to be okay,” Aventurine tells Ratio. “We’ve got the pills from my kit. With those, and fluids, and plenty of rest, you’ll be just fine.”

            “Indeed,” Ratio agrees, looking wearily amused.

            “And if that’s not enough, you’ll still be okay. The Med Department’s just a short walk away. And if their facilities aren’t adequate, I’ll charter a shuttle back to Pier Point. The hospitals there –”

            “I will be okay, gambler,” Ratio interrupts him. “Burning star fever is a minor, if inconvenient ailment, so long as it’s treated.”

            “Yeah. I know. You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

            Something flickers through Ratio’s eyes. Then he nods. “I don’t doubt that. And in the unlikely event that my condition takes a turn for the worse, I shall depend on you.”

            Then Ratio smiles behind his mask. Aventurine can tell by the way his eyes brighten. Most people wouldn’t have recognized that, Ratio smiles so rarely, but Aventurine knows him well. It seems impossible that his eyes could get any more beautiful, but when he’s pleased, it always happens.

            It makes Aventurine’s heart somersault in his chest, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he gives Ratio a slight smile in return, then follows his friend when he starts down the stairs.

            It’s his turn to take care of Ratio, and Aventurine won’t let anything get in his way – especially not his own selfish desires.

Chapter Text

            Burning star fever is a peculiar disease. It lasts exactly one week from the day that symptoms first appear, and the order of how they occur is uncannily precise. Its clockwork-like nature suggests less than natural origins, but despite the Intelligentsia Guild’s best efforts, no proof of it being an engineered disease has ever been found.

            The first twenty-four hours, the subject is plagued by a mid-grade fever, nausea, loss of appetite, and Ratio’s least favorite of its symptoms: vomiting. Thankfully, vomiting only occurs that first day. The nausea and loss of appetite persists, however, and the fever grows higher and higher. It’s not horrible for the first three days, but on the fourth day it begins spiking dangerously. Without fever suppressants the fifth day is hell and hallucinations set in – assuming the subject hasn’t already died. Because by that point, severe dehydration is a problem if the patient has not been forcing themselves to drink fluids, and after four days with no appetite with one’s body being racked by the fever, victims of the disease can be severely weakened – but again, only without fever suppressants. Or anyone to nag them into eating and drinking. Those who have both are almost never in danger. The fever peaks on the sixth day, then finally breaks on the seventh day and lingers as a low-grade fever, but after twenty-four hours it’s completely gone.

            Ratio, for the record, does not intend to let things get to the point where Aventurine will need to worry about him. However little appetite he may have, or however much he doesn’t feel like drinking, he knows better than to be negligent. In his medical kit, he carries several different medications that will sufficiently lower his fever. They might not be as effective as the ones Aventurine has, but they are far more cost efficient and far less extreme. Ratio resolves to only use the ones Aventurine carries again on the sixth day, and only then because he doesn’t want Aventurine to fret too much. His gambler won’t be happy, but the Strategic Investment Department’s fever suppressants are best saved for emergencies.

            It occurs to Ratio that he should probably take a look at what other medications Aventurine is casually carrying around, courtesy of the Stonehearts’ suppliers. While his IPC rank makes it legal for him to possess and even distribute most controlled substances, the dangers of such drugs are not erased. Addiction and side effects do not particularly care if one is P5 or P45, and Ratio does not want Aventurine to harm himself or end up a slave to substance abuse because of his ignorance.

            That, however, can wait until Ratio is no longer ill. He wants to have a completely clear head when he broaches that conversation with the gambler.

            The first night after symptoms appear he showers then changes into his pajamas. The walk from their living quarters to the locker room is a bit long at the best of times. Tonight he feels tired and achy after making it back home despite the medication that he’s on. He is not looking forward to having to traverse that distance every time he needs to use the restroom in the coming days, but there’s no help for it, so he tries not to think about it.

            While his head is still relatively clear he gets on his tablet and takes a more official leave of absence than the one he is currently on. He’s been doing work for Screwlum, helping out with his Divergent Universe project in the evenings, or answering questions that his colleagues in the Intelligentsia Guild might have when he has spare moments. He alerts them all to the fact that he will be unavailable for a full week, while his burning star fever clears up.

            Then, because Aventurine is staring at him with big eyes, Ratio has dinner. The miso soup and rice that Aventurine prepared for him are more appealing than most foods would be, even if Ratio has no appetite. He retires to his bed once he finishes eating, and to his surprise, and mild amusement, Aventurine follows him there, tucks him in, then begins piling blankets on top of him. Not just the dark blue duvet he bought for Ratio, but that miraculously warm blanket from his go bag, and the peacock green duvet that he bought for his own bed.

            “I have more blankets on order,” Aventurine tells him. “And some other things to help make you more comfortable. Like a space heater. And some really warm, fluffy socks. You’ll love those. I found some that are blue and have little ducks on them for you.”

            “Your attentiveness is appreciated, gambler, but please don’t feel you need to –”

            “It’s my turn to take care of you,” Aventurine says firmly, “and I have plenty of money. I can’t think of a better use for it than this.”

            There’s a grimness in his beautiful, hypnotic eyes that’s been there ever since Ratio informed him that this was burning star fever. It doesn’t take a card-carrying member of the Super Smart Club to deduce that this disease has had a negative impact on Aventurine’s life in some way. Ratio is not sure if he should ask exactly how, or if this is a topic that he should leave alone. He’s never been good at interacting with other people, and this . . . this is clearly a sensitive, and very possibly a charged topic for Aventurine.

            Aventurine is so smart and savvy, and blends into intergalactic society so well that Ratio often forgets where he came from. No one would look at him and realize that he grew up impoverished, with no access to medical care. Burning star fever would likely have been a death sentence to any in his tribe who caught it – or possibly to any Sigonian who caught it, unless the IPC provided aid. Cold comfort that, considering that burning star fever likely didn’t exist on Sigonia before the IPC decided to extract from that planet and its people, and brought it there.

            Most likely Aventurine is more worried than he is letting on, and though Ratio would be lying if he said that he wasn’t touched by his friend’s concern he has no desire to cause him distress. It is that, more than anything else, that makes him resolve to be a good patient. To miss no meals, to stay well hydrated, and even possibly to take some of Aventurine’s fever suppressants before the sixth day of this disease, when his fever reaches its apex. Most of that is much easier said than done, Ratio knows, but still he endeavors to try.

            His resolve is tested the very next day when he wakes up. A glance at his phone shows him that he slept through the entire night and all morning. It’s just past noon and Aventurine is right there as soon as he sits up, with a cold bottle of water and fever medication. Ratio turns down the gambler’s pills in favor of his own, from his med bag, and forces himself to drink a quarter of the bottle of water. He takes a trip to the restroom, alone, after managing to convince Aventurine that he will be fine, that the disease is still in its early stages so his condition is not yet too bad. When he returns to their living quarters, it’s to find Aventurine making him toast and scrambled eggs.

            “Hungry?” Aventurine asks, looking innocent and hopeful. Ratio knows him too well to be fooled. Aventurine knew exactly what he was doing when he made a whole meal in the few minutes while Ratio was gone, and is counting on Ratio being too polite to turn down his cooking.

            “I wish I could say I was,” Ratio says, but takes a seat at the table all the same. “I shall endeavor to eat anyway.”

            Aventurine gives a soft smile that makes the effort that Ratio is about to put into choking the food down feel worth it in advance. Ratio is grateful, as he sets to the task, that Aventurine had the foresight to make him something that is easy on the stomach, with simpler flavors.

            “What can I get you to drink? Coffee? Tea? Juice or soda?” Aventurine asks. “I like soda when I’m sick. I know it’s not the healthiest thing, but it makes me feel a little better. Something about the bubbles, I think.”

            “Many people do find the carbonation refreshing,” Ratio informs him. “Especially if they are experiencing congestion. And different ingredients in the different sodas can aid in treating various symptoms. Ginger, for example . . . and on some worlds, certain sodas are known to contain the plant that is the active ingredient in cocaine.”

            “What? Really?” Aventurine looks more interested in that than Ratio would prefer. He hopes that is just because of the illicitness of the idea, not because the gambler has any real interest in cocaine.

            “Remind me to tell you about it in further detail when my head is clear,” Ratio says. Then he can properly impress upon Aventurine exactly why addictive drugs are so dangerous.

            “Will do. But in the meantime, do you want a soda? Or . . . ?”

            “Tea, please,” Ratio requests. He would actually prefer coffee, but he hopes to go back to sleep after he finishes eating. The less time spent conscious while he’s in the grip of this disease, the better, in his opinion.

            Aventurine obliges and makes him another cup of the honey citron tea from yesterday. Then he sits down and pretends to be doing something on his phone. Pretends he’s not watching Ratio, monitoring his condition and waiting for him to need something.

            Ratio eats his entire breakfast, even though each mouthful is more difficult than the last, and he thinks about throwing in the towel every bite after the halfway mark. He knows that he needs to keep up his strength, and he also knows that doctors tend to make the worst patients. He wants to make things as easy on Aventurine as he can. While the gambler’s hovering is almost cute, it wears on Ratio’s conscience to see him worried and know that he himself is the cause. He drinks the entire cup of tea and is ready to go back to bed, but his responsibilities stop him.

            “How are you feeling?” he asks Aventurine. “Any symptoms of illness yourself?”

            “None,” Aventurine tells him. “I feel perfectly fine. No fever or loss of appetite. Seems like my vaccinations are working.”

            “Good. I would feel guilty if I infected you.”

            “Try not to, if it happens,” Aventurine says. “But hopefully it won’t happen.”

            “Hopefully. As for our research . . . I apologize for ending things as I did.”

            “Not your fault, Ratio.”

            “I know. I simply . . . We will talk about it more when we resume. But we made good progress. Excellent progress, even. Despite my impatience and my foul mood, we did in one day what I allotted us several weeks to accomplish. Little cause for celebration, of course, considering how unpleasant it was for you, and for that I am truly sorry. I hope that the fact that we did make progress helps to balance it out for you.”

            “It does. And though I don’t really want to talk about it when we’re not in the workroom, I do really, really appreciate what you did for me,” Aventurine tells him. “I . . . I really hated being given orders in that state. You carrying me back home . . . It was . . . I mean . . . Thank you. I really, really appreciate that. How did you know, though? Could you see it in my eyes?”

            “Ah.” Ratio gives his head a slight shake. “Apologies, but I didn’t know. I just . . . couldn’t stomach giving you orders that you had no choice but to obey. I was hoping that the indignity of being carried was not too insufferable for you.”

            “Better than the alternative,” Aventurine says, and suddenly looks about a million miles away. “I hate being a helpless puppet.”

            “You would prefer then, going forward, that I carry you back to our living quarters rather than give you an order to return to them?” Ratio asks, and is relieved when Aventurine nods. “Then I shall do that from now on.”

            “Thank you, Ratio.”

            “Of course.”

            Then something peculiar happens. As Ratio contemplates the prospect of carrying Aventurine out of the workroom going forth, his heartbeat changes so that it’s erratic, fluttery even, and his stomach gives an almost pleasurable squirm. These . . . don’t feel unpleasant. Not like burning star fever’s other symptoms. When Ratio tries to focus on them, to catalog them, they actually seem to disappear. Yet when he turns his thoughts back to the idea of carrying Aventurine again, holding his much smaller body close, cradled against his chest . . .

            Oh.

            Ratio closes his eyes.

            “Ratio? Are you alright?”

            “Quite.”

            “Your face . . . it’s turning red. What do you need? What can I do?”

            “It’s . . . nothing. I simply . . . I think I ate more than was wise, considering I’m still within the first twenty-four hours of this disease. I should have taken that into account. It’s not your fault of course –”

            “What? I don’t understand. What did I do?” Aventurine sounds alarmed, and much closer.

            “No, no, nothing,” Ratio says frantically and opens his eyes to find Aventurine right in front of him. He needs to pull himself together if he’s going to lie to the gambler. “I – the first twenty-four hours . . . vomiting is still a symptom. I am trying . . . not to lose my breakfast.”

            “I fed you too much? I’m so sorry –”

            “No, gambler, no. It was my own . . . ugh.” Ratio grimaces as nausea swamps him. If he’s not careful he is accidentally going to make the lie come true. “Please give me a moment . . .”

            “Right. Of course. No need to say more to me, just . . . focus or whatever you need to do. I’ve got a bucket, if you need to be sick.” There’s a tap on the table in front of Ratio. Something, presumably the bucket, being set down. “Right. Standing back now so I’m not crowding you, and shutting up so you can focus.”

            Ratio keeps his eyes shut and tries to still both his stomach and his racing thoughts. Easier said than done on both accounts . . . but he manages. His stomach settles . . . and then he allows himself to think about what he just realized – how carrying Aventurine makes him feel. How Aventurine himself makes him feel.

            He wasn’t able to dwell on it much yesterday. The thoughts he’d been able to spare on the matter mainly concerned how Aventurine would not like what he was doing at all. Being wrong on that account and being asked to carry Aventurine again took him by surprise.

            Because Ratio now realizes that not only does he not mind . . . he actually wants to.

            In another situation, Ratio might not be bothered by that fact. Ratio is well aware of the fact that he is a complicated, difficult man. His personality clashes with nearly everyone’s, he is impatient, not very affectionate, and he feels the need to challenge all that is mundane and inefficient. In short, he is a terrible romantic partner. He has tried . . . more than once. But it has never worked out. If it wasn’t his abrasive nature that drove past paramours away, it was their insistence that he change for them in far more ways that Ratio could change and still be himself. It has been years since Ratio last attempted a relationship. He has resigned himself to long term romance not being for him. But Aventurine . . .

            In some ways, Aventurine just makes sense. Or at least, it very much makes sense that Ratio might begin to develop feelings for him.

            Ratio has never before had a long-term work partner. No one else at either the IPC or the Intelligentsia Guild has ever been able to tolerate working with him for more than a few months, nor has he been able to endure them. Yet he and Aventurine have teamed up repeatedly for years now, and now work together almost exclusively. On occasion they clash, but in ways that complement each other, and make one another better, brighter. Though at times Ratio can barely stomach the things that Aventurine teaches him and opens his eyes to, Ratio is most definitely a wiser, less naïve man for having learned them. He in turn manages to temper the more destructive of Aventurine’s urges, or so he would like to think. They have become friends despite everything that might have stood in the way of that.

            They might very well be happy as more than friends.

            But right now Ratio is Aventurine’s doctor. Not in an official sense, but that only makes it worse from an ethics standpoint.

            To put it simply, Ratio is essentially running a secret, off books research project aimed at removing Aventurine’s neural reprogramming so that he can never again be enslaved by the mind control that was embedded in him as a child. And to do that, he is going to need to activate said mind control repeatedly.

            He can scarcely believe that Aventurine took him up on his offer to aid him because Aventurine doesn’t trust people like that. After everything he’s been through, Ratio wouldn’t blame him if he never trusted another being again. Yet Aventurine trusts him. Aventurine wants his help. And Aventurine has given him complete access to and control over his mind. For Ratio to attempt to pursue a relationship with him . . . That would be a mile-wide morality issue. One that Ratio cannot, will not subject Aventurine to. Because even if Aventurine was receptive to the idea . . . there could be a part of him that might feel like it was the price of Ratio’s help. Like he didn’t have a choice.

            Ratio never wants to make Aventurine feel that way.

            So, he does his utmost to shove his errant thoughts, the what ifs, his hormones, and the feverish haze that insists it might be a good idea aside, and refuses to contemplate any of it until after he has cured Aventurine of what Project Mind Shackle did to him. Long after that. Long enough that Aventurine will no longer feel indebted to him, because in their line of work things tend to balance themselves out. At the absolute very least, Ratio will not think about this any further while he is ill.

            Or so he tells himself.

            Then, something cool presses against his brow and Ratio opens his eyes to find Aventurine standing before him, wiping his face with a wet washcloth.

            “Gambler . . .”

            “You’re sweating,” Aventurine tells him, his voice full of concern. He wipes down both sides of Ratio’s face and then swabs the cloth over his brow again, and Ratio has to stop himself from leaning into it, it feels so nice. “Are you okay?”

            “Yes. I . . . my stomach has settled. I am as well as I can be. In a few hours, vomiting should no longer be a concern.”

            “Then let’s get you back to bed,” Aventurine says gently. “Sleep will make time pass faster. And hopefully help you keep your breakfast down.”

            He’s there to help Ratio balance when Ratio stands . . . and maybe Ratio doesn’t strictly need his aid . . . but it’s nice to have all the same. It’s nice to feel him there, warm, and caring, and steady.

            Then, back in bed, bundled up by Aventurine once more with all three blankets, and with the cool washcloth placed on his forehead to sooth him as he falls back to sleep, it occurs to Ratio just how long it’s been since anyone has taken care of him like this. His final thought before he drifts off is that it’s no wonder he nearly fell for Aventurine.

It’s funny because Ratio thinks it’s true. :P

Updates to this fic might not be regular for the next few weeks. I have a couple doctor appointments and a dentist appointment coming up, and I am trying to get some job interviews lined up, all of which will eat into my writing time. ^^; 

Chapter Text

            Aventurine’s phone buzzes shortly after Ratio falls back to sleep. He frowns at the unknown number until he opens the message and sees it’s from Asta.

            Good afternoon, Mr. Aventurine. I got your number from Topaz. I hope that you don’t mind. I just wanted to check on you and Dr. Ratio, and make sure you have everything you need. Is Dr. Ratio doing okay? And are you still well? Or showing signs of coming down with it yourself?

            Aventurine quickly types a response. Thank you for your concern, Lead Researcher Asta – and no need to tack on a “Mr.” to my name. Or worrying about getting my number from Topaz. We’re all friends here. I remain in good health. Ratio’s condition is as expected. But he is drinking and had breakfast, and has so far kept it down. He took some fever medicine with breakfast and is sleeping now.

            There’s no need for you to use my title either then, since we’re friends, Asta replies and includes a cute emoji of the Astral Express’s conductor. I’m glad Dr. Ratio is getting some rest. I did try messaging him first. I hope I didn’t wake him.

            Aventurine takes a peek into the bedroom – and their home does essentially have two rooms now, thanks to the bookshelves Aventurine bought partitioning off the sleeping area.

            Nah, he’s sleeping soundly, he types to Asta.

            Good! I hope that the case he’s contracted is mild and that you remain symptom-free yourself. If there’s anything that either of you two need, please don’t hesitate to let me know.

            Thank you. I think we’re good at the moment. I do have some more packages on the way, however. I assume it’s okay for me to pick them up so long as I have no symptoms?

            Certainly, is Asta’s response. We are rolling out burning star fever boosters for all researchers who have let theirs lapse in the main part of the space station. But I assume as a Stoneheart yours is up to date?

            I’d be extremely surprised if it wasn’t. The SID’s medical department keeps us immunized against everything they can. If you need though, I can approve you for access to my vaccination records?

            Part of me wants to say there’s no need for that, but another part of me wants to be perfectly sure. I want you to stay safe and healthy while you’re here.

            Aventurine appreciates her candor – and the fact that she left the decision in his hands. I’ll have them send you the records, just to be sure.

            He’s rewarded with a Pom-Pom heart emoji. And: Once again, don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything you or Dr. Ratio need. And not just this week, as Dr. Ratio recovers. I wish you all the luck and success in the universe with your research.

            Asta then saves Aventurine from having to respond by going offline – a calculated move on her part, no doubt. Aventurine appreciates it.

            Aventurine sits down to have lunch – pasta again, since he made so much yesterday. He had it for breakfast too. He doesn’t think he can finish the entire pound of it by himself before it goes bad, and if he does he’ll probably be sick of it by then. Aventurine takes a moment to contemplate how spoiled he’s gotten – living a life where he has so much food that he can get tired of eating a certain type of it. What a problem to have. Well, either way, the pasta can be frozen. He’ll have it again tomorrow then decide how much to put in the freezer. For dinner, there’s the rest of the quiche.

            After lunch he checks on Ratio again and finds his friend sleeping fitfully. Aventurine gets another cloth and washes his face again. He’s sweating quite a bit, but Aventurine thinks that’s a good thing. It means he has enough fluids to be sweating. The other slaves he saw die during that outbreak never sweated.

            Ratio mutters slightly in his sleep as Aventurine cleans his face. He leans slightly into Aventurine’s touch. Or more accurately, into the cool touch of the washcloth. Either way, it makes Aventurine’s heart clench a little. What would it be like to cup Ratio’s face with his bare hand and have Ratio lean affectionately into it?

            Aventurine cuts off that line of thinking as soon as he realizes what he’s doing and heads back into the main room of their apartment. Lusting after his sick friend is not appropriate and will only end with him feeling emptier than he did before he started. To make himself useful, and make it up to Ratio, Aventurine pulls out the half bottle of water that he put in the freezer yesterday, fills it up the rest of the way with water from another chilled bottle from the fridge, then takes it to leave at Ratio’s bedside. The ice should keep it cold for hours for him, and people from worlds with refrigerators tend to find cool water easier to drink than room temperature water. Aventurine’s still not sure why, but he’s seen enough evidence of it to accept it as true. He’ll use whatever tricks he can to get Ratio to drink more now. His friend is going to need it.

            For a while after that, he looks for ways to make himself useful around their apartment. He refills the clean water holding tank in their sink and empties the used water holding tank in the greenhouse. He does a bit of cleaning. He resists the urge to go play with the cat cakes because he wants to be on hand if Ratio needs him, close enough to hear Ratio calling for him. The only time he leaves the apartment for more than a few minutes is when he receives a message about the packages he ordered arriving. There are quite a few of them and some of them are pretty big. Aventurine needs to make several trips. Two of his packages require him to use a cart to move them. He checks on Ratio each time he returns from the main part of the space station. As he’s finishing up his final trip back to the Seclusion Zone his phone beeps again. This time it’s Topaz.

            Asta asked me for your number. Why is Asta asking me for your number? You’re not doing anything weird, are you?

            No doubt she meant to send it at the time Asta asked, but prioritized giving Asta the information she was after, then got to distracted by whatever fifty tasks are at the top of her queue and failed to give Aventurine a heads up. No matter.

            He smirks as he types a reply. Depends. Does telling her about all the embarrassing things you do count as weird?

            Aventurine! You better not!

            Aventurine sends back one of his custom emojis and imagines the look of dismay on her face as she receives it. Then, before she can throw a tantrum, he decides to placate her.

            I’m sure you’ve heard I’m currently based on Herta Space Station with Ratio. Sadly, the good doctor has come down with burning star fever. Asta just wanted to check up on him and he was not answering his phone.

            Aww. That’s too bad for Dr. Ratio. But that’s also why you keep your vaccinations up to date. It’s terrible having to miss work. I feel bad for him.

            There’s a lot Aventurine could say to that. He settles for simply, Me too. He assumes then that the conversation is over, because Topaz severely limits herself when it comes to non-work-related communications, and there’s really not much more to say. He pockets his phone then frowns, confused when it buzzes again, and fishes it back out.

            Just a heads up, I think you’re being called back to Pier Point for a meeting with the diplomats from Chelsee-II. Apparently they don’t want to do business with anyone but you, and their accounts with us are sizable enough that they can make a few demands.

            Aventurine scowls. How soon?

            Not sure. I’ll try to buy you a few days. If we lie and say you’re on the other side of the galaxy we can maybe get you a week.

            Please do.

            If Aventurine leaves the space station while Ratio’s still sick, Asta might make him relocate to the Medical Department until he’s recovered. Ratio would hate that. He would be safe and have access to excellent care, but he wouldn’t be happy, and his happiness matters to Aventurine. So long as Aventurine can make sure he’s staying hydrated and monitor his temperature, Aventurine would much rather have him recovering here, in their home.

            That does give him an idea though . . . Aventurine and Ratio both have apartments back on Pier Point. Neither of them planned for a long term stay on Herta Space Station, though Aventurine had one of his go bags delivered here, and Ratio had some luggage on the Astral Express since he was on vacation. Either way, they’re packed for a short trip rather than for settling in. A quick trip to Pier Point could let them both collect what they need for staying on the space station for a while. More clothes and shoes, full sized bottles and bars of shampoo and soap instead of the travel sized ones they’ve been using, whatever is in their pantries that needs to be used up in the next few months . . . Aventurine is more than happy to buy all new things for Ratio and himself, but Ratio has always been loath to make Aventurine pay for anything for him. Besides, it will be nice to have their own clothes, their own things. And Aventurine hates wasting food. He’s good about not leaving things that will go really bad in his apartment when he heads off on trips, but who knows what sort of state Ratio left his kitchen in?

            It’s a little early to bring it up to Ratio. Aventurine decides to wait and see how things shake out with the timetable. He may have to head back to Pier Point by himself in just a couple days, but if Topaz manages to buy him a week, Ratio should be over his burning star fever. He’ll be recovering, but traveling on a private Strategic Investment Department shuttle shouldn’t be too taxing for him. Aventurine will have a driver take him home and be on hand to carry anything Ratio needs help with to the car, then he can crash at Aventurine’s place until it’s time to come back to the space station. They shouldn’t be there more than a day or two, and Ratio can spend as much time sleeping or resting as he wants.

            As long as Topaz can get him a full week. Which she probably will. She tries very hard where anything involving Ratio is concerned. Aventurine knows she’s made a few attempts at poaching him in the past. The most she’s managed to get from the good doctor is a bit of remote consulting. In the past, it’s annoyed Aventurine to no end, but it benefits him now. More than anything, Aventurine really, really doesn’t want to leave Ratio while he’s sick.

            As burning star fever closes its grip around Ratio, he’s reminded exactly why he abhors being sick. For when next he awakens, the afternoon and the better part of the evening have passed. Just like that, a whole day wasted, and Ratio has nothing to show for it. He is not even well rested after so much sleep, thanks to this blasted illness.

            He removes the washcloth that his gambler must have left on his forehead as he slumbered and sits up – and doing so triggers a motion sensor light that was not there before. It banishes the darkness that probably helped Ratio stay under for so long and shows him several other new additions to the nightstand.

            There is a wooden tray, which does wonders for making the collection of items look organized. In it, there is a bottle of water, sitting upon a washcloth to keep the condensation on its sides from seeping down and spreading. A large chunk of ice is frozen within, guaranteeing that it will be nice and cold for Ratio. Next to the water are two familiar medicine bottles – fever suppressants, from Ratio’s own bag and from Aventurine’s kit. The caps of both, however, have been replaced, Ratio notes, and frowns at the needless tampering . . . until he sees that each cap contains a digital component – a timer. One that shows how long it has been since the bottles were last open. That . . . is actually ingenious, Ratio realizes as he reaches for his own fever suppressants. Accidental overdosing is a serious problem amongst those with disabilities affecting their memory or those who are so stricken by illness that they can’t accurately process the passage of time. Aventurine got them for Ratio to make sure that wouldn’t happen to him.

            One further item is on the nightstand. One that makes Ratio internally grimace. A baby monitor. Aside from the indignity of one being used on him as though he was an infant in need of monitoring, it likely means that Aventurine is not in their living quarters, though he is probably on his way back now that Ratio is up again.

            Ratio takes one of his pills and drinks as much as he can manage. Then he drinks a little more, because he knows he needs to. He appreciates that the water is cold. That makes it easier to get a little more down. As he divests himself of the pile of blankets on top of him, he expects a shiver to run through his body, thanks to his fever messing with his ability to tell if the room is truly warm or cold. To his surprise, however, the warmth remains. That is when he notices the tiny space heater Aventurine has procured for him.

            Aventurine is truly doing all he can for Ratio now. It is a touching thought. Even though he feels dehydrated, achy, and ill in general, it makes Ratio feel good. Feel valued.

            He stands, only slightly unsteady on his feet, and begins to make his way toward their living quarters’ exit. Just as he enters the main room, the door to the greenhouse opens, admitting Aventurine, who looks like he came at a run.

            “Ratio! How are you feel – uh, sorry, stupid question.” Aventurine backtracks away from the time and energy wasting courtesy. “What can I do?” he asks instead. “What do you need?”

            Much more efficient questions.

            “The restroom, right now,” Ratio tells him. “I can make it there on my own.”

            “Dinner when you get back?” Aventurine asks hopefully.

            Ratio wants to refuse. Though he is now safely outside of the disease’s vomiting phase, he has absolutely no appetite. He knows, however, that is one of the pitfalls of burning star fever. Those who ignore the fact that their body still needs nourishment fare worse than those who force themselves to eat regularly. Their recovery time is longer, once the disease runs its course, and their strength is slower to return. Ratio cannot afford that. Their time is far too valuable to waste any of it.

            “Perhaps . . . a bowl of miso soup,” Ratio says. “And a small bowl of rice.”

            Aventurine looks pleased at the request and gets to work in the kitchen. Ratio makes his way out of their living quarters, down the stairs, and across the multiple rooms and very long hallway between him and the Seclusion Zone’s sole restroom. Well, restrooms. Technically there are two, a men’s and a women’s. But as both are equally far away, it’s a moot point.

            It’s an exhausting trek, and outside of their living quarters, Ratio immediately feels the chill of the space station’s standard temperature. Normally he finds it refreshingly cool, but today it feels uncomfortably cold. If he could move faster, Ratio would. Ratio wants to return to the warmth of their living quarters as soon as he can. So, he moves as quickly as he is able and does not tarry any more than he has to. After relieving himself, he washes up at the sink and splashes some water on his face. In normal times, going without a bath or shower is unthinkable, but today Ratio only wants to fall back into bed and sleep until his burning star fever is over. Even so, he cannot quell the instinct to observe at least some basic hygiene. He washes his face and brushes his teeth, to try and trick himself into feeling at least a bit human. Then he begins the long walk back.

            When he makes it to the greenhouse, he notices a few things that he didn’t see on his way out. Aventurine has procured a small washing machine. He has even managed to hook it up to one of the fixtures that automatically irrigate the greenhouse’s plants. That will be useful – it will make them a bit more independent of the space station’s laundry service, which will only allow them to drop off and pick up laundry on specific days. Ratio is certain that he’ll want to launder his sheets as soon as the illness is over. He does not like to think how much he is likely to sweat in the coming days, or how much he already has.

            There is a drying rack set up to go with the washing machine . . . and there is also some sort of partition. A screen of sorts. Two of them, actually, though only one is assembled. Aventurine must have been working on the other one when Ratio woke up – the baby monitor is on the floor next to the assembly instructions and two cat cakes that seem to be arguing about which step Aventurine was on when he left and where he’ll need to start when he returns. Ratio is not sure what the purpose of those screens are. Perhaps Aventurine needs them for his work – to use as whiteboards or idea boards. Ratio is sure that he’ll figure it out in good time. There are other items Aventurine procured that have not been unboxed, he sees. Once he knows what’s in them the screens might make more sense.

            His legs feel like jelly by the time he makes it back up the stairs. It grates on Ratio’s nerves to feel this way – he is in excellent health, aside from this illness. As juvenile as it feels to even think this . . . it simply doesn’t feel fair. To have deteriorated so much so quickly . . . As Aventurine would so eloquently put it, it sucks.

            His miso soup is waiting for him when he returns, and Aventurine is just removing a bowl of quick-steam rice from the microwave. He tears off the plastic with careless urgency that anyone else would have paid for with a nasty steam burn, but that Aventurine is spared courtesy of his shields, and places it before Ratio right as he sits down.

            “I know you only wanted a small bowl, but the fast steam rice is one size only, and I didn’t want to make you wait while I boiled more from scratch,” Aventurine tells him. “If it’s too much for you, you don’t have to eat it. I’ll finish it for you.”

            “You will not,” Ratio tells him. “Do not eat after someone who is ill, gambler. That is how diseases spread.”

            Aventurine frowns, no doubt at the prospect of food being wasted. Ratio sighs.

            “It would be much safer to set a portion aside before I begin eating,” Ratio tells him. “Or at least it would if I did not plan to eat the entire bowl.”

            “You’ll eat it all? Good. You need to keep your strength up.”

            Ratio thinks of how exhausted just making the trip to the bathroom left him and mentally grimaces. “Indeed.”

            He dutifully begins tucking into his meal. The miso soup, he sees, has more than miso paste dissolved into the water in it, this time. There are tiny cubes of tofu now, rehydrated strips of seaweed, and fresh green onions. Aventurine is trying to make the meal more nutritious for him and has added more protein and vitamins. He truly is doing all he can for Ratio.

            “Asta messaged you earlier, just to check on you,” Aventurine reports as he sits down with Ratio. “She got my number from Topaz then messaged me, so I have kept her up to date. I also gave her permission to check my medical records on file with the IPC. She let me know that my burning star vaccination is up to date.”

            “I should have kept mine up to date as well,” Ratio says with a sigh.

            “Can I ask why you didn’t?” Aventurine asks without judgement – just curiosity. “Did it lapse without you realizing it? Or . . . ?”

            “The burning star fever vaccine provides protection against the illness for one system year. When I begin teaching a course at the University of Veritas Prime, I ensure that all my vaccinations are up to date. I typically only teach one semester a year, however, and sometimes switch from the fall semester to the spring semester, or vice versa. It can mean going longer than a year without teaching.”

            “And you took a sabbatical this year,” Aventurine remembers, his face darkening with guilt. “Because I needed you for Penacony.”

            “I did that of my own volition,” Ratio reminds him. “I could have turned down the assignment.”

            “But you didn’t. You went with me because I needed you.”

            “This is not your fault and I do not have the patience to go back and forth about this now,” Ratio says, trying not to sound too irritable. “This is hardly the first time I have gone longer than a year without topping off my booster shots, gambler. And there have been other times when I have gone longer than a year without teaching but remembered to get the shots.” Usually only because the Intelligentsia Guild was sending him on an assignment that he deemed it necessary to be fully vaccinated for, but Ratio doesn’t deem it necessary to let Aventurine know that. “I was simply unfortunate this time. And while unpleasant, this is hardly the worst thing that has happened to me this year. By next year at this time it won’t even merit remembering.”

            Aventurine doesn’t look completely convinced, but Ratio can see some of the shadows on his face have lightened, however slightly.

            “Rest assured, I will recover, gambler,” Ratio promises him.

            “I’ll do everything I can to help you until you do,” Aventurine vows.

            So, no different than before, really, Ratio thinks, and decides to accept this. His illness will pass in less than a week. Aventurine can hardly be more attentive and helpful than he has been already without infuriating Ratio, and Ratio knows Aventurine knows this – and where to draw the line.

            The rest of the meal they are mostly silent until the end, when Aventurine receives a text. He checks his phone and a genuine smile crosses his face.

            “Thank you, Topaz!”

            “Good news?” Ratio inquires.

            “Very. She bought me time, so I don’t have to go back to Pier Point for a week and a day,” Aventurine tells him. “But then I do need to go back. Some diplomats on a mafia run planet have screwed up their money laundering scheme and are now subject to fees and taxes that they want me to make disappear. Not that it’s in the IPC’s best interest for me to do away with them all. I have a team of accountants going over their poorly cooked books to see what’s what, and what the corporation wants me to do when I meet these clowns.”

            “I see.” Ratio suddenly feels absurdly grateful that Aventurine was able to put this trip off. He imagines a large part of the reason that it panned out this way was because if his superiors know that Ratio is sick, they also know that Aventurine would be far too likely to throw a colossal tantrum were he to be dragged away while Ratio was growing more and more ill. Well, whatever the reason, Ratio is grateful. The idea of being ill here alone is not horrible . . . if it was anyone but Aventurine tending to him he would prefer solitude. But Aventurine is different. Aventurine is . . .

            Ratio forces his mind away from those thoughts and tries to focus on what actually matters.

            “How long will you be gone?”

            “Not long,” Aventurine assures him. “I will be very surprised if I need to be planet-side for more than two days. I might even be able to finish it up in one. But I was thinking . . . since you’ll be on the mend then, how would you feel about making the trip to Pier Point with me? I know you’ll still be recovering from the number that this disease is doing on you, but it shouldn’t be a strenuous trip for you. We’ll take a private shuttle from here to Pier Point. You can sleep the whole way there if you want. I’ll have my driver take you to your place to pack whatever you need, then bring you to my apartment to wait until I wrap everything up, and you can get more rest there. Then we take a private shuttle back here and once you’re ready, we can pick up where we left off. What do you say? Or actually, you don’t need to answer now, there’s no rush. You can think it over –”

            “That sounds good.” It truly does. Ratio would like to stop by his home. Make certain that everything is in order for a long absence. Pack what he will need to be here on Herta Space Station for an extended period of time. It will be good to have more of his own things here.

            “Excellent. I’ll take care of all the arrangements.”

            Shortly after that, Ratio finishes his meal and heads back to bed, exhausted once again. He discovers, when he peels back the blankets, that his sheets have been changed – swapped for fresh ones. Aventurine must have done that while Ratio went to the restroom. The new sheets feel much better against his skin as he climbs into bed and settles in for what he hopes is another very long sleep.

            “Thank you, gambler,” he manages to mumble before closing his eyes. “This is appreciated.”

            “Anything for you, Ratio,” Aventurine tells him, and despite being nice and warm beneath so many blankets, Ratio nearly shivers.

            He is fortunate that he is so tired. Because, feverish as he is, he cannot seem to stop his mind from hyper focusing on that comment . . . and all the other little things Aventurine has done for him since he fell ill. Things that show he cares. Without his leave Ratio’s brain begins sorting them, quantifying them, trying to convince him that they add up to the very distinct possibility that Aventurine might have feelings for him that go beyond friendship too. As though that matters when Ratio has already steeled himself and sworn off any romantic pursuit of the gambler until after the mind control issue is sorted and far enough in the past that Aventurine will not still feel indebted.

            His last conscious thought before drifting off is that he hardly needs more motivation to solve Aventurine’s problem as quickly as he can . . .but it seems he has it anyway.

Chapter Text

            The rest of the week passes more quickly than Ratio expects it to – especially considering that after waking on the third day since he came down with burning star fever, he is no longer able to sleep entire days away. It seems that his body caught up with what rest it needed, because though he is tired, exhausted even, Ratio doesn’t feel the need to fling himself back into bed and black out after every meal or trip to the restroom.

            Conveniently, a sofa appeared in the living area of their quarters overnight, so Ratio has somewhere else to rest besides just his bed. Aventurine positioned it in front of the bookshelves that divide their quarters into two rooms and set up a lamp beside it to provide ample light for reading.

            Those are far from the only other thoughtful touches the gambler provides.

            “Look, Ratio! This is an amazing invention that I discovered that will be really useful for you right now. It’s a blanket . . . with sleeves! So, you can stay bundled up and warm, but still hold your book or tablet and read . . .”

            “Those socks I promised you finally arrived. If you’re still chilled, they should make falling asleep much easier for you. Look how fluffy they are!”

            “I found these things called electrolyte powders. You mix them with water and they keep you hydrated better than the water by itself does. I thought they would be good for you, since dehydration is such a problem with burning star fever. Hopefully they work. If they don’t, I’m going to bring a lawsuit against the company that makes them and legally destroy them for selling me snake oil when your health is on the line.”

            Aventurine is nothing if not devoted. He spares no expense for Ratio’s health and comfort. More than that, he dedicates so much time to Ratio’s needs as well. He cooks for him, making soups from scratch, fried eggs, porridges . . . all dishes that are nutritious and easy for someone who is ill to digest. He makes sure Ratio is never without a drink within arm’s reach. He washes Ratio’s sheets for him every single day, which is very appreciated because it feels as though Ratio loses half his body weight in sweat each night. Best of all, however . . . he installs a bathtub in the greenhouse.

            Those partitions Ratio saw him constructing suddenly make sense. He notices, on the morning of the third day, on his trip back from the restroom, that both of them are set up, and seem to be shielding something in the corner of the room from view. The cat cakes which previously occupied a table against the wall have been moved back. Curiosity wars with exhaustion and wins out. Ratio adjusts his course toward the screens to see what Aventurine is hiding. He doesn’t think that it’s anything bad, but where Aventurine’s schemes are concerned, it’s best to stay on top of every detail, just in case. As he approaches, he hears a familiar sound – running water. Perhaps, he thinks, as he reaches the entrance formed by a gap in the partitions, Aventurine is simply setting up a laundry room.

            “Surprise,” Aventurine says softly as Ratio steps into view. He’s perched precariously on the lip of the bathtub. By choice. There are plenty of safer spots he could choose to wait, but Ratio supposes that it’s his nature to gravitate toward the riskiest one.

            “Gambler . . . you . . .” Ratio’s mind goes fuzzy as he searches for words.

            “I figured you were probably dying for a proper bath. And this will be easier for you than standing in the shower when you’re so tired – but I got a special chair for use in the shower if you want to get a shower too,” Aventurine tells him as he reaches out to turn off the water.

            “I . . . thank you,” Ratio says, falling back to good manners because he is still drawing a blank. “This . . . this is wonderful. You . . . you were able to . . . the plumbing . . . ?”

            “Yeah,” Aventurine says with a slight laugh. “I learned some basic plumbing skills years back. I wanted to steal as much magic from you sky people as I could. Summoning water with the turn of a knob seemed like a good place to start. My skills are pretty limited though – I am in no way qualified to try to connect anything to a sewage line, so I can’t put in a full bathroom for us here. But I could manage this.”

            “Thank you,” Ratio says again, as earnestly as he is able to, and Aventurine gives him a smile that practically glows.

            “I’ll leave you to it. If you need me, just text. Or holler – I think I’ll be able to hear you from in the apartment.” With that he slips away, giving Ratio privacy to bathe.

            Ratio needs no further prompting. He peels off his pajamas and drops them into a conveniently placed laundry basket – after wearing them for the first three nights that he was ill with burning star fever, they most definitely need to be washed by now. There is a deep blue robe with golden accents hanging up for him when he’s done, he sees, on a hook near the partitions’ entrance. Cubbies are built directly into the partitions themselves and are full of folded towels and washcloths, sponges and scrub brushes, jars of bath salts, bath oil beads, and bath bombs, fragrant herbs and flower petals, candles, and a lone rubber duck. Aventurine truly put so much thought and consideration into this . . . Especially when it came to safety precautions, Ratio notices. There are mats on the floor to absorb whatever water splashes out, and rails built onto the partitions and on one side of the bathtub itself so that he has something to hold onto, to balance himself. That is important now, weakened as Ratio is.

            He nearly forgoes adding any mix-ins to the water this time – the amount of energy required to even select one at random and remove the appropriate amount from the jar it is in seems so daunting right now – but then he sees that Aventurine must have anticipated this. Because as Ratio snags the rubber duck and turns back toward the tub, he sees that on the bathtub’s built in soap nook, in addition to a bar of Ratio’s preferred soap, there is a saucer with a small selection of gleaming bath oil beads. Ratio selects one of them at random – a translucent jewel green one – and drops it into the water. It begins to dissolve immediately, and as Ratio climbs over the edge and lowers himself into the water, the aroma of pine trees is already rising around him.

            “Thank you, gambler,” Ratio breathes as he closes his eyes and inhales the sweetly scented steam. The water is the perfect temperature. It feels like it instantly washes away the lingering traces of dried sweat that clung to his skin. A sigh escapes his lips as his muscles and mind relax. He hasn’t felt this good since he fell ill . . . and when he thinks about how much time and consideration Aventurine put into this . . . all of this . . . he feels inexplicably, even better.

            Ratio is no stranger to gifts and bribery, flattery and brown-nosing. Holidays involving the exchange of presents or food are the bane of his existence. It is decisively worse when he is teaching during them, but even at the Intelligentsia Guild there is never any shortage of fools who wish to ingratiate themselves with him and think that they can buy their way into his good graces. This, however . . . This hits differently.

            Ratio knows why, of course. His feelings for Aventurine make everything he does seem better and brighter, but even so . . . there’s just so much consideration here. So much effort and care.

            For a few selfish minutes, Ratio doesn’t force his thoughts about his gambler aside – doesn’t shut them down and try to maintain a professional façade even within the privacy of his own mind. Perhaps illness has made him weak, or Aventurine’s kindness has lowered his guard, but Ratio finds himself just thinking about his gambler. His dearest friend. And potentially, his future paramour. Wondering what a future with him would look like. Hoping that when the time comes his feelings will be reciprocated. Wishing that he could skip ahead to a time when he is recovered from burning star fever, and when Aventurine is cured of the affliction in his mind, and enough time has passed that he can act on his desires without the fear that Aventurine will feel indebted . . . and it will be him who will have to make the first move, won’t it?

            It is nearly impossible to predict what Aventurine will do, but Ratio knows him better than most. Despite the gambler’s reputation for being loose, Ratio has never known him to go home with anyone, no matter how many people he may spill pretty words to or flirt with at IPC functions. He has never once known him to have a casual hookup on their off-world business trips. Aventurine guards his heart so carefully and lets so few people close. If Ratio knows him, and he likes to think that he truly does, Aventurine isn’t likely to make the first move. Isn’t likely to risk changing the dynamics between himself and someone he cares about if failure means losing that person. He may gamble with his life, his freedom, and his cornerstone, but he finds it unthinkable to use the few people who actually mean something to him as gambling chips.

            So, it will be up to Ratio to take the plunge.

            “When the time is right,” Ratio tells himself. Then blinks as he realizes he spoke aloud. Thankfully, Aventurine is not close enough to hear. Ratio assumes he went back to their living quarters, but it is not a stretch to imagine that something might bring him to the greenhouse. Checking on Ratio, or doing laundry, or playing with the cat cakes . . . he does seem to be so fond of the cat cakes. Though Ratio himself does not care for Ruan Mei’s cast-off snacks, he does appreciate how they make his gambler happy.

            He directs his thoughts away from a future with Aventurine, for the meantime. No sense in dwelling on something so far off when there is so much he needs to do before he can make it a reality. Recovering from burning star fever takes priority for a week. Then curing Aventurine. Perhaps, immediately after that, he can arrange for something to hasten the rest of his timetable. Set up a few scenarios that he needs Aventurine’s help with to even the scales between them. Then –

            “No. Focus,” Ratio orders himself when he realizes that he actually hasn’t directed his thoughts away from a future with Aventurine at all. “Recovery first. Which means relaxing right now. Then returning to our living quarters for breakfast and rehydrating.”

            He stays in the water as long as it is comfortable to. The temperature has turned tepid as he pulls himself out, carefully gripping the rails so that he won’t slip and fall. Oddly, he feels slightly stronger than he did before. He shouldn’t – his condition will keep worsening until the final day of the disease, he knows . . . but all the same, he feels better for the moment. A good bath truly does wonders.

            He takes one every day after that. Though during normal times, he prefers to bathe in the evening, while he is ill he finds it refreshing to have a soak in the morning so he’s cleaned of last night’s sweat. Then a hot breakfast with Aventurine . . . reading until lunch. Sometimes a nap after lunch. Sometimes more reading, or simply resting on the sofa Aventurine procured for them. Sometimes he spends time with Aventurine. Often he drifts off for short periods, and awakens to Aventurine pressing a cool washcloth to his face, smoothing his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes, or lifting his book out of limp hands to set it aside for him.

            Ratio endeavors to be a model patient, to make things easier for Aventurine and to shorten his own recovery time once the illness finally loosens its grip. He never turns down food, even though he has absolutely no appetite. This means three meals a day, whenever he is awake for all three of them. A snack sometime in between. He drinks whatever Aventurine gives him. He gives into the call of sleep whenever it beckons. On the fifth day, he switches from his own fever suppressants to Aventurine’s, to keep his fever lower.

            Then finally, finally the final day of the illness arrives. After a night spent shivering even despite everything Aventurine did to keep him comfortable, and despite the medicine from the Stoneheart’s med kit, Ratio wakes feeling drained, and still feverish, and so very weak. He’s so unsteady on his feet that Aventurine won’t let him make the trek to the locker room alone and goes with him, keeping a firm grip on his arm as they walk. Without him, Ratio certainly would have fallen.

            “You feel a little cooler,” Aventurine remarks as they make it to the Botany Room.

            “I should be. The fever should have peaked yesterday. Or last night. Today . . . today it should break, and then I should begin to recover. But today I am also dealing with . . . with the aftereffects of the worst day of the illness.”

            “Almost there, Doctor,” Aventurine says encouragingly. “Just hang in there.”

            After that, he spends all morning in the bathtub. He stays in until the water grows cool, drains the tub, then fills it again. Aventurine comes down with a bowl of oatmeal and a mug of tea for him so he doesn’t miss a meal. He doesn’t comment on Ratio’s behavior and for that, as well as so many other things, Ratio is grateful.

            When Aventurine comes back down to see if Ratio wants lunch in the bathtub too, Ratio finally decides that it’s time to get out. He hastily dons his robe, stumbles back up to their living quarters, and changes into clean pajamas. Then he gets back in bed and eats the vegetable soup Aventurine brings him while bundled up in that peculiar blanket with sleeves and wonders how he never previously saw the genius of such an invention.

            “You’re really that cold?” Aventurine asks, concerned, as he checks the settings on the space heater. “This is as hot as I can get it.”

            “This is a good sign,” Ratio assures him. “My fever is breaking and my body is finding its equilibrium again. This will pass before the day is up.”

            He tries to nap after finishing lunch, but the chill keeps him awake. As the afternoon wears on, it becomes nearly unbearable. Finally, he gives up and returns to the bathtub. Only in the steaming water does he find relief from the cold. Finally warm, he dozes off. When he wakes, the water is cool, but Ratio himself is not cold. He breathes a sigh of relief realizing that, at last, his fever is gone. More than that, his appetite has returned. He dries himself off, dresses, and returns to their living quarters to see if there’s anything to eat.

            Aventurine is nowhere to be found – not that that’s worrisome to Ratio. Most likely he went to pick up more packages. There’s something baking in the toaster oven that smells delicious and is probably their dinner, but Ratio knows better than to interrupt it. He makes himself a bowl of instant comfort food and is so hungry that he practically inhales it. After a short debate with himself, Ratio goes ahead and helps himself to another bowl. Aventurine returns just as he’s starting to tuck into it.

            “You’re eating,” Aventurine says, looking surprised but pleased. “Your appetite’s back? Excellent.”

            “I hope it is alright that I used these provisions. I didn’t think that there was a need to ration them, but –”

            “There’s not,” Aventurine quickly assures him. “We have plenty and I can order more. So, eat whatever you want. I’ve got a chicken and pasta bake in the toaster oven that will be ready in about twenty minutes, but if you’re hungry now, it’s fine to grab whatever you want. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

            “Thank you. It has been a long week.”

            Ratio manages to rein his appetite in and make the second bowl of comfort food last until the dinner Aventurine made for them is ready. Then he has a healthy-sized serving of that too, and two dinner rolls, and still has room for a snack sized cup of pudding when Aventurine offers it. Then, finally, Ratio’s hunger is sated. He’s warm. Exhausted and weak from being sick for seven days straight, but he can tell that he’s on the mend.

            He feels as though he could sleep for another seven days, but he only has one day to fully devote to recovering. The day after tomorrow is when Aventurine must return to Pier Point, and while Ratio could stay behind, he doesn’t want to.

            Until he manages to free Aventurine from the neural reprogramming that was inflicted on him, Ratio would prefer not to let the gambler out of his sight. Silly, he knows. Aventurine made it a decade after leaving that infernal lab without stumbling into anyone who knew the activation phrase. He may very well go the rest of his life without that happening again. Moreover, he’s only going to Pier Point now, and while that entire planet may be a corporate cesspool, it has one of the lowest rates of violent crime in the universe. There are cameras everywhere, and Aventurine will no doubt have an entourage the entire duration of his business trip. Chances of him being kidnapped are nearly nonexistent.

            Ratio worries all the same. Aventurine has become too dear to him for him to do otherwise. So, he will follow him to Pier Point, no matter how exhausted he is, and ensure Aventurine’s safety himself. Then, when they return from the space station, Ratio will resume his efforts to erase the neural reprogramming. Then maybe . . .

            He stops himself before his thoughts can stray down that path. One thing before the next, Ratio tells himself. First, he needs to recover as much as he can in one day. Then he needs to go to Pier Point with Aventurine, and bring him safely home. Then he needs to cure him. Only after that can he start to plan for what comes next. It will be hard, he knows, but as he watches Aventurine clear the table and begin cleaning up from the meal he made them, in what is now essentially their shared home, he knows it will be worth it. However long he has to wait, Aventurine is worth it.

The sick fic arc is coming to an end, but there’s still plenty of trouble ahead for our boys.  They’ll be getting back to doing their research, trying to solve Aventurine's problem soon, but first, a quick trip to Pier Point.

Please leave a comment on your way out. ^^

Chapter Text

            One day devoted solely to rest for Ratio is less than Aventurine wishes he could give him, but it’s more than they might have had in other circumstances. They take what they’re given, then the morning after that, are up bright and early to catch a shuttle to Pier Point.

            Aventurine gets up earlier than Ratio and sneaks out so he can kill all the True Stings that spawned overnight before Ratio is awake. The good doctor would no doubt feel obligated to help if he was conscious, however unnecessary his assistance is. Aventurine is more than a match for those overgrown bugs on his own. He doesn’t even need to tap into the reserves of power that his cornerstone gives him. They can’t break his shields and trying only hastens their demise.

            Ratio is just getting up when Aventurine gets back. He dresses as Aventurine grabs their bags – both empty, so they can fill them with stuff from their apartments and bring them back. Then they head toward the main section of the space station. Breakfast will be waiting for them on the shuttle – Aventurine made sure of that.

            To his surprise, however, Ratio peels off when Aventurine goes to get off at the Supply Zone level.

            “There is something that I need to collect. It won’t take long,” he promises Aventurine.

            “Need me to come with you?” Aventurine asks, but Ratio only shakes his head and hits the button on the elevator to take him to another level. Aventurine mentally shrugs and continues on toward the Railway Platform. Whatever Ratio is doing or getting is most likely work related, so not something Aventurine needs to bother learning about – doubly so since they’re so early. Their shuttle hasn’t even arrived yet when Aventurine gets there, and the Stonehearts’ private shuttles always arrive ahead of schedule.

            Funnily enough, Ratio arrives at the same time as the shuttle. It’s being auto-pulled along the tracks to the loading area and comes to a stop right in front of Aventurine just as Ratio jogs up beside him.

            “You didn’t need to rush,” Aventurine tells him. “You shouldn’t have rushed. We’re still way ahead of schedule.”

            “I did not rush much,” Ratio tells him. “And I did not want to risk us falling behind on my account.”

            Maybe it’s for the best, Aventurine thinks as they get on board and settle in for the trip. They have different opinions on what Ratio’s itinerary for the day should be. Aventurine originally wanted to split up as soon as they got to Pier Point, sending Ratio with a trusted driver to his apartment so that he could collect everything he needs to bring back to the space station. Then the driver would take Ratio to Aventurine’s apartment, where Ratio could rest until it’s time to return. Aventurine doesn’t have a guest room made up, but he does have a very comfortable couch and Ratio is welcome to use his bed if he needs it, or his bath. His refrigerator might be pretty bare, but he has two fully stocked freezers – though Ratio would likely only be interested in the contents of the smaller one that’s above the refrigerator. Or if he didn’t want any of that food, he could get something from the apartment building’s concierge. Or takeout. He could spend the day in comfort, resting, bathing, reading, or watching one of literally thousands of channels that Aventurine’s television has access to.

            Instead, Ratio is determined to come along with Aventurine.

            When he announced his intentions, Aventurine couldn’t help but feel a little happy, having it reaffirmed that Ratio cares about him and wants to protect him. It’s not necessary though. Negotiations are taking place at IPC Headquarters. There is no more secure building in the entire universe. Which is to not to say that there aren’t threats there – namely the other Stonehearts – but Aventurine isn’t in danger of being kidnapped there. Chances of someone who knows about his neural reprogramming being there are so infinitesimally small that they’re practically nonexistent. Even if someone with the activation phrase came there with the intent to kidnap him, it would be nothing short of a suicide mission for them. Security is just too tight. They would not be able to finish the phrase without Aventurine screaming for help. Theoretically, if they managed to seize Aventurine’s mind they could turn him against whoever rushed to his aid, but then the helpful folks who keep watch of the building’s security cameras would see what was going on and would take measures to contain him – sealing him into whatever section of the building he’s in, pumping knockout gas in through the vents, or calling up whichever other Stonehearts are on Pier Point to come neutralize him.

            He told Ratio all of this, naturally, but Ratio doesn’t care. He wants to see to Aventurine’s safety himself. Which is very, very nice. Just unnecessary, and not as beneficial to Ratio as a day of resting in Aventurine’s penthouse would be.

            They went back and forth about this, many times, and in the end it was Aventurine who caved. He didn’t want the one full day of rest that Ratio was allotted to be wasted arguing with him. Aventurine will do whatever he can to help Ratio recover more quickly. What Ratio does to himself, however, is out of Aventurine’s hands. If he exhausts himself to the point of nodding off before he can make it to the meeting with Aventurine . . .

            Well, that will take some luck. Not that luck is usually in short supply for Aventurine, but it’s also not like he’s just going to ditch Ratio anywhere. He’ll see how the morning plays out, and if an opportunity to leave Ratio sleeping somewhere safe and secure arises then naturally, he’ll seize it.

            Since Aventurine and Ratio are the only two passengers, and space traffic around Herta Space Station is nonexistent, the shuttle gets underway as soon as Aventurine gives the word. As soon as takeoff is complete and the shuttle’s artificial gravity is stabilized, Aventurine gets up to get them breakfast. There’s a nice spread of both hot and cold items in the sideboard, though some of them seem a little heavy for someone recovering from a week-long illness. Aventurine dutifully tells Ratio about each item though, and dishes out portions of each one he requests, and it turns out that he needn’t have worried. Ratio’s appetite seems completely recovered.

            The shuttle is outfitted with bunks for sleeping – nothing too fancy, just single person beds in very tiny rooms – but Ratio elects to do some work on his tablet rather than nap once he’s finished breakfast. Aventurine follows suite since there are some new briefings to read about his objectives for today. The hours it takes to get to Pier Point pass quickly in companionable silence.

            It’s 10:15 AM IPC Standard Time when their shuttle docks on Pier Point. Mid-morning for that section of the planet, though Pier Point doesn’t exactly have time zones. The section of the city where their headquarters are located sets the standard and the rest of the world falls in line, even if it means rising at twilight or having lunch at dawn. Aventurine’s heard that it causes a lot of dissatisfaction, and even some health problems amongst the people on the far side of the planet. He imagines it’s not easy for the multitudes to adjust their internal clocks, but since it’s less difficult than surviving a massacre and slavery, Aventurine’s never personally found it in himself to care about their plights.

            “The meeting’s not for another three and a half hours,” Aventurine says, checking his watch as he and Ratio get into a car. “We’ll go to your apartment first and get what you need. Then we’ll go to mine.”

            Ratio nods, but Aventurine sees a gleam of suspicion in his beautiful cognac-colored eyes. He knows Aventurine far too well, and once they get to his apartment, he watches him like a hawk, making certain Aventurine intends to actually get out of the vehicle and not just ditch him at his home for the day. Lucky for Aventurine, this is not where he plans to leave Ratio, so for now it’s a non-issue. He follows Ratio out of the car then up a flight of stairs to the good doctor’s apartment.

            It’s his first time here, actually. At Ratio’s place. Neither of them has ever invited the other to their home before. Aventurine’s not sure what to expect. Ratio unlocks the door, gives him a look that Aventurine can’t quite read, then motions for Aventurine to follow him inside.

            Once he steps over the threshold, Aventurine thinks he understands what that look was. Ratio wasn’t quite embarrassed because Ratio doesn’t get embarrassed about things like this . . . but his apartment is almost horrifically small. It’s all one room, and only slightly wider than a hallway, except there’s furniture and appliances against the walls taking up space, so in actuality it feels narrower than a hallway. Ratio’s bed is a loft bed with a sofa underneath it. There’s a coffee table in front of the sofa and from the looks of things, that’s probably where he takes his meals. There’s no other table in the apartment, just a kitchen counter with just enough space to prepare food. It’s a spartan setup – not cluttered, everything in its place and chosen for practicality. There’s not much in the way of decorations, unless you count the bookshelves, but the room still looks well put together. Cozy. At the end of the hallway – no, at the end of the room is a door, presumably leading to a bathroom. Hopefully leading to a bathroom. Now that Aventurine thinks about it, he’s heard that there are many apartments on Pier Point where the tenants don’t have their own restrooms, where they have to share facilities with the rest of their floor. He schools his face to neutral and does his best not to let his worry show on his face, lest it be misinterpreted.

            “Not what you were expecting, I’m sure,” Ratio says, “but I spend as little time on Pier Point as possible, so I don’t need much space here. I managed to secure an apartment with an actual bathtub – no easy feat on this planet – and so I have what I deem necessary here. I have a cottage on my home world where I prefer to spend my time, as you know.”

            Aventurine nods, feeling a little better now that he knows Ratio does have his own bathroom – and the all-important bathtub as well. It’s not, by any means, a bad apartment. It's a small one, but it’s clean and well lit. Smells nice too. It seems like it suits Ratio, which is what matters most.

            “I hope you didn’t think I’d be too judgy about it. I told you, I grew up in a wagon, so . . .” He shrugs and hopes that conveys what he means. He also hopes Ratio won’t think he’s too spoiled when he sees Aventurine’s place. He probably won’t. He, more than anyone, knows the price Aventurine paid to get where he is, and Ratio doesn’t do jealousy. Still, he worries a bit all the same.

            “You mentioned that before,” Ratio says as he kneels before his sofa and pulls a drawer out from underneath of it – a drawer full of clothes. “May I ask what your wagons were like?”

            “The bottoms were made of wood. Then they had ribs that reached overhead. We stretched canvas over those ribs to cover them. It kept out the wind and the dust – and the rain, when we got rain. With some blankets laid down and your family sleeping next to you, it was warm, even on cold nights,” Aventurine remembers. “On the coldest nights though, we would wrap stones taken from the fire in blankets and put them at our feet. They were no fuzzy duck socks, but they kept us nice and toasty.”

            Ratio looks like he would like to ask more, but he reins his curiosity in. Aventurine knows why. Aventurine’s here on Pier Point for a mission. Ratio doesn’t want him lost in his own head and distracted by the past during it. Aventurine’s not expecting today’s negotiations to be too hard, but it’s probably for the best that he doesn’t dwell too much on the life he used to live. Still though . . . Ratio’s curiosity is genuine . . . He truly wants to know more about Aventurine’s people, and Aventurine finds that he wants to share them with Ratio.

            They don’t talk much more as Ratio packs. Ratio doesn’t really need his help, and Aventurine doesn’t know where anything is anyway. There’s more storage space here than Aventurine originally thought. The coffee table opens up and has tech equipment Ratio needs for his work stashed inside, and apparently there’s a closet in the bathroom where Ratio keeps his other suitcase, another traveling bag, and more of his clothes. He fills up all three pieces of luggage, but doesn’t let Aventurine carry them down to the car while he continues packing. Only once he’s finished is Aventurine permitted to leave the apartment, with Ratio by his side.

            Then they’re off to Aventurine’s place.

            Ratio knows that, as a Stoneheart, Aventurine has the right to claim housing at any IPC residential facility he wishes. Traditionally, however, few Stonehearts take advantage of that particular privilege. Their jobs are demanding and consume nearly every aspect of their lives. Having homes of their own, independent from the corporation, is likely necessary for their sanity.

            Aventurine resides at the Icon – a luxury high rise with more amenities than most five star hotels. Ratio is well aware before he even sets foot in the private elevator to Aventurine’s penthouse that his entire apartment will most likely fit into Aventurine’s foyer. Actually seeing that it’s true, however, is enough to make even him feel slightly . . . self-conscious, he supposes. Not less than. Not jealous either. After the life Aventurine’s lived, and is still living, he deserves whatever comforts he can get, in Ratio’s opinion. All the same, the difference in the amount of wealth between Ratio and Aventurine is a bit jarring.

            Aventurine seems a little nervous as he leads Ratio inside, just as aware of that fact as Ratio, and probably at least a little bit worried that Ratio will be resentful.

            “This building seems very secure,” Ratio tells him, to fill the awkward silence. “I approve.”

            “Ha. I’ll admit that security wasn’t exactly high on my priority list when I was looking for my own accommodations,” Aventurine says, “but it’s something I appreciate more now.”

            “I’m pleased to hear that.” Ratio truly is.

            Aventurine beams. “You know,” he says, “I’ve never actually had a guest over before. I feel like I should offer to take your coat, but you’re not wearing one. I can offer you a drink though. Let’s see . . . I know I have wine coolers . . . I think I have at least one beer. If you want a cocktail, my bar is stocked, or I can open a bottle of wine, though it won’t really have time to breathe . . .”

            “A glass of water would not go amiss,” Ratio says. “I should not be consuming alcohol since I’m recovering from severe dehydration. And you should not be consuming alcohol as you have a business meeting in just over an hour.”

            “Water it is then.” Aventurine sweeps further into the foyer, which is set up like a posh little bar where a handful of friends could casually enjoy watching sports together. It doesn’t have a full kitchen, but it does have a sink, and apparently a mini fridge beneath the counter. Aventurine kneels down then comes up with two bottles of water. “Sparkling water? Or regular?”

            Ratio accepts the sparkling water. Aventurine hands it to him then opens the regular spring water for himself and hops up onto a bar stool. Cautiously, Ratio takes the one beside him. Even though Aventurine should be packing. Well, if this is Aventurine’s first time having anyone over . . . Ratio certainly doesn’t want to taint the experience by being too much of a nag to him.

            “I know I should be packing,” Aventurine tells him. “And I will, in a minute. It won’t take as long as you think though, so I want to take a load off my feet for a minute.”

            “Understandable,” Ratio says. “You got up far earlier than you should have. I should have aided you in clearing out the True Stings this morning. I apologize –”

            “No apologies necessary,” Aventurine says quickly. “I’m more than a match for those bugs and you needed your rest.”

            Logically, he’s not wrong. Ratio still feels the imbalance of it all, however. Aventurine did so much for him this past week. Is still doing so much for him. Technically, it probably balances out when taking into account how Ratio is helping rid him of his neural reprogramming, but that is not something Ratio himself would ever use to balance the scales between them.

            “Are you feeling alright now?” Aventurine asks. “It’s your first day really on your feet since you got sick, so it’s understandable if you’re having a hard time. If you want, you can still stay here and take a nap –”

            “No. I will be accompanying you to IPC Headquarters,” Ratio says firmly. “I understand that I will not be allowed in the meeting room, but I will at least be onsite in case you need assistance.”

            “Ratio . . . you know how unlikely it is that anything’s going to happen.” Aventurine looks at him confused.

            “I do. But the chances of something happening are not nonexistent, and as long as that is the case, I will remain on guard.”

            Aventurine fakes a smirk and tries for levity. “Guarding your research project?”

            “Watching my partner’s back.”

            Aventurine is silent for a moment. Then, “I want to show you something.”

            When he slides off his stool, Ratio follows him. They make their way through spacious rooms with floor to ceiling windows and lavish furnishings, trappings that are a testament to the wealth of their owner, never before seen by anyone but their owner, at least not since they were moved here. Finally, they come to Aventurine’s bedroom. While still very elegant, this room definitely feels the most lived in of all the rooms Ratio has seen here so far. The bed is piled high with more pillows than one typically sees on a bed, presumably in accordance with its owner’s preferences. A bright green bed runner clashes with the more subdued cream, matte gold, and blacks of the blankets and pillowcases. Nearby, a dark wooden table displays what appears to be a collection of perfumes and colognes. There are two doors – one presumably leading to an en suite bathroom. The other to a walk in closet – which Ratio learns when Aventurine guides him to it. Throught it. Then to the back of the closet, which holds far fewer clothes than Ratio expected his gambler to have in his room. At the back of the closet, Aventurine sweeps aside a handful of coats on hangers to reveal another door.

            “A panic room?” Ratio asks as Aventurine presses his hand to a panel that lights up on the door.

            “More or less,” Aventurine says. “At least, its purpose was originally supposed to be a panic room. I use it more as a vault.”

            Ratio blinks as they step inside, but other than that does now allow himself a reaction to the floor to ceiling shelves packed with preserved food and military rations that run along both side walls of the panic room. He already knows about Aventurine’s complicated relationship with food, and he knows that any comments on his need to stockpile won’t be well received. These supplies don’t seem to be the reason they’re here anyway.

            In the back of the room is a large safe – a high quality one made of ingenium alloy, too large to move without equipment even if it wasn’t bolted to the floor and walls. Aventurine goes to it, quickly keys in a combination, and opens it. Ratio lingers back at the entrance of the room, so as not to crowd him. He only steps forward to join him when Aventurine looks back and nods at him, inviting him.

            The safe is full of drawers and compartments, so Ratio cannot see most of what, if anything, Aventurine keeps in the majority of it, but Aventurine kneels and pulls open the drawer at the very bottom. Nestled inside, on top of a faded blanket, folded to fit the space, are an odd assortment of objects. A carefully folded shirt catches Ratio’s eye. At first he thinks that the material is dyed a light rusty brown. Then he realizes that it’s not dyed, but stained, and not intentionally. The patterning is too irregular . . . and Ratio knows where that color comes from. He wonders about the garment’s significance but at the same time, has the feeling that he doesn’t truly want to know.

            Thankfully, the rest of the objects in the drawer seem far less disturbing. There are a great many metallic turquoise stones – meteorite fragments from Sigonia-IV. Some of them are even polished, carved, and strung together. There is a small medallion with a six-petaled flower embossed on its surface, that gleams with the luster of real gold. A roughly carved wooden figurine that Ratio can only assume is some sort of animal. A collection of old cutlery . . . and some clay dishes.

            Aventurine lifts a small clay bowl from the drawer and holds it out to Ratio. Ratio exercises the greatest of care as he takes it into his hands and examines it. The clay itself is reddish and smooth. The pattern on its surface is reminiscent of some of the pillows on Aventurine’s bed – slanted lines in black and goldish-beige. An Avgin design, Ratio knows, or at least has read. One that was common in their textiles.

            “These are the bowls we baked our bread in,” Aventurine tells him. “That one was mine. It was originally my father’s, but he died before I was born. This one was my big sister’s.” He holds up another bowl . . . this one decorated with concentric circles of magenta and blue, very reminiscent of Aventurine’s eyes. Looking at it closer . . . Ratio can see tiny fingerprints swirled in the paint, and an odd lump rises in his throat as he realizes that Aventurine’s sister must have made it herself. Made it, and taken inspiration from her baby brother’s irises.

            “They’re beautiful,” Ratio tells him, and it’s not an empty compliment. Though he has seen ceramics of far higher quality, he can feel how important these are to Aventurine, and how much love his family poured into them.

            “I think so too.” Aventurine carefully puts his sister’s bowl back down, in the drawer, then holds out his hands for his own bowl. Ratio returns it to him with equal care. “My mom’s bowl is still buried. Near the cliffs, if I remember right. We had caches of stuff stashed along our traveling routes. It’s how I was able to get these back. Of course, I had to orchestrate a whole cover story involving the Swarm King and manipulate your Intelligentsia Guild colleagues to score a ticket back home to begin with, and it amounted to a catastrophic failure for the guild, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make. Look, I even had the chance to dig up some star stones while I was there!”

            Aventurine presses a polished turquoise meteorite into Ratio’s hand with much less care than he took with the bowl.

            “You can have this one.”

            “I – thank you.” It’s on the tip of Ratio’s tongue to reject the gift but the realization that might be crass catches up with him and changes his mind. Though he is reluctant to take something that Aventurine clearly treasures, the fact that Aventurine wants him to have this one is not insignificant.

            Aventurine nods. “I thought you might like to see what I’ve been able to salvage so far. Since you’re genuinely interested in my people. I want to keep the bowls here, but I have some replicas on order. For our cooking experiments. In case the bowls are important for getting the bread right.”

            “Thank you for sharing your culture with me.”

            “Thanks for helping me keep it alive a little longer.” Aventurine locks up the safe then stands with a sigh. “And now I should pack and get changed. They want me in my Stoneheart formalwear for this meeting.”

            “I see. Er – shall I –”

            “Why don’t you wait in the living room? It’s right outside my bedroom, and to the left. There’s a comfortable couch and a TV.”

            “Very well,” Ratio agrees. Because he can’t very well just stand here while Aventurine is changing. Not without making Aventurine raise his eyebrows at least. He departs the walk-in closet and Aventurine’s bedroom, and is slightly bemused when Aventurine does the same – until Aventurine flings open the door of the next room over and disappears inside, and Ratio sees exactly why his closet had far less than expected in it. It seems that Aventurine turned the entirety of the neighboring room into a walk-in closet and stores the majority of his wardrobe in there. Practical, since he has so many clothes . . . though one could question the practicality of having so many clothes to begin with.

            Ratio makes his way to what he assumes is the aforementioned living room – a large lounge that, while somewhat impersonal, still looks comfortable – and takes a seat on the sofa.

            As he waits, weariness begins to set in. After a week of being ill his physical condition has taken a hit. Perhaps when Aventurine was offering him drinks he should have requested coffee. He could do with a boost from the caffeine. Oh well. There are coffee vending machines at IPC Headquarters. Ratio will get himself a cup there. In the meantime, he’ll conserve his energy and rest, until Aventurine is ready to leave.

            Ratio settles back deeper into the sofa and resists the urge to close his eyes. The chances of dozing off if he does that are too high. To distract himself, and to make the time pass a bit quicker, he glances over his shoulder to ensure that Aventurine is still in his wardrobe room, then he reaches into a pocket in his robes to remove the trump card that he borrowed from Madam Herta’s curio collection this morning. Again. The Phase Flame glows a beautiful blue in its confining cube as it shifts through time and space despite being contained in this dimension. If Ratio actually needs to use it, it will be worth the energy he expended to retrieve it this morning.

            He knew from go that he would not be allowed in the meeting room with Aventurine. With this curio, he doesn’t need to be, however. With the app on his phone to monitor Aventurine’s heartrate, he will know if something goes wrong, and with this curio, he can teleport to his gambler’s side instantaneously. Technically, he doesn’t even need to be in the same building as Aventurine. He could teleport from here, or from his own apartment just as easily, but the closer his phone is to Aventurine’s bio monitor, the less delay there is in receiving the signals. Had Ratio stayed behind on Herta Space Station the delay would certainly have been multiple minutes. Here, a couple dozen city blocks away from IPC headquarters, the delay will only be mere seconds, but Ratio knows full well just how much can happen in an instant.

            Chances of anything happening to Aventurine on the IPC’s home planet, let alone in its headquarters are abysmally low. The only ones who truly pose a danger to him here are the other Stonehearts, though at this moment, as far as Ratio is aware, Aventurine is on either good or neutral terms with his peers. The odds are overwhelming that this will be a nice, safe trip . . . but odds can always be improved, and Ratio has done all he can to improve them. His mind stimulated and his weariness temporarily staved off, Ratio tucks the Phase Flame curio away again and settles in to wait.

            Aventurine must spend a fair amount of time here, Ratio realizes as he allows his head to rest against the top of the sofa’s back. The cushions smell like the gambler’s favorite cologne – a scent that Ratio has become accustomed to and even grown fond of over the years. Most likely because of its association with Aventurine. Though he doesn’t care for strong scents in general, he must admit the ones Aventurine picks out are always tasteful and always suit him. The one he uses for everyday wear has become Ratio’s favorite.

            Ratio turns his face slightly to the side, closes his eyes, and breathes in –

            – then jerks awake, dislodging the pillow from Aventurine’s bed that he was drooling on, and spilling a blanket and that bright green bed runner onto the floor.

            “Gambler?” Ratio calls, though in his heart he already knows. He staggers to his feet even as he fishes his phone out from his pocket. “Aventurine?”

            The local time flashes at him from his phone screen. Fifteen minutes until Aventurine’s meeting starts. Curse him! He would have left at least half an hour ago.

            Ratio quickly brings up the app connected to Aventurine’s bio-monitor. His gambler’s heartbeat is strong and steady. Exactly as it should be for a man of Aventurine’s size who is awake and unstressed. Ratio texts him all the same.

            Curse you, gambler.

            Hey, sorry Ratio, Aventurine texts back. But you were sleeping soundly and I thought you needed your rest. Please don’t be too mad at me.

            Ratio grimaces. He is well and truly annoyed . . . but not exactly angry. Knowing that Aventurine was trying to look out for him makes it hard to feel true ire. He is far from happy, however, because he is trying to look out for Aventurine in turn. He takes a moment to clear his thoughts before typing out his reply.

            I am not happy, but I will consent to remaining here if, and only if, you set your phone to share your location with me. Having exact coordinates to teleport to if something goes wrong will actually be more useful than trying to metaphorically eyeball his jump into whichever conference room the gambler is using. It will balance out the several second delay in his phone receiving the bio monitor’s signal.

            Ratio’s phone gives a soft chime. A notification pops up that his friend Aventurine is now sharing his location with him. Said notification is quickly followed by a message.

            Done. I’ll meet you back there as soon as I wrap things up here. In the meantime, make yourself at home! Help yourself to anything in any of the refrigerators or freezers. Or if nothing I have there tickles your fancy, there’s a screen by the front door and another in the kitchen that you can use to order food from the concierge – just like room service.

            For one immature moment, Ratio considers running up an obscene concierge bill to spite him. Almost immediately, he puts the idea aside – if anything, that would make Aventurine happy, and while his happiness is important to Ratio, bad behavior like this should not be rewarded. He switches to the bio monitor app and makes some adjustments to the alerts that the app will send through. Any errant spikes in his heartrate will now send Ratio an alert. Likewise, if Aventurine’s pulse drops to sleep or unconscious levels. Just as he finishes, another message pops up from Aventurine.

            I’m about to head to the meeting now. Wish me luck!

            Damn gambler.

            Such a pity I cannot read your message. This is an automated reply . . .

            Aventurine puts his phone in away mode and pockets it as he leaves his office, a spring in his step. Ratio is annoyed but not too annoyed, and more importantly, has agreed to stay at Aventurine’s home and rest for the low price of Aventurine sharing his location with him. Truth-be-told, Aventurine would have shared his location with Ratio without any negotiations involved. Ratio only would have needed to ask.

            Sadly, it’s time to separate the pleasureful part of this trip from the business side. Aventurine has a job to do, but as soon as it’s done, he can go home, get Ratio and they can go home. Or back to Herta Space Station. Which is currently their other home. Either way, it’s in his best interest to get out of here as soon as possible, and not because of the miniscule threat that he might run into someone who knows how to activate his neural programming.

            The elevator doors spring open the moment Aventurine presses the button, showing that his luck for the day is in fine form. The average wait for an open elevator after trying to summon one is nearly two minutes, but here’s an empty one waiting for Aventurine right when he needs it. He steps inside and presses the button for the floor that his meeting is on. The doors begin to close – but before they fully shut, a hand snakes between them, triggering them into springing wide open again, and in breezes one of Aventurine’s least favorite colleagues.

            “Sugilite,” he says with impeccable politeness and a smile that shows his teeth. “So nice to see you.”

            Sugilite, in turn, looks at Aventurine like he wants to carve out his liver, sauté it, and serve it thinly sliced, with mushrooms and red wine demiglace – which, if Jade can be believed, is exactly what Sugilite thinks about every time he lays eyes on Aventurine. The freak.

            “Aventurine,” he says with an equally polite, beautiful, venomous smile. “So necessary to see you.”

So . . . probably not what you were expecting, but hopefully in a good way. ^^; 

Also - I know that a handful of my readers don't actually play HSR, but followed me to this fic from the Genshin fandom. For anyone who's been thinking of trying out HSR but is on the fence, this patch is a decent time to start if you want Aventurine. His banner is coming up in a few weeks, and HSR is a lot more generous with freemogems than Genshin. They give us 10 free wishes each new patch for just logging in for a week (like Genshin's anniversary rewards, except every patch!) and if you just play through the storyline and rewards content a moderate amount each week, you should have enough to pull the handsome gambler when his banner arrives.

Chapter Text

            “Sugilite. So nice to see you.”

            “Aventurine. So necessary to see you.”

            Within the Stonehearts there is a clear divide. They all have their allies, their loyalties, their ideals, and their own chips on their shoulders. Aventurine and Sugilite have never been on the same side of that divide for a multitude of reasons. Technically, Aventurine could blame it on Jade if he felt like it. She was the one who brought him into the fold. His association with her meant inheriting her grudges. Being perfectly honest though, Aventurine and Sugilite were never going to be on the same side. Their personalities clash. They loathed each other on site. According to Jade, Sugilite would very much like to put a cigarette out on Aventurine’s cheek to mar his flawless face. Aventurine, in turn, would happily aid Sugilite in choking on the delicacies he’s always shoveling into his mouth if given half a chance.

            The two of them never speak casually. Which means that whatever Sugilite’s reason for cornering him is, it’s related to business. Most likely today’s business. It vexes Aventurine that he doesn’t know what Sugilite’s whole reason is, but he’s hardly about to reveal his ignorance and give the hypocritical glutton the upper hand. He fully expects Sugilite to milk this for all its worth, but to his mild surprise, Sugilite gets straight to the point.

            “Topaz handed off oversight of the Chelsee-II negotiations to me,” Sugilite tells him as the elevator descends.

            She what? Aventurine internally bristles. Out loud, he says, “Of course she did.” Because honestly, that’s Topaz. Trying to pretend like the divide doesn’t exist. Trying to share and play fair and take turns. Hoping that if he works with the ones who wanted to throw him out of the Stonehearts that they’ll suddenly see eye to eye.

            “You are still the lead in negotiations, beings that they requested you in particular – insisted upon it,” Sugilite wrinkles his nose as though he can’t comprehend the Chelsee-II diplomats’ logics. “You can stop pretending you’re in the know on this, by the way. Topaz literally just dumped this assignment on me twenty seconds ago. Apparently, there’s an impending disaster approaching Jarillo-VI and she naively thinks she can redeem herself by profligately flinging IPC resources at their petty problems in hopes that she can still salvage relations with that frozen backwards scrapheap.”

            It’s a fairly accurate assessment of Topaz, but it annoys Aventurine to hear Sugilite talk about her like that all the same. “I don’t know if you have room to talk, beings as you’re acting pretty generous yourself today. Handing me this intel on a silver tray instead of making me bluff.”

            “Try for a modicum of professionalism every now and then, won’t you?” Sugilite requests.

            “My professionalism, today, is being reserved for the Chelsee-II diplomats. Have you been briefed on them?”

            “Yes, yes. Mafiosos running their planet like a money laundering scheme, in desperate need of better accountants. I’m happy to leave handling them to you and only intend to involve myself in the situation if you go completely off the rails in what you concede to them. Or, I suppose, if they escalate to violence. If I absolutely must.”

            “So you say. But we both know the real reason you’re here is because this afternoon’s catering is from the Apollinaire Teahouse.”

            From the way Sugilite’s expression changes ever so minutely, Aventurine can tell that this is news to him. Which means he agreed to stand in for Topaz for some other reason. That’s worrisome. Topaz should have led with who was catering, to rope Sugilite into taking her place. The fact that she didn’t means she said something else to convince him. Because Sugilite doesn’t do casual favors – not even for those on his side of the divide. So, what did she say?

            A chill runs down Aventurine’s spine as the obvious answer occurs to him. Because the most likely play that Topaz could make would be tattling to Jade. In the hierarchy of Stonehearts she is only a step below Opal, and she would not be happy if she heard Aventurine was sent into a meeting with a bunch of trigger-happy lunatics, alone, however strong his defenses might be. It was she who deemed a second Stoneheart was necessary instead of IPC security – chances of IPC guards putting the mafiosos on edge was far too high. Topaz would only have felt confident enough to dump this assignment on Sugilite and dash if she knew he would be too wary to refuse it. Too wary of impending consequences . . . but Jade is still in the Asdana System, convincing people to pawn their souls. Or at least she’s supposed to be . . .

            “Since you’re in such a helpful, generous mood,” Aventurine says, flashing Sugilite a guileless smile, “did Topaz happen to mention when Jade’s due to get back?”

            He can tell his hunch was right by the way Sugilite instantly grows annoyed again. Even the prospect of a deliciously catered tea spread can’t stand up against Jade’s impending early return to Pier Point.

            However foul a mood it put Sugilite in to be strong-armed into essentially playing guard duty for Aventurine under threat of Topaz tattling to Jade, it’s nothing compared to how Aventurine feels about the fact that she will be back here, on Pier Point, much sooner than expected.

            Jade is his ally, yes. She watches out for him and will continue to do so for as long as he’s useful. Aventurine’s even almost positive that she genuinely cares about him – in her way. But until Ratio can remove the neural reprogramming from his brain, Aventurine doesn’t even want to be on the same planet as her. Not when she can pluck all the damning details his brain retains right out of his mind and hold it over his head. The last thing he needs is to hand the IPC another leash pulled tight around his neck.

            If Jade gets back to Pier Point before this evening, Aventurine has the feeling that it’s going to take all of his luck and wits to avoid her.

            “She did not,” Sugilite says tersely, and offers no further information. Which is fine. Aventurine can make an educated guess.

            Jade returning early is likely at Topaz’s request – and this situation on Jarillo-IV is clearly a very recent development. Otherwise Topaz would have given Aventurine a heads up that she was ducking out of oversight duty. Jade, however, must know, since all the Chelsee planets are under her jurisdiction. Topaz wouldn’t have done that without clearing it with her first. The smart money is this was discussed and decided on within the hour, meaning Jade is on her way back right now, or will begin making her way back shortly. There is no way she can be back on Pier Point until this evening at the earliest. Late tonight is more likely, but Aventurine’s not going to bank on it.

            So, not an ideal situation, but not one that calls for panic quite yet. He just has to finish these negotiations up quickly, then get off the planet ASAP. Maybe call in some favors to keep tabs on Topaz, who will certainly go to meet Jade at the space port. The last thing he wants is to bump into her there, but that is the most likely place for their paths to cross. Either way, Aventurine can deal with this. He’s got this.

            First things first though – negotiations. With thugs. While a man who wants to eat his liver sits beside him, nominally to watch his back.

            Never a boring day in the life of a Stoneheart.

            With the alerts that Ratio programs into his phone, keeping a constant eye on Aventurine’s heart monitor isn’t necessary – which is good, considering how boring an endeavor that would be. Ratio devotes his time instead to familiarizing himself with his surroundings. It isn’t snooping, per se. Aventurine invited him to make himself at home. Ratio is only availing himself of that invitation.

            He returns the blanket, pillow, and bed runner that Aventurine put on the sofa with him to Aventurine’s bedroom and vaguely wonders if Aventurine knows that bed runners are meant to be a decoration, and aren’t typically used as functional blankets. On his way out, he pauses at the table where Aventurine’s collection of colognes and perfumes are displayed and peruses them for a few minutes.

            He doesn’t spray any – he doesn’t want the scents to cling to him, but more than that, they would be wasted on Ratio. He doesn’t much care for strong smelling toiletries and often finds the overuse of them borderline offensive. The ones Aventurine wears have grown on him – in large part, however, because they aren’t overpowering. They aren’t exactly subtle . . . Ratio’s not exactly sure how to describe it. He supposes that, simply put, they suit Aventurine.

            His collection has been carefully curated – even Ratio, with his limited knowledge of scents can see this. He recognizes a few bottles from commercials and magazines. A few others he remembers from conversations with Aventurine. Aventurine knows that Ratio doesn’t strictly care about perfume, but sometimes he’ll bring one up in conversation or bring a bottle to show Ratio if it’s made of ingredients he thinks he’ll find interesting. Such as the tiny vial of pale violet liquid that’s distilled from once extinct flowers, brought back to life from frozen seeds found beneath the ice of Jarillo-VI. Or the cologne in the bottle made of opaque black glass that contains atomized memoria as a key ingredient.

            From the cologne collection, Ratio drifts to Aventurine’s wardrobe – the room next to his bedroom that he keeps the majority of his clothes in, not the walk-in closet in his room where he only stores a few. There Ratio realizes what Aventurine meant when he said packing would take less time than Ratio would think. Because along one wall, Aventurine has his system – shelves full of packing cubes, each one pre-packed with ten of each article or pair of clothing, labeled, and ready to be tossed into a suitcase. Ratio finds his mouth twitching into a slight smile as he looks them over and evaluates their efficiency. Aventurine dedicates his time and resources to the oddest things sometimes, but Ratio has to admit, for someone in Aventurine’s line of work this is actually practical. He lifts a cube off the floor, that must have fallen after Aventurine breezed out (10 Shirts. Cold Weather) and returns it to its proper place, between a row of packing cubes labeled “10 Shirts. Moderate Weather” and “10 Shirts. Really Cold Weather.”

            The rest of Aventurine’s wardrobe is more along the lines of what Ratio was expecting. He’s seen a good many of the gambler’s garments, after all. More than that, he’s seen Aventurine wear most of them multiple times. Aventurine does have an eye for fashion, but he’s not like some frivolous socialites who refuse to be caught wearing the same outfit twice. Aventurine keeps his clothes – and takes good care of them, Ratio sees now. He stores almost everything that’s not part of his packing cube system hung up, in clear garment bags to protect them and keep them in good condition.

            His favorite color shows through clearly in his collection of clothes. The vast majority of his garments are shades of blue-green – turquoise, teal, peacock green, and meridian blue . . . The same colors as the meteorites that fall on Sigonia. Star stones, he called them, Ratio remembers. Classified as semi-precious, so not intrinsically very valuable . . . yet Aventurine keeps his locked in a vault. It would be humorous, considering how he leaves his several million credit perfume collection sitting out in the open . . . until one considers all that Aventurine has been through. All that he’s lost. And what those stones might mean to him. Then it’s not humorous at all.

            Aventurine’s personality doesn’t show much in most of the rest of his penthouse despite, or perhaps because of the fact that the rest of the rooms seem so well put together. Matching furniture sets made of the highest quality woods, alloys, and textiles . . . wall art that ties the room together a little too well, suggesting that it came with the furniture. No personal touches, like throw blankets on chairs or nicknacks on end tables. By and large, the rest of the penthouse looks like it was set up specifically to be photographed. Not like it’s lived in.

            Except, Ratio discovers, for the kitchen. There he finds actual signs of life – scratched cutting boards that show they’ve been well used. Two clean, empty pots left on the stove rather than neatly tucked away wherever the other pots are stored. A bit of clutter on the kitchen island, in the form of a shelf-stable condiment collection. Ratio recognizes a jar of Aventurine’s favorite honey amongst the other bottles. It makes him happy for reasons he can’t quite explain. Perhaps because it’s a sign that this is Aventurine’s place. That he does live here after all.

            It’s past lunch time and Ratio had an early breakfast, and since Aventurine told him that he could help himself to anything, Ratio checks the refrigerator . . . and finds it mostly bare. There are a few bottles of condiments that will keep, a few jars of pickled vegetables, and an assortment of drinks. He has few expectations when he opens the freezer section above the refrigerator, but to his surprised, he finds that it’s actually well stocked – and with healthy food no less.

            There are an even dozen frozen meals, made by a local restaurant that specializes in health and nutrition, according to their labels. A claim made by many, but one that Ratio finds he has no reason to challenge the veracity of after peering through the clear lids of each package. One contains chickpeas stewed in a spicy tomato sauce, served over rice. Another is a pasta dish with long flat noodles topped with a ricotta-spinach sauce, and with grilled turkey meat balls and chunks of roasted butternut squash on the side. They all seem both filling and well balanced, and include a surprising amount of vegetables in each meal. Ratio selects a package containing roasted peppers stuffed with rice, ground lamb, onions, and tangy berrypheasant berries with a side of mashed eggplant and sets it to heating in the microwave.

            As he waits for his meal to reheat, a chrome-plated door catches Ratio’s eye. A walk-in freezer, he realizes and studies it pensively. Normally he would be wondering what reason Aventurine could possibly have to need one of those, living alone as he does, with a perfectly adequate amount of freezer space above his refrigerator. After seeing the provisions in his panic room, however, Ratio has some idea why Aventurine might feel a walk-in freezer is necessary. Since he has little better to do while he waits for his meal to be ready, Ratio steps toward it and opens the freezer door. He wants to know the full scope of Aventurine’s food hoarding tendencies, so he will be ready if such habits begin cropping up while they’re living together on Herta Space Station.

            For the second time since setting foot in Aventurine’s kitchen, Ratio gets a surprise.

            Because Aventurine’s walk-in freezer is full of pizza.

            Pizza.

            And more pizza.

            Ratio’s jaw actually slackens at the sight because he doesn’t believe he has ever seen this much frozen pizza in one place before. Not even in the frozen food section of a grocery store.

            Ratio has never even so much as seen Aventurine eat pizza before. So why . . . ?

            He thinks back, dredges his memory . . . and no. He’s certain. Aventurine has never even ordered pizza in his presence before, and there have been more than a few opportunities for him to. On Penacony it was one of the local specialties. Likewise, on Astri-V and when they visited all those planets in the Rigelus System. The closest he’s ever come to eating pizza that Ratio has seen was early on in their acquaintance . . . even then they had the habit of dining together when they were partnered on trips, to avoid the conspicuousness that comes from eating in public alone. Ratio ordered an appetizer – flatbread topped with olives and cheese . . . and Aventurine had stared at it with wide, covetous eyes until Ratio offered him a piece. He’d accepted, but Ratio remembers now, it was with the air of someone doing something they didn’t think they should be doing.

            Ratio does not understand this at all. Did someone tell his gambler not to eat pizza in the presence of other people? But who would do that? And why? It makes no sense. The only thing about this that is clear is that Aventurine well and truly loves pizza.

            The varieties in his collection are many – there are the standards that one can find in any grocery store’s frozen food section, such as pepperoni, multiple cheese blends, and mixed meat medleys. Then there are those that cater to a specific palette which prefers . . . heavier tastes, like cheeseburger pizza and barbeque chicken pizza. Mixed amongst them are higher end gourmet ensembles such as marinated eggplant with fresh mozzarella, white pizza with spinach and uncured bacon, olive tapenade pizza topped with feta . . . Then there are combinations Ratio has never seen or imagined before, most of which sound at least mildly appealing, but a few that do not. Notably absent are pizzas containing seafood as a topping – no octopus, as is popular in the Xianzhou Alliance, or anchovies, which Ratio finds delicious but have been maligned by popular culture. Also, conspicuously absent, is Ratio’s personal favorite, Margherita pizza.

            The ding of the microwave letting him know that his meal is heated startles Ratio out of his studying. For a frightful instant, he thinks that it’s an alert from his phone – but no, all is well with Aventurine’s bio monitor. Ratio fishes his phone out to check anyway, just to be sure. Then, realizing that perhaps it isn’t wise to entomb himself in a walk-in freezer, which could delay his phone’s signal further, Ratio heads back into the kitchen, leaving Aventurine’s frozen pizza collection behind.

            It’s easy enough to put out of sight. Less easy, Ratio finds, to put out of his mind. Even with a delicious meal right in front of him that Ratio finds himself enjoying every single bite of. It’s just . . . so bizarre. How did he not know that Aventurine liked pizza so much? Why has he never once eaten it around Ratio? Is this related to his heritage – to some memory of Sigonia? No . . . surely they didn’t have pizza on Sigonia. At least not amongst the Avgins. The bowls they baked their bread in were so heartbreakingly small. Each serving of their bread was clearly no larger than a dinner roll, and the shape they were baked in would not have been conducive to piling toppings onto.

            Ratio so wants to know . . . but comes to the conclusion that he should not ask. Sating his curiosity is not worth dredging up bad memories for Aventurine. Though . . . he clearly does love pizza. Ratio does not think Aventurine would take offense or find it amiss if Ratio were to provide some for them once they return to Herta Space Station. Getting delivery is out of the question, considering the location. Making it himself, in the small toaster oven Aventurine procured will be a challenge but not impossible by any means. Moreover, Ratio owes Aventurine more than a few meals. Aventurine has done all the cooking for both of them since they arrived at the space station. He took very good care of Ratio the entire time he was ill and went above and beyond to ensure Ratio had food that he could eat. Ratio would like to do something in return for him, when he can.

            Soon, he decides. He’ll add the items needed for Margherita pizza to Aventurine’s next grocery order. He’ll show Aventurine what he’s been missing out on.

            A text from Aventurine comes through for Ratio as he is cleaning up from his meal. Naturally, he puts aside all else to read and respond to it.

            Hey, Ratio, Aventurine messages him. I only have a minute – meeting’s on a break. But we’re going to have to make a fast getaway as soon as these talks are over. Jade’s on her way back to Pier Point.

            That revelation makes Ratio’s blood run cold.

            The Stonehearts don’t advertise their powers and abilities. Some of them they guard with extreme caution. Many people are aware of them all the same, especially those who work in close proximity to them. So, while it’s not well known or documented anywhere, Ratio is well aware of Madam Bonajade’s ability to read minds. Or rather, her Cornerstone’s ability to grant her access to peoples’ minds. Had he not been, he probably would never have agreed to Aventurine’s plan on Penacony – without that lynchpin detail, the whole escapade would have seemed like lunacy. Luckily for them, Ratio deduced what Jade was capable of years ago . . . and luckily for him she has never felt the need to take the ideas in Ratio’s mind directly to the departments of the IPC that would be interested in making them not just ideas but realities. Ratio is not certain if that is out of politeness or her inability to do so – just because she can read his thoughts does not mean she can understand them, after all. Either way, he does his best to avoid Jade when possible without being too obvious about it. Aventurine has never had the luxury of that.

            Ratio does not know if Jade was ever aware of Aventurine’s neural reprogramming. When he thinks about it, he very much doubts it. That is a weakness, and one that a Stoneheart could not afford. He likely would never have been a candidate to become Aventurine had Jade known – at least not while members of the original research team were still alive. More than that, Aventurine probably has not thought about his time as a test subject in a long, long while. He didn’t understand what was happening to him at the time. Then it was buried under mountains and mountains of fresher horrible memories. Jade cannot possibly read every one of anyone’s memories, and Ratio has long theorized that the thoughts that are closer to the surface are the ones she typically gleans.

            So, more likely than not, Jade does not know that with five simple words, she can turn Aventurine mindlessly obedient.

            Ratio wants to keep it this way. Clearly Aventurine does too.

            When will she arrive? he asks Aventurine.

            Dunno, is Aventurine’s oh so helpful answer. Just be ready for anything. I may need to jump out a window to get out of HQ faster. Or we might need to think fast to dodge her at the spaceport.

            Or Ratio might have to take matters into his own hands.

            Understood, he responds. Which is all that there really is to say. Aventurine isn’t privy to Ratio’s contingency plan, nor does he need to be.

            Ratio knows that Aventurine won’t be able to avoid Jade forever. Perhaps he won’t even be able to avoid her until Ratio figures out how to cure him. But Ratio will do everything he can to keep Aventurine out of her grasp until then. He doesn’t want the IPC to have a single thing more than they already do to chain Aventurine to them.

            He finishes cleaning up from lunch then returns to the refrigerator to grab a can of iced coffee. Then he makes his way back to the entry room and takes a seat on one of the bar stools. Here, if he falls asleep, he’ll fall to the floor and instantly wake up. No more taking it easy. No more slacking.

            If Aventurine needs him, Ratio will be by his side in an instant.

Yeah . . . I HC that Aventurine really loves pizza. You'll get the reason why eventually. ^^;

Chapter Text

            The negotiations with the Chelsee-II diplomats are high stakes and stressful – Aventurine’s specialty, and normally he would be thriving. He doesn’t think he does half bad today, even though he’s distracted. Sugilite disagrees.

            “You’re conceding too much to them,” he growls at Aventurine when they take a quick break about an hour into the talks. The Chelsee-II diplomats claim it’s to use the facilities – that the tea they were served went right through them. In actuality, it’s because they need to talk to the litigators they brought with them because Aventurine has more or less been talking circles around them.

            “I haven’t conceded anything to them,” Aventurine returns as he sends a quick text to Ratio, to keep him in the loop, then types out another to Topaz to try and fish for information regarding Jade’s arrival. “What, you mean that accountant they wanted that I agreed to? You know I’m planning on sending an Intellitron loaded to the gills with spyware. You can’t seriously think that’s a concession.”

            “Well they certainly do,” Sugilite says after a short pause, “and I dislike the smug smirks that put on their faces when you agreed.”

            “More fool them,” Aventurine says. And you, he thinks. But doesn’t say. Because now is not the time to antagonize Sugilite.

            His mind is a little frazzled from running on all cylinders for the past hour to work both the potential problem that Jade’s impending arrival represents and the problem in front of him posed by the math illiterate mafiosos. The latter is a work in progress – negotiations are about give and take, and they’re getting there. Not as quickly as Aventurine would like, but things are moving forward at an acceptable rate. Barely acceptable, but still. The former . . . well, Aventurine thinks he has a solution.

            Jade’s mind reading powers grow stronger with proximity to her cornerstone. That was why they needed it to be confiscated by the Family on Penacony – so she could read the intricate details of all the conspiracies of the Oak Family’s inner circle, plucking out the juicy bits, identifying weak spots, weak links, and so forth. Had they wrapped it up in filigree and cut stones like one of those bejeweled eggs that are trendy these days in the Feodorovna System, and smuggled it in as a trinket or souvenir, Jade’s reach would not have extended to Dewlight Pavillion, or if it did, she would have been gleaning surface thoughts, not delving deep enough to extract their secrets and the damning details of their plots.

            So, by Aventurine’s estimates, Jade will need to be in the same building as him to really read his mind. In the same building, and within the same 20 floor span, give or take a couple floors. Once she is, she most likely will do a cursory sweep of his mind, just because that’s her way. She likes keeping tabs on him, making sure he’s not getting up to too much trouble or going behind her back. Aventurine can’t really fault her for that, invasive as it is. The Stonehearts’ bonds aren’t exactly built on trust – Jade likes snooping in all of their minds so she can see whatever schemes they’re cooking up long before they reach her.

            The caveat is that Aventurine has seen her sort of get stuck before. When one of the people whose minds she wants to read is feeling strong emotions, she can’t just easily switch to another mind. Aventurine’s been with her before when she’s tried. He’s seen her struggle to move on to the next mind she wants to read. It’s almost like she gets tangled in the strong emotions and it takes her multiple minutes to break free. Or maybe it’s more like the strong emotions are like a blazing sun and other minds that aren’t telegraphing strong emotions are like candles – hard to focus on in the light of day. It’s one of Jade’s few weaknesses and Aventurine is not at all above exploiting it to keep his secrets. If Jade converges on IPC Headquarters before he can make his getaway, Aventurine will exploit it for all it’s worth. Hopefully it won’t come to that, but it’s always good to have a contingency plan.

            Now that Aventurine has worked that out he can devote his full attention to the negotiations when they resume, but until then he’s doing his utmost to glean intel on Jade’s ETA. When his text to Topaz goes unanswered, he reaches out to another contact – an atmospheric traffic controller at the private spaceport that is reserved for IPC higher ups. Naturally that includes the Stonehearts, and naturally it’s the one Jade will be using. The public spaceports are for plebians who don’t have P-40 or higher ranks.

            He hears back from his contact quickly. She assures him that she’ll drop Aventurine a line immediately if any craft comes through with Madam Jade on the passenger manifest. He doesn’t hear back from Topaz before the negotiations resume. It’s impossible to tell if that’s good or bad.

            Back at the table, Aventurine ups his game and continues talking circles around his guests. Now that he has a strategy for dealing with Jade, the only thing really holding him back is Sugilite. His fellow Stoneheart’s appetite isn’t exactly subtle. Honestly, it’s distracting having someone sitting next to him, shoveling plate after plate of food into their mouth. The catered tea sandwiches and confections are meant to last the whole afternoon. Sugilite must have been reining himself in during the first hour of the talks, but now he clearly considers them fair game. They don’t last through the end of the second hour of negotiations.

            To be fair, the Chelsee-II diplomats seem more distracted by Sugilite’s gluttony than Aventurine is. So, despite being an annoyance, it does benefit Aventurine. Not that he’ll admit that. Especially since once the snacks have been depleted, Sugilite’s mood takes a turn for the foul. He starts speaking up more often, now that his mouth isn’t full of food. Mostly just biting or snarky comments that don’t serve any purpose other than to antagonize the mafiosos. Aventurine has to choose between calling for a break so he can tell Sugilite to just shut up and sit there looking pretty or adjusting his strategy and rolling with it. He chooses the latter, beings that it’s faster and will cause him less problems in the long run. That leads to few tense moments, including one where the mafiosos get angry enough to put their hands on their holstered weapons and their eyes gleam with the intent to draw.

            The Chelsee diplomats are already on their feet by that point. Sugilite springs to his as well, leaving Aventurine as the only one still seated at the table. He mentally sighs as he double checks his shields, making sure Sugilite is covered in case his next move goes badly . . . then he calls on his cornerstone’s power for some extra oomph and kicks the table as hard as he can.

            It’s a horrifically heavy thing made of solid Izumo snakewood – dense as iron and capable of stopping most bullets. Moving it takes at least four people. Aventurine’s kick flips it onto the Chelsee diplomats, knocking them flat and pinning them to the floor.

            “Whoops,” says Aventurine, still seated. “My apologies. We’ve been at this table so long my legs were starting to lose circulation.”

            He watches their reactions to his words, and their realization of just how strong he is as they struggle to get the table off of themselves. He lets them flounder for a few moments. Then, once he’s satisfied that they are aware just how much power he can put into a casual kick, he stands and pulls the table off them, putting it back upright.

            “My friends,” Aventurine says amiably as they pick themselves up off the ground, “we truly have been here for a very long time . . . nearly four hours now. I don’t know about you, but I could use a change of pace. How about we take a break from these talks . . . and play a few rounds?”

            A bit of sleight of hand and his favorite deck of cards is in his hand. Now with bruises on their dignity as well as their body, and with Sugilite still standing next to Aventurine bristling like an angry guard dog, the Chelsee-II diplomats decide that yes, playing a few rounds of cards would make for a nice change of pace.

            From there it’s child’s play to convince them to play using terms and concessions as stakes. Aventurine can recognize a fellow degenerate gambler a mile off. A part of him knew that these negotiations were always going to come down to this – or a shootout. This is preferable. It’s cleaner and far faster than having to fill out paperwork detailing why it was necessary to bludgeon the life out of these fools, then sign off on plans for a hostile takeover of yet another planet.

            Naturally, fate favors Aventurine, as it always does in games of chance. The IPC comes out of these negotiations with almost everything they want. There are only two minor exceptions – one which Aventurine conceded earlier on, long before the card game began, or even before Sugilite ran out of snacks. Another that he let slip through his fingers deliberately by going bust on the hand that determined it. It was something he could afford to lose, and it’s better for long term relations to throw them a few bones.

            Finally, they tie things up. Aventurine makes nice with the mafiosos, stokes their egos, and has them thinking they’re great friends again, even though he essentially just robbed them blind. They’re likely to insist on meeting with him again next time, if there is a next time, but that’s a problem that Aventurine is fine kicking down the road for later. At last, after a final round of handshakes, Aventurine is free. He strides out of the conference room, after ensuring that the Chelsee-II diplomats are in the capable hands of some sycophantic underlings who are happy to see them out of the building and back to their hotel. Sugilite follows Aventurine to the elevator and makes an annoyed sound when Aventurine hits the button to summon an elevator and once again, the doors closest to him ding and open immediately.

            Aventurine almost suggests that Sugilite wait for the next elevator if he has a problem with Aventurine’s luck, but that would mean talking to Sugilite. Something Aventurine would rather not do. Fortunately, the feeling is mutual – they ride the elevator to the floor their offices are on in silence. Aventurine takes the time to pull out his phone and check his messages – and that is where Aventurine’s luck for the day ends. Because he has two. One from his atmospheric traffic controller contact, letting him know that Lady Jade has arrived on Pier Point – from half an hour ago. Another from Topaz, sent only three minutes ago, letting him know that Jade should be arriving here at headquarters any time now, and suggesting he join them for dinner if he doesn’t mind listening to shop talk, because she and Jade have a lot to talk about before they head to Jarillo-VI.

            Reading those messages must have caused a spike in Aventurine’s heartrate, because before he can decide how he wants to reply to Topaz, another message comes through – this one from Ratio.

            What is wrong? Has something happened?

            Aventurine responds to Ratio first. Everything is fine. Nothing to worry about.

            Then the elevator doors open on the Stonehearts’ office floor, and Topaz is standing there, waiting for a ride down, in the middle of a conversation with one of her assistants on her phone.

            “ – and make sure you have the umbrella because this hour’s forecast says there’s a thirty percent chance of rain, and Madam Jade’s outfits are all dry clean only. I’m on my way down now, so I’ll be there to greet her myself when – what? Right now? Oh! Elevator’s just arrived! What luck! Oh. Aventurine.” Topaz says Aventurine’s name with much less enthusiasm than every other word she used in the half of that conversation that Aventurine could hear.

            “Topaz. I take it Jade just pulled up?”

            “She did. Did you get my message? You’re welcome to join us for dinner, if you like.”

            The invitation comes because Topaz knows Jade likes having meals together – all three of them, like a happy little family. It shows the universe at large, and the other Stonehearts in particular, a united front. Usually Aventurine is happy to play along, namely because Topaz doesn’t really want him there. She wants Jade all to herself because she is, in fact, a weirdo. Naturally he’s not so committed to annoying her that he would join them today.

            It’s funny though. Seconds ago he thought that his luck had turned, but being given confirmation at the exact right moment he needs to know that Jade is entering the building is more than he could hope for. It means he’ll be timing his distraction perfectly.

            “Not today, I’m afraid,” Aventurine tells Topaz, “but I hope you have a nice meal. The negotiations with Chelsee-II just concluded, by the way. They went well. I’ll type up a summary for you.”

            “Many thanks. And sorry about . . . you know.” Topaz glances at Sugilite, who has turned in the direction his office lies in. Then she darts past Aventurine into the elevator.

            “Don’t worry about it. I made it work.”

            “I’m glad. I’ll see you around then. Oh, and I’ll tell Jade you said hi!”

            The elevator doors close as Topaz is waving goodbye. Aventurine smirks. Then he turns to walk in the opposite direction from the one where his office lies – which just so happens to be the direction Sugilite is walking in still.

            He follows Sugilite stealthily. His fellow Stoneheart only realizes that he’s there when he opens his office door, steps inside, then turns back to close it. Confusion flickers across his face. Then annoyance. “What?”

            Aventurine gives him his top shelf smile and breezes into Sugilite’s office without invitation, passing him before Sugilite knows what’s happening. “Hey, so I need a favor.”

            “Then you’d best catch up with Topaz. Or go begging to Jade, or one of your other little allies.”

            “Uh uh. I’m here asking you,” Aventurine says. Because now is exactly the time to antagonize Sugilite.

            “Whatever it is you want, I don’t intend to give it to you. Now get out. I’ve spent more time than I care to in your presence today.”

            “Hm? What’s wrong? Oh, does it make you hangry, being around me, knowing that you can’t eat my liver?”

            “You – just get out.”

            “Not until you hear me out,” Aventurine insists. “Like I said, I need a favor.”

            “Why in the Amber Lord’s name would I do anything for you?”

            “Oh, come on. It’s not even a big favor. I just need to borrow . . .” Aventurine sweeps his eyes around the room. They settle on a large wooden wardrobe in the corner. “Your closet.”

            That catches Sugilite off guard. “What?”

            “I need to borrow your closet.”

            “What? No – hey!”

            Aventurine strides over to Sugilite’s closet, flings it open, and steps inside. Then he pulls the doors shut behind him.

            “Aventurine, what are you doing? Get out of there!” Naturally, Sugilite follows him and tries to pull the doors open. Aventurine grips them and pulls on them too, fighting to keep them closed.

            “No!” he tells Sugilite.

            “Aventurine! Come out of the closet!”

            “You can’t tell me that! That’s an HR issue right there!”

            That proclamation is followed by a string of cursing and the rattling of the doors as Sugilite redoubles his efforts to pull them open. The hinges groan under the assault of two Stonehearts, but miraculously, they hold. For now. It seems like it’s very well made, but if either of them start using their real strength, this wardrobe’s going to fall apart like bargain basement kit furniture.

            Aventurine’s phone buzzes. Multiple times. Probably Ratio. Aventurine wonders what his bio monitor is showing right now. Or maybe it’s Jade, wanting to know why he’s intentionally riling up Sugilite.

            “Aventurine! Get! Out! Here! NOW!”

            “Hang on, just a second!” A few seconds more is probably all he needs. If he knows Jade, she won’t waste any time hanging around the lobby, but will head straight up to her office. And if he knows Topaz, she’ll be holding the elevator for Jade to speed things up – a grievous violation of elevator etiquette, to be sure, but people tend not to tell the Stonehearts they can’t do something. A few more seconds and Jade will be within mind reading range. Sugilite is radiating rage – he should catch her attention first, and keep her attention, at least for a minute or two. Meanwhile Aventurine will make a break for the stairs and be out of mind reading range before she can tune away from Sugilite.

            “You . . . infuriating . . . blond!” Sugilite’s patience has been exhausted. With a monumental heave, he rips the wardrobe doors clean off, grabs Aventurine by the neck, and bodily drags him out. “I will never understand what possessed Diamond to bestow a cornerstone upon you!”

            Aventurine can’t exactly answer. Sugilite’s hand is too tight around his throat. Thanks to his shield it doesn’t hurt, and even though he’s cutting off Aventurine’s oxygen, it will take quite some time before it actually does any damage to him. He just can’t speak while Sugilite is gripping his neck like this . . . and it might be doing something that shows up on his bio monitor because Aventurine’s phone buzzes again.

            Sugilite glowers at him for another moment then flings Aventurine in the direction of the door. Aventurine lands lightly, regaining his balance almost instantly – but suddenly, there’s a rush of sweltering heat behind him.

            He starts to turn, but before he can, strong arms wrap around him. Then the world dissolves into blue flames. So hot. Too hot. Aventurine can feel his shield straining but he can’t do anything about it. Dizziness swamps him and he wonders wildly, did Sugilite just attack him? Is this one of Sugilite’s powers that he was keeping under wraps?

            Then, suddenly the blue flames dissipate. The world tilts and Aventurine is falling. He lands on a familiar plush, navy blue sofa and Ratio . . . Ratio lands heavily on top of him, knocking the breath out of him.

            What?

            The familiar ceiling of their apartment in the Seclusion Zone on Herta Space Station swims into focus as Ratio quickly clambers off of him. Cold fingers against Aventurine’s throat, taking his pulse. His mind scrambles to try to catch up but is bogged down by a feverish haze.

            “Good heavens . . . Did I . . . black out?” Then he remembers how much Ratio hates it when people ask questions they should be able to reason out the answers to. “Sorry. I mean . . . how long did I black out for?”

            Because he had to have blacked out. That’s the only thing that makes sense . . . beings that the last thing he remembers is being on Pier Point in Sugilite’s office and now he’s back home on Herta Space Station.

            “A reasonable assumption,” Ratio tells him, “but an incorrect one. You did not, in fact, black out. Which is an oddity, beings that everyone else who has ever been forcefully teleported has lost consciousness. I can only assume that the reason why you didn’t is linked to either your shields or your cornerstone.”

            “Teleported? Wha?” Aventurine asks. Because teleportation doesn’t really exist . . . at least not on a practical level. If it did the IPC would be all over it. Monetizing it. Monopolizing it.

            “I will explain in due time,” Ratio promises, “but right now you should rest. At present, you are disoriented and feverish, but I promise you that you are safe.”

            “Well yeah,” Aventurine says. “Because you’re here.”

            Ratio’s expression twitches. Then he smiles in this soft way that makes Aventurine’s stomach do a somersault.

            “Yes. I’m here. So rest.”

            “’Kay.”

            And Aventurine closes his eyes to obey his doctor’s orders. Ratio will make this all make sense when he wakes up.

Lots of us are having a hard week this week. I put a rush on this chapter because I thought some of you could use a pick-me-up.

I’m aiming to post the next chapter either on Sunday (EST) my usual posting day or one day later. Comments are greatly appreciated – they help motivate me. ^^;

Chapter Text

            The irony of their positions – or rather the reversal of them – is not lost on Ratio as he rests a hand on Aventurine’s forehead, gauging his temperature. Fortunately, Aventurine’s condition is a very temporary one. Being teleported as a passenger by Phase Flame results in a fever that clears up within twenty-four hours. Usually less. Taking into account Aventurine’s youth and physical condition, along with his shield and status as a Pathstrider of Preservation, it is extremely likely that his recovery time will be on the shorter end of the spectrum.

            Looking down at him now, Ratio can’t help but be reminded of just how young Aventurine truly is. His Stoneheart formalwear only accentuates this. It looks amazing on him, of course, but with his coloring it makes him look paler and more vulnerable.

            Ratio takes it upon himself to divest Aventurine of a few articles of his uniform now, to both make him more comfortable and make his life easier in the long run. Ratio removes his tie and unbuttons the top two buttons of Aventurine’s collared shirt so that nothing will obstruct his breathing. He carefully rolls up Aventurine’s tie and places it on the bookshelves next to the sofa, then retrieves Aventurine’s fedora from the floor where it fell when they arrived. He takes off Aventurine’s shoes next and sets them aside. Then, finally, he carefully eases Aventurine out of his blazer and hangs it up so that it won’t wrinkle.

            After that, he searches until he finds a clean washcloth, wets it, and uses it to wipe away the remnants of the sweat that beaded on Aventurine’s face as his body overheated while they teleported. When Ratio rests a hand on his forehead again, he feels a little cooler, like his fever is dropping. Good.

            Ratio considers cooking dinner for them, but that would mean bustling around the kitchen area, while Aventurine naps only half a room away. The inevitable noise that comes with cooking would not be conducive for his continued rest. Then there’s the fact that he might not have any appetite when he awakens. The last thing Ratio wants is for Aventurine to be distressed about potential food waste and force himself to eat something that makes him feel more ill. Ratio will wait until he wakes up to see what he feels like eating.

            He kills time by reading at their kitchen table but finds focusing harder than it should be. His gaze keeps flitting to Aventurine, where he dozes peacefully. It’s embarrassing for Ratio to admit even in the privacy of his own mind, but Aventurine looks sinfully beautiful in his Stoneheart formalwear, and somehow, removing a few pieces of it only serves to make him more alluring.

            Ratio wants to sculpt him. To paint him. To press his forehead against Aventurine’s and swear to him that the trust he has put in Ratio will never be misplaced, and that Ratio will always, always keep him safe. It’s a special kind of torture to be in the same room with the object of his affections when he is dressed like that and to know that he can only look, but for the foreseeable future won’t be able to act on his feelings and confess, and see if Aventurine feels the same about him. He almost wishes he was a less moral man, and that he had it in him to ignore the ethical issues surrounding this. Though of course, if he were, he would not be worthy of Aventurine. He would be a disgrace.

            Mercifully, Aventurine wakes in only a little over an hour – much more quickly than Ratio expected him to regain consciousness. Aventurine’s shield probably played a very large part in his ability to shake the aftereffects of teleporting off so fast. He sits up and looks around, confused but clear-eyed and very much aware, unlike before when he was feverish and disoriented.

            “How do you feel?” Ratio asks, abandoning his book and striding quickly to Aventurine’s side.

            “Alright. A little hot, but not like before.” Aventurine tugs at his collar a bit and Ratio deliberately averts his eyes and forces himself to study Aventurine’s face. “What happened, Ratio? How did we get back here again? I think I remember you saying something about teleportation, but . . .”

            Ratio reaches out to press his hand against Aventurine’s forehead before answering. Still a little warm, but much cooler than before. If he’s running a fever, it’s a very low grade one now, and with luck it should subside shortly.

            “One moment,” he tells Aventurine, then goes to the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of water for him. He hands it over and watches Aventurine twist off the lid and drink deeply. Only once he’s satisfied that Aventurine is well on his way toward properly rehydrating does he take out his Phase Flame to show Aventurine. “I borrowed this from Madam Herta’s curio collection. It is called Phase Flame. The Genius Society has studied it. The Annihilation Gang utilizes it. After some trial and error, I managed to unlock its secrets as well and put them toward a practical use – teleportation.”

            Aventurine’s eyes shine with both admiration and the blue reflection of the ever-shifting flame. “Wow, Doctor. There’s really nothing you can’t do.”

            His earnest praise sends a pang through Ratio’s chest. He allows himself a smile. “I will admit to being proud of how much I’ve managed to learn about this curio. It is very useful. Unfortunately, there are also a few drawbacks to its power as well, and you are experiencing them now. Those who are teleported as passengers by the wielder of the Phase Flame suffer from side effects. Everyone but you who I have ever heard of being brought along as a passenger or who was teleported by someone else using this curio has been knocked unconscious. All of you have developed fevers and showed signs of disorientation. Nearly everyone recovered within twenty-four hours. Those who took longer, I suspect, were simply trying to milk their ordeal for all it was worth.”

            “Hm. Well, I can’t speak for them, but I think I’m almost back at a hundred percent,” Aventurine says. Then he flexes his arms experimentally, as though testing his range of motion.

            “I am pleased to hear it. Might I suggest, however, that you change your outfit if you are able. I do not know how well the Stoneheart formalwear deals with its wearer’s perspiration, but given how ridiculously expensive I am sure it is, I suspect not well. At the very least, you have likely wrinkled the fabric by sleeping in it.”

            “Ah. Right you are,” Aventurine says and stands. He is cautious and grips the back of the sofa for a moment, making sure that his balance is sound. Ratio is on full alert as well, but it turns out to be unnecessary. Aventurine’s condition seems to be improving by the second, and when he begins walking toward the bedroom, where the rest of his clothes are kept, it’s with his usual predatory grace.

            He returns a few minutes later in a pair of black slacks and a teal collared shirt that fits a little looser on his small frame than his tailored garments. Casual-wear for Aventurine. Still a good look on him, but thankfully, it doesn’t make him look as alluring as his Stoneheart formalwear.

            “Have you eaten?” Aventurine asks. “I think we’re a little too late for dinner service in the cantina, but I can make us something.”

            “I have not eaten,” Ratio tells him, “but I thought that I would cook for us this evening. You likely have a few loose ends to tie up, given our abrupt departure.”

            Aventurine gives a slight laugh and waves his phone. “Yes. A few people have a few questions. But don’t worry – I’ve already made arrangements to have the luggage we packed delivered here. My driver is taking it to the spaceport as we speak. He’ll put it on our shuttle, which will depart immediately. We’ll be able to pick up our stuff from the Implement Arts Department tomorrow morning. But you say that you’re going to cook for me? I mean for us? What are you making?”

            Breakfast for dinner turns out to be what they settle on. Both of them are hungry, but neither really feel like instant food. There are eggs in the refrigerator and a loaf of bread in the hutch. Aventurine makes himself useful and cuts a few slices of bread to toast while Ratio cracks and scrambles eggs. As they prep their meal Ratio gets the story out of Aventurine about what was going on right before Ratio teleported in to whisk him away.

            Ratio had pretty much figured upon arrival that Aventurine’s life wasn’t in danger. He’d removed him from the situation anyway because he wasn’t willing to take any chances and didn’t feel like answering Sugilite’s inevitable questions regarding his unconventional arrival. He would rather not have anything to do with Sugilite at all, if possible.

            “Jade has a few questions,” Aventurine says once he’s finished summarizing the post-meeting events. “She doesn’t seem too curious though, and I don’t think she knows that you got me out of there. I think she was mentally trying to detangle herself from Sugilite when you teleported me out, and so she missed seeing it happen in real time in Sugilite’s mind, but stayed out of his head even after we were gone so she didn’t get stuck. She probably suspects that I riled him up to trap her that way, then made a break for it, and she probably suspects why. Alas, she knows me well. But at this time, at least, I don’t think she’s interested enough in what I’m hiding from her to go out of her way to look into it.

            “Meanwhile, Topaz wants to know what I did to annoy Sugilite and why. And Sugilite sent me a text telling me never to come into his office again. I’m going to halfway fill out an HR incident form about our little altercation and send him a screenshot of it in return. Then delete the form rather than turn it in, because I have better things to do than take that joke too far. And . . . I think that’s everything, right? Unless someone noticed that we didn’t return to the space station via the railway platform and we have to lie to them. Or bribe them. But I don’t feel like anyone’s watching our comings and goings too closely.”

            “Probably not,” Ratio agrees. “Though if I must, I will explain to Lead Researcher Asta about how I borrowed the Phase Flame curio.”

            Their conversation comes to a natural end just as their eggs finish cooking. Ratio carries the pan to the table, where Aventurine is waiting, and splits the eggs between the two prepared plates. Then they sit down to eat . . . and it’s nice. Nice to just be having a simple meal while both of them are well, and there is no impending danger or cause for stress – beyond their research, which they’ll be resuming shortly. Likely tomorrow, but talk of that can wait until tomorrow. If Aventurine needs another day or two, they’ll take another day or two. Right now is a rare moment of peace with nothing hanging over them.

            Ratio wishes they could have more times like this.

            He watches Aventurine spread butter over one of his slices of toast, then top it with eggs before taking a bite, and Ratio finds himself smiling. He can’t help but find it cute. He remembers Aventurine’s walk-in freezer and his frozen pizza stash and wonders if this behavior is related – if Aventurine has a penchant for piling toppings on top of bread. Ratio tries to remember back to times they’ve eaten together before, and from his memories he is able to pick out a pattern.

            In situations where they have had to make their own sandwiches, Aventurine tends to make his open faced. He remembers, on one occasion, while he was at dinner with Aventurine and Jade, before Aventurine became a Stoneheart, Aventurine took a bread roll from the basket that the restaurant provided their table and after their entrees came, he split it open and topped one half with cheesy mashed potatoes. Jade elbowed him and gave him a look. Aventurine had looked embarrassed but defiant and ate the potato topped half of his roll, but the other half he ate with just butter. Also relevant, Ratio realizes, is Aventurine’s preference for crostini and bruschetta when presented with an hors d’oeurvres spread. In his line of work, the occasions where those pop up are many, and Ratio has noticed what Aventurine likes over the years. His number one preference is any sort of bread with a topping. After that, he’ll go for whatever looks the sweetest. Then he’ll choose whatever seems to be the most expensive that doesn’t contain seafood.

            Ratio finds himself mildly embarrassed that he never connected these patterns and incidents before. It should have at least occurred to him to wonder why he’s never seen Aventurine eat pizza.

            He’ll have to make that Margherita pizza for him sooner rather than later.

            “This is really good, Ratio. Thanks for cooking,” Aventurine tells him, shaking him from his reverie.

            “Thank you. Though it is only scrambled eggs. Hardly a great culinary feat.”

            “It doesn’t have to be a great culinary feat to be delicious.”

            “A fair point,” Ratio concedes.

            A beat of silence . . . and then . . .

            “Aren’t you going to compliment me on my toast now?”

            A bark of laughter escapes from Ratio’s throat before he can reign it in. He quickly covers his mouth and looks at Aventurine, worried that what he said was not intended to be a jest, worried he might have offended . . . but he needn’t have feared. Aventurine grins up at him impishly, his beautiful eyes shining.

            “You laughed,” he says, delighted.

            “I did,” Ratio agrees. “You are funny.”

            Aventurine beams at him, looking so happy, so radiant that it makes Ratio’s heart ache.

            This, Ratio realizes, is why he’s in love with Aventurine. Not because he is beautiful – which he is – but because they fit so well together. They make each other happy in ways that no one else seems able to. Aventurine can actually make Ratio laugh – something which few others have ever accomplished. Aventurine just so perfectly complements him . . . completes him . . . and he would like to think he does the same for Aventurine.

            The rest of dinner alternates between companionable silence and light conversation. It’s domestic, and pleasant, and if every meal for the rest of Ratio’s life was like this, his would have been a life well spent. They clean up together too, though both try to convince the other to go rest instead. Both of them are a little tired, and neither at one hundred percent – Ratio from his recent bout of burning star fever and Aventurine from being teleported as a passenger by the Phase Flame – but both of them are well enough to do a bit of menial labor. Then, after that, they decide to shower and turn in early. It’s been a long day for both of them. Though Ratio would very much like to soak in the bathtub for a spell, he finds that his desire to stay near Aventurine is far stronger. He needs to make sure Aventurine bears no ill side effects from the teleportation and that he doesn’t do something that will strain himself, like running up to the Implement Arts Department and try to bring back any new packages that may have arrived for him today.

            Then, once they’re finished showering, and back in their room, both clad in pajamas, Ratio lays in bed and snatches a few more minutes of reading as Aventurine goes through his nightly skincare regiment. It’s nothing too involved, just moisturizer over most of his face, eye cream under and at the corners of his eyes, and chapstick on his lips. Once again, however, Ratio finds himself sneaking glances at his partner over the top of his book. It’s comforting to see him safe, and well, and doing something so normal, and the products he uses have a soothing scent. Milk. Honey. Ratio realizes that after rooming with Aventurine for several weeks, he’s beginning to associate them with bedtime.

            When Aventurine is finished, he zips up his products in the tiny case he keeps them in, slides the case onto the lower level of their nightstand cart, then pulls his turned down covers up to his chest and twists them around himself as he rolls onto his side – regretfully facing away from Ratio tonight.

            “You can keep reading,” Aventurine says when Ratio shifts to turn off the light, most likely alerted to his movement by the slight creak of the bedsprings. “For as long as you want. It won’t keep me up.”

            “No, it’s alright,” Ratio tells him and proceeds with turning off the lamp. “I would prefer to rest now too.”

            Aventurine gives a slight hum to acknowledge this, and as darkness descends over them, Ratio thinks that their conversation for the night has come to an end. But then –

            “Hey Doc?”

            “Yes, Gambler?”

            “Thanks for today. For keeping an eye on me. And coming to get me when you thought I needed help. Sorry if I don’t seem gracious enough. I’m just . . . not used to having someone watch out for me. But I do appreciate it. A lot.”

            “You’re welcome,” Ratio tells him after a short pause. Because even though he was not expecting thanks and thinks this is not something that Aventurine needs to thank him for, he worries that if he keeps telling Aventurine as much that Aventurine might think he is not valued – that Ratio is brushing his thanks off. “I hope you know . . . your safety is very important to me. You are very important to me. And I . . . I will do whatever is in my power to help you, whenever you are in need. Always.”

            It’s not exactly what he wants to tell him. But every word of it is true. Even so, Ratio resigns himself to the fact that the next few months may be the longest of his life, living with the one he is in love with, but unable to act on his feelings until their purpose here is completed. Ratio will survive it, though. More importantly, Aventurine will be made safer by their work, and what, if anything, they build afterward, once the ethics issues have subsided, will be stronger. Better. And Ratio will have done it the right way.

            “Good night, Ratio,” Aventurine says then, and his voice cracks slightly on the words in a way that tests Ratio’s resolve yet again – that makes him want to go to Aventurine and embrace him and tell him that everything is going to be okay.

            Instead, he steels himself and closes his eyes, recognizing that what Aventurine needs now is space.

            “Good night, Aventurine.”

I hope everyone's hanging in there after the long week that last week was.  We got through it though, and we'll get through what's ahead of us.  

Chapter Text

            The next morning Aventurine and Ratio both get a lazy start. They sleep in – a luxury Aventurine’s been denying himself the past week, while Ratio was sick. He had to make sure he could cull all the True Stings in the hallways before Ratio woke up and remembered that was something that needed to be done. He wouldn’t have put it past Ratio to want to help him with it, even when he was sick.

            Aventurine hears when Ratio gets out of bed, but twists himself deeper into his blankets, and buries his face in his pillow. Just five more minutes, he silently pleads, even though Ratio hasn’t made any move to wake him – nor does he actually try to. Instead, he goes into the main room of their apartment, and minutes later, Aventurine hears the sounds of Ratio preparing breakfast – the coffee machine starting up, the microwave going, and the soft clink of dishes and cutlery. He bets Ratio is making an effort to put down whatever dishes he’s handling softly to try not to disturb Aventurine. Even so, Aventurine hears enough clinks that he’s certain Ratio is making breakfast for two.

            A warm rush fills him at the thought. He’s not sure why, but he really, really likes it when Ratio cooks for him. He likes having someone make him food again. The way his sister and his mother made food just for him. It’s different than a chef at a restaurant making it for him – that’s their job and they’re doing it to get paid. Having someone who cares about him make him food hits different.

            He wonders if Ratio feels similarly about Aventurine making food for him.

            He drags himself out of bed after another few minutes and ambles into the kitchen, because suddenly getting up seems like a much better idea. Having someone make him breakfast is very motivating. Ratio gives a slight smile at the sight of him and passes him a cup of coffee, and this is the kind of morning that makes Aventurine happy to still be alive.

            Breakfast turns out to be oatmeal with dried fruit – apples, raisins, and dates – topped with cream and dusted with cinnamon. Aventurine didn’t know oatmeal could taste this good.

            “It would be better with walnuts,” Ratio comments, critiquing his own cooking, and Aventurine mentally adds walnuts to his shopping list.

            They eat and drink their coffee at a leisurely pace. Mostly without conversation, but the few words they do exchange are friendly and lighthearted. They both manage to stay off their phones and tablets as well, while they’re eating, though after the oatmeal is gone and they still have coffee left to sip, the devices do come out. Aventurine is able to confirm that their luggage arrived last night and is waiting for them up at Implement Arts. No one is asking questions about their abrupt departure from Pier Point. He’s got some work that he needs to do remotely today, but nothing too pressing. All in all, life seems good.

            After they finish their coffee, Aventurine and Ratio go and clear out the True Stings together for the first time in over a week. Then they take a quick trip to the main part of the space station to retrieve their luggage, and the packages that came in for them yesterday.

            Aventurine has the feeling that if almost anyone else on the space station was getting so many parcels, someone or another would probably be annoyed. He, however, is a Stoneheart. It means that he can do almost anything he wants without anyone batting an eye. Herta Space Station might not be IPC owned, but it’s IPC adjacent, and no one here is going to tell him no. All the same, Aventurine does take a few steps to mitigate any hard feelings or irritation that his many deliveries might incur.

            “This one’s actually for you, my friend,” he tells Wen Mingde, who he most frequently deals with. “For you and your team, that is. You mentioned that your department’s coffee machine is broken. Well, here is a new one for you – a combination coffee/espresso/cappuccino maker – with an option to dispense plain hot water in case anyone wants tea. Now, not only do you not have to be reliant on your neighboring departments anymore, you’ll be the envy of them as well!”

            He leaves to spluttering thanks and makes some mental calculations. By his estimates, that should buy him the Implement Arts Department’s goodwill for a good four months, but he’ll plan on getting them something else in two, to ensure he stays on their good side. Assuming he’s still here in two months. Who knows? Ratio might figure out a way to free his mind from its shackles before the week is up.

            Ratio, for the record, is not a fan of Aventurine’s habit of buying friends. Never has been. He grows surly on the way back to the Seclusion Zone.

            “It should be beneath you to bribe this space station’s employees to do their jobs,” he tells Aventurine once they’re in the elevator, away from prying ears.

            “I know, but I have caused them a lot of extra work the past few weeks with my deliveries,” Aventurine says. “Besides, everyone should have a good coffee maker.”

            “Be that as it may, if you keep this up, they’ll begin to expect excessive renumeration for their services.”

            “Oh, Ratio, don’t be jealous. I’ll get you a present too,” Aventurine promises. “Just tell me what you’d like.”

            “This is not an attempt to wheedle gifts from you, gambler.”

            “I know. But I’ll get you something anyway. So, what’ll it be? Another rubber duckie? Ooh, maybe some floating candles for your bath water? I didn’t think to get any of those when I was setting things up, and only got you regular candles. Oh, or maybe floating candles shaped like rubber duckies! Then again, would those end up looking too morbid and traumatic once they start to melt?”

            Ratio almost laughs again. Aventurine is sure of it. But he just manages to hold it in and gives his head a depreciating shake instead. Either way, he doesn’t criticize Aventurine’s gift giving ways again on the way back to their apartment.

            They take some time to unpack once they get there – and to assemble some new furniture and move out what they’d borrow from around the Seclusion Zone. The bench-like two-tiered shelf that was at the foot of their beds gets swapped out for double modular closet units that Aventurine bought after scouring multiple shopping sites for something that would fit their needs perfectly. Each unit has three drawers at the bottom, giving them six drawers in total, and up top, a meter-tall box with a rod running through it, so they can hang up clothes that need to be hung. A hinged door keeps out the dust, as well as bugs that might spin webs amongst their clothes or chew holes in them – not that there seem to be any of those on Herta Space Station. Nope, just ginormous genetically modified insects that would eat them whole if given the chance.

            Either way, the modular closets look good, if Aventurine does say so himself. They have a modern look that helps tie the room together – not that Aventurine is a great judge of interior design. He barely paid attention to what he was ordering for his penthouse back when he first moved in. Any furnishings he’s bought since have been out of necessity and mainly related to his ever-growing wardrobe. Back then it never occurred to him to shop around and pick things that he wanted, that he liked, and that would make his penthouse seem . . . well, like home. Doing so for his and Ratio’s place here in the Seclusion Zone has been a new experience, but a fun one.

            “We have not discussed a schedule for your experimental treatments,” Ratio says once they’ve finished putting their things away and getting everything back in order. “I suspect that trying to establish a rigid long-term schedule would be an exercise in futility, given both our jobs – yours more than mine. But when it comes to the time of day that we conduct our research, I would like to propose that it be later in the day. Mid-afternoon at the earliest, but a few hours after would probably be better.”

            “Yes,” Aventurine agrees. “Some of the stuff that has happened so far have definitely been the kind of things that just ruin the whole day. It would be better to get some things done in the morning and early afternoon. Then on the days when things go sideways, we can just call it a day once we’re finished with the session.”

            “That was my reasoning as well,” Ratio says, “though it goes without saying that I hope there will be few occasions where things go sideways.”

            “And I’d prefer none, but those Jacobin bastards left a mess inside my brain.” Aventurine sighs. “I think I used up all my luck just surviving them. I don’t think I’m getting out of this without at least a few more mishaps or nasty surprises.”

            “We have taken every precaution that we have been able to think of for your safety,” Ratio says gravely. “And please know that this research will proceed on your terms. If you say no to any approach or procedure, then it will be taken off the table. Going forward, nothing in regard to this will happen without your explicit permission.”

            Aventurine’s eyes sting. He fights against the feeling and forces a smile. Makes himself nod.

            “Shall we reconvene in the workroom at, say four o’clock this afternoon?” Ratio suggests. “That should give us ample time for what I wish to accomplish today.”

            “That works,” Aventurine says with another nod.

            “Very good. I have some remote work to take care of for the Intelligentsia Guild – and I suspect you have your own tasks to accomplish. I plan to set up a station for myself in the botany room, for my Intelligentsia Guild work. Despite the snacks crawling around everywhere, that area is aesthetically appealing and conveniently situated. If you would like to set up your remote workstation there as well, I would have no objections – though I understand if you wish to seek more private accommodations.”

            “I like the botany room,” Aventurine says agreeably. “You’ll have to let me know if I’m too loud though. Some of my phone calls can get a bit heated.”

            Despite voicing concern about being too loud, Aventurine doesn’t really think that will be an issue. He’s fully capable of turning down the sound on his more problematic calls, and rarely gets riled up enough to raise his own voice on the phone, and besides that, the botany room is very large and split into two levels. Ratio claims a station on the top level, amongst numerous abandoned computers and desks. Aventurine sets up shop on the lower level, amongst the ornamental plants, at a triangular table that he shares with a particularly adorable catcake who goes by the name of True Love’s Frozen Beans. Said catcake is musically inclined and spends most of the day singing and humming.

            Aventurine has noticed something of a pattern amongst the catcakes in the Seclusion Zone. The ones in the greenhouse seem to be happier and more upbeat – particularly the ones who hang out at the stations that were clearly made for accommodating them. Outside of the greenhouse, however, all the catcakes are melancholy, fixated on Ruan Mei, or a combination of the two.

            Aventurine’s knowledge of Ruan Mei is limited. He’s aware that she’s a member of the Genius Society, and one that’s currently still alive. He’s read a few articles about her research leading to breakthroughs in genetic and bioengineering. These catcakes seem like living proof that she is capable of great feats. Ratio, however, doesn’t seem to like her at all, and his opinion is one that Aventurine will never ignore. More than that, after creating all these snacks, she clearly has abandoned them. Aventurine wonders what would have become of them if Asta wasn’t willing to house them here on the space station. He has a few ideas, of course. None of them pleasant.

            All in all, Aventurine’s opinion of Ruan Mei is not great, and he has no real desire to meet her. He probably will eventually if he sticks around the space station long enough – she’s a known friend of Herta, after all – but the idea of crossing paths with her doesn’t enthuse him one bit.

            Either way, he gets to work amongst her creations. His job as a Stoneheart involves an ungodly amount of digital paperwork. He does end up taking a few calls during the day, touching base with a few project leaders, negotiating deals with clients, renegotiating terms with dignitaries. His tasks are endless, but Aventurine isn’t completely underwater. Despite technically being on vacation the past two weeks, the whole week that Ratio was sick, Aventurine had been logging on and getting a few hours of work done each day. There was no reason not to since Ratio was sleeping so much, and there was only so much that Aventurine could do to take care of him.

            This, he realizes, is what his next few weeks or months will be like. Waking. Breakfast with Ratio. Killing some bugs. Maybe picking up packages. Then doing the desk job part of his job for six, seven, or eight hours, depending on the day. Research sessions with Ratio in the late afternoon or early evening, but probably not every day. There will likely be the occasional quick trip to Pier Point or some other world when his presence is required, but there are no large-scale projects in the works that will require him to be gone for an extended period of time.

            When he heads back to the apartment to fix himself a late lunch, Ratio is still working. The temptation to bug him and cajole him into joining him for a break is strong, but Aventurine resists. He makes an extra sandwich and side salad for him, and carries it back, along with his own lunch. Ratio rewards him with a smile when he sets the plate down on the edge of his desk.

            “Much appreciated,” he tells Aventurine.

            “Anytime. You hanging in there? Desk work not melting your mind, is it?”

            “On the contrary, I am actually enjoying this morning’s tasks. You are familiar with the planet Jarillo-VI, I believe? Given Topaz’s involvement in its affairs, as well as our Nameless friends’ exploits in helping it reunite with the civilized universe? Well, the Intelligentsia Guild’s databanks are very much out of date in regard to that planet. Despite the IPC’s failure to bring Jarillo-VI into the fold as one of their colonies, they are engaging in collaboration with the locals, and the guild has sent several ambassadors to help bring us up to speed. They have been uploading vast amounts of data. I am helping to curate it and add it to our databanks.”

            Aventurine frowns. “Would you rather be there in person, though?” he asks. “Experiencing it firsthand?”

            “Hmm, not necessarily. At least, not initially,” Ratio says, and Aventurine feels the guilt that was creeping up on him alleviate a bit. The last thing he wants is to be denying Ratio opportunities. He knows that Ratio is going out of his way to help him and is certainly missing out on a lot. Most of what he’s missing out on though, can be caught up on, or Aventurine can find some other way to make it up to him. Being the first to learn about a no-longer-isolated planet, however, is not something that comes around often, though.

            “Why not initially?” Aventurine asks, curious, even though he’s happy to hear it.

            “A number of reasons. Safety being a major one. Relations with the natives are strained. Many did not appreciate the IPC’s attempt to acquire them, or the presentation of lifelong contracts. In addition to that, there is infighting and ill will amongst the natives – apparently a large portion of the population was locked underground for an extended period of time, by order of their last Supreme Guardian. Naturally there are hard feelings, and likely many cases of untreated mental illness, due to sunlight deprivation. In time, things will likely smooth over all around. When they do, perhaps I will take some vacation time and pay them a visit to see if my knowledge of stellarons and their containment can be of help to the people there. In the meantime, I can read their books and newspapers just as easily here, and with far more comforts and fewer safety risks.”

            “You think you can help them?” Aventurine asks. “They rejected Topaz’s offer.”

            “They rejected the strings attached to her offer. They may very well be amenable to aid that’s offered freely,” Ratio says.

            “Or trust it even less,” Aventurine points out.

            “True. But there is no harm in trying. At least after I ascertain that the situation is not dangerous or likely to cause me physical harm.”

            “I know you have savings, but there’s no way you have enough to finance whatever tech it will take to save their planet from stellaron contamination,” Aventurine tells him.

            “Which is no reason not to try anyway,” Ratio says stiffly. “If it turns out that my knowledge and expertise can help them, I will offer what aid I am able to and we shall see if they are able to meet me partway. As for the rest . . . we’ll see. I am aware of their sizable debt to the IPC, but there may be other organizations yet willing to extend a line of credit to them. Either way, this is all hypothetical and several years out –”

            “You’re not even going to ask me for help?” Aventurine asks, feeling slightly offended.

            Ratio looks at him warily. “I have never treated you as an ATM, gambler, and I do not intend to start. Our relationship has never been transactional.”

            “That’s not what I mean,” Aventurine says, frustrated. “I just . . . am I not someone you feel like you can come to for help, Ratio? Because I want to be someone you can turn to for help. I want . . .”

            Aventurine wants to give Ratio the world. Wants to grow old with him. To see him as much as possible, and to be the kind of friends who find excuses to meet back up as often as possible, no matter where life or their careers take them. He wants nothing but good things for him. Wants to see him happy. To make sure that he’s safe.

            “ . . . I want to be there for you the way that you’ve been here for me.”

            “Then perhaps,” Ratio says slowly, “if the time comes when I am able to make a trip to Jarillo-VI . . . if you have any vacation time accrued . . . perhaps you could come with me. For at least the earlier part of my trip. I would appreciate having someone there to watch my back on what might still be a semi-hostile planet.”

            “And to see how much money you’re short on to finance your project. So I can make up the difference.” Aventurine nods.

            He expects Ratio to scowl at the deliberate misinterpretation. Instead, Ratio’s lips twitch into an amused smile.

            “Oh,” Aventurine remembers, and thinks it best to inform Ratio before this conversation goes any further, “I don’t think I mentioned to you, but I found out yesterday that something is about to happen on Jarillo-VI. It’s why Topaz was all up in a frenzy, bailing on the meeting that she was supposed to sit in on, and sticking me with Sugilite instead, then calling Jade back from Penacony early. I heard that both of them are heading back there . . . and I may have heard a rumor from those folks at the tavern a little while back that they’re gearing up for trouble on that frozen rock. Either way, with both Topaz and Jade there, I’m sure things’ll be fine in the end. You might want to adjust your timetable accordingly, however.”

            “Yes. These aren’t plans for the immediate future,” Ratio agrees. “And in the meantime, I am getting paid to both learn about their civilization and bring knowledge of it to the universe.”

            “Getting to read for pleasure on the clock. Sounds like a good day for you.”

            “A good few months, actually. Possibly even longer. We’ll see.” Ratio is still smiling as Aventurine ambles back to his own workstation to eat his lunch.

            The rest of the workday passes at a decent pace for Aventurine. He suspects it goes much faster for Ratio since he’s actually enjoying what he’s doing. Aventurine is happy for him. Sometimes he wishes that he could have lived a life that let him find a job that he enjoys too. He has no idea what that would be, though.

            He notices when Ratio leaves a little bit before four o’clock rolls around, but figures that if the good doctor wanted him to come to the workroom earlier he would have said something. So, Aventurine waits until the appointed time before powering down his tablet and heading out.

            When he gets there he sees the reason why Ratio came a bit earlier. There is a tray with some surgical instruments on it set up on a cart, and the smell of antiseptic is strong. Ratio was prepping for some sort of procedure.

            “Is today the day, Doc?” he asks, trying for levity to cover his nervousness.

            Ratio frowns. “Pardon?”

            “The day you finally crack open my head for answers and figure out why I’m like this?” Not one of Aventurine’s better quips. Ratio shakes his head all the same.

            “Nothing so drastic. And you would know, if you bothered to read those forms you signed for me, or at least be able to infer that today is the day that I will be implanting a silicon matrix dermal replacement patch into your arm.”

            “Oh riiiiiiight. What’s that do again?”

            Ratio sighs. “For the next phase of your treatment I would like to try several things simultaneously. This, obviously, would be a faux pau were we planning to publish our findings as we would not be able to pinpoint exactly what it will be that ultimately frees you from your neural reprogramming. Nevertheless, I prefer to prioritize results over the minutia. Thus, my proposed approach. The first of the possible cures I wish to try is to give you daily injections of human growth hormones. Injections, however, mean repeated sticks, which mean needle marks. Needle marks mean questions and assumptions. To spare you that, as well as repeated sticks, I will be grafting a small patch of silicon matrix into your arm. To the untrained eye it will be indistinguishable from skin, and it is through that patch that I will be giving you your injections. It will hurt less and leave no other marks as it is self-sealing.” A slight pause, and then the good doctor adds, “This is actually an invention I developed while working on my second doctorate.”

            “You invented it?” Aventurine asks, impressed just by the concept, though not at all surprised. He knows Ratio’s invented quite a bit of medical tech. “I’m glad. At least I know it works then.”

            “Of course it works. Whether I invented something or not, I would not use it on you unless I was certain of that.”

            Aventurine laughs. “Well, either way, it makes me feel better knowing you created it. So, human growth hormones, you say? Any chance that these will . . .”

            “Make you grow taller?” Ratio guesses and shakes his head. “I’m afraid that it is extremely unlikely.”

            “Ah well. Probably for the best. I’d hate it if I couldn’t fit into all my tailored clothes anymore.” Aventurine lays down on the bench that Ratio has covered with a sterile plastic sheet. “Oh, do I need to take off my shirt? And what are these other approaches we’ll be trying at the same time?”

            “No, you may leave your shirt on, but do roll up your left sleeve,” Ratio tells him. “And as for the other approach we’ll be trying in unison with the human growth hormone approach, is that while your neural reprogramming has been activated, for the first phase of these tests I will give you orders that are very difficult to obey and endure – such as holding a weight in your hand and keeping your arm extended indefinitely. You will, of course, be trying to disobey my order and break free of the programming. It is my hope that giving you an order that becomes harder and harder to obey as time passes, and that your body will eventually be unable to obey will help you break free. The second phase, if the first phase does not work, will be to give you orders that you cannot obey. There is, however, a chance that in doing so, I may activate a trap in your mind. The Jacobin researchers may have programmed into your mind something similar to the precaution that kept you from revealing the activation phrase to a third party. Something that is activated if you disobey a direct order while under the programming. But this time, we are surrounded by lifesaving medical equipment. While this is not without risk, I will do everything in my power to ensure you come through this safely.”

            “I know you will.” Aventurine finishes rolling up his sleeve and stares up at the ceiling. Ratio doesn’t keep him waiting too long. He rolls his cart over then sits down and proceeds to clean Aventurine’s arm with an antiseptic wipe. It’s cold, but Ratio’s expression is warm.

            Next is topical pain reliever. Then a shot of localized pain reliever – both things Aventurine is plenty familiar with. Then Ratio produces something that looks almost like a hole puncher. Aventurine frowns at it, then turns his head and closes his eyes.

            “You won’t feel this,” Ratio promises him. “I gave you that shot to ensure it.”

            “Thanks for that . . . I’m not scared, for the record. It’s just instinct to jerk away, so it’s better if I don’t see.”

            “Understandable. Then, if you are ready?”

            “Go for it.”

            Aventurine keeps his eyes closed and his head turned away. He feels pressure on his arm, but not pain. There’s a concerning sizzle, and then the mechanical sound of some mechanism under pressure being released. Then –

            “Done.”

            Aventurine opens his eyes and looks at his arm. There is what looks like a triangular bruise on the underside of his forearm, over the vein, but he assumes the mark will fade.

            “It will, unfortunately, be sore for a week, after the pain reliever wears off. I will give you another shot of it tonight though, before bed, to help ensure that you are able to sleep. By morning the worst of the pain will be gone. This time next week, you won’t be able to feel it or see it.”

            “And this is permanent?” Aventurine asks.

            Ratio shakes his head. “In time, the silicon matrix will slowly be replaced by your skin. That will, however, take years.”

            “I better make the most of it while it lasts then,” Aventurine says, and for some reason Ratio scowls at that. “Going to give me the shots I need now in it then?”

            “It needs a day to set,” Ratio tells him. “So, with your permission, just for today, I will give you your injections in your arm.”

            “That works.

            “I would like to give you a week’s worth of injections before your first attempt at resisting your programming. That way we will be trying two ways of breaking it at once to maximize your chances of succeeding.”

            “And minimize the times you have to brainwash me,” Aventurine says cheerfully.

            He stays still while Ratio gives him two shots – after sterilizing the area around where he inserts the needles, of course. Ratio covers the injection site with a plaster when he’s finished then scoots his chair back.

            “All done for the day then?” Aventurine asks, feeling relieved that this is all today’s session entails.

            “No,” Ratio says, surprising him and scowling again. “You, gambler, have made several very blasé comments in regard to drugs in my presence, and your quip about trying to make the most out of my silicon matrix dermal implant while it lasts unsettles me. There is a reason these are only issued at a doctor’s recommendation, and that reason is so as to not facilitate addicts. So, I am going to take this opportunity to educate you on the dangers of addictive drugs and make certain you understand just how easily you can ruin your life with them.”

            “Ratio,” Aventurine groans.

            “I am serious, gambler. My greatest wish for you is that one day you will be both free to live your life as you wish and that you will be happy. If you fall victim to substance abuse, you will never be either.” Ratio’s eyes gleam with sincerity and something else . . . and once again, Aventurine feels his own eyes stinging.

            “Okay,” he says meekly. “I’ll listen.”

No one’s ever cared enough about Aventurine to give him the “Don’t do drugs” lecture before. ;_;  But it’s okay.  Ratio’s taking care of it now and he’ll make sure it sticks.

I hope everyone who’s rolling for the handsome gambler is having lots of luck in his banner!

Chapter Text

            The week passes peacefully. Ratio finds life in the Seclusion Zone both easy and enjoyable – a bizarre realization considering how his previous visits to Herta Space Station have all gone. Yet, in the cordoned off levels, away from the ignorant masses who choose to worship genius rather than attempt to attain it, Ratio has all that he needs to be happy. Namely space – which keeps him away from those whose dull minds would drive him to distraction. He has his work, and his current tasks are ones he very much enjoys – at times he can scarcely believe that he is being paid to both learn and spread the knowledge that he is learning to the greater universe. And, of course, he has Aventurine.

            No longer exhausted or feverish, Ratio endeavors to be more disciplined in regard to his romantic thoughts on his partner, but they never truly vanish. He can’t just turn them off or shove them to the side. Ratio does not waste time denying them, but does do his best to compartmentalize. His results are mixed, but Ratio mentally concedes that they were always going to be. He can’t help being in love with Aventurine, after all. He does, however, manage to treat him with what he believes is the appropriate amount of affection and courtesy for a work partner who is also his close friend.

            Ratio thinks that Aventurine enjoys life in the Seclusion Zone too. It’s certainly not his penthouse back on Pier Point, but there is a brightness in his eyes and a warmth to his smiles that Ratio has never actually seen on Pier Point, or at any of the other places where the two have temporarily lived for work. He thinks it’s good for Aventurine to get away from that corporate cesspool for a while. To live somewhere quiet, away from the rat race that is the IPC, even if he still must work remotely for them.

            Ratio and Aventurine fall into a pattern of sorts as their days become more structured, now that they have both returned to working. It’s made easier by the fact that Herta Space Station keeps to IPC standard time. Ratio tends to naturally wake a bit earlier than Aventurine, who sets his alarm for seven. So, most days, Ratio takes that time to prepare breakfast for the two of them. He’s come to realize that he likes cooking for Aventurine – the way his gambler’s whole face lights up when Ratio makes food for him actually makes Ratio’s heart skip a beat every time. Getting to see that first thing in the morning is more than enough incentive to rise as soon as he wakes.

            Once they finish eating, they clear the hallways of True Stings then head to work. Lunch is usually taken care of by Aventurine, unless he gets caught up on a call for several hours on end. It’s usually a simple meal, like a sandwich, or else leftovers from the previous night, and it’s the norm for them to eat while they work rather than take an actual lunch break.

            When they finish work, they stop in the workroom for a scant few minutes, so that Ratio can give Aventurine a shot for his treatment. Then they head back to their living quarters – or “the apartment” as Aventurine has taken to calling the space that they claimed.

            Most evenings, Aventurine will cook for them. Ratio would be happy to split it fifty-fifty, but Aventurine seems to genuinely like cooking and seems to look forward to it. During downtime he’ll often chat with Ratio about what he’s planning to make, what groceries he’s ordered, or what cuisines they both like. Not everything he makes turns out perfectly – there are times when his sauces are lumpy or when his vegetables are overcooked. Ratio, who has a bit more experience, helps him trouble shoot the problems so that the dish will turn out better on his next attempt.

            The day before their next research session – the first time that Aventurine will try to break free from his programming – the custom clay bowls that he ordered arrive. By coincidence, a package that Ratio himself ordered also arrives the same day, so he accompanies Aventurine up to Implement Arts, even though Aventurine would have been happy to retrieve it for him. On the walk back to the Seclusion Zone, Aventurine announces his intent to forgo experiments to recreate Sigonian bread tonight in favor of reading the instructions for the slow cooker he ordered, which also arrived that day, then prepping a meal to cook in it tomorrow. He chatters all the way back about the things he’s read slow cookers can do, and about all the things he wants to try.

            “It’s funny,” he admits as they make it back to the apartment, “but I don’t cook like this back on Pier Point. I mean, I cook a little to keep in practice, because I don’t want to be completely dependent on someone else to make my all food for me, but I don’t plan out meals so far in advance or prep for the week. I usually just order a bunch of frozen fresh meals and heat them up, but here . . .” He trails off, looking slightly confused, like he’s not certain what he wants to say.

            “Things are different here,” Ratio says, when his silence goes on a bit too long, picking up the conversation so that Aventurine won’t feel awkward or embarrassed. “Or rather perhaps . . . they’re different because both of us are here together. Before, when I stayed on Herta Space Station, I either haunted the Seclusion Zone or sequestered myself in my dorm room, avoiding others as much as possible, but ultimately, I was forced to face them at mealtimes. I relied on the cantina rather than the station’s meal delivery service as that . . . is not entirely reliable.”

            “Do you miss going to the cantina?” Aventurine asks, worry flickering through his eyes.

            “Not at all. Though I don’t mind going for a change of pace now and then. As long as you are amenable to it, however, I much prefer our current arrangement.” Ratio hesitates for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of what he wants to say next, then decides to risk it. “I have been enjoying our time together here. And I’ve noticed that you seem to rather enjoy cooking. And I’m glad of it. Having a constructive hobby is good for you, and I’m happy that you have found one.”

            “Cooking as a hobby?” Aventurine muses. “I guess I’ve never thought of it that way. But I do enjoy it. I think . . . I think I enjoy it more because you’re here though. I mean – having someone to share the food with. Uh, maybe that sounds silly –”

            “Not at all. While some people prefer to enjoy their hobbies privately, many prefer an audience of sorts, or at least the occasional opportunity to discuss them with likeminded individuals.” Ratio favors him with a smile. “In fact, lately I have been enjoying preparing breakfast more now that I am also making it for you, and I find myself thinking of ways to up my breakfast game, so to speak.”

            The smile that Aventurine flashes back at him is blindingly beautiful. Aventurine is truly radiant when he is genuinely happy. The gambler’s next question, however, is an earnest one.

            “Hey Ratio? Is this what normal life is like?” Aventurine asks as he sets his parcels down on the kitchen table. “I mean . . .”

            Ratio knows what he means. He also knows the answer Aventurine wants to hear. Or at least, he thinks he does . . . but it’s never been his nature to spread misinformation to those who he is trying to teach, trying to help . . .

            “‘Normal’ is a relative concept, dear gambler,” he says gently. “It varies greatly across the universe. What is common on one planet is often absurd on another. And even on the same planet, there are extreme variances depending on factors such as the region where people live, or their social status or class. Take Pier Point, for example. A rare planet with only one standard time instead of time zones, where the elite rise around the time that the sun rises and return home during sunset, while those of less stature consider midnight to be morning.”

            “Yeah,” Aventurine says glumly. “I guess you’re right. No such thing as normal.”

            “Which is not to say that a sense of normalcy cannot be established,” Ratio says quickly. “It is, in fact, natural for people to seek out a new normal when change has been introduced to their lives. They figure out what they need to do to ensure their needs are met . . . what they need to do to be happy . . . and then, they eventually fall into a pattern. Much as we have. So, while the way that you and I have been living here isn’t what would constitute as normal for the majority of the universe, it would not be wrong to say that it has become normal life for us. And . . . it would also not be false to say that it is a normal that I enjoy.”

            That makes Aventurine brighten again. “I enjoy it too! Living with you is fun. Hey . . . maybe . . . when this is all over and we go back to Pier Point . . . Ah, that is to say . . .”

            Ratio knows what Aventurine is about to suggest. Or at least he thinks he does. Considering how well they’ve been getting on, it’s not entirely unexpected . . . but at the same time, it’s completely unexpected. Suddenly, he is embarrassingly glad that he doesn’t have any sort of bio monitoring equipment embedded in or attached to him, because he knows that it would be picking up on his heartrate spiking.

            Almost as if on cue, Ratio’s phone begins buzzing urgently – the alarm that he set on Aventurine’s bio monitor is going off. Ratio scrambles to retrieve his phone, to pull up the app and shut it off.

            “Ah . . . is that . . . ?” Aventurine seems to realize what’s happening. He gives a slightly incredulous laugh and looks embarrassed. “Ah . . . I . . .”

            “It is the app that is linked to your bio monitor,” Ratio admits. “It seems that your heartrate momentarily spiked but has leveled back out.” He pauses then, suddenly not sure what to say. A few beats of silence stretch awkwardly between them.

            “Ah . . . well . . .” Aventurine scratches the back of his head awkwardly as the silence stretches on, then decides that he might as well voice his thoughts now that he’s this far in. “I just thought that maybe . . . since we get along so well living together . . . maybe you’d rather move in with me instead of wasting money renting a place yourself. Not that your apartment on Pier Point wasn’t nice! It was very nice, and I was happy to see it had everything you needed. It’s just that you’re probably paying a ridiculous amount for it, and if you wanted to cut out that expense . . . well, I’ve got plenty of space. But you don’t have to answer now! You can think about it. For however long you want. It’s an open-ended offer, and I know you might need your own space, so if the answer is no, it’s fine.”

            “Thank you, Aventurine,” Ratio finally manages to string together the words and put an end to Aventurine’s nervous chattering. “I will think about it. Though we should wait until our time living together here has come to an end to make any final decisions on the matter.”

            “Right. Yeah. That’s probably a good call.” Aventurine’s cheeks have an adorably rosy hue to them. He seems very relieved to be able to shelve the topic that he wandered prematurely into – and he isn’t the only one.

            Ratio doesn’t even know what path his thoughts should be taking from here. Aventurine bringing up the idea of Ratio moving in with him took him completely by surprise. He supposes that perhaps it shouldn’t have . . . That maybe Aventurine was bound to raise it eventually, considering how well they’re doing living together as roommates, as well as Aventurine’s tendency to give his friends whatever they want, whatever he thinks they need.

            The dear little fool clearly hasn’t thought his own idea through, however. Setting aside the fact that they may drive one another mad before their research here on Herta Space Station ends, or that their relationship may sour for other reasons, either related or unrelated to their research . . . well, Aventurine has never, to Ratio’s knowledge, actually had a roommate before. He doesn’t realize how different it will be, Ratio moving into space that Aventurine has already established as his own. How much he’ll have to compromise, how likely they are to rub each other the wrong way, at least early on . . .

            As for Ratio . . . well, now he can’t seem to stop thinking about Aventurine’s idea. Why it could work. Why it could fail horribly. How much he would like to take Aventurine up on it. How terrible an idea it would actually be to take Aventurine up on it.

            At the very least, he cannot accept Aventurine’s offer before confessing his feelings to the gambler. To do otherwise would be disingenuous and would put Ratio in a horrible position for when he finally does get around to confessing, if Aventurine rejects him. Unless, of course, Ratio were to move in with Aventurine while continuing to rent his current apartment – no, Ratio knows that he should not even consider that. It is not, in any way, fair to Aventurine to move in with him while secretly harboring feelings for him. Ratio knows this. He does.

            Even so, he cannot help but feel conflicted about the matter. Because he wants to take Aventurine up on it. He doesn’t want their time together to end, and Aventurine has offered a solution to ensure it doesn’t . . .

            It is extremely fortunate that Ratio has so much time to decide. He thinks it might even be enough time to convince himself to do the right thing.

Sorry for the late and short chapter.  It’s been a complicated week and a half.  This chapter was supposed to have Aventurine’s POV following his suggestion too, but I realized if I wait any longer to post, next chapter is going to be late too. So, some restructuring is in order.

I might need to take a week or two off from writing in the near future (because family, work, and the way the holidays make both family and work more difficult than normal) but I wanted to get at least something posted this week. I figure there’s a pretty good chance that some of my readers are in the same boat as me and need something fun to read as an escape.

Anyways, Happy Thanksgiving to all who are celebrating it this week. I hope you enjoy the holiday, however you choose to spend it!

Chapter Text

            Stupid, Aventurine curses himself as he mixes the ground chicken meat together with the breadcrumbs and stirs it vigorously. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

            It is good to have something to take his frustration out on, and he’s lucky that he chose a recipe for tonight that he is supposed to use this much force to mix – the recipe specifically calls for it. Says that it will make the meatballs have a nice and springy texture. Who knew that the amount of force used to mix ingredients could determine something like that? Well, probably Ratio. Because Ratio knows everything.

            And right now Ratio probably thinks he’s an idiot, charging ahead without thinking and leaping before he looks again.

            Which is fair.

            But Aventurine saw an opportunity to secure his happiness indefinitely – to secure proximity to Ratio indefinitely. Of course he was going to try and seize it. The chance to live with the one person in the universe who he knows genuinely cares about him, and who will fight to protect him, and who makes him feel safe was just too tempting, and the timing seemed right . . . It wasn’t even just a selfish request. Surely Ratio would be happier if he didn’t have to pay for that overpriced closet he’s renting, right? He could save more money for . . . whatever he does with his money. For his personal projects, or traveling, or retirement, or whatever normal people do with their money.

            When Aventurine thinks about it though, Ratio was probably right to turn him down. Or hold off on making a decision. Which is pretty much the same thing. Because who knows how things will be between them at the end of this? How many times is Ratio going to have to activate his neural reprogramming during their research before Aventurine manages to break free? That is sure to wear down both of their psyches. Ratio is likely to need a break from Aventurine by the end of this. Hopefully not too long of a break. But still . . .

            It’s hard to keep a neutral expression as he cooks, but Ratio is nearby and is doubtlessly watching. Probably not too intently, but Aventurine’s heart monitor did go off a few minutes ago. Not only was that extremely embarrassing, but it most certainly worried Ratio. At the very least, he’s sending glances his way every few minutes, making sure Aventurine remains okay.

            It could have been worse, Aventurine tells himself. He could have done something really stupid. Like confessed what he really feels for Ratio. Which is getting harder and harder to stamp down. There is a very good chance that Ratio will figure it out before the end of this mess.

            If he hasn’t already.

            Across the room, Ratio’s phone begins buzzing again.

            “Aventurine, are you –”

            “I’m fine. I just remembered a deadline I missed for work,” Aventurine lies. That damned bio monitor. Maybe Aventurine should insist on removing it between research sessions, and putting it back in only when they actually need it.

            “I see. Do you –”

            “Nah, I’ll take care of it tomorrow. It’s not a huge deal. But hey, was that thing always so sensitive?” Aventurine asks. “Because I don’t think my heartrate has been fluctuating that much tonight? I’m pretty sure a few conversations I had with my colleagues while you were sick raised my blood pressure or whatever it’s detecting more last week than anything this evening has, but I don’t think it went off then?”

            “Ah. You’re right,” Ratio says, looking at the app on his phone. “I changed the alarm’s parameters while we were on Pier Point and you were out of my sight, as a precaution. It seems that I didn’t quite return it to its previous settings. My apologies.”

            “No big deal,” Aventurine says, as though it isn’t. As though he doesn’t think that the monitor going off twice tonight was really indicative of anything. Luckily for him, he’s always been a good liar. Regardless, this seems like a good time to change the conversation. “Hey, have you ever been to an izakaya?”

            “I don’t believe so. But I do think I know what that is. It is essentially an Izumo-style pub, correct?”

            “Yeah,” Aventurine tells him with a smile. “They specialize in small plates of foods that go well with beer. Tonight, I’m making my two of my favorite things to order when I go to one, and serving them with steamed rice – which izakayas don’t typically do. Serve the food with rice, that is. I’m not sure why, since most other places on Izumo don’t think a meal is complete without rice.”

            “Perhaps to sell more small plates?” Ratio suggests.

            “Yeah, that would make sense. Let people feel like the meal isn’t complete, so they keep buying more. Good business strategy.”

            “It is possible that there is another cultural reason, though. Many cultures have unspoken customs when it comes to alcohol. For example,” Ratio says, then launches into a lecture about the drinking culture of Kiunlun, a rural planet that supplies the Xianzhou Alliance and has a longstanding tradition of taking a break and drinking alcoholic tea in the middle of the afternoon. The foods they serve with it, particularly to the youths of their society, are geared as much toward helping those who consume them be a bit fuller, so as to not be drinking on an empty stomach, as they are toward complementing the alcoholic teas.

            Aventurine would happily listen to anything Ratio has to say, but tonight’s topic is one he finds particularly interesting. He likes learning about food. It makes the prep work go faster, but unfortunately, Ratio ties it up once Aventurine gets the chicken meatballs into the pan, so he’s not competing with the sizzling sound of them cooking. Ah well. Aventurine’s original purpose of changing the conversation was achieved.

            He washes his hands really well with soap, twice, to make sure that he doesn’t cross contaminate anything, then while the meatballs are cooking, Aventurine splits his time between basting them with sauce and assembling a salad made of cabbage with a salty sesame dressing. By the time the cooking’s done and he and Ratio sit down to eat, they seem to have put Aventurine’s blunder completely behind them.

            The next day starts mostly like normal, but the knowledge that this afternoon will be their first real research session – their first real attempt at breaking Aventurine’s neural reprogramming – is clearly on both their minds.

            Ratio makes them bacon omelets for breakfast – a bit of a rarity, since he tries not to serve eggs too many times a week because he wants to keep down something called cholesterol that Aventurine hasn’t bothered to really learn about yet. Ratio is also not a fan of cured meats for breakfast, even though he acknowledges that yes, they are delicious. Something about them being too addictive, though clearly they must not be too dangerous since they didn’t come up in his lecture on dangerous drugs. Either way, he’s clearly trying to start the day on a good note for Aventurine, and it works. The omelets are delicious.

            Aventurine stays behind in the apartment for a few extra minutes to prep their dinner and throw it in the slow cooker. He’s a little wary – the slow cooker sounds too good to be true, but if it works, they’ll have pot roast and gravy tonight, with carrots and potatoes. If it doesn’t work, Aventurine will casually go and ruin the life of whatever scamming CEO is running the company that makes these slow cookers, because after the day he’s pretty sure he’s going to have, he is going to be pretty irate and vengeful if he doesn’t get a good dinner.

            Naturally, Ratio is already working when Aventurine makes it to the Botany Room. He doesn’t ask about the alleged deadline that Aventurine failed to meet yesterday, and Aventurine doesn’t bring it up – though he has a lie prepared, just in case.

            The day passes slowly, funnily enough. Usually when Aventurine is dreading something the day seems to pass too fast, but today every minute seems to drag by. He ends up going to get lunch early according to the clock, because it feels like it’s been forever since breakfast, and his mind is a mess, and his stomach is growling. He makes wraps for him and Ratio, stuffing them thick with cold cuts, cheese, lettuce, and sliced tomatoes, then adds a generous . . . okay, very generous handful of chips to both plates. He takes the time to check on the slow cooker before heading back, and yes . . . it looks like it’s coming along. Hopefully it will keep coming along so he doesn’t have to destroy an extra company tomorrow.

            When he gets back to the Botany Room, Ratio does a doubletake when Aventurine puts his lunch down on his desk. Then he frowns and eyes Aventurine’s own plate.

            “Is everything alright?” he asks.

            “I’m just really hungry. I thought you might be too,” Aventurine tells him. “It feels like it’s been forever since breakfast.”

            No more is said on that topic, but two hours later, Ratio takes an uncharacteristic break and is gone for over twenty minutes. When he returns, it’s with a mixed berry and yogurt parfait for each of them, that he must have gone to the main part of the space station to get.

            “A sweet but healthy snack,” he tells Aventurine. “Since we had an early lunch.”

            And dinner may be late, but that is left unspoken. Nonetheless, Aventurine feels himself fall a little more for Ratio. Like he always does when Ratio is particularly kind or caring to him. He does his best to ignore those feelings and beams at him.

            “Thanks, Doctor. You’re the best.”

            Just like last time, Ratio heads to the workroom a little bit early to get ready. Unfortunately, time is still dragging so slowly by that it feels like a short forever before the time that Aventurine is supposed to join him. He ends up signing off from work a bit early himself, but takes the extra few minutes to go check on the slow cooker in case Ratio is still preparing.

            As soon as he enters the apartment, he can tell that the slow cooker is doing exactly what was advertised. The delicious aroma of roasting meat and vegetables fills the air. When he peers through the glass lid, he sees that the meat is nice and browned, and the vegetables are drowning in the gravy. It would be nice, he thinks as he heads back out, if he could beat his neural reprogramming today. If this could be a celebratory meal for him and Ratio.

            “Ready for me, Doc?” he asks when he makes it to the workroom. “I know I might be a little bit early.”

            “I took your restlessness into account when I got up to prepare,” Ratio tells him. “I am ready. As long as you still wish to proceed with this, that is.”

            “I do,” Aventurine says. Even though he kind of doesn’t. He hates this. But he needs to do this. Needs to figure out how to beat what the evil shamans did to his brain so no one can ever turn it against him again. “Where do you want me?”

            Ratio motions toward a chair rather than the bench. So, Aventurine will be sitting this time rather than laying down. He takes his seat and holds out his arm when he sees Ratio has a pre-loaded syringe.

            “Is that more growth hormones?” he asks. “Or something different today.”

            “More growth hormones,” Ratio answers. “So long as we are attempting to use this method to break you free of your programming, there is no reason to skip doses on the days that you are actually making your attempts.”

            “I see. Makes sense.”

            As always, Ratio sterilizes the injection site. Then there’s the slightest prick of pain in Aventurine’s arm as he receives his shot. Aventurine is so used to pain by now that it takes battle injuries to make him flinch. The pain from a shot is nothing to him . . . but the pain from the shots that Ratio gives him through the dermal implant hurt even less. He knows that’s not the reason Ratio chose to give him the dermal implant – that the marks were his chief concern, and that if you added up the pain from all the needle pricks that Ratio is ever going to give him, they’d probably tally up to a lot less than the pain he felt when Ratio actually put the dermal implant in his arm . . . but he appreciates that the pain is lessened now, all the same.

            Injection finished, Ratio then takes out some strange strips of cobbled together fabric and begins velcroing them onto Aventurine’s left arm and wrist.

            “What are these?” Aventurine asks.

            “Braces. For your wrist and elbow,” Ratio tells him. “For today’s session, I am going to have you hold this weight in one hand, far enough away from your body that if you accidentally drop it, you will not drop it on your feet. That is what I will order you to do, that is. You are to attempt to resist the order in any way that you can – to defy it, or to drop the weigh, or to lower your arm. If you fail, we will repeat this exercise multiple times. I will not have you hold up the weight for the entire session. That would lead to a stress injury. I will, however, be having you hold the weight for longer than you are comfortable holding it. There is some risk in that, though obviously I do not want you to sustain any injuries. These braces will help support the parts of your arm that are more vulnerable to injuries and reduce the risk.”

            “Of course. You always take such good care of me.” Aventurine says it light heartedly. Not quite jokingly but he knows his tone could come across as teasing. But Ratio’s response raises a lump in his throat.

            “You deserve to be taken care of,” Ratio says solemnly.

            “Ah . . . I . . .” Aventurine is actually at a loss for words. “Thanks,” he manages finally. “For taking it upon yourself to . . . to do that.”

            “You are welcome,” Ratio says, and then tells him again, “I am happy to help you.”

            Aventurine feels like he should thank him again for that – and for a multitude of other things. Instead, he gives him a smile – a real one, that is neither fake nor forced. Then, before things can get awkward, he gives a slight cough.

            “I’m ready to start whenever you are. Unless there’s more that you need to do to prepare?”

            “No. Our preparations for today are complete,” Ratio says, giving Aventurine’s elbow brace one final light tug that Aventurine assumes is to make sure that it’s properly in place. “With your permission, I will then begin.”

            The lump in Aventurine’s throat seems to grow. “I appreciate that, you know. More than I can say. I – I guess I shouldn’t waste more time now, though. I just wanted you to know. But yes. Permission granted.”

            Ratio gives his shoulder a gentle pat, somehow managing to look both sad and encouraging at the same time. Then he begins to recite the activation phrase. “Sigonian. Lambda. Avgin. Vesperia . . . Eonia.”

            And once again, Aventurine’s mind fills with haze.

Thank you for all the nice comments last chapter!  I will be responding to them later this week - I'm trying to write a birthday fic for Kaeya from Genshin Impact, but his birthday was the last day of November, so I'm late. >_<  I'm going to work on that now, then cycle back to reply to last chapter's comments after I get it posted.

Chapter Text

            “Take this weight,” says the faraway voice.

            So, Aventurine extends his hand and takes the weight that’s being offered to him.

            “Lift your arm and extend the weight, like this,” says the voice . . . and now Aventurine sees there is a person in front of him. Demonstrating the motion he is to make. Clarifying the order. So, Aventurine obeys.

            Large hands touch his arm, adjusting his pose minutely. Warm hands. They’re very gentle with him, and where they make contact, even through his clothes, he feels a slight buzzing, like electricity. He thinks it feels nice.

            “Hold that position,” says the voice. So, Aventurine does. He doesn’t have a choice . . . and that doesn’t feel nice. That realization. It . . .

            Suddenly he recognizes the voice . . . and the person who the voice belongs to, standing in front of him, giving him orders.

            Ratio.

            Humiliation swamps Aventurine. His face burns. He wants to turn away and hide. He doesn’t want Ratio to see him like this . . . but he can’t move. Can’t even twitch. He has to obey. No choice in the matter.

            Ratio looks at him with an expression that Aventurine can’t read, which is rare after spending years together as partners. He knows Ratio better than anyone now. He even has several online hate groups devoted to saying mean things about him for hogging so much of the great Dr. Ratio’s time.

            Aventurine takes this to mean that Ratio is deliberately keeping his expression neutral. He’s trying to hide what he really thinks. Why?

            Does it disgust him, seeing Aventurine this way?

            Does he pity him?

            Aventurine tries to move. Tries to drop the weight before he even remembers that’s what he’s supposed to be doing. Only when he fails to move his fingers even a millimeter does it come back to him that yeah, that’s the point of this experiment. Ratio’s giving him a few simple orders and he’s supposed to try and defy them. But his fingers just won’t move. His arm is stuck, extended in the position Ratio guided him into. He can’t lower it. He can’t move at all.

            Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!

            Frustration rips through Aventurine. He tries to use it. He tries to let it flood his veins, hoping that maybe that will give him back agency of his own body, but it’s useless. He’s paralyzed.

            He’s not sure how long passes before he becomes aware of the pain in his arm. His muscles – they’re not meant to hold a weight out in that position forever. Which, of course, is why Ratio is having him do this. So that his body will be forced to go against the order he’s been given eventually. Once again, he won’t have a choice. He’ll either drop his arm or drop the weight, or stop breathing. They don’t know what the consequences to him going against an order will be yet. It may well trigger another trap in Aventurine’s mind, but at least this time Ratio’s ready for it.

            The pain in Aventurine’s arm grows and grows, spreading from near his elbow to all up and down his arm, to his wrist and shoulder as well. Physically, he knows that he is very strong. Capable of moving himself into a new apartment alone, appliances and all strong. Capable of ripping doors off their hinges strong. Part of it is his physiology. Signonia’s gravity is stronger than most planets capable of supporting humanoid life. Its natives evolved to thrive there. Even so, their muscles aren’t made to hold the position Aventurine’s are currently in forever, let alone while burdened by extra weight.

            He keeps trying to drop the weight, or lower his arm, but his programming just won’t let him.

            Eventually, Ratio intervenes. He wraps his own long fingers around the barbel, brushing against Aventurine’s sweaty ones as he does so. “Alright, that’s enough. Release the weight.”

            And just like that, Aventurine is able to comply.

            He’s certain that he’s flushing with shame as Ratio sets the weight aside. Then the good doctor takes his pulse with two fingers against Aventurine’s throat. Then he checks and adjusts Aventurine’s braces, making sure they’re still in position. All while Aventurine keeps his arm in the position it was in when he was holding the weight. Ratio steps back, and his eyes narrow slightly as he sees Aventurine still holds that position.

            “Forgive me,” Ratio says. “I’ve been foolish. Lower your arm. Relax it and rest.”

            Naturally, Aventurine obeys. And he hates himself for wanting to.

            “I believe that you can hear me,” Ratio says softly, “and I know that you must be frustrated. But please do not give up.” He then places a comforting hand on Aventurine’s shoulder, and if he could have, Aventurine would have leaned forward to rest his forehead on Ratio’s own shoulder. He can’t, of course. Maybe that’s for the best. He can barely keep his feelings for Ratio under control as it is, but he . . . he really wants . . . It’s childish, he knows, but he really wants someone to hold him like his mother and his sister used to, right now. Wants someone safe to wrap their arms around him and tell him that everything’s going to be okay. No, not just someone. Ratio. The only one left alive who really cares about him.

            He has to settle for standing there like a mannequin while Ratio pats his shoulder and talks softly to him.

            “I apologize. I should have gotten your permission to massage your muscles between attempts. That would alleviate some of the lingering pain from the strain of this exercise . . . but I do not want to do that without your express permission,” Ratio tells him.

            Aventurine feels his eyes burning. Damn it. Ratio really is the perfect man. Everything about him, everything he does – or doesn’t do. He’s just . . . pure good. Just being near him makes Aventurine feel better. Even if he never gets a hug . . . though come to think of it, he kind of did get one once? On Pier Point, in Sugilite’s office, when Ratio teleported in to save him, and then teleported them both back here, to their home in the Seclusion Zone. He didn’t really get the chance to enjoy it because he was startled, and confused, then disoriented and feverish, but he does remember Ratio’s strong arms wrapped tightly around him.

            Well, if it happened once, maybe it will happen again someday. Hopefully sometime when Aventurine can remember it better.

            After a few minutes of rest, they try again. Just as before, Ratio orders Aventurine to hold out the weight in one hand and extend it far enough away from his body that if he drops it, he won’t drop it on his feet and break his toes. Aventurine tries to defy his orders again – but once again fails.

            A few more minutes of rest. Then another attempt. At the end of it, Aventurine’s eyes are burning from both frustration and pain, and when he blinks his tears spill over. Ratio’s expression changes at the sight, and he immediately moves to wipe Aventurine’s face, blotting away his tears.

            “I think that’s enough for today,” he says softly. “I know we said that we would try for an hour, but I think it’s best to call it here, and assess how much your arm is hurting. I don’t want to risk giving you a stress injury.”

            He removes the braces from Aventurine and sets them aside, then puts two fingers against Aventurine’s throat again to feel his pulse.

            “I am going to attempt to awaken you from your trance verbally now. If that fails, then I will use the sedative patches. Now . . . awaken.”

            Aventurine doesn’t feel any different. Things still seem a little too far away. He doesn’t think it worked, but he tries to move on his own all the same. His body stays frozen, like a puppet with no strings.

            “Programming turn off.”

            Again, nothing, though Aventurine still tries.

            “Wake up. Wake up now. Programming desist . . .” Ratio tries for several minutes to find a phrase that will shut off Aventurine’s programming before accepting defeat and breaking out the sedative patches. “Of course, nothing about this could possibly be easy,” he gripes as he places the patch on Aventurine’s neck. “Never fear, I will not give up. We will beat this. I will help you be free.”

            Then he lifts Aventurine, bridal style, and carries him to the padded bench, a mere three feet away. He lays Aventurine down on it carefully, making sure that he is centered, and balanced, and in no danger of falling.

            Aventurine half expects Ratio to walk away, then. To find something else to do while the sedatives seep into Aventurine’s system and knock him out. Instead, Ratio pulls up a chair and sits down beside him, and takes Aventurine’s hand in both of his own.

            “Rest now, dear gambler,” Ratio tells him. “I will monitor your condition to ensure I did not unintentionally set off any traps in your mind. When you wake up, this will be over.”

            For once, Aventurine is happy to obey. Exhausted, he closes his eyes. He wishes that he could roll onto his side and pull Ratio’s hands closer, toward his chest so that he could curl around them as he sleeps. But he’ll settle for whatever he gets with Ratio. It’s a paradox, really. Whatever he gets will never be enough, but is already more than enough.

            It makes sense in his head. Of course, if he tried to explain it to anyone, let alone Ratio, he’d probably end up sounding like a fool. Oh well. Aventurine can’t find it within himself to care. He lets himself sink into the darkness, until this nightmare vanishes into dreamless sleep.

            Ratio waits until he is certain Aventurine is asleep, then waits three minutes longer just to be sure. Then he releases Aventurine’s hand, satisfied that his pulse is strong and steady, and scoops the smaller man up into his arms again.

            It feels good to carry him. Ratio knows he shouldn’t be letting his thoughts drift along those lines, but . . . he can’t really help it. It just feels so right to carry Aventurine, cradled against his chest, like he belongs there. He adjusts Aventurine in his arms slightly before getting underway, making sure that Aventurine’s head is resting against his, Ratio’s, shoulder, and that Aventurine’s arms are folded across his own chest rather than dangling down where they could clip against something as Ratio walks. Then, once he is satisfied that his precious cargo is secure, Ratio makes his way back toward their apartment.

            It’s a short walk. Today, at least. Ratio remembers times when that hallway felt endless, both when he was sick, and when Aventurine was facing ill effects from their earlier research sessions, but was determined to make it back home under his own power. Today, however, is much better, and Ratio would have appreciated it if the commute was a bit longer.

            The delicious aroma of pot roast fills the air of their apartment. Ratio smiles as he breathes it in, knowing that his gambler will be pleased that their dinner turned out so well. There’s no way that it won’t be delectable when it smells as good as it currently does.

            He lays Aventurine down on the sofa, rather than on his bed, because he’s come to realize that Aventurine prefers to wait until after his evening shower to lay or even sit on his bed, despite the exceptions he’s made when he’s had to. He removes Aventurine’s shoes for him then, and covers him with a throw blanket that Ratio himself brought from his apartment, so they would have one for the sofa. Then he frowns.

            Aventurine would probably be more comfortable with a pillow, but they don’t have any spares, and Aventurine would probably prefer not to use the one on his bed for the same reasons he prefers not to be laying on his own bed now. Ratio would happily loan him his own, but that feels . . . like he might be overstepping, making Aventurine use too many of Ratio’s belongings when he doesn’t have a say in the matter. It makes Ratio feel like he’s being sneaky or underhanded, trying to make Aventurine unconsciously associate the way Ratio and his belongings smell with being taken care of. Ratio always makes sure to be extremely careful of boundaries with Aventurine, even unspoken ones or ones Aventurine might not even think of. He will not betray his principles, especially now of all times.

            Ratio is about to go looking for a towel to fold up and place under his head when he remembers – there are extra throw pillows in the greenhouse. Herta Space Station pillows, but pillows nonetheless. Ostensibly they’re there to accommodate the snacks, but most of the snacks are not interested in them. Ratio heads back out to check . . . and sure enough, there are several near the cat cakes but not currently in use. Ratio selects one that he does not believe has ever been used by the snacks, as it doesn’t have a single strand of cat hair on it, and brings it back to the apartment to prop under Aventurine’s head.

            Then, satisfied that his gambler is as comfortable as he can make him, Ratio pulls up a chair next to the sofa and takes Aventurine’s hand in his, so that he can monitor his pulse as he waits for him to wake. He knows that Aventurine’s bio monitor is working – he checked before the session started – and his phone will alert him if anything suddenly goes wrong with Aventurine’s breathing or heartrate. He knows this. He does. He just . . . feels better when he is monitoring it himself. Ratio doesn’t think Aventurine would mind. He remembers after the first time he sedated Aventurine to bring him out of his mind-controlled trance how Aventurine seized his hand before falling back to sleep, as though holding hands with Ratio brought him comfort.

            So, Ratio allows himself this and one thing more. He reaches out with one hand to smooth Aventurine’s silky hair away from his face. Then he settles in to wait.

            He uses the time to reflect on today’s research session and think over what they learned. Sadly, they did not discover much. Or at least Ratio did not. Perhaps Aventurine will have better insights as he was the one experiencing the attempt, while Ratio was only watching from the outside. As it stands now, the most relevant thing that Ratio learned is that he cannot stand the sight of Aventurine’s tears.

            Aventurine is an extraordinarily beautiful man. Even more so when he cries. Yet seeing tears of frustration welling up in his eyes does something to Ratio. As entrancing as the sight is, it kicks every one of his instincts into overdrive, telling him that he must put a stop to whatever is causing his gambler such distress. It is what led him to ending today’s session early. He will need to find a way to steel himself better in the future, because he doubts this is the only time Aventurine will cry frustrated tears during their research. It’s not even the first – he remembers the first time they experienced this, when he saved Aventurine from those accursed slavers . . . and after Aventurine stopped breathing when they discovered the trap the researchers left in his mind . . .

            I will do better, Ratio vows to himself. I will not cave next time our research brings him to tears. Unless I truly think he’s had too much and needs to stop. But . . . if he is brought to tears . . . after all that he’s been through . . . then doesn’t that mean he is already at his limit?

            That thought gives Ratio pause. Because if Aventurine, who has survived everything the universe has thrown at him, has reached the point where he is on the brink of crying, it would certainly make Ratio a monster to push him further. Wouldn’t it?

            After considering it, Ratio is forced to conclude that it would. Aventurine does not cry lightly. Therefore, Aventurine’s tears must signify that the research session needs to end. So, Ratio must do his best to quantify the data from the time that he is given, to make every second of the experiment count, and to cause Aventurine the least amount of distress possible.

            “We will succeed,” Ratio promises out loud, even though – or perhaps because the sole member of his audience is unable to hear him. “We will free you from your programming. And then I will do everything I can to ensure that you are never given cause to cry again.”

Interlude

            Asta is an extremely busy woman.

            Running Herta Space Station is a full-time job, in and of itself, but as its Lead Researcher Asta also feels obligated to check in on the various research teams on board the station, and stay abreast of their progress and troubles, as well as to continue conducting research of her own. After all, Asta thinks she would go crazy if she was out here, in a remote galaxy, so relatively close to the edge of the civilized universe and thousands of barely studied stars, were she not able to use the resources at her disposal to learn as much about as many of those stars as she possibly can.

            She always manages to find time for everything she needs to, though. Even if it means that she only actually gets a sit down meal once every other month, and that she’s never not multi-tasking, Asta gets it all done and even always manages to get a solid eight hours of sleep. Okay, sometimes only six or seven hours of sleep, but that’s still more than many on board the space station get, even though they only have one job, and more often than not that one job is their research.

            Even though she’s always so busy, Asta considers herself blessed. She’s fortunate that part of her job revolves around her greatest interest and hobby, and if there’s something else that she truly wants to do, some other hobby that she wants to undertake, she can usually find a way to make time for it. Which is very good for her, because recently she’s developed another interest.

            “I thought I’d find you here,” Arlan says as he enters the monitoring room and spies her seated before a wall of screens that focus on the Seclusion Zone, but not paying particularly close attention to them as she taps away on her tablet. The budget won’t work itself out after all!

            “Oh, Arlan, hello!” Asta says brightly, looking up first to check the Seclusion Zone screens, then at her assistant. “Can I help you with something?”

            Arlan frowns as he steps forward. “I have a question about one of your recent personal expenses.”

            “Which one?” Asta asks, craning her neck to get a view of Arlan’s tablet screen. “Oh, that one? I don’t see what could be your cause for concern. It’s simply a donation to patronize the arts on an undeveloped planet.”

            “It’s a commission for fanfiction about ‘a tall, dark, and handsome doctor with a surly nature and a short, flashy, blond high roller with a tragic past.’”

            “And the author I commissioned is truly an artist with words,” Asta says insistently. “If you had read her Tale of Winterlands fics about Artem and Dalmir you’d know exactly what I mean.”

            Arlan’s cheeks flush and he pointedly looks away. “Be that as it may . . . the amount that you’re paying her is excessive.”

            “I know that I was very generous with this commission,” Asta explains to him, “but this author is from a planet that has been cut off from the rest of the universe for centuries because of a Stellaron disaster. I reasoned that both she and Jarillo-VI’s artistic scene could use whatever funds they could get. Sometimes people do need a helping hand, Arlan. You know this.”

            “I . . . Yes. You’re right of course, Lady Asta,” Arlan says finally.

            “Also, she usually doesn’t take commissions involving OCs,” Asta admits after a moment. “I had to make sure my offer was one that she wouldn’t refuse.”

            Arlan closes his eyes. He looks like he has a lot he wants to say – or at least a lot of questions he wants to ask, but also like he thinks he knows that he’s happier not knowing the answers to. In the end, however, curiosity wins out.

            “Why a surly doctor and a blond gambler though, Lady As . . . ta . . .” Arlan starts to ask as he opens his eyes but trails off as his vision focuses on the screens behind Asta. Then his cheeks, already slightly flushed from the earlier part of their conversation bloom into a vivid scarlet. “Never – never mind!”

            His reaction clues Asta into what is on screen – what she’s been waiting for! She spins around, barely registering that Arlan has made a break for the door and fled, because there it is! There they are! Dr. Ratio and Aventurine, and the photo op that Asta has been waiting for.

            And it’s perfect. Completely and utterly. Aventurine sleeping, nestled against Ratio’s chest, being carried bridal style. Ratio cradling him so tenderly in his arms, looking down upon him with an expression so that is so soft, so feel-inducing. Asta has to resist the urge to squeal like a teenage fangirl as she zooms in on the couple and begins capturing screenshot after screenshot.

            This time she considers the images she gets fair game. This time they are aware of the cameras, and there are no damning, dangerous conversations happening that could put them in danger. It’s just Ratio and Aventurine in the early stages of what Asta is certain will be a long and loving romantic relationship. And now these images are all Asta’s.

Chapter Text

            When Aventurine comes to, Ratio is sitting beside him, holding his hand. There’s a warm blanket draped over his body and the scent of something delicious fills the air. For a moment, Aventurine feels happy. He feels safe and protected. He feels . . . like he’s home. Then memory crashes down over him and all he feels is humiliated.

            “Hey,” Ratio says, a protest in his voice when Aventurine turns toward the back of the sofa to hide and drapes his free arm over his face, wishing that he could disappear. “It’s alright. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

            Aventurine shrugs. Ratio’s fingers tighten around his.

            “This was only your first real attempt at breaking free,” Ratio reminds him. “You have only had one week of treatment.”

            “I know,” Aventurine says, and hates how his voice wavers. “I just need a minute.”

            “I understand.” Ratio releases his fingers then. Aventurine wants to protest. He would have liked to keep holding onto Ratio. But he did say he needed a minute, and Ratio clearly took this to mean he should give Aventurine space. There’s the sound of his chair scaping against the floor as he scoots back . . . but he remains there, close by. He doesn’t leave, like he very easily could.

            He stayed with me this whole time. The knowledge cuts through Aventurine’s dark thoughts like a beacon of light. Come to think of it, Ratio has always stayed right next to him, waiting for him to wake from the mind control, except the time he got sick and passed out. That feeling of being safe, of being taken care of settles back over him and lends him strength. He’s able to pull himself together in just over sixty seconds.

            “It . . . smells like the slow cooker worked,” he says, clumsily changing the topic.

            “It does indeed,” Ratio agrees, “though further study is needed to be absolutely certain. Shall we confirm your hypothesis?”

            “I . . . Yes. I’m hungry,” Aventurine says. Though he’s actually not. His appetite has fled, but having dinner now is a good way to bring things back to normal, to help him get his emotions and his reactions completely back under control.

            Ratio stays by his side as he rises, making sure that he is balanced before stepping away. Then he heads to the kitchen area. He collects plates, cups, and utensils from the hutch and begins setting the table for them. Aventurine makes it across the room and digs a serving spoon out of the hutch’s utensil drawer before going to check on his pot roast.

            It really does smell delicious. Aventurine can appreciate that, even though he doesn’t have any appetite at the moment. It looks good too. Just like the pictures from the recipe he found online. The meat flakes apart beautifully when he prods it with the serving spoon, and the gravy is nice and thick.

            He hands off the spoon to Ratio, so that the good doctor can serve himself his desired portion first. Then Aventurine dishes out a modest spoonful for himself, making sure to get a couple carrots and potatoes, because even though it’s never been a problem for him, he’s heard Ratio bitch about full grown adults who are too childish to eat their vegetables more than once.

            “Delicious,” says Ratio after taking his very first bite. “You’ve outdone yourself, gambler.”

            “I just followed the recipe . . . I was actually expecting it not to work out,” Aventurine says ruefully. “Just being able to dump all the ingredients into a machine and plug it in sounded too easy, too good to be true.” He takes a bite himself – and yes, it does have a very nice flavor. Pity that he isn’t the slightest bit hungry. Not that Aventurine will let that stop him from eating what he served himself. He does his utmost never to waste food. It just kind of sucks that after being restless and hungry all day, this is how things turned out for him in the end.

            “Slow cookers are not new technology,” Ratio tells him, but keeps his tone gentle so Aventurine knows he’s not being looked down on for not having known this. “They are tried and tested, and have been around for several thousand years in some form or another. The earliest known form of them is believed to have been developed by the predecessors of the Xianzhou natives, and were originally meant simply for cooking rice. But the original inventors’ customers quickly realized they could do quite a bit more than make rice in them – such as make soups, noodles, casseroles, even cheesecakes. Over time they were tweaked, specifically to cook low and slow, and made larger so that roasts or even entire fowls could be cooked in them.”

            Aventurine could listen to Ratio talk all day. He always has something interesting to say, and his voice is so nice. As though he knows that listening to him talk makes Aventurine feel better, he continues lecturing about slow cookers and related devices between bites of pot roast and vegetables as Aventurine picks at his own meal. There is more to this topic than Aventurine originally thought. Rice cookers, slow cookers, pressure cookers . . . He makes the mistake of bringing up air fryers, which he has heard of and considered trying, but which causes Ratio to launch into a tirade about how air fryers are a misnomer and do not actually fry anything – that they are essentially miniature convection ovens, which means nothing to Aventurine, but he nods and agrees because while he is one of the few people who is more than happy to debate or bicker with Ratio, air fryer terminology seems to be something Ratio feels very strongly about. Aventurine’s not sharp enough this evening to make sure he stays on the right side of the teasing versus antagonizing line.

            He manages to clear his plate without struggling, thanks to Ratio keeping him nice and distracted the whole meal. It seems like almost no time passes at all before the meal’s end, even though Ratio has a second serving of pot roast. Then Ratio takes care of the immediate cleanup. Aventurine knows that he should get up and help . . . but he has no energy.

            Once the dishes are in the sink, the leftover pot roast, gravy, and vegetables transferred to a refrigerator safe container and set aside to cool, and the big ceramic dish of the slow cooker has been filled with soapy water, to soak and loosen the remnants of food that are stuck to its sides, Ratio returns to the table and looks at Aventurine solemnly.

            “I apologize. I know that you would rather not discuss this, but I do need to ask. How do you feel?”

            “Not good,” Aventurine admits. “I knew that succeeding on our first real attempt would have been a long shot, but . . .”

            “You hoped. That is natural.” Ratio sighs. “For whatever it is worth, I had hoped as well. Nothing would have pleased me more than for all our plans for remaining here long term to be rendered meaningless.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “It’s not your fault, gambler. Nothing about this is your fault. Please don’t be sorry.”

            “I . . . I’m grateful,” Aventurine says instead. “To you. Thank you.”

            “You are most welcome.”

            “I really did try . . .”

            “I know you did.”

            Aventurine sighs.

            “Why don’t we take tomorrow off from work.”

            Aventurine blinks and looks up. “Doctor?”

            “We are due a weekend, I think. We’ve worked a full seven days with no break. Why don’t we take tomorrow off and try making Sigonian bread?”

            “All day?” Aventurine asks, raising an eyebrow.

            “At least part of the day. Most of the time will be spent waiting as it bakes – or possibly as it rises.”

            “Rises?”

            “Are you not familiar with the term?”

            Aventurine shakes his head.

            “Then that is probably not applicable to Sigonian bread. Nevertheless, much of our time will be spent waiting for the bread to bake. But I am sure that we can find ways to fill that time that we enjoy more than our day jobs.”

            “Me, sure. You? I don’t know. I’ve seen how happy your work’s made you lately,” Aventurine says, and is unable to keep a smile from creeping across his face at the memory. He likes seeing Ratio happy. Seeing Ratio doing something he loves.

            “Even so, variety keeps the things we enjoy from becoming dull,” Ratio says. “And so, I would like to take tomorrow off. I trust that after working a full seven days, your schedule should allow you to do so as well?”

            “Yes. I wrapped things up pretty good, knowing that I might be incapacitated or in no shape to work tomorrow,” Aventurine says. “And you’re right, we’re due a weekend. If you like . . . I mean, if it doesn’t seem too much like work . . . I could fill in the gaps between when we’re making bread by telling you about Sigonia?”

            “I would love that,” Ratio says, and Aventurine feels his heart do a somersault from the good doctor’s choice of phrase there. “But only if you are up to it.”

            Aventurine takes a moment to be thankful that the settings of his bio monitor must truly be back to normal, because otherwise it would have gone off just now, and Ratio would no doubt take note of what he had said that set it off. The last thing he wants is for Ratio to start suspecting just what he does to Aventurine’s heart.

            He swallows and quickly composes himself, and beams at Ratio. “I’m up for it. Let’s do it.”

            After that, the evening just feels so much better. They finish dinner’s cleanup together, Ratio washing their plates, cups, and utensils, while Aventurine scrubs clean the slow cooker pot. Then Aventurine goes to get a shower, while Ratio goes back to his workstation in the Botany Room to tie up a few loose ends before the weekend. He’s finished by the time Aventurine comes back out, clad in his pajamas and slippers. They pass each other in the greenhouse though, as Ratio heads to his bathtub for a nice soak.

            Aventurine sits down on his bed then, and sends of a few emails of his own, marks tomorrow as a day off on his public calendar for the rest of the Strategic Investment Department to see, then flops down on his bed, feeling better than he thought it was possible for him to feel after this afternoon’s research session. After this afternoon’s failure.

            It’s not easy going through that. Even if it’s Ratio who is activating his programming, in a perfectly safe environment. But because it’s Ratio . . . that makes it ultimately okay. Because Ratio’s going to help him beat it. There’s no way he won’t figure out a way. Aventurine knows him. Ratio is fucking amazing. Success is a foregone conclusion. Eventually. Aventurine hopes that it will happen sooner than later though. He honestly believes it will. Ratio told him it might take weeks to figure out the activation phrase but he managed to nail it in a day. Maybe it’s not fair to expect so much from him, but Aventurine can’t help it. He believes in Ratio wholeheartedly. It’s hard to remember when he’s depressed and ashamed, but it remains true, nonetheless. With Ratio’s help, Aventurine will certainly soon be free.

            When Ratio returns from his bath, he finds Aventurine on his bed, asleep, but sprawled out on top of his covers, precariously close to the edge of the bed. His phone is on the bed too, but on the opposite side, suggesting that he fell asleep in a completely different position than the one he is in now.

            “Oh, gambler,” Ratio sighs, and sets about fixing the scene before him. He puts Aventurine’s phone on the nightstand, so it won’t get lost in the sheets or fall off the bed. Then he turns down the covers on the opposite side of the bed from where Aventurine lays now. Next he carefully picks Aventurine up, easing the smaller man into his arms gently, staying on guard in case he accidentally wakes him. Ratio is well aware that startling Aventurine awake could end very poorly . . . but thankfully Aventurine only stirs slightly and mumbles in his sleep as Ratio lifts him. He even turns his face toward Ratio, as though trying to burrow into him, and Ratio can’t help but think that it should be illegal to be so adorable.

            He carries Aventurine to the other side of his bed and tucks him in firmly, then allows himself the small, selfish pleasure of smoothing back Aventurine’s hair. He is relieved that Aventurine brightened up after this afternoon’s failure. Seeing Aventurine so down and depressed hurts his heart. He wishes so desperately that they could skip to the end of this torment, to the point where they finally succeed, and not just for his own selfish reasons. Ratio genuinely believes, that after everything Aventurine has lived through, that he deserves to find peace and happiness. That he deserves a life without fear. As long as his neural reprogramming can be activated, he will never know that.

            It’s still early days for them and their attempts to break him free from it. Ratio knows this. He does . . . It just feels like they’ve been trying longer than they have, because it’s taken them the better part of a month to get to this point – the point where they actually just made their first real attempt. Though today’s session did not succeed, that doesn’t mean that next week’s won’t be different. Or if not next week, the week after that. Even if this line of research doesn’t ever pan out, there are other approaches they can take. This is the most benign one that Ratio has managed to come up with so far – he has ideas for a few others that he would much rather avoid, but the fact remains, if Aventurine wishes to abandon this approach there are other options. But for now . . .

            “Rest, dear gambler,” Ratio tells him. “Tomorrow will be better than today. I promise.”

            And when Ratio makes a promise, he does his utmost to keep it.

            He takes a few minutes to do a bit of prep work for tomorrow’s breakfast – nothing crazy, simply cutting some fruit then throwing it in the freezer. Then he retires for the night as well. For the first time in a week, he forgoes setting his alarm. He doesn’t think Aventurine set one either, since they’re taking tomorrow off, but if he did, then it will wake Ratio when the gambler rises, and he is confident that he can make their breakfast before Aventurine manages to drag himself out of bed.

            As it turns out, however, Aventurine did not set his alarm. So, they both sleep in. Ratio ends up naturally waking first, but stays in bed for another half hour just because he can. It’s a rare luxury to just be able to lie abed, listening to Aventurine’s peaceful breathing just a few feet away, with nothing pressing to do, and no sense of urgency to rise. He wishes that every morning could be like this . . . and maybe someday, every morning will be like this. It won’t happen any time soon, of course. Even after he confesses to Aventurine, assuming Aventurine even reciprocates. Because Aventurine is a Stoneheart. Retirement for Stonehearts is . . . complicated. Despite their exalted status, they are as much slaves to the IPC as P-single digit rank employees, whose wages only just allow them to eek by. The corporation is hellbent on extracting all that they can from every single one of them, but even so . . . leaving is not completely impossible. So, perhaps someday . . .

            On a happier note, Ratio has grown accustomed enough to sleeping near Aventurine that he has noticed a pattern in the gambler’s sleep habits. In the morning, the closer he grows to wakefulness, the more he tosses and turns. So, when Ratio hears him begin rolling over, he knows that it is time for him to rise.

            He dresses as quietly as he can, then makes his way to the kitchen and removes the fruit from the freezer, to allow it to begin to thaw, just a bit. Then he makes a quick trip to the restroom – or at least as quick a trip as one can make when the restroom is a several minute walk away. He runs into Aventurine on his way back – almost literally. The gambler is hopping on one foot out of their front door, trying to put on his shoe in a rush.

            “Oh! There you are, Doctor!” he says brightly, and seems to calm down. All the same, Ratio places a steadying hand on his shoulder in case he deems it necessary to begin hopping again.

            “You were worried that I was attempting to fight the True Stings alone,” he deduces.

            Aventurine nods. “I woke up and you were gone.”

            “While I am capable of handling them on my own, I much prefer assistance,” Ratio tells him. “You may take this as assurance that I will not attempt to clear them without you unless it is absolutely necessary.”

            Aventurine visibly relaxes and smiles sheepishly.

            “Go wash up,” Ratio tells him. “I’ll have breakfast ready when you return. We can cull the Swarm spawn after we eat.”

            Aventurine brightens at the prospect of breakfast then heads down the stairs. Ratio returns to their apartment and digs the appliance he needs out of his luggage – a good high-quality blender. One that Ratio himself designed. Not one of the cheap ones that clumps and fails to produce a smooth, well blended final product. He tosses the frozen fruit he prepared into it, along with a little bit of yogurt and a splash of milk, clamps down the lid, then turns it on. By the time he’s found two suitably tall glasses and straws in the hutch, the blender’s cycle has completed.

            “What’s this?” Aventurine asks upon his return, looking at the semi-frozen concoction Ratio hands to him with bemused enthusiasm.

            “A smoothie,” Ratio tells him. “Made with mangos, pineapples, and yogurt. I thought that something on the lighter side would be good, as we are likely to be consuming a fair amount of bread today.”

            “I’ve heard of these,” Aventurine says, looking excited. “I’ve seen Topaz with them before, I think. I’ve never had one myself though.” He takes a big sip and his eyes light up. “Tastes like sunshine.”

            Ratio smiles, pleased that the smoothie is a hit – though he would have been surprised if it wasn’t. Aventurine, he’s noticed, likes sweet things quite a bit. Though he’ll eat most anything without complaint. Come to think of it, however, he seems particularly happy no matter what Ratio gives him for breakfast. Enough so that Ratio’s taken note and finds it slightly odd. He doesn’t remember Aventurine being so enthusiastic about breakfast in their travels before . . .

            Something to ponder later, when he has time. Right now, Ratio does not. Because Aventurine is feeling good enough again to chatter, and Ratio is so happy to see him happy that he doesn’t want to miss a word. Even if what he wants to talk about this morning is of no greater importance than his observations about the snacks. He does love those cat cakes. It seems that he has even taken the time to learn all their names, and is mildly concerned about their genetic makeup being based off of desserts, and the effect that will have on their long term health. Somewhere during the course of the conversation, Ratio finds himself promising to look at their cellular structure under a microscope and run a few tests to make sure they will remain in good health as they age. The smile Aventurine rewards him with is blindingly beautiful.

            They clear out the True Stings after breakfast, then make a quick run to the main part of the space station to pick up some packages – groceries, mainly. Aventurine has made an effort to consolidate his orders to once or twice a week shipments now that they mostly have what they need to live comfortably in the Seclusion Zone. To Ratio’s consternation, the tomatoes and basil that he requested are less fresh than he would prefer. Aventurine apologizes and promises to order them again – and to figure out the timing for when he needs to place the order now that he’s not having everything shipped out immediately. Ratio’s Margherita pizza will have to wait. No matter, though. Best, Ratio thinks, to spread out the good things and pleasant surprises. Aventurine will need more of those as time goes on, unless they manage to break him free of his programming faster than expected.

            Upon their return to their apartment, their bread making campaign begins in earnest. Aventurine shows Ratio how he remembers making the bread with his sister – the proportions of flour to water, which are admittedly a bit rough as they use the bowls he intends to bake them in for measuring. One bowl of flour filled three quarters of the way full with flour. That same bowl filled halfway full with water. A pinch of salt. A small spoonful of animal fat, which they substitute for generic vegetable oil. Ratio is tempted to suggest olive oil, but knows that would not be conducive toward replicating the Sigonian bread’s taste. They make three, at Ratio’s suggestion. He sets their toaster oven to the same temperature that would be generated by the average wood fire, preheats it, then they get their first attempt into the oven.

            As they wait for it to bake, Aventurine talks more about Avgin life. Particularly their food. There were a few goats owned by members of Aventurine’s tribe, so every now and then they had cheese to go with their bread. More often, though, they ate it plain or topped with finely chopped herbs. There were a multitude of sauces that they made with different herbs that they could find in the wild. From what Ratio can gather, they were similar to pesto or chimichurri, but contained far less oil, making them more like a spread than a sauce. The herbs, he is not familiar with. Their synesthesia beacons do not translate their names out of Aventurine’s mother tongue. Perhaps they only exist on Sigonia. Ratio will have to research this further in his spare time.

            Presently, their first batch of bread is done – at which time, they run into their first dilemma. The bread sticks to the sides of the bowls they baked it in.

            “It seems we should have greased the bowls,” Ratio comments as they try to pull their product free without ripping off patches of crust.

            “We never did that on Sigonia,” Aventurine says with a scowl – aimed at his bread rather than Ratio, Ratio is fairly certain.

            “It is possible that your family did, but that you were too young to remember, or hadn’t been born yet,” Ratio tells him. Then goes on to explain how seasoning pans works – how heated oil can bond with the surface of a cooking pot, or cooking bowl in this case, polymerize, and create a glossy coating that does not stick.

            “Wow,” Aventurine says, at the lecture’s end, looking at him with that gleam of admiration in his eyes that seems to be reserved for Ratio alone. “You really do know everything, Doc.”

            “Not everything,” Ratio says, smiling back at him, “but I try to learn as much as I can.”

            In the end, their first batch of bread is edible, if a bit bland, after they detach it from the bowls, but Aventurine declares the flavor and texture very different.

            “Sigonian bread was chewy,” he tells Ratio. “It didn’t have a thick crust, but was chewy, kind of even gummy on the inside. And dense. This is softer and lighter inside.”

            Ratio, personally, would consider their first attempt quite dense, as they added no leavening agent – no yeast or bicarbonate of soda to cause the necessary chemical reactions that are needed for light, fluffy bread. He wonders just how dense the Avgins’ bread really was, and finds himself very glad that they are making muffin-sized portions.

            They try again after doing a quick seasoning job on the bowls – spreading a very thin layer of vegetable oil over the cooking surface and putting the bowls back into their little oven, increasing the temperature to just below the oil’s smoke point. Before cooking more bread, they grease the bowls again, to build on the seasoning before their next attempt. The result, however, is much the same, minus the bread sticking to the bowls.

            From there they try a series of variations, changing one thing at a time – preheating the bowls before adding the batter, at Ratio’s suggestion, or stirring the dough much more vigorously as per Aventurine’s proposal. The changes to the bread are slight, but noticeable with each new round, but none is quite right. Preheating the bowls, for instance, made the outsides too crispy, and the crust too thick, while stirring the dough vigorously made the bread tough rather than dense.

            By late afternoon, they have made eight separate attempts, none of them quite right. Ratio has probably learned more about Avgin culture and cuisine than any non-Avgin in history. They’re in good spirits despite their failures, as these experiments were low stake and performed in good company. They also have a sizable pile of extra bread, as they made one extra bowl of it each time, and reduced the portions that they were eating from a full bowl, to a half, to a quarter of a bowl as the day went on.

            “I can freeze this,” Aventurine says. “That way it won’t go to waste. I can use it for sandwiches. I know it’s not the best bread there is, but –”

            “I actually have another idea,” Ratio tells him. “Unless you have your heart set on using it for next week’s lunches?”

            “Not at all,” Aventurine says, looking interested. “What do you have in mind?”

            “Have you ever heard of bread pudding, dear gambler?”

            Aventurine’s eyes light up. “Is it anything like chocolate pudding?”

            Some explanations are in order – about the various desserts or dishes that can constitute as pudding, so as not to cause undue confusion, then about bread pudding itself. How it is a frugal dish, a good way to use up extra bread, and is excellent as either a dessert or for breakfast. Honestly, it’s right up Aventurine’s aisle – a sweet, filling recipe that reduces food waste. He can tell by the gambler’s expression that he adores the very concept.

            “You’ll show me how to make it?” he asks, and even though the answer should be very obvious, Ratio finds that he does not mind the unnecessary question, coming from his gambler.

            “Get a knife,” Ratio tells him, instead of giving the obvious answer, “and help me cut these rolls into smaller pieces.”

            It’s a good day, by any standards. One that Aventurine was happy for the entire duration of, despite them not managing to figure out how to recreate the bread of his childhood. A day that leaves him looking forward to the next one. Ratio himself enjoyed it immensely as well. It’s not often that he has a day like this . . . and the knowledge that there will be more of them in the near future . . . it makes him feel . . . like he has the life that he always wanted, but didn’t actually know he wanted.

            Stability . . . a peaceful existence . . . and being able to wake up next to the person he cares for most in the universe every morning.

            It’s not permanent. And it’s not perfect. Ratio knows this. But for now, he has it – has Aventurine – and he is looking forward to each new day as it comes too. For now, it’s enough.

The next few chapters are going to have some tricky timing to them, and may take longer than usual. I have a little extra time off for the holidays so I can hopefully work on them more, and offset the extra time that getting the timing right will take. If I’m going to be late in posting, or if I need to skip posting for a week, I’ll make announcements via my Bluesky and Twitter to keep everyone up to date.

Anyway, comments give me motivation and life, so please leave one on your way out! ^^

Chapter Text

            Bread pudding turns out to be just about the best thing ever, at least in Aventurine’s opinion. Ratio bakes it for them the next morning, promising that it will be better after allowing the bread cubes to soak overnight in the milk and egg concoction that they poured over them. He also said that it makes a good breakfast, and Aventurine fully trusts his doctor in all things, especially those culinary related.

            Even so, it exceeds his expectations. Bread pudding literally transforms the dense, tough, honestly pretty bland bread that they made in their attempts at recreating Sigonian bread into a rich, spongy concoction that’s so soft they can eat it with a spoon. Aventurine liberally drizzles his piece with honey for extra sweetness. Ratio makes hot chocolate to go with it, which pairs with it perfectly.

            It’s an excellent start to an excellent day – largely because it’s another day off for both of them. It’s their weekend, after all, and a weekend consists of two days. Otherwise, it just feels incomplete. So, by mutual agreement, they both blocked another day off last night.

            After breakfast, Aventurine flops back onto his bed.

            “Are you feeling alright?” Ratio asks when he sees this.

            “Mmmhmm,” Aventurine says lazily. “Just . . .”

            “Tired?”

            “No. I just . . . want to lie down a bit more.”

            He doesn’t have words for how he feels right now, or exactly what it is that he wants. He’d prefer not to sound like an idiot in front of Ratio, trying to explain, but . . . he wants to hold on to how this morning feels. Waking up to the smell of bread pudding cooking . . . knowing he doesn’t have to work today . . . eating his fill of something so delicious that was made for him by someone he cares about . . . it’s not too different from what a normal day is like around here now, with the exception of the no work part, but . . . it reminds Aventurine of festival days back on Sigonia. Back when his family was still alive. That kind of feeling.

            “Sleep, if you need to,” Ratio tells him. “If your body and mind are telling you that you need more rest, you should listen to them.”

            “Mmm,” Aventurine considers. “Maybe I will take a nap.”

            Soft footsteps as Ratio moves closer. The rustle of fabric . . . then the feeling of his duvet being draped over him.

            “Might I suggest that you nap under your covers?” he suggests, as though he didn’t just cover Aventurine himself. “They seem to help restrain your wild movements as you sleep, and we don’t need you collecting more bruises from falling out of bed again.”

            “That’s only happened once . . . since we’ve been here,” Aventurine protests lazily, but takes hold of his comforter and rolls into it, burrowing deeper.

            “Come to think of it,” Ratio says, “you might benefit from a weighted blanket.”

            “Maybe I’ll get one then,” Aventurine mumbles. “Huh. I left my favorite blanket back on Pier Point. Now I wish that I’d brought it. It’s not very big, but it feels nice and I like the color.”

            “Is it . . . that green strip of fabric that was on your bed?” Ratio asks. “That you brought to cover me with when I fell asleep, right before you left me behind?”

            “Yep! You remember!”

            Ratio sighs. “That is not a blanket, dear gambler. That is a bed runner.”

            “It’s my favorite bed runner then,” Aventurine says, undeterred. Not knowing what a bed runner is will not in any way stop it from being his favorite. “I should have brought it. Mmm . . . Maybe next time I’m there. If there is a next time. Who knows how long this will last?”

            “Only time will tell,” Ratio says. “For now, just rest.”

            So, Aventurine does. He closes his eyes and tries to hold the memory of this lazy morning in his mind, so that one day, when this is all over, and the world is dark and cold again, he’ll have something good to look back on.

            It would be nice if things stayed this way . . . If Ratio were to change his mind and move in with him on Pier Point. Then this wouldn’t have to end . . . but Aventurine knows better than to count on that happening. He can hope, though . . .

            He drifts off and for once has pleasant dreams. Teaching his sister, and the younger version of himself how to make bread pudding. Telling them all about Ratio, and how he’s the best of the sky people, one of the few good ones, who they can always trust. Showing them pictures of the cat cakes on his phone. Yeah . . . his dreams make no sense. Or at least the good ones don’t. He doesn’t mind though. They’re much better than the nightmares. Those are too much like reality.

            When next he opens his eyes it’s early afternoon – but only a few hours since he flopped back into bed, since he and Ratio slept in again. Feeling refreshed and much more alert now, Aventurine crawls out from under his covers, gets dressed, and wanders into the main part of the apartment. Ratio is not there, but the scent of coffee is in the air, and a full serving of the life sustaining elixir has been left in the coffee pot for him. He pours it into a mug, adds milk and honey, then goes in search of Ratio to see what the good doctor is up to. He could call or text him, yes, but there are only a few places Ratio could be, unless he went back on his promise and fought the True Stings on his own – and Aventurine knows he wouldn’t do that lightly.

            The greenhouse is empty, except for the snacks, so after petting a few of his favorites, Aventurine continues on to the Botany Room. There he finds Ratio, at his desk, working away on his tablet.

            “I thought we agreed to take the day off,” he says by way of announcing himself. “But then again, you do love your work. So maybe if I’m not around to keep you company that’s the next best thing?”

            “Ah – no,” Ratio tells him. “This is not for the Intelligentsia Guild. I have been collaborating with Screwllum on a personal project. So, this is not technically work.”

            “Is that the thing he put on the Radiant Feldspar?” Aventurine asks. “Simulated Divergence or whatever it’s called?”

            “Divergent Universe. As I know you know. Your spies should have had no trouble bringing you back its proper name, just as you should have had no problem remembering it.”

            Aventurine grins and raises his coffee mug in a cheers motion. “You got me.”

            Ratio begins to shut down his screens.

            “You don’t need to quit on my account,” Aventurine says quickly. “I didn’t mean to bother you – too much. I was just coming to see what you’re doing and say hi.”

            “I assure you, if I wanted to continue working, I would,” Ratio says, and gives him a little smile that Aventurine actually almost misses.

            “Aww, you want to spend time with me instead,” Aventurine says in teasing tones. Ratio neither denies it nor acknowledges his playful banter. Typical. “So, what’ll it be then, Doc? Lunch? Swarm stomping? A long walk, barefoot around the Distribution Center?”

            “Barefoot? Whyever would we be barefoot?” Ratio asks.

            “I don’t know, but it’s an answer that comes up a lot when people are talking about their idea of an ideal date activity,” Aventurine says. “Going on barefoot walks. I personally like wearing shoes when I’m trekking across any sort of outdoor terrain, so I assume all these people have foot fetishes or something, but to each their own.”

            “Ah.” Understanding flickers across Ratio’s face. “Long barefoot walks on beaches, you mean. Yes, I’m familiar with that concept.”

            Aventurine does his best to play it cool. “Personally familiar with that concept?”

            “I have never been on a date where I walked barefoot on a beach, if that is what you are asking,” Ratio tells him, and Aventurine starts to relax. Then – “I prefer sandals for walking on sand. For most terrains, actually.”

            Aventurine gives an agreeable hum to try to cover up any signs of jealousy. Of course Ratio’s been on dates before, and of course he’s been in relationships. He’s too good looking not to have. Either way, he doesn’t seem to be in one now, at least. Surely it would have come up by now if he were? And surely any significant other wouldn’t just be fine with him shacking up with Aventurine for what’s projected to be months on end.

            “How about we exterminate the True Stings now,” Ratio suggests, interrupting Aventurine’s musings. “Then have lunch in the cantina for a change of scenery?”

            “Sounds like a plan,” Aventurine says, and does his best to put any potential rivals for Ratio’s affections, real or imagined, out of his mind. He knows he shouldn’t be greedy – knows that if Ratio has someone who makes him happy then as someone who loves him, he should be happy for him . . . but the truth is that Aventurine isn’t that nice a person and never was. Still, Ratio’s here with him now, even if it’s not for romantic reasons, and that’s better than nothing.

            The rest of their day off passes pleasantly. Swarm extermination. A casual lunch. Then, for a change of pace, they go into the Fragmentum infested part of the space station, because Ratio wants to collect some samples. It’s fun to explore a new part of the space station, even if it all kind of looks the same. The monsters are no more of a challenge for them than the True Stings, but it’s kind of fun to fight something new all the same. He’s happy to be able to watch Ratio’s back, as the good doctor chisels slivers off multiple Fragmentum growths that sprout out of the space station walls like tumors. Happy to be able to do a favor for Ratio for a change.

            Back in the Seclusion Zone, Ratio gets back to work on whatever he’s doing for Screwllum. Rather than hover over his shoulder and annoy him, Aventurine takes some time for himself. He plays with the cat cakes for a while. Then he heads back to the apartment and lays on the sofa, and reads on his phone until Ratio comes home.

            Dinner is leftover pot roast and tonight it tastes much better than it did the other night. Tonight, Aventurine has his appetite back. There’s even enough left when they’re finished for one more meal. Aventurine has plans for tomorrow’s dinner, but he’s not worried. They can have it for lunch, maybe the day after tomorrow.

            Never in his life has Aventurine gone to bed early so regularly as he does now. Heck, back on Pier Point, it’s a rarity for him to go to bed anywhere in the neighborhood of what a normal person would consider on time. To be fair, there are so many more distractions on Pier Point while here . . . well, Herta Space Station doesn’t have much of a night life. Or really any night life. He’s heard tell of a few Aetherium Wars Clubs and an underground microscopic lifeform battling ring where researchers pit amoebas and other creatures too small to be seen by the naked eye against each other on magnified slides and project the fights onto walls, but apparently there’s not even any gambling on those matches. Lame.

            The only real thing of interest that the space station has is Ratio, so with him right there in the bed next to Aventurine’s, there’s no reason for Aventurine to be anywhere else. More than that . . . Aventurine’s noticed that he sleeps better here. No more lying awake bored for hours, waiting for his mind to quiet. No more endless scrolling on his phone throughout the night. It’s funny because so many times at his penthouse on Pier Point, he would be exhausted but unable to sleep. Now, here, he’s not even tired half the time when he goes to bed, but it seems like all he has to do is close his eyes and when he opens them, it’s to discover that he slept through the entire night without waking up once, and that Ratio is over in the next room making breakfast.

            Aventurine’s actually noticed the difference that the extra rest he’s gotten has made – though to be fair, eating more regularly has probably helped too. He feels more alert, and unless they’re doing something research related, his mind feels sharper. His body feels stronger too – not that he has ever really been weak. He never would have lived this long if he was. Still, he can just tell . . . mentally and physically, he’s better than he was before. Happier too . . . Aventurine wonders if that will make a difference in helping him break free from his programming. He hopes it does.

            Their work week begins once more. By mutual agreement, Ratio and Aventurine decide to work another five days then take two off again, and once again, their research session will take place right before their weekend. Their work schedule doesn’t quite match up with Pier Point’s standard work week, but that doesn’t matter too much for either of them. Maybe they’ll shift things later on so that their weekend syncs up with Pier Point’s, but for now Aventurine thinks they’re fine as they are.

            The week passes quickly and peacefully, and Aventurine can feel normality setting in – or at least what has become normal for him and Ratio. He remembers the good doctor’s words on the subject, and he appreciates them. Because while for most people, living on a quarantined level of a space station at the edge of the civilized universe as they work remotely, and battling giant space bugs every day after breakfast would be extremely bizarre, this life suits Aventurine. He’s about as happy as he’s ever been at any point in his life.

            Their research is the only thing that can really bring his mood down. Once again, when the day that their next session is supposed to be arrives, Aventurine is restless and irritable. Time slows down to a crawl and he’s hungry all day. When he and Ratio fetch their weekly grocery order from the Implement Arts Department during their lunch break and bring it back to put away, they discover that the packet of fresh basil Ratio ordered is waterlogged and moldy, and Aventurine ends up crushing it in one hand in a childish display of anger.

            “Gambler,” Ratio says with a warning in his voice but no reproach. “There’s no need for that.”

            “I’m sorry, Ratio.” Aventurine sighs and tosses the crumpled packaging into the trash. “This is the second time they’ve sent you a spoiled product. I’ll contact them personally and make them answer –”

            “As I said,” Ratio interrupts, but gently, “there’s no need. It’s a small thing. And it’s not the grocer’s fault. Fresh herbs begin degrading in quality the moment they’re picked. Putting them into small plastic packets with too much water only expedites their decay. There is, however, a simpler solution. We’ll order a live plant next time.”

            Aventurine blinks. “We can do that? Never mind, sorry. Of course we can do that. You wouldn’t have suggested it if we couldn’t, and I have enough money to convince them to let us special order it, even if they don’t usually sell it like that. It just never occurred to me that I could get a whole plant if I wanted to.”

            “Our front yard is essentially a greenhouse,” Ratio reminds him, his voice light and comforting. “We may as well take advantage of that.”

            “Yeah. Maybe we can get you some plants that are good in bath water too. What do they call it when you put the plant bits into the water? Herbal baths?”

            “Yes. That is what they’re called, and there are many health benefits to them. Many of the bath beads and salts that you purchased for me contain the essences of various herbs with relaxing qualities.” Ratio pauses for a moment and regards him with mild concern. “If you are feeling an undue amount of stress, it might benefit you to take a bath with some of them now, to help you relax. I can assist with choosing scents for maximum stress relief if you like.”

            “Ah – no thank you. We only have about half an hour of our lunch break left, and I prefer showers anyway.”

            “Blasphemy,” Ratio says, and he sounds very serious, but Aventurine knows him well enough to see the teasing gleam in his eyes.

            He can’t help himself. Despite the knot in his stomach, he laughs. Ratio gives him a satisfied smile, his mission accomplished, then rests a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment. Then he begins gathering ingredients from around the kitchen to make them lunch.

            After that it’s just a few more hours left in the workday. They tick by so slowly. It’s agonizing, even more so because Aventurine is dreading what happens once they’re gone. The bright spot in the afternoon is when, just like last week, Ratio disappears for about twenty minutes then returns from the main part of the space station with snacks – pie this time. Filled with cherries and topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

            “It has a bit too much sugar and fat to be considered a healthy snack,” Ratio tells him, “but it is still a full serving of fruit.”

            He disappears again, a little over an hour later, to prepare for their research session. Aventurine somehow manages to make it through the rest of his shift after that. Or at least he makes it through most of the rest of his shift. He clocks out a few minutes early, but honestly, even if he had another hour he still wouldn’t have gotten anything done. His mind has already checked out.

            Before he heads to the workroom, Aventurine stays seated a moment longer and tries to mentally prepare himself.

            It’s not easy.

            How exactly does one ready themself to have all control over their own body wrested away with just little five words? Honestly, just the thought of what’s about to happen makes Aventurine feel sick.

            “It’s Ratio,” he reminds himself out loud. “He’s safe. He’s going to help me beat this.”

            He still hates this. So much. But he’s survived far, far worse. Compared to the lab and the maze this is nothing. It just really sucks because he thought . . . he thought that he’d finally left all the worst parts of being a slave behind, forever. After he beats this, though, he finally will have. He just needs one more win – and it doesn’t even matter how many times he fails before he gets it. Ratio’s here as his safety net. Ratio will make sure nothing really bad happens. Just one more win. And it’s time to try again.

            So, Aventurine braces himself and stands, then heads to the workroom.

Chapter Text

            When Aventurine arrives at the workroom, Ratio is ready for him. Or as ready as he can be. Truth be told, he hates these research sessions. Not nearly as much as Aventurine, though. How could he? Ratio is not the one losing agency over his own body during them. He cannot imagine how horrible it must be for his dear gambler, who has had to fight for every ounce of freedom that he’s ever known since he was enslaved as a child. Ratio wouldn’t blame him if he never trusted another human being again. Yet here he is, of his own volition, placing his trust in Ratio to help him with this.

            It’s humbling . . . and it helps Ratio steel himself and find his resolve, though he loathes what is to come no less.

            “If you’re ready, I would like to begin by asking you about last week’s session.” Technically, Ratio should have debriefed Aventurine on last week’s session as soon as it concluded. The experience would have been fresher in his mind, and he may have since forgotten any number of details. Aventurine, however, was in no state for that. Ratio prioritized his mental wellbeing, and he’d do it again – will do it again. Allowing him a break to process what happened during the session and recover from it was necessary. The likelihood of it affecting their overall results at this stage is low anyway.

            “I’m ready,” Aventurine says, not quite slumping into the empty chair next to Ratio’s, but certainly sitting down on it with much less grace than he normally would. “What do you want to know?”

            “Your impressions of the experience, if there are any that you think might be relevant to our overall goal,” Ratio says gently. “Such as any moment that you felt like your efforts might be working, and that you would be able to break free?”

            Aventurine shakes his head. “There were none. I couldn’t move an inch without being ordered to. At no point did it feel like I could. I could barely think as it was. It’s . . . hard to concentrate in that state.”

            “I see. Well, that is not unexpected. We knew that this might take time.”

            “Yeah. But I’d like this to take as little time as possible. So, why don’t we add the next step of your plan into today’s session too?” Aventurine asks. “Giving me an order that I can’t obey. Let’s do that and see what happens.”

            Ratio frowns and considers the request. “I would have preferred to repeat the experiments we attempted in your first session for several weeks before trying that. That would give the growth hormones time to work, if they are indeed what will help you break free.”

            “But –”

            Ratio raises one hand to ward off his protests. “I will do as you request. At least in this regard. I am simply explaining my thought process to you. I had hoped to allow you several attempts to break free before introducing an unknown element into this research, as we do not know what will happen if you are unable to follow an order. You may spontaneously stop breathing again, and that is something I would like to avoid. But you have a say in this. Your wishes matter. You matter. So, we will add that into the latter half of today’s research session.”

            A warmth enters Aventurine’s beautiful blue and magenta eyes. It’s almost as though gratitude makes them glow. “Thank you, Ratio.”

            “Of course,” Ratio tells him. “As I said your voice in this matters. While I cannot promise that I will agree to anything and everything you may wish to try, especially if I deem it overly dangerous or if it is unethical, I promise to at least consider all of your requests. If I can implement them into our research safely and ethically, I will. Not that any of this is without some element of risk –”

            “Because of the traps those evil shamans left in my head,” Aventurine finishes for him. “And because you like me too much to want to risk carelessly killing me. Which I appreciate.”

            “If it is agreeable to you, I will repeat our original experiment for the first fifty minutes of this research session,” Ratio says after thinking it over for a moment, “and dedicate the final ten minutes of it to this new approach of ordering you to do something that is impossible. That way, if we need to abort our attempts suddenly, we will at least have not wasted the entire session. If I see you struggling with the first phase of today’s session and I feel like we need to conclude this attempt earlier, however, I may wrap that up sooner and skip ahead to the second part.”

            “That works.”

            That decided, Ratio begins prepping him for his daily injection of growth hormones. Best to get that taken care of before putting the braces on his wrist and elbow. The sight of those, however, jog Ratio’s memory, reminding him of something else he wished to obtain permission for.

            “I believe that it would be beneficial for you if I were to massage the muscles that you are straining in these attempts,” he tells Aventurine as he gives him his injection. “Do I have your permission to do so, during our session?”

            “Ye . . .” Aventurine starts to agree, then trails off.

            Ratio looks at him sharply. He waits.

            “I . . . no,” Aventurine says finally. “Sorry, but I don’t want . . . I don’t want –”

            “Then I shall not,” Ratio says quickly.

            “I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s just – the idea of being touched so much when I can’t move –”

            “I understand, Aventurine.” Ratio keeps his voice as gentle and unjudging as he can. “And it is alright.”

            “Thank you.”

            Ratio gives his shoulder a brief, comforting pat, then moves on and begins putting Aventurine’s braces on him. Then their preparations are complete.

            “Are you ready?” Ratio asks.

            Aventurine nods. Then verbalizes is, before Ratio can ask him to. “You have my permission to begin.”

            “Then, with your permission, I will begin. Sigonian. Lambda. Avgin. Vesperia. Eonia.”

            It’s never easy seeing Aventurine’s personality . . . not even slip away. It simply blinks off. One moment, he is the vibrant outgoing high roller that Ratio has come to love. There is apprehension in his eyes, yes, but also trust and life. Then, once the final word of the activation phrase has been spoken, it’s all completely gone. His body is still there, but the man Ratio loves is beyond his reach.

            Ratio hates it. So much. But this is what Aventurine needs. Needs his help with. Needs Ratio to do for him. So, Ratio begins the task that he has committed to. He holds a weight out to his gambler and gives him a verbal order – all the while silently willing his dear friend to break free and defy him.

            The first part of the session goes much like last week’s session did. Ratio orders Aventurine to hold the weight. He makes him keep holding it until his arm begins trembling and his muscles are in constant conflict with Aventurine’s programming. A normal human’s will power would give in at that point, but the gambler’s programming holds strong, curse it.

            When Ratio deems that the probability of Aventurine acquiring a stress injury has increased too high, he wraps his own fingers around the weight, and orders him to release it and lower his arm. They are not yet at the point where Ratio feels comfortable risking Aventurine getting injured. Despite feeling like quite a long time since they started this, they are still in the very early stages of experimentation. He would actually, very much prefer not to rush to the next phase like Aventurine requested, and risk setting off a trap in his mind that could possibly stop him from breathing . . . but they are now surrounded by life saving devices, equipment, and drugs. Ratio is confident that he can stabilize Aventurine and keep him alive until his mind resets itself, or longer if he has to. So, Ratio agreed to Aventurine’s request, to show him that his wishes matter.

            He may not always be able to, but this time, at least, he can.

            The first forty minutes of their research passes at a frustratingly slow crawl. Aventurine makes no progress that Ratio can see. He never manages to so much as hesitate to obey the orders Ratio gives him, never flinches, never even twitches errantly. Tears of frustration, however, begin to fill his eyes just after the forty-minute mark. Proof that his gambler is still in there and struggling. Just like last time, they feel like a knife in Ratio’s chest. He takes the weight from Aventurine, as every fiber in his being calls for him to put an end to this session, and to put Aventurine to sleep, to release him . . . but Ratio made him a promise.

            “I am going to have you take a break for a moment,” Ratio tells him, careful not to phrase it as an order. He is not going to order Aventurine to relax. That would taint this brief reprieve for him, Ratio is sure. “I think you could use a few minutes, and I want to check over all of our equipment for redundancy’s sake.”

            And so Ratio does. He ensures that the life transmitter and the first aid device that can restart one’s heart that they keep in the workroom are both in working order. He makes certain that there is a syringe of adrenaline at hand. He checks Aventurine’s bio monitor and temporarily adjusts the settings on his alerts to a higher sensitivity, so that if Aventurine’s vital signs begin to fluctuate he will know sooner. Only then does Ratio deem them both ready.

            “Alright. Break’s over,” Ratio says. “We will now proceed to the second phase of today’s research. Now, without the aid of your Cornerstone, levitate two feet off the ground.”

            He waits with bated breath, eyes flitting back and forth between his phone, where the bio monitor app displays Aventurine’s heartrate and blood oxygen levels, and Aventurine himself, ready to spring into action at the slightest sign that something’s wrong.

            The seconds tick by. Aventurine remains frozen in place. His vital signs remain stable. After nearly half a minute, Ratio repeats the impossible order.

            “Levitate two feet off the ground without the aid of your Cornerstone.”

            Once again said order gets no response. Not even a twitch from the gambler or the slightest fluctuation of his heartrate.

            Ratio exhales slowly, relieved. No response is infinitely preferable to spontaneous asphyxiation. This result does, of course, make sense. An impossible or contradictory order could be given by accident and, as distasteful as Ratio finds it to think this way, slaves are valuable commodities. Especially one with neural reprogramming that leaves them no choice but to obey. Project Mind Shackle’s potential customers would not be pleased if they received goods with such a literal fatal flaw.

            To be thorough, since there is still some time left in their research session, Ratio gives Aventurine a few more impossible orders. His requests for the gambler to teleport or to time travel thirty seconds into the future yield equal underwhelming results. Aventurine remains still as a statue through them all until finally the hour is up and Ratio can end this misery.

            He lifts Aventurine and carries him to the bench, rather than order him to it, as they agreed upon, and carefully lays him down, then places a sedative patch on his neck.

            “I know that it is disappointing to endure another session with no results,” Ratio tells him as he sits down beside him, taking Aventurine’s petite hand into his own so that he can rest his fingers over his pulse. “I wish that I could promise you that there won’t be many more, but I will not deliberately lie to you. What I can honestly say is that I am here for you. I will continue helping you in any way that I can.”

            At that moment, the bio monitor app on Ratio’s phone dings. A surge of panic hits him – has Aventurine stopped breathing? His pulse is still steady, but the oxygen levels in his blood may be dropping even as Ratio thinks – then he realizes, and nearly laughs at his foolish mistake. He forgot to change the settings back. Again. And this time he set them to be even more sensitive than last time. Now that Aventurine is succumbing to sedatives, of course the alarm would go off.

            Ratio quickly checks the alarm anyway just to be certain, then conveys the results to Aventurine. “Nothing to worry about. It’s just reacting to your heartrate slowing as you begin to fall asleep. I will continue monitoring your vital signs until you wake, just to ensure there is no delayed reaction from our research, so you may rest easy. If anything happens, I will take care of you.”

            Presently, Aventurine’s eyes slowly close. His heartbeat drops to its sleeping rate. Ratio gently brushes the hair out of his face then carefully lifts him again.

            “Time to go home.”

            It takes Aventurine two hours to wake this time. Naturally, Ratio stays by his side during the entirety of his nap to physically monitor his pulse. He is loath to trust something so important to technology alone when he is on hand to see to it himself, though the more time that passes, the less likely it is that Aventurine will experience any sort of delayed reaction to not following the impossible orders Ratio gave him during their research.

            Just like last time when Aventurine wakes he looks humiliated and ashamed. Once again, he turns his face away from Ratio, though he lets Ratio keep hold of his hand and even twists his wrist a bit so his fingers can wrap around Ratio’s. Once again, Ratio’s heart clenches.

            “I am sorry that today did not yield promising results,” Ratio says gently, “but we will continue trying.”

            “Thank you,” Aventurine mumbles. He lays still for two minutes longer, then summons the strength to rise.

            Dinner tonight is nothing fancy – leftover chicken and potato soup from a pot Aventurine made last night and green salads. Just as before, Aventurine picks at his food. He eats all of the small portions that he served himself, but he eats it slowly and clearly does not enjoy it. That is not unexpected, however, and won’t be detrimental to his physical condition. Ratio brought him that pie this afternoon to ensure he had an adequate number of calories for today, and he will see to it that Aventurine gets a good, healthy breakfast tomorrow before their daily Swarm extermination workout. Then they’ll be attempting to recreate Sigonian bread again, and will be sampling each batch. Tomorrow will be better for Aventurine than today.

            “I had an idea for future bread experiments,” Ratio tells him as they finish eating. “In case we are unable to recreate your people’s bread tomorrow.”

            “Oh?” Aventurine asks, perking up a bit.

            “Are you familiar with sourdough starter?” Ratio asks.

            A blank look crosses Aventurine’s face and he shakes his head. “Is it anything like Lushaka sourdough bread?”

            “Yes and no. Sourdough starter is a key component in all sourdough bread. It is made by mixing water and flour, and sometimes additional additives such as grape juice or potato starch, then letting them sit. The mixture traps wild yeasts from the environment in it, which cause a chemical reaction that affects the taste and texture of baked goods that sourdough starter is added to. Sourdough starter made on Sigonia and baked into bread there, however, would result in a very different final product than the sourdough bread made on Lushaka because the environmental factors are wildly different. That sadly means that we will not be able to perfectly replicate a sourdough starter made on Sigonia here on Herta Space Station, but creating and attempting to use a sourdough starter made here in our experiments should let us know if we are on the right track – particularly if it was used as a leavening agent by your people.”

            “Hmm. I see.” Aventurine looks thoughtful. “I don’t remember anything like that, but my sister did most of the cooking, so maybe I just never saw it. Either way, it’s worth trying.”

            “We shall make one tomorrow then,” Ratio says. “It won’t be ready for any experiments tomorrow, but we can try using it next week.”

            “Sounds like a plan.”

            Ratio does the dishes tonight. It’s become their custom that when one cooks, the other cleans up. Tonight neither of them really cooked since they’re having leftovers, but Aventurine looks like he could use a break. He wants to head off to get a shower but stays seated at the table a bit longer at Ratio’s request. As soon as Ratio is finished with cleanup, they head to the showers together. Even though all signs point to Aventurine being physically fine after today’s research session, with no ill effects from not following the impossible orders he was given, Ratio is still not willing to take risks and does not want Aventurine too far out of his sight.

            After their showers, Aventurine is ready to sleep. His feet are dragging by the time they make it back to the apartment, and his eyes are drooping with exhaustion. Ratio keeps a close watch on him to make sure his balance doesn’t fail him, but Aventurine manages to make it there under his own power. He keeps watching until Aventurine crawls under his covers and buries his face in his pillow, then a quick check of Aventurine’s bio monitor shows that he is already out like a light.

            Ratio himself elects to read in bed for a bit on his tablet. Which somehow leads to working in bed, on his tablet. The data from Screwllum’s Divergent Universe project won’t quantify itself, after all. All the same, it is enjoyable. Even relaxing, though he knows that is not an opinion that would be shared by most. Most importantly, it is something to do to pass the time while he stays up a little longer, so he can keep an eye on Aventurine’s vital signs.

            Once five hours since their research session ended have passed, Ratio concludes with almost one hundred percent certainty that they are in the clear. To be absolutely certain that Aventurine will be okay, even on the infinitesimally small chance that Ratio is wrong, he triple checks that the alert for Aventurine’s blood oxygen levels is set and set right. Only then does Ratio himself turn in for bed.

            Even after that, however, sleep eludes him for a good long while. Not for any reason in particular. He is not troubled or anxious. Nor is he overly excited for tomorrow, though he expects it to be a good day. He just simply isn’t tired. It takes a while for his mind to settle and give in to sleep.

            So, he lays in bed, listening to Aventurine’s peaceful breathing coming from just a few feet away. And he wonders how long he and Aventurine will be here, enjoying a mostly peaceful existence in the Seclusion Zone, broken up by an unpleasant hour or two for their research. He wonders how long it will be before their research bears fruit, and Aventurine is able to triumph over his past. But most of all, he wonders . . . what will come next for them?

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone who celebrates them!  However you’re spending today, I hope you had a good one!  Sometimes the holidays can be stressful though, so I did my best to get an extra chapter out this week for you guys, in case anyone needs a distraction.

This fic’s going to have a bit of a change of pace soon, to avoid being too repetitive.  There will still be plenty of comfort to balance out the hurt, but there is a lot of angst on the way.  Something to look forward to in 2025!

Anyway, please leave a comment on your way out.  Even if it's just a holiday greeting.  I am going to do my best to get next Sunday's chapter out around the same time as usual, and comments help keep me motivated. ^^;

Chapter Text

            Research and experiments geared toward recreating Sigonian bread are a lot more fun than research and experiments geared toward breaking someone’s neural reprogramming – doubly so if you’re the subject who needs to be neurally deprogrammed.

            Aventurine loves the days off that he spends baking with Ratio. It’s pretty much the perfect way to unwind after the hell that their other research sessions are. It feels good to have a low stakes goal that, even though they’re failing to make any real progress toward, inspires no despair or frustration. They can even make use of the bread that doesn’t turn out right, by making it into bread pudding. Not that any of the bread actually turns out bad. All of it is perfectly edible. It’s just better off being made into bread pudding, which is actually delicious.

            When they finally do succeed, they’ll still end up with dense bland bread, Aventurine knows. Chewy, dense, bland bread. With a crust that’s a bit crispy but not too crispy. Ratio probably won’t be too fond of it, and it won’t be something that any sane person would rank on the top 100 most delicious breads of the universe, but Aventurine’s been waiting over half his life to taste it again.

            He and Ratio make many attempts and try many different things. Baking bread with a pan of water in the oven makes the crust chewy, but not the inside. Adding more water makes the rolls denser, but the texture still isn’t right. They try adding eggs, and that makes the bread taste better but doesn’t make it more like the bread of Aventurine’s childhood. Ratio shows Aventurine how to make a sourdough starter, and at Aventurine’s suggestion, they make it using water that was used to boil potatoes in, because he remembers there being a potato-like root vegetable that they occasionally ate on Sigonia, and he figures they might as well use the most accurate ingredients they can find.

            The sourdough starter takes time to mature. At least a week in the best of conditions, Ratio says, but the Seclusion Zone is not the best of conditions. It’s too cool, which slows down the chemical reaction that they need to occur and, Ratio admits a bit sheepishly, there are state of the art decontamination units that Asta had installed throughout the Seclusion Zone at his recommendation, which filter particulates out of the air to keep the area cleaner. This includes the wild yeasts that they need their starter to trap, to cause that chemical reaction in the first place. So, they shouldn’t expect to see results from their starter for at least two weeks, Ratio says. Possibly longer. That’s not a problem, however, as they fail to make any breakthroughs in their main line of research. Since they have to stay here longer anyway, they might as well make the starter.

            Next week, they experiment by adding different types of fat, and by adding it in different ways. Though Aventurine doesn’t remember any being added directly to the bread, it’s possible that there was some involved, and he never knew. Maybe mixed with the water – the bowls were clay after all, so he wouldn’t have seen the fat separate from it. Or maybe his memories are missing a step, and the bowls were heated at the fire’s edge with oil in them before the bread dough was added.

            They fry a pound of bacon and set the bacon aside, reserving the grease for their bread making experiments. They also cut the skin off of some chicken breasts Aventurine ordered, and fry that up too, to wring the fat out of it. Those don’t noticeably make the texture anymore like what they’re aiming for, but the bacon fat adds a slight smokiness that Aventurine had forgotten Avgin bread had, though he and Ratio are both fairly certain that the bread’s smokiness came from baking it directly in a fire. Not from fat that dripped off of smoked meat. Nonetheless, they keep some of the smoky bacon grease to use going forward, to oil the bowls at least.

            It’s around that time that Ratio’s live basil plant arrives and to both of their dismay it is much smaller than expected. As in, it is miniscule. Two inches tall, with only two tiny leaves. Aventurine is no culinary expert or horticulturalist, but that doesn’t match the picture of what he ordered from the grocery website at all. In fact, the online grocery catalog indicates that they can expect their specimen to be at least eight inches tall and ready to harvest from. Only at Ratio’s request does Aventurine refrain from calling up the grocers responsible for this and reaming them out. “There’s no rush to use it,” Ratio tells him calmly. “It will grow.”

            He’s right on both accounts, of course. The latter because it’s in the nature of plants to grow. The former because they have yet to make any more progress in fixing Aventurine’s brain, and there’s really no way they can fast track that. Aventurine can only stand about one attempt each week, and it seems like it’s going to take time for the hormones they’re trying to alter his brain chemistry with to work – if they ever work. Only time will tell.

            A week later their sourdough starter still isn’t ready, so they find other ways to experiment. Ratio has them try briefly boiling the dough before baking it in one attempt and baking it in a water bath in another. Both are processes that Aventurine is absolutely positive his people never used when making bread, and Ratio admits he knows that as well. The point, however, is to get the bread to turn out right by any means necessary, regardless of authenticity at this point. If they find something that works, they can try to backwards engineer it by means that the Avgins could have used.

            Unfortunately, those don’t make the bread turn out right either. Aventurine’s disappointment is tempered when Ratio switches up the bread pudding recipe, using buttermilk instead of regular milk, and adding blueberries. The next morning, they drizzle it with syrup boiled from sugar maple sap. It tastes like pancakes, and Aventurine thinks it’s the best bread pudding yet.

            If all their days were spent baking together, that would probably have been the best month of Aventurine’s life. They reserve baking days for the first day of their weekends, however, to unwind after their other research, and of course, the work week. During those days, Aventurine continues his remote work, which is varied in nature, but tedious no matter what the task is. On the side, and while Ratio is distracted with his own day job, he starts a small side project, which he carefully keeps under wraps – a plot to kill the evil shamans who fucked up his brain.

            Technically, Aventurine doesn’t even need to keep it secret. He’s a Stoneheart – a member of the IPC’s uppermost echelons, the highest of high society. It isn’t considered murder when you’re legally allowed to execute damn near anyone you want. Aventurine could walk right into the Jacobin School of Sociopathy and Evil Shamanry with a submachinegun and kill every researcher he found. Or he could order an ion canon strike from orbit and turn the whole university into a smoking crater, all from the comfort of his triangular worktable in the Seclusion Zone, while listening to True Love’s Frozen Beans humming and singing.

            He wouldn’t even get in trouble for it, no matter his reasons . . . but there would be questions. Some of them would even be from people who he’d have to answer – most notably Jade. More importantly, Ratio would be upset. He would understand exactly why Aventurine did it, in theory, but at the same time . . . well, he wouldn’t understand it at all. And honestly, Aventurine hopes he never does.

            All the same, he would prefer not to see Ratio look at him with disappointment in his sunset-colored eyes. Would prefer to hide the monstrous parts of himself from the best man he knows. So, Aventurine does his plotting in secret.

            He uses a sweep drive to clone Ratio’s tablet, giving him access to all the intel that the good doctor collected at the start of this venture, while allowing him to bypass all his annoying security measures. It’s faster than calling up the Astral Express and paying them to stop by Herta Space Station so he can use their databank and saves him the trouble of anyone, namely Ratio, realizing what he’s up to. In deference to the fact that Ratio has work for other projects on his tablet – work that is now on Aventurine’s clone of Ratio’s tablet – he installs top of the line security software that will shred any and all files on the device if someone enters the wrong password more than once or if it detects that the tablet is in the hands of someone without Aventurine’s specific biometrics for more than a minute. Once that’s done, he immediately and permanently removes the cloned tablet’s network detecting sensor so that it can never be hacked remotely. Then, satisfied that the device’s contents are as secure as he can make them – and definitely even more secure than Ratio’s original copies on his device are – Aventurine begins going over the information he’s come into.

            Ratio’s intel is an excellent starting point. He has the dates that the project ran and lists of all the researchers working on it at any given time. Aventurine’s first task is to compile a master list of those evil shamans, then dossiers on each one. He decides to be thorough and put everyone who had a hand in Project Mind Shackle in any way, shape, or form onto his list. Even the ones who were on the project before Aventurine’s test group was brought in and left it before ever laying eyes on him. Even the interns who were minors themselves at the time. Even the custodial staff who never laid a hand on the test subjects but who knew damn well what they were doing to all those kids in cages. They all go on Aventurine’s list, because fuck them.

            Next, he begins compiling dossiers on the ones who are still alive. Only a handful of the shamans are already deceased. Makes sense. The project didn’t happen that long ago, even though it was in another lifetime for Aventurine. He crosses off the ones who fate took care of for him and researches the ones that were left for him. Some familiar faces pop up. People who he recognizes, despite the years that have passed, even if he never knew their names. Others who have changed too much for him to identify as the monsters who locked him in a cage. Then, still others who he doesn’t know, either because he never saw them or just doesn’t remember them.

            As it so happens, Fleitch – the man who Ratio brained with his book – is technically still alive. He’s in a hospital, hooked up to a dozen machines that are keeping him that way, but he’s not the same as he was before he tried to kidnap Aventurine at that hot springs resort, and he never will be again. There is a sizable dent in his skull, and he’s lost all motor functions, as well as the ability to speak. At first, Aventurine assumes that the lights are on but no one’s home, but upon closer examination of the medical text – as well as copious amounts of looking up terms in a medical dictionary on his phone – Aventurine sees that the man himself is still in there. Just trapped in a body that can’t move, that doesn’t heed his commands. How apt.

            Aventurine decides to save him for last.

            For the most part, Aventurine is content to work behind the scenes to take these pieces off the board. With a simple phone call to any IPC affiliated pharmacy he can get lifesaving prescriptions swapped out for sugar pills, or quality of life improving medicines exchanged for cyanide. He has the numbers of a dozen assassins memorized – snipers, poisoners, people you call when you want to send a very clear message, or others who specialize in making deaths look like accidents. There’s not a single person on Aventurine’s list who he can’t have eliminated without expending more effort than it takes to tap a few buttons on his phone.

            In some cases, however, Aventurine wants to settle up with the evil shamans personally.

            It’s foolish, he knows, considering the power they hold over them . . . but it is personal. There are a few names that he puts to faces on his list that he is not content letting someone else handle for him. People he wants to take care of himself and stand over as the life leaves their eyes.

            Ratio would have a fit if he knew what Aventurine was planning . . . but it’s not like there aren’t ways to make a confrontation with these bastards perfectly safe for Aventurine, even before they free him from the neural reprogramming. He’s not known as Aventurine of Stratagems for nothing, after all. So, he brainstorms and prepares as he waits for the chance to go cross one of the names off the shortlist he’s taking care of himself. When the opportunity arises will depend on Ratio, he knows, but he is certain it will come. Because Ratio is so popular. So in demand. He’s on everyone’s wish list. So, even though he’s committed to helping Aventurine, and is willing to live in the Seclusion Zone with him for the foreseeable future, inevitably, he’s going to need to make a trip somewhere else, for some intellectual big-brain reason. Like to attend a conference or give a guest lecture at a university. It’s only a matter of time.

            It turns out to be good old Mr. Screwllum who gives Aventurine the break he needs – and since it comes from one of Ratio’s acquaintances he doesn’t suspect at thing.

            They’ve been at Herta Space Station for about three months total when the need arises for Ratio to call for a break from his research with Aventurine. His work on the Divergent Universe with Screwllum has reached a turning point. They are at a crucial stage, and one where a week or two of working there in person on Penacony will be infinitely more efficient. Taking some time off from the Intelligentsia Guild is a non-issue. Putting his research with Aventurine on hold, on the other hand . . . that is a bit more difficult.

            Not because Aventurine would be reluctant to let him go. In all honesty, Aventurine would probably welcome the break . . . but Ratio would feel bad, leaving him all alone in the Seclusion Zone. Ridiculous, he knows. Aventurine is more than capable of venturing out into the main part of the space station and seeking out company if he wishes. He could even hop on a shuttle to Pier Point if he so chose and go into the office, though Ratio doubts he wants to, especially if Jade is on the planet.

            Perhaps it’s more . . . like Ratio feels like he is letting Aventurine down. He’s made no further progress in solving Aventurine’s problem since they figured out the activation phrase. Running off to Penacony without him feels too much like heading out on a lark and casting aside his dear friend despite having promised to help him. Luckily, there is an easy solution to leaving him behind, if Aventurine is amenable to it.

            “Would you like to accompany me to Penacony?”

            That is how he broaches the topic with Aventurine.

            Once he would have been absolutely certain of the answer. Because as long as Ratio has known Aventurine, he has loved festivities and amusements. Casinos, celebrations, theme parks, any sort of jovial gathering, really, and Penacony with its sweet dream and endless possibilities certainly had a place on his bucket list. Nearly kicking the bucket there, however, and what he went through in the hours preceding that may have soured the place for him, however. Ratio would understand if he never wanted to set foot on the planet again. He hopes that is not the case though. He . . . may have added a little something in the Divergent Universe that is right up Aventurine’s alley, with the expectations that someday Aventurine would experience it.

            “Penacony?” Aventurine asks with a cheerful but neutral expression. “What are you going there for? To meet up with Screwllum? Or is Paperfold University trying to steal you away?”

            “The former,” Ratio tells him, though technically both his guesses are true. Many universities throughout the galaxy attempt to solicit his teaching services on a yearly basis. Paperfold University, however, is the only one that has offered him a position as interim dean – repeatedly. No need to confuse the issue for Aventurine, however, as Ratio has never once even considered their offers.

            “Your Divergent Universe project is going well then?” Aventurine asks, looking genuinely interested.

            “Very,” Ratio says. “Which is why Screwllum has requested that I come to Penacony to work with him in person for a week or two. Most likely two. No more than three. I remain committed to helping you, and research into your condition is my highest priority, but –”

            “But not your only commitment,” Aventurine says. “I get it. You should go to Penacony then. Besides, having a break from messing with my head will probably do us both good.”

            “Will you join me?” Ratio asks.

            The smile that Aventurine flashes him is tinged with regret, and Ratio knows his answer before he speaks.

            “I better not this time,” he says ruefully. “I didn’t mention it but there may be something that I need to take care of in person too, coming up. I’d hate to get all the way to Penacony then have to cut my trip short.”

            “I see,” Ratio says. “I cannot help but be concerned –”

            “Chances of running into Jade even if I do have to go are minimal this time,” Aventurine says. “Or at least they should be. If that changes, I’m sure I can better my odds with a bit of quick thinking, just like I did last time.”

            “She is not the only one I am worried about.”

            “It’s Pier Point, Ratio. There’s a camera on every corner, at least, outside, and in every hallway of every building I’ll be in. If it makes you feel better, I’ll contract a full security team for myself – if I even have to go. I may very well not,” Aventurine says. “But if I do, I promise I’ll be careful. Take every precaution. And I’ll tell you before I go. You can borrow Herta’s Phase Flame again and come to my rescue if I get in trouble. Hey, if you want, I can draw a salary for you, for being on call to save me. Your new job title can be my personal knight in shining armor.”

            “That is not necessary,” Ratio tells him, ignoring the way it makes his stomach feel funny, in a good way, knowing that is how Aventurine sees him, even if this is merely a jest.

            “Just think about it, okay?”

            “No.”

            Aventurine laughs. Ratio can’t help but smile as well.

            “With luck, I won’t even have to go to Pier Point,” Aventurine says. “And I’ll be fine here. I can catch up on laundry and maybe put in a little bit of overtime, so I can slack off later, when I need to.”

            “Very well.”

            In all honesty, it will probably do them good to have some time away from each other. Or at least it will do Aventurine good. Ratio is well aware that his own presence can be very wearying. After the novelty of being in the company of a genius wears off, most people find him insufferable. Aventurine is one of the few who has never shown signs of tiring of him, but all the same, some time apart would probably benefit him. Ratio, for his part, only hopes that he will not inadvertently show how much he misses his gambler while he is away.

            “I will make plans to travel, then. We can adjust our research schedule a bit to minimize the number of sessions that we’ll miss while I’m away.”

            “Right. Sounds good. Just make sure to bring me back a souvenir.”

            Ratio gives him a look. “It has been mere months since last you were on Penacony, yet you feel the need to solicit souvenirs from there?”

            “Yep.”

            Ratio snorts. Then turns away before Aventurine can see how close he is to laughing.

I hope the last week of 2024 is going well for everyone!  I have a bit more time off of work, so I'm getting caught up on some things that I put off, and getting plenty of writing done. 

Sneak peek of next chapter: 

            For the record, Ratio does not intend to get Aventurine a souvenir.

            There is not a single thing in all of Penacony that Aventurine needs, and if there was something that he wanted, he is more than capable of procuring it for himself. Infatuated Ratio may be, but some lines simply must be drawn - or so he tells himself.

            Then he sees the Origami Birds arcade games that have been set up on the ship once known as the Radiant Feldspar.

I hope you'll look forward to it!  Anyway, please leave a comment on your way out. ^^

Chapter Text

            For the record, Ratio does not intend to get Aventurine a souvenir.

            There is not a single thing in all of Penacony that Aventurine needs, and if there was something that he wanted, he is more than capable of procuring it for himself. Infatuated Ratio may be, but some lines simply must be drawn - or so he tells himself.

            Then he sees the Origami Birds arcade games that have been set up on the ship once known as the Radiant Feldspar, now known as the Tatalov. Atop the machines are Origami Bird plushies based on members of the Astral Express and several of their known acquaintances. Ratio finds himself perusing them – just out of academic curiosity, mind you.

            “Well, I suppose there wouldn’t be one of that annoying gambler,” he muses to himself when he concludes that there is not, in fact, an Aventurine Origami Bird plushie. He meant to muse it to himself, at least. When he turns around, however, he sees that he is not alone, but pays little attention to the individual who just seemed to be passing by.

            Later, he discovers, that it was the Tatalov’s first mate who he was overheard by, and that they had the advantage over him, as they knew who he was. His reputation works against them, as they took his idea and ran with it. “If the renown Dr. Ratio was looking for one of these, surely they’ll be a bestseller,” seems to be their sentiment. He is repaid for giving them the idea in kind – an eight inch tall Aventurine Origami Bird plushie is delivered to his hotel room three days later, as thanks, right before the rest of their stock hits the market.

            Funnily enough, that is not the only odd gift he receives during his brief trip to Penacony. For reasons beyond Ratio’s ken, Screwllum deems it necessary to present him with a cuckoo clock of all things. “As a token of appreciation for your contributions,” he says by way of explanation, as though that makes it make sense.

            Despite his acquisition of a negative curio replica and a large stuffed bird, Ratio’s trip as a whole goes smoothly. His work with Screwllum proceeds at an extraordinary rate. Hiccups and program errors are few and far between, and those they do find, they are able to quickly weed out. They optimize their code, update their servers, test what they have uploaded . . . and then they’re done.

            That is how Ratio finds himself ready to head back to Herta Space Station after only a week and a half away.

            On his way through the spaceport, he does stop to purchase a box of Dreamlight Mixed Sweets, and has them packaged to give as a gift. He doesn’t bother trying to lie to himself or justify his reasoning. Ratio has always had a soft spot for Aventurine, even before realizing he was in love with him. He likes to see him happy and he knows that these sweets will make him smile.

            Just as the cashier finishes tying the turquoise ribbon around the parcel, Ratio’s phone chimes. The tone is the one he has set for Aventurine. Ratio smiles as he checks the message. He knows that the timing is a coincidence, but it certainly feels as though thinking about his gambler and buying him a gift caused Aventurine to think about him and message him at the exact same time.

            Hey Doctor! How is Penacony? Aventurine asks in his text.

            Ratio thanks the cashier and tucks Aventurine’s parcel into his luggage before responding.

            Ostentatious as always. I am happy to say that I will be leaving early.

            You’re coming home early? Excellent! How soon can I expect?

            Ratio can’t help but feel a surge of happiness at the thought of Aventurine rushing and scrambling to prepare for his return. Doing that last load of laundry he put off. Aiming to have a dinner that’s a bit special ready for him. Ratio knows that he shouldn’t have expectations like these. He does . . . He just can’t seem to help himself. He blames it on the locale. Spending too much time dreaming affects the way one perceives reality. All the same, Ratio hopes that Aventurine will be happy to see him, and hopes that he cares enough about Ratio to make a bit of a fuss over his return.

            My shuttle for Pier Point leaves in one hour. I intend to stay at my apartment overnight and catch the supply shuttle bound for Herta Space Station tomorrow.

            Want me to have a private shuttle to pick you up on Pier Point and bring you directly back here? Aventurine offers.

            It is very tempting. Though Ratio lives frugally, he is not immune to the temptation of luxuries. Working with Aventurine means that he has grown more accustomed to them than perhaps he should have. He has no qualms about enjoying them when traveling with Aventurine – they are one of the perks of working with a Stoneheart – but when Aventurine is not present, taking advantage of those perks feels mildly unethical. Ratio is only human, though, so he can’t help but waver. Especially since a private shuttle would mean essentially having all the amenities of a VIP lounge. He could stretch his legs or even lay down and sleep if he so chose . . . but in the end, his morals win out, even though it means being cramped into a small seat, in a cabin that is economy class at best, or possibly even in a cargo bay.

            That is not necessary, though the offer is appreciated, he texts back.

            Just out of curiosity’s sake, did you make your decision because you need something from your apartment?

            Aventurine . . .

            A Wubbaboo emoji is the only answer Ratio receives before Aventurine goes offline.

            Aventurine sighs as he pockets his phone and makes a note to give the spies he cultivated in Penacony a bonus. If not for their prompt intel, Ratio would have managed to pull a fast one on him.

            He’s going to have to move quickly to beat him home now – and he’s still going to have to cut his trip short. That’s not too big a deal since he always intended to play it safe for a change and get back to Herta Space Station before Ratio possibly could. Of the five evil shamans he’s decided to deal with himself, he’s taken care of two so far, on this little jaunt across the universe, and right now he’s outside the house of number three. He’d hope to get through all five, finishing up with Fleitch, or at least get through number four, but Aventurine’s been taking his time so far, being subtle, and making sure that no uninvolved people get caught in the crossfire, while still having a bit of fun with his former captors. So far it’s all gone very well, but it seems like he’ll have to wrap things up here. Right after he deals with this third mark.

            Concealed by the tinted glass of the van he procured from a local rental agency, Aventurine holds up his tablet like he would if he was using it as a camera and switches it into heat sensing mode. Details and most of the colors vanish from his screen, leaving blotches of muted cool colors . . . and one red heat signature inside of the house. Just as planned. A quick glance at his watch confirms that he’s on schedule, then everything is good to go.

            Aventurine puts on a pair of specially tinted glasses and a black cap, gets out of the van, then opens the back. There is a large flat box within. He grabs onto it and heaves it out of the vehicle, careful to lift it over the van’s original plates so he doesn’t knock them out. The box isn’t heavy so much as it is bulky. It’s not hard to carry though, if you don’t mind holding it awkwardly in front of you, in a way that coincidentally conceals your face.

            Aventurine doesn’t mind that at all.

            He makes his way up the front walkway, to the large house’s porch, then sets his package down so that he can ring the doorbell. As he waits, he does a quick scan of his surroundings, keeping an eye out for any potential witnesses. This isn’t suburbia, though. This is a very upscale neighborhood. Big houses with big lawns. Not a lot of food traffic at this time of day. The summer heat on this planet causes big rainstorms every afternoon in this region, right around this time – torrential downpours so bad that no one wants to even drive during them, let alone walk through them. Aventurine planned this little operation to coincide with one and he must say, his timing is perfect. The first fat raindrops are beginning to fall right as the front door opens.

            “Delivery for Josephine Warrick,” Aventurine says before the man in front of him can speak. He keeps his expression disinterested and impatient – the look of a harried delivery driver who does not want to get caught in this rain.

            “Oh, that’s my wife,” says Westmont Warrick III, evil shaman and former intern for Project Mind Shackle.

            “Sign here, please.” Aventurine practically thrusts a tablet in Warrick’s face, then looks anxiously back toward his van.

            Warrick makes an annoyed sound but takes the tablet. “Have you got a stylus?”

            “Lost it,” Aventurine says impatiently. “Just use your finger, okay?”

            Warrick huffs and does just that – then, instead of handing the tablet back to Aventurine, he steps away when Aventurine tries to grab it and gives him a mocking smile. “Can I trouble you to carry this upstairs for me? That’s part of your job, isn’t it?”

            Aventurine gives a very put upon sigh, but inside he’s smirking. It seems that Warrick’s still the same petty wretch he remembers. He probably didn’t even need to bait him to get invited in. Warrick seems like the kind of guy who would take delight in inconveniencing a delivery driver even if said driver did nothing to him.

            “Be careful not to let it hit the walls,” Warrick says as Aventurine hauls the package inside. “And please, don’t touch anything. This way, now. Chop chop!”

            Damn, Aventurine’s glad he came here to kill this guy.

            He follows the man through high ceilinged rooms and hallways trimmed with expensive hardwoods, to the back of the house, where floor to ceiling windows and a glass sliding door give a nice view of the beautifully tiled pool in their backyard – or at least they would if they weren’t being pelted by huge raindrops that run down them like rivulets.

            “Wow, it’s really coming down. Looks like you can save yourself the cost of a shower tonight!” Warrick says brightly. Then he laughs like he thinks he’s hilarious.

            “You’re funny,” Aventurine says, keeping his tone neutral as he sets down his package.

            “Oh, don’t set it down yet. The staircase is this way,” Warrick says and motions toward another hallway. One that Aventurine knows, from studying the house’s blueprints, leads to a small set of winding stairs that would be much more difficult to drag this package up than the main staircase, right at the front of the house.

            He’s glad to see Warrick is still just as big an asshole now as he was when they first met. Not that Aventurine would have been swayed even if he thought the man had changed. The way Warrick’s acting now just reinforces his opinion that the universe will be a much better place without this prick.

            “No,” Aventurine tells him and takes off his cap and glasses. “Here’s fine.”

            From the way Warrick’s expression twists, Aventurine can tell that he has not been recognized – not as the kid who Warrick used to torment in a cage, nor as Aventurine of Stratagems. Probably not even as a Sigonian, though his eyes should be a dead giveaway without a lens in front of them, altering their color.

            “No. You’ll do your job, and you’ll do it right or you won’t have a job,” Warrick says angrily. “I’ll call your boss and get you fired.”

            Aventurine would really like to see him try. He can’t imagine what Diamond, Opal, or even Jade would do if they received a call from this peon telling them to let Aventurine go. He almost wants to give Warrick Diamond’s direct line just to see . . . alas, that’s one thread that’s probably better off left unpulled. Besides, Aventurine has something even more humiliating planned for this fucking evil shaman.

            “Oh, Westmont. You always did like to swing your weight around and bully anyone you thought was beneath you. Even as a teenager, you were such a class act.”

            Warrick’s eyes narrow. “What?”

            “You don’t seem to remember me. Not that I really expected you to. I was just an emaciated child the last time we crossed paths. But I will always remember the little bitch who used to try and slam my fingers in the cage door whenever he could.”

            Warrick’s jaw drops as realization sets in. Aventurine watches him, his sharp eyes taking in his every movement, ready to spring into action no matter what the monster in front of him does.

            “Sigonian!” Warrick practically yelps, backing away. “L-Lambda –”

            Aventurine pulls the percussion grenade he came prepared with out of his jacket pocket, yanks out the pin, and then closes his eyes and drops his Imaginary shield right before it goes off.

            The blast makes his ears pop, then all sound completely disappears. The burst of light is so bright that he can see it even through his eyelids. A burning sensation runs up his arm and belatedly, Aventurine realizes that it probably was not a good idea to hold onto the percussion grenade as it was going off. He opens his eyes to see that his jacket sleeve is on fire. That ceases to be a problem when he puts his shield back up, even though the garment is still burning. It’s not damaging him anymore, and he has something else to tend to.

            Warrick was caught unprepared by the blast. He didn’t even have the chance to look away, and now he’s on the ground, rolling, rubbing at his eyes. His jaw is flapping, so he’s probably yelling or crying, but Aventurine can’t hear him – nor can Warrick hear Aventurine.

            He could have used earplugs, he knows, and he brought a few pairs along as backups, but this is just so much more fun. This makes things equal.

            Aventurine strides toward the man who used to torment him so – the man who used to take joy in breaking children’s fingers, who always slammed the cage doors shut as hard as he could to see them flinch – and knocks him out with one well-placed kick.

            That taken care of, Aventurine strips off his jacket and beats out the flames. He takes a moment to inspect his arm. His skin’s a bit red, like a sunburn, but doesn’t feel or look too bad. The implant that Ratio put in his arm looks a little odd around the edges, though. He thinks it’s alright for now but will take another look at it later. Hopefully it won’t be what gives him away to his doctor. He does his best to shove those worries out of his mind and puts his jacket aside. Then Aventurine gets to work.

            He opens the package that he brought with him, pulls out its contents, and studies it carefully for a moment. Aventurine’s never put together a dog crate before, but this doesn’t look too hard, and if all else fails, there’s an instruction manual. The pieces fit together easily, though. Not a surprise, considering how highly rated this model was on his shopping app. In no time at all, Aventurine’s assembled himself a nice sturdy cage. That finished, he grabs Warrick by the back of his ugly fast fashion sweater and stuffs the man through the cage door.

            Then, all that’s left is to wait for Warrick to wake up.

            Technically, Aventurine is in no hurry right now. He’s allotted himself far more time than he needs to get this done without interruptions, and even if the unexpected happens, he’s confident that he can handle whoever shows up. That said, there’s really no reason to dally, and the sooner he gets this done, the sooner he can arrange for a private shuttle for Ratio, and figure out what he needs to do to beat the good doctor home.

            His eyes fall on a credenza across the room that holds a sizable liquor display. Aventurine makes his way over to inspect it. It’s odd not to be able to hear his footsteps, not to be able to hear a single sound, but it’s infinitely better than the alternative. Mindful of the fact that Warrick could wake and crawl out of the open door of his cage without Aventurine hearing him, he keeps a wary eye on the evil shaman, standing at an angle that lets him peruse the liquor collection and see his captive at the same time.

            The alcohol selection is very, very nice. Aventurine would know. He selects a bottle of sweet apple brandy that is his go to gift for hosts and guests whose good side he wants to be on, then ambles back over to Warrick.

            “Wakey, wakey,” he says, even though Warrick can’t hear him. He can kind of hear himself though. Maybe because the sound is coming from his own mouth. Or maybe it’s just his mind filling in the silence with what he knows he should be hearing. Hard to say.

            Either way, dousing Warrick with the brandy gets a better response than trying to talk to him.

            The bigger man flails inside the cage, then tries to clamber to his feet and promptly hits his head on the cage ceiling. Aventurine laughs and takes a drink, even though he probably shouldn’t. This brandy is particularly strong, he knows, but just a sip or two won’t hurt. He smiles as he watches Warrick struggle. Eventually the evil shaman manages to sit up and rubs at his eyes. He looks around. Then his gaze falls on Aventurine and Aventurine knows he’s regained his sight because that expression! That expression!

            That’s the reason Aventurine came here to handle this personally. He takes another drink and gives Warrick his nastiest smile. Then he slams the crate door shut and locks it.

            Warrick tries to say something to him – tries to appeal to him, Aventurine is pretty sure.

            “What? No, I can’t hear you,” Aventurine tells him, even though he knows damn well Warrick can’t hear him either. “I blew out both our eardrums with that percussion grenade. Temporarily – at least for me. You’re not going to be alive long enough for your hearing to come back though. Such a shame.”

            When begging clearly fails, Warrick decides to try shouting. Maybe threatening. Aventurine’s pretty sure he even sees him trying to use the phrase to activate his programming again. He just laughs into the silence and closes his eyes as he takes one final drink.

            “Well,” he tells Warrick, “this has been fun, but something’s come up and I need to get going. I’ll do you one last favor, though. I’ll save you the cost of a shower tonight. In fact, I’ll save you from ever having to take a shower again!”

            He strides past the cage then and opens the sliding door that leads to the backyard, ignoring the way Warrick’s begun rattling the bars of his cage. Then Aventurine grabs the bars and begins dragging the cage. Out of the house and into the pouring rain. Across the patio and through the puddles that form where the concrete is uneven. Toward the swimming pool.

            Somewhere along the way, Warrick realizes his intentions, because then he really starts thrashing – for all the good it does him. He even tries attacking Aventurine’s fingers, clawing at them, biting at them, trying to smash them. Aventurine’s shield is firmly in place, however, so he doesn’t even feel a thing. Undeterred, he drags the cage right up to the edge of the pool, then walks around it and gives it a kick. The cage slides toward the pool, teeters on the edge for just a moment, then falls into the water. And that’s one less evil shaman in the universe.

            Three hours later, Aventurine sits amongst the stars, in the comfort of the lounge of his private shuttle. Footage from a minor news station from the planet he just left plays on the television screen before him. They’ve picked up the story of a house fire in a wealthy neighborhood, that left one man dead. Faulty wiring is believed to be the culprit. There’s no mention of the dead man having drowned in a cage in his swimming pool, and there never will be. Aventurine’s made sure of that.

            Satisfied, Aventurine turns off the television and switches his attention to his phone as confirmation comes through from the private valet he hired for Ratio. They’ll be waiting to meet the good doctor at the gate, and will see to his every need until he returns to Herta Space Station – and they’ll keep Aventurine apprised of Ratio’s movements.

            A few hours ago, that would have been a much higher priority for Aventurine, but now his plans of concealing the past week and a half’s activities from Ratio are pretty much shot. He stares regretfully at the minor burns on his arm, and the damage that the percussion grenade did to his dermal implant. It’s peeling around the edges. There’s no hiding that from Ratio. It will only make him mad and make the fallout from this that much worse. Better to just face the music and hope Ratio won’t be too put off by his actions.

            He shouldn’t be. He already knows that Aventurine is a murderer, after all. This time, at least, they both know damn well these evil shamans deserved what they got.

            Aventurine looks up as an attendant approaches and offers him a hot towel.

            “Can I get you something to drink, Director Aventurine?”

            “Yes. A glass of your top shelf apple brandy, if you please,” Aventurine says with a smile. “Actually, just bring the whole bottle.”

Happy New Year’s everyone! I hope you enjoy this extra chapter and that you have some extra downtime to read it during the holiday. Don’t mind Aventurine up there. You can’t fault him for having a drink tonight of all nights, can you? ^^; Anyway, I hope that 2024 ends well for you, and that 2025 is even better! 🎉🦖

Chapter Text

            Ratio is not surprised in the slightest when, upon disembarking on Pier Point, he is met by an IPC valet.

            “Dr. Ratio. Good afternoon. I’m here to inform you that your travel plans have been updated. You will now be traveling to Herta Space Station via a private IPC shuttle, courtesy of the Strategic Investment Department. I am also here to give you a ride anywhere in the city that you require then back to the space port, if you have errands that you need to run here on Pier Point.”

            Thanks to Aventurine’s meddling, Ratio makes it home that same evening, in time for a late dinner. He wonders, as he sets foot on Herta Space Station once more, if Aventurine has anything prepared.

            Then he sees Lead Researcher Asta there on the platform, waiting, and his heart sinks. For her to be here waiting for him, taking time out of her absurdly busy schedule . . . something must be wrong. He strides toward her quickly, but to his surprise, she brightens at the sight of him, and Ratio feels a surge of hope that perhaps he was wrong, perhaps she isn’t here to bear bad news.

            “Dr. Ratio. Welcome back,” Asta greets him with a smile.

            “Thank you. Is . . . all well with Aventurine?”

            “Hm? I assume so. He returned a few hours ago and seemed fine when we crossed paths, though I only saw him briefly.”

            “He . . . returned?”

            “Yes . . . Is there any reason that everything shouldn’t be okay?” Asta asks, and there is genuine concern for Aventurine on her face.

            “Ah. No, I believe we may have gotten our signals crossed,” Ratio tells her. “If you believe all is well, I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

            “Oh! Did you think I was waiting here for you?” Asta asks, then adds hastily, “I mean to give you bad news? Apologies for the confusion. The next symposium is starting in a few days, and I’m waiting here to greet some of our keynote speakers.”

            “Ah, I see,” Ratio says, trying not to sound chagrined.

            “You might actually be interested in attending one of the panels from this conference,” Asta continues as though everything is normal and fine and there’s no reason for either of them to be embarrassed by her wording. “One of our speakers who is due to arrive tomorrow is the renowned Doctor of Chaos Mal Iancolm. I’ve heard you usually have good things to say in your peer reviews of his papers.”

            “Oh, Dr. Mal Iancolm. Yes . . . It would be worth making time to attend his panel.”

            “I’ll forward you the schedule of events – for this symposium and all events on the space station going forward, whenever you’re in residence here. Feel free to stop by any of them that pique your interest.”

            A bit more is said, but Ratio is distracted – namely by the information she gave him regarding Aventurine. He excuses himself from the conversation as soon as he is able to do so politely, and heads back to the Seclusion Zone to confront his wayward gambler, and find out exactly where he went under the cover of Ratio’s absence – not that he doesn’t already have a very good idea what Aventurine was up to. Aventurine has told him his intentions, after all. Perhaps Ratio should have been expecting this, but he thought that Aventurine had gained a modicum of self-preservation since his mission on Penacony. If he truly was off hunting down the researchers from Project Mind Shackle, as Ratio suspects he was, before they’ve freed him from the reprogramming . . . that is idiotic beyond words!

            Ratio enters the apartment expecting Aventurine to be putting up a façade – dinner ready to be put on the table, perhaps some new furniture that he assembled on display, all their laundry done, Ratio’s neatly folded on his bed and waiting for him. Things that make it seem as though Aventurine was here all day, all week, ever since Ratio left . . . but to his surprise, he finds Aventurine seated at their kitchen table with an open bottle of brandy. No food to go with it, nothing else on the table at all, not even a glass. He takes a drink directly from the bottle as Ratio enters, his sharp eyes studying Ratio, no doubt taking in his expression and posture.

            “So,” he says, setting the bottle down. “You already know. I guess that makes this easy.”

            Ratio glowers. “Easy? You think this conversation will be easy? Then think again, you fool. What, pray tell, possessed you to think it was a good idea to sneak off, as you clearly did, without telling me, before we managed to free you from your programming? Please tell me, at least, that you weren’t out confronting the people who are responsible for said programming!”

            Aventurine takes another drink. “Believe it or not, I actually don’t like lying to you, Ratio.”

            “For that assertion I give you zero points! Lies by omission are still lies, gambler!”

            “I know. But it had to be done.”

            This would be easier if Aventurine was more argumentative or defiant. Or if he was treating Ratio like an opponent, the way he does everyone else in the midst of a disagreement. Instead, he seems deflated . . . and depressed. Despite his anger, Ratio can’t help but be worried. He’s still mad, make no mistake . . . but his affection for his gambler wins out.

            “May I ask why you aren’t even bothering to try to hide your antics from me?” he asks, trying to keep his voice curt but he is afraid that it mellows out to merely being gruff. “Did something happen?”

            Aventurine wordlessly rolls up his sleeve, revealing first degree burns over most of his arm. The synthetic skin implant that Ratio gave him stands out, its color unchanged thanks to the material’s heat-resistant nature, though around the edges the skin is peeling.

            Ratio goes to the bedroom and comes back with his medical bag and a clean washcloth. He wets the washcloth with water from the sink, splashes a bit of antiseptic from his bag on it, then presses it carefully against Aventurine’s burnt skin.

            “What happened?” he asks as he works.

            “The last of the three evil shamans I crossed off my list this week tried to use the activation phrase. So, I set off a percussion grenade to temporarily blow out both our eardrums.”

            Ratio has to grudgingly admit, that was a good countermeasure, though there are obvious better ones. “Would it not have been more practical to bring earplugs to block out all sound, or headphones to override all other noises?”

            “I had both of those too, as backups, but the problem with them is that they would have only affected me. I would have been the only one without the ability to hear. That would have given my enemy an advantage over me that I didn’t want him having – even if it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference in the overall outcome. It would have made a difference to me,” Aventurine says, and an ugly smile crosses his beautiful face. “I didn’t want him to have any illusions that he was in a position of power. I wanted him scared. And he was.”

            “I hope it was worth the minor injuries you gave to yourself when you lowered your Imaginary shield so the percussion grenade would affect you,” Ratio grouses, surmising how it must have gone down.

            “Oh, it was.” Aventurine reaches for the bottle of brandy again with his unburned hand. Ratio beats him to it and moves it out of his reach. Aventurine just raises an eyebrow then continues speaking. “He was scared. He was terrified. I think he was begging me for his life there at the end, but obviously I couldn’t hear what he was saying. A shame, that, but it couldn’t be helped. I didn’t hear a word he said. Or the sound that the door of the dog crate I shoved him into made when it clanged shut. Or the way it sounded when it sunk to the bottom of his swimming pool with him in it. I think what I regret not hearing the most was actually the cage door clanging shut. You have no idea what it was like, being a child trapped in a cage and having a grown up slam the cage door shut as hard as he could every single time just to scare you. That’s what that evil shaman liked to do. He got off on it.”

            Then, quick as a snake, Aventurine’s arm darts across the table, snatching his alcohol back before Ratio can stop him. Triumphantly, he takes another swig while looking Ratio dead in the eyes and smirking.

            “I wish I could have heard how it sounded when I slammed that cage door shut. I wish he could have heard.”

            “Aventurine . . .”

            “It’s okay if you think I’m a monster,” Aventurine tells him. “Just know that I learned from the best.”

            “I don’t think you’re a monster, gambler,” Ratio tells him. “I think you’re a fool! I leave for less than two weeks, and you run off to confront the people who pose the most risk to you in the entire universe! If you simply could not wait to execute those cretins, why did you not come to me?”

            “Because you would have tried to talk me out of it,” Aventurine says flatly.

            “No, I would not have,” Ratio snaps.

            “Yes, you would!”

            “The same way I tried to talk you out of it when you made your intentions for those researchers known?” Ratio shoots back.

            The reminder – or perhaps the alcohol – makes Aventurine falter.

            “I would have come with you. I would have protected you.”

            He is pleased that his words have the ring of sincerity to them, despite his anger – and it’s not just Aventurine that Ratio is angry at. Much of his ire is directed at himself, and rightfully so. What a fool he was, thinking that Aventurine was staying home, like a good little housewife. Preparing for Ratio to come back, as though he was his husband. Things are not like that between them. Aventurine is fiercely independent, and competent, and he has people who he wants dead. Of course he wasn’t just going to wait around!

            “Yeah, well, maybe I didn’t want you to have to,” Aventurine says, finally responding to Ratio’s declaration. “You wouldn’t have liked being there.”

            “I dislike a great many horrible things that I have been party to at the IPC,” Ratio says, “but I have done them all for far lesser reasons than keeping someone I care about safe! I would have watched your back, Aventurine! I thought you trusted me to do that, at least.”

            “I trust you more than anyone. I . . .” Aventurine stares at him with glassy eyes and swallows. “I care about you more than anyone else who’s still alive. You would have hated it, even if you would have done it. And maybe you would have started to hate me.”

            “Aventurine . . .”

            “Either way, I didn’t want . . . I didn’t want you to see me like that. I’m not a good person, Ratio. But I’m not so bad that I want to drag you down with me. And I don’t want you to hate me.” Aventurine’s eyes are positively luminescent with tears that are about to start falling, and Ratio has to fight back the completely inappropriate urge to grab him, pull him close, and kiss him.

            He struggles to think of something – anything – to say. What was it that Aventurine just said? Oh yes, some self-depreciating nonsense that he’s probably been internalizing for quite some time, that directly contradicts his earlier sentiments. From claiming that it’s okay if Ratio thinks he’s a monster to confessing how much he actually doesn’t want Ratio to see him the way he sees himself. Of course after what he’s been through, he is messed up and confused, and probably to some degree, will always be. Aventurine is the sort of person who, before meeting him and coming to know him, Ratio would have written off as too damaged to ever be whole again, someone who’s been hurt so badly that they’ll never really be okay. Perhaps, even now, a part of Ratio still believes that about him . . . but he doesn’t want to. He wants to believe that Aventurine has or at least can heal enough to have a good life. He wants to fix him.

            He looks away when Aventurine blinks, terrified that he’ll see his beloved’s tears spilling over. His eyes fall on the bottle of brandy that Aventurine is still holding – and the realization of how much of the bottle is missing hits him. Aeons above, he hopes Aventurine didn’t drink all that is missing from that bottle in just one sitting.

            Ratio reaches for it again and tugs it out of Aventurine’s grasp.

            “How much have you had to drink?” he asks, not bothering to hide his worry.

            Aventurine motions toward the bottle and confirms his fears. “About that much.”

            “Have you at least eaten? Please tell me you haven’t drunk all this on an empty stomach.”

            “Wasn’t hungry,” Aventurine mutters.

            Ratio takes the bottle away and pours it down the sink. He comes back with a bottle of water that he twists the lid off of before handing it to Aventurine.

            “Drink,” he orders in his most authoritative doctor’s voice – the one that holds no room for argument and as well as the threat of cranial damage if he is not obeyed.

            Aventurine, mercifully, wipes his eyes before taking the bottle.

            “Your arm,” he tells Aventurine as he sits back down and begins digging through his medical bag again, “is one big first-degree burn. It’s not dangerous, but it will be uncomfortable for a few days. I have an ointment that will hasten its healing. Is there anywhere else that you’re injured?”

            “No.”

            “Good.” Ratio finds the bottle that he’s looking for. “I want you to drink all of that water. You will regret everything tomorrow if you don’t.”

            Aventurine doesn’t verbally acknowledge the directive, but does take a drink. It’s a start.

            They lapse into silence then, as Ratio applies the burn ointment to Aventurine’s arm and Aventurine slowly works his way through his water. Once the ointment is applied, Ratio wraps his arm in gauze to keep the medicine on his skin and to keep it clean. After tomorrow they won’t need to bother with rewrapping it, or with more burn cream. It should have healed enough that Aventurine will need no further treatment, since it wasn’t too bad to begin with. He probably would have been fine without any treatment, and perhaps Ratio should have left him as he was as punishment for his folly . . . but that is not Ratio’s way.

            When he’s finished taking care of Aventurine’s arm, Ratio stands and goes to the hutch, looking to see what’s there and what he can make them for dinner that won’t make Aventurine’s impending hangover worse. He’s not particularly hopeful of finding much, since they’ve both been gone for a week and a half, but to his mild surprise, there is a box of random things that seems to be new. Bread, crackers, cheese, nuts, fruits, some high end packaged snacks . . . It takes Ratio a moment to realize what this is, but when he does, it almost makes him laugh. Because, if his suspicions are correct, Aventurine raided the kitchenette of whatever shuttle brought him back to Herta Space Station.

            Ratio is still angry, though, and it would not do to reward Aventurine’s bad behavior any more than he must. He cuts several slices of bread and puts them in the toaster oven, and while they’re heating, peels and slices a banana as well. Aventurine looks at him with big, glazed eyes when Ratio puts the plate of food down in front of him.

            “Eat all of this,” Ratio tells him. “It will help you from feeling so horrible tomorrow.”

            “You’re not mad at me?”

            “I am.”

            “Then why . . . ?”

            “Because being mad about you and caring about you are not mutually exclusive. Now eat. And drink. Then bed.”

            “I want a shower before bed.”

            “No.”

            Aventurine makes a whining sound. “But my sheets are clean. Yours are too. I just washed them before we left.”

            “And I just finished treating your arm. I don’t have enough burn ointment to do it again.”

            Aventurine makes that whining sound again. Ratio grits his teeth.

            “If . . . if you consent to drinking another bottle of water afterward, you can take a bath, in the bathtub. Provided, of course, that you keep your bandaged arm out of the water.”

            “’Kay.”

            Aventurine then begins dutifully working his way through his meal and his water. Ratio makes himself a sandwich with cheese and apple slices and sits down to join him. They eat in silence. Aventurine drinks the requisite amount of water. Then it is time for Ratio to make good on his promise.

            Despite having a meal in him now, and enough water to keep him from being sickeningly dehydrated, the alcohol has most certainly caught up to Aventurine. This is clear when he tries to rise and immediately overbalances and ends up on the floor. Ratio tries to catch him – he truly does – but he was unprepared and Aventurine is just too far away.

            “Sorry,” Ratio stammers as he makes it to Aventurine’s side. “I did not intentionally let you fall.”

            “I know.”

            Aventurine rises, with great effort. Without Ratio to lean on, he would not have been able to make it out their apartment door, let alone down the stairs . . . but Ratio is there for him to lean on.

            They make a trip to the bathroom first, because Aventurine needs it, and it’s a struggle, but ultimately, Ratio thinks this is good for him. He’ll mitigate what hangover symptoms he can to keep his gambler from being completely miserable, but Aventurine deserves to face at least some consequences for his actions. That is why he does not simply carry Aventurine there and back, though he very easily could. What would normally be perhaps a seven-minute round trip ends up taking nearly twenty minutes.

            By the time they finally make it back to the greenhouse, Aventurine is miserable, exhausted, and pliant. If Ratio told him to, he would probably have gone back up to the apartment and crawled into bed without a bath, despite having worked up a sweat on this walk . . . but a deal is a deal. Ratio has him sit on the edge of the tub and assists him with undressing, then helps him into it. Aventurine slings his bandaged arm over the side, so it won’t get wet. Then Ratio fills the tub with him sitting in it. Considering the state he’s in, it’s less hassle that way.

            “Thank you,” Aventurine says hoarsely, once Ratio finally turns off the water.

            “You are welcome. Though I advise you not to repeat this endeavor, as next time I will not help you. You’ll either need to stagger to the locker room under your own power or forgo a shower and deal with your clean sheets absorbing your alcohol sweat.”

            “Alcohol sweat?” Aventurine looks alarmed. “Do I stink?”

            “You do.”

            Aventurine grows frantic and begins looking around for something. For soap, Ratio realizes when Aventurine spies the bar of olive oil soap that Ratio brought back from his home and left in the nook on the side of the tub, where he can reach it easily.

            “Not with your bandaged arm,” Ratio says, when Aventurine makes a grab for it with both hands. The hand connected to Aventurine’s burned arm, at least, is undamaged, most likely thanks to whatever gloves he was wearing when he set off the percussion grenade, but Ratio does not want him fiddling with a bar of soap and potentially getting his bandages wet. He cringes when Aventurine drops the soap in the water, causing a sizable splash. “Stop. Freeze. Do not move!”

            Aventurine obeys, freezing in place just in time. His bandaged elbow hovers mere centimeters above the water. Ratio moves to him, seizes his arm, and drapes it back over the side of the tub. Then he fishes the bar of soap out of the water and steps away from the tub to find a clean washcloth for Aventurine.

            “If you need help, ask for it, gambler,” he says as he lathers the washcloth against the soap.

            “I don’t want you smelling me when I smell bad!”

            “It is a little late for that, dear gambler.”

            A look of horror crosses Aventurine’s face, which would be comical if it weren’t followed so quickly by shame.

            “It . . . is not that bad,” Ratio tells him and hands him the washcloth. “Alcohol sweat is unpleasant to smell, but not unbearable.”

            “Yeah . . . I’ve probably smelled a lot worse,” Aventurine says as he takes the cloth from Ratio. “I definitely have. Back when I . . . It’s good that you didn’t smell me back then.”

            Ratio’s mind is suddenly drawn to Aventurine’s extensive cologne collection – one of the few personal interests that he seems to have, aside from gambling and cooking. He never before stopped to think that perhaps there was a reason for it, but with the dark turn that the conversation has taken, now it is all that he can think about. He does his best to shove those thoughts aside – there will be plenty of time to ruminate on them later. For now . . . there’s something he should be saying, he is fairly certain.

            “You . . . are fine. Now that you have washed off in the water, you’re fine,” Ratio tells him.

            Aventurine gives one of his little hums. This one sounds doubtful, as he begins scrubbing what skin of his that he can, using just one hand while keeping the other dry.

            Ratio sighs. “I did not mean to offend.”

            “You didn’t. It’s good you let me know.”

            This is not going the way Ratio expected it to. Not that he had many expectations for helping a drunken Aventurine get a bath. It only now occurs to him that it could be considered an ethics issue, him helping Aventurine bathe, when he has feelings for him, while Aventurine is drunk no less. He hasn’t needed to help Aventurine shower or bathe since realizing his feelings. This is hardly romantic, however, and it would be a great stretch to say that he is taking advantage of Aventurine in this situation.

            It is, Ratio realizes, very difficult to be in love with Aventurine. Not just because of his personality, or even because of their circumstances, which will require him to hide his feelings for the gambler for a good long while yet. The hardest thing about being in love with Aventurine is knowing that there is absolutely nothing that he will ever be able to do to keep him from having been hurt in the past. So much of his life was a nightmare, and maybe he never truly will be okay. No. Ratio refuses to believe that. He intends to do everything in his power to help Aventurine so long as Aventurine lets him. But nothing will ever change the fact that he lived through horrors that would break most people into pieces.

            “Here,” Ratio says gruffly, and holds out a hand to take the washcloth back. “If you are amenable, I will wash your back. And help you wash your hair.”

            Aventurine hesitates. “You . . . don’t mind?”

            “I don’t mind.”

            So Aventurine hands over the washcloth, and Ratio takes over helping him clean up.

            It would be a lie if Ratio claimed that he had not given in and indulged himself with a few fantasies involving Aventurine and bathtubs, but there is nothing sensuous about this. Ratio works quickly and is strictly professional – just a doctor helping one of his patients bathe. He finishes up as fast as he can and never allows his thoughts to stray from his task. Once he deems Aventurine’s bath complete, he helps him out of the water and wraps him in a towel . . . and then takes pity on his exhausted looking friend. He lifts him carefully, making sure that Aventurine stays wrapped up in his towel, and carries him back to their apartment.

            A few curt questions, some meekly slurred answers, and a final bottle of water later, Aventurine is tucked into bed. Ratio leaves a quart-sized disposable container that once held produce on the nightstand, in case Aventurine wakes up and needs to be sick, and a bottle of water next to it in case he wakes up and doesn’t need to be sick. Then Ratio heads back into the main room of the apartment.

            There isn’t much to clean up from dinner. Nor is there any expired food in the refrigerator that needs to be thrown out. Ratio supposes that he should be grateful that Aventurine deigned to make sure they wouldn’t be returning to spoiled food and mold. A quick look through the freezer reveals his efforts. It seems that he froze anything that could be frozen – mostly vegetables, and a few portions of leftovers from the dinners they had when last they were here. Between those and the longer lasting foods in the refrigerator, and the pantry staples in the hutch, they’ll be alright for the day or two that it will take Aventurine’s next grocery order to arrive. If need be, they can brave the cantina. In fact, they may well choose to do so, separately, for a break from each other. It’s hard to say how the fallout from tonight will go when tomorrow dawns and Aventurine’s sober. By then Ratio will have had a chance to cool down, at least, but Aventurine . . . It’s impossible to tell how he’ll feel about all this.

            With nothing pressing that he needs to do in the apartment, Ratio decides to get a bath himself. He’s too restless to do much else and needs to do something to still his mind before even trying to sleep.

            Aventurine’s lukewarm bathwater is still in the tub when he makes it back down there with his own bathing things. He drains it, and refills it with water that is steaming hot, and scatters a handful of bath salt over it just before climbing in. Then he leans back and closes his eyes.

            Tonight . . . did not go as expected, to say the least. Ratio is disappointed for so many reasons. Not just because he didn’t get a warm reunion and a nice quiet night in with the man he loves, but because Aventurine went off and put himself in danger without him. Then Aventurine felt the need to get drunk before confronting him. But why? Because he felt guilty for sneaking off behind Ratio’s back? Or because he was scared of how Ratio would react? Is Ratio’s disappointment truly such a source of dread for him? Ratio can only hope it was not fear of his anger that drove Aventurine to drink. Surely he must know that Ratio would never hurt him?

            Trying to figure out what goes on in Aventurine’s head is an exercise in futility. Ratio has the feeling that even if he did know, even if he could read his mind as Jade can, he still wouldn’t understand. His traumatic past . . . his precocious nature . . . they are what makes Aventurine so unpredictable . . . and they are what makes him who he is.

            Ratio knows this. He also knows that you cannot love someone in slices. You either accept them as they are, or you do not truly love them. It’s either all or nothing . . . and Ratio truly loves Aventurine. All of him. Difficult, though it is.

            He sighs then breathes in the scented steam from his bath, and does his utmost to clear his mind. If he doesn’t, he will never get to sleep tonight, and that will only make tomorrow more difficult. Though he is still angry with Aventurine he doesn’t want to be. He wants to make peace with him . . . to understand him . . . and to return to how things were.

            He supposes, after thinking it over – even though he is trying hard to still his mind and not to think – that the best place to begin is tomorrow morning, at breakfast.

Interlude

            Topaz tries not to make a face as she takes a sip of her coffee.

            The Goethe Hotel, which has been her home for over a month now, is high class by any planet’s standards. Designed by a master architect and nestled in an idyllic winter land, Topaz could almost believe that she was in a fancy resort on one of the ice giant vacation destinations – if not for the abysmal excuse for coffee that is served on Jarillo-VI.

            She sets the fancy little cup they served the foul beverage in back down on its accompanying saucer and allows herself a moment just to breathe. A moment to relax, now that the crisis that had her rushing back here, calling in every favor she could, has passed. It was, to her chagrin, mostly a false alarm, but just serious enough that she didn’t look like a complete fool in front of Jade, who she roped into helping her. Embarrassing all the same . . . but it’s over now. At this very moment, Jade is heading back to the Asdana System, and though Topaz is remaining here just a bit longer to ensure that everything really is okay, she can afford to relax a little.

            As she does, she can’t help but to admit, if only to herself, that she is glad for how things worked out with Jarillo-VI. Despite her failure to bring the planet into the fold for the IPC, and the black mark it put on her nearly perfect acquisition record, she knows now what would have been lost if she’d succeeded. This world’s culture is uniquely beautiful. It would have been a shame if it had been lost in the IPC’s transition.

            Topaz watches, discreetly, as an adorable bespectacled girl in a Silvermane Guard officer’s uniform scampers up the stairs and over to the table next to hers, joining a beautiful woman with long golden hair and exquisite fashion sense.

            “Sorry I’m late!” the little girl squeaks.

            “Hey, no worries,” her companion says. “I take it you have good news?”

            “Yes! Very! My patron loved her commission, from beginning to end. And she gave me permission to publish it. She even commissioned some artwork to go with my story, and said that she’ll buy the rights to print it from the artist if I want to use it as my cover art! Which I do! Because it’s so beautiful!”

            “Rock on! Well, let’s see this cover art then!”

            Topaz does her utmost to be discreet in her eavesdropping, but she can’t help it – her interest is piqued. She raises her coffee cup to her lips and takes a sip, as the Silvermane girl pulls out her tablet, then holds it up, revealing her book cover.

            Taking a drink right then turns out to be a mistake.

            As her eyes register the image on the screen she inhales sharply, promptly chokes, and begins spluttering.

            Because the image on the screen is, unmistakably, a painting of her fellow Stoneheart, Aventurine, and their colleague Dr. Ratio, locked in a passionate kiss.

Chapter Text

            Aventurine wakes up feeling sick and disgusting . . . His head hurts, and his mouth is dry and tastes foul. His muscles ache when he sits up and he immediately feels lightheaded . . . but considering how much he drank yesterday, this is not nearly as bad as he was expecting to feel. Ratio’s ministrations have definitely made a difference.

            Speaking of Ratio . . . the apartment smells like breakfast. Breakfast that must have been cooked by Ratio. Since Ratio is the only one there who could have made breakfast. And since he always makes breakfast. For Aventurine. If he did that today of all days . . . he must not be too  horribly mad. Unless he just made breakfast for himself and not for Aventurine, to make a point. Or because he thought Aventurine would be too sick for breakfast. That’s what Aventurine will tell himself, at least if he stumbles into the main area and sees that there is no breakfast for him. Or maybe that he missed breakfast. The clock on the nightstand says that it’s past noon now. So yeah, maybe Ratio didn’t make him breakfast because he knew Aventurine wouldn’t be up in time for it.

            Also on the nightstand, is an empty bucket, presumably in case he needs to be sick, and a bottle of water. Aventurine considers the state of his stomach for a moment, and when he’s fairly confident that he’s not going to immediately vomit, reaches for the bottle of water. He swishes a mouthful of it around in his mouth first, to try and wash away the bad taste, then spits it into the bucket before taking a few cautious sips.

            Ratio appears in the doorway, perhaps summoned by the sound of him spitting water. There’s a look of concern on his face.

            “Hi,” Aventurine tries to say to him, but his voice comes out as a croak. He winces and takes another drink of water.

            “I see you’re awake,” Ratio says, crossing his arms.

            “Yes. I . . . I’m awake.” Aventurine does his best to meet Ratio’s eyes but finds his gaze falling in shame. “Ratio . . . I . . .”

            “Did you throw up?”

            “No, I –”

            “There’s breakfast here for you, if you think you can stomach it,” Ratio says, then turns and walks back into the main room of the apartment.

            Breakfast . . . Suddenly, inexplicably, Aventurine feels a tad bit better.

            He rinses out his mouth by swishing around some more water, then stands and goes to retrieve some clothes for the day. The effort that it takes to make it to his wardrobe gives him pause, makes him stop and consider the state that he’s in. Was that little bit of exertion enough to make him start sweating? He thinks it might have been. Does he smell like alcohol sweat? Aventurine sniffs at the collar of his pajamas, but he can’t tell. He doesn’t smell anything, but if he sweated during the night then he’s definitely gone nose blind to it. Deciding that it’s better to be safe than sorry, Aventurine quickly digs out his favorite everyday cologne and sprays himself down with it, to cover up any odors. Then he wipes his hands on his pajamas before digging out a set of clean clothes and walking quickly through the apartment.

            Ratio is plating up something for him – bacon, sausage, a sunny side up egg on toast . . . Despite the slightly sickening feeling that persists, that actually does kind of look good right now . . . but Aventurine breezes past him as quickly as he can and to the exit.

            “Shower,” he tells Ratio as he hurries out.

            He does his best to keep moving quickly, even upping his pace to a jog, hoping he can sweat out whatever alcohol sweat is left before he gets his shower. By the time Aventurine makes it to the locker room his ears are ringing, but it’s worth it. He strips off his pajamas and tosses them into the clothes hamper that he bought for him and Ratio some weeks back.

            His arm is still wrapped in bandages. That gives Aventurine pause for a few moments, but when Ratio doesn’t appear at the door, shouting at him not to get his arm wet, Aventurine decides it’s safe to unwrap the bandages. The skin beneath them is peeling a little bit but looks much better than it did yesterday and doesn’t hurt anymore. Not even a little bit. Whatever Ratio put on it was almost as effective as Pathstrider healing skills.

            Finally, Aventurine gets into the shower and lets the water cascade down over him like rain.

            It’s like magic. Almost immediately, he starts to feel a bit better. His thoughts are suddenly clearer and the ache in his muscles recedes a noticeable amount. Aventurine sighs and leans against the wall and takes a few minutes to pull himself together.

            Ratio isn’t furious with him. That’s something. He made him breakfast, and he took care of him last night. Despite the inebriated state that he was in, Aventurine remembers that clearly enough. Ratio helped him take a bath and even wrapped him up in a towel and carried him back up to the apartment.

            It’s a little embarrassing that he let himself fall into such a state to begin with, but he could have been much worse. He has been much worse, in the past. His first few years working for Jade were . . . well, they were something. Those, however, can be excused by the fact that he was still a minor in most systems back then. About the same age that a lot of humanoid species are when they leave home, go off to university, and go a bit crazy with their newfound freedom – as if living with a guardian or two who kept them fed and safe made them repressed. For Aventurine, it truly was his first taste of freedom, and he may have gone more than a little crazy. More with gambling than with alcohol, though the first year, in particular, he did try and see if he could drink his past away. It didn’t work and he eventually got tired of being sick and weathering hangovers.

            For the life of him, Aventurine can’t remember why he thought it was a good idea to go down that road again yesterday. What was he thinking? He sighs. Then he grabs his soap and starts scrubbing every inch of his skin.

            Twenty minutes later, Aventurine returns to the apartment feeling much better. He’s freshly scrubbed and spritzed with more cologne, his teeth brushed, his hair combed, and his eyeliner neatly applied. He’s as ready to face the music as he’ll ever be.

            When Ratio sees him come in, he hits a button on the microwave. Whatever he’s got in there – and Aventurine suspects it’s his breakfast plate – doesn’t take long to heat up. Moments later, Aventurine’s guess is confirmed, as Ratio opens the microwave door, retrieves the plate, and places it on the table.

            “That’s for me?” Aventurine asks.

            “If you want it,” Ratio says neutrally, then goes back to the hutch to get himself the coffee that he must have been waiting on when Aventurine came back in.

            “Thank you,” Aventurine says, and sits down at the table. Despite his hangover, the breakfast actually looks appetizing. Since Aventurine’s managed to keep the water he drank down, he thinks he’s probably in the clear now. He decides to eat slowly though, just to be safe.

            Ratio begins reading something on his tablet as he sips his coffee. Aventurine starts eating. As he works his way through his plate, he tries to think of what he should say to Ratio – because after everything that’s happened, a conversation is definitely warranted. Unfortunately, it’s no easier to find the words now that he’s sober than it was when he’d been drinking. There’s really nothing he can say that will make what he did okay with Ratio.

            Aventurine ends up clearing his plate and drinking all the juice Ratio poured for him. By the time he’s finished, Ratio still has half his cup of coffee left. Aventurine looks toward the coffee pot and opens his mouth to ask –

            “No,” Ratio tells him, before any words leave his mouth.

            Aventurine’s shoulder slump.

            “Coffee is a diuretic. It dehydrates you. Have another glass of juice or some water instead.”

            “Okay,” Aventurine agrees. He goes to the fridge to retrieve some juice. As he returns to the table, Ratio puts his tablet aside.

            “We need to talk,” Ratio tells him sternly.

            “I know,” Aventurine says and forces himself to meet Ratio’s eyes. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

            “You guess?”

            “I know I do,” Aventurine amends. “You’re mad, and you’re one of the few people in the universe whose opinion actually matters to me. But I don’t know what to say. I can’t regret what I did. But I am sorry that I upset you.”

            Ratio scowls. “Do you even understand why I’m upset, gambler?”

            “I think I know most of the reasons why. The moral implications of me killing those researchers, lying by omission to you, going after them alone . . . and for drinking so much afterwards, even though you warned me about alcohol addiction.”

            Ratio takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Aventurine waits.

            “I do not care about the moral implications of what you did,” Ratio says finally. “I care about you. And I care that you lied to me – by omission, yes, and in as many words as well. Then you put yourself in danger – danger that, Aeons willing, in a reasonable amount of time will not be even a fraction of what it is now, and you did it the moment my back was turned. Why, gambler? Why could you not wait until we have freed you from your programming? Do you no longer believe that I will succeed in helping you?”

            “No! That’s not it at all!” Aventurine protests. “I just – I –”

            “And if for some reason you could not wait – if there was some time sensitive reason – why did you not take me with you?” Ratio asks. “I have tried to understand your reasoning, I truly have, but the only conclusion that I can draw that makes sense across the board is that you do not trust me.”

            “That’s not – Ratio, I – I trust you more than anyone,” Aventurine tells him, and winces internally at how desperate he suddenly sounds.

            “If that is true then you have a very odd way of showing it.”

            “I don’t – this isn’t – you – It’s not you, it’s me!” Then, when Aventurine realizes what just came out of his mouth, he winces and not internally. “I mean . . . I . . . I’m sorry, I . . . I guess what it comes down to is that . . . it doesn’t make sense. I don’t make sense. I know it. You’re a logical person. You do things that make sense, but I don’t, because . . . I don’t know why. Maybe because of everything I’ve been through. Maybe it’s fucked me up irreparably. Or maybe that’s just an excuse. Maybe I’ve always been this way. I don’t know why I’m like this, but I don’t . . . I don’t want to lose you. Your friendship, I mean. Please don’t . . . don’t . . .”

            Aventurine doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. Or what he’s asking for Ratio not to do. Leave him? Hate him? Give up on him? The silver tongue that’s charmed a thousand difficult clients and talked its way out of more sticky situations than he can count turns to lead in his mouth as he realizes what’s truly at stake here, and what he stands to lose. Since words have failed him, he tries to speak with his eyes. He locks his gaze on Ratio’s and tries to will him to see that Aventurine trusts him and needs him, and that without him there is nothing good in his life.

            Please understand . . .

            Ratio holds his gaze for several long moments. Then he sighs and looks away. “Do you know that for a long time I tried to keep you at arm’s length? Not because of your IPC affiliation or your dubious morality, but because you clearly had so little regard for your own life. It seemed like a foregone conclusion that you would die young, and like it would be a waste of emotional energy to see you as anything more than a distant acquaintance. Yet somehow, over the course of multiple missions together, something changed. You changed. The decisions you made grew less rash. It was as though you were slowly starting to . . . starting to desire to live. Not just survive, but live. Then after Penacony . . . and here on Herta Space Station when you asked me if this is what normal life is like . . . I thought that you truly wanted –”

            “I do,” Aventurine tells him. “I want to live. That was why . . . why I went after those researchers. Because I couldn’t live with those damn evil shamans still out there –”

            “But you went alone. Against them.”

            “I took precautions. I blew out my eardrums so that the spell couldn’t affect me. I know you don’t like that method, but it made me safe. As safe as I can possibly be until you fix my brain. I didn’t go there to die, Ratio. I want to live but that means finding ways to be safe, even when you’re not around.”

            “Aventurine, please trust me,” Ratio says and for a moment he sounds just as desperate as Aventurine. It makes Aventurine’s heart hurt. “I will free you from your programming. I swear it. But until then, stay close to me so that I can protect you. If you absolutely need to kill the Jacobin researchers before we succeed, then take me with you.”

            Aventurine’s eyes sting with tears. “I don’t want you to have to get blood on your hands for me. You don’t like killing –”

            “No, I do not like killing, but if it is a choice between you or those despicable individuals, then I will always choose you!” Ratio tells him. Then, “Please do not cry. I did not mean to scare you. I am not so angry that –”

            “I’m not crying,” Aventurine says and scrubs the back of one palm across his face, over his eyes before his tears can spill over – only to realize he’s a little late, and they’re already streaming down his face. Embarrassed, he turns away and wipes his face against his forearm, letting his sleeve absorb his tears before glaring at Ratio and insisting, “I’m not!”

            Ratio chooses to humor him. He nods, then agrees with him. “Alright. So long as we have come to an understanding.”

            “We have. No more hunting evil shamans until we break the programming,” Aventurine promises.

            Ratio hands him a napkin. Aventurine accepts it, then turns away and uses it to clean up his face. He is very glad that his eyeliner is water and smudge-proof. Otherwise, he’d look even worse than he knows he already does. Damn it, he really never wanted Ratio to see him ugly crying.

            “Please finish your juice,” Ratio says gently. “You need to replenish your fluids or your condition will deteriorate.”

            “’Kay,” Aventurine agrees. It makes him feel better to know that Ratio is still taking care of him. That even angry, Ratio never stopped taking care of him. That knowledge helps him stem his tears and shove them back as he reaches for his juice.

Ratio still has the souvenirs. Aventurine will just be getting them a bit later since now doesn’t seem like the right time for gifts. But they will be given to him in time. ^^;

Also, right now I plan to take a break next week because the timing of the next few chapters could be a bit tricky and I want to make sure that I get them done right. I should be back the week after that with a new chapter.

I’ll catch up on replying to comments in the next few days – it’s gotten late here and I have to be up really early tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

            Ratio checks Aventurine’s arm after they’ve cleaned up from breakfast. He is pleased to see that the healing ointment he applied last night did its work.

            “You’ll experience some peeling over the next few days,” he tells Aventurine. “There’s no help for that, however, as those are dead skin cells.”

            “They’re what?” Aventurine looks like he’s not sure if he should be alarmed or not.

            “Dead skin cells,” Ratio repeats. “That you killed off when you detonated that percussion grenade while holding it. Fortunately, you did not kill off so many that it is a problem. You are already healing, your body replacing the lost cells with new ones.”

            Aventurine smiles and nods in a way that makes Ratio feel certain that he’s stumbled upon one of the gaps in Aventurine’s education – one that makes a certain kind of sense. Cellular biology does not come up in everyday conversation, and was certainly not taught on Sigonia. All the same, Ratio will endeavor to educate him, at his earliest convenience. There’s no great rush, however. Aventurine is decently versed in first aid and wound care, which are what really matter. Terms, details, and facts that he may very well never need to know must take a backseat to a great many more pressing things.

            “The implant you gave me though – does it need to be replaced?” Aventurine asks.

            “No. It, unlike your skin, is flame resistant. It will appear to be discolored for a time, since the skin surrounding it was damaged and has changed colored, but within two weeks, it will be unnoticeable unless one is looking for it again,” Ratio tells him.

            “It’s really impressive how you managed to make it that way,” Aventurine says. “Would it blend in with any skin color?”

            “Yours would for any skin color from ivory tones to dark brown. Different materials must be used for it to blend in with green or blue toned skin, but I did develop those as well.”

            Aventurine’s smile holds nothing but admiration – and though Ratio is well aware that it could simply be a ploy to get back in his good graces, he can’t help but feel a bit pleased to have the one he holds dear looking at him like that.

            “What else have you invented?” Aventurine asks.

            “A great many things – many of which you are aware of,” Ratio reminds him.

            “Well yeah, but only the famous ones, like your planetary defense system, and your quantum laser medical tech. The ones that everyone talks about. But I know you’ve invented a lot of smaller things that help people out too, right?”

            “Dozens,” Ratio admits. “Many, however, are for niche or specialized purposes.”

            “I don’t suppose you’ve made anything that could just, you know, turn off my hearing on command?” Aventurine asks. “Then turn it back on again afterward?”

            “You know that I have not,” Ratio says, with more tolerance than he usually reserves for those who ask questions they already know the answers to. “But what you truly want to know is if I can. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy.”

            Ratio can’t help but consider the idea, even as he dismisses it. His brain attempts to work the problem on its own, turning over details, trying to find a solution. He has invented surgically implanted, signal controlled auto-injectors that can administer up to three doses of medication before needing to be refilled – and he worked out how to refill them without needing to remove the device as well. If there were a drug intended for turning off one’s sense of hearing, those could be used, but there is no such drug, at least not that he is aware of, and why would there be? Medications are developed due to needs, and the need to turn off someone’s sense of hearing is far too small to be worth trying to create one, let alone putting it through all the drug trials and tests that would be needed before it could be brought to market.

            “Yeah,” Aventurine says. “I figured. You would have already thought of it if there was. But you can’t blame me for asking.”

            Ratio shakes his head, but is spared having to answer more in depth as his phone chimes. He checks it to find that Asta just sent him the schedule of symposium panels, along with a quick apology for not having gotten it to him sooner. Ratio texts back a word of thanks then makes a note of when Dr. Mal Iancolm’s presentation is.

            “What’s that?” Aventurine asks. “Good news?”

            “Hmm? Oh, just a message from Lead Researcher Asta. There is a speaker at the current symposium who I do not want to miss.”

            “Oh yeah? Someone you know?” Aventurine asks.

            “Dr. Mal Iancolm. We met in passing years ago and have reviewed one another’s works for some time now, though I would consider it a stretch to say that I know him. I do, however, expect his presentation to be worthwhile and intend to go see it.”

            “Yeah? Maybe I’ll come along then.”

            Ratio is a bit surprised by Aventurine’s interest but has no objections. “Make arrangements to have time off work in two days then, in the afternoon.”

            “Got it.”

            By mutual agreement, Ratio and Aventurine both take the remainder of that day and off and intend to return to working remotely the next day. That aligns their work week with the standard Pier Point work week, which makes things a bit easier for Aventurine. Ratio’s work, which he can currently do completely on his own schedule and doesn’t require interaction with other humans, is largely unaffected, but he is happy to do what works best for Aventurine.

            More than that, he is happy that they have resolved the conflict between them. At least for now. Ratio knows that Aventurine will not wait forever to finish what he started with the Jacobin researchers, but this conflict has most likely bought Ratio a grace period of at least several months. He will do his utmost to free Aventurine from his programming before it ends. If he cannot . . . then he will accompany Aventurine when his gambler does what he must do.  Ratio intends to do all that he can to free Aventurine before then, however. He is optimistic that he can.

            Overall, he feels good about the way things have turned out. More than that, Ratio feels good in general. It takes him a bit to figure out why, but as he watches Aventurine lay down on the sofa in their living room for a nap, he realizes – this was their first major fight. Since they started living together, at least. They’ve had major arguments before . . . but this is the first one that they’ve had since Ratio realized that he is in love with Aventurine. It is not their first major argument as a couple . . . but Ratio can’t help but feel like it is, even though he knows that to be erroneous.

            Mentally sighing at the realization of just how “down bad” he is, as his students would put it, he makes himself useful and fetches a bottle of water for Aventurine, so that his gambler will have a drink at hand as he rests.

            Half the day is gone, but after his nap Aventurine feels well enough to enjoy what’s left of it. Thanks to Ratio. Not surprising, since just about everything good in his life comes down to Ratio being in it. So, naturally, Aventurine is very glad that Ratio seems to have forgiven him and continues to take care of him in his brusque closet-mother hen way.

            It feels good to be back home. Here in the apartment, with Ratio. It’s funny to realize it, but somehow this place seems more like home than his penthouse on Pier Point, even though he’s lived there for years, and here only for a couple months. When he was off hunting down the evil shamans, Aventurine never mixed up where he was returning to in his mind, like he might have expected to. Not once did he accidentally think that when his trip was over, he’d be returning to his penthouse.

            Now that he’s back, he does have a few things to take care of. Later that afternoon, he retrieves their sourdough starter from the junior researcher he paid to feed it for him while he was gone. He checks on Ratio’s basil plant too, but since that was in the greenhouse, with automatic lights and irrigation, it was perfectly fine left alone. Then he makes the rounds and visits with his favorite cat cakes. They’re all doing well, which is no surprise – they lived here long before he came along and never had many visitors. They’re all pretty self-sufficient, even if they are pining for their genius creator.

            Speaking of geniuses . . . Aventurine did not miss the way Ratio lit up at the mention of Dr. Mal Iancolm. Some research into that man before meeting him is definitely in order, so he knows what to expect.

            So, Aventurine sits down at True Love’s Frozen Beans’s table and boots up his tablet. A quick search shows him most of what he needs to know about his potential rival for Ratio’s attention.

            The good Doctor of Chaos is older than him and Ratio both, but not ancient. Handsome, in a silver fox kind of way – though he’s a humanoid species, not a Foxian – with a penchant for wearing black. His CV is impressive, but not nearly as impressive as Ratio’s. His primary line of research seems to be on chaos and nihility, as expected of a Doctor of Chaos. Ratio, however, clearly deems him impressive enough to leave the Seclusion Zone and venture amongst the general populace of Herta Space Station to interact with.

            Aventurine’s not sure how he feels about that.

            There’s not much he can do about it though. There are no red flags that he can find, even after conducting an in-depth IPC background check on the man. No practical reason to keep Ratio away from him. Just his own jealousy that Ratio deems someone else worthy of going out of his way for. There’s not even any proof that Ratio likes the man the way Aventurine likes Ratio. Most likely he only wants to go and listen to Iancolm’s lecture, but Aventurine still can’t help but be jealous.

            He reaches out to pet True Love’s Frozen Beans with a sigh and tries to shove his petty and dark thoughts behind a mental wall, or at least away from the forefront of his mind. He has no real reason to be upset. It’s just a presentation. Given by a man Ratio respects. And shows more enthusiasm for than anyone or anything else since they arrived here at the Space Station.

            Damn it.

            A part of him wants to put some scheme into motion to stop this. Aventurine’s sure he could get the presentation canceled if he tried. Could probably get Iancolm removed from the space station too, without too much trouble . . . but he won’t. He’s rational enough to know that doing something like that is not okay. More importantly, if Ratio ever found out, he would be so mad. Aventurine doesn’t want to think about what the consequences of that would be. Besides, that would be a horrible way to repay Ratio for everything he’s done for him. Ratio’s put his life on hold, has moved out here to the edge of the known universe so they can work on deprogramming Aventurine in seclusion, without IPC interference, and takes such good care of him, always. Even if this is something more than a mere presentation . . . even if Ratio wants to be friends or more than friends with this other guy, what kind of a person would Aventurine be to deny him someone who makes him happy?

            It’s probably nothing, Aventurine tries to tell himself again. But if it is something, it’s a good thing. Ratio deserves someone good. Not a corporate scum murderer who’s never managed to save a single person he loved.

            True Love’s Frozen Beans must sense the shift in his mood. She stops humming and turns to stare up at him. Then she tilts her head into his touch and starts humming again, but in a different way. Purring, Aventurine realizes.

            “Aww. You’re being nice because you know I’m sad? Thank you.” These cat cakes really are so adorable. How could Ruan Mei just abandon them all here? And how can Ratio not see how amazing they are?

            “Gambler?” Ratio asks, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, making Aventurine jump.

            “Ah! Ratio! I didn’t hear you come in . . .”

            “I did not mean to startle you,” Ratio says, then gives him such a soft look that it makes Aventurine’s heart do a somersault – even though at the very same time, it clears up any doubts Aventurine might have had about whether or not Ratio heard what he just said.

            “It’s okay, it’s fine. I’m fine,” Aventurine says quickly.

            That look remains on Ratio’s face. Aventurine swallows and quickly looks away.

            “I was just catching up with my favorite cat cakes. True Love’s Frozen Beans here and Mung Sentimental Beans are planning a surprise party for Ruan Mei’s return, whenever that may be. You don’t happen to know when that is, do you?”

            “I do not,” Ratio says, his tone changing to the one he uses when speaking of someone he holds in contempt. “Pity.”

            Despite everything, Aventurine can’t help but laugh at that. “Ah, well. The snacks will be glad to see her whenever she does come back, at least.”

            Ratio regards him with that same soft expression, despite what the topic of conversation has shifted to – creatures he doesn’t like, created by a person he does not like. “I’ve commented on this before, but you really do like these snacks . . .”

            “I really do,” Aventurine agrees.

            “I’m glad. That you enjoy their company. And that you find comfort in them,” Ratio says. “If . . . I know that I seem unapproachable to many people, though you’ve never had a problem with coming to me for anything in the past . . . but if there is something I can do to help your mental state, in regard to what our research is putting you through, or anything else . . . I hope that you would not hesitate to come to me, for any reason. Your well-being is important to me. You are important to me. And if my anger upset you . . . I hope you know that it is because I care about you that I was angry. If I –”

            “It’s not you, Ratio,” Aventurine says quickly. Lies quickly. As is his way. “I’m just feeling down because I still feel a bit sick, you know? How if your body doesn’t feel good, your mind follows suit? Which, as we both well know, is completely my fault. Not yours at all. But thank you. For what you just said. And for everything. I know I don’t always seem like I appreciate it – and you – but I really, really do.”

            “I have never considered you ungrateful,” Ratio says softly.

            Then there’s a moment of awkward silence, that Aventurine doesn’t know quite how to fill. Ratio is the one who breaks it, maybe after realizing Aventurine doesn’t know what to say.

            “It is nearly dinner time. Do you think you can handle something light?”

            “I think so. Ah, I think there’s some pasta in the freezer that we can heat up, if you want it. I’ll make my way back to the apartment in just a minute. I sat down to check my work emails, then saw there was an annoyance I need to deal with . . . and unfortunately, I think I’m going to have to back out on going with you to that Doctor of Chaos’s presentation. There are a few more things that have come up, and I probably won’t be able to clock out early for a few days. Sorry. But it’s not like you really needed me to come along or anything,” Aventurine says cheerfully as the lies flow so easily. “You don’t need a chaperone. Or a wingman. Or even just some ignorant layman pretending he understands what your doctor friend’s talking about.”

            “No, I do not,” Ratio says, “but your presence would have been welcome all the same. But no matter. Do what you must. I will head back and get dinner ready then.”

            “I’ll be along in a few minutes,” Aventurine says, and keeps a smile on his face until Ratio is out of sight. Then he lets it slip and sighs.

            Backing out of going to the presentation was the right thing to do. It removes the temptation to try and sabotage Ratio’s relationship with his fellow doctor, whatever that relationship is. Aventurine owes Ratio that much, at least.

            Of course, there’s nothing wrong with keeping an eye on the situation. It’s probably not standard operating procedure for space station security to let just anyone into the monitoring room, but Aventurine isn’t just anyone. He’s a Stoneheart. And one who will come bearing expensive gourmet snacks – which he had better place the order for right now to ensure they arrive in time.

            But yeah. Whatever happens, Aventurine won’t interfere, but if something happens between them Aventurine needs to know. So, he’ll watch from a distance. That’s as hands off as he is capable of being.

I was hoping to get two or three chapters done while I took that break last week, but barely managed to finish this one. -_-  The timing for this one and the next few chapters, combined with keeping things interesting while I make time pass and get from one plot point to the next is tricky, but I’m doing my best.  I’ll do my utmost to get the next chapter up by next week.

Anyway, please leave a comment on your way out. ^^

Chapter Text

            The night of Dr. Mal Iancolm’s presentation sees Aventurine in the monitoring room with his new friend Edmond from space station security, an expensive bottle of port, and a luxury gift basket of gourmet goodies.

            Meals on Herta Space Station are good, but when there’s only ever one place to get food from, it’s bound to have shortcomings that leave people craving something. That makes for a much easier weakness for Aventurine to exploit. He has the feeling that if he offered money, more members of the security team than not would have balked. Most of them just have the look of people who aren’t easy to corrupt. Delicious food, however, is a far less serious bribe than a cash offer and allowed Aventurine to get exactly what he wanted at a fraction of what he usually pays.

            He didn’t even lie when he gave Edmond his reason for wanting to watch Iancolm’s presentation in the monitoring room rather than going in person. “I want to see what all the fuss is about, but I don’t want to bug Ratio,” is more or less the truth, and Edmond accepted it without suspicion or hesitation.

            They decant the port and make small talk as the lecture hall is filling up. Aventurine learns from the light conversation that the space station’s security team is very grateful to Ratio and Aventurine for taking on the responsibilities of keeping the Swarm spawn in the Seclusion Zone under control. Even if that is one of the conditions for them being able to use the area for their research, it certainly ingratiated them with space station security and probably had a hand in helping Aventurine get such easy access to the monitoring room. He and Edmond swap war stories about True Sting kills they’ve made right up until the presentation starts. Aventurine embellishes his a bit so they seem like more difficult battles and doesn’t bother mentioning that there is literally nothing those bugs can do against his shields. Then, as Mal Iancolm’s presentation begins, they break into the gourmet goodies.

            It’s apparent, from the onset, that Dr. Iancolm knows what he’s talking about. Aventurine has experience with other Doctors of Chaos. The IPC hired one of the very best after his brush with the Nihility on Penacony, to help him get his head back on straight. His initial impression of Iancolm is that he’s on par with the one the IPC had counsel him. That’s not a surprise, considering Ratio’s interest in him, but it’s not good for Aventurine who can’t help but see the older man as competition. He watches Ratio just as closely as he watches Iancolm during the lecture and has Edmond pull up another camera angle so that he can see Ratio’s face and expressions as Iancolm talks.

            “We had a few Doctors of Chaos come and look at the Fragmentum left by the Anti-Matter Legion, you know,” Edmond comments. “Think this one will be sticking around to do the same?”

            Aventurine sure hopes not.

            “Hard to say what these academic types will do,” he responds softly and neutrally.

            “True. Madam Herta’s friends and guests are nearly as unpredictable as she is. Still, it would be nice if one of them would find a solution to the Fragmentum problem for us. Or even just a permanent solution for the True Stings. At the rate things are going, we’re going to need another replacement space station in a year or two. Though to be fair, this one’s lasted the longest so far.”

            That throw away comment tears Aventurine’s attention away from the screens. “Sorry, what? Replacement station?”

            “Yeah,” Edmond says, tearing open a packet of gourmet white chocolate and berrypheasant berry popcorn, though he waits to pop any into his mouth until he’s finished speaking. “Did you not know? This is the eleventh version of Herta Space Station. The previous ten have all been destroyed by various experiments. If not for Lady Asta, Madam Herta probably would have gone through at least twice as many by now.”

            “She’s that good at keeping geniuses in line?” Aventurine asks.

            “I try,” Asta herself says from the doorway. “It’s an uphill battle, but I do my best.”

            “Ah! Lady Asta. For the record, I am off the clock,” Edmond says, both swallowing quickly and covering his mouth with one hand to spare them the sight of chewed up popcorn. “So I am not slacking in my duties. But I am assisting Mr. Aventurine, as you instructed us to –”

            “I asked him to let me watch Dr. Mal Iancolm’s lecture here,” Aventurine tells Asta. “I hope that’s not a problem?”

            “Not at all,” Asta says with a smile. “If you’d like to head out though, Edmond, I’m going to be here for a while. I’ll keep Mr. Aventurine company.”

            Edmond looks to Aventurine for permission. Aventurine nods and holds up the gift basket he brought for the occasion, meaning to let Edmond take the remainder with him. Edmond, however, quickly selects just one snack then . . . doesn’t quite flee, but makes a quick exit.

            “I hope I didn’t get him in trouble,” Aventurine says to Asta once he’s gone.

            “Don’t worry, you didn’t,” Asta says as she drops into the seat that Edmond just vacated. “I asked space station security to assist you and Dr. Ratio with any reasonable requests. He probably is a bit worried about the optics of how this looked though. Bribing my employees with food, Mr. Stoneheart?”

            Aventurine grins and offers Asta the basket. “Would you like a snack, Madam?”

            “Why thank you.” Asta selects her own packet of overpriced popcorn – this one popped in truffle oil and dusted with shaved parmesan cheese. “So, what brings you here today?”

            “Just wanted to watch this panel that Ratio was so interested in,” Aventurine tells her. “But I didn’t want to bug him or embarrass him in front of his friend.”

            “Ah. Dr. Mal Iancolm. Have you met him?” Asta asks.

            “No. And I have no need to. But if this was something Ratio thought was worth seeing, I wanted to check it out too.”

            Asta studies him for a moment, and Aventurine gets the sense that she’s weighing his words. Then she turns her attention back to the screen just as Dr. Iancolm switches the slide that is projected behind him to one proclaiming, “Life Finds A Way.”

            “I see. Well then, I’ll pipe down so you can listen.”

            Aventurine briefly worries that he might be distracting her from her work . . . but from what he knows of her, she’s competent enough that if he was, she would not let him continue to. She seems content to join him in watching the presentation, so Aventurine sets the gift basket between them where she has easy access to it, and pours a glass of wine for her.

            They watch the presentation together, and if Asta thinks it’s odd that there is a screen showing footage of the audience, focusing on Ratio, she doesn’t mention it. Aventurine isn’t naïve enough to think she doesn’t notice, but hopes her silence is because she thinks it’s a coincidence. There are all sorts of cameras all over the space station, after all, and plenty that give multiple angles of the same room. It’s not a surprise that some of them would be displayed simultaneously here in the monitor room.

            It’s a long presentation. Not completely boring, but neither does Aventurine find it enthralling. Iancolm is definitely knowledgeable about his topic though, and Ratio seems to approve. Aventurine pays very close attention to his expressions and is not comforted by what he sees. Ugh. Why did Aventurine have to fall for someone who so enjoys academic presentations like this one and is apparently immune to Aventurine’s universally admired good looks?

            As the presentation winds down and Iancolm goes to taking questions from the audience, Asta begins rummaging through the remaining snacks in the gift basket. Over the course of the presentation, she made good work of the popcorn assortment, Aventurine sees now that he bothers to pay attention. He lends her a hand in picking the remaining packets out, so she can take them with her.

            “I think that’s all of them. Is it okay to leave the rest of the basket here for the security team?”

            “Thank you. And yes, I’m sure they’ll appreciate that. But the popcorn is mine,” Asta says with mock possessiveness.

            Aventurine laughs. “I’m glad you like it.”

            “My family didn’t,” Asta says. “They thought it was a lower-class snack. I’m sure you’ve heard by now, but I come from money. A lot of money. Which I know doesn’t sound like a problem until the people around you start using their money to cage you in – but that’s another story. One of my small grievances growing up was that I was never allowed to have popcorn, unless it came out of a gourmet gift basket like this. The kind that’s dressed up with all kinds of fancy ingredients to disguise that they’re bulking out the basket with the cheapest thing they can, and just putting expensive seasonings on it so they can get away with charging so much for it.”

            “Huh. I never actually thought of it like that before, but I see your point,” Aventurine says, doing some quick math in his head and comparing the prices of what he paid here to the instant popcorn packets he’s seen in grocery stores, and . . . yes. Now he sees that what he paid for this pretty much highway robbery. Not that he really cares. He’s long since passed the point where money means that much to him. He has so much of it, but it will never buy what he really wants. He might as well spend it on overpriced popcorn to make Asta happy, or to bribe space station security so he can make sure that the man he wants isn’t falling hopelessly in love with a visiting lecturer.

            His attention is drawn back to the screen as, when the crowd begins dispersing, Ratio heads to the front of the auditorium, directly toward Dr. Iancolm. Aventurine mentally curses as the two shake hands and waits with bated breath to hear what Ratio has to say . . . but the sound system fails him. Curses. He realizes what happened – Iancolm was using a microphone while on stage. He turned it off after ending the presentation, so now Aventurine can’t hear him. Or Ratio, who is speaking normally, not pitching his voice to reach the stage like the members of the audience who asked questions at the end. Of all the times for his luck to fail him . . .

            Asta, to his surprise, reaches out to one of the monitors and brings up a sound panel. She begins tapping on it quickly – trying to project sound from different microphones around the room to see if she can pick up on what they’re saying.

            “Sorry,” she says after a minute. “They’re in a dead zone. I can’t get sound for it.”

            “No worries,” Aventurine assures her with an easy lie. “It’s not like I’m trying to spy on Ratio and his friend or anything.”

            Asta gives him a strange smile, but doesn’t say anything, just nods and tears open a packet of coconut sugar glazed popcorn with toasted almonds, and Aventurine can’t help but wonder if he’s been made.

            He coughs and looks away. “I mean, yes, I wonder what they’re saying, but it’s not likely to be anything of huge importance. Or anything that I would understand.”

            “Hmm. Whatever it is, Dr. Ratio doesn’t look happy about it,” Asta comments.

            “Oh?” Aventurine’s attention is yanked back to the screen and happiness surges through his chest at the sight of Ratio’s expression. “You’re right. He really doesn’t look happy.”

            Yes! he mentally encourages Ratio through the screen. Scowl! Argue! Loathe him!

            “Uh oh, I’ve seen that look on Dr. Ratio before,” Asta says.

            “Yes. The one he gets when someone does something abysmally stupid,” Aventurine agrees cheerfully. He’s familiar with it too – has had it directed at him, personally, several times, but more often than not, he’s seen it trained on someone else. Looking closer though . . . and Aventurine’s seen Ratio angry enough times to be able to pick on the nuances . . . it doesn’t actually seem to him like it’s Iancolm who Ratio is angry at. “I wonder what Dr. Iancolm just said to him? I don’t think Ratio’s ire is aimed at him, but he certainly is angry.”

            “Any idea on how to ask?” Asta wants to know. “Without cluing him in on the fact that we were kind of spying?”

            “Not off the top of my head, but if I’m careful and wait for an opportunity to ask, I think I should be able to learn something.”

            “If you can tell me, once you do learn something, I would appreciate it. If it’s confidential though, I understand,” Asta says.

            “I’ll see what I can do.”

            They watch with interest as Ratio and Iancolm end their conversation with a polite handshake, Ratio looking more grateful than angry now (boo!) and then part ways, Iancolm moving to mingle amongst other audience goers, while Ratio . . . Ratio heads to a quiet corner of the room and pulls out his phone.

            “Is he calling someone? More importantly, can you get audio in that corner?” Aventurine asks.

            “Hang on – yes. We have audio. And yes, it does look like he’s calling someone,” Asta says, as she finishes fiddling with the volume.

            Aventurine’s not exactly sure how they’ve become co-conspirators in spying on Ratio, but he’s glad to have Asta on his side. They watch, with bated breath, as Ratio finishes typing in enough of the phone number for his phone to recognize who he’s trying to call and suggest an auto-completed form of it, so he can skip having to type the rest. He taps the call button . . . and Asta’s phone starts ringing.

            “It’s me! He’s calling me,” Asta says, scrambling to get her phone out of her pocket with one hand, and to turn off the volume of the security monitor in front of her with the other, so that Ratio won’t hear the echo of his own voice. “I’ll put it on speaker phone if you’ll keep quiet.”

            Aventurine pantomimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key as Asta manages to get her phone out.

            “Dr. Ratio, hello,” she says, as brightly and innocently as if she wasn’t watching him on a screen in front of, her, talking to her in high definition. “What can I do for you?”

            “Lead Researcher Asta,” Ratio says, his voice clipped and urgent. “Are you able to tell me if Ruan Mei has given any indication that she will be returning to Herta Space Station?”

            “Hmm? I have not heard from her in some time, nor has Madam Herta informed me that she will be returning. Why do you ask?”

            “It has just come to my attention that she is in the process of acquiring ancient leviathan fossils,” Ratio tells her. “Considering what happened immediately after she managed to acquire the exoskeletal remains of Skarbaraz, I think that you can understand why this is cause for concern.”

            “Ugh. Yes,” Asta says, pulling a face. “Thank you very much for the heads up. Rest assured, I will get in front of this. There will be no more resurrecting extinct, colossal predatory species on my watch.”

            “No thanks needed,” Ratio says curtly. “It is in my own best interests to avert a sequel to the True Sting infestation, if at all possible, beings as I am now living here as well. I do, however, have a personal favor to ask.”

            “Ask away.”

            “Ruan Me’s whereabouts. And any indication that she may return to the space station. I would like to be kept apprised of her movements,” Ratio says. “Though it is the norm for her to go several years between visits to Herta Space Station, it recently occurred to me how catastrophic the outcome could be if she were to return early and stumble across . . . my research.”

            Aventurine takes note when Ratio’s tone drops at the discussion of his research. Like he’s worried about being overheard. Aventurine glances at Asta and sees her expression change minutely, muscles tightening with stress.

            “Yes,” is all she says.

            “I know that you are aware of some of Ruan Mei’s questionable conduct, even if you have looked the other way,” Ratio continues, still keeping his voice pitched lower. “And please understand that I am not judging you for it. I understand how difficult a job it must be to cater to the whims of Madam Herta and her friends. I myself am no stranger to working in the grey areas of morality, especially where the IPC is concerned. But, and I say this unequivocally and absolutely, Ruan Mei must not be allowed anywhere near Aventurine until I have cured his condition. I do not want to think about the consequences of her discovering the problems that I am attempting to help him with – or what else might happen, even by accident, even if she knows nothing of what we are working on. They could be catastrophic, and I refuse to allow Aventurine to be collateral damage to an irresponsible genius’s whims. I don’t want her anywhere near him.”

            Aventurine does his best to keep his expression neutral, even though there’s a strange warmth suddenly sizzling in his chest, almost like someone set off a box of firecrackers in his heart. He doesn’t exactly know why Ruan Mei could be considered dangerous to him, but Ratio’s protectiveness is unmistakable. He’s lucky that he has a very good poker face when he wants to. Asta, not so much. Her lips twitch into a look of delight and she’s positively beaming. Then she looks embarrassed as she realizes Aventurine is watching her. When she speaks, however, her voice is calm and steady, betraying nothing of her expression.

            “I understand completely, and your worries are absolutely justified,” she tells Ratio. “I will make inquiries and begin monitoring Ruan Mei’s movements more closely, and keep you updated. And I will make absolutely certain that she does not show up here in the near future, with plans to clone leviathans.”

            “Thank you. Truly. Thank you.”

            “Of course.”

            They say their goodbyes, then Asta turns to Aventurine with a smile.

            “I’ve never seen Dr. Ratio care as much about anyone as he does about you. I’m glad. I think you’re good for him.”

            Aventurine weighs her words then decides on his reaction. A confused little laugh with a hint of self-depreciation. “I’m lucky to have him watching out for me.”

            “I’m glad you two have each other.”

            “Me too,” Aventurine says. Then, to keep the situation from devolving into awkwardness, he reaches out to steal a piece of Asta’s popcorn. She gives him a mock indignant look then retaliates by seizing the bottle of port and tipping the remainder into her glass.

            “Ah, looks like Ratio is heading back to the Seclusion Zone,” Asta says. “I don’t know if he expects to find you there when he gets back, but –”

            “He does,” Aventurine tells her, “but I have a package at Implement Arts to pick up on my way back, so I’ve got an excuse. I should get going, though, since it looks like he’ll be home for dinner. I don’t want him having to wait around, hungry.”

            “Have a good evening then,” Asta bids him farewell with a wave.

            “Thanks. You too,” Aventurine says, then begins to make his way back home, feeling much better than he did when he left.

Chapter Text

            “Ratio! Hey, Ratio!”

            The familiar voice sooths Ratio’s nerves, despite the trying news that he just received and passed along to Lead Researcher Asta. Ratio slows his steps and turns as he sees Aventurine hurrying toward him, moving quickly despite the bulky package in his arms.

            “Ah, gambler. All is well with your work, I take it?” he surmises. Because it must be. Not only did Aventurine find time to collect a package from Implement Arts, but there is also a brightness in his eyes that’s been missing since he canceled on joining Ratio for Dr. Iancolm’s lecture. Ratio is glad to see that it’s returned. He knows better than to pry into Stoneheart business, but if Aventurine’s mood remained low for too much longer, he was preparing to make some unintrusive inquiries.

            “Yep,” Aventurine says cheerfully. “I got my problems sorted out and finished up a little early. I thought about trying to catch the tail end of that lecture you were so excited about, but I didn’t want to end up embarrassing you by sneaking in at a critical point, so I just went to pick up a package instead.”

            “Would you like a hand with it?” Ratio offers. Not because he doubts Aventurine’s strength but because the box is large and looks rather unwieldy in Aventurine’s arms.

            “Nah, I’m good,” Aventurine says, predictably. “This isn’t too heavy. It’s just more groceries for the week, and some frozen meals from the place I buy them on Pier Point. I wanted to make sure we had plenty of everything, including lazy night dinners.”

            Ratio remembers the frozen meal he had on Pier Point at Aventurine’s penthouse. If these are from the same supplier, he has absolutely no objections. Also in the back of his mind is Aventurine’s dedicated pizza freezer, and the promise he made himself to make a Margherita pizza for Aventurine. Though his attempts have thus far been thwarted, he still intends to make good on it. He saw that his basil seedling survived his prolonged absence, thanks to the greenhouse’s automated systems. It still needs to grow quite a bit before he can harvest enough leaves from it so that the ratio of surface area covered by basil leaves, tomatoes, and mozzarella will be in balance.

            It occurs to Ratio then that if Aventurine’s package is full of frozen dinners, then it’s probably considerably heavier than he originally thought . . . but Aventurine does seem to be fine, and Ratio is well aware that despite the difference in size and muscle mass between them, Aventurine is considerably stronger than him. So, he lets it go, though he does walk ahead a few steps as they approach the elevator, to summon it for them, so that it will arrive faster.

            “Is there anything you want me to order for you, Ratio?” Aventurine asks as he catches up. “Anything that will make life here easier or better for you? Like . . . I don’t know, an electric blanket? A kit to build a sauna with? Or . . . like, instant breakfast foods?”

            That last is said with noticeable reluctance, and Ratio finds himself fighting a smile. “Thank you, gambler, but I am content with what you have already procured – and what you continue to procure, grocery-wise. I am comfortable with the physical things I have, the bathtub you installed for me is more than adequate, and I enjoy cooking breakfast for us.”

            He really does. He loves the way Aventurine’s eyes light up, no matter what’s on the plate Ratio sets before him. If Aventurine had taken the initiative to order premade breakfasts for them, Ratio is certain he could have found fault with them somehow, so he could continue making breakfast for Aventurine.

            “Oh. Good.” Aventurine looks relieved. “I mean, I’m glad you have what you need to be comfortable. But if you think of anything, don’t hesitate to let me know, okay? Anything at all. You know how much money I’ve got. It would make me very happy to be able to spend some of it to make you happy.”

            Ratio briefly wonders if he’ll be considered a gold digger, once their research is over, if he manages to successfully woo Aventurine. Not likely, he quickly concludes, considering the general public’s opinion on Avgins. Aventurine will probably be seen as the gold digger, and Ratio will likely have to crack a few skulls in the name of correcting that absurd notion.

            “Thank you,” he tells Aventurine again before his thoughts can drift too far out there. “If I think of anything, I shall let you know. For the moment, however, I am content.”

            He truly is. His life with Aventurine, in the Seclusion Zone, has resumed. Though Aventurine seemed a bit down for a few days, Ratio has the feeling that whatever was the matter truly has been resolved. He hopes that now they can continue as they were before their brief stint apart and the spat that followed.

            The lecture he just attended was enjoyable – as was being able to speak with one of his peers. Iancolm’s warning about Ruan Mei getting her hands on leviathan fossils did come as a nasty shock, but he very much appreciated the heads up. He is confident that Lead Researcher Asta will put a stop to any attempts at resurrecting the ancient apex predators that Ruan Mei may have been planning – not that there are truly many doubts about her intentions because really, what else would that maniacal woman have done with them? More than that, Ratio has now secured an advance warning for any return trips Ruan Mei may make to Herta Space Station. He should have gotten on top of that long ago, but at least he has corrected his oversight now. As long as Asta knows Ruan Mei is coming, so too shall Ratio. He will keep her from crossing paths with Aventurine and keep Aventurine out of her clutches.

            All in all, for the foreseeable future, life, for Ratio, looks good. The realization makes him feel like celebrating.

            “Oh,” he remembers, as the elevator arrives and he and Aventurine board it. “I have something for you.”

            “Something for me?” Aventurine looks very interested. Like a child hoping for a present. “What is it?”

            “Wait a few minutes and you will know,” Ratio tells him with a small smile.

            Aventurine takes this as a cue to begin guessing and keep guessing all the way back to the Seclusion Zone, right up until Ratio places the packages in his hands.

            “Oooh, candy!” he says before he even unwraps the smaller parcel, perhaps recognizing what it is by the decorative paper Ratio had the store wrap it in. He tears into it nonetheless then beams at Ratio when he sees just what type of confection Ratio picked for him. “Thanks, Ratio! I love Dreamlight Mixed Sweets!”

            “I have noticed your proclivity for brightly colored, frivolous-looking desserts,” Ratio says tolerantly.”

            “I don’t know what proclivity means, but I do love pretty food,” Aventurine says with an easy smile before moving onto the second package. The wrapping on the second one is barely worth mentioning – Ratio merely kept it in the paper bag it was delivered to him in, with the top folded over to keep it shut. He wishes now that he had made a bit more effort, and at the very least procured a decorative sticker to seal it, but Aventurine doesn’t seem to mind. He opens it and pulls out the stuffed Origami Bird modeled in his image then looks, if possible, even more insanely happy. “Aww. It’s cute! Is this supposed to look like me?”

            “There was a game on Penacony being beta’ed on the Tatalov. A number of our Trailblazing friends’ acquaintances were turned into avatars for the franchise. Lady Jade was amongst them as well.”

            “Ha! I’m surprised she and I made the cut. But happy! This really is adorable.” Aventurine hugs the plush toy to his chest, and Ratio can’t help but think that just maybe, he overdid it. Aventurine hugging the Aventurine Origami Bird Plushie is far too cute. “Thank you so much, Ratio!”

            Ratio tries to be subtle about averting his eyes. If he looks for too much longer, he’s at risk of his face becoming inflamed. He gives a slight cough to clear his voice, then manages to tell Aventurine, in his usual brusque tone, “You are very welcome. I am pleased that you like it.”

            Belatedly, Ratio realizes that he’s not sure what he expects Aventurine to actually do with the toy. If he was a child, Ratio might expect him to keep it in his room, maybe even on his bed, but their bedroom is small. Their beds are small. And Aventurine is not a child. He likely has little interest in playing with a stuffed animal or cuddling it while sleeping. Briefly, Ratio worries that perhaps the gift was ill conceived.

            He needn’t have, however. After dinner, the Aventurine Origami Bird takes up residence on the bookshelves that divide the bedroom from the rest of the apartment. Aventurine displays it on a shelf that’s just above the back of the sofa that they have parked in front of it, next to his Stoneheart formalwear hat, which has been there since their sudden return from Pier Point. That turns out to be a very good place for it. Those shelves were mostly empty, but the stuffed bird brightens them up and makes the apartment look and feel more lived in.

            It also seems to be the impetus for Ratio and Aventurine both to begin actually using those shelves and filling them up with items that are either useful, decorative, or both.

            The select few books that Ratio brought back from his Pier Point apartment, for instance, that have been sitting in his suitcase ever since, find a home on one of the shelves. That leads to him spending more time in the living room, using the sofa more, and adding several scented candles and his oil burner to the growing display, to help his mind and body relax as he reads. Aventurine decides to show off his Mixed Dreamlight Sweets there too, while they last – which actually is not very long. He replaces them when they are gone though, with other brightly colored candies that come in glass cubes, fine wooden boxes, and other aesthetically pleasing packaging.

            The week after the new candy arrives, Aventurine begins filling another shelf with canned fruits that come in clear jars – whole peaches, floating in crystal clear syrup, preserved citrus slices, brightly colored berries layered in neat rows, and a bottle of pickled grapes with a decorative grapevine garland wrapped around it, and a glass moth of sorts with translucent green wings attached. After the fruit comes a jug of jewel green olives and a jar of flame-colored peppers, then a pot of honey with multiple pieces of honeycomb suspended within, tied up with a bright yellow ribbon.

            It makes sense, Ratio realizes upon thinking it over, that Aventurine would find food beautiful, and would like having it where he can easily see it. While Ratio initially intends to ask Aventurine to keep the food confined to the kitchen area, he quickly decides better of it. Aventurine has enough sense to put only well-preserved items on the living room shelves – items that are stable at room temperature. Once opened, he moves them to the refrigerator or pantry, so there is no harm in having them on the bookshelf, no mess or pests to worry about, and Ratio would rather not deprive Aventurine of anything that makes him happy.

            Ratio adds the turquoise meteorite fragment that Aventurine gifted him on Pier Point to the shelf, with Aventurine’s permission. He puts it in a place of honor, next to his favorite books. Two weeks after that, an advertisement of interest makes its way to him during the course of his work. Some intrepid entrepreneur on Jarilo-VI is selling curios. Very obviously fake curios. In a pop-up store. Ratio orders this Mr. Cold Feet’s entire line of out morbid curiosity. They’re not expensive and the claims that their manufacturer makes are almost humorous enough to make him laugh. It amuses him to see them lined up on his shelf – his own collection of mock curios to contrast the real ones Madam Herta lets the researchers of her space station run amok with. Shortly after, he hammers a hook into the back of the shelf so that he can hang up the cuckoo clock that Screwlum gave him, right along with the other fake curios.

            It’s a bizarre little display of multiple clashing collections . . . but somehow, it makes the apartment truly seem like . . . like a home that Ratio has built with Aventurine. And as the days pass them by, turning into weeks of sharing space, and sharing their lives, a strange sort of serenity settles over them, and Ratio is happy.

            Never in Aventurine’s life has he known such a peaceful or content existence.

            After he and Ratio put Aventurine’s evil shaman hunting expedition behind them – and after that silver fox Doctor of Chaos leaves the space station and stops hogging Ratio’s attention – things return to what’s become normal for the two of them.

            Five days of work. A research session at the end of the last one. Then two days of rest and relaxation, the first of which is spent doing something together. Usually baking experiments, as they continue trying to recreate the bread of Aventurine’s childhood. On the second day, breakfast is usually bread pudding.

            Success eludes them, both in trying to remove Aventurine’s programming and in figuring out just how to make Sigonian bread, but somehow failure has lost its sting. Aventurine still hates their research sessions, make no mistake. He hates losing control of his body and being at the mercy of anyone else, but . . . well, it’s Ratio whose hands Aventurine is placing his fate in. Ratio, who is personally overseeing his safety. Aventurine trusts him completely. So it’s . . . something he can endure. It’s the only bad thing in his life at the moment, and even with that, his life is still better than it’s ever been.

            Ratio still makes breakfast almost every morning. Usually healthy things. He’s a fan of whole grains and fruits, but will spoil Aventurine every now and then with eggs and breakfast meats. Aventurine continues to be the one primarily in charge of making dinner. Since healthy eating is important to Ratio, he makes an effort to include lots of vegetables.

            They get their exercise killing True Stings every morning. Their day jobs are demanding – or at least Aventurine’s is, but the tasks he completes are the bargaining chips that let him live the life he wants, and being able to work remotely for months on end is definitely a perk. Besides, he gets to clock out at the end of the day, then his time is his own until he has to clock in again.

            He and Ratio begin spending time together in the evenings too. Ratio takes to reading in the living room. Aventurine keeps him company, sitting on the other end of the sofa, occupying himself with his phone. Looking up new recipes to try for dinner, or scrolling through shopping sites, finding gifts to send his friends. He swipes another Herta Space Station pillow from the cat cakes, since they’re not using it, and since those pillows are actually really comfortable. Then he and Ratio both have one to use as they share the sofa.

            Sometimes Ratio will take the time to teach him things. Things that Aventurine kind of knows of but doesn’t really know, has just been pretending to know, or is aware of, without understanding. Like what skin cells are and how they work. That knowledge suddenly makes all those skin care commercials he’s always seeing make sense. Aventurine, in turn, teaches Ratio more about the Avgins and life on Sigonia.

            Talking about his past, who he once was, the things and people he loved . . . it’s hard to explain but it somehow makes Aventurine feel . . . lighter. He discovers that it’s nice to remember his mother and sister just for the sake of remembering them . . . and very nice to have someone to tell about them. Someone he can tell about the things that haunt him, which somehow makes them not hurt as much as they used to.

            One day, on a lazy weekend morning, Aventurine wakes up and realizes that he’s truly happy. Not in a fleeting way. And not because of anything in particular. It’s . . . everything. The way his life is now, and has been for a while, and will be for the foreseeable future. Aventurine is happy with his life. And that scares him.

            He rolls over on his side and peers through the gloom to where Ratio is sleeping, and feels some of his worry seep away at the mere sight of his dearest friend’s silhouette. They keep a dim light on in the kitchen, even while they sleep, so the apartment isn’t pitch black. It’s not enough to see details, but by now Aventurine is familiar enough with the shape of Ratio under his comforter, and there’s only a few feet between them.

            Briefly, Aventurine’s mind entertains the idea of closing that gap – of rolling out of his bed and crawling under the covers with Ratio, spooning his body against Ratio’s back and letting the lingering scent of Ratio’s bath soak lull him back to sleep. Maybe Ratio would wake up if he did that. Maybe Ratio wouldn’t mind. Maybe he wouldn’t like being in the little spoon position though – understandable considering how much bigger he is than Aventurine. Aventurine would not mind if Ratio rolled over to face him and envelope him in his arms. Their beds are quite narrow so they would have to hold each other close, to share.

            Or else not share at all. It’s much more likely that Ratio would grumble at Aventurine and send him back to his own bed. The rejection would be tempered by how cute Ratio is when he’s grumpy though, and picturing Ratio’s expression is enough to make Aventurine smile.

            This is okay, he thinks. If this is all of himself that Ratio will ever give Aventurine, it will be okay. Aventurine has survived everything that the universe has thrown at him. Countless people have tried to break him or end him, and he knows what it’s like to lose everything. If this is as close to perfect happiness as he ever gets, it’s enough. As long as he can still wake up and see Ratio, it doesn’t matter if Aventurine can’t get any closer.

            Of course, Aventurine knows, deep down, this isn’t forever. Once Ratio figures out how to remove the programming in Aventurine’s mind, this will end. They’ll still work together, still be friends and colleagues, but won’t be living under the same roof anymore, unless Ratio changes his mind and agrees to move into Aventurine’s penthouse.

            Which he probably won’t.

            So, Aventurine will just have to enjoy this while it lasts.

            Even as that thought drifts lazily through his mind, its antithesis cuts through all his other thoughts, like cracks spreading through glass.

            I hope this never ends. Even if it means I never get cured, I hope this never ends.

            The realization makes Aventurine sit bolt upright, like waking from a nightmare. But when one is startled out of a nightmare, their shock usually fades, and quickly, as reality settles in. The opposite happens now, for Aventurine, as he realizes how genuine that thought was.

            He truly doesn’t want this to end.

            It will be okay, he tells himself. I’ve survived far worse. I’ll still see Ratio all the time. I mean something to him – he’s made that clear. Even if I’m only his friend, I’m a cherished friend. It’s okay if our living situation changes. I’m actually surprised it hasn’t already.

            It’s been months. Aventurine really thought that he would be cured by now. Ratio told him it could take years, but also said that it would take weeks to figure out the activation phrase then went and cracked it in less than a day. Ratio almost always hits his targets ahead of schedule. Aventurine would know. He’s been working with him for years.

            His next thought scares him, even more than the realization that he’s happy with his life now.

            What if the reason I’m not cured . . . is because of me? What if I’ve been holding back . . . not trying as hard to break free as I need to. What if it’s my fault, and we could have ended this, and I’m holding Ratio back now, wasting his time and binding him to me?

            It’s a horrible thought. But now it’s all Aventurine can think about.

            It’s not fair to Ratio if it’s true. Aventurine’s not sure if it is, but it very well might be. He loves living here with Ratio – falling asleep near him every night. Seeing him as soon as he wakes up every morning. Just being near him so much, learning from him, being taken care of by him, doing what he can to reciprocate . . . but what if his happiness is continuing at Ratio’s expense? What if Ratio is failing what he’s set out to achieve because Aventurine is sabotaging it?

            Not deliberately. At least Aventurine doesn’t think he’s doing it deliberately. He’s not certain if he’s doing it at all. He just doesn’t know, and there’s no way to be sure.

            There must be some way to remove Aventurine’s potential self-sabotage from the equation though. Some way that also won’t come down to his luck reacting to what he really wants and fudging the results. Or maybe some way that could actually depend on his luck kicking in to make sure what they’re doing works, makes sure that Ratio succeeds.

            An idea sparks in Aventurine’s mind. One that he knows Ratio’s not going to like, even as it takes shape. But one that Aventurine is almost positive will work.

            As quietly as he can, Aventurine crawls out of bed and makes his way to the kitchen to put some coffee on. He needs to think this new idea over – a lot – before bringing it up to Ratio.

Interlude

            Topaz sets down the four-hundred-page atrocity she just finished reading her way through, only for her eyes to be assaulted, once more, by the image on the cover. It doesn’t matter if the dual MCs are called Dr. Quota and Malachite, it’s clear as day that they’re based off Dr. Ratio and Aventurine, even without slapping what is very obviously fan art of those two making out on top of it.

            Topaz regrets reading it.

            Topaz regrets everything.

            But she had to. She needed to know if it was true – if Aventurine and Ratio really are in a romantic relationship.

            It would explain so much. Like why Ratio favors working with Aventurine despite Aventurine’s absurd methods. Why he works almost exclusively with Aventurine these days, despite Topaz’s many attempts at poaching him – something that has never made sense to her.

            Topaz is sure that she and Dr. Ratio would get along so well. On the few occasions that necessity has dictated they team up things have always gone very smoothly. She is polite, and respectful, and doesn’t go out of her way to annoy him like Aventurine does. It makes no sense why he would choose Aventurine over her.

            Unless, of course, Aventurine honeypotted the most desirable Intelligentsia Guild liaison. That would make it all make sense.

            Unfortunately, the young Silvermane Guard’s novel has done little to clarify the situation for Topaz. Because while she sees the bones of Aventurine and Ratio in the characters, and the cover art is blatantly based off of them . . . well, it still reads like fanfiction. It’s missing the details that someone with more than passing knowledge of the two would have included. The banter is similar to theirs, but it’s not elevated the way that Aventurine and Ratio’s banter always is. It lacks the nuances and cutting intelligence that the two’s barbs always have, especially when aimed at each other. It’s like . . . it’s like reading what someone who ships the two of them wants them to say, not what they would actually say.

            Topaz is no stranger to fandoms and shipping. Once upon a time she had free time to indulge in such things too. Being a Stoneheart doesn’t leave her much time for hobbies these days, but it’s not like she’s forgotten the things she’s seen.

            Previously, she had no idea that there was RPF shipping of Aventurine and Ratio, or of any of the Stonehearts with anyone else, though she supposes she should not be surprised that there is. Topaz kind of wishes she could return to being blissfully ignorant of it, and after getting to the bottom of this will do her utmost to forget all about it, but right now she really needs to know if it’s true – if there’s really anything going on between Dr. Ratio and Aventurine.

            There’s not enough actual details that check out to make the Silvermane Guard’s novel anything other than a smutty slash fantasy . . . but the fact that it even exists gives Topaz cause to wonder. They say there’s no smoke without a fire. Could it be true? Could they really be in a romantic relationship? Is that why Dr. Ratio won’t let himself be poached by Topaz?

            If it really is a lost cause, then Topaz is better off writing Ratio off. But . . . the mere idea of giving up on exclusive access to the very best liaison . . . every cell of Topaz’s being resists it.

            With a sigh, Topaz grabs a random report and drops it on top of the book, obscuring it from vision. Out of sight, but unfortunately, not out of mind. If Topaz is honest with herself, she knows that she’s not going to be able to stop thinking about this until she has a definite answer. And there’s really only one way to get it.

            She closes her eyes as she flops back on her hotel room bed, takes a moment to fortify herself, then fishes out her phone.

            “Call Asta,” she orders the device.

            First, she’ll make some subtle inquiries and confirm Aventurine and Ratio are still at Herta Space Station. Then she’ll find a reason to visit and do some good old-fashioned investigating.

Sorry for no chapter last week. I will do my best to keep the chapters coming, but they may be a bit slower for a while. My housemate got fired last month and has been home every single day since, blaring reality TV shows louder than my noise canceling headphones can keep up with. For a while I was sleeping during the day and staying up all night so that I could have time to myself and could get the stuff I needed to done, but that’s not going to be feasible anymore for a while. -_-

Anyway, please leave a comment on your way out, to help me get through these trying times. ^^;

Chapter Text

            Ratio realizes that something is amiss when he wakes up and Aventurine is not there.

            A pot of coffee in the kitchen shows that Aventurine himself awoke some time ago. It’s warm, but not hot, and there’s enough missing from it to make Ratio believe that Aventurine had two cups. Aventurine’s favored mug is gone as well, indicating that he is probably still nearby if he took it with him. So, after checking his phone to make sure his gambler didn’t leave him a message via text, Ratio pours himself a mug then steps out to look for him.

            This time he doesn’t have to go far. He finds Aventurine in the greenhouse, perched on the edge of one of the grow benches, drinking his coffee as he watches The Blue. He looks up as Ratio approaches and gives him a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

            “Good morning, Doc,” he says in a bright tone, all the same.

            “Good morning.” Ratio moves close enough to be companionable, then takes a seat on the edge of the grow bench as well. When he speaks again, he tries to keep his tone conversational. “You arose early today.”

            “Yes. I just woke up early. I wasn’t really tired, so I thought I might as well get out of bed and start my day. What do you think of this coffee, by the way? It’s made from a specially bred strain of cherries from Vonwacq. Even though coffee usually comes from beans, I think this cherry coffee is good. It doesn’t taste like cherries at all, just like coffee. Then again, coffee from beans don’t taste like any other beans. Even other beans that have been roasted.”

            Despite his worries, Ratio feels his lips twitching into a smile. Aventurine is cute when he tries to reason things out. “Coffee beans, dear gambler, are not true beans. They are the seeds of a fruit commonly known as coffee cherries – which are not actually true cherries either.”

            “Huh.”

            “Yes,” Ratio agrees. “It is sometimes confusing when foods are named after other foods that they bear a resemblance to.”

            “Seems like they did coffee dirty in particular, naming it after two other foods that it’s not.”

            “Indeed.” Ratio takes a sip of his own coffee and is more mindful of the taste this time. “This is a nice blend though. Strong, but very smooth.”

            “I might send some to the Astral Express. Himeko likes coffee,” Aventurine comments. “Maybe I should send some Topaz’s way too. I hear she’s still on Jarilo-VI, and I don’t imagine they have much in the way of variety there. Hmm, maybe she would appreciate hot chocolate more though? That only grows in hot places, right? So, it’s probably extinct on that frozen rock.”

            “Cacao trees do indeed prefer warm weather. There are references to products derived from their seeds – cocoa beans – in Jarilo-VI’s literature of the past, but it seems relatively unknown in their current era. Coffee does still exist, but is only available amongst the upper class, and is very expensive. I have hypothesized that someone must have managed to cultivate coffee cherry shrubs in a greenhouse, but my colleague on the ground and I have been unable to verify the source.”

            “I see. Well, maybe I’ll send a bunch of coffee to everyone on Jarilo-VI and crash the market. There’s only one city on the whole planet, right? And it’s a couple mile-sized city, not a planet-sized city, right? So, maybe a million people? Two or three million, at most? Yeah, I can rustle up three million pounds of coffee, no problem –”

            “Is there a reason in particular you wish to upend Jarlio-VI’s coffee market?” Ratio asks, trying to hide his amusement.

            “Why, to help you find the planet’s sole coffee supplier, so you can write about them in your data bank,” Aventurine says jovially. “You’ll be able to tell who it is by who’s squawking the loudest. I’m definitely not doing this out of boredom. Or with plans to get the entire planet addicted to caffeine for nefarious purposes.”

            Ratio can’t help but let out a laugh at that – much to Aventurine’s delight. He brightens like the sun and Ratio can’t help himself. He reaches out to playfully ruffle Aventurine’s hair, tousling it so that it obscures his eyes. Hopefully it annoys him. “Oh, you.”

            “Yes,” Aventurine agrees, still beaming. “Me.”

            He smiles at Ratio. Ratio smiles back. Then he does his best to be subtle about looking away before he stares into Aventurine’s beautiful eyes for too long and makes things awkward. He lets his gaze drift to The Blue. Aventurine’s gaze must follow his, because a moment later, he comments on it.

            “It’s pretty – that planet.”

            “It has no shortage of aesthetic appeal,” Ratio agrees.

            “I wonder what it’s like on the surface. It looks so serene from up here.”

            “Serene? Dear gambler, do you hear yourself?” Ratio can’t help but be taken slightly aback.

            “Hmm? What did I say?”

            “Look at those clouds above the planet,” Ratio tells him.

            “Yes. I see them. What about them?”

            “See how fast they are moving. Take note of any one formation that catches your eye and watch it,” Ratio instructs.

            “Okay. I’m watching it. Is there something in particular I should be observing?”

            “The speed at which it is moving.”

            “It’s not that fast though.” Aventurine looks away from the planet and back at Ratio. “It takes a good while for a cloud to get from one side of the planet to the other.”

            “Keep in mind,” Ratio tells him, “that to get from one side of the planet to the other, it must traverse the distance of, well, half of the entire planet. Though we are far away, and that world does not look so huge, it still has a circumference of tens of thousands of miles around its equator. So, the speeds at which those clouds are moving . . . well, it is anything but serene.”

            Aventurine’s mouth makes a tiny “o” as he comprehends what Ratio is telling him. Then he scowls at Ratio. “Way to kill it, Doc. I’ve been out here, having a lazy, relaxing start to my day, thinking how peaceful that planet looks, and you just had to ruin it for me.”

            “Er. I did not intend –”

            “I’m messing with you, Ratio,” Aventurine says quickly.

            “Ah.”

            “I’m no stranger to learning that nice, pretty, or cute-looking things can eviscerate or atomize me,” Aventurine says with a chuckle. “But really though, thank you for teaching me.”

            His smile warms Ratio to his very core.

            “I am happy to share my knowledge with you, gambler,” he tells Aventurine. His gambler beams again, then takes a sip of his coffee and looks back at The Blue with his new perspective of it.

            They drink their coffee together and watch the high velocity solar winds tear across the planet’s stratosphere, pulling clouds in their wake. Ratio must admit, even knowing what he’s seeing, it does look deceptively calm. He can see why Aventurine found this soothing. He wonders just what it is that is troubling Aventurine to the point where he needs to seek out something calming to sooth himself, and how best to broach the topic. Because, if he can, he would like to help him.

            It’s Aventurine himself, however, who opens that door.

            “So,” he says, when both their mugs are nearly empty, “you know me well enough to know when I’ve got something on my mind. And I know you well enough to know when you’ve seen through me, I think. Am I right on this occasion?”

            “I did suspect that something with you was amiss,” Ratio admits. “I did not wish to pry. I hope by now you know that if you wish for my assistance, you have it.”

            “Yeah, so about that . . .” Aventurine shifts nervously. “I have been thinking. About our research, and our progress. Or our lack of progress . . .”

            Ratio internally flinches. Externally, he maintains a neutral façade but it’s not as though he can deny that they seem to have grown no closer to freeing Aventurine from his programming than they have been since the day they learned the activation phrase. He has been hoping that repetition would allow them to make a breakthrough, but so far, there has been none. Aventurine, he is sure, feels their failure more keenly than Ratio does, and Ratio knew that he would grow dissatisfied eventually.

            “I think it might be time for a change of approach,” Aventurine says after a long moment, presumably spent thinking over his wording. “And I have an idea for a new approach. But you’re not going to like it.”

            “I –”

            “I ask that you hear me out,” Aventurine continues. “Even though I know you’re not going to like it, please just listen and try to keep an open mind, and . . . and don’t just flat out reject it because you’re worried about my safety. Please take some time to consider it before completely ruling it out.”

            Ratio suddenly has a very bad feeling about this . . . but the least he can do is listen to Aventurine’s proposal with an open mind. “I will hear you out and do my best to consider your suggested course of action objectively.”

            “Thank you.” Aventurine exhales and takes another moment to collect his thoughts. “So . . . yeah. What we’ve been trying isn’t working. Maybe it will eventually. But it’s been . . . four months now? Five? And so far, nothing. So, I’d like to try a . . . a variation on it. One that I think has a greater chance of working. Because it will take into account my luck – which I know you don’t really believe in, but that you know and respect that I very much do. And . . . and it will also lean in on the theory that hypnosis can’t completely turn your mind against you because survival instincts will win out in the end.”

            Ratio doesn’t like where this is going, but he did agree to hear Aventurine out. His silence seems to give Aventurine the courage to continue.

            “So,” Aventurine says after another long pause. “So, what I propose is . . . is that we try a different kind of test to break the programming’s hold on me after it’s been activated. You order me into a semi-dangerous situation where, if I am unable to break free of the programming, it will, eventually kill me. And the safest scenario for this that I can think of is you ordering me to lie down in a bathtub that’s full of water. Or half full. Just full enough so that if I sit up, I won’t be able to drown. You order me to lie down and give no further orders, and wait, and –”

            “Absolutely not!”

            “Ratio, please, just listen –”

            “I have been listening,” Ratio snaps. “And I have done my best to do so with an open mind. But what you are suggesting – no. I will not be party to it. Of all the ill-conceived, imbecilic –”

            “Ratio, I honestly believe that this will work! Just hear me out!”

            “I thought that since Penacony you had turned over a new leaf! That you had gained a new lease on life after your brush with the Nihility. Then you present me with a dangerous hare-brained scheme such as this and expect me to be party to it?!” Ratio cannot contain his fury. “You wish to put me at risk of murdering you?!”

            “No! You’re not listening!” Aventurine shouts back. “I’ve thought this over! This is the way that is safest! You’re obviously not going to let me drown. Only let me start to drown if my luck doesn’t kick in and shatter the programming, which I honestly believe will be what happens. And if it doesn’t –”

            “Then you die. You die and leave me watching your life slip through my hands. Damn you, gambler!”

            “No, you save me!” Aventurine says angrily. “If that’s not too much to ask for. A near drowning experience is the safest way that I can think to test this hypothesis! Thousands upon thousands of people across the universe drown and are resuscitated every year! And when they’re surrounded by life-saving equipment, and there’s a professional on hand, their chances of survival increase exponentially! If anything is going to keep my luck from kicking in and breaking me free, it would actually be your presence. You, the great Dr. Ratio, right beside me, are pretty much a guarantee that I’ll be saved.”

            “You cannot put that on me!” Ratio barely manages to keep himself from screaming. “You cannot – this isn’t – your life is not something that I am willing to risk, gambler!”

            “But it’s hardly a risk! Compared to the stuff you regularly see me doing on missions, this is nothing,” Aventurine protests. “Please, just think on it.”

            “No,” Ratio says with finality. “My mind is made up. This is not going to happen, and I don’t want you to ever bring it up to me again. Do not waste my time with such stupidity.”

            Aventurine snorts. “It’s more like you waste your own time by being too scared.”

            “What did you say?”

            “Nothing you and everyone else don’t already know,” Aventurine says, his tone shifting to one that Ratio is familiar with, but that Aventurine has never actually used with him before. It is the one he reserves for adversaries who have actually managed to anger him.

            That realization makes Ratio hesitate. That, and the look that Aventurine levels on him. Hurt and anger in equal measure, and Ratio is the one who has made him feel that way.

            “What do you mean by that?” he asks after a moment, lowering his voice, trying to calm himself.

            “Why you haven’t been recognized by Nous, of course,” Aventurine says, his expression shifting into a mocking smile. “You’re too soft. Too much of a bleeding heart to do what needs to be done to get results. Take a look at literally every other member of the Genius Society and what do they have in common? All ruthless. All detached. All ready to make sacrifices in the name of science whereas you . . . well, you don’t even like using lab rats to test medicines made to save human lives.”

            “Would you truly rather I be like them?” Ratio asks coldly, feeling as though ice water is flooding his veins. “Would you prefer me to be more like the Jacobin researchers responsible your neural reprogramming? Because you know that a lab rat was all you were to them, do you not?”

            “No, no, I was worse than that to them,” Aventurine says, still smiling brittlely. “I was an Avgin – marked for death by your whole civilization. Insofar as you can consider it civil. But hey, we all have our struggles. I had to survive the genocide of my people before I hit puberty, and you . . . can’t score an invite to the Super Smart Club.”

            This time Ratio does visibly flinch. He cannot help it.

            “Aventurine –”

            “No, no. Don’t waste your breath. I’m sure I’m too stupid to possibly understand whatever it is you have to say.”

            “You – this is wrong.” Ratio cannot even bring himself to look Aventurine in the eye right now. “We are . . . both angry and both speaking with the intent to hurt one another. I . . . am going to remove myself from this situation. So that we can both cool down.”

            “You –” Aventurine starts, a sneer in his voice, then abruptly breaks off. A pause, and then. “You’re right. This . . . isn’t doing either of us any good.”

            There is a waver in his voice that has Ratio clenching his fists around his coffee mug. A waver that makes Aventurine sound like he is perilously close to tears. A waver that Ratio himself put there.

            He wishes that he could unwind this whole conversation. That he could go back and delay Aventurine from putting forth his ludicrous suggestion. Back to that sense of peace that had settled over them as they both drank their coffee and watched The Blue, even if this inevitable blow up was hanging over their heads, slightly shadowing their mood. Ratio just wishes he could take this all back.

            But he can’t. And right now, there is nothing that he can say that will make Aventurine see reason. They are both too wound up, too angry, and if they continue, one or both of them may say something that the other cannot forgive.

            Perhaps Ratio already has, and angry as he is, that still scares him.

            Best to go, for now. They can settle this later. Or try to. But who knows? Maybe this is an unreconcilable difference of opinion. Maybe this is where things between them finally fall apart.

            Either way, Ratio retreats for now. He heads to the main part of the space station, leaving the Seclusion Zone to Aventurine, and hopes, as he goes, that he is not walking away from his gambler for good.

Have a good week everyone!  :)

Chapter Text

            The day passes in a sort of feverish haze. If questioned about it later, Ratio would have been hard pressed to recall how he actually spent his time. He vaguely remembers berating a few researchers, but for what, he could not say. Probably the usual foolishness that lot has a tendency to succumb to. He knows that for a spell, he spent some time in his dorm room – the glorified closet with the sleeping loft that many on the space station would count themselves fortunate to call their own. Perhaps that is where he spent most of the day. Staring at a blank wall for an extended period of time is not conducive toward making memories. The only reason he really remembers being in his dorm room at all is because he can’t help but take note of just how stark the difference is between that space and the apartment he shares with Aventurine.

            Aventurine, who Ratio has been so happy living with. Aventurine . . . who is probably equally miserable at this very moment.

            The last of the space station’s successive symposiums is about to end, which means that there will be available rooms in the dormitories for temporary researchers, once again. Since Herta Space Station is IPC adjacent, if Aventurine wants one then he will now be able to lay claim to one. Perhaps he would prefer to live in the dormitories after the spat he just had with Ratio. Or perhaps he will no longer wish to continue their research altogether.

            Ratio hopes that is not the case. He is very upset with Aventurine right now. The absurdity of his suggestion and what he wanted Ratio to be party to . . . those alone were infuriating, but then what he said to Ratio in anger . . . and what Ratio said to him in turn . . .

            They were both out of line. With a cooler head now, Ratio can see this. He should not have said what he did to Aventurine, any more than Aventurine should have provoked him with his failings. One of the disadvantages of having grown so close is that they both know exactly what to say to hurt each other. While it is true that Aventurine was looking for a fight with his provocations, Ratio should not have lost his head to begin with, then not engaged once Aventurine began lashing out. Though he did not intend to be cruel with his words, he sees now that they very well might have been unforgivable. Bringing up the Jacobin researchers in anger, in an argument . . . he should not have done that.

            An apology is in order. Whether or not Aventurine feels the need to apologize in turn, Ratio must let him know he is sorry for what he said . . . but for the moment, he is still angry.

            It is late evening when Ratio becomes aware of his hunger. He cannot recall if he has actually eaten anything all day. He must have, or else his stomach would have begun twisting itself into knots hours ago, he realizes, but as the day wanes, so does his anger, leaving his head clearer, and leaving him feeling empty inside, both figuratively and literally. Not yet ready to return to the apartment and face Aventurine, Ratio makes tracks toward the cantina.

            The dinner meal set is . . . disappointing. Ratio has grown used to Aventurine’s cooking, and Aventurine takes great care in planning varied, healthy meals for them. Tonight, the Herta Space Station cantina is serving nut butter sandwiches with a side of lettuce that comes with a plastic packet of salad toppings. There is a cup of tapioca pudding for dessert. Not a horrible meal, and certainly nothing to turn one’s nose up at, but not exactly a satisfying meal either. Nor is it up to the space station’s usual standards. Ratio would be inclined to think that perhaps they ran out of the main entrees, and this is just what’s left for latecomers, but he sees the trays of enough other cantina-goers who made it here before him to know that his initial guess is likely incorrect. He also hears many murmurs of discontent.

            No matter. It is perfectly edible and right now Ratio needs to eat and regain his energy. Then he has a decision to make – to return to the Seclusion Zone tonight and attempt to talk things out with Aventurine, or to stay the night in his dorm room and kick the inevitable confrontation a bit further down the road. At the moment, the latter seems like a better idea to Ratio. He is not exactly in the best head space at the moment. He hasn’t been all day, hasn’t even taken the time to think about the root of his current problem.

            What Aventurine proposed . . . now that Ratio thinks about it, he can see where Aventurine is coming from – in a purely objective way. Aventurine has been gambling with his life since he was a child – the story about outliving the birds in the desert to win back his sister’s heirloom necklace came out one day as he and Ratio were making bread. Everyone is a result of their upbringing, and being close to death . . . it’s truly all that Aventurine has ever known. His luck has always kept him one step ahead of his life being abruptly ended, even when the odds were stacked so astronomically against him, even when everything seemed to be falling down all around him. To him, his luck is nearly a tangible thing, something that he has more faith in than any god or Aeon. So . . . in some ways, it does make sense that he would turn to it now, after months of Ratio trying and failing to permanently free him.

            Ratio can even see that Aventurine was indeed trying to . . . to be less like he used to. Trying to figure out a way to make what he was proposing safer. Moreover . . . he has made it clear on multiple occasions that he trusts Ratio completely. It is very possible that he cannot even conceive of it being possible that he could die while under Ratio’s watch.

            The experiment itself . . . as much as Ratio hates to admit it . . . it does have potential. But strictly in an academic way. It’s too risky to actually implement. Ratio could never put Aventurine’s life on the line like that.

            Some commotion behind him interrupts Ratio’s thoughts as several people collapse into seats at the table next to him.

            “Finally. I thought we were going to die,” huffs a young woman.

            “Death would have been preferrable to this,” says a boy in his early teens. “But at least it’s over now.”

            “Until the next time the food shipment is brought in with unstable compounds and gets blown up,” says an androgynous individual who takes a seat next to the boy. “How often does this happen, anyway?”

            “On average, once every eight months from my experience,” the woman tells them. “We usually have a deeper pantry to draw from, but the symposiums have left our inventory in chaos. All the same, we made it through.”

            “As long as tomorrow morning’s resupply shipment doesn’t also get blown up!”

            “If it does, I’m sure they’ll send another ship immediately, so we don’t all starve. They wouldn’t wait a whole nother week, would they?”

            “Probably not a whole week.”

            “Good. I don’t think that I could stand making anymore tapioca pearls by hand. I can’t even look at this pudding now, after all of that . . .”

            The androgynous youth says more, but Ratio doesn’t hear it. His mind zeroes in on the details of their previous sentence.

            They made the tapioca pearls in the pudding by hand.

            Meaning, they made them from scratch.

            And to make them from scratch, they had to use tapioca flour.

            Of course, Ratio thinks as he stands and makes a beeline for the kitchen. How could I not think of that? After all this time?

            He knows what they’ve been missing now.

            He knows how to recreate Sigonian bread.

            Aventurine writes the day off as a lost cause at lunch time, when Ratio doesn’t return.

            He can’t think. Can’t focus on anything. Can’t enjoy himself, or even get any work done. He’s far too angry. At Ratio. At himself. At the universe as a whole.

            In his mind, he argues with Ratio over and over. In the heat of the moment, it had been hard to make good points, but of course now that he’s not face to face with Ratio, Aventurine thinks of plenty of things to say. To refute Ratio’s points. To throw in his face and use to hurt him.

            Remembering the way Ratio actually flinched gives Aventurine a cruel sense of glee.

            Until it doesn’t.

            Then it just makes him feel like a monster. Because this is Ratio. The one person in the entire universe who makes him feel safe. Ratio, who has put his life on hold to help Aventurine, who has gone out of his way for Aventurine so many times, who has saved Aventurine’s life on multiple occasions. How could Aventurine say those things to him?

            He still burns with anger. If he’s honest with himself, he can see where Ratio is coming from, but Ratio wouldn’t even consider what Aventurine proposed. Then for him to bring the fucking evil shamans into this and equate Aventurine to a lab rat . . . though in hindsight, what he said wasn’t meant to be mean. He was right. Aventurine was nothing more than a lab rat to the evil shamans. Ratio wasn’t actually calling him one, and has never treated him as one. Aventurine knows this. Ratio is one of the few people who has always seen and treated him as human. Even after seeing him dehumanized by his programming, reduced to nothing more than a puppet.

            Damn it. How could Aventurine just turn around and throw Ratio’s biggest failure, the only thing that really bothers him, right in his face like that?

            He needs to apologize . . . but he’s still just so angry.

            As the wasted day wears on, his anger slowly seeps away. Then Aventurine is just tired.

            Dinner time rolls around and Ratio still hasn’t come back. Maybe he won’t. Maybe Aventurine’s finally gone too far and pushed him away.

            Aventurine fixes food for him anyway. It . . . might serve as sort of a peace offering. Maybe. Even so, Aventurine doesn’t have the energy to do much. Sitting around all day, doing nothing, is surprisingly draining. He just boils some pasta, sautés some vegetables in olive oil, then tosses it all together and decides it looks good enough. Some cheese would probably make it taste better, but that can wait until Ratio comes back. Assuming he ever does.

            Completely exhausted now, Aventurine wanders across the living area, to the sofa and drops onto it to wait.

            The minutes tick by. The pasta gets cold. Aventurine entertains the idea of eating it alone but can’t find it in him to drag himself back to the kitchen area. He hugs one of the Herta Space Station pillows to his chest as he waits, while leaning back on the other one. They really are comfortable pillows. But after half an hour, he swaps the one in his arms for the Origami Bird plush toy that Ratio brought back from Penacony for him.

            That was months ago now, but the mere sight of it still makes Aventurine just as happy as he felt when he first received it. Most of the time. Not right this moment though, but holding it does make him feel a little better. It meant a lot to him that Ratio went out of his way to bring something back for him. It still does.

            Aventurine is no stranger to receiving gifts. Technically, everything he’s given, he’s supposed to submit to the SID’s security team, to make sure it’s not poisoned or bugged. None of the things he’s handed over for inspection have ever meant a thing to him though – nor did the people who gave them to him. But Ratio . . . Ratio is everything to Aventurine.

            Come back, Aventurine mentally begs, and buries his face against the Origami Bird plushie. Please, come back. Don’t leave me . . . I’m sorry. Please, come back so I can tell you . . .

            The time when they usually have dinner together passes. Aventurine knows that he really should get up and make himself eat. He hasn’t had a single bite all day. Just some coffee that morning, and a glass of water instead of lunch. He can go far longer without any sort of sustenance, but it will still weaken him and make him feel ill. He should take care of himself, or Ratio will get upset. Well, at least he hopes Ratio will still get upset. Maybe he won’t. In which case, Aventurine has absolutely no reason to get up off this sofa again, ever.

            The apartment door wooshes open, making Aventurine’s head snap up. He feels his heart lift as Ratio strides in quickly, almost urgently, a strange expression on his face.

            “Ratio . . .” Aventurine starts, then his voice dies in his throat as he realizes that he has no idea what to say. “I –”

            “I know where we’ve been going wrong in making Sigonian bread.”

            Aventurine blinks up at his dearest friend and tries to make sense of his words. His tone is . . . not harsh. The implications of what he’s saying . . . Ratio figured out what they’ve been missing. This seems like an olive branch, but all Aventurine can do is stare dumbly at him, suddenly feeling dazed.

            Ratio must take his silence, or at least his lack of aggression, as willingness to hear him out, and continues.

            “We have been using flour made of finely ground wheat – the most common type of flour used in baking across the universe, often known as all-purpose flour. I was aware that wheat could, of course, not be cultivated on Sigonia-IV. The Giathra Berth is the most habitable region on the planet, after all, and it is an arid desert around its edges, while the rest of it is little more than an inhospitable wasteland. Because of this, I was under the assumption that all flour on Sigonia must have been imported onto the planet. While I was in the main part of the space station, I overheard a conversation that made me realize my way of thinking was flawed – that there is, in fact, a plant which can be ground into flour that is capable of growing in the Giathra Berth. Are you familiar with a plant known as yuca, gambler?”

            Aventurine shakes his head no.

            “Yuca is a shrub that is known for growing in many inhospitable regions and providing a food source. Its roots are edible – when prepared properly. Prior to that, they are poisonous, but boiling them for an adequate amount of time makes them safe for consumption. After that, they are similar to potatoes and can be cooked in a variety of ways, or ground into flour that makes a dense, chewy bread. Aventurine, I believe this flour is what was used to make the bread of your youth.”

            “That’s it?” Aventurine asks, his eyes following the bag that Ratio holds up. “You have it, right there?”

            “Yes. As you can see, it is labeled tapioca flour, but I assure you that it is made from yuca root. There are two major subtypes of yuca root flour. Tapioca flour and cassava flour, and – actually, never mind that for now,” Ratio says and steps closer. “I . . . you . . . Shall we make another attempt?”

            Aventurine nods and stands, and quickly crosses the distance between the sofa and the kitchen area. He thinks that he and Ratio have come to an understanding – that they both said things they didn’t mean. That they both don’t know quite what to say now. Maybe they’ll talk about it after this. But for now, they have something that they can do together to mend their fences. For now, the two of them are okay.

            The clay bowls are where he left them after finishing up last week’s baking, in the hutch, cleaned and put away. Aventurine grabs them, a mixing bowl, and the ramekin of smoky chicken fat they have in the fridge, while Ratio fills a measuring cup with water.

            They go back to the first recipe that they tried, using the proportions that Aventurine remembers. The only thing they do differently is to grease the baking bowls with the chicken fat, to hopefully lend the bread a bit of that smoky flavor that the fire baked bread of Sigonia had. Then they get the three bowls into the oven and sit down to wait.

            “Have you not eaten dinner yet?” Ratio asks, probably noticing the lack of used dishes, despite the serving bowl of pasta left on the table.

            “No,” Aventurine admits.

            “Why don’t you have some while we wait?”

            “Can’t. Too excited.”

            “Please?” Ratio entreats him. “Even if it’s just a small portion? Bread alone will not provide your body with the nutrients it needs.”

            Aventurine relents and gets up to grab himself a bowl. “Do you want some too?”

            Ratio considers, then nods. “I ate in the cantina, but the meal was on the small side.”

            “And you’re huge. You need more food,” Aventurine says, trying for levity. Ratio’s lips twitch halfway into a smile, so Aventurine considers his quip a success.

            They each have a small bowl of the vegetable pasta while they wait for the bread to finish. Aventurine quickly becomes grateful that he has it. It’s a good excuse to not speak for a bit, without things becoming awkward between them.

            Slowly, the familiar scent of baking bread fills the air, but something about it this time is subtly different . . . and even more familiar, at least to Aventurine. It smells more like the bread his sister used to make, in a small way that Aventurine doesn’t have the words to describe. As the minutes until it is ready slowly pass, Aventurine becomes more and more certain that this is it. That this is the bread of his childhood – the bread that was made for him by people who loved him.

            It feels like it takes an eternity, but finally it is done. They use potholders to pull the three bowls out of the oven and set them on the table to cool . . . but Aventurine can’t wait anymore.

            His shield is up anyway. The heat can’t hurt him, not really. He can feel pain, but it won’t damage him. He reaches for the bowl that has, over the months, been designated as his, and holds it steady in one hand so that he can pull the bread out of it. It pops free easily, thanks to the chicken grease, and then Aventurine cradles it in both hands because he knows.

            “This is it. Ratio, this is my peoples’ bread.”

            “Careful,” Ratio cautions, but Aventurine can’t stop himself. He brings the tiny loaf to his mouth and takes a bite, then his eyes fill with tears.

            It’s exactly like Aventurine remembers.

            The taste. The dense, chewy texture inside. The way the crust is crisp as his teeth break through it.

            “This is it, Ratio. This is really it. We did it. You did it. Thank you. Thank you.”

            He’s babbling, he realizes. So he shuts up.

            “You are very welcome, dear gambler,” Ratio says solemnly. “I am happy that I could help you with this. And honored that you trusted me with the task.”

            It’s not delicious bread. Not like the brioches, or croissants, or biscuits of Pier Point. Not like the fluffy steamed buns of the Xianzhou Alliance. Aside from the hint of smoke, it’s very bland, but to Aventurine it tastes like home. He devours it in only a few swift bites, unable to help himself, even though he knows that he should be savoring it, then reaches for the extra in the third bowl and tears into that one too.

            “Here,” Ratio says, once he’s finished it – once he’s licking his fingers and searching for crumbs. “Take mine.”

            Aventurine reaches out for it greedily but then remembers himself and his manners. “But you haven’t gotten to try it . . .”

            “It is alright, gambler,” Ratio says gently. “I can try one from the next batch. You have been waiting over half of your life to taste this bread again. It would make me happier if you had this one.”

            He presses it into Aventurine’s hands then, and Aventurine does not resist. It’s still hot – not scorching, but uncomfortable to hold, but Aventurine holds it anyway, vision blurring as it hits him.

            He really has been waiting over half of his life to taste his sister’s bread again.

            Which means he’s lived longer without her than he did with her.

            He never realized that before. It’s one thing to know that she’s gone forever, that he’ll never see her again, that she’s never coming back. It’s another to actually comprehend that every passing day takes him further and further away from her, away from the time when he meant something to someone, when he was loved by someone, when he had a family.

            I’m going to cry, Aventurine realizes. I’m going to completely break down and ugly cry, and I am not going to be able to stop.

            Not in front of Ratio.

            He can’t – he doesn’t want Ratio to see.

            “Ah – my phone,” Aventurine says, reaching for his device, pulling it out of his pocket, pretending like he just got a message. “Oh . . . ah, I need to take this. I – I’ll be right back. I need to make a call. On my phone.”

            Of course he doesn’t really think he fooled Ratio, but Ratio’s a good enough guy to let it go. He nods graciously and allows Aventurine to flee the apartment – still clutching the last piece of Sigonian bread like it’s something precious.

            Aventurine doesn’t want to be seen breaking down – by anyone, but especially not Ratio. Ratio knows where he can usually be found when he’s troubled though – in the Botany Room with True Love’s Frozen Beans – so Aventurine goes the other way, goes up the stairs toward the elevator instead of down the stairs and through the greenhouse. He stumbles through the hallway where the True Stings spawn, but since he cleared them all out this morning before Ratio woke up, he’s safe for now. They always seem to respawn very late at night, and even if one or a dozen did pop up, they could no more get through Aventurine’s shield now than any other time.

            He makes his way to a sort of nook in the hallway walls, with windows that look down into a big room that Aventurine’s never managed to find a way into, that Ratio once mentioned is some kind of an incubation chamber. Then, in the privacy of that little alcove, Aventurine falls apart.

            He drops to his knees, and drops his phone, but holds onto his bread tight, clutching it to his chest. He can feel its heat, even through his shirt, as tears spill over from his eyes and stream down his face, and as his lungs rattle as he tries to draw breath. A sob shakes him. Then another. Then his whole body is shaking and he’s on the floor, on his side, hyperventilating through his tears as the weight of the past decade crumbles away, and memories that he had locked away, things that he’d forgotten, come back to him all at once.

            Mama singing a lullaby, stroking his hair gently as it rains, and rains, and rains. Big Sister’s smile lighting up her eyes as she hands him a round of bread. Wearing Dad’s shirt for the first time – the way it feels like being hugged by his father. Bittersweet, knowing that’s as close as he’ll ever come to the man who was meant to teach, and raise, and care for him.

            Good times. Sad times. Time well spent, with the people who loved him most in the world – in the universe. Which is so much bigger than just that tiny world he came from, and so full of people who wanted to hurt him, use him, break him. The things Aventurine’s been through since then are more than anyone should have to bear. And he can’t. Can’t bear them anymore. Not now. Not after the warmth of the past just broke apart all his defenses.

            He covers his face with one hand and screams into it. He cries like his heart is shattering into a million pieces. He tries and fails to pull himself back together, maybe a dozen times, and sobs even harder after each failed attempt. It feels like he’s falling into a bottomless pit. Like he’s lost in the Nihility again. Broken, and empty, and alone . . . until he’s not.

            Aventurine doesn’t hear Ratio’s approach. The first that he knows that his doctor is there is when one of Ratio’s hands settles on his shoulder, making him jump. He knows it’s him because his hand is so big and so warm, and because it grips him with a gentle sort of strength that no one but Ratio has ever used with him.

            “G-gah,” Aventurine chokes out, then tries to turn away. He doesn’t want Ratio to see him like this – ugly crying, breaking down.

            “Oh, gambler . . .” Ratio’s voice is so, so soft. “My dear gambler. I am . . . so sorry . . .”

            “Not your fault,” Aventurine tries to tell him, but his breathing is so ragged that the words come out distorted and probably unintelligible. He bows his head and covers his face, willing himself to disappear . . . but Ratio doesn’t let him fade away.

            Strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, anchoring him. Protecting him.

            “I . . . do not know what to say to help you right now, but . . . I want you to know . . . that I am here,” Ratio says, his voice charged with emotion. “For you. I am here, so you do not have to be alone.”

            And that.

            That shatters Aventurine like nothing else. Without realizing what he’s doing, without even intending to move, he finds himself lunging toward Ratio, then the next thing he knows, he’s burying his face against Ratio’s chest.

            “R-Ratio!” His doctor’s name is all he can manage. It comes out as a wail. And then he is sobbing again, so violently that speaking is impossible, as Ratio’s arms encircle him.

            “I am here, gambler. I am here,” Ratio promises, and there’s pressure on the top of Aventurine’s head as Ratio tucks him under his chin. “I will help you however I can. Now and always. I . . . I will find a way to make what you proposed safe. Your idea for breaking your programming. We can try it. After I finetune it. I will free you. I swear it. I will do all I can to make you safe, to make sure you are able to survive in this universe, and I will be here for you, come what may. I am here now. So . . . so do what you must. Cry, if you need to . . . to get these feelings out. I am here. I am here. I am here . . .”

            Safe in Ratio’s embrace, Aventurine cries until he can’t cry anymore. Until he doesn’t have a single tear left to shed. Until he’s both too emotionally drained and too physically exhausted to even lift his head. Ratio holds him all the while, and longer still. Then, after Aventurine’s tears finally stop and leave him paralyzed with fatigue, Ratio shifts him into his arms and picks him up and carries him back home.

If you want a snack to go with this angst, or if you’re interested in the real life equivalent of the Sigonian bread in this fic, the easiest pre-made equivalent that you’re likely to find is Brazilian cheese bread, or Pao de Queijo. It’s the same kind of bread they serve at Brazilian steakhouses, and is also in the frozen foods section of a number of grocery stores. It’s made with tapioca flour, which gives it a chewy texture inside, and was what inspired the bread in this chapter.

It’s also likely to taste better than the bread that the Avgins made in this AU, because the Avgins would have usually made their bread plain, so it would have been pretty bland. I like to think that on special occasions though, like festivals, they would have added cheese, which gives it a rich, salty flavor. Unlike Aventurine’s tears, which have definitely done nothing to improve the taste of his bread.

Also – I’m behind on replying to comments, I know.  I will do my utmost to catch up this week.  I am taking a few days off for Mardi Gras, and am hopeful that my living situation will improve soon, but lately I have only had just enough daytime hours without having to listen to my housemate’s tv shows blaring to get my weekly chapter done.

Chapter Text

            “Ah – my phone . . . Oh . . . ah, I need to take this. I – I’ll be right back. I need to make a call. On my phone.”

            It is an obvious lie, but Ratio does not call his gambler out on it. He sees how Aventurine, usually so well put together, is struggling to maintain his composure. He underestimated just how drastically tasting Sigonian bread again would affect Aventurine.

            So, he lets Aventurine go. Then he waits for him to pull himself together. He does not expect it to take long. A minute. Maybe two. But two minutes pass and Aventurine has still not returned.

            Ratio collects the tiny bowls that they used for the bread and washes them with the intent of using them again – of making another batch. It’s a pity that they only have three. Aventurine will probably remedy that, though, now that they have figured out the recipe. He’ll likely have a set of a dozen, or perhaps something like a custom-made clay muffin tin delivered to Herta Space Station within a week, so he can make them in greater quantities. Perhaps using clay vessels isn’t actually necessary. A regular muffin tin might suffice. Not that they have one for Ratio to experiment with at the moment, however, nor is now the time to experiment. He wants to recreate another batch perfectly for Aventurine now. He wants his dear gambler to be able to eat to his heart’s content.

            Before he can mix it up, however, his phone begins ringing. Not buzzing, from texts, actually ringing. Ratio frowns as he fishes it out, and his brow furrows as he sees who is calling him, but he wastes no further time in answering it.

            “Lead Researcher Asta, to what –”

            “You need to go after him, Dr. Ratio. Right now,” Asta says without preamble.

            “What – is he alright?”

            “He is crying like a child. He needs someone. He needs you.”

            “Where – is he in the Botany Room?”

            “No. The hallway leading to the elevator. Hurry.”

            “I’m going.” Ratio ends the call, even as he begins moving.

            It’s a short walk from the apartment to the spot Aventurine chose to have his breakdown – and an even shorter jog. Ratio hurries there with the urgency he knows the situation requires, and even though he knows exactly what’s waiting for him, the sight still crushes his heart when he lays eyes on it. On him. Aventurine. On the floor, curled up into a ball on his side as though trying to protect himself, sobbing.

            “Oh, dear gambler . . .” His words come out as a whisper. Ratio doesn’t think Aventurine hears them – he gives no sign. For a moment, all that Ratio can do is stare. Because even when he crying and so close to breaking, or perhaps because he’s crying and so close to breaking, Aventurine is just so beautiful. But no matter how beautiful the sight, Ratio cannot let it continue. He forces himself to shake off his stupor then, his eyes stinging with tears of their own, he goes to his gambler.

            The temptation to simply gather him up in his arms is strong, but Ratio knows better. Aventurine has had to survive far too much. Aventurine is the single most dangerous person Ratio knows. So, he approaches him as he would a wounded animal – with the utmost caution. He makes certain that his footfalls are heavy, so Aventurine can hear him approach, takes his time in kneeling down beside him, then lays a tentative hand on his shoulder, ready to recoil if Aventurine lashes out.

            At his touch, Aventurine jumps. Then he shudders and tries to curl in on himself further, with a warbling little cry that tears at Ratio’s soul.

            “Oh, gambler . . . My dear gambler. I am . . . so sorry . . .”

            Aventurine responds with a wordless string of syllables slurred together, then covers his face, like a child trying to hide from the world that has hurt him, and Ratio cannot hold back any longer.

            He wraps his arms around the smaller man, pulling him close, and trying to find the words to reach him through his sorrow and fear.

            “I . . . do not know what to say to help you right now, but . . . I want you to know . . . that I am here. For you. I am here, so you do not have to be alone.”

            Suddenly, Aventurine begins shaking like a leaf, and for a moment Ratio fears that he’s misspoken. Then Aventurine gives a cry that Ratio thinks is supposed to be his name, and flings himself against Ratio’s chest, sobbing harder than ever, his lungs rattling as he struggles to both cry and breathe, his little hands grasping fistfuls of Ratio’s robes as though he needs to physically hold on or else Ratio will slip away.

            Ratio does what he can to offer him comfort. He tucks Aventurine under his chin. He holds him tight and close, in a protective embrace. And he finds himself babbling. Trying to say something that will assuage the gambler’s desperate sorrow, that will stem his tears. At that moment, Ratio thinks there is nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t say or promise, if it would just make Aventurine stop crying.

            “I am here, gambler. I am here. I will help you however I can. Now and always. I . . . I will find a way to make what you proposed safe. Your idea for breaking your programming. We can try it. After I finetune it. I will free you. I swear it. I will do all I can to make you safe, to make sure you are able to survive in this universe, and I will be here for you, come what may. I am here now. So . . . so do what you must. Cry, if you need to . . . to get these feelings out. I am here. I am here. I am here . . .”

            He rubs Aventurine’s back as he babbles to him, hoping to convey through touch what he does not have the courage to put into words. I love you. I will protect you. You need never face the universe alone again. Not so long as I live. I will do all that I can so that you will never feel pain or fear again. I love you.

            As the minutes pass, little by little, Aventurine’s sobbing slows. His strength seems to ebb as well, and he slumps against Ratio’s chest, exhausted. Carefully, Ratio shifts his gambler, sliding one arm beneath his knees to lift him. When Aventurine voices no objections, Ratio stands and, still holding Aventurine as close to his chest as he can manage, begins to make his way back to the apartment with his precious burden.

            He takes Aventurine to the couch and sets him down very carefully, like he would one injured, even though he’s well aware that Aventurine’s physical condition is fine. Right now, he thinks, Aventurine needs to be taken care of, needs to be shown that he is worth taking care of, even though the universe has failed so woefully to do so thus far. He does consider taking Aventurine straight to bed – even though he’s still conscious he looks as though he might not be that way much longer, and right now Ratio suspects that being able to sleep would do him a world of good, but he is mindful of the fact that Aventurine prefers to shower before getting into bed, so that he is clean when he crawls under his sheets. Ratio is less finicky and would be fine putting Aventurine in his own bed, especially since Aventurine clearly has done nothing to physically exert himself today, has probably not even left the Seclusion Zone, but considering how he feels about Aventurine, it seems a bit questionable, ethically. So, the sofa it is.

            He sinks down on the sofa with Aventurine after depositing him onto the cushions, then grabs the blanket, haphazardly folded over the back of it, and spreads it over Aventurine. Because blankets are comforting, and the Seclusion Zone is chilly. Next order of business, he thinks, is a drink – perhaps some hot tea, or water with one of those electrolyte powders Aventurine procured – but when he stands, Aventurine’s hand shoots out to wrap around his wrist, and his gambler stares up at him pleadingly.

            “You want me to stay,” Ratio interprets.

            Aventurine nods. So, Ratio sits back down and carefully detaches Aventurine’s hand from his wrist, tucks it back under the blanket, then, tentatively, places a hand on Aventurine’s head, patting it once. Or at least, only intending on patting it once, but the way Aventurine leans into his touch instantly makes Ratio rethink his original intention.

            “Then I will stay.”

            “Thank you . . .”

            “Of course, dear gambler.”

            Aventurine’s hair is so soft. So silky. Ratio smooths it away from his brow, then lets his hand rest lower, on the back of his head, a gesture that he hopes feels supportive. At the very least, it seems less demeaning than petting him. Which Aventurine hadn’t objected to. But which Ratio should be careful about doing all the same. Even on the best of days, he does not want to cross any lines. Now, while Aventurine is so vulnerable, taking advantage is unthinkable.

            “I’m sorry for what I said,” Aventurine says after a few minutes, his voice little more than a whisper. “I was so wrong. I’m sorry, Ratio.”

            “I too am sorry. I lashed out in anger. And I shut you down your idea without considering it from your perspective. I should have heard you out. We should . . . we should have a more in-depth conversation about this so that we can better understand ourselves and each other . . . but later. Not right now. Not when you are –”

            “Such a mess,” Aventurine says with a sad little laugh. It sounds like he’s trying for good natured self-depreciation, but in his current state his words break Ratio’s heart a little more.

            “You’re not a mess,” Ratio tells him. “You just need a little help right now. And that’s okay. You are worth helping, gambler.”

            Aventurine opens his mouth to say something, but seems to lose his words. He stares up at Ratio for a moment, with watery eyes, then leans against Ratio, resting his forehead on Ratio’s shoulder. Ratio shifts slightly, finding them a more comfortable position – one that lets him rest his chin on top of Aventurine’s head.

            Then they sit like that for a long time. Aventurine does not speak, but after a few minutes, Ratio begins to. Because he worries that the silence will invite introspection for Aventurine, and that even with Ratio right beside him, with his arms around him, he might find himself lost in dark thoughts, and if simply talking can keep those dark thoughts at bay, then Ratio will happily find something to say for however long he must.

            “You know that I have been contributing to the Intelligentsia Guild’s data banks on Jarillo-VI, now that we know that life on that planet has survived. I have been enjoying my work on it immensely, of late. The whole culture of Belobog – which is their name for themselves – is a study on human resilience. For example . . .”

            There is a lot that can be said on the subject of Jarillo-VI. Theirs is a survival story, not unlike Aventurine’s own. And like him, they do require a helping hand from time to time. Without the Astral Express’s assistance, their civilization would likely have collapsed in short order. They might be leaving it out of the official record, but Ratio recognizes the signs of Stellaron corruption in their last Supreme Guardian. Never mind her erratic actions which had the planet teetering between a genocide and a civil war, which would have put their planet’s population below what would be needed to sustain their civilization. Though that threat has been dealt with, numerous others have arisen – the IPC circling like carrion birds, trying to collect ancient debts being the main one on the political scene, but the Stellaron’s corruption of their planet and a dearth of organism to repopulate and recreate stable ecosystems present an even greater threat to the planet’s stability as a whole in Ratio’s opinion.

            They are not without allies, in this wide universe, however. The Astral Express remains a steadfast supporter of the planet. An old friendship with the general of the Loufu has kindled into a new alliance. Their current leader’s determination and conviction has even won them Topaz’s respect and assistance.

            “My perfume,” Aventurine interrupts, seemingly with a non sequitur, but then he hastens to clarify. “I told you about it a while back – the one made from flowers that were extinct, but were brought back from seeds they found preserved in Jarillo-VI’s ice. I don’t know if you remember . . .”

            “I do remember,” Ratio assures him. “I found it very interesting. It prompted me to do more research into the matter.”

            “Are they helping the planet any?” Aventurine asks. “Their literature made it seem like they were, but . . .”

            But they could just be using pretty words to make themselves look good, while exploiting the planet for all it’s worth. Aventurine knows this better than anyone. He’s one of the IPC’s Ten Stonehearts, after all.

            “Their research is, from what I can tell, beneficial to the planet, overall. While it’s true that the company’s main objective is to turn a profit, they are doing more good than harm to Jarillo-VI. There isn’t actually much harm to the planet that they could do, even if they wanted to. The land itself is not in good enough shape for pollution to matter, not that their operation seems to be doing much polluting. Their atmosphere would actually benefit from an increase in greenhouse gases at this point, but your perfume’s bio lab isn’t producing an excessive amount of those either. They’ve managed to revive nearly a dozen native species of extinct plant-life from frozen seeds, but are putting more effort into mass producing several flower species that were cultivated in Belobog’s greenhouses, as they deem those more marketable. The wages they pay to the natives are on the low end of the pay spectrum, on the intergalactic scale, but are considered high for Jarillo-VI. All in all, I don’t think that there is cause for guilt if you choose to buy more of their perfume.”

            “Oh. Good.”

            Aventurine falls silent again. Ratio keeps talking. Because it does seem like Aventurine is listening. It even seems like he’s taking what Ratio says to heart. Hopefully even in the right way. Hopefully he knows that it’s not just Belobog that Ratio believes is worthy of help.

            After perhaps half an hour, Ratio’s voice begins to grow hoarse. By that point, at least Aventurine doesn’t seem so broken and vulnerable anymore. He still seems very fragile to Ratio, but it no longer feels like he’s on the verge of shattering.

            “I need to get up for a moment, gambler,” Ratio tells him, at last. “I need a drink. And so do you, so you are not dehydrated and ill come tomorrow.”

            “I want hot chocolate.” Aventurine looks up at him with a cheeky smile that is wavering slightly, but he is clearly trying so hard that Ratio can’t help but give him full marks for his effort.

            “Then I shall make you hot chocolate. But after you finish, I expect you to brush your teeth.”

            “I will,” Aventurine promises, sounding more like himself – more genuine. “I’ll probably get a shower then go to bed after that too. I’m not good for much else tonight. But . . . I am so grateful, Ratio. Thank you.”

            “You are very welcome.”

            Ratio stands, then, after carefully disentangling himself from his gambler, and heads to the kitchen area, where he makes Aventurine’s hot chocolate as per the instructions that he keeps calling out – with both mini marshmallows and whipped cream, and extra chocolate syrup. Ratio doesn’t mind the over-the-top directions, however. In fact, tonight he is happy to follow them. Aventurine deserves to be spoiled a bit, and with the income disparity between the two of them, it isn’t as though Ratio has many opportunities to spoil his gambler. When he spies a bottle of colorful ice cream sprinkles, pushed into the back of a high cabinet and probably most likely forgotten, he retrieves those as well and scatters a spoonful over the sugary abomination before bringing it to his gambler. His efforts are rewarded with a real smile that lets him know that Aventurine is going to be alright.

            “I didn’t even think of adding those. I guess this is why you have all those degrees. You’re brilliant, Doctor!”

            “Naturally,” Ratio says as he sits back down beside him with his own, much less fancy, mug of hot chocolate.

            He keeps Aventurine company until the gambler has finished his drink, making light conversation, helping him ground himself in the present, where he is safe and cared for. By the time Aventurine’s mug is drained, Ratio feels okay about letting him head to the locker room on his own to shower and brush his teeth . . . though if he follows Aventurine several minutes later, it’s because his own teeth need brushing too, not because he doesn’t trust Aventurine not to have a breakdown in the shower. Since all seems well with his gambler, Ratio doesn’t bother him there – he simply brushes his teeth then heads back to the apartment, and watches the clock on his phone until Aventurine returns, several minutes later.

            “Are you going to bed now too?” Aventurine asks, hovering in the doorway.

            “Not yet,” Ratio tells him. “I want to do some brainstorming, and a bit of research first. In regard to your idea. For breaking your programming.”

            “You meant it when you said . . . ?”

            “Of course. I do not make promises lightly, gambler. Especially not to you,” Ratio says solemnly. “To be clear, I still do not like your idea. But I will find a way to make it as safe as possible to implement. I will not let harm come to you. Not if I can prevent it.”

            Aventurine nods, then seems to make a decision. Quickly, wordlessly, he crosses the room, closing the distance between them, then throws his arms around Ratio. He squeezes him tight then, before Ratio can react, releases him and spins away and hurries to the bedroom without looking back.

            That is probably for the best, Ratio thinks, as he feels his cheeks begin to burn. Because one look at Ratio, just one look, is all it would take, and then the game would be up. Beautiful as he is, Aventurine is all too familiar with the signs that someone is infatuated with him. When Ratio reveals his feelings for his gambler, he would much prefer for it to be on his terms, and when the time is right. Now, when Aventurine is so vulnerable, when he needs Ratio so much, is assuredly not that time.

            He coughs once, to clear his voice of any awkwardness, because after such a vulnerable display of affection, Ratio can’t not respond. Then he gruffly bids Aventurine good night.

            “Sleep well, dear gambler. And know that if you need me, I am here.”

            “Thank you, Ratio. For everything,” Aventurine says hoarsely, then disappears into the bedroom.

            Ratio watches him go, then heads back to the kitchen, to make himself a mug of tea – something that won’t keep him up all night, but that will help him stay awake and alert a bit longer, as he thinks over the experiment that is to come . . . and as he does his best not to think about how wrapped around his little finger Aventurine has him. For all the good not thinking about it will do. Because by now, Ratio is well and truly aware that there is nothing he won’t do for his beloved.

Interlude

            Topaz stares at the blank blocks on her schedule and tries to wrap her head around the fact that each one of them represents a whole day.

            She’d forgotten that the anniversary of her promotion to Stoneheart was coming up – and with it, the expiration of her accrued vacation days, which will not roll over. If she doesn’t use them, she’ll lose them, and so every year, at around this time, she schedules next year’s vacation, for around this time.

            “It still always manages to sneak up on me,” Topaz huffs to herself.

            Thanks to her negligence, it’s too late to use them for many of the things she really wants to do. She’d love to treat Lady Jade to a spa weekend, for example, but asking Jade this close to the weekend it would have to be on is unthinkable. Even Topaz and Aventurine have to book Jade’s time a month in advance for anything that will take longer than a meal. Topaz has also, for a long time, intended to charter an intergalactic cruise with Asta, but Asta can no more up and take time off from her work without notice than Jade can. All of Herta Space Station would fall into disarray without her. The less ostentatious, and only option that’s really available to Topaz now if she wants to do something with Asta is to head to the space station and see her there.

            Maybe that’s what she should do – make a quick jaunt across the universe, for a string of quick meet ups with her friends, while she has the time. A sleepover with Asta at Herta Space Station, brunch with Jade on Pier Point, maybe a dinner date with her Trailblazer friends if she can get ahold of them, and then on to Uncle Dvorski’s home world to drop in on his annual Roboball Epic Cup party before heading back to Jarillo-VI.

            That’s probably the best Topaz can do on such short notice, and the most fun she can have on her vacation since she put off planning anything. She tells herself that she’ll do better next year, as she reaches for her phone, even though she knows that she won’t. As soon as this year’s vacation is behind her, she’ll forget all about next year’s until this time next year.

            Topaz has her finger hovering over Asta’s icon on her phone, and is trying to calculate if she’s close enough to Herta Space Station to actually give her friend a call when she remembers – Asta isn’t Topaz’s only friend living on Herta Space Station at the moment. Aventurine should still be there too. Along with Dr. Ratio . . .

            Topaz’s gaze flits across her hotel room to her bookcase, and she feels her cheeks coloring even as her eyes fall on the spine of the infamous novel that was clearly based off those two. It’s been weeks since she finished it, and she’s done her best to put its contents out of her mind . . . but still, some treacherous part of her really wants to know.

            Do Aventurine and Dr. Ratio have something going on between them? And what exactly are they doing on Herta Space Station?

            Now might actually be the perfect time to try and find out.

            Topaz looks back down at her phone, then dismisses her contacts list and tries not to feel too guilty about how she’s just going to be showing up at Asta’s place out of the blue. She’d really like to schedule something with her friend, or at least give her a heads up, but she doesn’t want to risk someone hearing from Asta that another Stoneheart is coming for a visit and giving Aventurine a heads up.

            No. Best to show up without warning, so Aventurine won’t know she’s coming. That will be the best time to catch him with his pants down. Figuratively speaking, of course. She hopes.

            Sorry for the unannounced hiatus that this fic has been on. A lot has happened since last I updated. I mentioned some months back that I was looking for a new job, because things where I was working were getting more and more difficult. I’d hoped to have something lined up before I left, but that didn’t work out, and things got too difficult to stay. I left right at the end of March, but then got conscripted to work in the family greenhouse and do endless hours of yardwork for my aunt and my grandmother. And I’ve been job hunting too.

            My housemate got a new job, but ended up hating it and quitting. So, when I’m not pulling weeds or transplanting seedlings, I can’t even be a jobless bum in peace, at home. -_-

            I will be continuing this fic until it’s finished, but updates are going to be sporadic for a while. Funnily enough, I will probably actually have more time to work on it once I’m employed again, so I’ll be doing my best to land a new job soon. ^^;

Chapter Text

            Aventurine dreams an annoyingly normal dream.

            He dreams that he’s working, in the Botany Room, here on Herta Space Station. Editing a database to reflect the stocks he’s betting on. And yeah, they don’t call it betting, they call it investing, because they want to pretend they’re all sophisticated, and not degenerate gamblers, but Aventurine knows better.

            It’s raining. Pouring, really. Drumming down on the not-glass roof of the botany room, obstructing Aventurine’s view of the stars and it’s annoying. The rain, the database, having to work in general. But then Ratio arrives with breakfast.

            “Do take care of yourself, gambler,” Ratio scolds him, setting a slice of syrup drenched bread pudding in front of him.

            “But I have you to take care of me for me, Doctor,” Aventurine can’t help but tease, and earns himself one of Ratio’s scowls.

            “Of course you do,” Ratio says, adding a mug of coffee to the table. “Always. But do you think I like to look upon you when you’re ill-kempt and uncared for?”

            “Ill-kempt?” Aventurine asks in mock outrage. Because he is not ill-kempt! He takes excellent care of his appearance – his grooming, his clothes, his daily cologne choice. Aventurine of Stratagems is a fashion icon and an intergalactic influencer of trends! He is most certainly not ill-kempt.

            But . . . at that exact moment . . . he does remember that he forgot to comb his hair today. How embarrassing. Except, not really, because Aventurine specifically chose a haircut that lets him roll out of bed in the morning looking fantastic. Yeah, he might look a little bit disheveled, but in an “I just had great sex and you missed out” kind of way. Not in a slobby, ill-kempt kind of way.

            “Yes,” Ratio tells him. “Ill-kempt. That is what you are, gambler.”

            Aventurine glares at him as he takes a big bite of bread pudding then settles in to sulk. That’s when the not-glass roof springs a leak.

            “Curse it! I keep telling that intellectual plebian Herta to fix her ceilings so the space rain won’t get in,” Ratio curses.

            “Hmm.” Aventurine says sagaciously. At least he’s not an intellectual plebian. Better to be ill-kempt than that.

            And yes. There is a subtle wrongness about the situation. And part of Aventurine does know that this isn’t actually real. But it’s still nice. Any time spent with Ratio is nice, real or dreamt. So, Aventurine is content to sit there and listen to Ratio spout insults about Herta, her intelligence, and her leaky ceilings that let in the space rain until the dream drifts away.

            He opens his eyes to a familiar ceiling. The bedroom area is dim but not completely dark – a sign that the apartment’s other occupant is in the main room. Just to confirm it, Aventurine rolls onto his side to check, and yep. There’s Ratio’s bed, empty, but not yet made up. And if that’s not enough evidence, a delicious smell drifts in from the kitchen. It smells a lot like bread pudding, and for a moment Aventurine is confused. Because they didn’t go on a bread making spree yesterday, so they have no bread to make into pudding.

            He remembers, of course. Everything that happened. Their fight. The wasted day. Then Ratio rushing in with the thing they’d been missing, the key to making Sigonian bread. Breaking down. Ratio finding him and carrying him home. The promise he made to Aventurine.

            A twinge of guilt shoots through Aventurine at the memory of that promise. Because he knows it’s going to be hell for Ratio. He does. Part of him wishes that he’d never asked it of him – not just because of the big fight it caused but because . . . because it’s likely to bring an end to all of this. The peaceful life that he has here with Ratio. The sense of having a home again.

            More than that, Ratio probably stayed up far later than he should have last night, trying to work out all the details of how to make what Aventurine proposed as safe as possible, when he needed a good night’s rest too. Yesterday couldn’t have been much easier for him than it was for Aventurine. He stayed away all day, mad. Then came back and got treated to Aventurine having the biggest breakdown of his life. Aventurine remembers the distress in his voice. He sounded like he would agree to anything to get Aventurine to stop sobbing . . .

            And he really did see Aventurine ill-kempt. Damn it. Blotchy eyed and red faced and utterly hideous from so much ugly crying. Over bread of all things.

            Aventurine takes a moment to pull himself together and ground himself with the facts. He had to make that suggestion. It isn’t fair to be making Ratio miss out on living his life, just because he feels obligated to help Aventurine. More likely than not, it will work. Aventurine would go all in on that. The Sigonian bread is a separate issue altogether, and he is not ungrateful for Ratio cracking the key to it, even if it did make Ratio see him at his ugliest. Remembering how Ratio took such good care of him still makes Aventurine feel warm inside. He should have dragged Ratio to bed too though, when he went to sleep, so Ratio wouldn’t pull an all-nighter. At least he got some sleep – the unmade bed is proof of that. Ratio generally waits until Aventurine is awake before making his bed after he wakes up. How much sleep he really got is up in the air though since he came to bed after Aventurine and got up before him, and then made breakfast . . .

            Aventurine resolves to make today as easy for Ratio as he can, and to see to it that his doctor gets to bed early. Which means starting his day now, so that everything that needs to be done can get done in good time. So, Aventurine forces himself to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of his bed, so that he can shuffle into the living area.

            A glorious sight greets him upon reaching the room’s threshold. A beautiful, domestic, heartbreakingly normal sight. Ratio, cooking breakfast. Still in his pajamas. His hair a bit mussed, and his eyes a bit tired, but at the same time, clear and alert, while his movements are nice and precise as he prods whatever he has cooking in the frying pan that he has set up on their hotplate.

            For a moment, Aventurine is tempted to try and sneak up on him. What would it feel like, he wonders, to wrap his arms around him from behind and bury his face into the space between Ratio’s shoulder blades? He can’t imagine Ratio would take that too well, though, and Aventurine has resolved to make today easy for him. Ratio is big on kitchen safety and won’t appreciate Aventurine’s antics, and besides, if Aventurine’s not careful, Ratio’s going to catch onto the fact that Aventurine is hopelessly in love with him, if he hasn’t already. So, hugging Ratio from behind and nuzzling his face against the good doctor’s back must remain a pleasant fantasy.

            Ratio must see Aventurine out the corner of his eye then, because he turns toward him – and even though he still looks tired, his eyes brighten as they meet Aventurine’s gaze.

            “Ah, gambler. I hope that you slept well and are feeling better.”

            “I am. And I did.” Aventurine swallows and does his best to wake his brain up. “And I hope you got some sleep too, Doctor.”

            “Of course I did. Getting an adequate amount of sleep is paramount for my work, after all.”

            Which explains the shadows under Ratio’s eyes, but Aventurine doesn’t call him out on it. That would be in extremely poor taste, considering he’s the reason Ratio is short on sleep.

            “What’s for breakfast?” he asks instead – a nice, normal question that Aventurine would ask on a normal day.

            “Pancakes,” Ratio tells him.

            “Oooh, I love pancakes.”

            “I hypothesized as much,” Ratio says, and gives him a gentle smile. “Do sit down. The first batch is just about ready.”

            Aventurine ambles over and pours himself a cup of coffee first – because of course Ratio has a pot of it already made. He’s pleased to see though, that only one serving has been taken from it already. Hopefully that means Ratio hasn’t been up too terribly long.

            Right after he takes his seat, Ratio flips two pancakes onto the plate in front of him, then flips the final one onto his own plate. He adds more batter to the pan, to make three more pancakes, then sits as well, accepting the small jug of syrup that Aventurine passes to him.

            “These look great. Thanks, Ratio.”

            “Eat them while they’re hot, gambler,” Ratio chides, but with a good-natured smile, and Aventurine needs no further prompting.

            They dig in. And by the time they finish the pancakes they have before them, the next batch is ready. Ratio serves himself two this time, and Aventurine one. There’s enough batter left to make a final round of three. When those are finished, he slices the largest one in half, so they have an even split.

            They don’t speak much during the meal, which isn’t unusual. They usually do more eating than talking during breakfast since it’s the time of the day where they’re still waking up. They’re both well aware, of course, that there are some serious conversations that they need to have, but those are best left until after they’ve gotten some food and caffeine in them.

            It gives Aventurine a chance to appreciate Ratio’s pancakes which, like everything else Ratio makes, are delicious. It’s the first time someone has ever made pancakes for him that wasn’t being paid to – the chefs at the breakfast and brunch restaurants don’t count. Ratio’s pancakes are right up there with those chefs’ pancakes though, and considering that Aventurine is used to the cooking of Pier Point’s finest, that’s saying something.

            Pancakes aren’t really a thing on Sigonia, but Aventurine has integrated into intergalactic society well enough to be aware of the significance of pancakes. He’s learned from movies, shows, and immersia that homemade pancakes are special food. Made for special times or reasons, or else for special people. Something that, sometimes, lovers make for each other, after they start regularly spending the night at each other’s place. Or that spouses make for each other on anniversaries. Or that parents make for their children on days when disastrous weather gets them out of school.

            Aventurine wonders, as he eats, if there’s a special reason Ratio is making them for him this morning, for the first time. Obviously and tragically, they’re neither lovers nor a married couple. It’s a day off for them, so it’s not a celebration of disastrous weather canceling school or work. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. It could just be Ratio making something similar to bread pudding, so they have a semblance of normalcy after last night. Or maybe it’s meant to be a comforting gesture.

            Well, whatever it means, even if there is no deeper meaning behind it, Aventurine appreciates it. He loves Ratio’s breakfasts. Once this is all over, Aventurine is really going to miss starting off every day like this. Sitting across from the person he cares about most in the universe. Eating food that his crush made just for him.

            It’s so tempting to try to retract the request he made to Ratio – the one that he’s sure will put an end to all of this. So tempting to take it back so he can live like this indefinitely . . . but he can’t. Aventurine can’t be that selfish at Ratio’s expense.

            Enjoy it while it lasts, he tells himself. You can come up with a new scheme to stay near Ratio once this is over and done.

            They finish eating at about the same time. Aventurine takes Ratio’s plate to the sink to wash it for him. Ratio gets up and goes to the coffee pot, then splits what’s left between his mug and Aventurine’s – an invitation for Aventurine to return to the table once he’s finished with the dishes. Naturally, Aventurine takes him up on it.

            “About what you have asked of me . . .” Ratio says, finally broaching the dreaded subject. “I want you to understand how hard this is going to be for me. I have agreed to it, and I will not go back on my word, but do understand that even making this as safe as we can, this is dangerous for you and harrowing for me.”

            Aventurine puts on a solemn expression and nods, hoping that he’s sufficiently masked his disbelief. Because he has kind of drowned twice before, and while both times were unpleasant, his rescuers had no difficulty bringing him back – and this time he’ll have the legendary Veritas Ratio ensuring he pulls through.

            As for it being harrowing for Ratio . . . well, Aventurine can respect that, at least. Can believe that drowning, or nearly drowning Aventurine will be very unpleasant for him. Aventurine would hate it if he was tasked with doing the same to Ratio. Even if he wasn’t in love with him, he’d hate it – he knows because he really does try and put himself in Ratio’s shoes, and think about different scenarios that might be more comparable for how Ratio feels about him, and yeah. If it was Topaz or Jade he had to drown, Aventurine would loath the task. Even if it was one of his newer friends, like Stelle or Asta, he’d be dreading it.

            “I am sorry to ask this of you, Ratio,” Aventurine says, and he doesn’t have to feign sincerity. “I wouldn’t ask it if I wasn’t so sure that it will work.”

            “I know that you have your own system of beliefs,” Ratio says. “I understand why you believe this will work, after thinking it over. Though I do not have as great of faith in it, I am willing to assist in your attempt to prove your hypothesis, and I very much hope that it succeeds.”

            “Thank you.”

            “I do, of course, have many reservations, and in exchange for putting those reservations aside, I have demands – of which I have made a list.” Ratio produces said list and slides it across the tabletop to Aventurine. “If you want my help, every one of these conditions must be met.”

            Aventurine picks up the list and begins reading . . . and yeah, everything here is reasonable or doable. Most of them involve safety equipment. Ratio wants to make sure that all of the numerous cryo stasis pods in the Seclusion Zone are fully functional before proceeding, so that if the absolute worst happens, he can put Aventurine into suspended animation, and get him to the hospital on Pier Point. A private shuttle on standby for that express purpose. A haul and a half of emergency lifesaving equipment so they have spares for the spares that they already have. Trifling things, mostly. Only two of Ratio’s conditions give Aventurine pause.

            One being that Ratio is insisting on having two prepped syringes of Metabolese on hand per attempt. That won’t be difficult so much as tedious to acquire. Metabolese is both expensive and rare, and its acquisition process is bound up in miles and miles of red tape. Because Metabolese is, depending on whose hands it is in, either a miracle drug or a torture drug. With the effects it has on the nervous and circulatory system, it’s almost impossible for someone to die as long as they have it in their system, which is usually a good thing. It’s allowed numerous people to survive horrific accidents long enough to be fitted with custom cybernetics which extend their lives – even after losing, in some cases, half or more of their bodies, and what should be fatal amounts of blood. Unfortunately, it’s also been used to keep people alive after and while being deliberately mutilated past the point that anyone could normally survive. There are snuff films out there, featuring the stuff, and after their existence became known, Metabolese’s creators began restricting the substance, requiring that each and every dose be registered and accounted for during the duration of its existence. After being used, blood samples by the individual whom it was used on need to be submitted to the company to confirm that the registered dose has been used. The drug’s creators take it very, very seriously, and have even been known to send the Stellaron Hunters after individuals they believe are abusing their product. Even for Aventurine, it will take about a week to get the quantities Ratio wants. It will cause a delay, but for Ratio’s peace of mind, it’s definitely doable.

            The other condition that makes Aventurine hesitate is that Ratio wants Asta looped in.

            His instinct is to protest, to shut her out along with everyone else who isn’t him or Ratio, because no one else needs to know, Aventurine doesn’t want anyone to know, not about the horrors of his past or what he’s doing to try to uproot them.

            But Asta already knows.

            She knows, and as far as Aventurine knows, she’s kept her mouth shut. She . . . has actually been a really good friend.

            So, Aventurine accepts Ratio’s judgement on this, and all other points. He meets his doctor’s eye and nods. “I’ll procure all requested supplies. The Metabolese will take the longest, but I think it should be here by next weekend.”

            “We’ll proceed once everything I require has arrived,” Ratio says steadily, with just the slightest of warnings in his voice. Letting Aventurine know that these aren’t requests.

            Aventurine nods again, letting him know that he understands. “I’ll leave it to you to speak with Asta. I trust you and I trust her. Anything else you require, Doctor?”

            Ratio considers. Then takes a deep breath. “I would like to apologize again for yesterday. For . . . dismissing your ideas out of hand, as I did. I do appreciate that you are showing greater regard for your safety. I recognize that you have made vast improvements from how you once were. I should have considered what you were saying and taken into account your personal beliefs and experience regarding . . . regarding how such things have played out in the past for you. So again, I apologize.”

            That means a lot to Aventurine. He’d really like to beam at Ratio and try fishing for more compliments from him, but now isn’t the time for flippancy. He has an apology of his own to make.

            “I’m sorry too, Ratio. For what I said. That was horrible of me, and you didn’t deserve it. You . . . you’ve been nothing but good to me. As long as I’ve known you. No matter how much I annoyed you, no matter what I did, even knowing exactly what I am, you’ve never treated me less than, and I . . . I am so sorry that I said something to deliberately hurt you. And even after I did that, when you figured out how to make Sigonian bread, you came back immediately, and . . .”

            When he pauses for breath – or rather, his breath hitches – Ratio reaches for him. Pats his shoulder, then squeezes it firmly, and when Aventurine tries to smile up at him, his emotions make it unexpectedly difficult.

            “I would never keep that knowledge from you,” Ratio says earnestly.

            “I know. Thank you. For that. And for forgiving me. Assuming you are forgiving me.” Aventurine tries to sound cheeky, but knows he doesn’t quite pull it off. Thankfully, Ratio seems inclined to go easy on him today.

            “Of course, gambler.”

            Aventurine really wants to hug Ratio again right then. Like he did last night, right before he went to bed. Wrapping his arms around Ratio and feeling how solid, how warm and real he is . . . that would feel so good right now. But Aventurine doesn’t want to push his luck. Not when the risk is Ratio realizing that Aventurine is an even bigger simp for him than anyone in his fan club, and realizing that he needs to take a step back and put some professional distance between them.

            So, instead Aventurine feigns a yawn and stretches, then changes the subject.

            “Good, good. Well, I’m really glad we have today off. I’m going to place orders for all the stuff you need. Then I think I’ll go back to bed.”

            “Are you feeling ill?” Ratio asks, and the concern that flickers through his dawn-colored eyes is so sweet that it hurts.

            “No, no. Just tired,” Aventurine quickly assures him.

            “Hmm. Well, I suppose that is understandable. Please do drink a glass of water before you return to bed, though.” Ratio gives Aventurine a tolerant smile as he speaks, and it’s very pretty and distracting, but Aventurine sees past it to the weariness that his doctor is doing his best to hide.

            It’s at that moment that Aventurine is struck with a flash of inspiration.

            “Doctor, I have an idea.”

            “Hmm?”

            Aventurine hurries into the bedroom and grabs his comforter. Then he returns to the living area and grabs two bottles of water from the fridge. “Come with me, Doc! I’ll show you.”

            Ratio humors him and follows him out of the apartment, out of the greenhouse and to the Botany Room. Aventurine leads him to the lower level, right beneath the skylight – the one that was leaking in his dream. He spreads out his comforter under it and hands Ratio a bottle of water, then tugs him onto the blanket, using his weight to pull Ratio down with him.

            “Are we . . . having a picnic?” Ratio asks, sounding equal parts curious and amused.

            “Nope. You’re going to take a nap here with me. Under the stars,” Aventurine tells him, then takes a long drink from his water bottle before lying down on his back.

            “Am I, now?”

            “You are,” Aventurine insists. “You’re tired too. You got even less sleep than me last night, and you had just as hard a day as I did.”

            Something flickers through Ratio’s eyes. No doubt, he’s remembering how Aventurine completely and utterly broke down in his arms. And yes, that was very difficult for Aventurine, but it couldn’t have been much easier for Ratio to have to deal with him like that.

            For whatever reason, however, he chooses to continue humoring Aventurine now. Aventurine suspects that is due to both exhaustion and the fact that he is feeling quite amiable toward Aventurine at the moment. They just made up from yesterday’s fight after all, and Aventurine is being so good, doing everything his doctor tells him to, drinking water, and getting some rest. Surely he deserves a reward in the form of Ratio joining him for a nap.

            “Very well,” Ratio acquiesces, after only a slight pause. He eases himself down into a reclining position as well, setting his own water aside. “But I must ask – why here? Why not back in our apartment? Or in the greenhouse, if you desire to fall asleep under the stars?”

            “Mmm . . . I dunno. Maybe because I had a dream about being here with you?”

            “You . . . dreamt that I was napping here with you?”

            “No. I dreamt that I was here working, then you brought me breakfast and started bitching to me about Herta. And space rain.”

            “Space rain?”

            “Mmm hmm.”

            “You are, of course, aware that there is no such thing as space rain? That there is, in fact, no weather in space?”

            “I know,” Aventurine says with a yawn. “But dreams don’t have to make sense.”

            “No. I suppose they don’t,” Ratio concedes. “Mine often do not.”

            “Oh? What do you dream about, Doc?”

            “Peace and quiet,” Ratio says without missing a beat.

            “Both of which are in short supply with me around, huh?” Aventurine says before Ratio can.

            He knows Ratio doesn’t really mean it – and the good doctor’s lips twitching into a good-natured smile is proof of it. As is the fact that he’s conceding to take a nap here at all.

            “Your words, gambler, not mine,” Ratio tells him, but is still smiling as he says it.

            “Then I guess I better hurry up and fall asleep, so you can do the same,” Aventurine says.

            “Take another drink first, if you please. It won’t do for you to get dehydrated.”

            “You really do always take such good care of me.” Aventurine sits up so that he can obey, and obligingly takes a nice, long drink from his water bottle. Then he flops back down and closes his eyes. “Good night, Doctor. Or rather, have a good nap.”

            “Sweet dreams, gambler,” Ratio says softly, in a voice that makes it very easy for Aventurine to pretend that Ratio loves him, and if anything can guarantee that Aventurine will have sweet dreams, it’s that.

Aventurine forgot to place those orders before his nap. >_<  But, beings that he is a Stoneheart, they naturally put a rush on all his deliveries, so a few hours won't make much of a difference, even on the Metabolese. 

I'm still a little behind on responding to comments, but I'm working to catch up.  And I'm looking forward to writing the next few chapters, because things are about to start changing for our boys.  I hope you'll enjoy the wrenches that are about to be thrown into their lives.  ^^